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withacapitalp · 1 year

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See Hear Speak no Evil Chapter Two

Read this on ao3 instead here! Read the OG Premise here

“You gonna tell me what’s botherin’ you, or am I gonna be forced to ask?” Wayne wondered aloud, taking a drag from his cigarette and tapping out the ash on the windowsill in the living room. A draft came in from the open window and sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine, making him pause and hold the dish he was currently washing in mid-air.

Yeah, a shiver from the open window. It was just from the cold. Not at all from the slightly scary way his uncle knew how to read him.

“Dunno what you mean,” Eddie attempted, giving Wayne a thousand megawatt smile and plunging both of his hands into the hot soapy water with gusto. Wayne grunted, stubbing out his cancer stick and shutting the window. It immediately fogged up from the steam coming from the sink.

“I’m not goin’ to make you talk, Eddie. You know that,” Wayne reminded him, his tone frustratingly balanced. That was probably the most annoying thing about living with Uncle Wayne. All bad things were met with neutrality.

No anger, no shouting, just passive acceptance for the things he couldn’t change. The things he wouldn’t try to change.

For a boy like Eddie, who had grown up in a house of passion and took every bit of it with him when he left, it was sometimes infuriating. When he had first started living with Wayne, he had purposefully done bad things, attempting to get a rise out of his too patient, too kind uncle, but it had never worked.

Eddie had finally settled out of doing that around sixteen, but moments like this brought back that need. The insane need to have Wayne yell at him. Just once. Hell, he hadn’t even yelled when Eddie failed senior year for the second fucking time.

It was crazy, but Eddie was always going to have the desire to know what the line he would have to cross to make Wayne snap. He just wanted to trip it once, just to see what would happen.

He hadn’t found it yet, but this felt like the kind of thing that would be edging towards that moment. Wayne hated cruelty of any kind, and Eddie was man enough to admit what he had done today was fucking cruel.

There was no other reason for the kids to act the way they did. No other reason for Steve Harrington to show how much it hurt.

“I think I did a bad thing,” Eddie blurted out, hitting the faucet to turn it off and yanking a piece of paper towel off the roll. Wayne raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, but apart from doing that, and turning in his chair to fully face Eddie, he didn’t react.

Damn him for always being so cool. Damn Eddie for falling for it every time.

With a put upon sigh Eddie hopped up onto the counter opposite his uncle and tipped his head back.

“You know the new boys I took under my wing? The four freshmen?”

Wayne didn’t interrupt as Eddie went through the whole sordid affair. From meeting the boys, to their supposed connection to Steve Harrington, and finally through everything that had happened tonight. He never would have spoken up, it wasn’t in his nature, but every time Wayne’s jaw clenched up or he took a long slow breath in, it felt like a slap across the face.

Wayne never got angry, but he never really had to. His disappointment hurt more than any beating Eddie’s dad had ever given him.

“How was I supposed to know he was actually deaf? I mean, wouldn’t that have been a big fucking deal?! Wouldn’t the entire town talk about their star basketball captain not being able to hear?” Eddie demanded, wanting Wayne to take his side and knowing he wouldn’t.

“‘cause you’re so involved in the Hawkin’s gossip chain?” Wayne shot back, an incredulous look on his face. He rubbed his hand over his chin and leaned back in his chair, looking troubled.

“People like the Harringtons would never want that kind of talk, and they got the means to make sure it don’t happen. Lots of strange things have gone on in town in the last few years, Eddie. We keep our heads down and noses clean, but that don’t mean everyone else does the same.”

Well, that much was definitely true. It felt like overnight Hawkins had gone from the sleepiest town in America, to the center of huge amounts of controversy. Then, as quickly as the craziness had started, it had stopped. One minute there were missing kids, military vans all over, and a strict curfew enforced with hostility.

Then….nothing. Instant normalcy, the kind that made Eddie feel like he was in the Stepford Wives.

No one really knew what had happened. Chief Hopper was as tight-lipped as they came, and eventually the media craze had died down when the reporters got it through their heads that they really weren’t going to get anything. But the town still talked as all small towns tend to do. There were rumors about government conspiracies, cults, even aliens.

But all of that begged the natural follow up question.

What did any of that have to do Steve Harrington?

What did it have to do with Eddie’s newest sheep?

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” Eddie admitted. Even if he wanted answers- and he did- the metalhead was pretty sure the boys were never going to tell him.

If they even still wanted to talk to him after tonight.

“Talk to him,” Wayne suggested, getting up with a groan and forcing himself to his feet. He walked across the living room and into the kitchen. He grabbed his lunch pail from next to Eddie and patted his shoulder twice, a nonverbal but firm ending to their conversation.

“To Steve Harrington? Are you serious?” Eddie asked, pushing past the brush off and trying to convey through his tone exactly how bad that idea was.

“Serious as a heart attack. Talk with him, and, more importantly, listen,” Wayne added on, giving Eddie a half smile, “I know that ain’t always easy for you, but try. For me, alright? Somethin’s tellin’ me nobody’s been listenin’ to that boy.”

“Alright,” Eddie muttered, mostly to get Wayne off his back. He knocked his head slightly too roughly against Wayne’s arm and hopped down, disappearing into his room as Wayne called out a goodbye and went to work.

When he heard his uncle's pickup rumble away, Eddie grabbed his headphones, jamming a mixtape into his walkman and turning the volume up as loud as it could go. Wailing guitars screeched in his ears, settling the anxiety that loved to pace across his chest incessantly. Once that was taken care of, Eddie was free to overthink the entire conversation.

Talk? To Steve?

He would have preferred if Wayne told him he should talk to a live snake. At least a cobra would kill him quickly. No, he wouldn’t be able to do that. He didn’t even know if he could talk to Steve. Would there be any point when Steve in all likelihood wouldn’t hear a word he said?

Was that offensive?

Should he even care if it was?

Eddie groaned, burying his face in his pillow. Whether he should or shouldn’t, he did. He cared way too much. His stomach was still in knots after Hellfire tonight, and it was hours later. He couldn’t get the image of Steve’s hurt out of his head, and the betrayed looks the boys had given him were permanently etching themselves onto his heart.

And, worst of all, he knew exactly why this was eating him up so bad.

It was because Eddie prided himself on being better.

He was supposed to be the comforting shepherd, the barkeep welcoming in lost and weary travelers. Hellfire was a sanctuary he had created to protect anyone rejected by society, and Eddie was the leader.

He had sworn to himself his whole life that he would never be like the guys who made fun of him day in and day out. He wasn’t going to be like his father who had never listened, or his mother who hadn’t even bothered to care. He was going to be someone better.

Someone better wouldn’t have done what he did tonight.

But, there was still his pride, a writhing wrathful thing that refused to go down without a fight. The idea of apologizing to King fucking Steve of all people made Eddie want to gag, and he knew for a fact that even if he honest to god tried to do it, he wouldn’t be able to. He would probably just say something that would make it even worse, and then his boys would really never talk to him again.

Eddie would get his answers first. Then he would decide if he needed to apologize or not.

But he still couldn’t talk to Steve. That was still very much not an option, no matter what Wayne suggested.

He couldn’t talk, but maybe there was another way. A way to ensure his words got to Steve, regardless of hearing.

Eddie lifted his head off the pillow and scrambled over to his favorite notebook, flipping to a free page and scrawling down a few things, striking out a few words and thinking about the best way to phrase things.

This could work. No, this would work, and the boys would forgive him, and then things could go back to normal…

And then, as per usual, the universe wasn’t all that interested in letting things go smoothly for him.

“Dude, you gotta relax,” Gareth said, flicking his spoon at Eddie’s head, “They’ll show,”

He caught it with ease, pelting the plastic spoon back in his best friend’s direction and continuing to pace. Since he had come up with the idea last night, Eddie had been keyed up filled to the brim with nervous energy. He had even gotten to school early, and paid zero attention to any of his morning classes, bouncing his leg a mile a minute the whole time and letting his mind wander as it pleased.

“Maybe they won’t. Maybe they’re too cool to sit with us now that we confirmed they’re besties with King Steve,” Jeff chuckled to himself. Gareth rolled his eyes, and Eddie finally paused mid stride.

“Would you both knock it off?” Eddie growled with a glare, “We already fucked up enough last night.”

“Well you’re the one that started it,” Gareth muttered, clearly ticked at being scolded like a small child. He always hated when Eddie did that.

Eddie winced and went back to his pacing. He was fully aware he was the one that had started it, but he was also the only one who seemed interested in fixing it, so the other two could stuff it.

The thrice folded notebook paper was burning a hole in his pocket, and he just wanted to hand it off so he could get it over with and get his life back to the track it had been cruising on before Steve Harrington had knocked it off course.

“There they are,” Jeff said, much more subdued. Eddie’s head whipped around fast enough that his neck cracked, and he scanned the cafeteria with a hawk’s eye, looking for the four boys.

Mike, Dustin, Will, and Lucas were on the far side, each one holding a disgustingly yellow plastic lunch tray. They were searching the cafeteria, Dustin’s neck craning as he looked around. Eddie wasn’t exactly sure why they were looking so lost when they already knew where to go, but it was fine. It was all fine.

This would be fixed within minutes.

He patted the outside of his pocket a few times, practically bouncing in place as he waited for them to finally quit whatever they were doing and just come over. Eventually, Will nudged Mike with his elbow and they all began to come closer. Eddie leaned against the lunch table and folded his arms, trying to appear as casual as he possibly could.

“Look guys-”

The words dried up in his mouth as the group of four walked right past him without so much as a glance in his direction, talking amongst themselves as they went to the opposite corner of the lunch room.

Infuriating. Absolutely, unacceptably, infuriating.

Hot rage bloomed in his chest, and Eddie resisted the absolutely mental urge to chase after them and start yelling. He couldn’t stand being ignored, and those little fucking brats knew that. Was this their stupid idea of some kind of punishment?

Behind his back, Gareth and Jeff shared a worried look. They knew how Eddie acted about being ignored.

“What the fuck,” He ground out, his teeth clenching into a grim sort of grin, “What the actual fuck was that?!”

“Eddie-”

Eddie held up a hand to cut Gareth off, shaking it mid air to try and get some of the energy out of his body without jumping up on the table and declaring war on a group of freshmen who were just protecting their friend.

He needed to think in logical short statements. That’s what Eddie needed to do right now to rationalize this betrayal.

It was Logical. Eddie had hurt Steve. Steve, who they had already said was their friend. This was their way of protecting their friend. It wasn’t about Eddie. It wasn’t.

Except it kind of fucking was because he was the one being ignored.

No. No it wasn’t. It was about Steve. It was just the boys protecting their friend. Their friend, Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who was apparently deaf.

Never mind that their friend was an uppity goddamn prick who stood for everything Eddie had ever rebelled against. Never mind that their friend was not a friend, but most likely a wolf in sheep’s clothing that would only hurt them. Never mind that their friend was a creepy little jock who deserved-

No. Eddie wasn’t going to think that way. He was going to be someone better.

The note still sitting in his pocket proved that.

“It’s fine,” Eddie managed to say, hating how robotic his voice was, “It’s-”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. He wanted to rip that stupid piece of paper into a thousand bits of idiot confetti and throw it over the four boys. Let them get chewed up and spit out by this piece of shit town, and let Eddie go back to caring about just himself and the people who actually deserved it. He wanted to do something to get rid of the thing in his body that was screaming at the injustice of it all.

Eddie shut his eyes, taking a deep breath the way Wayne taught him. The ghost of Steve’s tightened shoulders and clenched fists sat behind his eyelids, burning out the righteous fire that was turning Eddie to ash.

He took another deep breath, a burst of envy hitting against his skull. How was Wayne so good at this?

“Uh…Eddie?”

When he opened his eyes, Gareth and Jeff were staring at him with nervous looks. Gareth was drumming his fingers on the table, and Jeff was working his jaw back and forth. They were waiting for the explosion, whatever wild beast was about to burst out of Eddie’s chest and lay waste to everything around it.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not this time.

Eddie was going to be someone better.

With that thought chasing away the rest of his hurt anger Eddie turned back around, searching out his lost sheep once more. They were sitting in the corner with Max Mayfield, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, and Jonathan Byers. They took up a whole lunch table, just the eight of them, happily chatting and throwing carrot sticks at each other with ease.

They looked like they fit together, this odd group of individual puzzle pieces that shouldn’t have come together to make a picture.

But they did. They worked.

An odd wave of loneliness crashed over him, but Eddie ignored it in favor of zeroing in on Robin Buckley. She was leaning across Jonathan to toss something at Mike, her trumpet case sitting on the table next to her.

What had Harrington said last night? Something about Robin and work.

This must have been the Robin he meant, and that was good. It was good, because right after lunch was band practice.

Eddie had his new plan, and this time he was going to see it through. Whether Buckley liked it, or not.

Tag List (Again if you want to be added or taken off just DM me, reply, or reblog this and put it in the tags) : @hexmionegranger @kerlypride @thing-a-ling @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @orangeandthefairroadkill @tiny-enthusiast @potentialheartofdarkness

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intolerable-sushi · 2 months

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Loving madness

Wilford x reader

Hello folks!!! I am currently sick with the flu, so I have had time to go through my drafts and work on things!!! This is an wilford x gn reader story that I may or may not continue depending on how I feel. Let me know if yall like it, enjoy!!!

Your friends had dragged you to a new club on your birthday to celebrate despite you begging for a small party. Instead of a couple of drinks with your friends inside your perfectly temperate house, you were now sweating like a pig in the corner of the club. Your friends were having a good time at least, with each finding a random guy to grind on. You could barely hold the panic that threatened to spill out of your throat as the club became more crowded. You hated this. You needed to get some air. You could barely make your way through the crowd as you searched for some sort of sanctuary. As your panic began to overflow and tears started to cloud your eyes, you bumped into a man as he turned around, spilling your drink all over him. You began to apologize profusely afraid that he would be angry with you, as he had every right to be.

____________________________________________

Loving Wilford had been a mistake. A mistake that you could have easily avoided if you hadn’t been so short-sighted and naive. It had all been going so well when you had first met.

“Now, now, it's alright darling. A little spill never hurt anyone. These things happen all the time! Now, are you alright?” The man was tall , wearing a yellow shirt and khakis. His smile was warm under his mustache and his eyes had this spark in them. You froze, he was beautiful. “Miss I understand that I am quite a catch if I do say so myself, but I do believe that you need to breathe.” You need to breathe? Oh shit you had stopped breathing. You took in a quick gasp before apologizing again. His eyes appeared to soften as he looked at you.

“You look like you are having a rough night. Why don’t we get you outside for some air?” He placed his hand on the small of your back as he guided you towards the door. Once the two of you were outside he sat you down on a chair that you were sure wasn’t there when you had walked out. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s gotten someone as stunning as you all frazzled.” You explained that today was your birthday, and that your friends had dragged you to this new club despite you wanting a small get together. Everyone else was having fun, but the atmosphere was overwhelming to you. You didn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun so you just stayed quiet. The tears that had been collecting in your eyes began to fall. You just wanted to go home now.

The man had listened silently to your explanation before letting out a huff. “ Those don’t sound like very good friends. Today is YOUR birthday not theirs. You should be doing what you want to do today!” You stated you would rather not cause any problems. The man huffed again, “Wanting to be celebrated in a way you enjoy is not causing problems.” The man appeared to be almost steaming as he began to pace in front of you muttering to himself.

You stood up from your chair and said you would rather just head back to your apartment now. The man stopped his pacing and turned to you, “Alright, but may I walk you home to ensure your safety.” You thought about it for a second. This definitely was not the safest part of town, so walking by yourself was risky but at the same time, you didn’t know this man. You couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously. Was he really safe or did he have another motive?

The man seemed to realize what you were thinking and he cleared his throat. “ My apologies, where are my manners? My name is Willia- I mean, Wilford Warfstache at your service.” He said while taking a deep bow with his hand to his chest. You couldn’t help but to giggle at the name. Warfstache, what an interesting name. You decided that he seemed kind enough and told him he could walk you home.

The two of you talked the entire way there. Wilford was kind, passionate, and funny. He had so many stories to tell and you felt like you could listen to him for hours. He made you smile and you couldn’t help the feelings of butterflies forming in your stomach. Before you parted ways that night you gifted Wilford with your number and a kiss on the check.

The two of you began to see each other regularly and talked almost nonstop. Being with Wilford felt like a dream. He was a gentleman in all things, but he helped push you out of your comfort zone. The two of you had gone on skating dates, picnic dates, and you even went to a dance club at some point. Wilford had kept you close to make sure you were safe and comfortable.

You were so happy and naive that you had ignored the problems and red flags. Wilford rarely talked about his past, with the only people he ever brought up being his childhood friends Mark and Damien. Sometimes he would mention a past love, but he didn’t seem to remember her name. Which brought up another concern; his memory. He struggled with simple things like the date, or even where he was. Which explained why he didn’t talk about his past. You suggested he go see a doctor multiple times, but he would refuse with a kind smile every time.

