#But I have some flavour text written down and this is one of my favourites LOL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

primofate · 3 years

Text

Genshin Modern AU - Stress and Comfort

Summary: Woke up late. Missed a class. Forgot that assignment due. Another one due in two days. People are downplaying the things that you do. It’s raining and you don’t have an umbrella. Sometimes the little things pile up all in one day and it feels like all you want to do is to get it over with... and your boyfriend to make everything better.

Warnings: crying, stress, mood swings, other than that it’s fluff

Characters: Kaeya, Zhongli x gn!reader

Notes: Also a commission <3 Thank you for the love. Once again if you want something written for you I have cheap rates XD and I’ll always accommodate to your wants! Just leave me a message!

Kaeya

“Hey, Y/N, do you know how to write this part of the essay?” It wasn’t as if you were a particularly good student. But somehow, the people in your class liked asking you because you were accommodating. Ready to help with a smile on your face. Always there to turn to and rely on. “Yeah, it’s just like this…” and you spend nearly an hour explaining it.

“Oh gosh, I don’t think I can finish this part of the presentation tonight, something came up at home,” Group projects were sometimes difficult too. You understood. Things happened, but when they happened, you’d be the first one to say, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it,” Even though the presentation is tomorrow, even though you barely get enough sleep for the next day. A part of you just wants to quickly get it over with.

“You said this would come out on the test… It wasn’t even there…” The worst part of it is not even receiving any thanks. It’s the way that they look at you when you make a mistake, despite all of the good things you’ve done for them, one mistake, and they make you out and guilt you to be a bad person.

“Your analysis is all wrong, Y/N. This part over here…” Sometimes the price of that was paying with your own grade. You try to listen as the lecturer explains a part of your essay. You’re listening, but it just doesn’t register in your mind. Something about misunderstanding the concept. Those concepts that you’ve tried so hard to remember and to understand. In the end they were all mixed up and confused.

Perhaps the lecturer sees the deflated look in your eyes, and ends quite happily. “Just do better in the next one!” pats your back and lets you leave, handing you your essay graded with a C.

Do better in the next one. Easier said than done.

You shove the paper in your bag without giving it a second glance.

The cafeteria. It was slightly late for lunch but you like it that way. There weren’t a lot of people at this time, which meant you didn’t have to fight for seats. Still, as you put in your order and bring your tray of food to the nearest seat that you see, you somehow bump into someone who topples over your chosen lunch, the tray completely doing a flip and landing on your chest, then on the ground with a plop and rattle.

There’s an ugly stain on your shirt. Forget about hiding it, it had to be washed. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” and yet they can only stare at the stain. What else could they do? Dabbing it with wet tissue would just make it worse. “It’s…fine,” you wave them away, but you leave the mess on the floor in a hurry and in an embarrassed state.

You sigh once outside again. Deciding that today was enough, you make your way home.

Even then, as you sit at your study table, all washed up and changed, sketching a little something on your tablet, your mother stands at the door, observing.

“…What does that do for you?”

You jump a little in surprise and turn, looking at her blank expression. “What does what do for me?”

“That, your drawing. You’re always on the computer or tablet Y/N. If not that, then your sketchbook. That’s all you ever do,”

You turn around because you don’t want to argue. You don’t want to hear her complaining about how you do nothing but stay in all day after lessons and play games and draw. It was one of the biggest forms of comfort you had for yourself and yet she--

“Maybe try a part time job or join a club or some—”

“Mom, I’m still trying to adjust to uni,”

Why does no one understand how difficult it is to juggle the classes and do all the readings required? Why do I have to do so many things all at the same time? Can’t I do it when I choose to and when I’m ready? Can’t I do things that I enjoy?

“The degree you chose won’t even pay the bills…” You hear her mutter as she walks away. Footsteps receding into the hallways.

You push your tablet away and lay your head face down on the table. You’re trying not to lose it and finally, whatever higher being up there hears your plea to give you a break.

A phone call from Kaeya comes through.

“…Hey,” you answer.

“Hey, hun. You haven’t been replying to my messages,” there’s a lilt of playfulness in his voice. He just thinks you’ve fallen asleep or taken a nap at home or something.

“…Yeah, I—” You try to explain. You try to say that you weren’t feeling well. That you didn’t feel like talking. But would he understand? Everyone today seemed to be against you. “I just, fell asleep,” You lie and there’s a few seconds of silence on the other side.

“…You sure?” Now there’s a hint of unease in his voice. The playfulness is gone. “You ok? Do you want me to come over?” Somehow he senses that it isn’t just “falling asleep”. His simple worry and caring attitude towards you breaks whatever composure you had left. You accidentally let out a sniffle as tears start to pool in your eyes.

“Hey… You don’t have to talk to me, but I’ll come over right now, okay?” The sniffle was enough to tell him that perhaps something had went wrong. You couldn’t help but let out a few more sniffles as tears slowly trickles down your face.

“O-okay,”

Minutes later your blue-haired boyfriend shows up at your doorstep. Despite your mom being a little hard on you earlier, when she opens the door to see him, she smiles and says. “I think they were having a bad day, I might have been a little harsh on them too,” Kaeya only grins and points a thumb to his chest. “No problem, that’s what I’m here for,” He’s still wearing his volleyball jersey.

He knocks softly on the door, “Y/N?” there’s a plastic bag in his other hand.

When you open the door your eyes were already a little red around the edges, but seeing him made your lips tremble and fresh tears fall out. “Shh… You’re okay.” He wraps you in his arms, plastic bag rustling, his hand smooths your hair down and the other rubs your back as you cry out your frustrations for the day.

The two of you stay there for what seems like a long time. You hiccupping into his chest and trying to calm down. At some point he moves the both of you on the bed and lets you curl up against him. When you finally ease up, he pulls away slightly to look at your face, then brushes away the wetness still lingering on your cheeks. “Feel better?” He whispers, as if being too loud will break you again.

You smile a little and nod at how gentle he was being. He smiles back and leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Whatever it is, just talk to me when you’re ready,” and it hits you so hard how much he’s willing to just be there with you, even though he doesn’t know what’s happening. How he wasn’t going to judge you for what you say or what you do and your face crumples and grimaces into a face that tells him you’re trying not to cry. “D-Did I say something wrong?” He’s a little startled, but you laugh a little through small droplets of tears that you wipe away by yourself. “No, you idiot. I’m just happy you’re here,”

He sighs and relaxes, taking his own hand and pinching your cheek, pulling at it a little. “Who’s the idiot? Crying and laughing at the same time?” He was joking, of course. He’d only do so when he knew you could take it. You swat his hand away with a slight glare, and he knows that he’s got a little bit of the normal you back. “Alright, come on, here,” He suddenly sits up and presents the plastic bag that he’s been holding all that time.

