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#I can still picture it so vividly watching him walk away down the street

cupofteaguk · 3 years

Text

switching my positions

summary: Fresh out of college, Min Yoongi makes a name for himself amongst his online fanbase as an artist who writes about the ins and outs of falling in love. But when he is signed to a record label, his producer insists that he reveal a public romantic relationship to weed off any potential scandals or dangerous assumptions about the source of his love songs. So who else should Yoongi turn to, but you: his manager—but more than that, his best friend and secret crush.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: solo artist!yoongi, manager!y/n, fake dating au, friends to lovers au | fluff/angst

warnings: yoongi starts off as a musician on youtube but it’s not really highlighted for most of the story, kim seokjin is a Hot Music Executive who’ll take good care of his favorite boy, jungkook gets promoted from a cameraman to a bodyguard and i love to see it <3, nayeon + hoseok cameo as radio show hosts BECAUSE THIS STORY HAS SO MANY CHARACTERS I’M SORRY, IU shows up as a ~superstar~ because i love her so much, it’s a slow burn fic what can i say, mutual pining, actually an idiots to lovers plot tbh ????, recreational alcohol consumption, POV switches occasionally but i try to make it as obvious as possible as to what is going on, mentions of insecurity, there’s angst BUT IT’S A HAPPY ENDING !!!

word count: 40.1k

a/n: big big thank you to @gukyi for being my fic consultant for this story! she encouraged me and believed in this story more than I ever could (and contributed like 50% of the foundation that made this fic into what it is), and also reminded me that yes this is a fic so no it doesn’t require one hundred percent accuracy to the music industry despite every discord message i sent her falling somewhere along the lines of “how realistic is this scenario…” she was a very big support for this fic, and this story wouldn’t have existed without her!!

and regarding the word count… my hand slipped. I’ve clowned this fic a lot over the past month but I am really happy that this is done and so so excited for you all to read it. Pls enjoy!!!!!!! Xx

CHAPTER 1: THE DISCOVERY

You’re late.

Yoongi lets you know that much as you have to shove your way through a rather large crowd of people to reach him. When he turns away from his keyboard to glance down at you, your chest is heaving and your knees are bent in order for your hands to rest upon your thighs. There’s a plastic bag curled on your arm, the hard plastic of CD cases reflecting off the street lamps.

“Sorry, sorry!” You breathe out, giving yourself a few more seconds to catch your breath. Nothing more, nothing less, because there is a crowd of people around you, currently staring you down, counting down the seconds until the clock struck 8:00—but many people wondering just who were you to shove your way towards the front. “The printer wasn’t working, and do you realize how difficult it is to get your stupid picture into these cases?”

Yoongi scoffs, walking towards you and holding both his hands out. “Don’t call them stupid, you took the picture,” He hisses, taking the plastic bag from you and rummaging through the many CDs you had to make for him last minute. After ensuring that everything he had asked for is in this very bag, he softens up. “But thanks for getting these done for me.”

You finally are able to straighten up into a full standing position. “Not my fault you underestimated how many of your wonderful fans were going to show up.”

Yoongi reaches over and presses his index finger straight into your forehead for that comment. The force knocks you back a few steps, and Yoongi takes your few seconds of distractions to pull a phone out of his pocket. “Just go off to the side, dummy, my show starts soon.”

“Fine, fine,” You tease back, easy smile, but your hand goes up to take the phone from him. “Break a leg, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi gives you a playful glare but he turns away from you to line up his CDs along the now-table next to his set. As soon as he starts placing CDs atop the surface, a small line of people step from the crowd—pointing to the CDs and holding out a stack of cash. Yoongi nods, takes the money, and hands over the CD. This happens a few more times before the line of people have died down. Yoongi looks over at the significantly less amount of cases at his table, and looks over at you, where he flashes a thumbs up.

As Yoongi steps up to his keyboard and microphone, the crowd around him starts to cheer. The claps echo through the gathering of people, enough to draw the attention of passersby who crane their heads to see who has attracted so many listeners.

Yoongi’s fingers curl around the microphone. “Hey guys, thank you all for coming out today.”

The crowd claps back in acknowledgement, a few of them giving their own shy nods and waves towards Yoongi—gestures that the boy responds with his own nods and gummy smiles.

His attention returns back to the next set of words he’ll speak into the microphone. “I got a couple covers and original songs for tonight, all requested by you guys—so let’s have some fun today.” His voice is deep, raspy and gentle, croaks slightly along the edges, but a perfect reflection of the soothing nature he brings to his audience.

And you are attune to every single second of it. Of course you are. You blend into the crowd but really your responsibilities for Yoongi lie far beyond just packaging CDs for him and dashing through hoards of people at the last fucking second to make your delivery. You further prove this further by logging into his phone and clicking into the first background music he’s produced for today’s show. Using the music as a guide, Yoongi starts to sing. His fingers dance across the keyboard to bring an extra sound to his performance—to give it that extra live element that his fans love.

You know that Yoongi has added these additional things over the months because he adores his fanbase and would likely do anything and everything he could to give them the best experience he could offer. After all, they’ve propelled him to this very spot—his own little corner of the bustling city streets amongst all the bars, shops, universities, street food stalls, and cafes.

As the music continues from one song to the next, and Yoongi shifts his focus from singing to rapping to the in betweens, you see his passion. You hear it in his voice, in the way his lines string together where it seems like the boy doesn’t require oxygen anymore. Months of these live shows, even longer years to get here—and the people around him only continue to watch him in awe. Just like he’s done since the beginning.

Min Yoongi started off his music career on Youtube, where he uploaded music covers with his own special beat thrown into the mix. Yoongi enjoyed music arrangement (still does), and used his videos as an opportunity to explore that hobby and share it with people who could also enjoy it. And enjoy it people did, as viewers started pouring in and his fanbase grew in the form of positive comments and increasing subscribers. From some videos, Yoongi had always teased the idea of original songs he had written in various notebooks that expressed the wide range of his emotions—overall all the trials and tribulations of growing up: the notion of love in all its forms. Normally, there was always a fear of an audience losing interest at the prospect of original songs, especially coming from someone who previously arranged already popular #1 hits.

But that never happened with Min Yoongi. His songwriting abilities became part of his brand—became his entire brand. Yoongi always wrote out love to be more than sappy pop songs or tragic heartbreak. He established himself as someone who seemed to speak from the mind of every single person he came into contact with. At least, that’s what his comment section claims.

In the beginning of his Youtube career, you found Yoongi’s online persona unusual and amusing to say the least, but it was always clouded with an air of sweetness and sensibility. After all, you had known him about a year before Youtube was even an option for him to pursue. The pair of you met in a general ed college class—big lecture halls and voices getting lost in the background as the professors’ voice boomed through speaker systems. Yoongi had asked to borrow a pencil, and the pair of you spent the rest of the class making side-handed comments about the lecture material. You sat next to each other for the rest of the semester and have been friends ever since.

So it’s not like Yoongi’s core characteristics have ever been anything other than caring, thoughtful, or loyal—he’s just never been outwardly expressive about those emotions. But Youtube changed everything: it’s made him a more vocal person, more open about his feelings as well as his need to share those feelings with the world.

The world responded positively—wrote in the comments that they would love to hear some of his original songs, that he had already provided just a small taste of his talent and left them an insatiable desire for more.

As soon as you and Yoongi graduated, his commitment to Youtube increased tenfold. With the previous obligations of assignments, papers, and research internships out of the way, it left more time for writing, for filming, for editing, for sharing. As his work levels increased, so did his subscribers. And so did the attention.

You’ll never forget the day his followers suggested live street performances in one of Yoongi’s neighboring cities—a city street more specifically that was famous for taking in street performances of all origins and talents, a place for him to show off his freestyling on a keyboard and finally meet his fans firsthand. The idea caught on so quickly and vividly that Yoongi was immediately attracted to the idea. He held his first performance just a few months ago, as a thank you present for reaching one million subscribers. If you had trouble materializing Yoongi’s musical success before, the first live performance and meet and greet Yoongi hosted did well to eradicate all those thoughts.

Hundreds of people showed up—standing alongside the shops, restaurants, food vendors, and cafes that already lined the streets, everyone intersecting to meet the artist who made them feel heard.

You still remember that day very vividly. Yoongi had been so nervous that day, had worked so hard to put together the perfect set for his fans. Obviously, though, he had nothing to worry about. Soon, one show turned into two, and just like the request for live performances and meet and greets, the question of monetary compensation became a topic of discussion amongst Yoongi’s fans. That’s where the question of albums came into play: a singular place for Yoongi to put his covers and original place—and charge money for it as well!

As per the request, eventually you and Yoongi decided that exclusive covers and original songs would be part of his album as a way to open up different modes of access rather than take away an individual’s general (free of charge) chance to view Yoongi’s content and just simply support without having to spend money. The introduction of his albums has been a very recent development, something added into Yoongi’s live performances after the tenth show and usually always sold out by the end of any aforementioned show. From what you’ve been able to see as of now, the albums have been a good addition.

In terms of Yoongi’s current career, you acknowledge that it has always been you and Yoongi—him staying up late for last minute song-writing sessions or recording or arranging a specific set of chords he had been holding off for weeks, or you arranging the time and date of his live shows and fulfilling requests to put songs on CDs and figure out how to market those in an era of streaming services. And if there’s anyone who knows that he has what it takes to get big—it’s you. After all, you would do anything for him. As you would have done from the moment you met him.

An hour later—after twenty songs and a swaying crowd around him singing along—the last song fades out and Yoongi pulls back from the microphone to catch his breath. Everyone else around him seems to hold onto their own, before Yoongi pulls himself back towards the mic to utter his last words for the night: “Thanks for coming out you guys. I really, really appreciate it.”

In the midst of the claps and cheers, Yoongi smiles towards the audience, turns around to address the circle of crowd that has formed around him.

As some of the crowd begins to disperse and some begin to linger for a potential meet and greet, Yoongi hastily remembers to return back to his mic for one last word to his audience. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!”

You smile to yourself as members of the crowd acknowledge his thanks with thanks of their own. As you watch Yoongi start disassembling his equipment for the night, you simply stand where you’ve stood for the past hour, allowing the crowd to simmer past you towards their next destination for the time. You pocket Yoongi’s phone into your coat, waiting for a few minutes, before you slip around towards the front of the crowd. There, a boy stands in front of a tripod, and his fingers dance around to unclip his camera from the standee.

“You get the whole thing, Jungkook?” You ask with the tilt of your head.

Jungkook whirls towards you, bright eyes full of excitement as he holds the camera with both his hands now. He utters your name. “Oh shit, yeah I did. We’ll get to see how Yoongi’s mic set up works.” He taps to the cord that connects the mic on Yoongi’s clothes and on his piano into the camera.

You perk up at the sight of new technology. “Oooh, going fancy with us, I see JK. Very future.”

Jungkook’s grin widens, as it always does when talking about cameras and filmography. “Yes. Future…” He stretches out the word with the exact dips, curls, and croaks the way Squidward does in that one Spongebob episode, which makes you laugh. Jungkook clicks through the video of Yoongi’s set that he’s just recorded, before he clicks the screen off and lowers the camera. “It’ll probably be better if I wait until we get back to look through the footage. I’m sure Yoongi is anxious to get back too…” He looks up towards where Yoongi is supposed to be standing a few feet away, but the younger boy trails off. “Hey, look over there.” He jerks his chin towards Yoongi. “Some guy is talking to him. Do you know him?”

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion—none of your college friends had texted saying they were going to come by and listen in on Yoongi’s set—you crane your own neck towards the direction Jungkook is gesturing to. Up ahead, Yoongi is indeed talking to some guy that you don’t recognize so of course it would peak your curiosity.

It’s a feeling that increases tenfold when Yoongi looks up, seems to find you from his search, and points across the space right at you. There’s even something in his eyes that beg you to walk over to him. This makes your frown deepen, because what the hell is this about?

Min Yoongi doesn’t allow for too much vocal expression that doesn’t involve the assistance of a keyboard or a music arrangement, but he speaks into the microphone without thinking. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!” His smile widens as the crowd responds with the claps and cheers of their own—all responding to him and communicating with him. This is it, this is what makes coming out to do these shows all worth it. Obviously there’s a thrill he gets from being in front of a camera and another thrill from uploading a video that people can access from all over the world. But to see the faces of the people who have left positive comments underneath those aforementioned videos… now that’s a completely different kind of feeling he didn’t think he would enjoy so much.

So Yoongi steps away from the mic to put away his equipment for the day. He only gets so far as to open the case for his microphone and mic holder before he’s hearing his name behind him. Turning around, he is faced with a few unfamiliar and a few familiar fans that are asking him for pictures and a short conversation. He indulges them, of course he does, and he signs a few albums while he’s at it.

It’s like you always teased him about: he really is a softie for his fans.

The fan interactions only last for a few minutes, before another voice comes in—it’s a deeper voice and radiates so much confidence and presence that it actually halts the next fan from trying to finish a conversation with Yoongi. All gazes turn towards the source of the voice: it’s a tall man with broad shoulders, pointy boots and a long coat that drapes down, hands stuffed into the pocket of that very coat. He looks like a model.

The man gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but I need to request a chat with Mr. Min and am in a bit of a hurry. Do you mind if I cut in for a moment?”

The fan gives a weak smile. “N-No problem.”

Yoongi gives his own small smile. “Sorry about that. Oh, here.” He quickly makes a grab for the CD in her hesitant hands, signing his name across the sleek surface. “Thanks for coming by. Have a good rest of the night.”

Her smile brightens. “Thank you so much!” With a quick little bow, she runs off towards her friends.

This leaves Yoongi alone with the stranger. “What can I help you with?”

The stranger extends his arm. “Mr. Min, I’m Kim Seokjin. I’m a music executive. Nice to meet you.”

Music executive. These two words pique Yoongi’s interest. Just enough. “Wow, uh, nice to meet you sir.” Yoongi can’t help but lower his head slightly in a small bow as he returns Kim Seokjin’s handshake.

Seokjin waves him off. “Oh, no need to be so formal Mr. Min. I just thought that I should finally come by to introduce myself. I’ve been following your Youtube channel for awhile and think that you’re extremely talented, very capable to be a recording artist, in fact.”

Yoongi blinks in surprise, completely taken aback by the direction of this conversation. When he came out for his show today, having a conversation with a whole ass music executive hadn’t been on the list of things he was expecting. Of course, it was always a dream of his to be a recording artist. But he thought something like that would always just remain a dream. “T-Thank you.”

Seokjin continues. “Honestly, this is the third live performance of yours that I attended. Artists like you who radiate lots of passion and dedication both through the screen and on a stage are pretty rare. But your confidence and presence is quite admirable.”

At that, Yoongi can’t help but laugh a little. He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t call this a stage, Mr. Kim, it’s just a small street corner.”

Seokjin laughs. “Fair enough—but you treat this little street corner like a stage and I find that cool. It appears that that’s what a lot of your fans think as well.” He pauses. “Mr. Min,” He starts up again after a moment. “Have you ever considered becoming a recording artist? Signing with a music label, releasing music and being able to reach millions of people? Having concerts in venues all over the world?”

At the question, Yoongi utters a scoff of disbelief. “I have,” He acknowledges after a few minutes. “Having this youtube channel and these street performances is amazing…”

“Of course,” Seokjin replies with a nod.

“But sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to do more than that. So, to answer your question, I have thought about it before. Many times, in fact.”

Seokjin nods again. “What if I told you that I was interested in signing you, Mr. Min?”

Yoongi stares at that, stares and stares with unblinking eyes, one hundred percent of his attention on the man standing in front of him—waiting for the signs, waiting to see the laugh or the glint that gives away his prankster tendencies. But none of those things come. Seokjin just stares right back, challenging him to question him and agree to his claim.

But Yoongi is younger, more naive, so of course he falls for it. “Why would you want to sign me?”

Seokjin grins. “Mr. Min, I like to think I’m pretty good at spotting talented people who have a fully fledged career ahead of them—which is something my gut is telling me that you can do. And don’t worry, it’s not just the gut feeling I have. Like I mentioned, I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few months and I’ve seen the numbers and the turn out. You clearly have what it takes to bring fans in, keep them, and create events that’ll drive their attention—and I want to help you make an opportunity out of that.”

Yoongi hears the words of the older man, he really does, but he still cannot help the feeling of his head spinning at all the positive things Kim Seokjin says to him. Not only that he believes Yoongi has what it takes to make it, but that Yoongi has the concrete numbers to back that up. He is offering Yoongi an opportunity—an opportunity that seemed much too big for his youtube channel to birth, an opportunity that he had always just written off as nothing more than a dream. Yet for Seokjin to say that it could be more than that? And for all of this to happen on a normal performance night?

Was Yoongi about to faint right now or what.

Seokjin takes in Yoongi’s stunned silence and smiles. “I understand that this could be a lot to take in. No worries. I have a card for you to take—so call me when you make up your mind, alright?” He rummages into the pocket of his coat before producing a business card. The name KSJ RECORDS is printed on the surface, shiny lettering in sleek font.

Yoongi takes it wordlessly.

“By the way, do you have a manager?” Seokjin asks. “You can have them reach out to me if that’ll make it easier.”

Yoongi stays quiet for a moment. He doesn’t have a manager; he never really saw the need for one if his schedule was as simple as it was. After all, it was more than enough for him to handle with you—!

His mind explodes, as if someone had just plugged it into an outlet. His gaze flickers to you, where he sees you now standing just a few feet away next to Jungkook. You’re already staring back at him, but your head tilts slightly as if you could read his internal struggle. Before Yoongi can even figure why he’s looking at you, his body seems to act on its own. His arm raises, finger pointing straight at you. “She’s over there.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, seeming to read something in his gaze that even Yoongi couldn’t figure out. Still, you walk over to them. “What’s going on?”

Seokjin acts first, turning towards you and giving you a nod in greeting. “Hi there, I’m Kim Seokjin. Yoongi says you’re his manager, is that correct?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question because you definitely were not Yoongi’s manager. He knows that you know this. You give Yoongi another look, and his eyes widen at you, poorly attempting to transmit a singular message: please.

You understand immediately, of course you do (you’re his best friend), as you turn back to look at Seokjin. “I am, it’s nice to meet you.”

The pair of you shake hands. “I was just telling Mr. Min over there that I was interested in signing him to my company. I’m a music executive for KSJ records, and think that he would make a great addition to the team.”

It takes you a second to process the news, but you do so quicker and much more graceful than Yoongi could ever hope to do. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” You turn to look at him, bright-eyed. “Yoongi, that’s amazing!”

“He hasn’t made a decision yet,” Seokjin continues to explain. “I don’t blame him, it’s a lot to process. I just told him that he could have you call me once he made up his mind. Then, contracts could be drawn up.” He pauses for a moment, then seems to scramble on something when you don’t say anything immediately. “Of course, you would remain his manager. I’m sure that he’s gotten as far as he has with your help. I would want you part of Mr. Min’s team regardless.” Seokjin composes himself quickly afterwards. “Like I said, take some time to come to a decision and let me know. Let me give you my card as well.” He mirrors his previous movement at Yoongi towards you now until you have his business card between your fingers.

“W-Well,” You start, lowering the card and offering up your hand. “Thank you so much for coming by, Mr. Kim. We’ll be sure to send you a response soon.”

Seokjin takes your hand carefully, giving it a firm shake. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He turns to Yoongi. “And I hope we’ll be able to work together, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi blinks, but he snaps himself out long enough to return Seokjin’s handshake. “Y-Yes…” He replies, still feeling completely starstruck by what the fuck this encounter had just been. “T-Thank you for stopping by…” He trails off. He stays quiet as he watches Seokjin give one last departing word before he’s turning around and making his way down the street of the city.

When he regains some of his attention back, he turns to find that you’re already staring at him with an unreadable expression across your face. “Let’s head back,” You say at least, holding up the business card. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“No way,” Jungkook utters, completely shocked as he practically throws himself onto the couch in the living room. His camera equipment has been set down near the door, too much exhaustion present in its owner for the trudge back into his room. “You got casted today? That’s incredible, hyung!”

“I-I didn’t even realize what was going on,” Yoongi grumbles back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I still wonder if that moment even happened or if I conjured it up in a strange fever dream.”

You raise your hand slightly. “I was there. Can confirm that it was real.” You dig the business card out of your pocket and stare down at it.

Jungkook hikes himself deeper into the couch as he turns on his phone to start scrolling. “I gotta know who this guy is. Kim Seokjin you said? Of KSJ records?”

“Yeah, KSJ records,” Yoongi replies, looking down at his own business card. “He seemed pretty legit.”

A whistle from Jungkook confirms that. “Yeah, he’s definitely real. And look at that!” Jungkook turns the phone over to expose the photographs of Seokjin. “Used to be a singer as well. I bet he knows a lot about the industry.”

Yoongi nods. “He did seem nice.”

“So, does that mean you’re planning to meet up with him? Get signed and all that jazz?”

“All that jazz?” Yoongi echoes, but he shakes his head before he could go off on that tangent. “But honestly? Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I really do love youtube and do want to continue that, but I just feel like there’s more for me to explore with the right connections.”

Jungkook grins. “Wow, I can’t believe my roommate is gonna be famous.” He says the last word with a bite of curl in his tone, flashing a teasing smile when Yoongi merely glares in embarrassment. Jungkook’s eyes flicker further back towards where you are standing in the apartment, calling your name to get your attention. “What do you think of the idea, Miss. Manager?”

You perk up at that. “Before I get into my answer—when did I suddenly become your manager? I don’t remember us ever having that conversation.” You’re situated in the kitchen, drumming one hand on the counter and using the other hand to stir some last night boxed mac and cheese.

Yoongi coughs at your observation, sinking himself further down into the couch. “I didn’t want Seokjin to think I was an idiot or something for not having a manager. But when I do officially make up my mind…” He angles his head to stare over at you. “You’ll do it for me, right? You’ll actually be my manager?”

You frown, hesitant. “You’re serious about asking me? I don’t know anything about being a manager though.”

Yoongi almost pouts at that, sitting up so he can whirl around completely on the couch to face you. “But you know me and my music career almost better than anyone! And you graduated with a business degree, what do you mean you don’t know anything about being a manager?”

You flush hotly at that. “It was just a general business degree, Yoongi, it seems like what you need to make it big is a legit artist manager! Someone who will actually know how to schedule your tour dates or keep up with your public image and know exactly how to market you to the general public. You really want me doing that for you?”

Yoongi gaps at that. “Okay, but who’s the one who literally schedules my street performances and helps me with editing my videos?”

“Jungkook does some of the editing too,” You grumble underneath your breath.

“Yah! Stop selling yourself short!” Yoongi interjects, pointing at you accusingly. He does, however, lower his finger long enough to turn and address his roommate. “Not that you don’t help out with any of the editing, Jungkook…”

Jungkook waves him off. “I know where my talents lie.”

Yoongi turns back to you. “Besides, Seokjin acknowledged that you and I basically come as a packaged deal. He saw that you were working just as hard to get me my gigs.”

You give him a one-shouldered shrug, the hesitation still laced in your tone. “I don’t know Yoongi. I just don’t want to fuck up and jeopardize your shot.”

Yoongi’s attention is one hundred percent focused on you now, so much so that he has made his way into the kitchen and has come so close that he can switch off the stove that held the macaroni and cheese. “Hey, listen, the only reason I’ve even been given a shot was thanks to you. You work just as hard as me to keep my channel up and running—and you already have another job on the side, so you don’t have to do anything for me. But you do.” He plants both his hands on your shoulders and twists you around. “Would you be my manager? Please? I seriously don’t trust anyone else enough to do this for me.”

You sigh, staring down Yoongi as tensely as he’s staring you down. He sees the flicker of continuing hesitation in your eyes, and responds with just tightening his grip on your shoulders—trying to convey as much pleading as he could to you. Honestly, if you rejected his request, he knows that he wouldn’t be able to do this without you.

So when you seem to realize that he won’t give up, you sigh and look down for a moment. “Damn that I can never say no to you, Min Yoongi.”

Hearing those words of confirmation, Yoongi’s gaze hyper focuses on you. Even when you look back over at him, you don’t look away and that merely confirms the unspoken question of your participation.

When he realizes that you aren’t going to outright reject him, and that you’re actually on board for him, Yoongi’s face lights up as he immediately envelops you into a hug. “Thank you! Thank you—wow, that means a lot to me.”

You suck in a breath at his words, tensing slightly at his words, but you eventually learn to relax long enough to pat him slowly on the back to return his hug. “Don’t thank me yet,” You grumble into his shoulder. “We haven’t even had a meeting. I may not be able to negotiate as well as you think I can.”

Yoongi shakes his head at that, tightening his hold on you. From his close proximity to you, he doesn’t notice the way your breath seems to shake and your heart seems to quicken. “It doesn’t matter,” He reassures, finally backing off. “I don’t care if you don’t know how to do all those fancy manager things. Like I said, you’re the only one I could trust to do this.”

You stare at Yoongi for a few more seconds before you sigh in defeat, knowing that you’ve just put all your thoughts and feelings on the table for him to react to. “Alright then,” You say, placing one of your hands across your chest and onto your shoulder—atop his hand still lingering. “I’ll make the call tomorrow then.”

Yoongi nods. “Thank you.”

There’s a brief silence that covers the pair of you, before a voice rings from the living room. “Do you mind bringing the mac and cheese over here?”

CHAPTER 2: THE REQUEST

One year later, and you learn that the crowds from Yoongi’s street performances are nothing in comparison to this. This—overwhelming and unmatched in all degrees, the screams and the cries and the shoves, all of it echoes around you just as it has for the past few months. Surprisingly, you’ve always been okay with being a little more firm if the situation called for such and today is absolutely no exception.

“Off,” You say gently, tapping an outstretched hand trying to get past you and grab at the person behind you.

The girl you’ve intercepted jerks her hand back as if you’ve burned her, her eyes wide and vaguely hurt as if you’ve singled her out specifically from this crowd. Rather, it’s more along the lines of keeping your client safe and trying to avoid the incident from last week. You block the memory out for the time being.

You feel a hot breath at your ear. “If you make my fans cry, I swear—!”

“Try to be less desirable then,” You bite back over your shoulder, holding up your hand when another fan tries to shove a sharpie past you. “Sorry, but we’re in a bit of a rush,” You say to the boy. “Come to the next concert—we’ll have a meet and greet then too.”

The boy deflates, but that expression only lasts for a second before he seems to brighten slightly at whatever has just occurred behind you. Stealing a glance, you realize it’s because Min Yoongi has just thrown him an apologetic wink.

The car appears in view a lot quicker than you had been anticipating, which is good as you muster all your energy to pull the handle that opens the car door. You step off to the side, further cutting off the fans who are trying to keep Yoongi from entering the vehicle. Soon enough, a taller and more dominating figure appears next to you as Yoongi manages to slide his way into the back seat. You and Jungkook exchange a nod—you had been in the front of Yoongi’s protection squad and he had been in the back, and the arrangement continues to work wonders. As long as Yoongi doesn’t lose a whole sleeve (like last time) then you would consider this departure a success.

Jungkook tilts his head towards the still opened car door, allowing you to enter the car yourself. As soon as you’re settled, Jungkook leans forward to join you. He slides his way into the seat all the way in the back of the car. Closing the door behind him, you signal Taehyung to take off with a nod into the rearview mirror.

The screams and calls of Yoongi’s name are loud, and pass through the metal structure of the car as if it is nothing. But you know that the boy doesn’t mind, and that he lives and breathes moments like these as he has for the past few months.

It’s crazy to think how much a year could change, after you and Yoongi decided to meet up with Seokjin to discuss how Yoongi was going to be signed under KSJ records. Seokjin had talked about the big plans he had in pushing Yoongi towards the spotlight—and goals like an album, a concert, and meet-and-greets around the country had been promised for Yoongi’s first year.

And of course, Yoongi was completely enchanted by the promises. Just one final ‘of course’ confirmation to have you as his manager, and Yoongi was signing on the dotted line. Truth be told, you didn’t know what KSJ records would have in store for Yoongi—how long that glimmer of passion would remain in the boy’s eyes.

A year later, and you acknowledge that you might have underestimated Kim Seokjin. As a former performer, he knew all the ins and outs of the music industry and his well established connections as well as his good ear for good music meant that Yoongi was allowing his music to get the treatment it deserved. Pair that with Yoongi’s growing popularity on Youtube, and it all equates to an EP that debuts with tens of thousands of copies sold within the first week. The EP itself hadn’t been much—just six songs that contained a mix of old songs and new songs, but all written by Yoongi. His previous (although small) experience with producing and arrangement allowed him constant access into the various studios at KSJ records, where he learned from all the other producers on how to make good music.

The hands-on, personal touch Seokjin allowed Yoongi to deliver in his music had been a good call and a large contributor to the success of the EP. You recall fans praising the album and talking about how it matched Yoongi’s youtube aesthetic perfectly, but just with the higher quality element that top notch equipment could bring to music.

In a way, the current atmosphere of concerts and meet-and-greets is just a way to celebrate the success of Yoongi’s music career launching off into the stratosphere.

“Hey.” There’s a gentle tap against your head, and you jump before turning to face Yoongi in the seat next to you. “You good?”

You blink, bringing your finger up to brush the hair out of your face. “Yeah, just spaced out.”

“Cool. I thought you might have fallen asleep.”

“If anyone should have fallen asleep by now, it’s you,” You point out. “I think that today’s meet-and-greet was the largest one you’ve had so far.”

“Don’t worry,” Yoongi says. “I have every intention of following asleep as soon as I fall into bed. Plus, don’t let me hold a pen for the next week—I think my wrist almost fell off.”

You laugh, angling yourself so you can face him. “But you love it, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s gaze softens as he lets your question sink in. “Course I do. I never realized how cool it would be to have an audience sing my lyrics back to you. More than that, it was all lyrics I used to write in the apartment, or in between lectures back at college, or late into the night on my phone… back when the idea of all this was just a dream.” He pivots his body towards you, eyes bright as the passion for his current place in life seems to have gotten him hyped up again. “You know, during the meet and greet, this girl came up to me all confidently and told me that my album got her through a tough time. I think that’s when it really hit me that this was all happening.”

The corner of your lips quirk up into a smile. “Oh yeah, I actually do remember you writing those songs and you showing me the lyrics. You speak from the heart, and your fans understand that. Helps that you’re pretty cute too. Anyone with eyes could see that.” As soon as those words escape your lips, you almost want to chide yourself and immediately throw yourself out of the car. Why would you say something like that—why would you openly admit to Yoongi’s cuteness? Your face grows warm at the realization, leaving you to hope that Yoongi won’t notice your flustered state.

Yoongi doesn’t notice. He’s too busy gawking at your observation, too busy tearing his gaze away from you to stare firmly out of the car window.

Jungkook simply shifts his gaze between the two of you.

In the midst of the silence, you fish out your phone and start scrolling through your social media pages. Due to the third party cookie ads that follow you around, you immediately notice news of Yoongi’s concert of the day has started hitting various news sites—most articles praising Yoongi on his song selections and live adaptations of his music to suit the concert style more. Reading these articles leave you unable to stop the grin, because Yoongi deserves this so fucking much that you could have sworn your heart sings a little as you continue reading.

It’s a moment that lasts for only a couple of seconds, as recommended articles start coming up that do well in setting up the gray cloud. With the increased amount of attention that comes from being a newly top rated best selling album artist, so does the intrusion into personal life that follows—the dark side of the media, the side that just loves to stick its nose in places it does not belong. It’s something that you had been seeing since Yoongi’s youtube account hit five hundred thousand, but at the time these kinds of questions were more dark shadows or curious inquiries taken in the form of casual comments.

Now, those questions have become much more normalized, as a common curiosity seems to have taken form from all these drama articles: was Min Yoongi dating anyone? And even better: who is Min Yoongi writing all his love songs for?

As if love was limited to romantic relationships, and wasn’t a feeling one could recreate from other love songs or romantic comedies. Or just the feelings of growing up.

“We’re here!” Taehyung calls from the front seat, as you jump up from your train of thought. Refocusing on your surroundings, you realize that you’ve made it into the parking lot of the hotel.

You sigh, regathering your belongings that have moved around during the drive. “Thanks, Taehyung.”

“Hey.” Taehyung utters for you to come closer to him as soon as the pair of you step out of the car. He jerks toward Yoongi, who is exiting from his side of the car before quickly side-stepping to let Jungkook come out as well. “Was that flirting back there?”

You protest hotly at once, your hand raising up and wave side-to-side frantically in complete denial. “N-No, it wasn’t—!”

“Okay, good,” Taehyung interrupts, leaning back to stuff his hands into his pants pockets. “Because if that was the case I think we would have had to re-evaluate your definition of flirting—!”

“Will you stop?” You squeak.

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi asks, having rounded around the car to stare over at you and Taehyung.

You whirl around quickly, tightening up your expression once more to make sure that any remnants of your conversation with Taehyung would be undetected. “Yep!” You say immediately. “Everything is fine. Let’s get going, yeah?” You allow Jungkook to lead the four of you out of the parking lot and into the elevator that’ll take you to the main floor of the hotel room. Yoongi has to slip on a pair of glasses and a baseball cap, just on the off chance that a fan might be staying in the same room—it happened a few stops ago—before the four of you are making your way through the lobby. The four of you have reserved four separate rooms for your overnight stay in the city, rooms that you have already checked into earlier that day, so it feels nice to just make your way to the elevator and select the correct floor.

Taehyung decides to check in first for the night, waving you all off and congratulating Yoongi on another well done performance. Jungkook lingers around as you make your way to Yoongi’s room next.

“Thanks for walking me,” Yoongi says, sliding the key card into the slot and pulling out when he hears the beep of confirmation on his door.

Jungkook flashes him a thumbs up. “Good show today. Now get some rest.”

Yoongi nods, just about to close the door when you make a sudden noise from the back of your throat. “OH!” You call out suddenly, startling both boys as you reach your arm out suddenly to prevent Yoongi from closing the door. He had been so close too. “Sorry, I just realized. Seokjin sent me an email of some deadlines he wanted me to go over with you. Your sleep is gonna have to be put on hold.”

Yoongi grumbles something under his breath.

You turn to look at Jungkook. “We’ll be fine, Jungkook, go rest up—you deserve it.”

Jungkook nods, grinning at Yoongi. “See you guys around.”

“No fair…” Yoongi pouts as he watches Jungkook stroll down the hall to reach his hotel room. “Why do they get to rest and I don’t? I’m so tired…”

“Well, this is the price of fame,” You retort with the shrug of your shoulders. “You have your face the paparazzi want to see, and the name that sells the albums. Naturally, it means you just have to put in more work than everyone else.”

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, still pouting but less so as he opens the door once more for the both of you to enter. “When you put it that way…”

You giggle behind him. “For the fans, Min Yoongi.”

You immediately task yourself with throwing yourself atop his bed, surprisingly put together despite the fact that you had checked everyone in earlier that day. You would have assumed he would have taken a nap. But the bed doesn’t look slept in at all.

Yoongi notices your observation immediately. “I was too nervous to fall asleep earlier today,” He provides, taking a seat on the couch on the other side of the room. “So what was it that Seokjin needed you to go over with me?”

“It’s short, I promise,” You reassure, pulling out the iPhone from your pocket. As soon as you unlock the device, you’re faced with the articles you had previously been looking up—the ones about Yoongi’s dating life. Without meaning to, you sigh heavily at the sight.

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

You jerk up. “Oh, no, nothing sorry. I just…” You hold the phone up for Yoongi to see. “These articles about you and your dating life—it’s getting worse.”

“Oh.” Yoongi’s fingers fiddle with each other. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few of those floating around too. Honestly, for someone who writes a lot of songs about love, these curiosities don’t really surprise me. I wish that they wouldn’t be so intrusive.”

“Unfortunately, people always think it’s their right to know who these love songs are for.” You spare him a quick glance, only to realize that he’s already staring at you. Hastily, you look back down. “If the songs are even for anyone, that is.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “Right.”

“Anyways…” You exit your internet app, tapping through until Seokjin’s email comes up. “Seokjin just wants to know your progress on the new songs. He’s trying to gauge your progress so he can see whether or not to arrange studio time for you to start recording.”

The new songs—it’s a reference to Seokjin’s next plan for Yoongi’s career. With the launch of the EP and the current success that it has been harboring, it makes sense that the next step would be to launch a full-length album. Technically it could be called a repackage, since the album would most likely feature a few songs from the EP and cover the rest of the spots with new music.

But aforementioned new music takes time to write, not that Yoongi ever had a problem with writing music. That has always been second nature for him—and was something he could do anywhere so long as he had a functioning, conscious mind. It was all just a matter of whether or not he could create the required number of actual songs within the scheduled deadline. With those higher expectations, time definitely plays the biggest issue and it makes sense if Yoongi couldn’t write proper songs given the current circumstances.

Nonetheless, Yoongi nods at the question. “I actually have rough drafts of most of the songs, if that was okay with Seokjin. We could probably schedule some meetings to polish up the writing, since a lot of them are still in the beginning stage.”

You blink at his answer, surprised by his response. You had been expecting one, or maybe two songs to be written out but to have all eight songs written out? “W-Wow…” You utter. “You wrote so many songs so quickly.”

Yoongi shrugs, but he does look a little prideful at your words. You don’t notice his lingering gaze. “I have a lot to reflect on, what can I say.”

“I-I mean,” You stammer, not really hearing his response. “I could schedule the meeting with Seokjin, but if he knows that you have everything basically done, he’ll probably be okay with giving you a little more time to polish up your work yourself.”

Yoongi ponders this, but he shakes his head. “No, go ahead and schedule the meeting. It’s actually nice having extra hands in the music.”

You nod. “Alright then, I’ll go and do that. I think I should also just go over tomorrow’s schedule with you.” Quickly, you relay the time details of what tomorrow’s day will look like since you’re flying out for another show the next morning. You give him some details about the stage, how many people are going, and how many people he will be meeting afterwards. It’s a standard review conversation, one of the many that you’ve had with Yoongi over the year. “And… that should be it,” You wrap up as soon as you’ve reviewed the day. Looking over the schedule once more, you cannot help but sigh once more.

“What is it this time?” Yoongi asks from the side.

“Oh, no nothing!” You reassure with a promising smile. “Just another busy day.”

Yoongi gives you a grin, but you can see the exhaustion clinging to the corner of his eyes. “There’s only a few more stops left of the concert—what happened to you being positive rock?”

At that, you laugh nervously. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.” You clench a fist in front of him and pump it up to showcase a display of energy. “Another day of excitement and one more day towards fulfilling your dreams!” You lower your fist and give him a slightly dryer look. “How was that?”

“I could have done without the look at the end, but it’ll do, I guess.” Yoongi stands up from his place on the couch and throws himself atop his bed. His head ends up near you, his back on the mattress, and his feet dangling off the side. “There’s only a few stops left of the tour, and for some people this is their first time seeing me live. And for other people, maybe they saw me back when I would perform on the streets, so in that case it’s their first time seeing me perform on a stage and everything!” He lifts one of his hands up into his field of view. “Either way, I just want to do the best I can for the people that take time out to come see me and support me. Because I owe them everything—I owe them more than what I can give them.”

You don’t say anything to that. What could you say, anyways? Instead, you reach over and run your fingers through his hair. After a second, you retract your hand. You shouldn’t let yourself linger for too long anyways. “It’s late,” You say, a tone of finality in your voice. “I should head to my room. I’ll make sure to let Seokjin know your update.” You slide off the bed into a standing position. “You should get some rest.” You turn to him. “You may not think you can pay back your fans, but you probably help them out every single day. The same way they help you out too.”

Yoongi tilts his head back to see you. Upside down, but still look at you nonetheless. He grins. “There’s that positive energy I was looking for. Thanks.”

You laugh, already making your way towards his hotel room door. “Thank me by giving me another kickass performance tomorrow. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”

The following weeks of concert tours pass by without a hitch. To Yoongi, any event now that doesn’t end up with a torn sleeve and nail scratches up and down his arm is a success. And you haven’t freaked out for the remaining dates as you had when security had been at its worst—so he’d consider that the icing on top of the cake. Although he’s glad to finally be be home and be anchored to his own bed and be in his own space for the first time in months, he knows that his first concert experience to celebrate his first EP had truly been a memorable undertaking.

And it had been more successful than anyone at KSJ records could have predicted. At least, that’s what Seokjin tells him when Yoongi arrives at the studio the following day to start going through the process of polishing up his song lyrics.

“It seems that you really enjoyed yourself throughout the tour,” Seokjin remarks as Yoongi steps into the former’s office. Seokjin is scrolling through some articles on his laptop. He closes it as Yoongi takes a seat and regards the younger boy with a look of curiosity and wonder. “How was it?”

Yoongi brightens. “So much fun. I didn’t realize how cool it would feel to have audience members sing song lyrics right back at me, but that was probably my favorite moment.”

“Ah, of course, first time for everything as they always say.” Seokjin folds his fingers atop one another. “And how was your team?” He says your name, given that you are Yoongi’s manager. “Along with Jungkook and Taehyung? I wish I could have given you more people, but we didn’t know how crazy moving you around was going to be.”

Yoongi nods. “I mean… it was fine. Jungkook was really good.” He can’t help but think that Jungkook should have been good—after all, Yoongi is the reason why Jungkook has been getting safe with job security recently. “And Taehyung too. I think having the small team was good because we ended up all getting really connected and had this whole system in place after a few stops.”

“I heard a fan tore your sleeve,” Seokjin points out, looking mildly concerned. “How did that go?”

“Oh, it was just a one time thing,” Yoongi tries to brush off with the wave of his hand. He thinks of you, because of course he does. He mentions you. “She would tap the fans who were getting too close. It was reassuring, honestly.”

“That’s good to hear,” Seokjin says. “And I’ve heard that you’ve been making a lot of headway with the upcoming album. So we’re definitely gonna set some time for us to go through the lyrics and structure what you’ve come up with already. But I did want to go over something with you first—the main reason I called you in, actually.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Okay, what’s up?”

Seokjin re-opens his laptop, and clicks through a few links before he’s pivoting the laptop in a 180 degree motion so Yoongi can see the screen. At once, he’s faced with several articles, all centering around the topic that has been haunting him since the beginning of his concert journey. He gets a flashback to one of the nights you came into his hotel room to discuss scheduling, and how you had mentioned this particular topic showing up more and more.

Yoongi had known it was becoming a problem. He just didn’t think it was something that required urgent discussion.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, your growing popularity means that people are developing a growing interest in your relationship. Since you are labeled specifically as a song-writer who writes songs about growing up, struggles, and love, this only heightens people’s curiosity.”

Yoongi allows Seokjin to continue talking, as he moves forward in his chair to actually scroll through one of the articles Seokjin has pulled up. It’s entitled: UP AND COMING SINGER SONGWRITER MIN YOONGI IS DEFINITELY IN A RELATIONSHIP, BUT WITH WHO? As he scrolls down, there’s several people that are listed as potential girlfriends to Yoongi’s partnership—some people he does not know at all, some people he has only seen once.

You’re on the list too, and Yoongi’s eyes widen when he identifies your picture amongst the lot. He zeroes in on the description underneath the simple title: Yoongi’s manager? Although most manager and artist relationships are platonic, we can’t leave this one out! Fans have tracked down Min Yoongi’s current manager as an old assistant from Min Yoongi’s youtube days, so there’s definitely some history between them!

“This article has been blowing up. You may or may not know, but people making assumptions about your relationship status could be dangerous. Since you write songs about relationships, it leaves a lot of room for error and scandals, especially if news sites decide to publish something or someone else with bad intentions try to claim you wrote a song about them. Or something else of the sort.”

Yoongi nods slowly at that, not entirely understanding what direction Seokjin is going with his build up. It makes sense though. Leaving Yoongi out in the open like this could be dangerous for his career. “S-So, what ideas do you have to combat that?”

“I’ve been thinking about this in the recent weeks you’ve been on tour,” Seokjin says quietly, pressing his hands together. “I think that we should push your relationship status into the public—get you a girlfriend to maintain your ‘pure romantic heart’ reputation so it looks like you’re writing love songs solely for your girlfriend.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in. “Aaaaah,” Yoongi finally says, but his voice sounds far away all of a sudden, the further time seems to creep on. Sure, he’s seen this concept of surface relationships between in film and television—and the idea of it makes some sense. For someone whose best songs were related to moments of being in love, surely most people would suspect that the inspiration for those songs had to come from somewhere. If Yoongi came out to admit his lack of relationship experience, would people approve of that? Or would they think he was lying?

In that regard then, it makes sense that Seokjin would come up with the idea. But faking a relationship for the sake of faking a relationship has never been something Yoongi thought he would ever have to go through.

Mainly because first of all—who would play Yoongi’s girlfriend?

Now, Yoongi isn’t the worst actor in the world. But he can be stiff at times, and if Seokjin wants to push a relationship status into the public eye then Yoongi imagines that this girlfriend would be someone Yoongi felt the most natural around. Someone he wouldn’t mind pretending to be in a relationship with.

Would Yoongi even get a say in the matter? Or would Yoongi’s approval be the only requirement before Seokjin went off to find a girlfriend for Yoongi himself?

“D-Did you have someone in mind?” Yoongi finds himself asking instead.

Seokjin hums, tapping his chin with his finger. “Not at the moment. I just wanted to bring it up with you in case you had an idea for someone.” Mindlessly, he reaches to take back the laptop and flip it back towards him. This exposes him to the article Yoongi had been previously scrolling through—one where pictures of you are plastered over the current screen.

At the sight, Seokjin wavers slightly, staring down your pictures and furrowing his eyebrows. Yoongi looks over, noticing immediately that the laptop (and the pictures of you from that article) is no longer right in front of him but rather in front of Seokjin instead. When he glances over at Seokjin, he finds the older man lost in thought, running the side of his finger across his lip. Back and forth, clearly pondering something.

“Yes…” Seokjin says after a moment. “That could work, actually.” He looks across the desk at Yoongi. “Good idea, Yoongi. I think originally, I would have said no, but these pictures and this description actually makes a valid point.”

Yoongi blinks, not really connecting the dots right away. “Uh, sorry, Seokjin, but I’m not really following…”

Seokjin makes a noise, gesturing to his laptop screen that he has just gotten back from Yoongi. “You were suggesting Y/N as your fake girlfriend, weren’t you? I’m assuming that’s why you stopped on these pictures. My initial thought was that it probably wouldn’t work, but actually considering your history with each other it seems like this could be the most likely case scenario.”

It takes another second for the information to fully process. You. His fake girlfriend. Seokjin misunderstanding that unintentionally stopping on your pictures meant that Yoongi was trying to convey some sort of message.

You—playing the role of his fake girlfriend, the ‘supposed’ inspiration for all his music. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ironic.

It would be funny if you didn’t inspire all of his music—but you do. And Yoongi isn’t laughing.

He should say something. He knows that it would make sense, as Seokjin is claiming, but it would also potentially inch him towards a can of worms he has been so sure would never see the sunlight. More than that, having you as his fake girlfriend would bring him the closest he has ever been to feeling hopeful.

He really should say something.

But for some reason, the words don’t come out. He just lets Seokjin believe his ingenious plan. “Yes, yes!” Seokjin continues after the many moments of silence that lapse between the two of you. “This could work actually. You guys have known each other for years, and older fans of yours from the youtube days would definitely recognize Y/N. That way, the announcement of your relationship wouldn’t seem entirely out of line, especially if we say that you guys have been dating for years. It also makes sense that we could say you becoming Yoongi’s ‘manager’ was always part of a cover up—after all, that’s what they did in that movie That Thing You Do…”

The more Seokjin drones on and on about his plan, and how exactly he intends to work up to it, the more nervous Yoongi gets. Was Seokjin actually planning on doing this—enlist you as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend and drag you along to participate in this facade? Yoongi is mildly shocked. He should have known Seokjin would follow through on the question, but he had just assumed that today was just the idea phase and that plans to arrange this fake relationship would take weeks.

But if there’s anything Yoongi knows about Seokjin, it’s that the man knows how to get something done. Quickly, too. In Seokjin’s word, it’s a natural occurrence for a simple idea phase to morph into actual concrete plans within the time span of a day. Yoongi should have planned this out better—but then again, he didn’t think that him accidentally stopping on a picture of you from a fucking drama article would serve as the catalyst for Seokjin’s ideas.

Yoongi straightens up onto his feet. “Why don’t I talk to Y/N first about this?” He asks. “The idea may seem good on paper, but if she’s uncomfortable then it’s a no go.”

Seokjin studies Yoongi carefully, before the former relents. “Okay, fair enough. Let me know what happens.”

As soon as the pair of them exchange the last nods, Yoongi is dashing out of Seokjin’s office with one clear objective in mind: to talk to you.

Luckily, you aren’t too far away. You’re in your office, typing up something on your laptop and your eyes scanning through what he can only assume are emails. It’s eyes that widen when Yoongi practically storms into your space, shutting the door behind him.

You straighten up. “Yoongi, you alright? You look like you just ran a marathon.”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize that his chest is heaving until you point that out. He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t run a marathon though.”

Your eyebrows furrow, but the corner of your lips turn up in mild curiosity. “Okay. What’s up?”

Yoongi presses his lips together. Even with the many feet of space between the two of you—he can make out the glimmer in your eyes from the sunlight pouring through the window, he can see the shadow of your eyelashes and the line where your collarbone dips below your blouse. Fuck, he’s in deep. There’s no way he could ask you something so monumental to the downfall of his sanity. But he knows that it’s too late to just walk away. Partly because he’s already in your office and partly because the idea has already been planted into Seokjin’s head. And if Yoongi didn’t speak up, then Seokjin was going to.

So Yoongi opens his mouth. “I may or may not have gotten you into a situation,” He starts up.

You snort, of course not taking him seriously. “That might just be the summary of our relationship.”

“No, I don’t think you understand…” Yoongi pleads, stepping deeper into the office.

You frown at his behavior, closing your laptop this time to address him completely. “Okay, what’s up, really? You’re kind of scaring me…”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not… scary or anything…” He trails off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Let me be the judge of that.”

So Yoongi shoves his hands deep into his coat pocket, and slides next to your desk, leaning against the surface as he starts his story. He covers everything: from Seokjin bringing up the drama articles about his relationship status, how he had scrolled through and saw your name, how Seokjin had misinterpreted that as a sign, and worse of all, how Seokjin thought it would be a good idea for you to play as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend.

To say you’re appalled would be an understatement. You’re staring up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Are you serious?” You ask. “B-But I’m your manager!” You scoff at yourself. “No, more than that—I’m your friend, Yoongi. Seokjin must be on something. He has to be. What did you guys decide on? Please tell me that you said no.”

“W-Well, there was no agreement or disagreement,” Yoongi argues weakly. “I walked out before Seokjin could make up his mind.” He pauses for a moment, something sinking in. “Wait a minute,” He brings up, a slightly teasing smile across his face. “Do you really find the idea of dating me that gross?”

You make a noise in the back of your throat at his accusation, and you immediately begin to scramble. “I-I mean,” You start, the flush present in your throat as you start speaking very quickly at once. Both your hands go up in a defensive position. “It’s not that I don’t find you gross… because I don’t! You’re a very attractive person—it’s just that—we’re friends and—stop looking at me like that!” You stand up, slamming your palms onto the table when you realize that he’s just flashing you a shit-eating grin.

He has half the mind to be mildly disheartened that you are so against the idea of dating him. But then again, he’d probably say no to fake dating you if he was being forced into a situation like this. He’d definitely say no.

Okay, he’d probably say no.

“Well, I told Seokjin that if you were uncomfortable with the idea, then it’d be a no go and he seemed to respect the idea.”

Still standing, you sigh and press your face into the palm of your hand. Your fingers brush through your hair. “Okay, let’s step back for a moment.” You remove your hands from your face. “If I were to say yes, what exactly would that entail?”

Yoongi manages a weak one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not sure exactly. Seokjin would probably have a better idea of that. I imagine KSJ records would release a statement about our relationship, and we would be scheduled to go to variety shows or press interviews together. We’d probably have to go out to restaurants together too. Hold hands…” The thought of holding your hand dries up his throat a little, but he passes it off well by faking a cough. “That sort of stuff.”

You glare at him. “And what about your fans? You’re trying to preserve this ‘pure romantic heart’ image, but I’m sure there’s a lot of fans that like to believe the songs could be about them.”

He shrugs. “That—I’m not too sure about. I imagine Seokjin prefers the idea of my fans believing that my heart only belongs to one person rather than them believing that I’ll just write a love song for anyone.”

You nod. “That’s valid, I guess.”

Yoongi stares at you from the smaller space of distance between the two of you. “Again, you don’t have to say yes. Frankly, I think it’s a batshit crazy idea.”

“It’s not… completely out of line.” After a moment, you sigh. “I can actually understand why Seokjin would get the idea of trying to set you up like this. The news articles will probably get worse. And since your songs market themselves on being personal, people want to know who the songs are about. If Seokjin gave the public a face, then there’d be no room for assumptions and even less room for scandals to come about.” You give him a look. “Sadly, if you were to stay single, there’s only so much I could do as your manager to control that bad press.”

Yoongi raises both his eyebrows up. “Does that mean you’re saying yes—?”

“I’m not… saying anything yet.” You plop yourself back down into your seat. “I’m not saying yes. But I’m not saying no either.” You sink further into your seat. “Hopefully Seokjin will change his mind before I have to make up mine?”

That’s an unlikely case. But Yoongi doesn’t argue with you, and you don’t wait for him to. He simply nods one more time before leaving your office.

You would be lying if you said you never thought about dating Yoongi. Of course you have. You’re sure that you’ve had a crush on the boy within the first week of your introductions. This crush explains so many of your past actions—your support for his Youtube channel, your fulfillment as his manager, and now this pull towards agreeing to become his fake girlfriend. And you hate yourself for the every second you consider it a good idea.

Because it’s not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. More than that, it’s an unfair idea. Agreeing to fake date someone you actually want to date seems like too cruel a hand to be dealt. Considering your more-often-than-not fragile state, setting yourself up with Yoongi in this way already seems doomed to fail. It would be unfair to Yoongi, because agreeing to this would deprive him of an actual relationship he could be happy in. But it would be more unfair to you, because losing control would mean losing your best friend.

So you don’t give Yoongi a positive confirmation. But you don’t give him a negative one either. See, you don’t have the heart to just outwardly reject him, because you know that he needs you to help him with this. You know that he understands the situation he’s been put in, and that getting a fake girlfriend seems to be the best case scenario. You know that it wouldn’t make sense with any other girl—it had to be you. Saying no straight to face is something that you don’t have the heart to do.

Rather than give a yes or no answer, you opt for the second best option: hold off and avoid indulging too deeply.

It’s a strategy that works for a grand total of one day.

The following day post Yoongi’s conversation, you show up to work with information that Yoongi is going to start recording songs for his new album. His first full-length album, at that—something he has been working hard for since the beginning. Every second of free time available to him during the tour, during off-days had been dedicated to writing the music necessary to fill the album. You know how hard he’s been working—you’ve watched throughout the duration of his tour, and spoke to him for many nights about the progression of this album.

You just didn’t think that the recording part would be coming around so soon.

This is a thought you reflect to Seokjin when you enter the recording studio. Yoongi is already behind the glass, and his voice is amplified in the studio, where they appear to be discussing the arrangement for how a song is going to go. This leaves you vaguely surprised—if Yoongi is in the booth already, it means that there must have been some ground covered on how the arrangement was supposed to go. Just how long has Yoongi been in the studio before you showed up?

“Ah, good morning,” Seokjin greets from the back of the studio, seated on the couch and his arms resting along the back. “Don’t get mad, but Yoongi worked through the night again.”

Your lips part into a gape as your eyes widen in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking,” You return.

Seokjin merely laughs in return. “I wish I was! When I left, he was going at it with Namjoon and when I came back this morning they were still going at it. But, you know, who am I to rain in on a breakthrough moment?”

