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btsmosphere · 3 years

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Soft Serve ~ myg

~summary: you didn’t expect anything remarkable to happen this birthday, but a basketball, an ice cream cone and an old friend might have something to say about that... ~wc: 1.3k ~childhood friends to... lovers?, fluff ~rating: g ~warnings: a slight bump on the head

~a/n: this is something I quickly whipped up (heh.. no pun intended) as a token of my love for @ddaechwita on her birthday!! it was last week but fear not, I sent this to her on the day as well😊chelle, you are the most gorgeous, creative, supportive and funny friend and an absolute dream to know!💜I’m so gald we met and became friends, and I look forward to our movie nights and hilarious chats for ages to come😘

it’s your birthday

just a simple fact, nothing special really

you don’t have any plans

but it feels sad to just sit around inside all day, so you decide to go out

there are a few messages from your friends screaming well wishes at you

they make you smile as you head for the door, sending off quick ‘thank you’s between shuffling into your boots

next to the park, there’s a cute ice cream café

you know the owner well enough, though you decide not to eat in

he notices that you go a little overboard from your usual order, but you brush it off

it’s a lot of effort telling people it’s your birthday, yknow? Then there’s some sort of expectation and they have to tell you happy birthday, meaningless out of obligation

so you take your order of mint chocolate, with a scoop of chocolate as well beside it, and head out

it’s a special occasion, why not treat yourself? Even if it’s from yourself, it still counts as a present, right?

thankfully it’s sunny, and the wind doesn’t bother you too much

perfect weather for an ice cream, really

it’s not melting either, so you stroll quietly while licking at it, savouring the taste

you’re in no rush, after all

the park is pretty empty, but you kind of like that

there are a few families walking around, one of them pushing a pram

and there are some teenagers hanging around a bench

you steer around them

yes, you’re several years older than them, plus one more year as of today, but still.. youths

at the end of this path are the sports courts, which is the busiest place

the sound of scuffling shoes and bouncing balls fill the air

you’re barely started on your veritable tower of ice cream when you walk past, head down even though you know no one behind the fence will look at you, caught up in their games

until a shout goes up, making you turn in time to find a shape flying rapidly towards you-

the impact has come and gone before you have a chance to move, and you come back to your senses as you double over, clutching your head where pain begins to seep in…

and there on the pavement under your nose, lies the slowly expanding puddle which once was your ice cream

though the pain passes soon enough – the kind which was familiar from the school playground, which would bloom intensely though you knew you were fine really, and fade away just as soon – you can’t help the dejected sigh at the loss of your ice cream

that’s when a breathless ‘hey’ meets your ears

straightening up, you catch sight of a guy jogging up to you, loose unbuttoned overshirt flapping a little behind him

protests are on the tip of your tongue, ready to assure him you’re okay and there is nothing to apologise about, before handing back the ball and continuing on your way, albeit short of a birthday ice cream tower

but that all dies on your lips as the sight of the man dawns on you with recognition

Min Yoongi

it can’t be

Min Yoongi, the basketball-crazy friend from school

the kid who used to be at the same sleepovers, who you shared those awful fruit ciders with when you were old enough to start drinking

here he is, stopping in front of you, slightly damp hair hanging from a headband fastened around his crown, looking… older, yet unmistakeably Yoongi

“Y/N!” he pants, flopping forwards to rest his palms against his knees, “you alright?”

“yeah, thank you,” you smile, almost apologetic as you scoop up the basketball that had stilled by your feet, offering it back to him

nodding, he takes it and chucks it across the fence in one move, holding up a hand in some gesture to the group the other side, who get back to playing

“sure you’re alright?”

“thanks”

he frowns down at the tragic sight on the floor

“let me get you another one”

“no, really, there’s no need”

“come on, Y/N, I just hit you on the head with a basketball and spilled your ice cream, all on your birthday. I can’t live with myself!”

his gummy grin is oh so familiar as he jokes, but you just stare

“how do you know it’s my birthday?”

he blinks

“well, it’s today.”

“I know that”

“so do I. not like I was there like, every year when we were kids”

“you still remember?”

he waits for a second longer, eyes locked with yours, before he makes a noncommittal noise, turning away with a slight nod

but he doesn’t go back towards the court

he’s walking back up the park, towards the ice cream parlour

hurrying to his side, you try to protest some more

but he simply cuts you off with a ‘mint and chocolate, right?’

“yeah-“ the words are out of your stunned mouth before you can register

and so, it looks like Min Yoongi is buying you ice cream

he walks out of the shop, both hands full, one with your original order, though somehow with a ton more cream and sprinkles than it had before

chewing your lip, you accept it with a shy ‘thank you’

how he remembered not only your birthday but your ice cream order, after all this time…

the two of you fall into step as you take the opposite direction, the long way around the park which will get you back to the courts right at the end of the route

when you start talking, it’s so easy, quickly slipping into conversation the way you always had until you’re halfway around the park

except...

he isn’t eating his ice cream

any drip that starts to fall, he catches with a finger and licks it up, but the ice cream stays otherwise untouched in his hand

“did they mess up your order?��

“hmm?”

“you’re not eating”

“oh. it’s caramel, in case you wanted any of that too…”

gaping, your feet slow

“that’s my other favourite”

“I know.”

“well, I’ll have some, if you’ll eat some at least. take the rest of this”

Yoongi only protests meekly as you press the half-consumed mint and chocolate monstrosity into his hands, and you’re happy to see him begin to eat

meanwhile, the caramel is a welcome change to the other flavours you had filled up on so far

but that doesn’t tell you why Yoongi still knows so much about you…

“so, care to tell me how you remembered all this?”

he’s silent

“are you stalking me or something?” you joke, and relief washes over you as he does smile at that, though it fades a little quickly

he isn’t meeting your eye

“I always remember”

“Yoongi…”

“every year, I think about you… especially on your birthday”

standing still at last, facing each other, you watch as his eyes lift, strikingly large, filled with a worried anticipation over your reaction

“that’s… that’s so sweet. Yoongi, I don’t know what to say”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he digs his free hand into his pocket, once again studying the pavement, “but really, I was happy to see you. this was the least I could do”

for a moment, you stand in quiet together and you’re pretty sure your heart is melting

this was absolutely not what you had expected for your lonesome trip outside for your birthday, but you were thankful for every part

even the part where you were hit on the head by a basketball

“thank you, Yoongi,” you smile

he seems to sag with relief, meeting your eyes at last

“would you wanna get my number?” you ask, “it’s been too long. and maybe we could meet without me getting a concussion”

his eyebrows shot up

“you said it didn’t hurt-“

“it doesn’t, I was just joking!” you quickly backtrack

swallowing, he chuckles

“okay”

“okay?”

“give me your phone”

taking it out and handing it to him, your eyes meet over the exchange in your hands

his eyes crease, smiling widely in a reflection of your own

yeah, this birthday hasn’t been half bad

Thank you for reading!! and happy birthday to chelle, I love you a lot!!