“Ice-cream, your favourite flavour,” rummages into it and takes out a tub the size of two fists, a little damp from the melted moisture. He’s got spoons in there too. Slowly, as you eat the tub together, you tell him about what’s been going on in uni. How people just expected you to help when you could. How you got nothing in return. How you try really hard and they somehow still end up piling on negativity into your life.

“…It’s okay to help, Y/N,” he thoughtfully says, mouth muffled cause his spoon was still in his mouth. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself too,” then he scoops another bite. “…But even if you don’t…it’s okay,” he looks up at the ceiling. “If you don’t take care of yourself…Then I’ll do it. That’ll be my job. Forever,”

You lay your head on his shoulder as he says this, still eating from your spoon “I love you,”. He smiles and presses a soft kiss atop your head. “Love you too. I’m always just a phone call away, babe,”

Zhongli

“Is there something on your mind? You’ve been quiet for the past hour,” Nothing slips by Zhongli. He’s observant. He knows you don’t feel like eating by the way you’re picking at your food. Knows that you don’t want to talk because you don’t even meet his eyes.

“…Nothing, really,” You just didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

He feels as if this date has gone awry, and he didn’t even know where he went wrong. Though, if he had to guess, it wasn’t his fault. You were just in a particularly bad mood. Not that the two of you were anywhere fancy, it was just your usual sit-down restaurant at a mall across the university.

To him, the right thing to do was give you the space you needed. So, after walking you to your room that night, he’d wait till the morning to contact you. Imagine his surprise when none of his calls go through. None of his texts were returned. He was beside himself with worry when suddenly, near the afternoon, he finally gets word from you.

“Sorry Li, I feel a little sick today. Don’t worry though, I’ll be fine in no time,”

You’re bad at lying. Or was he just good at reading you? You tend to have the habit of withdrawing when you’re out of energy. To give too much without any regards to your own state, your own feelings. Sometimes you don’t realize that you had to watch over yourself too.

It’s nearly 8 at night when he knocks at your dorm room. Zhongli went through a few steps to make sure your roommate would be out tonight. It was from them that he found out you hadn’t left the room at all today, but that you weren’t sick.

“Oh… Zhongli,” You’re surprised at the amount of things he’s holding. There’s a plastic bag that seems to nearly be popping and in his other hand was a mysterious paper bag. Under his arm he’s tucked his laptop with him. He lived in the dorms too, and if someone saw him now, it would look as if he was moving into your room. “You could’ve just asked me to come over to yours,” his eyes trail away, a certain brown-headed roommate pops up in his mind.

“No, Tartaglia’s in tonight,” You make a sound of understanding. His roommate was rather…special. Too energetic for your tastes, and sometimes nosy. “What do you have there?” You ask and invite him in. He chucks the plastic bag on your bed, lays down the laptop on your table along with the mystery paper bag. He notes that you’re already in your sleepwear, which was perfect. He starts to take out a throw blanket from the plastic bag and a hoodie.

“…This..is?” You’re a little baffled by what he’s trying to convey. “…My throw blanket that you like so much…and you said you like wearing my hoodie,” then he points at the laptop. “Do you want to watch a movie in bed? I have popcorn too,”

Then you realize that he’s trying to make you feel better. He’s figured out that you weren’t really sick, possibly just mentally drained. You smile at him and lean in for a hug, to which he responds to by wrapping his arms around your back and whispering. “…I’m not…really good at these things… Tartaglia said it might make you feel better…” You chuckle in his embrace and could imagine the kind of conversation they had.

“You’re the best Zhongli,” he secretly smiles while rubbing your back up and down. He doesn’t ask questions as to why you’ve been acting the way you do, but you’re the one who offers him the answer. “It’s just school… Too many things have been piling up… My class they… They’re really nice people you know? But just… there are times where I wish they would stop asking me for help, but it feels so selfish of me… I have my own things too, but they never think about that…”

It’s always about them, you want to say, but keep your mouth shut. He runs his hand through your hair gently, internalizing the things that you’ve said. “…I see… Would you like to hear what I think?” He’d ask first, because he knew sometimes that you didn’t really want an answer. You just wanted to be listened to. You nod against his chest, you could feel his heart beating from the closeness. “I think, you’re a very selfless person, Y/N,” he places a kiss on your head. “There’s nothing wrong in wanting to take a break from time to time, you deserve it,” and he guides you over to your bed, wrapping the two of you up in his throw blanket. Laptop on, popcorn in the mystery paper bag as you put his hoodie on. It smells just like him.

His back leans against the wall and you’re in the safety of his arms. You’re practically in his lap, encased in his scent and warmth. He’d managed to prop his laptop up on a pile of books and the two of you watch a random movie on the screen. You were paying attention to it, but you couldn’t help but be more interested in the way his chest rises and falls. You can feel him against you, and the comfort it brings is like no other.

You turn away from the screen and rest your head at the nape of his neck. He looks down, movie still playing and asks “Tired?” You shake your head, eyes closed. “No, I’m just enjoying this…” There’s a small rumble from his chest as he lets out a small “Mm,” his eyes are glued to your face. Movie forgotten.

“…Y/N, I’ll always… be next to you,” Your eyes flutter open a little to look up at him, curious. “…Always?” He nods his head firmly to confirm, and you lean up a little to press a sweet and quick kiss on his lips. “Even when I’m not my best and I’m moody?” He chuckles at that and responds with a remark that might have slightly brought tears to your eyes.

“Especially when you’re not at your best, I’ll be there. Just call,”

Tips are appreciated! Support me!

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up! I’ve added some other fandoms as well, so if you’re interested in those, fill in the form again!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

Taglist: @larkspyrr @outlet-0 @rim0na @sweeti-pie @yamsthegod @reaped-winnower @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @fanfictionenthusiast @skatercashew @leefletter @kimbapsana @hentaje @marginmaster87 @tempehlust @rinnesy @hallohun @softlybeloved @ssalamanderr @ben6ett @rytszk @guilixi @mondstadts-favourite-traveler @mkazuyuh @ayra2452008 @simpingover @soft-like-sunshine @lnrchii @scheophi @multifandomgeeks @sacredmouche @foxxtrot-116 @maple-leaaf @myday6-studies @thraiaiscrying @fadinganchornight @missbuwan @the-one-that-lurks @adeptitao @ilovemyleftboob @marblesphere @allinduetimethefirst @how-simpy @loltartaglia @minyoustar @sesetiger @lqvl3y @d8turai @candyqueen10 @ichigo-no-tsumi @omoriq @saving-for-xiao @trashykawasmilkbread @jjkclub @seiiblue @midnightangelfox @korinkuu @heesocks @bobaducky @normalisthenewnorm @atasi-luna @berryqueue @milkypompon @fadinganchornight @coldstonecrematorium @hanachan_2481 @gultonluvv @plumpkie @idk-imjusthere @amigenshin @spirlimpo @hadesaedes @tsim-tsim @dilucragnvindrsgf @gahisb @yunaholics @That-one-air-collecter @allinduetime @give-xiao-almond-tofu @leafcaller @dilucsz @ninqat @mintyayu @kiyokoshii @jendytub @thegayrubberducky @lilyhanz @chuewi @bitandbytes @alatusorrow @midnightistyping @kagsn @hazyspells @duskdawn052 @fishclaymore @allinduetimethefirst @jahnvi-d @justpeaxchy @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @axerrri @rin-ruee @tohmanatic @multifandomtrashpanda @hatsunehatsu @mysticalchocolate @nikkacutiepie @vventis @backinblack1967 @helloxiaoty @fancystark @llivue @flower0930 @inohsae @melleunlikely @sunamew @aestharmus @rosa-qing @xiao-ciao @itdluvr @naviercallisto