You relent your control of the situation slightly (only slightly) at Seokjin’s rhetorical question. Namjoon is one of Seokjin’s top producers and arrangers—very gifted in songwriting and how to make a good song. From the year that you and Yoongi have been a part of KSJ records, Yoongi and Namjoon have gotten along great and their close relationship has been the reason for many late nights. The pair of them were always caught in the drift of making sleepless but record-selling hits.

Like Seokjin said, who are you to interrupt art in progress?

Although you have a sudden flurry of desires and objectives (mainly to reprimand Yoongi for being so careless with a slap or a hit where you could put him to sleep yourself), you bite it down long enough to shed your jacket and rest it on the armrest of the couch. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it go this time.”

Seokjin chuckles at that, removing his gaze from you and sliding it across the studio back into the booth where Yoongi is still in the midst of discussing something with Namjoon. Something about how the arrangement isn’t as smooth or on beat as they had originally intended. “You’re a good manager,” He says at last. “I can tell that you really do care about him and will definitely give him a peace of your mind once he’s done with today’s session. And what’s more…” He laughs. “He’ll actually let you walk all over him. You’d be surprised how often I see managers in it just for the money, where they don’t have their artist’s best interest in mind. You’re definitely not like that.”

You slide into the vacant seat next to Seokjin. “If I don’t keep an eye on him, I know that no one else will. It’s nothing against other people, but no one else in his life is as involved in his career as I am. But I’m his friend first, and his manager second.”

The pair of you are quiet for a moment, as you watch Namjoon fiddle with some of the switches on the music panel. They seem to come to an agreement on the newly modified beat, because it starts playing through the speakers in the booth. Yoongi presses his hands against the headphones he’s wearing, and starts to relay the lyrics into the microphone. It starts off slow—Yoongi has his phone in his hands to read the lyrics, to double check the flow and the tempo. After a few lines, he stops. “Ah—let’s reword this line. I do like the change we made to the music, so let’s change the lyrics to match.” His voice is amplified through the studio.

Namjoon presses a button on the music panel, allowing him to communicate with Yoongi. “Sure. Want to head in and make the changes?”

Yoongi ponders this for a moment, but shakes his head. “Give me a second. Maybe if I listen to the song again, I can feel what I vibe with.”

“Sounds good.” Namjoon releases his hold on the button, and turns around in his chair to face you and Seokjin. The sight of you makes his eyes widen, as Namjoon coughs back a choke. “O-Oh, Y/N, you’re here—!”

His words make you narrow your eyes as you point a finger at him. “YAH! Which one of you was it that contributed to your all-nighter?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Namjoon protests, raising both of his hands up in defense. “We were both in the groove!”

You lower your finger with a sigh. “You’re lucky that you’re in the middle of helping Yoongi achieve his dreams. Otherwise I’d kick both of your asses.”

Namjoon seems to realize that you’re not messing around, because he emits a nervous laugh. “I promise we’ll be a little more careful next time…”

“Oh, Namjoon, I rewrote some of the lines!” Yoongi calls from inside the booth.

Namjoon whirls around in his chair again to press the button. “Sounds good, let’s do it.”

As the music starts up again, Seokjin decides to speak up once more. “Yoongi told me that he talked to you about the little fake dating plan I had.”

The mention of it, as well as your previous internal insistence of not talking or thinking about that, makes you stiffen. “He might have mentioned something like that.”

When you turn to look at Seokjin, he has an unreadable look glinting in his eyes. “Since you were talking about achieving Yoongi’s dreams and all…” He trails off. “I wanted to apologize for bringing that idea onto you so quickly. I didn’t really consider how you’d feel about the arrangement. I just wanted to try and do what I thought was best for Yoongi.”

You sigh. “I know why you thought of the idea. And I totally agree with you—I think that if he wants to carry on, this is the least costly next step that should be taken. I just… I don’t know if I’m the best fit for it.”

Seokjin nods. “I respect your decision. After all, Yoongi told me that if you were uncomfortable with it, then it’d be an immediate no go.”

The corner of your lips turns up upon hearing Yoongi’s thought process. Even though you’ve already heard the words from the man himself—it’s nice to hear that assurance from his boss. Knowing that Yoongi puts your thoughts and feelings on the forefront of his mind is a nice feeling. A misleading feeling if you let yourself think too deeply into it. But a nice feeling, nonetheless.

You decide not to comment immediately on Seokjin’s apology; rather, you tune into what exactly Yoongi is singing about in the song. It’s got a softer beat to it—an opening song to the album, perhaps? It’s much more whimsy compared to his hard-hitting personal rants that touch on the frustration of miscommunication, of not saying something when he should have said something.

Instead, this is a song about distance—about missing someone due to distance and the longing of returning home because of the normality it brought. About how even closeness sometimes isn’t enough to fill the gap of desire in his heart. It takes on a beat you’ve never heard before, and a feeling of missing something that isn’t even tangible for you as a listener. Nevertheless, his words, his raspiness, and the hard lines hidden within the otherwise soft tone of the song work hard to poke at your edges and your weak spots. The parts of you that have always been willing to cave for Yoongi, the part of you that has never hesitated to do what needed to be done if it benefited Yoongi.

You were his manager, so you always want what’s best for him. But you’re also a friend who has been in love with him for years, so you will do whatever it takes to get him there.

You hope you don’t regret this.

“Actually,” You admit quietly, but it’s loud enough to perk Seokjin’s attention. “I’ll do it.”

Seokjin blinks, clearly trying to process your words right off the bat. “You’ll…” He trails off.

You look away. You have a feeling that if Seokjin looks at you for too long, he’ll see your emotions spill out across the entire fucking studio. “Do the fake dating idea.”

Seokjin fumbles a little. “H-Hold on a second—are you sure? Seriously, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. Since you’re the one least adjusted to being in the spotlight, a lot of this pressure is going to fall onto you. I don’t want you to say yes and then regret it later on… so maybe you should think a little more about this…”

You steel yourself. It feels a little bit like holding your breath. Finally, you spare Seokjin a look. “I won’t regret it,” You say. “You and I both said that Yoongi needs me to keep going at this pace—I was going to get roped in eventually, so I think it’ll just be easier if I agree now rather than drag this thing around for a couple of months. Besides…” You try to relax a little in your seat, but it’s hard to tell if you’re being convincing or not. “It’s nothing too serious right? You just want us to go out together, hold hands occasionally, speak highly of each other… We already do half of those things but it’ll just be emphasized now. No big deal.”

Seokjin is wearing that unreadable look in his eyes again, like he knows something that you don’t even know yourself. “You’re right,” He settles with after a long pause. “It’s nothing too serious. You’ll probably have people also digging into your space though, but we’ll make all the necessary arrangements before any sort of announcement.”

“If that’s the case,” You reply. “Then I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Besides.” You try for a smile. “It’s all just fake anyways, right? As long as the ones who really matter know that, then I don’t really see the harm in it.”

Seokjin only continues to stare at you, before he relents. You know just as well as he does that your decision is one of an adult, and that if you really had a problem with something you would vote your opinion without hesitation. No matter if he can somehow read the thoughts in your head.

At last, he nods. “We might need you to sign another NDA but…” He extends an arm out towards you. “Welcome abroad, Min Yoongi’s girlfriend.”

You laugh a little, hollow but still present, as you reach over to take his head. “We’ll start having problems if that nickname becomes a regular thing.”

Seokjin laughs a little louder, a complete opposite of his more quiet and observant side displayed just a few seconds ago. “Don’t worry—just for formalities. HEY, Namjoon, let me talk to Yoongi for a second.” He practically throws himself off of the couch and towards the music panel where Namjoon and Yoongi are still mid-discussion about another aspect of music you do not understand. Namjoon relents, pushing himself and his chair off to the side as Seokjin comes up to press the button on the panel that allows for discussion between the booth and the studio. “Hey, Min Yoongi, there’s been some discussions behind the scenes. Say hello to your new girlfriend!”

There’s a brief silence in the studio, and Yoongi’s eyes immediately bug out of his head like this is the last thing he expected to hear on this very casual Wednesday morning. Knowing the agenda for the day, it probably has been. “What?” Yoongi says after a long moment, his voice amplified by the speakers in the studio.

Seokjin turns towards you, jerking his head at the booth, and you get up with a sigh. You approach the music panel where Seokjin and Namjoon are currently situated—and aren’t sure how to feel when you see the way Yoongi’s eyes widen at the sight of you through the window.

Still, you cannot help your own weak smile as you lean in towards the microphone. “Hi honey,” You say.

Yoongi continues to stare at you, before his lips part and his face takes on a very unusual shade of red. “HUH?”

CHAPTER 3: THE ANNOUNCEMENT

KSJ records releases a statement within the next following days, and it gains momentum like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

HELLO, WE ARE KSJ RECORDS.

Recently, we acknowledge that many fans have developed a curiosity about the relationship status of our newest artist Min Yoongi. The release of his latest EP and the undertaking of his concert has left many questions regarding who he writes his songs for—and many of the different assumptions made by people around the world could leave very dangerous and lasting impressions on people that our artist sees as platonic. We want to respond properly and say the truth.

Min Yoongi has been in a relationship with his current manager, Y/N, for the past three years. When Min Yoongi was first signed to KSJ Records, they were already in a relationship and Y/N was assigned the task as Yoongi’s manager given her experience working alongside him during his Youtube career. They have good feelings about each other, and have agreed to make this information public to avoid future misunderstandings. KSJ Records and Yoongi hope that you all will support their relationship as they continue to navigate through Yoongi’s growing career together.

You cannot help but laugh a little at the statement, which is flying so close to the truth that it might as well have been your reality. And in a way, it is. You’ve already prepared, molded your online presence just barely to meet these new expectations to the new facade you have to put up.

And it’s not like the announcement actually changes anything in your daily life. In the days leading up to the post, you had decided to delete your Twitter account (you weren’t making much use of that platform anyways—what, with all the thirst accounts for Yoongi that you were stumbling upon due to internet cookies and the algorithm), and archive a fair number of your Instagram photos on an account that was already set to private. For someone who didn’t live and breathe social media, it wasn’t too hard to rid of that element in your life.

One thing you hadn’t really accounted for, however, were the news stories that wrote about you in the hours following the press release. Several of them were base-level lists about your childhood and how your relationship with Yoongi could have festered—most of which were correct given that older fans of Yoongi knew what university he attended and how you were also a student there. But that information is generally public, and it’s not like you attend the university anymore.

Other than that, there are a few comments on your looks, a few assumptions on your personality. But surprising, there’s nothing too severe. At least, from the surface-level information you can collect from just doing a basic google search. Social media would probably be a more difficult battle, one that you would need nerves of steel and a hardened heart in order to navigate, but like mentioned: professionally managing your own personal social media isn’t exactly your forte.

Over the next week, you follow Seokjin’s advice to lay low and let the news of your relationship with Yoongi continue to spread through the ranks. You spend that time in your apartment, answering a few messages from friends and family but doing what you could to keep the information as limited as possible. You assume that too many people knowing, regardless of how close or trustworthy they were, sort of went against the NDA you had to sign. And you’re not sure how your friends would react if they found out you were only dating Yoongi for a cover-up. Especially since some of them actually are fully aware of your feelings for him.

Regardless, you carry on. Yoongi sends you some screenshots he takes of supportive messages from his fans wishing the both of you the best in your relationship, and he also sends you some memes about your relationship that make you laugh. His fans have a good sense of humor, what could you say.

However, a week is the most you allow yourself to hide away within the comfort (and boring nature) of your apartment before you’re already texting Seokjin with news that you were showing up to the studio.

Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t question this. He calls you. “I was just about to ask if you were going to come over anyways!” He says in a rather upbeat nature. “So it’s good to hear that we’re both on the same page.”

So you step out of your apartment, dressed up in your usual work uniform and feeling much more put-together than you had been for the week you were ordered to remain quiet and lowkey. There’s something exciting about stepping out after being unable to do so for an extended period of time—and it shows in the little bounce that occurs with every step that you take down the sidewalk. Since you usually take the subway to work, you decide to dawn a bucket hat with a face mask tucked over your nose and mouth to blend in just enough but not so much so that your strange fashion choices could draw attention.

It doesn’t, and you enjoy the rocking of the subway racing down the tracks as you peer out of the window quietly. KSJ Records is just a few stops away from your apartment, so you waste no time standing out and stepping out as soon as the doors of the subway open at the right stop. You bound up the stairs, through the familiar pathways you’ve always taken to get to work, and after a few blocks, you arrive at the building of KSJ Records.

As you shoulder open the door, you greet the secretary behind the table, who smiles back at you. “Oh, good morning!” She greets cheerfully. “Seokjin is waiting for you in his office. I believe Yoongi is already with him.”

You nod. “Sounds good, thank you so much!” You bound deeper in, navigating through the different hallways until you arrive at Seokjin’s office. True to the word from the front desk, Yoongi is already there. He looks surprisingly meek for someone who has been trending on Twitter for a few days, but you suppose that he’s still trying to adjust to the fact that Seokjin’s plan is already in motion. After all, he didn’t even get the final say before Seokjin started taking the situation into his own hands. The last he had heard of it was your apparent agreement before Seokjin drew up a company statement for him to approve.

A part of you feels guilty—but Yoongi had been the one to ask you first! Perhaps he’s still in that normal state of uncertainty. After all, you feel like that as well.

“Good morning guys,” You greet as soon as you register who exactly is in Seokjin’s office. You close the door behind you as both boys turn to acknowledge you.

Seokjin grins. “Hi, thanks for coming in.”

You wave him off. “You gave me the week off. I was starting to get a little restless.” You take a seat in the other vacant chair, in front of Seokjin and besides Yoongi. “What’s up, Yoongi?”

Yoongi is already looking at you when you turn to greet him, but as soon as you ask your question, the corner of his lips quirk up into a vaguely uneasy and nervous smile. “H-Hi honey.”

You freeze at that, immediately furrowing your eyebrows as you produce your own nervous smile. “Hi?” You return. “What the fuck are you on?”

Seokjin interrupts before Yoongi can get an answer in. “Stop, stop, you’re way too stiff, Yoongi!”

“Well, I’m trying!” Yoongi spits, before looking back at you with an utterance of your name. “Sorry, Seokjin wanted me to try treating you the same way I would treat a girlfriend. Apparently I didn’t do too hot.”

“Not apparently, you just didn’t do hot at all,” Seokjin retorts back, flashing you an apologetic smile. “We were trying out a few moves easier to see how well you guys can adjust from having your normal manager slash artist relationship to displaying a long term, healthy and happy romantic relationship. It’s one thing to say that you guys are dating, but you guys do need to have something of an act ready.”

You fold your fingers over each other, your mind on a dissociation for the briefest of seconds as the realization sinks its teeth just a little deeper. Holding hands and saying cute shit to each other had been easy to talk about in passing dialogue to Seokjin—but actually having to do it is a hurdle you hadn’t considered to the fullest.

“I mean…” You speak up after a moment. “What if we’re just one of those couples that aren’t handsey with each other? Or don’t need that lovey dovey look in each other’s eyes to prove that we’re in a relationship?”

Seokjin ponders this for a second. “True. But if we’re starting this, there needs to be a full level commitment on the act. If people start questioning the legitimacy of your relationship, that would be an even worse scandal than just letting people make assumptions about Yoongi’s relationship status in general! We definitely, at least, need to develop a basic level of your relationship, and then you guys can work around your own varying levels of comfort. This is something that we need to get rolling as soon as possible, because you.” He points at Yoongi. “Are booked in the next few days to do some radio interviews. And you.” He points at you. “Are going to go with him, as his girlfriend.”

Even though you had known the label was coming, you can’t stop from feeling hot all over at how you were now technically Yoongi’s girlfriend.

“So,” Seokjin continues. “How about I give you a base level of what I’m looking for. And we can do a few practice runs to make sure you guys are comfortable enough with these expectations?”

Yoongi nods, leaving you little option but to do the same. But the thought from the recording booth bubbles up again: you hope you won’t regret this.

A few days later and you don’t think you’ll regret the outcome of this situation. But you’ll definitely get a little sick on the way.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” You say in the car. You’re sitting in the back, next to Yoongi, staring straight ahead at the passenger seat before you. “And stay all in one piece,” You add as an afterthought.

Yoongi glances over at you, looking nervous enough to admit a pout. “At least you don’t have to say anything—I’m the one doing all the talking…”

You huff out a breath. This is true. You’re just here to play the supportive girlfriend, the agreeable partner who’ll publicly accompany Yoongi to a public event since a public announcement. Seokjin says that doing this with the lense of a romantic relationship makes you seem friendly, open, and supportive of the relationship. You’re not too sure how public perception is shaped, but you understand where Seokjin is coming from. Tagging along to an event as a girlfriend instead of a manager makes you and Yoongi seem free. Like you have nothing to hide.

Only in reality, it’s the complete opposite. With everything coming out to the surface, you have everything to hide.

It only takes a few more minutes of driving before you arrive at the radio station. The instructions for today’s assignment have been easy: get out of the car, and walk the many steps needed to reach the entrance of the station. The empty step ahead is surrounded by paparazzi and fans, all screaming and shouting—trying to get their fill of Yoongi.

You sigh. You could do this. You and Yoongi have been practicing for the past few days. Albeit, ‘practicing’ just mainly consisted of the pair of you walking down a hallway close together. It was more lackluster than anything else, and you don’t think it was entirely productive use of time. Seokjin seemed to think that the pair of you needed to work on a closer level of proximity. But you know the truth about your feelings, and know that the complications will come from just being too close to him.

Yoongi unbuckles his seatbelt and is already moving to tug at the handle that’ll open his side of the car door, immediately exposing him to the walkway along with the flashing cameras and loud screams. Before he can pull all the way, however, he stops short. You’re about to ask what the problem is, before he angles towards you and flashes you that grin he has when he’s thinking of ideas you wouldn’t approve of. “I have an idea,” He breathes out, quickly reaching over to grab your hand.

You stiffen at the contact, trying to ignore the flash of your heart speeding up in your chest. You and Yoongi hadn’t agreed on this—if you had, maybe you would have been a little more prepared for the situation! Oh god.

On instinct, you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” You hiss.

Yoongi gives you a dry look, reaching over to grab your hand again. “Calm down,” He argues back, lacing your fingers together for extra measure, like that’s gonna be the thing to help you calm the fuck down. “This’ll help sell it, okay? Just trust me.”

Leaving little room for arguments, he squeezes your hand briefly before loosening it enough. He pulls the car door handle, pushing it outwards, and stepping out into the wild. People notice his appearance immediately, because the screams grow louder as Yoongi uses his unoccupied hand to wave and bow towards those who have come out to see him.

You trail behind rather helplessly; the hand connected to Yoongi pulling you out of the car. Yoongi stays near the door, staring down at you with a rather watchful gaze that only leaves you feeling hotter than before. Still, you don’t speak of it as Yoongi steps back just enough for you to step out of the car. “You okay?” He asks.

You nod, readjusting yourself with one hand before Yoongi starts to pull you alongside him to walk the distance towards the radio station entrance. Although you want to engage slightly with the crowd, your nerves keep you mainly at bay, forcing you to angle your head downwards just enough to avoid any serious eye contact. Yoongi keeps his gaze ahead, walking a rather brisk pace towards the radio studio—where security leads the way in opening the door for the pair of you. Whether he’s walking fast because he doesn’t want to keep up the charade of holding your hand for so long… or because he can feel how sweaty your palm is getting. You don’t know.

It’s only a few more steps before you and Yoongi are entering the building for the radio show, where Jungkook is lingering near the entrance. He’s on his phone, probably having just made a call with Seokjin about your arrival, before he spots the two of you entering. “Hey guys, how was it?”

Yoongi nods. “A little loud, but I think it went alright.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to your intertwined hands. “Wow, you guys are committed,” He comments.

You seem to remember that your soul has returned to the body that is still currently holding hands with Min Yoongi. Alarmingly, you take your hand back. “Y-Yeah, Yoongi thought it would be a good show for the people outside! No biggie—just a simple hand holding technique, people do that all the time!” You realize that you’re rambling.

Yoongi, oblivious as always, raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” You manage. “Why do you ask?”

Yoongi is about to answer, before an intern shyly approaches the three of you with an iPad in hand.

“Are you all under Mr. Min’s team?” She asks, fishing out some badges when you nod in confirmation. “Okay, so make sure to take these so everyone knows who you are. Mr. Min? I can lead you to the studio you’ll be interviewing in, if you’ll follow me—did you need me to grab a soda for you?” She begins listing a series of questions about his well-being, leaving you and Jungkook behind in the hallway with your newly acquired badges in hand.

Jungkook, observant as always, gives you a look. “What was that all about?”

“Huh? I-It was nothing…” You trail off looping the badge around your neck, meeting Jungkook’s eyes and realizing that he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. The same kind of grin that Taehyung gives you when you’re standing too close to Yoongi. Your eyes flare. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”

Jungkook laughs. “Calm down, calm down, Taehyung and I gossip a lot on the side—hey, what the fuck, don’t hit me—we’re in a public place!”

You relent your aggression, but only slightly. You lower your arms as well. “Just—don’t tell Yoongi.”

Jungkook levels with you a dry look. “Do you think I have a death wish? C’mon, let’s head over.”

With a hesitant sigh, you relent and let Jungkook lead you down the halls of this studio, until the pair of you find a door with Yoongi’s name written on the white board. There’s a darkened LIVE light panel above the frame, indicating that Yoongi’s radio interview hasn’t started yet. There’s some people lingering about, who nod and open the door for you when you present your TALENT badge at them. The inside of a radio booth is similar to the recording booths Yoongi has found a home in as of late. There’s people in this current room, headphones on and monitoring what’s happening before them while being surrounded with sound panels and laptop screens. On the other side of the glass is Yoongi, and the main hosts of the radio station, Jung Hoseok and Im Nayeon.

From your side, you can hear their conversation amplified through speakers in the studio. They’re all currently joking around about external matters—it makes sense too. Yoongi has been on this particular radio show a handful of times.

“Okay, okay, you guys,” Hoseok speaks after a few more minutes of playful banter. “Today, we have a very special guest with us today. He’s fresh off the tour of his first and most recent EP, we have Min Yoongi in the studio! Yay!” He claps. Nayeon follows suit.

Yoongi stops his clapping sooner to speak into the microphone in front of him. “Thanks for having me back.”

“Thank you for deciding to hang out with us for the afternoon,” Nayeon says. “Especially since you’re a big hot shot now.”

Yoongi laughs. “I wouldn’t say that… I just finished my first tour, Nayeon, no big deal.”

“‘No big deal’,” Nayeon quotes him. “As if your EP didn’t chart into a top 50 list or anything like that.”

The conversation trails like this for a little bit. Yoongi is scheduled to spend thirty minutes doing a segment, which is meant to be uploaded onto Youtube later, so it gives the three of them a lot of legroom to play around and play off of each other. The purpose of the interview is to discuss the tour, the progress of the album, and (if anyone dared venture there) the status of his relationship—!

“Well, moving on from the album—which I’m sure is going to be a huge success, by the way,” Nayeon continues on, bringing you back from the daydream that you’ve slipped into. “Seriously, it’s a very highly anticipated release.”

Yoongi manages a nervous smile. “I’ll make sure not to let anyone down.”

Nayeon nods. “I think it’s a good time to ask about a recent development that has occurred with you as of late.”

“And, that is the announcement of your relationship,” Nayeon carries on. She glances at Yoongi from across the table. “We’re allowed to ask you questions about it, right?”

Yoongi nods, choosing his words very carefully. “I’m all ears for your questions, Nayeon.”

Nayeon brightens at that. “I just think that a lot of people want to know: how are you guys doing since the announcement?”

He takes in a breath. To the general public, it’ll probably look as if he’s steeling himself to finally come clean about a relationship he’s been hiding for three years. But to you, you know it’s because he’s just trying to figure out what exactly to say.

“We’ve been doing well,” He says with a nod of assurance. “It was a little stressful at first, and it still is because of how recent the news is, but I am glad we decided to make this call. Y/N has been with me since the beginning and has supported me and has been the inspiration for a lot of my music—and I’m at a point in my life where I want my fans to know that rather than drag them along and just make them assume these parts of my life.”

“That’s so sweet,” Nayeon gushes. “So Y/N wasn’t always just your manager, even back in your Youtube days?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Actually, she was my girlfriend before I decided to upload song covers.”

Nayeon swoons a little. “Can you tell us the story of how we met? You can be brief, of course.”

Yoongi laughs. “We shared a class together in college, and she was probably the funniest person I had ever met—of course, we were friends for about a year before we started dating. But Y/N was always very supportive about me pursuing music, even when it was just a hobby. When I did start my Youtube channel, she stayed up to help with editing and just letting me know how some lyrics I had written would sound. She was a business major in college, so it felt right to let her have the reins on scheduling my appearances—and now she’s my manager. Besides just being my girlfriend, we work together really well.”

You huff out a breath, something you hadn’t even realized that you were holding. You didn’t think Yoongi lying straight through his teeth could cause you so much anxiety. As if there are people around this radio station to fact check everything leaving Yoongi’s mouth.

Nayeon hesitates for a moment. “Alright, I want to ask one more question.”

Yoongi gestures for her to continue.

“You write a lot about being in love and all these little moments of stability and that feeling of contentment—but what is your experience with love? How did you know that you were in love?”

Your lips part in shock at the question, having not expected it. After all, Seokjin didn’t quiz Yoongi on this answer. And to talk about love in such a personal manner—would Yoongi even have an answer for everyone?

Your gaze is trained on Yoongi, watching them through the glass separating you from him. It seems as if the entire room is silenced in anticipation. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze hot on your back, clearly trying to gauge your response—but you try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“It’s actually funny,” Yoongi speaks up after a moment. Your heart lurches, thinking that he’s going to divert from the question. But you should know him better. “I always thought love, when it came to romance, was supposed to be this big explosion of fireworks and what not—like in the movies. You see someone and there’s this feeling in your gut right away, you know, this whole concept of love at first sight. I used to think that was how I was going to fall in love. It was going to be dramatic, but everything I wanted right away, and I was going to be whisked off and everything would be sunshine and rainbows. I thought that I’d meet someone, and they’d be everything I wanted them to be right off the bat, and that I’d know right away they’d be the one.

But the truth is, through my relationship, I realized that it’s not like that. I didn’t know Y/N would be the one right away. It took a long time—because we liked each other, but that’s not the big explosion of fireworks I was promised. We liked each other, but it was never love at first sight. And truthfully, she wasn’t even everything I wanted right off the bat. I’ve realized that love is more about these adjustments you as people have to make to fit, and it happened so subtly with me that then I didn’t realize it was happening until I just woke up one day and knew.

I knew because one morning, I woke up in a fit—I had fallen asleep at my desk again trying to get through some of the music arrangement of this one video I was working on, or something like that. I was always working on music and editing—so I actually don’t remember. Anyways, I woke up and my head was resting on a pillow, and there was a blanket over my shoulder, which I didn’t remember fixing up the night before. I got out of the little makeshift studio I had in my apartment, and there was breakfast food from this cafe I really like around the corner at my table. It was a little cold, but Y/N had taped a little note on the bag with heating instructions and what not, just telling me to do my best—really nice and supportive things. I had assumed that she had gone back home, because she knew I was pulling another all-nighter for work. That’s what I thought, until I look into the living room and find her sleeping on my couch. More than that, her hands were still on her laptop, where she had been in the process of still editing one of my videos. She still had her headphones on and everything. We had been dating for a little less than a year at that point, so it wasn’t like this was a rare thing. It was a pretty normal thing for her to do—wrap me up in blankets and buy me breakfast food the following morning, even falling asleep on the couch was a weekly occurrence. But I just saw her sleeping on my couch and I felt this wave of warmth and contentment. Like I always knew that she’d be on my team. I think that was the moment I really knew what love was.”

It’s a long story, one that ends with a stunned silence—like no one had expected him to give out such a detailed answer and make it sound poetic at the same time. That’s the songwriter Min Yoongi for you, you supposed.

Quickly, both the studio and the booth give out a chorus of aw’s and ooh’s, gushing amongst one another over the charming nature of Yoongi’s story. But you are still trapped into submission, staring straight through the glass with millions of questions still going through your mind. The spike in your heart rate also points to the rush of adrenaline flowing through you. Because you know this story that he is telling. He’s not lying through his teeth. You remember this night. Or, one of the nights, at least. Like Yoongi had said, you giving out blankets and food like air was second nature in your friendship. So was you falling asleep on the couch.

Did those situations hold as much weight for him as they did for you? Or, was he just making up his feelings? After all, the key to lying was skirting as close to the truth as possible. That kind of situation may work for Yoongi, as the liar, but it wasn’t as comforting for you.

You watch the way Yoongi laughs at the gushing Nayeon does, the way he smiles brightly and continues to reinforce how important you are—and you recognize his facade better than anyone else. Of course he’s lying, and you reach their realization with a bit of downfall in your stomach. There’s no way he would be telling the truth, especially considering the situation the pair of you are now in where Yoongi’s career is dependent on his ability to tell a proper lie.

You allow yourself to sink a little deeper into the studio, near the back where the producers of the radio station can discuss amongst each other. This puts you with Jungkook, who has been watching the situation closely the entire time.

“Yoongi can be quite the actor,” Jungkook mumbles. He has this unreadable expression in his eyes, but you know that Jungkook knows that situation Yoongi is describing. It had been Jungkook’s apartment as well. He glances at you, but says nothing.

You continue to stare ahead. That pensive silence continues as Yoongi is released from the radio interview, and thanks Nayeon and Hoseok eagerly for their time and energy. Nayeon returns the gesture, waving to you through the glass when Yoongi points you out. You weakly return the action.

It isn’t until you get into the car, where the pair of you are safe from the wandering eyes and careful ears of the entire world, that one of you elects to speak up. “So, what did you think?” Yoongi asks.

By this point, you’ve recovered swiftly from your disappointment. You smile like it’s your only shield. “As your manager, I’m glad that you were able to make love so poetic—just on brand for you. As your fake girlfriend, I also really have to congratulate you for your storytelling. I even remember those nights too, so it was definitely a good memory to lie about.”

Yoongi flushes a little at your comment, looking pleased with himself for a moment. You smile at his expression, before turning to train your gaze out of the window. The gesture makes you miss the way the smile slips off his face, the way he glances over at you. A good memory to lie about—right.

Yoongi’s radio interview goes viral, and so does any hope you have in trying to forget the tale he had spun during it. Granted, you are happy that people bought his story. You just wish that it wouldn’t have muddled up all your thoughts and feelings along the way.

Naturally, Seokjin is excited about the good press and the fact that the pair of you completed your first assignment well enough. At least, that’s the display he’s presenting when you walk into his office two days after the radio interview. Yesterday was spent looking over social media to see the public’s reaction to Yoongi’s speech about love, and if you as his manager would need to do any damage control. Luckily, you do not. As his manager, it leaves you in good spirits.

But as someone who actually has a crush on Yoongi, it’s less so.

That dejection only furthers itself when you see how excited Seokjin looks, like he’s already plotting the next steps to his little project.

“Ah, Y/N!” Seokjin greets carefully. “Hi, hi, congratulations on your first successful outing with Yoongi! Per the reports I’ve been seeing over social media, you guys did a very good job.”

You sigh, placing four coffee orders onto the table and sliding into the seat in front of Seokjin’s desk. “I didn’t really do that much,” You admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Yoongi did all the talking. I just waved at Nayeon through the glass window.”

“Aaahh,” Seokjin hums, opening up his laptop and turning it around in order for you to see what is on his screen. “Seems like you did a little more than that.”

Your gaze flints down to the big, bold words across the screen: THE INSIDER REPORT ON MIN YOONGI’S RADIO INTERVIEW: Employees at the K-IM Radio Station detail their experience meeting Yoongi and his girlfriend following the announcement of their relationship.

That piques your interest, and you scoot forward in your chair slightly in order to reach out and see what Seokjin is talking about. It’s not a very lengthy article—there is a summary detailing Yoongi’s interview, of course referencing his grand speech about love—but that’s not what takes up the most space.

Your eyes continue to skim over, almost not even believing what you were reading. The intern that first greeted you and Yoongi is in here, talking about how the pair of you were holding hands “in such a loving way, and the way they looked at each other before I led him to the radio booth was so romantic!” (The intern’s words, not yours). There’s even some excerpts from the employees and producers inside the radio booth, the same room you had spent the interview in. Surprisingly, a lot of the accounts are not talking about what Yoongi said. It’s all about how you looked when Yoongi was telling his story.

“It was such a powerful speech, I couldn’t help but look over to Y/N to see her reaction, and she was staring back at Yoongi in such a way that I knew immediately that the genuine nature of their love was a two-way street.”

“... a definite softness in her gaze, like she was reliving that memory with him.”

And so on, and so on.

Your face feels a little warmer when your eyes as you push the laptop away, glancing up to see Seokjin’s staring at you. “See? You did good. The small gestures you do can go a long way—especially when you don’t notice you’re doing them.”

You close the laptop, as if that can physically distance yourself from the assurances of those who had been around you. “Right…” You manage weakly.

“Well,” Seokjin hums, already moving onto the next point of the conversation. If he senses something fishy in your response, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anyways, Yoongi is in the studio right now with Namjoon, so I just want a little update report on your relationship with Yoongi. As in, how is it going between the two of you?”

You ponder this for a moment, thinking about how he took your hand in the car, how he recounted such a personal story to explain the details of his love, the look he gave you when you congratulated his storytelling abilities—like he knew something that you did not.

At the same time, it was such a minor appearance that you didn’t get much of a feel about the romantic aspect of this fake relationship. This is why you sigh. “I’m not too sure. We had such a minor acting role together that it’s hard to say. I will say that right now it feels pretty much the same.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Seokjin approves with a nod. “So you don’t have a problem if I want to plan some informal hang-outs for you and Yoongi? Just as a way to keep your guys in the public eye enough times that fans don’t start doubting your relationship.”

You smile weakly. “Of course. That’s what I signed the NDA for.”

Seokjin laughs, finally waving you off. “Okay, sure. I’ll look into where I think your relationship will make the biggest impact and will update you and Yoongi when I’ve made my decisions.” Finally, he looks over the multiple cups of coffee you had brought over on your cardboard tray, and fishes out the one with his name on it. “This one for me?”

You lean over, flickering your gaze from the cup to his face. “Well, at the very least, I know you can read now.”

His relaxed expression morphs into a playful scowl. “Get out of here brat.”

Your laughter echoes through his office as you take your cardboard tray of three coffee cups and reemerge back into the hallway of the record studio. You walk the familiar path until you reach the door to the recording room—pulling open the door and letting yourself in. Inside the booth, Yoongi is rapping away into his microphone, as his low voice fills the tiny space of this studio. You place the tray down onto one of the tables, picking up your own before sliding over to take a seat on the couch.

As you continue listening to Yoongi wistfully hum about a desire to cross an emotional distance, about how he tells the truth because “it’s you, it’s always been you”—you cannot help your mind wandering into what Seokjin has in store for you over the course of the next few months.

CHAPTER 4: TURNING POINT

Yoongi’s first full length album is set to release in two months.

At least, that’s what KSJ records claims after uploading a quarterly report of Yoongi’s schedule. At first, you don’t think it’s a big deal for Yoongi’s label to post a tentative update about his music progress, but his fans are extremely observant and catch on immediately. It’s good to draw up the hype, you suppose.

Anyways, at the rate that Yoongi is working on the songs for the album, you won’t be surprised if he manages to follow the schedule down to a T. The boy lives and breathes music, and last time you checked the album would consist partly of songs from his EP and new songs—meaning that it cuts down Yoongi’s usual workload into half. Not that he minds, at any rate.

“Okay, Min Yoongi,” Seokjin starts up, standing at the head of the meeting room which only consists of three people. Normally, with meetings with the head of KSJ records himself, there’s a lot more people around to discuss schedule, promotions, and the likes. The fact that it’s just you and Yoongi tells you exactly what you’re doing here. “It’s been a few weeks since your radio interview, and I know that you’re doing well in your progress of the album—but I think it’ll do you well to take a break.”

Yoongi huffs. “It’s nice that you’re reminding me about this, but I’ll rest when the album is released.”

Seokjin snorts. “When did I say rest? I just meant take a break from your album work. Plus you need to get some vitamin C, or whatever shit you get from the sun.”

“It’s vitamin D,” You interject gently.

“Pish posh,” Seokjin waves away your interruption. “Anyways, like I was saying, there is a way for us to kill two birds with one stone. So that you.” He points to Yoongi. “Can get out of the studio for a few hours and you.” He points to you. “Can play into a relationship that’ll help us kill two birds with one stone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“Well,” Seokjin continues, leaning over his side of the table to get a few good at his laptop, where it appears that he has a few notes written down regarding the direction of this meeting. “In order to continue generating curiosity about Yoongi’s upcoming album and maintain the public’s constant queries about your relationship, I want you two to go on public outings. I have a few specific places I think would be good cornerstones to touch on, but I’m also willing to let the two of you figure out where you want to spend your time.” He glances up at the two of you. “That should be okay, right?”

You and Yoongi glance at each other. Come to think of it, the pair of you haven’t talked about nor reviewed the events at the radio station since it happened and the underlying questions you still have about his side of the story feels vaguely like a weight hanging over you both. But Yoongi smiles at you, and you think that you can continue to do what you’ve done for years: hide away your feelings.

“Yeah, that should be fine,” You speak up first, smiling back at Yoongi. You turn to Seokjin. “What did you have in mind?”

The question is how you find yourself in a car with Yoongi a few days later, your hands in your lap and your mind spinning with nerves. The radio interview had been one case, but a limited one at that—your role had been very minor and your interaction with Yoongi had only been seconds long. They had definitely been a lot smaller than this new role that Seokjin has assigned to you.

For today, Seokjin has directed the pair of you to the streets of Yoongi’s old stomping ground—the same shopping district with the same corner Yoongi spent all his nights performing in from a time period that seems so long enough. Not long enough, apparently, as Seokjin thinks it would be a nice nod to be ‘accidentally’ discovered walking along a place that holds so much memory.

“I just want you guys to walk around—be happy, but be close,” Seokjin had noted just a few hours prior to you and Yoongi’s departure. “Just look like the pair of you are on a date. Hold hands, smile at each other, all that jazz. Nothing too serious.”

Too bad it actually was kind of serious for you.

You and Yoongi make minor conversation, making some jokes here and there that do well in helping to ease your nerves. You don’t think Yoongi would take notice, but he can be strangely observant. Perhaps the way you keep bouncing one of your legs helps let him know that something is up.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You stop bouncing your leg. “It kind of feels like I’m about to perform, or something—it’s that same kind of rush.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, before he looks out his side of the window. “Well, technically speaking, you are about to perform. You know, with this whole relationship being an act and all.”

“Very true,” You say, nodding your head. “Do we need a game plan?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I thought that we’d just wing it. We held hands back at the radio station so, uh, I’m assuming that you’re still comfortable with doing that?”

“O-Oh yeah, of course!”

“Then, we can do that. And walk around. Improvise while we do so—just see how the day goes.”

You nod. “Okay, true, true. That sounds good.” You can’t help but give him a sneaky smile. “Look at you, Min Yoongi, you’ve become quite the performer. Improvisation used to be something you were never too good at.”

Yoongi flushes a little, smiling back at you. “Give me a little credit. You gotta have backups for your backups, especially in situations when your sound gives up on you in the middle of one of your sets.”

You laugh, because this reminds you about one of Yoongi’s first live sets along the very street the pair of you will be approaching shortly. His speakers had just given up, forcing Yoongi to go entirely acapella. In a way, that mistake ended up garnering him more fans who grew to respect his craft and talent for music and singing. But as they say, hindsight is 20 20.

You and Yoongi continue to laugh about that memory for a few minutes before Taehyung arrives along the outskirts of the shopping district, pulling up along the curb. The car is on the other side of this bustling area, just a few feet away from the pedestrian walkway that is littering with people going to and fro.

Taehyung turns around in his seat to give the pair of you a look. “Now kids, I want you to call me whenever you’re ready to get picked up.” He’s grinning around the words though

You glare at him. “Sure thing dad,” You bite back, already opening the car door to take your leave. Your feet land onto the concrete of the sidewalk as you pull yourself into a standing position. Yoongi joins you shortly after, standing close to you. “Bye,” You say, slamming the door into Taehyung’s face before he can get in one last snarky reply.

Yoongi looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh for Taehyung’s benefit. But it’s an act he can only hold together for so long, because he does start to laugh as soon as Taehyung and the company car turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

After a second, Yoongi turns to you and gestures towards the pedestrian walkway just a few feet ahead. “Shall we?”

You nod, taking the hand that he extends out to you. Just an act, you tell yourself, you allow him to lace your fingers together. Nevermind the fact that the weight on your hand feels entirely too reassuring and comforting for the current context.

Ignoring that feeling, you squeeze his hand and let him lead you towards the walkway, where you cross the street with no problem. Since Yoongi nor Seokjin had announced Yoongi’s presence at this plaza for the day, you can only hope that too much attention won’t be drawn to you.

It’s a thought that you are able to entertain for a few minutes. Yoongi may not have the star quality status of mainstream celebrities (yet), but he’s still someone who has been on the radio, has done a country-wide tour, and has a youtube following of a couple million people (four now, the last time you checked—subscriber counts tend to zip by after a person hits a million). That small list of accomplishments is more than enough to drag in a few wandering eyes. Okay, maybe a little more than a few.

You think that you’ve kind of developed a seventh sense to knowing when Yoongi was being recognized. It’s shown in the double-glances some people start shooting at him, at quick whispers behind closed hands, and craning necks over shoulders.

You’re okay with people knowing about Yoongi’s current location, but the memory of his tours and even the crowd problem that came up during his street performances flashback in your mind. You don’t think you want to deal with that situation right now—secretly preferring if people just observed from a distance.

Without thinking twice, you tighten your hold on Yoongi’s hand long enough to lead him into one of the stores along the sidewalk—an accessories booth with fake glasses, rings, earrings, the likes.

Yoongi watches you, a touch of amusement in his eyes like he knows what you’re thinking. Still, he asks. “What are you doing?”

You rummage through the wide selection of glasses, fully aware that one or two people have spotted the pair of you and are lingering near the entrance to catch a glance at what you two are doing. From the looks of it, no one is going to stir up a commotion. You still want to make sure.

“You stand out,” You explain vaguely, finding a pair of circle glasses in black-rims from the pile before turning around and more or less smashing the glasses against his face. It’s difficult to try and put glasses on another person, you miss his ears a few times and almost get him in the eye, but Yoongi strangely enough lets you manhandle him.

In the midst of your last few attempts you step forward and scoot even closer to him to try and get the glasses more properly situated on his face. Due to the proximity, Yoongi’s hands fly up from his side to avoid being pressed uncomfortably against his chest, choosing to rest at your waist. At first, you don’t feel the weight of his hands, you’re too focused on making sure the fake glasses you’ve selected can fit in place.

As soon as you’ve properly aligned the glasses to his face, you lower your hands from his face. The action makes you suddenly hyper aware of the current position you’ve put yourself in. It’s not very often that you get handsy with Yoongi, it’s a side of you that comes out when the pair of you are in a hurry, but hardly during candid moments like this.

Immediately, Yoongi’s hands feel like warm flames tickling your skin, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of his position, of his closeness. Your eyes flicker up, seeing his face with those glasses you’ve just shoved onto him sitting nicely at the bridge of his nose, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. The stare he’s giving you only heightens the gravitational pull you feel towards him.

You don’t know how long the pair of you are just standing in the middle of the store, staring at each other, until you feel the weight of a third party approaching the pair of you.

You practically shove yourself away from Yoongi, trying to make it seem as if you’re just stepping back to get an overall look at his face (Yoongi featuring glasses). Yoongi lets you go.

The third party is an employee of the accessories booth, smiling widely. “Sorry to interrupt,” She says, looking over at Yoongi. “Sir, I just want to say that those glasses look great on you. And just to let you know we’re having a sale on that collection so it’s a buy one get the other one half off so maybe you two can match if you’re up to it…”

You tune her out after a second, realizing that you can’t really keep up with what she’s saying considering the current firestorm that’s going on inside your head. Why couldn’t you have just asked Yoongi to put the glasses on himself? You curse yourself for letting your guard down—sometimes you try to do things of your own accord, and today you were paying the price.

When you don’t speak after a few seconds, Yoongi smiles at the employee. “Got it, thanks a lot.” He waits until the employee returns back to rearranging some earrings on a nearby shelf before turning back to you. “How does it look?”

He does look good, but you play it down by tilting your head and settling with a shrug. “Well, you’ve looked better—but this’ll have to do.”

Yoongi laughs, before he does something that catches you off guard. He steps closer to you. “So you think there are times when I do look good?”

You try not to look too bewildered at his gesture. You can tell that he does feel a little nervous about the fact he’s testing the waters so boldly without any practice, but it’s all part of the act. Just as Seokjin said: be happy, be close.

So you place a hand on his chest, pushing him slightly with your own little teasing smile. “I said better—that doesn’t always mean you were ever good to begin with.”

Yoongi makes a noise of protest, and without warning just swings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his side. “You’re breaking my heart everyday!”

“You must like the abuse, you’re still with me,” You bite back playfully without thought. For a split second, it doesn’t feel like you’re in a store with people who vaguely recognize Yoongi’s appearance—for a split second, it feels like just you and him, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

Upon Yoongi’s lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Good job, I think the group of girls outside caught our picture.”

That dreamy fantasy where it was just you and Yoongi and nothing else mattered came crashing down, squaring you right back into reality. It’s not a disappointing feeling per say—just a vague extra hammering of your heartbeat, a vague guilt that you let your mind let its guard down like that. “Right,” You say. “Uh…” You try to think, which proves to be a difficult thing to do with Yoongi’s weight pressed up against you and everything. You clap your hands together. “Okay, let’s grab a hat and then we’ll be on our way.”

You make sure to be a little less handsy when it comes to hat selections, but you knew there was only so far you could escape given the current context of the situation. Yoongi seems to know that, because he stays close to you as you’re both shifting through hats, and even when he pays for his hat and glasses combination before exiting the booth. The pair of you pass through the two girls that were lingering outside of the booth, where Yoongi gives them the smallest wave and hello before carrying on with the rest of the trip.

With the hat and glasses combination, it definitely draws less attention to Yoongi’s classic fluffy black hair and gummy smile—especially if you’re using what was going on in the beginning of your trip as a baseline. This means that you and Yoongi can carry on with the rest of your outing with feeling the obvious heavy weight of gazes on your shoulder.

With intertwined hands the pair of you first stop by one of the local cafes and sit right alongside the window to enjoy some pasta and soda combinations. You roll up the noodles onto your fork and clink utensils with Yoongi before slipping the noodles in your mouth—tomato sauce with flavor slipped into every side piece of noodle. It’s amazing, and you cannot help but gush so as you smile brightly around your fork.

You’re too busy stirring your fork around yet another string of pasta that you fail to see the softening look of the boy across the table from you. It’s a look that disappears by the time your gaze glints back up to resume the conversation. The pasta is considered a snack above all else, so it doesn’t take long for the pair of you to finish up your meal. Leaving a tip behind on the table, Yoongi walks over to you just as you’re straightening up from your chair. Silently, he offers his hand to you.

Knowing the routine by now, you take his hand, silently lacing your fingers together and letting him lead the way out of the cafe and back onto the sidewalk. The later afternoon shows itself in the steady increase of people, which is good because it makes you feel as if you can blend into the crowd either. There are still the occasional phones out, trailing after you and Yoongi as you walk along the sidewalk, but nothing that ever makes you feel as if you need to call Taehyung.

“Actually, this isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” You grumble to Yoongi quietly, a comment that he laughs at.

“I’m not that famous,” Yoongi jokingly teases you. “And my fans are just being respectful—give them a little credit.” His voice dies down shortly after, however, but it only takes you a few seconds to realize why.

The pair of you, in the midst of your simple ‘walk along the sidewalk’ plan, have arrived at a very familiar street corner. The sunset means that arriving performers who work best once the sun leaves are just beginning to set up their stage—laying out equipment, testing out sound systems, saying hello to some passersby who recognize the artists getting ready. You can read the signs of these interactions very easily. After all, it’s what Yoongi used to do a year ago, at this very spot too.

In front of you, a new performer, a singer, is setting up her own equipment—guitar in hand as she practices her strumming. You inch closer to Yoongi, your arms molded against each other. “Hey, hey,” You whisper at Yoongi. The boy leans over to better hear you. “She reminds me of you.”

Yoongi laughs. “What do you mean? How?”

You glance over at the girl again, not noticing the way Yoongi is still staring at you, quietly awaiting your answer. “You guys have the same drive,” You eventually note. “And the same determination. It’s easy to see in her, just as it’s always been like that for you…” You trail off, looking over to realize that he’s still looking at you.

“You noticed those things, huh?” Yoongi asks quietly.

His gaze is too enticing to look away from, pulling you in through a situation not unlike what had happened at the accessories shop earlier that afternoon. “I-I mean, of course I do…” Yoongi’s gaze feels like hot magnets that are just pulling the next words out of you. “I always notice with you.”

The world seems to quiet down at that, everything slowing down as you feel yourself mentally curse yourself out for those words. Why would you say it like that?

A million thoughts go through your head at once. You weren’t really lying or trying to play a part. You were being honest. You do always notice with Yoongi. And since he clearly only sees you as a friend that could participate in whatever scheme he can get himself into, then he would obviously hear your statement and think of it as nothing more than a friendly complement. Right? RIGHT?

Except, Yoongi is still just standing next to you, staring at you, not making any sort of comment whatsoever. He has that unreadable expression in his gaze, a look he always gives you when you let the cracks slip in your facade, but it’s something he never talks about, never explains to you—just like right now.

The silence grows tense, so tense that it begins to feel like weights on your shoulders, like a coil wrapping itself around your heart, because why isn’t he saying anything?

Yoongi hums, low and throaty and that coil around your heart drops into your stomach. “Is that so?” He inquires softly, continuing to gaze at you.

His gaze drops down to your lips, and that coil is replaced with butterflies all around you. It starts are a flutter in your stomach, in your heart, and your mind starts to race because what the fuck is happening?

Around you, the growing number of people means that someone accidentally bumps into you, driving you forward right into Yoongi’s chest. The pair of you stumble, effectively dissipating that cloud of tension that had threatened to curl through you. You cough, taking a small step away from Yoongi so that while the pair of you were still holding hands, that was the only thing connecting the pair of you.

You and Yoongi don’t have another run in like that for the remainder of the date, as that late afternoon sunset fades away into nighttime and you and Yoongi spend that time trying to enjoy each other’s presence whilst also not engaging in too much physical contact. Your fingers remain loosely intertwined but it never tightens as if the small air of space between your hands can hide away the nerves and tension you feel yourself trying to contain.

Even when Taehyung comes to pick the two of you up, and you no longer are under the obligation to hold hands, that air of space still feels heavy between the two of you.

The overwhelming positive response of your first official public date sends Seokjin through the moon, as well as provides him with a drive to arrange and send you and Yoongi out on more dates. All of which, fortunately for you, don’t come nearly as close to the level of tension experienced from the first date. Partly because you know your limits, and go into each planned date with a level of expectation for yourself as well as rules that you’ve internally programmed yourself to follow every time you and Yoongi step out of the car.

At the museum date, you make sure to keep your distance, using your intertwined hands with Yoongi as the only signal of your relationship. The pair of you joke around about the art pieces, whispering between each other about how many fans have taken pictures of the pair of you lingering about the museum, as well as relay information to each other about various rooms that you are interested in. But in a way, it definitely feels more like a typical friendly hang-out rather than a date.

The same idea can be applied to the next date Seokjin sends you on—a casual date at one of the local botanical gardens, each garden filled with a different culture to serve as the theme for its layout and plant growth. Some gardens have little cafe booths and grassy fields to buy some snacks before sitting down to enjoy the sunlight, which is an idea that Yoongi suggests that the two of you do. He points to one of the ice cream shops along the outskirts of a garden, and claims a seat on one of the benches so the two of you can enjoy your treat. The current summertime weather emits a warmer heat and breeze that curls lightly through the air throughout the day, making for a perfectly comfortable season to wear a sundress. It’s also the kind of undetectable weather for ice cream to melt down the cone, onto unsuspecting fingers curled into the dry waffle texture. Yoongi makes that well aware by poking your cheek with his sticky finger, garnering several pictures of the encounter.

Seokjin has even tried to implement studio life into his constant narrative to keep up the facade of your relationship with Yoongi. While the pair of you go on these occasional dates, Yoongi also has a deadline to fulfill with his album release. On the days where dates are not planned out, he’ll be in the studio—rearranging songs to fit in with the music beats that have more or less been tapered down to perfection. As his manager, sometimes you find yourself staying past your allotted time slot of being at the studio, before sneaking into the recording booth way past midnight to see what Yoongi and Namjoon are up to.

Just as it follows: you straighten up, craning your neck backwards a little to allow for slight muscle extensions after sitting at a desk for an extra hour too long. With Yoongi’s album steadily approaching, there are interviews that need to be arranged, magazines and newspapers and radio shows alike all reaching out to you for the opportunity to cover Yoongi’s growth as an artist. Albums also equate to tours to help promote the album, and with the close call from Yoongi’s last experience with such, it means that you need to book more locations—or the same location across multiple dates.

Overall, the growing pile of work means that you and everyone else at KSJ Studios are just as anticipated for Yoongi’s album release as the general public. It seems as if his collective fanbase are hoping and waiting under the same parameters: was the album going to be as good as they were expecting?

You shoulder your purse, stepping out of your office and shutting it behind you. You navigate through the hallways, glancing sideways to peek out the long glassway of windows, all overlooking the city skyline, the multicolor lights flickering ahead in the distance. You quirk a lip.

Your usual brisk pace dies down when you pass the studio you know Yoongi and Namjoon are recording in. The soundproof walls inside mean that hardly any music ever seeps out from between the cracks, only heightening your curiosity. Your busy schedule recently has made it so you have hardly been able to hear what Yoongi and Namjoon have come up with.

You glance down at your watch. It was nearing midnight. Well, you think to yourself, a little peek wouldn’t hurt. You reach over to grip the door handle, pushing it down and pushing it open. Inside is the usual scene: Yoongi behind the glass, his fingers curled around the headphones as he speaks into the microphone. His voice filters through the main studio area, where Namjoon sits behind computers and music panels, capturing every single second of what is going on.

Further driven by curiosity, you find yourself pulling harder at the door to let yourself in. Namjoon turns at the sound, but softens a little when he sees that it’s you.

“Burning the midnight oil?” You tease, standing next to Namjoon at the table, watching Yoongi’s closed eyes as he loses himself in the song.

Namjoon grins back. “You’re not gonna tell us to stop, are you?”

“Hey.” You bring both arms up in a sign of surrender. “I’m off the clock on this one. Just wanted to see what you two were up to.”

Suddenly, Yoongi calls your name from behind the glass, as the noise is amplified through the studio. You jump slightly, having not expected to be noticed so soon. Yoongi waves. “It’s late!” He calls. “What are you still doing here?”

You lean forward to press the button that opens the two-way communication. “I’m not sure you heard, but there’s an artist in this studio that’s working on an upcoming album—it’s causing a lot of pain for the rest of us.”

Yoongi laughs at that. “Touche, touche.” He brightens up slightly. “Hey, we’re wrapping up on this song, so if you stick around I’ll drive you home.”

This is a natural offer for Yoongi to make, considering the extent to which you’ve spent long nights here. Brushing it off as nothing more than Yoongi just being a good pal, you nod and flash him a thumbs up. “Sounds good, sounds good. But take your time. Don’t let me get in the way.”

