#hunched over in the kitchen and glaring at my reflection in the fridge door | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jigeuminunbich · 2 months

Text

digitally yours | lee donghyuck (haechan)

synopsis in which after a night out you already expect to come home to your boyfriend, donghyuck, grossly hunched over his desk with his face illuminated by his monitor screen, playing god knows what— but what you don’t expect is to find him playing an entirely different game than usual

genre nonidol!au, fem!reader, established relationship, comedy, and fluff

warnings minor suggestive comments & death/suicide mention (hyuck is just extremely dramatic)

word count 1.5k

a/n my nct brainrot has obviously reached a peak and please bare with me since i haven’t written a one-shot in AGES lol (anyway, enjoy lots!)

“So you want me to kill myself is what I’m hearing,”

A sigh passed your freshly glossed lips, darting your eyes to your boyfriend’s reflection in the mirror.

“Hyuck, it’s just a few hours,”

“Exactly. Enough for me to end it all.” Donghyuck muttered— the pout on his lips evident in his speech, retreating to his gaming chair where he sat boneless. Sparing you the most solemnest, and the most pathetic glances he could muster just to make sure you were still paying attention.

Truth be told, you knew there was absolutely no point in reasoning with your boyfriend. You knew he was gonna draw out every situation with his dramatics to the point where you would just give up and give him the win.

Ignoring his attempt to get you to change your mind last minute, you collected your things so you could swiftly breeze through your door and begin your night out.

“Goodbye, Donghyuck,” you reluctantly decide to grace him with a brief peck on his pouty lips. Breaking him down from his sulky attitude to the point where said lips stretched into a satisfied smirk.

Before you could lean yourself back upright, Donghyuck’s hand had circled the back of your neck— bringing your lips back to his own to further the kiss you had shared. You indulged him for a bit, bracing yourself with both hands on the armrest of his chair, but eventually decided to cut him off before he actually started effectively convincing you to stay home with him.

“Alright, seriously, I’m going now,” your feet move to separate yourself from Donghyuck before he could reach out for you once more. You rub your lips together, noting to retouch your gloss before you got to where you were going.

Donghyuck sighed, accepting his defeat.

“Okay, okay. Have a good night, baby,” he chirped as you made your way to the bedroom door. As your hand brushed the knob, you glanced over one last time to see Donghyuck returning his attention to his monitor.

“And Hyuck,”

“Hmm…”

“Please don’t stay on League all night.”

Haechan snorted dismissively. “I won’t.”

He reassured you, signaling you with a shooing motion to finally exit from your shared bedroom. You cut your eyes at him, not believing a word he says but also not having enough time to spare to bicker with him about his habits.

Illuminated by his monitor, Donghyuck flutters his pretty lashes at you, feigning innocence. “I promise I won’t, angel,” his nickname of choice for you eliminating a third of the unease you were holding.

You huffed, finally peeling the door open to slither your way out. Before completely taking your leave, you throw a final threat suggestion to him.

“And go to sleep at a reasonable time!”

“I will!”

ii.

“God,” you jumped, clutching your chest at the sight of your boyfriend half-way deep inside your refrigerator.

He glared at you with his bloodshot eyes as wide as saucers, the bright light of the fridge illuminating his face making him look strangely ghost-like. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first time catching your beloved boyfriend at what you could only describe as his worst. His back curved viciously, scavenging in your kitchen (curbards and all) looking for anything to qualm his late night cravings.

Your eyes flickered down to his favorite choice. A crisp cold red bull fit snugly in his fingers, you sighed— your shoulders coming down from your initial fright.

“Hyuck, what did I say?” You spoke as if you were an owner disciplining their disobedient pet. Only this pet stayed awake till ungodly hours and drank energy drinks like water.

Donghyuck whined, already knowing you were gonna reprimand him for doing exactly what you told him not to do. He closed the fridge door and waddled toward you, purpleish bags circling his eyes.

You braced yourself as he wrapped his arms around you, his chin landing on your shoulder— anticipating the way he was gonna try to pry himself out of this situation with what he thought was his best asset: being annoying.

“You can’t blame me, ___,” your name floated from his lips in a sing-song manner, Donghyuck’s breath tickling your neck.

“I can’t blame you for staying up and playing League with Jeno?” You inquired, not letting him have an effect on you (or at least trying not to let him have an effect on you).

Donghyuck snickered, craning his neck up, his half-lidded doe-like eyes glittering in clear exhaustion. “That’s because I wasn’t playing league with Jen’…” he smirked.

You sighed, already exhausted with his antics. “Then what, Hyuck?”

“Lemme show you,” his head returned to the crook of your neck, his breath making you shiver. Your eyebrows knitted together— shrugging off your want to not further fuel him, finally (unsurprisingly) giving into his actions. Donghyuck circled his arm around yours’, dragging you to your shared bedroom.

To say you were surprised to find out he actually wasn’t pulling your leg about not playing with Jeno would be an understatement. Donghyuck hummed his way to his desk, settling down his drink of choice and pulling you into his lap— a position you were familiar with.

The screen re-illuminated itself at the tap of Donghyuck’s fingers, soon graphics you hadn’t seen in months filled his monitor. You blinked at the scene in front of you— a house in build-mode— in confusion, it wasn’t like Donghyuck to play the Sims. He had only installed it on his PC for you— and you hadn’t touched it in at least six months.

Your eyes fell to the bottom of the screen, two characters that dangerously resembled you and your boyfriend idly in the bottom left corner. You couldn’t help but giggle at what was unfolding, Donghyuck had presumably stayed up for the past five hours simply making you and him in a simulated game.

Donghyuck’s face nudged into your shoulder once more, “Ya’ like?” He inquired, his speech a bit slurred from his evident lack of rest.

You giggled lightly, turning your head to meet his sheepish gaze. “I love,” you rivaled.

A sleepy, yet triumphant smile spread across Donghyuck’s face. He sat back in his chair, it bouncing with his shift in weight. “As you should. I busted my ass off in create-a-sim,” he proclaimed, a hint of bitterness laced in his words. Your eyes flitted to the screen, squinting to see your simulated look-a-like. You had to give it to him, they were pretty accurate.

“They are really good, Hyuck. It’s like a mirror,” you mused. Donghyuck hummed, clearly basking in your compliments. Before you could get off any more, he interjected– a sneaky hand climbing up your spine over your jacket that you still hadn’t removed due to Donghyuck’s eagerness to have you in this position.

“Should I download wicked whims to test their realism?” You didn’t have to look at your boyfriend to know he was wiggling his eyebrows expectantly, and that he was when you snapped your head to him at a neck-breaking speed.

“Moment ruined,” you spoke sourly, placing your palms on Donghyuck’s desk to balance yourself as you tried to get up. Hurriedly, arms were encompassed around you to pull you back down into his lap.

“Kidding, kidding,” he mumbled with his lips against your skin, a for now being muffled lowly into your neck just moments after.

You sighed, reluctantly allowing yourself to become comfortable with his touch once again. “All right, pro simmer, now that I’ve seen your accomplishments— can you please go to bed for me?”

Donghyuck yawned on cue, leaning in to click past you and shut down the screen he had become acquainted with all night. With his computer no longer needing his attention, your boyfriend circled his strong arms around your waist. “Anything for you, angel,” he chirped.

“Tsk. You said something like that earlier—“ A slender finger was placed gingerly on your lips, hushing you promptly.

“Shh, let’s not dwell on the past, love,” Donghyuck’s hand fell to come back to its rightful place on your torso.

You snorted, shaking your head at him. Though annoying, there was something about Donghyuck that you’d always find endearing— without fail.

Comfortably, you leaned in to have your lips angled against his own— catching him by surprise for a fleeting second. Exhaustion aside, Donghyuck always had enough energy to give you affection. He slanted his head opposite of yours, humming in satisfaction as your lips moved in harmony. There was a disgruntled whine that crawled its way out of Donghyuck’s throat upon your disconnect.

“More once you get some sleep,” you placed a final peck on his pouty lips. You could visibly see Donghyuck fighting back the urge to argue with you but his exhaustion must’ve gotten the better of him because without a word, he scooted his chair away from his desk— signaling that he was ready to get up.

Proud you were wordlessly crowned victor of your non-existent fight, you kindly moved off of his lap to grant him room to launch himself from his chair to the middle of your shared bed. You laughed at him, beginning to finally strip yourself of the clothes that seemed to weigh you down after wearing them all night.

Much to Donghyuck’s delight, it didn’t take you very long to climb into bed alongside him. Cuddling into his warmth, and allowing him to sling a comfortable leg across your torso to cling onto you more effectively.

“Love you,” he mumbled tiredly into the crook of your neck, emitting another yawn.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

“Also my sim is having an affair with Don Lothario, so don’t be shocked when you log in next time.”

“What?!”

#nct dream fics #nct dream x reader #lee haechan x reader #haechan x reader #haechan x y/n

229 notes · View notes

lovecre · 3 years

Text

first meetings - edemasu

the first thing masumi ever said to eden was “get out of the way.”

eden was walking down veludo way, luggage in hand, when he was pushed out of the way by a dark-haired boy around his age. the first thing eden noticed about the boy was his face. he had pretty purple eyes, with a beauty mark near his mouth.

his train of thought was shattered when the boy glared at him and snapped at him to get out of the way though. the boy hurried off, not even giving eden a chance to reply.

eden stood there, stunned by the boy’s rudeness. he shook his head trying to not let it get to him. it still stung a bit, but he wasn’t the same kid who would cry at everything.

he kept walking, until he came across his destination. “mankai company. this should be the place.” he muttered to himself. he approached the doors to the theatre dorm, knocking hesitantly.

“excuse me?” he called. “is izumi tachibana there?”

there was a hushed chatter from behind the door, and a tall, brown-haired woman opened the door with a smile. “eden! you’re here!”

he smiled at his older sister. “hi, thank you so much for letting me stay here.”

“of course, of course, come in!” she gestured for her brother to come in. “misumi, can you help eden with his luggage?” she called over her shoulder.

“yeah!” came the enthusiastic reply from an athletic-looking boy. he picked up eden’s bags with ease, and happily rambled about how his luggage had triangles on it.

a pretty man with white hair approached eden with a welcoming smile. “you must be my new roommate, i assume? i’m azuma, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“oh, um, thank you! it’s nice to see- meet you, too!” eden stammered. he always was weak to beautiful faces.

“come on, masumi, you have to greet the director’s brother!” a round-faced, dark pink-haired boy dragged someone familiar into the living room.

“you!” eden stared at the rude boy from before.

“oh, you two…know each other?” izumi asked.

“kind of.” eden stared daggers at masumi. masumi looked away, glaring at the carpet.

izumi, sensing something was wrong, clapped her hands and changed the subject. “um, anyway, i’m making curry for dinner, if anyone’s hungry!”

another boy behind eden groaned dramatically. “that’s the third time we’ve had curry this week!” eden turned around to see a brown haired boy (who, by the way, was wearing the most tacky outfit eden had ever seen,) with a frustrated look on his face.

“well, banri, would you rather make dinner for the whole troupe?” izumi countered.

“pff, i could do it, easy. i just don’t want to.” banri scoffed.

“i’ll make dinner!” another man poked his head through the door. (just how many people were in this dorm, eden wondered?) the man had short, dark brown hair and a scarred face. “really, izumi, i don’t mind. does anyone have requests?”

“i’ll eat your curry.” masumi gazed at izumi, obviously lovesick. “i’ll eat anything you give me.”

eden felt sick. this rude boy was crushing on his big sister? (who, by the way, was way too old for him.) “ah, i’m not very hungry, but thank you for the offer.” he said quietly.

izumi turned around to eden, brows furrowed. she knew that he was usually raring to go for a good meal. “are you alright?”

“just tired from the trip here. i think i’ll go to bed early and get ready to help out with the theatre tomorrow.” he assured her.

izumi frowned. “well, alright… masumi, can you show him to his room? he’s sharing rooms with azuma.”

“but i want to stay with you.” masumi looked like a kicked puppy.

“well, eden needs to get to his room. so help him out, would you?”

“i guess…” masumi sulkily turned around to walk out of the room, motioning for eden to follow him.

“gee, thanks.” eden muttered under his breath.

the walk to the room was completely silent. eden could feel the tension in the air. really, just what in the world had he done to this boy to make him hate him so much?

once they had made it, masumi stalked off, obviously in a bad mood. eden sighed. already off to a bad start.

the next morning, eden was sent to sort out paperwork in the mankai office for the next spring troupe play. the troupe that masumi was in. honestly, how did everything end up tying back to this boy? he sighed to himself. he was sighing a lot nowadays, he found.

the door to the office busted open, making him jump in surprise.

“izumi, i made—“ it was masumi. as soon as he and eden locked eyes, he stopped short. “you’re not izumi.”

“yeah, sorry.” eden had meant for it to sound sarcastic, but it came out more genuine than he had intended.

masumi’s expression darkened. he plopped a bento box, presumably for izumi, on the desk. “don’t touch this, it’s for izumi.” he went to walk out the door and paused. “don’t get to close to her just because you’re her brother.” he added, and slammed the door closed,

eden stared at the door. what? no, seriously, WHAT? this boy was out of his damn mind.

after he proved to be terrible with paperwork, (his attention span was just too short) he was assigned to help the actors with their roles for the next two weeks.

most of the spring troupe members were fairly civil, doing their best for their roles, (chikage was… a bit difficult at first. probably because eden kept mentally laughing at his hair and couldn’t focus.) except masumi. he refused to listen to eden simply because he wasn’t izumi.

“masumi, come on, please just rehearse your lines.” eden begged masumi. “this is going nowhere, i can’t go get izumi because she has a job, too.”

“don’t care.” masumi refused to even look at eden.

eden took a shaky breath. he was so frustrated he was near tears at this point. he couldn’t cry, especially not in front of this boy. he couldn’t show weakness.

“please,” he managed. “tell me.” he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. “what the hell did i ever do to you to have you hate me this much?”

masumi finally looked up. his eyes were wide. “are you… crying?” he asked.

“NO!” eden blurted out. “i’m not… crying. just answer the question. please.”

masumi frowned. “i’m not telling you. i want to talk to izumi, not you.”

that was it. eden turned away from masumi quickly so he couldn’t see his ugly crying. “i’m leaving.” he choked out, quickly walking out of the room.

“what—“

eden didn’t give him a chance to finish, shutting the door in his face. he kept his head hung low, practically running to his room. a couple of troupe members tried to stop him on the way, but he ignored them. he couldn’t let anyone see him cry.

he slammed the door. thankfully azuma wasn’t there, as he was out shopping with sakuya.

he hunched over on the sofa he was sleeping on, (they hadn’t installed another bed yet) quietly trying to force himself not to cry.

after a few hours, he found himself waking up, still in his day clothes in the sofa. it was dark outside. he must have fallen asleep while crying. he sat up groggily. he was hungry, really hungry. he wandered into the kitchen, trying to be as silent as possible. he reached into the fridge to make a sandwich or something, when a voice startled him from behind.

“what are you doing?”

eden froze. he stood up, not facing masumi. “getting food.” he answered curtly.

“in the middle of the night?” masumi asked skeptically.

“so?” eden still wouldn’t face him. “what are you doing up?”

“…” masumi didn’t answer.

eden kept making his sandwich in silence.

“sorry.” masumi suddenly said.

eden turned to look at him. “sorry?” he repeated.