#genshin impact #genshin fluff #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #zhongli fluff #kaeya fluff

658 notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

705 notes · View notes

bibbawrites · 3 years

Text

Don’t Get Caught - Owen Joyner x Reader (16+)

Request: mischievous/playful/giggly sneaking around with Owen on set or evading Charlie in their apartment

Word Count: 3142 words

Summary: You are a makeup artist on set for Julie and The Phantoms and quickly began messing around with Owen, but the fear of potentially losing your job if anyone finds out has the two of you sneaking around and trying your best to not be caught aka 4 times you and Owen were almost caught messing around and one time you were

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, implied oral sex, reference to m*sturbation

A/N: hi all! so this is my first attempt at a jatp related fic so hopefully i do okay, sorry for any mistakes, most of this was written and edited from 2am-6am because those are my motivation hours i also don’t usually write reader insert so fingers crossed i dont mess this up lol. i have a ton of requests to work through so keep an eye out for things coming soon (hopefully) also, to the person who requested this, sorry it took so long (my dumb ass deleted 90% of it and had to start again) i really hope i did your idea justice :)

1. Makeup Trailer

The first time you met Owen was on your first day on set. Kenny had dragged the cast in to meet you, and something about Owen drew you in and you just knew you had to get to know the beautiful blonde boy.

Luckily your chance came sooner than expected when you were working alone in the makeup trailer a few days later. The door opened and Owen came in, smiling brightly when he saw you.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” He asked. You nodded.

“I am.” You replied and he grinned.

“I’m Owen. Nice to meet you, again.” He said awkwardly.

You giggled at his awkwardness.

“Nice to meet you again too. Sit down.” You gestured to the chair in front of you and he sat down. You got to work quickly, working in silence for a few minutes before Owen spoke up.

“So how long have you been doing makeup for? You look young.” He asked.

“I’ve been doing it professionally for 5 years now. I started working in my mum’s salon when I was 15, and when I graduated I did a course to get me this job.” You told him. He paused.

“So you’re 20?” He questioned, and you nodded.

“I am.”

“Cool, I’m 19.” He said, and you hummed in response, concentrating on making sure his face didn’t looked cakey.

“So are you from around here?” You shook your head.

“Nah I moved here from Quebec.” You said.

“Alone? Or with your family or... boyfriend?” Owen asked, the last part sounding slightly bitter.

“Yeah I came alone, my mum is too busy with her salon, and my siblings are still in school. And I don’t have a boyfriend.” You told him and he grinned slightly.

“Good to know.” He muttered quietly. You raised an eyebrow, not quite hearing him properly.

“Sorry?” You asked. He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Okay...” You trailed off, not believing him. “Well you’re all done.”

“Already?” He frowned slightly.

“Yep.” You smiled.

“Oh. Thanks.” He stood up, pausing slightly.

“Can I get your number?” He asked, somewhat hesitantly. Realisation dawned on you.

“So that’s why you asked about a boyfriend.” You said, eyebrow raised.

“Guilty.” He grinned cheekily.

“Give me your phone.” You held out your hand and he placed his phone in it, and you quickly added a new contact, typing in your number and texting yourself from his phone.

“There. I’ll text you pretty boy.” You said, handing him his phone back. He grinned.

“I’ll see you around Y/N.” He said, turning to leave for the hair trailer. You watched him leave with a smile on your face.

A week of texting and flirting later and you found yourself alone with Owen in the makeup trailer again.

“So what scenes are you filming today pretty boy?” You questioned as you began to apply his makeup.

“Why do you always call me pretty boy?” He asked, ignoring your question.

“Because you’re pretty? And a boy?” You said, pulling a face.

“Are you flirting with me?” He grinned, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe.” You said. He bit his lip.

“So if I tried to kiss you you’d say?” He asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Eh why not?” You said it like it was nothing but inside you were freaking out.

“Y/N.” He groaned and you giggled.

“Just kidding.” You teased.

“So?” He asked again after a moment of silence. You rolled your eyes.

“Oh my god just kiss me you dork.” Owen didn’t even take a second to think about it, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap, connecting your lips in a less than innocent kiss. Your lips fitted together perfectly, and he tasted faintly of blueberry and spearmint. After what felt like a lifetime he pulled away from you, leaving you panting and wanting more.

“Wow that was...” He was the first to speak, his voice breathy. You nodded.

“Yep.” You said simply. “I should probably...”

You stood up from his lap, and had barely stepped away when the door opened.

“Hey Y/N, one of my lashes came off and... oh...” Savannah’s voice came, the young actress pausing when she saw how close the two of you were.

“Hey Savannah.” You said with a smile. She returned your smile before glancing back at Owen.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” She asked. The two of you shook your heads.

“No, not at all.” You said.

“I was just leaving.” Owen added, standing up from his chair. Savannah raised an eyebrow.

“If you say so.” She replied as Owen left the trailer quickly. The door shut behind him and Savannah grinned at you.

“You like him.” She said, her tone teasing.

“No...” You denied. Savannah rolled her eyes.

“You so do Y/N. And I know Owen, he definitely likes you too.” She told you.

“If you say so.” You said, grabbing a new fake lash to fix the missing one.

Savannah grinned.

“Oh I know so. You’ll see.”

2. Julie’s Bedroom Set

“Come on Y/N, what’s the worst that could happen?” Owen had said as he dragged you through the filming lot towards the set of Julie’s bedroom. You had been heading off to grab some lunch when he had intercepted you and asked if you wanted to “hang”, which by this point you knew was code for hide somewhere and make out for a while. You had originally said no, but those darn puppy eyes had made you say yes before you even realised you were saying it.

“What if someone catches us?” You had questioned, but Owen silenced your worries with a blistering kiss that left you breathless.

“We’ll be fine.” He muttered as he pulled away. “Don’t stress.”

“Famous last words.” You muttered, allowing him to pull you back in and kiss you again. You ran your fingers through his hair, knowing that he would have to have it fixed up before his next scene anyways.