If you liked this, check out my masterlist and the drabble game I’m running at the moment!💜

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @un2-verse @ddaechwita @taegularities

#thebtswritersclub #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #btscreatorscorner #bangtanarmynet #purplearmynet #min yoongi imagine #yoongi imagine #suga imagine #suga scenario #yoongi scenario #bts birthday imagine #suga x reader #yoongi friends to lovers #bts fluff #bts x reader

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penzyroamin · 4 years

Note

not to be a basic sad bitch but can we get back to december + javid 🥺

oh i CELEBRATE what a basic sad bitch u are kath 🥺🥺🥺

ok so this got…. long as FUCK. this is 5.4k words. that is the longest prompt response i’ve ever written. however in my humble opinion. so yknow, sit back and enjoy the Canon Era Gay Guilt, Reconciliation, Vulnerability, And Time Jumps. this is also gonna get posted on ao3, because its… 5.4k words.

ain’t nothing but missing you

April 1906

Jack hasn’t seen Sarah Jacobs in a couple years, but when the word around the street is that she’s got a kid now, he decides he might as well drop by. As he walks over, he practices nonchalance, trying to remember what he acted like five years ago, when he felt comfortable at the Jacobs’ home.

He thinks he’s about prepared when he’s finally at their door, muscle memory carrying him across the city and to their tenement and up a couple levels.

(Sarah supposedly has her own place with her husband and daughter by now, but Jack was told she was stopping by, so he’s trying to cover all his catching-up bases.)

One, two, three quick knocks on the door, and then it opens.

Jack’s breath freezes in his lungs, and the smile he’s put on falters.

Davey blinks at him. “Oh.”

“Hi,” Jack manages, and then Sarah arrives at Davey’s side.

“Jack Kelly, what’re you doing here?” Her little girl’s resting at her hip, and Jack regains his smile, more genuine this time.

“Here to say hello, especially to this little one.”

Davey clears his throat. “Well, I’d better be getting home, Sarah.”

“Back to Boston?” Jack asks, and Davey’s gaze returns to him, intense and curious.

“No, I just got back to town a week ago.” Davey smiles at him tightly, his lips pressed together, and moves past him to leave. Their shoulders brush together as he says, “Have a good night, Jack.”

Jack watches him leave, and when he turns back to Sarah, she’s giving him a certain kind of look. It tells him, in an instant, that even if Davey hasn’t told her, she knows. “Would you like to come in?” she asks.

She knows, and Jack remembers.

April 1901

Davey’s tiptoeing on the edge of being too old to sell papers, and Jack has his job doing cartoons, but the newsies still see them as ringleaders as much as ever. And so, they’re watching in the lodging house while everybody plays poker. Someone’s clearly robbing someone else blind, but Jack’s distracted by Davey’s chin on his shoulder, knuckles brushing against his thigh.

They’ve always sat close. He doesn’t know why it feels different recently.

He hears Davey laugh softly, and even though it’s because of something outside of their little world, Jack can’t help but think it feels distinctly private. Davey moves his hand to rest halfway over Jack’s, their fingers partially intertwined, and Jack swallows hard, trying not to look at him.

May 1901

“What’re you gonna do?” Jack asks, distracting himself by fiddling with Davey’s fingers. They’re stretched out on the roof of Davey’s family’s tenement, and Davey’s hand was resting on Jack’s knee until Jack took it. Davey has his head resting on the wall, his eyes half-closed, and he sighs.

“Not sure. Maybe look for something nicer for a bit, but I’ll probably wind up in a factory.” His nose wrinkles a little. “Hope I don’t have to make bullets.”

The idea of that twists up Jack’s throat for a moment; Davey, who has always been so sweet and good and peaceful and smart, stuck on an assembly line to make items of war. There’s no war going on right now, not with a military. But when Jack sees the troubled furrow of Davey’s brow, he can’t help but feel that there’s one at home.

“I’ll see if the World’s got anything for ya,” Jack says. “You’s real smart, smarter than me. If they got something for me…” He trails off, the implication obvious, and Davey rolls his eyes.

“I can’t do art like you, and I can’t write like Kath. What’d they want me for?”

“You could interview for things. Hey, maybe even go undercover, you talk to people so good!”

Davey sighs, the beginnings of a smile gracing his lips as he turns his head to look at Jack. “I didn’t used to be. S’all recent.”

“Recent or not, you got a knack for it. Getting people’s trust, and all that. I think you’d be good.” The words are starting to get a little heavy in Jack’s throat– he’s never felt the need to heap so much praise on someone before, and it’s only a little uncomfortable. But it’s what Davey deserves, and for some reason, Jack is desperate to give Davey everything he deserves and more.

(Except he can’t, because he can never give Davey children, and a family, and the sort of normal, happy life that he truly deserves. And Davey’s parents will never approve of them, and they can never get married, and all of those are things that Davey deserves.)

Nonetheless, he continues: “Anybody who can’t see it’s just an idiot.”

He’s looked away from Davey, not quite comfortable with seeing his face right now, but still holding his hand. And then he looks back at him, gets only half a second to take in Davey’s eyes, dark brown in the dying sunlight, and the way Davey’s breath hitches.

Only half a second, and then Jack’s being kissed.

Davey’s free hand rests on the back of Jack’s neck, and Jack clutches his other hand tighter as he moves closer to him.

Jack knows, logically, that it’s a bad idea. Because, again, he cannot give Davey a real life, not the kind that he should have. And if he can’t give him a real life, then this will end, someday, and the thought of never being able to kiss Davey like this again makes Jack want to hold him so tightly that he’s never able to leave.

But he’s spent so long wanting him, longer than he probably realizes, and he tries to be invincible, but Davey Jacobs is his Achilles’ heel.

June 1901

It’s not unbearably hot, but the sun is too bright for anyone’s comfort. Jack’s accompanying Davey along across the city, helping him carry baskets of his mother’s washing to her clients.

When they finally drop off the last basket, Jack bumps their shoulders together, and Davey looks at him with a delighted grin. It makes Jack dizzy, and he nods towards the shaded alley.

They nearly collapse, sliding down the wall together, and Jack carefully puts an inch between them. It’s still light out, and there are people walking by just a few feet away, and they really aren’t concealed by anything, and Jack knows that they need to be cautious. He has to stop from looking for too long, because Davey’s hair is curlier than usual in the humidity, and he’s got his head tilted so his jawline is sharp and gorgeous, and if Jack keeps watching him sit there and breathe, he’s going to do something ridiculous.

Finally, Davey says, “Thanks for helping. Lord knows I needed it.”

Jack knocks their elbows together. “It would’ve just taken ya twice as long.”

“And I wouldn’t see you.”

Jack’s gaze flitters towards the pedestrians not too far away from them, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “Romantic.”

“Possibly,” Davey says, his voice no more than a murmur, and when Jack looks at him again, he finds Davey’s eyes on him.

He doesn’t understand why it’s easy, so so easy, for Davey to do this. He kisses Jack like he’s never thought about the repercussions, even though he thinks about everything. He can look at Jack and never once lose his restraint.

Jack looks at Davey for a few seconds, and he wants to fall apart.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his own mouth to hold himself back, and when he gets back to the tiny shitty apartment he can barely afford, he goes to sleep fighting tears.

July 1901

Jack knows Irving Hall like the back of his own hand, so he knows every place you can hide in the back corridors. There’s one place in particular where you can faintly here the music and the applause, but no one will find you for decades, besides maybe Miss Medda.

So he and Davey are hidden there, fading into the sound of soft brassy music and the feeling of being the only two people in the world.