Other issues were harder to ignore, like when he started to just appear in places. In the apartment he could be in the bedroom one minute, and then in the kitchen the next. You explained it away with you just not paying attention, but that excuse didn’t work when he did it outside the house. Walking away to go to the bathroom only to appear in front of you when you turn back around. You should have started asking questions then. You should have payed attention as the light slowly left his eyes, when his face began to have random twitches, or when his mustache started to turn fucking pink. You ignored it all, explaining it all away in your head like a naive fool. Maybe you could have saved him. It’s too late to know now.

Eventually his descent went from a trickle of odd occurrence to a waterfall of concerns. You would come home to him sitting at the table with a drink in hand staring at the wall muttering to himself. You could only catch the words “I did” from him. He would snap out of it when you would call him, and go back to being regular old Wilford, but over time even that stopped working. He would avoid the topic every time you brought it up, saying, “I’m fine love, I promise.” As this went on you could no longer ignore the fact that he started to randomly appear in your house when you knew he wasn’t there. You had screamed at him the first time he walked into the kitchen from your room. The two of you started to argue. He refused to talk to you about anything, and you were begging him to get help. You could see him slipping further and further from you, but he was just being so stubborn.

Everything came to a head when you had been watching the news one night. There had been a massacre, two men and three women had been shot and killed. “The killer is still at large.” The news reporter stated, “ It is suggested that everyone stay in their homes until further notice. Talks of city wide curfew are currently in the works”

Your front door suddenly slammed open! You turned to see Wilford staggering inside before slamming the door closed behind him.“Darling are you home?” He called, “You would not believe the night I’ve had!” You felt relief wash over you seeing your love, but that feeling stopped when something shun in his hand. A gun. Your blood froze for a second as you stared at the weapon. You were no longer listening to Wilford as questions flooded your head. Did he kill those people? Wilford would never hurt anyone!! He’s been so kind!! But why is he holding it right now? Why is it not holstered? Is that smoke?

“Darling?” Wilford had noticed you staring at his gun. He looked behind you to see the news broadcast. “Oh that? That was just a little accident, my love, no need to worry! It’ll work itself out!” An accident? It had been an accident? So why did he run? You looked into his eyes and your body couldn’t help but stiffen. There was no regret or sadness for the lives he had taken. The madness that you had been ignoring had taken over his eyes. Even the love he had for you was hard to find. You couldn’t help but be afraid for a moment.

His smile began to falter as he stared at you. “My love? What’s wrong? You know I would never hurt you right? It was just an accident I swear.” He slowly began to approach you with his hands up, but the gun was still in hand. You scrambled off the couch to get away from him. His face fell at that moment. He backed towards the kitchen before slumping onto the table, “I’ve lost it haven’t I,” He whispered almost to himself, “ I thought I had more time, but it’s really slipped away, hasn’t it.” He finally looked back up at you, and for a moment you saw the Wilford you had met that night.

You begged him to let you help him. The two of you could fix this! You can’t lose him! You were sobbing now. You began to slowly make your way around the couch towards him.

“STAY”

You froze as he snapped at you. He looked back down at the floor. “I’m too far gone love. I’m gonna forget everything eventually. Even you…” He began to grip the edge of the table, “ You don’t deserve this. You are so sweet, and caring. I wish I could give you the world,” the table began to crack under his grip, “ I don’t deserve you. I can’t keep you safe. Not when I’m the thing putting you in danger.”

Wilford rose up from the table and looked at you with a sad smile. “ I can’t be with you love. It was selfish of me to think otherwise. I can’t destroy your life like I destroyed theirs. I have to go, but if you ever need me just call for me, and I’ll come. Even if I don’t remember you, I promise I’ll protect you.” You didn’t understand, you begged him to explain. He only shook his head. “Goodbye my love,” With that he disappeared in front of your eyes.

You haven’t seen Wilford since, and you’ve been a wreck. You loved that man. You shouldn’t but you did anyway. You just couldn’t understand any of this. What was he? Why did he kill those people? You’ve been crying yourself to sleep trying to think of the answers, but none ever came.

One night things took another turn.

You were crying in your room as you had done for many nights when suddenly, “Poor, sweet thing. All teary eyed over a lost love. Confused with no answers,” A voice called out to you from the darkness of your room. You reached to turn on the lamp on your night stand, but the light barely even reached the edge of your bed. What’s happening? “ Relax little one, I am here to help you. I have some information that could be of use to you. I don’t ask for much in return. Just a simple favor,” From the shadows stepped a man in a suit. He stood tall and proud, with gray skin like a thunder cloud. His form seemed to break and strain, with the man appearing to scream in pain for one second then be back to his standing posture the next. “Why don’t we talk about this over ice cream?”

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thesmallworldofsamizayn · 6 months

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Please do!!

Well If You Insist!

(copied right out of the drafts <3) (long)

okay beatle roys. they don’t map perfectly at all, but if you absolutely HAD to, im sorry roman but you are george. yeah sure romey we know you’re a good songwriter you can have 2 on this album how’s about that? as smart as or maybe smarter than his siblings/bandmates but doesnt have a genius complex unlike them so is forced to play their games. including their mind games with each other. didn’t want to go on the roof; ended up on the roof. kendall is paul, ‘big brothering’ the little angry guy on the bus who he’ll always see as a little kid even though there’s like 2 years between them for christ’s sake. in terms of age seniority john might be the kendall equivalent but unfortunately paul was ACTUALLY an older brother and he brought that energy to the band, and the john/george alliance against paul reeks much more strongly of roman and shiv teaming up to peck their golden boy older sibling than anything george and paul had together against john. and to those who would say roman’s too much of a dick to be sweet peaceable george, he’s actually nicer okay cause he refused to sign the letter decrying kendall as a bipolar drug addict but george played slide guitar on how do you sleep quite happily.

on the subject of kendall, his depressive lows may seem more john but his manic highs? his big creative visions? his costumes (he got one for roman too)? his general addiction to the spotlight? his droopy eyes? his inability to have swag despite his charm and talents? the way his siblings close ranks against him when he tries to make a stand? the way he's a cog built to fit one machine and paul mccartney's state after the beatles broke up Actually im getting sad let's change the subject? looking for pussy like a fuckin techno gatsby? non zero chance of having done a collab with kanye west/wanted to do one? paul. he’s paul.

but it’s tough because shiv is the least easy to pin down as her age and gender relations with the rest of the family put her the furthest from john, and she ends up being at best a combo of all three - the underestimated and undermined baby (george) the repressed thwarted leader failgirl (paul) and the hotheaded bastard who's smart but not as smart as she thinks she is (john). but that john role gets much more delectable when you have kendall as paul, or at least if you think of them as the core duo in some way - im thinking of that crushing final scene between them, like take 'I want a divorce' and multiply it by a hundred holy fuck. she respects him, but she needs to prove herself better than him constantly. she needs validation just the same as he does but she's determined to believe/put out that everything she does is entirely under her own steam and that other people are pawns to her. her relationships with logan and mattson remind me of john with authority figures he would latch onto in the hope that they'd fill the void left by his parents, before realising they were phonies trying to get something from him and angrily discarding them.

honestly actually while shiv is the hardest to map clearly john is also the hardest from the beatles end cause there's a lot going on there from childhood trauma that any one of the roys can relate to, and his brand of cruel wit fits them all to an extent as well - but this is the configuration i like the most. also her spouse broke up the band

of course connor maps onto ringo perfectly do i even need to explain it - actually i do cause people might just take that to mean i’m saying ringo was useless or ignored. no he was the older brother everyone loved and who loved everybody, who was an only child for most of his childhood and was so happy to get three brothers/siblings even though they happened to be the worst people alive.

there you have it. and logan. is allen klein (kendall dreams he is being hunted down by him as a dentist)

oh one more thing - kendall as paul is right because he's the only one who's a documented beatles FAN lol

#sure i'll tag this. the people deserve to know #roman roy #kendall roy #shiv roy

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canyouhearthelight · 5 months

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Nihilus Rex Chapter 2: Our Own Reasons

Chapter 2, let's gooo!

Even numbered chapters will be from Lash's perspective, while odd numbered chapters are from Nils'. Lash is super fun to write, by the way. @baelpenrose agrees.

That being said, the same trigger warnings apply in this chapter, along with one for a shouting match between Lash and her parents that is very rooted in the time this takes place (alternate 2017, but not too alternate). So, additional warnings for mentions of possible rape, possible hate crimes, references to mass shootings, and references to sexist legislation.

I solemnly swear, though, the content in this chapter is nowhere near as bad as scrolling through headlines.

“Looks like a girl, but she’s a flame

So bright, she can burn your eyes

Better look the other way

You can try, but you’ll never forget her name”

“Girl on Fire” Alicia Keys

Lash

“Dammit!” I slammed the laptop closed with one hand and ripped my headset off with the other.

“Language!” my mother scolded automatically from barely ten feet outside my bedroom door.

I couldn’t even try to care. Despite promising me for months and begging for my help for nearly as long, Brayden had flaked out on me. Again. And this time he had stolen my work - the countless hours I had spent drafting graphics and small animations, the temp voice track I had laid down, all gone with nothing to show for it.

The charity existed, and Brayden had a contract to do a commission for some outreach. I had been smart enough to at least do that much research. After all, vanishing halfway through a project was nothing new when it came to dealing with him, and it would have been far from the first time that I had filled in once I completed everything, just so I could get paid. Hell, the chance of not having to split the money had been the only reason I had agreed to it this time.

Turns out, he had the same idea.

Three sharp knocks on my door jarred me out of my anger. “You need to come eat, your father is home,” Mom stated sternly before walking away.

There were no second chances with manners when it came to my parents, so I threw myself from my chair and forced some semblance of composure on myself before pulling the door open. The attempt had been in vain, apparently, because even before he had his shoes off, Baba called me out on it. “One day, you will listen to me and stop with this foolish art and cartoons,” he waved in half-hearted anger. “Go to university and get a real degree, a real job.”

“I could always marry well,” I argued churlishly, too angry about Brayden to even go through the rote script of well-worn rebellion.

The harsh laughter my mother barked in my direction hit me like a knife in the chest. “And how will you marry someone to take care of you and your childishness?” she scoffed. “With all the black and the scowling… If you can draw pretty girls, draw yourself pretty and behave like one.”

The emotions I had barely restrained before stepping out of my room reared toward them, striking as viciously as I could. “You want me to dress up, make myself up, and flatter boys? Is that how you married Baba? Being pretty and being stuck with a life of disappointment?” I batted my eyelashes and held my hands under my chin. “Oh, Charles, you are so witty! Tell me again how poor people should starve and women should do nothing but make babies, it’s so funny!” A movement from my father redirected my words before I could stop myself. “And you! What good is a degree going to do me, now! You say that Grandma and Grandpa came here to be free, so you could have an education. You have one! It didn’t make you any whiter or any richer, and you are still spit on wherever you go for being the child of immigrants.”

A sharp bang punctuated my mother’s palm hitting the table, jostling the steaming dish in the middle. “You will not speak to your parents like one of those rich girls you go to school with! There is food on this table and in your belly, you waste your life drawing cartoons and tap-tapping away in your room that your father pays for. There are clothes on your back and no war zone to go to school through. You are allowed and expected to go to school!”

“A school where I will be shot!” I screamed. “If I am not shot for being brown, or raped for being brown, I will be shot because some crazy person decided a school or a theatre, or a mosque I don’t even attend was a fine target!”

“Women do not go to mosque,” my father started to correct.

“Do you think they know that!?” I was in borderline hysterics and not even the smell of my mother’s cooking could keep me in the apartment for a moment longer. “A Sikh temple was shot. Sikhs. For being the wrong color and for ignorance. That doesn’t even count the fact that I am a woman and every day I see mine and Mama’s rights peeled away layer by layer.” I stomped to the door and snatched the first jacket I touched. “I need to calm down.” Without even waiting for their response I slammed the door behind me and started walking.

My feet automatically knew where I was going, which was good because I was too angry and in my head to decide. I made it maybe half a mile before I had to peel the jacket off and carry it, since the weather was warm and sunny for once. The entire time, I was mentally swearing at everyone in my life. Brayden for stealing my work - as far as I was concerned, he was dead to me. I hated nothing more than a thief. My parents for their well-intentioned abuse. I knew they meant well, but as the saying went, “The road to hell” and all that. I had read somewhere once about the kind eyes of people who would burn witches to save their souls - that was my parents.

I made it to my quiet place, eventually. Right where the road crossed over one of the rivers, the bridge had just enough lip to sit on comfortably, and the road wasn’t busy enough for the exhaust to bother me. Stopping for a moment, I tied the spare jacket around my waist to leave my hands free, and in the pause between songs in my earbuds, I heard shouting in the distance. Make sure to sit on the other side of a support, I noted mentally, trying to avoid the same trouble my parents seemed so oblivious to. Finally settling on “Whiplash Recovery” by ill-esha, I hummed quietly and crept to my spot. It took some careful maneuvering, but through practice I was finally seated over the rushing sound of the river, music pounding thoughts out of my head until I was consumed in nature and noise, unable to think.

Slowly, I could feel my blood pressure come down, and the less I tried to poke at my fight with my parents the better I felt. Images and colors drifted through my head as the music cycled and I tried to imagine how I would do a video to each. Not that I would ever get a chance, but it helped keep my creativity flowing and soothed the nagging doubts in the back of my head. It was just after a Charlotte Sometimes song that a crunch sounded behind me, entirely too close.

I froze, immediately ashamed to be a sitting target while praying that it was just someone driving by, or an animal.

“Don’t do it! Please!” The voice was pleading, begging almost.

I was confused, however. I had been sitting and minding my own business, like I wish he would do. “What’s that?”

“Don’t…don’t jump, please.” His voice was softer, almost ragged. “Please don’t jump. Someone…someone needs you. Someone’s world would be worse without you. And someone would be left every day wondering what they could have done differently to keep you with them.”

What in the hell is he talking about? I thought, slowly forcing my head to turn towards the voice. What I saw was a man, maybe a few years older than me. His clothes were expensive, but torn and bloody from what looked like a fresh ass-whipping. If nothing else, the fact that he was more bleeding than bruised gave that away. But the clothes were somber and too nice for work or daily wear, so something said ‘funeral’. “Got a feeling you know something about that.”

“Just came from a funeral.” Bingo. “I know everything about that.” At least here, he was more confident, if his tone was anything to go by.

“Heh. Bet.” I glanced back toward the apartment, judging how far I would have to run if he decided to be less nice than he was currently. “So what’s your name?”

“Nils. Nils Andover. Yours?”

“Lash,” I responded impulsively. Short, to the point, and giving nothing away, it was the handle I used in chatrooms and on social media. My acting name, essentially.

“Last name?”

Yeah, not happening. Not until I knew if he was safe, even if he looked like I could take him with one hand. “Not telling someone I just met. Even if I like you. But I have to admit, you definitely have a…perspective on things.” That was a polite way to say the guy who just tried to talk me out of a non-existent suicide attempt looked weird and interesting, right? And yeah, he was kind of charming in a weird, awkward way. “What uh…what happened to you? Bad enough you’re blaming yourself, the dead guy’s other family blame you, too?”

“Dead girl. And she’s a friend. And no, her family isn’t blaming me. What are you talking about?”

I waved a hand at the split lip and eyebrow before gesturing at the rips in a suit I couldn’t even imagine ever affording.. “Well either you didn’t come straight from the funeral or someone there was playing the blame game.”

The guy - Nils, apparently - bit his lip before seeming to think better of it. “Heh…Yeah. Uh. Saw some of those QAnon dicks waving signs, kinda snapped.”

Oh, I thought. He’s charming and dumb. Poor guy probably weighed less than my sound gear.

He kept talking, kind of rushing out the explanation. “My friend killed herself because of debt, and because she had to drop out of her program to take care of a sick family member so she wasn’t going to even like, get to have the future she’d gone through so much for. So something about a bunch of jackasses who were just screaming and braying about how evil elites control the world and drink the blood of the innocent except these stupid bastards are huffing enough glue to mean “Jews” when they say “elites” and mean the “blood drinking” bit literally…I kinda. Snapped. Started screaming at them. Got the shit kicked out of me.”

He looked a bit embarrassed, but it was honestly kind of endearing that he had at least tried to fight a bunch of fucknuckle rejects from the alt-right pipeline over the same things I had been shouting at my own parents roughly an hour ago.

“Anyway. Listen to me talk about myself. What were you doing up here?” He seemed to realize how the story sounded, because he was rubbing one palm against his pant leg and trying to shove the other in a pocket.

I cut him some slack and actually gave a real answer. “Just kinda thinking about things. Someone I trusted let me down - wasn’t worth dying over, but scared me pretty badly. Came up here to clear my head. A lot of things fell through, and now I’m kinda…looking for something new to be after. Something new to do.”

“Wish I could help. But I mean…” Nils paused. “I don’t know. What do you do?”

“Mostly I’m an artist. Sometimes do some light voice acting for a friend of mine - or…did. Thing was, he and I had a falling out. Really bad one. We were supposed to be doing this big project for something I thought we both believed in but…” I shrugged with one shoulder, trying to play it off as less of a big deal than it was. “He bailed, and we said some things to each other I can’t take back.” When did I start talking about my parents, I wondered, mortified.

