#thrown together shops just for YOU because nobody else goes here or even knows it exists. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cno-inbminor · 3 years

Note

hello, kay! i hope you've been taking care of yourself well and that life has been kind to you for the most part. i want to ask, how do you feel about kita shinsuke? your akaashi is exquisite and incredibly characterized that i always find myself coming back to your stories should i need my keiji fics, and i realized that it would probably be really interesting (and beautiful) to meet kita through your words. no pressure, tho! as always, i am grateful for whatever you write. ♡ all the love x

you’re an absolute sweetie -- i hope you’ve been well too! i’m honestly at my wit’s end but we’ll survive somehow, right? ahahaha // i’m still incredibly flustered whenever someone mentions how much they like my keiji characterization -- he’s one of the ultimate comfort characters for sure! so thank you for giving my keiji fics that honor <3

i’ve definitely developed some love for kita over time! i love anyone who’s incredibly dependable -- my love language (that i’ve recently re-discovered) is acts of service and i can see him embodying that!

i got carried away: here’s ~1.7k of some hazy kita appreciation, or some strangers-to-lovers ideas sprinkled together. my brain has died from finals, but i hope you like this anon!

the first time that kita shinsuke even crosses your mind, you mistakenly think, “he’s certainly a bit dull.”

it’s not that you forgot he existed by any means -- the boy certainly carries a presence and emanates it in a calm, quiet manner. you just can’t remember him saying anything that wasn’t related to speaking out loud in class or social pleasantries. he’s certainly not much more than a blank canvas to you, and the only splotch of color thrown on is that he’s a member of your nationally recognized volleyball team. other than that, you know nothing else.

it all changes when you two are paired for classroom cleaning duties your third year.

when your homeroom teacher announces your name after his, you glance away from the window to the boy sitting diagonally in front of you to your right. his back sits upright, elbows bent to indicate he’s probably sitting with his hands linked on top of his desk, legs still and placed together underneath the wood. besides the two-toned grey and black hair, you would think he’d be the perfect poster child for japanese education.

the first morning of cleaning duties, you’re sprinting through the halls in your slippers, hoping that the student council president isn’t anywhere near your classroom. the subway was absolutely packed and nobody seemed to be in the usual pace of the morning rush, which caused some delays and for you to cut it very close. you slide open the class door with all the force you can muster, panting and out of breath with apologies falling off your tongue. unbeknownst to you, your brain had been expecting kita to give you a small smile and ensure that it was okay for your two minute tardiness -- instead, you were at the receiving end of a blank yet heavy stare, and seemingly scathing words of, “don’t be late next time.”

your second thought of kita is that he’s too rigid and austere for a seventeen year old. bitterness festers in your chest as you practically stomp towards your desk, setting your stuff down before you head to the erasers in front of the chalkboard. even though there isn’t much dust left on them, you’re searching for excuses to calm down and be a little more level-headed.

you’re so caught up in your thoughts and staring out into the open sky that you don’t register kita’s presence looming near. but it’s his timbre voice that startles you out of your stupor, though they’re nothing more special than, “you can sweep the other half of the classroom. i’m getting started on the desks,” and he walks away.

in gliding the bristles over the wooden floor, you take another peek at your partner for the time being. it’s hard to miss the way he methodically cleans each wooden surface, leaving no corner unwiped, no speck of dust lingering. something about it is somewhat endearing to you, a rather drastic juxtaposition to how you were feeling not too long ago. maybe you were wrong about him -- kita shinsuke might still be a little boring to you, but he’s just...diligent.

in home ec, you’re partnered up with ojiro aran (which proves to be in the best of your luck). but he’s good with small talk, and it’s not like you two have never spoken before. so three weeks later over the folding of meringue into the other batter, you decide to pop the question of, “what’s kita-san like as captain?”

aran can’t contain his muted surprise at your inquiry, seeing as you two rarely ever get into the details of his volleyball playing, much less so about his team. but it doesn’t stop him from giving a truthful answer, “he’s no nonsense, keeps everyone in line. we have some rowdy underclassmen and no one scares them more than shinsuke.”

“a hardass?”

“when he needs to be,” aran chuckles. “but he’s very thoughtful and goes out of his way to care for everyone. the guy lives and breathes by routine.”

there’s something that stirs within you, a small flame being lit, one that flares the next morning when kita walks by your desk and greets you, “good morning, l/n-san.” seeing as he usually never does, you stumble over your reply and shock, all the while berating your heart for beating as fast as it is. kita’s just being polite and using social pleasantries, nothing more.

but he does it the next morning, and then the next, and even incorporates, “how are you?” into his line of words on days you two clean. little by little, you get to know more about him -- not a lot, but enough to correct yourself for ever thinking that he’s a dull, austere, mean human being. you tell yourself it’s nothing more, especially when you start looking forward to their games and join the student cheering squad. it’s nothing when you eagerly await for the moments that kita gets subbed in; absolutely nothing when he looks away from the court and into the crowd, catching your eyes and allowing his lips to slip into a demure smile before turning back around. the pounding of your heart and sweating of your hands aren’t related at all, just physiological effects of the game.

and before you know it, graduation comes around and you think you’ll never see him again after this. you’re laughing and taking pictures with your classmates, later spotting aran over the crowd of families. he catches your waving arm and bounding figure, bright grin on his face as he congratulates you. “i’ll miss you all,” you confess and aran affectionately pats your head. “same here. have you seen shinsuke?”

your brows furrow. “no, why? is he looking for me?”

“you sound confused by that. weren’t you two friends?”

“i wouldn’t overassume that...but i doubt i’m on his mind right now.”

aran only nods and adopts a pensive look, taking a moment to think before confessing, “you meant something to him. after all, he greeted you every morning, right?”

you nod. “but what does that have to do with anything?”

aran’s parents interrupt and attempt to drag him away before he can answer, but he beckons for them to give him another minute. quickly, he pulls you into a one-arm hug, telling you over the bustling crowd, “you were part of his routine.”

you’re stunned, frozen in your tracks as aran and his family walk away. their departure creates some space between everyone, and you find yourself looking straight into the golden eyes of the man that had been plaguing your thoughts for months now. he doesn’t back down, not out of defiance though -- rather, he seems to be trying to convey that he sees you, acknowledges your existence and long wedged a placeholder for you in his life.

but the spell is broken when one of your relatives tugs on your arm for you to leave and go home for a big lunch celebration, and that’s the last you see of him.

at least for the next two years. you have a part-time job at osamu’s onigiri shop, having met the man in some cooking classes over the years. while you’re up front most of the time, you occasionally help out in the kitchen during rush hours. evidently, you missed any of the information on the exact source of the rice, remembering nothing more than the fact it was special and held a certain place in osamu’s heart -- because when kita shinsuke walks in to make a special, personal visit, your brain splutters and ceases all deep cognitive functioning.

he looks well, happy, strong, more than he did back in high school. the same air of confidence still surrounds him and encases the entirety of the shop, and instincts nearly have you dropping to your knees so you can hide behind the counter and catch your breath.

“oh shinsuke, you’re here!” osamu calls out from behind you, popping out of the kitchen to help with the rice bags. the most you can muster is a gentle bow before messing with the cash register, pretending to be busy organizing receipts and bills. you tune out most of the conversation cleaning counters, checking customers out, wiping down tables, and anything else that’ll take your mind off the guy your heart could never seem to forget.

but osamu bidding goodbye to kita snaps you out of your reverie. and instead of walking towards the door, kita’s figure approaches you until there’s nothing but 5 feet of wood between the two of you. “it’s good to see you,” he greets softly, a gentle expression casting onto his face and tone.

“i-it’s good to see you too, kita-san,” you barely reply in time, doing everything you can to fight the blood rushing into your face.

“i’d like to take you out for coffee when your shift is over, if that’s okay.”

oh.

“oh, well, yes, but um, my shift doesn’t end for another hour and--”

“oh, you’re good to go for the rest of the day,” osamu calls out with his head popped out the kitchen door, sending a knowing look towards his former captain. in fact, you remember that the owner had been somewhat insistent that you come work today of all days and you never knew why...until now.

that fucker.

shinsuke’s eyes glimmer as the realization hits you, the same demure smile as the one he sent you all those years ago during a volleyball game sitting on his lips. excitement bubbles within you, and you attempt to tease, “only if you can untie my apron for me?”

there’s no hesitation in his demeanor as he walks around the counter and plants himself right in front of you, mere centimeters between the tips of your shoes and his. you can’t bear to look away as an arm reaches around easily undo the bow at your lower back. neither do you miss the ghosting of his fingertips at your waist that burn through the cotton of your t-shirt, and you’re just thankful that no customers are around to witness this heated, intimate moment.

“lead the way, captain,” you can’t help but say. something dark and dangerous crosses his eyes, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. and you think that yes, yes indeed, you’d like to see those eyes more often if you can.

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#kita #kita shinsuke x reader #anon #sweet child

102 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 5 years

Text

Close to you

(Gangster! Yoongi x Goodgirl! Reader) (Rags to Riches Au)

Summary: Nobody likes Yoongi, not your older brother or your friends. But with him, you feel more protected than possessed. And though he might be a gangster and more than a little dangerous himself- that makes all the difference. From drug dealer to producer, from rags to riches, you’re Yoongi’s person- his muse- his soulmate.

Tags: good girl x bad boy au, blood, drugs, Yoongi with tattoo's, references to making good ol’ sweet love, Rags to riches! au, brief mentions of drunk sex, Yoongi is soft and squishy and just loves the reader a lot.

A/n: This is more a story than a fic- with a little bit of an open ending to it- legit when I was editing this it tripled in length.

W/c: 9.8k

Song rec: Lover by Taylor Swift

You and Yoongi play basketball together, late at night in the park near your college. You don’t know how you started meeting up, but now you do nearly every day. You gather with the others at the edge of the court when the street lights turn on. Maybe it’s just to let off some steam from your busy college schedules, less than ideal lives, or just plain because you like the game.

It’s a mish-mash of different people from different backgrounds, misfits and goody-two-shoes alike, pros and newbies at different skill levels, but everyone is pretty good.

The games are never serious and no one really ever keeps score. The teams change depending on who tells what joke who gives what jibe. Lines are drawn in the minutes before you start, sides taken based off inside jokes and playful feuds.

One night when a regular named Wonho wears a crop top and calls it ‘fashion’- teams are drawn based on who thinks it’s ridiculous or not. (You and Yoongi are on the same team that night- because of course boys should be allowed to wear crop tops).

You’re always the last two to leave the court at night, sometimes just before the lights shut off at midnight, sometimes you have to hop the fence if the security guard has already come around to lock up. You joke that he might have a vendetta against your group- you always say until the very last moment the court closes and he grumbles about leaving early.

And on the nights where strangers lean in- when the streets don’t feel so safe and shadowy figures that seem recognizable at a distance linger longer than they should. When there’s another stabbing or a rumor of a girl getting taken off the street, Yoongi is the first to ask if you want him to walk you home.

You try reserving your impression until you know him better. But the tattoos on his arms and on his chest, peaking out over the low collar of his tanktops lead you to make conclusions that you’re not proud of.

Your first interactions with him are brief at best and you know just from how he looks that you should be careful around him. The others might play at being rugged and dangerous but Yoongi doesn't have to pretend.

You realize this when he stats to walk you home. No one messes with him, the other gangbangers on the street don’t catcall you when yoongi walks you home. Shop keepers seem to Nodd at him if they feel brave and close their doors the second they see him if they don’t.

Yoongi seems pretty abnormal for a typical gangbanger, He doesn't fit the trigger happy sadistic stereotype that the media paints others of his ilk in.

When he first asks to walk you home, You blush and let him because Yoongi is cute, charming even, and he’s nice company, even if he does look a little threatening sometimes.

You wouldn’t let him walk you home for any other reason then just...needing the safety he provides, not at first, not when your overprotective older brother doesn't let you date at all. You have a dating ban until you graduate college and as long as you sleep under his Roof.

He’d even tried to squash your interest in the pick-up basketball games when you first started going- but you needed an outlet, justified it by saying you weren't apart of any sports teams and needed to exercise. it isn’t safe on the streets so late at night, he says (and he’s not wrong- it isn’t.) he tries to get you to stay home each night or tries to guilt you into only playing on the weekends during the daytime.

But try as you might, every time he says it isn’t safe or brings up a carefully worded story by the news on the infestation of gangs in the city, you can’t help but picture Yoongi’s face. And maybe it isn’t safe for everyone. but the way he looks at you- guarded but curious and with a hint of mirth over the edge of a ball during a pass, makes you think that it’s safe for you.

You weren't exactly sheltered here, in your nice apartment on the edge of where town turns from seedy to bougie. You straddle the edge of gentrification Unable to fit in perfectly with either side. You’ve already had to move your apartment twice since you moved in with him after rent hikes and new policies made your past apartments just too expensive.

The first time your brother catches sight of Yoongi, on the stoop of your apartment building just as your brother gets home from work- perfectly mistimed, he goes apeshit when he realizes that Yoongi’s just dropped you off. Your older brother takes one look at him and says that you shouldn’t date gangsters- that Yoongi will just bring your trouble one day.

“Jesus Christ- he was just walking me home it's not like it's a big deal” and you remind him that you’re not dating- that you’re just friends and Yoongi is just being nice- and that your brother should be glad you have friends that want you to get home safe.

He tries to keep you from going out the next night and threatens you with few words not to keep seeing him. You’re late to the game because of it sucking off your pink sweatshirt and growling out that you need to work off some steam. “join my team” Yoongi says, making the others pause with a wave of his hands.

They reach for water bottles while you get your shoes on, Yoongi tucks the ball under his arm and stands while you finish lacing up your shoes. “you good?” he asks, “yeah just my brother being a dick and making me late.”

You know he says it’s all for you so that you’ll do well and school and get a good job later in life and have it easy, unlike either or your parents. but sometimes it feels like he just wants to control you needlessly. Yoongi nods and you see something- the mention of older brothers darken his gaze, you wonder why. “He pitch a fit after he saw me last night?”

“Oh you know it,” you say with false positivity. “But don’t worry you can still like- walk me home if you want, I liked talking to you yesterday,” you say, Shooting him a smile that makes his cheeks turn a little pink, he clears his throat “if it makes you feel safer of course” He reassures, ever the gentleman, and goes to shoot some free throws while you finish getting settled.

The blush doesn't fall really, especially when you meet his eyes over a pass a few seconds into the pell-mell start of the game. And you start to think that Yoongi with his tattoo’s and his roguish exterior might be the perfect amount of rebellion to get out from underneath your brother's thumb

Of course, Yoongi ends up being a lot more than that.

When you walk home together you talk about everything, sometimes stopping to get some food from a street stall, or passing a bottle of soju back and forth if it's a Saturday or a Melona ice pop if it's hot enough. you learn a surprising amount about him- you had no idea that Yoongi attended the same college as you, though he’s a few years older than you, in the year above, and only part-time because of his ‘job’.

He says this kind of cryptically he’s never come out and said what he does for a living to you before but you know, even if he doesn't say so at first. there have been times where other people pause at the gate to the court and gesture for Yoongi and you can see little packets of things being handed off, or he has to leave early. A curly red-haired guy that pops up often enough to drag Yoongi away who is equally as tattooed and threatening.

but whatever these mysterious people are, you know it’s secondary to Yoongi. after all one of the first conversations you ever have with him on the way home is about music. He confides in you and tells you of his big dreams of being a music producer one day after you urge him. He already knows your dreams of being a screenwriter- and the struggles you’ve had balancing your dream with your family.

Thought you both definitely went different directions with that, you just decided to double major in something more ‘practical’ in your brother's words, whereas Yoongi left home. “I’m gonna make it one day- I just know it, it’s the only thing I've ever wanted.”

And really anyone else would tell him that he’s stupid for having high hopes- his parents and older brother did after all- and he hasn’t talked to them in years after they disowned him for following his dream. But you just smile at him and tell him, “I believe you can do anything if you work hard enough for it.” Yoongi hides his blush by pulling up his hoodie.

Yoongi is a gangster of course, but the drugs he sells to put himself through college aren’t anything dangerous, even if he and his corner partner Hoseok, end up running from the police or another gang most nights and has been shot at twice in the last year. Hoseok has a scar from that night just above his shoulder- barely a graze.

People come and go for the nightly basketball games, but somehow- you and Yoongi are always the ones who linger the longest no matter how cold it is. If someone cared to ask, you might say you’re Already half in love with each other from ever smirk thrown over a shoulder during a game. Every “good shot” when you make a three-pointer sends you spiraling further down.

What started out as an easy way to piss your brother off, has turned into the kind of friendship that you would swear on. The day you roll your ankle Yoongi won’t take no for an answer and gives you a piggyback ride home.

“You need to eat any more this is hardly even a work out,” he teases, bending down so that you can reach the button for the streetlight. “You tip your nose against the nape of his neck and inhale a deep breath, he smells nice, he has the kind of scent that you could just wrap yourself in and cozy down. The action makes pleasant shivers erupt down Yoongi’s spine. The weight of you so gladly held that he almost misses it when he was to let you off. And he makes you promise to wrap it as soon as you get up the stairs.

The next day, the pink bandage sticks out from over your ankle socks and you bring Yoongi a brown paper bag from the fried food stall on the street. Smiling as you hand it over, “as a thank you” you justify, teasing him for his blush that starts up when he realizes you’ve remembered his favorites.