Most of the time, when they kiss and they’re all alone like this, it’s a little rushed, hasty, and hot. But something about the whole situation has made this moment softer. It’s time truly to themselves, without anyone else or even the thought of them. Jack smiles against Davey’s lips as they kiss, slow and sweet.

He knows they’re going to have to go back outside, to the real world, soon. That Davey should get home and go to bed. That Jack should walk back to his place and fall asleep alone and still craving Davey’s hands on his hips.

But he tries to forget it, he really tries.

August 1901

It’s a vaguely normal day in terms of the two of them– Davey talks, Jack talks, Davey seems effortlessly restrained, Jack is willing to kill for the ability to hold Davey’s hand for just a few minutes.

Davey comes over for dinner, which is the nicest thing Jack could scrape up, and that already gets Jack a little antsy because he’s realizing this is the first time Davey’s been in his apartment when it’s just the two of them. The sun is down, and it’s almost dark outside, and Jack is keeping his eyes fixed on his plate because really, this is supposed to be a sweet, civilized dinner.

And then Davey says, “My mama’s trying to get me keen on this girl from synagogue.”

Jack bites the inside of his cheek. “What’s her name?”

“Liza, I think,” Davey sighs. “She’s sweet, but also… you know.”

“I know.” The words scratch out of Jack’s throat, and suddenly everything in front of him feels a little stupid– because someday, some girl is gonna get Davey’s life, and she’ll get to be with him and wake up next to him and raise his family, and she’ll never know Davey quite like Jack does. But why does Jack even try to know him so bad, why does Jack need Davey near him, when that phantom girl’s always ready and waiting to scoop up her chance as soon as Jack messes up? And when he knows that that’ll be better for Davey, because Davey needs a nice girl to fulfill every domestic fantasy he deserves, so why is Jack being selfish?

“Are you…” Davey pauses, blinking in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

Yes. Yes, he most definitely is.

They finish their food, and Jack stands after a moment. Davey gets up from the little table and walks around it, placing his hand on Jack’s waist and leaning forward to kiss him. It’s achingly gentle, and Jack’s fingers start to cramp with the effort not to touch him.

Jack pulls away. “Should you get home?”

Davey looks hurt for a moment, and then he asks, hesitantly, “Do you want me to go home?”

His eyes are so, so gorgeous, and so kind.

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Davey says, sure and steady. Jack’s about to ask what exactly that means– for just a little while longer, for the night, but Davey’s already dragging Jack back, and their lips are together again.

Jack clutches at the back of Davey’s shirt as Davey kisses along his jaw, and they stumble across the room so Jack is pressed against the wall.

Jack Kelly has broken a multitude of laws before, and so has David Jacobs, so Jack doesn’t really know why this law, the one they’re definitely about to break, feels so much more insurmountable.

September 1901

They’re eating dinner with Davey’s family, some soup that’s much more broth than substance but is the best they could scrounge up. Les, nearly a teenager now, has long since devoured his serving, and is watching with keen interest as his parents discuss the romantic prospects of his siblings. Jack sits awkwardly, trying to pretend like the thought of Davey being engaged, married, to any odd girl doesn’t make his throat sore with envy.

“David, you’ve talked to Liza?” Esther asks, kind and hopeful but also annoyingly persistent. She sounds tired, and Jack pities her for a moment, trying to carve out a future for her children.

Davey’s eyes are fixed on his soup. “No, Mama, I ain’t.” He winces, then, and glances up, correcting himself. “Haven’t.”

The proper accent school had forced on him faded away two years ago, but Davey still has moments of caring about maintaining it, especially around his family.

“Well, it’d be nice if you could call on her family.”

“Yes,” Davey says, his voice spilling with false promises. “I’ll try and set up a dinner when I see her Saturday.”

Esther beams. “That’ll be lovely.”

Jack’s hand is clenched in a fist under the table, and Davey’s hand imperceptibly moves over to rest on Jack’s. It’s a moment of calm, a reassurance that they won’t vanish forever come Saturday.

Jack hasn’t ever met Liza, but he kind of hates her. Which isn’t fair, but he does, nonetheless.

That Friday night, they manage to steal maybe a half hour away, and Jack practically begs for Davey’s affection. They can’t do the real thing, not here on Davey’s goddamn rooftop, but he still presses chaste kisses to the back of Davey’s neck. He does so again, and again, temptingly brief, until Davey sighs slowly. It rumbles a little in the back of his throat, which is just a little too intoxicating, and in a few seconds, he’s pulling aside the loose, open collar of Jack’s shirt and the extra layer of his undershirt and leaving bruises along Jack’s collarbone.

Nobody will be able to see the marks, since Jack doesn’t let anyone but Davey ever see this much of his skin. But it’s material, far more material, than anything Liza has of Davey.

“I didn’t peg you as the jealous kind, baby,” Davey mutters against Jack’s shoulder, just a few minutes before they have to head inside. They were in that phase of trying to calm themselves down and make themselves presentable, but the name hits Jack’s system like a fever, and his ears go hot.

“Didn’t think I’d need to be,” Jack says, the words coming out a little strangled.

Davey huffs a soft, quiet laugh at that. “You don’t. She’s nothing like you. Nobody’s like you.” His thumb grazes over Jack’s cheekbone. “There’s only you.”

And that– the confirmation of everything Jack knows, everything he feels, pushes him dangerously close to tears. But he can’t cry, not now, not in front of Davey, so instead he drags him close, his arms around Davey’s waist to get him as near as possible. They kiss, bruising and sweet at the same time, until Davey has to pull back and get them calm all over again.

October 1901

As a general rule, Jack doesn’t cry in front of anyone.

He’ll cry alone, when there’s no one there to see him, no one to lose respect in him. But he refuses to be weak in the eyes of others, refuses to let other people see that he’s barely nineteen, and he’s not ready, not strong enough to do what life is going to force him to do.

But it’s been a horrible, fucked-up week. Pulitzer rejected idea after idea for his cartoons because they “catered to the lower class”, rent on his shitty place got hiked up, and then, of course, there’s Davey.

Nothing’s wrong with Davey, of course. But the circumstances of this thing that they have are getting worse and worse.

It starts with their friends starting to get confused as to why Jack, who was seized by infatuation every other second a year ago, suddenly talks of no one.

Davey has a few dinners with Liza’s family, and always assures Jack afterwards that they are incredibly boring. Jack worries less about them being boring, and more about them being safe.

And there is pressure on both of them– to start looking for a nice girl, to start figuring out what they want from their lives.

Jack is slowly realizing that he wants to spend his life with Davey, and that’s truly horrifying, because he can’t.

There is no future here, he tries to remind himself. This is temporary, and then it will go.

But his week has been utterly awful, and then when he meets Davey on the rooftop one night, and Davey presses soft kisses to the line of Jack’s jaw, it all comes crashing in on him. Davey is so gentle and fiery at the same time, so good and kind, and Jack cannot possibly keep him.

He almost goes numb, and barely registers his own tears until Davey is gasping and wiping them away for him.

Jack brings himself back to reality to the sound of Davey murmuring soft, reassuring words and kissing his forehead. “It’s okay, Jackie, we’re alright. Whatever it is, I can help. I’m right here, darling.”