You turn around, allowing the music of Yoongi’s song to refilter back through the studio. You park yourself atop the couch at the back, settling into the soft cushions. Come to think of it, falling asleep definitely isn’t the worst thing in the world to do—especially on this couch. And you’re exhausted, what with scheduling events all day and having to burn through your social battery by making one too many phone calls with various people within the industry.

The last thing you remember is Yoongi’s soft humming that fades away into a quiet static.

You jerk awake after what feels like a few minutes—but judging from your new position on the couch (horizontal this time, instead of vertical) and the blanket that has been tucked under your chin, you realize quickly that this few minutes has actually been a few hours. It might be hard to believe that, because the world around you still seems very similar to what it had been when you fell asleep. The lack of windows in the studio make it very difficult to distinguish time—although Yoongi’s voice sounds much closer than it had when you first fell asleep.

You sit up.

Namjoon and Yoongi jolt at your sudden movement. “Woah! She’s awake now,” Yoongi teases.

Blinking for a few seconds, you turn your head to find Yoongi out of the recording booth and instead sitting at one of the tables in the actual studio setting. Surrounding Namjoon and Yoongi looks like an entire McDonalds family meal: chicken nuggets, $1 menu burgers, lots of french fries…

You let out a breath to help further situate you to your new surroundings. “Min Yoongi…” You start, voice hoarse. “You said you were just finishing up.”

“I was,” Yoongi explains, looking vaguely guilty. Only vaguely though. “But I had this sudden epiphany, like holy shit you really had to be here—it was crazy.”

“I was here,” You choke out.

Yoongi waves you off. “You know what I mean—here here. Anyways, yeah, we realized that we couldn’t leave, especially when I got Namjoon on the same page. He was just as excited as I was!”

Namjoon slaps his hand. “Don’t drag me into this!”

Yoongi ignores him. “Anyways, it’s like two in the morning and we got hungry. McDonalds is the food of champions, after all. You hungry? Here, have some water first.” He grabs a bottle of water from the table and unscrews the cap. Suddenly, he’s standing up and making his way towards the couch. He sits down next to you, offering the water to you. “Here. You must be thirsty.”

You are. Still heavy-lidded too, but you try your best to blink away the exhaustion as you blindly reach for the water and manage to grab it after Yoongi adjusts his own angled arm. He watches you as you tilt your head back to down some of the water, accidentally drinking a little more than your mouth can handle. Some of it slides down the corner of your lip, making you angle your head back properly and remove your lips from the bottle head.

Yoongi softens a little at your clumsy nature, tugging the sleeve of his long-sleeved forward in order to pat the corner of your mouth. “Aw, look at my tiny little baby, can’t even drink water properly,” He coos.

You flinch slightly away from him, trying for a glare that comes out more like a pout. Yoongi laughs softly at the sight. “There are no cameras around us, Min Yoongi,” You grumble out. “You don’t need to be so attentive.”

“Nevermind that, I’m just trying to be a friend. You want a french fry?” He reaches across the space separating the couch from the table, and grabs the box of salty french fries. His voice carries that usual positive disposition from previously, but the light in his eyes has died down a little. You don’t notice it, too busy looking at the french fries and realizing that you are actually a little hungry.

The remainder of Yoongi and Namjoon’s break is dedicated to finishing up the family meal, before Yoongi looks at the clock and claps his hands together. “Hey Namjoon, I think I should take my girl home before we get back to working. Is that okay?”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker between the two of you, but he relents. “Of course.” He utters your name. “Have a good night.”

“I should be saying that to you,” You return teasingly, more of your senses have returned since putting food into your stomach. “See you tomorrow, Namjoon.”

So Yoongi takes you home, driving through the darkened streets, making light conversation with you, completely ignoring the fact that he has just addressed you as his girl, before your phone starts to buzz in your lap. It’s a notification from Instagram, saying that Namjoon has tagged you in a picture. Raising an eyebrow, you tap the alert, which takes you to a picture from just a few minutes ago—you and Yoongi at the studio, Yoongi tapping gently at your face with his sweater paw. The caption burns into your mind: three am company, ft my favorite artist and his favorite girl.

His favorite girl.

His girl.

CHAPTER 5: HIS GIRL

Yoongi’s album is entitled Y2, and it releases in the autumn, when the leaves are colored orange and the breeze has called for cozy jackets and big sweaters. It’s the perfect attire to wear as the earphones get plugged in and slipped into ears—curled up by soft cashmere and Yoongi’s luring voice. He’s got about sixteen songs on the album, a sweet mixture of loose beats and soft vocal voices that seem to simultaneously battle the drawn out harsh tone of stories extended across various three minute arrangements. The stories cover the low point—passive aggressive fights, of late nights, of “holding your hand, being so close, yet feeling so lonely”. But the songs also touch on the high points—coming back together, of soft morning light, of “being with you, wiping the traces of exhaustion from the corner of your lips, so close yet so far away, and still knowing you’re all I [he] could ever want”.

At least, it is what one article touches upon in a Y2 review, where the journalist gives high remarks to Yoongi’s album. She calls it a refreshing interpretation of music, continuing in the era of singers actually singing about their feelings. More than that, an era of storytelling in music. Of anything, of life, of the highs and the lows—the sadness, the happiness, the softness.

Safe to say that Yoongi is very excited to read this review on his phone, along with the surplus of positive things people have to say—from highly regarded journalists who belong to highly regarded newspaper companies, from social media, from his friends and family. Most especially, from you. You: whose hand he holds underneath the table as the numbers of listens start pouring in from various streaming websites.

He’s been nervous about this. He’s put his blood, sweat, and tears into the creation of this album, every song has been nailed down to perfection. His name, and his heart, is back out into the world.

The night of the album release is the launch party.

“Dude, it’s supposed to be a chill night,” Jungkook calls from the hallway, and you can’t help but laugh at how exasperated the boy sounds. “Would you just calm down?” Jungkook emerges from the aforementioned hallway. Despite his mention of this ‘chill night’, he’s still wearing something vaguely casual chic. “You’re his manager. Manage his overthinking tendencies.”

You laugh, watching as Jungkook plops down into the empty spot next to you on the couch, immediately leaning back into the cushion. “You know as well as I do that I don’t have that much control over him.”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “You probably have more control than you think.”

Before you can ask more questions, think more deeply into what the fuck Jungkook means by that, his eyes land on the hallway entrance before straightening up in the cusion. Your eyes follow Jungkook’s movement, where Yoongi is now standing in the once vacant space of his apartment. But his stance isn’t what gets you to stare, what makes your breath feel like it has just caught in your chest. Although he’s following the ‘casual chic’ dress code that Seokjin has ordered, there’s something about a white t-shirt that hits differently when it’s paired with a coat and dark jeans that highlight his long legs.

Yoongi gestures down at what he’s wearing meekly. “What do you think?” Although it appears that he’s addressing both you and Jungkook, his gaze is almost entirely fixed on you.

Trying hard to ignore the racing of your heart, you straighten up and somehow manage to make your way over to him without snapping your ankle on your chunky platform boots. Doing your best to pay attention to his outfit over his face, you reach over to straighten out the silver necklace he’s got dangling at his chest. “You look good,” You settle calmly. “And Jungkook is right—it’s supposed to be a chill night. Seokjin just invited people from the label. And some of your friends as well. Relax a bit, will you?”

Finally, you force yourself to level your gaze with Yoongi’s, fully confident that he’s just staring at you and probably wondering why you aren’t making eye contact with him. But when you do manage to glance at Yoongi’s face, you realize quickly that he’s not even staring at you. Instead, he’s staring down, at the curve of your throat.

Without warning, your cardiac system seems to pump itself too hard, because your breath of surprise comes out through your nose, effectively bringing up and lowering your lungs so fast that anyone would be able to read your vital sounds now. This proves to be true, because Yoongi’s gaze darts up from your neck to your eyes so quickly, that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had you stuck around without looking at his eyes. Doing that, however, might have saved you from this now tricky situation. “Sorry,” Yoongi manages, eyes flickering between yours. “I, uh, didn’t hear what you said.”

You realize the gravity of your position—your fingers now curled around the lapels of Yoongi’s jacket and one of his hands curled around your waist. That gravitational pull from every single one of your dates with Yoongi comes back again, curling around your neck and seeming to push you closer, closer—!

Jungkook coughs loudly from behind you.

You and Yoongi tear your gazes away from each other, as you uncurl both of your fingers from around Yoongi’s coat. “I-uh,” You start. “Was just saying that you should relax a little. You don’t have to try and impress anyone tonight.”

Yoongi sneaks one last glance at you. “We’ll see,” He says, before stepping away from you and brushing past Jungkook to make his way towards the door. Jungkook turns to look at you, wide-eyed and mouthing the words ‘what the fuck was that?’

To which you shake your head, very sure that you don’t want to get into this tonight of all nights. This was supposed to be a celebration for Yoongi. Just as you’ve done for the past few months, you can continue to keep your emotions in check. Easy-peasy.

Except it’s not easy-peasy because you see Seokjin at the club that he’s reserved for Yoongi’s album release party, and you realize that this is not a chill event for you—you still have to keep up the facade of your relationship in front of everyone.

Yoongi seems to realize this at the same time you do, because he inches closer to you and laces your fingers together. From afar, Seokjin nods in an unspoken confirmation regarding your behavior.

The beginning of the party starts with the trickle in of the various guests Seokjin has invited—from the friends he has made in the business, to others signed under the KSJ records label, to you, Jungkook, and Yoongi’s personal friends from college. The onslaught of new people fills you with the usual sense of excitement after not having attended a party in what feels like years. Working as a manager for a budding new artist is a lot less about the parties and more about the hustle.

The first hour of the event is dedicated to the mingling of people—of free food and conversations around the bottomless cocktails that every guest rushes to the bar to take full advantage of. It’s nice to be able to catch up with the friends that you and Yoongi haven’t spoken to since graduation—which is the group you and Yoongi first approach, as Yoongi is slinging his arm around one Park Jimin. The latter whose eyes widen and lips curl up into a grin at the sight of the two of you. It’s nice to see an old friend again, it almost brings you back to a time where you and Yoongi were both in-tune and surface-level friends.

“Hey, congratulations on the new album release!” Jimin exclaims brightly after the three of you have acquired some drinks from the bartender. Jimin raises his drink first, to which you and Yoongi follow suit.

As the glasses clink into the air, Jimin adds in another thing that reminds you of the fact that you and Yoongi are not back in college. You are here, in the present, with a fake relationship on the line.

“And congratulations to your relationship announcement,” Jimin continues.

You cough on your drink at that, lowering the glass immediately, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “Jimin, I know what all those reports have been saying…”

“Don’t worry,” Jimin brushes off. “I read through some of them. You guys have been dating for three years, right? I’m honestly surprised I never saw it. In hindsight, it makes sense.” Jimin takes a longer sip, gesturing towards Yoongi with a noise of acknowledgement coming from his throat. “Hm—I guess because you guys are dating now, I can let the cat out of the bag—but, Yoongi liked you from the first moment he met you.”

Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to choke on his drink, his chest heaving as he coughs into his sleeve. “Jimin, ah, you don’t need to talk about that—!”

Jimin laughs, naturally assuming that Yoongi’s choke was done out of shyness and not something deeper than that. “What, you think just because this happened when we were at college, I wouldn’t have said something all these years later?”

You can’t help but smile at their exchange. Although Jimin’s comment about Yoongi’s crush definitely piques your interest. You turn to Yoongi. “You had a crush on me back then?”

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Jimin beats him to it. “Oh yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about you—said that you had this smile like starlight and were super easy to talk to.”

“You have a great memory for someone who almost flunked college algebra,” Yoongi bites out hotly.

Jimin, clearly oblivious to the situation, laughs out loud. “I agree. Normally I would have forgotten all about that. But.” With Jimin’s fingers still curled around the wine glass, he is only able to point an index finger out at Yoongi. “I’ll never forget that look in your eyes. Like you saw something you were never going to let go of.”

You know Jimin is the one talking, but you cannot help but look at Yoongi as you feel your world spinning slightly around you. You blame it on the alcohol—as small of a sip as you have taken so far. Jimin, unlike a lot of the other parties you’ve been spending your time with, is not in on the joke of your relationship with Yoongi being a PR cover story. So there has to be some merit to it. Right?

Right?

Before you can even think how to phrase the billions of questions flying through your mind, the soft beat of a hand against a microphone sounds through the bar, as the original music that has been pounding through the club gets lowered to show that someone is trying to command everyone’s attention.

It’s Kim Seokjin, situated at the stage, with the microphone in hand. “Hey everyone! Before we actually start unveiling the numbers that Y2 has hit so far, I just want to say a few words. First of all, thank you everyone so much for joining us tonight as we celebrate the anticipated release of Min Yoongi’s album.”

Lots of claps sound from the guests, several cheers, one of you and Jimin join in just for the sake of embarrassing Yoongi. If he’s flustered with the attention, he’s gotten a lot better at hiding it.

“Actually,” Seokjin continues. “Why don’t we have the man of the hour join us? After all, my words don’t mean shit up here—I wasn’t the one who just released new music. Yoongi, come on up!”

Lots more claps and cheers, and the music volume increases dramatically just to give Yoongi some sort of platform to enter on. It makes you laugh. Seokjin is clearly having fun with his role. So you watch, sticking by Jimin, as Yoongi emerges from the crowd to step onto the stage. Seokjin pulls the microphone away from the pair of them as he leans over to whisper something into Yoongi’s ear, where the latter nods a few times before accepting the microphone that is now being extended out to him.

Yoongi clears his throat, speaking over the lowering music. “Hi guys, thanks so much for coming out,” He starts, laughing a little when there is another round of cheers. “As I’m sure a lot of you know, this is my first full length album that’s being released out into the world and it’s basically everything I ever could have dreamed of. One lesson that I’ve learned is that making albums of both the cover songs I did and the original songs I would produce in my shitty college apartment is a completely different experience than getting professional equipment to do a lot of the work for me.”

You laugh at that, the memories floating through your mind.

Yoongi smiles a little at the feedback he gets. But he continues. “And of course a lot of that professional equipment was able to work in my favor because I had helped. Seokjin of course, deserves a thank you for letting me learn and experiment with new sounds, and for letting me take a risk by trying out beats and stories that a lot of people might have turned down. And Namjoon.” He seems to spot Namjoon from the crowd, because he delivers a nod. “For being more than my favorite producer, but also my mentor and my guide. We had a lot of lightbulb late nights together. And finally…” His eyes land on you, and you feel yourself self-consciously straighten up. “Y/N—my Y/N. For those of you who don’t know, my girlfriend is my manager and we recently made our relationship public. I thought the transition from private to public would have been the hardest thing of my life, but she made it so easy. Just as she’s always made it so easy to inspire my music, to be my best friend—and to love her.”

Love.

You suddenly feel like you’re seeing the world through a small lens, unable to believe the words you are hearing and the sights you are seeing. Yoongi is staring right back at you, with all this love and adoration in his eyes, lips quirking up as a result of the coos from the audience.

It’s a vague kind of spotlight anxiety from seeing so many people looking at you considering the circumstances. It’s a feeling that only heightens when Yoongi opens his mouth again to continue speaking. “Actually, honey, why don’t you come up here, so I can thank you properly.”

The whoops and cheers sound again, and Jimin has to nudge you in the ribs to get you to move. Your initial thoughts are one of panic, suspicion, and curiosity. One glance at Seokjin’s direction conveys the high influx of questions that are flowing through your mind—what exactly are those two boys planning?

Yoongi’s hand extends out to you, helping you up onto the stage, as you turn around to face the crowd of people Yoongi has just been addressing. Of course, you have less experience hiding your general shyness around crowds, so the most you can muster is a smile and a wave.

Yoongi laughs into the microphone. “Don’t worry baby, I didn’t call you up to embarrass you. I just wanted to show you that all of this…” He gestures to the whole club, the crowds of people who have taken time out of their schedule to show support, the sounds of his album now filtering through the speakers. “All of this was possible because you believed in me, you supported me, and agreed to help me work toward my dream. This is all as much yours as it is mine.”

Then, he surprises you by leaning forward to brush his lips across your cheek—a gesture that further incites a bigger reaction of positive cheers and hoots from the audience. You turn your head immediately towards him as soon as he pulls away, your eyes wide with surprise. After all, you and Yoongi have never discussed the rule on kissing before, have never brought up any sort of lip contact to any degree. His boldness is something that takes you completely off guard.

And judging from the uncertain look that dances behind his eyes, a flicker that only you can see and decipher, you can tell that he hadn’t been expecting that from himself either.

You’re about to pull away, maybe walk off the stage and take another drink to whatever the fuck that was all about, before Jimin’s familiar voice sounds off from within the crowd.

“You call that a kiss, Min Yoongi?” Jimin calls, close enough now that it’s easier to see him. “C’mon, kiss your girlfriend like you mean it!”

The rest of the crowd immediately catches onto what Jimin is doing, and they play into it immediately. Suddenly, shouts of “KISS HER, KISS HER!” sound throughout the guests.

The new direction that this has taken over the span of just a few seconds seconds you into another wild onslaught of differing emotions. Nevermind the fact that you’ve never agreed to actually kiss Min Yoongi. Obviously, the internal choice has been made for a handful of reasons, none of which you can explain to Yoongi or Seokjin without digging yourself further into this hole where you would truly have no way of escaping.

Which is why you clearly can’t say anything of protest right now. Everyone thinks the pair of you have been dating for years, and that kissing has become a natural action for you both to do. Of course they would play into Jimin’s game, thinking nothing harmful of it.

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears as you shift your gaze from the crowd of people before you to Yoongi, who looks equally as stunned by the request as you. He plays it off a little bit, however, smiling as he brings the microphone close to his mouth again. “I’m not sure you all would want to be subjected by some PDA, especially you over there, Park.”

Jimin makes a noise of disapproval. “It’ll just be this one time! I’m sure people don’t mind! Spread the love, Min.”

Other people from the guest list add on that they don’t mind in between their laughter and giggles, probably writing off you and Yoongi’s shy disposition as just that: a shy, private couple who is still getting used to the watchful eye of the general public. Nevermind the fact that you and Yoongi have just never kissed each other before.

Yoongi then turns to look at you, microphone down to his legs so that it can’t pick up the small whispers the pair of you start exchanging. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you up here…”

“No, no, it’s fine, I understand why you did it…” You trail off. “Kissing my cheek, on the other hand…”

Yoongi groans. “Yeah, that’s my bad. Seokjin said I could consider doing it but I wasn’t thinking when I leaned over. I completely forgot that Jimin is a menace to society. I’m gonna kick his ass after this.”

You want to continue this private, side-lined conversation, but it is overrun by the louder voices that keep repeating the same two lines over and over again: “KISS HER, KISS HER!” until the echoes of it start ringing in your ear drums.

Yoongi switches topics to the more pressing one at hand. “So, uh, I guess we should…”

You exhale quickly, nodding. “It seems so…”

Yoongi inches closer to you, his breath fanning your lips as your eyes instinctively close. “I’m sorry,” He whispers, the final thing he says to you before he kisses you.

Now, let’s backtrack a little. You’ve liked Yoongi for years, so to say that you’ve never thought of this moment would just be a lie to yourself. Of course you’ve thought about kissing Yoongi. Or, at the very least, you’ve caught yourself staring at his lips when he would go off on another spiral about his passions. That type of talking is very hot, so what?

But you never thought you would be able to experience it, to kiss the lips you’ve flickered your eyes to more times than you’re willing to admit. So as soon as you feel the weight of his mouth against your own, your brain goes haywire. Suddenly, all your senses are hyper focused on Yoongi—from his lips, to the warmth of his body wrapping itself around you, to his fingers curled around your wrist.

You hardly hear the cheers from the audience, too busy allowing your heart to melt into butterflies as he presses harder into you, moving his lips against yours. You part your lips as well, curling your wrist to gather the material of his shirt into your hands.

It feels like time has stretched out before Seokjin claps both of you on the back, forcing you to jolt away from Yoongi. He actually looks flustered this time—pink cheeks and reddened lips, his eyes are fixated on you, chest heaving. You feel like you’re in a similar state of shock, especially because kissing Yoongi makes something dawn on you. A realization of ice cold water.

This isn’t just a crush you’ve harbored on Yoongi for the past few years. This isn’t just some small schoolgirl crush living out a fantasy, or something you can easily brush off, or simple butterflies you can squash everytime he reaches out to hold your hand. This is love. You’re in love with your best friend. And you have absolutely no fucking clue what to do about it.

If the audience is taken aback by this long-term couple in front of them looking zero point two seconds away from devouring each other in a frenzied passion, no one settles long enough to comment or stare upon it for too long. Seokjin does well to grab the microphone from Yoongi and bring the attention back to the actual party on hand. He mentions another round of free alcohol, which are two words that can take anyone’s attention away.

“And Yoongi, uh, I actually need to borrow for you a moment,” Seokjin murmurs in a low voice. “So I hope I’m not taking away from…” He trails off, gesturing awkwardly between the two of you. “Whatever this is…”

“Oh no!” You interject quickly, taking a step away from Yoongi. “Not taking away at all.”

Yoongi gives you a concerned look. “Maybe we should, uh, talk about that…”

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay, seriously.” You shrug a shoulder. “Just part of the act, right?”

Yoongi’s concern melts away into something that might be hurt, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come. “I’ll try not to be long then.”

You nod. “Yeah, no problem—no need to rush or anything… I’ll just be hanging out with Jimin…”

Yoongi gazes at you for a few seconds longer, before he lets himself get dragged off the stage by Seokjin. Rather than immediately go out to seek your old friend, you find your gaze following after the two of them, trying to see where exactly Yoongi is getting roped into.

You continue to trail after them in the club, until the two of them are pulled into a booth—the person opposite of them makes your lips part in utter shock.

“Yoongi, I want you to meet an old friend of mine,” Seokjin starts as he and Yoongi dive deeper into the thrones of people. Yoongi feels himself being directed towards a corner booth, currently occupied by two people. “She wanted me to introduce you.” Finally, the pair of them stop at the head of the table. “This is Lee Jieun.”

Right off the bat, Yoongi is vaguely insulted that Seokjin thought that someone like Lee Jieun needed an introduction—because who wouldn’t know who Lee Jieun?

Lee Jieun, like Yoongi, is a singer-songwriter with a sweetheart reputation, who weaves stories and experiences through her music. But unlike Yoongi, who got his start through Youtube and built himself from the ground up, Lee Jieun signed into a record label at the age of 15. As one could tell, she was that talented. Still is, as a matter of fact. Her albums are continuously winning awards, establishing herself in the charts, connecting with people all over the world. He would know—when Yoongi finally discovered Jieun in the midst of his Youtuber days, it was the catalyst that served as the biggest influence towards the release of his original songs. The fact that they’re both the same age only makes Yoongi even more in awe of her.

Yoongi being able to see Lee Jieun, in the flesh, is a powerful enough sight to leave him speechless.

Lee Jieun sits at the booth, looking all prettied up with her big eyes and red lips. Everything about her seems regal, from the smile she flashes Yoongi to the hand she extends out towards him.

It takes a second for Yoongi to register what he needs to do. Hastily, he steps forward and takes her hand in his. Despite her delicate nature, her handshake is firm as the pair of them move their joined hands up and down once. Honestly, considering their status difference, he feels like a handshake is too casual for them, but he doesn’t speak of it. He just basks in the moment, until he lets go of her hand.

Afterwards, he joins Seokjin in the booth, sliding into his seat.

Jieun smiles brightly at the two of them. “Thank you for going out of your way to come talk to me. I hope I wasn’t disrupting your night.”

Yoongi shakes his head immediately. “Oh, god no. Of course not. I’m just—I’m really honored to see you here. I-I had no idea that you were friends with Seokjin.”

Jieun laughs. “Oh yeah, we go way back—we were actually signed under the same label. Seokjin left to pursue management a few years ago, but we’ve always kept in touch.” She reaches over to take her glass of soda from the table. “He told me when he signed you, you know. He said that you were doing street performances a few cities down?”

Yoongi flushes at that. “Oh yeah—my origin story.”

“I mean, everyone starts from somewhere,” Jieun brushes off, laying down her cup again. “So I’ve honestly been looking out for your name since Seokjin signed you. I heard about your tour, but knew that I wanted to wait until your first full length album just to make sure your reputation was a little more fleshed out before bringing up my idea with Seokjin.”

Yoongi blinks, switching his gaze from Jieun to Seokjin. The latter nods, as if to let him know that Jieun would be the one providing information. So Yoongi turns back to Jieun.

Jieun continues. “Since it seems that we’ve both developed a songwriting, storytelling reputation amongst the music industry, I was hoping that you’d agree to do a collaboration with me. Just one single, both of our names attached to it. It’s been awhile since I worked with another artist, and I’m sure that doing this will only further put your name out there. It could also be a really good learning experience.”

Yoongi almost cannot believe his ears. Lee Jieun wanted to do a collaboration? With him and his inexperienced ass?

Yoongi coughs out in wonder. “Wow.”

Jieun smirks. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No, no, not at all!” Yoongi reassures, but then he backpedals a little. “I mean, it’s not that I was expecting you to ask for a collaboration—I just—!” He cuts himself off, exhaling heavily to calm his nerves. “It’s just, you were a very big reason I even wanted to sing my original songs back when I was street performing. So the fact that you’re asking me to do a song together is honestly so crazy to me.”

Jieun grins. “I’m honored—so are you agreeing to my request?”

Almost on instinct, Yoongi turns to Seokjin. It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t want to do the collab, it’ll probably be the single most greatest thing to happen in his career, but Seokjin was technically his boss and their contract had it so Seokjin usually had to final say in what he believed would be best for him.

And for the briefest flicker of a second, Yoongi’s mind switches to you. More than Seokjin’s approval, he finds himself seeking your praise the most. After all, you know how much he admires Lee Jieun. He wants to share this moment with you.

Instead of jumping up to go find you, he forces himself to stay rooted to his seat. “I-I think I would be the one who feels honored. T-That is, if Seokjin says it’s okay.”

Seokjin holds his arms out. “Of course it’s okay! The collaboration was also partly my idea. Anywho.” He turns back to Jieun. “We’ll have to run through Yoongi’s schedule with his manager just to see when he’s available. But after that, we can get started.”

At the mention of you, Yoongi’s manager, Jieun’s eyes brighten with her smile. “Oh yes, your girlfriend.” She sits a little straighter, trying to seek you out. “She’s here at the event right? I’d really love to meet her, if that’s okay?”

Yoongi nods immediately. “O-Of course!” He also sits up a little straighter, moving about in his seat to try and locate you. He finds you near the bar, seeming to have ditched your hang-out with Jimin, as you take an occasional sip of your drink. “She’s over there.”

With a nod, the three of them move out of the booth and towards the bar, where you’re still slouched over, scrolling through Instagram on your phone. You seem to notice their approaching presence, because you take a quick glance over to acknowledge them, before doing a double take when you realize who else is in Yoongi’s company.

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim, immediately sliding out of your bar stool, your gaze fixated on Jieun.

Seokjin laughs at your starstruck reaction. “Y/N, this is Lee Jieun—but I’m guessing you already knew that?”

You seem to realize your behavior, because your shyness comes back. “I do. Um, hi! It’s really nice to meet you.” You reach over to offer your hand.

Jieun takes it, shaking for a second. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Your gaze immediately flints to Yoongi. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me that you were acquainted with Lee Jieun herself!”

Yoongi waves you off. “Actually, Seokjin is the mutual party.”

Your lips part in shock, as you nod once, twice, in understanding. “Well, uh, in that case, I hope you’re having a good time tonight, Jieun.”

“It’s really a wonderful launch party,” Jieun praises. “But I do admit to having ulterior motives. I actually came by to ask Yoongi if he wanted to work on a collab song with me.”

Your lips part, and Yoongi feels a vague sense of pride swell up in his chest when you turn to look at him, eyes brighter than they have been all night. “Yoongi! That’s so amazing! I hope you agreed.”

“I did, actually,” Yoongi says with the nod of his head. If you notice that he’s puffing his chest out a little as your words go straight to his head, you don’t comment on it. “We’ll definitely have to go over my schedule with you, pick some dates where Jieun and I can have some writing sessions, and then the recording sessions, just to name the big picture stuff that’ll have to get done. But we should all be good to go.”

As Yoongi continues to list everything that’ll need to be done in order to create music together, your gaze shifts between Yoongi and Jieun occasionally, taking in their equal excitement and passion for the long project ahead. It isn’t until the end, when you and Yoongi leave the launch party, after having collected praise and much more from the many friends and connections that have been gained throughout the night, you enter the car wearing an unreadable expression—like you’re pondering something that threatens to break you.

To be frank, you aren’t surprised that Lee Jieun asks Yoongi to collaborate together. Sure, maybe she came a little earlier than you had expected, but you always knew it was a matter of time before the pair of them met. Their reputations are too similar, their personalities too good together; you’re sure that fate would have lined them up at some point.

It just feels like maybe the universe made them a little too perfect for each other—and it’s something that becomes glaringly obvious as a month of songwriting goes by without a hitch. Every few days, Jieun would turn up to KSJ Records, bright-eyed and always looking so, so pretty. Every few days, Jieun and Yoongi would sit next to each other, conversing about the story of their song, both bright-eyed with unbridled affection for what they were writing. And sure, Namjoon would be a part of these songwriting sessions. But that’s not the point.

The point is that as Yoongi gets bigger and success becomes a more natural occurrence in his life, the more people he’s going to meet with whom he shares a common interest and dedication for. People he would probably (most definitely) get along with a lot better than he could get along with you. Friendship is nice and all, but it can’t substitute for the powerful combination of passion, intimacy, and commitment that comes out of romantic companionship.

And you see it in his eyes: the excitement he gets when he’s surrounded with like-minded people. You’re Yoongi’s manager, sure, and one of his best friends, obviously, but there’s only so much you can contribute to conversations about the actual music. Truth be told, when it comes to editing, you just do whatever Yoongi tells you to. And don’t even get you started on the music arrangements—you can’t even lift a candle to what Yoongi himself can do. Or Namjoon. Or especially Lee Jieun.

And although you know that Yoongi means no ill-intention, it feels as if he takes every opportunity to remind you of that fact.

“I mean, she’s amazing.” He’s sighing dreamily over his bulgogi. The pair of you are at a corner booth in a Korean barbeque restaurant, on another fake date Seokjin has prearranged for you. It’s not the first date you’ve been on since Jieun entered the picture, and it’s definitely not the first time Yoongi is bringing her up. And although this isn’t even a real date, and although this isn’t a real relationship, there’s only so much you can take—both as a friend and as someone who is starting to feel the curl of jealousy in your stomach.

Still, you refuse to let the cat out of the bag. So you sigh, picking up your chopsticks and digging into your meat. The only thing you can manage is: “I bet she is.”

But Yoongi doesn’t stop there. “You should have seen her today, she was on fire. Songwriting abilities, obviously. We were stuck on this one part of the song, but then she just swooped in with this perfect one-liner that made my heart drop. Seriously, it was so cool. I don’t know how her mind works, but I want to keep hanging out with her to learn more.”

You almost drop your meat completely into your salt dish, but you recover quickly with a cough. The noise helps cover up the fact that your heart feels the white-hot burn of frustration and confusion. “W-Well, you guys do make a good team. You know, being on the same level talent-wise.”

Yoongi laughs at that, completely oblivious to your state of mind. “Talent-wise? I wouldn’t say I’m anywhere near the level Jieun is at…”

As he trails off, you dare yourself to flicker your gaze up to him, seeing the pink flush that dusts along his cheeks. Interpreting this as shyness for the internal praise and fondness he has for Jieun, you look away and pick up the plate of raw beef brisket to dump into the grill.

Yoongi notices what you’re doing, and immediately reaches over to take the plate from you. “Here, let me do it.”

A part of you wants to fight about it, but you know doing so will just lead you down the path of no man’s land. So you let go, offering the tongs to Yoongi as he takes it to scrap the meat into the grill between the two of you. He takes the silence as an opportunity to further gush about Jieun, and how he can’t wait to work on music arrangements with her, how he’s excited to record the song with her, so on and so forth.

How could you even contribute to a conversation like this? He’s talking to you about a girl in a way that reminds you of your college days—back when the pair of you were strictly friends and nothing more, and he would talk to you about girls he thought were cute. It feels a little bit like right now. Yoongi and Jieun do make a good team, they get along together, and have formed a closeness within such a short period of time that anyone passing by the studio would assume they’ve been friends for years. Or, even further, that they were dating. At the very least, Yoongi speaks highly enough of Jieun that one could assume that she was the one he liked, and not you.

It feels a little bit like being left behind—it’s a thought that only continues to fester.

It takes a few more weeks, but you eventually draft up Yoongi’s tour schedule. It’s a few sheets of paper that detail the duration of the tour, the cities, the locations, the dates of each location, the size of the venue, how ticket distribution will work, on, and on, and on—all information that Yoongi has insisted on knowing about ever since he was signed into KSJ Records. The man just likes to know what his fans have to go through in order to see him, and you respect that.

However, before you can officially create the tour post that’ll be up on the KSJ Records social media account, it needs to go through a final approval: from Yoongi himself. And because he likes to take notes with paper and pen, like the old-fashioned songwriter he is, he’s asked you to print everything out for him.

This is what leads you to stand near the printer in your office, waiting for the last page to print and slide into your awaiting hands. Once all the pages come out, you flip through them to make sure that every city on the tour is accounted for. You turn back to your desk, collecting some magazines that have been stacked on top of your table.

Along with getting the setlist for the tour, Yoongi had also asked you to get a hold of some magazines and articles that provided reviews from his first tour. Something about wanting to read any critiques people might have had for his show.

You gather the small stack as well before sliding it into your bag and stepping out into the hall. It’s surprisingly early for you to be leaving your office, the late afternoon, but there’s a part of you that just wants to give the document stack to Yoongi and dip out for the rest of the night. By now, the doubts of Yoongi’s affection for Jieun has dug itself deeper into your mind and letting yourself be around Yoongi for too long brings up too many questions that cannot be good for your mentality.

Questions like: If he could, would Yoongi prefer to date Jieun for real?

Was Jieun better than you?

And the best one of them all: Were you just holding Yoongi back from better relationships?

You continue to walk down the hallway of the building, your pace a little slower than normal because of the cloudy thoughts that threaten to overtake your mind. Finally, you stop outside of the studio you know Yoongi and Jieun are recording in. You take in a deep breath, forcing your usual cheery personality to shine through as you pull down on the handle and let yourself into the studio.

As soon as you step inside, you almost wish that you had just slid the documents under the door. The sight of that would probably have been easier to process than the one in front of your eyes right now.

Namjoon, as usual at the desk surrounded by music panels and laptops, playing the recently finished music through the recording booth situated on the other side of the glass. Behind this aforementioned sheet of glass are Jieun and Yoongi. With headphones on, they’re standing next to each other behind the microphone. Their shoulders practically touching, you don’t miss the way they both keep sneaking glances at each other, the corner of their lips turning up, looking like they’re having the best time together.

You try not to slam down the door behind you, but your grip on the knob is a little too harsh to call for a softer click. Fortunately (or unfortunately, given how much fun Yoongi and Jieun look like they’re having—wait, did Jieun just touch Yoongi’s arm), neither of them notice your arrival.

Namjoon, however, notices.

He turns around to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?”

You try for a smile, your hand brushing against the door. “Sorry, I slipped a little,” You lie cleanly. You hold up the documents in your other hand. “Yoongi wanted me to prepare a few things for him, stuff for the upcoming tour.”

Namjoon gestures for you to sit next to him, something that you follow. As soon as you sit down, Namjoon asks to see these aforementioned documents, which you pull out of your bag and hand over to him. It’s quiet between the two of you, the only sounds being the laughs and giggles between Yoongi and Jieun—as if one has them as just told a secret only understood between them. It’s a feeling that doesn’t settle well in your stomach.

“Wow, this is very efficient,” Namjoon observes, seeming completely oblivious to your internal seething.

You shrug, eyes still locked in on the inside of the recording booth. “Yoongi asked for the best, so I gave him the best. Hey, so—!” You change topics. “Is there a reason they’re in the booth together? Don’t a lot of collabs nowadays just exchange everything virtually?”

Namjoon hums. “I didn’t know the jealous girlfriend was a full time act of yours now.” He’s clearly just trying to have fun. After all, only Taehyung and Jungkook know about your crush on Yoongi. “But honestly? I’m not too sure. They just wanted to go in together—said that they could be more personal when working in a face-to-face setting. And they’re actually making a lot of changes as they keep going through the song and hearing how the music is turning out. They’re a good team.”

Namjoon’s usage of the very same phrase that has been haunting you for the past few weeks doesn’t sit well in your stomach.

Namjoon returns the documents to you. “Did you want to talk to him now? See if he’s cool with you just dropping it off?”

You nod. “If that’s okay?”

Namjoon smiles. “We’ll just wait until they take a breath.”

Waiting doesn’t turn out to take a long time, because Jieun stops the song to make another statement about what line should replace the one they just sung. And Yoongi looks at her like she’s just hung up all the stars in the galaxy.

“Namjoon, do you mind starting the song over? We got a new idea for this part,” Jieun calls from inside the booth.

Namjoon leans forward to press the button. “Actually, you guys have some company.”

You lean forward as well. “Hey guys.”

Jieun grins, waving at you through the window. Yoongi acknowledges you as well, but there’s something suddenly stiff about his movements. You notice that he’s also stepping away from Jieun, as if to hide what has been going on between him and Jieun. As if that makes you feel any fucking better.

“Hey, uh, Yoongi?” You continue. “I have the documents you asked me to prepare for you. I can just leave it here for you to go over if that’s cool. Maybe take a little bit of time today to go over everything.”

Yoongi thinks about this for a moment. “Actually… honey,” He adds the pet name as an afterthought. “Do you mind dropping it off at my apartment? We’re probably just gonna be focusing on the song until pretty late tonight.”

The acknowledgement Yoongi has that he and Jieun are in for another late night only grows the seeds of doubt in your mind, as you clench your teeth. You can’t let your insecurities get the best of you. Not now. “Sure,” You manage, trying for a small.

Yoongi grins. “Thanks baby. I’ll make it up to you this weekend, okay?”

At this point, it just feels like he’s teasing you and it’s something you find you aren’t really in the mood for. So you manage a curt reply, giving a positive response that you’ll drop by his apartment to deliver the documents regarding his upcoming tour, before you’re up and out of the studio before Jieun, Yoongi, or Namjoon can say one last thing. But you don’t care. The sooner you’re out of there, looking at the heart-eye festival between Jieun and Yoongi, the better you feel.

So you take the train to Yoongi’s apartment, a now much bigger space in a slightly nicer area of the city. At least, nicer than the college apartment he shared with Jungkook that was no stranger to bed bugs and constant maintenance issues. The newer apartment Yoongi has recently acquired is nicer, has more modern finishes, and is now a space he fills in all by himself.

As you unlock the door to his apartment, you immediately make your way down the small hallway entrance, where a mirror and his shoes occupy a small corner of the area. The hallway opens up into the living room, and you turn on the light and take in the vaguely familiar sight of his new furniture—home pieces that you helped arrange with him a few months ago. Come to think of it, that was probably the first and last time you had come by Yoongi’s apartment. Before certain life elements got involved.

Tonguing the inside of your cheek, you plop yourself down on the couch and place the document stack at the corner of the coffee table. It looks rather strange just stacked like that, no context provided, so your eyes shift over for a pen and a post-it note.

You find a stack of post-it notes, and find a pen sticking out from inside a notebook. Paying little attention to the notebook, you just make a grab for the pen and rip it out of the notebook with the aggression of a gorilla. The notebook flies open, the contents inside barring itself right at you.

Your immediate reaction is to close the notebook. After all, it just takes one glance at Yoongi’s scrambled handwriting to know that this is one of his writing journals. His most recent one, in fact, judging from how flat the pages after the one currently open appear—like it hasn’t been stained with a pen yet.

You want to close it—you really do. You and Yoongi have built a friendship on trust. That’s what kept you both together throughout the long years, and you know better than to risk everything just for the chance to scope through what is essentially a songwriter’s diary.

Your fingers inch towards the edge of the book, about to close it shut, before the title at the top header makes you freeze.

MY SECRET

Without meaning to, your eyes read over the lines. And you feel sick to your stomach.

The song is so raw, so personal, brimming with desire in every verse. It covers lingering stares, secret smiles. A barrier. How Yoongi “wants you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you”. And you know Yoongi—you know him better than anyone. You know that for all the love songs he sings and the topics he sings about that he feigns ignorance for, he draws on personal experience to write his music. How else could he make everything so personable?

How could this song not be about Jieun?

The lingering stares, secret smiles: it clearly points to the events in the recording booth you saw earlier that day, and if he’s writing a song about it, it’s obvious that today hadn’t been the first time for those stares and smiles.

The barrier: obviously you. The relationship facade he’s forced to put up with you, when he’s clearly so much happier with someone else.

With those factors, it’s so clear that Yoongi would want Jieun, but would be unable to have her.

And you’re just the girl in the background with the starry eyes for a guy who would never even look at you the way you want him to.

That realization brings the hot tears to your eyes, as you slam the notebook shut and bring your hand to your mouth, biting your finger to muffle your sobs. What comes out is the build-up of months of insecurities, of having to keep the biggest secret of your life to yourself, and the additional jealousy brought in by a third party.

This despair and sadness isn’t good for you, and you know that only continuing to hide it away in light of Yoongi and Jieun’s partnership, in light of your feelings, and Yoongi’s exploding career—you should only be able to handle so much. You’re a human being, and you have your limits.

And you think this might be it.

CHAPTER 6: TRUTHS

“Y-Yeah, I think it’s food poisoning or something,” You speak quietly into the phone, playing with the edges of your blanket. “I’m really sorry, Seokjin, I’ll try to send out some emails to respond to news outlets today…”

“Hey, no, you’re totally fine,” Seokjin replies hastily. “I don’t blame you for that. Just try and get some rest today, and update me on how you feel tomorrow.” A pause. “What was it?”

“Uh, it must have been in the takeout I got last night.” That’s a lie. You cooked your own dinner last night, and are lying straight through your teeth regarding your condition, but you can’t find it in yourself to go to work today. Not since the discovery of Yoongi’s crush on Jieun made you want to dig yourself into a hole and never crawl out.

It’s not like you ever thought you had a chance with Yoongi—but you had just thought maybe something would be different after the hand holding, after his radio interview, after your kiss together.

But Jieun serves as that nice splash of reality that Yoongi wants someone better than you. Someone more like him—someone passionate about music, who gets along with him better, who can write music with and write music about.

At this point, it just feels like you’re a weight, dragging Yoongi down in the waves of his past.

On the other side of the phone, Seokjin sighs. “Damn, that’s always the worst. Those are the ones you suspect the least. Anyways, I’ll let you go. Get some rest. Maybe I’ll let Yoongi know so he can bring some soup.”

The mention of Yoongi makes you feel like you could actually get food poisoning. “You can let him know, but he’ll probably be too hung up on Jieun to give a shit.”

Seokjin, of course, knows nothing, so he laughs at what he thinks is your joke. “That’s true. They’re actually at it again today, which is surprising considering Jieun only comes by a few times a week. But no, she was here bright and early and so was Yoongi. Basically, they showed up to the studio at the same time. They called it fate, or some shit like that.”

“You don’t say,” You return dryly.

Namjoon’s confirmation that they make a good team, paired with Seokjin’s admittance that Yoongi is hung up on Jieun, puts you in a delicate mood for the rest of the day. You try to watch some TV shows, some movies, play some video games, but you are constantly distracted by thoughts of Yoongi and Jieun.

You’re all curled up on the couch, about to click into another movie, when there’s a knock on your door. Your heart leaps in your throat as you stand up. You hate the brief flicker of hope in your chest, the curiosity that perhaps Yoongi is the one knocking.

All those hopes are dashed when you see it is Jungkook on the other side of the door.

“Oh,” You remark, the smile dropping from your face. “It’s just you.”

Jungkook looks at you like you pissed in his cereal. “Uh, I don’t see other amazing friends over here bringing you store-bought chicken soup because they heard you got food poisoning last night.” He holds up the bag for extra emphasis.

You roll your eyes, grabbing the bag from him. “I don’t actually have food poisoning, I just didn’t want to go to work today.”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows at your statement. There’s a lot you’ve given him that he can work with, lots of things he can ask about. Maybe ask why you would lie about your food poisoning, maybe ask why you didn’t want to go to work today, maybe ask why you still looked like shit.

But the first thing he says: “You owe me twenty dollars.”

You roll your eyes, beckoning him inside with the jerk of your head. “Sure.”

Jungkook laughs a little. “Wait, okay, I was actually kidding.” But he still steps into your apartment. “I’ll be serious now. Why lie about food poisoning? And since when do you not want to go to work? If anything, you love to go so you can stare at Yoongi’s ass through the recording booth—!” He cuts himself off when you give him a glare of such pure hatred that it actually shocks him. “Wait, are you mad at Yoongi?”

You tear your gaze away from him, placing the bag of groceries on your countertop. Sorting through what Jungkook has bought serves to be a good distraction.

Jungkook continues to look at you. He’s quiet, but he always has a lot to say, and since you’ve been his friend for so long that only heightens his need to talk. “I knew it!” He finally says. “I knew you were mad at him. Taehyung and I were placing bets down.”

You slam the can of chicken soup on the counter. “HEY. What did I say about gossiping?”

“Not in front of your face?”

Your hand flinches, as if to stop yourself from grabbing the can and throwing it at his stupid face. Jungkook doesn’t even move in fear, the bastard. “I’m just gonna pretend I don’t know about the bets. You want a can of chicken soup?”

Jungkook confirmation finds you at the stove, heating up two of the many cans Jungkook had bought for you. Included in his twenty-dollar purchase had been a few containers of tums, and some orange juice.

Jungkook lingers in the back. “You wanna tell me why you’re mad at Yoongi?”

You whirl around to face him. “How did you even know I was upset?”

Jungkook snorts, but quiets down when you glare at him. He coughs. “You’re pretty easy to read, you know. You’ve been acting weird ever since Jieun started coming by the studio.”

“Weird how?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re just a little quieter. And you haven’t been spending as much time in the studio as you used to. That was the biggest giveaway.”

You’re quiet for a moment. You rub at your cheek. “Does Yoongi know?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Doubtful. But I think he knows something is up. I was on the phone with him last night.”

It’s your turn to snort. “Okay, that’s really fucking funny.” At Jungkook’s raised eyebrow, you explain. “I thought he’d be too busy comparing Jieun to sunlight, or something, to notice me.”

“Oh, so you’re jealous.”

You and Jungkook have a staring contest, before you sigh. “I accidentally saw Yoongi’s writing notebook yesterday. It had all these love confessions in it, and I’m pretty sure he was talking about Jieun.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No way? Are you sure?”

You cough. “Well, I’m not a hundred percent. But it was all about this forbidden crush he couldn’t act on because of a barrier. Who else could be the barrier? He obviously thinks I’m holding him back from pursuing a relationship with Jieun.” You think about your words for a second, trying to decide if Jungkook is trustworthy enough to disclose this information to. “I think I’m gonna break it off with him. Maybe quit too, while I’m at it.”

Jungkook’s lips part. “But why?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” You cry. “I can’t keep up this fake dating with Yoongi anymore, it’s too complicated, and I’m actually in love with him so that opens up this whole other series of complications. And it’s not fair to Yoongi—he shouldn’t have to deal with feelings he obviously doesn’t return. The whole charade thing just isn’t doing me any good. And even if I break off the relationship, I would still have to see him all the time because of the whole manager situation. Quitting just seems like the best option for me.”

Jungkook is quiet for a second. “How do you even know he wrote that song about Jieun?” He finally asks, speaking carefully.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling. Who else has he been spending all this time with? Who else could that song possibly be about?”

Jungkook gives you a long, hard look, like he almost can’t believe your brain can be thinking those thoughts. But he relents. “I think you should talk to Yoongi before quitting. He’s one of your best friends. He deserves to know why, at least.” He looks over your shoulder. “The chicken soup is done.”

You whirl back around to turn off the stove. But also so Jungkook can’t see the tears glassing over your eyes.

It turns out, telling Yoongi you want to quit is a much more difficult task than you could have thought. For starters, Seokjin sets the pair of you up on more dates than before. Apparently, there are some rumors going around regarding Jieun’s more and more frequent turn-ups at KSJ Records, and people have started connecting the dots that her appearances are tied to either one of two reasons. Either Yoongi and Jieun are collaborating on music. Or they’re dating.

The second reason is a lot juicier, much more exciting, so naturally a lot of people have gravitated towards supporting that reason. To try and expel those thoughts, Seokjin sends you out on more dates with Yoongi. It’s all fine, but your thoughts about breaking off this relationship and quitting just makes you more quiet and closed off as you wallow deeper into your thoughts.

You suddenly don’t know how to contribute to the conversations Yoongi tries to bring up to you. The words seem to fail you every time, and you feel yourself constantly resorting to silence or one-worded answers. And it constantly always feels like Yoongi is standing too close to you. Every step towards you is a step away from him. When he tries to hold your hand on the sixth date in two weeks, you wiggle out of his grasp and pretend that you need to fix your jacket.

Your own journey to self-destruction means that you are completely oblivious to the hurt in Yoongi’s eyes with every step you take to distance yourself from him. But what could you even say to him?

How could you tell him you want to quit your job in public? That would obviously lead to a fight, and it would reflect badly on Yoongi’s public image. Just because you want to quit doesn’t mean you still care about him, because you do. And you still want him to succeed. With Seokjin’s constant scheduling of dates, it leaves little room for you to share in an actual private discussion. The only off times Yoongi has are the days Jieun comes by the studio, and you try to stay a mile away from that place now.

But it turns out, you don’t have a choice today, because Seokjin calls you into his office and tells you to drop off the samples of cover art that has just been dropped off at the studio. The cover art is something that Jieun and Yoongi have designed together for the album, to be displayed when the single is released.

With heavy feet, you make your way through the hallways and towards Yoongi’s studio space. Every fiber in your being hopes that Yoongi and Jieun will be in the recording booth, working on their song (or even better, just not in the studio at all), so that you don’t have to face them enjoying each other’s company right in front of your face. There’s no music coming through the door, so your heart soars that latter prospect.

As you open the door, however, you realize that there’s no way for you to be so lucky.

Inside, Yoongi and Jieun are eating lunch, takeout noodles split between the two of them, and they’re in the middle of laughing. The laughter, however, stops when you open the door, effectively interrupting their fucking date. Which is a thought that does nothing to make you feel better. The silence that echoes on only further makes you feel like shit.

You and Yoongi sharing a room privately nowadays is a rarity, since you’ve been doing a good job at avoiding him at all costs. His unanswered text messages and shortened calls echo through your mind at the sight of him. With the look he’s giving you, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Jieun, however, remains completely oblivious to the situation as she gives you her normally bright cheery greeting. You stare at you, momentarily stunned. You would have thought Yoongi shared the troubles of your relationship with her, for some reason. You try to remain nice about it, though, giving Jieun a small smile as you return her greeting.

“I, uh,” You start, bringing the package up for both of them to see. “Your cover art came in today. Seokjin just asked if I could drop it off here.”

Jieun brightens at the sight. “Oh my gosh, it came! Do you mind if I…?” She trails off, hands reaching out to take the package from you. You give it to her. “Yoongi, isn’t that so exciting?”

“Yeah…” Yoongi trails off. A quick glance at him tells you that he’s staring at you. You look away. “Did you see it yet?” He asks you.

You shrug. “I, uh, haven’t. But, anyways, I have to get going.”

“Hey,” Jieun calls, freezing you slightly in your path. “Thanks for bringing this over. We really appreciate it.”

We?

The use of that specific noun, while supposedly harmless in the current context, makes your stomach flare with that white hot curl of jealousy. Your teeth clench, as you swallow down the spiteful words that almost manage to escape into the air around you. You smile, no teeth. “You’re welcome.” That’s the only thing you can manage before you’re turning around to open the door and practically bolt yourself out of the studio.

You only make it a few feet before the door to the studio opens and you hear footsteps trailing after you. He calls your name, and your heart drops. You are so not ready for any type of one-on-one conversation with Yoongi right now.

But your entire soul still gravitates toward him, so you stop and turn around to face him.

Yoongi is by himself this time, and looking like a mixture of confused and defeated as he approaches you. “Listen,” He starts. “I know that we haven’t had a lot of time to really talk…”

“It’s okay,” You brush off.

Yoongi says your name again. “You know, you don’t need to lie to me. You’re my best friend—I can tell when you’re hiding something from me.”

You sigh, shaking your head as every nerve in your body is telling you to walk away. “Yoongi, I’m not sure I can do this right now.”

“Do what?” He presses. “I know that I’ve been super busy, but if you want to talk you can just let me know. Tell me what’s bothering you, okay? Because I…” He trails off, sighing, and you feel that vague sense of guilt wash over you. “I can tell that you’re avoiding me and it’s really shitty. I can’t even focus that much on my song with Jieun.”

The mention of Jieun stiffens you up again. “Well, sorry for being an inconvenience,” You spit. “Why don’t you go back to your new fucking girlfriend if you’re gonna bring her up to my face again.” You couldn’t stop yourself this time—the words were too ready at your lips. Your chest is heaving from it too, but it is things that you know that you will regret saying.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow deeper together as your words.

You stare right back at him, the shadow of a thought passing over you. If you’re going to tell Yoongi your biggest secret, it might as well be right now. You don’t know the next time you will be this brave, this reactive, this bold.

Both of you open your mouths at the same time.

“Did you just call Jieun my girlfriend?”

“I’m quitting.”

You clamp your mouth shut. You hadn’t meant to speak at the same time as him. A small wave of regret passes through you, as you hope that Yoongi wouldn’t have heard your statement over his question. But of course he does.

Yoongi’s frowns at you. “Did you just say you were quitting?”

You take a step back, running a hand through your hair as your exhale comes out shaky. More shaky than you intended it to. Oh no. “Yeah,” You manage, already feeling your emotions bottling up. “I was gonna try and talk to Seokjin about quitting before I left.”

If Yoongi thinks you were joking before, he definitely doesn’t now because he takes a step towards you and catches your wrist before you can go that far. “B-But why?” His eyes have gotten a little wider, and he’s staring at you like his world is being pulled apart.

You try to tug your wrist away to no avail. Your mind tries to flash through several different excuses, but you realize that you need to tell him the truth. Yoongi deserves that much, at least.

As you try to collect your thoughts, Yoongi starts scrambling. “W-Was it something I did?” He asks quickly. “Because normally you’d always try to call me out and I’d fix myself immediately. A-Are you unhappy with your position? Because I can try to get Seokjin to give you less workload or something. I-I’m really sorry if it was something that I did to hurt you. I-I just really need you here so talk to me… please…”

You shake your head. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” You whisper. “I know your secret, Yoongi, and that’s why I can’t do this anymore.”

“W-What secret?” His eyes are still on you.

You take in another breath. “I went over to your apartment that night,” You start. “And I saw what you were writing in your journal. I know that you’re in love with Jieun, and that you only see me as a barrier to pursuing a relationship with her. And that sucks because normally, I’d encourage you to go after her. But we’re doing this whole dating thing, and I feel like I’m neck-deep because…” Your words come out a little more shaky. “Because I’m in love with you,” You whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for years. B-But I know now that I’ll never measure up to Jieun, or any of the other girls in this industry who deserve you more than I do. I thought that I could keep being professional for you and your career. But it’s too hard for me.”

“W-Wait,” Yoongi says, tightening his grip on you. “Can you just let me explain, please? It’s not like that, I promise you.”

You rip your wrist from his hand. “I read it!” You retort loudly. “Who else could be the person you want more than anything, but can’t have because of a physical barrier? When else have you used a real person to inspire your music? It’s too hard for me, Yoongi! I can’t keep doing this!”

