#normal life is made for normal and sane people. not for weird bitches like me who share their delusional ramblings on Toomblr dot com. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

salty-fang · 4 years

Text

Twisted Fate Sugar Edition

Part three (sorry for the long wait) thanks for being patient @loveswifi

Marinette had had a weird day. She had kept being pulled in the direction of people who could’ve been mistaken for male versions of herself. Jason, Tim and Dick.

She had met Jason first. She had taken a quick detour from her hour-long trip to the fabric store. It had been a week after her outing with Gina, Alfred and Bruce Wayne but a week before the whole Lila debacle. She hadn’t expected Lila to even be in Gotham so Marinette didn’t feel the need to worry. She should have.

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

Jason had loads of knowledge on malicious stalking. Growing up as a vigilante taught him some things. So, he was truly stunned when he saw two shady people watched that pregnant woman with wolfish glares that he actually felt the need to follow them. He dragged her out of there line of sight, which without an explanation was pretty stupid. She’d kicked him in the balls causing him to hiss.

“Let go of me.”

“I’m trying to help you. A woman and a man have been watching you for a fucking long time. I just wanted to make sure you knew them. By the way, I’m Jason Todd.”

“Marinette.”

“One of them literally has sausages for hair. I think I’m going to have nightmares for a while.”

“Ugh, you should meet Lila Rossi.”

“Agreste's new wife?”

“Yup. Her eyes are so cold and dead. And she wears so much orange. It’s so painful when you actually look at her that I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”

“Yo, this chick is the same. You sure we aren’t talking about the same person?” she snuck a quick look around the corner, laughing at the confusion on both Lila and Kim’s faces. She’d laughed too loud as Lila’s head whipped in her direction.

“That’s definitely her. Still as annoying as ever.” Kim had whispered something in Lila's ear just as she rounded the corner. They had started sprinting towards her and were going to catch her if she didn’t move her ass.

‘I can’t run far in heels. I’m going to have to catch a bus. The doctor did tell me to take it easy. Can’t affect those triplets with too much movement.’

She had only made it outside the door when she felt herself be hoisted onto sturdy shoulders.

“Let go of me! Oh it’s you Jay. Give a girl some warning will ya!” she said sighing in exasperation.

“Sorry but you really thought I was going to watch them hurt my little sis.”

“Hey! I’m not little. And put me down. “

“That’s what your focused on? And I won’t put you down. You may think you don’t need help but you’re wrong. So let your good big bro do his job.

“Good my ass,” she muttered, ducking under a signpost. “More like arrogant goofball.” Kim and Lila had either disappeared or they just blended in with the crowd very well. They’d probably lost them. Thank God for that.

“Jay, you can put me down now.”

“Huh, are they gone?”

“Yup.” She said popping the ‘p'. “Thank you Jay. For everything.”

“No worries, pixie pop. You’re my sis. I’d kill a bitch for you.” Marinette had fallen in line with Jason. But with his long strides and her pregnancy she was always steps behind him. Sure he’d fall back to match her pace but Lila had waited until the perfect moment to capitalise. She’d tried to scream for help but she had lost the ability to. They dragged her round the corner to one of her favourite cafés. Her head ached where Lila had pulled tightly on her braid (think Lady Noire) as she felt several strands of her hair fall out. Had no one found her being dragged around slightly disturbing?

She supposed no one cared about business that didn’t affect them in Gotham. Wow. Great, just great. She’d submitted herself fully when another blue-eyed black-haired man had come to her rescue. Seriously, was everyone in Gotham like Jay Jay or had he just been a manifestation of her sleep deprivation. He’d seemed so real, so human but it wouldn’t be the first time her mind would make something so absurd up. It was probably her loneliness acting up again. There was no way any sane person would stay around her for so long.

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

Surprisingly it had been Tim who saved her, though she hadn’t known that. Unsurprisingly, Jay and him had two distinctly different personalities. He lived off coffee, looked twice his age with those bags but had such wit about him that he could manipulate the situation without the other party realising. He had been surrounded by so many coffee cups that she had thought he had been in his final year preparing for exams or perhaps working night shifts every day of the week. But nooooo, he was the co-CEO of a business. Starting at the age of 17. Marinette had felt some of the burden dropped on her and she wasn’t even in his position. No wonder he looked like he needed a pick me up. It was just as well that she’d come equipped with her special coffee. She’d make more for Gina later, he needed it more. Plus, Gigi wouldn’t be back in hours.

“I know you said it was alright to sit with you uhh...”

“Tim.”

“Right, Tim. I don’t want to bother you anymore but that coffee looks like it doesn’t do shit for you. I made some for my grandma but she won’t be back for ages so maybe... you would like it?” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course he won’t want some he probably thinks you’re a weirdo who poisoned his drink. Maybe you can take it back from him? “ on second thought-"

“Sure. Why not?” Ok Tim needs sleep. My God, I could have spiked his drink and he accepted it. He’s so vulnerable like this.

“If I give you my drink it will probably take a minute to kick in but... but you have to promise me that you’ll drink my power down later. If you don’t I’ll find you and I’ll get you to sleep one way or another. Don’t test me.” He gulped, eyes wide as he frantically nodded. “Good. Now would you like some pastries to go with your Marinette’s Super Special?” Her shift in character made him freeze. He couldn’t find his voice quick enough and instead opted for a simple thumbs up. She dug two flasks out of her bag, placing one in front of him and sniffed her own. Then, she brought two plates out, setting out croissants so buttery they made him drool, raspberry macaroons and a dozen mini chocolate chip muffins.

“You look like you needed a sugar rush so I guessed what you might like. Sorry if they’re not your favourites. Now chop chop eat up child!” Tim took a tentative sip of his drink feeling it slip down his throat. It had been just how he liked it yet slightly stronger. And then he felt the kick. It had been so small that his brain glossed over it but it’d been there. He was starting to feel more human again. And it had shown. His face had become less pallid and gaunt, his eyes held a fire that had been previously extinguished and his movements became less robotic, almost lighter. Before Marinette could utter ‘I told you so' everything had vanished. Tim was never usually a messy eater but he definitely was right now. Chocolate was smeared all over his chin , flakes from the croissant had littered around his suit and coffee had spilt on his white polo shirt.

“Beanie,” he muttered, a wild look in his egyptian blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re real. Or I at least died and went to heaven. You’re too sweet not to be in my life. I don’t know how I lived without you before. Please, I need you as my dealer. Your coffee is the only one I’ll ever drink again. Please.”

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

It wasn’t every day you saw Tim Drake beg on his knees and whine. But when you did, you would probably laugh your ass off. Whoever that poor girl was had just attracted the attention of invasive photographers. Unlucky, but at least they would get a show out of it.

“If I give you my coffee you’re not going to sleep. You’re going to be a living zombie and I can’t live with that. I’d rather not have anyone connecting me with your death from excessive tiredness.” Tim knew he had to play dirty if he was going to win. Thankfully, Steph had taught him how to master the art of puppy dog eyes which he aimed at Marinette. He then wrapped his arms around her leg, consequently being dragged along the unsanitary sidewalk to where both their belongings were.

“Please please please please PLEASE.” He noticed Marinette’s will become fragile. He wobbled his bottom lip, sniffling softly. “I’ll stop begging if you say yes. Please beanie.”

“Fine.” She huffed whilst he fist pumped the air. “But we do things on my terms alright?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Jeez. You’ve given me a headache.” She stated aiming a half-hearted glare at a sheepish Tim. “That’s an achievement, dude, not even Chloé could do that and her tantrums were super bratty.”

He had gone to apologise when shrill ringing rang in the air.

“Sorry,” he mouthed. “ I have to take this.”

“Jason what do you want? You just interrupted my deal with my dealer.”

“ I didn’t know you had it in you. But now isn’t the time. I need you to check security where you are. Pixie pop's gone missing.”

“Pixie pop?”

“I’ll explain later but right now she’s in danger. See you in 5 replacement.” With nothing left to say the line went dead and he decided to run some checks on Jason’s location whilst idly chatting with Marinette. She had asked for his unique insight on her latest design.

“What shade would you use on this? I’m only asking because of your peculiar style.”

“Definitely lavender but towards the bottom fade into a dark purple. And peculiar?”

“Who wears a suit on a hot summers day?” she asked eyebrow raised.

“Me. Batman. Business owners. Cosplayers. Bruce Wayne. The list could go on but I don’t have all day.” He said throwing an exaggerated wink at her.

“None of those people you mentioned are normal except maybe cosplayers so it doesn’t count. Better luck next time. I’m going to go pee.” Tim had opened his mouth to respond when he spotted Jason. He looked terrible. His hair was matted against his forehead with sweat, his eyes were bloodshot.

“I came as soon as I could. What did you find replacement? Spit it out. I don’t have all fucking day.”

“First, I want you to meet me dealer and then we can talk about what happened to ‘pixie' and who they even are.”

“Tim, as much as I’d love to meet your drug buddy, it’ll have to wait. She’s more important. I’m worried that the people who took her are going to seriously harm her.”

“Fine but you’re missing out on meeting the sweetest girl ever.”

“I’ll pass.” Jason snarled before turning back to the pixelated security feed. “That was where I last saw her. That’s weird. It’s like she disappeared from all footage. Do you have any other leads?”

“Jay-Jay?” Marinette barrelled into him locking him in a hug. “How do you know tater-tot?”

“Hey!”

“Sorry little lady but I’m looking for someone. Holy shit, is that you pixie pop?”

“Yup and who you calling little lady? I’m fun sized and could totally whoop your ass if I wasn’t pregnant. Just remember that Jason.” The way she had said his name sent shivers up his spine. She had delivered her sentence as a fact, not a threat.

“That’s why you’re my favourite, pixie pop.” Jason said, tearing up.

“Replacement, how did you even save Marinette?”

“They probably took a look at his half dead state and got scared off.” After an hour of re-introduction, they finally left. Jason drove her back on his motorcycle and dumped Tim’s limp body (from drinking Marinette’s calming chai tea) on his back.

With many hours to kill before Gina would be back from her night shift, she got changed into her gym clothes- a pink shirt with short sleeves and grey shorts- and headed to her local sports centre. Surprisingly, it was Dick who saved her this time

Marinette had been doing light exercise to keep in shape every day since she arrived in Gotham. She had a daily routine of squats, sit ups and weights, moving at her own pace. She had only attended the gym once before this and everyone had been friendly or had just gone about their days. Today was the first day anyone had actually approached her

“Hey sunshine, is it alright if I call you sunshine?” She nodded. “There’s a creepy guy watching you. He hasn’t actually done any workouts but he’s pointing his phone at you for a hell of a long time.”

“Thank you for telling me...”

“Richard but you can call me Dick.” She snickered. “If you want to that is.” Dick walked away to take a quick call from his brother when...

WARNING: YOU MIGHT NOT BE COMFORTABLE READING THIS PART. TW: sexual harassment. I'll put a brief summary at the bottom if you would rather skip

When she felt a firm hand squeeze her ass. She felt it trail down her shorts before she could even look at their face. She leapt away from his grasp, her breathing heavy as she looked around for any support. Unfortunately, the gym was empty, giving the predator an easy advantage.

“Hey baby did anyone tell you you’re damn sexy when you smile? Cuz you definitely are.” he aimed a snide smile at her. His yellow teeth glinted and his heady scent made her sick. “Princess, come back to mine tonight. We could have so much fun together and I’ll make you scream until you forget your own name. So, how about it?” He had approached he, pushing her boundaries, forcing her to back up against the wall.

‘No. Not ever. But especially not today.’

Marinette paled quickly. Gina wouldn’t be home for hours and he would most likely follow her home anyways. With no one to bear witness to this, he could do as he pleased. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He could seriously hurt her or worse... and there would be nothing she could do about it. She’d just fade into the background, just another statistic. No one would believe her because ‘she shouldn’t have dressed like that’ and ‘she definitely wanted it’. So, she would fight and if he won well so be it. At least she had done all she could.

“Has anyone told you it’s rude to hit on people’s girlfriends?” Dick said forcing himself between them. He knew she could handle it but something about that guy made him uneasy. Marinette had exuded confidence but she still trembled and he could see how tense her muscles had been.

“He’s your boyfriend? You could do so much better than him. Just tell him your coming home with me. Or better yet, I’ll pay you to do it in front of me.” Marinette could see the repulsion on Dick’s face, as she gagged. “Yes, that would be way better. I’ll seriously pay you. Got a couple hundred bucks if you want it.” He stated palming himself through his jeans.

“No thanks. Maybe after she’s given birth?”

“She’s pregnant? What a slut. I bet she poked holes in your condom so you wouldn’t be able to leave her. Anyways, got to get back home to the wife and kids. Hit me up when she’s good again.” Marinette flung her arms around Dick as soon as she was sure he was gone.

Tw over

“Thank you so much. He wouldn't have stopped if you hadn’t come Dick.”

“No problem, sunshine.”

“It’s Marinette.” She mumbled, scuffing her shoes against the gym floor.

“What?”

“The name's Marinette. I would have loved to meet you under different circumstances. Oh well. Nice to meet you anyways.”

“You too Mari. Are you driving back home?”

“I actually walked her. I’ll probably just call a taxi or walk back.”

“No way sunshine. That guy is a huge sleaze ball. I don’t doubt that he’ll try something funny. If no one’s coming to pick you up I’ll walk you back home. Ok?”

“Ok.”

Dick had been completely right. The dude had been waiting outside, most likely waiting for Mari to leave but when he saw them leave together, he raced to his car. Dick had memorized his license plate and got a brief description of the car but he would probably dump it somewhere. Still, no harm in trying. He watched constantly to see if he was following them and took some turns to shake him off. In the end, they had arrived and Dick hadn’t left until he saw her actually enter her apartment. He had to tell everyone about Marinette.

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

Marinette’s battery had been drained, both physically and socially after that week. Lila had pissed her off and she felt really bad for that guy she spewed on. Not like she would see him again. She’d spent all week working on the dress Tim helped her with to wear to her visit to the Wayne’s tomorrow. It had been her fastest completed project ever, though she had neglected eating and sleeping. Marinette had to agree with Tim. The fade into dark purple had been a nice addition and made it really stand out. Even Penny had thought so when she saw it on their chat about commissions. A hungover Jagged threw a ‘rock’n’roll’ over her shoulder and Marinette had felt a pang in her heart at the tenderness they treated each other with. Maybe, one day she could have that special bond with someone too. But she needed to focus on helping herself heal first. She could see the apologetic look written over Penny’s face to which she giggled at before declaring that she needed some rest.

Gina had forced her to rest before they visited the Wayne’s. Apparently today had been Thursday not Wednesday? The days had just blended into one. She had been intrigued to meet the rest of the family but she felt so weak.

‘Oh well,’ she thought. ‘Nothing a little tea can’t fix.’

Since she had found out she was pregnant, all her normal guilty pleasures had been off limits. No double espresso as bitter as her soul and no alcohol. She had to adapt to the restrictions because of her doctor. So, she whipped up a tea as strong as her go to coffee with way less caffeine. It had still her the kick she needed but it wasn’t as good as she would have liked. Still, she’d take what she could get. It still aggravated her when she would reach for a glass of white wine or coffee beans forgetting about the warnings. It aggravated her when she would call out to Tikki to transform forgetting she was no longer by her side. She would toy with her empty earlobes before letting her tears fall freely. Tikki had been the most loyal-kwami or human- and she still got taken. She wouldn’t pretend it hadn’t hurt but she had moved on. Some days she would remember she wasn’t with her and cry but on some she’d pretend everything was normal. Today was one of those days where she wore herself out from crying. Gina had caught her but even she knew Marinette needed space, assuming she was still upset about Adrien.

After a good half an hour of crying, she went to freshen up refusing to look like a puffer fish when she met everyone. Dabbling at her eyes, she applied light mascara and used concealer under her bags so she wouldn’t look as dead as Tim. She slipped into the dress, wearing it with pride. It had fit like a glove exemplifying her curves and showing her protruding baby bump. That had been the only downside as she wanted it to be a surprise. Though, nothing slipped past Alfred’s keen eyes. She’d been puzzled as to how she could style her hair before she settled on voluminous curls. It had required Gina’s help and a hell of a lot of hairspray but it had been worth it. She set her flower crown upon her head (delivered to her by Adrien) and placed one on Gina's. She’d been quite surprised when Gina told her she would have to go by herself but it wouldn’t be too bad. Alfred and Bruce were kind so she could just chat with them if the others were rude.