That breaks right through all Jack’s shields, all his insistence that he doesn’t cry. Slow, quiet tears turn into wracking sobs, and he buries his face in Davey’s shoulder as his body shook.

Davey keeps whispering to him, rocking them back and forth. He starts singing some old Yiddish song, his voice a little raspy with the cold, and Jack clutches onto him. He wants Davey near him every second of every day, and he cannot have any of that, and that just makes him cry harder.

He tries not to think about the way Davey keeps him warm and safe from the wind, tries not to think at all– somewhere along the line, his tears slow, and he is calmed by Davey’s hand rubbing circles against his back. Davey pulls back, only far enough so he can look Jack in the eye.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his hands cupping Jack’s face. “Did I do something?”

“You do nothing wrong. Not to me,” Jack says, and Davey’s eyes are soft and disbelieving. “It’s just… been bad. A bad week.”

Davey hums at that. “You wanna tell me about it?”

He can’t tell the full thing, he can’t tell Davey just how much the temporary state of them makes him want to rip his own heart out. Because then Davey will blame himself, and none of this, not one bit, is Davey’s fault.

But he tells him the abridged version, the part full of anger at the world for fucking him up so badly, frustration at Pulitzer and his landlord, fury at the world.

And when he finishes, he’s not crying, but he feels close to it again, and Davey wraps him up in another hug.

It’s that moment that makes him realize. The way Davey holds him impossibly close, the way that he does it without a second thought, the way that Jack can picture them staying right here forever.

He loves David Jacobs. He is in love with him. Irreversible, sticks-with-you-for-eternity kind of love, the kind of love that people get married over the dream of.

He loves him, and he doesn’t know how long he has, and he doesn’t know how long he will. But he knows it isn’t safe.

November 1901

There are a few moments after that in which he almost thinks he can make this whole thing work.

Davey stays the night over at Jack’s apartment– they have a while worth of burning kisses and grasping hands, trying to keep away the cold. After that, though, they lay as close as they can, Davey’s arms wrapped around Jack’s waist, and Jack’s just on the brink of falling asleep.

He opens his eyes just a bit to see Davey asleep, his lips just slightly parted, and that’s the last thing before he falls asleep.

The few times he’s gotten to wake up next to Davey, he’s always been up first, taken the time to sketch out the slope of his cheekbones. This time, though, when he wakes up, Davey’s sitting up next to him. He’s reading some massive book, and he’s smiling just a little.

He looks like a prince in some storybook. He looks enchanting.

Davey notices him, and his smile widens, reaching down to brush Jack’s curls out of his face. “Morning, neshomeleh.”

(That’s the thing with nicknames– Jack has always given them so frequently that whenever he calls him David, it feels like walking on holy ground. But Davey distributes them so sparingly, and usually just little quirks on people’s names, so every “lover” or word Jack doesn’t understand is a treasure. The first time they really discussed what they were, Davey asked Jack to call him David– he needed to be sure that Jack was serious.)

“Morning,” Jack says, and he wants so many more moments like this.

But then Davey has to go home, because they have lives, and those lives cannot be abandoned.

December 1901

It begins like this: Davey comes running up to Jack in the street.

Before Jack can blink, he’s enveloped in a hug, and Davey is laughing joyfully. The laughter fades for a moment, and Davey whispers, “Rooftop tonight,” with his lips close to Jack’s ear.

Then, he starts laughing again, and claps Jack on the back before he runs away.

That night, Jack climbs up the ladder on the side of Davey’s tenement to find Davey already sitting there, silhouetted by moonlight with his old coat pulled around him.

Jack steps towards him hesitantly, and as soon as Davey sees him, he rushes forward. Jack is taken aback when Davey kisses him, an ecstatic and almost aggressive press of lips before Davey backs up, holding Jack’s shoulders.

“You wait ‘till you hear my news,” Davey says giddily, and Jack blinks.

“I don’t wanna wait, mind telling me now?”

Davey laughs, that perfect firecracker laugh, and he drags Jack to sit down with him. They sit so they can face each other, Davey’s eyes bright and Jack’s eyes most likely confused.

“You know I got a cousin in Boston?” Jack nods. “And you know I’ve been looking for a job.” Another nod. “He talked to some folks up there and found someone willing to hire me.” Davey pauses, for dramatic effect. “As a teacher! A teacher, Jack, for littles, I can–”

Davey keeps speaking, but one word rings in Jack’s ears: Boston.

“You’re leaving?” he finally asks, interrupting Davey, his voice hoarse.

It doesn’t break Davey’s smile. “No, yes, but– Jack, this is the best part, he doesn’t know anything about me besides me having schooling and being good at running a crowd. And he’s found a place I can move into, and Jack, I already asked, and he said you could stay there, too.”

That’s too many words for Jack’s brain, too quick a series of additions, and he tries to focus on the last piece. “I can… move to Boston.”

“With me, Jack, you can move to Boston with me, and we’ll have a place, and nobody knows us! Jackie, lover, this is perfect, we can–”

Davey’s words fade into the background once more, and Jack starts feeling sick to his stomach, because he’s always thought that Davey knows that they’re impermanent.

He’s hated their impermanence, but he’s always thought Davey’s realized it.

And now, he thinks that maybe, Davey’s still clinging to childlike hope.

Of some accord that’s not his own, Jack starts speaking again. And then Davey speaks, and then Jack, and then both of them, and Davey, who was previously so thrilled, gets angry.

“I don’t get what you see wrong with–”

“This is never going to be perfect, Davey! We will never be safe, we will never be able to just exist– David, look at me!”

Davey’s eyes snap up to Jack’s face, and they’re filled with such hurt that Jack wavers. But he swallows down all the “I love you”s that he’s never said before, and he just says, “This can’t be forever.”

“We could try, though,” Davey says, sounding more desperate than angry now. “C’mon, Jack, listen to me. Believe in me, this is our chance. I’ll have a job, a real job, and we can wake up and fall asleep with each other and say whatever we want in private and not have to worry about my parents–”

The picture he’s painting is so goddamn pretty, and Jack needs to tear it apart, for both of their goods. Because Davey can be incredible, if he just lets go of Jack, and maybe Jack will learn how to live without him, someday.

“No,” Jack says simply.

Davey presses his lips together, looking at the ground. “I need to go. I need a job, a stable one. I need to go, and I need you to go with me.”

“You want me to. That ain’t good for either of us,” Jack says, praying that Davey will blink and then understand, but he doesn’t.

“So you just intend to quit this the second it’s real?”

“You want us to live together, David, to have a life. We can’t do that, we’ll never have that! No matter how much anybody wants it!”

There are a few more words. Tears start welling up in Davey’s eyes, and if Jack looks at that any longer, he’ll feel like the worst scum on Earth.

So he says goodbye, and he climbs back to the ground, leaving Davey on the roof.

And that’s how it ends.

April 1906

For five years, Davey has been in Boston, living a life that Jack could separate from his own.

And now he’s in New York again. He has a place, according to Crutchie, and a job teaching littles in the Lower East Side, the same neighborhood Davey grew up in.

Jack smiles to himself thinking about how Davey must feel– coming home, teaching in his own neighborhood, and finding it now quickly filling with Jewish families like his own. It must feel more like home than before, surrounded by the buildings of his childhood and by his people.