Yoongi’s secret is that he might be in a gang, but he’s also fucking soft as shit. He loves dramas and romance movies and he has a sonnet of Shakespeare tattooed under his arm and carefully stylized roses above his heart. Yoongi is a total hopeless romantic. He loves everything to do with romance. Even if all of the people he’s ever loved have broken his heart.

He doesn't sleep around a lot, doesn't let himself get close to people that often because people leave so much more often than they stay. And it’s almost like you’ve always been able to see through him- those times that you’ve talked about the dramas you both happen to like on the walk home,

And he lets you talk as much as you want about the different minute details of the dialogue and the stage directions, asks you why you like a certain love story or don’t and leans in- and you can tell he actually cares what you like and enjoy, is actually listening to you.

The same care that you return, when you share one of Yoongi’s shitty earbuds and listen to all of Yoongi’s favorite love songs. And steal the napkins he writes sappy lyrics on when you go out for hot chocolate after the game. The care that you show when you pretend that you don’t know that most of the lines of simple prose he writes are about you.

The first time you snag one and keep it away from him, you catch a look at the line of lyrics and find them- startlingly tender and honest. it’s hard to believe that walking you home is my favorite time of day when at the end of it I have to say goodbye to you, my secret is that I never want too.

You’re so shocked that he snags it out of your hand easily and he shoves the napkin in deep in his pocket. But the damage is done, you're wide-eyed and looking, his face bright red, cheeks round as he nibbles on his lower lip and shyly looks away, “don’t- don’t like- freak out or anything I just like writing about you is all- it’s not like, a big deal or anything.”

But the next day, you just smile up at him, wiping away the sweat at your temples proffering “walk me home?” like you have no idea what it means to him. So easily giving him the quiet acceptance of a part of him that he doesn't show anyone.

You goofily get too close when you guard him sometimes tackling and holding around his neck or wrap your arms around his waist during the warm-up games you play sometimes, giggling at his shout of “yah-”. When you manage to steal the ball from him- your specialty- you might not be able to make every three-pointer but you can always get the ball away from him or any of the others. Yoongi doesn't get angry or too competitive, just shakes his head and smiles.

You rarely ever see Yoongi around campus, even less rarely interact with him, though he will return your wave when you give him one. You see him one day when you’re walking between classes with one of your friends, Jaebaum who was your lab partner for chemistry last semester but had become your friend after joint commiseration over how terrible chemistry was.

“How do you know that guy?” the accusation is low and a little startled, his eyebrows pulling together into a glare that makes your hand fall from your wave. “We both go to the same pickup basketball games, why?”

Jaebaums jaw tightens as he looks back, but Yoongi’s already disappeared into the music building. “that guy deals drugs for half the sororities and fraternities at this school- just surprised me is all, I didn’t think that you would know him. You said you play basketball with him?”

You tell him more about them- not that you’ve ever hidden your secret. And he pushes until you agree to let him come with you. Maybe he’s just curious, but you’re just trying to be nice is all- Jaebaum is a friend even if his overprotective friend thing gets a little annoying.

You swear- what is it with guys and trying to protect you, Yoongi is the only one whose never made you feel inferior for it.

You’ve never brought someone to the games before but others have in the past, and Jaebum is introduced with little fanfare, though Yoongi goes eye him over the edge of a basketball and raise an eyebrow in your direction, you can hear his voice “really?”

maybe the night would have gone better if Jaebaum didn’t literally check Yoongi onto the concrete halfway through the game. The other players literally stop to a standstill, because no one is ever that aggressive. The ball bounces away unattended as Yoongi is quick to get up and shove Jaebaum back.

You’re quick to step between the two of them a hand on either of their chests as Yoongi growls out “what the fuck is your problem?” Even if Jaebaum is a bit taller, Yoongi doesn’t back down. Of course, the second Yoongi makes eye contact with you he backs off, though you do see his jaw roll in annoyance. And that’s more than you can say for Jaebaum, Who takes a few more words before he gets back to the game.

He lingers when the game finishes and usually, you’d stay for another, but no one else seems to be in the mood for it. You and Yoongi still pass a ball back and forth and Yoongi shoots a jab his way when pauses by the chainlink gate.

“Get lost asshole- and just for the record, acting all high and mighty around me doesn’t change the fact that your frat buys coke from me on the weekends and I know for a fact one of you brothers was looking for GHB last week,” Yoongi is merciless though putting all their dirty drug habits that he is only too privy too as their dealer out in the open.

Jaebum pales as you send him a shocked glance because you really didn’t know his fraternity did shit like that. GHB is like- serious stuff, and its reputation isn’t great. And fuck- Jaebaums even invited you to parties at his fraternity, who knows what was in the drinks of those other girls.

A glance at him tells you that Jaebaum really had no idea what his fraternity brothers were getting up to in their spare time but the damage is already done. Jaebaum turns to you pleading “Y/n please believe me- I didn’t know they where-”

“Jae” you cut him off, suddenly more shakey than you’d like, “I think you should go,” he doesn’t listen stepping closer, “Nah come on- let me take you home,” he pleads palms open.

Before he can get close Yoongi steps Infront of you subtly keeping a hand on your arm to reassure you. “I’ll walk her home- don’t worry Jae,” he adds mockingly. “She’s safer with me anyway.”

You and Yoongi pass a ball back and forth, the last to leave as usual after that but he’s unusually silent. Until the streets go quiet and he finally lets his feelings spill onto the asphalt. “Wow, you really know how to pick them huh,”

You check the ball back to him, a little harder than Nessicary “You know that’s what my brother said about you when he first met you right?”

“What?” Yoongi dribbles the ball as he shakes his head, you can see him actually getting angry as he makes a three-pointer and misses by a longshot, you catch the rebound and pass it back. “your brother doesn't even know me- not really.”

“I know that Yoongi and believe me- I never would have let him come if I knew he was gonna like” you trail off, struggling to find the right words. Yoongi concentrates enough to make the shot finally and takes a step back to see if he can make the next one. You return the rebound again.

“If you knew he was gonna try to intimidate me? Try to stake a claim on you or something like you’re a fucking thing when you’re-” Yoongi breaks off, swallowing back his anger and shaking his head like he’s ridding himself of his fury, even though you can see it boiling in his dark eyes when he turns them on you.

“Don’t you know how frat boys treat pretty girls? or where you just naive enough to think that one could be different when they all silently allow their brothers to do what they want,”

You pass it back hard, and it hits Yoongi’s chest hard. stinging a little- “Don’t you dare call me nieve Yoongi, not when you’re being hypocritical as fuck” you argue- you know Yoongi isn’t really meaning to be mean, not at all.

And Yoongi just- givens a particularly hard pass to you the same way you just did to him and your arms don’t come up quick enough and it hits your face. It’s not the first time that you’ve ever been hit in the face by a basketball, you’ve had your fair share of bloody noses. And anyone who plays knows the particular not-quite-painfull- stinging sensation that makes shocked tears spark in your eyes.

Yoongi immediately rushes over to hold your head and apologize profusely and he Dabbs at your nose to get rid of the little bit of blood that's dripping out of your nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Apologize tumbling out of his lips,

“Oh my god I’m so so sorry- please believe I didn’t mean to- fuck- I'm sorry” and you’re not angry- you know he didn’t mean it at all- that it was an accident you just weren't paying attention. And Yoongi is panicked looking down at you and cradling your face in his hands, brushing your baby hairs back away from your face and it’s not even really like that bad or hurts or everything, your face is just mostly numb.

You can't help it- you start laughing, and he looks down at you wide-eyed “oh my god you should have seen your face- you look like you just accidentally stepped on a pets tail or something- holy fuck Yoongi I'm fine-”

But then Yoongi leans in, his forehead against yours in the lit basketball court, closing his eyes and looking like he hates himself for hurting you even a little bit- even accidentally. He looks so upset with himself and that he’s hurt you. For all of your close moments, your almost relationship-esce tender moments you and Yoongi aren’t so physically close so often. Even though your laughing, he sighs all the tension going out of him. “not my fault you follow me around like a puppy or something- you're just so- you’ve got this-” he makes a frustrated noise, “god you’ve always got me so tongue-tied”

And you still for a moment, standing in the middle of the court, a little blush paints his cheeks as he realizes how close you are.

On the basketball court, with your nose bleeding and Yoongi looking at you with all that love he’s hidden on display, you realize that there shouldn’t be anything stopping you from nurturing that affection that he’s so blatantly showing right now, that he always does whether you acknowledge it or not.

And maybe he’s always shown you that, maybe it was always there in the way he walked you home, the way he checks to see that you’re alright whenever you take an elbow or fall during a game.

Tender and protective almost like Yoongi is your bodyguard or something. But unlike others, Yoongi knows you can handle yourself and he’s only there so you don't have to deal with it alone. He might be protective, but he’s never claimed ownership of you like others have.

For a moment the lights flicker and go out plunging the two of you into muted darkness, especially here, where the streetlights barely bleed. It’s not an unusual occurrence, the court is kind of old and shitty and it’s probably just the security guard being passive-aggressive to you and try to get you to leave early again.

In the darkness you tilt your head forward and kiss him, your lips slotting together. After he manages to overcome his shock his hand fists in your hair underneath the hood of your hoodie. His tongue briefly licks out to paint heat into your chest that blooms like the roses on his. Before you pull away and Yoongi’s so breathless from just the taste of you.

And then the lights come back on and he’s just shocked standing there while you take the ball and try to make the shot Yoongi couldn’t make failing at first because your hands are shaking a little.

Yoongi runs his hand over his face and through his hair and tries to stop himself from grinning and quiet the rapid pounding of his heart. You shoot a three-pointer and make it- “holy shit Y/n you-”

“You don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to other guys Yoongi” and he’s just standing there blushy and quiet. “if that's what that thing with Jaebaum was about,” you pass the ball back to him, and he huffs.

“It was more about him treating you like a possession but okay- fixate on that I guess,” you don’t buy his ire at all.

He walks you home and kisses you again on your stoop and quickly pulls the closure of your hoodie over your face and runs away. “You punk Yoongi!” you shout at him, waking up the neighbors- but he doesn’t care, his heart feels too light to be bogged down by anything like disapproving outsiders.

later that night when they’re selling on the street corner, Hoseok levels Yoongi’s never falling smile with a raised eyebrow “what’s got you so happy tonight?” and Yoongi just tilts his head back against the brick building and smiles at the sky, unable to keep it off his mouth now.

“Nothing man, nothing at all” and of course that's a lie- Yoongi’s whole body is light with how much of something this is, his thoughts tripping over with little snippets of you. God, he feels like a little kid, excited to see their crush the next day at school.

You only kiss when the lights go out, in the shadows of alleyways, hands ghosting over places too intimate for public and for even the street lights. safe in the darkness where no one can see either of you and you can just be Yoongi and Y/n. The city melts away along with all of its problems and leaving both of you alone.

You only kiss when he walks you home, or when you sneak him into your bedroom on the colder nights through the front door or up the fire escape. And he’ll press you into the sheets of your bed, his bare arms, and the black ink on his chest and his inky hair contrasting with the white sheets of your bed, and he touches you so softly, every second building to linger, to cherish, to love.

You only kiss him when he surprises you, like the night after he goes out to dinner with your older brother to try and impress him. Yoongi’s white button-down barely hides all his tattoo’s but he does take all the piercings out of his ears. To both of your surprise, he manages to not make a horrible impression and actually earn your brothers approval (but only a little).

He only kisses you when you steal his leather jacket- pulling you close by the lapels, or when you steal his thrasher hoodie and he doesn't even realize you have it until he sees you walking around campus with it on, and pulls you into the deserted bathroom on the third floor of the science building because for a quick make-out session.

Who knows maybe Min Yoongi really likes kissing you, maybe he just really really likes you too, maybe when you text at night Min Yoongi finds himself burying his smile into his pillow, texting you back, “goodnight sweetheart, can’t wait to see you tomorrow,”

For your first date, he takes you out to dinner and then to a bar that closes early but has a legit ball pit. Complete with disco balls, a bunch of fancy setups and Instagramable pastel pink floral walls, and serves it’s sangria in glass teapots.

It’s pricer than usual bars, but it’s worth it- to get giggly and tipsy with you and bother the other patrons by starting a war throwing the clear plastic balls that look like bubbles back and forth. You use an inflatable heart- complete with bright silver glitter to block his attack and tackle him into the pit, shocking a giggle out of his chest that seems to shimmer into the open air.

And he takes a photo of you laughing below him when he heaves you up and into a pile, giggling brightly too. You snap a photo of him too and he looks all harsh and grungy against the pastel background, lounged out like a jungle cat in his black ripped jeans and black teeshirt. his darkness juxtapositioned with all of the pink.

You end up printing out the photo and hanging it up by your mirror in your bathroom where you eventually hang little tickets from late-night rap shows that Yoongi takes you too- or the tickets for the free day at the local zoo and a few romcoms. Little memories of your times together that you can wake up and see, and keep a piece of him close that way.

He prints out your photo too and keeps it in his wallet. He doesn't take it out and look at it often, but sometimes when he knows you’re asleep and he’s still out on the chilly street, the fingerless gloves you got him for his birthday warming his hands. He’ll finger the edge of his wallet and the edge of the photo that sticks out a little, and smile to himself- imagining that you’re wrapped up warm in your bed, maybe curling up in one of his shirts that he’d lent you- you always say you sleep better in them.

And he thinks about maybe sneaking up to the fire escape that leads to your window when he’s done for the night, tapping out a hello on your window until you wake and let him into your warm embrace. Quiet and taking his shoes off by the window so that his heavy steps don’t alert your older brother in the room over.

And maybe he could cuddle you a little before class, relax into your arms for a few hours. The lack of sleep would be hell to pay for later- and really, Yoongi also has papers due and assignments to complete not to mention exams to study for that need his time if he wants to even think about graduating anytime soon or keeping his scholarship until then. But he indulges in the idea of it, all the same, closing his eyes and imagining it just for a minute when he feels that photo, letting his memory’s drift back to your first date.

Sometimes on the really cold evenings, you’ll take the train home instead of walking- even though it gives you less time than you usually have. you grab the last train home and sit close. He taps out a pattern on the back of your hand, your skin unmarked unlike his. Each of his knuckles is marked by a symbol for a royal flush.

A ten of clovers on his thumb, a jack of diamonds on his index, then a queen of spades, king of hearts, then the ace of spades on his pinky. The tattoos are newer, you’re pretty sure Yoongi didn’t have them when you first met.

“How do you have so many tattoo’s?” you ask, you know by now that Yoongi only deals drugs to pay his many bills that aren’t covered by his scholarship. Because he has too to survive and not because he particularly likes being apart of a gang. His copious amount of inc seems like too an expensive habit for him to keep if he’s paying for it out of pocket. Yoongi watches you trace over the marks on his knuckles.

“There’s this tattoo artist across town, he’s pretty good makes a half-decent living or would if his boyfriend didn’t have this like- rare disease or something. I’ve never really asked or looked it up- but anyway, their insurance doesn't cover it and it would be like thousands of dollars a month retail. But I get them a couple months supply at a time for like a quarter of that- and as long as I deliver it to them every few months, Namjoon lets me sit in his chair after hours as a thank you.”

“Didn’t realize you-” “dealt in medical stuff as well?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow, not judgementally but really, anything there is a market for Yoongi’s employers have him sell. but you don’t talk about Yoongi’s drug dealing. the less you know about the gang the safer you are. You nod, and Yoongi sits back, pulling you a little closer, your stop is nearing, and he knows that he’s going to have to say goodbye to you soon after that.

“The first time I met him it was like- not great. He was so panicked didn’t look at all the type to be buying drugs either. But he stuck around and kept asking if I could get it until I could, and then I started delivering it to his place instead of having him come to me and like, you know how dangerous it is and like walking around with that amount of cash. It isn’t something you do if you’re smart or unprotected. And I think he just started giving me free ink because I cared enough to drop it off instead of having him come to me.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek- “Min Yoongi- friendly neighborhood drug dealer- who would have thought you’d be so kind,” Yoongi tilts away at your teasing because really, by now you know just how gummy soft Yoongi is and how true the statement is.

He’s always checking in, and he’s kind of the older brother of sorts even to the others at the basketball court, always the first one to playfully shove the gangly limbed kid named Jungkook who's hung around the courts since forever (and has only recently sprouted up taller than him).

Or he’ll ask you and Jungkook’s grubby thin friend Taehyung (that sometimes comes to games sporting black eyes and leans into Jungkook like he’s the only thing keeping him up) if either of you wants something from the 7/11 across the street.

He’s always soft to some of the younger high school kids that come by and play. The ones that obviously don’t have good role models at home. And you know by the way Yoongi sometimes gets self-critical that he doesn't think of himself as a good role model by any means- but he is a good person.

The streets might have made him rough around the edges and fierce by necessity, but Min Yoongi has never and will never lose his kindness.

And maybe that's why you love him, why you feel so safe with him, why you smile every time you see him and why your heart beats quick whenever he looks at you like you’re the only people in the room. You know deep in your bones that Min Yoongi might not look it on the outside, that he carries the weight of what he does like a bulletproof vest and has more than a little baggage, but he’s a good man.

The first night he takes you back to his apartment he’s a little shy about it because he knows it’s basically a closet. It’s in the bad part of town too, but it’s mostly clean and at least it doesn't smell too much like mold. There's only a single wall separating the kitchen from the half room where his single bed is tucked. But he does have nice windows, they’re the only thing that drew him to the apartment, a good view of some neon lights across the street and a full glass tilted roof where it used to be a covered balcony.