“for… you know. making you cry.” masumi looked uncomfortable. “uh… izumi told me to apologize to you. so. there.”

of course. of course he didn’t come to apologize on his own. of course izumi had to tell him.

“it’s whatever.” eden turned away again. he took a deep breath, and reached into his pocket for his phone. he put on some cheap earbuds and unpaused one of his playlists.

“you listen to that artist too?” masumi spoke up.

“…yeah, why?” eden paused the music.

“uh…nothing, i just noticed is all.” masumi mumbled, turning his gaze to the floor.

“…do you want to listen together?” eden questioned.

masumi’s eyes widened. “you’d be okay with that?”

“sure.” eden walked over to the couch and patted the seat next to him, holding out an earbud.

masumi hesitantly sat next to him, taking the earbud out of his hand.

the two sat quietly for a few minutes, letting the music play.

“this ones my favorite,” eden finally said.

“mine too.” masumi had the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

the duo went quiet again.

“what’s your favorite candy?” eden asked.

“i like grape flavored things.” masumi mumbled. “i also like chocolate.”

“i like chocolate too, but who doesn’t, really?” eden mused. “i also like strawberry flavored things. and peach.”

masumi started to smile again. “peach? gross.”

“hey.” eden gently elbowed him. “peaches are great, i won’t stand for this slander.”

“i’ll slander them all i want, peaches suck.”

the two spent a while going back and forth, asking the other’s favorite food, color, animal, and so on.

eventually, eden fell asleep on masumi’s shoulder. masumi let him stay there.

as eden slept, masumi reflected on what had transpired during the past few hours. izumi never asked him what his favorite things were. it felt nice to be asked these things. he liked sharing music with eden, too. izumi never shared music with him.

eden did, though. maybe eden was okay. better than he thought, at least.

maybe he would get a peach candy for him the next time he was out at the store.

maybe.

TAGLIST: @sealovinq @catake @nyaing @honeycombscereal

#self insert #self ship #self shipping #selfship #selfshipping #edemasu #mlm self ship #mlm selfship #trans self ship #trans selfship #THIS IS SUUUUUPER LONG AND ALSO ITS THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. HI IM SO TIRED SO .. YEAH please excuse any weird errors i am running on one #(1) cup of coffee. so. yea anyway here

8 notes · View notes

btssmutficslovingfan01 · 4 years

Text

When in Rome: TA Edition

This is a sequel to When in Rome: Frat Edition.

Summary: You’re the ambassador of the celibacy club, forced to go to a Roman-themed frat party to find your club members before they lose their purity. Among the faces you see at the party is your biggest enemy, Namjoon Kim, who also happens to be a TA so you have to meet up with him for dreaded tutoring sessions. What happens when you run into him at that same party on the night you’re supposed to be hosting a club meeting? You’re in luck, today he’s feeling slightly more submissive than usual...

Words: 4.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut, pwp, enemies-to-lovers (low-key)

Warnings: Masturbation (m & f), voyeurism, riding, graphic descriptions of straight sex, dom/sub dynamics, sub Joon, dom reader, choking

You stare at your reflection in the mirror in the back of the room. It doesn’t look like anyone will be attending your meeting today. It’s half past 7 and the sun is already setting. You were supposed to meet your three other club members 20 minutes ago, what was taking them so long? Your phone chimes with a text all of a sudden, your attention focused on the single text it reads:

Suddenly, you’re determined to go to that party and find those girls who decided to take back their vow of innocence. You knew you should’ve forced them to wear the chastity belts.

The reason why you’re so keen on finding them before it’s too late? You experienced the loss of losing your first partner. Your boyfriend, who was the leader of a gang ended up dying in a motorcycle crash, he was your first love and your first sexual partner.

After he passed, you felt dirty. You kept craving sex, every day, every second, every hour. Even when you were eating dinner with your family, that’s all you could think of. Maybe even making eye contact with a stranger. Sex. You needed it, your body was yearning for it.

Finally, you gave in. You decided to select a random as your second, and you felt relief from something being inside of you. The numerous trips to the club ended with you in a hotel room with a man who could do the job. Slowly, you had become numb. The sex was starting to feel boring, you were craving an emotional connection. So, you decided to stop for a bit.

That’s when you met Hyerin. She was handing out flyers and stopped you while you were passing by. She told you to come to the Celibacy club orientation and you felt strange. You never once thought of shutting your legs completely, you thought you were ruined after sleeping around so much. She also revealed she wasn’t a Virgin, and she had the same problem in high school. She decided to take a vow of no more sex before marriage and she joined the club two years ago. You missed her guidance. She was like a sister to you and you couldn’t think of what she would say about your leadership.

You regretted taking it so lightly at first, since you couldn’t even keep three recruits in line. Luckily, the party was close by, so you could walk to the house.

You liked the environment, surprisingly. Even if it brought back memories of the club, you felt like you were facing your fears again. You didn’t avoid parties on purpose, you just felt like you always had something better to do.

“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” That voice. You knew that voice anywhere. It was Namjoon. Blech.

“Namjoon? What are you doing here?” You fold your arms as he reaches past you. You close your eyes, slightly uncomfortable from his close proximity.

“I’m grabbing a snack. You’re standing in front of the snack table, if you want drugs you should head over to table two in the back. Ricardo’s selling some good stuff over there.” You can’t believe Namjoon is actually letting people do illegal stuff at this party.

“I don’t want drugs. I’m looking for three girls, all freshmen. They’re actually triplets, Misa, Lisa, and Keisha. Do you know where they might be?” The tall blond shakes his head, popping a pistachio into his mouth.

“Sorry, I have no clue. Although, I might have seen Lisa around. Is she the brunette with that silver streak in her hair?” He describes the girl perfectly. The girls have that one trait which is prominent, even if they dye their hair different colors. Lisa has a natural hair color, different from her sisters since they dyed their hair and she didn’t. Keisha and Misa were easy to pick out because they had silver streaks in their hair too, and Keisha dyed hers blue while Misa dyed hers blond. They were all born with natural brown hair, you remember it from their introductions on the first day after they joined the club. You didn’t realize you’d miss them this much.

“Yes, it’s a trait that runs in her family! You have to come with me, show me where you saw her last.” You pull Namjoon along with you, despite hating his guts. He was a player and for some reason these stupid girls think of him as a heartthrob. Those dimples are attractive, you have to admit, but that doesn’t mean you should crawl into bed with them! You respect your body.

“Wait, I don’t want to find a freshman. I wanna get laid with one of those hot senior girls.” You glare daggers at the boy as he peers down at you. You were a couple inches shorter than him, taller than the average height as well. At least he couldn’t call you short. Being tall did have one downside though: you were flat chested.

“Was it in this hallway? Where the fuck are the stairs?! Ughhh what if we’re too late? I don’t want to have any blood on my hands. She’s gonna regret this…” You look around the room, eyeing every girl carefully before Namjoon turns you around. “What?!” You snap at him, as he puts a hand on your cheek. You didn’t know why but it calmed you down.

“Take a chill pill, relax. If they’re with one of my boys, they’re safe. Why are you so worked up about them anyways?” You play with the strings of your hoodie as Namjoon stares at you intently. A man’s gaze has never made you feel butterflies. So why were you suddenly all light and floaty standing next to him?

“I’m the leader of the celibacy club. If I don’t protect them from losing their virginity, who else will? They made a vow when they joined but it seems that they’ve decided to do a full 180 and come here of all places for their first time,” You sound like you’re talking about one person when in fact you were talking about three. Namjoon understands your worry. He does the same with his students since he’s a tutor. “So why are you not dressed up like the others?” You ask out of courtesy, not because you’re actually curious.

“I just came from practice. I’m actually part of Yoongi Min’s band, so I have practice outside of office hours.” You wondered how he still managed to take time out of his day to tutor you. If this had been any other situation, you might have developed a crush on him. Now, you aren’t so sure about your feelings since your heart is in your stomach from worrying about the girls.

“It’s good to know that there’s someone here like me,” You share a brief 3 seconds staring at each other before you spot Misa behind the kitchen island. “Misa! Where are your sisters?” Namjoon follows closely behind you as you turn to the triplet with worry.

“They’re getting laid. I just finished a round of beer pong with this guy. Don’t worry about me, I’m not giving my virginity to some sweaty oaf that thinks he can get girls by flashing a smile at them.” You suddenly realize that she’s talking about Namjoon who is grinning widely at her from behind you. You punch him in the gut, leaving him hunched over as you say goodbye to your club member.

“You’re disgusting. Come, you’re gonna help me find the other girls.”

“No,” You whip your head around, seriously pissed at how he’s suddenly acting like this. Why do men always act the opposite of what you want them to act like? (It’s called free will duh) You always have to take it a step further and spell things out for them. Namjoon, however, is a fellow intellectual. He must understand when you tell him “Go,” and “stop.” Why was he suddenly protesting? What reason could he possibly have to—“Why are you trying to stop them from doing something they want to do? It’s not like they’re doing this because they’re pressured to. You said you’re the leader of the celibacy club, right?” He takes a step forward, taking your hand in his before leading you to the basement. You were surprised a house like this actually has a basement, and luckily no one else was here to interrupt you as you spoke. The party was loud and the music was booming loud enough for you to hear it even down in the dark.

He switches on a single naked bulb before plopping down on a vintage brown couch, patting the spot next to him. You sit down, silent as he continues lecturing. “A leader should guide, not rule. You were supposed to guide those girls to make the right decisions for themselves. Even if it seems like the wrong one, in the end I’m sure you taught them well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, knowing exactly what the answer to your dumb question was.

“You taught them the benefits of celibacy. I’m sure they took that information, processed it, and decided to proceed with doing what any teenage girl would do. I’m not saying all teens sleep around, but some people are curious. At this age, you can’t stop them from making their own decisions. Maybe this is a good thing, they’ll learn from their mistakes and grow. It’s a human thing.” You purse your lips to keep the tears from falling.

“I know. You’re right, you’re right. I think I should just leave now.”

“Wait! You should stay, please. Just stay with me and drink some Pepsi.” You take the cold drink from his hand as he shuts the mini-fridge door and switches on the t.v.

“I suppose I can stay longer. I finished my homework and I was supposed to have a club meeting but I guess that’s not happening now so…” You notice how Namjoon’s Adams’ Apple bobs up and down as he drinks the dark liquid in one go. He notices you staring, asking you what’s wrong as you quickly pull your eyes away from him, staring at the floor as you sip your drink lightly.

“What’s your position?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you a dom or sub?” You didn’t expect your conversation to take this turn but after conversing with all the boys in your high school you knew they would start talking about something dirty the moment they started a conversation with you at some point. This wasn’t dirty, though. It seemed that your tutor/TA actually wanted to know your stance.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve always just laid down and let the guy do all the work. No foreplay, no kinky stuff, just me, the guy, and a bed.” Namjoon clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Aw really? That’s too bad. I would’ve taken you as some sort of sex freak but I guess the boys were wrong about that…” Your heart drops.

“What boys?!” It couldn’t have been anyone else, you knew the men from the club seemed too familiar. Had you been sleeping with frat members since you were in high school?

“I’m just messing with you, no one said anything about you but if they did, I would’ve won the bet.” You sigh in relief, feeling more at ease around your TA now. Before, you just thought he was a snobby jerk who sweet-talks women into bed with him.

“Don’t joke around like that again. Plus, you haven’t told me what your position is yet, either. So what are you? Dom or sub?” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Geez, this is embarrassing. Okay, so I like taking charge but I also like being controlled. I guess you can call me a switch?” Now you were interested. You wouldn’t take Namjoon as the type of guy that let a woman do all the work in bed. Of course, there was something exhilarating about that, too.

You were curious as to how the dom/sub dynamics would work if you were in bed with him. For a moment, you actually imagine yourself in a sensual situation with him. His big hands sliding down your back as your hips snap against his, you riding him as he squeezes your thigh, or fails to since you handcuffed him to the headboard so he can’t move from that one spot as you suck his skin on various parts of his body, hickies bright red and fresh as you—“Y/N? Do you like taking control?”

Yes.

“Um, I don’t know? Yes?” You can feel the sweat beading across your forehead. You’re suddenly very hot, despite it being cooler down in the basement.

“You’re sweating, why don’t you take off your shirt?”

“What?!” You exclaim as he yawns and rubs his neck.

“I said you should take off your sweatshirt.” You smile anxiously at him before pulling your sweatshirt above your head. You were currently feeling very sensitive, and you were sure that if he touched you, you would pounce on him like a lioness.

You’re sure he can smell your arousal, as he slides an arm behind your shoulder as you lean back on the couch while he changes the channel. You aren’t paying much attention to the t.v before he switches the channel enough times to the point that you’ve reached the adult channels.

If you weren’t blushing before, you certainly were now. A video of a woman getting on her knees to suck off a man with a ridiculously gigantic cock begins to play, the moist sound of her lips wrapping around his cock resonating around the room as it plays on the speakers.

“What the hell, Namjoon?! Have you no shame?” He laughs as you throw a pillow at him.

“Wait, Wait, this is my favorite kind of porn, Wait for it,” You turn back to the screen reluctantly as the video fades to another one, this time the same woman is dressed in lingerie from head to toe, as the man is fully naked.

You watch as the blond wrings her hands around his neck, choking the man as he struggles to breathe but he still maintains that expression of obvious arousal. How was he actually into that? You weren’t into pain play and you knew Namjoon couldn’t possibly like being choked out either. “I love being choked. I’m into that kinky shit, handcuffs, blindfolds, you tell me.”

You didn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth. At least now, you know there is such a world like that. One where women actually possess power over men.

Your eyes wander down to Namjoon’s pants as he actually starts palming himself, one hand still behind your shoulder as you lean forward on the couch.

“What are you doing?” You finally break the awkward silence as the moans of the man on the screen continue, fogging your mind up with possibilities as the porno continues to play.

“Haven’t you masturbated before? This is the same thing. I’m just trying to get some relief,” At least he was honest.

You watch the porn in silence, with the exception of the moans on screen, and the ridiculous acting displayed by the porn stars. Why do they even bother trying to act? They should just have sex and that’s it.

You eventually find yourself mirroring Namjoon, trailing a finger up and down your jeans before Namjoon comes right out and says it: “You can take off your clothes if you want. I won’t touch you,” You start kicking off your jeans. “You can watch me too...if you want.” You don’t know where this sudden shyness from your TA was coming from. Normally he’s bossy, demanding, and very outgoing. Now, he was suddenly shy? You’re sure this has to do with the dom/sub thing he was speaking of earlier.

Your attention is half on the screen, and half on Namjoon as he pulls his dripping cock out of his boxers, languidly stroking the erection despite having you right in front of him. He wasn’t going to take advantage of you, he decided in his mind. He wanted to see how this played out, if this voyeuristic showcase would lead to something else.

You slip your fingers into your panties, letting out a cross between a moan and a whimper. You are so lost in your own pleasure that you fail to notice your yummy TA undressing you with his dark and mysterious eyes, his lips curling into a small smirk as he watches you toy with your pussy.

“What am I doing here? This is so wrong but it feels so good-ah.” You stare down with a dry mouth as your breath escapes you. You did not just cum. From watching an awful porno. Well, it wasn’t awful but you didn’t want to acknowledge it as a work of art, either. The actress gave you an idea of how to properly dominate a man. You’d never been one for loads of sex but you were willing to indulge in the pleasure for one night only since your club members were probably losing their virginity as you stay seated on the couch of a frat boy that you were pretty sure had some sort of STD.