Jack never thinks so often about home, except when he’s thinking about Davey.

It takes him a few years of dawdling and wringing his hands and asking for second opinions before he finally gets up enough courage to find Davey’s little apartment. It doesn’t look too different from the Jacobs family’s apartment, but it’s all Davey’s.

He knocks on the door, thinking that he’s ready to see his face this time.

But Davey opens the door, and Jack’s never been ready.

Davey looks noticeably taken aback, and he steps away, a sliver more distance between them. “Jack. Hi.”

Jack swallows, taking off his hat. “Mind if I come in?” Davey doesn’t say anything, just moves to give Jack space to walk into his apartment.

Davey busies himself around the apartment for a while, cleaning up cups and scattered newspapers. Jack takes the time to observe him.

He’s still ridiculously gorgeous.

He outgrew his last bit of lanky awkwardness in Boston, making every step he takes now a little more confident. There’s a dark splattering of early-spring freckles across his face, and his hair is a little longer and curlier. There’s a short scar along his jaw that wasn’t there before, and Jack worries for a moment.

Davey turns, and his eyes fix on Jack, intense and suspicious. “What are you here for?”

“I wanted to check in,” Jack says, and the words seem hollow, even to himself. Davey huffs out an empty laugh.

“Well, you have. I’m fine.”

This is going downhill quickly, so Jack squeezes his eyes shut and manages, “Dave, I wanna apologize.”

Davey blinks, and then crosses his arms and tilts his head, telling him to begin.

“I never shoulda told you all that, before. I shoulda believed you, shoulda tried. I was a coward.” He looks down at his hands. “I thought… if I could make you leave me, maybe you could be normal.”

He looks up when Davey gives a frustrated sigh. “Jack, did you think you’d be the only man I’d ever think about?” Jack falters, his mouth falling open, and Davey rolls his eyes. “Only way that’d happen is if you’d left with me, if I had you. And you stayed, don’t see how you could fix that now.”

“I know. I know, Davey, really. I just…”

“You know I told Sarah I was gonna ask you to go with me?”

That explains some things.

Jack shakes his head, and Davey drops his hands to his sides. “I was so sure you were gonna say yes, Jack. We felt… I dunno, it felt like we were really something.”

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Davey laughs hoarsely. “We all believe in magical true love when we’re eighteen. I was dumb, it’s… it is.”

Denial is on the tip of his tongue, he’s about to say that he didn’t believe in all that. And then he thinks about May, a few months before he was nineteen, and kissing Davey on the roof. Maybe he did.

He’s shaken out of the thought when Davey reaches a hand up to rub at his own temple, clearly tired. “Whatever. I left, you didn’t.”

Jack bites down on his tongue to avoid saying something stupid. “I wish I had. I shoulda, Davey, I’s regretted it every day.”

Davey’s eyebrows furrow. “You never wrote. You never tried to contact me. Never visited, never gave my mama a message to send to me. That ain’t regret.”

“It was different when you was away… abstract, sorta.”

“So, what, you like it better when you don’t have to feel guilty about me?”

“No!” Jack says, the word tripping out of his mouth. “Not that, swear, no, it’s just…” He can feel Davey’s willingness to let him stay draining quickly, and all he can think about how terribly, horribly wrong his life will be if he never sees this man again. “It’s just that I love you.”

Davey swallows, hard, and Jack realizes all over again that neither of them ever said it.

“I love you. And I did then, and I’s still doing it now, and Christ, every time I see you I never wanna look away. And I made myself think we couldn’t have nothing so I’d stop hoping for it.”

He tries to look Davey in the eyes. “I love you,” he repeats, for posterity.

Davey exhales slowly, his breaths shaky. “Lord. Jack, I…”

“You ain’t gotta say anything. I’m just sorry, is all. Nothing you gotta do about it.”

“What if I want to?” Davey asks, sounding a little faint, and Jack’s heart jumps to his throat. “If I forgive you right here, are you gonna leave again?”

“Never. You want me here, you want me anywhere, I’m there. I’s never gonna leave, promise.”

Davey tilts his head up, looking at his ceiling. There’s a long moment of silence, and Jack wrings his hands, praying silently. When Davey speaks, they’ve been quiet for so long that it surprises them both.

“I love you, too.”

Jack opens his eyes, realizing only now that they’re closed, and finds Davey’s gaze meeting his own. His breath catches in his throat, and he isn’t sure what to do.

“It’s gonna take some time,” Davey says, his voice soft and raw like Jack remembers it being in the mornings. “I… I’m gonna forgive you, but it’s gonna be a second.”

“I can wait,” Jack says, barely registering the words. “I can wait, Dave.”

Davey smiles delicately, and then, “Say my name. My real name. Tell me you love me, I need to know it’s real.” The half a room between them is stifling and impossible. Jack tries to breathe, tries to give Davey the sort of moment that Jack’s never been good at.

“I love you, David Jacobs,” he says, and before the last syllable has even left his lips, Davey is hugging him as tight as possible. Jack buries his face in Davey’s shirt, letting tears leak out as they breathe together. “I’m gonna love you right this time.”

Jack doesn’t know if they’re allowed to have a future together. But he knows they will, regardless of who refuses it to them.

The city of New York buzzes outside as they cling to each other, cherishing their reprieve and knowing that the April air next morning will be so different from December’s night winds.

quick note for those who dont know: nesholemeh is “sweetheart” in yiddish. the single take-away for this fic is that i’m soft for davey calling jack pet names

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #penzy writes #chaotic yeehaw vibes tag #anyways thank u so much for this kath this is a GAY MESS

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roman-reigns-princess · 7 years

Text

The Pack Survives (Roman Reigns): Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Writing Masterlist

Warnings: Assault scene for like the first bit? Mentions of blood, & choking (not the fun kind). More werewolf stuff?

Word Count: 2152

A/N: Wow an update on my sugar daddy fic last week, and now an update on this fic this week? it really is thanksgiving lmfao

Tag List: @savmontreal @vivalavonvon @hardykat @racingandreigns @inkedirishbbydoll-blog-blog@fivefootxo @lovetusk @captainrogersbucky @imamoxbrose24 @kamdog0014 @empress-with-the-crown @sabrina-rowling @littledeadrottinghood @vanity1385 @wweburnitdown @maahsrandom@glowrioustrash @roman-reigns-empire-1996 @imhiskryptoniterr @searchanddestroy @leteverythingexist @vebner37 @livingoffsavvyillusions @innocent-reid @isawthesights @nethbellins @calwitch

She tossed and turned for a bit, trying not to think too much about today’s events, from the weird wolf experience, to whatever it was she felt for Leati. She finally had to stop moving because Enyo took it upon herself to curl up on her stomach. Andromeda slowly drifted off into a restless, nightmare riddled sleep.

She'd locked herself in the bathroom, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she tried to use the hand towel to wipe up the blood, and hopefully stop the bleeding from the knife wound in her side. She prayed that he hadn't hit anything important.

She sat on the edge of the tub as she tried to slow down her breathing. She was sure a couple of her ribs were broken as each breath sent shocks of pain through her side so intense that it felt like she'd pass out any minute.