It had been a few weeks since that first kiss in the makeup trailer, and since then you had learnt the taste and feeling of Owen’s lips on yours, a feeling that was now so familiar to you that it felt like second nature.

You mindlessly kissed him back, thanking your past self for deciding to use your favourite chapstick flavour, choc mint, on him earlier that morning when you did his makeup for the day.

You pulled away to take a breath and he grinned at you.

“I’m glad we met.” He said. You blushed slightly.

“Me too.” You agreed.

He pulled you back in and kissed you again, this kiss more passionate than the last, and you shuffled closer to him, your lips never leaving his for a second. You could feel his hands resting on your waist, his tongue in your mouth, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils.

Suddenly you heard a noise and you pulled away quickly, the fear of being caught overpowering your feelings for Owen.

“Someone’s coming.” You said quickly. Owen frowned.

“What?” He questioned.

“There’s someone coming.” You repeated and his expression changed to fear.

“Fuck, what do we do? Run?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes.”

He grabbed your hands and pulled you up off the bed, linking your fingers together before dragging you off the set, the both of you giggling the whole way back to his trailer.

“It’s kinda fun, almost but not quite getting caught.” You admitted once the two of you were curled up on the couch in his trailer.

“It is.” He agreed. “But do you know what’s even more fun?”

“What?” You questioned.

“Making out with you.”

And if Owen went back to set with the taste of your orgasm on his tongue that was for only the two of you to know.

3. Owen and Charlie’s Living Room

You had just finished some finishing touches on Savannah’s makeup when Owen burst into the makeup trailer.

“You’re all done.” You told Savannah and she grinned.

“Thanks Y/N.” She stood up from the chair. “See you later. Bye Owen.”

She glanced between the two of you, before turning and giving you a quick wink as she left, leaving you and Owen alone in the trailer.

“So?” You spoke, beginning to pack up your brushes. “Why are you here?”

“Well you see, I’m finished for the day and I checked your schedule and you are too, and I was wondering if you wanted to come back to my place to watch a movie and chill or something.” Owen spoke, plopping himself into one of the chairs and spinning around.

"What about Charlie?” You asked, placing your brush bag into the large drawer of your makeup supplies.

“He’s filming the Perfect Harmony scene with Madi. We’d have the place to ourselves for at least a few hours.” You paused, considering his offer.

“Okay.” You replied simply. He cheered.

“Are you ready to go now?” He asked, standing up, and you nodded. He grinned slightly, pulling you in and kissing you softly.

“Hi, by the way.” He whispered once he pulled away. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Let’s just go.”

You somehow managed to make it off set and back to the building where most of the cast and crew were living without anyone noticing the two of you together.

“What floor?” You asked as you hopped into the elevator.

“6.” He replied, and you pressed the button, riding in silence to his floor. He took your hand, pulling you towards the apartment he shared with Charlie, unlocking the front door and dragging you towards the couch.

“So you mentioned a movie?” You said once the two of you were settled. Owen nodded.

“I did, what do you wanna watch?” He asked.

“I actually have a better idea.” You grinned, climbing on top of him, straddling his waist.

“Oh I see.” He replied, grabbing your top and pulling you down to kiss you roughly.

It felt like no time had passed at all when suddenly the front door unlocked.

“Fuck.” You said, jumping off him quickly and settling onto the couch next to Owen, pretending as if you’d been there the whole time. Charlie entered the room, frowning slightly when he saw you sat on the couch.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Charlie questioned, throwing his bag onto the chair.

“I.. Um...” You stumbled. “I was just leaving.”

You stood up quickly, thankful that the shoes you wore were slip on’s.

Charlie eyed Owen carefully as the door shut and Owen shrugged.

“Should I ask?” Charlie questioned. Owen shook his head.

“Nope.”

4. Owen’s Bedroom

After a couple of close calls on set and in the living room, the next time you came over you and Owen went straight to his room.

He laid down on his bed and you climbed on top of him, kissing him instantly.

“God you’re perfect.” He muttered, lips and tongues combining in a mess of passion and lust. Owen pulled at your shirt, tugging it over your head, and you did the same for him. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking gently to leave a mark.

The front door opened and Owen groaned.

“Shit, is that Charlie?” You asked. He nodded. “What do we do?”

“Uh... get in the closet.” He suggested and you giggled, grabbing onto your shirt so Charlie wouldn’t see it if he came in.

“Owen? You here?” Charlie called, and Owen dragged you into the closet, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Shh.” Owen whispered. You tried to hide your smile.

“I didn’t say anything.” You told him, and he rolled his eyes playfully. The door to Owen’s room opened and the two of you froze, bodies pressed together.

“God I hope that’s your phone pressed against my leg.” You whispered after a moment. Owen pulled a face in the darkness.

“Uh... no.” He replied, and you giggled awkwardly.

“Don’t laugh, this isn’t funny.” He whined.

“It is funny. We’re trapped in your closet waiting for Charlie to leave and you still manage to be turned on?” You questioned with a giggle

“I can’t help it when someone as attractive as you is pressed up against me. Plus you don’t have a shirt on so...” He trailed off.

“Oh yeah?” You pressed yourself against his body more forcefully. Owen groaned quietly.

“Fuck, stop it.” He muttered. You smirked.

“No.” You whispered, and Owen placed his hands on your waist.

“Y/N...” His voice was low, and just the sound of it sent flutters through your stomach.

“Owen...” You replied just as quietly. “Before you ask, I’m not gonna fuck you in a closet.”

“Why not?” He whined. You rolled your eyes.

“You shouldn’t even have to ask that question.”

The front door slammed shut and Owen let out a sigh of relief, pushing open the closet door. You stepped past him and made your way over to the bed, Pulling your shirt back on before sitting down to pull your shoes on.

“Wait where are you going?” He questioned, pouting.

“Back to set, I have a job to do, remember?” You reminded him, tying your laces on your left shoe before reaching for the right.

“Can’t you call in sick?” He tried. You raised an eyebrow.

“From my lunch break?” He shrugged.

“Food poisoning?”

“Owen.” You gave him a look and he groaned, flopping onto the bed.

“Fine. But what am I supposed to do about this?” He motioned towards his crotch. You stood up, grabbing your phone, and walked towards the door, pausing before you exited the room.

“You have a hand. Use it.” And with that, you left.

+1. Owen and Charlie’s Kitchen

It was a day off from filming so you decided to have a lazy day. It was almost lunch time when you woke up, and you would have slept longer if it wasn’t for your phone ringing obnoxiously from its spot on your nightstand.

You rolled over, grabbing the phone and answered without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” You spoke, voice full of sleep.

“Good morning, Charlie has gone for a hike, wanna come over?” Owen’s voice came through the phone.

“Sure, why not. Give me half an hour to have a shower and get changed.” You replied, already climbing out of bed. Owen cheered causing you to smile slightly.