Nils paused. He seemed to figure out that I didn’t want to say more, and it looked like he was okay with that. After all, he hadn’t told me much about himself, just his friend and the state of the country. But something piqued his curiosity, since his face got really thoughtful for a second before he started talking carefully, like it was a code he was testing. “If I say I have something I want to do, and I’d love to see what you do, would you believe me?”

I held out a hand, curious. “What’s your project?” He couldn’t be any worse than working with Brayden. If nothing else, I was pretty sure I could poison Nils with my cooking.

Nils paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. Fair enough. It only made me like him more. Finally, he spoke. “Something that might help some other people. Still kinda trying to work on all of it. I’d kinda like to hear more about your project first, maybe see if we can combine them? Maybe for some community outreach?”

So, literally like what I had just done. Nothing illegal, which unfortunately paid better, but beggars can’t be choosy, right? I flashed my best smile. “Alright. Give me your number and stay in touch. Show me you can do something interesting. And I’ll send you some of my work, see what you think.”

Nils gave me the number, letting me text him first before sending one back to prove he hadn’t lied. He smiled when my phone buzzed, and I approved his caution - I could have spoofed a number, but something told me not to.

“We good to get off the bridge?” he asked, glancing around.

I looked back toward the apartment. Mama told me I’d never find a rich white boy, and here the universe just handed one over. She didn’t need to know it was professional… I had lied about plenty, this would be a breeze.

“Yeah. We are.”

#nihilus rex #Afterverse #prequel #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #traumatized characters #science fiction #dystopia #cyberpunk #tw islamophobia #tw bodily autonomy #tw sa mention #tw mass shooting mention

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pennylanefics · 3 years

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Accidentally - Jacob Black

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for like a week. i wrote this in like an hour and a half lol, got the idea and ran with it. loved it up until the ending 🤷🏼‍♀️

warnings: descriptions/mentions of blood, injuries, stitches

•••

The fight with the newborns was finished. The vampires retreated after realizing Bella would soon become one, no lives were lost on your side, and everyone, besides Jacob, was unharmed. Though his accelerated healing pulled through after Carlisle reset his bones, and he was back to himself.

Bella, seeing this as a win for everyone, and wanting to celebrate her engagement with Edward, invited the wolf pack and their imprints over to the Cullens’ house for dinner. You found this to be odd for a couple reasons; vampires don’t eat, and the two groups usually aren’t ones to celebrate things together.

The pack eventually, reluctantly, agreed, and the date was set.

When you arrived with Jacob, the rest of the pack and their loved ones did as well. You join Emily and Kim to head straight for the kitchen, finding that Esme and Carlisle were cooking.

“We know that Paul can eat, so we made sure to make enough for everyone,” Esme smiles.

The three of you offer to help and she gives you each something you can do. You were given broccoli to cut up for a side dish of steamed broccoli, while Emily helped cook the chicken dish and Kim made a pasta salad.

The atmosphere is a little awkward at first. The vampires converse with each other, and the wolves stick to their pack. Eventually, Emmett apologizes to Paul for the misunderstanding on the tribe’s land, and things relax a bit.

Bella and Edward talk with Seth about their news; she looks so happy, and you could tell she really loved Edward. Though you knew she was playing with fire, being so close to people that could kill her instantly.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you weren’t paying attention and end up slicing your finger open. Feeling the piercing pain, you drop the knife, catching everyone’s attention.

“Ah shit,” you hiss, cradling your hand. Esme and Carlisle share a knowing look. Kim wraps your hand in a towel, but that makes it worse, as it spreads your scent around more. This keeps Jasper’s attention the most; he’s still not really good at controlling himself around human blood.

You didn’t know what happened, but one second you were standing next to Kim, and the next you were flung into the wall, crashing and falling onto a glass table. You can feel shards of glass in your arm, but the growling and hissing from the two supernatural groups in the room distracts you.

Emmett was standing in front of you, trying to keep Jasper from coming for you. Sam and Paul join in and lunge for the blonde vampire, Emmett pushing the group as far away from you as possible. Carlisle rushes over to you to assess your bleeding arm.

“Get him out of here, now!” He demands to the three. Jasper finally relaxes and walks out of the house, Alice, Edward, Bella, and Rosalie following. Carlisle helps you stand and Emily brings another towel to try and help with the blood.

“What the hell is going on?!” Jacob rushes in, Embry behind him.

“Jake, why don’t you go to the living room and calm down before-”

“No, Emily! I wanna know why the fuck my girlfriend is bleeding!”

“I’m going to take her to my office to stitch her up, she’ll be fine,” Carlisle tells him softly. Jacob tries to grab his shoulder and stop him in an angry manner, but the vampire is too fast for him and rushes up the stairs.

“Kim?!” He demands. She shakes her head, still in shock at how fast everything happened. Huffing, he follows you upstairs, but he gets lost trying to find Carlisle’s office. When he does, he sees you sitting on a small table.

“Get away from her,” he growls, his anger growing by the second. Carlisle keeps calm and faces him.

“I’m not a danger, Jacob. She’s in safe hands, I promise.”

“I don’t give a shit, get away now!”

“Jake,” you call out, your voice quiet and soothing. Upon hearing you, he calms down immediately, his eyes catching yours. “He’s okay.”

“You should be worried about Jasper. He’s the one that caused all of this.”

“What the hell did he do? Slam her into the wall for fun?!”

“Jacob, I’ll tell you once Carlisle finishes, just please.” He sighs and takes a seat in the chair next to the door, hanging his head in his hands stressfully.

He stays by the door the entire time, making sure no one comes in. He also watches Carlisle, but that’s not as big of a worry because he can see and sense how comfortable you are. Part of him hates that he acted out on the doctor, seeing as he just recently helped heal him.

“She’s all done. About ten stitches in her arm, and two in her finger. I’ll come over to your place when they need to be taken out,” he tells Jacob, discarding his gloves and washing his hands.

“Thank you, Carlisle,” you say. He smiles and pats your shoulder.

“Anytime. I’ll see you in about a week.” He walks out of the room, shutting the door. You reach your hand out for Jacob, and he finally trudges over to you.

As soon as he stands in front of you, to get a better look at the two bandages on your body, he breaks down crying. He stands between your legs and leans onto your shoulder, crying loudly. He holds onto you gently, being mindful of your injured arm.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles through tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you and you got hurt when I was here.”

“Hey, it’s okay, babe. Things happen.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if I were inside, protecting you.”

“Jacob,” you pull back to look him in the eyes. “Emmett saved me. I’m okay.”

“Emmett did this?” He begins to grow angry again. “I thought it was Jasper.”

“I cut my finger while chopping broccoli. Kim gave me a towel to try and contain it, but it made it worse. Jasper went to attack me, but Emmett pushed me away. I ended up slamming into the wall and falling onto a glass table.”

“Fucking vampires,” he whispers under his breath. You giggle and cradle his cheek.

“I’m okay, so let’s-”

“No, we’re not staying. We’re going home right now.” Deciding it was best not to argue with him, you nod. He helps you down from the table and guides you back downstairs. Carlisle and Esme were the only two in the living room, the vampires having gone to their respected rooms and the wolf pack and the others waiting outside.

“Thank you again, Carlisle. I’m sorry my blood ruined the party,” you chuckle. He laughs and pulls Esme into his side.

“It’s my job. And no worries. Wolves, humans, and vampires aren’t really meant to have parties like this. If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been something else.”

“Well, wish Bella and Edward the best for me, and apologize to Jasper.” They nod and wave goodbye as you and Jacob head outside. Before you could get into Jacob’s car, a voice stops you.

Emmett appears at the bottom of the stairs in seconds due to his speed. Jacob goes to lunge for him, but Paul and Embry hold him back.

“I just wanted to apologize for what happened. I didn’t mean to throw you into the wall, I just wanted to get you away from him. I kinda forgot you are human for a second,” he tells you.

“No hard feelings Em. Thanks for saving me.” You hug him tightly and he is careful with your arm, but hugs you back as well.

“No fucking thanks for throwing her into a glass table!” Jacob yells angrily. Emmett sighs and faces Jacob, crossing his arms cockily.

“Would you rather have had Jasper get to her, bite her, and turn her into one of us? Or would you rather her walk away alive with only a few stitches in her arm?” Emmett offers. Jacob sees his point right away and relaxes. He can’t read their minds like they can with him, but he can see Emmett is being sincere in his intentions.

“Thank you,” Jacob finally mutters, holding his hand out for Emmett. The buff vampire shakes his hand and backs away.

“I promise my intentions were good. I would obviously never want to hurt her, because I know what you wolves can do when someone hurts your imprint, but it was the best option.”

“I get it. And yeah. I may want to rip yours and Jasper’s heads off, but I’m glad she’s not one of you.” Emmett chuckles and pats your back one last time before heading back inside. Jacob helps you into his car as soon as he turns his back, and drives off within seconds.

“Did he say to change the dressing or anything?” Jacob asks as you two get ready for bed.

“He said I need to keep it on through the night, then I can take it off in the morning to clean it and redress it. He gave me some gauze to do so.”

You two finally crawl into Jacob’s bed, you laying on your left side, facing Jacob. He caresses your cheek then reaches for your injured left hand, which was resting by his face. His lips gently graze over your skin, his kisses ending just below the gauze wrapped around your index finger.

“We’re never going back over there,” he whispers. You giggle lightly and nod.

“What about Bella’s wedding? We’ll have to face them then?”

“We’ll go out of town that weekend. Sorry, but I don’t want you around Jasper anymore. Honestly I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from attacking him anyway. No one gets away with intending to hurt a wolf’s imprint.”

“He still struggles with being around human blood, Jake. At least be a little understanding.” He stares at you in confusion.

“No, I won’t. Emmett said it himself. If he wasn’t there, Jasper would’ve killed you and...I…I wouldn’t kn-know what to do,” he stumbles over his words, feeling the tears come again. “I can’t lose you, baby.”

“You won’t lose me, Jacob. I won’t go around them anymore, and we’ll go out of town for Bella’s wedding.”

“Good. She’ll be upset with me, but she’s not my problem anymore. You’re my entire world, and I want you to be safe. Being safe beats celebrating a wedding that is going to end up with her dead anyway.”

“If that’s what she wants, then let her. She’s their problem now, like you said.”

“Mhm. Anyway, enough about that. Get some sleep, okay?

“Alright. I love you too, Jake.”

“I’ll forever love you. Goodnight, my love.”

#jacob black #jacob black imagines #jacob black imagine #jacob black x reader #twilight #twilight wolf pack #the twilight saga #twilight new moon #twilight eclipse #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

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glitterytidalwavedragon · 3 years

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Sesshomaru x Modern Reader (Part 1 fanfic/headcannon)

This one I decided to do something uncanny. It has been done before but I haven’t seen any here on tumblr but I am sure it exists. I think its time we flipped the script on the Inuyasha fandom with this one.

I am currently looking at three drafts I had written for this character. Its funny, its all the same title but all very different story lines. I might post them as their own thing, but I am unsure yet. There is so much editing and things which need to get done.

Anyway, I hope you all like this head cannon! Please enjoy!

Working in a shrine was something you didn’t imagine doing too much. So when you moved to Japan and it was the only job you could get, you were kind of ‘meh’ about it.

However, the people who owned the shrine were rather nice and even rented out a room to you, a room which belonged to a young teen who once lived at the house. Higurashi shrine was rather nice, but cold in the winter.

It happened as you were sweeping the stone walkway. A light was coming from the shed with the old well.

You walked towards it, wondering if there was someone inside with a flashlight, but then the light faded and you stood there, broom in hand, waiting to see if it was teenagers checking out ‘the old creepy well’ rightly called the bone eater’s well.

Taking another step forward, you jumped and screamed when a hand broke through the wooden door before an eerie green steam came off it and began melting the door.

Sesshomaru was mad. Not only had a sparing match not gone his way, but his brother knocked him into the well and then had the nerve to build a shrine house around it.

Did the idiot really think he killed him?

Ripping off the decaying door, Sesshomaru did not expect to find a shaking priestess hugging a broom.

Gold eyes scanned you over, before looking around. The smells were unfamiliar, the land different. His gazed travelled across the shrine before resting back on you.

“Where is Inuyasha?”

Your stuttering and fear made him closed his eyes, the only thing keeping him from rolling them. How easy to fear humans were, and a priestess no less-

His eyes snapped open when he felt it hit his head. You both locked eyes, a glare on your face as your broom laid on his head where you had wacked him.

“Don’t scare people like that!!!! You almost gave me a heart attack and you somehow melted a door you need to replace!”

You continued ranting as he registered that, not only did you wack him with a dirty cleaning tool, but you were yelling at him like a child. There was only one other human who had the nerve to yell at him like this.

Inuyasha’s woman.

In a second Sesshomaru was in your face. Being so close you noticed the nose twitch. “You do not smell like her.”

You looked at where he was and where he was now. Confused by his speed. “Weren’t you…AH!”

The demon grabbed the back of your head, hand tangled in your hair before yanking upward. It was painful, scary and shocking he could lift you off your feet.

“You do not know who you insult girl.”

“OW! OW! OW! THIS HURTS YOU JERK!”

Sesshomaru was used to humans fighting back, struggling, but you would once more surprise him. The punch made him drop you and turn his head. You landed hard on the ground.

Rubbing your bottom, you looked up. “That’s what you….” Your words died when eyes landed on red ones.

You were so dead.

“DEMON BEGONE!”

Both you and Sesshomaru would be hit by salts. Eyes now back to their yellow color, Sesshomaru could almost crack a smile with how angry he was. But the familiar scent caught his attention.

Kagome’s scent was on the old man and the woman who ran after him. She would gasp and correctly identify him as Sesshomaru, Inuyasha’s brother Kagome had told her all about.

So he was in this ‘other world’ Rin would describe to him when he visited her. The young girl often was told stories by the Priest.

Amber eyes locked back on you. From Sesshomaru’s understanding, demons did not exist here, so he was told, therefore you had no other reason but to think him human.

“I will overlook your insults this day but let this be a warning. Next time I will cut you down.”

That is when you notice the two very real looking swords. This was before watching in horror as Ms. Higurashi invited him inside.

*~*

This is more of a mini fanfic rather than a head cannon. I wanted to get this part out before the head cannonly bullet point one. I think this would be cute, terrifying and different.

Part 2

#inuyasha characters #inuyasha fandom #inuyasha #sesshomaru x human #sesshomaru head cannon #sesshomaru x reader #sesshomaru #sesshomaru x modern reader #reader inserts #sesshomaru fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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peaches-writes · 3 years

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penalty kick

description: maybe you got off on the wrong foot...actually, jisung did actually pushed you off the wrong foot. member: jisung / han genre: fluff, slice of life, coming of age, childhood frenemies / rivals to lovers au, idiots to lovers au, neighbor au, high school au, college au, lil dashes of soccer baseball musician & campus dj au bc jisung ace, female reader, off-season universe (mc from naturally is jeoyeon, mc from tumbles & turns is bora, and mc from off-season is kira hek) word count: 12k warnings: explicit language, alcohol (a tiny mention of underage drinking pls drink responsibly!), mentions of injuries, jisung issa lil dumb & a lil shit but issokay hes an adorable lil shit note: @crscendoforsung so i scraped the witch jisung au (but i’ll come back to it in the future maybe it’s still in my drafts lol) so here is dumbass jisung for now + im away on christmas day so here’s my gift a day in advanced lmao

Age four. Your neighbor and favorite playmate, Han Jisung, pushed you so hard on the swings at your neighbourhood playground that you literally flew out of your plastic curved seat and bruised your knees, elbows, and chin.

Maybe you did had it coming from continuously complaining that he ‘pushed like a sissy’ and even standing up on the swing set just to brag that you can balance all of your body weight on such flimsy material. Maybe your neighbor has always had a secret grudge on you finally enacted through this incident. Either way, the next thing you knew, a wide-eyed Jisung was on your side alternating between calling for adult help, crying over your bruises, and muttering curses he probably heard from his older brother under his breath.

“Shit, shit shit...” He squeaked out frantically in his tiny voice, gently moving you to a sitting position on the stone pavement and dusting the dirt off of your bleeding injuries despite your loud complaints that your entire body was hurting. Looking around your surroundings, his breath then got caught up in his throat at seeing your mother fast-approaching with a mix of furious and worried in her expression. “Auntie! Help!”

Your mother was hovering over you in an instant, examining your bruises with furrowed brows and clenched teeth. “Ah, dear God, what happened here?!” She exclaimed in a scolding tone, piercing gaze darting between your tearful eyes and Jisung’s panicked ones. “Jisung, did you do this?”

“It was an accident auntie!” The boy in question answered immediately as he shook his head nervously and scooted away with his hands up in defense. “It was an accident, I promise!”

However, with your back turned to him then, you naturally had a different impression of the incident as you quickly retorted, “He pushed me, mommy! He pushed me off of the swing!”

Your mother never made any clear indication that she believed you as she simply shook your head and lifted you by your shoulders and knees, carrying you to a nearby bench to treat your wounds.