A loud crash sounded outside the door, making her jump. She'd managed to slam his head against a table before escaping to the bathroom. In retrospect she should've tried getting out of the apartment, but she'd panicked, and went through the closest door.

So she had called 911 minutes ago from the confines of their, no, his bathroom. The operator had told her that the police were on their way and would be here in about 10 minutes. She wasn't sure if she could survive that long.

She stifled a scream as something slammed into the door, making it shudder as the hinges groaned in protest. She scanned the area, trying to find something to protect herself with.

"Come on, Andy, let me in. I just wanna talk," his voice boomed from the other side of the door.

She ignored him as her eyes landed on the mirror; not giving herself time to reconsider she wrapped the blood soaked towel around her right hand and punched the mirror. Shards went flying in every direction. A faint stinging in her arm was the only indicator that a couple of small ones had embedded themselves there while most of the mirror ended up in the sink.

Towel still wrapped around her hand, she reached for the largest shard with the sharpest end. A second bang against the door had her flinching and pressing herself against the wall next to the door, preparing to spring at him when he finally got through.

He threw himself against the door a third time, and it finally gave way. She wasted no time, her survival instincts taking over as she launched herself at him, all pain momentarily subdued by adrenaline. She sank the mirror shard into his right shoulder before her other fist connected with the side of his skull, shoving him away from her, and leaving the shard buried in his shoulder.

He screamed, she wasn't sure if it was pain or anger or frustration, but she wasn't waiting to find out, she had to strike while he was distracted. She snarled and jumped onto his exposed back, sinking her teeth into his uninjured shoulder. That was a bad move because it allowed him to throw her back into the wall.

Her head connected with the wall behind her, momentarily stunning her as she let go of him, sliding to the ground. She could taste blood in her mouth, whether it was his or her own, she wasn't sure. But she didn't have time to think about it as she felt his hands wrap around her neck and squeeze.

Andromeda jerked awake, gasping as her entire body shivered because of the nightmare. She slowly sat up trying to remind her body that she was safe, she'd gotten out, and no one was trying to kill her anymore. She was grateful for the bright moonlight streaming in through the windows, illuminating the room. Slowly shifting the cat off her lap, careful not to wake her up, she stood up and stretched.

She made her way over to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She stood there for a moment, hands resting on the sink as she glared at her reflection. Her memory infused nightmares were making a come back, and it showed in the dark circles under her eyes. The last thing she needed was for her insomnia to return just as she moved to a new place; granted she could probably afford not to work again thanks to her inheritance, but she knew it wouldn't do her any good to be cooped up in the house.

Grabbing the hand towel next to the sink, she dried off her face and hands before walking back out to the room. A low whine sounded, making her pause and look around the room, confused; she was pretty sure Enyo couldn't have made that noise. Her head snapped to the window as she heard it again, this time coming loud and clear from her back yard.

She shook her head in disbelief as she walked over to the window, and sure enough the wolf was standing right below her window.

"What the fuck is this Disney princess bullshit," she mumbled to herself, the wolf let out another loud whine. "Okay, okay I'm coming down, Jesus."

She grabbed Leati's jacket off the bed as she walked out of the room, convincing herself that she wanted it only for warmth and not because she liked his scent. On her way down, she grabbed a drink of water before making her way to the back yard.

She found the wolf pacing at the tree line; his ears pricked up as he heard her coming down the stairs and he bound over to her, looking like a massive wall of black fur and fangs. He stopped a few feet away, realizing that he'd startled her as she stumbled back a little.

He dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back like an over grown puppy; she may not know much about wolves, but she knew enough to understand that he was trying to appear as nonthreatening as a gigantic wolf could be. She settled down on the grass next to him.

She swore under her breath when he stood back up and circled her twice, sniffing at her hair and the jacket before laying down behind her so that her back was pressed against his flank. He curled around her, resting his head in her lap, and gave the jacket one last sniff.

"You like his scent too, huh?" She said, absentmindedly running her fingers through his fur as her thoughts traveled back to the big, handsome Samoan she'd met earlier. She raised an eyebrow when the wolf's body rumbled against her back, sounding almost like a content purr. He shut his eyes as she continued to trail her fingers through his soft fur; his weird growling purrs slowly lulling her to sleep as well.

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

And that was how she woke up later that day, curled up in the middle of her back yard using a giant wolf as a pillow while he'd basically wrapped himself around her completely. She was surprised that she'd actually managed to fall back asleep, let alone not have any nightmares.

She slowly sat up, stretching lazily as her eyes adjusted to the later morning sun before she remembered that the moving company was supposed to come by to set up the rest of her stuff.

She bolted up to her feet with a curse; the wolf, seemingly unperturbed, cracked an eye open to stare up at her then let out a loud huff and rolled over onto his other side as if he was saying ten more minutes.

She groaned as she stared down at him, wondering how she'd ever get him to leave before the movers came by; she couldn't have them getting freaked out by a huge black wolf soaking up the sun in her back yard. A loud knock on her front door brought her out of her thoughts. Unfortunately, it also woke the wolf up and he was on his feet in the blink of an eye, growling at the house.

"Oh shit, no, you have to go, cmon, it's just the movers dropping off my shit," she pleaded, trying to push him away. He stopped growling, and looked at her as if to say really you think you're going to push me anywhere. "Come on, please, I can't have you chewing them to bits, I don't wanna move the stuff in by myself."

As if he understood her, he turned around, licking her cheek, and took off into the woods. She sighed in relief and rushed into the house; she had to get cleaned up before she let them in. She made quick work of pulling on some sweats, and brushing her teeth. When she decided that she was presentable enough she finally made her way to the door to greet the movers.

"Hi, so sorry about that, I, uh, had a late night," she explain to the man at the door.

"It's all good, Miss," he replied, waving his men over; she stood aside to let them start moving her things in. "You got a dog or something?"

"A, a dog? No, why'd you ask?" She replied with a nervous laugh.

"Thought I heard some growling just now, don't want my men gettin bit or anythin, yknow?" He said with a skeptical look on his face.

"Oh, that, um, I fell asleep watching a documentary on wolves," she lied, he stared at her for a bit before shrugging his shoulders. --------------------------------- Roman's POV:

Roman had initially shot over to Andromeda's because he got flashes of images through their bond of her being attacked. Even thought that turned out to be a nightmare of hers he stayed on, not wanting to leave her alone; he also made a note to find out more about her nightmares in his human form.

He hadn't planned on falling asleep, it'd just happened; her fingers running through his fur had had more of an effect than he'd anticipated. He was lucky he hadn't accidentally shifted back into his human form while he slept, that would've been a horrifying surprise for Andromeda.

Although he would never admit it, he'd been rather startled and disoriented when he woke up in her back yard; if he'd been more aware, he wouldn't have left her alone to deal with strangers.

As he approached the spot where he'd left his clothes, he cursed himself for giving up so easily, he shouldn't have left his mate unprotected with a bunch of strangers at her doorstep. He shifted and pulled on his pants, not bothering with his shirt as he walked back to the pack mansion.

He nodded at Naomi as he passed her and the wolves she was training. His hands eyes narrowed when he saw Jimmy standing at the front door, arms crossed, with a big smirk on his face. He pushed past his cousin and headed to the kitchen to find Jey making breakfast, a similar smirk stretching across his face when he saw Roman. He was about to say something when Roman cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up, I don't wanna hear it," Roman grunted, narrowing his eyes as the twins stood together with their arms folded. "I was in my wolf form, she didn't know it was me, nothing happened between us; just get me some food before I turn the both o' y'all into minced meat."