“Awesome, I’ll see you in half an hour.” He said. “And don’t eat anything.”

“Okay.” You replied, and before you could even say goodbye he had hung up. You rolled your eyes, throwing your phone back onto the bed and grabbing a simple outfit of a crop t-shirt and shorts out of your wardrobe, before heading into the bathroom to get ready.

25 minutes later you were knocking on the door of Owen and Charlie’s apartment. The door opened, revealing a shirtless Owen, and you had to stop yourself from checking him out as he let you in.

“Any reason why I wasn’t allowed to eat?” You questioned, following him down the hall into the kitchen.

“Because, I thought we could make pancakes together.” He gestured to the pile of ingredients sitting on the counter.

“How domestic. Didn’t realise we had become a married couple.” You teased, and he blushed slightly.

“I just thought it would be fun.” He defended, and you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It will be. And delicious.” You agreed.

He grinned, grabbing the ingredients.

“Let’s get started then.”

Somehow you found yourself sitting on the counter, eating the batter while Owen cooked the pancakes.

“There!” Owen exclaimed, flipping the last pancake onto the plate he had gotten out. “All done.”

He turned to face you, his smile turning into a look of concentration.

“You have a little something...” He said, positioning himself between your legs. You paused, waiting for him to move. Slowly he lifted his hand, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Much better.” He muttered. The two of you were still, a stand off to see who would make the first move. You leaned in slowly, connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

It was as if the first brush of your lips opened the floodgates. Owen grabbed onto your thighs, dragging you forward, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, the pancakes long forgotten.

You tangled your hands through his hair, moaning slightly when you felt his hands on your ass, and he took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even hear the front door open.

“Hey Owen, I forgot my-” Charlie’s voice came, stopping abruptly as he took in the scene in front of him.

Owen stepped away from you quickly, but even if Charlie hadn’t seen you kissing, it was obvious what the two of you had been up to.

No one blinked. Finally, Owen broke the silence.

“You were meant to be hiking all day.” He said, somewhat defensively.

“I forgot my phone, so I came back for it. I figured you’d be on the couch where I left you. I didn’t realise you’d be...” He stopped, focusing his attention on you. “Hi Y/N.”

You waved awkwardly.

“So...” Charlie looked between you and Owen. “Am I pretending I didn’t see this, or...” He trailed off.

You and Owen shared a look before nodding.

“Just for now, at least.” You said, and Charlie nodded.

“Got it. Well, have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Oh, and if you have sex on the kitchen counter please clean it afterwards. I eat off that thing.” He winked at Owen and before either of you could respond he had left the room.

“Sorry about him.” Owen sighed slightly.

“You didn’t know he’d leave his phone. Besides, now we can hang out here together and not have to worry about Charlie walking in on something he doesn’t know about.” You replied, and Owen grinned, leaning in to kiss you again.

You had just started to find a rhythm in kissing again when a cleared throat broke you apart.

“Dude!” Owen exclaimed, glaring at Charlie who was leaning against the wall, grinning cheekily.

“Just wanted to say goodbye. And warn you that I’ll be back at 3, so make sure any... activities-” He winked suggestively. “Are done by then.”

“Get out.” Owen glared at him. Charlie grinned, turning to leave quickly.

“Bye Y/N!” He called back as he left.

“Bye.” You called, giggling slightly.

Owen rolled his eyes as the front door shut behind Charlie. Focusing his attention back on you he smiled slightly.

“Now where were we?” He questioned, pulling you back in and connecting your lips again.

And if you did end up having sex on the kitchen counter, Charlie would never have to know.

#owen joyner #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner smut #not really smut #more implied smut #julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie #owen joyner x reader #reader insert

661 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

The Masks We Wear

Warnings: non-consent sex, depression, suicide, self-harm, drugging, overdose. If you don’t like any of these themes, do not keep reading. For real, it’s hidden under a keep reading link so you can check out now. Take care of yourselves, my dudes.

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: You find yourself at the end of your rope but someone unexpected picks up the other end.

Note: I wrote this for me and I won’t apologize for that. I love a sweet Steve that turns slowly. Heed the warnings.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You stared at the number. The digits slowly punched into your phone glaring back at you. Your finger hovered over the icon that would connect the call. The screen blurred in your vision as the tears rose again.

Had it really come to this?

You had to call. You knew that. If you didn’t…

You hit call and raised the phone shakily to your ear. You hugged your legs as you sat on the floor against the side of the couch. You still wore your work uniform, a navy shirt and dark pants. You played with your name tag as you waited for the line to pick up.

"You have reached the National Crisis Lifeline. If you are in emotional distress or suicidal crisis or are concerned about someone who might be, we're here to help. Please remain on the line while we route your call to the nearest crisis center in our network." The automated voice recited the greeting as you unclipped the tag and set it on the arm of the couch behind your head.

It wasn't too late to hang up. To suck it up. You could help yourself. You were an adult. So why was it that you couldn't put the phone down?

"Hello, my name's Steve. Who am I talking to today?" The voice was placid, calm. You were thankful not to be met with the usual, fake, chipper customer service voice.

"Uh," you uttered. You stared at the window across from you and blinked. "Um, um, um."

"Take a breath," the voice was male; soothing. "Whenever you're ready."

You inhaled and closed your eyes. You bent your elbow over your knees and dropped your head. You said your name and sniffed. " I don't know why I called."

"We don't have to talk about why you called. We can just talk." He offered.

You cleared your throat and wiggled your nose as you felt more tears prick at your eyes. "I don't have much to talk about. I work, I come home, I sleep, rinse, repeat. Even when I have free time I got… nothing. No one."

"You don't have family?" He asked.

"Not that I talk to."

"Hmm, have you ever thought of reaching out to co-workers? You already spend hours with them."

"Most of them are kids. College freshman who'd rather do anything else than hang with me." You sat up and leaned your head against the couch. "I'm a thirty-year-old loser. I work retail and eat ramen for dinner. I may as well burn my degrees… maybe along with this damn box I live in."

He said your name, gently. "I want you to take another breath and then tell me three good things about your life. Just three. It can be something that happened today, it can be something you own, it can be something you like about yourself, or even something you can do tomorrow to look forward to."

You scoffed and shook your head. He repeated your name and you swallowed your resent.

"Alright," you took a breath, "I have a roof over my head."

"Good."

"I… I made a woman happy today by finding her a gift for her daughter."

"Mhmm."

"And… and I still have some of my favourite tea left."

"Amazing. See?"

"I guess but… but these things are so small and it's always the same. Nothing ever changes. Nothing's going to change and nothing is going to get better."

"Change is small, like those things, so sometimes it's harder to see those changes."

You were silent. Tired.

"I want to ask you something, okay? You don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable."

"Alright?" You shrugged.

"Have you ever hurt yourself or thought of hurting yourself?"