Angered by your outburst, Jisung reluctantly followed you and your mother to the bench then glared at you until your injuries were cleaned and bandaged. With his arms crossed and a permanent frown bordering a pout on his lips, he stood next to you in his attempt at looking visibly angry for a puny five-year-old while you hissed and whined in pain the entire time.

What’s worse is that his own mother made him apologize by sending him off to the nearest convenience store to buy you apple juice and steamed buns. Because of this, you’ve been mortal enemies, rivals, each other’s designated future potential killer, whatever you want to call it ever since.

Age seven. Han Jisung helped perpetuate a wild rumour that you and the rest of the class’ female population had ‘cooties.’

It’s only natural for boys at this age to gravitate to similar actions, of course. After all, you’ve heard worse from boys in the other classes (read: Hwang Hyunjin crying and demanding to get sent home because a girl kissed him on the cheek on the first day of classes). It’s the fact that Jisung actually seemed to have to believed it for a brief period of time in your first grade, however, that completely threw you off.

He pulled on your braids during the time he sat behind you and kicked your shins while in line for P.E. class to ‘test your anger patience’ that was apparently fueled by cooties and occasionally stole your snacks for actual ‘DNA evidence’ of said cooties among other petty little things. It was nothing short of annoying and the very bane of your existence then.

“Han Jisung cut it out!” You yelled at him one day, hitting him on the shoulder with the curved end of your wooden broom during after-class cleaning time. In this particular incident, the boy managed to swiftly take one of your pigtails out while wiping the windows in an attempt to ‘examine’ the DNA in your hair.

“What?!” He snickered, taking a big step away from you and lifting up the blue scrunchie to examine it for miniscule strands of loose hair. “It’s for research!”

You groaned in annoyance, reaching forward to retrieve the scrunchie with one hand while the other instinctively ran through the messed up half of your hair. “Jisung, give it back, you weirdo!” You scolded through gritted teeth, rolling your eyes when he shakes his head stubbornly and takes another step back from your reach.

“Tell me the secret first!”

“Secret of what?!”

“Do you girls actually have cooties?” He quirked a genuinely suspicious eyebrow at you, raising the scrunchie above your heads after when you proceed lunge forward at him. “Does it actually make you guys this irritable all the time?”

Somehow, the questions struck some kind of nerve in you. You were tired from classes, cleaning, and having to put up with Jisung’s childish antics. Maybe 1st grade girls did have cooties but for tapping into unbridled anger. “I’m going to kill you!” With the broom in your hands and the dust pan you snatched from his in retaliation, you then proceeded on repeatedly hitting Jisung in the forearms and shoulders until he surrendered with his arms protectively over his head and your scrunchie finally within reach.

He also offered to fix your pigtail back for you but given the amount of distrust you already had for him, you simply smacked him one last time and went to the other end of the room to fix your hair.

Age nine. Maturing a little bit through summer camps and classes, you and Jisung redirected all of your energy from physical violence to outsmarting each other in class.

It started in English class when Mrs. Lee introduced the idea of recitations garnering students points and a fancy award at the end of the school year. Coming from the same piano class in the summer prior wherein you and Jisung also competed for your instructor’s attention, the two of you were quick to consider this as another one of your competitions.

You devoted most of your time to studying the lesson from the what’s, who’s, when’s, and where’s while Jisung thought that focusing more on the deeper why’s and how’s would somehow garner him better points no matter how many times Mrs. Lee reiterated that all recitation points are given in 1 point’s.

As the school year progressed, especially after the first semester report cards came out and the two of you were tied to first place in English to the very third decimal, the academic rivalry immediately extended to competing for the most amount of extra-curricular activities. You were more favored with the way you handled baby animals at the local shelter and competed in debates and quiz bees while Jisung was mainly noticed by the soccer and baseball coaches and the school choir’s moderator for his skills in sports and music.

Jisung’s mom, who always picked the two of you up from school in her minivan, obliviously thought it was cute.

“You know, instead of competing over everything all the time, you guys can take some notes from each other.” She pointed out one time after hearing your comment on Jisung ‘smelling like a polluted Pacific Ocean’ as he climbed in the backseat of the car. The sentiment almost went in one ear and came out of the other with the two of you, however, as Jisung proceeded on complaining that you smelled like ‘Cruella de Vil’s fake fur coat’ then hitting you on the head with his soccer ball. “Especially you, Sungie. You can learn a thing or two of keeping a goldfish alive for more than a week from Y/N.”

You laughed at Jisung’s immediate shocked reaction of wide eyes and gaping mouth at this, slapping his arm in amusement and toppling over the backseat in laughter. “Yeah, Sungie, you really need help from that department.” You stuck your tongue out at him teasingly, laughing even more when he groans and hits you back with a light punch to your own arm.

“Stop it.” He hissed at you before turning to his mother again, meeting her gaze through the rear view mirror. “Mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Mrs. Han was also stifling her own laughs then, forcing herself to focus on the road ahead instead of checking for her son’s pouting expression and crossed arms through the mirror. “Okay, okay.” She chuckled playfully with a dismissive hand, catching your eye after with a giggle. “Y/N, you should learn how to commit to exercise more with Jisung, then. There? Happy?”

Satisfied, Jisung stuck his tongue out childishly at you as if completely forgetting the fact that he was attacked by his own mother first. “Bleh!”

You rolled your eyes at him with a light-hearted scoff of your own, laughing away the way he proceeded to exaggeratedly tease you. “You’re so childish, Sung.”

When your moms did seriously consider this idea later on, you were then forced to dedicated one weekend to taking each other to your respective extra-curricular activities. It was right before your final examinations and Jisung ended up getting scared over a golden retriever giving birth while you received severe cramps from the elementary soccer team’s rigorous conditioning training.

It was a recipe of disaster, basically, and it ultimately led you and Jisung to cram knowledge for your exams on Sunday night in his bedroom. When you stubbornly didn’t learn anything from going to each other’s favorite extra-curriculars, you unconsciously ended up learning from each other in the six hours you both stayed up trying to review your notes. Miraculously (as in the miracle of hot brewed Milo-induced sugar rushes), it went well and the two of you tied or were close in grades at the second release of report cards.

The only downside of it all was just the fact that the fancy recitation award in your English class that started it all somehow went to Hyunjin.

“Ah, this is so frustrating!” You exclaimed on the ride home from school. You had your report card in your hands like Jisung, looking back on it all the while stressing out about Hyunjin winning the award the two of you spent a whole school year competing for.

On the other side of his mom’s backseats, Jisung then turned to you and suggested, “Want to prank him? We’re playing soccer next week, you can swap his Cola for soy sauce.”

You glanced over at Jisung, your pout slowly turning into a mischievous grin at his raised brows. “You’re onto something...”

Age ten. You went on your first class field trip with a stuffed purple lunch bag of snacks.

Your mother specifically suggested that you share it with Jisung, thinking that the two of you would sit next to each other on the bus since he’s your only classmate she’s actually familiar with. But of course, when Jisung didn’t bring up any hints that he knew of this while waiting for the school bus to arrive, you immediately thought against it and planned out how you were going to hide your seemingly endless supply of snacks from him on the back-and-forth rides to Namsan Tower.

It was a well thought-out plan involving sitting near to the front and as far away from him as possible with your own group of friends then hiding the lunch bag under your seat until you caught Hyunjin not-so-discreetly trying to steal from you while he re-checked attendance after a stop-over.

“Jisung put you up to this, didn’t he?” You frowned, candy successfully retrieved from Hyunjin’s prying hands and popped into your mouth as the lanky boy scratched the back of his head in shame. “It’s okay, Hyunjin, I won’t kill you. It’s Jisung’s corpse I’m planning to roll down Namsan if he’s actually behind this.”

After a few more coaxing, Hyunjin eventually nodded sheepishly and admitted to Jisung convincing him to take a candy bar from you.

“Ya! Hyunjin!” Jisung whined from across the bus, peeking his head up from the identical red seats with balled up fists. “I told you not to rat me out!”

“Y/N was being scary!” Hyunjin argues back, sprinting back to his seat as soon as the the bus stopped at a streetlight. Hiding under the sea of seats, he then exclaimed, “You two take me out of your fights! Geez!”

Jisung pouted at you as soon as you lifted your own head up from your seat and turned around to face him, holding his hands out in front of him and then asking, “Can’t I really have candy?”

You shook your head stubbornly. “If I give you one, everyone’s going to ask me for it too.”

“But everyone’s basically asleep!”

“They could be fake-sleeping for all I know!” You hissed, popping another ball of candy in your mouth. “I don’t trust anyone in this class with food but myself.”

“Y/N!” He whined, only to get pulled down by force when the bus abruptly begins moving again. Scrambling up right after, he then continued pleading, “Please?”

“No.” You firmly concluded, sitting back down on your seat.

Jisung even tried staying behind to try and steal candy off of you while the entire class was piling outside to enter Namsan Tower, only to trip in surprise when you jumped on him from crouching under the seats. Poor boy almost hit his head on the seats in shock.

“I knew you’d pull this kind of shit.” You tsked in disapproval with a slight stutter towards cursing at such an age, smacking him over the head anyway before throwing the smallest piece of chocolate candy you had from your bag. Moving past him to the bus exit, you then added, “You don’t even do nice things for me.”

You only meant it half-heartedly, though. Whether Jisung actually wanted more candy or he did sincerely felt bad over what you said, either way, he paid for the expensive pink lock you and your friend wanted to hang at the very top of the tower later on but only if you promised to share your snacks.

Jisung received three packets of gummy bears and a bottle of banana milk from you in the end on the ride home.

Age twelve. The Hans temporarily moved to Malaysia in the summer before the seventh grade because of an assignment for Jisung’s father at work.

On the day before their flight, Mr. and Mrs. Han organized a farewell party in their house at the other end of the block and invited your entire class. Jisung tricked you into getting him a farewell present by telling you that everyone was planning to do the same thing as a surprise but he secretly found out thing.

He didn’t actually expect you to get him something, not with the way the two of you have always been at each other’s necks since you were kids, but you ended up surprising him in the middle of the lunch party by giving him a small notebook of useful Malaysian phrases you wrote down yourself. You don’t always agree with Jisung but you think of yourself as thoughtful and civil enough to buy something practical. Also, your parents insisted.

“O-Oh, you actually got me something?” He fumbled through an intense blush that matched the redness of his Supreme cap, almost tripping over nothing as you both stood on the steps leading down to the back of his house. It didn’t help that a few classmate passersby were glancing your way as well, either cooing or snickering at the awkward sight in the corner of all the socialization. “L-Like—like, this is actually for me?”

You raised a brow in confusion and reluctantly shrugged, releasing the red phrasebook from your grip as he held onto it by the other end. “Yeah, you said you’re getting presents so I...got you one.”

“I actually lied—“

“What?!” You exclaimed a little too loudly for your taste, earning you a sharp glare from your mother all the way across the backyard. Mouthing a quick apology to your her, you then quickly averted your glare back to Jisung who instinctively resorted to looking at anywhere but you. “But you said—“

“I thought for sure that no one would give me any farewell presents since it’s not a birthday or anything but I know you would if you’re like forced to or something so I thought...hehe...” He mustered up a sheepish grin, pressing his index fingers together in a comical shy gesture. When your glare intensifies, he then immediately held his hands up in defense and visibly winced, “Ya, don’t hit me!”

Every fiber in your being really wanted to hit him with the notebook then, maybe even push him down the stairs while no one was looking, but after a moment of thinking your way out of such violent thoughts, you resorted to exhaling a sigh and saying, “Whatever, just keep the notebook or something. I don’t care. It’s not expensive, anyway.”

You chanted to yourself that you’re mature, especially as Jisung’s eyes lit up and he immediately thanked you for both the gift and sparing his life that day.

Though he didn’t hear the end of the other teasing from Hyunjin after that, Jisung kept the notebook around anyway throughout his entire two-year stay in Malaysia. It was helpful but he’ll never admit that to your face.

“You kept it.” You pointed out one day, more as a statement than a question as you realized that the notebook he was using for exam reviewer notes was in the same color as the phrasebook you gave him. When Jisung came back in the summer before the ninth grade, the two of you met again in the same cram school wherein mostly everyone but you and the transfer student, Kim Seungmin, refused to help him keep up with the heavier than usual workload. “The phrasebook...”

“Yeah—well, I didn’t want to waste any of the pages you didn’t write on.” He pouted stubbornly as he flipped through the older pages to compare the amount of pages you used to the empty sheets. His tone actually sounded like he was convincing himself much more than he was trying with you but you missed it complete in the moment. “Be more eco-friendly, Y/N.”

You simply rolled your eyes at him. “Glad to know I kept you alive in another country somehow, then.”

Age fourteen. You went to a soccer game to see Jisung but only because one of your friends, Eunha, developed a crush on the striker and eventually hatched a plan to confess on the game before Valentine’s Day. Fortunately, Jisung barely noticed and didn’t tease you for it since it’s already an established fact that you’re always at his games with either Yang Jeongin or Seungmin to cheer on Hyunjin instead.

You really didn’t get it. Of course, fifteen was the time when some, if not all, parts of your day were starting to become dedicated to vanity and all the artificial things in life to attract kind of puppy love in school but at this point Jisung always wore the same green hoodie, red Supreme cap, and white ‘Eyez on You’ shirt to every school function that didn’t require wearing a uniform.

You understood how your classmates suddenly began fawning over Hyunjin right after the summer when he got his braces removed and then Seungmin for bringing a suit and tie one time for an inter-school debate but the hype over Jisung suddenly bringing in his guitar to class breaks everyday and re-emerging as a star soccer and baseball player throughout the school year is an absolute mystery to you. That or, maybe compared to your junior high peers, you’re just as used to him at this point than they all are. In your perspective, the only legitimate thing he has going on is how he always seems to beat you in most Arts subjects and how annoying it is that he always makes sure to rub that in your face.

“I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t shower properly right after training.” You shook your head disapprovingly at Eunha during the game. Soccer is an interesting sport for surprisingly bringing you up to stand and cheer at some moments, you’ll give it that, but watching Jisung get cocky and interact to the crowd whenever his team scored a point was somehow cringe-worthy to watch. “And I’m so sure he still doesn’t clean that soccer ball of his right after practice. You deserve better, sis.”

But no matter how much you talked shit about him throughout the entire game, Eunha still held onto the box of handmade candies she coerced you into picking up from Jisung’s favorite candy shop on the weekend prior and cheering him on with the slogan she made herself. It would’ve looked cute and sweet to you if it was some other guy but it’s Jisung—the guy who pushed you off a swing, pulled your hair, stole candy from you, and made all of your elementary after-school rides home an actual rollercoaster—and you would never wish his treatment of you to any other person ever.

“You said that was in elementary, Y/N.” Eunha chuckled softly, nudging your elbow before a sour expression could completely overtake your face. “Surely he’s outgrown that girls have cooties phase every boy had then.”

“No, it’s Jisung and I refuse to believe it.”

You really didn’t want to believe it with your natural instinct to see Jisung as the bane of your existence. What’s worse is that Eunha was right and Jisung shyly accepted the Saturday movie date at the mall that she came up with on the spot when he surprisingly received the candies well, a complete stretch from the Jisung who would’ve lied about being busy or tricked your friend into doing something else altogether. Suddenly, it was selfishly annoying that you’re the only one he actually tortures the life out of.

“Told you.” Eunha giggled throughout the drive back to your house. Your mother picked you up from school right after the soccer game for a sleepover you insisted was a must whether or not your friend scored her Valentine’s Day date. “Ah, I’m glad he accepted. I was a nervous wreck there! You don’t happen to know what kind of movie he likes, do you?”

You never heard the end of it from her for the remainder of the semester. The two were never official—middle school just didn’t have that solid idea of significant others, then—but they did went on numerous ‘dates’ almost every weekend that followed Valentine’s Day. Naturally, Eunha would tell you all about it.

“He’s so sweet and caring and thoughtful!” The girl endlessly gushed out to you so genuinely you would’ve been happy had you not been sincerely expecting a major fuck-up from Jisung. Nothing romantic really did come out of these dates, even Jisung surprisingly swears by it, but they did become really close friends after and as Jisung’s only other female friend at the time, you can clearly see a point of comparison between his different treatment of you. “Though, I’m gonna give it to you that he is annoying sometimes but he does know a lot of good places to hang out around town for someone who’s been away for two years!”

“He does the bare minimum for everything, Eunha. I could barely call it sweet.” You scoffed unamused.

Age sixteen. In the summer after the tenth grade, an upperclassman from school by the name of Lee Minho started volunteering at the same local shelter you’ve been under since elementary after surrendering a lost cat to you while he and Jisung were playing baseball at the nearby park.

He adopted Dori in the end but prior to finalizing the adoption papers, he actually made the effort to come in at your MWF schedule to help around and see the dark grey kitten. To you, it was endearing and thoughtful since you didn’t have much active co-workers at the shelter your age but to Jisung, it was slightly inconveniencing how Minho would cut off their play-time to see the cat. He even thought Minho had a crush on you and vice versa but you knew that Minho liked one of his own closer friends.

“Jeoyeon?” Minho scoffed, crouching down next to you one time as you watched over the new litterbox of kittens eating with Dori on your feet. Crossing his arms over his knees, he shook his head and chuckled, “They’re cool and we’ve been friends for a long time but I’m sure they have a big fat crush on Bang Chan. Something happened after their McDonald’s date after our prom, I’m telling you!”