"Hey we didn't say shit," replied Jimmy, taking a seat opposite Roman as Jey turned back to his cooking with a snort, mumbling to himself.

Roman chose to ignore his cousins, pulling out his phone to text Andromeda. He wasn't happy about the fact that he'd had to give her his human name, Leati, rather than his wolf name, but he knew better than to just spring their world on her.

Roman: Good morning, what you up to today?

Meda: Morning, just moving the last of my stuff in.

Roman: Need any help?

Meda: Nah, got some movers to help. I'd be down to do something today tho.

Roman: How bout dinner this evening?

Meda: Sounds good ^.^

Roman: I'll pick you up around 6

Meda: See you then!

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

Andromeda's POV:

Andromeda bit her lip as she set her phone down on the kitchen counter top, unable to help the smile stretching across her face. The moving guys were nearly done so she'd have some time to kill before meeting Leati.

She dug around through the boxes on the kitchen floor till she found her cups; she poured out four glasses of water just as the movers finished moving in her last piece of furniture. She set the glasses out for them as they came by the kitchen.

"Thank you, ma'am," said the shortest as they downed their drinks. "You'll receive an invoice in a day or two, you can mail the check back to the address on it."

"Sounds good, Mr. Wyatt," she said, shaking their hands; she had to suppress a shiver that ran down her spine as the dull ache returned to her shoulder. "Thank you guys."

She walked them to the door and shut it behind her, locking it; the dull ache slowly faded.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #my writing #the pack survives #my post

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fanficsofmine · 7 years

Text

The Stylist - Part 2 -Sehun Smut

There was a request for a part 2 of The Stylist. Here is the link for Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet! This one turned out a bit long. Hope you love it.

-T✨

"I got the job," I squealed as I hung up the phone. I had applied to do the make up and styling for a huge award show coming up soon. It was an incredible networking opportunity for me. Much to people's surprise, EXO did not tour constantly, although it seemed as though they did. I needed every addition to my resume that I could get during their off season. I dialed Sehun's number and told him the news. "It seems as though I had a stellar reference from an idiol from one of the performing groups," I teased. "Well, yeah. I need my best stylist there. They're usually pretty quick to agree when we request stuff like that. I was told that I had to share you with other groups, but that's fine. I'll have you there. Maybe you can help me relieve some stress before the show." I could practically see his smirk over the phone. - A few weeks later, I arrived at the venue for the awards. I stared up at the arena, in total awe. I could not believe that I was about to do make up and hair and dress stars for everybody to see on stage and television. I got my vanity set up and, one by one, idols started filtering in. I did updos and glittery eyes for a few of the Red Velvet girls. BLACKPINK's Lisa asked me to paint some dramatic cat eyeliner on her. I was having a blast experimenting different styles on different idols. They were all so kind and a few of them took my business card with them. I finished spritzing Yoongi's pastel blue hair with some hairspray when my next client walked in. He was stunning. He had a huge smile that took my breath away. Yoongi thanked me and said hi to the man who walked in. He addressed him as "Mark," and I checked my list to make sure that he was on my schedule. "Mark Tuan - GOT7" We shook hands and he sat in the chair. "I've heard people raving about your work," he grinned at me, "everyone is saying you're one of the best stylists this year. They had even mentioned how beautiful you were. I was excited that I got to have you." He blushed, "have you, as in, I mean, like, stylist." I laughed. His embarrassment was cute. We chat a bit more as I brushed his hair back into a bit of a swoop. I stood in front of him as I sprinkled some texture powder at his roots. I ran my hands through his hair a bit to help it settle.

"Mmm. How much do you charge to just follow people around and play with their hair all day? I could fall asleep right here with you doing this to me all afternoon." I glanced down to see Mark looking up at me, a flirty smirk across his lips. "I'll have to add that to my list of fees. Hair cuts, starting at $55. Color, starting at $75. Following clients around to massage their heads at their whim, market rate depending on season and location." Mark let out a laugh and said, "well, how about next weekend, market rate be equivalent to a dinner date with me and we can even avoid the head massages until we get to know each other a bit better?" I felt a blush creep across my cheeks. It had been forever since I had been out on a solid, proper date. I had been fucking Sehun for a while, but the idea of a real date sounded wonderful. I nodded. "Yeah. I think that I would like that." I finished his hair and we exchanged phone numbers. As he turned to leave, he stopped and grabbed my hand. He kissed the top of it and thanked me. From the doorway, I heard someone clear their throat. I leaned around to see past Mark and saw Sehun with his arms crossed. "Some of us still need our hair and make up done, yknow." He looked irritated. "Sorry, man," Mark apologized before turning back to me, "I'll call you." He left and Sehun slammed the door behind him. He turned the lock and, quicker than I anticipated, was pressed against me. His hands grabbed my hips and his lips pressed to my neck immediately. "Woah," I was caught off guard by his aggressive nature, "woah! What's gotten into you?" Sehun was nipping at my neck and unbuttoning my blouse. His hands groped at the fabric of my bra as he spun me around and set me in the chair that I had been styling other artists in all day. "Sehun," I started. He would not let me speak though. "Do you think that I like seeing that? Hearing that? Hearing some other guy ask you out?" He was speaking every other word between intense kisses. His hands were moving so fast they were fumbling over each other in an attempt to undress us both quickly. To make sure I was ready for him, Sehun dropped to his knees in front of me in the chair. His tongue swiped up my slit, and my head fell back against the headrest. My hand flew to my mouth to attempt to remain quiet. He lapped at my folds for a moment before focusing on my clit. His tongue expertly circled it, occasionally throwing in the motion of sucking on it as well. I bit down on my lip, hard. Once I was ready, Sehun stood and lined himself up with my core. He wasted no time in sliding his length into me.

One hand grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself as the other attached itself to my hair. He tugged at it lightly, exposing my throat to him. His thrusts were sloppy. His usual style was to be sweet initially before moving fast. This time, he was slamming into me right away. His desperate desire was sexy. He had never acted like he needed to fuck me this bad before. His hips pound into me repeatedly, and my orgasm was building quick. "Sehun, I'm not gonna last long," I somehow managed to let escape past my moans. "Good," he growled. He licked the pad of his thumb and let it circle my clit. I immediately felt the knot in my stomach come unraveled. My back arched as Sehun quickly followed suit. He came right after me, thrusting a few more times. "Sehun! I'm so sensitive. Please. Hold on," I begged before he finally pulled out of me. We both caught our breath for a second before I asked, "what in the fuck was that?!" "Nothing. Just our ritual pre-show sex." He turned away, but I grabbed his arm. "Did... did seeing Mark ask me out bother you?" He sighed, "if you start dating someone, I don't get to fuck you anymore." "So, what? I'm supposed to stay single so you can still get what you want out of me?" I was disappointed that the amazing sex was being immediately followed by an argument. "Or you could just be with me finally," he snapped. He turned bright right when he realized that the words had left his mouth. "What?" was all that I was able to say. Sehun ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "I just, I've wanted to be with you for so long now," he mumbled. "I know I'm pretty awesome at a lot of things," I joked, "but reading minds is not one of them. How could I have known that? We rarely talk outside of your shows and you've never hinted at wanting more!" "Well, here I am. Hinting," He closed the gap between us and kissed me. This was a slow, passionate kiss. His hands cupped my face and there was so much emotion behind it. When we finally broke apart, he pressed his lips to my forehead. "Be more to me, please?"