The question made you squirm. The tears finally broke through and trickled down your cheeks.

"Yes… but it's better than hurting someone else, isn't it?"

"No, because you're still hurting someone. In fact, you're hurting the most important person in your life. Right?"

You were quiet again. You wiped away your tears and leaned your chin in your hand.

"Sure."

"I want you to do something for me. Actually for yourself, okay? I want you to go get some of that tea and make yourself a cup. Then I want you to drink it slow and enjoy it. Every last sip."

"What?" You snorted.

"I want you to make it a habit. Every day I want you to do one nice thing for yourself."

"It's just tea."

"What kind of tea is it?"

”It's this blueberry lemon stuff I found down at the market. Nothing special."

"That sounds delicious." He said. "Where are you right now? Are you sitting? Standing?"

"I'm sitting by my couch. On the floor."

”Alright, baby steps. Stand up.”

You huffed but did as he said. "Okay?"

”Now, let's go to the kitchen.”

Again, you obliged him.

”Now, let's get the kettle on and a mug.”

”Alright," you grumbled and took out everything you needed as he listened from the other end, ”Alright, it's all good to go.”

”And what are you thinking about?”

"The tea?" You said dumbly.

"And? Anything else?"

"No. Just…"

"When you get frustrated with standing still, it's not about making big leaps. It's about the small things. So don't think about what's happened or what's going to happen. Think about what you can do now. Think about the present and what you can do to make it a little better for yourself.”

You frowned. He was making sense. You hadn't been worried about your wasted years in university or the angry customers on your horizon, you had been thinking about the tea and what mug to use. All that stuff didn't matter in that moment.

"You said you're Steve?” You asked.

”Yes,” he answered softly.

”Thank you. I… I'm sorry if I wasted your time."

"You didn't. You're not.” He assured you. ”We can keep talking if you like.”

"No, no, I think… I'll enjoy my tea and you can help someone else."

"Alright, but will you do me another favour?"

"Um, sure?" You watched the kettle, a long way from whistling.

"I work every Tuesday and Thursday after six. Will you call me next week? I'll give you my extension. Just let me know you're okay and how the tea was, okay?"

"I…” you rubbed your chin and turned to lean on the counter, "yeah, I'll call."

📞

You decided to call Steve on Tuesday. The same nerve-wracking wait before the line picked up and you quickly punched in the extension he gave you. There was a beep as you were held on call waiting and you fiddled with the edge of the notebook where you'd written down his information.

He picked up after two minutes. The same greeting as before.

"It's me." You gave your name and winced as you wondered if he even remembered you.

"Hey," he said smoothly, "Good to hear from you. Did you have a tea today?

"Um, now, I just got home."

"Well, did you do anything nice for yourself?"

"...no." You admitted.

"Well, then go make a tea and tell me everything else you've done this week to be good to yourself."

"I…” you stood stiffly and went to the kitchen. "I haven't… I went to the park on my day off," You filled the kettle and put it on the stove, "But I've been working mostly."

"That's it?"

"I've been busy," you said.

"You don't have five minutes for you?" He asked doubtfully. "You gotta make the time. Even if it's just five minutes to sit down and clear your head."

You opened the cupboard and stared at the line of mugs, each one different than the last.

"Steve…" you said carefully, "What do you do when you're not doing… this?"

"Tell me what you do and I'll tell you." He countered.

You sighed and grabbed the mug shaped like a teddy bear. " I work at a clothes shop. I know, it's exciting."

"What kind of clothes do you sell?" He asked.

"I don't know… mostly, uh, business stuff." You placed the cup down and fished out the blueberry tea. "I sell clothes to people with more important jobs."

"Your job is important. You help people. You told me yourself last week. You know, I help people too. How we help isn't as important as the fact that we do help."

You rubbed your chin as you fingered the chip along the handle of the mug. "How exactly do you help people, then?"

"Well, I do this," He answered, "And I work security."

"Security? Like at a bank or something?"

"Or something," He replied, "So, did you just call to tell me you're okay or did you wanna talk about it?"

"I told you, not much changes." You muttered.

"It will once you take my advice. One thing a day. Got it?" He urged. "I want you to start by going to the market tomorrow and getting yourself a new flavour of tea."

"I gotta work," you bemoaned.

"Five minutes on your way home," he said, "we're not looking for the perfect tea, just something new. Then you call me and tell me if it's any good."

"I thought… I thought you didn't work Wednesdays."

"You're right," he chuckled as if he hadn't realised. "Tell you what, I'll give you my number and you text me. Every time you do something for you, let me know… and if you don't, I'll remind you. Deal?"

"I… I don't know." You picked at your nail as you held your phone between your shoulder and ear.

"One text a day. That's all." He said. "Wouldn't hurt to have someone on your side, would it?"

"I g-guess," You stuttered as you caught your phone before it could slip. "I'll get a pen."

📞

The texts were small at first. ‘Had a tea’, ‘started a new book’, ‘read a chapter on my way to work’, or ‘bought a piece of cake on my lunch’. Each one seemed more absurd than the last but after a few weeks it became a habit. Steve nearly always responded quickly, just a few encouraging words but it made the days easier. It made life easier even when the big things got you down.

It was your day off. You took on a few extra hours the week before so you decided to go out for your treat that day. You went about your routine slowly, not your usual frantic I gotta catch the train pace. You preened yourself and pulled out a pair of pale jeans and a knit sweater. You tucked your feet into your comfy sneakers and headed out with your purse and headphones.

You would take a long walk through the park then sneak out the east gates to grab something special from the coffee place just across the street. Then you would head back and enjoy the scenery as you sipped at whatever overpriced concoction you settled on.

It was the early days of fall. The warm air was undercut with a cool breeze; an omen of the seasons to come. You put one earbud in and tucked your hands in your pocket as you walked along the winding path. The leaves were still green and lush and the air smelled of pollen. You stopped on the small bridge that crossed the small creek at the centre of the park.

You continued on and checked the time. It didn’t matter, you had the whole day to yourself. Like Steve said, think about now, not then, not later.

You came out onto the New York sidewalk and neared the curb. You looked both ways before dodging between the stagnant traffic and hopped up onto the pavement on the other side. You neared the short iron fence that edged the patio of the coffee shop and joined the queue of people as you looked over the menu.

Hmm, a rose-infused latte was different. You’d never thought of flowers in your tea but you never were overly creative. You ordered, the largest size despite your troublesome bladder, and waited for your turn to grab your cup from the ledge. It was busy that day and you hid against the wall to keep out of the way of others.

Your name was called and you grabbed your cup. You went to a table and slid your phone from your pocket. You snapped a frame of the drink and typed beneath it before you hit send. ‘Today’s little thing is actually a large :)’.

You pushed your phone back into your pocket and wove your wait to the exit. You were stopped as your name was called for a second time. You turned as a blonde haired man neared you. He was oddly familiar. Startlingly, actually.