Yoongi seems to be struggling with his next words. “So, what?” Yoongi asks, circling around his next question carefully. “You’re just going to leave? Is this… the end of our friendship?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! I haven’t thought this out that far. But I know that we shouldn’t be doing this fake dating charade anymore, because I know there’s no way these past few months have meant the same to you as it did to me. I also know that I can’t really be in the same room with you right now.”

Yoongi hopelessly gazes over at you, his own chest heaving as he himself struggles with what to say. “Please don’t do this,” He returns softly.

Your gaze lingers on Yoongi’s for just a while longer, trying to burn the image of him in your mind, before you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

As it turns out, Seokjin is out of the office for the rest of the evening. Which is fine, right? Whatever. You can just call him tomorrow morning and schedule a meeting with him, tell him the urgency of it and will definitely be able to muster your strength for another conversation about your secret feelings for Yoongi.

You return to your apartment and immediately burst into tears as the weight of today’s confrontation sinks its teeth right into your neck. You just shared your feelings with Yoongi, you threatened your employment, and almost cut off your friendship with Yoongi as a result of that.

Your many years of friendship, of late nights, of laughter together. It seems silly to want to cut off an important friendship just like that—but it just seems unfair of you to carry on with a friendship where you’re always going to crave more. And if Yoongi is smart, he’ll know that as well, and he won’t come back.

Still, a part of you just hopes a little. Even though, of course, it’s a stupid thing to hope for. Yoongi has already established his taste, and it’s definitely for people leagues above you. The thought only makes you cry a little harder, so much so that you try to drink some water in order to calm down.

You’re in the beginning stages of patting down your face, of grabbing some spoons to put into the freezer, when there’s a series of frantic knocking at your door. You turn your head towards the source of the noise, trying to figure out who could be visiting at a time like this. It’s been a few hours since your confrontation with Yoongi at the studio, but you assume that he’s probably blowing smoke up Jieun’s ass. There’s no way that it could be him.

So you open the door, and freeze when you realize that it is Yoongi.

More than that, it’s Yoongi with his chest heaving. Almost like he has just run around the entire city to reach you.

The only thing you can manage right now is a wide-eyed stare.

Yoongi stares right back at you. Just a few hours ago, he had looked so helpless and lost for words. A first, actually. But this time, he’s staring at you with so much intensity that you cannot look away.

Yoongi finally seems to catch his breath. “You’re an idiot,” He states.

You’re so caught off guard by that statement that you forget you’re supposed to be upset with him. “I’m sorry?” You ask.

Yoongi huffs, practically barreling past you to step into your house. You try to tell him to stop, but he’s distracted by rummaging through his backpack for something. With a sigh, you decide to close the door. As soon as he’s standing in your kitchen, he finds an old, beaten up notebook that you vaguely remember from his college days. He points at you with his notebook. “You’re an idiot,” He repeats. “If you think that the lyrics on my coffee table are the first time I’ve written lyrics about a specific person.”

At your shocked expression, he immediately starts flipping through the notebook. You notice that certain pages are marked with sticky tabs.

Yoongi settles on a page and clears his throat. “Hidden within the walls of our lecture hall, your laughter curls through the cracks like liquid fire. You light up my day amongst borrowed pencils and shared jokes. I knew that you were going to change my life,” he reads. He looks up at you. “The first day I met you, when I asked you to borrow a pencil.” You remember those lyrics. It was from a song he had written called ‘starlight’—the opening song on his first EP.

He flips through a few more pages. “I never learned about love, but I watch her believe in my dreams, take the same steps to join my team, and I feel like I could figure it out.” He looks at you. “When you agreed to help me with my Youtube channel.”

He continues through his notebooks of lyrics, of stories, of secrets. Every single lyric he reads to you connects back to some memory he holds of the two of you. All the memories together in college: from the panic attack he had in the bathroom of the first party the pair of you attended, to exploring the nearby cities via subway until early mornings, to corner ramen shops.

Soon enough, he moves on to the lyrics he had written during his first tour. The distance he felt, and how that related to the emotional distance he felt with you—that desire he constantly felt for more, and how the manager and artist relationship the pair of you had couldn’t hold a candle to the friendship you once held. The distance was never a physical challenge, and that was something you could never connect the dots on.

Every stone of his hidden affection is turned over, every lyric he has marked read over and explained with such a passion. It’s like he has waited years to finally have his turn, to finally speak the way he’s always wanted to—directly, with no tricks of music and whimsical arrangements to make you doubt everything he could say.

He had written whole songs about the fake dating experience, of how he wasn’t sure he could only pretend to love you when it was the only thing he ever knew how to do.

Finally, he flips to his most recent song. The very song that you had stumbled upon the other day in his apartment. “I want you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you,” He reads. He looks up at you. “The barrier was the blanket of our fake relationship. You were never stopping me from doing anything, because you were the only thing I have ever wanted. So…” He gestures to all the notebooks that he has laid out across your kitchen counter. “Do you now see how many song lyrics are actually about you? All about you. Because you’re all I’ve always known.”

Your gaze carefully studies each notebook, layered over each other, overflowing with dedication and passion. The privacy of someone who has surprisingly spent his entire singing career sharing nothing but his darkest secrets. Your arms are overlapped with each other, tightening against your form. “I-I had no idea.”

Yoongi shakes his head, but when he looks at you, his eyes are soft. “I figured that.” He’s leaning across the counter to keep his gaze leveled with you, but he pushes himself even closer to tap a finger on the spot between your eyes. “I thought I made it so obvious. You were never listening.”

“I-I never thought to,” You admit softly. But Yoongi has a point. Ever since he started writing and sharing his original songs, he has done nothing but sing them to you in any and all forms. From the private sessions the pair of you shared in his college apartment, to the performances he would deliver on the street, in the recording booth at all hours of the day, to the tours and the audiences that sing those love declarations right back at you. For years, Yoongi has done nothing but give, and give, and give. And you had no idea.

Your breath hitches, and Yoongi rounds the counter and gathers your face in his hands. “Shh,” He coos softly. “It’s not your fault.”

You sniff. “It is my fault! I’m such a stupid bitch. And I treated you and Jieun like shit because I thought you were in love with her. I thought I was holding you back from being able to date who you really wanted to be with.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, technically, you were.” At your look, he hastily goes to explain himself. “The person I really wanted to date was you. But since we were, uh, fake dating, that prevented me from being able to date you for real…”

You groan at his teasing grin. “You idiot, that was so bad.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Yoongi is still grinning though, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. His eyes follow the movement, mentally outlining you into his mind. “I just wanted to see you smile.” His smile slips a little. “Since you had been ignoring me for so long.”

You pout. “I told you, I thought you were in love with Jieun. And honestly, that would make a lot of sense… she’s really pretty and talented and you guys could talk about music for hours, especially compared to me—!”

“Stop,” Yoongi cuts in, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m gonna stop you there before you say something I don’t like.” He angles his head to level his gaze with you. “Jieun is really cool, I’ll probably be the first one to admit that. But she’s not you. Hey, c’mon, look at me.” He forces you to look at him again. “You are also so, so pretty and smart and talented. You may not know a lot about music and songwriting, but you were always the one who pulled all-nighters with me to edit my videos, or learn music with me, or point out if something in my music didn’t sound right. Your passion to help is something I really love about you.”

You pursue your lips to hide your smile. “Love, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t even hesitant. “Well, yeah, because I’m in love with you. I thought that was obvious.”

You exhale. “Yeah, well, it’s different hearing you say it outloud.”

Yoongi grins. “Well, hopefully you’ll get used to it. I have many years to make it up to you.” His smile dies down a little. “I’m sorry,” He finally settles with. “I should have been more straightforward and honest with you about my feelings. You must have been suffering for so long, having to keep it all in and everything.”

You shake your head. “I’m also sorry,” You whisper. “For jumping to conclusions so fast. And also not really listening to your lyrics. That was kind of stupid of me, considering I’m your manager and everything.”

Yoongi laughs. “It seems like you’re good now, seeing as you’ve just gotten an exclusive behind-the-scenes artist cut and commentary about his songs.” He pauses for a second. “So, I hope this means that you won’t quit being my manager. And that, maybe, we can promote our relationship from fake dates to real ones.”

You smile. “I’d like that.”

His smile turns softer. “And I was hoping that maybe I can kiss you again. For real, this time. No cameras, no Seokjin breathing down our necks.”

You giggle. “Just so you know, if the kiss at your album release party had been a real one and we were actually dating at the time, I probably would have wanted you to fuck me in the bathroom or something.”

Yoongi groans. “Don’t say that with that cute smile on your face. Makes me want to do things to you.”

“I don’t see you pulling away though.”

“Of course not.” Yoongi’s figure loams over you now, his lips brushing against yours. “I have three years to make up to you.”

With that, he kisses you, silencing whatever next words you were going to say. That is, if you even had any to begin with. Now that he’s kissing you, stealing the breath from your lungs, you’re not even too sure any thoughts have been floating around at all. Unlike the kiss at the album release party, which had been softer and dainty, held back to hide a secret, this kiss is rougher. Yoongi is already moving his lips against yours, already parting his lips to brush his tongue against your lower lips. His hands are already sliding across the counter, trying to cover you more and more.

His hand slips on the counter though, almost sending his sprawling on top of you. You catch him with your hand on his chest, as the sudden action makes both of you pull away from each other. The sight you both face is very much like the sight from the launch party: flushed cheeks and redden lips, a desire for more flickering behind eyes.

But this time, there is no expectation to carry on in a party like a long-term couple. That is what allows Yoongi to wrap his arms around you, pulling you to his chest this time. He kisses you again, slower, softer, but you deepen the kiss with the part of your own lips this time. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you as he lifts you into his arms and blindly navigates through your apartment, into your bedroom, where you both fall atop the mattress.

“And just for the record,” You whisper, right when Yoongi pulls away to let both of you catch your breath. “I love you too.” You’ve already admitted your feelings earlier in the day, but it’s worth it to see Yoongi deliver that heart pounding gummy smile.

#btswritingcafe #ficswithluv #yoongi scenarios #yoongi scenario #yoongi fluff #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #traci writes

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ectoentity · 3 years

Text

Warped Mirror

Decided to write something based vaguely on the “Spork AU” idea. Instead of Episode 1 Danny meeting Episode 50+ Danny, though, I was curious about a Danny who never became Phantom meeting one who had. This first part is just establishing Human!Danny’s world.

I’ll post it to AO3 when I have the rest of it finished.

---

Three kids stood before a giant machine in the shape of a door. It should have been humming along and glowing green, with a great hole to another world in the middle. Instead, it was cold and silent.

“They spent years working on it,” Danny explained, “and then nothing. Mom and Dad have been moping in their room all day.”

Tucker looked around at the portal and the hodgepodge of computer parts attached to it. “It’s probably a loose wire somewhere. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime, this would make for an awesome picture,” Sam said with a smile. She held up her polaroid camera.

“Oh no, you’re not getting me anywhere near that,” Tucker immediately walked away from the portal.

“Come on! When they get this thing working we’ll never be allowed near it. Besides, it’s not like it’s going to do anything right now.”

“Then why don’t you get over there and let one of us take the picture?” Tucker asked.

“Because neither of you know anything about lighting or framing a shot. Please?” When she saw that Tucker was not going to budge, she looked over at Danny with wide, pleading eyes.

He looked anxiously at the portal. So far none of his parents’ inventions had really worked, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous. Still, Sam was right. It was pretty cool, and getting a picture with the thing could be a good way to keep a memory.

“Yeah, okay, let me put on a jumpsuit in case there’s a live wire or something.”

Ten minutes later he was suited up in the white-and-black safety jumpsuit his parents had made for him. It wasn’t really a hazardous materials outfit - there was no full hood or respirator, or even goggles. It was made of something that was supposed to repel ectoplasm and certain chemicals that his parents used and was insulated against minor shocks, so it would have to do.

“Oh, no no. I’m not taking your picture while you’re wearing that,” Sam announced. Danny was about to argue, but she reached over and pulled the sticker of his dad’s face off of the suit. “Now you’re good.”

Danny laughed. “Good thinking, Sam. Wouldn’t want to be immortalized in your photos with that on me.” He walked up to the portal. It was a massive piece of machinery, nearly six feet in diameter and deep enough to fit a car. He paused at the entrance. It was hard to imagine it as anything other than a creepy machine in the basement. If it had worked, it would have opened into a whole other world.

Tucker, meanwhile, was watching while anxiously tapping a foot. He had expected Danny to give in to Sam’s pleas. He was so predictable and utterly clueless. One of these days they would both realize that they were both desperately crushing on each other and they’d-

There was something plugged into the wall. Tucker wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a bad feeling about it.

“Hold up!” he shouted. Tucker went over and unplugged the cord from the wall outlet, and checked around for more outlets just in case. When he didn’t find anything else, he called back, “Okay, I think it’s alright now.”

“Good thinking, Tuck,” Danny’s voice echoed in the portal. “Hey, Sam, is this good?”

Sam set up her shot. “Looks great! Just hold there a second.” She counted down before the flash went off. The camera whirred and produced a polaroid. “Lemme take a couple more,” she said before swiftly doing so from slightly different angles. “That should be good!”

Danny started to walk out of the portal. Something caught his foot. He tripped and fell backwards, flailing his arms wildly in hopes that he would catch something. His right hand hit the side of the portal. It stabilized him for a second, but then the wall clicked. Danny stared down at his hand, a chill lancing up his spine. He hadn’t hit the wall. His hand was resting on a button marked “ON.”

“Oh my god,” he blurted.

“Danny? Are you okay?” Sam called. He could hear them both scrambling toward the portal.

“I’m good! I just tripped!” Danny got out of the portal as fast as he could. “My parents put the on/off buttons on the inside! If Tucker hadn’t unplugged it…” All three teens stared at the portal. Danny could have died, just for tripping over a stupid wire.

Finally Tucker gulped and broke the silence. “Want to see if your parents can get it to work now?”

Danny shook himself out of it. “Yeah! I’ll go ask if they forgot about that.”

They all but ran out of the lab.

---

The Fenton RV sped down the street, ghost alarms blaring. In the back, Danny got his weapons together as quickly as he could with all the jostling and swerving. They’d let Dad drive; time was of the essence.

“A level six!” Jack crowed from the driver’s seat. “Maybe even a seven! How long’s it been since we saw one like that?”

“About four months,” Danny grumbled. He still vividly remembered when the town had been drawn into the Ghost Zone and besieged with an army of skeleton constructs. He was not looking forward to a repeat of that hell. The Fenton Blaster in his hands whined as he attached the power source.

“We’ll have to be careful, Jack,” Mom cautioned as she always did. “We don’t have the Ecto-Skeleton this time.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call in the Guys in White?” Danny asked. They might not be the best ghost hunters, but they did have a lot more firepower.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Danny! I’m sure we can take care of this before they even notice something’s happening. Besides, your mom and I are still dealing with the paperwork from the last time they showed up.”

Danny shuddered. He was extremely glad that he didn’t have to deal with that aspect of ghost hunting.

His dad pulled up to the mall with a loud honk of the horn and squealing tires. Danny and his mom ran out, blasters held at the ready. Dad backed them up with one of the Fenton Bazookas.

The mall was already evacuated. Some people milled around outside, anxiously talking amongst themselves. In the year and a half since the ghosts had started attacking the town, people had gotten frustratingly complacent about them. The invasion a few months back had shown most people just how dangerous they could be, but a stubborn few always were more concerned with getting good pictures than their own safety.

“Make way!” Mom shouted. “We’re here to take care of the ghost!” The crowd at least did part for them. A few people shouted at them. Some of it was words of support. A few tried to describe what they had seen - it was green, it was wearing all white, it was terrifying. Only a few made jokes or jeered at the Fentons as they passed. That was annoying, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been a year ago.

The deserted mall was an eerie sight. Everyone had left in a hurry, leaving lights on and store music still echoing through empty halls. The Fentons’ footsteps seemed far too loud. The weirdest part was that everything seemed intact. When the technology ghost raided the mall he usually left trails of rubble and discarded packaging everywhere. The box ghost would leave piles of everything that he dumped out of his beloved boxes. Various other ghosts had attacked the mall in the past, and they almost always left signs of their passing. Why was this one different?

“Come out, ghost!” Dad shouted, his voice easily carrying through the empty mall. “Let’s make this quick!”

“Curious.” The voice was quiet, but had the same unnatural echo of all ghosts. Danny held up his blaster, but he couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. Beside him, his mom turned on her miniature Fenton Finder. It beeped alarmingly quickly.

“Two o’clock!” Mom shouted as she fired. Danny was only a moment slower, trying to fire a little ahead. The blasts didn’t connect with anything.

“I mean no harm,” the ghost said. Its voice was way too close for comfort. Danny turned to his right and shot where he thought it was, but he still missed.

“What do you want?” Danny asked. He didn’t really care. No matter what their obsessions were, ghosts only ever wanted to spread chaos and pain. Still, sometimes he could distract them by talking back.

The ghost appeared in front of them. It was tall, with dark, green-tinged skin and a lighter beard. Its eyes glowed a soft yellow. A white robe and hood covered most of its body, rippling in a nonexistent breeze.

A green beam from the Fenton Bazooka blasted towards the ghost. Its torso split apart to allow the beam to go through it. Danny grimaced. It was so gross when they did that. He followed his dad’s lead and started shooting the ghost. The ghost blocked all of his and Mom’s shots with a series of small green shields.

“This is entirely unnecessary,” the ghost huffed. It had the audacity to look bored.

“Then why not just go back to the Ghost Zone and leave us alone?” Danny shouted, annoyed. He ran off to the side, flanking the ghost. It finally started dodging the ectoblasts. If anything, though, the ghost just looked amused.

“Oh, I shall. First, though…” The ghost flung its hand out towards Danny. He winced, anticipating the burn of ectoblasts. He took a step back and his foot sank. With a shout, he fell into the glowing green portal that had opened right behind him.

#Warped Mirror #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfic #my writing

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blu-joons · 3 years

Text

You Take Them To Your Hometown For The First Time ~ Seventeen Reaction

S.Coups:

Your eyes glanced across at Seungcheol, muttering a quick apology to him as your old neighbour introduced herself as soon as the two of you arrived at your family home. “Y/N has told us so much about you, it’s lovely to put a face to a name.”

Seungcheol smiled appreciatively, “I’ve heard plenty about you too, and how you always used to treat Y/N when she was younger.”

“She was a lovely kid, and I’m so pleased she’s found such a lovely guy to take care of her now that she’s older,” she hummed, taking a hold of her hand. “I bet you do a better job than I ever did.”

“Seungcheol doesn’t sneak me sweets like you used to,” you interrupted.

Her head shook, hitting gently against your arm. “The two of you are adorable together, I look forward to getting to see you a little more whilst you visit.”

“I want to hear all about all of Y/N’s old stories from her childhood,” Seungcheol prewarned her, “especially the ones that she doesn’t want me to know about.”

“I’ve got plenty of things that I can share,” she quickly assured him, “she’ll hate us both by the end.”

“Perfect, that’s just what I want to hear.”

Jeonghan:

He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing as you showed him the derelict shop that was home to your first job just before you finished school. “You really used to work here? But the building is barely standing anymore.”

Your head nodded, taking a closer look. “It’s been a few years now, but this used to be the most popular shop in the city.”

“How could anyone ever come here?” He laughed, struggling to picture it how it used to be. “I bet you saw plenty of funny things working here, it’s the perfect place to be able to people watch.”

“There was a really cute guy who always used to sit outside the door,” you teased.

His head snapped around, glaring across at you. “Well, I hope he wasn’t as cute as I am, or at least I better be the one that is cuter now then he is.”

“I’ve not seen him for years, I never even knew his name,” you smiled, putting Jeonghan’s mind at ease, “he just used to beg me to give him the leftover stock.”

“Now it makes a lot more sense why you got sacked from this job,” he laughed, “you were trouble.”

“Working in a shop really wasn’t for me.”

Joshua:

You’d noticed Joshua’s eyes looking around the restaurant all night during your date. It was unlike anything he was used to before as he learnt all about your home. “This reminds me so much of the place we had our first date.”

Your brows furrowed as you look over at him, “do you really think so? Wasn’t our first date down at the park at the river?”

“No, that was our second,” he clarified, ��but it’s nice to know that you pay attention. I just mean the building, the restaurant I took you to had fancy chandeliers and paintings just like this place.”

“I remember telling you on our first date that the restaurant reminded me of home,” you pointed out.

His eyes lit up as he vividly remembered the memory. “I remember thinking you were crazy for focussing on that rather than on me on our date.”

“And now you’re focussing on this place a lot more than you’re focussing on me,” you joked, “all you’ve done is talk about how much you wished I brought you here sooner.”

“I just wish that you brought me to your hometown sooner,” he smiled, “it’s not just this place.”

“You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

Jun:

Junhui’s hand gripped onto yours tightly as you led him around the back of your aunt’s house, hearing the raucous noise of your family. “Is it a bad time for me to tell you that I’m absolutely terrified to meet all of your family.”

Your head shook, pulling Junhui aside. “I thought you were crazy because you didn’t seem to be scared, I’m glad that you are.”

“I’m sure they’re all lovely, but there sounds like there is so many people, that’s a lot of people to impress,” he mumbled, beginning to feel himself panic. “What if they end up hating me?”

“They’ve waited for the chance to meet you for so long,” you assured him.

His head shook as you encouraged him to take a few deep breaths, “I don’t want to make a mistake as I know how much all of this means to you Y/N.”

“Just be yourself, and I promise that absolutely nothing will go wrong,” you vowed to him, cupping the side of his face. “Just smile, and nothing can go wrong.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he chuckled, “I wish you were meeting my family again instead.”

“The first time is always the scariest time.”

Hoshi:

You knelt down as soon as your niece sprinted across to you, throwing her high up into the air. “Auntie Y/N!” She squealed, holding your shoulders, “and uncle Soonyoung,” she added, feeling your arms tense around her.

Immediately, you looked across at Soonyoung, “who decided that he was your uncle? He’s just Y/N’s boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“But mummy said that when aunties get boyfriends, it makes them an uncle,” she pointed out to you, “if he doesn’t want to be my uncle, then I guess that would be alright auntie Y/N.”

“Well, let’s ask Soonyoung what he wants, rather than decide,” you sighed.

Soonyoung smiled across at you, “I don’t mind if she wants to call me uncle. I guess as your boyfriend, that kind of does make me an uncle, doesn’t it?”

“Are you sure?” You asked, careful not to overwhelm him too much. “Because I can get her to stop doing it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” he laughed, “it would be an honour to be uncle to such a sweetheart.”

“That automatically makes you my favourite uncle.”

Wonwoo:

He’d heard plenty about your hometown before arriving for the first time, finding a lot of similarities with Changwon, that made him feel at ease too. “I feel like I’m back walking through the streets of my place being here.”

You glanced back at him with a smile, “maybe if we ever get the chance to go to Changwon one day you can show me.”

“Changwon isn’t huge,” he whispered, throwing his arm around you, “just like this place. The buildings all look very similar too. We must have grown up in very similar places, unknowingly.”

“Maybe that’s another reason that fate brought us together then,” you suggested.

His head nodded, kissing the side of your head. “I can already tell that I’m going to have a great time here, exploring such an important place to you.”

“There’s so much that I can’t wait to show you, so many places that I know that you’ll love,” you grinned against his chest. “It’ll be a fun week.”

“By the end of this week I want to know everything there is to know about this place,” he instructed.

“Now that is definitely something I can do.”

Woozi:

You chuckled as soon as you opened the door of your bedroom, the creak that had been there so many years ago was still there. “So, this is where you grew up?” Jihoon asked as you encouraged him to enter the room.

Your head nodded, looking around, at nothing that had changed. “There’s a lot of memories that have been made in here.”

“I can definitely tell that this is your room,” he sniggered, “there’s a lot of things that look familiar to your place in Seoul. You definitely know what sort of themes you like to have in your bedroom.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a style,” you laughed, “I’m consistent.”

His eyes rolled as he sat down on your bed, “how many times do you reckon you’ve sat on this bed and ended up video calling me whilst I’ve been away.”

“Too many times that I’d like to remember,” you laughed, sitting down beside him. “I used to ring you every week from this exact spot at the start.”

“It feels so weird to see it in person now,” he mumbled, “this room really is just like you.”

“It was all I ever knew for so many years.”

DK:

As soon as you felt the thud of the plane, you let go of a huge sigh of relief, looking out of the window at the familiar airport. “How long has it been since you looked out and saw that view?” Seokmin asked from beside you.

You turned back around to face him with a smile, “it’s been far too long. I just want to get off the plane now and go into the city.”

“It shouldn’t be too long,” Seokmin chuckled, finding it adorable how excited you were. “I can’t believe that I’ve never been here before, it looked stunning as we flew over everywhere.”

“It really is beautiful, so much better in person that the photos,” you replied.

His head nodded as the first few rows of the plane began to step off the plane. “I think we should be going in a minute, if you can contain yourself.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, taking a few deep breaths to try and regain your composure. “It’s just been so long; I don’t quite know what to do with myself.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” he grinned, “it’s cute how enthusiastic you are.”

“I just want to get off and go home.”

Mingyu:

The two of you finally stopped walking as you sat Mingyu down on the bench in the middle of the field just beside your house. “You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here, no one’s ever been here with me before you.”

He rested his head against your shoulder, “is this the place you were telling me about? Your little getaway place?”

“I spent hours sitting here when I was younger just thinking about the world,” you mused, “when things got too much, I’d just come here and escape from the chaos for a while.”

“It’s beautiful here, I can see why you have a connection with it,” he responded.

It had been a long time since you’d been there, but even now, it instantly calmed you down. “I think this might just be my favourite place in the world.”

“I’m honoured to be the first person that you’ve brought here,” Mingyu whispered up to you, “maybe we could make this our little spot from now on.”

“I like the sound of that,” you giggled, “this is the place that we escape from the world.”

“Exactly, no one else needs to know.”

The8:

Your eyes lit up the moment your mum opened the door, stepping out of the door and pulling you into a tight hug. Minghao stood back for a moment until she looked across at you. “It’s so nice to finally be able to meet you.”

Minghao jumped for a moment as she pulled him into a hug, “it’s nice to meet you too, Y/N’s told me all about you.”

“And she’s told me all about you too,” she grinned, studying his face. “You’re a lot more handsome in real life then Y/N ever described, she really is punching with you Minghao.”

“I am stood here,” you sighed, “I can hear what you’re saying about me mum.”

She stared across at you, shaking her head. “Don’t start making a fuss Y/N, you know what I’m trying to say. You’ve done well for yourself finding Minghao.”

“Don’t worry honey, you’re still beautiful in my eyes,” Minghao grinned, resting his hand against the small of your back as you walked into the house.

“I knew she’d end up embarrassing me in front of you,” you whispered to him.

“Don’t be embarrassed, there’s no need.”

Seungkwan:

His eyes lit up as soon as you pulled down your photo album from the top shelf of your unit for him to look through. “You’ll find all of my embarrassing photos in that, from nursery, all the way through to just last year.”

His hands couldn’t open up the first page quick enough, “you looked adorable as a baby, look at those dimpled cheeks.”

“Let’s move on,” you laughed, trying to turn the page, but Seungkwan’s hand reached out and quickly stopped you. “It’s supposed to be a quick browse through all of these.”

“It was, but then I saw how cute the first photo was, just let me have a look,” he whined.

You sat back so that you couldn’t see the book as Seungkwan continued to flick through it, “if you mention any of these photos after this, I won’t speak to you.”

“What’s wrong with them? Look how sweet you looked,” he smiled, holding up another photo for you to look at. “I can’t believe how cute you look.”

“I’m cute now,” you protested, “a lot cuter than I ever was back then.”

“You are, and always have been cute.”

Vernon:

As you pulled up outside your old school, all the memories of your childhood came flooding back as if they were only yesterday. “I broke my leg falling off that swing when I was eight,” you informed Vernon as you showed him around.

His eyes looked across at you in disbelief, “how come you never told me that you broke your leg? That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Telling people that I broke my leg falling off a swing is pretty embarrassing,” you groaned, “I always used to tell people that I fell off a skateboard when I was younger, so I’d look cool.”

“That sounds exactly like something you’d do,” Vernon chuckled, “you’re impossible.”

You held your hands up innocently, “I didn’t want the kids at school to pick on me, but they thought I was so cool for surviving a skateboarding accident.”

“What do you reckon they’d think if they knew the truth?” He laughed, snaking his arm around your waist. “They’d think you were really lame.”

“It’s a good job none of them will ever find out then,” you quickly stated.

“What if I managed to find a way to tell them?”

Dino:

The roads were all too familiar as you drove Chan through your city, pointing out many of the places you spent time at growing up. “I still get excited every time I come home, and now I get to do it with you too.”

Chan smiled, continuing to stare out of the window. “It’s really pretty around here, you must have loved growing up here.”

“I definitely did,” you mused, just as you pulled up outside your family home. “It always makes me happy when I get the chance to come back, it’s like I never really left the place.”

“I can’t wait to get inside and see where you grew up,” he smiled, getting out of the car.

You looked up and noticed your parents staring out of the window, “it seems like there are plenty of people inside who want to meet you as well.”

“Really?” He laughed, glancing up to see your parents staring. “They must just be very happy to finally have their baby home.”

“And meet the guy that has stolen their baby’s heart,” you added.

“That’s a lot of pressure on me now.”

---

Masterlist

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silkybullets · 3 years

Text

“Death Call”

Midland Hotel, 1925, sitting alone at a table the evening before Christmas, Tommy's icy eyes met with a face he never had ever thought of seeing again, not whilst being alive at least. Which lead us back to Birmingham, 1914, after he volunteered in Small Heath rifles, he spent his last couple of months home holding your hand in the hospital, watching your colours fade as dying of an unknown disease.

Warnings: English is my second language.

Words: around 2k

Tommy just ordered a drink, adding to that a whore, a brand new one in honor of Christmas when he initially went to light his cigarette. His eyes drifted to a table further away where a woman was already sitting down. He did recognize her, remembering the sweet touch of an old lover. His stiffened body didn’t receive the orders to continue moving sent by his brain, his mind too occupied playing memories of before the war. Before it all begins, or all ends, depending which side you’re looking.

One the other side of the room, you were searching the pockets of your woolen coat. When you finally found your cigarette case, you got one out, sliding it in between your soft lips. After pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you hassled lightening up your cig and welcomed the poison in your lungs as if it was the purest thing.

The waiter came closer to you, putting down your rhum, which you drank in one go and ordered another one. It’s been a couple months you didn’t drink and, after this first shot you don’t remember why. When doctors failed to diagnose you and closed your file with a lung disease you were young and never tasted the flavor of the liquid poison. But at the cliff of death, God granted you the wish to live.

Too bad that’s when your memories of endless & lonely drinking nights happened.

Coming from a christian family, it was no question for them you had been chosen by God to do something great in this world. Pushing their luck they sent you to an orphanage run by nuns to pay your debts to God. When their initial idea was to keep you pure for as long as you were to be alive, you chose a different path for yourself, bounged down into alcohol, drugs and whatever came with it.

Saying you were a non-believer would be too much, but the idea of being some kind of “chosen one” was nonsense to you, that just meant death was right under your nose or waiting for you at the corner of the street. What happened next was logical consequence, your depraved self was sent back home after the nuns numerous warnings were ignored. You did not change, and decided not to.

When being saved or witnessing a miracle helps people get their life in order, it had the reverse effect on you and you had yet to get your shit together.

When they recommended you to drastically change your ways for the sake of your family if not for you, you gave in. You had siblings, and knowing how hard your family could be on them at times, you didn’t want to leave them alone. But your good will ended tonight.

You looked at the filled glass in front of you for what seemed like an eternity, weighting the pros and cons of getting drunk tonight and all the other after that one. You being dead or alive it’ll be okay for your family, you assured yourself to avoid feeling guilty for choosing not to fight.

Ten minutes and three empty cups later, you were ordering another one. The waiter was intently looking at you, concerned, while you were ignoring his pout.

“You sure you want rhum, ma’m, Can I bring you something else, gin perhaps?” He was as smooth as one could, but the implicit meaning behind his words irritated you the most.

“Do I look like I’m sad, eh? Tell me ‘cause I don’t look at meself in mirrors these days.” You begin, agitating your fingers that were holding another cigarette.

“Gin’s for sad women, whiskey for big boys crying, rhum for people like me: We are not sad enough for trying to drown our pain in gin, not hopeless alcoholics enough to to get drunk with something as tasteless as whisky. We simply enjoy a slow death with a sweet and spicy flavor. Please bring me the whole bottle this time.”

Without realizing it, you offered the man the warmest smile he had seen tonight and he gave one back even if still quite taken aback by your confusing revelation.

Tommy had seen enough, he got up throwing a bill near his drink and cleared his throat for lack of clearing his head. He walked to the table, the woman he once knew was seated, his voice already reaching her ears before their eyes would meet.

“Is this seat taken?” He motioned to the second chair around the table. Finishing another glass she invited him to sit down with a move of hand. Her cigarette in between her lips, she poured some rhum into her glass and ultimately lifted her eyes to his face.

“Are you sick of the hotel whore, Thomas? Am not one if this is your question.” She blinked as puffing on her cig.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Y/N” He coughed. “See you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Nor did you.”

Lies, it was all lies, if it wasn’t her eyes he hadn’t recognized her. The woman he was in love with was long gone and so was the boy who loved her.

“So OBE it is, now?” She looked up to him.

He stayed in her eyes before daring to speak, and break the eye contact.

“You were always used to call me Tommy, we can stick to that.”

She didn’t respond nor look at him, keeping for herself any emotions his words had unleashed into her, if they did.

“What happened to you?” He spoke in a more vibrant ton. An attempt to ease the heavy atmosphere.

“War happened to us, Tom.”

His eyes snapped open on her.

“What France did to you, remaining alive did to me.” She offered him a fair smile, looking straight at him with the same piercing gleam hiding behind her iris than when they were younger.

“We all came back alive. John, Arthur, Freddie... Although they are now some missing pieces.”

“Yeah, fucking pieces spilled everywhere. It’s looking like the puzzles we used to play when we were younger, huh? Does that ring any bell?” She giggles.

It was hard for him to read her, he didn’t know what he felt either.

He stayed at the hospital three months straight holding her hand as her colors were fading. He remembers vividly how difficult it was for her to breath, speak, even keeping her eyes open was a huge sacrifice. But she’d never compromised to keep them shut as he told her to, his face gave him the strength of an army, as she used to say. And that had him laugh, even though now he doesn’t remember the last time something as close as a laugh came out his throat.

“Don’t get fucking lost in memories, Thomas. Just ask for it.”

She poured some liquor into her glass and slowly slid it to Tommy as if anticipating him telling her he didn’t want it.

He watched her moves with amusement, it was odd to him to find her here, but even more peculiar was the fact it seems like she knew him still. Like those ten years that separated them weren’t there, like there wasn’t a day they didn’t think about the other fondly. Her gaze didn’t leave his, and he knew exactly where her mind was because his own was at the same place. She was getting all the information she could to try to match his now tired face with the one she had been picturing in her head all those years.

“Okay then.” he nodded. “ Where have you been?”

A smile appeared at the corner of his lips, they were playing a game he couldn’t only play with her, she was the one girl before France, everyone got their advantages.

“Fucking dying of being alive after I got strunk by some miracle.” She raised a brow as if to voice the displeasure of missing the boat.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I wish I was, Tommy.”

He let out a long sigh. Once again he failed at keeping a light atmosphere. It was to be said she wasn’t any help.

That’s when he realized no matter how it felt like they were still the same teenagers, back in 1914 before everybody got fucked up, no matter how hard the memories were hitting him this exact same instant with their first kiss, their first touch and the first time they exchanged their desire to live a life together, they were not the same. Nothing was.

She was only a mere shadow of herself, and he? He couldn’t even look at her in the eyes for more than five minutes, too afraid it would dig out things that must be kept where they were nowhere to be found for his own sake.

Every little thing about before France hurt him. Even the happy throwbacks, especially the happy throwbacks. Knowing he would never feel those feelings again, never get silly about the breeze meeting with his skin or the rising of the sun at the top of a hill killed him most. That’s why he didn’t want to ask more about what happened to her. But at the same time, the questions came naturally to him, as if he waited all along to throw them out, taking off his chest a weight he never realized to initially be there.

“Have you done better after I left?”

“I did. For a time. Some years, in fact, even though my parents sent me to a nunnery to thank God for his mercy.”

He snorted at her words.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me? They were always about keeping you saint, even asked me to fucking give up on taking you running in the fields to watch the night sky until sun rised, they never thought it could be the other way around, you leading me.”

She laughed at this thought.

“Don’t you dare say this as if you disliked me being the lead, Tommy Shelby.” She sneered.

“No, I indeed liked it.” He shook his head without hesitation.

“If only they knew what we did, in those nights.” They both spoke, their voice overlapping along with their minds.

“Tommy you got to follow me, or else we’ll be too late.”

“Let me catch a breath, we got all the time to come up the hill some other nights.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s tonight the fireballs are going to be running in the sky!”

“You aware it’s not called “fireball” and that they are not ‘running’ in the sky?”

The girl stuck her tongue out, turning to him, her eyes mechanically squinted at the move. She did not realize he was right behind her and faked all along still behind at the feet of the hill to annoy her. His body strongly collided with her, making her stagger but Tommy’s arms locked her waist firmly, avoiding her body from meeting the ground, and his lips dropped on her mouth in a second, she couldn’t even close her eyes during the kiss.

“Stop it!” Her suave voice worded as one of her hands went hitting his chest, even if her deepest desire was for him not to let go of her lips.

“I’m thinking about that one night we first fucked. Bodies wet both by sweat and dew“ She muttered.

He was sitting but naked on the grass, his fingers intertwined in her hair that was falling at her back as holding her tightly. She was the type of flowers you thought were beautiful but couldn’t help but rip off the ground, dooming them to die in your hands.

Her legs were strongly wrapped around his hips, she was carefully grounding down on him, making sure every of her moves were slow to make the pleasure last. She turned loose the grip of her arms around his neck and leaned backward so he’d hit her from another angle, this one allowing him to reach the bottom.

Her screams filled his ears and soon enough his mouth as she straightened back up, seeking his eyes, wanting to connect even more. The darkness he ignited in her eyes that night never left, always leading him to always want her, even in the most inappropriate places.

“I was thinking about that time at the local church.” He admitted.

“Every-fucking-body heard the screams--” She proudly stated.

“The priest was more than disturb” He added. “But they never found out who that was.”

“Well, we know.” She handed him her cigarette. He gladly took it and smoked as much as he could, clouding his lungs as well as his mind.

She giggled some more, shaking her head both sides, she couldn’t believe they did such a thing, but knowing as mad they were when together, it was all figured out.

“It came back, Tommy.”

“What did?” He gained his serious tone back, eyes locking with hers.

“The disease, they say it’s even more violent this time, but I know it just never left. It has been lurking in the dark to come back when I’ll be happy again. But seeing I figured out its plan, it decided it was time to finish me off.” She sang. Her voice was devoid of any sadness, and he noticed it. “I think it’s a curse, Tommy. Run in our blood. Me grandma’ had that too, it passed a generation, leaving my mother and little sister alone. But I fear for the others.”

Old reflexes leading the way, Tommy’s hand fondled hers in the most natural way. He leaned forward to her as she took off his lips her cigarette, filling her lungs with that poison in hope it would kill the one that resided in her since way too long.

#peaky blinders #Thomas Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x Reader

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mochii0park · 3 years

Text

meraki; chapter 01 I jhs

Title: Meraki

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader / Jin x Reader

Part of series: Waterlilies and Japanese Bridge

Genre: angst I fluff

Pairing: literaryscout!hoseok x writer!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Throughout your whole life you lived in your sister’s shadow, watching from side-lines as she formed herself into a successful businesswoman with an envying life. Never being able to fill her shoes you gradually understood the meaning of an estranged family and the burden it carried. The twenties began slowly slipping from your grasp which had been embedded with insecurities and longing for fulfilment. Pouring your heart out to strangers with a pseudonym meraki, you began second guessing the decision when an email lands in your inbox.

Author's note: unedited, it's 2am I'll reread it tomorrow

Taglist: if you want to be added to the taglist message me

@namsope32 , @cuteipat , @ofvopemin

Masterlist

Meraki masterlist

< intro | chapter 02 >

Seokjin got engaged and moved to the USA.

Your lanky fingers hover over the keyboard, the reality of the situation still lingering in the air. The send button felt heavy, as if the action would make a shift in your universe. You have already made mends with how things were going between you, but it still felt crushing.

Sucking up the little pride you had left after lying to your friend, you push the button and lock the phone hoping to gain some sanity in your walk back to the apartment. It had been a regular night out with your friends. Coffee chitchat alongside freshly baked cookies which you got as an apology for being late.

Your mutual friends felt the need to notify you of the sudden change in Seojkin’s life, wanting you to hear it from them first. Pushing it to the back of your mind as nothing but an additional fact, you continue through the night with a smile. That lasted until you the rounder the corner.

Seokjin had been your friend through university and even later as you grew up and struggled to make ends meet. You had been there for him when his girlfriend of five years decided to dump his ass having a shift in her feelings towards him. You mended his heart through late night talks and rides across the city. He was your kiss partner after breakups, picking up your self-esteem and gluing it together. In conclusion, Seokjin was your everything. If only the feeling was mutual.

Days before deciding to confess to him, he blasts your phone with messages about a girl that pulled all the strings in his heart and awoke oceans of memories. Kim Jisoo was his high-school crush with whom he lost contact after entering his last relationship. Reconciling through social media the two hit off where they last left it and suddenly you became the dust under his shoes.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months of not seeing him. With a deeply rooted pain in your chest and a jealousy for the new girl in his life you stepped down allowing Jisoo to consume his being. Afterall who were you than a mere friend, easily replaceable.

The last slap came when you drunkenly confessed, having enough of their roller coaster like relationship. That was the last time you’ve heard of Seokjin’s teary-eyed voice telling you goodbye over the phone. No matter how many times he told you this sounded like the end and the suffering he felt was unbearable; it was nothing compared to the sound of your heart shattering into pieces.

Sehun told you many times that the timing was so off it made him uncomfortable, but that’s the thing about you and Seokjin. Everything was off with the two of you. From kisses to cuddles to nudes after midnight to serious conversations about pineapple pizza. Friends don’t do that, is what you kept telling yourself when the feelings for him slowly grew from platonic to romantic.

In midst of your thoughts your phone rang. Sehun the attachment dealer flashed across your phone. Giggling at the memory of how the nickname came to be, a warm feeling nest itself inside your chest. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“I left the Howl Cafe, I’m near home.”

He hums, the sound of the blinker echoing in the distance. “I’m there in five. Meet me at the bus station at beginning of your street.”

There were instances when disobeying Sehun felt like the biggest thrill of your life but right now when feelings you couldn’t pinpoint ran through you clouding your judgement, Sehun felt like a silver lining. As you wait for him to arrive, you can’t help but scroll through your phone in search for that one picture of Seokjin.

The only one you’ve saved after your last conversation. He was leaning against the wall of the bakery, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. His bleached hair fell over his rimmed glasses giving him an emo vibe. It was somewhere around three am when you’ve taken this photo.

Both of you exhausted from running aimlessly around the city. He begged you to visit this bakery at the top of a hill, assuring you about the quality of their goods. You remember that night vividly, how you would steal a kiss or two in the shadows hiding from the reality. How he would woo you with his terrible French accent and you would answer him in your broken German.

You miss him. You miss him to the point where it physically hurt.

Sehun honks ever so caring about the people sleeping peacefully in their homes. He bursts into laughter at your jumpy reaction making you feel annoyed as you lock your phone. Settling yourself in his car you wait for his I told you so, but it never comes. Instead, he turns on his Spotify playlist clicking on Olivia Rodrigo’s good 4 u blasting it a such high volume all thoughts you had were overridden with the upbeat song.

Sehun had been your friend for the same amount Seokjin was. The two knew each other through a few short encounters, for some reason they never crossed paths for longer than ten minutes. For that you were thankful. The song comes to a finish and Sehun observes you from his seat. The lights of the city painted on the window illuminated your face, giving him a prefect view of your perplexed expression.

“How are you feeling?”

You knew he would ask this question, after all the sole reason you were driving on a highway was because of your damped mood but in whole honesty you didn’t know the answer.

“A part of me had expected it. He talked about marrying her, but he also talked about wanting to drop everything and own a cottage in Sweden.”

“Your taste in men is terrible. Remember Mark? The guy who had so many career goals but couldn’t leave his house because he thought having a life outside work was overly distracting for his oh so important career as IT support at ZARA? Or Mino who was so high you couldn’t recognise him when he dropped the weed after your breakup.” Sehun snorts.

You roll your eyes at him. Surely your boyfriend track wasn’t the best but it’s not like you seek out boys with issues, it seems that they attach themselves to you and you can’t get rid of them without a major heartbreak. “Whatever.”

Sehun stretches forward pulling your favourite chocolate bar out of the compartment, throwing it in your lap. You smile, munching on it as you switch the song to Zayn and Sia’s Dusk Till Dawn.

“I just expected him to inform me.”

Sehun shakes his head. “I am not sure why you expected that. You two haven’t shared one conversation in two months. You’ve asked for space when he told you he can’t choose between you and Jisoo. Plus, that was a dick move to be honest making him choose between his girlfriend and his best friend.”

“Space,” you emphasise,” not utter silence. He didn’t move two fucking blocks Sehun. He moved to a whole fucking country without telling a soul. Our mutual friend finds out through an Instagram story. Fucking Instagram. And I don’t care, he was a dick that started this charade might as well end it.”

By now you were fully shouting, the tears that threatened to spill before now rushing down your face. In this moment you didn’t care much about Sehun’s awkwardness regarding tears and crying, that was pushed aside when he backed Seokjin’s decision and pissed all over yours.

“Y/N,” he whispers, turning down the volume as you whimper, “there is not much you can do. You must respect his decision. You can’t force someone to love you.”

It was your turn to huff at the stupidity of his words. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t go about kissing people. Respect decision? Fuck that. Did he respect me when he made a fool out of me?

“No.”

Sehun exhales knowing that in this case you weren’t in the right mind to have a rational conversation. Seokjin was your weak point, he knew that much. Your emotions began to pour out, leaving you a sobbing mess in his car.

“Look, I can’t stop you from having all sort of emotions for him. I can only advice you to turn off your phone for tonight and give yourself time to process the information before doing anything you might regret.”

“I won’t blast his phone with insulting messages if that’s what you think.”

“Good, also don’t eat out your emotions. You can’t stand too much sugar in your system.”

“Thanks doctor. I’ll just write out my emotions instead.” You say leaning into the seat, closing your eyes as you listen to the music.

“You still write on that blog?” You can hear some amazement in Sehun’s voice, and you know it’s not to mock you but to praise you for managing to stay faithful to one thing this long. You had a reputation for giving up on things in early stages because you couldn’t finish them perfectly.

The rest of the ride was spent with you eating out your emotions with the food Sehun bought from your local fast-food restaurant. Not much was said between you and him as he drove into the night letting you process the whole situation, only dropping you off at home when you felt yourself calming down.

Once in the confides of your room you strip yourself of any pent-up emotions letting all the pallet of different feelings overran you. Taking a pen, you let your heart pour into endless words scribbled away in your notebook. When you’ve felt empty the high gone, you take your laptop opening the site you’ve a long time member of. It came to you on Instagram in a form of a poorly done advertisement. It was a website for people wanting to share their poetry with strangers.

At first, you’ve done what you always do: began self-doubting your poems and their worth. Most of them were written in a spur of a moment when you felt like you would burst from the number of things you felt. But one night, when sleep couldn’t come to you and the pain of losing the person you held dear lingered in the air threatening to choke you; you signed in posting your work. It was raw and you suddenly felt exposed and naked in front of the world.

That’s how Meraki came to be. How your pseudonym became your shield, allowing you to burden it with any thought or emotion you’ve felt. In the online world Meraki was a fierce writer, letting her readers know of the pain and suffering she felt. In real world Meraki was an introverted person hiding herself from anyone willing to come close.

____

It was a hot Wednesday morning when you’ve gotten an e-mail from your sister informing you of her whereabouts. Due to your mother’s work preventing her from traveling, she decided to pay you a visit instead; much to your delight. The days to her wedding were numbered and so was your sanity.

Luckily for you she and her fiancée decided to stay with your parents.

The thought of her roaming the halls of the only place you’ve managed to cover in comfort was disturbing you. It wasn’t that you hated your sister but although you’ve dealt with your own insecurities some parts of the trauma still hung over you.

You’ve managed to avoid her for a good number of days since she landed in Seoul but now a week later you ran out of excuses. That’s how you found yourself sitting in a posh sea food restaurant, juggling your anxiety during the family dinner.

The last time you saw your whole family was at your grandfather’s birthday (which happened six months ago). The event left a bad taste in your mouth after you’ve spent majority of time listening to your sister’ success only receiving attention when she addressed you.

Solar and her fiancée Minho discussed the menu as they skimmed through different meals. You have been so busy staring at one spot that you’ve never noticed the waiter taking orders.

“Y/N?” Solar spoke catching your attention.

“One chicken fillet for me please.” You were so preoccupied with different thoughts you never saw what they had to offer therefore you went with your go-to food.

The moment the waiter leaves the table with the menus, your mother scoffs. “Aish you’re eating chicken again, we’re in an exclusive sea food restaurant and you’re embarrassing us. “

“Mother, let her eat what she wants.” Solar interrupted your mother’s complaining, switching the topic to her wedding dress. Your mother beamed at the photos she showed her.

It was somehow sad how much power Solar had over your parents. One word was enough to ease them into doing whatever she liked whilst you had to beg and crawl your way and even then, you were no match for her.

You felt severely out of the place. The two talking about preparations while your father and Minho gushed over their new apartment in Tokyo. You sat there in your chair counting down minutes until you could leave. Any other day you wouldn’t bother to attend the dinner but now Solar insisted you showed up. Something about the sight of her family warming her heart, bunch of bullshit.

“How are you doing Y/N?” She asks ignoring your mother as she mumbles under her breath about your bad habits, one being smoking.

You took up smoking in your last year of university when the pressure of getting a master’s degree and balancing your parents had been too much to take in. A lot of your friends decided to find comfort in weed, but you never understood the thrill of it. Rather than spending enormous amounts for just one puff, you could buy a pack of cigarettes and still have money left for some booze.

“Not much, same old same old.” You answered pushing your nervousness away.

There wasn’t much happening in your life. You’ve started a job in a bookstore and spent your free time either with Sehun or Jihyo.

“How’s Seokjin?”

That one question had caught the table’s attention and suddenly you felt a terrible need to smoke one. Your families were acquainted through work, your fathers working together on a project. They had been shocked when they discovered that you and Seokjin had been close friends for a long time.

“He’s fine.”

“I heard he got engaged,” Your mother spoke up,” to Kim’s daughter Jisoo. Ah what a wonderful being that one is.”

“Oh?” Solar gave your mother a perplexed look narrowing her head at you. You played with the glass in front of you, the object suddenly becoming interesting.

“I thought you and he were dating.” Minho joined, telling the words that were stuck on the tip of your sister’s tongue.

“Y/N and Seokjin? Don’t make me laugh. They are worlds apart. Seokjin is so focused on his career while our Y/N thinks writing will make her a fortune.”

Taking a sip of water, you try your best to wash away the nasty words threatening to leave your mouth. Your parents never approved of your career choice not that you even cared about their opinion.

Solar hums pulling her lips into a straight line. “I’ve must’ve mistaken then. I was sure I saw you-“

“Here is your food.”

And that’s how you were saved from the embarrassment of having to explain to your sister that what she saw was imagination playing tricks on her and not you and Jin making out in front of your house. It was awkward enough when she pestered you about it the next day.

The conversation takes on a different dynamic and you breathe out in relief. You were still trying to process the news and talking about him wasn’t helping your soul. You gather yourself before your façade could fall and mask it with a stoic expression continuing your countdown till desert when Sehun would call you for an “emergency”.

Right on time you think as your phone began to ring.

You pretend to gasp covering your mouth to show concern as Sehun sputtered nonsense. He kept talking about his trip to the gym and how his feet hurt from all the exercise he did while you tried not to show disgust as explained in detail how hit his little finger against a metal device . Solar shot you a worried look as you excused yourself from the table.

“And the award for the best actress goes out to Y/L Y/N” Sehun pitches once you close the door of the restaurant. Shooting a quick apology message to Solar, you jump into his car deJa’vu hitting you.

“I should get paid for spending so much time with you.” Sehun dripped in sweat, his black shirt sticking moistly to his body, hair pushed back.

You shrugged falling into a comfortable silence. Half an hour later he stops at the number 13, the windows of your house distinguishable by the large number of flowers catching last rays of Sun before the night settles.

“That will be 100 won and a Mcdonald’s later when you’re free.”

“Yeah, not happening” you tell Sehun, already halfway out of the car, rucksack slipping from your shoulder.

He raises a brow at you.” I am not your personal driver Y/N. I had to leave my girlfriend to drive you back.”

You scoff as you roll your eyes at him.” I’ve told you to call me for an emergency. There was no picking up included.”

He mimics your words mockingly before pressing the gas pedal leaving you behind him. Unlocking your apartment door, you’re greeted with your dog sleeping in the hallway not giving you a second glance as you pass over him. Haku’s snores echo through the empty apartment warming your heart. The Shiba became your companion two years ago when you were going through a rough patch. It took some time for you to get used to each other but now you couldn’t image not having his snot buried into your business.

Turning on the lights you sit at the kitchen table pulling your leg up to rest your head on the knee. Opening your laptop, you see a few notifications popping up on the sideline about your recent orders. Just when you were about to close the notification center you see one mail standing out. The name Jung Hoseok makes you jolt in your seat.

Dear writer aka meraki,

I hope this e-mail find you well. My name is Jung Hoseok, I’m the CEO of ZER Publishing company. I’ve taken interest in your poetry and would like to have a meeting to discuss a possible collaboration between us.

Kind regards,

Jung Hoseok

The scream that came from you couldn’t possibly be human. Closing the laptop as if it will burn you, you throw it on the sofa choosing to avoid it until tomorrow.

You didn’t know how he found you giving that any personal information on the site was strictly private. Pacing back and forward you facetimed Sehun. He picks up after three very long rings making your heart beat erratically against your chest.

“I swear to God if this is another one of your emergency calls.” Sehun stands there in nothing but a towel hugging his waist. He moves to the other side of the bathroom, bare feet pacing against the marble floor.

“I got an e-mail.”

He curses, his voice muffled from the towel pressed against his face. ” You called me to tell me about a mail?”

“Not any mail, Sehun. I was contacted by Jung Hoseok.” You whisper still walking back and forward, Haku following every step of yours. Sehun tries not to pay close attention to you, getting slowly dizzy from all the commotion.

“And something tells me I should know who that is?”

You halt taking a moment to stop yourself from starting a conversation about common knowledge again, it was a sour subject. “He messaged through the mail used for Meraki.”

This time Sehun is quite for a few seconds taking in your words. You don’t see him, but you can hear deodorant spray and shuffle of clothes. “How? Isn’t that private?”

“Yes.”

And suddenly the anxious feeling was back. The poems you wrote there were strictly private, the mention of your love life and your hardships with your family were never meant to be linked back to you. You’ve checked the websites policy not wanting anyone to associate you with the account. If that were to happen you can immediately start packing your things to move to another continent.

“I am sure he didn’t hack it; nobody is that desperate. Maybe he contacted the website owner?” Sehun takes his phone, hair freshly washed strands falling over his face. He moves from the bathroom to the kitchen placing you carefully , so you could see the whole room.