“You came already? Awww, dammit, I was so close to finishing.” Namjoon’s voice snaps you back to reality just so you can act on your impulse again.

“Uh-oh, looks like these are ruined. I’ll have to toss them aside. You don’t mind, do ya Joon?” Namjoon’s eyebrow twitches as he tries to figure out what your aim is. He knew you were innocent but it seems he has a case of ‘good girl gone bad’ right in front of him. As you turn your attention back to the t.v, every once in a while stroking your very wet labia, Namjoon’s cock seems to grow a little longer.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore. Please let me fuck you!” You’re surprised by how he snapped so quickly. Here you were thinking he didn’t want you anymore. How silly of you.

“Uh-uh. Let’s play a game first. You said you were into dom/sub dynamics, right? So how about you let me dominate you tonight and we can see where it goes from there?” Namjoon’s gaze softens as he decreases the volume, and you’re certainly sure that he can hear your racing heart by now as he manually switches off the television. He then undoes his pants and lets his boxers fall to the floor before turning his attention back to you.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you want me to do first?”

“On the floor, baby boy. I’m gonna ride you.” He groans as you slip him inside your throbbing hole, and you let out a sigh of pleasure before bouncing yourself up and down on his cock. His dick felt even better inside of you, since your walls took him in so well. He couldn’t believe you were actually doing this to him, you who supposedly hated him.

“What happened to hating me?” You bite your lip as he places a hand on your bare ass, your panties are lying on the floor next to you as you continue using Namjoon like a grade-A dildo.

“Who says you need to like someone to fuck them? You know what they say about angry sex, it’s supposed release tension. Fuck your problems away, fuck it all.” You both moan in sync as his cock twitches erratically and right before he cums, you pop off with a squelching sound and you quickly get to work with your hands, his cum splattering all over his belly and your fingers.

He pulls you down for a quick kiss before you instruct him on what to do next.

“Next, I’m gonna put that mouth of yours to good use. Suck my clit, and do it as thoroughly as possible.” He quickly takes to your pussy, cupping your heat before giving small kitten licks to your labia. You were against the couch while he was hunched between your legs, eating you out like a good sub.

“That feels good. Don’t be shy, fuck me like you mean it, smartass,” He winks before pushing his tongue deeper, deep enough for you to feel it rub up against your cervix. Somehow, his tongue felt way better than his cock. “Yes, nnnngg, I’m cumming.” You feel a familiar knot in your core as Joon tongue-fucks you, saliva dripping down your inner thigh but you don’t care. You just feel too good to care.

So what if you were the leader of the celibacy club? It wasn’t like you had sex often. You were also losing your footing. You had become devoid emotion because of how much you were craving sex. Now, splayed out on your back, your TA delicately licking your folds, you felt relieved.

Your cum dribbles down his cheeks, and sweat beads are glistening on his forehead as he looks up to you, as if asking “did I do enough?” As you dab his head with a tissue.

You decide that wasn’t enough, you needed to have him inside you once more.

“You said you liked being choked, right?” Namjoon nods, biting down on his lips hard enough to make them bleed as you wrap your hands around him and you sink back down on his dick. Now he was the one being choked on the ground while you were hunched over him, kissing his smooth chest and tracing his nipples gently with your nose. He lets out the most delicious moan you’ve heard all night, before whispering hoarsely, “Fuck me harder, mistress.”

You pounce on him, your greedy pussy lips salaciously devouring his erection as he hardens inside you once again. Even Joon was surprised by his own dick. He had never been so quick to bounce back but you were an enigma. You lighted a fire inside of him that he didn’t even know existed.

You lean forward, your breasts warm pressed up against his chest as you continue riding his cock like your life depended on it. You grow tired, panting heavily as Namjoon takes things into his own hands, gripping your ass tightly as your hands snaked down from his neck to his hair. You were curling your fingers into his hair so intimately like you owned him. He’s not your man. Which makes things a hell of a lot more sexy.

His bleeding lip was dry, as you leaned in to steal a kiss from him, but he simply turned his head, your soft lips making contact with his left cheek instead.

“You don’t wanna get involved with me. I’m a bad guy, remember?” You respond by dragging your legs forward, sitting back as Namjoon stares back at you with darkened eyes, devoid of any emotion. He looks different compared to the playful preppy student you met earlier. You found yourself still crawling back to him, wanting to know more. You’re reaching...reaching...reaching.

“Lighten up. Your cock is literally inside of me, Joon.” He growls in response, stimulating a carnal instinct within you to fuck. You’ve never felt it before, never felt so good on a cock quite like this one. What’s different about him?

“Fuck, you take my dick so well. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” He grunts, your sexes squelching against each other as he holds you in place as he fucks his dick up into you.

“Shit, Namjoon I’m cumming.” He grips your fingers with his big, warm hands. As your fingers intertwine, he kisses your neck. You lean into him, groaning as he continues bucking his hips up. You were truly fucking on the floor like a couple of horny animals.

It feels so good, I can’t help it. You thought. Your pussy squeezes his dick for dear life as he thrusts up into you. You feel the pinch, as your walls continue clamping down on him as he moves inconceivably slow. He slows down only because of your clenching, you know since he does his best in moving as quickly as your walls would allow, tossing you around like his own personal fuck doll. “Baby, cum with me.” You let out a mewl as he groans simultaneously, filling up your hole with his juices. After hours of fucking, you were both content with the end result.

He gives you one last docile kiss before we both get dressed. You throw your clothes back on, feeling fuzzy and sated as Namjoon stares shamelessly at your ass.

“I enjoyed it.” He comments as a wave of emotions hits you. You had forgotten about how much I hated him and his stupid smartass remarks when you couldn’t understand basic calculus. You were confused, the only thing you could do was pray something like this wouldn’t happen again and if it did you wouldn’t mind.

“Do you think you know my position now?” You ask, not really expecting much aftercare since you weren’t in a relationship with him.

“You're a dom. And I am your sub. Maybe, if you think of me differently now, we could go out for a midnight snack at the nearest fast food place?” You liked the way that sounded. Although towards the end Namjoon overpowered you since you were too hazy to think while impaled on his cock, he still was captivated and enraptured by you. You were like a math equation to him, after all he just did you.

He also couldn’t deny the unrelenting sexual tension between the two of you whenever you hurled insults at him or when he said something about your academic abilities in a goading manner. He loved seeing how huffy you got whenever he said something about your club and how “interesting” it sounded when he heard you took over as the ambassador.

You didn’t know how he felt either, the underlying affection discarded as you focused on your anger for the man. However, you would rather die than admitting you had a tiny crush on him.

“Sounds good, um...are we good here? Like all jokes aside you know I don’t actually hate you, right?” He nods, rubbing his neck as you wipe your sweaty palms on your clothes.

“I know. And you do know I have a big fat crush on you, right?” You feel heat rushing to your cheeks at that, your body significantly hotter than it was a couple minutes ago.

“No, actually, I didn’t know that.” You had a hunch he did.

“Wow, did it get hot in here or is it just me? Let’s go.” He pulls you towards the party upstairs, claiming you as his for the night as you push past the crowd of drunk teenagers.

#namjoon x reader #college au #bts smut #namjoon smut #smutcentralnet #hyunglinenetwork #teaching assistant #sub joon #enemies to lovers

104 notes · View notes

straykats · 4 years

Text

this isn’t out of sympathy, not anymore

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: requested! originally an enemies to lovers request, but idk if this ending count as exactly “lovers” yet? this is so long overdue i’m so sorry. and the title sucks too rip :(

On a Sunday morning, one would normally enjoy the pleasures of sleeping in; of the sounds of birds outside and morning traffic below. They would wake up late, have what could be considered a brunch, and sit down with a book and a cup of coffee

But that wasn’t how things were for you.

The clattering of pots and pans could be heard, followed by the familiar ticking of the stove.

“Damn it.” With a groan, you roll to the other side and try to block out the sound with a pillow, your mind chasing for a dream long lost. You soon come to the acceptance that it was futile to try and fall back asleep.

This was not the ideal start to the week.

It had been just over a week since Seungmin moved into the flat with you, and it had proven to be an odd sort of hell, fueled by the mutual dislike for one another.

“What are you doing? It’s barely 9am.” You poke your head out of the doorway, squinting at the sun reflecting off the white walls of the apartment.

Seungmin turns at the sound of your voice - something about him strikes you as odd - and glares. “Making breakfast, obviously.”

Any worry immediately leaves your system. “Jeesh, I was just asking!” He ticked you off - you didn’t even know why. It had always been like that since you first met him in school. “No need to glare.”

“Idiot, you were the one glaring at me first.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around.

Oh, he had mistaken your sensitivity to the light as disgust. He wasn’t too wrong, but it hadn’t been your intention. “Yeah, well you can blame the sun. Can’t you do that-” You jut your chin out in his general direction. “-later?”

“Some of us have a lot of work to do, y/n. We don’t all get to sleep in.”

You deadpan. “Seungmin, you do this every morning.”

He throws his hands up, and you spare a thought for how funny it’d be if the spatula flew from his hand. “I’m a morning person. Sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The two of you barely speak another word to each other for the rest of the day. Maybe it was because Seungmin was locked in his room the entire time, but you weren’t too sure that anything would be different if he hadn’t been locked in his room.

When you had put up the advertisement looking for a flatmate (for rent was not cheap), there had been only a few people who had been interested. It was weeks into the academic year, and most people were already settled. Of the four who had contacted you, you had chosen Seungmin, who unfortunately but surprisingly seemed the most tolerable. In hindsight, you thought, it might have been because you felt more comfortable with him. Yeah, you guys didn’t get along, but you knew him, and the people around him. It was a safe choice.

Come dinner time, and you had still not seen Seungmin. Thinking about it… had he even had lunch?

You were aware that he had some major music assignment coming up, worth almost half his grade. He had even bothered to ask you about his composition, to listen to a rough audio file and see how it was, and you had tried to be civil and rational in your answers. Nothing too rude (it wasn’t a bad composition; being rude to Seungmin just came as a habit) but nothing too nice. You’d like to think that your feedback had been objective.

Dinner was nothing fancy - it rarely ever was. You had before you a bowl of rice and eggs, your laptop playing your favourite show. As if he had sensed your earlier thoughts about him, Seungmin comes out of his room. You glance at him - his hair is tousled, brows furrowed and glasses askew.

“So, were you sleeping or working all day?”

When he gives you the weakest glare in the history of glares, you realise what it was that had struck you as strange that morning. His complexion was paler than usual, and you noticed the redness high on his cheeks now.

Stupidly, you dismiss it. Seungmin was old enough to take care of himself. Right?

Nope.

You jump when something shatters against the kitchen floor.

“What are you- Seungmin, what the hell?!”

On the floor, patterned shards of what had once been a cup were splayed out. The boy in question stood with a hand against the counter and another against his head.

“Sorry, dizzy spell,” he murmurs. You could barely hear him, for he spoke so quietly.

“Just- Just go lay down or something. I’ll clean up.”

The shattering had made you hyper-aware of Seungmin - the way he carried himself now, the way his eyes were barely open, his brows furrowed and hands shaking slightly. It was like the sound had cleared your head or slapped you in the face, telling you to wake up and pay attention!!!

“Oh, so you aren’t a complete-” He cuts off abruptly with a groan, holding his head.

“Well at least I’m not stupid enough to force myself to work until i’m… like that.” You eye him with raised brows, but your spirits weren’t really onboard with teasing him. Watching him as he leaves, you start to worry about how unwell he actually was - surely a night’s rest would help, right?

It takes you only a few minutes to clean up the shards - thankfully, the cup had broken into decently sized pieces. There were only a few small ones laying around, but they were quickly collected with a dustpan.

In a stroke of sympathy, you go to Seungmin’s room. He was normally very on-top of his health, and as much as you hated to admit it, it scared you to see him like this.

But when you get to his door, you hesitate. You couldn’t really go barging in, could you? Not that you were planning to be barbaric about it, or come in demanding answers or anything. Instead, you put your ear to the door. If he was still up, typing or scribbling away, you’d bust in and force him to rest.

Not that you cared too much. As his flatmate, it was probably your job to take him to the doctors - or the hospital - if something were to happen. You’d be the one dealing with the trouble and all, and it was easier to prevent it, right?

The evening progresses into night, a sombre silence filling the flat. It must have been around midnight when you heard Seungmin’s door open. You froze in your bed, pausing the music playing through your earphones. He must be going to eat, you realise. He hadn’t eaten dinner and had instead gone straight to bed.

Silently, you leave your bed and watch from your doorway as he peers into the fridge. The yellow light from the fridge was the only thing that lit up the kitchen.

“You need to rest, not mess up both your sleep schedule and your meal times.”

“Has anyone ever told you that sick people need to eat too?” He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two eggs. It isn’t until he takes out a pan that you move in.

“You like them scrambled, right?” Taking the eggs from his hand, you crack the eggs into the pan. “Go make your ramyun.”

“Why… are you cooking my eggs for me? And how do you know I like my eggs scrambled?”

“Scrambled for ramyun, sunny side up for rice.” You shoot him a grin. “You’re a simple being, Kim Seungmin.”

You stayed in the kitchen while Seungmin ate. You busied yourself with washing the pan, and then getting yourself a glass of water. These tasks were completed rather quickly, and you were left to lean awkwardly against the counter while Seungmin finished his meal. Would it be strange to go to your room and get your phone? Probably.

Seungmin speaks up, breaking the awkward tension. “You can go back to sleep, you know. I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t sleeping before.”

“You should have been.”

“I could say the same back to you.”

Seungmin looks at you over his noodles but doesn’t reply.

“Well, go to sleep when you’re done eating. Don’t stay up late. I will call Hyunjin and make him tie you to the bed if I need to.”

You turn and make your way to your room, trying not to laugh at Seungmin choking on his noodles.

“You don’t even have his number!”

The phrase “disappointed but not surprised” seemed very applicable to the scene you saw at two in the morning. It snapped you right out of your half-asleep state.

“This idiot-”

Seungmin was slumped over in his chair, his head resting on his arm. One of his earphones dangling off the side of the table, the other end plugged into his laptop. The bowl of ramyun sat to the side, chopsticks carefully balanced on top.

Making your way closer, you shake him awake gently. It was almost shocking how warm his arm was, even through his clothes - you were a little cold, for it was the middle of the night.

“Seungmin. Seungmin, wake up.” Upon hearing a disgruntled sound come from him, you prod him again. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Why are you sleeping out here, and why did you start doing work again?!”

“Thought I could-” he clears his throat, eyes half open as he sits up. “Thought I could do some work while I ate… Must have fallen asleep.”

“No shit, genius.” You grab his laptop in one hand, being sure not to shut the lid incase you delete any of his work. Using your other, you shake his shoulder again. “Come on, you’re already unwell. Stop forcing your body.”

You walk a few steps towards his room before turning back. Seungmin was still in the chair, hunched back and arms dangling between his legs. His eyes were closed, head nodding as he tried to keep it up.

With a defeated sigh, you put his laptop on his desk before coming back out for him. “Come on, up you get…”

You grab onto his arm and almost sigh at the warmth it radiates. Another hand was on his back to help guide him to his room.

It hits you as you pull the cover back on his bed that… well, you’d never been inside his room. Sure, you’ve stood at the door to bicker, but never had you gone inside. You hadn’t really ever had much physical contact with him either.