Steve Rogers was calling your name. Not such a strange sight in the city but you’d never chanced to see him beyond a television screen or magazine cover.

“Hey, what are the odds?” He showed you the phone in his hand; the picture of your drink stared back at you. “I never thought--” He smiled. “Oh, this is weird, isn’t it?”

“Steve?” Your eyes were round and your mouth fell open. “You’re… oh, wow, I…”

Someone else called his name and he peeked over his shoulder. “I’m up. Would you… would you wait for me?”

You nodded dumbly and watched him stride through the crowd to take his coffee from the counter. He gave a thanks and dropped a large tip into the jar. You watched in shock, barely stepping out of the way of another customer.

He passed through the opening of the fence and neared again. You snapped your mouth shut and swallowed. Your mouth was dry but the steam rising from the cup warned you it was too hot.

“How… how did you know it was me?” You asked.

“Well, I heard your name and then saw you with your phone and uh, well, the message was just confirmation of my suspicions, really.” He grinned. “Which way you heading?”

“Um, I came through the park,” You pointed across the street. “Probably not your neighbourhood.”

“I can make a detour,” He waved you towards the street and you hid behind a car as you waited to cross.

He stepped out first and caught your hand before you could fall behind. He pulled you to the other side and you nearly stumbled onto the curb.

“Sorry,” he let go suddenly, “You know New York drivers.”

“No, it’s… fine,” You walked beside him as he neared the archway that fronted that end of the park. “I’m just… I’m gonna be honest I’m a bit shocked right now.”

“I know it’s weird and a bit… unethical. At the centre, we’re not supposed to associate with callers outside but… it’s all just a happy coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I, uh, suppose,” you lifted the cup and inhaled the sweet aroma of sugared petals, “but I’d hate to get you in trouble.”

“Nah, it’s fine, if you don’t tell, I won’t.”

“I… can delete your number.” You offered, “You didn’t have to--”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He eschewed, “It’s fine. I just… you didn’t seem to like calling the hotline but I didn’t want you to get lost in the shuffle.”

You chewed your lip and played with the strap of your purse. You let out a breath, heavy and anxious. You’d never expected to meet Steve. More so, you didn’t expect him to be THE Steve Rogers. You had spilled out your ridiculous insecurities to him. God, he must have thought you were so pathetic.

“I’m fine,” you said, “I would’ve… been fine. I was just in a bad spot.”

“So…” He walked close to you. His cologne smelled of sandalwood. “How’s work?”

“It’s work,” you shrugged, “Wait, you said you did security. Jesus!”

“Well, I do, in a sense,” he chuckled, “You know they really don’t encourage me telling people I’m an avenger at the centre. It kinda shifts the attention in the wrong direction.”

“Hmm, I guess it would,” you muttered, “Well, thank you, for all your help. Really, you have helped.”

“I never expected… I don’t know what I expected,” he went on, “how I pictured you. I just didn’t-- Not that-- I don’t mean...”

He shut up and cringed. He looked around at the trees and let out a sigh.

“You’re right, this isn’t a little thing,” he mused, “it’s beautiful out here.”

“Yeah,” you said rigidly and raised your cup to your lips and tasted the foam, “I guess I’m just happy it isn’t raining on my day off.”

📞

Steve walked you to the other side of the park and you left him there. You finished your latte in the block before your apartment. You were still shaken from the meeting. The chance of such an encounter was so vast you hadn’t even thought of it. You had built yourself up to talk to a stranger on the phone and leave it at that, not to face him and your problems all in one. You were embarrassed despite Steve’s friendliness. You couldn’t help but feel the taint of pity.

You tried to leave your shame on the street. You went up to your apartment and slid the chain into place. You turned on some music and did your leftover dishes, a sense of accomplishment as you wiped down the counters afterward. The rest of the day was yours to do with as you wished. But you were restless. The feeling that made you want to pace and chew your nails.

You flipped on the television and opened your phone to stream some mindless video from Youtube. You settled on a compilation of clips from a reality show and slumped onto the couch. As you laid back, your phone shook your hand and a notification flashed across the top.

‘Hope you got home safe.’ Steve’s message disappeared just as you read it. You pulled down the status bar and hit the bubble to open the chat.

‘I did. Thanks. Funny running into you. Hope the rest of your day is good.’ The message was clunky and awkward. The whole thing was weird and you just wanted to forget about the run-in.

‘So what else are you doing on your day off?’ His next message made your phone buzz and you blinked at it. He never really said much in return, just things like ‘that’s awesome’ or a few emojis. You thought of how excited he had been to see you. You were sure he talked to hundreds of people so why?

‘Watching TV’, you answered and put your phone down on your stomach. You tried to focus on the television but your phone rattled again.

‘I don’t want to overstep but can I ask you something?’ You were on edge as you read the message three times over.

‘Okay.’

‘You think you might want to get coffee again next week?’

You hesitated. Was he asking you out? No, that couldn’t be it. Was he merely checking in to make himself feel better? That was a better explanation. Believable. You let the screen turn black and thought. You could say no. Probably should.

You unlocked the phone as you heart pumped in your chest. It was Steve Rogers. What harm was there in saying yes? Maybe, for once, you would actually make a friend.

📞

You met at the same coffee shop. This time you sat down and got a scone with your tea. Steve got a coffee and nothing else. It seemed an afterthought as he only watched you pick at the crumbly dessert.

“Are you okay?” He asked as you sipped from your tea.

“Yeah, just… I’m sorry, I’m just a quiet person.” You shied away.

“That’s fine,” he said, “I understand, you don’t talk to many people outside work.”

You frowned and sat back. He was right but it didn’t make the truth easier to hear. You nodded and shrugged.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I guess I have the same problem, you know. I spend most of my time with my team members or talking to the press.” He rested his hand around his mug. “It’s nice to have someone who isn’t tied up in all of that.”

“I mean… I’m just… me.” You ran your nail down the side of your cup.

“And? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I think you’re too hard on yourself.” He insisted.

“Well, you barely know me,” you countered.

“I don’t? How many people know about the dark times? How many people do you let know?” He asked.

“It’s not… it’s not their business.” You crumpled the napkin and tossed it on the empty plate.

“It might help if you opened up more. You said you were lonely--”

“I was having a bad day,” You snapped. “Steve, I don’t… I didn’t come here to talk about all of that.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Because you asked me to.”

“And why do you think I asked you?”

You shrugged and crossed your arms.

“I asked you because I see what you can’t.” He said evenly. “You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re beautiful to be completely honest, and you won’t let yourself see it because the world hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows for you.”

“I-- I--” You sputtered and looked around. “No.” You stood and gathered up your dishes. “I gotta go.”

“You’re doing it right now,” He stood too and blocked your way, “Trying to run from the little bit of good.”