You think for a second, there was a possibility. “Isn’t that a violation of my privacy?”

“I can try to read out the rights and policy. Come up with a text signed as your lawyer but Y/N” Sehun’s voice is soft, something he did to calm you down. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, eyes having an internal battle, the look you’ve seen on him in rare moments.

“Yes?”

“I am sure if you refuse, he won’t bother you. I am also sure you don’t have much to lose if you agree.”

____

Hoseok was on his fifth coffee by noon, deprived of any sleep last night. He was starved for a good literature piece that would leave him in myriad emotions. Sadly, he came up with an empty line. He spent his days cocooned in the corner of Suho’s café reading page by page poetry that awoke no emotion except irritation. He was on the brink of losing his mind.

Suho slides into the booth, careful not to startle Hoseok.” Have you found anything?”

Hoseok ruffles his hair before resting his head in his hands. He was desperate enough to visit fanfiction sites in hopes of stumbling upon work that had the spark.

“Maybe you should take a break? Visit those open mic nights where people recite their poems?”

Hoseok shakes his head having already used that option last week. “I’ve been to three mic nights and not one was interesting. I am on a verge leaving everything behind to become a stripper. Yoongi did say I have an amazing body."

Sehun by now used to his friend’s dramatic antics shrugs his shoulder.” You should really take a break. You’ve been searching for a month now.”

Hoseok wished he could take a break, but the existence of his firm lay in his hands. That enough gave him tremendous worry pushing him way above his limits.

“I know but if I don’t find a good piece in a month, I can close the firm. Do you know what that means? Hundreds of people losing their job.” Hoseok wasn’t the one to crumble under pressure but now he felt like crying. Suho offered him a smile he’s seen before, the pity smile. Patting his shoulder he gets up at the sound of doors opening ,customers swarming in.

At the end of the day Hoseok thinks everything has turned against him. His laptop dies in the middle of reading, and he discovers he forgot his charger at home. In all the despair and anger he accidentally knocks over the mug spilling coffee over important documents and his newly bought jeans. The stain will probably leave a small burn that he wasn’t ready to face today. He’ll take care of it tomorrow.

On the side Suho observes his restless friend. He felt bad for not being able to help him more, but he already used all his resources and sent them anonymously to his mail only for Hoseok to turn it down.

Sehun walks into the café with his gym in one hand and candy in the other, drops of sweat forming on his forehead. He was waiting for a call from Y/N, prepared to jump into his car at any second. He greets Suho, his sight landing on an exhausted Hoseok bumping his head repeatedly against the table lightly. He hoped to never reach this point of insanity.

“What’s his problem?”

Suho follows Sehun’s line of sight. Hoseok sits in the booth, forehead rested against the table. Both his mind and body were tired, and the clock was ticking. “He needs to find a good poetry piece to publish otherwise he’s toast.”

In that moment Sehun weights his options. He knew how self-conscious you were about your work thinking it lacked emotion and quality and this seemed like a good opportunity to prove you otherwise. On the other hand, there was the issue with people closely linked with your poems. He takes his time picking between different sugars, steering the coffee slow enough to buy him at least one more minute.

Pushing the bills to Suho he takes a sip. “There is a website called Nora, it had lots of good poetry. I've read some.”

Suho nods following Sehun out of the café promising to deliver the message to Hoseok. Once locked up he slides back into the booth watching Hoseok pack his belongings ready to call it a day. “This costumer told me about Nora site. You should give a shot.”

“Nora?” Hoseok mocks, he heard of all the websites used for writing but Nora didn’t ring a bell.

“I think it’s new. I’ve never heard of it but he seemed sure of his words. The worst that can happen is he lied and knowing Sehun that’s unlikely.”

Hoseok nods eager to go back home to his cat Nobus and prepare himself a warm bath to release the tension built up in his muscles. Waving goodbye to Sehun, he exits the shop from the back door and turns on the engine of his car driving away to the beat of classical music easing him.

Entering his small apartment located in the centre of Seoul, he throws his shoes to the side not bothering for order tonight. Slouching himself on the couch he pets Nobus, the cat bumping his head against his arm purring softly. With eyelids half closed he opens the website on his phone, picking poetry as his preferred category.

Selecting a random writer he opens the first poem, eyes scanning the text.

I love you like the habit I picked up in college of sleeping through lectures or saying I’m sorry when I get stopped for speeding because I drink a glass of water in the morning and chain-smoke cigarettes all through the day because I take my coffee Black and my milk with chocolate because you keep my feet warm though my life a mess I love you because deep down I know you'll never be mine again (author of the poem: Nikki Giovanni, I added three last sentences)*

With every word that Hoseok took in he felt himself back in university, all drunk on the idea of loving the girl that sat two seats in front of him during microeconomics. He relives the ecstasy of having love running through his veins, he feels the desire under his fingertips for just one touch, he crumbles at the pain of finding her kissing his best friend. Hoseok feels like his heart had been ripped apart with just few simple letters placed in a neat poem.

He sees the words meraki scribbled in a messy handwriting under the poem and he feels as if his prayers have been answered.

45 notes · View notes

pasteljeon · 4 years

Text

don’t need ur love (m)

❥ pairing: ot7/reader

❥ warnings: some vague descriptions of sex, just really angsty sorry :(

❥ based on this prompt: bts being in a relationship with y/n but then slowly all of them fell out of love with her and with another girl. from @/armyforlifelove :”)

❥ summary: four lessons on love.

❥ notes: exams are finally over so i’m super excited to share my upcoming projects soon <3 i hope you enjoy this little ficlet and lmk what you think!

One. Love is fickle.

There is not one boy, there are seven.

“Jimin, I’m not angry. I don’t blame you. You don’t feel the same for me anymore. I accept that. I can’t do anything about it, and I’m not going to sink down and beg you to love me. I know my own worth. I am worth loving, I am worth being cherished and treasured.” You give his cheek one last fond pat, smiling lopsidedly as you pick up the handle of your suitcase.

His lips are downturned, eyebrows pinched and body stiff.

They watch with mirroring expressions of guilt and sorrow as you give the place a final, lingering sweep. But there is also relief and gratitude. You have never been the petty type, never been vindictive. You have always been the mature one, the fun one, the level-headed one.

You say, “Thank you for the memories. I’ll see you around.”

Jimin opens his mouth, like he’s ready to apologize again, but all that comes out is an uncertain, “You too.”

The penthouse is the same as always, clothes scattered on couches and loveseats and hung over the dining table chairs. Yeontan’s toys lying in a pile next to his little bed. Your mug, your clothes, your books and papers, they’re all gone. It’s like you were never here.

The door shuts quietly.

You fall in love in summer.

They pluck you from the crowd, these gorgeous boys, and they carve a space in your heart and fill it with them, until your chest feels so full and warm.

You’re happy for a long time. Winters pass. Spring blooms, so lovely and sweet and it makes your nose itch. They’re soft and kind and their touch is reverent, sometimes bold and daring and always loving.

Then it stops.

He’s distant, shifty-eyed and avoids you like the plague. Slowly, they all become just as detached. And you realize.

Time’s up.

He cries and cries and begs for forgiveness, he buries his face in your stomach and his hands are shaky and cold. He’s sorry, he sobs. He’s sorry he fell in love with someone else.

Yeah, you think. You’re sorry too, because you could have saved yourself from it if you’d only looked hard enough.

Taehyung is the only one that stays with you that night. You send Jimin away, too anguished and defeated to comfort him.

He’s the last one, the one whose heart still flutters when he talks to you, touches you. But you know. You know that eventually, he will leave too.

He kisses your tears away and he holds you close, murmuring sweet nothings until you finally fall into fitful sleep, and his stomach hurts, hurts so much with the way you’re curled into him, so small and fragile, clutching at his shirt as your eyes flicker with whatever dream you’re having.

And he swears he’ll never let you go, never betray you.

“It didn’t break me. How could it? I loved them so much, yes, but this isn’t the end. It’s not the be all end all. It can’t be. I believe that there’s more out there.” You stare into the dark contents of your drink, your reflection rippling across the surface as you trace the handle absently.

The person across from you watches you with a startlingly intense gaze, fingers crossed as they lean in, arms braced on the table.

“It was like … there was a bullet to my heart and a hole in my chest, and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night drowning in anguish and tears burning in my eyes and cheeks wet. Sometimes it’s a struggle to breathe when I think of them, when I do something that reminds me so vividly of them.”

Two. Love is painful.

There were seven boys, now there is only one.

You press your forehead against his. Your voice is soft, your breath is warm and your words are sweet. He thinks he’s dying. Your ache is palpable, your grief burns, lighting a dull pain travels, throbbing and expanding, at the base of his spine.

“It’s weird because it’s not like you wake up one day with this sudden revelation that you’ve fallen out of love. It happens slowly, over a period of time, when the things you did before and the things you liked about your partner no longer holds the same charm. Suddenly, the small things that had made you fall so hard for them are annoying. Their laugh is too loud, too ugly. They leave their utensils in the sink, they forget to separate the lights with the darks They look … ordinary. Just like everyone else you pass on the street. Suddenly, they’re just … somebody. Just not somebody to you.”

“It’s okay, Taehyung. You loved me, and that was enough.”

He sobs out a garble that sounds like your name. He puts a hand over his face, shame and guilt overwhelming him like a tide that threatens to choke the life out of him completely.

You pry them away gently, and you kiss him. It’s wet and uncoordinated, lips slick and salty with your mingled tears.

You stumble into the bedroom, and he presses you against the mattress, hands heavy and hot as he makes love to you one last time. He pours everything into it, everything you’ve been through together, everything he feels for you. Slowly, slowly, because he’s saying goodbye. For real this time, because he can never look back without this weight of failure and guilt.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he chants, like a broken record, he sears the movement of his lips into your skin and you bear the scar even as you close the chapter for good.

Three. Love changes you.

“But then it starts to fade. The hurt, it lessens with every day that passes. The tightness in your chest loosens and the world starts to regain some of its colour, your body begins to stomach more, your taste buds remind you that food can taste brilliant.”

You find retain old habits and find new hobbies. You reconnect with old friends, make new ones. You go out for dinner, drinks, dessert, the movies, to their houses for barbeque, the skating rink, rollerblading, the occasional club. Not all at once, never in quick succession, but you go when called, go when you ask.

You are reminded that you still have a life outside of the all-consuming romance.

You learn how to draw the perfect wing, you shop, you redecorate, you work, and at the end of the year, you take a two-week vacation to travel somewhere new. You take pictures, write stories, finish your thesis and you graduate.

You enjoy your life.

You still see them, on billboards, TV shows, concerts, YouTube videos, articles, your friends buzz with news about them, at first hesitantly and apologetically, now eagerly and excitedly.

You are proud of them, of where they’ve come, where they are, who they are and what they’ve accomplished. They are an inspiration, legends, and you are grateful to have shared a part of your life with them, to have been born in the same era as them, because this universe makes no mistakes.

And you move on.

You are living.

Four. Love is worth it.

It is worth every tear, the anger and sorrow, the loss and the sacrifice.

And sometimes, the world works in mysterious ways.

Sometimes, you go full circle, only to end up where you should have been from the very beginning.

“Is it too late, have we been through too much, have I lost you? Is it unfair for me to ask if we could start again? The moment you left, I knew … I knew I’d given up something good. Something beautiful and I wasn’t ready to commit, couldn’t see all that I had in front of me. I was foolish, I was … a coward.” He reaches out to touch your hand gingerly, barely a graze, gauging your expression. You don’t move, and he curls his fingers over your palm.

“I thought … I thought that it was natural for me to follow, I thought I felt something for her, but I was wrong, I was so wrong. God, you have no idea how much I hated myself for hurting you like that. I … I love you, I have loved you all this time, and I miss you. I miss your smile, your laugh, the way you hold me, the way you touch me, the way you can comfort me with just your presence. I miss the way you loved me. I missed … you. I miss the colour of your soul.”

“So, I was wondering. If it isn’t too late, if we haven’t been through too much, if I haven’t lost all of you yet, would it be fair to ask you to start over again with me?” His warmth is familiar, his eyes are a burnished gold and the truth is, you are strangers. So much time has passed, he looks a ghost from the past, he talks like him, walks like him, still hates bitter things like him, but he’s not him anymore. You know this because his expression is wiser, he has looked in the mirror and found himself and he is ready to try again. To do better, to dare to become someone better.

But is it too late? Are you ready for the risk of your heart being broken all over again?

Isn’t life a game of risk and reward?

You squeeze his hand gently. “I would like that.”

Taehyung beams. His smile is still boxy, his jaw line sharper, silky hair permed, and it flops over his forehead. He looks older, is older. He pushes the black locks back and strokes his thumb over your knuckles. He’s more comfortable in his own skin, you think his chest is wider, shoulders broader.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

#smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #btsghostie #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #ot7 x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #taehyung smut #ggukienet #poly bts #bts angst #taehyung angst

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toontails · 3 years

Text

Toon Quest|| Reader Insert

Chapter 2: Roadkill

The muffling sound of speaking woke Y/n up from her slumber, as any other morning, the birds their sweet melody. The sun was given the chance to shine through the clouds, it rays lighting up each crevice of Y/n's room. She must have forgotten to close the blinds last night, she still felt the fatigue drag her down into slumber. Her eyelids giving off a burning sensation and...something else. She was sore, causing slight discomfort. Her hands were stinging painfully as well as her torso. Sitting up quickly, Y/n lifted her palms. Looking down she saw two blisters like burns on both of her palms. The palm of the skin was torn, her hands felt almost numb and stiff, looking at the red tissue, Y/n realized it was a people burn. From the lasso that she was holding so tight onto. Last night she didn't feel a thing, most likely because she was worried about a hundred other things and the fact her adrenaline was pumping from fear and being overwhelmed. Lifting her shirt slightly, she peered down at her torso, not much noticeable other than a colored bruise that was forming.

"I need to be more careful.." She whispered to herself.

"Y/n!!" Her mother calls her from down stairs. Y/n looked over towards her nightstand. Reaching over to her phone. She picked it up and plucked it from it's charger and looked at the time.

11:13 AM

She quickly slipped from out of the bed. Thankfully her legs aren't sore to the point she felt like she was walking on stilts. Scurrying over to the bookbag where she passed the book safely. Opening the bag, she saw the book indeed was still safely tucked away. Closing the bag up again, Y/n got up and walked from the room.

Hearing soft laughter from downstairs, Y/n stood at the last step, the staircase led to the corridor to the living room. Where she saw her mother, Bendy and Henry Stein. Henry was standing next to M/n. His hands in his slacks pockets. Dark circles under his eyes, no doubt from the busy work. Bendy stood at the end of the coffee table holding a tissue paper, where he stuffed the tissue paper into the fist of his palm on his other hand. Once the tissue was no longer in sight he opened his palm to reveal nothing, the tissue nowhere to be found. M/n laughed slightly, clapping at the many harmless magic freaks Bendy showed her.

"I didn't know you could do that." M/n told Bendy. Bendy's smile widened. "Oh, I dabble."

Y/n noticed that Bendy actually wore clothes this time—not that he really needed to anyway. He still had his white bow tie. What was added was black dress pants and white suspenders. Looking more dapper than he originally looked.

"Oh! Y/n. Glad you're up, did you pack your bags? You're leaving soon." Y/n's optics flickered away from Bendy and over to her mother. Y/n gave a welcoming smile to Henry, who smiled back as well.

"I'll pack right now. I should be done in a few minutes." Y/n answered. Her mother nods, leaving her daughter to take care of her business. Y/n started to walk up the stairs, but abruptly stopped before glancing back over at Bendy, who caught hindsight of her. She motioned him to follow her and then, she walked back upstairs.

Scuffling through her dresser, Bendy slowly closed the door behind him as he glanced around momentarily.

"Where's Panchito and Oswald?" Y/n asked. Bendy turned his gaze over to Y/n, giving her a questioning gaze. Yes. He knew who Panchito was, but was oblivious to the fact the toon rabbit they were with last night was named Oswald.

"Oswald?" He asked slowly. Y/n looked at him and gave hina questioning expression as well. "Yes. Rabbit, remember?" She raised an eyebrow, and Bendy soon made an expression of realization.

"Oh him. They're both at the studio. I hid them in the lower section of the building." He said. Y/n nods before taking out the set of clothes and carrying them over to the bed. Placing the clothing on the bed as she then glanced at her palms.

"I got a rope burn when we were crossing leaping over the street." She showed her palms to Bendy who walked over and gazed down at her hands.

"There's bandages in the car, we'll bandage you up in there."

Once hearing that there was a first aid kit in the car, Y/n was relieved to hear that she wouldn't have to sit hours in the car with sore and burning hands. But. After a while of picking out clothes. Grabbing her toothbrush. Wallet, phone and phone charger all in one book bag along with the book. The two set off to finally start their adventure.

"Where's Henry going? Isn't he driving us back to the studio?" Y/n asked Bendy, she grabbed the book bag and placed it on her shoulders. Bendy looked away from the window and shook his head.

"Of course not. Him and M/n have a business errand to run with the board, what is it? I don't know, I've heard it's a big thing that a new company is innovating but, he's riding with M/n." He said. Y/n nods, it wasn't rare that Henry and her mother had meetings they constantly had to be to. Changing the topic as she held the straps of her book bag. She grinned at Bendy.

"You were being put through the ringer last night." She laughed. Thinking back in the punch Bendy received from one of the beagle boys. Bendy froze for a second. His always lasting grin faltering a dipping down for a second.

"Oh please. You all should be thanking me. I worked under pressure and took the first blow."

"At this point you're just a walking punching bag. Come on—"

"A walking punching bag? Why I—forget it. Let's go."

"Okay, and remember, indoors at 8PM. Not too late, remember to eat dinner, and don't forget! Take pictures!" M/n pressed a kiss to Y/n's forehead before pulling her into a hug, Y/n returned the gesture before pulling away. Bendy stood in the doorway of the front door, arms behind his back. Walking over to him, M/n waved at her daughter.

"Bendy, please. Keep her safe and out of trouble." M/n said. Bendy smiled and nodded. "Oh please. I won't let her out of my sights, she'll be as safe as a kitten Mrs. L/n."

Bendy hooked his arm around Y/n's arm and escorted her out the house, her mother waving the two goodbye with a soft expression. Henry was standing next to her as well, lifting a hand to wave the two goodbye as well.

"Alright toots, let's roll."

Arriving at the studio, Annie—yet again was standing at the receptionist desk, Y/n trailed behind Bendy who walked past Annie, she was too busy talking to some other employee from another department to notice the two. Once making it to a hallway, right in front of an elevator, Bendy pressed the arrow that would take them down into the studio. Which made Y/n wonder.

"There's a lower section of the studio?" She asked. Bendy looked away from the studio and back to Y/n, which. He soon nods.

"Yes, that's usually where the head composer of the music stores most of the instruments when not in use in the recording booth. And also other stuff is stored down there, I usually go down there to break something just because." Bendy didn't seem to be bothered at the fact he admitted purposely breaking something—well. Not much of a surprise as he was the definition of a mischievous trouble maker. A small airy laugh came from Y/n before she looked over to the elevator doors that opened with a automatic; 'ding'

The two stepped into the elevator, once in the elevator Bendy yet again pressed a button to the lowest floor of the studio.

"How did you sneak them in here last night?" Y/n asked.

"The emergency exit."

"...." Y/n looked at Bendy with furrowed eyebrows. Bendy noticed and his pie cut eyes looked over to her. "What?"

"Me and Panchito came in through the emergency exit and we almost got caught." She said, the memory basically playing vividly in front of her. Bendy lets out a snarky laugh.

"Tough luck, toots. I can fool basically anyone there is—"

"Hey! Watch my horns you vile woman!" Bendy shouts. Alice Angel—another one of the company's loving and famous characters, had her hand on Bendy's hand. And her knee on his back, basically pinning him to a wooden table that was in the hallway—more of a desk that was in front of the elevator where Bendy and Y/n once stood in. But upon reaching the last floor, they were met with two figures in front of the elevator. Alice Angel and Boris. Alice being the one who was mostly on the side of suspiciousness and hostility, which ended with her pinning Bendy to the table. And Boris holding onto Y/n by her book bag. Y/n didn't take much of a chance to try and free herself as she didn't want to appear too much of a bad person as the two thought she was.

The basement area was much different from how the upper part of the building was. The floors weren't linoleum, instead it was a dusty wooden floor, with various rooms—which seemed to not be in use—but. Her focus wasn't much on the aspect of her surroundings, but more trying to get on the good side of Alice and Boris.

Alice leaned down next to Bendy's head.

"Where's your other two friends, huh? You think that stunt you pulled last night got past me and Boris? Sure the others, but I'm positive there were more of you than just the gal' over there." Alice motioned towards Y/n, who was slightly lifted from the ground by her bookbag by Boris. Who mostly had his focus on Bendy.

Bendy soon made a noise and then gave Alice a betrayed expression.

"Are you really interrogating me?" He asked, moving his lower body to not cause a strain to his chest that was pressed harshly into the desk.

"Yes, I am. Maybe I wouldn't be if you weren't so sneaky—I mean. How did you even slip past Henry like that?" Alice scoffed, Bendy made a blank expression for a moment, deep in thought, Alice then turned her gaze to Y/n.

"You. You're Y/n, right?" She asked. Y/n was debating to really answer her question—was she in trouble? No she couldn't be—she was positive that Boris and Alice were Bendy's friends—-they literally work in the same company and industry.

"Yes..I am." She replied. Alice then looked back at Bendy. Who had yet to reply.

"What are you two up to? I wouldn't be so on edge if you came straight forward and told me." She said. Bendy snorted and smiled. "Oh please, toots. You think if we were doing something illegal, I would tell you?"

"Well are you?"

Bendy opened his mouth to speak, but—he seemed to stop himself before closing his mouth slowly. Alice then quickly pushed herself away from Bendy. Placing her fingertips to her mouth in bewilderment, a light and dainty gasp emits from her.

"Bendy! Stop pulling my leg—are you serious?" She said. Bendy gets up from the table, fixing his bow tie before looking at Alice. Boris finally spoke up, placing Y/n on the ground.

"And what exactly did you do?" Boris asked.

"Oh please. I didn't do anything illegal—"

"Hola!" Bendy quickly turned around and was met with Panchito and Oswald. Who managed to track down where the sudden commotion was coming from. Alice gasped at the two new toons. Boris' ears perked up slightly at the two. Oswald looked between Alice and Bendy, knowing the two made a mistake with their sudden appearance. Oswald proceeded to try and grab Panchito's arm to drag him away from the eyes of the two new toons. But. Panchito took sight of Y/n and shot towards her, Y/n wasn't able to respond quick enough when she felt his arms encircled her body, her footsteps becoming unbalanced as Panchito yipped in glee.

"Ah! Mi cariño,¡Te veo tan mal!" He let her go and quickly took both of her hands. Y/n had a smile on her face at the boisterous and affectionate rooster. A nice feeling came from someone that cared about her with so much passion with little time. It seemed he cared a lot for his friends and the people he surrounded himself with.

"Wh—wait—who? Bendy!" Alice quickly moves her attention back over to Bendy. Who only gave her a patient expression. Alice motioned around them, as if wanting him to explain all of what was happening.

"Explain!"

"Okay! Come on! God!"

The 6 stared down at the black leather book that was sitting on a dusted wooden table in the lower area of the studio—where they still resided in. Bendy explained in the exact same sense that the three managed to figure out last night. The reason for the book and the two other toons along with Y/n. Boris had a hand in his hip as he stared down at the book. Alice had her eyebrows furrowed. With Bendy finally telling her all of what was happening, she was no longer hostile or angry like she once was several minutes ago. Oswald had yet to speak. Instead opting to keep his mouth zipped as Bendy was the one to reiterate and retell everything.

"So...if me and Boris tried to open the book—we wouldn't be able to?" She asked. Within listening to Bendy and hearing the fact the book chose people—specific people—specifically, Y/n, Oswald, Panchito and Bendy.

Alice could only grow curious if she would be a chosen toon—not to mention, a bit jealous that Bendy—out of all toons out there—was one of the chosen.

"Go ahead. Open it." Bendy had his arms behind his back with a growing grin, Alice cautiously watched him before she placed her fingers on top of the book before picking it up. Y/n could watch at first as she tried to slightly open the book—but surprisingly the book was shut tight. As if it were locked to the teeth. This was her first time seeing the book do something by refusing to open to someone other than her and the three other toons.

Boris' ears perked up yet again, looking over at Alice as she tried tugging at the book harshly.

"Gosh—this thing is….locked...tight." She strained her last word as she tried to pull and tug at the book. But to avail or amount of power, did it open.

"Whoa…" Y/n whispered to herself...that..was something new and..that confirmed to the fact that she was one of the 12 chosen people for the book.

"Let me try!" Boris snatched the book from Alice, who yelps in surprisement. Boris tried to open the book as well, but as for Alice, he received the same. It wouldn't open, not a budge. But he didn't seem to stop. Instead he pulled harder and harder. Alice tried to grab at the book, but Boris moved away from her.

"Hey! Give it back!" She said. But Boris didn't reply and continued trying to get into the book. Alice seemed to have enough of Boris hogging the book. She turned over and took a wooden plank—that seemed to have been pulled from the floor. Turning back over to Boris. She rose the plank above her head and quickly slammed it down on Boris's head with a loud; WHOMP!

Boris was stiff as a board. Dropping the book onto the floor. His two black pie cut eyes turning into two X's as if the plank killed him! Stars and birds tweeting appeared above his head and he dropped to the ground with 'Thud!'

Still dazed at the fact he was hit in the head. Y/n covered her mouth with a gasp—yet a sniffle of laughter—seeing how animated they were in front of her and not on screen was way different.

"Wasn't able to hit one of the boys with an object in so long—I still got it." Alice quipped, a smile appearing on her face before she reached up and fixed her halo. Bendy walked over and picked up the book that was by Boris' foot. He walked over to Oswald and handed it to him, which Oswald took gracefully.

"It's not a toy." Bendy told the two...even though Boris seemed unresponsive. Alice huffed.

"But, why is it picking select people, surely the book has to be a warning for something," Alice said.

"We're learning as we go. We don't know what it is that's making this book go on a scavenger hunt." Oswald replied. Bendy nods in agreement with Oswald's answer. Alice tapped her elbow with her finger for a moment. Panchito and Y/n stood next to each other silently watching them all speak—well. Now besides Boris.

"You said some person with a trench coat was after the book, right?" She asked. Oswald seemed to grimace at the mention of the anonymous person. "Yes. Him, he wants the book. Reason why he held me hostage, so I can be his personal key for the book." Oswald said. Alice looked as Oswald, and her optics flickered towards the book momentarily.

"How did he know you were one of few people to access the book?" She asked. Oswald—surprisingly had an answer for that. Lifting a hand he tapped his chin in deep thought.

"Well, now that you've mentioned it. I remember overhearing about a witch that he went to to track me down. Or—as he said. Feel my energy in the area, which I could assume that's how he found me." Oswald said.

"A witch? We have those down here…?" Bendy mumbled under his breath in deep thought. Alice ignored the devil and thought for a moment.

"Magica." Y/n piped up. Oswald, Alice, Bendy and Panchito looked over to her when she spoke up.

"The duck, she must be the witch that man spoke to. It wouldn't be too far from wrong—but I wouldn't exactly say I'm right either." Oswald shook his head as Y/n spoke.

"No, no. Now that you've said something about her, I believe she must be the witch he was talking to. Why else would she and the beagle boys be at the bar last night to get me and stop you and the others." Oswald said. Alice hummed slightly to get everyone's attention.

"Me and Boris can be in sight while you all are out of town." Alice suggested. Boris had groaned after finally lifting himself from the ground. Rubbing his head from the impact of the wooden board.

"What for?" Bendy asked.

"Well, if you all will be out of town. Who knows what would be going on down here. Seeing you all don't have a clue what your objective is it would be best to have others who can keep eyes out for what's going on—and in case you all haven't noticed, tons of news went down in the past week." She looked at the four and then crossed her arms. Bendy didn't really seem too pleased with getting help from Alice but he had to admit..she was right. He rarely cared for anything media wise—political wise—or...damn near anything in that field.

"No th-"

"She's right, Bendy. Honestly I haven't taken a glance at a TV to see what's going on with the tension between toons and humans in some time, it would be best to have someone have tabs of all what's going on that might be a reason for or a build up for causing this book to wake up." Oswald agreed with Alice. Y/n soon raised her hand slightly.

"I agree too. I didn't know anything about the book of Vida until I was here yesterday watching the news segment with you. We can't just go into everything blindly. We need to have at least some info." She said. Panchito looked between Oswald and Y/n.

“No miro las noticias.” He adds.

"Fine. You can collect Intel." Bendy gave in. Alice smiled and nudged Boris. Who still was a bit dazed—but was still listening to the conversation. Alice soon placed her hands behind her back. Boris had squinted his eyes and looked at everyone with a dumbfounded expression.

"What? What are we talking about?" He asks slowly. But Alice ignored him and continued to talk, clapping her hands together she then shouts.

"Alright! In case you four are unaware—there is a rising tension between toons and humans." Alice announced. Bendy raised an eyebrow (?) And soon made a gesture with his hand for Alice to continue.

"Okay? What about it?" He asks.

"That can be a clue. Obviously something is stirring up, causing conflict between both groups," She said. Boris—who had been silent and trying to catch on to all of what they were talking about, finally understood what the topic was about. Lifting a glove hand slightly, he spoke.

"Oh yes, that. Toons for some reason are experiencing a lot of episodes, causing them to not only do harm to others, but for themselves." He states. Oswald ears slowly rose and he thumped his foot on the wooden floor, as if he had a thought. Y/n noticed, but she didn't say anything. Though she couldn't see too many connections, she could sense Oswald knew something.

"Yes, I've heard about that…" Oswald starts. Bendy didn't seem to understand anything as he only looked at the small group.

"Recently it seems toons—for the most part, popular toons—ya' know. Actors and actresses haven't been too pleasantly taking things too...uh. Well." Oswald said. Alice nods, before she starts to take over yet again.

"Recently we know about one case with a toon lashing out on one of her agents out of anger for—as the headline claimed; Not caring for her—whatever that means." Alice placed an index finger on her cheek. Her dark eyes sliding down to the floor in thought.

"And, for the most part, most confessions and news headlines are pretty much similar. Toon gets angry at a lady for not treating her equally, toons not being able to have a say in their own shows, the list goes on—and we even have some toons committing some crimes such as…" Alice turns her gaze over to Panchito, who was still standing next to Y/n.

"Robbery." She finishes before continuing. Her eyes looking at the group.

"What I'm saying is, there seems to be a rise of toons wanting more equality causing them to act out maybe from anger and or retaliation. And some for the most part, taking the destructive side of things, which are causing humans to be a bit—overwhelmed?—ah, I wouldn't say that, bu—" Alice was cut off by Bendy who waved his hand and clicked his tongue—as if the topic wasn't something that he cared for.

"A few angry toons? You think that's the problem?" He asks Alice. Alice pursed her lips for a moment, shaking her head at Bendy's careless reaction to something that could turn into something potentially serious in the future.

"Bendy, this is serious. It may not seem to be the answer to the reason why that book is on the lookout or search—but it's something to keep an eye out for—for all we know. This might escalate into a scenario where this could be the reason why the book is searching for people to stop this." Alice explains, and Y/n agreed with her. Though there was a good chance the tension between toons and humans isn't the answer to the book, that could be something to keep an eye out for in the future as it could turn into something much more serious and maybe even dangerous.

Out of all things. No one needs humans and toons fighting each other.

"She's right Bendy, if humans start seeing toons as a threat, we don't know how this could end or what would happen to toons further down the line. It may seem small now, but it can be serious in the future." Y/n interjects, Bendy turned his gaze to Y/n.

"What do we look like, the Justice League?" He mocks, repeating what Y/n said from last night, and it seems the tables have turned. Y/n rolled her eyes at his childish reaction. Though...she didn't know what to expect coming from Bendy.

"That's what you told me last night, right? What do you all expect us to do? Restore justice and equality back between humans and toons if all goes bad? And wave a finger at them and say;" he then stepped to the side and looked at the side of him, and shook his index finger, as if scolding a child.

"Now be nice."

He then regained his posture and placed his hands behind his back.

"No. That doesn't work like that. If all, go to—I don't know—the white house and demand them to do their job to stop all what's happening."

Boris was about to lift a finger to wave. But seeing he didn't want to get involved in the mess of a conversation. He slowly put his arm to his side and stayed silent yet again.

Though, Alice rubbed her temple and shook her head.

"I...agree with Bendy." Oswald pipes up. Y/n looked over at Oswald and furrowed her eyebrows. Bendy then smiled widely—as if making a point.

"What? You too? Why?" Y/n questioned. Oswald lifts the corner of his mouth for a second—as if thinking of what to say.

"It's—a long story. I understand where Bendy is coming from—but Y/n. We can't put our focus on society and their problems— not when we potentially have one that revolves around a man in a trench coat, and I'm positive he has nothing to do with the problem between toons and humans, we have to focus on him and getting the rest of our team together." Oswald said. Y/n let out a slight huff through her nose.

"Whatever...fine.." She muttered and looked back at Alice. Oswald was about to speak to her again when he noticed her sour response to his explanation. But, Alice spoke up before he could try to speak.

"Well, me and Boris will keep tabs on them, along with anything else that may come by as questionable." Alice said.

"Great, are we done? Okay! Let's hit the road!"

Y/n sat in the passenger seat of the car, her hand hanging out the window, the wind brushing against her hand as the car drove down the road. The buildings passed by and the feeling of the warm sun invading the car—in which Bendy decided not to turn on the AC for whatever reason.

Panchito and Oswald were in the back of the car, Panchito often shuffling around to find something to distract himself. Due to the fact, Y/n didn't want to drive, yet. Bendy took the responsibility of driving.

"So.." Suddenly Oswald shuffled to the front, his upper part leaning on the arm rest, looking between Bendy and Y/n.

"How long will it be to get to Orgeon?" He asks. Y/n didn't have the answer to that, so she turned to look over at Bendy.

"Well, we left late, thanks to Alice. So most likely we won't arrive until late at night at around 11PM or so. The drive is 10 hours, if we don't make any stops." Bendy replied. His eyes focused on the road. Oswald nods and soon Y/n's eyes tracked across the dashboard of the car in search of the GPS or some sort of system to help guide them to Oregon, but—no doubt. She didn't see the device anywhere.

"No stops? Does that include potty breaks?" Panchito asks, soon squeezed by Oswald, who moves over to give Panchito room to peer up at the front of the car.

"Yes, we can take bathroom breaks. But nothing else, I'm assuming you have to use the bathroom?"

"No."

"Then why did you a-"

"We need a GPS." Y/n interrupts. Bendy looked away from the road and to Y/n. The corners of his mouth twitching—oh yes! The GPS! how could he forget?

"Okay, we're making a stop."

After an hour of driving down a one way road. With lots of fields—letting them know they've made it out of town. They spotted a gas station far to the side. Not much business going on—but good enough to get up on gas just in case, and look for a GPS to use—alongside with buying snacks so not many more stops can be made.

Closing the door to the car, Y/n waited for the three toons to get out of the car. Looking around, she could smell the familiar smell of gasoline and tar pavement. Looking at the janky store. Y/n grimaced.

"This place looks horrible.." She said. Bendy walked past her. He nudged her arm as he did so.

"It's an off road gas station, toots. What do ya' expect?" He said as he walked towards the store. Soon, Y/n followed after. Hearing shuffling behind her, she looked over her shoulder and saw Oswald and Panchito following after her. Pushing open the glass doors to the store. Y/n was met with a simple gas store with 3 aisles—as any other gas store would have—nothing too extravagant.

"A convenience store?" Panchito muttered under his breath. He stood next to Y/n and Oswald stood by her other side. The three looked at what the store had to offer as Bendy was busy talking to the cashier for a GPS—if the store had any.

"I'm getting some chips." Y/n walked off to one of the aisles, in search of at least some decent snacks to keep her filled throughout the drive. Once seeing the small selection, she randomly grabbed the variation of chips and some candy bars for everyone. With a hand full of snacks she wandered back out of the aisle. So happening to walk past Oswald and Panchito who were by the slushies stand. Panchito was sitting on top of the slushie machine, the lid was open and he was digging around in the machine, digginging around in it as Oswald was holding down the lever to drink from the slushie machine. It seemed Panchito was pushing the slushie down the tube so more could come out as Oswald held down the lever and drank from the machine as if it were some sort of water fountain. Y/n quickly walked over. And with her foot she nudged Oswald's ankle.

"Hey! Hey—you two. Stop it—-Panchito, get down from there. Now." Y/n ushered and scolded at the two. Meanwhile Bendy was watching as the person was counting the money Bendy gave, the cashier didn't even bat an eye to where the three were. Bendy soon landed his eyes on a small green box—a GPS—just what they needed!

Though it was behind the cashier. Meaning he would have to ask to purchase it.

"The GPS. How much would that be?" Bendy asked. The cashier soon looked over their shoulder to the box that was on the shelf, looking at the price tag that Bendy didn't so happen to see. The cashier turned back around and replied.

"That'll be one-eighty," They replied. Bendy's tail went stiff as he glanced back at the GPS. "A dollar and 80 cents?" He asked slowly—-not no surprise, the cashier shook their head before replying.

"One hundred and eighty." They corrected him. Soon—Y/n stood next Bendy. Dropping the bags of chips on the counter, after scolding at Oswald and Panchito, she finally got them to behave—appropriately. Only to be met with Bendy, who was in deep thought.

"What are you making that face for?" Y/n asked Bendy. His pie cut eyes were slanted—as if he were in deep thought. His semi-permanent smile lowered as if he were frowning—yet he wasn't upset—just thinking.

"The GPS cost an arm and a leg—that's what." He replied to her. Y/n squints her eyes in confusion, her eyes sliding over to where Bendy had his gaze pinned on. And it was the GPS. And it was almost 200 dollars...at a gas station?!

"Here you guys go." The cashier handed the two their bags, which Y/n took.

"Come on. We'll just use my phone for now until we run into another gas station." She told Bendy, which he turned from the box in defeat at the fact he couldn't purchase the god forsaken device. And with that, the small group walked from the store and back over to the car that was parked by one of the pumps. Y/n opened one of the back doors and tossed the bags to the back seat were Oswald and Panchito would be sitting. She noticed a small white cardboard box on the floor with the symbolic red cross. That must have been the first aid box Bendy was talking about.

Reaching into the car, she grabbed it and opened the box, thankfully it had box filled with band aids and bandages, taking out the gauze and the peroxide to kill whatever germs would have gotten into the rope burn, Y/n placed the box down on the seat and opened the disinfectant bottle. Pouring the liquid on both of her hands. Oswald spotted Y/n with the bottle, she saw his figure stand in front of her, causing her to glance away at her hand.

"What?" She asks.

"Need help?" Oswald peered down at her hand and noticed the two burn marks on both of her palms. His ears raised slightly—almost cautiously.

"What happened?" He asks. He reached down towards the car seat and grabbed the wrapped up gauze in the white box before. He took Y/n's left hand and started wrapping her palm in the bandage.

"It's a rope burn." She answered. Oswald nods—putting his focus on wrapping the bandage comfortably around her hand, after doing so—and surprisingly ripping the bandage without scissors needed, he moved to the next hand, Y/n looked at her now bandaged left hand, flexing her fingers to make sure it wasn't too tight, but no doubt, Oswald wrapped it up just fine. Y/n looked away from her hand and to Oswald—who was still focused on wrapping her hand up, with a small smile when he was finished Y/n thanked him.

"Thanks. I probably would have done a shit job wrapping it up." She said. "No problem." He returned the gratitude and placed the gauze back into the white box.

Placing the pump back in its holster, Bendy finally spoke up;

"Alright, let's go-where's Panchito?" Bendy looked away from Oswald and Y/n and across the small gas station. The rooster was holding onto something—tugging it back, looking closer, they could see that he was trying to keep the book from floating away. Which Panchito saw that the three were looking over, his talon lifting from the ground as he tugged harder back to the ground to keep the book from floating away.

"A little help?!" He cried out. Soon the three rushed over to Panchito, Y/n hopped up and grabbed a hold of the book to tug it back down. Oswald grabbed Panchito's talon and tugged him back down to the ground. Bendy grabbed Y/n's ankle to tug her back down as well. Being the anchor for the book did help momentarily. But with a split second the book shot from both Panchito's and Y/n's grip, causing them to fall to the ground. The book didn't fly away as suspected. Instead it tossed itself to the concrete and the book flipped open. Pages flipping one after the other.

Y/n groaned in exhaustion. Hitting the ground abruptly like people did in those films were nothing like real life. It was painful.

Bendy was about to walk over to pick the book up. But Oswald placed a hand in front of the demon toon, stopping him from walking. "Wait. Let it do what it needs to do." He said. Which Bendy listened to Oswald. Soon the book stopped from it page flipping and quickly a page ripped itself out. The beige tinted paper levitates above the open book. The Golden tint that Y/n and Panchito saw from last night, surrounding it yet again.

Soon, it folded itself up into what resembled to be a paper airplane.

"...what..?" Y/n muttered. Heaving herself off the ground to look at the paper. But before anyone could interject the paper shot off! Out of the gas station and down the one way road. That same transparent trail leading the way. Y/n soon caught on.

"It's just trying to lead us." She told the three. Panchito was silent for a second before understanding what she meant. "Oh yes, like it did last night to Bendy." He recalled. Bendy muttered something under his breath, most likely about getting hit by the book abruptly.

Oswald soon interjected realizing how mostly blind he was for the last few hours.

"Who exactly is in Oregon that we're going to talk to?" Oswald asks. Y/n walked over to the now still book, and picked it up.

"Donald Duck. Or so we're assuming. The location is in Duckburg, and Panchito knows someone from down there—which is Donald." Y/n explained. Oswald had taken a short moment to think to himself...now why did that name sound so familiar..? Donald Duck….Donald Duck...Oswald was positive he heard the name somewhere. As his foot gently thumped against the pavement as he tried to recollect that familiar name. Y/n closed the book after making sure nothing was damaged. Soon she started walking back to the car.

"Come on! We're knocking off too much time, we need to make it there at least before midnight."

Ah, as the four make their way to Oregon, let's move over to Duckburg, shall we?

Yes, Duckburg. A city filled with—well. Toons. And ducks of course. A popular town in Oregon, most popular for the renowned gazillionaire, Scrooge McDuck. The man who solves mysteries and rewrites history. Also home to a stubborn and low tempered duck, known as Donald Fauntleroy Duck.

The sound of the water breathing and the creaking of the sailboat. A white duck sat in a wooden chair by the edge of the sailboat, his head leaning in the crease of his arm as he lazily stared into the water that rippled in motion from the sailboat rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

The nylon rope that attached itself from the dock to the boat, creaked with the motion of the boat.

Donald rarely ever had silence, just. Pure silence. With most of his time being taken up with caring for his 3 nephews, now that their mother was back...there was really no need for him to keep much of an eye out for the 3. It has been almost 3 weeks since his 3 nephews left town to spend time with their mother that they so rightfully deserved. Yes. It was a break from the 3 rowdy boys, but they left a presence—Donald missed his three nephews. And he wasn't used to the silence that now endeavors the sailboat.

Scrooge, yes. Was still in town, but was busy doing his own thing...being rich, obviously.

You would think with the current plethora of time, someone who spent years taking care of kids would find something to do with their alone time—such as a favorite activity or even sleep. But Donald couldn't find anything to do. No one to talk to—as if he had many people to converse with anyway. He quit being in the industry starring as a toon a long time ago, and he didn't think about going back, ever. Especially with the new toons he's seen on TV.

Maybe a trip? No, he'd much rather have went on a trip with the boys instead of being by himself.

Continuing to pass the time by listening to the serene ambience around him. He suddenly flinched at the feeling of something sticking in his feathers.

Donald stood up with a grunt and reached back to pluck something from his tail feathers. Once bringing it to his view, he saw it was folded paper—that resembled an airplane. Furrowing his eyebrows, Donald turned around to see who would have thrown the paper at him, but was met with no one but the buildings from the town and—well, nature.

"What the…" he looked back down at the paper, assuming by accident the wind caught a hold of it, that way it hit him. He crumbled up the paper. And tossed it to the side. Where it landed in a nearby trash can.

Donald fixed his black sailor uniform before taking a few steps forward to go inside, but the trash can jolted slightly. As if someone kicked it. Donald flinched and whipped in the direction to face the trash can. His feathers ruffled up—now he was cautious. The trash can jolted yet again, causing it to tip over, and out rolled the balled up paper that Donald tossed in a few moments ago. Along with a few other things that were tossed away.

"..." Donald stared at the paper with wide eyes. Looking to the left and then to the right, he took a few steps forward, stopping in front of the paper, with a webbed foot, he gently kicked the paper—which it rolled slightly. As it rolled the paper uncrumpled itself. Laying flat as if it were never crumbled, not a crease shown. This was..odd. Donald never seen anything like this before. Of course his Uncle Scrooge dragged him to odd and life threatening adventures, but those adventures hadn't happened in a while.

Reaching down. Donald picked up the paper. The golden aura illuminated slightly under the sun. Words had been scribbled onto the paper in what seemed to be in ink. Donald lifted a finger to see out of curiosity if he could smear the ink. Which he couldn't. Holding back onto the paper with both his hands he read aloud the words on the paper.

"Just...keep following..the trail…" Donald ready slowly. Squinting his eyes gently. Looking up to see if he could see a trail. He saw nothing. Looking back at the paper. Donald tilted his head in confusion.

"What?" He asks himself. As he spoke, the paper lit up slightly. His confused statement was soon written down on the paper.

'What?'

"Whoa…" he said in awe. Donald tilted the paper, took a look to see if he can try and activate anything that can happen, but—he couldn't. Quickly flipping the paper back to the right position to see ink was once again writing another statement.

'What? Hello?'

Donald soon was starting to think that maybe he got in contact with someone through the paper…? But how?

He was trying to register all what was happening and how to react. Obviously, what he was holding was no ordinary paper.

"Hello." Donald replied, and as it did it once before. His statement was written down in the paper—for whoever was receiving it, to reply back. This was...exciting. New. But...odd. Where did this paper come from and why is it here?

And way over, Y/n was the one who had replied to Donald.

Six hours had passed in the car. Panchito was sound asleep in the back. As Oswald was looking out the window, watching the fields pass by. Bendy was still driving and as for Y/n...she discovered something new about the book.

The book laid open in her lap. She stared down at the greeting;

'Hello.'

Whoever it was was receiving what she was saying as it wrote whatever she said down. And the same coming from whoever was on the other end.

"Hey, for some reason I'm able to speak to someone on here." Y/n turned to look at Bendy, and then turned her gaze to Oswald. Oswald looked away from the window and to Y/n. Leaning forward he peered down at the book in her lap to see the words screaming on the paper as if some sort of transcript.

"The book can talk too?" Oswald asks. He soon heaved himself up, slightly nudging Y/n to scoot over with his foot.

"Scootch." He said. Y/n complained slightly. But moved over towards the left so Oswald could sit by the door. Plopping into the seat, Y/n saw the book wrote down what Oswald said.

'The book can talk too?'

Which, whoever read it. Already replied by the time Oswald sat down.

'Book? What book? My name is Donald'

Y/n mouth slowly opened as if she silently gasped. Oswald read the reply as well. His ears immediately shot up, almost hitting the ceiling of the car.

"Look! Bendy, it's Donald!" Y/n shows the book to Bendy. Who finally focused on the new topic. Glancing at the book. His focused expression soon turned to one of surprisement.

"Wait—how did—"

"Wait! You mean, Donald Duck?!" Oswald shouts. In what seemed to be anger. This caused Panchito to snort and abruptly wake up. His eyes squinting at the sunlight. Bendy glanced at the road and to Oswald. As Y/n gave Oswald a puzzled yet cautious expression.

"Are you mad?" Bendy asked. Oswald looked between the two, his arms crossed for a moment before he increased them to try and think of an excuse. His ears lowered slightly. "No." Was all he said. Now he knew. Donald Duck. The Donald Duck...how did he not know..?

Y/n slowly looked back at the book to see another reply from Donald.

'what's going on?'

"What does it say?" Bendy asks, he was too busy staring at the road to read the book. But Y/n took care to read out the question Donald asks.

"He asked what's going on." She repeats. Soon, Oswald took the book from her hands.

"We'll explain when we get there, it's me, Oswald and three others, short story, we have a book. And we need to see you. So be there and stay there." He said. And the exact words were written on the paper. A few seconds later, a reply from Donald scrawled on the paper.

'Oswald? Why if it isn't my pal! Who're the other three? When will you be here?'

Y/n and Oswald read the reply and soon Bendy glanced over at Oswald. "You have some sort of vendetta or something against him, or?" Bendy trailed off to see if he could get an answer from Oswald. The rabbit muttered something before reply.

"I'd rather keep it to myself. And no, I don't have a problem with him." Oswald replied. But Y/n wasn't too focused on their conversation, but more with trying to get to know the new member of the team, and that being Donald!

"Hi, my name is Y/n. Long story short, there's four of us right now, and we're looking for nine other people, what you're holding onto right now, is a piece of this book, I'm only assuming if we can communicate from a piece of paper, you're one of the people of our team that we're looking for, as Oswald said. We're on our way to Duckburg, stay there, and we'll tell you everything."

Y/n's short explanation copied itself onto the paper as it did before. Oswald leaned closer to look into the book.

Soon. Donald replied.

'Alright, I'll be here then.'

Donald even gave the address to them, even though the faint golden hue that was leading them down the roadway was enough. It was good to have his address as well.

"Well this made this a thousand times easier." Bendy spoke up. Y/n closed the book with a nod. Leaning back into the seat, which wasn't much room as Oswald was squeezed into the seat as well. But he didn't seem to want to move either way.

"We should be there by nightfall. So we'll have plenty of time to speak to Donald and get him caught up." Oswald glanced back out the window. Y/n looked over at Oswald. Who once again was back into his pool of thoughts. Y/n turned slightly to look into the back of the car. And found Panchito sound asleep yet again. His sombrero was now on the floor as his head leaned on the window, sleeping peacefully, Y/n was sure Panchito was exhausted with the amount of traveling he did to find Y/n and the others. He deserved the rest. Sitting back yet again, Y/n watched the road pass by. Bendy yet again placing his focus on the road.

"Y/n. Wake up—-wake up….Hey!"

"Ow!" Y/n flinched at a painful pinch to her arm. Her eyelids shooting over and her optics turning over to meet Bendy's pie cut eyes. He was standing on the passenger side, the door was open. And Oswald was seen in the background standing next to Panchito. Behind them was a sailboat. The sun seemed to have been down for hours as the stars were out, the moon as well. Shining brightly in the sky for all to see. The lights on the sailboat glimmering in the chill night sky.

"We're here. You were asleep the entire ride here." He adds. Y/n for a moment was disappointed at the fact she was asleep for so long, missing half of—well she didn't miss anything serious. But—either way, she wished she was up for the majority of the ride.

"What? Why didn't you guys wake me up?" She unbuckled herself. Grabbing the book and her book bag that was on the floor. Placing it back in the bag and zipping it up. Y/n tossed the book around her shoulder and closed the door behind her. Bendy then stood next to her.

"Trust me. We did. But that doesn't matter, we're in Duckburg now, and I believe this is Donald's address." Bendy motioned towards the sailboat that Oswald and Panchito were standing in front of. Y/n's eyes widen in awe.

"Whoa…" she didn't know anyone that lived on a boat house..it was..cool to see actually.

"What time is it?" She asked. Walking over to the other two. Bendy trailing beside her. Oswald glanced at his wrist—where a wrist watch would have been.

"11:45PM before midnight." He said in a sly tone. Bendy squints his eyes.

"But you don't have a wrist wa—"

"Donal!!"

"Panchito?!"

Bendy, Oswald, and Y/n looked over to see Panchito sped across the dock and onto the boat, crashing into a white feathered duck. Donald Duck.

Panchito laughed in excitement, locking Donald in a tight hug. Donald doing the same with a smile stretched on his beak, he seemed shocked to see Panchito, a look of familiarity and security washed over his face, Panchito hopped from one talon to the other as his tail feathers ruffling, he took a small step back to take in the sight of Donald, Donald did the same.

“I didn’t know you would be here! I haven’t seen you in so long! You’ve gotten taller, time surely does pass huh?” Donald spoke, his tail feather wagging repeatedly from pure joy, Panchito laughed and nodded his head, he extended his hands to motions towards the three; Oswald, Bendy and Y/n, Donald looked over and spotted the three, almost forgetting they were there. They were standing by the bridge of the dock that connected to the sailboat, Y/n had her focus on Donald and Panchito, and their interaction with each other, it was unbelievable on how the two knew each other and had such a tight and close bond, it was nice to see how exciting their first meeting was.

“This. These are my friends!” Panchito said, Donald’s eyes

Immediately went over to Oswald, who was already looking at Donald, the white duck perked up yet again before he walked away from the dock and over to the three, Panchito trailing right behind Donald.

“Oswald! I’m so glad to see you!” Donald extended his arms and almost immediately pulled Oswald into a hug, it seemed Oswald tried to back away from the hug by taking a step back and putting his hands up, but Donald didn’t seem to notice, wrapping his arms around Oswald, the rabbit deflated at the hold before wrapping his arms around the sailor in a warm hug.

“Yeah...good to see you too, buddy.” Oswald mumbled to him. Bendy looked at Y/n, which Y/n did the same. They both shared the same expression; they both know each other too?

“Oswald, you didn’t tell us that you knew, Donald.” Bendy told the rabbit, Donald pulled away from Oswald at Bendy’s statement, but he didn’t look at Oswald for answers or curiosity, he turned his gaze over to Bendy, Bendy! Donald has seen Bendy plenty of times on TV, though, he hadn’t personally met him, his nephews enjoyed watching the demon on screen, watching as Bendy did tons of crazy acts to other toons he forgot the names of, he was of the generations newest cartoons to be introduced, and Donald was curious to see that the same demon was right in front of him!

Bendy smiled and waved at Donald before taking a step forward to shake Donald’s hand, which Donald took hold of Bendy's hand, the two shaking each other’s hand.

“Hiya! My name is Bendy, it’s an honor ta’ meet the Donald Duck! I’ve see tons of ya’ shorts, and y—”

“You kiddin?! It’s an honor to meet you! It’s nice to see rising toons out here, you’ve been such an icon lately!” Donald and Bendy went back and forth in a conversation that Y/n slipped away from when she caught sight of Oswald, Oswald was still standing off

To the side, watching the two speak, they

Sound like businessmen of some sort, as if they could finally, Relate to each other in some way or form, Bendy and Donald momentarily being in their own world, Donald tagging in Panchito who stood by them, listening to their conversation.

Oswald didn’t seem too interested in the conversation, his left hand rubbing his right arm up and down slowly before he looked off somewhere else, Y/n didn’t know too much about Oswald, but she was certain there was something there about him that made him act the way he did, his sudden angry outburst, his strange way of showing a greeting to Donald, now thinking on it, Y/n didn’t know much about Panchito either—other than he lives somewhere in Mexico and not America, and Bendy—she also didn’t have much about him either.

“Y/n!” Y/n looked away from Oswald and over to Panchito, who a few meters away was beckoning her over to Donald and Bendy, the other two looked at her as Panchito had his arm wrapped around Donald’s shoulder, once he saw he got Y/n’s attention, he smiled widely and said; “Come here Querida, come meet my closest friend!”

Y/n placed a smile on her face and walked over to the three, Donald immediately held out his hand for a hand shake, a smile stretching onto his beak. Y/n took his hand and shook it.

“Nice ta’ meet ya’ toots!” He introduces, Y/n felt her smile widen, such positive energy from meeting a new person once again invaded the air, she knew of Donald Duck, of course who wouldn’t? Meeting him was a nice feeling she didn’t even think she would have the chance to get.