You make your escape with a mumble about getting medicine. He’s in his bed when you come back, laying straight and facing the ceiling like Snow White.

“Here, take these,” you say gently, bending down to help him up with one hand. You feel a bit bad, to have made him lay down only to get back up. Handing him the painkillers, you watch as he washes them down with a gulp of water. “Gosh, one minute we’re arguing and the next, I’m your mother…”

Handing you back the glass without a word, he slides back down under the covers. Having placed the glass down on his bedside table, you stay there for a while and look at the pictures he had hung on the wall. You recognised some people - Hyunjin, for one, and another boy with fox-like eyes that you had seen once or twice. You recognised some of the seniors in school too - the ones who had been in a band with Seungmin.

At the sound of rustling, you look over to see that Seungmin had turned onto his side and was looking at you.

“Amazed that I have friends?”

“I- no, I never thought that you were a friendless loner. I just… I mean, I guess it’s my fault,” you admit sheepishly. “I just never really considered your social circle to seem so… wholesome?”

He laughs lightly, keeping his eyes on you. He looked tired, and his hair fell across his forehead. Cute, you thought, and then quickly snap your head around to look at the photos again.

Cute? Well, you had never considered him ugly before. He wasn’t - he was fairly good looking, and it used to annoy you when the kids at school wouldn’t stop talking about the honey-vocaled Seungmin… But he did have a good voice, you has to admit. And he was fairly smart and very passionate about music. But he was annoying. Yes, he was annoying. Too annoying. He wakes up too early, you could never deal with that.

It doesn’t take long for him to speak up again.

“You know, I read a story once.”

You hesitate, having only just settled your mind. Was this an invitation to engage in conversation? To stay? Or just an attempt at breaking the awkward silence? Instead of replying, you take a seat on the floor, leaning against the bedside table. Seungmin takes the silence as a sign to continue.

“There was a prince, and he was sick, and the servant girl never left his side even though he had been a cruel prince. She tended to him night after night, prepared his bath, changed his sweat-drenched sheets.” you crinkle your nose at that, and Seungmin laughs. “But when he was better, everything went back to normal.”

“Did he ever thank her?”

Seungmin shook his head. “He was a prince, afterall. No need for him to thank a servant for doing what they were supposed to do.” He sees you tense. “Don’t worry, y/n, I’m no prince, and you’re no servant.”

“Then you better do your own dishes tomorrow morning,” you joke.

“Ah, no sympathy for the sick?” He pouts weakly. His eyes are closed and his voice is softer. You become conscious of your movements. Subtle, nothing too quick or too loud.

The room is dimly lit. The cool moonlight came from the window, and on the opposite end came the kitchen light, slipping past the door left ajar.

Seungmin speaks up after a while of silence. “You know you can go, right? I don’t need your presence to bore me to sleep.”

You can’t help but let out a smile at his words - an effort to be himself, you realise, but there seemed no real annoyance behind the words.

“Well, you might not need the boredom, but you need to sleep.”

“Touche.”

It takes a while, and you find yourself nodding in and out of sleep. When your head suddenly hits the edge of his mattress, you decide it was finally time to reutnr to your own room.

Your legs are numb, jumping with pins and needles, but you hobble out of Seungmin’s bedroom with only one look back at him, who was sleeping soundly.

It was strange to find yourself the first one awake. The flat seemed oddly empty, and you kind of missed the smell of fried eggs and cooked rice. You open the curtains in the main living area, letting sunlight flood into the flat.

It was Monday. A new morning, a new week, a new beginning.

You look around the flat - things really have changed since Seungmin moved in. Signs of his occupance were everywhere - a guitar pick laying on the coffee table, a hoodie on the couch. His bowl of ramyun, unwashed and left in the sink.

Ah, right. Last night.

Butterflies seemed trapped inside your body as you walked towards Seungmin’s room. Why were you nervous? Surem you don’t normally go to his room to wake him up, but he was sick, right? It was just… a friendly gesture, right?

Friendly. The word struck an odd chord within you.

Knocking tentatively on his door with one hand, you lean in close.

“Seungmin, are you up?”

There’s a hum, muffled by the wooden door. You turn the knob and peer in. It’s dark, sunlight peeking out from behind a closed curtain. You can see Seungmin, curled up under his blanket. It was pulled up to his chin.

“How’re you feeling?”

He lets out a positive sounding hum. You don’t push him further.

“Well, I’m going to make breakfast… do you want any?”

Seungmin sits up, his eyes still closed. You watch as he takes a deep breath. “Yes, please.”

As he starts to pull the covers off himself, you close the door.

Quickly scanning the fridge, you take out some fish and green leaves. It doesn’t take long to cook up a simple meal of pan fried fish and boiled greens. Instant rice is out fresh from the microwave and you’re doing the dishes when Seungmin emerges from his room.

“What happened to me having to do my own dishes?” He asks, as he takes a seat behind the counter. He eyes the fish and boiled vegetables, taking in a deep breath.

“Sympathy for the sick, or something like that,” you say with a shrug. “Half of these were from cooking just then, anyways.”

“Smells good.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You glance over at Seungmin as he turns his eyes to the clock. He did look better - his cheeks were still a little flushed, but he seemed better. He was moving better too, not as sluggish as yesterday. He looked like he had attempted to brush down his hair, but a tuft at the back still stood up. You hide your smile, turning back to the dishes.

“Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“For last night. Taking care of me.”

With warm cheeks, you stack the last of the dishes aside to dry. “Again, sympathy for the sick or whatever.”

“Y/n.”

Turning at your name, you find him looking very intently at you.

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

You gulp, and the only thing that calms you a little is the realisation that his cheeks aren’t pink from feeling unwell anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly.

He looks up at you, and you awkwardly fiddle with the towel hanging off the cupboard doors under the sink. It was undeniable that something had changed after last night - the dyanmic between the two of you were different now, and you weren’t too sure how you felt about it.

“Okay. Cool. Can I eat?”

The question catches you off guard, strangely, but you nod and take out plates. “I- I was going to just fry an egg for you, but i decided you probably need a change after last night.” part of your brain was panicking - but why? “We had fish, so I thought hey, why not, right? This probably isn’t much of a better meal, but-”

“It looks great, y/n. Thanks.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “By the way, you don’t…” Seungmin clears his throat. “Do you actually have Hyunjin’s number?”

You give him a sweet smile, clasping your hands behind your back. “You’ll never know, will you?”

You don’t, but the slight twitch of his eye and subtle pout are worth it.

Shaking his head, he looks back at his food. He seemed very concentrated on separating a single grain of rice. “I’m just asking, jeesh. It’s an innocent question.”

“Innocent. Right. Anyways, I need to get ready to go. Class starts in a bit.”

You make your way to your room and change, gathering laptop and notebooks. When you exit, Seungmin’s at the sink, washing his plate.

“Don’t strain yourself while I’m gone, okay? Actually, just sleep while I’m gone,” you say from the hallway as you put your shoes on.

Seungmin’s head pops around the corner suddenly, and you see him take a deep breath.

“What time do you finish?”

“... 12:30, why?”

Having finished with your shoes, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Do you- Can I-” He cuts off and swallows thickly. “Lunch? Can I treat you to lunch?”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze.

“As a thank you, obviously,” he adds, but it’s only half convincing.

“I told you, it’s fine. Sympathy for the sick, right?” You joke, trying to ease your nerves.

He manages a small quirk of the lips. “C’mon, let me treat you. And don’t say yes out of sympathy.”

Well, things were different now, right?

“Sure, why not.”

You could see his shoulder relax, a strand of hair falling into his face as he exhales. “Great. I’ll… I’ll meet you at the front of your building then?”

When you give him a nod, you can see him trying to keep in a smile.

“See you later, then.” He pops back behind the wall, and you hear from the kitchen, “Have a good day!”

Letting out a small laugh, you ignore the buzz in your veins as you open the door.

“It’s a date, Kim Seungmin!”

#kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin angst #kim seungmin imagines #kim seungmin drabbles #stray kids angst #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #strat kids angst #stray kids #stray kids imagines

138 notes · View notes

moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Culture Shock [one-shot]

Summary: In which Bucky learns he might not be fully caught up with the current century.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader [established relationship]

Warnings: Fluff

Notes: Taking a break from Angstville to bring you a nice fun, fluffy piece! This is for @kentuckybarnes‘s 3k writing challenge and my word was kerfuffle! It’ll be bolded below! Enjoy! x

ker·fuf·fle

noun

a commotion or fuss, especially one caused by conflicting views.

Living in Avengers Tower had taken some getting used to. An entire building dedicated to housing Earth’s Mightiest Heroes that’s provided an intimate look inside their daily lives.. From time to time you would wonder how the press would take it if they were to learn that Sam leaves uncovered food in the fridge to spoil. Or that Bucky really hates cleaning the lint trap in the dryer and leaves it for the next person to deal with. Or that Natasha has a pair of fluffy pink bunny pajama pants that she wears after rough missions.

On second thought, that last one you’ll take to your grave. Avenger you may be, but stupid you most definitely are not.

Inside the tower, they’re normal people, a far cry from the idols of the world who emulate grace, intelligence, and dignity. In the tower, they bicker like children over menial things, such as who’d eaten the last of the Poptarts, and they cry over movie nights when someone picks a tear-jerker.

So it’s no surprise when you return from a mission to hear a commotion in the kitchen. Still donned in your uniform, a skintight catsuit that really doesn’t allow for proper breathing, dirty, and mentally exhausted, you take a detour past the kitchen to see what the fuss is about. The Avengers are all gathered around the island, Steve at the stove dishing out heaping plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and sausage. He looks ridiculous in the Falcon-themed apron Sam got him as a gag one Christmas, the fabric stretched tight across his outrageously-muscled chest. You can practically hear the seams screaming.

Bucky hunches over the island, a bowl in front of him, with his head ducked down, dark hair around his face like a curtain. Sam stands over him, an incredulous expression on his face, jaw slack. Nat watches on, leaning back in her chair, in that all-knowing, hawk-like way she has while Clint beside her stifles chuckles around a bite of breakfast.

Sam sassily pops a hip, plants a fist on his hip and leans the other hand on the granite. He snarks, “You know, I’m startin’ to think HYDRA left nothin’ in that head o’ yours, Ice Man.”

A year ago, that remark would’ve been the last to be heard of Sam Wilson, but Bucky’s come a long way, and the jab is met with what you suppose is a lackluster glare of annoyance that doesn’t phase the Falcon.

“Can it, Birdbrain,” Bucky snaps back.

“What’s all the kerfuffle?”

Sam’s eyes find yours, take in your bemused and curious little smirk as you enter the room, and he holds his hands out towards you. Bucky sends you a small but no less bright smile over his shoulder before turning back to Sam when he speaks.

“Okay, now we can settle this shit once and for damn all,” he crows. “Y/N, please come tell Mr. Freeze over here how you prepare cereal in the morning.”

You step up beside Bucky, glancing down to take in his flaming red cheeks that he tries to hide behind his hair. Casually you lean your elbow on his shoulder, the metal unyielding under your weight.

“What are you picking on my boyfriend about now, Pigeon?” you taunt with an arched eyebrow. Bucky snorts into his spoonful of cereal, chewing languidly as Sam waves off your jab.

“Just please, answer the question. For science,” he implores, holding out his hands in a begging manner. “How do you prepare cereal?”

“Cereal first and then milk? How else do you make cereal?” you answer, tone dripping with an duh kind of lilt, and it sends Sam into a frenzy. He shrieks and jumps away from the counter, hands in the air and looking mighty foolish.

“I told you!” he exclaims, pointing at Bucky who’s now trying to hide his face in his elbows. The others are a combination of giggles, chuckles, and mere looks of amusement at Bucky’s expense, and for a second you feel badly. “Girl, you need to school your boytoy in the ways of the 21st century because this moody popsicle out here pouring milk first and then cereal.”

Eyes wide with incredulity, you lift off Bucky’s shoulder and lean over him expectantly. His head burrows further and you finally notice the aforementioned bowl of cereal, that, despite the few bites taken out of it, clearly looks as if it had been indeed poured milk first and then cereal.

Bucky picks his head up, cheeks still red with an embarrassed flush, and gestures to the bowl. “If you do it the other way, you mess up the milk-to-cereal ratio and then you got cereal all over the counter!”

Over the time Bucky’s been in the tower, the more comfortable he grew, the more often his Brooklyn accent slipped through when he was excited or buzzed off Thor’s liquor. It makes you giggle quietly now, watching him try to defend his position on the correct order of cereal-making. He turns jokingly betrayed eyes on you and you quiet yourself by biting down on your lip.

“Okay Bucky,” you tell him, voice still tinkling with giggles. “It’s your cereal, you do what you want.”

Bucky huffs indignantly and crosses his thick arms over his chest, clearly not happy with the slight condescending, albeit joking, tone to your voice. Meanwhile, Sam scoffs and scrubs a hand over his face.

“I suppose you’re gonna tell him that it’s okay to just bite into ice cream or bite into a string cheese stick, too,” he gripes. “Man, I don’t know why I look to you for anything when it comes to him.”

Smiling, you step behind Bucky and wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers splayed across his chest as he moves his hands to hold your wrists. You drop a loving kiss into his hair, slightly damp from a shower he must’ve taken earlier.

“I don’t really know why, either, Pigeon, because I’m always going to take Bucky’s side over yours.” Your cheeky grin is met with a half-hearted leer from the Falcon, who scoops up his plate of breakfast.

“I’m just gonna go eat in my room where I’m not surrounded by absolute animals.” His footsteps echo down the hall to the elevator, where it dings, the door opens, and moments later, closes. Once he’s gone, you straighten up a little but keep Bucky in your grip.

“Well, that was a fun way to come home,” you quip.

“How’d the mission go?” Steve asks, ever the responsible Captain. You shrug lazily.

“Not much better than we expected. Sat in that room for six hours without so much as a peep. Sorry, Cap.”

He waves you away and a yawn breaks through your relaxed stance. Bucky’s hand slides up and down your arm comfortingly and he turns his head to look up at you.

“Tired?”

“Beat,” you reply with a nod. “I’m gonna go clean up and crash. I’ll see you later?”

A shared kiss, an affirmative nod, and you’re trudging out of the kitchen. You’re woken from your nap a few hours later by Bucky pressing light kisses across your back. When he gets to the nape of your neck, you shiver and groan, and Bucky drops onto the mattress beside you.

“Time is it?” you question sleepily with your eyes still closed.

“Almost three. You been asleep a while, doll.” He slides down the bed, carefully pulling you onto his chest where you burrow into his warmth. God bless that super-soldier serum.

“Because I was so bored out of my goddamn mind,” you grumble. His chest vibrates with a low chuckle that has the corners of your mouth quirking up. His hands dance along your back, and your mind flashes back to the incident in the kitchen. “Question.”

“Answer.” His voice is thick, as if he’s close to dozing off himself.

“You don’t just bite into a cheese stick right? Because if so, we might have to reevaluate this relationship.”

You squeak, eyes flying open, as Bucky rolls the two of you over, keeping most of his weight off you though still keeping you pinned under him. His hands fly to your sides and his fingers wiggle, sending you into a flurry of laughter.

“Oh really now?” he taunts with a devilish grin as you squeal and writhe beneath him to get away from his assault. It’s futile, really, he’s far too massive. “You really gonna call it quits because I ain’t got time to fuck around with a cheese stick? Huh?”