“No, not Jeoyeon! I meant Bora!” You argued back with a laugh, picking up a white kitten that wanders off to your feet and lifts its body up cutely for a lift. Gingerly pressing the kitten to your shoulder, you then turned to Minho and continued, “The one who came by the other day to see Dori with you. Aren’t you guys rooming together in college?”

Minho clutched his chest dramatically at this, shaking his head with a comical conviction. “What?! How could you accuse me of that, Y/N? Bora’s from a different cheerdance team! That would be like sleeping with the enemy!”

You rolled your eyes, knocking him off of his balance by elbowing his sides. “Ya, I didn’t say that, you did!” You scoffed at him, sighing when he laughs off landing on his butt before sitting up in a crisscross position. “Anyway, don’t you like her?”

“If I don’t like her, we wouldn’t be making all these plans to move in together for college, stupid.” Minho snickered, earning him another elbow jab from you. “Well, what do you want me to say? You asked me if I like her, you didn’t ask me how exactly I like her.”

"Okay then, you wise wise person: how do you like Bora?” You sighed dryly, plopping down on the ground at feeling your ankles starting to ache from crouching. The kitten on your arm then jumped down to your lap, circling your legs a few times before finding a comfortable position to sleep in. “You know, the more you visit here with this kind of sarcasm, the more I’m starting to understand where Seungmin and Jisung are suddenly getting all of their newfound sassiness from.”

Minho chuckled next to you, picking up Dori for himself once he saw him finish eating before hugging the kitten gently to his cheek. “Bora’s...someone I’d probably punch a guy in the team for if they ever disrespect her. I mean, I’d punch a guy for Dahyun, Jeoyeon, and Jihyo, too, of course, but Bora’s in the same sport where she’s always getting lifted in the air and touched by who knows who and now that we won’t be in the same team, I feel even more responsible for keeping an eye out for her.” He shrugged casually, ignoring the way your jaw just dropped at how naturally he explained himself. “Plus, it took a lot of convincing to get her to be my roommate so I can’t really have her dying under my care in the next four years.”

“I—” You furrowed your brows in thought, pursing your lips in a pout. “Wow, I’m jealous.”

“Then get on my good side, Y/N.” Minho winked with a laugh, holding Dori in front of you. “Let me take this baby home at the end of the summer.”

You rolled your eyes again at this, shaking your head. “No, I mean...I hang out with Jeongin, Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jisung and they aren’t really the most well-versed boys on treating girls properly.”

“That’s why you hang out with me. We all know that Hyunjin just can’t say no to anyone who offers him a slightly more expensive bouquet of flowers, Seungmin’s in a relationship with baseball and academics, and Jisung...Jisung’s just dumb in general.” Minho then pointed out with a somehow knowing tone, smirking when a familiar figure passes by the hallways right behind you. “Speaking of...”

Jisung joined you and Minho after, making sure to sit in between the two of you and drowning himself in as many kittens who wanted to sit on his lap as much as he can. “Dude, you shouldn’t have left early!” He scolded Minho with a pout and a slightly breathless tone from running all the way from the park. “Seungmin joined us today and he completely wiped out Sunwoo’s team!”

“Then even more reasons to come here early so you guys could play with Seungmin on your team.” Minho laughed, gently handing Dori over to you from across Jisung before standing up and dusting the lint off of his jeans. “Y/N needed help with feeding the cats and puppies today, anyway.”

Jisung frowned, turning to you after and asking, “Don’t you have any other co-workers around here?”

“Jeno has allergies so I don’t let him in here on most days.” You shrugged, handing Minho the empty pet bowls nearest to you as he proceeded to clean and collect them. “I can do it myself, you know. It’s just that Minho comes over and insists.”

“Then you should’ve just told him that so we can play longer.”

“Why is it a big deal? Do you like Minho?”

“Do you?” Jisung’s eyes widened, almost getting scratched by a random cat in the process. “Because...because that’d be gross, to be honest...”

At this moment, your eyes accidentally met Minho’s right behind Jisung and the older boy had the audacity to wink at you before sprinting out of the room with a thumbs up above his head.

In the end, you shrugged and answered, “I like him.”

“What?!” Jisung sat up so quickly he almost scared a bunch of kittens walking all over his chest into jumping away.

“I’d be a psychopath if I don’t like him but let him volunteer around here, dumbass.” You deadpanned, moving the kittens around him to a safer space on the floor. “Besides, you asked me if I like him, not how I like him.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

Minho had a whole laugh out of eavesdropping from this conversation that he felt bad and actually adjusted his schedule for volunteering and playing soccer better so ‘Jisung would have one less thing to whine about all the time.’

Age seventeen. You and Jisung tried convincing your respective parents that going to prom as a group is the more practical and actually trendy thing to do but your mothers wouldn’t have it. Ultimately, the two of you ended up lying that you’re going as each other’s dates.

You initially planned on begging to Seungmin until he pulled up balloons, roses, and a song number to his lab partner right on the lunch break that you planned on doing it and, of course, you had enough dignity to not fall in line with the countless of students that basically worshipped Hyunjin’s locker as if it were a shrine.

Jisung, with Eunha already set on going with someone else she started dating at the beginning of the 11th grade school year, was the convenient choice. Your parents knew each other, he knows someone (his older brother) who can drive, and he’s recently gotten over his Emo-Hypebeast wardrobe phase after joining the school’s radio club with Chan and Changbin. With some convincing (read: an elaborate PowerPoint Presentation he made you do on the spot during one of your lunch breaks), the two of you decided that you would take all the photos your respective mothers wanted, carpool to the hotel, then go on your separate ways until his brother picks the two of you up at the end of the night.

It was a simple and fool-proof plan, one that you almost forgot when you rented an emerald green and gold prom attire then Jisung’s mother told you right after about hearing her son trying to order a purple callalily boutonniere that clearly did not match your taste nor your colors (you sorted this out by cancelling the order and taking matters into your own hands). Then, the most awkward photo op at your house happened.

“Sungie, put your arm around Y/N!”

“Y/N, stop slouching, you’re going to wrinkle your outfit!”

You were never serious-looking in any photos that had Jisung in it as well, preferring to pose like the two of you planned on murdering each other right after the photos instead, but your respective moms were holding your Instax camera and the family film cameras across the living room in this particular situation and so you reluctantly kept it inside. Straightening up your shoulders and elbowing Jisung to at least wrap an arm over your shoulder, you held up smiles right next to your red rose corsage and boutonniere set until the two women were eventually satisfied with their photos.

“Aah, you two really make a cute couple!”

“Mom, we’re not a couple!” Jisung whined, glaring at you after which you immediately returned with the same expression.

“God, I’d sell all my limbs first before we actually become a couple.” You deadpanned back at him.

Fortunately, Jisung’s older brother allowed the two of you to basically try and throw each other out of the car windows on the thirty-minute ride to the hotel venue in compensation. You almost had him by the neck and he almost ruined your hair that you spent hours curling until Hyunjin pulled you back with a smack to your head and dragged the two of you away to help in the Prom Committee’s final preparations since Jisung was going to perform with Changbin and you were a part of the Prom’s Logistics team.

You mostly stayed out of each other’s hairs for most of the first part of the program as you were busy pulling everything together while Jisung was having the time of his life with the soccer and basebal teams. The next time you bumped into each other, you scolded him for running late to his and Changbin’s set after dinner.

“Where were you?!” You mostly hit him in the back with your clipboard, frantically passing him his already set up electric guitar and a microphone. First, one of your peers got drunk too early in the dinner to help out in the program, then one of the event’s award sashes briefly went missing and, not to mention, a lot of the people from the other committees somehow forgot about their event tasks when you asked in the main groupchat. You really weren’t having anyone’s antics at this point. “Geez, we already practiced this!”

“Ow, ow, ow! Stop hitting me! Why are you so on edge?” Appropriately, he whined in complaint and took a step back after receiving his equipment, holding his hands up in defense as he always does. “Cut me some slack, Y/N! It’s prom!”

“You’re so late when your table is literally right next to the side of the stage!”

“I was dancing with everyone else! You wouldn’t know since you wouldn’t even take a break!”

“Because I’m busy!”

“No, you’re just being more irritable than usual!”

“Fuck you, Han Jisung.” You rolled your eyes with an exasperated sigh, coldly directing him to the stage. “You’re on, get on the stage.”

You knew he didn’t mean it cruelly, especially when his pupils started to shake and his shoulders instinctively slumped as he glanced back at you right before reluctantly stepping up the star-filled stage, but you were too tired of having to run around and making the event perfect for most of the night to process anything, much less his usual jabs at you. Being in such a tired headspace, you couldn’t enjoy his songs no matter how undeniably great they were, much less meet his eyes when you knew how he kept glancing at you throughout the entire set.

He even covered your favorite song on the spot (which surprised Changbin and had Hyunjin running around backstage to inform everyone of the sudden extension) but you already sat down on your shared table with Hyunjin, Seungmin, Eunha, and their dates before he could even begin singing the chorus.

“Hey, you good?” Minjung, Eunha’s date, asked you with an offering of an extra shawl to cover your exposed shoulders from the nearby air-conditioning unit. Eunha had previously left to go to the bathroom after stopping by your shared table. “Y/N, I told you if you needed extra help with the program, you could’ve just told us. We just planned on dancing tonight, anyway.”

“I’m good.” You grumbled in a half-lie, resting your chin on your propped up hand tiredly, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ for the shawl as you fought away your tiredness. “I think I’ll just sit the rest of Prom out. Hyunjin can run the program on his own.”

Minjung frowned, sitting down next to you and fixing the loose strands on the haphazard ponytail you managed to pull up in the middle of the program. “Are you sure? Eunha and I can stay with you until you’re feeling better. Besides, the program’s still long, you deserve to enjoy your hard work later at least.”

Stubbornly, you simply scrunched up your nose and shook your head. “I think I’ve had enough of prom for one night. You should go and dance more, though. I’m okay as long as you guys are having fun.”

But equally as headstrong as you are, Minjung got Eunha in on convincing you to agreeing to one dance with them as soon as she came back from the bathroom, reasoning out that, “We can stay in the back and just dance silly! It’s prom!”

The pair proved themselves to be unstoppable in their joint persuasiveness when they got you to stand up and actually join them at the next set, right as Jisung was about to approach you to apologize. The poor boy ended up waiting the entire night until the two of you were alone instead, shivering right next to each other at the lobby while waiting for his brother to pick you two up.

“Why did you even pick out something off-shoulder? I get that it’s trendy these days but you picked the venue knowing it’s cold and didn’t even connect a few dots there.” He hissed lowly, contemplating on teasing you further or keeping it quiet until he can muster up a ‘sorry’ to you. Shrugging off his jacket, he then gently draped it over your shoulder and added, “Don’t catch a cold or something...your mom’s going to kill me.”

“Shut up.” You hissed back, crossing your arms further in over your chest as you spotted his brother’s car approaching the lobby’s driveway. You didn’t remove his coat from your back, though, clutching it tightly instead while convincing yourself that he willingly gave it to you so there’s no reason for you to throw it back at him when you really needed it. “ You don’t even do nice things for me.”

The familiar words visibly caught him off-guard, almost foiling his plan of opening the door for you as he freezes in his steps but he regains composure in time and almost trips ahead to swat your hand away from the car’s door handle. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled in the awkward silence, gulping down his fears of your death glare as he briefly averted his gaze away from you. With this, he missed the way your gaze softened. “There’s candies in the pockets.”

And there was, coincidentally enough the same brand he tried stealing from you on your school field trip.

“These aren’t expired, right?” You chuckled, popping a chocolate in your mouth anyway.

That was enough for Jisung to relax his shoulders and laugh along. “No, promise.” He held a hand up as if he was swearing by his words, easing you into another fit of laughs. “I ran all the way to the convenience store down the block to get you those tonight! I felt really bad...I didn’t mean it.”

He could be sweet if he wanted, you’d give him that.

“I’m sorry too.” You whispered to him at the end of the night, right after scoffing at him for insisting to walk you all the way to your doorstep of course. “I was so stressed with managing everything that I took it out on you.”

Standing awkwardly with you right in front of your house’s front door, the sheepish boy rubbed the nape of his neck and shrugged. “Nah, I think I deserve it. I do annoy you a lot, don’t I?” He chuckled, eyes trained to the ground. “I didn’t even ask you to one dance.”

“Not like you actually had to, we’re no—”

“But you were still technically my date and I don’t want to be a bad prom date, even to you!” He insisted anyway, only then looking up at you. “I’ll make it up to you in the distant future, okay? Reserve me your next dance in the distant future, no matter where it is!”

Before you could even retort, he was already running back to his brother’s car.

Age eighteen and a half. Jisung began dating a girl named Haneul whom he met in one of his general classes and didn’t have one single clue about baseball or soccer. Naturally, his entire friend group was concerned.

Though you’re much civil friends now, you still didn’t really care. Or maybe you didn’t want to out of spite (or a really really weird and displaced feeling of jealousy?), you weren’t sure. You just thought that Jisung can do whatever he wants even when it’s something that’s generally not advisable when you’re a freshman in college, but it seemed as if it was all Jeongin talked to you about whenever the two of you met up to study for one of your shared classes so naturally you forced yourself to take in all of the gossip. What’s worse is that Hyunjin would come over often to loiter around the library and gawk at the cute student librarian, ultimately encouraging the younger boy to talk about it more.

“You’re being unfair to her.” You always reminded the two, sometimes Seungmin when he would sit quietly in the middle of the topic and say nothing to defend Haneul. In this particular time, Jeongin took you to watch the baseball team’s Wednesday scrimmage after hours of studying your nursing notes together at the nearby library. “Like, look, I don’t even do any sports myself but you guys hang out with me.”

“But you’re different, you’re not dating any one of us.” Hyunjin snickered, hugging his helmet to his chest as he sat a step below you on the bleaches. When a thought then crossed his mind, he dramatically gasped over his gloves and added, “Wait, does that mean you have a crush on someone? Is it me?”

You smacked him in the head with your hand, rolling your eyes after. “You know what I mean.”

Next to you, Jeongin mustered up a shrug as he tried getting an injured Kira to sit back down on her seat. Your stubborn best friend, after playing at an underground derby game on the weekend prior, kept on moving around because sitting down with her injuries made her uncomfortable. “But at least you make an effort for us even if it’s just small.” He reasoned out, huffing tiredly when Kira finally sits down and promises not to move for the next five minutes. You would’ve helped him but personally you thought he deserved to suffer alone after letting her go out despite her injuries today. “Haneul got dragged by Jisung to watch last week’s scrimmage and didn’t even last a set. She just left in the middle of the game—literally!”

“He made Jisung skip on my derby game to too!” Kira pouted, waving her bandaged hands frantically in the air. “I’m personally offended, Y/N!”

“And she doesn’t seem to like talking to us in general.” Hyunjin shrugged in conclusion. “Like, sports aside, she’s a bit rude and nonchalant when she talks to us in general especially when Sung isn’t around. It’s a bit sus to me.”

“To be fair, Kira, I wouldn’t be going too if you and Yeji aren’t so insistent on it. It’s so worrying seeing the two of you get hurt.” You pointed out before averting your attention to Jeongin once more. “And Jeongin, you know the only reason I can’t leave baseball and soccer games these days is because you and Seungmin are usually my ride home.” You scoffed. “If I could, I’d be hanging out with Felix more and only going to Kira’s games. Ya, why is he even allowed to skip games and I’m not, anyway?”

“Because he’s taking classes and training with the cheerdance squad until 8 PM and as far as I’m concerned, you’re free after 12 noon like me!” Jeongin simply grinned at you, earning himself a glare. “Also, I need you here with me as the medic team. You know I’ll panic alone!”

Fortunately, no one ever actually gets injured at any of the games regardless if they were formal or not. By the time the game has finished, you were reminding Kira to rest more at her dorms and sprinting out of the baseball field to the samgyeopsal place the team promised to treating dinner at. You completely missed the boys’ conversation on Haneul in the process but you did get free food.

You really didn’t get it. The one time you met Haneul by chance, when you and Felix bumped into the two at the mall near the supermarket, she seemed a bit distant but she could be polite when she wanted to. Of course, it rubbed you the wrong way but you and Felix thought that it was none of your business anyway, given that neither of you are dating her.

“When the guys walked me out of the baseball field last Wednesday, they did mention something about Jisung aiming for the soccer national team but who knows if they’re exaggerating again or something.” Kira confided in you later that week when the two of you met up over lunch. “Either way, I’d understand. If I were in Jisung’s shoes, I’d feel a little disheartened if someone I really like doesn’t appreciate the things I’m passionate about!”

Still, you simply let your friends sort it out for themselves. “Jisung’s a grown-up, he can figure things out on his own at the end of the day.” You reasoned out.

Age eighteen and three-fourths. Jisung asked—practically begged—you to go to the movies with him because he and Haneul broke up the week before his birthday after opening up his worries to her. The other ticket was meant to be a surprise for his ex-girlfriend.