“Hi, my name is Y/n, Y/n L/n, it’s nice to meet you, Panchito seems very fond of you,” Y/n looked over at Panchito who smiled at her, looking back at Donald he laughed lightly.

“Yes, seeing you Donald was the last thing I expected, especially in this circumstance.” Donald seemed to perk up slightly at the end of Panchito’s statement, of course, they were there for a reason! Not just to have a reunion party.

“Oh yes, you guys mentioned a book, right? Come in, we’ll discuss it inside.” Donald waved his hand for the group to follow him inside the sailboat, Panchito trotted beside Donald, wrapping an arm around Donald’s shoulders as the two started their own conversation, Bendy lifted his arm slightly towards Y/n, causing her

To look at his arm with a puzzled expression, until quickly after she caught on and wrapped her arm

around his arm, but Y/n took sight of Oswald when she glanced over her shoulder to him, he trailed behind, and Y/n noticed a look of contemplation on his face, she then decided to unhook her arm from Bendy’s. Bendy slowly stopped walking and looked over at Y/n.

“What’s wrong?” He asks her, Y/n motioned towards Oswald. “You go in, I’m gonna have a talk with Oswald,” she said, Bendy looked at Oswald

For a moment, who noticed the two stopped walking and he did too. Bendy looked back at the sailboat and then back at Y/n. She motioned for him to go in with her hand. “Get Donald caught up, we’ll be in there soon.” She said, Bendy nods before walking off without a second thought, looking away from Bendy’s retreating form, she heard footsteps near her, looking back over to her opposite side she saw Oswald standing next to her.

“You seem a bit disconnected.” She started, Oswald ears raised as he stared at the open door of the sailboat house, the golden warm glow spilled from the corridor.

Y/n could only assume it was because of the sudden occurring events from the past few hours and the fact that Oswald kidnapped the odd man that they all know could obviously deem him as their enemy.

Looking away from the boat, Y/n looked at Oswald, though he didn’t turn to look at her, instead he spoke slowly.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just exhausted.” Which was partially true, Oswald wasn’t able to get a good amount of sleep last night back at the studio nor in the car on their way to Oregon, Duckburg, but that was only a portion of his obscure change of emotions. Looked around at the quiet dock that led to a small neighborhood, Y/n turned around and walked back over the car, parked on the side by the sidewalk she spoke to Oswald. “Come on, we’ll talk in the car.” She said as she walked to the car to unlock it, which was surprisingly still unlocked. Oswald looked at her for a moment with wide eyes, he was...surprised, no one really took the chance to speak to him, whether that would be on a serious and

personal level, or just in general. So, he followed her.

Once inside the car, with Y/n sitting in the driver seat, she stared out the window for a moment, looking up at the dark sky, the stars shining in the sky and the full moon shining down on the quiet neighborhood, the chirping of crickets in the thickets and bushes and the the buzzing of cicadas hiding in the trees, leaning back in the chair the cool air was now crisp and comfortable to sit out in without having the car running for heat to not freeze the death. Oswald sat in the passenger seat and closed the door once he was seated.

Once hearing the door close Y/n looked back over at Oswald. “I didn’t know you knew Donald,” she tried to start the conversation with the rabbit, Oswald rested his elbow on the arm rest of the car as he looked at Y/n. “Yeah, we know each other, we go way back. I guess you can say.” He answered her. Y/n nods before looking back to the drivers side of the window, she didn’t know much about Oswald to sit and interrogate him about how distant he reacted to certain things, she really didn’t know him enough to demand him to spill his problems to her—if he even had any to begin with and it’s just Y/n misinterpreting his emotions—which she hope it wasn’t that latter. She was trying to find the comfortable route to have Oswald speak to her if he was upset about something, to her, it was better to have a group that’s all on the same page and agree with each other. But, Oswald seemed to already start the conversation himself.

“I uh—want to apologize when we were at the studio, and I agreed with Bendy,” he starts. Y/n tried to think back on what he meant, she took a few moments and realized the small meeting they all had back at the studio with Alice and Boris. Looking back at him, she waved her hand lightly, as if dismissing the thought.

“Oh no, you’re fine—you guys are right, we need to focus on what really matters,” though she slightly agreed with her own statement, she was still on the fence with the 2nd problem growing at hand with society, but thinking on it more...there’s not much she can do to change the mind of society.

“So, tell me about yourself? What do you like to do?” She asks, folding her hands on her stomach so she can put her full attention on Oswald. Oswald’s ears rose, almost touching the roof of the car. “Well, I didn’t expect that question for you—hm...let’s see. I like to travel, I love to meet new people, I used to collect enamel pins, but I gave them away.” He names off several things, and Oswald seemed pretty much like an average toon.

“Why’d you sell the pins?” Y/n asked. Oswald only shrugged slightly, he didn’t have an explanation for that—or just didn’t want to tell her.

“Just didn’t want to keep up with them anymore.” Was his only answer. Nodding, Y/n was silent for a moment.

“How often do you get out?”

“Not as much as I should—what are you my therapist now?” He joked playfully at Y/n’s question, Y/n smiled before shaking her head.

“So, are you really lucky or do you just assume you are?” That question was actually at the back of her head for hours, Last night when Oswald was angry that his ‘luck’ was gone and then later that night, it came back with the situation with the semi-truck rolling, which—that was pretty damn lucky.

Oswald seemed to smile smugly and slick his ears back as if slicking down a hairstyle. “I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but—I am a fairly lucky rabbit.” He winks, Y/n laughs at his silly expression.

“Okay then, hopefully that luck will help us out along the way,” Oswald snorted and shook his head lightly.

“Eh, I dunno, Donald’s luck is pretty bad.”

“He has bad luck?”

“Unluckiest Duck, no one gets stuck with all the bad luck than Donald Duck,” Oswald said. That was interesting, bad luck and good luck? That surely must come in handy.

Sitting in silence looking out the windows and taking in the serene silence. Oswald felt..happy and at peace that someone took a time from their day to have a short one on one conversation with him.

“Hey!” Oswald and Y/n looked over towards the passenger side window to see Panchito in the doorway on the sailboat. He waved his hand for the two to come onto the boat.

“Come on!”

Walking into the boat house, the warm air coaxed Y/n’s figure, Bendy was busy speaking with Donald, he took Y/n’s book bag which had the book in it, Donald was—surprised, not only had the book opened for him—as they all suspected in the first place, this was an odd scenario he had ever been in! Watching as Donald then placed his hand on the book, as the four had done before, he quacked in surprisement when the golden light traced his hand on the page and wrote his name down.

Donald looked down at his palm and then the book, Bendy placed the book on the table that he and Donald were standing near. “Well! That’s that, welcome to the team,” Bendy grinned at Donald, who looks over at Panchito, Oswald and Y/n—who were all watching him.

“Well—what’s next then?” He asked, Bendy closed the book and placed it back into Y/n’s bag. “Well, we can’t say, we so far have been only looking for the rest of the team.” Oswald answered, Y/n nods.

Donald looked at the group and thought for a mere second.

“Well, how about this? You all stay here tonight, and when morning comes, we have a meeting on what the next move should be, you all drove all the way here, so rest should be the first thing in the list.” Y/n was glad not only did Donald have them somewhere to stay, but to seemingly be someone on the team to make the plans—and Y/n could only imagine how much structure they would need in their growing team.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Y/n answered, Bendy then motions towards Y/n. “Well, the lady said it fellas,” he said.

“I call the couch.” Oswald made a straight walk to the couch that was a few meters away, Y/n realized the living room and kitchen was attached, not much of a surprise as this was a small section of the sailboat that could be lived in, small, but

Comfortable for one person.

“So, Donald, are you going to be tagging along with us whenever we leave town?” Y/n walked over to the table Donald was still standing at, next to Bendy. Donald smiled and nodded. “Oh man, will I?! I’ve been meaning to get outdoors in some time, Spending time with my best pal—“ he looked over at Panchito, who wandered over to stand beside Bendy and then Donald looked at Y/n.

“And you guys as well! This would be great.” He replies, that’s good! He wanted to tag along, making things a lot easier. “Ah? Wonderful, this should be fun, I have all these wonderful people around me!”

Panchito extends his arms, motioning towards everyone in the room, a wide smile stretched onto his beak.

“Do any of you have an idea where the others might be located?” Donald asks, Panchito’s arms lowered to his side, Bendy then shook his head.

“We don’t have a clue, but the book for the most part led us to the right people. So, we’ve pretty much been relying on the book to be our guide.” Bendy replied, Y/n agreed with him, yes. For the most part they have been just blindly following that book to lead them to the right person, which for the most part has been proving itself as good. Donald seemed to make a questionable expression, but shrugged it off. If they managed to find him, who was he to disagree with how they were doing their seeking game to find the rest of the team.

He walked over to a corridor on the side of the room, that seemed to be a small hallway. “I’ll go and get more blankets, I’ll be right back.” Donald then disappeared down the halls, Panchito, Y/n and Bendy watched before the three looked at each other.

“This was a lot easier than I expected.” Y/n said.

“Tell me about it, I thought it would take ages to find the guy.” Bendy walked over to the couch that Oswald was busy occupying, placing the book bag on the side of the couch before sitting down. Despite being asleep for half the ride, Y/n did feel fatigue start to seep into her body, despite the fact she was asleep for the majority of the ride, she was still tired from not being able to properly sleep in the car.

“Can we get breakfast tomorrow? All day we’ve been running off of chips.” Y/n pipes up, her optics slowly observing the decor of the room, a pretty simple living with, with a couch—one love seat, a coffee table and a TV. Oswald was about to answer Y/n until Donald walked back in with a pile of blankets, which were really 2 blankets, he stumbled over to the couch due to the big blankets causing him to loose footing slightly, dumping the blankets between Oswald and Bendy, Donald let out a sigh of relief.

“There, those are the ones I could find, if you need anymore I can go get more.” Donald said. Oswald looked at the blankets and shook his head. “This should be fine, Donald. Thanks.”

Y/n grabbed a blanket and tugged it from the pile, The blanket was big enough to sleep just fine—not that it mattered? Any sort of blanket or pillow Donald would have gave her she would have gracefully taken, she wasn’t complaining—after all they all were at his home.

Walking over to the love seat, she took notice that Panchito was seated on one side of it, Though, there was still space for her to sit down next to him, which she did. Panchito noticed and turned his head to look at her with a smile.

And for the rest of the night, it was filled with silence and...sleep.

“Okay. I’m not gonna tell ya’ this another time, mutt.”

The lights flickered on, Boris squinted his pie cut shaped eyes at the sudden light, a small grunt escaping his mouth. He was sitting at a desk that was cluttered with paper—music notes—and other blank pieces of unused paper, the desk lamp turned towards him, the light shining in his eyes as Boris was squinting his eyes to get the light from his face.

“Where’s Bendy…”

Sammy stood across the desk, his hand on the neck of the lamp that was pointing at Boris, a suspicious expression written in his face, his question—sounded more like a statement than a question. Boris' eyes flicked up and down Sammy, who still had that suspicious glint in his eyes. Boris soon rolled his eyes.

“Out of town, like Henry told us.” Was his simple answer, Sammy scoffed before pushing himself away from the desk.

“Ah, bullshit. Do you really think I’ll fall for that? He’s up to something.”

“He’s always up to something.” Boris blankly added in, Sammy waved his hand, As if dismissing Boris to make him silent.

Soon, a new voice popped in.

“Samuel, can we please leave now? I need to read over the new script that just came in, and you’re wasting my time.” Boris and Sammy looked over, Alice was seated in a chair as well, behind the desk—next to Boris. Boris' ears perked up.

“When did you get here?” He asked. Alice sighed before turning her gaze to Sammy, her leg crossed over the other.

“Now, darling. What is it that you want? As said, Bendy’s on a short vacation, most likely to get away from you and ya’ bickerin, you had him behind the eight ball making him practice his music segments,” Alice was very fluent in her words, covering up the fact that she indeed knew where and what Bendy and the others were at and their objective, but she was a strong toon and wasn’t going to break or falter under Sammy’s gaze.

Sammy lifted the corner of his lips in a quick scoff.

“I wasn’t pushing him, he was the one who can’t keep a straight alto for one verse. But that’s besides the point. Alice? Weren’t you the one that grew suspicious of him from that night? You were basically all around the studio yapping about putting the fella in a stronghold for keeping a secret,”

Alice looked at Sammy for a moment, the cogs in her brain turning.. was she really that mad? Wow, she needs to work on that.

“I’m over it now, not my business.” She crossed her arms, Sammy sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine, I got work to do anyway.” He turned around and walked over to the side of the room, flicking on the lights in the meeting room, he then opened the door.

“And don’t forget, practice your lines, This is the 3rd time this week you forgot a whole verse, Alice.” He said as he walked out the room, closing the door behind him. Alice watched the door for a moment.

“What’s his deal?” She asks Boris, Boris tapped the table with his index finger. “Most likely mad he can’t finish a drafted music sheet.”

She stood up from the seat, dusting her black dress. Taking a small sigh she then looked over at Boris. “Okay. Back to the real news, have you collected anything last night? Any information?” She asks the wolf. Boris thought for a moment.

“Hmm..I dunno. Nothin’ too eye catchin’, I would remember more if you didn’t hit me in the head.” He eyed Alice for a moment before standing up from the seat, Alice only hummed before going back to task at hand.

“Well, I couldn’t find much of anything last night either, other than Tommy’s small infatuation with pine cones.” She said. Alice walks around the desk, and over to the door, Boris follows behind her as the two exit the room and into the hallway. It was the next day—9AM to be exact and many people were already in the studio, doing their jobs and whatnot.

“So. Why do we need to be the lookout for intel again?” Boris asks. Lifting a hand to scratch behind his ears. Alice walked down the hall with a confident stride in her step. She fixed her silky hair before she pushed up two doors that led to the office area of the building.

“Boris, hun—we’ve been over this.” Alice said. The sound of people chattering, keyboards, paper and other machines filled the air. Walking over to a desk—similar to the receptionist desk at the lobby of the building—Boris stood next to Alice as the two looked at Annie who was looking through a set of papers.

“Sorry we’re late Mrs. Bell. Sammy had us in a hold again.” Alice smiled at the lady. Annie looked away from the papers and to Boris and Alice. Giving the two a welcoming smile she lifted two stacks of paper and placed them on the desk, in front of Alice and Boris.

“Ah, no worries dear. Here’s the new scripts that just came in last night. I gave Henry’s Bendy’s script whenever the fella gets back in town.” Annie told the two. Alice nods as she lifted a pen from a cup that was on the desk and wrote her name down in the screenplay—to keep track of it.

“So, how has your mornin’ been Ms. Bell?” Boris asked. Though he didn’t take his eyes off the screenplay.

Annie had gone back to organizing the many papers on the desk—she always wanted all her desk organized.

“Pretty well, got here early since my nephew went back to Colorado for school and I didn’t have to make him breakfast—Henry told me earlier he saw a restaurant that didn’t Allow toons. Turns out there’s a law now that has been passed about a week ago where any human that doesn’t feel safe about toons has the will to not allow them in certain establishments. Crazy because I never even been notified from any article or news report about the crazy new law—to be honest that’s just horrible.”

This caused Alice to fumble in whatever else she was writing on the paper, the crooked line on the paper was soon ignored as Alice looked at Annie. Boris did the same as well. Annie sighs and shakes her head.

“I know Deary. Disappointing. I never knew this would be like this. The board last night had a meeting with Henry. Lately there have been some complaints from parents that Bendy’s appearance is too inappropriate for the kids, you know. Since he resembles a demon and all. But—that’s an issue we can’t fix no matter the complaints—but—he said that the board wants the entire cast out for a meet and greet to show a good face for the show—you know. Not to have any heads start turning to us with this whole toon debacle. Last thing we need is people trying to talk bad about you all just because.” Annie said. Boris tilts his head slightly.

“They want us to do a character meet and greet to show that we’re...good? Basically. Tha—“

“Seems like a bunch of bologna!” Shouts a scruff voice. Alice sighs as her shoulders sunk. An expression of annoyance written on her face. Three toons walks over, the show's antagonists— yet 3 silly and lovable characters.

Charley, Barley and Edgar. The one speaking, the head honcho, Charley. The toon pushed Boris and Alice over to squeeze between them. Lifting a forearm to lean on the desk and look at Annie.

“3 screenplays, if ya’ will. Make it snappy.” He grins. Annie only lets a small laugh out, picking up three screen plays. She hands them over to Charley, he takes them and toss them behind his back, the three script books flew in the air and back down—aiming right above the eyepatch wearing toon, Barley.

Barley looks up and the two scripts fall onto him, causing him to fall to the ground with a; “oof!” He lifts a hand up as if to say something, but the 3rd script falls onto him with a loud; Thud!

“So, where’s Ben-man? Am I late to somethin’ or what? And why the hell is Sammy runnin’ around shoutin? We ain’t even start blocking the script yet.” Charley stands up straight and looked between the three.

“And what’s with the faces?”

“We!—“ Alice clears her throat from the sudden shout—she didn’t have time for Charley and his obnoxious and egotistical attitude! She was

More focused on speaking with Annie about the discussions Henry had with the board.

“We were discussing something, Charley. Now if you don’t mind. Can we continue it without you being a disruption.” Alice places her hands together as she smiled at Charley, her cheeks prominent as she gave him an innocent expression. Her golden halo flickered for a moment. She was lying.

Charley stared at her for a moment with furrowed eyebrows.

“What are ya’ bluenosin’ for? What are ya’ ladies gossiping about this time? I wanna know my onions too!” He looks over at Boris.

“Yer in on this too or something’?! gee biz—what the hell am I? Dirt? Let me in too!” Charley then started to complain about not always being in on the fun. Alice signed and rubbed her temple at the complainants.

“Oh hush, Charley. Bendy is out of town. And we’re discussing how the board meeting went last night for Henry.” Annie stopped Charley from talking. Charley rose an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Oh? Ya’ meant how Henry’s been pullin’ his own hair about how the peeps have been getting angry about Bendy being a demon toon—if ya’ ask me. We should just put him back in a Tutu, that’ll make em’ shut up. Or are ya’ talkin’ about how Henry plans on Havin’ us interact with people at this kids birthday party next Friday.”

“A what?” Boris and Alice said in unison. Alice slammed her hands on the table.

“A birthday party?! What idea is that? How would that help the view on toons—that makes no sense!” Alice sighed and rubbed her forehead. Annie sighed softly.

“Well, Alice. It’s for the best right now. Business things—that’s what I also say when things don’t make sense.” Annie told Alice.

“Squeak Squeak!” Edgar waddled over. Speaking in his own language of squeaks. Charley nods—understand what the spider toon said.

“Yeah, me too.” Charley agreed with..whatever it was

Edgar said.

Alice picked up her script and took Boris by the collar of his shirt and started to walk away.

“Thanks for the info, Annie. C’mon Boris. We got work to do.” Alice dragged Boris—he stumbled behind her, Edgar waved goodbye as Boris waved goodbye back. Barley still on the floor. Mounted by the three scripts and Charley looking at the two with squinted eyes.

“Is it me—or does she seem more quippier than usual?” Charley asks Annie. Annie raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not even a word.”

Edgar watched as Alice and Boris walked away. The spider toon followed after them, stepping over Barley—who was still on the floor and groaned when Edgar climbed over him. Charley noticed that the spider butcher was walking away.

“Ed, where are ya’ goin?” He calls out. But Edgar didn’t reply.

Meanwhile, Alice walked down the hall, muttering something under her breath, her halo flickering ever so slightly, Boris looked up at his angel friend halo and unhooked himself from her grip—which she didn’t seem to notice. Boris caught his balance and started walking next to Alice.

“Take a breather. Who knows, maybe going to a kids birthday party to spend time with them won’t seem too bad after all.” Boris said in an optimistic tone, but Alice wasn’t having it. Scoffing—the angel shook her head before she turned around and moved to stand in front of Boris. Boris noticed and stopped walking as he gave her a puzzled expression.

“No, don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter how fun the party is! Why do we need to create this—this—this facade, to make sure the audience don’t look at us as if we’re the lunatic toons that are making those crimes, we already had that case with Joey—but that was a few years ago, but still—we’re alive just as much as humans are too—on goodness me, don’t even get me started on the restaurant issue—who do those people think they are—“ Alice went on and on, complaining, but it seemed more like she was venting. Which Boris took notice of. His ears slowly standing on its ends and his tail wagged quickly.

“Wait, Alice. You’re doing what we’ve read from those news articles, complaining.” Boris piped up, cutting Alice off. Alice looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes Boris, dear, obviously I’m complaining—isn’t that obvious—this is—“

“Toons are retaliating.” He cuts her off yet again. Alice stared at Boris. And soon caught whim of what he meant. Alice stared at Boris for a moment. Of course! Toons are reaching their end—they tired of being tossed around like—Well toons! How didn’t she and everyone else not see it to begin with?! It was bright as day.

“Squeak!” Alice looks over, behind Boris to see Edgar, Boris turns around and moves to stand next to Alice so he could look at the spider toon.

“Squeak squeak!” The spider started to squeak incoherently. Waving his two arms around—whatever it was, he wanted to tell Alice and Boris.

Boris only tilts his head in confusion, he could never understand a word Edgar was saying—but it seemed Charley and Barley could always understand their butcher friend just fine.

“What?” Boris muttered. Alice stared down at Edgar.

“Eddie, honey...I can’t understand you, we—you know this.” Alice said softly. Edgar slowly lowered his arms and looked between Alice and Boris. But he didn’t give it—he seemed very determined to tell the two whatever it was he needed to say.

Edgar hopped up and down. Baring his fangs as he came from his mouth. Soon lifting both his arms up, way above his head. Resembling ears before hopping around. Putting his two arms down he extended his arms as if aiming towards something he emitted a small; “pew! Pew!”

Then, he stood up straight and tall. As if to hold a broad and confident stature.

“Uh—horseback riding!” Boris shouts. Alice made a noise before nudging her elbow into Boris’s arms. He grunts and looks at her.

“What? I thought we were playing charades?” He said innocently.

“No, he’s obviously trying to tell us something, But I don’t know what it is..” Alice tapped her chin. Boris inhaled and was about to say something, but Alice cut him off.

“And it’s not horseback riding.” She told him. Boris deflated and his ears flattened against his head.

“I can never have fun..”

Edgar could see the two were still having problems understanding him. Standing there he tried to find a conclusion to make him more understandable. Soon, he scurried away down the hall. Alice opened her mouth to shout after him, but as quick as lighting. Edgar zipped back over and was holding a book—which was just some random novel he took from someone’s desk. Opening it, he dropped it to the floor and zipped away yet again—and back over! This time with a trench coat covering his body—due to him being a small toon. The coat mauled him slightly, but that wasn’t Alice’s concern. Edgar soon opened the trench coat, revealing himself—he wore pencil mustache by his—Well where his nose should have been.

Edgar let out squeaks similar to a cackle before he picked up the book and a triumphant expression rid his face.

“Wait…” Alice whispered. She placed a finger on her temple that...pencil mustache—it resembled someone she was familiar with.

“Boris—did you understand him?” Alice looked over at her Wolf friend. Boris looked away from Edgar who looked up at them with a gleam of hope.

“Uh—“ Boris' tail sagged slightly. Alice crossed her arms.

“Boris!”

“Hey! I’m running off of an oatmeal bar I ate this morning, give me a break!”

Alice waved Boris away before turning her head to look at Edgar. “Eddie, are you telling us you saw Bendy with three others?” Alice asked Edgar. And he nods! She was right! She was on the right page! And not only that—she got answers! A lead! Gosh, she sounded like a detective.

“Were they a rabbit, a rooster and girl?” She asks yet again. And he nods.

“Where were you when you saw them?”

Edgar points up to the ceiling.

“Stargazing? I know right, I heard the stars were out that night, did you see any shooting stars?” Boris asks. Edgar shook his head frantically before pointing up at the ceiling again. Alice raised an eyebrow.

“So, you weren’t outside?”

He shook his head.

“Then where were you?” She asks. And yet again, he points to the ceiling, this time she looks up and sees a vent. Looking back down at him she then wondered;

“You were in the vents? Why?” She asks. Edgar only shook his head side to side as if saying; ‘so-so’

“Long story?”

“Squeak squeak.”

“How come you didn’t tell Charley and Barley?” She asks. Edgar shook his head before baring his teeth and lifting his hands up to his head resembled horns.

“You knew Bendy wouldn’t want that?” She asks. And he nods.

“So you saw whoever was in that trench coat the others were telling me about? Bendy told me and Boris everything. But have you seen that man in the trench coat?” Edgar shivers at Alice question before

Nodding. He pointed at the pencil mustache that was still on his face.

“Well whoever it is has a mustache.” Boris said. Edgar nods—but he didn’t end there. He motioned around their surroundings, as if signaling the area.

“I don’t understand you..” Alice said—shaking her head. What did he mean? What did he mean?

“Do you know for sure all the details on who was in that coat?” Alice asks. Edgar paused momentarily, shaking his hand; so-so—like he did before.

“How did you even see em’ you followed them?”

Edgar bashfully nods his head.

“You know this would be much easier if we just had Charley translate for us. No offense, Edgar.” Boris quips. Alice shook her head. “What? No, I

Specifically told the others that whatever they shared with me and you before they left town, stays between us. I mean..come on Boris—they have a stolen book, we can’t just go around telling anyone. Most certainly not Charley and Barley, Edgar is now an exception because it’s obvious he has more in depth details about what he saw, plus. I like him.” Alice placed a hand on Edgar’s head. The arachnid smiled and purred softly.

Boris crossed his arms. “Biased much. But fine, we’ll do it your way..”

“There is no, ‘my way’—it’s the most reasonable way

So no one gets in trouble.” Alice reasoned with Boris. Boris hummed in acknowledgment.

“Okay, well can he at least write it in a piece of paper? I hate charades—it’s giving me a headache.”

“Fine, let’s go, then later in, we’ll have to contact the others—Detective Alice—wow, never knew I would hear that title—sounds catchy!” She boasted and turned around to walk down the hall with a cheerful stride in her step. Edgar follows behind, squeaking happily.

“Oh brother..” Boris muttered and face palmed before dragging himself to follow Alice and Edgar.

Y/n was still asleep on the loveseat. The blankets was lifted close to her face—cascading her in warmth. Her head leaned in the armrest of the couch. One leg posted up on the other armrest as her other leg hung off the couch.

Slam!

The front door opened harshly and stumbled in..Panchito.

This caused Y/n to flinch. Her heart jumping in her throat as she sat up quickly. Bendy was asleep on the floor, and his head was under the coffee table. When he flinched and sat up. His head hit the table. His hand shot up and held his head as he grunted painfully. Oswald slowly opened his eyes. Which were squinted.

“Panchito—what—why aren’t you asleep? Why are you outside? What’s wrong?” Y/n rubbed her eyes, the blanket fell off her as Panchito walked into the living room.

“I have found—this!” He extended his arms and opened his palm. Showcasing...a turtle. A small turtle.

“I found this little guy by the dock! Isn’t he so cute! I will name him. BB—no! Chirp. Because when I found him. He was making a chirping sound—“

Bendy soon got up and walked over to Panchito.

“Did you really wake us up for a stupid turtle? Go throw it out!”

“Can you guys keep your voices down please, gosh..” Oswald turned his back towards the three and lifted the blanket to his face. Panchito moved the turtle away from Bendy—so the demon wouldn’t try anything as he suspected.

“But—he is so cute. Look at him.”

“It’s a turtle. Put it back.”

“No!”

“Hey!” Oswald shouts before sitting up and turning to look at Bendy and Panchito. The two looked over at the rabbit.

“Cut it out! It’s too early for all that!”

“Actually.” Donald suddenly appeared in the room. Standing near the front door. The sun is brighter than usual. All the way in the sky. Which was odd for a morning sunrise...

“It's 1 in the afternoon.”

Placing the book on the hood of the car. Y/n opened it and started flipping through the papers to find the map. The sun was out and it was pretty hot out. Finding the map yet again been marked with a small ink dot, the last ink dot that marked Oregon was gone. But—that didn’t matter. Seeing Idaho was marked for their next location was a big relief as Y/n was glad they didn’t have to travel overseas to get anyone. And the fact that Idaho was next door to Oregon—the drive wouldn’t be no longer than maybe 8 hours.

“Okay guys, the next location is Idaho.” Y/n turned around and looked at the four toons that waited for her. Donald raised an eyebrow.

“Idaho? What’s in Idaho?” He asks. Bendy snickered and looked over at Donald.

“I don’t know—pppft—get it? Idaho? I don’t know? Hahaha!” He burst out laughing at his corny joke—that really wasn’t a joke to begin with, but he found humor

In it. Oswald lowered his ears and gave Bendy a fearful expression. Looking between Bendy and Y/n—who didn’t even crack a smile at the joke. Oswald spoke up.

“He—he uh...he doesn’t do this often...right?” He asks her. And Y/n hope he didn’t, sitting in a car for 8 hours listening to puns and jokes? She'd rather walk the way there or catch a bus.

“What? No one likes my joke? C’mon! That was hilarious!” Bendy was still laughing through his words. Panchito was silent for a moment. At first he didn’t get it, until he muttered it under his breath again. Soon a look of realization took over.

“Oooh! I get it! Ahaha!” Panchito laughed along with Bendy. “That’s the stupidest joke I’ve ever heard.” Donald said. A blank expression on his face. Not even moved by the joke. Y/n closed the book and walked over the car door and opened the passenger seat.

“Alright! Come on! Let’s hit the road please, I wanna be there before nightfall.”

Y/n watched as the many cornfields passed by—leaving Duckburg about 2 hours ago with no hassle. And it was good that they didn’t need

To take a break. Though, now, with five people in the car, there wasn’t much room as there was to begin with. Oswald did squeeze back up into the front to

Sit in the passenger seat with Y/n again. Panchito and Donald were catching up with each other, talking about their own business. The book was on Y/n’s lap as an hour ago, she was looking through the papers just out of curiosity. Oswald did seem to be on the verge of drifting off to sleep.

But after 40 or so minutes passed. They were now driving in a small town located at the edge of Oregon called ‘WallowDale’—which Y/n knew nothing about. Looking at the green welcome sign. It seemed like a pretty generic town, more so how Y/n would see it as from those cliche TV shows with the kids that lived in the small towns where everyone knew everyone. The town seemed peaceful and nice—the mountain's way in the distance gave such a serene atmosphere.

“You think they have a diner down here somewhere? We should get something to eat.” She said to no one in particular. Oswald opened his eyes—he wasn’t sleeping, more enjoying the sound of the car driving down the road to replace the fact he was abruptly woken up in the morning, or, the afternoon to be correct.

Bendy heard Y/n and snapped from his train of thought from whatever he was thinking about.

“Yeah. I guess food sounds good right about now.”

Stretching, Y/n lets out a strained groaned, feeling relief of the tension leaving her legs, even though they only made it almost 4 hours in the car, she needed to stretch her legs. The soft wind traveled between her fingers and the sun coaxed her in its warmth. Looking ahead of her, Y/n looked at the small establishment—a family owned diner.

“Wow, it looks nice in this town!” Oswald whistled as he took in the small Argo-town. It seemed a bit rural—yet a comfortable place to be.

One of the kids that were seated in the pavement watched as the five got out of the car. A look of awe ridden on his face. The chalk the kid was playing with slipped from his hand and onto the pavement. Toons—they were toons! He’s never seen them before!

Y/n heard the kid gasp and she looked over at the kid to see his eyes glued on her four tooney friends.

“Is this a parking meter?” Bendy didn’t pay attention to the kid—as he didn’t see him, but had his focus on the parking meter. Oswald was standing next to Y/n—but had his attention still in his surroundings and Panchito and Donald were still talking.

The kid waved at Y/n once moving his gaze to her. She smiled at him and waved as well. The kid raised his chalky hands to his mouth and smiled bashfully. What a cutie.

“Okay, come on.”

Inside the diner, classic 50s rock music was heard. The smell of food—whatever was cooking wafted in the air and it smelled delicious! The AC was on, and it immediately cooled down Y/n and the others. Y/n could see the theme of the retro diner, some people were dancing by a jukebox, which caught her attention. She stopped walking and watched as at least 7 people were dancing by the jukebox fluently and gracefully! Some people in their booths and seats clapping along to the music and cheering the people.

“Hm—impressive.” Oswald said. Panchito‘s feathers shook as he hopped from one talon to the other, dancing along with the music rather silly like. This caused Y/n to laugh, a smile widening.

“I like it here. It’s nice. Don’t you guys think?” She asks the four. Donald quickly nods. “I hadn’t heard about this town, but man isn’t this place snazzy.” He said. His eyes trailing over the details in the restaurant.

“I agree.” Oswald agrees. Looking away from the people dancing and over to Panchito who just needed to move—dance. He took ahold of Y/n’s hands? Which caught her by surprise. But she did happily hop around with the rooster. Bendy looked away from the walls of old black and white pictures that caught his attention. Looking over at Panchito and Y/n dancing, a smile quickly appeared on his face.

Afterwards a stout man pushed the flappy doors open that led to the kitchen. He lets out a boisterous laugh, holding a silver serving player with a plate of food on it. He held a spatula and with that spatula he ringed a service bell.

“Jeremy! Your food is ready!” He shouts. Placing the plate on the counter. He must have been a chef as his white stained apron gave it away.

Y/n lets go of Panchito's hands once hearing the loud voice.

“Ay! Alex! The hot cakes are delicious!” Shouts at a customer. Alex—who Y/n assumed the chef's name was. Laughs and waved his head.

“Thank ya! Thank ya! Now—“ the room went silent as the majority of the diners' customers looked over at the chef, was he about to make an announcement?

“I’m glad you all are here fer’ me and my sweet gal’s anniversary! Ain’t that right, shnookums?” Alex placed a hand on the wall and gave it a love filled expression. Bendy gagged, causing Y/n to nudge him to shush him.

“This building brought me many memories! Fifty years everyone! Alex’s Diner!” The customers clapped and cheered for the owner—now that Y/n realized. Alex smiled and nodded at the annocumemt and the cheers.

“Thank you, thank you—and I—“ he immediately stopped talking when his eyes landed in Y/n and four others. An eyebrow raised at the group...were they..not supposed to be there? The eyes on them caused an anxiety to start bubbling in Y/n. Was this a private event? What happened?! Her fingertips went cold and immediately her throat went dry.

“May I help you all? Are you folks lost?” Alex asks. Y/n opened her mouth to speak. Her hands wringing around the straps of her book bag.

“Hi—I’m—we’re sorry. We wanted to eat something and leave, but if you all are having an event, we can just leave?” She didn’t want to make her statement sound like a question, but he did anyway.

“Did you all read the sign before coming’ in?” Alex asks, though his question sounds like a trick question. A hint of sarcasm in his voice? It was something!

Y/n gave a wavering smile. Grabbing Panchito by his wrist, Oswald by his wrist and grabbing onto Donald and Bendy’s tie, she started to back away, bringing them with her.

“Oh? So this is an event. We’ll be on our way then.” She quickly said—stupid move! Why didn’t she see it from the beginning instead of blindly walking in.

“No-no! Dear, come! Sit, I will serve you!” Alex waved a hand to beckon her over to the stool at the counter. Y/n stopped walking and felt a bit of relief.

“Your friends will have to wait outside though.” Was his catch. Y/n hands slipped from her friends. She glanced behind her, to see no one. Who was he talking to?

“Us?” Panchito asked. Pointing a thumb to his chest. Alex nods.

“Yes sir, In case you four toons hadn’t read—“ Alex reached behind the counter and pulled out a flip sign. A pale blue lining around the board and in black words read; ‘No Toons Allowed’

“What?!” Donald shouts abruptly. But, Alex nods. “Yep, but I can serve the young lady. Come sit, I’ll get you something, on the house, dear.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows...when was that a thing? And why was it allowed? That can’t be! It had to be his own store policy.

“This is your store policy?” Y/n asks.

“Countrywide law. Just been accepted as a new optional choice for business owners like myself. Love it or hate it, it’s my rule. Now come sit.”

“No! She’s not sitting, Y/n, let’s go.” Donald took a hold of Y/n’s wrist and started to walk towards the door, but Oswald stopped Donald.

“No, she can stay and eat if she wants, she hasn’t eaten all day, we’ll be fine.” Oswald swatted Donald’s hand away from Y/n’s wrist. Which he lets go. Donald crumbled under his breath.

“Ay—girly. You gonna let these toons decide for you?” One customer asks. Y/n looks over to the customer. But ignores him. Bendy slightly nudged Y/n to

The door. “She makes her own decision just fine, thank you.”

“Bendy—no, if Y/n wants to eat here, then she can. Come on, we’ll wait outside.” Oswald said, once again nudging Bendy away, Bendy swatted Oswald’s hands.

“Ay! Keep yer’ hands off me, I already had to listen to Mr. Sal over here.” Bendy threw an insult at Alex. Which took note of. Alex raised an eyebrow and looked at Bendy.

“You got a problem with me, pal?” Alex crosses his eyes before eyeing Bendy. Bendy tsked and strolled over to the counter.

“All the problems, ya’ old geezer!”

“Well shit..” Y/n muttered under her breath.

“Panchito! Do something.” Oswald whispered under his breath to the rooster. Panchito—didn’t seem to have a plan in mind. He’s never been in a situation like this before.

“Oh please? If I don’t want a couple of pencil strokes waltzing into my fine diner! Then I damn sure don’t one walking in, especially you demon look alike.”

“Hey!” Y/n shouts.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” She glared at the owner. Alex looked at Y/n and squinted his dark eyes. “You lookin’ for trouble too, kid?”

“You wanna get to her? You’ll have ta’ get through me. Pork. Chop.” Bendy points his gloved hand at Alex’s nose. The customers murmured in shock.

“Alright! Party’s over.” An accented voice shouts. Panchito, Oswald and Donald moved away from the entrance of the diner. A sheriff walked in. His boots and spurs clicking—for whatever reason he was wearing them..

The shades in his face was dark and he held a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Donald panicked—Panchito—they almost forgot! He can’t be seen! Looking around quickly. Donald picked up an empty mop bucket and slammed in on Panchito’s head. Panchito wobbled almost dazed like at the sudden impact. The sheriff looked over. At Donald, who nervously smiled at him, leaning his elbow on the bucket that was on Panchito’s head as if he were casually leaning.

“You toons heard the man. No service. Now scram unless you all want a free ride to the office.” The officer told the group.

Y/n rubbed her clammy hands together and walked over to Bendy and grabbed him by his tie and dragged him away from the counter. Him and Alex staring each other down. They needed to leave immediately before that officer found out about Panchito and the book—which would be tough to do—but she felt that any officer would have eyes like a hawk that can find out just about anything.

Pushing the doors open, strolling back outside. Y/n ran her hands through her hair.

“That was..that was something new.” She said. Walking over to the car and opening the passenger door. Bendy fixed his tie. “When did that become a...thing.” He grunts. Hinting towards the new Policy. Or, law.

“Whatever it is, we need to be more careful and start reading, that’s for sure.” Donald said, taking the bucket off of Panchito’s head. Panchito blinked at the sunlight and lifted a hand to rub his head under his sombrero.

“You toons got kicked?” Asked a voice. Bendy didn’t even bat an eye as he had his eyes closed, trying to think of a new place to eat at.

“Not now, Oswald…” Bendy muttered. Oswald slowly closes the car door once he opens it.

“I didn’t even say anything..” Oswald said. Y/n looks at Oswald and then Bendy.

“You heard that too?” Y/n asks. And Oswald nods quickly. “Me too.” Donald adds.

“Oh my g—-down here you Idiots!” Donald quacks and his hands quickly flew to his tail feathers. Quickly standing next to Y/n with an angry expression. “Hey! What’s the big I-“ he stopped in his track when he saw a small toon—a bird—a blue bird. Y/n squints her eyes.

“You kinda look like the birdie in my neighborhood.” Y/n said. The bird nods. “That’s because I am sweet cheeks.” The bird—really packed a voice. His voice was much deeper than you would expect from a dainty little bird. Panchito gasped.

“Whoa? Have you followed us? What a cute litt—“

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Oswald told Panchito, his hands up to shield his face as if the bird would attack him instead of Panchito.

“Hey! What’re guys doin? Come on—we gotta hit the road.” Bendy walked around the car and

Looked at the four. Y/n motioned towards the blue bird. “Talking bird.” She told him. Bendy looked at her and turned to look at the bird. The five standing next to each other as they all looked down at the bird.

“I’ll make this quick and easy! Alright, my name is BB, short for blue bird—thank the narrator.”

No no, thank you, Blue Bird.

“Who?” Y/n raised an eyebrow as she looked around for whoever the blue bird could have mentioned.

“Oooh! I was going to name my turtle that!” Panchito smiled. Oswald squinted his eyes before looking at Panchito.

“Where did that turtle go anyway?” He asks. Panchito deflates.

“Bendy threw him to the pound. mi corazón está triste…” Panchito sighs.

BB looked at the group and shook his head slowly...they all were so...silly.

“Never mind that.” BB said. But it didn’t stop there, Y/n raised her hand.

“You kinda sound like Samuel L. Jackson.” She said. Donald shook his head and tapped his beak.

“I was thinking more like Morgan Freeman.” Donald adds. Y/n then nods and lets out a laugh. The two snickered together. The bird whistles to catch their attention.

“Attention, please”

“Right, sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, I’m your guide to help you. It may seem crazy. But I’ve been guiding you all this entire time—well. You all have been technically guiding yourselves, and I am so proud of this team of what it’s made. Especially the night when you three found each other.” BB looked at Y/n, Panchito, Bendy and Oswald.

“So...you’re the book?” Panchito asks. BB shook his head. “No, I’m not. The book is itself of course. I’m a piece of it. The navigator. Donald, that paper you received. I sent it to you. I’m soul bound to the book—-promised from the kings eons ago for when the day comes, this book will fall in the right hands with the right people. That being you five—and more to come. I’m no guardian, no knight, god, or anything—too much. I’m your helper. Your guide. Look at me as your personal GPS.” BB finishes. Y/n nods slowly—it made sense on how the sudden times the book would know where to locate everyone.

“So, you’ve been marking down the locations on the map?” Y/n asks BB. And he nods. “Correct.”

“I suppose you’re also responsible for when the book randomly flies off?” Bendy asks, yet he holds sarcasm in his tone. A lot of it.

“No, the book has a mind of its own, use ya’ brain. Or do demon toons have any?”

“Hey!”

“So, we’re heading to Idaho now. That’s where it’s marked off for our next location. Do you have any information on who we were supposed to run into?” Donald tilts his head as he asks the question.

BB tapped his talon on the pavement. “I’m only here to help guide. That’s information you all will collect.”

“Would you happen to have any info on what’s going on?” Y/n asks. And BB shook his head.

“Guys. I’m a navigator. I was only created for this purpose only. Anything outside of helping the people that wields that book to getting where they need

To be, that’s outside my realm.” He said. And he seemed genuinely sure about it. But Y/n wasn’t complaining. They had a navigator. And that’s all that matters.

Oswald scoffed. “Wait, how do we know you’re telling the truth?” He asks. BB motioned towards Y/n, more her book bag.

“I’m in the book. You can read about me! Now!” BB flapped his wings? Lifting off the air and his talon snapped and that same golden trail, shot down the road.

“Idaho, off you go.” The bird took off to the sky. Oswald blinked slowly and the five of them looked at the sky and saw the bird flapping away. Y/n looked back at the street...yeah. That was more than enough information.

Two figures were tossed into a cage. The metal clanking together as the gate was slammed closed and locked.

“Just wait till boss see these bad boys..” a voice chuckled. A toon stood in front of the gate. Staring at the two captured toons. Their kidnapper had characteristics of an animal as the 2nd one also as well.

The toon inside the cage shot up and and started banging on the bars—he took the bars in both hands and shook them.

“Let me outta here! I oughtta give you a piece of my mind!” Shouts the toon as his kidnappers sauntered off somewhere on the side of the room.

“Hey, Doug. You think boss’ll give us a raise cuz Zip and Zot lost the rabbit?” Asked one of the kidnapper toons to his co-worker—Doug. Doug was busy dialing on a phone, a cigar placed on the side of Doug’s mouth.

“He damn sho’ betta’, i ain’t hunt these good for nothing’s down for no bread—and Jack—shut that toon up—I CAN’T EVEN HEAR MYSELF THINK!”

“Cuphead! Give it a rest!”

Ah yes, Cuphead and Mugman. The brothers that were always sewn to the hip. Always together, found themselves in a pickle…

Cuphead quickly turned around. His hands shot to his head. “Give it a rest?! We’ve been ‘napped Mugs—for some prissy uppity smoker—and his idiot side kick!” Cuphead shouts in anger. Mugman gave him a blank expression before blinking.

“You’re embarrassing me.”

Cuphead and Mugman stared at each other for a moment. Cuphead blinks. “What?! Mugs—I don’t have time for t—OW!” Doug grabbed a lot of Cuphead’s straw. Cuphead gagged as if he were choking and couldn’t breathe. Doug lifts the phone to his ear.

“Ay boss? How far are ya’ from downtown? We got your toons that witch told me about—a brand new one—-yeah—mmmhmm.” The kidnapper spoke on the phone and soon let go of Cuphead’s straw and walked Off to continue the conversation alone. Snapping his fingers at Jack—the second kidnapper. To watch

Cuphead and Mugman.

Cuphea gasped for air. Placing a hand in his chest. Mugman looked over at Jack. The...kidnapper wasn’t too on the bright side as he was..digging in his nose, not even paying attention to the two.

“Hello, sir?” Mugman calls out. Jack turns around and looks at Mugman—Cuphead gleaming at the toon.

“Hi, can you atleast tell us. Why are we here in this..” Mugman looked around the dim area, the spacious building resembled a warehouse.

“Warehouse? I presume?”

“Yuh.” Jack said. Mugman nods slowly.

“Why are we here?”

“Oh! Cuz boss needs y’all’s! He’s tryna plan sumn’ big! And the witch lady can feel people that a—-“

“Hey, ya big lug, shut up.” Cuphead told Jack...which he did…

Mugman glared at Cuphead.

“Why did you do that? He was gonna tell us something valuable and you went running your big mouth again, you nut!”

“Look at him—what makes you think he knows anything? I bet if you tell him to play under a beehive, he’ll do it! Look at him!” Cuphead and Mugman looked over at Jack, who was looking off into the spacious area. A small smile on his snout.

“Hey, Jake?” Cuphead calls out. Jack looks at Cuphead and smiles. “It’s Jack.”

“Yeah, John. Anyway, when is your boss getting here?” He asks. But instead of Jack answering. Doug did. He stepped back into the room, arms behind his back with a menacing grin.

“He’ll be here soon. Very soon.”

There was silence...and then Cuphead spoke up.

“Okay good, because I guess I gotta speak to the higher ups to get it through you, and this idiots thick skull to let us go!!”

“Cuphead!”

A/n: this uh—took a longer time than I expected. Sorry. AND—sOrry the chapter is so long—I really hate short chapters, plus I have so much that I want to be seen in one chapter, But. I promise I’ll make it short in the future. I felt this character was as good as the first.

I’m sorry y’all don’t hurt me.

But! Hey, we got no characters! 😭

I do wanna say, I love the Butcher Gang. Especially Edgar. Such a delicate character.

But, I want to say thank you to all of you out there that commented and gave me support! Thank you!!! I did not expect this to go in anyone’s liking, and I am really surprised! So thank you!

❤️❤️❤️❤️

See you all in the next character. 😊

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales #bendy the dancing devil #bendyxreader #bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the ink machine #animanics 2020 #panchito pistoles #Jose Carioca #donald duck #oswald the lucky rabbit #yakko wakko and dot #Cuphead #mugman

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vampcubus · 4 years

Text

Quiet (Midoriya/Reader | Angst)

| A/n: You know there are some days I question how psychotic I have to be to find pleasure in the suffering that comes when writing angst. *le sad* |

| See part 2 ... here |

✧❀ Warnings: Angst, unresolved feelings, big sad mood. ❀✧

✧❀ Words: 2800+ ❀✧

| Summary: As Izuku continues to chase his dreams you find yourself being pushed to the side until it seems you’ve been forgotten, and yet you keep quiet. But it seems today that the very person who forgot about you wants nothing more than to talk to you. |

. . .

You bit your lip. Buried your teeth into your tongue. Puffed out your cheeks and bit the insides of them. You kept your mouth shut for a long time, perhaps too long you supposed as you watched a familiar head of wild green hair walk past you along with Iida and Ochako.

You held your breath, closed your eyes, clenched your teeth. You wondered if things would have been different had you swallowed your damn fears and said something. Your eyes followed him as far as they could before he was just too far away.

You took in a deep breath and started walking. You had no real idea where; you kept moving until you were stepping inside of a cafe just off-campus. Your ears perked up at the sound of Midoriya’s voice and Ochako’s laughter, followed by a brief lecture from Iida. You turned to see the trio seated in one of the booths.

Midoriya’s face turns to the entrance of the cafe, but you’re already gone.

You close your eyes, knaw at your nails, and roll your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You wait for the pedestrian walk light to show before crossing the street, walking away from the cafe. As you walk, you don’t notice Midoriya looking out the entrance of the cafe. He deflates when he spots you walking away.

Iida and Ochako come up behind Deku to ask him why he’d gotten up so fast.

“I don’t get it, I was certain she went here every day.” Midoriya sighs and Uraraka places a hand on his shoulder. “I even asked Ashido to be sure.”

“Maybe we’ll see her later, don’t give up yet, Deku.” She reassures him, and he puts on a determined face, nodding in agreement.

. . .

You strolled into a familiar shop, smiling at the clerk who recognized you straight away, corralling you into an aisle of books with their newest releases. You skim the covers with your eyes, reaching out to pull a book out and flip through the pages every now and then. A book with skeletal cats and a red and black color scheme caught your eye and you picked it up, opening it up to look through it.

In your distracted state, smiling down at the pictures of cats above each page of text, you almost don’t catch three familiar voices as they wander into the shop. Midoriya approaches the front desk and the clerk greets all three of the students, asking what they were looking for. As they are distracted, you shut the book and place it back on the shelf, holding your breath as you discreetly slipped out of the shop, making eye contact with the clerk on your way out who seems to realize what’s going on.

“Actually we’re looking for a friend, we were told she comes through here often,” Midoriya admits sheepishly, hands wringing anxiously as the woman places a hand to her chin as if to think. “Y-you wouldn’t happen to have seen her today have you?”

“Is she the quiet one? Er… L/N, I think it was?” She wonders, and Midoriya perks up at the sound of your name.

“Yes, that’s her!” Deku smiles, eyes bright and hopeful, and the clerk can’t help but smile.

“Well, I’m afraid you just missed her, sorry kid.” She sighs.

“Oh…” Midoriya shrinks a little, clearly dejected by the news. And once again, Ochako comforts him, a hand on his back as he wracks his brain for another solution. “Well, she couldn’t have gone far, right?”

The three exit the store in search of the ghost of you.

. . .

You arrive at your final routinely spot of the day, smiling at the blissfully unoccupied picnic table tucked away at the edge of the park just by the forest, separated by a leaning chain-link fence. You look up at the dimming sky, the slight smell of rain and wood calming your nerves. You slide onto the rotting-wooden bench of the picnic table, pulling your knees to your chest in a comfortable balled-up position.

You pull down your hood and pull out your phone, putting in your earbuds and looking up at the sky, watching the sun draw ever closer to setting; waiting for the stars to come out.

Just as the green-haired boy starts to worry that he’s already missed you, he spots your small form at a picnic table at the edge of the park. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of you sitting still and not walking away. He gets Iida and Ochako’s attention and points to you, and they look equally relieved to have finally caught up to you after a whole day of hunting.

“Well, I’m afraid this is where we part, Midoriya I hope all goes well with L/N.” Iida salutes and the other two chuckle at their friend’s eccentric behavior.

“Thank you, Iida, I appreciate your help today.” Midoriya thanks him, bowing his head in gratitude and waving at him as he leaves the park to walk back on campus.

Ochako turns to face him and gestures for him to take a deep breath with her, knowing how nervous he must be.

“You’ve got this, Deku, I believe in you!” Uraraka whisper-shouts, raising her hand to offer a fist-pump which he gratefully accepts.

Once Uraraka is out of sight, Midoriya turns around and starts to make his way towards the relaxed shape of you.

“Okay, big breaths…” He mutters to himself as he approaches you, one big ball of anxiety. He stops a few feet away, just to admire you as you watched the sky without a care in the world, a small smile on your lips as your eyes traveled from star to star. “You can do this, Deku.” He tries to pep himself up, though the moment you shift he freezes and almost dashes off.

You uncurl from your ball and stretch your limbs out, turning your head away from the sky to change the song on your phone when you notice a shadow looming over you. You knit your brows together in confusion and turn around, heart leaping into your throat and forcing a gasp from it as you spot Deku a few feet away who stiffens as well when he meets your wide eyes.

You remove your earbuds and pull your knees back up to your chest, mouth opening several times to ask what he was doing here, but each time you clamped it back shut.

“U-Uh h-hey, Y/N-chan! fancy seeing you here I was just looking—p-passing through.” Midoriya babbles with a nervous smile, trying to formulate a proper sentence. Though finally talking to you face-to-face suddenly became more difficult than he remembered. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

You bite your tongue, hold your breath, clench your teeth. Anything to keep the words from spilling. Words you’ve kept down for months.

You can’t just say nothing though.

“Hey, Midoriya.” Is all you can manage before biting down on your tongue again, avoiding his eyes. You know it’s not enough to weasel out of the conversation so you add, “Don’t worry about me, I should be going now anyway.”

Deku’s eyes widened when you got up from the picnic table, shoving your phone in your pocket, ready to leave. He panics, wracking his brain for the right words to say to stop you. Instead, his hand shoots out before he can stop it and grabs your hand.

“No, please don’t go yet!” He blurts out, sounding desperate as you halt all movement and look back at him with wide eyes. Your gaze drifts between his face and his hands as it grasps yours, lips parted in surprise. “I… can we talk for a minute?”

Why? Why does he want to talk now? What could you possibly have that he wants to talk to you about after months of distance, almost a year of growing apart until you had no part in his life?

“Um.” You gesture at his grip on your fingers and he turns bright red, flushing from his neck to his ears. He jerks his hand away from yours and squeezes out a ‘sorry!’

Despite your conscience, the voice telling you to just leave, you sit back down on the rotting bench looking expectantly at him as he stands there.

“Are you going to sit down?” You ask flatly, and the boy jumps with a ‘right’, scrambling to sit down beside you.

It’s quiet.

“Y/N?” Midoriya starts out, and you grimace at the sound, not liking the way each syllable fell from his lips in that nervous voice of his.

“Don’t act like we’re familiar.” You hiss, letting the annoyance slip out into your tone.

He stares for a moment, and you don’t miss the hurt that flashes behind those big green eyes of his. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Why did it make you feel bad that you had plenty of things to say and he had none?

“We’re… not?” Midoriya asks, the sound small in his throat.

What were you talking about? ‘don’t act like we’re familiar?’ The green-haired boy vividly remembers a time when you were very close, and he was the only one that was allowed to use your first name, the only one that could talk to you longer than five minutes without you closing off. You used to come over for playdates at his house and build blanket forts so you could read All Might comics and share dumb secrets. He can’t think of a time he wasn’t familiar with you, even if you had grown apart since you started high school.

You still kept in touch over text and he invited you over to study every now and then.

But now that he thinks of it, he can’t remember the last time he texted you. He can’t recall the last time you had a meaningful conversation outside or inside of school. But even if you didn’t see each other as much, he still considered you his friend. And he’s been crushing on you since middle school. Have you really become unfamiliar with one another?