“N-No, no! Bucky, I’m so-s-sorry! I take it back! Yield!” you cry breathlessly. To your relief, he stops and you melt back into the bed. He’s grinning down at you while you catch your breath, his eyes softening by the second until he looks absolutely moon-eyed.

His metal hand brushes hair out of your face, cool against your flushed face, before his mouth descends to yours, feather-light but no less toe-curling. He presses a few more chaste kisses to your lips and cheeks before pulling back.

“I love you,” he murmurs lowly, and you can see the adoration reflected in his silver-blue eyes. You smile, the sentiment still bringing a blush to your face even months later.

“Love you too, Buck.” You kiss him again but drop your head back to the mattress, pointing at him. “But we are gonna have a serious talk about your food preparation skills.”

He chuckles and snuggles into you, face in your neck and bulging arms around you. “Whatever you say, dollface.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #hannahs3kwritingchallenge

1K notes · View notes

goldenhemmings · 5 years

Text

When You Love Someone | Streetfighter!Shawn (Part Two)

Hi, friends! First of all, thank you SO much for all the love on the previous part of this (which you can read in my masterlist). I was not expecting such kind and supportive feedback, and I love and appreciate all of it! Secondly, thanks for sticking with me through how long it took to get this part posted. I had finals and a two-day drive home from college, so I had a lot of other stuff on my plate. But, with that being said, I did finally manage to finish this part. So, without further ado, please enjoy 6.7k more words of Streetfighter!Shawn. I’d love to hear your feedback, and I hope you enjoy!!

“Y/N, is that you? Come in here!”

She sighed as she followed her roommates’ voices to Jade’s bathroom, where Jade was hunched over the toilet and Brooklyn was sitting on the edge of the bathtub rubbing her back. “Hey,” Y/N muttered, trying to focus on anything but the stench of vomit that filled the small room. She stepped over Jade’s floor-ridden body to the small window at the top of the shower, pulling it open in the hopes that it would help to air out the room.

“Who’s the guy Brooklyn said you were with?” Jade hiccupped the second she registered Y/N’s presence in the room.

Y/N let out an exhale of breath as she stared down at her roommate who had her head halfway inside the toilet. “Glad to see you’ve sobered up.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Brooklyn pressed, a smile playing on the corners of her lips. “Who was that?” Y/N, however, was not in the mood for her roommates’ antics. They had convinced her to go out when they knew how tired she was, and while Y/N understood that it was her own fault for going, she definitely blamed her friends for leaving her at the bar to fend for herself. She wasn’t very happy with them, to say the least.

Y/N simply scoffed, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck. “What, were you spying on me or something?”

“No, I just heard voices in the driveway and I went to the window to see who it was,” Brooklyn defended. Y/N could see in her eyes that she was definitely still tipsy. “Then I saw you standing with some hot-ass guy and I obviously freaked out a little.”

“No need to freak out,” Y/N answered dryly. “He just felt bad that my friends left me alone at a bar at one in the morning and offered to walk me home.”

Brooklyn sighed, and the quiet in the air was soon interrupted by Jade once again beginning to heave into the toilet. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I know that was shitty. Jade was just really sick, and--”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s over with.” A pause. “And the guy is no one, so don’t keep asking.”

“Doesn’t sound like no one,” Jade finally spoke from the floor, slurring her words and wiggling her eyebrows much to Y/N’s chagrin. “Did you get his number?”

Y/N didn’t have the energy to argue. “No, I didn’t, and I’m going to bed.” She reached to grab the phone charger someone had left plugged in at the sink and took a step back towards the door.

“Already?” Jade asked, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout.

“I’m exhausted,” Y/N snapped as she desperately tried not to lose her patience. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” She turned to walk out the door, making a note to find a sweatshirt as she felt the house’s air conditioning kick in. She stopped into the kitchen and reached into the cabinet where she and her roommates kept their medicine, retrieving two ibuprofen pills and a bottle of water from the fridge before going to set them by Jade’s bed; she knew Brooklyn would forget to think of it.

She trudged into her bedroom, which was thankfully isolated enough from the rest of the house that she could attain some semblance of a tranquil environment. She shrugged out of her clothes and into an oversized hoodie before crawling into bed, missing the chance to reflect on the events of the night as she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Y/N woke to sunlight filtering through her shuttered eyelids, and she stretched her stiff limbs before rolling over to check the time displayed on the clock on her nightstand. She blinked a few times, convinced the sleep in her eyes had made her read the clock wrong, but the red numbers glared back at her just the same; she’d slept past one in the afternoon. She noticed a McDonald’s bag keeping her alarm clock company on the nightstand, with a note attached to the bag written in such messy handwriting it could only be Brooklyn’s. I got you your favorite! I also took your dirty clothes to the laundromat, they’re all clean and in a basket by your closet. I love you and I’m sorry that I was a crap friend last night.

Y/N smiled to herself as she slowly sat up and moved to rest her back against the headboard of her bed. If there was one thing Brooklyn had never been able to handle, it was having someone be upset with her. Y/N reached for the drive-thru bag and pulled out her fast-food breakfast of choice, unwrapping it with a fervor as the smell hit her nose and she immediately realized how hungry she was.

As she finished off the meal and reached for the ice water Brooklyn had also left her, Y/N heard her phone vibrate from the surface of the nightstand where it was plugged in to charge. She rolled to retrieve it, an undeniable flip in her stomach as she saw the unsaved number and message that simply read Hey, It’s Shawn.

Y/N rolled her eyes; typical boy. How was she supposed to respond to a message that gave her virtually nothing to work with? Her immediate instinct told her to consult Brooklyn and Jade, but then she remembered how insistent she had been last night that the guy who’d walked her home was just that: a guy. She’d left out the part where she’d witnessed a fully-fledged fight in the women’s bathroom of a bar, the (brief) part where he’d held her hand, and especially the part where he had asked her out. She laughed out loud imagining how a conversation like that with her roommates would go: a How’d you two meet? followed by He beat the shit out of a guy right in front of me. Sweet, I know.

After several minutes of back-and-forth in her head, Y/N finally settled on a simple response: Still up for coffee?

She tossed her phone down next to her and leaned her head against her bed’s headboard, letting out a heavy exhale of breath as she stared up at the ceiling. It had been almost a year since she’d broken up with her ex-boyfriend, and even longer since she’d been on a real date. Would this even be a date? Should it be? What if he doesn’t even want to go anymore? Y/N ran her hands over her face with a deep sigh. She hadn’t been nervous until she started overthinking things; something she had a habit of doing.

On the other side of town, Shawn was sitting on his couch feeling like an idiot for how absorbed he was in waiting for his phone to light up. He tried to focus on some MMA fight he’d found on TV, but was too wrapped up in his thoughts about Y/N. When his phone finally did buzz he almost jumped out of his skin, then scolded himself for his lame dependency on hearing the familiar text tone. He clicked the button to illuminate the screen, revealing a message from the woman of the hour.

Still up for coffee?

Was he ever. He still scrunched his nose at the thought of actual coffee, as it was a taste he’d yet to acquire, but it was what Y/N had agreed to and Shawn was still more excited than he would ever admit. Of course, he typed back, thinking of a plan in his head. Does three work?

Y/N looked over at her clock again as though she’d expected it to display a more dramatic time change than there actually had been. It was 1:30; she could easily get ready in an hour and a half. Sure :)

I’ll pick you up, came Shawn’s almost instant reply. See you soon.

That was enough to have Y/N scrambling out of bed and into the shower to start getting ready. When she was done she slipped on a pair of jeans and her favorite sweater, opting to let her hair air-dry. When she was done applying the makeup that she wanted, she pulled the front half of her hair back with a white ribbon and gave herself a once-over in the mirror. Satisfied, she reached for her phone and her purse, heading into the living room to wait for Shawn’s arrival.

The second Y/N emerged from her room, Brooklyn’s head turned back to look at her from her spot on the couch. “You look nice,” she remarked, grabbing Y/N’s attention. “Going out?”

“Just, uh, meeting a friend to study,” Y/N lied. “I have a Political Theory exam in a week.”

Brooklyn laughed, eliciting an amused yet questioning expression from Y/N. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Brooklyn stated, and she waved Y/N off with her hand. Y/N didn’t buy it.

“Brook,” she pressed, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest.

“Well, first of all, I find it adorable that you start studying for exams a week in advance,” she explained, and Y/N giggled.

“Guess I’m not as brave as some people who like to wait until the night before,” she shrugged, teasing. Brooklyn smiled, but Y/N could tell she had more to say. She stared at her friend expectantly.

“I dunno,” Brooklyn started, and her eyes raked over Y/N. “You spend half your life studying, and I’ve never seen you look like this to do it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“Don’t know,” Brooklyn repeated. “I guess you’re either meeting someone special to study, or you’re not actually studying. Just a prediction.”

Before Y/N had the chance to defend herself (though Brooklyn was one-hundred-percent correct), the doorbell rang. Brooklyn raised her eyebrows suggestively, which Y/N pretended not to see as she made her way to the door. Before she could even get her hand on the knob, Brooklyn’s voice came from behind her.

“You gonna bring your backpack?”

“Why would I--” Y/N started, but then caught herself. Brooklyn laughed.

“Have fun studying. I expect details when you’re home.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Y/N groaned, but she couldn’t fight the tiny smile that was threatening to take over. “Check on Jade while I’m gone. No more ibuprofen until she eats something substantial.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

With that Y/N turned to once again face the door, taking a deep, stabilizing breath as she pulled it open to reveal Shawn standing in black jeans and a worn band t-shirt, his curly hair falling in his face and making him look much softer than she knew he was.

“I texted you, but you didn’t answer. Figured I should probably have come to the door anyway.”

Y/N smiled, suddenly more nervous than she had been all day. “That’s okay,” she answered, staring down at her shoes. Shawn backed up to allow her space to get through the doorway, the giddy smile remaining plastered on her face as she stepped outside after him.

“Bye kids, have fun!” Brooklyn teasingly called out before Y/N could tug the door closed. Y/N rolled her eyes, shaking her head at her friend’s antics.

Shawn let out a little laugh. “Who was that?”

“Just one of my roommates,” Y/N shrugged, walking alongside him as he led her to the sleek black Jeep parked on the street. “She can be a lot sometimes, but she means well.”

Shawn took two long strides to get in front of Y/N so that he could open the passenger side door for her. “Thank you,” she said softly, stepping on the little ledge to hoist herself onto the car’s leather seats. She watched him make his way around the front of the car to the driver’s side, and for the first time, she admitted to herself how attractive she found him. He smiled at her as he climbed into the car, and Y/N immediately felt the butterflies in her stomach kick in.

“Okay,” he began, reaching to shut the door before turning to look at her. “Where to? It’s your pick.”

She raised her eyebrows playfully. “That’s so much pressure.”

“I trust you,” Shawn replied, still smiling in a way that made it hard for her to focus.

Y/N hummed as she stared out the windshield, thinking, and all-too-aware of Shawn’s eyes resting on the side of her face. “There’s a little cafe on the corner of Shea and 19th that I really like. I go there to study sometimes.”

“Works for me,” Shawn answered, his tattooed hand shifting the car into drive before reaching up to lazily rest on top of the steering wheel.

When they arrived, Shawn ordered for both himself and Y/N while she claimed a booth in the corner by a window. She laughed when he winked at her from where he stood at the counter awaiting their drinks, and she didn’t miss the grin that crossed his face as well. He carried the mugs with their steaming coffee in it over to the table, handing Y/N her cup before sliding into the booth across from her.

“So, your fighting,” Y/N started with a curious smile, wasting no time. “You promised to tell me about it.”

“I did, didn’t I? That was fast,” Shawn smiled, but he was immediately nervous. She probably expected him to say that he was a boxer, or that he wrestled; any other sport that was less brutal than what he actually did. Her bright eyes stared at him, awaiting his answer. “It’s called streetfighting,” he finally explained, carefully watching her face for any expression that could help him gauge how she was feeling. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. We preschedule matches, a bunch of people come to bet on us and watch, and then we just, uh, fight until the rules say we have to stop.”

“How do you fight?”

“Our fists, mostly,” Shawn answered, reaching up to scrub at the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh.

So it was that kind of fighting. Y/N inhaled, making sure to choose her next words carefully. “Isn’t that...illegal?”

“No, actually,” Shawn replied, not failing to notice how comically wide Y/N’s eyes had instantly gone. “As long as we’re not hurting bystanders or causing property damage, there’s technically no law here against mutual combat.”

Y/N looked down, letting out a little puff of air as she absentmindedly traced the rim of her coffee mug with her pointer finger. “What?” Shawn asked, unable to read her reaction. He was nervous about how Y/N would receive everything that he was saying, and the fact that he cared so much scared him.

She flicked her eyes up to find his staring right back at her. “I don’t know, you just sound like a lawyer, or something. Mutual combat makes it seem so formal. So...not scary.”

Shawn held his breath, his eyes still carefully fixated on her. “Does it? Scare you, I mean.”

“Um,” she started with a nervous laugh. “I’m not really sure how I feel about it. Didn’t realize it was something that existed beyond movies until today.”

“Fair.” He paused, hesitating before asking the question he wanted to. “Does it scare you that I’m a part of it?” he pushed, suddenly painfully aware of how his heart had begun to race with anticipation. He was past the stage of trying to deny that he cared what Y/N thought of him; he’d simply just accepted the fact that he did.

“No,” she answered softly, but with conviction. “I mean, you definitely intimidated me at first,” she continued, eliciting a bashful smile from Shawn. “But you’re not scary.”

He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. The frown Y/N wore silently asked what he was thinking. “Really thought you’d say yes,” Shawn admitted. “It’s more violent than most people are willing to deal with.”

“I don’t think it makes you a violent person, though,” she replied, without even having to think about it. “Football players don’t go around tackling people in their everyday lives just like you don’t go around picking fights outside of Dynamite.”

“What makes you think I don’t do that?”

She shrugged, looking down at her coffee. “I just don’t.”

Shawn simply hummed in acknowledgment, drawing Y/N’s focus back up to his face. She met his honey-brown eyes and her gaze flicked down to the small scar on his cheek that she hadn’t noticed until then, illuminated by the natural light streaming through the window next to them. “Your scar,” she mused, eyes still locked on it as Shawn’s inked hand came up instinctively to touch it. “How’d you get that?”

He sighed, turning his head to the side to stare out the window. “Fight. Some guy didn’t take his rings off.”

She nodded slightly. “So they made him stop and get rid of them?”

“Oh, no,” Shawn answered nonchalantly, and Y/N’s brow furrowed.

“He kept fighting you with rings on?”

Shawn laughed, but Y/N didn’t understand why. “He only got one punch in, sweetheart. Fight didn’t last very long.”

Her stomach swirled. Okay then. “But you still got the scar.”

He shrugged his shoulders, watching as Y/N leaned her chin to rest in her hand. “Yeah, but I kind of like it. Think it’s cool.”

Y/N grinned, causing the corners of Shawn’s mouth to turn up as well. “Of course you do.”

“What, you don’t think it’s badass?” he teased, pretending not to feel his chest do a stupid little flutter as Y/N tilted her chin back and laughed.

“I didn’t say that,” she giggled, and he joined in until their laughter naturally died out. Y/N studied his face, unsure of whether or not she really dared to ask the question she most wanted to. But as he looked back at her with a warm expression, the words came before she could think about it any longer.

“If streetfighting were illegal, would you stop?”