From what Jeongin and Felix have gossiped to you on two separate occasions, Haneul apparently didn’t like you and the rest of Jisung’s immediate friend group no matter how many times the boys tried warming up to her and getting to know her over the summer. She didn’t really support Jisung’s passion for sports, too, and mostly just stuck around for the ‘clout of it all’ or however Felix worded it to you.

“I’d ask Hyunjin but he has a date with that librarian!” Jisung frowned over the phone on the night before the scheduled screening of Weathering with You. Reminiscent of a similar time long ago, he sounded more like he was convincing himself than you. “And Seungmin’s taking care of Kira, Minho and Felix are training, Changbin’s doing God knows what with his finals, Chan has swim training and—and yeah, you know where I’m going with this!”

You sighed, rolling over on your back in your bed after submitting your online work. “You can ask the baseball team, the soccer team, your Introduction to Musical Theory class, the campus radio club, and—and yeah, you also know where I’m going with this.”

“Yeah but—but it’d be weird if I just went with anyone or something!” He mumbled under his breath, pausing on the other line to scratch his head in thought. “Come on, it’s not your midterms week yet, right? Can’t you come over and go to the movies with me?”

“You’ll probably strangle me in the dark or something.” You argued next.

“But it’s free tickets! At least you’re going to die with free tickets!”

“So you are planning to kill me! I knew it!” You snorted dryly, rolling your eyes. “Seriously, don’t you have anyone else to go with? Why me?”

Jisung took in a sharp breath in the longest pause you’ve ever heard from the usually rowdy boy. At that moment, only then did you notice the faint sounds of pre-recorded dialogues for soccer arcade games. He must’ve been at the one near his dorm then as he usually was when he was contemplating on something. “I just—honestly, I’m still processing all of this and I don’t want to open up to the guys...and Eunha’s abroad and I’m not that close to Kira or Bora so I thought of you.”

Now, it was your turn to be speechless.

“It’s silly, I know.” Jisung continued with an awkward laugh when he didn’t hear anything on your end. “But even when you’re annoying sometimes and you always get angry at me because you always misunderstand, you’ve known me the longest and I know you listen well and you’re always open-minded about things so I thought I’d vent to you, if it’s okay...”

You finally released a defeated sigh, sitting up properly on your bed as if he was actually in the same room as you. “God, you’re too good at making me feel guilty.” You mused out loud. “Fine, just text me the place and time and no funny business!”

You met up with Jisung at the nearest shopping center the following night, surprise paper bags of take-out and a mini cake for two to eat at the cinema.

“I’m only going to be nice to you this time because you just got dumped and it’s your birthday later.” You explained as serious as you can to a giggling and blushing Jisung, handing him the take-out paper bags. Once the dinner meals are in his hands, you then take out the blueberry mini cheesecake from its separate paper bag and set up the candle you brought along with it. “Now, make a wish and get it over with.”

Jisung’s eyes widened at the pink candle suddenly being pushed up to his face, distracting him from the passersby cooing and making comments at the two of you. “Really?”

You nodded impatiently, thrusting the cake further up his face. “Yes! Now, blow on your candles or I’ll do it myself and eat the whole thing!”

Jisung wasted no time blowing the single candle and taking the cake from you as well, jumping up and down in place as he closed the lid carefully and returned it to its paper bag. “Thank you!” He exclaimed gleefully, pulling you to a side hug. “Now, I feel a bit better.”

“You better.” You frowned back at him, biting down a small smile when his hug lingered on a second longer. “Now, let’s go or we’ll be late to the screening.”

Fortunately, Jisung didn’t actually tried strangling you in the dark while the movie played since he became busy with eating his dinner and cake as well as crying over the plot.

Age nineteen. Jisung took you to the arcade inside the shopping center after to vent while scoring kicks at the mini soccer game.

“Basically, she said—” Score. “—that she felt annoyed that Hyunjin, Minho, Jeongin, and Seungmin were mostly onto her for ‘seeming off’ whenever they met or interacted.” Another score. Standing outside the protective fence, your gaze darted quickly between Jisung and the small net across the long room. “So I said that’s just how those guys are: they’re very curious of new people and make a lot of effort over it so when they feel that the other person’s energy seems off or doesn’t match theirs in any way, they’d worry.”

You nodded along whenever he glanced over to you, agreeing halfheartedly. “Hm, those guys don’t take bullshit, of course...”

“Yeah, right...” Jisung kicked another ball, barely missing the goal as he thinks of what to say next. “Then she started accusing the guys that they don’t like her because she doesn’t do sports which doesn’t even make sense because I know it’s not superficial like that.” He sighed, scoring again. After this particular kick, he then stopped altogether and turned to you. “The guys just feel off that, as someone I’m dating, she doesn’t make enough effort to watch my games or be familiar with the sports I love. It’s not the same thing.”

“But does she make an effort to listen to your music?” You blurted out of nowhere, surprising not only Jisung but also yourself.

It just occurred you to on the spot. All this talk about Jisung’s passion for sports had you thinking if Haneul also disliked the one other thing that Jisung was absolutely passionate about: his music.

And it seemed to have caught him off-guard as it took the boy longer to contemplate on the question. “I—n-no? No...” He furrowed his brows in thought, walking over to you on his side of the chain link fence. “Come to think of it, she never told me what she thought of the songs I used to send her for feedback...”

You nodded, mumbling under your breath, “So much for defending her from everyone last summer...”

“Hm?”

“Like, I’d get it if your friends don’t immediately warm up to her because that really does happen in some relationships and it can be remedied over time but not appreciating the things you, the person she’s dating, are passionate about is another thing. If she doesn’t like the things you’re passionate about, then maybe she really isn’t the one you should be with.” You shrugged nonchalantly. “She could be all things nice but if she doesn’t support your own ambitions, other things that make you really happy, then everything else doesn’t mean anything.”

When he doesn’t speak, you allow yourself to continue. “Kira told me that you’re aiming for the national team in either baseball or soccer which is a bit surprising since I know you’re already being sought after for your music even at university so clearly those things are very important to you. Having someone around that doesn’t see that importance enough to make efforts is a bit meaningless in the long run, if you think about it. You...you deserve better, it’s what I’m trying to get at.”

Still, he wouldn’t speak after everything you said. Instead, the boy just gaped at you from the fence. It definitely unnerved you as time dragged on longer.

“I let you vent and made my own input on it like you wanted me here to and you just gape?” You tsked through your nervousness, crossing your arms teasingly and leaning over the fence on your side. “Ji, say something.”

“...thank you.” He finally breathed out before you could complain further, catching you off-guard this time. “I needed that.”

“What?”

“This whole thing just made me feel really conflicting feelings.” He confessed, voice lower than usual now as he mirrored your position. “Thank you for listening and telling me what you thought. They definitely made a lot of things clearer.”

You smiled, shoving him slightly through the fence separating the two of you. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it birthday boy?” You teased, laughing even more when he pouted at your teasing tone. “So? Feel better, then?”

“A bit, yeah.” He nodded, grinning widely now. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N.”

“You won’t admit it to my face but I know you’d do the same for me if I annoyed you into it enough.” You shrugged, standing up properly now and walking over to the entrance. “Now, would you let me play? You’ve been at it for twenty minutes, it’s getting tiring watching you.”

He laughed at this as you joined him in the arcade space, kicking a soccer ball towards you as soon as you came in through the chain entrance. “What? You think you can do better?”

“I had to watch you all the time after school back then because you were my ride home and Mrs. Han always picked us up late. I’m sure that could amount to something.”

Age nineteen and a half. For a mandatory community service class, all of your friends signed up to volunteer at an orphanage.

The majority vote was actually at the shelter you used to volunteer at but your old neighbourhood was too far from the university you were attending and so the most practical option, the orphanage just two blocks away, was the natural next best thing. And from this one semester’s worth of experience, you definitely learned a lot about your friends.

For one, Hyunjin, Felix, and Jeongin were only popular with kids but only for their looks (additionally, his baking skills for Felix). Whenever you passed by them during volunteer hours, you would often find the three buried underneath a pile of toddlers hitting them with all kinds of toys. Feeling bad, you actually got the orphanage’s matron to assign them to the older kids after a while.

Seungmin and Kira, on the other hand, were so awkward at first but naturally got into the groove of it. Maybe it’s because they only started dating then and everything was flustering but they surprised you the most with how much they got along with almost all of the kids regardless of age.

Then, there was Jisung whom almost all of the younger kids practically fought over to play with at the playground. As if it was an inside joke of some sort, it made you laugh the most how the kids would often ask him to push them at the swings.

“Careful now,” You reminded him once jokingly, elbowing his side as the two of you approached the swing set where the kids were already waiting to get pushed on their respective seats. “don’t want their knees to get scraped or something.”

He simply scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief. “I won’t let that happen, not at this age.”

“So if I asked you to push me on the swings later, you won’t try and kill me this time?” You asked next, waving hello to the children before going around the swing set to gently push them to momentum. Jisung followed suit, making a beeline to his favorite, a toddler named Ara who always asked to be pushed higher on the swings.

“That’s a trick question because we’re not actually allowed to play here.” He answered matter-of-factly, turning to Ara right after. “Isn’t that right, Ara? Y/N isn’t allowed to play here because she’s an adult, right?”

The two of you would sit on the swing set and take turns pushing each other when the orphanage staff weren’t looking anyway, giggling amongst yourselves while watching the kids migrate to the jungle gym.

“You were so annoying when we were kids!” You mostly complained, letting yourself laugh about it now as it was all in the distant past. “You had the ‘girls had cooties’ phase and everything.”

“Because the boys all said it was true!” Jisung was quick to say in his defense, twisting the chains on his swing around to make himself spin. “And I was seven so of course I’d believe them that easily!”

“What about when you pushed me from the swings?”

“We both know that was an accident.”

“You could’ve secretly held a grudge against me as early as that time! You were so mad when your mom made you buy me snacks!”

“Because you told your mom that I did it on purpose! I thought you hated me even before that too.”

“Well, I never hated you before that, just to set the record straight.” You shook your head immediately, turning your swings to the side to face him briefly. “You? Did you ever hate me?”

“Never.” He shook his head back at you in response, equally serious now. “You were annoying at times but that was because I was kinda annoying to you too.”

“What about now?” You asked next, voice unexpectedly wavering at asking such a question and even more when he chuckled at this.

“You were with me on my what was almost my worst birthday ever just three months ago. What do you think?” He scoffed playfully, returning to his spinning to ease his flustered face. “Besides, we’re like better less-trying to kill each other all the time friends now! We’re even studying together again these days.”

“We both know you’re only at the library since you’ve been trying to wingman Hyunjin with the librarian and dote on Jeongin like he’s your baby.”

“What? No, I’m there for you too! Moral support!”

Age nineteen and three-fourths. Jisung’s older brother invited you along with your parents to his wedding during the Spring break and Jisung immediately jumped on the chance to redeem himself as ‘the best dance partner you ever had.’

You didn’t even think he’d remember something he said himself back then. Personally, you thought it was just his guilt from pissing you off or sleepiness from dancing too much at prom that was talking then. But the moment the dance floor was opened at the rather extravagant cherry blossoms-themed wedding, the best man was by your side within seconds after sprinting from his table across the wedding hall.

“Y/N!” He called to you as he ran to your table shared with all of your friends, your parents, and a few people from your childhood neighbourhood; his obnoxiously loud voice against the jazz music and his hand raised up above his head to wave at you catching a few guests’ attention. “Y/N!”

Felix was about to ask you to dance after Seungmin and Kira as well as Hyunjin and Jeongin paired up, your hand already up in the air to accept his, but Jisung was quick to swat your hand away from the other boy as soon as he arrived. “Sorry, Lix, I’m afraid I’ll have to steal Y/N away!” He dramatically interrupted in between tired pants, flashing the confused Felix with a sheepish grin. “I owe Y/N a very important dance!”

“What dance?” You raised a brow, bringing your hand away from his and back to your lap.

“The one—t-the one I promised you that night a-at prom.” He sighed, finally catching his breath after. “I promised you then, remember?”

From the corner of your eye, Felix’s eyes lightened up in excitement as he clasped his hands together and cooed. “Aww!” He giggled, making you and Jisung turn to him after. “If that’s the case, then why should I stop you two? I’ll just see if Chan or Changbin aren’t dancing yet!”

“But Lix!”

The other boy’s quick to wave his hands to you snappily, shaking his head. “No buts, Y/N! You two go and do that cute promised dance thing you have going on! I’ll be fine!” He assured, much to your protests. “I knew something was going on!”

“Nothing’s going o—“

“Thanks, Lix! I owe you, dude.” Jisung pats Felix’s shoulder appreciatively, turning to you after and taking your hand once more to pull you up into a stand. “Now, come on! My brother said he has my songs on queue!”

He whisked you away before you could protest further, taking you to the dance floor just as the music slows down to his own song. “Right on time!” He even exclaimed happily before placing his other hand on your waist. You’ve heard this one before as the one he would always sing at the Open Mic Nights at university. “Now, to make it up to you...”

Jisung didn’t dance so bad. He was still playful, making it a game between the two of you on who can step on the other’s feet the most when the next songs became more upbeat, but he was serious when he wanted to, sheepishly apologizing that it took him long to make it up to you.

“I didn’t even remember it until you brought it up tonight.” You assured with a laugh as the song slowed down once more. Without even realizing it, you’ve danced all of the songs in the two-hour setlist with him. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Well, it is to me.” He shrugged as nonchalantly as he can, visibly looking nervous towards the end. When you quietly asked him why, his only response was, “Because that night I really realized that even when I liked annoying you, I don’t like pissing you off so much to the point that you hate me.”

And at that moment you realized that Jisung has some way of catching you off-guard so randomly. “W-What? I mean—” You wanted to joke something along the lines of ‘wow, took you long enough,’ but the words ultimately never came out as Jisung chuckled at your baffled expression.

“I mean, trying to piss each other off, joking around, competing over studies—those are our things.” He confessed sincerely, unconsciously tightening his grip on your hand as the song progressed. “But I said something that night thinking of it as a joke and not really considering the thought that it would piss you off so much because you were so stressed already. I didn’t like pushing you on edge like that—”

“You already apologized and everything, it’s all g—”

“—But most importantly, I really wanted to dance with you then, regardless of the incident.” He breathed out before you could even finish your thought, rendering you speechless for the second time. “Maybe I’ve always liked you then, maybe even before that; either way, I really wanted to have one moment where we weren’t fighting or anything—and, surprisingly, even when we’ve started hanging out better, I still want one. I still like you.”

You immediately stopped dancing, bumping shoulders with a stranger behind you which Jisung instinctively responded to by pulling your frozen form to the side of the dance floor. You pursed your lips once to speak, only managing to fumble out, “Y-You...you liked me?”

“I said I like you. Present tense.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, hands dropping to his sides immediately at sensing how tense and awkward the atmosphere suddenly became. “And I like you the way Seungmin dotes on Kira and Minho’s always protective of Bora and Jeoyeon’s been helplessly pining over Chan, those kinds in case you’re going to pull that how exactly do I like you bullshit you learned from Minho before again.”

“I—r-really?” Was your only response as you tried your best to process this revelation. “You like me? W-Why—why me?”

He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yes, Y/N, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” He teased as casually as he could muster with his growing nervousness. “And why you? I don’t know, either, but I think I can start remembering as far back as the time you teased me at the playground that I push like a sissy but didn’t look for another playmate anyway. I’ve always liked you...just a little bit more now that I’m much more sure of a lot of things.”

It was all so overwhelming, honestly, but you belatedly muster up a laugh as he recalled such a distant memory from you. “Y-You...God, Han Jisung, you’re insufferable!” You mumbled under your breath, hitting him by his arm with one hand while the other covered your mouth. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“So, does that mean you like me too?”

“I let you dance with me the entire night. What do you think?” You scoffed playfully, gaze softening as you looked up at his relieved smile and bright eyes. “You did push like a sissy at the playground when we were kids, though.”

Age twenty. When Minho bought his roommate flowers to their last cheerdance competition and asked her to be his girlfriend, Hyunjin dared you to one-up the upperclassman and wear Jisung’s jersey to his own final game of the year.

“Well, you did give him that talk over dating someone who appreciates the things he loves.” Eunha told you over video call with the rest of your friend group on the day Hyunjin brought up the idea. Before you could even protest and repeatedly assure that you do support everything Jisung does, she was quick to add, “Yeah, I know you do appreciate them but I just think it’s fitting now! He’s been making a lot of effort for you lately and didn’t you say you wanted to do something in return? Maybe you can finally ask him what you’ve been wanting to ask for a while now too...”

You hated how she was right and very convincing about it. Since the wedding earlier in the year, Jisung has been nothing short of nicer to you. From actually hanging out with you at the library now (and not just to wingman Hyunjin or dote on Jeongin), buying you food randomly, to letting you vent your own worries and unwind from school by playing soccer with you or playing you music with his guitar, he’s been ‘making it up to you’ with quality time and sweet gestures; the only catch is that he hasn’t officially asked you out like he would.

The two of you aren’t exactly the direct words type of people but it’s still nice to have some sort of affirmation.