The producing equipment that he’d saved up for and his school things pushed and piled on the desk in the opposite wall. his stacks and stacks of notebooks full of poetry turned lyrics that maybe he’ll never put a song to. You could probably reach them from the bed if you stretched out really far. Along with a keyboard that he’d won after he’d beat a DJ in a game of pool. His clothes sit in bins underneath his bed that he shoves and pulls his blanket over to try and hide the drabness of it.

But you don’t judge at all, you don’t mark on the frayed edge of Yoongi’s duvet, or on the dust gathering on the sill of the windows. Or the bars that block the view. You smile at the band posters on the wall and the movie poster by his bathroom and giggle when he turns on the colorful Christmas lights he’s strung up over his bed and he asks why you’re smiling.

“This room is so you Yoongi- like I don’t even know how to explain it but it’s like I just walked into you- you know?” Yoongi does know, and his chest warms with the thought of this, this place is his home and only his safe haven (besides the court). It’s the representation of his everything. Maybe a little grey, a little worn around the edges but still comfortable, still warm.

You just stand there and look out the windows at the street corner below while Yoongi boils some milk for hot chocolate. And when it’s set he holds around your waist and hooks his chin over your shoulder, swaying slightly to the music that always lives in him while you look out the window, quiet and contemplative.

“I know it’s not much but you could move in if you want after we graduate- or maybe get a bigger apartment together and pool our resources for something nicer- if you want too.” you’ve been together for about a year now- even if the beginning of your relationship was a little more loosely bound.

“Really you’d want me to live with you?” Yoongi shrugs and blushes and you kiss his cheek sweetly making him flush a darker red. And Unlike how he would if he was with anyone else, he doesn't turn away or try to hide how he looks at you, so wanting and soft, almost hopeful.

He leans his cheek against your head and sways a little, tasting the lyrics and the beat on his tongue he would write about this moment- maybe they’re nothing- maybe there shitting and sentimental- I showed you the drabby parts of me and you told me it was enough, we felt our love with simple feelings, simple people all the same, and I know I’ll love you forever if only you would stay.

“Of course I want you to move in sweetheart.”

You start to sleep over some nights- the nights when your brother has to go on trips for work or it gets too late for you to walk back. Yoongi doesn't live in the safest area and he never lets you walk home alone, but he does try to limit your exposure to his world. The drug dealers on the corners giving him nod as he passes, but he does catch them looking at you- their stares confused and lingering.

It makes Yoongi worried. He starts picking you up from class too just in case.

You still play basketball late at night, and sometimes, when your both sit on the sidelines, you trace his tattoos and he tugs at your ponytail out and at the end of the night so that your hair falls around your face, Yoongi always walks you home. And maybe you steal his hoodie every night so that you can sleep surrounded by the smell of him.

But then, a few weeks after he finally graduates (you take him out to dinner to celebrate and get him the very very nice gift of soundproof headphones since he was still using the shitty earbuds that came with his phone) Yoongi doesn’t come to basketball.

Thoughts who know him well linger about for a few minutes after you’d usually start, but he doesn't show. You’re distracted the whole time, casting a glance to the gate to see if he’ll appear there, checking your phone when you take breaks until you give in and text him.

He doesn’t answer his texts when you send him one or pick up your phone when you call. And you’re starting to get worried when you walk home. Of course, you know what Yoongi’s had to pick up more “hours” whatever that means in the wake of his graduation and therefore the expiration of his scholarship.

You’ve thought about the possibility of him being arrested before, waking up in a cold sweat thinking about it. You try not to let Yoongi know how much it stresses you out. Your brother has told you more than once, “He’s going to get himself killed one day” or “he’s going to break your heart.”

but you always reply, “You don’t know him at all, he’s not like that, and he’s safe when he’s out- he’s always cautious,”

You walk the whole way home peering down every alleyway and knawing on your lip in worry. Wondering if maybe you should stop by his apartment and see if he’s there- after you drop off your books of course. Only to find Yoongi sitting on the stoop to your apartment building. He gets up with a pained groan when he sees you, knees cracking, his shattered phone dark and left on the stoop next to him. You drop your bag when Yoongi looks up and you catch a glimpse of his face underneath his hoody. Your school things spilling onto the sidewalk

“I swear I’m fine- It’s only cuz I was outnumbered that they got me so bad, my nose isn’t even broken.” he’s sitting on the toilet with you in between his legs dabbing at his split lip while he holds a bag of peas to his black eye and alternates laying on it his bruised collar bone. You’d been mostly silent since you saw him, but- when you see how gingerly he’s holding his battered body. And suddenly you’re crying, barely containing your sobs as they spill over your lips and you drink in him, thinking about the possibility of him landing himself in the hospital or an early grave.

Yoongi wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, burying his face in his sweatshirt you’re wearing. It smells like a piece of you and a piece of him. “I’m okay baby girl really, please don’t cry over me” you smoothing your shaking hands up and through his hair. You pull away from him a little. It breaks Yoongi’s heart to see you crying because of him.

“I can’t do this Yoongi, I’m always be worried if you’re going to be beaten up or arrested or shot at, I can’t be with you if I don’t know you’re safe.”

He swallows, blinking through his own tears- but really the choice he makes is instinctual- he would never even think of doing anything else. “What if I quit then, what if I stopped and found another job somewhere else- somewhere safer.”

You pull away looking at his face, seeing his brutal honesty the truth there. Yoongi has never been one to lie to you so if he’s saying it- he means it. “I’m serious about you, about us, I-” neither of you have dropped the L-word yet and all of a sudden Yoongi’s throat feels like he’s closing up because he’s never loved anyone who hasn’t left. But you’re worth it- you're worth the risk of shattering his heart.

“I love you so much, and I want to be with you, and if this- this is your deal-breaker, then I’ll stop.” You nod, and Yoongi reaches up to wipe away your tears with both of his thumbs. His hands rough from basketball, and the little scrapes on his palms, but still comforting in the way you can feel his intention in every touch. And leans his forehead against yours, you stretch your hand back to shut off the lights and kiss him in the darkness.

You’re glad your brother is saying late for work and leaving early because you can pull Yoongi through your dark apartment and into your room as long as you’re quiet. You kiss every bruise on his body from his cheekbone to his bruised knuckles, sitting over his lap in just a large white t-shirt. Your bareness pressed all to him and Yoongi touches you gently like he would a treasure.

Yoongi makes love to you and every stuttering movement of his hips is a swan song to anyone else he might love- because you’re it for him. His gentle hands smooth over your hips as you lose yourself among the covers, and his careful but firm touches.

He lets himself taste your skin, and luxuriate in the softness plucked delicately between his lips like the strings of an instrument, to suck your blood to the surface in a melody of red and pink. Gentle and slow and lingering like he’s letting you know that there is no rush for this like he’s staying like he’ll do anything you ask. He wants to be with you until you don’t want him anymore.

And you let him know you’ll always want him with every sigh, every bitten back moan of his name, and every scratch down his back that you want to mark him and keep him as yours as well. You let him know you’ll stay with every kiss from your red mouth a brand, and every sigh and keen a promise for the endless time left. You’re marked as well- even if he can’t see it you’re his and he’s yours, as sure and as permanent as the tattoo’s on his skin.

Yoongi cleans up his act. Talks to the gang and they let him quit as long as he agrees to still occasionally sell at college parties- and it’s enough for you. You move into Yoongi’s apartment much to the ire of your older brother, the semester after he graduates and a semester before you do.

And though it might be small it becomes your place, the place where your love takes full form and is stitched into every inch. You get a few plants and hang them by the windows and a small two-person table set into the wall where you have your meals together- Yoongi teaches you how to cook in your pajamas, a freshly-minted pop song crackly from the old Bluetooth speaker. You hang hooks for your coffee mugs underneath the cabinets to save some space.

Yoongi hasn’t had a family in years, his own parents and older brother disowned him when he left for Seoul to try his hand at music, and he only occasionally speaks to his brother on his birthday or Christmas.

He’s only been able to go to college and get a degree because of his own pure stubbornness and having good enough grades in high school and on the entrance exam to get a scholarship.

He’s only had himself to rely on for the last few years, and that changes almost overnight. He starts to build a family with you there, even if it’s just the two of you, you still are a family.

You’re the first person he sees when he wakes up in the morning, nestled into his chest all soft and delicate. You’re the first person he calls when he gets any sort of good news. The person he surprises with bulgogi on Friday afternoons just because.

At your graduation, Yoongi shouts and cheers you on, louder than any parent would, your brother laughing next to him. He may not approve of Yoongi entirely- but he respects Yoongi for how much he cares about you and how much he tries. Though the approval there might be tenuous, Yoongi makes it clear that he isn’t going anywhere.

You don’t mind the small bed in his apartment because you know you’d end up lying that close anyway. The large duvet spilling onto the floor as you curl up underneath it and pretend that you’re two bears in hibernation, chests and bones aligned all perfectly and comfortably, everything else outside of your little cave dangerous and frightening but it’s quiet and safe in each other's arms.

He gets you special tickets to a behind the scenes tour of a new drama that's coming out as your graduation present. And he holds your hand the entire tour, drinking in your wide-eyed enthusiasm the same way you do when you hear his music.

He gets a less dangerous job as a bartender at a club that the gang owns (because they’re still his friends even if they’re less close and see each other a little less. It’s not ideal but he’ll take what he can get until he manages to find a job where he can use his degree).

You finally meet Hoseok just after Christmas when Yoongi lets it slip that he doesn't have anyone to spend the new year with. And though he might be surprisingly upbeat there is the same darkness there that you recognize from when you met Yoongi, The kind that has little faith in the world but a whole lot of hope for change.

And Yoongi really thinks it's sweet- you treat Hoseok like you might a little brother even though he’s older than you by a few years. You make an effort to invite Hoseok out for dinner more often, and when Yoongi asks you say, “He seems a little too skinny, like no one’s taking care of him.”

Eventually, you convince him to stop dealing drugs as well, and Yoongi gets him a job working as a bartender soon after he gets the hang of it himself. And Yoongi spends most nights cleaning glasses with Hoseok endlessly flirting with any pretty girl who walks in the door. And Hoseok just laughs any time they try to flirt with Yoongi- because yeah he has someone waiting for him at home.

And then one random Tuesday he’s making jokes with a guy at the bar in an expensive suit jacket, and he realizes fate might just have it out for him- in a very good way.

It’s kind of his job to chat with the patrons when it’s not a DJ night. The booth in the corner sits and taunts Yoongi with the promise of someday- and Yoongi swears to himself that he will work his way into that booth one day, with sheer stubbornness and hard work.

He’s just joking around and kind of making fun of the guy when he gets on the topic of music and Yoongi says “You’re joking if you think that's a good song the kicks all wrong and the chorus has a wonky beat that just doesn't fit.”

The guy laughs and looks at Yoongi with sharp appraising eyes and says “I’m the one that produced that song boy” and then laughs some more when Yoongi freezes, flushing hard and stuttering out an apology. And holy fuck- this guy is basically what Yoongi’s dreamed of being since he was a teenager and first discovered his love for Music they talk more about it, and Yoongi tries not to be excited or drop his mixed tape or anything- he plays it cool as he can.

The next night he brings Yoongi the raw track on a drive and says, “I want to see how you’d alter it- try and impress me.” and Yoongi does, works on it day and night for a few weeks.

And you let him- come and stand by his desk and give him coffee when you get up to go to work just after he gets back (you’re only in between grad school and college now- but you’re working to save up money so that you don’t have to take out so many loans) and when you get back from your shift at a coffee shot you find him still hunched over his computer dead asleep, and sleepily tug him into bed for a few more hours sleep.

Yoongi hands over the finished track the next time he see’s the producer at the bar and he calls Yoongi the next day and offers him an internship. Yoongi thanks him for the opportunity profusely and promises him that he won’t disappoint. And when he gets off the phone he calls you- bugs you until you pick up and when you get home you jump and scream and dance around his small apartment. You both go to the convenience store and get a bottle of cheap wine and some melon ice pops and stay up after his shift to watch the sunrise.

And Yoongi can’t help but think that if you had never made him quit his job dealing drugs if he never started playing pick up games and met you- he never would have gotten the job and the bar and now he wouldn’t be here, on the precipice of everything he’d ever dreamed of.

well almost everything, because when he looks over at you, tipsy sitting against the window with a pillow under your butt grinning and tipping your shoulder sweetly into his- he thinks that being a producer is only half of what he wanted.

You make love on the floor of your bedroom- even though there’s the bed right next to you because your love is the kind that need not be confined to a single place (in Yoongi’s flowery words) even if he’s the one that ends up with rug burn on his knees later.

There are other conversations that happen in front of those windows, with kisses pressed to your lips in total darkness if it weren't for the neon lights. “do you think we should move?” “give it a few more weeks love,” he says, pressed between a kiss on your shoulder.

“you’ve been hired for over a year Yoongi- they’re gonna give you your own solo project any day now,” you snort. “is it weird that I can’t help but worry I'll be fired or something?” he holds onto you tighter.

You sooth him with a hand down his arm, your words velvet soft in the darkness, “no not at all- it’s just that the studio complained that a line of your sheet music got slipped into my rough draft last week, and maybe things like that wouldn't happen if we didn’t share the same desk.” a laugh shocks out of him “fuck we need a larger place.”

And then months later, when you’re thinking about moving, and Yoongi has his heart set on this one bedroom with small office space and a killer view over the river- expensive but still kinda tight. And you can’t help but think...you might need more than one room at one point in the future.

“did you ever think about having kids?” you ask, nervously drumming your fingers on the counter his hair curling against the nape of his neck. He’s been growing it longer recently, no longer does he get it done in the jagged undercut that he used to.

His sleep shirt is one of his old ones, no matter how big his paycheck has gotten Yoongi will always sleep in his threadbare basketball shorts and a washed-out tee. It’s almost like when he falls asleep he goes back to that same boy you first met years ago. With too many tattoos and not enough hope that his dreams would ever come true.

His eyes go wide over his cup of coffee, and he sets it down before he even takes a sip, mulling over your question for a moment before he answers “Only with you, why?”

Years later, after your screenplay gets picked up by a popular channel. when you’ve long left behind your tiny box of an apartment and traded in for an upgraded space closer to where both of you work. Yoongi is nominated (and wins) an award for a song he produced for an idol group.

You accompany him to an award show with his same tattooed arms around your waits, though the ink has faded a little bit. He still goes back to the same shop he used to though he pays now that he has enough money. Yoongi has even steered enough people (rappers and other producers) towards the shop that the tattoo artist can charge more and actually afford legitimate prescriptions no longer has to live through shady backroom deals.

A few more tattoos have been added, the first line of the first song he ever produced that made into onto an album, a little lightbulb for you, and more roses added to his chest. Lacing their way up his neck ending just below the date inked onto his neck- your anniversary.

And when he’s asked about you by reporters he introduces you as his muse. There is no small amount of fanfare for a well-known music producer and a screenwriter that's recently gained notoriety for her gang inspired drama. The bulbs of cameras flash, dizzying if it weren't for Yoongi’s steady arm around your waist.

“We’ve been together for years, and she’s always stood by me and encouraged me to be the best version of myself and follow my dreams. I know I wouldn’t be where I am if I didn’t have her which is why this award is as much for me as it is for her”

And the reporters clamor over themselves to ask you questions too asking you about the open ending of your book, if there is any hope for a sequel of your drama, and what the open ending meant. “I think the best thing about stories is that you get to wait and see how they end, so I won’t let anything particularly telling go before it’s time for you to see it,” you say, teasing even though everyone knows that none of the actors that starred in your drama have schedules for the next season- and are likely slated for a continuation even if your company hasn’t announced the sequel yet.

You and Yoongi take your seats to the side, but in the front row. During the award show, at the moment when the lights go low just before the idol group that Yoongi produces for starts to perform on stage, you and Yoongi tilt your faces together. And it feels like hello- like all of the time before that you’ve kissed in the dark when your lips meet.

The moments when you’ve both found each other in the darkness, met in the middle, to be nothing other than what you are. Both you and Yoongi are brought down to your barest forms, just two people in love and better for it. Stronger together than you are apart.

The lights go up, you and Yoongi clap harder than anyone in the stands as the starting notes fade in and the choreography starts as well, another song that Yoongi’s produced, one of many in the future

And maybe no one would know you’ve kissed if it weren't for your lipstick on his mouth.

#yoongi x reader #bts drabble #bts fanfic #bts mafia au #bts gang au #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan #bts scenario #bts reactions

8K notes · View notes

maybankiara · 4 years

Note

Some angsty Topper? Like Topper x Ex-Girlfriend? Idk I just love topper

LIGHT THEM ALL UP, KISS THEM GOODBYE

pairing: Topper Thornton x Reader

summary: The Thorntons invite your family over for dinner and considering their son is your ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend whom you haven’t spoken to since the breakup almost a year ago, you think there’s only one way the night could go down. Except you’re wrong.

word count: 4k

warnings: mild cursing

additional: heavy angst; i genuinely don’t know how this turned into an absolute monster but hey, i loved writing it.

requests are open

In retrospect, you should’ve told them something closer to the truth – but hey, hindsight is 20/20, right?

When your phone rings, you’re at the shopping mall with your friends on the mainland. It takes about twenty seconds of the phone call to ruin your entire day, all in an eight-word long sentence.

‘The Thorntons invited us over for dinner tonight.’

You’re told to wear something nice, and you tell your mother that she doesn’t need to worry about that. She asks if everything’s alright, and you lie through gritted teeth, saying you’re getting frustrated with being unable to find anything nice at the mall.