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

Damian was annoyed. Gina was late. Very late. And he’d been waiting for hours for her to arrive. A soft rap on the door sent him flying out of his seat as he scrambled to unlock the door. He’d expected Gina but on their doorstep was that angel from before.

“You,” he whispered. “Why are you here?” He didn’t like feeling confused so he schooled his features to be cold and cynical. Footsteps behind him caused him to instinctively slam the door shut.

“Sorry angel.” Not that she could hear him. Jason had stood behind him, watching him with curiosity.

“Demon spawn. Who was at the door?” Shit. He couldn’t exactly say how he knew her or his reputation would be tarnished. Everyone in his family knew Todd was the biggest gossiper and he would definitely spread the news. Like hell would he tell Todd. He’d take that secret to his grave.

"It was bArBarA. I mean Gordon. Yeah it was Gordon.” His voice may have cracked several times but it was a convincing lie, right?

“One, you almost never call people by their first names.” Jason said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Two your voice sounded awful. And you don’t stray from perfection. So, what’s your deal?

“Puberty?” He shrugged trying to conceal his panic.

“I’ll take your bullshit for now but you forgot Barbara’s already here. Let’s try this again. Who was at the door?”

“It was that harlot that Grayson suggested I try to court.

“Oh, that bitch. She’s all yours. Just keep her away from me. And Damian when dinner is over, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Make no mistake.” And with that, he threw a quick salute over his shoulder and strolled away. Damian had let out a sigh of relief, turning to walk away before he remembered who was still outside.

“Todd tell everyone I went to the bathroom.” He yelled shutting the front door before he could hear his reply. He descended down the stairs only to find her missing. He had begun mapping out all the locations of the manor when his eyes fell upon her. He felt the air forcibly be removed from his lungs and he remained unmoving. Awestruck. His heart squeezed as he watched her sniff his magnolias that he tended to. The way her dress pooled around her and the small but present baby bump had made him flush.

‘She truly was an angel.’ His eyes glanced at the flower crown entangled in her inky locks as the moonlit sky enhanced her celestial look. ‘She’s also much more than that though.’

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” She saw his mortified face. “You know getting a door slammed in your face isn’t the greatest first impression a family could give.”

“I’m sorry. But what are you doing here?”

“Expecting a warm welcome, not being left out in the cold, really anything but this. And I don’t even know you so...”

"You do."

"Excuse me?"

"You puked on me. I didn’t think you were going to ever see me again so you surprised me. I didn’t want to explain to anyone how we were acquainted.”

"I’m so sorry. It’s these stupid hormones. And that stupid Lila. Everything is just stupid."

"Lila Rossi? She is pretty stupid.” And then something changed. His face was softer and he hadn’t looked like he would bite her head off. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m waiting for my grandma but maybe tomorrow. I’m meeting a stuck-up client so I’m gonna need to vent. I’ll tell you the details later?”

“Fine with me.” She hobbled away. She had been patiently waiting by the doorstep, her soft rap probably inaudible due to all the chaos. He whipped out his spare key, unlocking the door. He hadn’t expected that soft click to prompt the attention of his whole family.

"Marinette-"

“Beanie?”

“Pixie pop?”

“Sunshine?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH DAMIAN?” they screamed, rushing forwards to envelop her in hugs.

“I let her in. You guys didn’t even hear her knocking. Wait, how do you all know Angel?”

His eyes nervously flitted to hers at the slip of his private nickname. He saw the flush on her cheeks as her mouth formed a small ‘o'. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as the others taunted him for his cute pet name. He felt Dick ruffle his hair, which took a while to style, and Jason poke his sides. He felt Tim snicker and Barbara pinch his cheek. And he felt Marinette link their hands together in solidarity, enduring the teasing with him. They had been so embarrassed that they completely missed the arrival of Gina and the scheming look on Alfred’s face who dished her the gossip. They missed the dark but silent chuckle that left both Gina and Alfred as they decided to meddle in their kids failing love lives.

“What’d I miss, my little chicks? Because Mama’s home.”

NOTES (optional)

In the part labelled with tw here is what happens:

Creepy old 50 year old man hits on Marinette and feels her up. He asks her to come home with him but Dick helps her out and stops him. He tells them he would pay to watch them go at it and calls Marinette names. He eventually 'leaves' to his wife and kids.

Tags:

@sassakitty @lunathealphafemale @krispydefendorpolice @blackmagicforever @nach0ava @wannajointhecrabcult @thornalchemist23 @moonlightstar64 @iloveitwhen @little-angel1031 @screwthisshit111 @rebecarojas07 @animegirlweeb @mystery-5-5 @moonystars14 @gingerdaile @spyofthenightcourt @mialuvscats @notmycupoftea26 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @kuroko26 @miracleofadisaster @novicevoice @iloontjeboontje @abrx2002

#marinette dupain cheng #damian x marinette #damian wayne #ml x dc #gina dupain #alfred pennyworth #batfam #lila rossi #kim le chien #damienette #daminette #maribat

158 notes · View notes

justcallmetar · 2 years

Text

I haven't wrote a text post on Tumblr in a grip lmao but HNY niggas

I just wanted to reflect on my 2021 because I feel like it was probably the most interesting year of my life. I learned a lot about myself as a human being. Like so much and Im still learning which is cool. Always moving forward. I hit the one year mark staying in Indiana in my own place. I fought mad battles of depression, sleepless nights, tears, etc. Was in a serious relationship and did not end well which is normal. Im not going to be the typical person to say that it was toxic or a shitty situationship. It just did not work out like everything else and we both learned from it. I honestly never experience a heartbreak in awhile but I openly admit it was my fault. Not going into detail but whatever. I felt like I made the right decision. Besides that it was also mad shit going on lol. I was lowkey raw dogging life mentally, financially, like all the ways. I definitely don’t regret the trips I made when I wasn't suppose to, bought the dumb shit I did, etc. It seemed like this was the first year I truly experience adulthood at such a late age (in my opinion). I met so many cool people from basketball in this weird ass area of the midwest. I played so much fucking basketball dude lol. It was awesome. I would say basketball kept me sane throughout this entire year. It wasn't really gaming, or photography or whatever else I had going on. It was just the people and basketball. Definitely appreciate everyone I met and still talk to from the summer. I took a lot of walks, hiked, traveled a decent amount around here. I spent a lot of time alone man....and im cool with that. I never been by myself so much until I moved away from Ohio. I tapped into so much of myself just by being alone at the apartment, going to the gym late at night shooting around blasting music, spending nights at the office doing work, streaming when I didnt have internet. Its been such a weird but humbling experience. Im just on this bitch rambling but I dont care. Its just been awhile. Im like sitting in my chair typing this shit on my cracked MacBook hooked up to my monitor damn near about to cry because those days and nights I honestly thought I wasn't going to make it. Yes.....you read it right my g....I thought about it a lot. It doesn't help that im drinking while im typing. But anyways Im thankful for my students at my new job, the people I met, and everyone that deals with me back home. I could keep typing but I think this is a good part to leave at that. But this is just a small part of my year. A lot of experiences, a lot of emotions, a lot of loneliness, a lot of everything. Just dark and light. A lot of contrast or whatever?? I guess. Well fuck it, ill just finish it. One very important thing I learned this year is that it is okay for people to not like you. Its okay to cut close friendships off. I lost a decent a mount of people this year and Im not sad about it. I always thought people come and go anyways. Shitty way to think but its whatever to me. I was just really tired of people not realizing what the fuck was going on, people being stupid, im being thrown under the bus, people being hypocrites, etc. Very tiring. Lowkey tired of being the person to get dumped on but thats been going on for a VERY LONG time. Shit since high school. Definitely met someone just like me but me and her didnt last long which again is my fault but whatever. She lowkey understood me. Not being checked on sometimes can be a big “fuck you”. I noticed people only did such thing if I tweeted some super sus shit or I just stopped communicating lol. Mad annoying. I wish I talked to my oldest brother, my parents, and my grandfather more. Well I lowkey have a long list of people I could've talked more but ya know how shit goes when its been too long. I need to learn how to give people their flowers before its too late. This tequila is beating my ass lmao. This is lowkey refreshing but I know im all over the place. lol this shows you how much I express myself. Niggas know I hate talking. Never was like this. Im getting sleepy. Work in progress still.

2 notes · View notes

iampikachuhearmeroar · 3 years

Text

y’know the wildest thing still to happen to me on this hellsite was my first experience of sexting, sans nudes, that was done in front of at least 250-500 followers because of those horny anons i had in early 2013 when i was 17. instead of being exposed to it on my phone privately with a partner at that age, it was done publicly for the internet to see lmao. i remember begging the anons to stop and “come off anon” because i was “losing followers” at the time too bc i was so insecure about my follower count lmao. and then yeah when they came off anon they were both 28 years old.

to write the responses, i just consulted cosmo mag sex pages for ideas hoping that the anons would like the options i chose. in one i detailed doing anal- a sex act i hadn’t even done yet irl- let alone every other thing i suggested in them (head, idek long, drawn out foreplay, some stupid fancy sex moves that cosmo was all like “use these moves to spice up your sex life 🔥🔥”, sex in a bath, i’m pretty sure i had some lines about tying or handcuffing them to a bed (????) etc etc etc)….

when again, i had never even done any of those above sex acts in real life. i was a naive teen who was incredibly shy in regards towards her love life because she’d “never been kissed” and had never had the “hot emo boyfriend whose in a band and is covered in tattoos” she’d always wanted, let alone even a boyfriend that she had actually fucking liked (ie clear braces boy, for like a month in year 9/2010 vs the popular boys that made fun of her, that she always had unrequited crushes on)…. hell, my blog title when i first started on here in 2011 was “the perfect epitome of being forever alone” because of these very reasons. but here she was, writing explicit sex acts to strangers like she knew what the fuck she was doing, to an audience of 250-500 people- and then to fucking grown ass men in inboxes. i was just parroting the shit i’d read in cosmo (both sex advice and sometimes excerpts of erotica/“sexy, steamy reads” they had some months) and also heard repeatedly in the porn that my high school stalker/creeper at public school loved to show (harass) me with to flirt with me, whenever we were alone together at school in 2012/2013.

like you could tell how naive i was….. because i used ridiculous lines like “like a gentleman entranced, you lead me to the bath for our next foray” and dumbass prose-y things like that. because what the fuck does that even mean 😂😅????

and this is why i think minors should be careful with their online experiences. like yeah, you could say that i wasn’t a minor anymore- more of a “young adult”- who should of made the smart decision to not engage with these anons. but i was a kid. i thought it was fun. and when the dudes came off anon, i thought to myself “it’s not like i’m ever gonna meet them if i ever go to the US or puerto rico at any point. it’s not like that they’ll ever recognise me in person or ever reach out to me again in the future. i might as well do it.” and i did eventually end up ignoring the guys in my inbox, due to my mental health kinda plummeting from the middle til the end of 2013 because of my end of high school exams and stuff… and also the puerto rican guy’s infamously inappropriate “hot PE teacher fucks HOT female high school student in the girls change room showers” fantasy which fucking disgusted me, when he full well knew that i was STILL IN high school.

and obviously again, there’s the point about using the “block” button function. but as i’ve stated several times over my years on here, back in my early days of tumblr, i never wanted to block or unfollow people (even if they were trash like these two men), because it seemed so “mean” and “final”. obvs now i have no qualms about blocking people, and actively encourage younger people on here to use the block button with reckless abandon towards creepy people or people who can hurt them in some way. but to high school teenage me, the whole “using the block button” thing seemed to go against me being a “nice girl/person” so i never used it, no matter which social media platform i was on.

this is why i’m hella scared for young teen girls on tik tok wanting to have onlyfans accounts: because it’s where they’ll be exposed to ACTUAL CREEPS AND PREDATORS incredibly quickly; all because they can make money off selling images of just their feet or eventually their body….. depending on what these creepy strangers demand from them….. and they’ll feel like they’ll have to do it…. but to do it before you even start experimenting properly with relationships and sex is even worse. like. yeah. i’ve admitted before that i originally started this tumblr to possibly post nudes, to see if i’d get the positive feedback that i so desperately wanted/craved from the boys in my year at catholic school- eg. to be called “sexy”, “hot”, “fuckable” possibly “beautiful”- like some of the so called “popular girls” got on their hella basic bikini photos back then (like i remember one girl i knew ended up with like 500 likes and a fair amount of comments on one of her bikini pics and i was INCREDIBLY BITTER because not even a pic of me with a nice outfit on, my hair done and makeup on could EVER get those numbers, let alone even break over the double digits).

but i decided posting nudes or other explicit images on here was an absolute no go, because i realised that i never wanted people that i knew digging up barely clothed/naked pics of me and sending them to me all like “hey, is this you?” and then possibly mocking me, all because i would’ve been dumb enough to put my face in them probably at the time. now when i take nudes and send them, i never show my face. because i know now, that even in relationships, your partner can use nude pics as leverage for arguments or to abuse you in such a way that they’ll upload your pics without your knowledge to god knows where on the internet probably as a way to get back at you in a horrible breakup.

this is what i sincerely hope some young girls who ever contemplate starting onlyfans accounts take some time SERIOUSLY CONSIDER. please know that if you share shit on onlyfans, it can shared and re-shared (i think idek how OF works tbh) to god knows who- and eventually end up in the hands of people you know. i don’t fucking care if it’s a “good way to make money!” or if people think that im trying to stop teen girls from being “girl bosses” and the other dumb as fuck internet memes you want to throw at me. because this shit isn’t “haha internet meme funny” material. it’s some fucking serious stuff. and also, i’m not saying “don’t become a sex worker when you’re older” or whatever either. you’re free to make that choice when you’re in your 20s (no i even mean 17-19 year olds in this post as “young teen girls”- sorry you’re basically kids to me at almost 26). just please consider where the fuck your stuff can be shared to. who it can end up being shared with or to.

this is why i was so fucking adamant with my infamous old follower mr adelaide fuckboy/MAF that i personally would NOT consider becoming a camgirl for him or just generally… because i had no idea where the fuck my images or videos would end up. and do you know the places i’d never want them to fucking be??? in the hands of my high school stalker/creeper. in the hands of those two 28yo men from 2013 (who’d now be in there late 30s or early 40s). i absolutely don’t want them in the hands the mid-to-late 20s and early 30s men that that girl i met at public school in 2012 who was pissed that i didn’t believe that were “adults” because we were finally over the legal age of consent (16) in our state of australia, and so we were apparently fine to “fuck” literal grown ass men because “just fuck them and they’ll be nice to you!!” which i knew was fucking bullshit.

i absolutely don’t fucking want explicit videos/images of me ending up in “why the fuck won’t you let me give you “sex lessons” in the back of my car as a “favour” and as payment for teaching you how to drive you stupid, stuck up & frigid, virgin bitch!?” guy’s hands from 2014 (when i was 18/19 at the time and he was 25… he ended up being the first person of many i’d EVER block on social media lol). or i don't want them in the hands of those weird early 20s dudes (one of which was trying to set me up with his friend) who hit on me at 16/17 (2012) who were angry that i didn’t like and watch porn as much as they did…. and who promptly asked me at the end of their period of harassing of me: “do you know any sluts we could add?” because i kept refusing their suggestions etc.

hell, quite frankly i don’t even want them to go to mr adelaide fuckboy/MAF either, but the very few and far between nudes that i sent on snapchat to him back in 2016 are some nudes that i’d rather forget lmao. hell. i don’t even know if MAF ever deleted my nudes or shared them somewhere else or not, after he fucking wheedled them out of me with “i’ve followed you for 4 years, don’t be a shit! you owe me nudes!” so he’d just shut the fuck up about my social life decisions and leave me the fuck alone.

i don’t want ANY ONE of the guys i mentioned above to get their hands on photos of minors either…. because i definitely know my hs stalker/creeper would… because his fave “make her jealous” tactic that he’s always used on me is that “hey…. i’m dating a *insert teenage girl’s age here*! be fucking jealous that you don’t fucking have me and feel guilty that you won’t fuck me like this girl does!!!” just like he did in 2015, when i ran into him on the home from uni… when i turned 20 the next week and he turned 20 that december. at that time it was a 14yo girl he used as an example of him “dating”/“fucking” to make me jealous. instead, i was completely and utterly fucking disgusted. like any fucking sane and normal human being would/should be at that horrible age gap. that is literally a fucking child that he was fucking grooming. and we were literal adults. back the fuck away.

just please. PLEASE CONSIDER the types of people that trawl these kinds of sites and their intentions. please consider that you are young. very fucking young. you literally DO NOT need to upload nudes to the internet because it’s apparently a “lucrative” business. fuck the jokey “boss babe” rhetoric around it all the way to fucking hell.

because if you’re a minor: i do not want you to have your first experience of sexting or sending explicit images literally in front of god knows how many total strangers for the whole world to see (okay i know only fans is like subscriber/follower based or whatever. but i don’t care)…… even when you (depending how good you are with relationships etc) haven’t reached the common supposed milestones of your “first boyfriend/girlfriend/partner” or “first kiss” or have even “lost your virginity” (which isn’t real anyway- don’t buy this fucking bullshit)…. just like i stupidly did with my exposure to sexting here on my tumblr back in 2013. these people don’t/won’t give a flying fuck about your privacy or safety. they don’t/won’t give a fuck about your boundaries either.

please don’t possibly scar yourself for life, just because you’re being told that it’s a quick & convenient way to make some money for weirdos on the depths of the internet. you will regret it in future. just like i do now with mine. it should’ve been something personal between me and and a guy i trusted and liked at the time. not to some random 250-500 random strangers on this hellsite (okay the notes on these posts were literally single digits or non-existent, but still… and also some of my irl friends who had tumblr saw these posts as well) for a show….. and then privately with two 28yo literal grown ass men…. who should’ve been fucking hitting on women their own goddamned age and in their own countries and NOT a 17yo high school KID (at the time) from australia; who, now in her 20s, needs therapy to sort this shit out lmao. mind you they both reeled me in with the “you’re so mature for your age” bullshit line…. which i fell for a little bit, even if it did make me feel kinda gross at the time, too. don’t fall for that bullshit either.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #relationships i guess #internet stuff #this went in a bigger direction that i thought it would lmao #but anyway

7 notes · View notes

itdobe-foggy · 4 years

Text

Soothing (Aaron Hotchner x Reader)

Requested: Yes, anon asks “Pillow talk with Aaron Hotchner pls??”