You haven’t been close lately, sure, but hearing you say that hurt his feelings.

“Don’t act surprised.” You groan, looking up at the sky. Did he really expect things to just be okay between you after basically ghosting you for almost a year? “This is the first time you’ve talked to me in months.”

Your words hit him hard, and he can feel the guilt crawling on his skin. He feels sick. He realizes just how true your words are when he tries to remember a time you talked in the past few months but couldn’t. It really has been that long.

“I-I’m sorry about that, I guess I was just… busy trying to become the number one h-hero you know?” He chuckles nervously, offering you a smile, hoping that maybe it would lift your spirits, or at least make you look at him.

“You never seem too busy for Ochako or Iida.” You deadpanned, resting your chin on your hand as you leaned over the picnic table. Midoriya’s eyes widened, and he tried to think of what to say, though he should have picked his words a bit more carefully because the next sentence even makes him wince as soon as it comes out.

“B-But that’s different.” Midoriya stutters, squinting his eyes shut and mentally kicking himself. What kind of excuse was that?

“How is it different?” You asked.

“I…” He couldn’t even answer you. What was he supposed to say? It wasn’t different, you were all in the same class, he had countless opportunities to talk to you and he just didn’t. “I’m sorry, that’s no excuse...”

He hangs his head low, owning up to it.

“Sorry for what? Not talking to me for months or thinking that you could just walk up to me and be all buddy-buddy again?” You had to admit that it sounded harsh, and perhaps you were being petty, but could he really blame you? You spent most of your childhood only sharing his attention with Kacchan, and suddenly there was no room in his life for you.

“Well, you could’ve talked to me too… you haven’t necessarily been the most sociable either.” He mumbles, twiddling his thumbs together.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault.”

He sits up straight raising his hands defensively as you scowl at him from over your shoulder, the bitterness of your tone sending him into panic mode. He hadn’t meant it that way, he would never blame you for this.

“N-no! That’s not what I meant at all!” Midoriya sputtered. “Y/N please hear me out—”

“L/N.” You corrected and Midoriya felt himself choke on the lump in his throat and the tears start to well up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of you, he’d done that all the time when he was younger, and not once did you hesitate to comfort him no matter what he was crying about. Crying would solve nothing now.

“Y/N please, I-I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be. But please don’t do this, you-you’ve always been an amazing f-friend to me, please don’t shut me out now.” He whimpered, the tears starting to drip down his freckled cheeks.

“You’re the one who shut me out. Don’t twist things to fit into whatever narrative your imagination has written up.” You hissed.

“I didn’t! You keep saying that like I’m not trying to f-fix this, I care about you, and j-just because you stopped believing it doesn’t make it untrue.” Midoriya insisted.

“Fix what? Our friendship that you forgot about?” You scoffed, putting some distance between you on the bench. The resentment in your eyes as you say it shakes him to the core, terrifying him. The thought of you hating him makes him actually want to throw up, he feels nauseous just thinking about it.

“Please—” He chokes on a sob. “P-please don’t h-hate me, please don’t hate me.”

You stared down at the wooden patterns of the picnic table, trying to ignore the pathetic sobs and sniffles to your right. You hated seeing Izuku cry. You can remember a time you would’ve thrown hands for anyone who made him cry. It bugged you even now that you were the cause of his tears, but you were hurt too and no amount of tears can fix that. You didn’t hate him, you hated that this is what your long-term friendship had come to.

“I haven’t been a part of your life since we started high school, Izuku. Do you have any idea how I felt when we stopped talking? I thought that you were getting bored of me, that somehow I just wasn’t worth your time anymore.” You confessed, feeling the tears start to form in your own eyes. You hastily wiped them with the sleeve of your hoodie.

Midoriya sniffled, ears perking at the sound of his first name tumbling so unexpectedly from your lips. He missed being called Izuku, and he’d always admired the fact that you never stopped using it. He felt more and more terrible with every word that left your lips, letting him in on your perspective, how you had been feeling because of him.

Bored with you? Never! You were always so important, so unique to him. You were the only one who believed in him before he got a quirk.

“I figured that hey, maybe you were just busy and so I didn’t bother you. I thought that hey, once you’re not so busy you’d call me, or text me, or something. But… you didn’t and I… before I knew it, you had new friends, a new life,” You sniffled, unable to muffle the sound behind your sleeve this time and Izuku’s eyes widened in horror when he realized that you were crying. “Without me.”

Izuku sobbed into his hands, the tears rolling freely as he cried. You looked over at his trembling form, letting your own silent tears dampen your hoodie sleeve. One thing about Izuku that you had always admired was that he was never afraid to express himself. There wasn’t a moment in the world that he was insincere with his emotions, whenever he cried he cried for real. So unlike you and many others, bottling up their emotions and hiding their faces from others.

You couldn’t watch this anymore.

“I-I need to go.” You got up to leave again and Midoriya’s head shot up the moment you moved, teary eyes watching as you stood up. “Goodnight, Midoriya.”

And with that, you walked away. Izuku let his head fall into his hands, he pulled at his hair in frustration, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles started to bruise. He cried harder than he had in a long time, muttering a million sorries into the night in hopes that if he said it enough you’d hear him, and forgive him.

But just like he did when you waited for him to call, to text, to say something… you stayed quiet.

#izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya x reader angst #angst #unresolved angst #bnha x reader #izuku x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #mha x you #bnha x you #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

trikxx · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐎$𝐄𝐑 1

Beomgyu one shot based on LO$ER=LOVER

Includes - swearing, & strong themes that may be triggering.

Enjoy<3

[1:27pm] ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎ ♥︎

Beomgyu looked in the mirror that was hanging on the wall in front of him, examining his outfit for his next stream. He felt happy, as if all his cares in the world had went away.

He walked over to his desk and fixed the camera and setup some extra music, and moved his guitar closer.

“What’s up everybody!” He said happily with a smile on his face as he watched he comments come in.

Gyuluvrb0t: OMG HE’S LIVE YA’LL!!!

User8274930: Hiiii Gyuuu

I<3gyugyu: NEW SONGS?????

Beomgyu answered some of the questions before he started his usual live routine. “Of course there is new music, you guys know that I wouldn’t go MIA for that long and not make new songs,” “Hiiiii” “Fit check…”

“Ok! On to our main event,” Beomgyu said grabbing is guitar. “I’m gonna play two new songs and then we can listen to old songs and some of your recs,” the comments started moving fast with the confirmation. “This first song is called ‘meta angel’. Beomgyu stared playing the song, his hands gracefully moved across the strings of the guitar as he sang. The live viewers went crazy.

As Beomgyu got o the climax of his second song, of which was not played on the guitar so he was rather just jumping and dancing to the recorded song, His father busted into his room, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-“ his father stopped, an so did the music. The look on his face told Beomgyu everything he needed to know. “What the fuck are you wearing.” His father said, voice laced in disgust. He grabbed at the skirt the boy was wearing. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!” He said “ARE YOU A GIRL? DO YOU WANT TO BE A GIRL?”

Beomgyu ended the before his father really started. “YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THIS FAMILY, YOU HEAR ME! TAKE THIS SHIT OFF,” his father finished before slamming the door closed.

Warm tears streamed down the boy’s face. “Is there really something wrong with me or do my parents just not love me?” He said as he started to smile. Beomgyu picked up the blue guitar, and slammed it against the wall causing the records and pictures to fall and shatter. He did this once again, this time breaking the guitar in half until it was in pieces. Next, he grabbed the colorful keyboard and slammed it against the desk and pc screen until the keys were gone and the screen was shattered.

The boy ran down the stairs “Now where are you going?” The man said coming around the corner. The boy walked past him, slightly bumping into him. “DAMMIT KID WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO?!”.

Beomgyu grabbed his bike and started riding down the street, he wanted to go as far as he could or just go for forever. He kept going until he lost control of the bike and fell.

‘My arm hurts, I’m still crying and i can still vividly remember what happened’ he thought to himself. “Is this really how the world stops for me? He questioned, “fuck” he said staring to laugh as more tears came. “THIS IS TRULY THE END OF THE ROAD!”

“Hey, you ok?” Beomgyu looked up at a guy not too much older than him, “yea,” Beomgyu said, standing up slightly wincing at the pain in his arm. “Need a ride ho-“ “A ride out this hell is actually better,” Beomgyu said looking a the taller boy. “So we’re both going trough it right now? I’m Yeonjun by the way.”

#trikxx #txt angst #txt beomgyu #tomorrow x together #choi beomgyu #loser = lover

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bananagukkie · 4 years

Text

sidekick. jjk

summary.⇢ You didn’t realize that your best friend was in love with you or the fact that he was Busan’s “newest” hero.

genre.⇢ fluff, a pinch of angst

words. ⇢ 6,583k

rating. ⇢ idk, can you handle neck kisses?

a/n ⇢ well i finally finished it JKEFNKJFN it kinda sucks but I’m new to all this. oh well, hope you like it??? <33 also i wanted to change the fuCKING TITLE BUT I ALREADY MADE THE IMAGE SO I T WAS TOO L A TE

As a kid, you were always fascinated by super-heroes. Whether it was the superhero saving the innocent citizens of Busan or the western superheroes on the TV. When you were a kid, your mother had always told you that heroes were just humans and at one point they needed to be saved too. The idea of a superhero -- a savior -- needing to be saved was a concept that you were never able to grasp. You scoffed at the idea, they were far too strong to ever get hurt, at least that's what you thought. Countless memories of you staying up late at night to watch your favorite movie and getting up early in the morning to watch the news. It was a strange sight for your mother whenever she would walk into the small living room to see a six-year-old take notes of the heroes on the news. Your childhood consisted of freaking out over any hero poster in the stores, buying costumes for Halloween, and hours upon hours of staring at the TV. Your obsession was almost as comical as it was serious.

When you reached your teenage years, it didn’t get any better. You had saved up all your money to buy yourself a bicycle and a camera- right after quitting your two part-time jobs. Your daily routine was to head the living room (or any nearby television) to watch the news, head to school, come back from school, watch the news again and take pictures whenever a Super-Hero was in the city. To be honest, people thought you were some nosey fan account whenever they saw you with your bike and camera. Not that it wasn’t true- but it still hurt. Being called an Aspiring Journalist would’ve been better.

You still remember it vividly. The terrified screams that ripped through the city’s air, the sound of buildings collapsing and the thousands of footsteps running away from the epicenter of the battle like a stampede.

To others, it was the most terrifying moment in their lives- but to you, it was the most exciting.

Camera in hand, it was the fastest that you’ve ever peddled. Your muscles screamed at you for a quick break, the pain spreading up your body. Did you ever stop? No. You couldn’t, The fear in your body was overshadowed by the adrenaline, the excitement, the anticipation. Ignoring all the shouts and the screams, your eyes held stars in them. You were finally going to see a superhero up close. The closer you got, the more chaotic the situation was turning.

Squinting at a blurry black figure, you tried making them out, taking mental notes in your head along the way. It was a new villain- someone you’ve never seen before. They seemed almost abnormal. Big muscles bulging out inhumanely, their hands had large claws for fingers, their teeth were pointy with extra sets in the back. Worry settled in the back of your head, they were far larger than the hero fighting them off.

Pedaling backward on the breaks, your bike vibrated as more buildings began to collapse when the villain jumped on them. Hopping out of your bicycle seat, you swiftly guided it to a small alleyway, “please don’t fall on my bike,” you whispered to yourself, it’d suck if the building destroyed your hard-earned bike.

Camera in hand, your eyes searched the sky for the two. A flash of bright red and blue appeared from behind a large building, hanging onto what seemed like a small thread. An audible gasp escaped your mouth in shock. The new hero. You’ve seen them on the news before, though everything they did was small. You swore you saw him helping an old lady across the street once. Their body seemed too frail to be an experienced hero, if you saw them on the streets you’d guess that they were just a cosplayer.

Crouching down, you quickly took as many pictures as you can of the two. The monstrous villain and the rookie hero. Don’t want to flatter myself but I’d totally rock as a photographer, you snickered to yourself. Humor was the only way that you could successfully push all your fear away.

The ground vibrated once more, but this time it had been much stronger. The villain didn’t latch onto one of the skyscrapers- it decided to land on the ground, cracking the cement beneath it. Its chest was heaving up and down rapidly, tired of the chase. The fear had begun to settle, your muscles tightening up in discomfort. As scary as it was, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a close-up shot. The shutter of the camera sang loud and clear.

“Ah shit.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as the monstrous villain turned to face you. A nervous laugh escaped your mouth, “ah shit”. A chill ran down your spine as you came face to face with the monster. They didn’t look too different from the hero that they were fighting. Though the only similarities you found was the web pattern on their body and the shape of their eyes, the symbol on their chest was a bright blood red, mimicking the spider on the hero’s chest. You felt frozen in place, your feet suddenly weighing more than a boulder. For the first time ever, you felt fear resurfacing from the depths that you forced them under for so long.

Locking eyes with the villain, you felt your body tremble under their stare, chills running down to your bones. You didn’t dare blink, scared that the monster might pounce on you when you did. Apparently, you didn’t need to blink.

The weight of what seemed like a thousand bricks jumped on your small body, the air getting knocked out of your lungs. The monster released an odd sound that resembled a sinister laugh mixed with a screech. The only thing you could do was kick and scream, your throat burning at how loud you were. It’s weight pressed down on you further and further, small cracking noises reached your ears but there was no pain.

The monster was quickly shoved off of you.

Finally opening your eyes, they were a few feet away from you. It was completely silent other than your own heavy breathing and someone else’s. Looking up at your savior, you felt your breath getting caught in your throat. The hero stood over you, a gloved hand reaching for yours. “Ah shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized, his voice muffled by the mask over his head. He analyzed you for any injuries, guilt settling itself in his stomach. He shouldn’t have let that happen; it shouldn’t have happened.. “I have to get back to chasing this big guy away,” the hero mumbled, patting your head as he shot out a web and flew off into the distance.

Dumbfounded, you stayed in your spot. The pain coursing through your body was strong but your confusion was much stronger. Forcing yourself onto your knees, you scrambled towards your camera in hopes that it had not broken due to the collision with the ground. Releasing the breath that you didn’t even know that you were holding, you ran towards your bike.

“Holy shit, holy shit, that did not just fucking happen,” you repeated. Disbelief floods your mind. First, you were attacked by the villain himself, then rescued by the hero. “What the fuck?!” you shouted, hopping onto your bike and pedaling off as fast as you can, avoiding the debris.

In your peripheral, you saw a bright red blur following you. His eyes looming over your fleeing figure protectively.

It was late at night. You had slipped into your pajamas earlier, expecting Jungkook to arrive back at the dorm. He never did though. “So much for having a roommate,” you scoffed, slipping your head through the over-sized shirt.

The performing arts major never arrived at the dorms early. He was either out with friends or in the studio dancing his. It was an admirable trait- a hardworking student. While you tried your hardest at everything, your roommate was easily able to outshine everyone with ease. “What a flawless man,” you mumbled to yourself, closing the door to your room behind you. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

You didn’t want to admit it but you always felt lonely when he wasn’t around. He was constantly doing something- sometimes he wouldn’t arrive until early morning around 6 am. You felt like you didn’t know him. After a few years of attending the university, you were stuck to the male by the hip- he was your only friend after all, as embarrassing as it was. Nobody wanted to be associated with the odd journalist major who had a weird obsession with chasing heroes. You learnt to accept it after your first year.

Walking towards the small couch, you quickly turned on the TV and went onto the News. Bringing your knees up close to your chest, the TV sprung into action and displayed the daily news and events. It was funny, you always held the same habit of instinctively walking towards the TV, your fingers knowing what buttons to press to get to the news channel. A small content hum left your mouth as you wrapped yourself in your warm blankets.

The solitude was comforting on hard days. Though the minute you returned to the dorm on a good day, a sudden melancholic feeling appeared in the pit of your stomach. “Jungkook and his stupid schedule,” is what you would always blame.

The vibration of your phone moved the entire coffee table. Jumping in surprise, you glanced at your phone. A text from Namjoon happened to pop up.

Namjoon was another close friend of yours that you had met in the library, sulking while preparing for a test that you were not prepared for. Turns out, he was just a friendly nerd who happened to have an alarmingly high IQ. He insisted that he’d help you study for the test since the subject was easy for him. You reluctantly obliged and from then on, the two of you became friends. You would meet each other every so often at the coffee shop or the library, becoming closer and closer.

Smiling fondly at the memory, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it to see the text. The television providing background noise, you weren’t paying much attention to it anyways.

Namjoonie: Hey!? Get on the news asap. There's something wild going on right now…

You sat there rereading the text multiple times, confused. Wild? There was nothing going on right now. Not for you at least. The phone began to vibrate aggressively against your hand as you saw an incoming call from Namjoon. If he was really that panicked to call you right after texting- it must’ve been urgent. Quickly picking up the call, he shouted your name. “Namjoon! What the hell?”

“Ah, I’m sorry but it seems pretty serious. I’m sure you’d think the same if you saw it,” he paused, “are you watching the news?” his question muffled by the sounds of his own television.

Finally averting your attention to the small TV in front of you, you felt like an idiot for ignoring it the entire time. The crew was filming from a helicopter, hovering over the city’s skyscrapers, zooming in on the familiar hero. The camera was shaky but it did it’s best to focus on the hero. Finally, the lens focused and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. The striking red and blue suit brought back memories you thought you had forgotten. They looked exactly the same as before- no - they seemed much more mature now. They seemed stronger and taller, their movements radiated confidence and bravery. Unlike before, the spider-like hero seemed like a true hero.

The kind of hero you’d obsess over if you were still a young teen.

The villain that the spider hero was fighting came into view, releasing an inhuman screech that caused the camera to move in surprise. “Even the people in the helicopter were able to hear that,” you told Namjoon as he hummed in acknowledgement. Quickly reading the headlines, your mouth murmured the words on screen.

“The new hero in Busan: Spider-Man.”

New? He was anything but new. He had been there since you were a teen. The memory felt in your mind fresh now that you saw Spider-Man once again.

The villain attempted to leap onto Spider-Man though it was quickly dodged by the agile hero, rolling out of the way. Latching one of his webs onto the villain’s back, he swung the villain into an already damaged building. Your eyes widened at the power he had. “Namjoon-ah, does the villain have a name?” you asked, curious about the villain. If you guessed correctly, it had been the same villain that attacked you years ago. “Yeah, they’re calling him Black Widow,” he informed.

It made sense. It’s body was bulbous and had muscles sprouting from every limb, their eyes bright red along with the small patterns on their body. Black Widow finally sprouted from under the debris, picking up a column before launching it at Spider-Man. The speed was frightening, surely you’d be killed if something that big was thrown at you that fast. Your nails dug into the couch, your heartbeat quickening. “Please, Spider-Man,” you whispered, quiet enough that Namjoon wasn’t able to hear it. Getting up from your couch, “Namjoon, I'm heading out to see it closer,” you told him as you grabbed the keys to your car from the coffee table. “Don’t you fucking dare,” Namjoon scolded you through the phone. Staring at the small device in shock, your jaw hung open at his words. Namjoon was not fond of cussing in front of others, he claimed that it made him look stupid and immature. For you to hear him cuss- especially at you - had you flabbergasted. Slowly setting the keys back down onto the table, he sighed. “I’m sorry but you should know by now that you shouldn’t be risking your life for some news article on your blog, YN. I know how much heroes matter to you, as well as journalism- but please take your life into account as well,” his voice was apologetic and gentle. When he said sorry, he truly meant it.

“Yeah,” you whispered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so careless,” your eyes glanced at the Television once more, your grip on the phone tightening.

Just then, Spider-Man fell onto the floor Black-Widow on top of him. Gasping, you walked closer to the TV touching the screen. “Get up,” you silently pleaded. He was struggling to get Black Widow off- no doubt about that. Even after all these years, Black Widow was still significantly bigger. You saw a web shoot out from his arm, grabbing onto a stray piece of debris before flinging it at the monster-like villain, hitting him in the head. It wasn’t enough to knock him out but it let Spider-Man get out from under Black-Widow.

A small surge of relief passed through your body. “What a hero,” you heard Namjoon say, he sounded just as relieved as you were. A loud screech reached your ears before the TV shut down entirely. Relief was quickly replaced with panic and fear. “Namjoon?” you called out, though you were met with silence. Soon after, the lights were quick to shut off as well.

Chucking your phone aside, you ran to the window behind the TV and saw the city’s lights slowly turning off. Building by Building. “What the hell,” was all you could muster. A chill ran down your spine as the entire city of Busan was dark as midnight, the buildings were barely visible. A loud knock was heard from your bedroom window. Tensing at the sound, you stared at the open door. “What the fuck,” you whispered, your voice shaking with fear.

Slowly approaching your door, you peeked into the room and saw a familiar figure hanging onto a web, hand on the window. You felt like you couldn’t move. A hero was at your window. Snapping back into reality, you released a startled yelp before running to the window to open it. Lifting the heavy window, the suited hero stumbled in and collapsed on the floor groaning in pain. The window sill was tainted red with a thick substance, it had not been there before either. Looking back at the groaning hero, you quickly crouched down at his level. Flipping his body so he can face the ceiling, “Fuck- I’m so sorry,” he groaned, his hand covering his gash.

His voice…

His voice sounded like music to your ears, it felt like centuries since you’ve heard that muffled voice. Everything about him matured. “I’m so-” “you’re bleeding…” your voice sounded more like a sad whisper than a statement. He turned his masked head to face you, shocked by your somber tone. Gently removing his hands from the wound, you internally cringed at how bad it was. The blood stained suit. It was hard to see with the lack of light because of how much blood was seeping out of the injury. Shifting in your spot, “I saw you on the news,” you bit your lip, not sure what to say. What could you say when a hero was in front of you? This caused Spider-Man to chuckle quietly, “did you now?” he smiled under the mask. He knew you weren’t able to see it, nevertheless, he smiled. “Did I look good?” he said with a teasing tone.

Stiffening and retracting your hands from his wound, you refused to answer such a question. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, “I’m not going to answer that,” you replied quietly, “You look better than you did years ago though”. Spider-Man shook his head, a giggle escaping his lips. “You’re so cute,” he commented, pinching your cheek. He knew who you were, hell- he lived with you. The two of you were never seen without each-other in public, it raised suspicions. ‘How could some weird writer get at someone like Jungkook?’. You were an angel in his eyes, the most beautiful woman on the entire planet, not some weird writer girl. Jungkook would keep you safe if it meant risking his life.

He never had the courage to tell you. He doubts he ever will. Spider-Man and Jungkook were entirely different people. The confidence and bravery that he has with Spider-Man completely disappears when he’s Jungkook. It never stopped him from being his full self around you though.

The gentle pinch reminded you of Jungkook, it was a habit of his whenever you did something dumb, sometimes he just did it out of random. Smiling at the hero, “stay here”.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, babe”

Your face flared with heat and color at the nickname. It was something you weren’t used to. No one dared to call you such things, they’d rather call you ‘nerd’. Leaving the room, you shined your light from your phone and made a quick trip to the restroom. Opening the door, your eyes landed on the cabinet beside the shower. Quickly grabbing the first aid kit with shaky hands, you accidentally dropped your phone in the process.

Apparently, it was loud enough for Spider-Man to hear. “You okay in there, babe?”. There he goes again with the embarrassing pet-name. “shit,” you cursed yourself, picking up your cracked phone and running back into your room.

“Are you okay?” you asked, afraid that you had left him waiting for too long. Kneeling next to him, your clammy hands opened the first aid kit. Namjoon had shown you how to stitch and clean wounds when you had cut your palm open with glass before, he was like your mom. It was safe to say you knew what you were doing. “Me? I heard you fall or something. Seems like someone is clumsy,” his voice was a lot more quieter, trying to preserve his energy. “Coming from the bleeding hero,” you retorted, pouring hydrogen peroxide on a clean rag. His eyes glued to the rag, he gulped harshly and grabbed your wrist gently. “Maybe, we should use water,” he suggested, obviously on edge because of the hydrogen peroxide. You rolled your eyes, “shut it and be a good boy for me. You act like you didn’t just get slashed from a villain” you mumbled, shaking his hand off your wrist.

It was odd how easy it was to talk to him, it felt like you’ve known him since forever even if you’ve barely started talking. You halted, staring at his wound. Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, averting your gaze to Spider-Man. “Uh… I'm gonna need you to take your suit off,” you stuttered your words out miserably. “Right… wanna help me?”

There wasn’t a teasing tone apparent in his words, it was him genuinely asking for help. Nodding slowly, “I’ll be gentle, I’m sorry,” you weren’t sure how you got yourself in this situation. Staring at your figure for a few more seconds, he nodded. Reaching behind his neck, there was a small click. Tilting your head, you watched him with interest. The hero paused, “you know you should probably take me out somewhere before I get naked in front of you,” he joked, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh my gosh,” you buried your face into your hands, it felt like your face was set on fire.

His hands dragged the tight bodysuit as far down as he could without hurting himself. Pushing his hands away, “there. I’ll do the rest, please. I don’t want you to get hurt even more,” you said, grabbing the suit. A fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips, letting go of his suit, “go ahead, babe”. Removing the suit from his torso, you frowned at the nasty sight of the wound. It was worse than you thought.

Grabbing the rag, you wiped away any of the blood around the wound, being as careful and gentle as possible. Jungkook watched you diligently as you worked on him. He noted how your cheeks were visibly red even in the dark. He noticed how ethereal you looked when the moonlight hit you at a certain angle. Your lips were hanging open slightly as you worked hard on him, concentrating on treating his wound. The wound was on his lower side, above his hip. He couldn’t help but smirk at how flustered you were to see his bare upper body.

You felt like you couldn’t concentrate. He was built like a Greek god for fucks sake. Not only that but he had a cute little birthmark on his collarbone, which only furthered your embarrassment. Sure, you’ve seen shirtless guys here and there, but Spider-Man was on an entirely different level of attractive. Looking back up at his masked face, you frowned. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” you warned. He simply shook his head, “as long as it gets the job done, right?” he pinched your cheek again, making you smile.

Nodding, you gently dabbed the rag with hydrogen peroxide on his wound. His entire body tensed up in pain, it wasn’t overwhelming- but it wasn’t the nicest feeling ever.

Swallowing hard, “you know, I used to think of Heroes differently.” you begun, sending him a sorry smile. Tilting his head, you took it as a cue to continue. “I’ve always been obsessed with heroes. For as long as I can remember, I would go out of my way to look for heroes doing their job, taking pictures and notes. I had an entire book dedicated to heroes,” You remembered how much time you dedicated to finding heroes in Busan. “I saw them as people who couldn’t get hurt,” you looked up when you were done cleaning his wound and stitching, only to see him staring at you. Taken aback, you shyly smiled at the hero. ‘But I guess, along the way… I realized that they were just humans,” you finished. “They need a hero of their own, I suppose,”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Jungkook felt his cheeks burn with heat, his mouth agape. Gently, he held you cheek in his hand, cherishing the warmth that you radiated. Bringing you closer, he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. You felt like a deer caught in headlights but you hastily made up your mind. Turning your body to face his, you place your hand on the ground to support your weight, the other lifting his mask to reveal his mouth, a small mole under his bottom lip stood out to you. He didn’t complain or stop. Pulling you closer, your lips were centimeters away from his. His hot breath was fanning over your cold skin, sending goosebumps to spread all over your body. “

You didn’t have a chance to kiss him.

The city lights of Busan turned back on, the high volume of the TV in the living room startled the two of you. Spider-Man stiffened, suddenly reminded that he had a job to finish. Getting off of the ground, he pulled his mask down. Coughing awkwardly, “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go,” he said, panic evident in his voice.

You couldn’t deny the fact that you were disappointed. A frown appeared on your face, making Jungkook’s heart clench. He wanted to kiss you as much as you did, but he couldn’t. Not with a city to save. Walking over to the bloody window, he fit his body through.

“Wait!”

He turned back to you.

“Thank you for being my hero”

If his heart didn’t break right then and there, he’s not sure what happened to it. “I’m sorry baby,” and with that, he carefully closed the window, shot out a web and left you alone on the floor.

It felt so familiar. To be left alone in the dorm. The air around you felt empty, the only sound providing you with comfort was the TV. You felt your chest tighten, you wanted to hear his voice one more time. Your hero’s voice.

Your eyes fluttered open, the ambient noises of the city filling your ears, keeping you safe from the silence. The window from yesterday was still stained with blood that had now oxidized, the curtains bunched up away from the window, allowing the light to seep in. The memories from last night flashed in your mind, reminding you of what happened. Looking on your bedside table, the small electronic clock displays the time in bright red numbers. You had two hours before your first class of the day, there was still plenty of time for you.

Mustering enough strength to drag your body out of bed, you stretched your tired limbs, groaning in relief. Dragging your feet towards the living room, the sound of cans clinking together and items being moved around filled the room.

Eyes landing on the suspect, a small smile tugged at your lips. Jungkook was digging through the small fridge, looking for something to eat. The boy had quite the appetite after all. An evil smirk appeared on your face. Running towards the male and jumping on his back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your hands grabbed at his shoulders. The noise that came out of the male’s mouth alarmed you. He groaned in pain and grasped at his side, quickly realizing your mistake- you got off of him. “Kookie?” you whispered, worried for the boy. A small yet pained chuckle escaped his lips, turning to face you. “Ah.. I’m sorry, I’m just a little sore,” he dismissed his pain with a blatant lie. Jungkook wasn’t one to lie, so the suspicion of him lying to you was out of the question.

Your eyes trailed up and landed on his face, a small gash on his cheek right below his eye. “Jungkook!” you scolded the boy, causing him to sheepishly wince at your tone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He wasn’t planning on seeing you today, not after what happened yesterday. He didn’t want you getting suspicious. Placing a hand on the side of his face gently, “when did this happen, Kook?” you questioned, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

You’ve known him for a while now, it was only natural for you to be protective of him. You cared for him more than you really should.

Jungkook hung his head low, “I got in a fight yesterday”. Another lie.

It hurt to lie to you so blatantly, you didn’t deserve to be lied to. It was for your and his own good, though. ‘Hey, YN. Did you know that I’m Spider-Man?’, it was easier said than done. Leaning into your touch, “If it makes you feel better, it doesn’t hurt a lot,” he gave you a weak smile. Scoffing lightly at the boy, “come on, it looks like you slept without taking care of it,” he giggled, pinching your cheek, another reminder of what happened last night.

“Yes ma’am”

The two of you walked towards the small bathroom. Everything was how it was yesterday, even the cabinet was still open. Jungkook seated himself on the toilet, looking up at you as you grabbed the first-aid kit. ‘Guess I might just make friends with this thing since I’ve been seeing it a lot’ you joked, opening the kit. “How’d you get in a fight?” you asked, the silence killing you in the inside.

Jungkook tensed up. “I… They were just saying some stuff,” he shrugged, toying with his bruised fingers. His entire body ached. The fight with Black-Widow really took a toll on his body. The injuries on his side and cheek were only one of the many. You frowned at Jungkook, “C’mon Kookie, you have better shit to do,” you scolded the boy, swatting his nose gently. His wide doe eyes followed your movements, not flinching when you hit his nose. “I guess I did, huh?” he offered you a smile which was hard to deny. Smiling back at him, you never really noticed how cute his smile was until now. An odd feeling settled itself in your stomach, you decided to ignore them.

Dabbing the small cotton ball on his wound, he grimaced. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, biting your lip in concentration. You didn’t want to see him get hurt, especially for small things such as fighting. He was far too pretty to have gashes and cuts on his face.

Instantly, his eyes landed on your lips. The brief memory of yesterday flashing in his mind. They were so rosy and plump, he wondered if they were soft. Scratch that- he knew they were soft just by staring at them. Swallowing hard, he shifted in his seat. “You okay, Kook?” you asked, placing a bandage on his gash. “Now that you’ve healed me up, Nurse YN,” he joked. He was left disappointed when your hand left his cheek, he craved nothing more than to be loved and touched by you.

Slumping, “Hey YN,” he called out at you before you had the chance to leave the bathroom. Turning around to look at Jungkook, the tips of his ears were red and he was fumbling with the end of his shirt. “Can we go get coffee?” he asked, shooting you his best attempt at puppy-dog-eyes. Your chest clenched at his ministrations, it was hard to ever say no to Jungkook. “Of course,” sending him a smile of your own. It’s been a while since you’ve spent some time with Jungkook other than being with him during class.

Averting your eyes to the clock on the wall, the two of you had plenty of time. “Let me get dressed, okay?” you told him, walking to your room to change out of your pajamas.

The weather was fairly nice today. No cloud in sight, not too hot or too cold. It was perfect, hell, even the breeze was perfect.

The warmth of the coffee protected your hands from getting cold from the breeze. You were walking alongside Jungkook, who towered over your small frame. You had agreed that you would watch each other to class after you finished the coffee, hence why the two of you had your backpacks on. There was a comfortable silence between the two of you, but you decided to break it with a question that had been itching at the back of your mind.

“Kookie... Why are you never at the dorms?” pausing, “It gets lonely sometimes, and Namjoon won’t always be there to provide me company when you can’t” you finished, gluing your eyes to the ground, biting your lip. There was a moment of silence, Jungkook gathered his thoughts for his next lie. Well, half of it was a lie.

He spent most of his time dancing when he had the chance, the other percentage was his defending the city of Busan as SpiderMan. The moment you looked up at him, he was already opening his mouth to answer.

“I’m sorry,” he started off with an apology, because you deserved it. No- you deserved more than a sorry. To him, you deserved the entire world. Bringing up his hand to rub the side of your cheek gently, “I’m sorry I'm not always there. It’s not that I don’t want to be there, I’m just always so busy either at the Library or dancing my ass off,” he offered you a joking smile, “Dance is competitive, YN. When you’re not practicing, someone else is. When you’re not taking opportunities, someone else is”

It wasn’t a lie. Well, it was but it also wasn’t. Maybe he should use his expert lying skills when he gets into a fight more often.

Looking down at you, you were toying around with the straw sheepish at how you even asked such a selfish question. “I know… But even the best dancers take breaks,” you gently hit his arm. Overreacting, he groaned and grabbed his arm. “Did you get stronger, YN?” teasing you as he pinched your cheek affectionately. “Yah! You’re gonna give me a bruise,” you scolded the male as he laughed.

He looked down at your hand, sliding his own into it. “I’ll try and make it up to you, okay?”

“You better, I’ve watched at least every single Netflix movie by now. Alone”

Rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, “I just worry about you sometimes,” you whispered, leaning into his side and staring at the ground to avoid his gaze. And yes, he was staring at you. And yes, you felt that shit.

He felt like he was going to melt. His face felt hot and his heart sped up when you leaned into him. Jungkook knew damn well how whipped he was for you. Stopping, you looked up at him with confusion. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his finger lifting your chin up, his other hand brushing stray hairs away from your face. Shocked by his choice of words, you felt your face heat up, flustered. He noticed the familiar red hue on your cheeks, smirking in victory.

“You can’t say things that aren’t true. That’s lying,” you pouted slightly, dismissing his flirtatious comment.

Perking a brow at your words, he gently shoved you against the wall in an alley. Where did it come from? You guessed it was nearby, you didn’t question it.

“It’s too bad you don’t see it,” his hands were at the sides of your face, his lips hovering over yours. You felt everything. The warmth of his calloused yet gentle hands, the hot breath that came out of his mouth, his knee between your legs. His hand trailed down your body slowly, sending chills down your spine, it landed at your hip. Squeezing it, “because to me, every inch of you is perfect”. You felt your heart beating at a thousand miles an hour, like it was going to jump out of your chest. You took this time to admire how attractive he was, the cut on his cheek, the mole under his bottom lip, his doe eyes. Everything about him was ethereal. “Kiss me,” you breathed out, eliciting a smirk from the male. “Don’t have to tell me twice, baby”. Instantly, his hot lips collided with yours, a sense of neediness and desire evident. His hand on your waist was rubbing soft circles, trailing further down slowly. Pulling away, you took a small gasp for air. “Do you know how good I’d take care of you?” he whispered in your ear, his voice deeper than usual. You surely weren’t complaining though, if anything it only gave you butterflies in your stomach and an ache in your arousal.

“How good I’ll be for you?” he continued, dragging his lips down your neck, planting kisses as he goes. Gripping his shirt, you were nearly embarrassed at how hard you were breathing. “So show me,” the words you tried so hard to speak managed to slip out. You felt him smile against your neck, “I’ll show you”. Jungkook bit down on your neck, a wanton moan escaping your mouth. “Fuck,” he groaned at the dirty noise that came out of your mouth. “You sound like an angel, baby” he sucked on the tender skin as you squirmed under him. Kissing the forming bruise, his lips trailed further down. “Jungkook, please,” you whined, tugging at his hair.

His ministrations stopped, the ground beneath your feet rumbling softly. Detaching his lips from your neck, he looked around. “Earthquake?” he thought out loud. Earthquakes weren’t so common in Busan, so he quickly dismissed the assumptions. “You felt that right?” he looked back up at you. Gulping down your worries, you nodded. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, though’.

The ground started to rumble harder than it did before, “nevermind” you piped up, gently pushing Jungkook off of you. Walking out of the alleyway, with Kookie right behind your trail, a black figure was hanging off the side of a building, looking down at both of you with hawk eyes. “Ah shit, Here I was thinking I fucking scared him off,” Jungkook exasperated, putting his hands on his knees and crouching over. “Huh?” turning to face him, nothing but confusion evident on your face.

Jungkook shook his head in dismay, “I love you, YN. But I got a job to do,” he pulled your wrist, bringing you close to him. Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he smiled at you. “Gotta protect what I love right?” with a wink, he walked into the dark alley that you two were just in. It took a moment for you to fully register what was going on.

Wait he said I love you?

You heard a ‘Syoom’, turning your head to face the alley, a web shot out and latched onto the building near the villain. A familiar body flew across your vision, landing on the tall building. A blur of blue and red combined. Gasping silently, a proud smile tugged at your lips. “Well how about that,” you mumbled. Cupping your mouth with your hands, “SpiderMan!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the street. It was enough to get the hero’s attention.

“I love you too,” you mouthed.

You didn’t hear it but his chest bobbed up in down as he laughed. Bringing his hand up, he formed a small heart with his fingers.

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Text

Empires on the Horizon XIV

Jason is a CEO: Part XIV

masterlist for other parts, more jercy, bad headcanons, and an abundance of crackships

SURPRISE!!! i finally got my laptop back and thankfully they didn’t have to wipe anything so i still had all my work! Between you and me i was more worried about all my fanfics than my uni work...... But I’ve learned my lesson. Do everything on google docs now!! Anyway this is a Percy POV and i hope you enjoy because i’ve missed this little universe more than you could possibly know and we’re finally (only fourteen chapters later) getting to the jercy part of this fic?! LOL it’s been wild.

i know i’m releasing a ton of fanfics at the moment so i hope you guys don’t feel overwhelmed. You know i adore your comments and thoughts but please don’t feel pressured to read all the fics i’m posting. I’ve just had a lot of time in the last weeks so it’s been easier to create. Please take care of yourself, i love you very much and i hope you have a magical holiday season!

Percy Jackson stretched his legs out in front of him and draped a blanket over them. There were few things he indulged in, but a good plane seat was one of them. He was spoilt for it but having the space to lay his unreasonably tall body down for eight hours seemed like a worthy investment. The announcements that continuously filtered through the crackly speakers were background noise as the bustle of people getting to their seats flowed throughout the cabins. He stared out his little window at the neon-jacketed guides and airport officials directing people to wherever they needed to be. He loved watching people just do things. There was something calming about knowing others weren’t interested in him in any way. That people got on with their lives despite the turmoil nobody knew about.

A flight attendant stopped next to him with a polite smile, “Champagne sir?”

“No thank you, a water please. Too early for alcohol.” He grimaced.

Mirth danced in her eyes as she glanced up at the rest of the passengers, some dangling flutes between their fingers. “Absolutely sir, anything else?”

He shook his head, before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. His pre-flight ritual, which consisted of him snuggling as comfortably as possible it his seat and trying to fall asleep, was already behind. The presence of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed CEO taking up the scattered pieces of his mind. It was crazy to think they had met almost a year ago, crazier still to think that about how much they had changed in that time. Percy at least felt like a completely different person to the one who had stepped off a plane from Hawaii all those months ago and attended his alma mater’s dinner. Although the university had surprised them with plaques honouring their contributions, it was seeing Jason Grace, learning about him that felt like the real reward. Hell, he was only half joking when he said he’d marry the guy the next Tuesday.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will be taking off shortly. In the meantime please turn your attention to the screens in front of you for a video detailing the safety measures you will need to know while aboard this flight.”

He blinked back into the world and turned half his attention to the screen and the other half to locating the blonde he couldn’t seem to keep away from. He knew the safety briefings by heart, but he always felt bad for not paying attention. Someone worked hard to make those. He didn’t spot Jason in the two minutes the video played and then it was too late because the plane gave a low rumble and suddenly, they were lurching into motion. His heart climbed to his throat and he gripped his fingers underneath the blanket.

“Okay Percy,” He mouthed to himself, “You can do this. It’s at most fifteen minutes of instability and then you’ll be up in the air and you won’t even feel it.”

“Just fifteen minutes.” He kept repeating, taking deep shaky breaths. “Fifteen minutes.”

The plane jaggered down the runway, slow enough that he could still read the road signs indicating altitudes and compass directions and all sorts of fun information he didn’t care about. He felt the huge machine turn into the long stretch of tar that led them to the sky and his stomach clenched painfully. This was always the worst part. Take off. It felt like his entire body flew off with the plane while he stuck to the ground, superglue cementing him to the floor with no escape. He didn’t feel free. He felt torn.

The plane gave a horrible lurch and then it was screaming down the runway, grass and yellow lines blurring past them. They were going so fast he’s sure they’d break the sound barrier. He squeezed his eyes shut. Knuckles white as he twisted his hands together. The plan flew down the road and into the sky. His whole body felt suspended in space. He wanted to come down. He didn’t want to be here. Even with his eyes closed he could feel how high they were. He hated it.

Slowly, the plane started to level out until he felt his body realign: feet under him, hands beside him, head above him. He opened his eyes, spots dancing in his vision as they got used to the light once more. The seatbelt sign dinged above him, and a series of clicks followed. People got up to use the bathroom and grab things from the overhead compartments. He wasn’t going to get up until he was out of this plane. So he shoved his headphones over his ears and pressed play.

I will always love you how I do

Let go of a prayer for you

Just a sweet word

He gazed out the window, clouds close enough to whisper to, and his lips pulled up in a soft smile. The sky was beautiful. It just sucked that they had to get into a death trap to get to it. With his ocean eyes pinned to the balls of cotton hanging in the blue expanse his mind drifted. Reyna. He blinked. It was almost shameful how little he had thought of her since their breakup considering their year together. She had taught him tai quan do and baked him blueberry tarts. They had escaped to a little bubble in the forest and watched the leaves turn brown as they tumbled in bed. He knew she tapped her right foot when she was annoyed but her left fingers danced when she was excited. He knew she liked her eggs fried hard because she didn’t have time for sloppy yolk, but she liked them scrambled soft because it meant a richer croissant. But despite this she did not light his soul on fire. And he did not light hers either. They were merely striking matches without wood to burn. He heaved a sigh as he watched the threads of his relationship flutter before his eyes and fell asleep to them disappearing in gold strands leaking into the clouds. He succumbed to the bright sun and the soft warmth of memories and he didn’t wake until a loud announcement gave the signal that they were landing.

It was over so fast he didn’t have time to panic and he was grateful. Finally he was collecting his bags and walking out. A driver with his surname scribbled on a plaque stood front and center and with a quick flash of his ID and a hello they were piling into the car. He didn’t get a chance to see the blonde beauty, but the island was small and time was a plenty. They would find each other again.

“To the hotel sir?”

“Yes Luca, and then please stick around for half an hour. It’s just a quick freshen before I go to work. We have a lab meeting.”

The man nodded and then focused on the busy Italian streets they were navigating. He took in the colours and sounds as they whizzed by. It felt like a different universe. People were loud and excited and full of life and the little markets seemed to pull energy from the sun and direct it into joy. He wanted to tell Luca, to pull over, screw work, and take in the beauty of this little section of the world. But his phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew with a disappointed sinking in his chest that adventure would have to wait.

“Hello Percy,” Rachel Elizabeth Dare bubbled, ‘I assume you’ve arrived?”

“Yes Rach,” He sighed but amusement caught between his lips, “Have you got news for me?”

“No,” She sounded suspicious, “Why would I have news for you?”

“Because you only track my exact times when you want something but you’re too scared to ask me so you wait till I’m halfway across the country before asking.” He wanted to laugh as she made an indignant sound.

“Okay fine,’ She grumbled, “I wanted to know if I could close up the scuba for the weekend. I met a girl and i wanted to go out on Friday night with her.”

He couldn’t hold in his laugh any longer, “Of course you can Rachel. But I’m curious to know…” He trailed off.

“Ugh you are impossible.” He could imagine her eye roll so vividly. “It’s Clarisse. The principal from your old school.”

“Well, well, well,” He grinned, “I better be getting premium seats to the wedding.”

“Why does everything always end in weddings for you?” She groaned.

“Scuse me for wanting a happily ever after.” He scrunched his face, “Oh and guess who’s here?”

“Is this a good guess or a bad one?”

“Good.” He smiled, “Very good.”

She gasped, speaker crackling at his ear, “Tell me!”

“Jason Grace.”

“What?” She squealed, “Are you guys going to have hot rebound sex and then realise you like each other more than just casual fuck-buddies and end up getting married and adopting like six children?”

He burst with amusement, “Slow down there Rach. I know I throw around the marriage idea, but kids seem like a big commitment.”

“You right,” She said decidedly, “Kids are a lot of effort. Just get married then. But no eloping!” He pictured the crease in her freckled brows. “I want to be a bridesmaid.”

“Can’t promise anything,” He giggled.

“Perseus Jackson!” She scolded.

“Oof the full name.”

“I will tell your mother and she will kick your ass.”

“Okay, okay,” He laughed, “No eloping. I have to go. But remember to take the keys for the scuba with you. We do not need the fire department breaking the door again.”

She grumbled about hating him and then blew him a kiss and ended the call. With a smile still playing on his lips he thanked Luca and rushed into the hotel. Thankfully the check in was painless and fast and he was stumbling into his room in no time. He barely had time to appreciate the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows and the ocean view it laid out before him. He promised himself he would take the time when he got back.

Quickly he hopped into the shower cursing when he realised he’d forgotten to take his socks off. With a horrified shudder he peeled them off and chucked them into the laundry basket, thankful it gets emptied every day. The water beat against his back, fogging up the glass and calming the racing in his veins. He gave himself the luxury of one extra minute to just take a deep breath and screw his head back onto his shoulders and then he jumped out and shoved on a pair of black slacks and a white button down. He didn’t bother to do the top few buttons, figuring he’d have time in the car. Instead he fastened a watch to his wrists, rolled up the sleeves till they sat at his forearms– any attempt to bear the Italian heat– and then he slid his feet into a pair of sleek ankle boots and mussed his damp curls. With half a moments glance at the mirror to make sure his face didn’t have patches of sun-cream and his collar was straight he grabbed his briefcase and walked out.

Glancing at his watch distractedly he rounded the corner, only to bump right into a hard chest.

“Oh,” He frowned, stepping back into a door. “Jason.”

“Hey,” The blonde smiled, “What a coincidence?” He laughed.

“You’re staying here?” It was really starting to feel like the universe was trying to tell him something.

‘Yep,” He gave a shy smile, blue gaze bright. “Guess you’re going to see a lot more of me then you expected huh?”

“I think you may be at more of a disadvantage than me.”

Jason looked at him, eyes dragging from his face down his body and eventually dropping to his shoes. Percy gave an involuntary shiver as the blonde tracked the same slow pace back up. “I think this could be very advantageous.”

“If you don’t stop staring at me like that I’m going to be very late for my meeting.”

He laughed, the previous sultriness giving away to a sparkle and flashing white teeth, “See you around Jackson.” He started walking away.

“Wait!” Percy called, “Date? Tonight? We can explore the city together?”

Jason smiled as bright as diamonds, “Sounds fun. Meet you in the bar at?”

He realised their time depended on when his meeting finished and suddenly, he wanted to cancel the whole thing and start now. ‘Seven thirty?”

“See you there. And have a good meeting.”

The blonde walked away, and Percy felt this time like he was floating away while his body remained superglued to the floor. He wanted to live in this feeling. Because this did not feel like being torn apart. This felt like coming home.

The elevator dinged down the passage and he crashed back to reality. With a string of curse words he raced for it and jumped in just as the doors began to close.

The meeting and subsequent lab tour felt endless and he concentrated on little less than half of what was being said, his mind more interested on the things waiting for him at the hotel, the person. But eventually it was over and him and Luca were cruising towards the Casa de Vita.

“Anything else you need sir?” His driver looked at him from the rear-view mirror as they turned into the hotel road.

“Recommend any good places for a first date?”

“Already met a lady sir?” Luca’s dark eyebrows almost touched his hairline in surprise.

“A man actually.”

The Italian chuckled, nodding his head as if in on some invisible joke, “The Tesora. It is just down the path and near the ocean.”

“Thank you Luca, have a goodnight.”

“And you sir.” Luca winked before peeling out of the entrance and fading into the setting sun.

Percy strolled to his room with a smile on his face, lost in a world full of possibilities. It was unsurprising then that he didn’t see the extra bag against the wall, or the shoes neatly placed by the door that weren’t his.

He took off his watch and undid the few buttons on his shirt, head lost to the glimmer of the ocean. He let his shirt fall open as he slipped off his shoes and walked towards the windows. The view really was spectacular. No matter how much he travelled it always blew his mind the places that existed, that he had yet to learn of. It was irresistible. It was perfect. It didn’t fail to cross his mind that the ocean was the exact same colour as a certain pair of gorgeous blue eyes. He blinked the image away, turning around, and his gaze landed on that exact aquamarine gaze.

“Jason?” He gasped, clutching his chest in surprise. “What are you doing in my room?”

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

Tags (if you want to be added/taken off the tag list just let me know. All my channels of communication are open):

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#empires on the horizon #part 14 #jercy #jason is a ceo #jason grace #percy jackson #baby fanfic #baby fanfic series #pjssg fanfic #pjssg series #pjjg fanfic #pjjg series #jason #grace #percy #jackson

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stars-are-just-ghosts · 4 years

Text

Supernatural Isn’t Just A Show

I started watching Supernatural fifteen years ago, just like many of you. I followed the paths of two young men who hunted the evils in the world that the rest of us couldn’t have imagined on a good day. Vampires and demons and monsters. Greek gods, angels, Lucifer himself. The stories were heartfelt and humorous and dark and tender. They challenged us to see that monsters could be good, and being evil was a choice. They brought us into a reality of hope and fighting the whole world if it meant that your family was safe.

That’s what the show was really about, you see. The hunting and the laughter and the dark and everything in between was just the icing on the cake. The real story? That was family. Two brothers who came together and saved the world, again and again. Two brothers who fought side by side, and sometimes with each other, and always for what was right, even if the drawn line was hard to see. Two brothers whose devotion bled into the world around them and brought other amazing people into the fold. Two brothers who grew to have a circle of people who were the epitome of family, because ‘family don’t end with blood.’ Castiel and Charlie and Bobby and Kevin and Crowley and Jack and the list goes on. A list that extended beyond the characters, beyond the actors, beyond the show itself. One that includes you, me... JoAnn and Steven and Jeffrey.

Let me tell you about JoAnn.

Her daughter and I went to school together, a beautiful young woman named Sarah. Over the years I spent so much time at their house and with JoAnn that it was beyond easy to see them as family. And JoAnn became incredibly special to me. My mother and I have always had a strained, tumultuous relationship with very little in the way of affection. JoAnn, however, became the emotional mother I’d never had. We would laugh together (she had a killer sense of humor,) I would call her just to share something or vent (there was never a moment she wasn’t willing to listen,) she was able to hold all four of my babies after they were born (and they lovingly called her Auntie JoAnn.) And I even managed to get her addicted to Supernatural.

She loved Dean, especially Dean’s rear end. (-wiggles brows-)

Shortly before her first and only grandson was born, JoAnn became terminally ill and passed away. She never got to see her grandson, or hold him, or watch him grow up. I think about that all the time, especially when I see a picture of him that Sarah has posted. When I’m watching Supernatural, and Dean says something familiar or I remember a moment in the show that JoAnn particularly loved, I think about JoAnn and how much I wish she could have seen her grandbaby. And how much I wish her daughter, the lovely Sarah, could have experienced that, too. I wonder if JoAnn would have shared this show with her adorable little grandson. I miss that woman every day.

Now, let me tell you about Steven.

His father, Steve, is one of my best friends. I’ve known him for over twenty years. And when his three children were little, I used to babysit them. His son, Steven, was born with severe Cerebral Palsy. He was nonverbal, wheelchair bound, and was tube fed. But he was also the funniest, brightest, most happy boy I’d ever met. He had the most brilliant smile, and the greatest laugh. And whenever someone he loved or really liked walked into a room, his eyes would light up like stars.

When Steven hit adulthood, I would help his Dad out when Steven was at his house. We liked to watch movies and tv shows together. And I offered up the suggestion of Supernatural. It became like tradition after that. We would all be there in the living room, Steven on the floor with his Dad, and we’d watch the episodes in order. It always made me happy, to be able to share that with them.

About four years ago, Steven became ill, landing in the hospital. While there, his heart gave out. He passed away without ever having finished the show he had grown to love. Since then, his Dad hasn’t been able to watch anymore. It’s too painful. Too hard to think that Steven isn’t there to watch it with him. I understand completely. Because I’ll watch an old episode and remember Steven’s unabashed laughter. And I wish he was still here to watch it with us. I talked with Steve about giving it another try. He heard the show is ending soon, and I think he is finally ready to see it through, to finish it for both himself and his son. Let me tell you about Jeffrey.

Jeffrey has lived in NYC for over 20 years now. He is my big brother, and was diagnosed with different mental illnesses, including Borderline Personality Disorder. He’s still made a life for himself that makes him happy in a place I know for sure I would never survive in. (I’m a small town girl, through and through.) And it was because of my brother that I found out about GISHWHES.

You have to understand, my brother doesn’t open up to people easily or step out of his comfort zone for just anyone or anything. But in doing this scavenger hunt? My brother walked around NYC in a robot costume, including taking the subway and walking crowded streets. He also wore a bikini made of lettuce, and not once was shy about it. He dove right in and gave it his all in order to help other people, and to this day I am still insanely proud of him for it.

After everything he went through, from living on the subway for nearly two years (and never telling us) to going from corporate work (which he hated) to doing something he really loved (comic books, baby) to being hospitalized for suicidal tendencies to finally being diagnosed with things he had struggled with all his life but never had taken care of, and finally having a sense of mental health in a new job as a live-in dog nanny, this amazing man is finally happy. And when I think of that, I think of the video of him wandering around dressed as a robot because of GISHWHES. Now, if you’ll bare with me... let me tell you about myself.

I am a pansexual woman married to my best friend with four amazing children.

I have depression and anger issues that I have struggled most of life with.

I have spent a good chunk of my adult life being a stay-at-home-mom and only now am going back to school to learn a new career. I have rescued and taken care of animals since I was 17, something my children have grown to love as well. And I am happier now than I have ever been. But it wasn’t always that way.

I had my best friend die in my arms when I was 12, that being my first experience with death and grief and unchecked anger. And I grew up a lonely kid who spent most of my time hiding how depressed I was, doing everything I could to take care of everyone else in my life, the majority of them never knowing how much I actually struggled with just living. The first love of my life was killed in a car accident when I was 16. My parents divorced when I was 17 and I dropped out of high school, working three jobs just so I wouldn’t be home with my mother.