She buys it. You’re in the clear, at least with her. When you walk out of the changing room and your friends see your face, the only explanation you give them is, ‘My family is going over to Topper’s for dinner.’

They nod, sigh, gasp, and let you rage in silence for the rest of the trip as you wrap up sooner than planned, so you’d have enough time to get ready.

Mentally more so than physically, but somehow it’s almost the same thing.

It’s been almost a year since you broke up with Topper – or he broke up with you. You’re still not really clear on what happened, mostly because you decided to erase the whole thing out of your memory.

‘You okay?’ your best friend asks.

Wind blows into your hair as you’re on the boat for the island, and you know you’re going to need to wash it to get it all nice and prepped for the dinner.

You nod, because it’s half-true, and that’s enough. ‘I’m not too worried. It’s just one dinner.’

‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

‘Nah,’ you say, pulling a smile from somewhere. ‘I’m too tough for that.’

It appeases her enough so she doesn’t ask you any more questions, and you breathe out when she isn’t looking. The rest of your friends are chatting, and you join in from time to time, just enough so they wouldn’t question you again.

Nobody knows the whole story. Literally nobody, considering not even you and Topper know what happened.

One minute things were good, and the next you were screaming bloody murder at each other’s faces, and then never spoke again.

Truth be told, you don’t even know if you ever ended things. Topper just began dating Sarah Cameron sometime later, and you would hook up with both Kooks and Pogues at the keggers.

And now…

‘You sure you’re okay?’

You nod, smile again, and say that you are.

The more you say it, the more likely it is you’ll end up believing it.

Your friends drop you off at your house and you enter with three shopping bags, all filled with clothes that you somehow managed to like. You’re picky, usually – but as soon as your mom called about the dinner, you decided to go shopping for the best of the best.

‘Hello, Y/N!’ Your mother walks out of the conservatory, holding a book in her hand. ‘How was the trip?’

You raise the bags in response. ‘What’s the dress code?’

‘Casual fancy, I think. They weren’t specific.’

‘In that case, I got some stuff for tonight,’ you tell her. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

She smiles, earnestly, like she always does – she has no idea what’s going on in your head right now, but it’s not her fault. ‘I’m sure you’ll look great. Topper will be there, so you won’t be alone with the adults.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Since when is my brother considered an adult?’

‘Since he turned twenty-one, Y/N. Don’t be like that.’

Whatever, you think, because you thought at least you’d be able to count on your brother to keep you away from the Topper mess. Turns out that’s not the case, because your brother is a big boy now, swimming in the open waters, and it’s time for him to be thrown to the sharks.

There’s less than three hours until the dinner, so you hurry into the bathroom. You do all the preparations – shower, hair wash, blow drying (you make an attempt at a salon blowout except it really does not look like one) and prepping your skin for makeup.

‘Go light,’ your mother told you before you went to get ready.

It’s not like you’d go any other way – there’s no one to impress there.

So go with almost minimal makeup, just fixing up your blemishes, knowing it’s not worth suffering the heat with makeup on just for the Thorntons.

Just for Topper, your mind corrects, and you groan.

The dress you got for the occasion is a burgundy summer dress, made out of light material and loose below your waist, with short feathery sleeves and a modest cleavage that no one is going to give you shit about.

In it, you look and feel pretty.

A fleeting thought goes through your head; Is Topper going to care?

The car ride is quiet, but that’s the usual for your family. Your brother’s on his phone, texting someone; your dad’s dealing with business things on the passenger seat; and your mom is making sure you don’t crash as she drives.

It’s going to be a fun night.

As soon as you enter the Thornton mansion, memories begin to overflow your thoughts, and you have to blink them away. Topper’s father welcomes you and his expression softens when he sees you, and that’s how you realise that Topper hasn’t told his parents the truth, either.

A couple of liars – that’s what you were.

‘Hello,’ he says, ‘it’s lovely to see you all. Y/N, you look lovely.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Thornton.’

You smile at him and he smiles right back, leading you and your family into the dining hall. Did Topper tell them we remained friends, like I did? Your families were too interconnected to fall apart because of the two of you.

A couple of liars.

You’d know your way around here in your sleep.

The dining room, when you enter, is filled with chatter of Topper’s family and his siblings. There’s three Thornton children, and your ex-boyfriend is the middle one. His older brother is your brother’s age, and his sister is about ten years old. They’re all bringing food from the kitchen, and you’re assuming Topper’s the one maneuvering everything – he’s good at that.

You take a seat, and so does the rest of your family, and the Thorntons are as lovely hosts as ever. The polite chatter is keeping on and you’re smiling through the nervousness, ignoring the unease in the pit of your stomach, because you’re cool. You can stick through this.

And you manage to convince yourself of that – until Topper walks in, wearing a suit with the tie that you bought him for his seventeenth birthday, and his lands on you and everything just kind of…

It drifts away.

All you see is Topper. He’s standing at the doorway, frozen mid-step. His eyes are staring right into yours and your mind is replaying every single instance in which this has happened before – you see him right before your first kiss, before the first time you slept together, after you cried when your dad was in a car accident, after you consoled him when Rafe leashed out on him.

It all comes back in a single moment, and you inhale, sharply.

Topper looks away. The spell is broken.

It seems that nobody else has noticed what happened between the two of you, so the dinner continues as normal. You are sitting opposite Topper’s little sister and your brother is sitting opposite Topper’s older brother, and you don’t have to see Topper’s face throughout the whole dinner. Your parents make conversation, you smile and answer politely when asked; you know better than to let anyone know that you are deeply uncomfortable.

Thankfully, both your families consider themselves above the law, and you and Topper are allowed to drink despite being underage. You drink champagne, glass after glass, and out of the corner of you eye, you see him doing the same.

Where the fuck did we go wrong?

It’s been over an hour when the eating part of the dinner is finished. Topper’s sister miscalculated and the dessert she prepared is going to take longer, so the adults decide it’s time for chatter with alcohol.

It’s all good, until Topper’s father looks at you. ‘You don’t have to be with us, kids.’

You smile. ‘It’s all right, Mr. Thornton. I don’t mind.’

‘Oh, no need to be so polite, Y/N,’ your mother chimes in. ‘You don’t have to stay with us old people.’

‘Your mother is right!’ Topper’s mom says, grinning wide, alcohol already hitting her a little bit. She nudges the champagne bottle in your direction. ‘You kids go have fun.’

Your eyes meet your father’s, but you don’t find what you’re looking for – he’s not opposed to the idea. Your brother, on the other hand, seems a little bit bitter about you having the ability to go away, and he doesn’t even know how much you’d pay to be able to switch places with him.

Topper is the one who takes the champagne bottle. ‘Thanks, Mom. Tell us when the desert is ready, will you?’

Once this is arranged, Topper looks at you – he doesn’t say anything, not for a second, but you see the question in his eyes.

Are you okay with this?

You don’t say anything. He smiles at you, a charade for the families, and asks, ‘Shall we?’

‘Yes.’ You smile back.

It’s painful.

Topper’s sister follows the two of you to the upper floor, and you walk her to her room. She shuts the door in your faces – the classic Thornton behaviour. You chuckle, because this is far from the first time she’s done this to you, and then you stop yourself as soon as you become aware of what you’re doing.

‘Look—’

‘I don’t want to talk to you right now,’ you say.

Topper presses his lips together; you see him being on the verge of speaking up, but he doesn’t. He leads you to his room instead, gripping the champagne bottle in his hand.

You’re glad you’re the one carrying the glasses.

The moment you enter Topper’s room, closing the door behind you, is the moment the illusion you’d forced yourself to believe in shatters.

This is the place where you were in love.

Topper walks up to you and motions for you to hold the glasses upright. You do that, and he pours champagne in them. The bottle is almost full, but you have a feeling there is going to be nothing left in it by the time the two of you are called back down for dessert.

‘I didn’t have a choice,’ you tell him, without looking at him. ‘My mom just told me that we’re coming here.’

He doesn’t say anything. You raise your eyes to look at him, but he’s turned to you with his back, looking out of the window with a glass in his hands.

You feel awkward, out of place, and definitely somewhere you aren’t supposed to be.

The alcohol in you makes you chuckle; Topper turns around, looking at you with curiosity on his face.

‘Never thought I’d be back here.’ You motion to the room, but you mean the situation, and you feel like he knows. ‘Last time we were here—

‘Yeah,’ Topper cuts you off, ‘it wasn’t nice.’

Before you manage to think through your actions, you plop on the bed, sitting on your knees. Topper joins you, sitting right next to you, and you try to block away the memories you made on this exact bed.

You look at him and catch him looking at you. Your lips part and you’re almost about to say something, but it runs away from you.

Instead, you look at him, for the first time in almost a year.

His hair is a little longer, a little more loose and carefree. It’s blonder, too, and that’s from spending a lot of time in the sun. His cheekbones are more prominent, his jaw more chiselled, his lips fuller, his eyes bluer. He looks more grown up, less foolish, less likely to fuck you over.

You clear your throat. It’s not good to dwell on things that are no longer.

‘How’s you and Sarah?’

Topper holds your gaze for a second, then looks away, taking a big gulp out of his glass. ‘We broke up, over a month ago. Left me for a Pogue. Thought you’d heard.’

‘My friends know better than to talk about you.’

‘Wow. Nice.’

You’re the one who takes the big gulp, this time. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say that – but your mind is a little fuzzy, and all the things you’ve never said out loud are coming back up again against your will.

Maybe it’s the same for him. Maybe his mind, too, is going through the last time they were in this room together, trying to figure out what went wrong, trying to remember.

You finish the glass. Topper pours you another one, then does the same for himself.

‘Topper.’

‘Hm?’

It takes you a long second to shift in the bed so you’d be looking at him. You realise you don’t know what you’re about to say – it’s not your head saying it, it’s your heart, but you decide you’re beyond giving a fuck.

So you shrug and take a sip. ‘I’m sorry for being a shitty girlfriend.’

‘Don’t say that.’ He shakes his head, leaning against the head board. His shirt is wrinkled and the tie you got him looks a little off, but he looks exactly the way you remember him. ‘It wasn’t you who fucked it up.’

‘You’re wrong. I couldn’t – It was too much.’

His eyes hold your gaze again, and you feel the world slow down. You think of the screaming match and it’s the first time that you manage to recall what happened.

It hurts. It fucking hurts.

Topper chuckles, but it’s the dry kind, humourless. ‘No. I didn’t understand what I was doing. I thought I was doing all the things I was supposed to be doing, being caring and loving, and the only thing I was, was overprotective.’

You look at him, at notice that he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are glassy and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows, clearing his throat. ‘I kept doing things that weren’t okay and I blamed you when you thought they were too much. I accused you of – of things that I shouldn’t have seen as bad.’

‘Top, hey—’

‘Don’t, okay?’ He turns his head to you and the weight of his gaze is almost too much for you to bear. ‘I liked the idea of loving you, taking care of you, more than I was actually in love with you.’

You look away. His words echo in your head, and each time they do, it feels as if a part of your soul is being cut.

I liked the idea of loving you more than I was actually in love with you.

You feel sick, and it’s not the alcohol.

Time wears on and you don’t know if you’re getting more drunk, or if the tension between you two is going into an odd direction. It’s not uncomfortable, per se – it feels almost as if there’s something fundamentally wrong about the whole thing.

‘Fuck this, Topper. What the fuck were you thinking?’

He glances at you, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I keep fucking up. I didn’t even realise what I was doing.’

‘I was pissed off at you because you never listened to me when I said I was okay,’ you tell him, finally, for the first time. ‘I’d tell you that you don’t need to worry about me, but you’d go ahead and do it, and you’d tell me all those things, and I didn’t know how to react, and it got to the point where it was all too much to handle, and…and…Fuck, I don’t know anymore.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ve been trying to keep you from getting hurt and…’

You nod, chuckling, just as drily as he had before. ‘And you ended up being the one doing it.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck,’ you say again. You haven’t sworn this much in a long time, but it’s pouring out of you. ‘I couldn’t be with you because I thought you were too in love with me. Turns out you weren’t in love with me, at all.’

‘What?’

You glance at Topper, lazily, feeling the weight of the glass between your fingers. He looks a little hazy and it makes you smile; it makes you think of all the other memories you have of him looking hazy, and all of them fill your heart with warmth.

‘It’s okay,’ you reassure him. ‘I don’t think I would’ve let you love me, anyway. Even I couldn’t love myself back then.’

Topper stares at you for a long second, as if comprehending what you’ve just said. ‘No. No, Y/N, you’ve got it all wrong, and I have no idea where all this is coming from—’

‘Shh.’ You put a finger against his lips, giggling. ‘Stop talking. You’re going to ruin everything.’

Your fingers slips and Topper sighs, moving on the bed to be closer to you. You can smell his cologne – the fancy shit he’s always worn, the one that you loved the most.

‘What am I going to ruin?’

‘Everything,’ you whisper.

Topper shakes his head. ‘I already have.’

‘Not this moment. That’s still ours to take.’

‘You’re drunk,’ he states, and you laugh.

He leans his back against the headboard again and you’re the one who comes closer this time, leaning your head against his shoulder. It’s a gesture that’s as natural to you as breathing; his warmth feels as if it’s never gone away. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you steady, you close your eyes and pretend the last year never happened.

Topper’s fingers slither beneath the short sleeves, rubbing circles into the skin on your shoulder. ‘I never said I wasn’t in love with you, Y/N. I just thought it was a different thing.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ you murmur into his chest.

‘I do, because of Sarah. I treated her the same, until I realised I just liked how people saw me when I was with her. With you, it was a completely different thing. I preferred being alone with you, to being seen, but I overdid it. It’s – I regret it. Every day.’

‘You weren’t in love with me.’

‘I was,’ he says. ‘I am.’

You open your eyes, staring ahead of you. Your mind processes the words Topper’s just said – it can’t be real, right? You’ve spent the last year of your life believing he thought of you as his possession, as a trophy to be won, but somehow it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

His fingers are still rubbing circles on your skin, and it soothes you. It’s not possessive; he doesn’t make you look at him and tell him you heard what he said.

He doesn’t expect anything from you. Not anymore.

You empty your glass and put it away. Topper does the same, and you notice that you were right – the two of you have managed to finish that bottle of champagne.

When your hands reach for his, intertwining your fingers, it happens without a thought. It’s a mere instinct, based on years of confiding in the person you’re with, something that goes deeper than romantic love could. You’re best friends – you were, before you dated. You grew up together. You knew each other better than anyone else in the world.

And then, you ended up loving each other too much how to deal with that.

‘We were young,’ you say, quietly. Your thumb traces over his, and you feel how he doesn’t know how to react. ‘We were foolish. Dumb. We thought we had everything figured out.’

‘It fucked us up.’

You raise your head and shift backwards, so you could look at him. He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes, and you know there’s tears in yours, too. ‘We’re never going to have everything figured out.’

He just nods, waiting for you to continue.

You don’t even know what you’re going to say, but you still manage to find words. They come from a place you didn’t know existed – a place you thought you buried months ago.

‘We didn’t know how to love each other and we thought we did,’ you whisper. ‘We thought too much. Maybe if we don’t…’

‘I know myself,’ Topper says. His finger stop circling on your skin and instead hold you, safely. ‘I know the difference between the person I was when I fucked up and I know who I am now.’

‘Me, too.’

He smiles at you. You forgot how much you loved it when he’d smile at you, except this smile was sad – please, don’t make me plead.

Topper’s already confessed his feelings. You shouldn’t be thinking this way.

You lean into him again, letting your body react to his in all the ways that feel like home. ‘I couldn’t let myself be in love with you because I couldn’t figure out how you felt about me. I always felt like your possession.’

‘And I treated you like one. But that’s not me anymore.’

‘I know. I can tell.’

‘You can?’

‘Yeah.’ You smile in his chest, pulling his hand up to his abdomen, so you could see it. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, but you can’t ignore how right it feels. ‘I’m still in love with you, too, Top.’

You hear him breathe out; you feel his body relax underneath you.

‘Do you think we could not hurt each other again?’

‘I don’t know,’ you admit, ‘but we’ll never know, if we don’t try.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘I don’t know. I think I do.’

You shift away from Topper, fully separating from him for the first time since laying your head against his shoulder. You shudder at the lack of his warmth surrounding you, but you smile at his face – at the way he looks at you.

His lips are parted a little, and his cheeks are a little wet, and you remember the Topper you used to date would never allow himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone, not even you. Now, his eyes are glassy but full of excitement, of thrill, of all the same feelings that are in your chest, too.

Topper reaches for your cheek and you lean into his touch. It’s all too familiar, and all too new at once; you’re excited. It feels Right.

His thumb brushes the edge of your lips and he straightens his back, but he doesn’t move. He’s always been respectful – before, it was because it was expected of him. Now, it feels as if he understands it.

‘Let’s try not to break each other’s heart again,’ you say.

Topper nods, and smiles, but it’s cautious, as if he’s waiting for the moment to burst. ‘Are you sure?’

Instead of a response, you press your lips against his, and when he pulls you into his arms, against his chest, you feel at home again.

#outer banks #obx #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #obx fic #obx imagine #topper thornton #topper thornton imagine #topper thornon x reader #my fic #my imagine #requested #yourlocalauthor

242 notes · View notes

upcycleability · 3 years

Text

No, You Do Not Have To Reuse A Cloth Bag 171 Times to Equal a Plastic Bag

Some studies have shown that in order for a cloth bag to be as environmentally effective as a single-use plastic bag, the cloth bag would have to be used 171 times or more. But overall, thee studies are missing a lot of factors.