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12, light language and overall fluff

Word Count: 1,415

A/N: I really hope you guys enjoy!! Thank you to the anon that requested this!!!

Four months. That doesn’t seem like that long of a time period, but when you don’t have anywhere to go other than the grocery store, and your step-son’s school, it did feel long. For your family, it felt like the days were blurring together. Limited places to go, no people to see and very limited conversations with people. One day you’d wake up, and it’d be Saturday then in the blink of an eye, it’s the following Thursday. Time in WITSEC honestly felt like it was pulling your head in so many different directions. But being at home with Jack and Aaron made all this worth it. We all hated leaving everyone but it was necessary. For Jack.

You and Aaron repeated that like a mantra. Both of them wanted to catch and kill this son of a bitch. However, you couldn’t. For Jack. He needed them and quite frankly we needed him. We desperatly needed to make up for the lost time though everyone hated the circumstances. We love being there for him all the time. He was the best son anyone could ask for. He was perfect. Aaron and Jack had been through so much, it’s honestly a good thing that we’re in witness protection.

On top of the limited interaction, we all had fake names. Aaron was James Embry, Jack is Anthony, and you are Andi. We don’t look like how we used to. Hotch never wear suits anymore. His beard is growing back a bit, you now have platinum blonde hair, and Jack’s hair is long. That is both because of WITSEC and the fact that we couldn’t go anywhere. It was a new feeling seeing him with grown out hair.

As you walk around the still unfamiliar house, you start to think about the team. You knew Aaron still thought about the team and what cases they might be working and whatnot but we had to leave them. That was the hardest part. They were your family and now you can’t talk to them.

You heard the door start to open as you see your husband and his little boy. They were the light of your life. They mean the world to you. You don’t want to think about what you’d be doing without them. Seeing them smile was worth everything.

“Hey Jack, how was school?” You tried to start a little conversation about his day. As he started to explain what he did and said he had homework, you started to cook dinner. Aaron walks around the counter, pressing his chest into your back. He rests his head on your shoulder and he wraps his strong arms around your waist as you finish cooking, just standing there comfortably in each others presence.

While the Hotchner’s were eating their dinner, the youngest boy was explaining his day to you and his father.

After the three of you were finished eating your meal, you all decided to get ready for bed. It was nearing 9 o’clock and you all were tired. You all had brushed your teeth, said your goodnights, all that.

As you and your husband climbed into your shared bed, you had a feeling that something was off with him. He wasn’t talking a lot which was weird but his thoughts were consumed with Scratch. Everytime he looked at his son, all he could see was Peter Lewis sitting in the bleachers at that game.

These men have been through so much. Too much to remain sane. Yet they do it. They do it ever time and will always do it. Because the just need each other. But maybe right now, he needs a shoulder to cry on and someone with a listening ear.

“What’s bothering you?” You asked your husband, voice full of concern. You knew he hated this. hiding, not being on the team. But you also knew that he absolutely loves being with his son. Hiding and not calling every day was a lot easier said than done. You knew that. You just wanted to know where his head was at.

“(Y/N), you already know. Scratch. Everywhere I look, I think I see him and I can’t do anything about it. We just have to sit here in wait either for the team to catch him or him to catch us. I’m sure he already knows we’re in witness protection. I just hope he doesn’t know where.”

The man sitting across from you spoke truthfully. You knew it was getting to him. Who wouldn’t get affected by this? His son had been through too much. His mother dying, his father almost dying, his dad getting arrested, and now this.

You didn’t blame Aaron for any of this. Who would? It’s not his fault, it’s George Foyet and Peter Lewis’s fault. You just wanted things to be normal.

“I know, Aaron. I’m sorry. I was just checking on you. I’m worried about you, you know?” You voice was filled with sorrow. You knew you couldn’t fix this. You just wanted to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Let’s get some sleep. It’s getting late. I love you, (Y/N).” You could hear his voice getting husky with sleep.

“I love you too, Aaron.” As soon as you responded, you felt your eyelids getting heavy as sleep was overcoming your body.

+++

Still half asleep, you felt the bed next to you moving. A lot. You felt the warmth next to you was more intense now, like he was sweating. The heat along with the movement caused you to wake up, only to look at Aaron Hotchner who was in fact tossing and turning. You had a feeling you knew what was happening. A nightmare, you thought. So naturally you did what anyone would do. You woke him up.

“Hey honey. I think you were having a bad dream. Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked him with a loving voice. You wanted him to know that he and his family were safe. There was nothing to be afraid of.

“No, I’m sorry for waking you up. It’s nothing. Really.” You figures he would end up saying something similar to that. You knew when he was having a nightmare. This was definitely one of those times but if he didn’t want to tell what was happening, you wouldn’t force him.

You wanted to know what was happening but all you could was just look at him, with your arm in his back rubbing circles in a soothing manner. It was better than prying open his fears.

You did what you and everybody on the BAU team knew how to do best. Stay awake. So you slowly got up from bed as not to startle Aaron and grabbed his hand gently.

Once the pair of you two entered the kitchen, you stopped walking and turned around to face him. He looked sleep-deprived. His eyes looked summed in, his face was pale yet red with sweat.

“Hey. Aaron, look at me.” You we’re cautious about how you spoke, worried he would get upset if you were still tired.

He looked up at you with misery filling his eyes. You knew this was a living hell for him, living in fear away from the people that could save him. It was hell for you too.

You rest your hands on his, simply as a reminder. At first he teased at the sudden action but very quickly relaxed as you rub your thumb across his knuckles.

“Aaron, I’m right here. I’m real. I’m safe. Jack is down the hall sleeping. He’s safe. We’re all okay.” You keep looking in his eyes but they never meet your glance. You knew that would happen so you moved your hand to cup his face. Whenever he looked up at you, you moved his other hand to your heart.

“You feel that, honey? That means I’m real and I’m right here. If you want, you can go do the same for Jack. Just feel my heartbeat, honey. He won’t find us. I know that’s what you’re scared of but Emily will find him.”

You slowly moved your head forward so your foreheads were touching. You needed him to know that you were safe. Almost hesitantly, your hand began to move as he lifted his head.

He looked up at you and began nodding. You were confused at first but then you knew what he was doing. He was believing you. He knew his family was safe.

@good-heavens-chris-evans @quitepointless

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

132 notes · View notes

thattimdrakeguy · 3 years

Note

I've always felt like the way people go about Tim is strange. Not coffee boy or stuff like that. Just how general fandom people will look at these different Tim runs where Tim is clearly acting completely different, or there's some contrived reason for Tim to act different (like that mega ooc Batman thing were he made Tim paranoid to make him better(!!!???). And somehow act like it's all just as good and not totally mega out of character.

Comics be bad? Next you’re telling me that the dairy store run by the cow itself doesn’t actually exist. That cow has a family to feed.

But, uh, I can’t exactly deny it’s weird. Like really weird. I don’t comprehend it kind of weird. So that’s why I just remember what it was like reading comics for the first time.

Cause it’s like. I heard about it “WOW THIS SOUNDS SO INTERESTING”. Next step reading it for myself and going ‘WOW THIS IS REALLY INTERESTING”. Then reading it a second time while paying attention a lot more to then have a moment of bizarre off-puttedness and then thinking “Okay this doesn’t add up. Why is he acting so different? Tim doesn’t act like that, and Batman would never do that. Wait, why is Dick doing that doesn’t he know--” Blah blah blah.

Because of a lot of people probably just never read the characters. There’s so many comics, and those things cost money unless you find a free site. So they just hear the general nature of the stories and they just assume it was really good, because it sounded really cool and interesting, and what else can you really expect from then? Human natural nature that everyone is like. Normal stuff. It’s just when you look into the details it becomes, rather, painfully, sick in the gut, ache in the head, obvious that it isn’t nearly as good as it sounds.

“I lie to Batman” “Closest to Batman” “Outsider of the Bat-Family”

All mainly just stuff a writer decided just for the heck of it, probably because they thought it made Tim cool, and did what ever contrived and out of character story or character moment to decide it’s okay. Like having Batman act like a maniac that doesn’t care about the well-being from his family just to give Tim severe mental health problems.

Or you can just make excuses for it and bitch about how others just don’t understand it like the kind of anons I don’t release because of the condescending foul language, like sometimes has bizarrely ableist undertones.

Or those that also do that, except for the downright maniacal part. Which is a little more sane, and probably more often, I just wanted to make fun of the anons I don’t release, because honestly, fuck them, they’re assholes and deserved to be treated as such. But, if you share that same process, no you are not an asshole, you are lovely as long as you are lovely. And your way of reading comics has nothing to do with it.

People tend to just read comics differently really. Only really find it directly odd when they act like people are stupid for just going “This is really obviously out of character” for some totally valid stuff. That’s--confusing at best, hurtful at worst, cause some of them are really patronizing over it.

However, at the same time, the stuff that mostly comes just from random changes that writers have decided to do for what ever reason they have that usually isn’t character growth but rather just to change the character, because who cares how successful they were before that, lets break what didn’t need to be fixed, can sometimes be popular.

And while I said that in a rather condescending way, look at it from the perspective of a person who just enjoys what they enjoy, they see cool rebel Tim, they like that, they’re going to hold onto it. And as long as they enjoy it and aren’t bizarrely snotty about it, who really cares.

Seeing some people genuinely try to connect Tim at his best to Tim’s that are clearly written to be very different though can be pretty annoying, cause it mashes so much of the original story up that it isn’t even understandable anymore with the post-mental-retcons they did for it.

Basically, not every writer is great, and not every comic is great. Some great comics don’t do the character’s true justice, and so forth. Comics are an odd industry that for two decades now in DC world have been especially off-putting. Not to say they never done really bad stuff before that, but boy has it gotten worse and never really stopped since.

(I am very tired and a bit down today so if I sound like an ass. I apologize. I genuinely mean it. Enjoy what you enjoy as long as you’re not a dick about it. I don’t dislike what I do to be a dick about it. We’re all just living in a similar village saying totally different things cause of totally different mindsets on things. Tis the way of life from the beginning and probably till the very end.)

5 notes · View notes

drakeandkatherine · 4 years

Text

The Royal Romance AU Fan Fiction- Drake x MC Trouble: Chapter 2 I Dare You

Finally! Chapter 2 is here! Catch up with chapter one here! (also made a couple small dialogue changes so feel free to read it again! also...cause its been months since i posted the first chapter I feel like a refresh might be needed)

Trouble will be completely different from my previous fic, Trouble Is.

As always, Drake, Hana, Liam, Maxwell, Olivia, Madeline, and any other characters from The Royal Romance belong to Pixelberry. My MC Katherine Delacroix is all mine and i love this bean.

Description: A game of truth or dare with a twist await Katherine and friends. What could go wrong?

In this AU the TRR gang are in college and royal life never existed for them! As I write these characters, I am trying to think of how they would be and how they would act and talk, if they never had courtly manners and rules to follow. I want to keep them similar to TRR canon, but not so much that it isn't realistic with how they are without a royal life in Cordornia. So please bare with me!

Warnings: drinking/alcohol use, language, drug mentions, death mentions

Tags: @drakewalker04 @burnsoslow @marshmallowsandfire @princessleac1

“Alright! I think we have enough players. Let’s get this game started!” Maxwell smiled and looked around the small circle that had formed around the fire pit.

“What are the rules this time, Maxwell?” A blonde sitting across from Katherine asked. ‘He looks like a prince.’ Katherine thought.

“Ah, good question, Liam. The rules tonight will be...” Maxwell took a minute to think. “Aha! If you pass a dare, you have to take a shot. Truths are free game, but you can’t pass a dare without taking a shot!” Everyone nodded. Just then, a platinum blonde came stumbling to the circle, sitting on Liam’s lap.

“Are we really playing this stupid game again?” She asked, taking a swig of the bottle she held in her hand. Liam sighed, looking visibly annoyed.

“You know, Madeline, if you don’t want to play, you can go back inside.” He said, clearly not enjoying the drunk girl sitting on his lap. Katherine couldn’t help but stare. This girl, Madeline, was clearly wasted. Madeline noticed Katherine’s eyes on her.

“What are you staring at?”Madeline’s eyes narrowed. Katherine shook her head.

“Just admiring how pretty you are.” Katherine lied. She didn’t say anything more. Drake leaned over and whispered in Katherine’s ear.

“That’s Madeline. Liam is her ex boyfriend, the one who’s lap she's sitting on. Liam is also my best friend, so I truly have a distaste for that bitch.” Katherine nodded, understanding. “They had a bad break-up, but every time Madeline gets like this she believes they’re still together.” Nodding, she turned her attention back to Maxwell.

“Okay, time to start! Hmm, I think I’ll choose the newbie first. What’s your name?” Maxwell looked to Katherine.

“Me? I’m Katherine.”

“Alright then, Katherine, truth or dare?” Maxwell smiled.

“I guess I’ll start off strong. Dare.” She noticed as some of the others in the circle smiled and snickered, possibly thinking she was a fool for picking dare on the first turn.

“Oh, hell yeah! Starting the game off right! Okay, I dare you to stand on one leg until you’re chosen again.” Katherine groaned.

“I’d rather take a shot, thank you.” She grabbed one of the bottles nearby and poured a shot. She tossed it bag, ignoring the urge to gag. ‘Ugh, vodka is not my thing.’

It was her turn to choose next, so she chose Madeline. “Madeline, truth or dare.” Katherine smirked.

“Ugh, if I have too. Truth.” She slurred.

“Why are you acting like a clingy, pathetic puppy towards Liam when he is clearly annoyed with you?” The group went silent. No one had ever stood up to Madeline before, much less insulted her. Katherine hated these kinds of girls, but never had the confidence to do anything about it. ‘Again with this weird confidence. Who am I?’

“Why you..” Madeline started to get up from Liam’s lap. “How dare you speak to me like that?”

“Speak to you like what? Like a normal, sane person asking why you’re being the exact opposite? Get a clue, dude. Stop acting like you’re still together with him, he clearly wants nothing to do with you. Anyone here can see it.” Madeline was seething now. She started taking steps towards Katherine, stumbling. Partygoers had begun to pull their phones out, recording what was happening.

“You’re going to regret th- ow!” Madeline tripped and fell onto the grass, the bottle in her hand dropping and spilling all over Hana.