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keycrash · 7 years

Note

Is there any way you'd compare Junpei and Santa, and the differences between them?

RUUUUUUUBS HANDS TOGETHER

SO. they’re actually pretty similar in a lot of ways! ESPECIALLY in regards to personality typing. both are slytherin. aoi is a 7w8 for enneagram, and junpei’s an 8w7. aoi’s an ESFP in a Se-Te loop, and junpei’s a plain old ESFP. personally i’m not an expert on all of these personality typing systems-- most of it is from my friend’s analyses-- but here’s some specific insight into aoi’s looping:

Se-Te loop dynamics: impatient and strongly driven to seek continuous positive environmental feedback, often through blindly chasing “success” as measured by external standards -> but continues to suffer low self-esteem and lack of meaningful direction because of failing/refusing to reflect upon and stay true to personal moral values (i.e. does not have a clear understanding of what one really needs from life or contributes to the world)

defensive loop tendencies: excessively stubborn; buries personal problems or inner turmoil behind cold “rational” competent action; prone to projecting personal inadequacies onto others; lacks moral integrity and displays poor understanding of other people’s suffering or difficulties; tendency to repress personal feelings or brush aside internal warnings of danger; prone to being argumentative, domineering, arrogant, caustic, jealous, envious, or territorial; tendency to demand agreement/approval from others or streamroll people who disagree; prone to unfairly judging others as unsupportive, weak, oversensitive, incompetent, or inferior; takes aggressive but hasty actions with the unconscious intent to repress feelings of insecurity, unhappiness, or low self-esteem

i’m just getting the personality typing similarities out of the way first because... frankly i don’t know a lot about them! but i do know that these two are similar in that way, but the way their personalities come out externally is a lot different

aoi’s personality has very much been molded from his experiences, and he has to twist it to be useful for what he has to do-- for example, he has pretty defined morals, but he has to shove that all in a garbage can in order to accomplish what he needs to with akane. he doesn’t often get the opportunity to act like his “natural state,” because a lot of his actions are out of pure necessity. meanwhile, junpei’s had a pretty normal life up until 999! he hasn’t been in these extreme moral conditions. he’s naive, he’s idealistic, but he’s willing to fight for what he believes in. when it comes to these intense moments like in 999, he’s not a strictly selfish person, but he knows where his priorities are; he’s not going to fuck people over just to get himself and akane out, but she’s always first on his mind. (once he hits vlr, he’s pushed that to a bit more of an extreme; he’s not going to fuck the group over for the fun of it, but he’ll take any opportunity he can to push quark ahead because he’s weathered and tired and just wants his kid out alive)

junpei and aoi are both extroverts, but they’re rather picky extroverts; junpei likes being around people, but he doesn’t have a lot of close friends at all. aoi likes hanging around his crew, but “his crew” can consist of anywhere from “just akane” to “akane nona ennea clover light phi et cetera” depending on what point he’s at. most of aoi’s relationships are either “distant acquaintances” or “close as fuck” for a lot of his life, so he has to build a middle ground of plain old friends

and yknow how i mentioned junpei is naive, at least before 999? that really stands out next to aoi, and it’s not a trait aoi likes. aoi’s seen so much shit in his life, seriously, that some deep part of him just doesn’t have a whole lot of patience for someone like junpei who doesn’t “get it.” in fact, aoi hates junpei on some level for how much power he has despite his naivete-- this kid who hasn’t seen shit, who has no idea what the fuck he’s doing is the one in control of whether akane lives or dies! he hates it!

of course, junpei sees a lot of shit in 999, and he sees a lot of shit before ztd, and he sees a lot of shit before vlr. he kinda sums it up in one quote in ztd: "Humans aren't as beautiful as I thought.” while reality hit young aoi pretty gradually, from his parents’ death to finding out about their wrongful conviction to their poverty to akane’s death to the second nonary game, life’s hit him hard, but it’s been over time. for junpei, he gets smacked with a ton of bullshit in the span of a year and hits his low point, and it doesn’t get much higher from there for decades. but honestly, the way he gets into it is still naive in a way; aoi’s spent so long seeing the awful shit humanity has to offer, but he’s not exactly a pessimist-- rather, a realist. meanwhile, junpei’s seen a lot-- and it’s bad shit, it really is! he saw so much death and destruction!-- but it’s pushed him from idealism/optimism to an unfounded pessimism for a while, and he hasn’t truly found his balance. by vlr, he is a bit more balanced; he’s grown, he’s matured, fighting for humanity and raising quark has restored some faith in him

hmm... another thing is that junpei’s a bit more risky than aoi. now, don’t get me wrong, aoi isn’t a weenie or anything at all, but he doesn’t wanna be unprepared when shit hits the fan and there’s a lot at stake. in his normal state, i don’t think he’d stick to plans too rigidly, but after 10 years with akane he’s learned to plan, backup plan, backup backup plan, because with their line of work, everything matters. and, yeah, he wouldn’t be like this if he didn’t have these duties-- but he does have these duties, so... yeah. meanwhile, junpei is fighting for his own causes, usually just for himself and people close to him. although there’s things on the line for him, the sense of duty isn’t as strong, and he’s willing to be cunning and take risks to get what he needs-- for example with the confrontation in safe end. (compare both of them to akane, who operates under very strict plans whenever possible for her, but who doesn’t stress out too much if they fall through and is capable of doing quick, calculated thinking on her feet in a stressful situation and even taking huge risks for big payoffs-- for example, detonating a reactor in ztd just to force C team to shift)

i asked my friend for more pointers and we also discussed how aoi’s got a LOT more self control than junpei. junpei isn’t like super out of control or something but aoi just has that shit on lockdown-- aoi reacts fast to things and doesn’t hesitate but his instincts are so trained and exact that he doesn’t end up doing ridiculous things and making shitty mistakes or saying the wrong thing. meanwhile, junpei? he has a lot under his belt with cunning plans-- the hongou confrontation, the voting paper switch, etc-- he’s GOOD at manipulation like that. but he never has a backup plan, he just bets everything on that one shot! and sometimes that backfires! badly! like when he got the bomb detonator from dio and caused all the bombs to be activated! aoi goes into things with backup plans, and it’s very much a learned behavior-- ever since he was a kid he had to keep track of expenses, balance everything, eventually learned stockbroking where he had to keep track of more and then had to help plan the nonary game which is ALL ABOUT plans. i don’t think he’d be like that if he hadn’t been through all his trauma, but he was, so he is.

(speaking of trauma that’s literally their main difference. they’d be a lot similar to each other if aoi hadn’t been through so much, but what he went through affected him so much that they’ve just... completely diverged)

hmmm. i can’t think of anything else at the moment?? that was just a train of thought dump but it was interesting to write so thank u

#ze talk #999 spoilers #vlr spoilers #ztd spoilers #bold /#Anonymous

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