With a few more coaxing on her part combined with Seungmin’s own persuasiveness nagging at you in real time, your friends eventually got Jeongin to steal one of Jisung’s spare soccer jerseys later that day to give to you for his game on the following Saturday.

To say that Jisung was flustered is an understatement to say the least. Quickly catching you at the very front of the bleachers before the game started, he waved at you and the rest of your cheering friend group shyly, approaching only when the coach gave him permission to.

“Hey, that’s mine.” He snickered with even more sheepishness at seeing you up close, holding the jersey he wears by its shoulders before gesturing to the identical one you wear. The two of you stand by the stairs leading down to the field, on the side where you aren’t in the way of passing players and staff. “The jersey—maybe the one wearing it too.”

You held up the bouquet of daisies in your hands close to your face, effectively hiding the heat rising up to your neck. “I bought your favorite flowers too.” You pointed out next before gesturing to your friends sitting around you. “Those smartasses dared me to outdo Minho’s stunt at the cheerdance competition which I still think is dumb since you were in on that one but, hey, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?”

“Just seeing you is already enough.” He added with a flirty wink, making you cringe teasingly. “The jersey’s a really big bonus, though. I think I can score everything on this one because of you.”

“You better or else this jerseys’ going to be mine now.”

“I don’t mind.” He shook his head immediately, pulling you closer by the waist in his now ritual good luck hug from you and placing the flowers back on your sides. “I don’t mind calling you mine too.”

The cheesy pick-up line makes the two of you laugh. Either way, you push yourself to not let go of him too soon. “...ew, Jisung!” You hit his back instead, heaving a sigh of relief anyway before finally pulling away from his hug to send him off. That’s enough confirmation now. “Now, go win this game and get it over with. We’re still on for movies later, right?”

“Yep.” He assured, patting your head affectionately before boldly leaning closer again for a kiss. “I’m looking forward to it!”

397 notes · View notes

blu-archer · 2 years

Text

Stand in.

Will it be decent? Probably not.

is it complete? Not in the slightest.

Is it getting posting anyway because I am in a block and it's been sitting in my drafts judging me for far too long? 100%.

So I started writing this because I hadn't really written something with Jin before, and it was fun and then life, you know... I will probably add to it one day hopefully. If anyone actually likes it or if I decide to continue for my own reasons...

Its super short with like zero plot but eh,

sickie: Jin

ships: Jin/Yoongi

the Kims are family, because why not.

no warnings or anything just a simple AU that was meant to be fluff but I don't think I got that far, there might be errors that I didn't pick up on... sorry about that.. [maybe a language warning - I don't know]

It’s not that his day had started off great, in fact Jin had thought that his day couldn’t possibly be worse after he’d spent the entire early hours of the morning hunched over steaming bowls, desperate to relieve himself of the heavy congestion that had materialized the night before. But unfortunately, he stood corrected.

Namjoon had barely let him get a word in when he’d called later that morning, pleading for the elder to come into work. Jin was pretty sure his cousin hadn’t heard a single word he’d said when he’d tried to explain that he couldn’t just come. He was technically on holiday, and most importantly, he was sick.

The only answer he received was more adamant pleas and violently passionate descriptive threats towards the floor manager that had apparently quit on the spot after getting into an argument with their bartender an hour after opening, and two part-time waitresses that had been slacking the past few weeks and had finally decided to stop coming.

“Hyung, please. I can’t cover this afternoon and no one else is available.”

Jin regrets ever deciding to work with family.

He was a health hazard at the moment, but what else was Namjoon going to do? There was no other stand in for the position – despite what Taehyung liked to believe when offering his own services. [The youngest of the three cousins was absolute shit at management, even if he did somehow make every customer fall to the charms of his personality.] So as much as he wanted to strongly decline and tell Joonie to kindly piss off, he wasn’t going to. Because that would cause even more unnecessary stress.

Resting his head on his kitchen table, his slouched frame aching in his seat with a mug of cooling tea loosely grasped in his hand. Jin coughed out an exhausted ‘okay’ and hung up to Namjoon telling him to come in at 3.

This day was definitely going to get worse, not to mention he had not yet told his boyfriend about how he felt, or that he had come back from visiting his parents early… In the completely unrelated situation of ‘hiding his problems’, he had hoped that being home could be a surprise later on, once a few days of rest and health had been achieved – maybe like a little blessing after the long hours Yoongi had been working, but it appeared his wishes would be ungranted and he could only hope Yoongi wouldn’t be too angry or disappointed that he wasn’t told sooner.

Jin sipped at his tea, the taste disgustingly bland as he struggled to make out the time on his phone. The glaring light didn’t help with how the numbers and apps on his screen seemed to reach in and out of focus but eventually he was able to see that he had a few hours still to go. Who knows, maybe he’d be able to pull it off once he takes another dose of medicine and a much needed shower.

Miracles were possible.

He was late. Only by ten minutes, but it still hardly ever happened.

Usually he would be present and in the kitchen by one, overseeing some prep work before sinking into his duties as head chef. Usually he’d be well into the routine of teasing the sous chefs while getting into the motion of the next dish to be sent out or cracking jokes to the waiters as they handed over their tickets if the orders were quiet. Now he wasn’t even going to be in the kitchen – although, once again, the flaring signs of health hazard flashed through his mind. So that was probably for the best.

He scrubbed at his nose with a tissue as he moved towards the back door, his mask pulled beneath his chin after having blown his nose at least four times before leaving his car. He didn’t even want to imagine what he must have looked like. There was no way his last-minute make up was going to hold through this shift and he could already feel a headache sinking its claws in deep despite the tablets he’d swallowed before leaving his apartment. Just an added blessing to this night.

Jin could hear the staff before he could see them, the kitchen barking out orders and times to each other. He could vaguely make out Yoongi’s low grumbling, masked by Hoseok’s booming projections and laughter, and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. How those two managed to work so well together was a factor none of them could really figure out. For a time everyone on the staff was sure it was because of Jin but he knew that wasn’t the case – him currently not being there just showed as proof that he wasn’t some type of ‘glue’.

The chef gave his nose one final rub, despising the itchy heaviness in his sinuses, before he pulled his mask back up and shoved the tissue into the deep pockets of his coat – accompanying the rest of his stash of tissues and cough drops.

He pushed open the door after a soft knock and was flooded with the sight of bustling staff and bright white fluorescent lights. He had to squint and rest a finger to his nose to hold off the need to sneeze while he quickly gave a brief half bow to a waiter as they dashed past him, and then again towards the kitchen when he heard Yoongi call out to him with bemusement. Jin would try to have a word with him later, but it would have to wait a little bit longer. He had a job to do first.

“Seokjin-hyung!”

Jin had managed a weak smile towards Yoongi just before he moved out of the staff area and onto the floor towards the familiar voice of Namjoon, where he met the eyes of his cousin standing by the bar with Jimin. Jin lifted his hand in greeting before coughing into his fist, vaguely hearing Hoseok scold Yoongi in the distance about over cooking a steak.

“Hey,” he sniffed as he stopped just beside them. Ignoring the look of concern and guilt that flashed in the respective eyes of the pair. He nodded to the list in Jimin’s hands. “Restocking?”

“Yeah… we had some huge reservations the past few days and I’m practically moving onto the last of what we have.” Jimin pulled a face that had Jin smiling.

The bartender was surprisingly hateful towards restocking the bar, apparently whenever he did it one of the other bartenders on a different shift would playfully cuss him out and do it ‘the correct way’, undoing everything he had done no matter how sure he was on having gotten it right.

“Let me know if you need any help with it then.”

Jimin nodded with a soft smile but the look in his eyes seemed to stay wary with concern.

“Jimin, can you let Tae know that Jin is on shift now, I need to get going.” Namjoon moved away from behind the counter and set his palm to the small of Jin’s back, steering him to follow. “I’m really sorry for calling you in, Hyung. Nothing is really going to plan this week. It shouldn’t be too bad though – hopefully. Taehyung is working double shifts on the floor to pick up wherever there may be slack, and the kitchen and the bar should handle themselves relatively smoothly, so I’m praying nothing else goes sideways.”

“Aren’t you atheist?”

“I am Praying, hyung. And I am very stressed.”

Jin chuckled which quickly dissolved into a deep cough that had Joon rubbing his back as they walked, quickly moving out of the sight of customers and behind the closed door of their small managing office. He automatically collapsed into the office chair while Namjoon scrambled together some papers and slid them into a file before shoving them into his bag.

“It really shouldn’t be too busy tonight, there’s a couple reservations - two of them are fairly large groups so maybe keep an eye on Tae if he needs help there, and just generally see everything over smoothly … Mostly I need you here just in case something goes wrong, I’m sure it won’t but I really need the security just in case… And if-“

“I get it, Namjoon.” Jin smiled tightly as he cut off his cousins rambling. “I know how the job works. I’ll update you by the end of the night.”

Namjoon let out a relieved breath, an invisible weight lifting off of him. He didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Jin working with him. His cousin was the constant pillar of reliability that he needed to be sane, and he would never not be grateful. “Right. Well, I leave you then. I’m really sorry about calling you in, hyung.” Namjoon said, his voice softer and less frantic than before as he watched Jin pull his mask down to press a tissue hastily to his nose just in time to catch a hoarse, breathy sneeze. “Jimin keeps lemon and ginger stacked behind the bar if you need something in a warm drink, okay? Don’t push too hard and just-“

“Namjoon.” Jin groaned with an unhelpful sniffle.

“Okay okay, I’m going.” Joon double checked his things. Triple checked, then left Jin in a rush of motion and low mutterings about being late.

H’IDZZSHH’UH…hhh’heIDCHSHHHEWW… Hh..hnn..

“Jin?”

He’eeIDCHSHHH’uh.. ugh...

“Hyungie.. What are you doing here?”

Jin flushed as he felt a familiar hand brush through his hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his boyfriend's eyes. Technically Yoongi should be in the kitchen, their relationship wasn’t supposed to be shown at work, but the younger didn’t seem to care. Yoongi reached out to pull Jin’s hands from his face only to be met with firm resistance.

“Hey… I have some tissues, let's clean you up a bit, yeah? Why are you working when you’re sick? Why are you working at all? I thought you were supposed to still be with your parents?”

After another plea and gentle tug Jin lowered his hands with shame as Yoongi immediately pressed a tissue to his nose, wiping the red skin softly before returning with a fresh tissue and demanding Jin to blow.

“I came back early because I thought I was getting sick.” Jin replied once the younger pulled away, coughing deeply before sinking back into his chair. “And then Joonie needed help. There was no one else.”

Yoongi gave a low hum as he tossed the tissues in the bin before resting against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Jin tried not to focus on the bare skin of his boyfriends forearms, distracting as they may be, the expressionless face that held the faintest of pouts conveyed all the disapproval Jin needed to know on the matter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I just didn’t think I’d feel that bad.” Jin lied, then cringed as Yoongi’s gaze narrowed sharply. “I swear I got home late last night and went straight to bed, I would have probably caved some time during the day and called you, if I didn’t have to come in that is.”

There was a soft sigh and then Yoongi was behind him, running a hand through the elders hair before settling on his broad shoulders. Jin closed his eyes and melted beneath the touch.

“You shouldn’t be here, baby… Jimin can do the end of day cash up and there were only a few reservations, Tae could have handled those if there were any problems, your cousin is annoyingly great at customer service… Joon needs to take a breath and admit that this place won’t fall apart if one thing doesn’t go to plan. There are so many staff that are capable of standing in, it doesn’t need to be you just because you’re a co-owner.” Yoongi let his words settle, waiting for the soft hum that signaled he was being heard before continuing. “This was irresponsible of both you and Joon, but I can’t exactly be mad at you. You look awful.”

Jin choked out a hoarse laugh. “Liar. I’m beautiful.. Worldwide handsome.”

“You’re a worldwide pain in my ass, idiot.”

...

to be continued? Maybe?

#bts sickfic #snz #alternate universe #colds #bts fanfic #jin snzfic #bts snz #yoonjin #chef jin #chef Yoongi #Kim cousins #fluff #care giving #continuation?#yes?#no?

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themaraudersmistress · 3 years

Text

Closure

Pairings: Young ! Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, heartbreak

Word count: 2k +

Summary: Good or bad, sometimes all you need is closure.

A/N: Again, it’s been ages since I’ve posted anything but I had this one sitting in my drafts so I thought I’d go back through, fix it up a little and post it. Originally it was 5k + so I’ve broken it in half. I’ll post the other half once I’ve finished going through it. I really hope you like this one ! x

Tags: @the--real-wombat @sleepylunarwolf @strangenerdsstuff @ashkuuuu @dottirose @fairywriter-oracle @miraclesoflove @daddy-padfoot @angelastein2010 @addled @disneykidafi @wanna-see-my-lease - you can add yourself via the link on my masterlist or send me an ask

The storm rages.

It blankets the city in a thick sheet of rain, thunder rumbling in the distance as the lightning flickers through the dark clouds. It was wild and chaotic, the worst storm that London had had in months; the big, fat drops of water enough to send everyone scurrying under cover. The drizzly evening matched your mood perfectly as you sat in your car, goose bumps prickling along your skin from your damp clothes, the windshield fogging up even more with each frigid breath.

You close your eyes and sigh, clenching and unclenching your fists around the steering wheel as you war with yourself. You’d made the decision with a clear head this morning, convincing yourself it was what you wanted to do, but now you weren’t so sure, a rolling train of insecurities flooding through your mind. Opening your eyes you glance over at the box sitting on your passenger seat, a thousand memories you didn’t want to think about mixed in with the knick knacks. That damn box had been mocking you for the last five days and you’d finally had enough. After all, you were the one that had the ridiculous notion in your head that doing this was going to bring you some kind of closure; that seeing him again, when neither of you were angry and out for blood might take away some of the hurt.

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth you look through the window, to the townhouse your parked in front of, the large front windows lit up from inside. You loved those windows, the way the sun would pour in first thing in the morning, warming your favourite spot on the couch. It didn’t seem fair, that the house you used to call home still had so much life to it while you were barely making it through each day, drifting further and further from the person you used to be. Your car keys jingle in your hand and once again you’re fighting yourself over what to do. You don’t even know if he’s home, you could just drop the box off at the door and leave, make a clean getaway and go back to pretending your moving on with your life but…

No. Despite everything you need to see him.

Dragging the box up onto your lap you give yourself no time to overthink before heading out into the rain, shivering as cold water runs down your back. You hurry up the driveway but by the time you make it to the front step your still saturated, the reasonably neat bun you’d worn your hair in now a soggy, limp mess at the back of your head. The flood light comes on above you and you freeze, eyes wide as the lock on the door clicks. You start wondering how quickly you can run back to your car before he realises who it is but before you can make any kind of choice the door swings open.

Your throat constricts, your heart beating so fast inside your chest you’re worried it might just give out. Sirius stands there in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow from the house, wearing a thin t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. His curls are deliciously messy, haphazardly pulled back in a loose bun and there’s more scruff on his face then you were used to seeing. You force yourself to swallow around the hard lump in the back of your throat.

His brow dips as he looks at you dripping on his welcome mat, clearly as surprised to see you as you were over being caught. You shuffle awkwardly on the spot, feeling your cheeks get warm. “Hi…” You thrust the box towards him with the lame greeting. “I found some of your stuff mixed in with mine and I just thought I’d...drop them off.” “In the middle of a thunderstorm?”

His voice is like a hard slap to the face, at the same time making you miss him more while also dredging up all the heartbreak you’d tried squashing down. Your relationship had crumbled to pieces in front of your eyes eight weeks ago and by the abysmal end you weren’t on speaking terms. You’d packed up your things and walked out without so much as a backwards glance.

“Yeah… I was - I was on my way… home.” You choke out the last word. You didn’t think of the apartment you moved into home and you don’t think you ever will. This was your home, the place you’d shared with Sirius for the last five years, the place you missed with your whole heart.

Sirius blows out a long sigh and shoves his hand through his hair, tangling it up even more. He chews the corner of his lip, eyes darting between the box in your hands and your dishevelled appearance. An awkward, miserable silence settles between the two of you as you lightly bounce on the balls of your feet. “I guess it’s kind of cold out here,” His tone isn’t angry but it’s not all that welcoming either. “You can come in while the rain eases.”

Yes. Yes… that’s all you want. To go inside and forget all about the last two months, and the three before that were you and Sirius were constantly at each other’s throats. You want it to all go back to how it was before, when you knew that he was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. When your friends didn’t have to feel guilty over spending time with one of you and not the other. You just wanted it to go back to when Sirius loved you more than anything else… You knew it wouldn’t though. There was no going back.

You shake your head as you take a step back, willing the few tears in the corner of your eyes to stay there. You place the box down, suddenly remembering why you were there in the first place. “I - I gotta go.”

No more than five feet down the driveway you feel Sirius’ hand grab your arm, stopping you from leaving. His grip isn’t tight, you could pull away if you wanted to, but his touch feels like a live wire on your skin and you can’t move. Another crack of thunder - this one closer - sounds above your head, the rain cascading down over your body as you look up at your ex, his shirt now glued to his body, accentuating the planes of muscle under the fabric. “You can’t drive in this weather,” He reasons. “Come inside.”