“Oh my god!” Hana jumped up from where she was sitting, now soaked in the vodka Madeline had spilled. Some who saw what happened started to laugh. Some looked like they felt sympathy for Madeline.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Liam sighed as he went over and helped her up. “I’m sorry about all of this, excuse us.” He left with Madeline, nearly having to carry her into the house.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Maxwell exclaimed, turning excitedly to Katherine. “I haven’t seen anyone put her in her place like that since Olivia did, almost a year ago.”

“Did someone say my name?” A red-headed girl walked over. “That was impressive, I’m Olivia.” Olivia held out her hand. Katherine shook it and smiled.

“Thanks. I despise people like that, so I just said what everyone was thinking.” She shrugged.

“Well, you’re good in my book. I hate that soul sucking succubus.” Olivia laughed. Hana walked over to the little group and grabbed Katherine’s hand.

“Hey, I am soaking wet, mind coming inside with me while I dry off?” Katherine nodded.

“Sorry guys, gotta go for now. I’ll see y’all later!” Katherine followed Hana indoors and stood outside the bathroom as Hana grabbed a towel to dry off the vodka. After a few minutes of waiting and growing impatient, Katherine wandered down the hall. She noticed a door was open and took a peek inside. Drake was sitting on the bed in the room, filling up a glass pipe with what looked like marijuana.

“You gonna share?” Katherine asked, stepping into the room and spooking Drake in the process, nearly making him drop the pipe.

“Jesus, knock next time would you?” Drake scolded. Katherine took a seat next to Drake and laughed.

“I could, but that wouldn’t be any fun.”

“Whatever. I guess I could share a couple hits of this with you.” Drake said before lighting the bowl and taking a long drag. As he exhaled, he passed it to Katherine. “You smoke?”

“Occasionally. Not as often as I used to.” She said before taking her own long drag from the bowl. “Whenever I snuck out and went to my friends house we would always smoke a bowl.” Her fingers brushed his as she handed it back to him, a jolt of electricity running through her from the touch. ‘I wonder if he felt that too.’

“Heh. I only smoke every once in a while. Just to calm my nerves or irritation from all the dumbasses who come here.” He put the bowl on the side table next to the bed. “Sneaking out? Guess you must have had some strict parents.”

“My grandma was pretty strict.”

“What about your mom and dad?”

“Dead.” Katherine said deadpan. Drake cursed himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something.” He apologized, but Katherine shrugged.

“It’s okay, they died when I was 6.” Katherine forced a smile. “I barely remember them.”

“What happened?” Drake scooted a little closer to her on the bed, hands nearly touching.

“Some bad shit. Like, really bad.” Katherine took a breath. “When I was six, we were visiting my grandma and they had gone out in the middle of the night. They were heavy drug users, I’m talking about heroin, meth, pills. The whole works.” Drake put a comforting hand over her own, nodding and listening.

“Well, I found out what happened when I was older. I found out about how they were users. That night they left, the night they died, was because of a drug deal gone wrong. My mom waited in the car while my dad went in to the house they were at to buy more heroin. He never came back out. Apparently he started a fight with them about the cost and the quantity or something and it got so bad that they just shot him dead. They found my mom, high off of her ass in the car. She had no idea what just happened, and she didn’t even notice when they walked up to the car window. They shot her through the window and fled the scene.” Katherine’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t quite sure why she was telling the whole story to a man she just met, but something about him made her trust him. Something about him simply screamed to her that he was safe.

Drake squeezed her hand and pulled her into a hug. He held her as she sobbed quietly.

“I’m sorry, that got really dark and now I’m getting make up on your shirt and I must look like a mess.” Katherine said, wiping the tears from her eyes and sitting up right. Drake gave her a small smile.

“It’s alright, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry that happened to your parents. And to you. No one should have to go through that.” Katherine managed a small smile, thankful for his understanding.

“Thank you, Drake.” A moment of silence passed between them, before she spoke again. “What about you? If we’re sharing our life stories, might as well get it out.” Drake looked at her for a long moment before sighing.

“Well, my mom lives in Texas. It’s where I grew up and met Liam. My dad was in the military and died overseas. My sister goes to a college in Texas, she didn’t want to leave. I felt like I had to the moment I could or else I was going to go insane and be trapped there forever.” Katherine knew exactly what he meant.

“So, how did you end up here? How did you meet Liam?” Katherine asked, lightening up the conversation.

“Liam lived in Texas for a few years when we were kids. We went to the same school and became best friends pretty quickly. He ended up moving here, due to his dad getting a job as this colleges dean. After my dad died, I knew I had to get out of Texas. I’d see Liam on breaks from school occasionally, and one time he mentioned that I should try to get into Applewood. So, that’s what I did. I played sports and kept my grades up in school to make sure I’d get accepted. I’m here on a scholarship, believe it or not.”

“I can believe it.” Katherine said, smiling. “That’s why I’m able to be here.” She looked at him, feeling the magnetic pull becoming stronger from their conversation. Drake felt it as well, now inches away from her lips, until they heard a loud round of cheering coming from downstairs. Startled and flustered, Katherine stood up from the bed. “We should get back to the party.” Drake nodded, standing up as well.

Upon returning to the party, they made their way to the kitchen where none other than Hana was lying on the kitchen isle, with her shirt pulled up. Three shots were lined on her stomach, along with salt and lime wedges.

“Hana, what are you doing?” Katherine asked, walking up to the isle.

“Body shots! This is so much fun!” Hana laughed. After a random partygoer took the shots and licked the salt off of Hana’s stomach, she stood up and nearly fell to the floor.

“Whoa, we should get you back to our dorm. You’re definitely drunk.” Katherine said as she caught Hana before she could fall to the floor.

“You’re probably, hiccup, right.” Hana giggled. Katherine looked at Drake. “I’m sorry, but I have to go get this one to bed before she throws up.”

“It’s all good. Make sure you guys get back safe. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Good night, Katherine.” Drake smiled, before turning away and walking back up the stairs to his room. ‘Dumbass. Why didn’t you offer to walk with her?’

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

“Alright, Hana. Here you go.” Katherine laid her down onto the bed, even going as far as taking off her shoes. Within an instant, Hana was quietly snoring away. Katherine quickly changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed, mind reeling from the events of the night, and thoughts of Drake. Before long, her body gave out and she fell into a heavy sleep.

#drake walker #drake x mc #mc x drake #katherine delacroix mc #DRAKE AND KATHERINE #drake x katherine #trr fan fiction #trr au #hana lee #liam rhys #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis

11 notes · View notes

ravens-shadows · 4 years

Text

I guess I’m updating my rant on Tom Riddle to an actual essay so be patient with me

I don’t even remember what I wrote last time lol but I wanted to do my full analysis now that I’m not in rage if that makes sense.

Let’s go by parts.

First, his parents.

So we are given Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr., and they tell us this woman just straight up drugged her crush and then expected him to stick around and love her? Like, she literally raped him. I can’t fucking blame him for just going back home and abandoning her, because that would be so traumatising. And what angers me the most about this, is that Rowling makes it seem like he was the bad guy because he ‘abandoned’ them. But all my issues with Rowling will have to wait for another day.

When Tom is born, he is raised in the orphanage, and it’s stated early on that he ‘does not have emotions’, and is ‘naturally evil’. But the thing is, was he really incapable of love just because he was conceived under the influence of amortentia? If he really had no love inside of him, by basic logic he wouldn’t have any other emotions, because is utterly ridiculous even by the standards of a magical world. In other words: he was capable of loving as much as any other child, the thing is, he wasn’t given the opportunity to learn how to love, which is precisely the whole basis of his character!

Growing up, he was looked down as the weird, abnormal kid, bullied both by the other kids in the orphanage and the adults too. And what the fuck are you supposed to do in the situation? There was no one to really explain how wrong the actions of those around him were, and kids absorb everything like sponges. In his eyes, their behaviour was normal, and therefore the way to avoid getting hurt was hurting them even worse. And let’s entertain for a moment the idea that love is the only emotion he didn’t have, which yet again, is portrayed ridiculously! Love had nothing to do with the situation he lived in. He could still felt fear and anger, and even guilt, but we were never showed that because, oh no, he’s the villain and he’s absolutely evil.

Dumbledore walks in. This. Fucking. Bitch.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who could have ended the war before Harry even started Hogwarts but didn’t because a stupid prophecy said so.

Dumbledore takes a look at this kid, after hearing a very biased opinion on him, and in that second he decides that this child is too far gone and can’t help him. And, of course, Tom is not stupid and he can see that Dumbledore doesn’t like him and he obviously will avoid him from now on and in consequence won’t trust any other adult.

And here is the worst part: even in a world where his magic isn’t rare, no one cares. The adults give a fuck about him, they never offer help. They know about the abuse he’s suffered for years and are doing nothing about it, so he starts making himself stronger. If only he was stronger, no one would hurt him again.

Then we get to the worst fuck up Rowling did with this wonderful character, because why, why in friggin hell, would he be afraid of death?

It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t add up to everything that’s been building up in the background. He is sixteen at this point, asking about horrocruxes so obviously he is already looking for ways of staying alive, but it doesn’t make any sense! Sure, if he was an adult it would make more sense, but in this point in time there is absolutely no reason whatsoever for this ridiculous thing to pop up.

It doesn’t make sense that he wants to kill his father because he abandoned him, he would be angry and bitter but Tom is smart and being sane at this point would know that there is absolutely no point in doing it. It doesn’t make sense that he is afraid of an abstract construct that he probably doesn’t understand completely like any other teenager. It doesn’t make sense that he has plans of becoming a dark Lord at all, because in this point in time, he is in the middle of the war with Grindelwald, a war that started before he was even born, and wouldn’t finish until he was nineteen years old in 1945. Nothing makes sense (but hey, what can I expect from J.K. Rowling).

Anyway, let’s get going. Let’s imagine this makes sense despite being absolute shit, and he makes his horrocruxes.

Is should be widely known that he was fucking insane at this point. An horrocrux splits the soul in two, so he would have just have half of his soul before making the second one and so on.

From here on, his actions make more sense because he is not human anymore by any means, and he is completely bonkers, let’s face it. Mass homicide was expected to happen.

Now let me tell you why he is one of the best characters despite the author butchering him. Important to note that most people look to Harry as a survivor of abuse and I’m a 100% on board with it, but let’s not pretend their situations are in the same level.

Proof 1: Tom is an abuse survivor too, and in many ways I think it was possible he would have been killed if it wasn’t for his magic, a magic he knew he had and used. In other circumstances, he would have ended up in a similar situation to Credence. His actions are seen to be evil, but the main point of his whole character and this is stated, is that he acts in anger, pain and fear. He is afraid. And in the correct way of telling his story, his fear is justified. He is afraid because despite being ‘special’, people still cast him out. His fear is not the fear of death that was sold to us, is the fear that no one will ever feel the slightest empathy for him, that no one will ever understand how it feels like. His pain comes from being treated like a monster, by not receiving any kindness in his whole life, because even after Hogwarts he had no friends, just followers fascinated by his natural power and talent.

Proof 2: Tom’s ‘inability to love’ is simply the fact that he does not know what is love. How could he? He’s never been shown what it is. And later on, mental disorders can be developed, specially in cases like this, when the child eventually starts rejecting any kind of affection (a condition that doesn’t have a cure). The way this whole thing comes down would have made an even better character, and he wouldn’t even be the villain. I wholeheartedly believe that if he had been written correctly, there would have been a real villain, Dumbledore (not to say he is evil, but you don’t have to be evil to be a villain), and Tom would have been more of an antagonist. This may have given the opportunity to have a special interaction between him and Harry when he realises this teenager isn’t that much different than him. And Harry could have found too someone who understands how it feels to be a freak. This two have the potential of a great relationship that doesn’t necessarily have to be on good terms, but they would have naturally developed mutual respect by still being able to dislike each other and it would have been more logical, more natural.

Proof 3: Tom is, in reality, a good person. He is a little bit of a sociopath, as a matter of fact, but he is often described as quite a genius (?) child. He is smart, brilliant, and clever. If we ignore the nonsense of dark lords and horrocruxes, Tom would have fought to change the magical world for all those who are outcasts like him. While the ministry has laws against magical creatures, Voldemort is constantly making alliances with them, not only because is convenient, but because he genuinely does not care what they are. His hatred for muggles is exaggerated but understandable, but if he truly believed in wizards supremacy, he would not trust nor ally himself with werewolves, giants, etc. Tom is so brilliant that, even when Dumbledore suspected him when young, he got away with the things he wanted because he was so careful as to not leave any evidence of his plans, until it was too late. Once having this redirected, he could have perfectly fit in politics or similar places. He is charming and can easily make people do his bidding. He would have used this to get justice. Maybe not in the most peaceful way, but his intentions wouldn’t have been bad.

Of course, much of what I’ve said can be biased but I’m not here to be totally fair, I’m here to proclaim my love and devotion for what Tom Riddle could have been.

There is so much to this single character that deserves his own series of books because there is a lot of wasted potential. Harry and Tom are such parallels and yet, their whole dinamic was simple and vague, with good points but had as much significance as it would have been with any other protagonist with a totally different backstory.

Tom Riddle is this traumatised yet strong character, even if he isn’t good, but... cartoonish villains I guess.

Thanks to coming to my ted talk... if you managed to go through the whole thing.

English is not my first language, sorry for all my fuck ups

[Shameless side note: I do have a fanfic where Tom is the chosen one, and it’s not very good because I suck at everything but if you wanna check it out is here]

#tom riddle #harry potter #albus percival wulfric brian dumbledore #tom is great and deserves better #jk rowling #i hate this woman so much #grindelwald too i guess?#gellert grindelwald #merope gaunt #i should stop adding tags now

18 notes · View notes

onisiondrama · 4 years

Photo

PART 7 - video #13

(Click here for mirrors)