“Probably not,” he answered, straightforward and immediate.

She nodded, leaning her back against the seat. At least he was honest. She had a million more questions, but she didn't know if they were ones she should be asking. But her silence was telling, and Shawn seemed to read her mind.

“Whatever you want to ask me, you can. You don’t have to hold back.”

That was good enough for her. “Okay,” she conceded, leaning forward over the table. His eyes never left her. “So, you told me why you were hiding last night...said it was because of those guys chasing you. But why were they after you in the first place?”

“Fair question,” he mumbled, staring down at his hands as he formulated an answer. “They’re all streetfighters. The guy from last night, Damon, hangs around with another guy named Rocco, and they follow this third guy like he’s their alpha wolf, or some shit. I beat him in a fight a few weeks ago, and none of them liked that very much because he wasn’t expecting to lose. Now he’s all hot and bothered about revenge.” He couldn’t contain the smug smile that had spread its way onto his face; he still felt pretty damn good about having beat Axel.

Y/N, on the other hand, couldn’t help but pick up on how little Shawn seemed to be affected by the fact that he apparently had three men out for his head. “That would scare me half to death,” she whispered, taking a sip of her coffee so that she had a little bit of time to think of something to say. She placed the cup down, feeling the table shaking slightly from Shawn’s knee, which had started bouncing nervously.

“How often do you fight?”

“About once every month or two. Just until I’m healed enough from the last fight well enough to take on a new one.”

She felt her chest tighten. “It takes you two months to heal?”

“Depends,” he answered, and he could immediately see in her eyes that all of it was beginning to register in her mind. She almost asked what it depended on in the hopes that it would prove her assumption wrong, but she knew she was right; that the time between fights was determined by how severe of a condition he was left in from the previous one. She hadn’t realized until that moment how serious of a style of fighting this really was.

Shawn’s leg kept bouncing as he waited for her to say something. Y/N could feel his eyes on her, but she remained silent as she tried to process. It wasn’t long before Shawn couldn’t handle the quiet. “What are you thinking?”

Y/N looked up to find his face laced with an unreadable emotion; somewhere between concern and discomfort. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s a lot to take in. This all just seems so…The Outsiders, or something.”

He laughed in relief; it was an answer milder than he had expected. “You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’ve never actually read that book,” he admitted. “Just seen bits and pieces of the movie.”

Y/N’s eyes went wide and a smile came over her mouth; a sight for which Shawn was both grateful and relieved. A smile was a good sign. A smile meant that, even after everything he had told her, Y/N was still comfortable. “I can’t believe you’ve never read that book!” she pressed, bright-eyed. “It’s a classic.”

Shawn playfully rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I had a rough childhood, I wasn’t reading the fucking Outsiders.”

Y/N’s light expression wavered, and her shoulders fell as though she were deflating. Shawn immediately wished he could take his words back. He wasn’t used to people that weren’t accustomed to his brash sense of humor, and the longer he sat in silence staring at Y/N’s face as she obviously struggled to come up with something to say, the stupider he felt for his lack of a filter.

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “That was...yeah. Probably too soon to be making jokes like that.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N reassured with a smile, swallowing hard as she pushed past it. “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it, then.”

“Guess so,” he replied with a strained smile, still mentally kicking himself for being so careless.

He took a sip from his cup of coffee, immediately trying--but failing--to conceal how his face contorted as the bitter taste reached his tongue. Y/N giggled, watching him curiously.

“Still too hot?”

“No,” he grunted, setting the cup down on the table. “I just don’t actually like coffee.”

“Then why’d you suggest we get coffee?” she laughed, and Shawn swore he’d drink all the bitter, black coffee in the world if it was what it took to hear that sound.

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, unsuccessfully fighting a smile, “it wasn’t my brightest idea.”

“Try putting cream and sugar in it,” she suggested as she reached to the edge of the table to grab a sugar packet. “Should make it more bearable.”

“Why didn’t you put this stuff in yours?” Shawn questioned, watching Y/N’s face as she focused on stirring sugar into his coffee.

“Sugar, you mean?” Y/N questioned, her eyes flicking up to meet his. Shawn nodded. “I’m a full-time college student,” she explained with a shrug. “I’m immune to the taste. I’m surprised I haven’t resorted to just eating actual coffee beans by now.”

“College sounds fun,” he teased, grinning. “I’m obviously missing out.”

It was Y/N’s turn to smile. “It’s not so bad.” She slid the cup of coffee across the table to him; a tacit request for him to try it.

He looked at her challengingly, raising his eyebrows. “I trust that this is gonna be better and not worse.”

She laughed breathily, leaning back to fold her arms over her chest. “No promises.”

He took a sip from the mug, quirking his head to the side thoughtfully. “Not bad,” he approved.

“Told you!”

Shawn shook his head teasingly. “Actually, I believe what you said was ‘no promises.’” Y/N laughed, taking a drink from her own cup.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asked as she placed her coffee back on the table, phrasing it like she was simply making conversation but secretly hoping he’d say he wasn’t busy so that she could extend their day together.

“I’m going to Dynamite tonight,” he answered, and Y/N pretended not to be disappointed. “Not to fight, but there’s a match so I’m kind of expected to be there.”

“What about those guys that were after you?”

Shawn cocked his head to the side. “What about them?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Y/N stumbled, trying to find the right words. “What if they...show up? Find you?”

But Shawn just shrugged, unbothered. “Not sure. I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.”

“You’re not worried about it?”

“Not really,” Shawn admitted, and as disconcerting as his nonchalance was, Y/N managed to push past it.

“What’s it like where you fight?”

“Well,” Shawn started, taking a deep breath. Where to even begin? “It’s called Dynamite, because it’s through an alleyway off Dynamite Road in midtown. There’s really not much to it other than a square slab of concrete surrounded by a chain-link fence. If you maybe, uh, want to come tonight, I can show it to you.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Y/N dismissed, staring down at her empty coffee mug. “Thank you, though. I just think I need a little more time to process before I see everything in action.” Shawn nodded. He’d expected her to say no, but it still disappointed him. “What time do you have to be there?”

“Fights usually start around seven, so I get there a little earlier,” he answered, and Y/N checked her phone. 5:30.

“Damn,” she mumbled, unaware that she was saying it out loud.

“What?”

She looked up at Shawn, showing him her phone screen. “We’ve been here for a long time.”

He grinned. “Time flies.”

“I don’t want to make you late to the fight,” Y/N continued, tucking her phone into her purse. “We can leave, if you want.”

“I don’t,” he sighed, and Y/N’s stomach flipped. “But you’re probably right that we should.”

He stood up, Y/N following suit, and led the way out of the small coffee shop. From behind him he heard Y/N thank the barista standing at the counter, and he smiled to himself as they walked to his car in the parking lot. A part of him was convinced that she was too good for him, that he would never deserve her time or her kindness, but a bigger part of him didn’t care. His cheeks got hot from just thinking about her, and the effect her presence had on him was even greater. The way he felt about her was terrifying because it was something he’d never experienced with anyone else, and how quickly it had happened only scared him even further; he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.

He opened the passenger door for her again once they reached the car, and she thanked him quietly when he extended his hand to help her up. They spent the entire drive home talking and laughing as though part of their conversation hadn’t been so heavy, and Shawn even pretended to accidentally make a few wrong turns so that he could extend their time together. It was obvious that he was getting lost on purpose, but Y/N didn’t care. She’d probably be doing the same thing.

When he pulled up in front of her house he dashed around the side of the car to help her out, and Y/N smiled; she’d not gotten a door for herself the entire day. She slid out of the car, adjusting the strap of her purse so that it sat where she wanted it on her shoulder. She looked up at Shawn, who was leaning against the side of his Jeep studying everything from the way she looked to the way she moved. She killed him.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N started, suddenly shy. “I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” Shawn answered, trailing off like he had more to say. Y/N picked up on it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed, attempting to reassure her with a smile.

She watched him, amused eyes trained on his face. “No, you were gonna say something.”

Shawn sighed; she was right. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” Y/N replied, confused as to why his demeanor had suddenly shifted.

“Okay.” He tugged a hand through his hair and let out a heavy breath. What are you doing, what are you doing? “I don’t really, um, date.”

Y/N felt a weight hit her chest. Of fucking course he’s too good to be true. “Oh.”

“No, wait, hang on. Just let me explain where I’m going with this,” he pushed, and Y/N’s eyes fixated on him, rightfully perplexed. “I hate talking about how I feel so, bear with me.” He paused to take another breath, looking off to the side as he continued. “I don’t date, ever, so I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t usually say or do the right thing and that’s probably not gonna change. I can’t make any promises to you about anything other than the fact that I like you a lot, and that scares the shit out of me.”

“Okay,” Y/N acknowledged, her heart in her throat as she tried to follow him. She couldn’t tell if this was taking a good or a bad turn. “So what are you trying to say?”

“I want to try,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “This. With you.”

“‘This?’” she quipped. “Like dating, or…?”

“Yeah, I guess. Even though I don’t really know what that entails.”

Y/N laughed softly, tentatively taking a step closer to him. “You don’t have to know what you’re doing. You just go at your own pace.”

“It’s because I don’t get attached to people,” he continued, his jaw clenched in a way that made it seem like he was being forced to talk against his will. “I close myself off, I guess, because it only ever ends up badly for me. But I’m attached to you already and I don’t know why. I just am.”

She nodded, trying to put the pieces together. “So what do you want from me?”

“Be patient with me. Assuming that you even want this,” he laughed, looking up at the sky like it held the words he wanted to say. “Sort of forgot to verify that before I said all this embarrassing shit.”

“Hey,” Y/N cut in, reaching for his hand before either of them knew what was happening. “It’s not embarrassing. If you want to try then I do, too.”

Shawn wrapped his fingers around hers, feeling himself calm down. Having her hand in his anchored him, somehow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And there’s no rush. We can just see what happens.”

Without even thinking about it, he brought her hand up to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t stop smiling. “Be safe tonight, alright?”

“I will,” he nodded, grinning even though her words weighed on him. No one ever cared whether or not he was safe. “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” she replied, a teasing look making its way into her eyes. “Are you gonna let go of my hand so I can go inside or am I just stuck here?”

Shawn laughed, a looseness that came with getting his feelings off of his chest taking over. “If you insist,” he teased, dropping her hand but not dropping his eyes from her face. She looked up at him, and for a split second she swore he was going to kiss her. Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched the soft smile on his face, his brown eyes equally as tender.

Shawn stared back at Y/N, simply taking in everything about her. He never wanted to forget the way she looked in that moment, with her lips parted and her hair slightly messy but still perfect, or the way the golden light from the setting sun seemed to outline her figure in an ethereal glow. He so badly wanted to kiss her, but he was determined to be careful with her; to take things slowly and to not force anything. He finally let out the air from his chest, effectively severing the tension that had been in the air between them.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he simply said, reaching into his pocket for his car keys.

“Okay,” Y/N affirmed, biting the inside of her cheek. “Bye, Shawn.”

“Bye.” He sent her one last dizzying smile before climbing into his Jeep, and Y/N stepped back onto her driveway as she watched him start the car and pull away. As soon as he was out of sight, a heavy breath left her lungs and an unrestrained, childish smile took over her face. She half-walked, half-skipped up to her front door, pushing it open and immediately running to find her roommates. She hadn’t been excited about a guy in over a year, and she was no longer able to keep it from them.

Her roommates must have heard the door shut, as they both emerged from Jade’s bedroom with intrigued looks on their faces. “How was it?” Brooklyn burst out, pulling Y/N over to the couch in the small living room. “I already filled Jade in.”

Y/N laughed. “Of course you did.”

“Spill,” Jade commanded, plopping herself at Y/N’s right side as an elated smile took over her features.

Y/N hid her grin with her shoulder, her roommates squealing with excitement in response to Y/N’s infectious giddiness. “I don’t even know where to start.”

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

Shawn had just parked his car on the side-street outside Dynamite when he felt his phone vibrate from where it sat in the console. His heart started to pound in the hopes of it being from Y/N, but his face fell upon actually reading the message.

Hi Sugar. Coming to the fight tonight?

Shawn’s eyes rolled as he contemplated even responding. What’s it to you? he finally fired back. He’d had too good of a day with Y/N to ruin it by dealing with Raven’s overbearing devotion to him, so he slid his phone back into his pocket, hopping out of the car and locking it behind him. Raven would not ruin his high or sour his mood; he refused to allow it.

He walked through the alleyway to Dynamite like he’d done so many times before, but this time he had a certain lightness in his step that hadn’t previously been there. He tucked his hands into the front pocket of the black sweatshirt he’d slid on after finding it in the backseat of his car, nodding in greeting to the people he recognized, ready to inquire about their thoughts on that night’s matchup. Before he had the chance, however, he felt a light punch in his shoulder and turned around to be met with Mateo; the person he’d been scheduled to fight the previous night before Axel came and made a scene.

“Who ya got tonight, Mendes?” Mateo asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Who’s fighting?”

“Adam and Maverick.”

Shawn exhaled, smiling smugly as he reached into his pocket for cash as though the choice was obvious. “I’ll put a hundred on Mav, easy.”

Mateo raised his brows. “Bold,” he remarked. “They’re about as evenly matched as it comes.”

This elicited a scoff from Shawn. “You’ve never fought Mav. That son of a bitch is strong.”

“I’ve never fought you, though,” Mateo retorted. “Maybe you’re just weak.”

“You’re fucking full of it,” Shawn grinned, and Mateo laughed. Mateo was an arrogant little shit, but Shawn had never actually possessed any reason to dislike him or harbor any animosity towards him.

“Let’s rematch then.”

Shawn sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, feigning concern. “You sure, buddy? You got lucky the other night when I had to leave before our fight. You know I’d have beat your punk ass up.”

“You seem to forget that I’ve got a few years’ experience on you. Let’s settle it.”

Shawn laughed, ready to agree to a rematch when he heard a sharp, feminine voice cut through the air behind him. “What the hell, Mendes?”

Shawn’s stomach dropped. He didn’t have to turn around to know that Raven was stalking towards him, ready to interrogate him within an inch of his sanity. Mateo shot Shawn an apologetic expression before backing away quickly; he knew when he wasn’t wanted. Raven stepped around Shawn so that she was face to face with him, and she popped her hip out as she folded her arms over her chest.

Shawn scowled, rolling his eyes at her display. “What?” he demanded, but it came out flat.

Raven scoffed. “What do you mean ‘what?’ You’ve been dodgy lately, and it’s pissing me off.”

It was Shawn’s turn to scoff, taking a step back as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t exist to keep you happy, Raven.”

He knew she would never admit it, but that had hurt her; Shawn could see it in her eyes. Unfortunately for him, she was able to push through it and keep the argument going. “No, you obviously only exist to come over late at night, get laid, and then sneak out of my apartment while I’m sleeping, because you’re an asshole.”

“Well if it pisses you off so much, then maybe stop begging for me all the time,” Shawn responded, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm. “Or, no, I’ll do you one better—I’ll just cut this off completely. It’s a win-win.”

Raven’s tough expression faltered, and her folded arms fell to her sides. “T-That’s not what I meant, Shawn.”

“No? Well it’s what I meant,” he bit back, relishing in the way he could visibly see Raven coming undone. “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, alright? But this—whatever it was—needed to end a long time ago.”

She laughed dryly, shaking her head in incredulity as she turned to the side to hide the hurt on her face. “Sugar, you can’t stay away from me and we both know it. You’re gonna regret this.”