(image from Pixabay)

The two main studies I will be focusing on is a UK report from 2011, and a danish report from 2018. Both of these reports have a lot of good information in them, but they make a lot of assumptions that don’t seem to be based on fact, or else ignores potential alternatives.

More Than CO2 Emissions

When people spout this statistic, they make it seem like carbon emissions are the only thing that one has to deal with when it comes to the creation and disposal of a product. The second study showcased different scenarios such as ecotoxicity, but both studies leave one major thing out: plastic pollution.

Neither of these two studies, for some reason, mention plastic pollution and microplastics as a factor in determining the eco-friendliness of the alternative. This is strange to me, saying that we are currently living in a plastic crisis. Microplastics are found in fish, even those we buy at the grocery store. Plastic bags have even been found at the bottom of the ocean.

Paper Bags

The first study claimed that 40% of consumers reused plastic bags as a trash carrier before tossing them out. But they did not look at paper bags as something that people use as a trash carrier after use. Claiming that “Paper bags were assumed not to be reused as bin liners, as there was no evidence that they could successfully be reused for this purpose.“

While the US and UK might have different ways of going about things, I have seen hundreds of people in my life alone who use paper bags for this purpose. This includes various times in my dumpster diving adventures where I have seen paper bags and even cardboard boxes used as trash recepticles.

(Image from Pixabay)

The one thing I did not see, however, is recycled paper bags. While Denmark might not have recycled paper bags as commonplace, most locations that I have seen have paper bags made out of at lease some recycled materials. Walmart, Whole Foods, and even Cracker Barrel, Mcdonalds, and more are using paper bags made from post-consumer recycled paper here in the US.

So it would be interesting to know how low the eco footprint of a paper bag goes when accounting for post-consumer recycled materials, especially 100% post-consumer recycled content.

Conventional Cotton

Every single study that I have seen looked only at convential cotton tote bags bought new. They took into account the harvesting of the cotton, the production of cotton into a textile, and the shipping of the cotton tote bag from China to the US. They do not look at factors such as pollution from dying and bleaching the fabrics.

The 2018 Danish Report does look at Organic Cotton vs Conventional Cotton Vs a Jute Composit Bag. It shows that conventional cotton bags would have to be used 7100 times to mitigate the overall harm from the manufacturing of the bag. Neither of these studies take textile recycling or reuse of the cotton fabric into mind.

That study also shows that organic cotton is 3 times worse on all counts than conventional cotton, but only claims that this is because organic cotton has a 30% less yeild and isn’t as bundled together than cotton is. But the fact that organic cotton uses less pesticides and uses better land management processes overall is not factored in. I cannot grasp how this is estimated to be 3 times worse though, as that number seems to come out of nowhere.

(chart showing how many times someone needs to be reused to counteract their eco footprint, but it also ignores many factors, as explained in this post.)

It is almost as if they took the impact of cotton production and times that number by 3 and never bothered to explain why they did that. Especially because in the report itself, it says that:

“ As far as the carrier bag material is concerned, organic cotton provides environmentally pref-erable productionconditions by avoiding the use of fertilizers and pesticides, but with a lower yield. The lower production yield translates in overall higher environmental impacts connected to its production“

But that makes little sense unless you are ignoring vital factors, such as the dying process, which is far more sustainable and often isn’t dumped into rivers in poverty-stricken countries and villages.

What ignoring cotton vs organic cotton, else else can we find?

Alternatives to Conventional Cotton

The second study does look at jute bags made from 80% jute, 10% PP, and 10% cotton. The overall impacts of buying these bags new were only a tenth of conventional cotton production. This makes them a far better alternative, needing to be used only 23 times to begate the greenhouse gas emissions to produce it, and 870 times to eliminate their overall impact. But can we do better?

Reused bags

Go to just about any thrift shop and you can find tons of these reusable tote bags made from all kinds of materials. Pretty much all of them have been used at one time or another, and often as storage or for carrying groceries. As a result, their impact is already far lower.

Despite what these studies say, you do not have to buy a brand new tote bag. We have so many on the market already that buying a new virgin material bag would just be a waste.

Recycled fiber bags

Cotton can be recycled. Textile recycling plants are a thing, despite what these studies might have you believe. There are a ton of tote bags on the market right now that are made with 100% recycled cotton. As a result, these bags have a far lower environmental footprint, as factors such as the growing of the cotton, and even the dying process for the most part, is no longer part of the equation.

Upcycled Fabric

If you have a cotton t-shirt or button up shirt, etc, that you might have worn a few times and you might have worn once or twice more before donating, you can turn that into a tote bag. DIY tote bags have a far lower impact, and since you have used the clothes in the past and plan on using them for longer, it is a great way to reduce your impact to almost zero.

Upcycled reclaimed Fabric

(This is a tote bag that I sell on my etsy shop, Upcycleability)

This is what I do with my shop. I take clothing that people have thrown in the garbage, and use those textiles to create new projects, such as a tote bag. Since these are post-consumer textiles and salvaged from the landfill, their overall impact is basically zero. With the exception of something like shipping, or the electricity used by a sewing machine or a small iron.

Overall, there is a lot that we can do to lower the impact of the bags we use at grocery stores. Upcycled, recycled, and thrited tote bags are your best option. But whichever you choose, you can be happy with your choice that it will not be tossed out almost immediately and cause massive harm to sea turtles and ocean life.

Just make sure that you USE the bags and do not buy a ton of tote bags and never use them. That helps nobody, and actually harms the environment.

***

If you want to support me, check out my upcycled crafts and reclaimed crafting supplies on Upcycleability at Etsy

Also, you can check out the secondhand clothing that I have saved from the trash on my Poshmark!

29 notes · View notes

dailyaudiobible · 3 years

Text

08/30/2021 DAB Transcript

Job 34:1-36:33, 2 Corinthians 4:1-12, Ps 44:1-8, Proverbs 22:10-12

Today is the 30th day of August welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we keep moving forward, the next step forward together. And that will lead us into the New International Version, which is what we’re reading from this week and back into the book of Job. Today, Job chapters 34, 35, and 36.

Commentary:

Okay. So, proverbs today. “Drive out the mocker and out goes strife. Quarrels and insults are ended.” So, like, who wants to sign up for that - quarrels and insults are ended. That sounds fantastic, harmonious, even. Good, but the mocker has to be thrown out first. And so often our knee-jerk reaction can be something like, that could be okay. Gotta separate myself from the marker. I gotta get those people out of my life. I gotta diminish my interaction with those kind of people because quarrels…quarrels and insults will be ended and so will strife. What if we’re the mocker though? What if that's us? What if we personalize the proverb instead of making it about everybody else. What if we take wisdom on board in our own hearts - drive out the mocker and out goes strife. Mocker…mocker here is person who elevates themselves over somebody else and then looks down on somebody with scorn or contempt. And that's already in place in their heart before they even say a word. And, so, the things that come out of their mouth are quarrels and insults. And we probably can give ourselves a pass in some sort of way and go…well…that's not talking about me because I don't do that all the time. I just do that once in a while when I'm really mad. That…that would be true of everybody. Nobody is a mocker all the time, but we are definitely all capable of scorn and contempt. We are all capable of being a mocker and likely we have all been a mocker way too many times to admit. But if we’re personalizing this proverb, if we’re taking the wisdom and applying it to ourselves instead of everyone else then we realize we can't bring the mocker to the conversation. In fact, the mocker needs to be driven of us because if it is then also what departs with the mocker is strife, quarrels and insults. And we all want that. So, the wisdom then is, don’t be the mocker. So often all we’re doing is exposing our own insecurities and our own issues and inserting them out of our own brokenness and then strife in quarrels and insults become inevitable. And, so, as we…I mean we are so preciously near the end of another month, that tomorrow is the last day of the month so this is a really really good opportune time to mark what's being said in Proverbs, the wisdom being spoken to us because it's inviting us to examine our own postures and our own actions and our own words and we can participate in diminishing and destroying strife, quarrels and insults by paying close attention to our posture of heart and not being the one full of contempt and scorn, not being the mocker.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, we…we’ve just acknowledged that we are all capable of this and we have all been guilty of this, but it's never us all of the time. It's just a place that we can go to that wreaks havoc and mayhem on everything around us. We’re acknowledging that that's possible, that we have the potential to be the mocker, that we can instigate strife, quarrels and insults way more than we would be comfortable admitting, but we’re confessing. We’re all guilty. We all know what's being said here. And we all like it when the light is being shined out from us on everybody else and everything else is being exposed, but when it's a mirror and we have to look at ourselves in the face then we know we’re capable of all of this and we will not manage it without the presence of Your Holy Spirit to guide us. And that is always available but we are rarely as attentive as we should be and we get ourselves into all kinds of things that didn't need to happen. So, come Holy Spirit. Help us to see what it looks like to drive the mocker out of ourselves because then strife goes along with it and quarrels and insults are ended. Even the quarrels and insults we hurl at ourselves inside of our own mind, those can be diminished and destroyed as well if we stop mocking what You made in us. Help us Lord we have plenty of work to do. Come Holy Spirit and lead the way, we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the web address, that's where you find out what's going on around here. If you have the Daily Audio Bible app on one of your portable devices you can find your way around from there. There’s a little Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner that opens up a drawer that helps you navigate to places like the Community section where the Prayer Wall can be found, where different links to get connected can be found as well as the Daily Audio Bible Shop where there are resources that have been lovingly crafted over the years for the journey that we are on, this voyage across the year, this voyage through a year of our lives, the voyage that leads us through the entire Bible in a year. So, check out those resources for the journey.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage or if you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that is it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Today I want to pray for the woman who is having pain that's running all over her body and she said that she has two angels in her life I think her friend Kathy or…and her son. Let's pray. Our Father in heaven Lord please help this woman who has this awful pain that a lot of times we sit and ask, “God why?” And I think we're asking that right now but what I do ask is that You would be…You would miraculously take this pain away and help her to endure. And either way, help her to put her faith in You Jesus. We don't always understand our suffering, but You have said that all things work together for good for those who love You and those who are called to cling to Your purpose. So, I just ask that You would help her to ensure and put her faith and trust in You. And thank You for all that You've done. And help us all to put our faith and You through our trials and tribulations. In Jesus’ name I ask. Amen. We're praying for you, and I just ask that this pain goes away.

Hello, my DAB family this is Jamie in New Jersey standing on the word of God. This is my first time calling. I've been a listener for over a year I guess maybe longer I'm not sure, but I'm really blessed by this community. I'm blessed by the prayers. I'm pressed by testimonies. I'm blessed to be a part of this family and today I come to you humbly asking for prayer for myself, asking for prayer about the…the life I'm living. I'm incredibly lonely. You know, I am in love with a…with a woman who, you know, just really doesn't know what she wants out of life or what she wants out of our relationship, but I feel like God has called me to stand and to show her unconditional love and that's what I'm trying to do but it seems like she just pulls further and further away. She comes back but then pulls away again Lord. And it's painful, it's painful. I have other things going on in my life as well. And I have a son who has autism…has autism and I worry about his future. He's 22 years old now and I…and I thank God for all that he's given and thus far but, you know, I still worry. I have a 19-year-old daughter as well who you know is a very good child but doesn't get along with her mother and I pray for that relationship. But mostly I…I'm asking for your prayers to help me live the life that God wants me to live. Thank you all. I love you all. Thank you.

Hello DAB I just listened to the podcast of today and the prayer sessions at the end and I was really inspired by the lady who said sometimes you just have to forget about praying for yourself and, you know, praying for others. And I want to share with you only one of the stories that really inspired me to start praying for others. I have this friend, she…she's just rooted in her faith, and she is a lot of time inspiration to me and there was this faithful period where she was hoping on getting a smartphone because the pastor at their church was sharing some devotionals online and she really needed to…to read them. And, so, she was praying for God to open those to actually get a smart phone. And when she got the smart phone, I think two weeks later when she got out from the taxi, she noticed she had forgot the phone in the taxi. And there was a lady who is sitting just close by and immediately she noticed she has lost her phone in the taxi. She said, thank you Jesus. And surprisingly the lady who was seated by Axta…what do you thanking Jesus for. I think you should instant say oh God help me. She said, no, it was God who gave the telephone and if God wants it back then it's OK. 3 minutes later the taxi drove by…I mean left, dropped all the passengers and then came to her and said hey mam this is your phone. God works in mysterious way. Have a blessed day all.

Good morning this is Longing to be God's Delight in Pennsylvania and this morning I am lifting up the people of Kabul to be rescued from the Taliban, a roaring lion seeking to devour them. And they need a miracle to be free and safe in…in totally nightmare conditions. I am praying for those in flooding like Tennessee that they could be lifted from the mire and rescued. I'm praying for God to quench the fires in the West in the US and Canada and also, I believe Greece and Turkey and possibly Albania, I'm not sure. I pray for Haiti suffering from the storms and the earthquake and the gangs. Lord we need a miracle. There is no way that humans…humankind can rescue from all of this. And I'm praying for Cindy suffering from RSD, that God would give her a miracle of healing, pour His living water into her to quench the fire of her nerves, that He would change the way her brain and the messages of her nerves in the way the brain perceives them so that the pain would end and only You Lord can affect this. I pray and lift up all these things to You this morning in Jesus’ name for your mercy, love, and kindness. Amen.

Good morning or good evening or good afternoon DAB family wherever you may be listening in from. This is Anne from Arizona. I would like to say that I am smiling after hearing doctor John call in on August the 26th to share miracle number two about his eye. And I'm also really grateful for Ashley calling in and thanking us for praying as a family for her dad. God is great and He is greatly to be praised. Let's give thanks to Him. Let's lift Him up. Let's praise Him. Let's shout of His goodness and of His mercy and of His wonderful works because He is good, because He is able, because He will not leave us without, because if we trust Him, He will work out everything according to His will. It is so wonderful to hear and to rejoice with others after standing in prayer for them. It is so encouraging for the body of believers. So, we continue to pray for all those that are looking to hear from God. We continue to stand and to intercede for the body. Thank you DAB family. May you be blessed and may you have a wonderful day. And don't forget that God is working on your behalf. Amen.

1 note · View note

naturaldisasterfanfiction · 4 years

Text

35. Part 4

I’m just sat here thinking how I don’t deserve Robyn at all, the things she does, how she goes the extra mile to hold down her own people, her own family. She’s such a loving soul and honestly nobody actually sees that they see her as bossy, bitchy, overpowering. I mean a lot think she is a whore and she actually isn’t; yes she has shown her body off but that is because she is comfortable in her body, I am going to do right by her and try so hard to do everything I can with Aeko because she is looking to me to take charge and of course she is there to help me but she doesn’t deserve me to sit there and look to her, even now. She is warming up the milk for him “I was about to say, not the breast milk” Robyn snorted laughing with the carton of milk in hand “not the golden juice baby” I said, “it proved that you have been drinking it haven’t you?” I shrugged not denying or admitting to such act “is it nice?” Robyn asked “don’t play me, you have tried it too” she shook her head but I know she has “I cannot confirm or deny such an act” I grinned “you are nasty” she pointed at me “so before stores close, once he has drank this I want you to go with him, let him choose things but when it comes to getting a toy maybe hide it that you are” nodding my head “oh wait, I don’t have a car seat for him. I can’t?” Which I don’t “oh shit; erm” Robyn paused thinking “I think we got gifted a booster seat, it’s in the spare room in the house, the one where has all the stuff everywhere. Fenty is still getting things, but in there I know there is a booster seat” look at Robyn coming to save the day “erm, and what I want you to do is buy another while you are out there. I’m gonna call up and get a bodyguard, you need it when going further out into the city and also you got Aeko with you, and I’m gonna need which stores you’re going too” Robyn said, nodding my head “oh why?” I questioned “I’m gonna get Jen to call the paparazzi on you, shopping with your son” pulling a face at Robyn “just leave it to me, need to create a little drama. Because that bitch is gonna be post up somewhere else, he’s here. Let them start guessing” oh Robyn is trying to play dirty.

Getting off of the bar stool “you think he will like me?” I didn’t think Robyn would be stood here asking for approval of anyone, it shows she cares “he will, I think with Aeko he’s just shy and needs time but to see him looking at you smiling. I really think that bitch didn’t play your music, he doesn’t know who you are which is odd” Robyn held out the bottle to me “I like that I have met a man that doesn’t know me by being Rihanna but give it a few days. And then we can come with a plan together and stop this bottle business but it’s gonna be weird because I mean of course we are going to California, also I can’t wait for your mother to catch those pictures, she’s gonna hate that you’re alone with your son” Robyn sniggered “true but I want you to give it him, I’m just thinking it’s weird. We gonna have problems if he sees you breastfeeding and he wants the breast” Robyn laughed out “stop it” following behind Robyn “I can’t wait to have sex with you, like I’m getting to the point where I even find your feet sexual. I’m getting some foot fetish” Robyn turned to look at me all wide eyed “I think you need to stop giving me feet massages you’re getting a fetish now” I think she is right, looking down at Robyn booty which made me bite my bottom lip, I need it.