what’s up

(Sorry for the offensive language in this one. He’s pretty pissed.) - He wants to discuss the legal case. He filed an anti harassment protection order against two individuals. One of them has been harassing him for the last 8-10 years. This person deleted earlier videos, but Greg’s life is this guys’s obsession. It’s crazy how obsessed he is. Greg is no doubt on this guy’s mind 24/7. It’s creepy and weird. Lately he’s been documenting ever aspect of every interaction he has in Greg’s world. The dude just make $20,000 on attorney’s fees on a case Greg had dismissed. You guys payed some dude to show up to court and hear the case was dismissed. Numbskulls. If you’re a Youtuber and someone tells you to stop talking about them, why would you hire an attorney to go into court and speak for you? Dude couldn’t even speak for himself. He was just sat there smirking like a jackass while he’s losing his hair and gets fatter. Total idiot, punk ass bitch. Greg was overwhelmed be how much of a bitch he was. - Greg was standing there with his bulletproof vest and people wonder why he was wearing that. “Christina Grimmie anyone?” He knows she wasn’t shot in the bulletproof vest area, but life is a danger when you show up to a court room where a bunch of people thinks you prey on children. Where are the children by the way? Who even made this up? Because he was blackmailed into sleeping with an 18 year old, now he’s into kids? He doesn’t understand the leap in logic. - The other person the case was against was someone who used to specialize in going after people who go after children. He’s trying to make it look like Greg would want to go after a child like that. It’s pathetic and one of the dumbest thing he’s ever seen. When he dated Shiloh when she was 17 1/2. They spoke to the police and they cleared him of any inappropriate images on his computer and everything. He was 100% cleared with Shiloh. Another relationship where he’s still married to the person, so that worked out. Another relationship where someone was 19. Another who was 18 1/2. Someone we don’t know about was 26. Someone we don’t talk about was 24. The wife before was 24 when they separated. People obsess over these relationships and try to relate it to children. They don’t want to go after people who go after 12 year old, they go after people who date adults. - Says this is the funniest thing: “Well they’re still mentally a child,” There are 50 year olds who are mentally a child and there are 18 year olds that are mentally 90. That’s a fact. When he was 17 he had the maturity of a 40 year old male. He was a little dark and goth, but very capable. - At the court case Greg is sitting across from this pasty, greasier than him, looks like he never saw the sun in his life, beta male, pathetic, he’s definitely getting a double chin soon.[Greg is laughing] He’s smirking at the judge and Greg thought he was an idiot because he’s smirking in court like an ass hat. Judges likes to see people taking it seriously. - Greg went to court and asked for it to get dismissed because anti harassment protection orders are more open and close when the person isn’t a public figure. The problem is you have an ex who hates your guts and now he wants to stalk you, that’s illegal. Now he started a tumblr about you so now in court he just has to say he’s protected by the Constitution, freedom of the press and freedom of speech. Your lawyer can argue that they’re a stalker, but that’s stressful. Now you have to argue the constitution. He avoided going in there and arguing the constitution against people who are Youtubers, not journalists. Journalism used to mean you work for someone, now it means you have a blog. - [This section is sarcasm btw.] Chris is still a journalist even though he was released from his contract after someone killed themselves. He’s a journalist because he livestreams, which is what a 13 year old could do. Congratulations. - Being a youtuber isn’t a prideful thing. If you think you’re a big deal because you have a few million subscribers, you’re a joke, Youtube is a joke. Youtubers who take themselves seriously and think they have an impact on the world are jokes. They’re all pathetic because there are real hardworking people out there like soldiers, construction workers, and scholars. Youtubers are morons. - Real journalists go to Iraq or go in a storm and talk about the weather. A journalist isn’t a dude who works with a dude who is perused in court for sexual assault while dating a much younger women while going after people online who date younger women and act like they’re predators. That’s “retard paradox.” - A journalist from Newsweek approached him in the courthouse and it was one of the most bleh experiences he had in his life. “Pathetic” is too much of a dignified word for this person. He walked up to Greg and said, “yo Onision. I really want to hear your side of the story. I’m not anti-o. I really just care about the truth, you know?” Greg ignored him and kept looking at his phone. The guy said, “Ok I get it, I get it. You don’t trust me but you gotta know you can trust me.” Greg wanted him to fuck off. He doesn’t trust a single reporter on this earth because they are looking for headlines, just like Youtubers. Especially Newsweek. The articles they write about him are totally baseless. They don’t care. He sees no credentials. He sees someone who flunked out of high school or didn’t go to any journalism school working for Newsweek. This guy followed Greg into the bathroom even though he knew Greg didn’t want to talk to him. “Just say one word Greg.” His name is JAMES. [He lists his old names.] They’re too stupid to get his name right. “I’m Greg James bitch!” [I have no idea what he’s quoting but he’s been saying that for a while now.] - He gets in the court room and there are emo girls with dyed hair everywhere. Fucking morons. “When did this court room become a clown show?” He mimics them giggling and saying “that’s onision.” He says he should have just brought mace. [He pretends to spray mace onto the people in the court room and laughs.] These chicks are taking pictures and saying look at his snow boots. He says he doesn’t have dress shoes so he wore snow boots. Those are his ass kicking boots. One stomp and you’re done. He came prepared for war. - Hansen’s lawyer comes up and says he was never served so they want it dismissed even though he’s well aware he’s supposed to be here cuz he sent me. Legally, Greg guesses, you have to get served in order to show up, but Chris publicly acknowledged he was supposed to be there. He could fly across the country to have the cops called on him but he can’t fly across the country to show up in court. Pussy, moron, douche bag. Where is the money going? What is he spending it on? His debts? You guys don't realize you're getting played because you paid someone $20,000 for $2,500 in fees, which he says probably wasn’t even that much because the case was open and close. The attorney wasn’t even there for an hour. You have pussy boy who has an attorney speaking for him and Greg speaks for himself. He tells the judge he got legal advise and is taking a different legal avenue. He is literally doing it right now. - Some dumb ass hoes, dumb ass bitches follow him into the elevator. This girl was sitting next to her sugar daddy who had a beard and was a blimp. She’s holding up her camera and she was a midget and she asks him if he’s having a good day. He’s standing there thinking, “all these stupid ass whooohhmmms”. [seems like he was going to say whores but stopped himself] He’s silent because if he says anything it would wind up being te-he-he bullshit. He had sunglasses on so he didn’t have to look at the dumb bitch in the eyes. - 2nd floor happens, elevator opens. No one got out. Bitches are going to follow him all the way to the first floor. They’re there because they want to see the circus, they’re the clowns in the circus. He was surrounded by fucking idiots. They show up because they want him to do what? Like when Hansen showed up at his house he was surprised Greg’s obviously fake videos weren’t real because he’s a boomer. He asks if people could start saying “ok boomer” because this is an actual boomer. He does math and says not exactly, but pretty much. - Court was stupid. He didn’t have a good time. He treated himself to taco bell and treated people to dinner because he saved money by not hiring an attorney. He knows the other guys spent a shit load of money. It’s amazing they could have done it for free. They hired an attorney so they could continue to harass someone. How low life is that? If someone took him to court for harassment he would just stop talking about them. He could move on. - When you file an anti-harassment protection order you can’t talk about that person either so it’s like a mutual contract to F off. He says that last thing was just speculation. He doesn’t know what the actual rules are. - He thinks it’s creepy and says a lot about a person when they fight an anti-harassment protection order. Why is it so hard to leave people alone? They’re harassers, it fits the definition. Not everyone is sane or reasonable. Just gotta keep going at it. People will keep cashing in on Greg. Greg owns all the channels. They get the revenue, but Greg gets the face time because they always think about him. Their whole job is him. “Fuck you.” He doesn’t know how you could waste the most precious thing you were given, life, on someone you hate. - He tells the emo girls that showed up to court to get a fucking haircut and to dye their hair a normal color.

47 notes · View notes

cinnaminsvga · 5 years

Text

fox rain | three

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

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

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

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

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

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Was.)

(Will?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what do you say?

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

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

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N––?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch where you’re going!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

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

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

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

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

It’s Lee Sera.

398 notes · View notes

maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

Infinity War (6)

CHAPTER 6: TRUST

Loki & The Avengers

Summary: A work inspired by @queencfthestarsdrfoster ‘s post of the universe where Loki is alive and Thor is avenged.

Series: Will contain all- and more- that we saw in Infinity War. Will not contain smut and fluff for obvious reasons. Might contain weird humor though.

Chapter content: story time. emotions time. new science bros time?

Warnings: talk about the past

Word count: So my cousin wanted to make sure I knew how to smoke before I wasted his precious joint. I wasted good five drags of his cigarette because I kept ‘mouth-fagging’ (heard that for the first time) but when it came to the joint, I kinda (in my sister-in-law’s words) aced it. Now, this in no way means any of you little ones reading this are encouraged to do this. I am a twenty-five year old idiot who does not know how to breathe right. You guys are better than me. And I kinda impressed my cousin by showing them Tari’s little pet. Hehe.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

“We’ll be landing in ten minutes. You better have something up your sleeve for these people.”

Loki smirks at Rhodey. “Is our beloved Captain going to be there?” The curiosity is laced with pure mischief. So much that even Tony can smell it from the cockpit.

Rhodey crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head at the God. “What is it with you and Steve? You have a crush on him or something?”

Loki shrugs and leaves the silence to be taken as whatever answer they please. Giving up, Rhodey walks and seats himself down in the cockpit next to Tony, who does not seem as welcoming to the company. “What are you doing here? Go in sit the back with the Grinch.”

“Relax, he’ll be fine,” Rhodey reassures, lying back into the seat.

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know who you mean. The wizard is back there too.”

“That guy is on some meditative high floating about like-”

“Relax!”

Loki looks in the direction before easing himself into his seat. The soft streak of light coming in from ahead falls on his dehydrated and wounded skin. For a simple moment, the warmth on his face feels beautiful. It feels free. This star always had a different effect on him; to the point that Loki closes his eyes for a brief moment and soaks up as much of that warmth as it can. His Jotun form feels a different comfort for those minute specs of time and all the memories of the day he has had, float in the space of his mind. No noise. Just the inaudible pictures running at a slow pace, every grain of colour remembered just as it was. Every fire, every explosion, every tear down the eyes, every tear in the enemy’s skin, every drop of blood lost, every drop of blood avenged. The space shows it all till it brings him back on earth, in this jet, under the sun rays falling on him till he starts to feel a chill on his neck.

Loki opens his eyes and sighs, tired as he is. He knows what is the cause of his discomfort- nothing harmless. It’s just that he is still not used to the little human looking at him with the curiosity of a child with those huge dark eyes and surprisingly not scared of him or judging him unlike his father. Scratch that; from his mentor.

“I know you are curious,” Loki utters, his head still resting on the headrest of the seat, tired of life in general, “just ask what you want.”

Peter’s eyes light up, his body adjusting itself in the seat next to Loki on its own. “Oh, okay,” he begins, making Loki wonder in slight surprise how long has this kid been holding himself back, “why did Thanos use you in Battle of New York? How did he get to you? Like did he leave you a text or something or was a like a proper meeting where he called you in his dungeon? Or did he booby trap you to get there? And once you said no, did he like put some spell on you? And why didn’t you tell your brother about it? Thor would’ve helped you, right? And I heard he’d taken you back to Asgard once the battle ended. So, like, you guys must have talked then. Thor must know about Thanos too. Did you make a plan on how to take him down? Are there more necklaces out there like Doctor Strange has? What do they do? Are they here? On earth? Will Thanos be coming to earth to get them? Do we make up a battle plan to stop him? Will we be able to stop him? If we don’t stop him what’s gonna happen?”

Peter finally breathes, something Loki is surprised to witness. Such concern weighing down those young bright eyes. And to think he once had the same fervour. Once. The pocket dimension is accessed to bring out a green packet. Peter eyes it as pale fingers tear it apart from one side to reveal little violet spheres inside, their smell reaching those inquisitive little nostrils.

“Here,” Loki offers them to him.

“Kids don’t take things from strangers here,” Tony announces from the cockpit. Rhodey looks back while Strange opens one eye to observe whatever it is Loki holds.

“It’s chocolate, Stark. Calm down and fly your toy. Take one while you’re at it. It will help get rid of your anxiety for a while,” the God declares.

“It’s fine, Stark,” Strange adds, going back into his meditative pose, “it’s harmless.”

Peter has already popped one in his mouth, the expression on his face reflecting- without any filters- how good it must be. “It’s better than any I’ve ever tasted before!”

Loki smiles at him, feeling one softly crunch under his teeth. With a content sigh, he begins.

“Before the battle of New York, the last time I saw my family was when I tried to take over Asgard. I had a falling out with my...with the Allfather. And Thor. He was to be announced the king by Odin but I felt it was not the right thing to do because he was not ready to take over that role yet. So, I did what I thought the best. I conspired with the Jotuns. They are...were at one time a species bent on dominating the world, monsters in the eyes of all. I did so to delay Thor’s kingship and destroy the Jotuns once and for all. What I did not know at that time was that I...was one of them.”

“The Jotuns?”

“Yes. I was a Jotun who, when an infant, had been taken away by Odin to be raised as his own. I had been abandoned by my father because unlike those frost giants, I was weak and small and hence a disgrace to the king to whom I was born as a son. So, I was left at the alters of forgotten temples where Odin decided my fate after he won the battle against the Jotuns. I was raised just like my brother to look at the frost giants as monsters; the greatest evil of the world. Once I realised what I was, and tried to do right by...Odin, I killed my father, the Jotuns and when that did not suffice...I killed myself.”

Loki can see the emotions brewing in Peter’s eyes. He notices the silence going further than just these puppy eyes, at the foreign ears pretending to be in a world of their own but paying full attention to whatever history is unfurling around them.

“Then?” Peter is almost too afraid to ask.

“Then the universe decided to intervene,” he continues, “I was supposed to die once sucked into a wormhole. But somehow I survived. I figured it was the accelerated healing due to the Jotun blood that flows through me. Or maybe it was a magic that had long protected me from the world. Either way, I found myself on a barren moon, half alive, waiting to die till it felt much arduous than living itself. I gathered whatever strength I had to walk. And walk I did till I found the lowest of life living in the dark corners. I mixed within, to survive before I found resources to move to other planets and lay low. It was an easy task once I regained my strength. I was able to shapeshift into what people wanted to see. The underbelly of certain galaxies found my talents with magic quite useful, which got them objects nowhere within the reach of normal aliens and I got to live on the highest price paid for my efforts. They did not go unnoticed by the assassins who were looking for someone like me to do their bidding. The only downside was they belonged to Thanos and I was going to be paid in kind.”

“In kind?”

“In kind.”

“I don’t ge-oh...Oh...I’m so sorry.”

“Their kindness came with the price of my sanity. Not that I was a completely balanced being before. But Thanos made sure I was moulded into a weapon he could use to wage war on Earth to get him the stone he desired. The space stone. It was-”

“In the tesseract that SHIELD discovered with Captain Rogers,” Peter quips in enthusiastically before he absorbs the hint of amusement lining Loki’s face. “I uh...went through some of their files,” he whispers.

“Illegally?” Loki asks in a whisper himself, bending a little in the little one’s direction.

“...maybe,” Peter shrugs, making Loki chuckle. “Good boy.” The praise takes him by surprise, but it makes his eyes lighter nonetheless.

“Now, Thanos would have invaded earth ages ago if he wanted to. But he did not do it because the last time his henchmen tried to, someone had sent them running back with their tails between their legs. Some say it was a witch that glowed. Others said it was a demon. And the ones with brittle egos announced that the earth had sent a God in the shape of a woman to throw them off their guard. Of course, I thought they were making excuses until I saw it for myself.”

“How?”

“It’s a whole story for another day, child. But to be brief, Barton helped me understand a lot of this planet’s history when he was under the influence of the mind stone. And Nicholas Fury has been one busy man.”

“Son of a bitch,” curses come flying from the front of the jet, “I knew it.”

“So, I was a mere pawn in Thanos’ plan to invade earth. I was controlled and forced to bend to his wishes of procuring the stone in exchange for my life. He was inside my head the entire time I was here on earth. Except for all the moments the sceptre was separated from me. That was the only time I was able to keep a part of my conscience alive and sane enough to think of ways to survive while making sure the stones never got into Thanos’ hands again.”

The blue ocean gives way to African lands beneath them, deserts and grasslands stretching for miles. The sun directly above them makes the inside of the flying machine glow brighter, striking off every reflective surface it can find once it finds its way through the glass. And in that brightness, a thought washes away those long-forgotten anxious bugs sitting in some dark corners of Tony’s mind. The bugs that had sucked on his own rationality ever since the battle of New York. The questions he wanted to ask the God himself but never had the time or resources for it.

“It was you,” Tony declares as his dark honey eyes looked at some void in the distance outside, “you built the failsafe in the portal.”

“Of course, I built the failsafe in the portal. What am I, a monster?” Loki scoffs in Tony’s direction, clearly being bothered by the fact that it only dawned the genius now. “Doctor Selvig helped me with the restricted technology you people had and I made sure there was a way to stop the attack. And a way to stop me. And not to mention I could not have let the earth be destroyed or I would not have heard the end of it from Thor or his girlfriend.”

“Oh tone it down, Maleficent, you killed Phil,” Tony fumes.

“Oh relax, he is alive!” Loki sings back, annoyed.

The jet feels a turbulent jerk before finding its balance but throwing Strange off his. Turning on autopilot, Tony gets up and walks in the back to face Loki. “What did you just say?”

Loki can see all the shades slowly crawling over Tony’s face- anger, denial, resentment, shock, more denial, fury…

“Go ahead,” Loki challenges, “ask Fury.”

“...you killed eighty people.”

“Collateral damage. I’m not a saint either.”

Only the hum of the engine makes up for this deafening silence between these two that makes Rhodey, Peter and Strange uncomfortable. Soon enough, Tony sits down opposite Loki, taking all three of them by surprise.

“Ignoring that statement for now,” Tony narrowed his eyes at Loki, “after Thor took you back-”

“I was imprisoned, Thor’s girlfriend discovered the aether and my mother was killed, the dark elves were destroyed and Thor was given the freedom to go back to the love of his life.”

“That was you too, wasn’t it?” Tony added without a pause. “You sent Thor away. And if I’ve seen the pattern correctly, you sent the aether away and kept the Tesseract on Asgard.”

Loki lets the smirk play on his lips. He is impressed by Stark’s deductions and the same time is internally a little envious of not having met this man during a better time. The things we could have achieved together.

“Yeah,” Tony nods only slightly, giving that two-second smirk that vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, “smart move. Sending your family away. Keeping the stones apart. Thor told me his father made peace treaties when he left. So, adding to the previous list you increased Asgard’s defences in case Thanos ever came looking for you or the stones there.”

“Stop before you start sounding impressed, Stark,” Loki mentions with a gentle smile, “this colour does not suit you.”

“Rest it, daddy issues,” Tony chimes, “I’m only appreciating your strategies. Not really a fan of this persona. Never have been.”