“I only regret that I didn’t do it sooner,” he replied, less harshly, and he meant it. He knew he should have ended things with Raven a long time ago, but he just never could seem to get himself to do it. It was obvious that meeting Y/N had been the push he needed; he suddenly couldn’t think about anyone or anything other than her, even if he wanted to.

Raven stared back at him, her name suddenly fitting as her dark eyes narrowed, beady and bird-like as they held his gaze. Shawn kept standing there because he was sure she was about to say something, but all she did was stare with a look that could definitely kill.

“Raven!” Adam called, snapping her from her infuriated reverie and cutting the tension between her and Shawn. She turned to the side in search of the source of the voice. “We starting or not?”

She glared back at Shawn one last time, and it took all the strength he had to just stand there and keep quiet. He wanted so badly to shut her down, to insist that there was not a single reason why she should be this affected, but he didn’t. He just stood there and let her stab him with the piercing stare of her eyes. Maybe he owed her that much. Maybe she at least deserved his restraint.

“Yeah,” Raven finally shouted back, turning to the crowd. Shawn didn’t miss the waver in her voice. “Last chance to place your bets. Fight starts on my count.”

“Fuck you,” she spat to Shawn over her shoulder, turning around with a dramatic flip of her hair. “You’re nothing but a waste of time.”

“Actually, Raven, wait,” he called, feigning reluctance, and she whipped around so quickly it was as though she were being pulled by a string. She stared up at him, doe-eyed and hopeful even though she laughably tried to maintain her hard expression. Shawn smirked, extending a fistful of cash towards her.

“Do me a favor. Put me down for a hundred on Maverick.”

Feedback is so appreciated, and let me know if you want me to add another part!

Taglist: @joyfullyswimmingface @fourtristattoos @goldiean @justmesadgirl @shawns-curls @iam-a-painted-whore

#FINALLY yall #u rock for sticking with me #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes one shots #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes writing #imagine #streetfighter!shawn

493 notes · View notes

queerspeculativefiction · 5 years

Text

Don’t forget to buy milk

Was talking on the discord about old writing in the first person and went and re-read some stuff and still kinda fond of bits in this one even though it’s hella old and clunky.

Story under the cut.

The stairs make a sound when I walk on them like a puppy whimpering from its master's kick. Did it always creak like that? I can't remember, like I can't remember yesterday, my brain stuck on repeat.

I am following old notes like a guide to a past I had quite forgotten. Little scrawled maps to dark corners and kicked puppies. I should never have come back here.

...

The phone call had come a week ago. A voice on a distant line giving condolences I did not need. He was dead. An accident. Gone. The shadows of memory turning into just shadows, now forever unconnected with reality. No more.

I didn't cry at the funeral. I stood there in stony silence, watching the coffin being lowered. Just me and the priest and some curious bystanders. I stood there and I did not cry, and then I went back to the house. This house. My house. The house he had lived in. That I had lived in a long time ago.

Ten years. Was that a long time? String enough moments together and you can convince yourself it is a lifetime. Walk enough steps and you can fool yourself into thinking they can never be retraced. Look up at the sky and it is still the same moon, staring unblinkingly down at both of you.

...

I slept in my old room that night. The bed was still there, the covers dusty like everything else. Had he just left this room alone? Untouched. Was he hoping I would come back somehow? The thought made me sad, even though I didn't want to grieve. Hate is easier than sorrow. Had he missed me after I had gone? Had there been a hole in his life?

When I woke up in the morning, the mirror was broken. Had it been broken when I went to sleep last night? Had I got out of the bed, sleepwalking, smashing my own hated reflection? There was no blood on my hands. Such a kind lie. My eyes stared back at me, my face faceted as if viewed through the eyes of a fly.

There were no flies here. I always remembered flies, buzzing in the heat of the summer, but this was winter and they lay dead on the window sills. Mummified little corpses. Dirty windows. Someone had drawn symbols on it, happy little suns and trees and houses. No dog. No people. Someone had written 'mommy I miss you' and the fingers were too large for mine. I didn't dare to compare too closely, fearing that I would be caught in the glass, a reflection haunting a deserted past.

...

I found the first note in the bathroom, it simply said 'remember'. The handwriting was mine. I pulled it down and wrote the words again below it to compare. The same pen even, the common bic blue. I didn't remember writing it, and I didn't remember what I was supposed to remember.

The milk in the fridge had gone off. The carton smelled like murder when I opened it, curdling milk like vomit as I poured it into the sink and rinsed the carton. Had it been off when I bought it? The note on the fridge said 'buy milk' and it was my handwriting again. I should go and buy milk, but it was raining outside and that always made him anxious.

He's not here anymore. I need to remember that. He is dead and the house is mine alone. I do not need to lock the doors anymore, but I do anyway, each frame of wood a barrier between me and the past. Barriers breaking down. Some locks have scratches around them, little gouges made by screwdrivers and scissors. The paint scratched. But the house is old and the wood is solid and holds its secrets.

...

I hear the handle rattle in the night and scream myself awake in the abandoned darkness. Nobody to hear. Nobody at the locked door. Everything is quiet but my panicked heartbeats. I turn on the bedside lamp and the bed is filled with notes. Little yellow post-its scrabbled with messages. Little reminders to a past I would forget.

'Lock the doors,' one of them said. 'He can Hear you breathe,' said another. I crumpled the rest without reading, turning them into a yellow ball of advice and accusations. 'How Dare you Bitch,' still stuck on my retinas. How did I dare?

I didn't want to die. That was the simple truth of it. I didn't want to die, and eventually I realized that if I stayed, I would. So I did the only thing I could and left. Washed my hands of my past and my mistakes, trying not to remember. Vowing never to come back.

But I remember now. And I have come back.

...

'The CELLAR.' the note had said, left on the bathroom mirror, now smashed like the others. The house kept breaking around me, one piece at a time until I was no longer sure whether it had always been that way. The wallpaper in the living room now hung like shredded skin, revealing the childlike drawings beneath it. They had never truly covered them, in the right light the red shapes still shone through, like butter stains on cloth. Now they were revealed in all their hideous glory.

Hate is easier than grief but how do you hate your own flesh? Your own blood? Worse, how do you fear it? I stood there staring at the pictures, hearing the slap echo through my memories. The first blow. I remember how it felt. First the betrayal. Then the fear. Then the little traitorous thought 'there is something wrong with his eyes.'

Something wrong. Something creeping, cutting, captured on notes now forgotten. Butterfly wings broken and put back together. I remember writing in a diary, then tearing out the pages, flushing them furiously because there were no words for my feelings. Forbidden, even for myself. Even when the puppy disappeared, when the flies started hovering around the cellar door. It was winter now. No flies. The door to the cellar gaping open like a wound.

....

The stairs make a sound when I walk on them like a puppy whimpering from its master's kick. Did it always creak like that? I can't remember, like I can't remember yesterday, my brain stuck on repeat, skipping notes like a scratched vinyl record. I am following old notes like a guide to a past I had quite forgotten. Little scrawled maps to dark corners and kicked puppies. I should never have come back here. But I did.

I am walking down into the darkness, in the cold and in the memories. The smell surrounds me like a wet embrace, old and dank and invasive. I flick the light switch and the bulb refuses to work. There had been a note on the fridge. 'Buy lightbulbs,' it had said, next to 'buy bleach.'

The beam of the flashlight catches the wall, the stairs and the floor. Marking the way. I am descending now, I have to. I can't stop. The wrapped forms down there could be carpets but I know they are not. It is winter and there are no flies, and no heat down here. The bodies are old. Desiccated. Faces distorted through the plastic. Barely recognizable as human. The flashlight shatters as it drops.

....

I should tell someone I suppose. I should call the police and tell them what I found, what I always knew I would find. Instead I walk back up, closing the door behind me. I would have locked it but the key was gone. 'Buy a padlock,' I write on on a yellow post-it note and puts it on the cellar door. My hands are shaking and I need a drink, but when I go back into the kitchen the fridge is open and empty. 'Get a flashlight,' I write, then adds 'and vodka.' Maybe I will go outside later. Not now.

I take the knife in my hand and looks at it. I put it to my chest, the matching scar under by shirt tingling like ants had crawled over it. Fifteen years ago I was stabbed, thought I would die. I lay on the floor in the kitchen and bled, and when I hunch down I can still see dried blood stuck between the floorboards. I didn't call the police then either. I just couldn't.

There is a bottle of wine left and I drink it, hands shaking. I walk around the room screaming at the shadows, fighting ghosts in empty rooms. The smell of evil is everywhere or maybe it is just the unwashed laundry. A decade of it, worn and worn again until some of them were stiff with filth, the washing machine unused. I put a note on it. 'Do the laundry.'

...

Maybe if I hadn't been his mom, those are the words that escape me while I get drunker, tonight like all the other nights. What kind of mother would admit being afraid of their own son? Not me. I would lock the doors and forget the looks, the glares, the way he randomly hurt and kicked and struck out at everything. Homeschooling. I could handle it. Nothing was wrong. He would mature. Grow up. He had not meant to kill the dog. He was just curious when he cut it open. He didn't understand that he hurt me when he kept hitting me with things.

'But he did,' the little voice in my head insisted. He did understand. That was why he did it. The blows. The words. The growls. I didn't dare to hit back, not after the first time. Not after I'd seen those eyes. He would kill me if I did. He would get the door open and crawl into my bed and stick a knife in me. I was his mother and he would still do it. And them one day he did.

And I left. He was fifteen and I ran away, it should have been the other way around but the house was his territory and I had just hoped he would stay there. He knew how to order in, I made sure there was always money in the bank account and I just ran and tried to forget. Sleep in strange hotel rooms, under stranger men, trying not to keep an eye on the handle. It never turned.

I never turned back. Until now.

...

I am living in this house now, surrounded by memories and ghosts. I write notes to remind myself what I forget, and sometimes they answer back. 'Lock the doors,' they tell me, 'it is not safe.' The stairs still creak, and I can't remember why I shouldn't go down there. The darkness holds secrets, and the last note on the door just said 'NO'.

'Buy an axe,' I write. 'and pens.' The notes are running out but there is always the walls. And the windows. 'help' I wrote in one of them, my hand sticky with red though I no longer remembered why.

There are no notes left to remind me.

#my writing

10 notes · View notes

smokenhoney · 5 years

Text

II.

He wakes with a jump to an early morning sun pouring through his window, warm on his face but far too bright for his eyes. He could swear that the sound of a dog’s (no, a wolf’s?) bark had startled him awake. He must have imagined it, he thinks, for it seems to him that right now he’s alone in the room. Rolling over with a sleepy groan, he resolves to fall back into sleep before realizing that the hunger from his dream is still firmly planted in his gut.

Sighing, he untangles himself from his blankets and finds his way out of bed with a distinct lack of grace. He trusts his feet to blindly find their way to the kitchen as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. God, he’s tired; he wishes he could just go back to sleep, but this hunger drives him straight to the fridge. Finding nothing appealing there, he moves to the cupboards, but they don’t seem to contain anything of interest either. Something in the back of his mind keeps telling him that his hunger is greater than that, that he’ll need more than food to satiate it. But he has no idea what to satisfy it with, so he sighs again and settles for some coffee as his stomach growls.

He checks the time on the stove as he starts to make coffee. 5:47AM, it reads. No wonder he’s so groggy; his hunger seems to be the only thing keeping him awake. His sister isn’t even home yet, so he makes enough coffee for two and sits at the counter to wait.

He’s pouring coffee into the biggest mug in the house as she gingerly opens the door. Seeing him awake, she drops all the grace she uses to keep quiet as she storms up to his left to take the coffee pot from his hands. “Morning, Allister,” she says, glaring at the mug in his hands, wanting the largest for herself.

“Morning, Eldin.”

Eldin and Allister are their last names, not their firsts. They share a mother as well as a bitterness towards different fathers. As kids, their sibling rivalry had them calling each other by last names just to emphasize that they were different from each other. The habit soon spread, and everyone else they knew began using their last names as well, for they shared first names with ancient Norse gods–names that feel strange on most people’s tongues.

She smirks at him as he goes back to his place on a bar stool, so hunched over his coffee that he’s practically laying across the counter. “What are you doing awake?”

“Had that dream again,” he mumbles. “You know, the one where I get super hungry, and then a wolf comes out of my stomach? And now I’m too hungry to get back to sleep. Trust me, I tried.”

She nods knowingly; he’s been complaining to her about this dream for days now, perhaps even weeks. “So why don’t you eat something?”

“It’s… it’s a weird hunger.” He shakes his head, staring down into his cup. “Like it’s not for food, or at least not for any of the food we have.” He sighs. “Anyways, how was your hospital shift?” He’s trying to change the subject, because he’s not sure how to explain his dream-hunger in a way that makes sense. He looks to her as he picks himself up off the counter just enough to bring the cup to his lips.

“Oh, it was awesome,” she exclaims as she begins her after-work routine, starting with feeding their cat, a fluffy white Angora they named Jack Frost. “Some drunk guy accidentally shot his friend in the thigh. If his luck was half an inch shorter the bullet would’ve nicked an artery, but it didn’t, so if all heals well, he’ll be fine.” As she bends over to pet and coo at the cat (“Good moooorning, Jack!”), he notices the splatter of blood across her chest. Next in her routine will be to get out of those scrubs, he thinks to himself with a smile.

He’s right–she takes off to her room before he can muster up a reply, but the shirt comes off before she’s even left the kitchen. He goes back to brooding over his coffee, mulling over his recurring dream. He’s never had a recurring dream before, not even once. And he’s soon reminded by a long growl from his stomach that he’s not only been having this dream every night for over a week, but he’s also been having it seep into his waking life, too.

His sister hears the sound his stomach makes as she steps back into the kitchen, and her laughter sucks him abruptly from his thoughts. Looking at her now with her hair freed from its bun, wild and red like the blood on the shirt she just discarded, he can’t help but be reminded of their mother. He smiles at her as she finds the cup of black coffee she poured for herself earlier.

“Since you’re awake,” she starts, interrupting herself to take her first sip, “why don’t we go out and get some breakfast together? I could kill for a good pancake right now.”

“I’ll go if you’re paying.”

“Fine,” she says with a dramatic sigh, and he smirks at her triumphantly. “We leave once I’m done with this coffee.”

She’ll drive as they search for a place that’s open before 7AM, but before they leave he finds himself in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He’s always held a slight jealousy for his sister’s looks. Her fiery hair and the freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose; those clear eyes that look like shards of ice and pierce like ice too. So much of their mother. He wishes he could look into a mirror and see someone he’s loved staring back. Instead, he’s the spitting image of his father; instead, mirrors make him angry and bitter. He remembers being alone and under his father’s rule at fourteen, remembers shattering a mirror in rage. He remembers how he felt looking at his reflection on his twenty-first birthday. That hardened face, walking into adulthood looking more and more like someone from an old and sour memory. He’s grown his dark curls long, avoiding the buzzcut he remembers so clearly, but his eyes are still his father’s brown, his nose still holds that subtle crook, and his features are still so hollow and sharp. He could count the amount of freckles that dust his face on his fingers, the only thing he has from his mother.

But right now his resemblance to his father isn’t what he’s thinking about. He’s staring into his own eyes because something about them is strange. The outer edge of his irises are still ringed with a familiar flecked brown, but around his pupils is a bright halo of honeyed gold.