Walking into the room and everyone is ever so quiet, for once. Monica is here too “ba dad” why is my son got a pacifier too “ugh where you get that from?” I pointed “Penny did” sighing out “he helped himself, it was on the side” Jen said “leave it” Robyn intervened “I have it” he pointed at the milk “you say please now, and take that pacifier out bro. You don’t need that” I don’t like this at all “just let him, please Chris. Here” Jen shrugged as I made eye contact with her “yeah” he took the bottle from Robyn “sit down” Robyn said to me but I’m about to snatch that bottle and pacifier from him because what is this “I’m not the most cleverest person with bringing up kids but I know he’s too grown for that, what is happening!?” Sitting down on the couch “blame his mother Chris, what can I say. Just don’t want you to go hard on him, you need to wait it out. We can do this together, but she hasn’t weaned him off anything, she’s an ignorant bitch for doing this to him. I’m shocked he’s trained to go toilet?” She got a point “I don’t even think he is barely, he peed on the seat and I got annoyed” I am just annoyed “you need to watch him Chris, you really do. And I need you to be here with me for this also because I am not his parent and right now he is trying to get accustomed to me, I don’t want to be the person to tell him off. I want you to be the man to show him right from wrong, if he is peeing wrong, teach him Chris. Don’t just look at him and scold him, he is doing what he has been taught by the bitch that left him at our doorstep right, we are going to do this together. I just need you to be around until we are both on the same page with who I am and who he is to me. But I will be of course supporting you” Robyn is right, I can lose my temper quick with dumb shit “but I like that you are already picking up what is right and wrong, I like that you know at that age he shouldn’t drinking bottle of milk and having a pacifier but for now, let him ok? He is comforting himself” nodding my head not happy.

I find it amusing that we are watching PJ masks with him, like this shit is an interesting show “Christopher” Monica said my name, looking away from the TV “yes momma?” Robyn cooed out “yes momma? That is so cute” Robyn chuckled “just watching your boy, he seems so content with watching TV doesn’t he?” nodding my head “because I know she just lets him do that, just watch TV and that is it” shaking my head “doggy!” Aeko yelped out, Zeus has slowly made his way into the room, he looks so over it today “aye!” I spat, he is going to Fenty’ crib, he likes to check on her every time. He made his way over to me “I hate that you have left his tail so fluffy, you’re so ugly for that” Robyn said which made me laugh “he likes it, don’t you boy” patting his head “I play” Aeko ran over “you can, but I thought you drink your milk” looking over at the bottle that I can tell he threw but milk is slowly dripping from the bottle onto the couch, looking over at Aeko that is climbing on Zeus “no, don’t climb on him” reaching over and grabbing Aeko “go back there and pick up the bottle, you’re ruining the couch, go on” I said, Aeko went to go and clean his mess “you better run before he comes back” Aeko is looking to sit on my dog.

Aeko came back over to me placing the pacifier in his mouth again, he climbed onto my lap with his blankie in hand. Catching Monica staring at my son, I think she is questioning things and so am I “maybe you need to go and get his things, don’t you think. Before it gets late, take Jah with you. And the bodyguard should be here soon” Aeko turned to look at Robyn, he took his pacifier from out of his mouth and held it out to her “you don’t need this anyways, give it Robyn” he put it back in his mouth “out here taking pacifiers and shit” Robyn side eyed me “you got beautiful coloured hair Aeko” Robyn complimented and he grinned touching the top of his head, he is smiling so much the pacifier fell out from his mouth “my binkie bobyn, mine!” he grabbed it again “bobyn huh” I chuckled “you’re funny son, but ok. We shall go I guess, thank you though. Like how you are with everything, with me, even him” Robyn shook her head “Chris, I never blame the kids. He is so innocent in this, my heart aches to know he has been thrown to us like this, I am not upset or angry. I just want the best for us, for him, for our little family. Who am I to blame a child for the stupidity of his parent?” Robyn is too good “I love you” I mean it too.

Shaking the hand of the store assistant in Childsplay clothing “welcome Chris, we was aware that you were arriving so we closed the store for you” stepping and turning to Jah “yeah thank you, so” I breathed out “I am going to look around for Fenty too, but also Aeko and get some stuff” Jah said as he walked off, Dennis is with us filming of course “come on Aeko, let’s get some clothes. So we need pretty much everything, like everything so erm. Shall we start with pants yeah? Shall we get some big boys boxers like daddy” holding my head out, Aeko held my hand “follow me sir, we have a range you can choose from” following the assistant “I mean I am unsure of the size; he is four. He is skinny as shit, like me but he tall but I think maybe go for a bit bigger size?” looking behind me at Dennis “I am struggling, I don’t even know” I laughed saying to the camera “I think stick to the age, or get both age sizes and then he will grow into them” the assistant is right “we get you some big boys boxers, you a big boy now. Can’t be wearing no baby things” I am so angry that she did that, like what if he had a mishap, anything could happen.

My son is crazy funny “why do you want to wear a hat for? You like it” he nodded his head as I tied his shoes again, we have done nothing but try clothes on but I think we have the perfect size for him “is everything ok in there?” the assistant asked “yeah, you can come in” I said, getting up from my position. Picking Aeko up and placing him down “he likes the hat, just put it through for him” he won’t take the Fendi hat off now, I think because it has bunny ears, I don’t know why “that is ok, erm there is paparazzi outside if you aren’t aware, your bodyguard is loading the car as we speak. I didn’t think you would be buying so much” nodding my head pushing Aeko out “yeah, well we didn’t have anything at the home for him” steeping out of the changing rooms “I have picked out the perfect outfit for Fenty and Aeko, like they are matching cute” Jah has been shopping a lot “good, do you think I got everything I needed? I don’t want you to tell me and say we forgot something” I have bought a lot of clothes so I can’t be lacking “you been buying so have I, we are good” I know this is going to be a few bands all this clothing.

Robyn and this bright idea of paparazzi, she is clearly trying to play some game which I will play and I don’t mind “come on sir” the white guy said to me, some random bodyguard hired. Aeko didn’t even look to see if I was with him, he just walked out and the paparazzi didn’t do anything but take pictures upon pictures of Aeko and then me as I smiled at my son just waving “aye, come on. Get inside the car now” grabbing his arm “I can strap him in” Jah offered, lifting Aeko in the car “listen to Jahleel now” closing the car door “Chris! Are you happy that your son is with you? How is Rihanna” getting in the driver’s seat ignoring them “I just want to say Jah, thank you. Like y’all been so good to me, my son. Like the bond you all have is sweet, thank you” I feel the love a lot “that’s my bitch for life and also, you’re good to her, to us so who are we to be rude. You’re in the circle too, so is my ginger spice latte, hello” looking behind me laughing “ginger spice latte? It’s rather fitting but stop” I can say stop but he won’t stop for anyone, Jah will annoy you but he’s harmless “there we go friend, now shall we honestly get a ginger spice latte?” he ain’t getting shit.

“What are you staring at? You can’t just stand there and stare at me like I just slapped you, I am sorry but you can’t just sleep here and leave your son across the other side of the home, we didn’t have the time to do a whole change over that quick, we can soon but I am sorry Chris, you need to go and be with him” I am so sad, like I just don’t even want to think about the fact I can’t be in my own bed “I don’t like it” I mumbled “I am rather happy, I get the bed to myself, just me and Fenty living our best lives. No weird looks from her perverted dad” Robyn giggled; she is so happy about this “wow! Fucking wow, you’re actually happy about this, how can you be so happy” I am complaining “since my husband bought everything for Aeko but didn’t get him a toothbrush” I scoffed “he can use mine, it doesn’t matter” I knew I would forget something “he is a child, so now you can tomorrow go out when you go for your walk in the morning, he needs it. I made sure the room is ready for you. You need to be nice to him and cuddle him” rolling my eyes “I rather jerk off to you breastfeeding thanks” I stormed out.

I combed Aeko’ hair back “you going to say night night to everyone” Robyn told me to bring him down, also he asked for milk like he wasn’t just fed “I see baby” he asked, nodding my head “you can, I like your robe it’s cute, but come. Let’s go in the other room and see “Fenty” rubbing the back of my head walking out of the room, I helped Aeko get ready into his night clothes in the next room downstairs because all of the clothes are here and not upstairs right now. He ran off ahead of me not even knowing where he is going “in the room jack jack, pushing the door open” he was quick coming back to me “is he all ready for bed?” Jah said “ginger spiced latte, come to me boy” Aeko ran inside “ginger spiced latte!” Jen shouted and then laughed out “he looks rich as fuck, like he goes to a private English school, oh my god. He is the sweetest” Mel spat, Aeko got shy and hid behind me “y’all are just something else, but hey, look at Fenty mommy got there” I pointed, Robyn wanted to give him the gift “for being a big brother” moving to the side, Aeko is staring at Robyn but not sure what to do “look” he pointed ahead “for you, it’s a gift” he started giggling jumping up and down “for me!” he clapped “I go and get it?” nodding my head “and you say thank you and you give Robyn a hug too” I wonder if he will, Aeko shyly started walking over to Robyn “PJ mask daddy!” I mean I had to get him something he likes “that for me? Penny sleeping” Aeko looked at me “she is, go and get your toy then” he is so unsure, he doesn’t know if to get the toy or run “come on, you can take it” Robyn said “I kiss Penny” he pointed, he really likes Fenty a lot and I love to see it “of course, come here” Robyn waved him over and he was quick to move to her “you show love to baby sister” watching him kiss Fenty carefully but then got so shy with Robyn watching him “you are a cutie aren’t you” he just giggled, he’s really just caring for Fenty then the gift “I ain’t forget what you said before you stormed off, you are nasty as hell Chris” I shrugged not caring “but it’s not a lie and I am not ashamed either” Robyn giggled shaking her head at me “anyways, I am glad you are down there, Mel is gonna sleep in bed with me actually” looking behind me at Mel “don’t be jealous nigga” she put a finger up at me “mommy being mean to me, she won’t give me milk Aeko, tell her” I said laughing “you are nasty, shut up. Ignore him, he is not nice at all” Robyn is getting red for no reason, I mean I haven’t said much.

#Chrianna #chrianna ff #chriannaff #fanficton #fanfiction #fanfic

9 notes · View notes

sauntered-vaguely-downward · 5 years

Text

Swollen. Loki x Reader

Ask anyone to describe Loki and most would say something along the lines of cold, cunning, or wicked. If you asked Tony Stark the answer would quickly slip through his lips, without missing a beat.

“Evil,” he would spit, not caring to elaborate on that opinion.

Whoever it was you chose to ask, nobody would describe him as caring, or gentle. Which is why the events of this day brought a great deal of confusion but also warmth to Y/N’s life.

“I am so sorry Y/N!” Bucky called from behind as Steve and Thor supported Y/N’s bruised and battered body.

“Buck it’s fine, I promise,” she laughed, leaning into Thor as to avoid putting weight on her ankle.

Bucky and she had been sparing, nothing new there, it was something they had done a million times before. However, this time, she must have lost focus for only a second, which meant when Bucky came hurtling towards her she was by no stretch of the imagination prepared to be thrown across the room by him. As she landed she heard a small snap under her, and when she tried to stand it became very apparent by the pain searing through her left leg that something was not quite right.

“We’ll take you to Bruce, so he can x-ray you, see if anything is broken. If it is you are actually going to have to rest it Y/N,” Steve said sternly as he held her up with very little effort. “Not like when you broke your elbow and decided to go and train anyway even though you were told not to.”

“I was told to rest the arm, which I did in my defence. I was practising kickboxing, which would have been fine had I not slipped,” she laughed, earning a chuckle from both Thor and Bucky who was still following behind, feeling a little better about the situation now. Steve, however, was unimpressed but had no time to comment as they had finally reached Bruce’s lab.

Much to everyone's surprise, Loki was standing with Bruce, watching as the scientist jotted down notes on some paper. Hearing the footsteps behind them, the pair turned, both looking concerned as they saw Y/N being essentially carried in by the two men.

“What happened?” Loki asked quickly, noticing the slight twinge of pain in Y/N’s face as they tried to help her sit. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s probably nothing, Bucky just threw me off a little harder than expected earlier and I landed on my foot a bit awkwardly, and well it made a weird snap noise and those three think I need an x-ray even though I’m sure its nothing,” she smiled, watching as Bruce scurried around the room, rolling out an x-ray machine.

Looking around at the guys in the room she realised that Loki actually looked very concerned, and that concern grew, even more, when Bruce confirmed everyone's fear in this.

“You’ve fractured your third and fourth metatarsal,” Bruce sighed, going to the medical supply cupboard in the lab (they never used to have a whole cupboard for medical supplies, but as Tony became more adventurous with his plans, the injuries he sustained were usually a bit more than a bandaid could deal with). “It’s not the worst fracture but it is going to be painful and swell a lot. You’re going to have to stay off that foot for a few weeks too, rest it. Here, this boot will help you move around a bit but I’d prefer it if you stayed off it for as much as possible.”

“Seriously? We’re meant to be going on a mission tomorrow, I can’t miss it because of some stupid fracture.”

Turns out when Steve is in charge of the mission, she can miss out. Even though she had tried very hard to sneak into the car to help them with the mission, Steve had found her, picked her and her luggage up and took her back into the compound. Protest as she might, Steve decided to just tune her out before rushing back out to head off on the mission.

She would have usually run after him and the others but right now she was struggling to even stand.

“Ugh fuck this shit,” she cried as she struggled to walk to the kitchen. Yes, she was capable but damn it fucking hurt when she tried to walk. The boot clearly did not fit at the moment, her foot was too swollen for it to be comfortable.

She was very hungry and determined to get something to eat, but when she opened the cupboard she realised that anything she wanted to eat was out of reach, so she would have to go on a little climb in order to reach the snacks she wanted.

“Y/N!” Loki shouted as he saw her attempting to climb onto the worktop to reach the desired snack when he entered the kitchen. “Don’t do that, you stupid human! You’re meant to be resting,” without much thought for it he picked her up, from the counter and carried her back over to the sofas in the living room. Plonking her down on the sofa with a soft thud he removed the boot on her foot and took it with him as he went to retrieve the snack she had wanted. “Your foot is far too swollen to be in this.”

“Hey! Give me back my boot! I can’t walk without it!”

“Exactly! I was there yesterday, Bruce told you only to use it if it was really necessary, so until such a time I will keep hold of the boot and be your legs while you rest,” he huffed, bringing back the snacks along with some drinks.

“Why do you care? You're the god of lies and mischief, surely you of all people would understand that rules are made to broken,” she smirked.

“I care because it's you, Y/N you're the only person in this whole world I don’t despise, so I need you in the best condition,” he stated plainly, as though this was something she already knew.

“Didn’t realise that,” she muttered, a small blush creeping across her face. Loki had always been relatively pleasant to her, and thinking on it, in comparison to everyone else, she was the only person he was ever nice to. She hadn’t thought much about it until now, but the idea of being the only person he could tolerate was a rather wonderful feeling. “Thank you then, for tolerating me more than everyone else.”

“You’re easy to tolerate,” he smiled. “Now, seeing as you are meant to keep off the foot, and I believe everyone else has disappeared on a mission, I will be your legs until the swelling goes down and you're able to walk properly with the boot.”

Loki did just that. He became her legs while her foot was too swollen to fit into the boot. Everything she needed he brought to her, never leaving her side. He helped her shower (she wore her bikini so he could help), carried her to and from her bedroom, made her meals and drinks. Anything she needed, he was there to provide it.

In the few days that passed, Y/N and Loki spent all their time together. Loki would read to Y/N as while she laid in his lap. Y/N showed Loki the wonders the world had to offer through documentaries like Planet Earth.

When Y/N could finally walk again (still with the boot though), she found herself missing Loki. The time they had spent together had been unexpected, but wonderful. She found herself falling a little for the trickster god, and while she did not yet know it, he had felt the same for a very long time.

She decided to buy Loki a gift as a thank you for taking care of her. It wasn’t anything major, if she had the ability to go for a full day out shopping it would probably be better, but she knew he would love it none the less. It was an illustrated version of The Hobbit (a book in which Loki had begun reading while he was looking after her. She wrapped it neatly in a beautiful emerald wrapping paper before making her way to Loki’s room. Knocking, she was quickly met with a happy looking Loki on the other side of the door.

“Y/N,” he grinned, welcoming her in and urging her to take a seat. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I wanted to say thank you, for looking after me,” she smiled softly, handing him the green gift. “You didn’t have to look after me for as long as you did, you were so kind, I loved spending time with you, and I honestly can’t thank you enough so I got you a little something.”

Opening the gift, a wide grin spread across his face. His hands run over the cover, feeling the art beneath them.

“Y/N this is wonderful,” without really thinking, he leant down to give her a kiss, one which Y/N happily (a little surprised, however) responded too, her heart leaping in her chest when his hand softly held the side of her face. Pulling back, both had a soft blush on their cheeks, smiles wide across their faces.

“You liked it that much, huh?” She giggled.

“Very much,” he said, kissing her once more. “Perhaps I could read some more to you now?”

“I would love that.”

Neither were quite sure where this would go, but right now both were happy in each other's arms, Y/N listening as Loki read of lands far from their own.

#Loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fluff #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki odison x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #reader #reader insert

236 notes · View notes

munamania · 4 years

Text

day 1: love, actually, is all around

summary: will byers is stuck waiting for an available flight to go home on christmas eve. fortunately, he happens upon a cafe with a ridiculously cute barista. ie, a night of missing family, finding love in unlikely places, and hating asshole dads. what more could you ask for?

genre: coffee shop/college au, fluff

a/n: huge thanks to @frogfaceandzombieboy for organizing all of this, it’s been so fun and i’m excited to see how the week goes!

read it on ao3

Will kicks his feet as he trudges down a city street, bundled up in a parka and an extra long scarf that he’d attempted to knit himself years ago. His therapist at the time suggested he find a creative hobby to keep him busy during the dreary winter, and that sentiment turned into him churning out hats and scarves like nobody’s business. His mother, bless her heart, loved the matching set he made for her, even though threads poked out around her ears and the bottom of the scarf unraveled the first time she put it on. She had kissed his cheeks about a billion times and worn them every day (and year) following.