I was married to a selfish and controlling man at 18, had my first child at 19, second at 20, third at 23, and divorced at 23 with three small children and no job. I was terrified and didn’t know what I was going to do. Everything was up and down and inside out.

But I have a very clear memory of sitting down one night, after the kids had gone to sleep and the apartment was quiet and I was alone with nothing but my thoughts and the television… and a repeat episode of Supernatural (Season 2, Episode 16 – Roadkill) was on. (Spoilers ahead if you, by chance, have not seen this episode.)

In that moment, I was barely paying attention to it. I was a wreck, filled with guilt and fear. My face was covered in tears, and I was sobbing as I sat there and rocked with a pillow held in my grip (I oddly remember that pillow vividly because it had rough edges.) But as the episode progressed, I began to quiet. I remember listening intently to Sam and Molly as they sat on an old bed in Greeley’s home, looking at the letters he’d written to his wife.

“It’s a love letter he wrote her… my God, it’s beautiful… I don’t understand how a guy like this can turn into a monster.” Molly said to Sam. I mirrored that sentiment, in my own way. (I know my situation wasn’t the same.) I’d married a man I’d thought I’d loved. A man I thought loved me. But his actions and selfishness lead to the downfall of our marriage, our family, and my (then) situation. But I had been the one to make the decision to end things, right? After everything he’d done, I couldn’t be with someone I couldn’t trust. And it wasn’t just about me… it was about our children. They needed a mother who was happy…

At the end of the episode, Molly is faced with the reality that she has been dead the entire time and that her husband David had already said his goodbyes, moving on without her.

“What am I supposed to do?” Molly asked, in tears.

“Just… let go. Of David. Of everything. You do that… we think you’ll move on.” Sam responded gently.

Isn’t that what I should be doing? I thought. Because by that point, I’d been stuck in grief and fear for months. I don’t think I knew it until that point, but I’d been holding onto it like a security blanket because it made sense, it seemed like I deserved it.

“But you don’t know where…” Molly responded, her voice still soft with tears.

“No... Molly, you don’t belong here. Haven’t you suffered long enough?” Sam asked. “It’s time… it’s time to go.”

I sat there in stunned silence.

As odd as it sounds, it felt like he was talking to me. Because for years I’d tried to keep our marriage together because I thought I had to for our children. For years, I’d practically raised those three children alone. For months, I had sat in a holding pattern, waiting for my shoulders to finally break under all the weight from the failure I felt and the misery I was drowning in, doing everything I could to be a good mother with nothing to fall back on. But then I watched Molly walk into the light, tears streaming down her face, a smile ghosting across her lips, and I realized… I really had suffered long enough.

“You really think she’s going to a better place?” Dean asked after Molly moved on.

“I hope so.” Sam replied.

“I guess we’ll never know, not until we take the plunge ourselves, huh?” Dean said with half a smirk.

“Doesn’t really matter, Dean. Hope’s kind of the whole point.” Sam said.

And there it was. What I’d been missing. Hope.

This show, these two actors, those two brothers opened my eyes to something that had been right in front of me the whole time. I didn’t know what the future would bring, I didn’t know what I was going to do next. But I was certain I had suffered enough. I was certain I needed to move on, for my children, for myself. And as the episode ended, I wiped my tears off my face, shut off the tv and kissed every one of my sleeping children a few dozen times. And I went to bed thinking about the depiction of that light, that hope.

Two years later, I married my best friend – the love of my life, a good man who never lies, never hurts me or my kids, lifts me up when I feel down, makes me laugh every day, treats me far better than I will ever think I deserve. We had a baby boy together, bringing our family to a total of four amazing kids who all call him Dad. We have our own home which we work so hard for, we have a plethora of animals who make every day adventurous, and I am finally on a career track I feel excited about. All because I decided to stop living in my suffering, and move on.

That is why this show is not ‘just a show.’ For me, anyway. Because of JoAnn and Steven and Jeffrey. Because of the hope I found with the show itself. And I know I am not alone in at least this sentiment.

Every season since, I have watched the episodes. I have followed the stories and witnessed the amazing things this fandom has done for each other and complete strangers. I have seen people’s lives changed by the show and the actors, I have been able to connect with other people I never would have known, and get closer to those I already did. I have shared this series with my children, who all love it and the main characters as much as I do.

And right now, as we get near the end of the series, I am not ashamed to admit that I am hurting. I feel a genuine heartache. A genuine loss. I feel like a part of my history is coming to a close. But like at that moment when my world was inside out and I was trapped in my own little hell, I have hope.

I don’t know what waits for me. I never have. I don’t know what awaits any of us. But this show will never really die. The connections we’ve made, the way the stories and people have touched us… that never really goes away.

Whether we watch Supernatural on repeat on a bad day, or follow the actors as they move on to new adventures, or get someone in our life to start watching it, this show will always be around. Just like hope. And… isn’t it like Sam said? “Hope’s kind of the whole point.”

So, hold on to hope. And message me if you’re grieving, if you need an ear from a fellow fan, or just someone to shoot Supernatural memes back and forth with. We’re a family. You, me, all of us. And I’ll always be here for you.

(P.S. I will ship Destiel till the bitter end.)

Love,

QuietDarkness (stars-are-just-ghosts)

#Supernatural #SPN #forever a fan #season 15 #this isn't the end #hope is the whole point #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Castiel #GISHWHES #misha collins #jared padalecki #Jensen Ackles #some spn spoilers

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prolestariwrites · 4 years

Photo

Open For Me [5]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 5 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and to my friends @wordborne and @solynacea for their feedback. Please enjoy the final part.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Be gentle with me, for my heart hides so many wounds that never bleed. —Alexandra Vasiliu

There is a man who sits on the bench in the park across the street from your house. That in itself is not terribly strange: the homeless often find refuge in the public space. And he certainly seems homeless, draped in dark clothes that are little more than rags, his posture drawn in as if to hide.

You wouldn't have noticed him at all if it wasn't for the feeling he gives you when you walk by. Something familiar, maybe his shoulders, maybe his hands. It isn't unease, but the opposite: a driving curiosity to find out who is underneath the fabric. You don't see anyone anymore, not really, not since Vergil had left. He had been the only person you ever trusted, and that had been a mistake.

So you don't dare to ask or to offer. You watch him from your window, as he sits day after day. No one even seems to see him there, not even a cop as he strolls by. You start to wonder if he's just a figment of your imagination, until you hear his voice.

You are at your door, keys in hand, checking the mailbox when you hear one word: "No."

Coldness douses your spine and you drop the envelopes on the ground. You are afraid to turn around, not of him, never of him, but afraid he's not really there. It has been so long since you heard that voice, more than two decades, but at once you are a girl of nineteen desperately in love with someone who does nothing but lie. Tears blur your vision as your mind pleads with your body to turn around and look. Just look.

Slowly your head turns. Someone had offered him a bottle of water, and rebuffed they are now moving on. The figure settles back into itself, and your hands are trembling as you stare, waiting for more. But he does not speak again.

A minute slips by, then another. Does he see you? Why is he here, on that bench, that fucking bench outside of your house? You had left the apartment as soon as you were able, moving into this house in the city, the top half of a duplex you bought when the owner died. How did he know, how did he find you? Did he find you, or is this the biggest cosmic joke of the universe? Because you never forgot him, never moved on, prayed for days and nights he would come back until the pain of losing him turned you into stone.

Your feet are moving and you are halfway across the street before you notice. A car blares its horn at you, jolting you back to reality, and you dart to the sidewalk. The figure hasn't moved, not even when you were nearly hit. It can't be him, he would have moved, he would have saved you.

You approach slowly until you are standing in front of him. You realize your purse is gone, dropped somewhere, but your keys are still in your hand, like a weapon. Your eyes dart to the side and you note there is no sword. You can still remember the diamond pattern of the hilt, could draw it in your sleep.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you feel your lip shaking. "Vergil?" you whisper.

There is no answer, not even a movement indicating he had heard you. You swallow painfully, still waiting. "Vergil, is that you?" you ask again, a bit louder this time.

Slowly he stands. You step back, shaking now, his height so familiar that you let out a soft sob. "Vergil?"

"Do you know where it is?"

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. "What?"

"Do you know where it is?"

His voice is different. Maybe this isn't Vergil? It's harder, rougher, like broken glass.

What has happened to him? "Vergil, come with me. Let me… I live right over there." You reach out and tug on his sleeve. "Vergil, please? Let me help you."

You pull harder and grab his hand. With a gasp you feel it is cold: cold as ice, his skin like stone, and when you look down you must swallow against the sight of gray skin that is cracked and broken. You remember so vividly that night in the kitchen when his face and arms had healed from an attack; in the years following, you had turned this over again and again, realizing he had never once been sick or hurt, no cuts or colds, no flu, no headaches. Demon prince, he had said to you, and some part of you had started to believe it, impossible as it is.

He snatches the hand away and turns. He moves quickly down the street, so quickly that it doesn't register for a moment. "Vergil! Wait!" You take off after him, tears blurring your vision as you try to keep track of the dark fabric. At the next intersection, the light turns green, and he disappears.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You almost ignore the knock on your front door, frowning at the clock. Nothing good ever came after 9:00, that's what your mother always used to say. But when it comes again, firm and insistent, you put your book aside and pull the blanket around your shoulders, cautiously opening the door with the chain still on.

At first you don't recognize him. You frown and take in the tall build, the angles on the handsome face, the dark coat. But when he shifts and you see the glint of his blue eyes and the silver color of his slicked-back hair—silver, not white or blond, he had scolded once—you let go a gasp. "Vergil?"

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. Your fingers fly over the locks until you can swing the door open wide, your mouth open as you stare. It's him for sure, just older now, a bit more… tired? You remember the cold, gray stranger from years ago, but this person is more like the boy you loved in your youth. Something wells in your throat, still filled with disbelief. How long has it been? How many years?

"It's been a while," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes you shiver.

"A while," you echo.

"You remembered."

Shaking your head, you say, "Of course I remember you."

"Can I come in?"

You blink, nodding, and step aside. Vergil's eyes sweep through the room as you replace the locks, and you realize how little has changed since he last stepped foot inside your home. A new ottoman, a couple of throw pillows, but other than that it is the same. The only thing that has changed, in fact, is you.

Wiping your hands nervously on your jeans, you ask, "When did you…?"

You don't even know what you are asking, but Vergil still answers. "Two days ago. I had some business to take care of, with my brother."

Your hands clench at your sides, the ease in his voice making the hair on your neck stand on end. "Business with your brother?" you hiss. "You've been gone for years! You left me! And that was you on the bench, wasn't it? That was you, after all that time, you came and sat outside of my house just to go again! Why? Why are you doing this?"

It actually looks like that got through. Vergil blanches, just slightly, and without asking he sits on the couch. His back is straight and he unbuttons his coat, the air of formality only stoking your anger. You've seen him hurt, and sick, and nearly half dead, you've heard him moan and cry and laugh with tears in his eyes. And he wants to sit on your couch as if he's a visitor from the local church making a social call?

"Vergil," you snap, moving in front of him with arms folded. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth." It's his turn to echo you, and to your surprise he reaches up and takes your hand. The little bit of affection catches you off guard, and all you can do is watch his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and remember. Vergil, sitting up late at night, reading books yellow with age as you dozed next to him. Listening to him talk about the places you would visit together, trying to picture him as you could never see yourself. Running his hands through your hair as he talked of his plans, the spark in his eye so lovely that it helped you ignore the lies on the surface that left you so unsettled at times.

You try to tug your hand away gently, but he holds firm. "I owe you an explanation," he says.

The laugh that huffs out of your throat is quick and humorless. "You owe me more than that."

Vergil glances up, and you see there is something different. A part of him you haven't seen since you were barely adults, something that is warm, something you stopped associating with him. "You're right," he answers.

The confession, as small as it is, catches you by surprise. "Since when are you so self-aware?" you say before you can stop yourself.

But he only shakes his head. "This feels strange," Vergil murmurs. You frown as he continues to stroke the skin of your hand, but his expression is thoughtful. "I'm feeling things that… well, I'm feeling, anyway. And I needed to come and see you, that much was certain."

It is sweet to say, even though you don't trust him, not yet. "Where did you go?" you ask.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replies, glancing away.

"Try me."

Clearing his throat, he asks, "Did you see on the news the story about Red Grave City?"

"Yes," you frown. "What about it?"

Vergil nods, easing back on the couch, and you sit next to him. He talks for a while, the most you've heard from him since you were young, and he goes on about legacies and power and all kinds of fantasy, leaving you enthralled without understanding why. He tells you about the sword he had lost, that belonged to his father—Yamato, you remember the name clearly, another detail he had shared you never really understood. There is hesitation on the next part, something he hides as he glosses over years spent "away", but the pain in his voice keeps you from asking more. He tells you about leaving his human self behind, of becoming a monster, only to be patched back together by his brother. Demon prince, that's what he had called himself, but could any of this be possible? He tells you of heading off to fight off Hell in order to save his son.

"Your son?" you interrupt.

Vergil nods. "It was unexpected."

That… stings. More than you're willing to admit, even to yourself. If he has a son, then that means… You shake your head, not ready to think about that. "You were right. I don't believe any of this."

He seems hurt by that, which catches you off guard. "I don't blame you," replies Vergil, although the cool timbre of his voice contradicts the very uncomfortable look on his face. "But I'm done with all that now. I tried to become something I'm not, and it didn't work. So now I'm going to try to just be…"

"Yourself?"

Vergil chuckles and meets your gaze. "I was going to say human. But I suppose myself is apt."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and against your better judgment, your heart softens. "I don't understand," you murmur. You reach up and stroke your fingertip against the side of his brow: something he always liked, and as always Vergil sinks just a bit, pressing against your touch.

"I know you don't." He hesitates, and you wonder: is he searching for the right words, or is he convincing himself they are true?

"What do you want?" you murmur.

He swallows, his eyes down. "Another chance? I keep asking for one from everyone." Finally his gaze lifts, and there is a warm sensation inside of you that swells because there is sincerity there.

"I'm older now," you say.

Vergil laughs. "So am I."

"I'm different," you clarify. "You broke my heart. You hurt me."

"I know."

Why is this so easy? It shouldn't be, not after so long, but he looks like the same boy who needed a place to stay on a cold night and felt so warm in your bed. "That was you on the bench, wasn't it?" you murmur.

He looks into your eyes and nods. "I don't know why. I came back and was dying. I needed to find someone, and I followed my instincts. I thought I was finding Yamato, but I found you."

You close your eyes and shake your head. "That night when you healed," you whisper, afraid of hurting him.

"I never wanted you to know," he says.

"Why?"

"It was too dangerous. Things wanted me dead."

The tone in his voice sends a shiver through you. But there is no lie in his eyes, not this time. "And now?"

"It's over, I suppose? I don't know. But… that part is over." Vergil swallows uncomfortably. "There is too much to say, I don't know how to explain it all."

"It's okay," you sigh. "We have time."

On instinct you reach up and press your palm to his face. The last time you did this, you were still barely children, and he had flinched away from your touch. But now he presses against your palm, sinking towards you, and Vergil wraps his arms around you to hold you closely. You press your cheek to his, feeling him tremble. He feels so strong and yet so vulnerable at the same time, and as you card your hand through his hair you wonder just what really happened to him.

You whisper his name and he turns to press his mouth on yours. It is unexpected, but when has Vergil ever not surprised you? Your lashes are wet as you kiss him back, the sensation so familiar it almost hurts. Your heart aches remembering the last kiss, the last touch, the last time you were together. It feels like a lifetime ago; it probably was.

He pulls you closer so you are practically draped over his lap. His hands slide up the back of your shirt, warm and firm and smooth. The last image you have of him as that figure on the street is fading like a dream as you press against his body. The kiss turns more passionate as one hand slips into your hair, and Vergil sighs as you open your lips to slide your tongue along his. The taste of him awakens the part of you that had gone cold and quiet when he left, and you cover his body with yours, needing to be close.

His heart is beating wildly when you push your hands under his shirt and your palm finds his chest. Vergil helps you remove his shirt, and then he pulls off yours. The look on his face is nothing but reverence, but you blush a bit, suddenly self-conscious. "I haven't…"

He looks up at you and nods. "About Nero… it's hard to explain, but I will. Just know I've never been unfaithful to you."

Your brows draw down slightly, wondering what that means. But he pulls you into another kiss, his hands roaming you now, and you decide to leave that until he can explain.

It takes no time for him to remove your bra, and then he turns to lay you back gently. Vergil was never a rough lover, but he could be hard, so the soft care makes this moment feel strange. His mouth presses to your neck, and he whispers how beautiful you are as they travel downward. Your own heart is fluttering by the time he kisses your breast, your eyes sliding closed when his lips tug on your nipple.

Again, he is not demanding, instead soft as he sucks on your flesh. He teases you with his teeth as your body melts with pleasure, his fingers caressing you tenderly. "Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice strained as he presses his forehead to your chest.

"No, no, of course not," you laugh.

He kneels up and takes hold of the waistband of your leggings. "I love you," he says as he pulls the fabric down. "I never stopped."

You lift your hips and his hands travel back up your bare legs. "I didn't either," you reply.

It goes on like this, slow and quiet, his demanding touch now so tender, his searing kisses a sweet gentleness. He lights your core on fire with his touch, until you are moaning and reaching for him, gasping for more. "Please Vergil… I need you…"

"Open for me." Your eyes close and a tear rolls down your cheek as your thighs spread and he presses inside your body. It's been a long time since the last time you were together, and it's uncomfortable at first; but he uses just as much care now, his shallow thrusts making your back arch from the cushion.

You slide your hands on his chest, fingers searching his skin for any signs of the cracked and gray skin. But he is perfect and whole and solid, and once his hips are flush with yours you look up at him, eyes wide and searching.

He stares down at you almost in awe as he starts to move. You press your hand to his cheek again and he winces, and you see the pleasure and pain in his face. Your palm grows wet as he kisses your skin, and before long he is thrusting with a deep, steady pace that has you both moaning. You twist underneath him as the pleasure mounts, the anticipation building until it snaps inside and your body begins to pulse. Vergil groans, long and loud, and as your muscles tighten around him he spills inside of you. His seed is hot and thick as it fills you up, making you cry out as wave after wave of bliss has you holding to him tightly.

Vergil sinks against you, laying with his head on your chest, another thing from years ago that you remember well. How is it two decades pass and yet it feels like no time at all? You stroke his hair as he grows soft inside you, his hands clenching and releasing against your back as your breathing slows.

"I won't let you go again," he says.

"Okay," you reply. Vergil raises his head and you kiss his lips. "We can start over."

"I have so much to explain," he sighs.

You stroke his cheek. "No more secrets. I am ready to hear it all."

He nods and leans in for another kiss. As he moves over you, you remember the red pendant and how it had pressed against your chest your first night together. That Vergil had been just as strong, and just in need of help. But this time, you are stronger too.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #vergil x reader #fan fiction #open for me #myfic

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livthelazywriter · 3 years

Text

Quirkless Hero

Bakugou x f!reader

Chapter 2: A different perspective

Words: 2317

"Alright settle down. Class is starting." A pair of sleepy eyes looked to to the class in front of him. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he continued.

"As a reminder, mid next week you have a quiz in both English and Hero History." The class groaned. Murmurs were heard throughout the class.

"Aww man I forgot."

"I'm gonna fail."

"Psst, Iida, can we study after school today? I'll ask-"

"Quiet." Aizawa looked to class 1A with red a eyes and floating hair. Instantly the the class quieted down. Aizawa sighed again.

"If you don't pass your Hero History test you won't be allowed to go to the Hero History Museum that you'll be going to here in a couple weeks." Aizawa bent down to the floor and pulled up his yellow sleeping bag cocooning himself. "That's it for announcements for today. I'm going to take a nap till your first class starts so don't be too loud." With that he laid down on the floor and took his nap like he does about every morning.

Kirishima let gravity take his head to his desk. A loud thunk came in the process. He groaned. He had a quiz in both classes he struggled with the most. If only he had someone to stu-

The boys head shot up and looked across the classroom. His eyes locked on his grumpy ash blonde friend, who had his usual scowl on his face as looked to the front of the class.

Bingo!

Kirishima quickly stood up and walked over to the scowling blonde. Sitting in the now vacant seat in front of him, Kirishima turned to look at Bakugou. Barely opening his mouth, Bakugou interrupted him.

"What ever it is, no. So buzz off." Bakugou interjected with his usual grump expression. Kirishima's lip jutted out and his eyebrows scrunched together.

"Aw come on man! You didn't even know what I was going to say!" Kirishima said with a pleading look hoping his friend will hear him out. The ash blonde looked at him with a slightly annoyed look. Knowing Kirishima, he wasn't going to give up till hopefully Bakugou gave in.

Bakugou let out a small grumble. "What do you want?" He asked obviously still annoyed. Relieved, a hopeful smile spread on Kirishima's face.

"I want you to help me study."

"No." Bakugou deadpanned. The red heads face dropped.

"Please?" Kirishima whined.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I want to help you weird hair?"

"Please Bakugou? You helped me with midterms last time and it really helped." Kirishima pleaded. "And plus, your like the smartest person I know." He added hoping it would help convince him. It did. It got into his head, causing a cocky smirk to replace his annoyed one. Leaning back he put his hands behind his head.

"Darn right I am."

"Does that mean you'll help me study?" Kirishima asked excitedly. A glint of hope still in his eyes. Bakugou face reverted back to it's original state.

"Meet me at the front gate when's schools over. We'll go to the same place as last time."

Kirishima's eyes sparkled. "Thank you so much Bakubro!"

~Time-skip~

Stepping out to the chill air, Kirishima let out a content sigh. Fall had to to be his favorite season. Not because of the colors, or cool temperature, but because of the few memories he could remember. Before moving, him and Y/n would bury one another in leaf piles and rescue each other.

"I'll help you Ejirou!" Y/n said with a giggle as she ran towards the large pile of leaves in the yard.

"Ahhh! Help! The leaf villain got me!" Kirishima's faked cried for help as he 'struggled' against the leaves that covered his body. The sound of feet hitting the ground got closer and louder as the small h/c came closer. Letting out a battle cry, she jumped in the pile.

"Aaaaghhh! Let go of my cousin you mean villain!" Y/n struggled through the leaves as she made her way to Ejirou. Pushing off the leaves, she grabbed the boy's wrist and began he pull him to safety. Both fell to the ground once away from the so-called villain.

Looking at each other from on the ground, they both got into a fit of giggles. Crawling over to Y/n, Kirishima plopped on top of her to give her a hug. This only caused the giggles to grow.

As their giggles died down, Kirishima spoke up. "We are going to be the best hero's ever!" His head laid on Y/n's belly and arms wrapped around her sides as he gave her a small squeeze. Y/n gave him a squeeze in return, tightening the hug.

" Yeah we are!"

Kirishima smiled softly at the memory. He looked up to the sky and let out a chuckle.

"Heck yeah we are." Putting his hand in his pocket he pulled out his phone and unlocked it.

I wonder what she's doing right know. We do end school about the same time.

Pulling up the his texting, he tapped on his cousins name, opening their conversations. Typing on the small keyboard of his phone, he typed the usual when ever he wanted to talk.

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Hiiiii

As he pushed the send button, a gruff voice came from behind him.

"Oi, weird hair lets go!" Bakugou quickly stomped ahead of Kirishima. Phone still in hand, he quickly caught up with Bakugou. Once he caught up and was now walking beside the blonde, he felt his hand vibrate. His head snapped to look at his phone, as his arm snapped up to rase the mobile device.

Quirkless wonder:

Hiiiiii👋

His face lit up once again. Bringing his other hand to his phone he typed away at the keypad. Kirishima did his best to text Y/n everyday ever since he got her number. Let's just say if Y/n never moved, the two would be impossible to separate. From video calls to text messages, they kept in contact the best they could when ever they could.

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Whatcha doin?

After pressing send, three little dots in a bubble showed up on screen, indicating that Y/n saw the text and was now responding. Ejirou had a skip in his step as walked. Texting his cousin always brightened his day. It's sometimes got him a little too distracted and caught up in his own little world. Every now and then he would end up running into furniture, walls, or sometimes almost walking into busy streets.

Like now for instance.

But as always he never made one foot on the road. A hand grabbed his the hood of his jacket and pulled him back, slightly chocking him in the process.

"Hrrk!"

"Watch were you're going you moron!" Bakugou yelled as he yanked Kirishima's hood. Kirishima fell on the ground landing in his bum. Landing, he fell to his back from the momentum of falling and being pulled. Instinctively, Krishima brought his empty hand to his throat and rubbed it. Turing his head up and to the side, he looked at the boy next to him.

"Ow man, that hurt. You could've-" before he was able to finish, the fiery blonde interrupted him.

"If you nose wasn't glued to your stupid phone and didn't almost nearly walked into traffic, it wouldn't have hurt!" Bakugou yelled once again down at the red head on the ground. The veins on his forehead popped and steam was practically fuming from his ears.

It drove him crazy when people didn't pay attention to their surroundings. It wasn't even that hard. You had two eyes, you might as well use them. I mean what else are they for.

Kirishima let out a nervous chuckle. He stood up and dusted himself off. Looking over to the blonde, Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck and let out a meek thank you.

"Thanks man."

Bakugou let out a low grumble. "Yeah well don't expect me to do it again."

That's was a lie.

He would. As much as he hated to admit it, he cares about red head. He cares about the rest of his class as well. He pride and ego get to much in the way that he would never admit it. He's not completely heartless. He's still human after all.

Standing at the cross walk of where he almost met his demise if it weren't for his friend, the red head reopened his phone. During the whole fiasco, Y/n responded back.

Quirkless Wonder:

Walking home with Kenji

Kirishima's facial features softened to a smile. He loved knowing that Y/n had someone there for her in person since he couldn't. He wishes that he could be there with her every step of the way like how they promised.

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Ooo romantic

Feeling some bump his shoulder, Kirishima looked up. Bakugou walked past him to walk across the street.

"Let's go." huffed the blonde. Catching up to him, he felt a familiar buzz in his hand. Just as he crossed the street, he looked down to

Quirkless Wonder:

How's this?

[1 attachment]

He snorted. This earned an upturned eyebrow and a confused look from Bakugou.

"What are you laughing at?"

Kirishima slightly turned his head towards his friend with a small laugh. "My cousin sent me a goofy picture of her and her boyfriend." Turing the phone to give Bakugou a look, he smiled. "See."

"They look like idiots." Bakugou deadpanned as he kept walking. Kirishima sweat dropped.

"Harsh much?"

Bakugou just grunted in reply. Turing back to his phone, he gave a sarcastic reply.

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Ahh yes, very romantic👍

Quirkless wonder:

What are you doing?🤔

Kirishima gave a side glance to his friend and contemplated on sending a picture back. But a quick scenario ran through his head. A drop of sweat ran down the side of his face.

‘Yeah, I really don't feel like dying today.’

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Going to do some studying with Bakubro

Quirkless wonder:

Didn't he hit you on the head with a newspaper last time???

Kirishima let out a nervous chuckle. Taking his empty hand he rubbed the top of his head and gave a side glance to his friend. He sweat dropped. He just about forgot that.

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Yeah

Even though he wasn't there, he could vividly visualize her facepalming in his head.

Quirkless Wonder:

Then.....why are are you studying with him????

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

It help surprisingly helped

Ejirou let out a short chuckle. Bakugou wasn't the brightest person on the planet or most calm, but he was his friend. Since the beginning of the school year, Kirishima has done his best to befriend the aggressive boy the best he can. He doesn't know why he wanted to be friends with him, he just did. As their relationship has slowly grown, Kirishima doesn't find him all that bad as people think.

Favorite Cousin❤️🪨:

Plus, the rest of the squad aren't much for studying and he ranked 3rd in midterms. So I don't have very many options.

"Oi, come on." Bakugou’s gruff voice brought the red head out his texting spree. “We’re here.”

Bakugou opened the door to the small cafe they stood in front of and walked in. Before Kirishima could follow him in, the door closed in his face. An annoyed look painted over his smile.

“Thanks man.” He grumbled quietly. Grabbing the handle, he opened the door. Barely taking a step in a wave of countless smells flooded his nose. Fresh brewed coffee, fluffy sweet pastries, and dozens of flavors of tea hit him all at once like a truck. The smell was calming and peaceful. He took a deep breath through his nose and let a breath out with a sigh. Yeah, it smell amazing.

Breaking his trance, he scanned the tables for spiky ash blonde hair. At the other end of the building, he saw his friend take out his books and paper from his bad with his usual scowl. Kirishima maneuvered through the maze of tables and people walking to their seats.

‘Dang it’s busy today’

Upon arriving at the booth Bakugou was sitting at, he felt another familiar buzz from his phone. Setting his bag on the seat, he sat down and reopened his phone for the millionth time today.

Quirkless wonder:

Well then, I wish you the best of luck with your study session with the grumpy explosive boy

Don't die

He chuckled at the response. Looking at the boy in front of him, he told him what Y/n called him.

“My cousin called you a grumpy explosive boy.” He told him with a snicker. A vein popped on Bakugou’s forehead. Kirishima avoided his eye contact and start to type back a response.

“The heck?! I ain’t explosive!” Bakugou argued.

Kirishima let out another snicker. “I mean yeah you kinda are. Both with your quirk and your atti- uh, personality.”

Bakugou just grumbled and crossed his arms as he slouched in his seat.

Favorite cousin ❤️🪨:

I won't lol

We just got to where we're going to study so I'll talk to you later

Love u

Three dots in a bubble piped up.

Quirkless wonder:

Love you too

A faint smile spread to Kirishima’s face. He missed her. Some days he wish he had a quirk that would allow him to teleport to her. But he didn’t. He was stuck with calling and texting. He didn’t mind as long as he got to keep in touch. His thoughts were interrupted with snaking against his head.

“Quit smiling like an idiot and let’s get this over with already.”

Looking up, he saw Bakugou with a packet of papers rolled in his hand. He face scrunched with a scowl. Kirishima groaned and rubbed the top of his head.

‘And so it begins’

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#mha #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #Bakugou #katsuki #Quirkless Hero #quirkless reader #bnha x reader #x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 4 years

Text

Listen to the cry

No one questioned Castiel’s trench coat, so why should they question yours?

Sam and Dean Winchester x reader but it’s heavy on Sammy.

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare: with the amount of fluff, heart wrenching angst, dark themes, explicit language, sexual remarks.

Trigger warning mentions of past abuse, and self mutilation.

This is loosely based around the episode; Season 15 episode 11 “The Gamblers”

Sorry for the let down I’m not dead. I want to dedicate this to my wonderful and fabulous friends who are my family, you know who you are ;).

Let's start this story off in the way that makes any possible sense, the day your mother birthed you. Your mom and father's relationship seemed normal to the naked eye but once you started to peer deep into the picture. It was the exact opposite, speaking of your mother's labor it wasn't exactly your fault what happened to her. Although your father thought otherwise, it had been exactly three to four minutes after she gave birth that she had gone. That day your father never forgave you. No one dared to question why you wore long shirts where the sleeves run past your small torn arms. They were your father's he didn't dare to give you clothes that he had to buy with his hard-earned government filled check.

That wouldn't do nor buy any food that was for two almost every night well every night for the past eleven years you had to eat after him. We also couldn't forget how a minor "b" on a report card resulted in you getting lashings from that horrendous leather belt with the buckle being the size of an ashtray. You were that too. Days had gone into months when you realized there is no hope for you, always dreading the walk home. Until one evening when your ratty untied boots kept kicking pebbles came across a scene. One of which involved a scrawny shaggy-haired boy being beaten to almost death by three what looked like cows. You never did like bullies so you shrugged on the one strap bag (the other had been eaten off many years ago from rats.) You kept your head hung low in a desperate measure to disappear from their sights. Yet your wishes were cast away when his ungodly eyes met your form from across the street. You knew you should've picked up the pace. The guilt insufferable when you heard the kids squelched cry for help, you couldn't help but glance over to peer at the kids' face. One that had blood smeared from eye to ear. That didn't help your soundless escape.

It was like watching a train crash into a car, it was as much excitement and fear you would ever get, and for some reason, you were paralyzed. You couldn't move. You stood there like a small tree, watching every slur, every kick to the gut, every punch to the face for what seemed like hours. Although the cows' brains seemed to turn when the kid's head no longer was against the ground but in turn lifted to where you were watching. "The fuck are you looking at freak?!" you heard one of them say when they kicked his gut making him curl into a fetal position. It seems they were done with the torture when the kid's shoulders stopped moving to signal that he was dead or at least playing it. That also appeared to strike fear in their layers of flesh as they took off, one of them just had to look back and saw you. A witness. His pig face porked into a smirk that drew attention to his intentions, and his small thin lips drawing into syllables that made your blood run cold. "Oh, you are so dead." and with that, you took out in a sprint.

You hadn't gone far just a few mere inches when you tripped over your laces, you will forever think of the day when you learn to tie them as the day you become a god. It was such a lost cause to get up, one boot had flown off your foot entirely, the bottom of your bag busted making every single thing fall out, and you just managed to bust your chin on the pavement. With everything else, the cherry on top was the pig still coming for you. You had a few feet of a headstart on him which was yards in his situation, you could have made it to your house if you would have gotten up right then and just made a run from it. But you were too clouded thinking about what your Dad was going to do about your bag, the last thing you remember that orange soft winded evening was the boy's fist coming in contact with your head and knocking you out cold.

Your dad stormed into the living room where you were sitting on the couch (your bed) and started ranting about how on some test you had got an A- on. You hated him you did, you wished that whatever happened to your mom had happened to him instead. But the world never did take kind into the matter. You could no longer hear his shouting and rampage. Your mind focused on the small T.V. in front of you displaying a rerun of some old cartoon. A blonde buff dude in a black shirt trying to pick up some girl but then getting slapped across the face, then you just had to go and ruin it by laughing. That was the end of the line for you, you remember that night so vividly because that was the night when Grandma came. This happened often, arguments laced with venom every time she came, which would leave him to slam the door in her face and scream at the top of his lungs ``IT'S MY KID NOT YOURS!" She was on your Father's side. You weren't even sure if your mom had any relatives you never heard him speak of them, nor even seen them. It was if they were a forbidden monster that the world would stop turning if you knew about them. The knock on the door was your prayer but the look on your dads' face told an entire another story, it was a brief yelling match of a so-called discussion before he came back in with something flowing from his hands. It was a coat.

You woke up with a gasp. Air flowing through your lungs as the world whirred back and forth, your head having sharp pain as well as your chin. You were confused as to why you were laying on the sidewalk, asleep. But then you remembered. The farm animals, once you understood there were entirely too many emotions but the main ones were anger and sadness. Anger that this happened and sadness out of the outcome. You decided that can't wallow in your pity, (although you did consider it for a long duration of time.) Once you sat up you didn't realize you had an audience, the meat they were practicing on sat before you criss crossed and head tilted shaggy hair hiding his eyes. You mimicked his presence, your black coat falling behind your form drowning you in its wake. After a few minutes of soaking in each other's battle scars, he jutted a handout an introduced himself in a lopsided smile; "I'm Sam Winchester." That was the last time you had ever seen Sam.

~Time jump~

Working at a diner was stressful, sure, but never as stressful as trying to find a job that allowed you to wear a trench coat that went to mid-leg. It was a simple job taking orders and giving them to the back and serving the food to the customer. No, but it was your boss. Every single time he could slip a comment or a remark in, he would. Even in the worst of times like right now, you were waiting for the food order. It had been a slow off day not many on a Monday night came through on a roadside restaurant. Your boss was a middle-aged man who happened to look like your father and just had gotten all of his wonderful traits. Right now he was bickering at you because you weren't doing anything, there was nothing to do! you cleaned every possible thing there is to clean. Twice over might, I add and even polished the seats, you do not know how hard it was until you encountered the unforsaken bridge.

You were fixing to give him a jab by saying that when has he ever done anything around here but collect his money and go. But instead, you bit your tongue and closed your eyes and counted to ten because that would cost you the job and your life. You peeled your eyes open at the sound of the doors' literal bell ringing signaling someone had come in. A pair of tall stocky men made their way through, one of them had to bend down a little to get through the door because of how obnoxiously tall he was. "Great, now do your fucking job." He sneered in your ear as he went to the back. The other one struck you hard in your stomach for some apparent unknown reason, his bright green eyes falling onto yours which didn't help the circumstance as he rummaged through his pocket. While he was doing so you took in the other, long shaggy hair and bright but dark eyes like the other. He gave off a certain aroma which you didn't understand but he seemed familiar but you couldn't put your finger on. His eyes felt like they were burning away your coat making you defenseless, showing who you truly are. His eyes to say the least were the most intimidating out of the two. You pulled down on the sleeves, getting uncomfortable. You put on the most genuine grin you could and asked the routine question "What can I get you for today?" A hint of sincerity lurking within your question.

The green-eyed man grinned a bashful smile, his head twitching to the side every now and then "Uh, yeah what can we get for $4.60?" you oh so desperately wanted to laugh but stopped yourself by making yourself smile a true one. He seemed despondent by the look on his face and the nervous tics he was having. Your hand ran to the back of your neck scratching "Maybe a slice of pie and at the most a small drink?" Your response was more of a question than anything of what it was supposed to be. The taller one smiled knowing that it was dumb trying in the first place, yet you wanted to get to know him better so you decided fuck it and it was a better way to hit into your boss then your first idea. "You know what it's on the house." You shrugged while pushing the change back to the smaller one, he was happy with your response as he looked like a referee saying someone was out by enthusiastically saying "Score, maybe our luck is finally turning around!" and patted the taller one on the back while finding somewhere to sit. He rolled his eyes to the remark and grinned. Maybe their luck was turning around because he mistakenly found you again.

You were back shortly with drinks in hand. It looked like they were discussing travel routes. That explains why the look so rough, makes sense. You placed the drinks down and began to go to grab napkins before you had gotten caught by his gravely 'thank you' You were so done for. Although you were a few feet away the green-eyed one decided to get some intel, you chose that it was just his way of small talk. The conversation was going along smoothly until he asked where you were from. You thought he had figured it out, your true identity, and was going to tell your dad where you managed to escape to, so you tugged on your sleeves once again. Trying to hide the few burn marks that cascaded along your wrists, the dark-eyed one seemed to take notice. Shit. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed; he stopped his colleague from his tangent and took notice of you. "Are you okay?" he asked, of course, you weren't okay with the millions of problems you had but you didn't want to freak the guy out so you found an escape. You smiled and nodded your head "Yeah just poison ivy."

He mouthed the word "Oh" he was still suspicious but he thought it was rude to pester. He took another sip of his drink as his friend continued. Toward the end, he gestured to the map "Do you by any chance know what's around here?" As he asked you sucked in a breath. This day has been the worst in a while, you hoped he wouldn't know that you played your chances and it resulted in this. Scraping the bottom of the barrel to living in a shitty apartment that you could barely afford. You rolled your eyes going to get the slice of pie "It's just some old wise tale, about pool." You answered shrugging your shoulders. They looked at each other if they won a million dollars "What about pool?" the green-eyed one spoke faster then you could reply You thought this was such a dumb conversation like talking about Santa Claus. "If you win you gain luck, you lose luck." You stuck two forks into the pie and slid it in between them. "Just by playing pool?" He said as he lowered his drink from his lips for the first time since he had it. "Yup," you said, popping the "p" as you turned to get napkins once again, only for him to stop you in your tracks "Do you want to come with us, I mean since you know the place better than us?" As soon as the last word left his mouth you felt like you could faint. You kept weighing all the possibilities and it only came out in one, you go with them.

It wasn't a long drive but it was because his thigh pressed up against yours as you sat between the two giants. The radio played softly in the background as another Metallica song played, the trees and forest going past as you kept going further into the brush of pavement. The only Metallica song you knew played you smiled hopefully to make some conversation out of this entire carr ride of silence. (The man you now know as Dean shushing Sam, his younger brother, when he was trying to do introductions.) "Master of the Puppets is probably one of the most iconic Metallica songs, hands down," Dean snorted in disgust and made you laugh as he turned the radio down. "Really? It's so overplayed! Ride the lightning is way better. Did you not hear the badass guitar solo in it?!" He looked like he saw something that had three heads as he rolled his eyes and scoffed. For a man who looked so tough, he was childish as ever. You tell that Sam was more of the quiet and laid back while Dean was more rambunctious and loud. "Shouldn't we have a plan?"

Sam spoke as he saw the small building appear Dean scoffed again "When do we ever?" As he parked the car and turned the engine off. He noticed as he tried to take the tape out it was destroyed. The tape that was once secured in the small plastic rectangle was now wrapped and strangled around itself. There was a pained expression when he came to realize and then came the anger. Once he got out he had thrown the tape down so hard that it spread into thousands of tiny pieces. "Son of a bitch!" he grumbled hands shoved deep into his pockets as he sulked into the bar, "He's not always like this, it's just an off day."

Sam's voice startled you as you came out of one of the memories that reminded you of your dad. His face still in thought as he tried to wrap his head around why you were so what seemed to be; fragile. Could it be? No, it couldn't that's dumb of him to think of something so tragic. He opened his door and held out his hand in offering to help you out, his hand was rough and scratchy against yours. It was hard to make out since your skin wasn't in the best of condition either, you stopped halfway and told him to go on ahead and go in. You figured that you could try and fix Dean's tape even though it was beyond repair. But you'd probably be here without anything to do so you grabbed it, along with an old coin.

~Sam's point of view~

She just kept sitting there with the tiniest screwdriver known to man. I don't even know where she got it, but I would be lying if she wasn't trying her hardest to fix it. Her hair kept touching her face; which would agitate and distract her from her work. Her hands were occupied so she would blow a gust of wind to make it fall someplace else, she was way too concentrated on the music box. Her eyes were beautiful with the way the curtain blocked sun fell onto them, her lips were pursed as she concentrated and her small hands twisted and turned the bolts as she screwed them in. She was beautiful, no that's too vague to describe such beauty. I suppose a goddess should do it. Her name kept twisting and turning with her hands, the name was so simple yet elegant and familiar. One that I wouldn't forget fitted perfectly on my tongue. The number of times my tongue formed around the syllables sounded as if I was chanting it, and if she would ask me too. She'd never have to say it twice. I smirked at that. Not too big or toothy being cautious of Dean beside me chatting up some woman waiting for the bar. Knowing that if he saw me stalking her.

(I would say admiring, his words not mine.) I would never hear the end of it. Speaking of the devil he sadly interrupted my appreciation towards her. He grabbed the joint between my shoulder and neck and told me he found a game. He did that ever since I was a kid, I guess it was just showing his way of knowing he could grab me if something went sideways. Which did happen a lot, "Sammy!" he shouted out. That was all too familiar as well and I groaned not knowing when I'd be back to take her in again and sulked my way to where they were setting up for the game.

~Back to normsies~

If only the damn thing would go back into the socket, you managed to makeshift a few pieces together. Although the pie was still broken with many pieces left to bake, this was an absolute nightmare. But on the other side, you kept thinking if I could get away from H.I.M. you could do anything. It had to be about fifteen to twenty minutes later when they had started to gamble their lives. You knew they were getting a good high from every cocky remark Dean would give to his less unfortunate opponent. Dean was a complicated man.

That is the best way you could explain it, anger issues, and maybe family issues as well. Yes, they were old enough to travel without supervision but usually, you couldn't get out of town without someone calling for help just for you to come back. Hell, you couldn't speak. And Sam, you thought long and hard why his name was so off-putting but in a good way like an old friend. But you never did have any friends so that just made it even harder to understand why. Every time you thought about it, it made your heart flutter. Maybe because he was attractive with his tall structure or chiseled face, or his gorgeous dark eyes that seemed to have taken a liking to stop at you. The way he crossed his arms made him appear bigger, the muscles in his arms popping out like a sore thumb. You wondered yourself into a daydream of what he would look like under that black dress shirt, those few unbuttons gave you a small peek of what's behind. You shouldn't think of such things because why would someone attractive ever want to mingle with you. Under the cape, you looked like Freddy Kruger with the scars, burns, and your added self-mutilation.

God, how can you be so dim-witted to fall for a guy who doesn't even like you. It was so stupid, no one liked or will so why would he? Being so distraught and in your head, you forgot where you angled the screwdriver which in your situation was now a weapon as you shoved it straight into your finger. "Bitch!" You let out as you cupped your hand with the other, a few turned heads just to see what was going on. She took notice and you thought your dad had a bitch face, holy shit you were wrong. You thought the trench helped you fade into the dark, apparently not. As she pursued your way as if she was the hunter and you were the prey and you were so proud of the amount of restraint from not plunging the screwdriver into her nonexistent brain. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder as she grabbed a napkin and threw it your way. You thought it was a cool magic trick when you watched it float down and her face was shoved into yours. You thought you went cross-eyed from how close she was, her breath being fanned across your face "You're not allowed in here." She snarled. Your face scrunched into an exasperated one, you were already done with her, you cleared your throat as you began to at least try to get her delusional ass to see through her load of bullshit.

"I was never informed that I couldn't visit and root for my fellow gamblers." You spat and you swore her ears billowed out steam, "Yeah, but you won so you have no business here." you could feel the spit flying through her clenched teeth. You breathed out a puff of air as you gathered your things and hopped down from the bar stool and out the door, you never one to argue with cows. Yet a towering dashing bull, just couldn't keep away. You had a pout on your face, sure, and your thick dr martens (You considered it an upgrade from your father's work boots.) kicked at the rotting patio. In your head, you've smitten her dead but as you took a seat on the porch swing and glanced into the window you saw the man of your wonders chatting her up. Her hand rubbing up and down on the bicep you wanted to touch and suddenly you felt your luck was gone. You gripped your hard work tight in your hand, the edges you fixed were slightly cracking, you wanted to cry. Mommy didn't raise no bitch, she didn't even raise you. But you blinked away tears and then it spawned on you. You had a coin. Maybe your luck is turning around.

It was turning dark when you made up your mind, the coins' rugged edges dug into your thumb and index as you glared at it. You held your head in your hands when he walked out, curiously you lifted your head to find the suspect at hand you had won against him before. The first time you betted, he was good but not as great. He was a kind older fellow, but the world struck him down as it did you and you supposed that's how you became companions. The swing shifted as he sat down beside you, (you quickly grabbed the side of your tench to make sure he didn't sit on it.) "Rough night?" he asked, trying to make small conversation, you guessed it was to try and ease the devastation of the lost. "Erm, I guess." you were taken off guard as your brain was swimming through the sea of thoughts it suddenly turned into a dessert when he spoke again. "You want one?" he offered a cigarette but you politely declined as you shook your head. He grinned and raised an eyebrow "That's new," he laughed softly as he dug in his pockets searching for something but to come up empty. "You gotta light, sweetheart?"

The cigarette dangled from his lip but never dared to fall from how many years of practice he's had. You jolted up and dug in your pockets your fingers getting poked and scratched at from all the things you had in them. Shortly, you found it you flipped it open and cupped it from the chilly wind that blew softly against the flame. He laughed again but it became a coughing fit. You were confused as to why he was laughing since you hadn't said anything amusing. Yet, you quickly shut the lighter and put it back into one of your pockets. And placed a hand on his back to comfort him. You never knew why he didn't stop smoking, he knew it would come to this. After a minute or two of his heaving, he sat back up with a red hand coming to his lip to wipe away the substance but carried on the conversation. He stared at the stars as they glistened against the black drop of night, you were staring at him

(yes it's rude but not in the context of the way you were doing it.) You took in all his scars and indentations of his face from the years that showed through them. His eyes crinkled but they were beautiful from the stars glaring against them. You didn't like this ending. Not one bit. "This isn't all bad, sweetheart." His voice croaked out as his head rested against the back of the swing looking at you his neck craned his life running from him. How is this not bad, he was dying before your eyes. The only friend you ever had. You sniffled, your eyes glossy from before but now they looked like rain. "I wished I could've met my Granddaughter. I hope she was as beautiful as you, darlin',''

Bewildered as to why he was telling you this, maybe it was because he didn't want to think about leaving this world and going onto the next, but you didn't dare try to change the subject. "I wish I could've seen her being born, I wish my son wasn't as big of a bastard as he was to not let me." His became almost as glossy as yours as his story continued, his hat that was on his lap was now on yours as he looked up at the stars again. "I wished she knew how much I fought for her." His voice became softer as his face started to slim and the scars began to protrude from his face more. "I hope she knows I lov-" He stopped halfway and let out a sigh his body slumped back into the wooded seat. His eyes were no longer lively but dull and bland as they held no life into them, you started to freak out, you grabbed onto his shoulders and started to shake him. This couldn't be happening, he was just asleep, right? this was all too much too process.

Your cheeks began to dampen as the waterfall began to burst from too much compression, once your brain took everything in you sat back and pushed your hair away from your face. Your face between your knees as your breath began to fasten, you closed your eyes hoping it would all go away when you opened them. You should've stayed at the diner, you should have never left home. It then spawned on you once you started to connect the dots slowly, one by one, that he was the grandfather you never got to meet. You opened your eyes to only find that the hat was where he previously once was, and from that, you decided that this was the last straw. And no one else was going to have to suffer this curse.

It was an understatement when you stormed back in with a cowboy hat on your head and walked into the swarm of an audience watching the current match. Sam was on the outskirts since he towered everyone and it would be unfair if he was in the front, he turned his head hearing the wooden doors clatter open. He was confused but happy to know about your entrance; because now he can watch something enjoyable rather than worry about his brother. When he locked eyes with you, your stomach did a flip and knees became weak, but you didn't dare let him see it. You not so gracefully walked over to him and tugged on down on his sleeve as a kid would asking their mom for money. He laughed and crinkled his nose at how ridiculous your action was, he relented and leaned down to your level to hear what you wear trying to say. (You nearly forgot what you were saying when you smelled how good his cologne was, a mixture between pine and coffee.) "WHO'S IS AGAINST WHO?!" you blared into his ear which made him reach and stand into his normal posture.

He laughed when he saw your face it looked as if you saw a ghost. He shook his head with a smile etched across his face "It's Dean against the mean lady," his sonorous voice rumbled through your tiny form. You tugged on his shirt once more which he then rolled his eyes and bent down. When he got close enough you grabbed the hat and placed it on his head, which he wrinkled his nose at again at how odd it was. You placed the sternest face you could and poked him in the chest with a finger "You better not have lice in that mane of yours!" You boomed at home which made his mouth hang open "Excuse me?!" is the last thing you heard before you made your way into the action. Although you whirled your head behind your shoulder and yelled "Wish me luck!"

All you could hear was the back and forth comebacks between the two, it reminded you of the fights. The constant battle in your life, "Lady I'm Tolstoy." He gave a slight nod thinking that was the end and he won, he was too cocky for his own good but that was just adding to the texture of Dean being Dean. She snickered at that "Oh, that's funny. hilarious even!" she gestured and flicked his nose then went to grab the wooden stick of your inevitable doom. You pushed through the last of the sheep before you stepped up for your presence to be known, "No." your voice even scared you from how it growled out the two letters. she looked at you like your dad did in the past from the night when you arrived with a black eye and scabbed chin. "No?" she gave you a look a mother would give her child when they would say a bad word. "No, little girl?"

Her hips swayed as she taunted you, but you didn't dare coward down to her. She was taller than you in her pristine heels, she looked down from the bridge of her nose, your dad did the same and you knew what happened next. You got a face full of fists. Except she didn't do that. She stared into our eyes and you did the same, you knew what she was searching for. You tried not to think about the similarities but you couldn't stop them, she smiled a toothy red-lipped smile and sauntered back to the table, she angled and knocked the glaring white ball into the triangle. Breaking the game into the start. She looked over to you with half-lidded eyes and her words were sultry and she purred them "Let's begin."

It was a rough start with a breathing Dean on your neck, you didn't need the constant reminder of his and everyone else's lives were on the line. Including Sam's. You forgot about his prying eyes as well, now and then you'd catch him and he'd smirk as if he was a soccer mom saying you're doing great, sweetie. But knowing her child was the worst player there. You also saw his eyes dart down in the window to your ass, whenever you bent down in front of the crowd to get a better angle. You had a measly three, while she was picking up on four. You were fucked. You tried. Every time you would miss she would smirk, a cat, and a mouse. "I know about your father, Y/n." she teased, you stopped and blinked a couple of times, flabbergasted. She knew.

Your hands came clammy as you accidentally hit the white ball. It had been the last few remaining and if you fucked up anymore, you endangered everything. You groaned in annoyance because she had to come over on your side for her exhausting turn. She missed. She actually missed it. Maybe the couple coins in your pocket weren't completely drained! You thought it was suspicious when she stood by you when you leaned down to take your shot and then you knew why. "I know why you wear this disgusting cloak," she spat in your ear, you knew she was playing mind games with your head to mess with you. But you couldn't help the fear if someone could hear.

To know that you were just a little girl trying to run from her dad. You didn't notice how your sleeve began to come up from your hip dragging against the wood, nor how close her hand was to said sleeve. She tore it up to your shoulder and you froze. You jolted and hit the ball when you jumped out of fright. "Is to hide his filthy secrets." You are a deer in headlights. You couldn't move, she's trapped you. You can't breathe. Blink. Hearing was out of the question as well, everything was a dull buzz in the background. When someone's heart monitor falls flat that is how it felt. Your scars, long fat skinny, and deep running everywhere across your arm. You had no skin that wasn't covered. "You are always going to be nothing." You watched his lips move in slow motion as she spoke. The word nothing made the world come into motion and allowed you to have power over your body. The first thing you had done was look to find Sam's eyes on the exposed skin with pursed lips. FUCK! Panicking you ran through the hoard pushing and shoving your way through to the exit. You needed air, you needed to be alone, you needed to run.

You don't get far you got to the gravel in the middle of the road and curled into a ball and tried to slow down your breathing because right now you were full-blown hyperventilating. Every breath felt like a struggle for your lungs, your lungs felt they were being kicked in like the night you met Sam. Oh. Was all you could think when you finally knew why this was all too deja vu fever dream. Great, that's just fucking great. That's your first impression on the boy you liked for ages? Fan-fucking-tastic. You pulled your head the slightest bit from the leather and looked at the skin that caused all of this. God, you hated all the veins that were stitched over and the ones that dug so deep that even the doctor said that couldn't get too. Rage took over and you dug your nails into your wrist and started to scratch, maybe that will make them go away. Your eyes blurred and you pushed your head back and looked at the stars. It made a soft thud as it hit the ground, your self-hatred becoming stronger. You'd be better off dead, then have to be a more mutilated Frankenstein.

~Sam's point of view~

I couldn't find her. And that. That was what scared me the most. I was giving up hope until I saw a small form sprawled out onto the ground near the Impala watching the stars, as I grew closer I found out that it was what I was looking for; Her. She was gorgeous as ever as her hair fell behind her shaping around her head. I crouched to where she was. I wanted to touch her, caress her reddened cheek; just something for her to know that I was here for her but I went against it deciding that it was the best option. Instead, Her eyes took me in captivity as they glowed and shimmered with the stars above. "Mind if I join?" I asked with a tilt of my head in question. She didn't respond but I sat down beside her anyway, the rocks dug into my thighs but I didn't mind it, not one bit. This is going to be harder than I originally had planned. Not that I minded that either. My brain turned and my eyes darted to and fro as I tried to think of how I could get to see her smile again. Maybe I should leave her alone, was that a good idea? No, try to make her feel better, let her know that I care; "Don't be like that partner," Fuck. I hit the heel of my palm into my head how can I possibly be so dumb?! Oh, wait! it made her turn her head. Success! although it wasn't the typical success you would think of. No. What she did was she stuck out her scarred hand and introduced herself with a lopsided grin,

"I'm Y/N L/N."

#lil angsty #fluffy #dean winchester #Cute but deadly #dean winchester x reader #x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #fanfic #sam winchester x reader fluff #sam winchester x reader angst

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