Loki does not miss the tick in Tony’s beard as his fingers move in some calculative thought. “What has been bothering me is you had it all- every piece of information on that bastard and never once did you bother to warn anyone. Not even your brother. Do you have any idea how much lives could have been saved had you kept your fucking ego aside and tried to make amends for all the crap you put people through.”

It isn’t much but the reflection of the warm glow from the sun outside touches Loki’s eyes enough to reflect a veiled pain behind those few fast blinks and the movement of his fingers on his other palm. If hadn’t been for his own experience, Tony would have missed reading Loki’s shallow breaths, the urge to fight off the tears building in those tired edges, the sweat collecting on his neck.

“Tell me honestly, Anthony Stark,” Loki states, catching Tony off guard for a fraction of second, “Why, for the love of all things alive, did you not tell your family about the threat you saw coming earlier? And when you did, what exactly did they do?”

Tony opens his mouth just to shut it back up, a thing out of the usual for the people who know this man all too well. He stands up, turns around, only to turn back at Loki and point his finger at him, to try and speak again. And again, he fails. Hands on his hips, he clinches his jaw. “That doesn’t make us the same.”

“Oh, no, it does not,” Loki agrees, “it only shows our shortcomings. Battles on the field are much easier to run into than the battles in our minds.”

There is much disbelief internally but a part of him cannot help but look at Loki in a new light. And Tony curses this part again and again for no reason but the imminent truth that comes out of that Silvertongue.

“We’re here,” Rhodey announces from the cockpit, trying to get Tony to come back and breathe.

“Don’t listen to any advice he gives you,” Tony warns Peter, making the boy nod in uncertainty and the God chuckle in delight. Tony goes back but not before he has taken those exotic chocolates from Peter’s grasp. “First rule of stranges, kid!”

“Those are chocolates, Mr Stark,” Peter whines as he watches Tony walk to the cockpit and take a seat.

He pops one in his mouth, feeling the silken magic work in his mouth.

“You ready?” Rhodey asks his friend, “you’re going in a completely foreign country with a criminal, a magician and a whole lot of unresolved emotions with Cap.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Tony remarks, popping another one in his mouth.

“Dammit, why are they so good!” He whispers in surprise, making his best friend roll his eyes and pray for whatever was about to come.

31 notes · View notes

despressolattes · 4 years

Text

AFTERMATH | CHAPTER TWENTY THREE | LEGACIES

book masterlist » book one masterlist

< previous chapter

—

I was walking with Alaric through the halls of the school.

"How's Roman's recruiting going?" I asked him slowly, unsure if it was weird to be asking him about updates.

"Hasn't he been texting you? That's what he told me," Alaric said, furrowing his eyebrows at me.

I brushed a piece of hair out of my face, flushed. How was it that I felt almost embarrassed that I was still in contact with my ex boyfriend.

"Well... yeah," I mumbled. "I just... You know how Roman is, he doesn't like it when I worry... so I know if it wasn't going well, he wouldn't tell me-"

"Dr. Saltzman!"

"'Dr. Saltzman, I have changed my mind. I've decided to take you up on your offer and get the hell out with every other sane person here,'" Alaric spoke as we turned around, saying the words that he was hoping would come out of Landon Kirby's mouth.

"No, actually, I took your advice, and I stayed busy, and I think I found something," Landon said in his normal rambling way of speaking.

He started walking away, pointing back with his thumb, indicating Alaric and I follow him.

We looked at one another with grave looks, and we sighed. We followed after the human boy, anyways. We grabbed Hope on the way, Landon leading the three of us into the Salvatore Memorial Library.

"Let's pretend for a second that the research isn't wrong," Landon said. "Maybe the Night Hag can't hurt us in real life. Maybe the Night Hag-"

"I prefer Night Bitch," I said, which was unnecessary. I got a scolding look from Alaric, but Landon continued anyways.

"-can't leave the astral plane and get ahold of the urns, so maybe we are not dealing with a Night Hag."

Okay, Kirby, solid argument, I thought as I nodded along. It made sense.

Alaric, however, said, "Well, if it walks like a Night Hag, and talks like a Night Hag, what else could it be?"

"That's exactly what I was wondering, so then I started going through all these books, and boom," Landon said, motioning to the ancient books he had on the table.

We all looked down to see an image followed by a lengthy block of text.

"What's an Oneiroi?" Hope asked, reading the page.

"It's a black-winged shapeshifting dream demon from Greek Mythology," Alaric and I said together.

"Ah, the Greeks," I said in a reminiscing tone.

"You've been alive long enough to see Ancient Greek?" Landon exclaimed, looking at me with a look that I couldn't tell if it was fascination or fear.

"I dunno, have I?" I asked, smirking as I left the discussion there.

"I really don't think-"

"Anyways," I said, still wanting to leave the boy in the dark about it. He'll learn so enough in classes, anyways.

"Why would one monster disguise itself as another monster?" Hope asked. "The Oneiroi sounds freaky enough."

"Because if we know what it actually was-" Landon started.

"-we'd know how to stop it," Alaric finished. He stared at Hope, and said, "Hope, kiss him for me."

I tried to contain a laugh, but it came out anyways. Alaric left, and I watched as the couple stared at each other awkwardly.

"Not with me in the room," I said, bolting out, too.

—

"A black-winged what?" Kaleb asked.

"Shapeshifting dream demon," the couple and I said together.

"I know that it sounds bad, but now that we know what the creature is, we can fight it," Hope said.

"How the hell are we supposed to kill a dream demon?" Rafael asked.

"Leave that part to us," I told him, sitting down on the arm of the chair he was sitting on and leaning against him. "Hope can't sleep without compromising the location of the urn, so I'll pull it out of the dream plane. Don't worry, I'm immortal."

He looked at me like I was crazy.

"After the dream you were having earlier when we went to bed, you think Imma let you go back?" he asked.

"Back track, when were you two in bed together?" MG asked, pointing at us.

Everyone looked at us suspiciously.

"Anyways, so MG was right about it being Freddy Kruegar," I said, once again attempting to deflect the conversation.

"Wait, how the hell are you supposed to do that?" Rafael said.

"Like I said," I spoke again. "Hope and I got this. You guys... just stay awake. Stay safe."

"I still wanna back track to the bed thing, too," Landon said, raising his hand while he spoke.

"No," Rafael and I said in unison.

I stood up, going to grab Hope. "Let's do this cousin."

—

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

I didn't realize the impact that SIDE CHARACTER and AFTERMATH has had on some of you until these past few days when I asked people to leave me messages on what made them read this series, and why they liked it. I realized I have inspired at least one person to write, and I have realized that this books helped at least one person through some dark days.

I think I've mentioned it before, but if you guys need a refresher, writing SIDE CHARACTER started out as this outlet for me. When I'm sad or life is a little hard, I throw myself into whatever I can, usually fandoms, usually wattpad, usually writing. Freshman, sophomore, and junior year was brutal, part of me didn't want to make it through.

It's hard being the girl who fixes everything and everybody, when no one's fixing you. It's hard to be everyone's go to, but feeling alone. I broke and bent and mended myself into these molds people needed me to be: the friend who will walk 20 minutes to another friend's house with a hot cup of coffee and some spaghetti to mend their heartbreak when my own was breaking in a million ways and I stayed quiet about it. The girl who was in love with a boy who snuffed her voice out. The one who always gave the best advice, but never seemed to follow it.

I'm probably oversharing, but I'm kind of in my feelings about it lately, and these messages about being inspiring and being an outlet of light has made me want to talk to you guys about this. What's an author without a backstory?

I'm two months away from being eighteen. I'm almost halfway through my last year of high school. I've learned how to forgive like no other. I've continued to love like no other. I've been used and abused and tossed aside but guess what guys? It's tragic that the best souls have been through the most torment.

You're all extremely lovely. I'm definitely a source people can go to if they need to talk. I've been through sexual harassment, borderline assault, manipulative liars, emotionally abusive friends and significant others. I've been through a lot that I don't speak about to most of my friends, so I know that it can be hard to speak up.

Like Hope said to Josie, make the quiet things heard.

I'm here to talk. I'm here to be an outlet. This book was mine.

If you guys ever want to know fully what happened, what I've been through, out of curiosity or any other reason, I wrote a book about it. You can find it on liyahwritesx (wattpad won't let me link it rn smh)

It's a deluded version because there are still things I cannot bring myself to write about. but it's a start. it's a chapter in my life. it was one my first tragic epic love, and then some. it's called museum of us.

5 notes · View notes

mintchocolateleaves · 5 years

Text

Simmer Down (1/2)

Summary: Kaito loves sweets. Aoko (sort of) loves baking. They're a predestined match, OR, Aoko tries to confess through the art of baked goods, and Kaito doesn't really understand, but he'll be damned if he turns down any of these free treats.

A/N: For @sup-poki. Thanks for indulging me and letting me ramble AU ideas at you, and for rambling back. I’m splitting the secret KaiAo project into two now, because it’s over 10k. I hope you enjoy it. xx

[If tumblr formatting is being a bitch, then here’s the Ao3 link]

Aoko doesn’t really mean to develop a bug for baking.

It’s a little like an addiction, she supposes. But it’s not her fault. If anything, it’s that idiot Kaito’s fault – because she wouldn’t bake so much if there wasn’t someone for the treats to go to.

So yes, maybe it’s Bakaito’s fault all along.

It definitely is.

“Aoko,” Kaito says, and his voice is slightly tired, since he’s starting to fall asleep at her kitchen table, “can we stop now?”

It’s not that Kaito isn’t a diligent student, Aoko knows that he is, really, somewhere deep down. It’s just that, there are bags under his eyes, as if he’s had a few late nights recently.

Aoko had dragged him out of his house early this morning, instead of letting him sleep in – a waste, she thinks, of a perfectly good Sunday – to try and get their joint history project finished.

It’s not due for a while, but if they finish the report then they can relax and won’t have to worry about it anymore. Plus, maybe then, Kaito will have enough time to finish whatever tasks are keeping him up at night, so he can sleep properly for once.

God, what does a guy like him spend his nights doing anyway?

Probably planning stupid magic tricks, that are neither stupid, nor magic. Still, he should learn not to be so obsessive over things to the point where he loses sleep. It’s not healthy, and it leads to things like this, him slowly drifting off at her kitchen table, despite the fact that it’s weird.

Kaito is supposed to have boundless energy, jeez. It’s weird if he’s sleepy.

“I suppose we can take a break,” Aoko says, eventually, leaning back in her chair. They have been working for a while now, and a quick glance at the clock shows that it’s almost noon. “I’ll cook something for lunch.”

This would normally be the point, Aoko thinks, where Kaito would spring up and suggest something that could be made. Instead, he lowers his head onto the table and lets out a small groan.

It’s weird, in the fact that Aoko thinks it’s a very normal teenage thing to do, and thus, not like her friend at all.

“You’re so cruel,” Kaito complains, eventually, “waking me up so early. I wanted sleep.”

“I woke you up at nine a.m. Bakaito,” Aoko says, “it’s not too early. If you didn’t stay up half the night, then you’d sleep like a normal person.”

Kaito gives her a faint-hearted glare, that only sleepy, called-out people are capable of replicating. It’s like, a sleepy gift that the gods bestow on night owls or something. Aoko isn’t completely sure.

She wouldn’t know. Like a sane person, she sleeps.

“I’m going back to sleep.” Kaito says, adjusting his arms so they’re beneath him, acting as a pillow. It can’t be comfortable, and Aoko just knows he’ll wake from his nap with a cricked neck, but she doesn’t stop him.

“I’ll wake you up when the food is ready.”

Kaito hums and that’s enough of a response for Aoko. She heads to the kitchen, ignoring the idiot asleep at her kitchen table, and heads towards the rice cooker instead.

She could make onigiri. It’s simple and she should have some pickled plums that she could put into them. And some canned tuna. It seems she can go with a selection of onigiri then.

Setting the rice cooker up doesn’t take long and setting the filling and nori on the kitchen side isn’t a long task either.

Aoko sighs. With Kaito asleep, she’s left to just think, trapped in her own head. She wouldn’t mind putting the radio on or just doing something fun, but Kaito had always been a light sleeper when they’d had sleepovers as kids and she doubts that’s changed.

If only he had a little burst of energy.

Dammit.

Although – actually, maybe that’s something she could go with. Onigiri is good at being filling, but it won’t give Kaito a burst of energy immediately, so maybe she could make something else too, something a little sugary?

It could be a nice treat to keep them motivated for their project too. God only knows what Kaito could get up to if he gets too bored and distracted, Aoko’s only just gotten the glitter out of the cushions from last time.

What ingredients does she have?

There is a Tupperware box in the pantry that is filled with random ingredients used for cooking. Inside, there is flour – a small bag of plain and another with self-raising – and some sugar. Aoko grabs both.

They don’t have eggs, so there’s no chance of making any cakes, but they might be able to…

Aoko leaves the bag on the side, grabs the scales from beside the Tupperware box and then heads towards the fridge. Butter – unsalted – sits on the top shelf, mostly forgotten until now.

Perfect.

Only a few ingredients, but she knows that it’ll make something sweet and tasty. She’s not cooked the recipe she has in mind for a long time – not since she was a child and her father had a little extra free time – but she knows she can make something nice.

Grabbing a mixing bowl, she begins by weighing out the sugar, and the butter, before beating them together into a mix with a spoon. To some, Aoko supposes the mixing of ingredients would seem monotonous, but to her, the repetitive movements are almost calming.

Then, she sieves in the flour.

Or, well, she attempts to. She pours too much into the sieve at once, creating a plume of flour, like a soft cloud that tickles the back of her nose. Aoko resists the urge to sneeze.

“Oh wow,” Aoko mutters to herself, trying to sieve the flour into the bowl, and managing to dust the kitchen counter instead. “Why does it always have to be so messy?”

She turns, glances at Kaito, watches his breathing, his shoulders rising and falling ever so slightly. She grabs a stray handful of flour, tiptoes over to him, and blows it in his direction.

He twitches. Aoko supresses a laugh, settles on grinning at the flour dusting his hair, before turning back to her bowl. There’s not much left to do now, just stirring in the flour, and then baking the mixture in the oven.

Then… she can get started on the onigiri.

You know what, she’s going to force Kaito into doing the dishes, it’s what she deserves. And what he deserves too, for being so lazy and not helping with the cooking.

Not that Kaito can cook, really. Or rather, nothing other than instant ramen and the odd store-bought curry mixture. Without her and her dad, he’d be unhealthier than the skin and bones he is now. Ugh.

“Kaito’s so stupid,” Aoko says, as she remembers that she forgot to preheat the oven. She’ll just have to put the mixture in after she’s made the onigiri rather than during the making of each rice ball.

Oh well. She’ll leave the mixture in the fridge for a while to set then.

Behind her, sprinkles of flour across his shirt, Kaito continues to sleep, unbeknownst to her hard efforts. It almost makes Aoko want to kick him.

Here’s a truth that Aoko hasn’t quite accepted yet: She’s pretty sure she’s in love with the pain in the ass idiot who’s napping at her kitchen table. She’s been trying to hide it for a while, because really, she’s only pretty sure, and not one hundred percent certain of it.

Like, sure, his smile makes her stomach flip, and she finds herself looking forward to seeing him, which could be a symptom of love, but the former could be stomach issues and the latter could be like, a brain tumour or something.

Maybe she should get checked out to be doubly sure.

Because even if it isn’t sickness, then it’s probably insanity because really, this is Kaito. Chaotic, irritating, handsome Kaito.

“No!” Aoko grumbles to herself, because of those labels one shouldn’t belong and she definitely doesn’t want to start considering how handsome her best friend is while he’s right there.

Shut up brain, she thinks to herself, he’s not. Kaito’s too stupid to be handsome.

‘Denial,’ sings the little voice in her head that sounds like him. It’s frustrating to say the least.

“Shut up!” She snaps, and then, lifts her hands up, slapping the blush from her cheeks. It’s not very effective – the skin still burns, but now there’s a stinging too. “Idiot Bakaito!”

The idiot in question, ever so slightly lifts his head up from the table, squinting across at her. Lifting his hands up to rub at his eyes almost makes him look cute, but Aoko knows him.

Cute or not, this boy is still a menace and she will not be fooled.

“What’ve I done now?” Kaito whines, his words long and drawn out, similar to the yawn that follows.

Aoko, not sure how to form an answer, decides simply to point, waving her hand up and down the general form of his body.