#smoke&honey #s&h ch2 #writing #creative writing #writers of tumblr #nosebleedclub #thesproutclub #writler

10 notes · View notes

tsunnychan · 4 years

Text

a change of pace: birthday celebrations (for you)

i wasn’t going to post this until later, but I finished an exam and I can still speak english properly (minus the two times i stuck my foot in my mouth) so we’re celebrating !!

summary: Sylvain follows a hunch and hates that he's right.He may be an idiot, but he's not dumb enough to expect life to always go his way.He wishes it would this time. Just this once.

"the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry"

ao3

Ingrid's phone buzzes repeatedly on her nightstand and she whips her hand out to silence the call. Her eyes shift to the time. 2350. She groans and flops back in bed, letting the light from her phone screen fade. Seconds later, her phone buzzes again and she snaps into sitting position, glaring at the caller ID.

Grudgingly accepting the call, she unlocks her phone and grumbles, “what?”

To her mild surprise, the other voice skips the pleasantries too and gets straight to the point. “Come to the door.” Then he hangs up.

Ingrid stares at her phone in silence, only the light knocking on her door breaking her out of her confusion. Hurriedly throwing on a sweater, she stalks out of her bedroom and swings her apartment door open to find Sylvain with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bag of groceries, standing on her doorstep, albeit with an unreadable expression on his face. Her mind briefly flickers back to how they held hands on New Year’s, how she drunkenly thought about kissing him…

She wills the heat rising in her chest to stay put. Instead, she frowns. “What are you doing here, Sylvain? It’s almost midnight. Don’t you have a plane to catch back to Gautier?”

He shrugs and idly kicks at the carpet beneath his shoes. “I don’t know, Ingrid. Why aren’t you in Galatea with your family right now?”

She bristles, but he cuts her off. “I came here on a hunch. Didn’t think I would be right though.”

“Sylvain—”

“I thought we said we’d talk to each other more. After what happened on Christmas Eve.”

Ingrid purses her lips, annoyance buzzing underneath her skin. She can’t help but bite out, “Feels pretty shitty, huh?”

Sylvain meets her gaze head on, genuine guilt reflected back at her, before his face is schooled back into careful neutrality. “Yeah. It does. I’m sorry.” He fidgets in place, shifting his weight and the bags in his hand. “Can I come in?”

She debates shutting the door on him, but the tugging in her chest tells her otherwise. Her eyes drop to his hands. “What are those for?”

“A surprise.”

She looks back at him, but his face doesn’t give anything away. His eyes bore into hers. “So?”

She sighs and steps to the side, allowing Sylvain to slip into her small studio apartment. As soon as she does, his posture perks up and he near bounces through the doorway, kicking off his boots and tossing the bags he carries into her fridge.

She raises an eyebrow as she joins him in the kitchen, the new smile on his face betraying nothing. Ingrid continues to stare at him in silence, still trying to figure out why he came here, when he has work to do back in Gautier, now that he interns with his father. To his credit, Sylvain doesn’t shrink under her scrutiny. In fact, he stares right back at her, studying her.

She’s not sure what expression she has on that causes him to sigh in exasperation, one hand flying to his face and the other resting on his hip, but then he’s crossing the room, over to her, and pulls her into a fierce hug. That same scent of honey, leather, and cinnamon fills her, and her heart throbs once. Twice. She pushes through the sudden wobble in her voice. “…Sylvain?”

Her breath catches in her throat as he squeezes her tighter, his voice low in her ear. “Ingrid, you… you didn’t think I was going to let you spend your birthday alone, did you?”

Speechless, Ingrid does nothing as he pulls away, hands gripping her shoulders, sharp eyes piercing through her. “You told us your family wasn’t doing anything to celebrate this year because of your father’s health, but not that you weren’t going home at all…”

A pressure begins to build behind her eyes, but she stubbornly sets her jaw and opts to stare at a spot just over Sylvain’s shoulder. Much to her dismay, he shifts until he’s in her line of sight, that gold in his eyes glinting back at her.

Something wet rolls down her cheek and she blinks, swallowing hard as a finger gently brushes it away. Without missing a beat, Sylvain tucks her back into him, chin resting on the top of her head, her face pressed against his neck, and suddenly, her vision goes blurry. She feels, rather than hears, the short hollow laugh that escapes him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you drove all the way to Dimitri’s from Garreg Mach, instead of flying in from Galatea like you usually do? Seven months away doesn’t erase more than a decade of friendship, you know.”

Her lungs rattle violently as an unbidden sob wracks through her, tears dripping freely from her eyes onto Sylvain’s skin. His grip tightens on her and she hates this.

Hates how perceptive he is.

Hates how he ends up digging up all her secrets, no matter how deep she buries them.

Another sob escapes her and his voice rumbles from his chest into her own. “I’ve got you, Ingrid. I’ve got you.”

Her own arms fly up around him, hands clutching her best friend to her, unable to stop the trembling now that it’s started. One of his hands smooths down her hair and Ingrid’s fingers twist in his shirt.

She especially hates how now that he’s here, she doesn’t want to let him go.

Ingrid wakes with a start and groans at how sore her eyes are from crying. She didn’t even remember passing out. Her sweater was still on, but she was back in her bed, tucked into her covers. Weariness still weighed heavily in her bones and she sighs, sinking into her mattress even further. She was grateful Sylvain came, to help her release all that pent-up energy, but she was never fond of how empty she felt afterward.

And she’s been doing a lot of crying recently.

One of her hands reach up to rub at her puffy eyes, the other moving to push off her blankets. The light in her kitchen is still on, and she could hear the soft rustling of paper bags if she really concentrated.

She teeters out of bed, still slightly disoriented from just waking up, and makes her way out of her room. As silently as she can, she peers over the edge of her doorframe and spots Sylvain bent over the counter, one hand ruffling his hair in frustration. “Beat three eggs… beat them at what? Be more specific Dedue…”

A quick snort escapes her, and she claps her hands over her face, quickly ducking back behind her door. Silence fell over her apartment and Ingrid holds her breath. He didn’t… hear her, did he? A strange sort of guilt, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be, settles over her.

A few moments later, she hears the rustling again and hears Sylvain mutter to himself, “hand whisking it is then, can’t risk waking the birthday girl.”

The sounds of metal on glass start shortly after, but Ingrid can’t hear them over the buzzing in her ears. She releases the breath she’s holding shakily and presses her hand to her chest, hard. As if it could soften the pounding of her heartbeat.

She leans against her wall and slowly slides to the floor, curling in on herself as she feels the stinging of tears return. Ingrid bites her lip as she continues to listen to Sylvain bump around in her kitchen whispering recipe instructions and wrinkling paper, the hum of her microwave, and finally the slide of a metal pan against the metal racks of her oven.

Her shoulders are beginning to get sore from her position on the ground, and her wet cheeks starting to dry, but it’s not until the smell of strawberries fill her apartment does Ingrid close her eyes and surrender to the exhaustion of the last few hours.

She’s toeing the line between consciousness and dreams when a pair of arms gently lift her from the floor. So warm…

Ingrid turns her face into the soft warmth that surrounds her and sighs contentedly, smiling at the steady thrumming heartbeat beneath her ear. She vaguely hears a low rumble but can’t make out any words as she slips further away. Her cheek touches the cool surface of her pillow and she frowns, where did her warmth go?

Her hands blindly reach out and make contact with the warmth from before. Her fingers latch on tightly, and she only relaxes when the warmth blooms in the center of her palm, then encases her entire hand. She inhales deeply one last time, catching the smell of strawberries and cinnamon before she tips over the edge of sleep.

Sylvain studies the way his hand is trapped within Ingrid’s grasp and the small smile that remains on her face as she finally falls asleep. The corner of his lips quirks up and he sighs, shifting on the ground so he can rest his elbows on her bed. He lets his head fall forward, bouncing lightly as fatigue seeps into his body, the last few hours finally catching up to him.

After Christmas, Sylvain found himself in the kitchen with Dedue, late into the hours of the night practicing with cake batter. Occasionally, Annette and Mercedes would join them, becoming his unofficial taste testers. After his fifth attempt, for the third night in a row, he finally got it right. Annette and Mercedes hummed in delight as they cut another piece to share, even Dedue gave him an affirming nod.

Curious, he reached over and scooped some for himself, eyes widening. “Ah, this is delicious! I can’t believe I made it.”

Dedue cracked a rare smile. “Yes, you do have some talent.”

He smiled back, a strange feeling of accomplishment welling in his chest. Annette was practically vibrating in her seat. “Not that we’re complaining about the delicious cake Sylvain, but what is this all for?”

His heart skipped a beat and one of his hands flew up to the back of his head. “Ah… I hear girls love a man who can cook.”

Mercedes gave him a look that made him feel like she could see right through him.

…And she probably could, because she smiled mildly and said, “this wouldn’t happen to be for Ingrid’s birthday, would it? That’s coming up in a few days.”

Sylvain simultaneously felt his body light on fire and break out into a cold sweat. “Er—”

Annette slammed her hands on the table so loudly that he flinched, eyes darting to the hallway in panic. “Sylvain! That’s so cute, I can’t wait to celebrate! Especially with a cake as delicious as this! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

His racing heart only slowed when Mercedes placed her hands on Annette’s shoulders, coaxing her back into her seat, shushing her. He cleared his throat. “We’re not… exactly celebrating it. She has some family stuff going on, so she’s heading out early after the New Year’s party.”

He watched Annette visibly deflate, but Mercedes eyes continue to study him. He fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze. Then, Dedue spoke, “I do not mind these late night sessions, Sylvain, but are we not already baking her cookies for her to take home with her? A cake is considerably more difficult to travel with.”

He frowned, thinking back to the first night he saw Ingrid in her car. “Yeah, I know we are. Just… I don’t think she’s going home. To Galatea.”

He received three matching frowns back and he shrugged. “Let’s just call it a hunch. Don’t worry about it.”

Annette fiddled with the fork in her hand. “…Where would she go then?”

Sylvain paused. “Probably back to her apartment. I was going to go check on her—”

“Then, we’ll come with you.”

His eyes snapped to Mercedes and he hurriedly shook his head. “No! No, you guys don’t have to. It’s just a sneaking suspicion. A dumb guy like me? I’m not going to have all of you waste your time following me with this—”

Annette cuts him off. “You’re smarter than you make yourself out to be, Sylvain.”

Dedue nodded in agreement, looking troubled. “Indeed. Ingrid did not tell us of this, we should—”

Sylvain shook his head adamantly again. “No, really. I don’t have any basis for this. I don’t want to drag you guys all the way to a little bit past Garreg Mach and show up to an empty apartment if I’m wrong with no backup plan. I can go alone, then only one of us has wasted their time.”

Dedue narrowed his eyes. “Is your time not important too, Sylvain? What of the duties you have back in Gautier after these celebrations?”

Sylvain sighed, thinking of the conversation he was going to have to have with his father over skipping the scheduled flight back. “I spent seven months in Sreng. They can afford to let me have a few weeks to myself to check on my friends.”

The four of them fell silent at that and Sylvain idly tapped his fingers against the counter top, staring at the abandoned cake in front of them. He threw an easy smile on his face. “Well? Any feedback this time besides pure deliciousness?”

A few days later, after the New Year’s party, Ingrid hugged each of them goodbye. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he saw a blush color her cheeks as she lingered a little longer than usual in his arms. Then, she was in her car, driving away. The rest of the guests slowly trickled back home as well, to spend time with their respective families and loved ones.

Later that evening, Sylvain was back in the kitchen after the remaining Blue Lions went to sleep, waiting on another trial cake in the oven. He heard a chair scrape against the floor, and he was not surprised to see Mercedes sitting at the counter, sisterly smile on her face. He smiled in kind. “Mercedes, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Oh, you know me. I can’t resist a tasty treat, even late at night. It smells even more delicious than the last one, Sylvain.”

His smile broadened and he winked. “Are you sure it was the cake that brought you here, or me?”

Mercedes laughed in earnest and Sylvain couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He took the seat next to her, leaning his elbows on the counter and staring at the timer he set. A comfortable silence falling between them as the seconds ticked by.

He’d never really been able to talk to his childhood friends about Miklan, him being the oldest out of all of them. It didn't seem right to, especially after the accident with Dimitri's family and Glenn. Somehow, after meeting Mercedes in a philosophy class at Garreg Mach, she’d weaseled it out of him and he was suddenly spilling years of secrets out to her patient ears. She’d been such a comforting presence, and Sylvain laughed to himself after she handed him a tissue and gave him a hug.

Is that what having an older sibling is actually like?

Since then, she’d been a silent pillar of support behind him, whenever he needed to vent but couldn’t quite force the words out to his best friends because he didn’t want to burden them.

The timer went off and he jumped out of his chair, pulling his latest cake out of the oven to cool. He was in the process of fanning the heat away when Mercedes finally speaks up. “You’re actually very sweet, Sylvain.”

He almost dropped the tray he was holding. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted over to her, innocent smile plastered on her face. He gulped. “Well, that’s not something I hear every day.”

She laughed quietly. “I saw you and Ingrid holding hands on New Year’s. You looked happy. Both of you did.”

A blush burned hot on his cheeks and he looked away, all retorts he had dying in his throat. Mercedes hummed absently and stood from her chair. “No matter what you think of yourself Sylvain, you deserve happiness. Let yourself have it and feel it, okay?”

Without another word, Mercedes turned around and headed back to her room. Sylvain stared after her in shock and chuckled weakly to himself. “Guess she really did come for me and not the cake…”

Next thing he knew, he was outside Ingrid’s apartment after a stiff train ride, doubt brewing in his stomach. The lights were out, but it was also almost midnight. He got sidetracked at the University grocery on his way here, second guessing himself the entire time.

Then, he spotted her car and he pulled out his phone.

And now, he's here, his fingers laced with hers as she finally gets the rest she so desperately needs. Blowing his hair out of his face, Sylvain props his chin up on his forearms and looks at his sleeping best friend again. Really looks at her.

Her eyes were puffy from the crying she finally let herself do, dark circles growing deeper underneath. The crease in her forehead is smoothed out and the line of her shoulders finally relaxed in her slumber.

He smiles at that.

Ingrid shifts with a soft groan and pulls his hand closer to her, nestling deeper into her pillows, her breath washing over his skin. Sylvain’s cheeks burn as he’s forced to move closer, to adjust the awkward angle his arm is in to keep his hand in hers. He exhales softly and mumbles, “you really threw a wrench into all of my plans, you know that, Ing?”

He rests his cheek on his forearm and watches her steady breathing, heart thumping painfully. His smile turns wry. “You ruined all of my plans to skip class in high school, ruined my plans to drop out of college, and you really…” he trails off.

Sylvain sighs again, remembering all the times she dragged him down the hallway away from giggling girls and back to his classes in high school, staying up late with him to make sure he finished his homework in college, pushing him out of his third part-time job because she caught onto his self-sabotage to drop out of school so he wouldn’t have to deal with his family’s responsibilities and expectations after graduation…

Remembering how his mouth dried seeing her in her graduation dress and how his heart would flutter any time she was near thereafter.

And how it still does.

His chest tightens as he continues to watch her sleep. Fear, exasperation, and fondness lurk in the back of his mind as he whispers into the dark for unhearing ears.

“You really ruined all my plans to not fall in love with you.”

#sylvgrid #sylgrid #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #fe3h #fire emblem: three houses #my writing #yall i did it i finally finished a mini series #CAN I REST YET...

0 notes