He misses her like crazy.

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style; in the air there’s a feeling of Christmas.

That’s for sure. He hums to himself, breathing in the crisp winter air that bludgeons his face. He stares up at the lights decorating streetlights and telephone poles. At least the city tried to make it cozy; but he longs to be home, decking the table with his brother and blasting cheesy music with his mom in the kitchen.

All of the streets he hikes are empty. It’s weird to populate a city by yourself, to exist alone on a night where families are gathered in prayer or laughing around a table, he thinks. It really kinda sucks to be alone.

He happens upon a sweet little cafe, population zero--well, except for the cutie cleaning up the dining room. The guy seems to be about Will’s age, and tall, with soft dark curls bouncing against his forehead as he hums to an upbeat Christmas song.

Will doesn’t mean to stare, but, well--he’s distracted. He hangs back in the door, making a desperate choice between leaving the guy alone to close and trying to talk to him. Or maybe he could just get something to help his freezing fingers.

Yeah, that’s all.

“In or out, kiddo?” the guy calls out, glancing up briefly from a coffee-stained table. And, god, he has the warmest, most stupidly charming brown eyes Will has ever seen.

“I--uh,” Will steps forward and lets the door shut behind him, then follows up intelligently with, “I’m eighteen, dude. Officially not a kid.”

Cute Guy stands up and stretches his back, then leans casually against his chair. “Aw, I guess I was thrown off by your height. Sorry.”

Will’s eyes blow wide, but he winds up smiling, a stupid blush visiting his cheeks. “Wow, your customer service is great.” The guy throws such a smiley look his way that he drops his defense. “Well, listen, I don’t wanna be that guy since you’re closing. It was nice meeting you, uh--”

“Mike,” he offers. “And it’s okay, I’d appreciate the company.”

Well, isn’t that the warm and fuzzy Christmas spirit? “Cool, uh, I can just hang out in here I guess. You don’t have to make anything.”

“Nonsense! What’s your order?” Mike drags his cleaning supplies behind the counter and leans himself up against the register, elbows on the counter.

Will takes a moment to scan the vast menu. “Uhh, large peppermint mocha latte with whipped cream, please?”

“Festive.” Mike’s eyebrows do a little dance as he punches the order in, long fingers tapping along the screen. Some of his nails are painted a spotty, sparkly dark green. “1.96, please.”

As Will digs through his pockets for change, he stares up at the menu, then back at Mike. “The--isn’t it, like, almost 3--?”

“If you’re willing to claim you’re a senior citizen, I’m willing to give you a discount.”

Will laughs a bit at that, laying the cash onto Mike’s open palm. “First I’m a child, now I have AARP? Make up your mind.”

“Dunno, I guess you’re quite the conundrum,” Mike chuckles. “Could I have a name for the order?”

“There’s no one else in here?”

The corner of Mike’s lips quirk up, and it’s, like, the hottest thing Will’s seen in a while. But who’s counting. “Could I have it anyway? For the system.”

And like, yeah, maybe Will’s stomach has about a million butterflies screwing up his insides, but he manages to sorta smirk back. “Will.”

“Aha! One less mystery.” Mike hands him a receipt and snags a cup from under the counter. “So, is there a reason you’re here on Christmas Eve? No family?”

Will leans himself against the counter, facing the front window, eyes stuck on the Christmas tree in the center square of town. He smiles wistfully. “No, I have a family. But my flight was delayed. Major winter storms ahead, or something stupid like that.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.” Whirring sounds out from the espresso machine between them. Behind him, Mike is waiting while the milk is heated. “Are your folks cool?”

“It’s my mom and my brother,” Will says quietly, closing his eyes tightly to prevent any tears. Right now, they’re probably starting dinner, and even though his mother’s cooking has never been the best, it’ll be amazing, because Christmas Eve was always special for them. Always. “But, yeah, I love them. Miss them a lot.”

Will hears pouring behind him as the machine slows down. “That’s great, man. Do you know when your flight is?”

“3:30 in the morning.”

“Ah, shit, you have a while to go, huh?” Will nods quietly. “I’ll keep you great company.”

Will smiles to himself. “And how come you’re stuck here? Don’t most places close early?”

“One would think,” Mike says snarkily, but there’s a smile caught in his voice. “Nah, they wanted to stay open ‘just in case,’ and I guess I didn’t really mind the idea of being here. I’m not going home.” He clears his throat. “However, it’s been incredibly lonely, at least ‘till you showed up. So, thanks William. And order up.”

Will furrows his brow a bit, but still smiles as he slides his drink across the counter and lets the scent burrow into his nose. A sweet mint with gentle hints of chocolate. His name written with a poorly drawn Santa hat next to it. The smile turns into a full-blown grin.

“Thanks.”

“I even gave you extra cream.” Mike presses his lips together. “Whipped—whipped cream.”

“Nice one,” Will chuckles, moving to take a seat at one of the tables seated close to the counter.

Mike wrinkles his nose at him teasingly, then grabs his rag and mop. “Alright, I’ll sit with you in a minute, but I want to finish this shit up.”

Will gestures greatly with his hand. “By all means.”

As Mike speed-cleans to the best of his ability, Will takes small sips of his drink, humming softly when he tastes it for the first time. Will tucks his feet up and under his knees and scrolls on his phone until his attention is pulled in the direction of Mike, gasping, arm thrown out wildly to his side.

“Oh, my god, this is iconic.” He pulls the mop back in and tilts it up as a microphone, exaggerating the beginning, “I… don’t want a lot for Christmas,” he dips himself back, scrunching his eyes shut, “there is just one thing I need.” Will giggles as he continues, slightly off-key but endearing, loud and excited. “I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree! I just want you for my own,” he sucks in a breath dramatically, and Will may or may not have his phone tucked between his knees, recording, “more than you could ever know. Make my wish come trueee, all I want for Christmas, iiiiiiiiiiis… you!” He points the end of his ‘mic’ at Will, and Will’s cheeks are burning a cherry red, but he pulls his phone up and shakes it tauntingly. “William!” The boy snatches forward, tripping over his own feet, but Will saves it before he can do anything, shrieking with laughter. “How very un-chill of you! That was a private serenade.”

“I won’t share it, I promise,” Will says, leaning back against his chair, putting on pouty eyes to the best of his ability while he gets over his giggles (especially hard with Mike so close, trying to snatch the phone from his hands). “Aw, c’mon, Mikey. Let me have it to remember you by.”

And, to Will’s surprise, Mike pulls back, narrowing his eyes, a small smile trapped in his cheeks. “Fine, fine, but no sharing it. I’m trusting you right now. I’m serious, Will,” he says, but he’s forcing back a laugh. “Don’t you dare.”

“Promise.”

“Good.” And he meets Will’s eye with a heart-melting smile before he continues to hum along rather obnoxiously.

It’s weird to him how easily he banters with Mike, how normal it feels to show this stranger his actual self. It’s like, somehow, a secret pull in the world led him to the guy’s doorstep on Christmas Eve, the softest holiday of them all, so that he could feel at home away from home.

Or something like that.

Once the song is over, Mike pushes his way through the counter doors, and he disappears to the back for a minute with the cleaning supplies. When he comes back, he throws off his apron, and then pulls up a chair across the table from Will.

And then he’s right in front of Will, staring at him with a stupid goofy grin, messy curls falling in his eyes, and jesus, he has freckles.

Mike leans forward on his forearms, grinning wildly under the soft cafe lamplight, and fuck he’s pretty. “The video not enough? You can take a picture too, since, you know, it’ll last longer.”

Will swats at the boy’s hand, stifling an embarrassed smile. “Shut up.”

Mike beams, smiling with his eyes, and he takes a sip of his own drink. “So, William, don’t you have any friends in town? Someone more exciting than yours truly?”

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone more exciting than--” Will stops himself, because Mike looks far too entertained; his eyebrows shoot up and he rests his chin on the flat of his palm. “Uh, everyone went home.”

“Hm.” Mike is way too pleased with himself, somehow still grinning behind the drink lid. “And no special friend going home with you to meet the family?”

Will rolls his eyes. “No, um, last year I had a stupid little high school boyfriend, but he—” Will gnaws at his lip, looking away from Mike. The boy tries to catch his eye with a sympathetic look, but he can’t meet it. “He left our little Christmas party early, and well, I found out around New Years that he—well, new year, new man, I guess.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “He cheated on you?” Will nods. “Oh, I could kick his ass. That’s so shitty. And during the holidays?” He shakes his head. “Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, but it’s—it’s pretty stupid, I guess, that I haven’t dated much since. It happens to a lot of people.” Will fidgets with his fingers in his lap, linking them together and twisting and tapping.

“Hey, it’s not stupid,” Mike says firmly, finally bringing Will’s gaze up. “That’s super fucking shitty on his part. But hey, the single life can be great! Lonely, sometimes, but it’s nice to know that you can live with yourself, you know?” He chuckles shortly and looks down. “Maybe that’s stupid.”

“No, I get what you mean.” Will smiles softly. “It is good. But yeah, lonely.”

“So lonely!”

Will chuckles, and Mike joins him, and then a comfortable silence settles around them. Briefly. “I guess, I guess just—even though I’m ready to move on, it feels hopeless. I can’t seem to find love anywhere.”

“It’s not hopeless, Will!” Mike exclaims, and Will unabashedly gazes at him, smiling at him with a raised eyebrow. “Why, I think, love actually is all around.” He meets Will’s gaze, gorgeous dark eyes sparkling under the gentle lights with childlike energy. After a moment, he throws his hands up and gestures toward the window. “Like, look outside. It’s amazingly festive out there. And people all across the city aren’t even here, because they’re with their families. But it’s still beautiful! And they’re beautiful! That’s love, right?”

Will nods, shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“And losers like us find each other all the time, and then we’re not so alone on Christmas Eve. Like, the universe has to be showing us love, right?” He says it so eagerly, looks at Will so hopefully, that if he were a much bolder person, he would kiss this handsome stranger. He would grab his cheeks and kiss him hard and hold on tight.

With too dopey of a smile to control, Will says, “I guess so.”

Mike shrugs. “I know you’re on board with this now, Will, you can’t fool me with your aloofness.”

“I can certainly try.”

Mike gasps, fake offended, and then Will is giggling and Mike joins him.

“So, what about you?”

“Huh?”

Will takes a sip of his drink and cups it in his hands. “Your family? Not going home?”

“Ah,” Mike smiles painfully down at the table. “My sister won’t be home, I don’t even know what’s going on with my mom, and I’m not going home to just my dad. No can do.”

“Your mom left?”

“No, well…” he glances around thoughtfully. “She isn’t living with him now that me and Nance are gone, which is good, but I think she’s having a rough time figuring out where to go, and…” he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think she’s safe right now, probably with my Nana, but I don’t know.”

Will’s heart hangs heavy in his chest, and he’s smacked with the realization as to why Mike was so gung-ho about the love thing. “That has to be really hard, Mike. I hope she’s okay.”

“Me too.”

“And your dad?”

Mike smiles. “An asshole.”

“Hey, mine too!”

Mike snickers into his drink. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

“Truly. Dads suck.” He chuckles under his breath. “But uh, how will you be spending Christmas?”

“Awh, are you concerned for me, William?”

Will squints. “I think that’s a generally polite question.”

“Mhm,” Mike purses his lips, “I’ll be hanging out with my roommate and some dorky Christmas movies, I think. Maybe go out and fall in love later in the day, get fucked up in the evening. Who knows?”

Will rolls his eyes. “Well, have fun.”

And for a while, it feels okay to be lonely with each other, sipping at festive drinks and giggling over stupid shared family problems, alone in their own cozy little world on Christmas Eve.

As the night winds down to a close, Will clears his throat. “Uh, hey, I have to get going. Make sure I’m at the airport on time.”

Mike glances at his watch, and Will thinks about how cute it is that he has a watch (and then how dumb that thought is) and with a quiet, “Shit,” Mike goes to turn on their ‘closed’ sign.

“Do you need a ride, or anything?” Mike seems a lot more nervous now, scratching the back of his neck and furrowing his brows at Will.

Will smiles at him teasingly. “I don’t take rides from strangers, thank you.”

“Fair enough. You’re a smart kid.”

“I’ve made it this far.”

They stand there for a moment, a bit more awkward than before, trying to anticipate each other’s next moves.

“Uh, hey,” Will says finally, digging something from his pockets. “Give me your hand.”

“In marriage?”

“Haha, nice try,” Will makes a ‘c’mere’ motion with his hands, and Mike sticks his arm out. Will scribbles his number down on his pale forearm. “Text me if you want the video.”

“Awh, that’s cute. He’s never heard of phone contacts,” Mike coos to an imaginary audience.

“Shut up,” Will grins, shoving the marker back in his pocket with a blush. “Now you won’t forget.”

“Oh, I promise, I will never forget you, Willy.”

Will wrinkles up his face and laughs. “Don’t ever call me that again.” He’s all too aware of the fact that he’s still clinging to Mike’s wrist with a few fingers, buzzing at the touch. “Bye, Mike. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Will.” Mike doesn’t move, and Will is stuck in his spot, gazing up at the boy, who smiles bashfully down at him. Then, Mike leans down into a dramatic bow and just barely ghosts his lips against Will’s knuckles. “Thanks for spending time with me, kind sir. And make sure you report me for the awful customer service.”

Will is stunned, and he wants to kiss this boy so badly.

He doesn’t.

He manages to move his jelly legs after a second, clicking his suitcase and pushing through the door, the bell sounding out through the somber restaurant. And then he’s laughing, waving goodbye, with an embarrassingly giddy, “Sure thing,” and he makes his way down the sidewalk, his face burning in the brutal breeze.

After he has boarded the plane, settled in his seat, answered his mother’s 100-plus texts about how everything is going and be safe’s and I love you’s, and queued up a movie to watch (or perhaps fall asleep to) on the way home, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Unknown: [ hey, u dont have to send me the video. But keep it to remember me ;) and lmk when u get back ]

Me: [ jan. 10th. And i hate u :p ]

Mikey: [ do u happen to be free on january 10th? Or the 11th, if that works better? I’d like to prove u wrong some more, if i may ]

Will grins down at the light of his phone, and he lets his head fall back against the seat, burying his face in his hands.

Me: [ i’ll see u on the 10th. Nerd. ]

Mikey: [ :D ]

#byelerholidaybash #frogfaceandzombieboy #byeler #byler #coffee shop au #fanfiction #fanfic #mine #stranger things #this is. incredibly cheesy i hope you guys enjoy!!#i have work tonight but i so look forward to seeing what everyone posted later #also srry if i wasn't supposed to tag you!!#idk if my tagging is working tbh lmao

52 notes · View notes

chuckling-chemist · 4 years

Text

Chapter ???

(I have become a slave to my own creative whims on this stupid crossover and need to scream into the void so just take this draft since it’s more comprehensible and easier to skip than a fuckload of bullet points. Look, I have a general plot now and its taking a real shape and I’m so mad)

Luxord (well, that’s what he was still intent on calling himself. Much like Xigbar he grew too attached to the name) sat himself down at the nearest plush blue barstool in the jazz lounge, card fiddling between his two fingers. How long had it been since he’d felt like this? He’d been a Nobody for so long, playing his part to a faceless master, watching the eternal servant to the Master of Masters...for how long? Don’t get Luxord wrong, there was a visceral enjoyment to running around Castle Oblivion while Xigbar continued to be none the wiser, but it felt good just to enjoy a gin and juice without dealing with muted emotions.

And, he reminded himself, no more bulky overcoat to keep himself safe from corruption. He had the choice to blend into his actual environment. Or, more likely, fit his aesthetic. Maroon sport jacket and tie, straight out of someone’s fantasy of Las Vegas. Something perfect for sitting in a lounge featuring a live band filled with people pointedly not infected with malaria, playing an actual jazz song. Couldn’t get that luxury back with those pirates, much as that world was his go-to in those days.

Then again, the drinks were cheaper. And, unlike now, he actually knew the generalities of Xigbar’s plan. If that black box didn’t contain whatever was left to return Xigbar’s master, it was at best a clever ruse to keep the other pieces of Xehanort busy while Xigbar put together the pieces to bring his true master back.

Well, you can’t win them all.

“Pretty abnormal to see a Brit come in here. They generally keep to the more touristy places up in the red light district,” the bartender said pleasantly. She was a pleasant looking woman, long dark hair braided down her back and large, round glasses behind brown eyes. Wearing an apron over what looked like a pantsuit.

Another boon: the bartenders are much cleaner now.

“Then again, nothing’s quite returned to normal yet after the whole Phantom Thief fiasco.”

Luxord raised an eyebrow suspiciously. He was a gambling man, after all. Kept his cards close. This was no exception. Phantom Thieves were not something that casually popped up. If nothing else, it was worth the inquiry.

His gaze swooped the lounge. In the back corner, secluded to themselves sat a young androgynous person in a dark blue cap and peacoat, so quiet as they tapped away on a laptop they might just disappear into the hazy blue of the wall had it not been for the singular empty glass on their table. Two patrons, a young stern woman with silver hair and an old man in a fedora, debated philosophy over a table littered in drinks. Two others, obviously tourists if their pallor skin indicated anything, in dark sunglasses played billiards. An empty lounge, mostly. Thank God for off days, or else he’d worry about Xigbar having ears somewhere. He shifted in his seat, letting him lean closer on the dark wood of the bar and asked, “Phantom Thief fiasco?”