Against your better judgement you let him lead you into the house, immediately missing the warmth of his touch as he lets you go to close and lock the door. You wrap your arms around yourself, only now realising how much you’re actually shivering. Sirius seems to notice as well because he frowns, his hand twitching by his side as though he’s trying to decide if he should reach out to you again. He looks conflicted, like he’s tossing up over whether he should care or not that you’re cold.

“I can get you some dry clothes,” He says, motioning towards the hallway. “Why don’t you have a shower and warm yourself up, I think there’s still some of your stuff in the cupboard. I … I didn’t go through it.” “It’s fine,” You force out, your voice no higher than a whisper. “I don’t want to impose and I really should be going anyway.” “I told you, you can’t drive in weather like this. A shower won’t hurt right? You’ll feel better.” It might hurt, you think. But truthfully a shower did sound pretty good right about now.

Once you agree you follow Sirius down the hall, stopping a couple of doors before he does. You flip on the light in the bathroom, breathing in deeply as you smell his body wash lingering on the air. Everything looks exactly the same - minus your makeup littering the vanity and it makes you kind of sad. Sirius taps his knuckles on the door jam, making you jump as you turn to face him. He holds out some clothes, looking at everything except you as you take them gratefully. There’s a bitter sting in your chest as you notice they’re his clothes. You suppose there’s nothing of yours still here but it still makes your throat feel dry as you hold them against your chest. “Thanks,” You mumble. “Take all the time you want, don’t feel like you have to rush or anything.”

He walks away and you shut the door, leaning back against it heavily as you bring the clothes up to your nose, inhaling the scent on them, catching the barely there whiff of your perfume. It was the t-shirt you always used to wear to bed. Faded, old and full of more holes then a golf course, but you loved it and not all that long ago Sirius loved seeing you in it. Leaving them on the vanity you turn on the tap, letting it warm all the way up before stripping out of your clothes. You step under the stream of water, cold feet burning as the water hits them. It’s the right kind of pain though. There wasn’t much better than a shower when you were cold.

For a few minutes you just stand there, the heat relaxing some of the tension in your muscles. You think about everything that had happened tonight, confused why Sirius was acting the way he was. There was a part of you that had assumed he’d slam the door in your face, spit something hurtful and tell you that he never wanted to see you ever again. Best case scenario you thought he wouldn’t open the door at all, just leaving you standing outside looking like the fool. The fact that he was being kind of… nice made you feel guilty for thinking those things about him. Just because you weren’t dating anymore didn’t mean that he was going to stop caring. Of all the things that Sirius was, he was never cruel. Tonight more than proved that.

Rinsing the body wash off you stepped out of the shower, digging your toes into the fluffy mat as you grabbed your towel, the steam still swirling around the small room. You take your time drying off, nervous about heading back there and facing him. You don’t know how to talk to him anymore, even though at one point he’d been one of your best friends - long before he was your boyfriend. You’re just slipping his old t-shirt over your head when the light cuts out, bathing you in sudden darkness. You reach blindly for where you think the switch is, flipping it a couple of times when you find it, groaning when it does nothing to help. It takes a couple of goes but you finally find the door handle, fully expecting that the bathroom globe had just blown and the rest of the house would still be lit up. The whole house is in darkness though, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck as you head towards the living room, an eerie kind of silence filling the house. It’s too quiet without the background noise of the tv or fridge, the only sound coming from the storm outside. “Sirius?” You call out hesitantly, the lightning flashing in the windows casting long shadows along the walls.

You feel something graze across your shoulder and you turn quickly, the scream dying in your throat as you see Sirius standing behind you, his face lit up by the torch on his phone. “The whole streets out,” He says flatly. “Does your phone have much battery?” “Uh…” You head back into the bathroom, the light from Sirius’ phone making it easier to see where you left yours on the vanity. You frown when you check the battery levels. “It’s only got about thirty three percent, won’t last long.”

Sirius groans, scrubbing a hand over his face as he looks off towards the living room, a frown on his face, his expression guarded, unreadable. “You don’t remember if we had a torch do you?” “I don’t think so,” You answer, wrapping your arms tight around yourself. “I think there’s some candles in the lounge though… or there was.”

Without a word he shuffles past you and walks down the hall. You follow behind him, watching as he grabs some candles from the cupboard on the tv cabinet. It feels a lot like he just packed you away, hid all the things that reminded him of you. He grabs the matches from the same cupboard, striking one and lighting the candles he’d scattered across the coffee table. Soon the room is illuminated with a soft light. It feels warmer somehow, like it’s taken the chill off the room. Sirius sits on the couch and suddenly that awkward silence is back.

Biting your lip you move across and sit down, keeping as far from him as possible, holding your hands tightly in your lap. You hate how it is between the both of you, how this breakup had rocked the two of you down to your core. While you were simply trying to make it through each new day, Sirius had put walls up around himself and was clearly in no hurry to let you know how he was really feeling. You bite the edge of your lip and wring your hands together. “Crazy storm hey?” You aim for light hearted customer service voice but it comes out forced and a little flat.

Sirius scoffs. “You want to talk about the weather? Really?” “Well it doesn’t seem like you want to have any other kind of conversation… actually it seems like you prefer not talking at all, so let’s just sit here in awkward silence.” “There’s nothing to say.” “You and I both know that’s not true. I just want you to talk to me Sirius, hell yell at me if it’s going to make you feel better; get everything off your chest. Just say something.” “Why now y/n? Why do you suddenly want to air all our dirty laundry? It’s not like you were this desperate to talk about it before.” “That’s not fair,” You reply, digging your fingernails into the palm of your hands. “I tried talking to you, for months before we ended things Sirius. You’re the one that never wanted to deal with it.”

Sirius stands abruptly, stalking to the other side of the room before whirling back to face you, that unreadable expression - the one he’d been wearing since he opened the door - finally breaking. You can’t see him properly from all the shadows in the room but you can see enough to notice the hurt in his eyes. He opens his mouth a couple of times, trying to find the right way to say what he wants to. When he can’t, he storms from the room. You watch him go with a frustrated sigh.

It was all coming to the surface, everything before and after the breakup, all of the feelings the two of you had buried, squashed down and tried to pretend didn’t still exist. The flood gates were open and good or bad the two of you needed closure.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fic #young ! sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #angst fic #x reader #y/n #hp fic #hp x reader #hp angst fic

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angels-fluff · 3 years

Note

Ok, so I noticed that your requests are open. I'm in dire need for more Husk x Reader. So, really, anything is cool with me. Especially fluff XD

Sorry that this took so long, I hope you enjoy it still! I apologize ahead of time as it's been a while since I've written a one-shot or at all, really. But I love Husk so here you go!

NOTE: This version of Husk is based off of a fan theory on his backstory where Husk fought in the Vietnam war. In this headcanon for him, he had been engaged when he was drafted. His fiance became upset that he had left her and cheated on him with his childhood best friend. Husk then drank himself to death and ended up in hell and made a deal with Alastor, at first asking that he take away his ability to love, something Al was unable to do for him. So that's a bit of this version of Husk's story! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stuck...

It was getting late and while he knew he needed to turn in soon for some rest, Husk was still wide awake. It was hard being so far away from home, so far away from his fiance and family. Even with that aside, this war had been violent and letting your guard down for even a second could result in tragedy. Perhaps he’d instead offer to stay on look out while the other soldiers rested. Or maybe he just needed to unwind, read some mail and try to get some shuteye anyway?

Looking over to the small stack of still sealed envelopes, Husk shuffled through them a bit, stopping on a specific one that made his heart both melt and ache at the same time. Admiring the way their handwriting flowed across the front of the envelope. The one thing that he knew for sure in all of this uncertainty was that (y/n) would always be able to ease his nerves no matter where he was. Just thinking about them was enough to soothe him and put his mind to rest even for just a few minutes.

That was when he decided to open it the letter that he had been holding onto for the past couple of days. Eagerly, he opened the letter and carefully unfolded the pages that had been compacted to fit.

“Dearest Husk,

I hope you are doing well, I’ve been keeping busy myself. It’s been really hard to go on each day without you here. I started a new job, I’ve been enjoying it quite a bit.

I don’t really know how to tell you this, but I have moved on. I started spending quite a bit of time with Jimmy, I know you two have been best friends since childhood, so please don’t take this out on him. He’s kept me company when I get lonely now that you’re gone. He treats me good and I’ve fallen head over heels in love with him.

I’m sorry, but I just can’t keep my life on hold, waiting for you forever. It’s time for me to move on from all of that and pick my life back up.

I hope you’ll understand,

(y/n).”

As his eyes continued to reread each line, trying to make sense of the letter that he had just read, Husk felt his heart sinking further with every word. A small, emotionless laugh escaped from his mouth, unsure of if he should be more sad or angry.

This couldn’t be happening, this war couldn’t be taking them away from him too. He didn’t have a choice! He was drafted, it’s not like he could just say no to the government, not without serious repercussions. And his childhood best friend nonetheless, had he always had eyes for them? Even before he was drafted into this damn war?

His chest was getting tight, it felt hard to breathe, this couldn’t be happening, not now when they were what he needed the most. How could he possibly keep going after this? To keep living a life that wasn’t even worth living? A life where everyone left him no matter what he did to try to make it up to them?

“Husk! Sweetheart, wake up!” (y/n)’s voice called out, causing further frustration. Why was he hearing their voice? Why did he have to be this distraught over one person?

“Husk wake up, you’re having another nightmare, hun.” Their voice rang out once more.

That’s when the feline’s eyes snapped open, sitting over the demon with a worried expression on their face, sat (y/n). They were brushing back the messy fur that lay on top of his head as he breathed heavily.

“Hun, did you have another one of those nightmares? ...About her?” they asked, concern still laced in their voice.

“I uh-sorry.” Husk cleared his voice, sitting up and gently resting a paw on his partner’s hand to try to reassure them that he would be alright.

“Yeah, it was another like that, but…It was you.” He admitted, albeit sheepishly. “And before you go and freak yourself out, I know you’re not like that. I’m not saying you are, I just…” His other paw reached up to rest his face in, frustrated. “It felt real. The damn nightmares always do.” Husk huffed quietly.

“I know what you mean though, nightmares like that usually do. It’s what makes them so scary, you don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. You don’t even realize that it’s all just a dream most of the time until after you already wake up.”

Husk nodded as (y/n) spoke, it was true, all he could really do was endure that same pain all over again until he had woken up and realized that it wasn’t real. While the feline was well aware that his partner wasn’t the type to leave in such a cruel way or that he was no longer out on the battle field, there was still fear there. Fear and pain from the past that occassionally still ate at him, one that not even alcohol could really cure, even temporarily. The fear of losing (y/n) and having to go through another heartbreak would be way too much for him. His last heartbreak had been so hard that he had not only lost his life in the end, but also caused him to beg and plead with a certain overlord to simply just remove his ability to love. That, was not something that even Alastor was able to grant him, ultimately resulting in indulging further into his alcoholism.

(Y/n) knew their lover’s background and had quickly picked up on these fears, especially when the post traumatic stress nightmares had really started becoming more and more frequent for him. Yet they had been there by his side ever since they had fallen into hell.

“Well, I can’t change what I do in your nightmares, but I can prove that this isn’t a continuation.” (Y/n) smiled and left a small kiss on Husk’s cheek, his fur gently tickling them as they did so. The demon’s shoulders fell a bit, seemingly easing any tension that he had previously bottled up from the stress of the morning.

He uncovered his face, offering a small smile and a little nudge. “That’s definitely you this time.” he chuckled a bit.

“I brought you some coffee, the way I made mine last time! Because you said you liked it.” (Y/n) gestured over to the nightstand where a mug rested, filled with hazelnut mocha coffee, steam gently rising from it to show it was freshly brewed.

“Oh-Thanks. I’m surprised you remembered that I liked it.” Husk decided to let it sit a few more minutes before trying to drink it. The last thing he needed was to burn his tongue off despite admittedly being rather excited for the drink that his partner had made for him.

“Of course I remembered!” (y/n) smiled, their response making Husk chuckle once again. “And Husk?”

“Hm?” Gently, he picked up the mug to take a small sip and test the temperature.

“I know what she did to you, I know that it’s hard for you to do this sometimes, the whole relationship thing...But I promise that you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’ve been really happy being with you, I love sharing stories with each other and you rolling your eyes at my jokes and you making me random drinks to try so you can laugh at me when I make weird faces about it. I love it more than anything and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even a ticket straight to heaven. Being here with you, I know it’s where I’m supposed to be and you can tell me that I can leave all you want, but I don’t want to. I want you, I want us, I want this.” (Y/n) held onto Husk’s paw, giving it a squeeze.

Husk set his mug down once again and leaned over to give (y/n) a small kiss.

“I want you too (y/n), as long as you want to be here. So I guess you’re stuck with me too then?” he smiled, the demon absolutely melting as his partner looked back at him.

“Till the end of time.”

#husk x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #oneshot #x reader #hazbin hotel husk

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fuckingthefictional · 3 years

Text

Another bad day.

A/N: Here have a very old WIP from my drafts. It’s probably shit but oh well. Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Your day just wasn’t going in your favour. Not one bit. You had woken up to your usually toasty apartment being stone cold- only to find out that the heating system had broken...along with the damn coffee machine.

You tried to breathe calmly but still found yourself muttering strings of angry curses to the apartment.

This only intensified when you found a letter from your landlord on the floor.

The snooty businessman from upstairs had filed a noise complaint against you for “obnoxious behaviour that is disturbing to the other residents” (even though you were the one who had to live with his heavy footfalls and booming voice every damn day.)

You decided to just leave the situation alone for the time being and let off some steam, and what better way to do that than go to the markets?

The markets never failed to bring some joy to your day- especially when you visited the sweet old lady who ran the fruit stall, Maria. Or as she insisted Bunicuţă Maria.

It was no secret that her plums were the best in the city. Hands down.

So when you finally arrived at the market (after an eventful journey which included being drenched by a passing car that sped through a dirty puddle and having your umbrella practically tear in two) you were about ready to burst into tears at the sight of the desolate section that usually held the juicy fruit.

You held in the angry tears that threatened to spill and instead made your way back across the city square, where it was now pouring it down with buckets of icy water. You were about to start the treck back to your apartment, but decided against it when you caught your reflection in the window of a coffee shop.

That’s just what you needed. A hot cup of coffee and some warmth in your bones.

You walked through the entrance, a small bell rang announcing your arrival.

It was a small cafe and it was for the most part empty of customers.

The only other person besides from the barista and yourself was a young man.

The man in question was strongly build, his shoulders were broad and his face was covered by a baseball cap, although you could see the stubble that worked its way his jaw.

The guy could obviously feel you stare and turned to meet your eyes, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrow rose in question. You decided to look away as quick as you could and instead walked up to the counter and ordered yourself a coffee.

“That’ll be €2.79.”

You reached into your wallet and pushed the coins around until you found two euros and 50 cents. And then you were out of cash. Shit.

Now you were embarrassed at you lack of money to cover the drink.

“Um. I don’t have enough so I’ll just- be on my way.” You began to make your way to the door, until the same broad shouldered man from the corner table walked up, coins in hand and placed then onto the cool counter.

“This should cover the dame’s coffee and an extra slice of plum pie- my treat. “

You were stuck in shock nobody had done anything like that in a long time.

“I-it’s okay, really!” You stuttered

The man instantly replied, “I insist. Anything from a pretty gal like you.” He held out a gloved hand, “I’m James, but people call me Bucky.”

I small smile sneaked it’s way on to your lips, “There must be a way I can repay you... Bucky.”

He pretended to be deep in thought, “Well maybe I could take you out for dinner or coffee.”

“I thought it was meant to be me repaying you.”

Bucky chuckled to himself, “Being with you is more than enough of a payment doll.”

“Y/N, My name’s Y/N.”

“Well in that case I’ll meet you here at 6 tomorrow evening Y/N.”

“It’s a date.”

Maybe today wasn’t looking too bad after all.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #buckybarnes #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu

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maddiewritesstucky · 3 years

Text

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60 for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway.

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea.

"Steve,” he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to.

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night.

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning.

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of home and family and right.

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter.

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’ with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off.

...Steve’s not here to actually see this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve.

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam.

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get.

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour.

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted.

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better.

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away.

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb.

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on.

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin.

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell.

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time.

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock.

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off.

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream.

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah - there’s a lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.”

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together.

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...”

“Mm?”

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?”

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him.

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been.

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way.

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it.

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up.

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head.

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.”

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?”

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick.

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift.

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D! to oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.” Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.”

Oh.

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway.

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures.

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?��

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours.

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins.

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.”

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings.

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close. So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.”

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.”

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose.

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall.

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.”

“Oh my god.”

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later.

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly.

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips.

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...”

“Fuck, Bucky, I...oh...”

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him.

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him.

“You said it, pal.”

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach.

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to Steve. It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath.

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair.

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.”

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose! ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.”

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time.

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.”

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?”

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him.

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

#stucky fanfic #stucky au #steve/bucky #stripper!bucky #architect!steve #pwp #sexy shower antics #Post-run Steve can get it

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