“You can’t just point at all of me!” He says, and then, pushing himself up, he points back. “You woke me up to point at me!”

“You were snoring,” Aoko says for lack of any reason to be calling him an idiot. “It was very annoying.”

“I do not snore!”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t!”

“How would you know you don’t snore,” Aoko says, crossing her arms now and leaning forward, “if you’re asleep? You wouldn’t.”

Kaito glowers in a way that shows Aoko that she’s probably going to be the victim of a magic trick again soon, but for now, she savours the glare. Because for one of the first times in her life, Kaito does not have a comeback.

“I’m right and you’re wrong,” Aoko says, “end of discussion. Now sit down, I’ve made onigiri.”

The glowering falters and Kaito, muttering something under his breath about how he’s going to prove he doesn’t snore, sits without arguing.

It’s a welcome change to the usual bickering, Aoko knows, and she finds herself smirking as she does so. She places the onigiri on the table and then, eagerly, she skips back to the oven, grabs the oven gloves and slides them on. Then, pulling open the oven, she brings out the baking tray, looking down at her creations.

Aoko grins.

“What’d you make?” Kaito asks, popping up beside her, almost making her jump out of her skin. “They smell good.”

He looks down, and Aoko sends him a look that says, if he doesn’t know what she’s made then he’s an idiot.

“Cookies?”

“Shortbread.” Aoko says, placing the tray down on the kitchen side. “We don’t have eggs, so I couldn’t make cookies.”

Kaito hums, leans forward and like the thief he adores so much, attempts to grab one. Aoko smacks him with her oven gloves. He gives up easily enough, a smirk pulling up at his lips.

“I didn’t know you needed eggs to make cookies.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Aoko says, hitting him with the oven gloves a second time, watching as he dances backwards, “you’re so good at chemistry but it doesn’t seem to translate over to baking.”

“We all have our flaws.”

Aoko turns from him, grabs the rest of the sugar she’s weighed out, and sieves it onto the shortbread. A sugary treat that hopefully will make them feel a little more energetic.

“You use the eggs to bind the ingredients,” Aoko says, finally, realising that Kaito’s practically leaning on her shoulder, watching her. She tries to avoid the flush that rises from her neck. “If you don’t, they’re all crumbly. Although, I guess you could use something else to bind the cookies together. It doesn’t have to be eggs.”

Kaito hums.

It’s at this point, that Aoko decides to scoop some of the shortbread pieces onto another plate. She brings them to the table, the plate clinking against the table as she places it down, slipping into her seat.

“Thanks for the food,” Kaito says, and leans forward for one of the shortbread pieces. Aoko, frankly, doesn’t know what she was expecting. Kaito’s always had a sweet tooth, of course he’d go for the sugary things before the onigiri.

Aoko, someone who does things in the correct order, grabs an onigiri and after muttering her own thanks, takes a bite.

She watches Kaito bite into the shortbread, watching as he chews, waiting for his verdict. For a moment, she’s worried that she’s made something horrible, but then, he grins.

“They’re good,” he says, around a mouthful. “I didn’t know you liked baking?”

Aoko’s cheeks burn. His eyes are bright, something she’s seen before when he’s tried new treats that please his sweet tooth but hasn’t exactly caused herself. Wearing an expression like that, how could she not be in love with him.

Her chest feels slightly tight, and it’s his fault, the bastard.

“Aoko?”

She blinks, realises that she’s simply been staring at him, remembering that he’s waiting on a response.

Does she like baking? Not really. But she loves that light in Kaito eyes, and Aoko kind of wants to replicate it. If baking manages that when she shares the end products with him, then by association, she does.

“Yeah,” she says, expression softening as she looks down at the plate. “I love baking, even when it annoys the hell out of me.”

“Well, you’re good at it,” Kaito says, and for once, the compliment isn’t brushed aside in the form of a defensive insult. “You should do it more often.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe, in this context, means I will, but Aoko can’t just say that. If she did, then Kaito would think she’s baking for him, and sure she is, but he’s not allowed to know that.

Kaito is grabbing his bag, class finishing for the day when Aoko corners him. She’s giving the impression that he’s not going to be able to escape, which, of course, is kind of impossible, since Kaito is a mastermind when it comes to disappearing.

It puts him on guard, slightly.

She’s been pretty calm during class today, and Kaito’s hardly done any outlandish magic tricks that might have pissed her off, so he can’t think of why he might have annoyed her into cornering him.

And she wouldn’t corner him for any other reason that to chase him for being a nuisance, probably, so Kaito is officially confused.

Oh well, he can already feel himself getting ready for a chase. He’s always enjoyed it when Aoko chases him, her attention on him, the two of them racing around, playing cat and mouse.

Er well – maybe cops and robbers, because Kaito doesn’t really think he fits the role of being a mouse.

“Aoko,” Kaito begins, taking a moment to eye her up and down. She doesn’t look like she’s about to attack, but it could be a ploy. “What’ve I done?”

She scrunches her nose, eyebrow quirking up, questioning. Like he’s being the strange one for asking, when she’s the one who’s cornering him in the classroom.

He kind of just wants to head home so he can start planning out his next heist. There’s a new exhibition and he needs to know what security they’re going to be applying for this one ahead of time.

“What are you talking abou–” Aoko shakes her head. “You’re so weird. I wanted to know if you were free tonight.”

Oh?

Aoko doesn’t often ask him if he’s free, not with confidence like this. Last time she asked if he was free, she stuttered and got all nervous with her words. If she’s not entering the house dragging him out, then she’s usually embarrassed about asking him to do something with her.

Part of him is curious.

The other, wiser, part of him tells him to be cautious.

“I might be…” Kaito says, squinting. She’s up to something, probably, but he can’t tell what. Maybe something innocent, but also maybe a plot to get him back for annoying her. “Why?”

Aoko waits a second, and then, the confidence almost seems to disappear. She crosses her arms, and says, “I just wanted to know if you were coming over for dinner with Dad and I today. It doesn’t matter.”

Ahh – yeah, he said he’d come over for dinner a few days ago. He’d almost forgotten. He’d have headed to the blue parrot without the reminder, and now, he’s almost tempted to bail because the heist is important.

But Aoko’s face.

He never likes watching her crumple, getting quieter. She’s meant to be feisty, to fight back with him and not just take it. Him not coming wouldn’t be too bad, would it?

Unless… Well, Inspector Nakamori has been working a lot of late nights because of him, hasn’t he? So maybe Aoko’s lonely. He’s making Aoko lonely? So… wouldn’t it be right to go anyway, and just stay up later to plan the heist?

A good plan, if he may say so himself.

“Sure, sure,” Kaito says, waving a hand. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

Aoko smiles, one of those smiles where he can see the dimples in her cheeks. Kaito pushes down any thoughts that might spring up from an expression like that, pushing himself forward and heading for the door.

He pauses, turning back for her. He asks, “are you coming?”

“Of course, I am!” Aoko says, stalking forward. She falls into step with him, and then, “I need to get groceries on the way back.”

Kaito groans. Whenever Aoko drags him shopping, it always leads to him carrying the bags. And she somehow always manages to make them heavy.

“If you complain,” Aoko says after a moment, and it sounds coy, almost mischievous, “then I won’t let you have dessert.”

Kaito narrows his eyes. He says, “what’s the dessert?”

“Nope,” Aoko says. “It’s a surprise.”

Aoko doesn’t usually do surprises, nor does she cook dessert, so Kaito, is officially confused.

“Bu–”

“Nope,” Aoko says. “I’m not telling.”

Kaito has half the mind to claim that Aoko might be up to something. He just doesn’t exactly know what that is.

In the store, as she’s inspecting eggs, Kaito leans forward with a guess.

“…Cookies?”

Aoko smiles to herself, shaking her head. She’s not going to tell him, not until she’s cooking, purely because it’ll frustrate him. As much as she’s excited to see Kaito trying this next recipe, she’s also amused to watch him guess.

“Not cookies,” Aoko says. They head to the next section of the store, where she picks up cocoa, and dark chocolate. She can almost see Kaito’s excitement.

He loves chocolate, after all.

Gosh, why is she spoiling him anyway? He’s not done anything worth spoiling him for this week. Although, well, the one magic trick he showed her in the park on the way to school yesterday morning was beautiful, with the doves, so maybe it could be a treat for that.

Yes, she’s baking because she wants him to know she appreciated the magic trick– not because she’s–

Aoko isn’t fooling anyone. She knows why she’s baking.

“Tell me!” Kaito whines, and when she turns, placing the chocolate into the basket she’s making him hold, she leans forward to flick him on the forehead. Careful not to crack the eggs in the basket, he doesn’t move quickly enough to avoid it. “Hey!”

“Patience,” Aoko says, because jeez, someone needs to teach him the word. “You’ll know later.”

“But I want to know now!”

“Tough,” Aoko says, trying not to laugh as he rubs at his forehead. Kaito’s grumbles send her over though, leaving her shoulders shaking as he stares down at her.

She turns, looking for other ingredients. She throws baking powder inside as well, and then, heads for ingredients for their dinner. Curry, she thinks, because there’s meat on sale and it’s easy to make.

“You’re going to have to carry the potatoes,” Aoko says, pointing towards a small sack of them. If she’s going to be using him as a pack mule then she might as well get him to carry things she wouldn’t want to if she were shopping by herself.

“Right,” Kaito says, voice dry. “Sure.”

“I would carry them,” Aoko says, “but they’re heavy, and I don’t want to.”

He makes a sound that seems almost like a mixture between a growl and a whine. “Okay.”

Brownies.

Aoko is making brownies and Kaito is stuck, watching her as she moves because she’s banned him from coming any nearer than the counter. Maybe because she’s already caught him reaching for a slab of the chocolate, slapping his hand away.

Honestly, Kaito’s getting slow if Aoko’s able to catch him.

Or maybe he’s just not trying hard enough.

Either way, Aoko’s making brownies, and all Kaito is allowed to do, really, is watch as she makes them.

He’s trying to finish his homework at the same time, since well – he is here already, and if that’s out of the way, then later tonight he can focus on heist planning completely – but he keeps getting distracted.

Kaito isn’t entirely sure why he’s getting distracted, because really, she’s not doing anything out of the norm, and it’s just baking. Maybe it’s because she seems so in her element that it’s hard not to watch her.

The little crease between her eyebrows as she sieves. The way her shoulders seem to relax, none of the usual tension as she mixes her ingredients, folding them together.

Aoko doesn’t seem to get excited like this, very often. A quiet excitement that lives in the curl of her lips, the flick of her wrist as she whisks the brownie mixture.

She really must love this. Baking things.

Kaito is completely, utterly, enraptured.

“What’re you looking at?” Aoko says, catching his eye as she begins to add the eggs into the mixture, sifting it with the flour.

“Nothing,” Kaito says, immediately defensive.

“Liar.”

“Not a liar,” Kaito says, “I’m just distracted by the chocolate.”

Aoko shakes her head at him, lets out a small laugh. She says, “you love chocolate too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much Aoko.”

Well, even he can admit there is but, not for him. He’s very tamed in his eating of chocolate, even if he loves it, and it tastes good. And oh god, thinking about the chocolate just makes him want to have some.

So much for tamed.

“After dinner you can have the brownies,” Aoko says, “but for now you have to wait… and finish your homework.”

Why does he have to do his homework if she’s not doing hers. Kaito sighs but relents. Fine.

A thought fills his head as he leans back over mathematics homework. He says, “you know, if you like baking so much, why don’t you join the cooking club? You won’t have to spend as much on ingredients then.”

Aoko hums, takes a moment to click her tongue, thinking the concept over. It’s not like she’s part of any after school clubs, to be honest, so it’s not like she’s short on time.

“Maybe,” she says finally.

“Keiko’s in that club, isn’t she?” Kaito says after a moment, musing over it. “You wouldn’t be alone if that’s what’s making you worried.”

For a moment, Aoko focuses on stirring the mixture, folding it in on itself over and over. Then, she says, “I’ll think about it.”

Aoko decides to join the cooking club when she sees Kaito’s eyes light up that evening around a mouthful of brownies. It’s just – how does she explain to Keiko, that she’s suddenly interested in cooking, without admitting it’s because of Kaito?

Oh no, she’s totally going to get teased, isn’t she?

Surprisingly, Keiko doesn’t tease her at first.

Maybe because Aoko doesn’t tell her that she’s been baking recently, and simply makes out that she wants to learn to cook a little better. Her friend pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiles instead, telling her she’ll help her get signed up.

In fact, no one really teases her the first few meetings. Not Asuna, who loves making cutesy foods despite her cool personality, or Megumi who enjoys adding fruits into pastries. And poor Kanae doesn’t tease her since everyone teases her about her crush on the captain of the karate team, so Aoko doesn’t really need to worry.

Aoko bakes every other day during school, and she takes buns, treats and fruit tarts home with her, offering them all to Kaito whenever she sees the lights on in his house.

It becomes a routine that she isn’t teased for, and honestly? Aoko finds herself enjoying the process so much more than she had previously. If anything, Aoko finds that she feels a lot less… lonely than she used to.

Ah, another thing she won’t admit to.

“This is becoming an addiction,” Kaito tells her one day on the walk to school, when she procures a little box with a muffin inside and passes it over to him. “You know that, right?”

Aoko flashes him a coy smile, skipping forward a little bit so that she can turn slightly and for a moment it almost catches Kaito off guard.

“For me or for you?” She asks, as if she knows. Of course she knows though, Kaito has never been quiet about his sweet tooth. But still, to tease him when he was trying to do the same to her?

This girl has too much power over him.

That’s not fair at all.

“For you, obviously.” He says, even though his voice aches to say for both of us. “My sweets intake is perfectly normal thank you very much.”

It really isn’t. Geez, his blood sugar levels are probably raised from all of these. His blood is probably more sugar than blood at this point.

Not that Kaito will complain.

“Sure, sure,” Aoko says, waving the words away. “I’m trying something new with Keiko today, so we’ll have some at dinner tonight. You’re still coming?”

Kaito, rolling his eyes, nods his head. He says, “Do I usually miss things when I say I’ll come to them?”

“I just wanted to be sure,” Aoko says, and then, after a moment longer. “Tell me how you find the muffin later, okay? I said I’d meet Kanae this morning!”

She runs ahead before Kaito can even realise who she means by Kanae. She must mean Matsuoka Kanae, the shy one from class 3c, right? Kaito hadn’t thought that they were on a first name basis.

Although, really, hadn’t Aoko mentioned that the cooking club were all quite informal with one another? All of them close with an immediacy that she’d not really experienced before.

Eh, who cares.

“She’s so weird,” Kaito mutters to himself, looking down at the muffin box. He opens his bag, placing it inside. “I bet she’s up to something.”

“I was thinking we could try a few different flavours,” Keiko says that afternoon, when Aoko is tying up her apron. It’s a plain apron unlike the polka dotted one she has at home, but it serves the same purpose. “Since we’re practising for the culture festival.”

Aoko crosses her arms, taps her finger against her cheek to try and muse over the different flavours. When Megumi had explained that her class had decided on running a café for the festival, they’d all jumped at her request to help her with the baked treats.

Now they just have to decide on what they want to make.

“I think we should go with the more popular flavours,” Aoko says. “That way everyone has at least one flavour that they might like.”

“How about, lemon, vanilla and pistachio?”

Well, they are quite regular flavours for the macarons they’re going to attempt, but they’re missing a flavour.

“And chocolate.”

Keiko raises her eyebrow. She says, “You like cooking chocolatey things, don’t you?”

For a moment, Aoko pauses, and then, a startled laugh catches against her throat.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

Keiko catches Aoko’s eye for a moment, and then, glances across at their other club members, the other three working together on ideas for fruit tarts they could make. She says, “Who knew that Aoko had a sweet tooth? Did you guys know?”

Asuna jumps at the topic, leans forward. Her fringe covers her eyes for a moment, a grin forming on her face. It feels sinister. “I’ve never seen Aoko eating the chocolate creations, you know?”

“Oh yeah!” Megumi continues, “Aoko always takes them home with her, but I’ve never seen her try them.”

Kanae lifts her hands to her mouth, gasping. She says, “I bet that she’s giving them to someone.”

“A boy?”

“Definitely a boy.”

Aoko feels fire dancing across her skin. It rises up her neck, across her cheeks, burning her from the inside out. She wishes that her hair wasn’t up in a ponytail, because at least then she’d be able to hide behind it.