“Did you not hear about it? A whole string of high profile celebrities and politicians, all confessing to various crimes because of some seventeen year old kid thinking he was changing the world. And, on top of that, this is the same kid who our former prime minister claimed assaulted him! A scrawny high schooler, calling himself a Phantom Thief! Can you believe?” She shook her head, holding back a laugh.

“And it made national news?” Luxord asked doubtfully.

Truth be told, in all the iterations of Japan he’s visited over the years - both in his stay with Organization XIII and before - he hasn’t been to this specific iteration for longer than his memory can adequately say. But matters like that he struggled to imagine the government wanting such a controversy getting out of its borders.

“Eh, you know how it goes. Kids on the internet go crazy for that anti-capitalism, vigilante rogue bullshit. Guess we’re lucky the Americans were still flipping out over some gorilla or else Twitter would’ve been an absolute nightmare that year.”

He flashed the bartender a smile, the kind that indicated he appreciated the conversation, but he also had a drink to attend to. “Quite.”

The song shifted from whatever upbeat tune they were playing to something more somber. The old man in the fedora was up at the bar now, asking for two more cocktails and giving a bit of trivia at the same time.

He took another sip of his gin, running through what he knew once more. First, Xigbar was not Xigbar. Luxord knew that from the start. No one pulls two Keyblade wielders, Dandelions no less, from the first war as Nobodies and manages to strip them of their memory of such without knowledge of such. He’s lucky Xehanort was apparently a bigger fool than Luxord initially took him for, or else that would’ve tipped him off right away. But, unlike Xehanort or Xigbar, Luxord never moved until he knew he had a good deal.

Second, while Xigbar likely had the box, and acquisition of said box wasn’t great news for Luxord, Xigbar would not ever be able to find the Book of Prophecies. Xigbar, Luxu, he was smart after all. He’d know the best place to hide something is right under the searcher’s nose, and would know it would be somewhere in Radiant Garden. But while he was focused on kissing Xehanort’s ass, he never once thought to check someone. And taking a book from a child, the one remaining totem of his home before Radiant Garden? From the good master’s ward, no less? Why, such would get him thrown out of the castle immediately.

(There were moments Luxord worried Xigbar knew who exactly carried around the Book of Prophecies like his lifeline around the castle, and grew concerned the reason why Xemnas was so willing to consider a teenager as his second in command was Xigbar’s own meddling. But, if such were the case, he likely would have done more to stop Saix and Axel’s Castle Oblivion Massacre. His long con worked out in the end albeit in an unexpected fashion: illusions work well for hiding what you’re holding.)

Third, and most worryingly of all, the damn Foretellers were back. Theoretically, this was a point directly in Xigbar’s court. He was a Foreteller after all, albeit not the leading Foreteller. And all of the Foretellers worked directly for their master. However, in the past, the Foretellers have been incapable of working together the second hardship arises. If fortune fell in his favor, history would merely repeat itself. If it didn’t, it could be tricky.

He finished his drink. If there was any time to check how his deck was stacked, now was as good a time as any.

He swooped the card into the sleeve of his jacket, exchanging it for a different card from a different deck and letting it drop onto the table.

The Fool.

He swooped up the card and planted it back into his sleeve. In any other world, he’d blow it off and draw again. For matters like this, drawing the Fool meant literally anything. The beginning of a journey, with roads and challenges yet uncovered. A non-answer and a sign his tarot cards had enough of his shit for the day. But he wasn’t in any other world. He was in a world ruled by cruel gods and the humans that chose to surmount them. In a jazz lounge where all the walls looked to be the same dreamlike, hazy blue. No, this was a person.

A thief, if his intuition had anything to say about it.

“Ma’am, one more question. If you will.”

The bartender strolled over with an inquisitive look and grabbed his drink, topping off the gin and juice.

Funny enough, Luxord used to hate gin. He acquired a taste for it, spending days at a time in Port Royal, downing gin and tonics to keep the mosquitos (and the malaria, fuck that malaria) away.

“The supposed Phantom Thief high schooler. Do you know their name?”

The bartender frowned. “Can’t say I recall it, no. His lawyer fought hard to keep it out of the press. But if you want to talk to her, she’s right over there.” She pointed behind him, back to the table where the heated debate sounded like bickering. “Nijima. Absolute beast in the courtroom. Can’t believe she turned to defense.”

“And the man with her?”

“Sakura. He runs a tiny hole in the wall coffee shop down the way. Leblanc, I think? Named after a French painter, I think. Been there once or twice, but coffee’s not really my thing, you know?” She shrugged helplessly. “Anyway, they’ve come in together every now and then and end up arguing politics every time. You think he’s trying to get with her? Cause that’s what I’ve been thinking.”

Luxord fought back the urge to snort. He was too dignified for that. “Not the way they’re arguing. You said she was a defense attorney, yes? Probably just helping her blow off steam.”

“Eh, I think if he wanted to do that, he’d make her free coffee. I don’t know much about Sakura, but he pours a damn good cup of coffee.”

“Hm.” He pulled out his card from before and threaded it between his fingers. Old habits die hard, after all, and cards were an ancient habit of his. “Do you think he plays cards?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hell if I know. You’ll have to go to Leblanc yourself and ask him yourself.”

Approaching someone like Nijima for the name of a particular Phantom Thief wouldn’t yield results. Not if she was unwilling to name him for the media firestorm. However, if she’s getting drunk on the regular with this Sakura man, he might know. Might even tell Luxord, if he’s lucky. “I think I will, thank you.”

The bartender grinned. “No problem! Hope you enjoy your game!”

He grinned. The game was on. “I believe I will.”

#fanfiction #kh #luxord #kingdom hearts #persona #brylis dumb kh megacrossover #look LOOK i know this only has persona in it right now but that's because he's in persona world #it'd be a fucking kh crossover you think i'd limit myself to just one world?#also i liked to imagine the band went from playing whims of fate #to something like white host green room #y-you know #from the homestuck soundtracks

2 notes · View notes

diningpageantry · 5 years

Text

Classrooms

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/47113153

Chapter 11/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2305

Chapter Summary: The secrecy of Simon and Baz's relationship gets taken down a peg, and surprisingly, it's voluntary.

~~~~~~~~~~

I take the steps slowly, counting each little splinter cracking through the wooden steps as I climb upwards.

The English department is on the top floor. It’s usually quite hot, as Baz complains, and when it’s windy, you hear a bit of a whistle by the windows as they tremble along.

It’s a rarity that I get to make the trip up here. As the days close onto the spring break, I find myself more than often cooped up in my tiny broom-closet of a workspace, trying frantically to gather admissions information--approvals, rejections, waitlists, ecetera ecetera. I can feel myself going slightly more off kilter with each records email I send off, and at times, I feel myself regretting the decision to stay at this job for God knows how much longer.

The days that I get to visit Baz before nighttime, though, are the days that I feel reassured in never leaving, so long as I’ve got him to see.

Days like today. Like when a teacher down the hall from his room asked for a referral letter form. They’re days where I can slip into his room and spend a few, fleeting seconds in his presence.

It’s starting to feel like a game. How long can we snog in secrecy before someone pops their head in and outs us to everyone else.

So far, we’re fine.

Mostly.

There was one time I was giving him a quick kiss by the loo when someone turned a corner and shocked us, but I think it may have looked like I was going in to sock him rather than snog him. Which, given our history, wouldn’t be too shocking.

But his classroom is safe.

And warm.

And bright.

I can see the sunshine it through the window as I knock on the heavy oak door, hearing his voice hum a sharp “Come in”, figuring I’m some random unexpected company (and he’s never quite the biggest fan of unexpected).

Regardless, his face switched from a bitter scowl to a soft, almost smile as I step through the threshold and grin over at his desk. “Just… popping in. Figured company would do you well.”

I still myself as he stands, swiftly stepping over and closing the door behind us before subtly dropping a hand to my waist. “Didn’t know you were coming,” he says, voice treading on sweet as we step out of the hallway’s line of sight, pressed up against a wall. I raise myself up, pecking his lips once.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” I murmur, watching his eyes fall shut as I kiss him again.

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly as I raise my hands up to hold them. I feel his hands ease and snake around my hips, nudging me closer. “Mmm. And for who should I thank for dragging you up here?”

I shrug. “Mr. Elsecs needed something printed, and you know he’s shit with technology,” I drop my mouth to his jaw, planting kisses along his skin. “Plus, my little hellhole was getting boring.”

His skin vibrates as he chuckles, and I smile against it. “You know, you can bring your laptop up and camp out here if you don’t feel like sitting in that frankly concerning room. I’m sure it breaks six health code violations with the moldy patch on your ceiling--”

I cut him short, pressing our lips together and dragging back quickly. “As lovely as it sounds, I’m not really sure if that’s the best idea.”

“What, Davy will stick his nose in it, will he?”

“What? No!”

“Then what’s the issue?”

I pause, words catching in my throat. It’s much more complicated than that. For me, it isn’t a quick shift--for me to slip out of my room during closed office hours and sit in a recognizable space for longer than a quick visit, hoping nobody pries the door open and god forbid I’m holding my boyfriend’s hand.

This is different than staying up here. This is a quick peck and a hello--that is like signing my own warrant.

The idea of outing ourselves by just cohabiting a space without reason is jarring enough to make me want to cry.

“I’m not ready yet,” I mumble, letting my hands drop. They smooth over his shirt, pressing the hanging fabric over his long torso and watching it fold at my fingertips. He let me pick the colour this morning. It’s dark blue-ish green, like his eyes.

His face falters, then stiffens. “It isn’t coming out--”

“We both know it practically is.” My voice goes stern, wavering slightly as I fixate on his top button. “I know it isn’t saying anything, but…”

“But it’s easing into it,” he finishes. His hands are still weighing against me, suddenly feeling like they’re pulling me down. I squirm, listening to him speak. “I know. I know it is. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I--”

“Because nobody will say anything,” he whispers. I feel his left hand raise, then settle around my jaw. “I doubt there’ll be much of an issue with it being public, and even then, nobody will have the bollocks to say shit. They’re all too stuffed and old fashioned to say anything to our faces.”

My eyes fall shut, his voice melting and swirling into my line of thought and making me drunk on his words briefly before I snap back, nudging myself away from him and standing upright. “I don’t want to come out because I’m not ready,” I say, eyes pushing back open and looking at him dead on. “I don’t--I’m not--fuck.”

“Simon…”

“Don’t.” I exhale. “Don’t say my name all proper and expect that I’ve got myself all patched up and peachy.”

“Then what do you want, Snow?”

“Time,” I shrug, then look at our feet. “Reasurrance. Fucking hell, I don’t even have a support network. Penny doesn’t even know.”

He purses his lips, and I feel everything going on through his head, and right now, it doesn’t feel too sweet.

Because I know what he’s been through. I know he’s been out since before he even knew how to drive a car, and he’s been doing this his whole life. The whole “Out and proud” shit. Looking people in the eyes and telling them he’s queer without a moment’s hesitation. Without the worry of their response, because he’s worked it up enough for it not to matter.

But for me, it matters.

It matters a whole fucking lot.

And I know he knows that, but he doesn’t really know. He hasn’t felt the sudden, jarring shift when he thought he had shit worked out and suddenly, bam! You’re snogging a bloke and liking it and fucking hell, it’s overwhelming.

“It’s overwhelming,” I whisper, trying to step back into his space. He hesitates, hands up and ghosting over my sides, but not resting. “I don’t know how to bring myself to just… say it.”

“Do you want to say it?” he asks, sounding so, so simple. “Do you want to tell Bunce?”

“Of course I do.” My voice drops, brushing down to the point where it’s nearly silent as my gaze follows to my own hands and wrists. I should just grab Baz’s. “She’s the first person that should know, you know? She’s the sort of person who’d be good to tell…”

His head nods, and we’re close enough for his hair to brush into my face. I instinctively reach up, tucking it behind his ears as his brows quirk. “Then tell her,” he murmurs. “It’ll make it easier.”

“Will it?”

“Yes,” he says pointedly. “Makes it a little less for you to complain about, then.”

I huff, and he smiles.

“I tease because I care,” he adds.

“Then fuck off and stop caring.”

“Never,” he says, and it feels like he means it, so I seal it with a kiss.

Then pull myself back a minute or so later, exhaling as I check my phone. Dinner starts in about half an hour.

Maybe he’s right (like he happens to be, sometimes). (Usually.) (Much more often than I’ll ever admit.) I should just tell her--waltz right into her room, swing the doors open, and say “Penny, I like blokes!”

“I need to do something before dinner,” I say softly, watching him follow my gaze onto my mobile’s screen. I raise my head back up, and he follows. “See you down there?”

His mouth pushes into an almost smile, chest deflating slowly. “Stare at each other across the room. Got it.”

I shift, then shrug. “Do you want to eat at home tonight, then?”

He thinks briefly as his hand rubs my arm, watching me slip my phone back into my pocket. “When’s the last time either of us went shopping?”

I think. “Last Wednesday...?”

“Exactly.” He pecks my cheek. “The fridge is practically barren.”

I find myself smiling. He likes kissing this one mole right there--I think it gets more love than my mouth, sometimes. “Fine. We can go shopping, then cook at home?”

“You’re a dangerous hungry shopper, Snow.”

“Well you’re being difficult.”

He stares back, raising a brow as if to emphasize that he’s right before I sigh.

“Oh fuck you. Fine. Compromise--I’ll grab a bite to eat at the dining room, and I’ll meet you back in the room so we can shop. Deal?”

“Deal.” He pushes himself off the wall, adjusting the tuck of his shirt so it’s nice and flat.

He lets me peck his lips before heading back to his desk, settling in to wrap up for the day. I steal a last look before stepping out of the room and sighing under my breath.

Penny’s room is on the other side of the hall and a few doors down, right next to the water fountains. Outside the door hangs a petition for a “Gender Studies” course, asking for signatures. It makes me a bit sad, given she’s had it up for weeks and only has about five or six signatures, but it’s the thought that counts.

I stand there for a moment, looking over the door handle, then into her classroom. Her decorations are astronomically different than Baz’s--comfortable. Plush couch in the back for relaxing, posters, soft fairy lights decorating the walls. Mostly what you expect for a mid-twenties woman, but I suspect the majority of the straight teenage boys passing through this room think it’s tacky.

I inhale slowly, then knock, hearing her chair swivel and the clack of her flats on the floor before the door is thrown open. She looks up at me curiously, and I feel the wave of pre-fear hit me. Fucking hell--she’s just Penny. “Hey,” I manage out.

“Hey,” she says back, opening her door further. “What’s wrong, Si?”

I step past her, exhaling slowly and studying the patterns on her carpet. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly.”

She circles around, raising her brows at me before looking around. “Do you wanna sit…?”

“I think I’m fine,” I shrug, finally looking at her right on. I don’t really know what I’m going to say. I hadn’t really planned out much beyond getting here and…

Nope, that’s it.

This. Where we are now.

So I guess this is the part I say it. I just push it out, as gracefully as I can.

“Simon--”

“I’m into blokes,” I say quickly, shocking myself a bit. It spills out faster than it does in my head, making me suck in a breath afterwards and wait for it to settle as she blinks up, then breaks into a smile.

Then laughs, leaving me a bit confused.

“What--”

“That’s what you have to say?” she giggles. “Jesus, Simon, you looked like you had just heard there’s a bounty out for your bloody head when you’d knocked.”

“I… well…”

She calms a bit, a smile still across her face as she goes to let me finish. Instead, I just shift, struggling to find my voice.

“It isn’t just that, really,” I get quieter, swallowing. “It’s… it’s just that… well… you see…”

“What? Do you fancy Mr. Bitch, or something?”

Ah. Shit.

I laugh, and it comes out more awkward than I’d originally intended. Her face drops immediately.

“Holy--” she stops herself, blinking. “You fancy him?”

“A bit more than fancy,” I say quietly. “He--we…”

She stops me, snorting. “Are you two…?”

I nod slowly, eyes closing as I exhale. I shouldn’t have told her--it was dumb of me to think I could just pull a full 180 and assume she might respond a bit more cheerfully than this. I was dumb. So fucking dumb--

“How did--I mean. Fuck. Are you happy? Is he at least nice when you’re--”

“What?!” I blink, looking up. “No, yeah. He is. Surprisingly, I guess. He’s, uh. He’s different when it’s just him and I, and… yeah. No. I’m happy. Really bloody happy.”

I feel myself blushing, watching her stare over me like I’m spewing some alien shit before she grabs my hand, squeezing it once.

“You can blink once if you’re saying this under gunpoint,” she whispers in what sounds like it’s a joke. I think.

I laugh at it regardless, starting to smile as it eases off. Okay. Not a terrible reaction. “I’m not. Penny, I actually like him.”

“Promise?”

I’m grinning as I nod. “Look, I can prove it. Come over later tonight. We’re making dinner at our place after we shop, and I’ll tell him you’re stopping in.”

She eyes me up curiously, and for a second I think that if she could do the eyebrow thing Baz does, then she’d be doing it right now. “Alright,” she says slowly, nodding. “Okay. Yes. Will do.”

I grin, then squeeze her hand back. “Trust me,” I say softly. “He’s still a little bitch sometimes, but a decent bloke to be around.”

“If you say so...”