“D-Don’t be stupid,” Aoko stutters, “I would – I wouldn’t – no way I’d go around cooking things for a boy.”

“Sounds like denial to me,” Megumi says.

“So, there is a boy,” Asuna continues, leaning forward on the counter, as if she wants to climb over and shake all the information free from Aoko’s brain. “All we need to do is find out who.”

Aoko looks to Kanae for help – surely, she will help because she understands what it’s like to be teased like this – and finds no ally in her. She looks too excited, like the rest of them.

Then, she turns back to Keiko. Her best friend is watching her, and tilts her head after a moment, her pigtails swishing beside her. A smile, slow, spreads across her lips.

“I know who it is,” Keiko says.

“Keiko!”

“It’s Kaito-kun from class, right? You two have been close forever.”

Aoko feels like her cheeks are burning so much that she might just pass out. She tries to stutter no’s and it’s not like that but they catch until all she’s mumbling is nonsense and gibberish.

“Kuroba Kaito?”

“Kuroba-kun is so handsome, wow Aoko, you’ve got good taste.”

“He’s got a big sweet tooth,” Keiko says, “and he loves chocolate. It’s definitely him.”

For a moment, Aoko stares between them all, horrified and embarrassed, and then, very slowly she lifts her hands up to her face to hide behind them.

“Aoko’s seducing Kuroba-kun with her cooking!” Kanae says, and she’s blushing too now, as if the entire concept is scandalous. “You’re so bold, and here I thought you were innocent.”

“Hah,” Aoko sinks to the floor, “shut up, I don’t like Kaito, he’s such a pain!”

Keiko leans forward, grins. She says, “We didn’t say anything about you liking him, just cooking for him. You added that yourself.”

Aoko lets out a small squeak, and decides that even if it is ungraceful, she’s going to try and disappear in a ball on the floor. Keiko joins her, light dancing across her gaze, but Aoko tries to ignore her.

“Kanae said I was trying to seduce him!”

“Oh yeah, okay, that’s true.” Keiko pauses, and then, “are you sure you’re not trying to seduce Kaito-kun with all your baked goods?”

Another squeak. Aoko feels almost like a mouse surrounded by house cats.

I’m so sorry Kanae, she thinks to herself, I won’t tease you ever again. This is so embarrassing!

“I don’t want to seduce Kaito!”

“Aoko’s lying,” Megumi croons, her voice almost like a song. She’s far too happy about this. She’s the devil. “You give them to him, right?”

“Stop!” Aoko says, weakly. When she looks up, she’s surrounded by her clubmates. Keiko sat beside her. Kanae and Asuna stood behind Megumi, who’s leaning down to face her.

They’re all waiting, expectant, for the truth.

“Ugh, fine.” Aoko pushes herself up, brushing the creases from her uniform. “I like baking for Kaito. But it’s not because I want to seduce him – I just… it makes him happy, okay?”

“Ah,” Kanae says, throwing herself forward, her arms around Aoko’s body in a tight hug, “Aoko you’re so cute. This is so much better than seduction.”

“They say the way to charming a man is through his stomach.”

“You guys,” Kanae says, turning back and pointing at each other their clubmates, “we need to help Aoko make the best treats so she can win over Kuroba-kun. I won’t take no for an answer!”

“If Kanae’s fired up then of course we have to help too!”

Aoko blinks, watches her friends together as they start to come up with different recipe ideas and is uncertain whether she wants to disappear or hug the four of them.

“Can we just make these macarons now, please?”

You know, Kaito’s not oblivious, he does notice things.

He’s by no means a detective – someone shoot him if he ever takes that avenue of work – but he does pick up on things. Like how, at some point, the other members of Aoko’s club always seem very attuned to his presence whenever he comes to meet Aoko at the end of the day to walk home with her.

Not that he wants to wait, but sometimes he’s on cleaning duty and no matter how he wants to Aoko always manages to say something that makes him decide to stay back the rest of the time, waiting to walk home with her.

As he’s come to realise: She holds power over him, and it’s annoying because there’s nothing he can do about it.

Either way, he notices that the girls are attuned to him. In a – they always seem to quieten slightly when he comes, which he supposes shouldn’t be surprising but is.

Some of them always send little looks to the others, and Kaito feels like whatever Aoko is up to, they must be in on it to. And it’s probably no good at all. These girls must be demons.

He almost feels tempted to just wait for Aoko by the school gates, but then she’d probably make a scene or get angry at him or something. And honestly, he doesn’t want to piss her off when she’s so fresh from cooking.

…There are knives in those rooms.

He’d much prefer to be chased after with a mop than a knife.

“Aoko?” He says this time, since it’s another day where he’s being held back, waiting for Aoko. He’d gone to the library today, doing some research on his phone for heists, looking at the building plans that Jii has emailed him. “You ready?”

He turns the corner into the classroom and pauses at the sight of the five girls each covered with flour and trying to look as innocent as possible.

Kaito raises an eyebrow.

“Do I even want to ask?”

Asuna shakes her head. She says, “it’s probably for the best if you don’t.”

He turns to Kanae, who nods her agreement. To Megumi, who shrugs her shoulders. Then, to Keiko, who offers only a smile, before focusing on Aoko. Aoko who wide-eyed, is shaking with restrained laughter. She hides her mouth behind her hand, trying to remain silent.

Kaito, perhaps acting on his best impulses, simply raises his hands up and says, “this is me, not asking.”

“We’re almost finished now, Kaito-kun,” Keiko says, moving the conversation on, as she slowly pushes Aoko away from the over and back towards the buns that’ve been left on the cooling racks. “We just need to clean up.”

Aoko turns, reaching past the buns to grab hold of a cloth that’s by the edge of the side. As she leans, Kaito catches sight of her hair, pulled back into a braid. It’s different on her, makes her seem almost…

Soft? Is that the right word he’s after, Kaito isn’t sure?

Oh jeez, is he watching her? He definitely is. God, Kaito knows it’s creepy to just watch someone but it’s Aoko and recently she’s so distracting and it’s…

“Mmm,” Kaito says, trying to snap himself out of it. He’s almost oblivious to the looks the other girls send him – knowing, amused – but not quite. He realises he’s got their attention again, at least. “Do you guys want some help?”

“Kaito,” Aoko says, letting out a scoff, “asking if he can help clean, you must be an alien replacing him.”

He scowls, “I can clean.”

“Sure, you can Kaito,” Aoko says, and it’s clear she’s only humouring him. Which, quite frankly – he cleans his own house thank you very much. “Sure, you can.”

“Do you want the help or not?”

Aoko turns, looks between her clubmates, and then finally nods. She grabs a second cloth, passes it over to him with the directions of cleaning the sides opposite them.

“Maybe if Kuroba-kun’s really good,” Asuna says, “we’ll give you one of the buns.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kaito says, focusing on wiping away flour instead. “I just want to go home.”

This time, he misses the girls winking at Aoko, as if to say, ‘you’re welcome, and good luck’. He also misses the way Aoko glares at them all, red-faced and awkward.

“You’re wearing your hair differently,” Kaito says on the way home, and Aoko blinks, because this isn’t the normal kind of conversation they tend to have.

She lifts her hand to the braid, smiles to herself as she lets it drop again, her hair swishing behind her.

“Kanae asked if she could try braiding it,” she says. “She always wears hers in a braid, I think she just wanted someone else to try it too.”

Kaito hums. He says, “it’s – it kind of suits you.”

“Kind of?”

He startles. Only slightly, but enough that Aoko can catch the twitching of his fingertips as he tries not to get defensive. Kaito must still be practising his poker face like his father taught him to do when they were kids, because he manages to smooth his voice over.

“Yeah,” he says, “kind of. I’m used to your usual hairstyle, but this one’s not bad.”

Aoko lets out a small laugh, swings her bag in front of her ever so slightly. She says, “I bet you’re just saying that because I’m holding the buns right now.”

Shrugging, Kaito doesn’t say anything for a moment. And then, “It looks nice. I mean it.”

“Right, right.” It’s not that Aoko doesn’t believe him, it’s just. Kaito doesn’t really do compliments, not really. Not for her. It’s usually just banter and playful insults, not seriousness and niceties. “I think it’s definitely because of the food.”

“Heh,” Kaito says, and there’s the playfulness she’s been waiting for today. It’d been a little absent, for whatever reason. “You guys did say if I helped clean, I’d be allowed one, you’re not going to go back on that promise, are you?”

“It wasn’t me who made the promise,” Aoko laughs, and takes off racing down the street.

“Hey now!” Kaito says, and he’s very clearly chasing after her, she can feel his presence on her heels. Aoko laughs – it feels almost nice to be the one being chased, for once.

Asuna corners Aoko when she is washing dishes in the sink a few days later, her arms crossed and her expression stern. For a moment, it leaves her feeling nervous, anxious about whatever she’s done to disappoint her friend.

Then, Asuna says, “We’re going to phase two.”

“Phase two?”

Asuna nods her head, her bob bouncing with the movement. She says, “yes. I suppose plan B is more accurate, but phases sound more optimistic.”

Aoko is lost. She expresses as much, flicking water across at her friend.

“Phase two,” Asuna says, “is aimed at making Kuroba-kun realise you like him, and he likes you back, through the art of body language, and cookie cutters.”

“Cookie cutters?”

The smile she receives seems almost menacing as Asuna thrusts a finger towards her nose, Aoko going cross-eyed as she tries to focus on it. Quickly, Asuna turns, sweeping up something from a carrier bag she’s brought with her.

Aoko hadn’t even seen her bring it in, hadn’t even heard any plastic rustling. Jeez, Asuna can be sneaky sometimes.

“Exactly,” the girl says, lifting up the bag and pulling out a packet of cookie cutters. She holds them up and – ah – there it is. They’re heart shaped. “We’re bringing in the big guns!”

If cookie cutters are classed as the big guns, then Aoko isn’t quite sure what the little guns are like. Likewise, if cookie cutters are their big guns with stuff like this, then surely, they… there’s not a lot of hope for them, is there?

“Uh,” Aoko tries not to show the lack of excitement, but her eyes – dull – must give her away. Asuna’s shoulders drop. “Okay?”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Asuna says. “My plan is brilliant. We keep the confessions low-key, leave him to read into the clues we leave him. Like heart shaped cookies, and the likes.”

Heart-shaped cookies, and other romantic symbols in her cooking? Oh god, as much as Aoko loves her friend, this isn’t going to be good enough to get things through to Kaito.

He’s like, so thick skulled on things like this.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Aoko says.

Placing the cookie cutters onto the counter, Asuna very slowly leans forward, pressing her finger into Aoko’s shoulder. Aoko wavers, rocking back the balls of her feet from the pressure.

“It’s definitely going to work!” Asuna says. There is little doubt in her voice, which is foolish, Aoko thinks. “You’re just looking at this without any optimism, Aoko!”

Aoko’s beginning to think that her friend has managed to trick her into thinking she’s cooler than she is. Not – not that she’s uncool, per say, - but rather, she’d thought she was a cool and collected person and these past few days, she’s been anything but.

Now, flustered, claiming that these tricks absolutely work – how else did Aoko think she managed to win her girlfriend Kyoko over? – she seems much more ruffled.

“Asuna,” Aoko says, and now she places both hands on her friend’s shoulders, shaking her head. She says, “Asuna, listen, this kind of thing is cute and all, but it’s not going to work on someone as oblivious and dense as Kaito.”

“Kyoko can be oblivious.”

“For a girl maybe,” Aoko sighs. “But a girl’s obliviousness has nothing on a boy’s obliviousness.”

Understanding doesn’t so much as swim through her friend’s eyes, as paddle with very weak strokes. It’s better than nothing, Aoko supposes.

“We start subtle,” Asuna says, “because I’ve already bought the cookie cutters now, but we don’t leave it at that. We build upon it.”

Clicking her fingers and pointing at her friend, Aoko nods. She says, “It’s better than the previous idea.”

Asuna flushes. She says, “It’s not my fault you want to go out with someone so dense when it comes to romance.”

“It’s not like I had a choice of who to pick!” Aoko says. She’d had little choice at all, it’d just happened. One day she’d not been in love with Kaito – at least, not knowingly – and the next, she’d been panicking over the fact she might be moderately in love with him.

Some people said falling in love was like falling asleep – slowly, and then all at once. Well, Aoko refuses that sentiment because well, no. Falling in love with Kaito was like being hit by a truck.

Dangerous, and not without the risk of fatal injury.

“That’s true,” Asuna says, finally, reaching up to pat Aoko on the shoulder. “I bet you wouldn’t want to change it to someone else though.”

Probably not.

They use the cookie cutters.

Heart shaped cookies are placed inside a little bag, wrapped up, and Aoko tries not to cringe at how utterly cliché it feels to be giving someone heart-shaped cookies, but she does regardless.

“I hate this,” Aoko says, as she leaves the clubroom behind, only receiving a thumbs up from Asuna as she leaves.

“Good luck!” Asuna says, her voice chimed in with their other classmates. “Try to make it obvious!”

It’s going to go terribly, Aoko can already tell.

“We tried something different today,” Aoko says, and Kaito turns, looks back at her from where he’s been waiting by the school gates. He pushes away from the wall, falls into step beside her.

“Oh?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Aoko says, “we tried different shapes for the cookies and stuff, you know? These ones are for you.”

She passes a little bag of cookies over to Aoko, and Kaito takes them gingerly. He typically has them when he gets home, during homework and heist planning, but the look on Aoko’s face tells him he should be opening them now.

So, he does, pausing in his step so that he doesn’t do something stupid, like drop them or break them in two while undoing the ribbon on the bag.

A ribbon tying the bag together? Pretty fancy Aoko.

“Ah,” Kaito says, taking out one of the cookies. They’re heart-shaped, covering in a fine dusting of sugar. “These are cute.”

He bites into one, the sugar melting on his tongue, breaking the heart into two pieces. Then, he holds the bag out to her, an offer.

Aoko takes one slowly, bites into it.

Come to think of it, this is probably one of the only times he’s really seen her eating any of her own creations. She normally says that she’s already tried the things she makes in class and that she’s just sharing the leftovers.

“They’re good,” Kaito says, watching as Aoko nods along, almost hesitant. And then, “love hearts though – are you guys trying to make like, confessional cookies or something?”

It’s said to be teasing, and Kaito knows that he’s succeeded when Aoko flushes a deep crimson colour.

“No,” Aoko stutters, and then, at the sight of his raised brow, “maybe.”

“So, who is it?” Kaito asks. He pops the rest of the biscuit into his mouth, chews and continues, “who in the cooking club is looking to confess?”

Aoko’s eyes fill with what Kaito can only explain as a feral frustration. She looks, almost, like she’s going to hit him.

“What?”

“You’re so irritating,” Aoko says, shaking her head. She turns away from him. For a moment, Kaito is afraid she’ll stalk away, which is unnecessary, really, because he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong?

“…I’m… sorry?”

“Why do they need to be the ones looking to confess?” Aoko stops walking now, cheeks red, her hands clasped together, white with pressure as she squeezes. “What if it were me trying to?”

“Why would you be looking to–” He pauses. “You’ve got a crush on someone?”

Kaito doesn’t really know how to respond to a declaration like that.

“I might,” Aoko says, crossing her legs and jutting her chin. “What of it?”

“What kind of guy would you have a crush on?”

Aoko’s face seems to burn. She doesn’t say anything. Kaito wishes she would say something but she doesn’t.

“Wait,” he continues when the silence becomes overbearing. “Is that what all this cooking is about?”

“O-of course n-n–”

Kaito throws a finger out, pointing. “You’re using me as a taste tester for the guy you like!”

Aoko blinks. Dejected, she mutters, “…what? That – that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“It does!” Kaito claims. “Your using me to make sure all the things you make are edible and tasty, so when you give them to him, they’re top tier! I knew you were up to something.”

Perhaps because she’s been found out, Aoko’s eyes look slightly dull. Like a child that’s been caught out in the middle of her plot. Or a criminal in the throes of being caught.

“You’re…” Aoko lifts her hands up, buries her face in them. “Such an idiot…”

#Yes so please enjoy the fluff au! I hope it'll satisfy your need for KaiAo my dudes!#Kuroba Kaito #Nakamori Aoko #KaiAo #DCMK #Detective Conan #Magic Kaito #fic: Simmer Down #mywriting #part two coming soon - aka - whenever I finish it

66 notes · View notes