“I don’t know you. The only reason we ever met is because I was going to--” You gulped, unable to force the words out. “I think this was a mistake.”

You pushed past him and planted your dishes on the counter. You stormed out as Steve followed and the door jingled behind you. He trailed you across the patio and onto the sidewalk. He caught your arm and pulled you back.

“I’m trying to help you,” he hissed.

“I don’t need you to save me, Captain,” You yanked your arm away. “I’m not one of your missions.”

His brows drew together and his lips turned down. He had never looked anything but happy, neutral at worst.

“Fine, go,” He threw up his hand, “But I’ll be around if you need me. When you need me.”

You spun and stomped away from him. You were humiliated, assured of your worst suspicions. You were a pet project to him. He was trying to fix you. Another rescue mission for the First Avenger. Next time, you would listen to your gut and say no.

📞

Work. Again. It was dead and Marcy, your manager had you dusting the racks for the fifth time that day. You dragged the duster over the already shining rod that held hangers of dress shirts. You felt your phone vibrate and ignored it. Likely just another reminder to claim your daily prize in that stupid word game.

You kept on as you were, staring out the windows of the store front onto the shining street. Your phone buzzed again and you peeked over at Marcy. She was reading one of her novellas behind the large counter. She never hid it very well but really didn’t seem to care either.

You slid your phone out and moved onto the next rack. It had been over a week since Steve had messaged you. He had tried several times after the tense coffee date but had given up at your silence.

‘How are you?’ He asked as if you hadn’t been ignoring him. You pushed the phone back in your pocket and it vibrated for a third time. You should just block him already. You took it back out and ready the next message. ‘I know you’re working but you can answer me.’

You squeezed the phone and blacked the screen. You put it away and returned to your futile dusting. The door opened as you neared it and you stopped short as one of the only customers of the day stepped inside. You gaped as Steve looked around with a grin.

You heard Marcy clear her throat and you looked over at her. You shifted on your feet and lowered the duster.

“Hello, sir. Welcome to Silkz, how can I help you today?” Your throat was tight as he focused on you.

“You know, I need a gift for… a friend but she’s a bit hard to please.” He said.

“Oh,” Your lip twitched as you tried to smile. Marcy was always nagging you for your resting bitch face. “Well, what were you thinking, sir? A scarf? Some jewelry?”

“Maybe a dress. I always tell her she needs to change things up and I think it would be a good switch up.” He replied and stepped a little closer.

“Over here,” You said abruptly and backed up as you waved to the wall behind you. “This is our new collection. Lots of reds this fall.”

You glanced at Marcy as she smiled primly and her eyes fell back to her tale of romance. Steve followed you closely as you touched a long-sleeved burgundy dress with a pleated skirt.

“This should be plain enough that it should fit anyone’s taste. Of course without being too plain.” You offered. “Did you know what size you would need?”

“Oh, she’s about your size,” Steve said, “And I was thinking something less… well something with more skin.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to keep your distance from him and found a dress in a lighter shade of red with cutouts at the sides and a slimmer silhouette. You grabbed it and held it almost like a shield. He barely even looked at it.

“I’m sure it will look wonderful on her,” he remarked, “Can you show me the jewelry? I might get her something to go with it.”

The jewelry stand was in the other corner. Far from Marcy as she kept to one side of the counter and hunched over her book. You rounded a table of folded slacks and led him to the rack. He followed and stopped beside you as he took a necklace with a feather ornament and pretended to look at it.

“You haven’t been answering me,” he said under his breath.

“Yeah, might be a hint,” you retorted, “what are you doing here?”

“Checking in. Making sure you’re okay… since no one else knows how you can get.”

“Do you realise how fucked up this is?” You hissed. “I… You can’t bring those things up.”

“You won’t. You can’t outrun it forever. I see it in you. You told me yourself. You’re desperate for a change.” He hung the necklace again. “I can change everything for you.”

“What do you want?”

He looked down and took a bracelet from the rack; a silver band with a red rose ornament. He held it out to you. “I want a change too.”

You took the bracelet and backed away with the dress folded over your arm. “Is that everything?” You said loudly.

“For now,” he answered as he kept close and you kept away by rounding the other side of the counter, “I think she’ll love it… it’ll look great on her.”

“I’m sure it will,” you said as you scanned the items. “How are you paying, sir?”

📞

The rest of your day dragged by. There were no distractions to keep you from thinking of your run in with Steve. It was as if he had flipped a switch. No long the cheerful, concerned man, there was something sinister behind his otherwise caring words. The way he’d watched you, followed you so closely, the mere tone of his voice. He was angry and you couldn’t help but feel you had asked for it.

You left reluctantly as Marcy locked up. You caught the train, watching over your shoulder. You had never told Steve where exactly you worked, you realised as you swayed with the movement of the subway. There were dozens of clothing stores in the city, how had found yours?

You got off and climbed the steps to your apartment. Would it be too much to file a report? He hadn’t done anything but bought some merchandise from the store you happened to work in. But he had offered his number to a caller at the centre and he had pursued her beyond that. Yet, you had agreed to it all.

You were, as ever, so stupid.

You stepped off at your floor and your hands fumbled with your keys. You couldn’t calm down. There was something so off about all of it. Steve showing up, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. You pushed inside and swung the door shut before you could process what awaited you within.

Steve leaned against the back of your couch, arms crossed, as he watched you expectantly. Your hand lingered on the door and he shoved himself away from the sofa. He tutted his warning.

“You won’t make it down the hall but I don’t mind a chase.” He sneered. “You’ve already taken me on one, haven’t you?”

“I don’t--Steve… whatever it is you think…”

“I think I’ve only tried to help you. I think you just like to be the way you are. Low, sad, pathetic. I can make you more.” He neared and you pressed yourself to the door. “I will make you more. I will make you happy.”

“Please,” you whimpered as he took your purse from you and placed it on the table beside the door.

“Shhh,” he ran his fingers along your cheek, “You know what they always told us at the crisis center; you gotta hit bottom before you can lift yourself up.”

You shuddered as he dragged his thumb across your lip.

“This is your bottom, sweetie.” His hand dropped to your shoulder and ran down your arm. He took your hand and pulled you away from the door.

He led you around the couch and sat, taking you with him. You tugged against his grasp and he squeezed your hand painfully.

“Sweetie, I just got us a nice bottle of wine.” He smiled. “Take a breath, have a glass, relax. We’re going to figure this all out. Together.”

Your lip trembled as your thoughts bloomed all once; the confusion, the fear, the despair bubbled up and left you speechless. He replaced his hand with a glass of wine and held your fingers around it. He let go gently and you held onto the glass if only to keep from falling apart entirely.

“Go on, have a drink.” He urged.

You looked at the dark red alcohol. You were never much of a drinker. Your father had been a lush. Your heart sank as you found it impossible to move. He pressed two fingers to the base and pushed it up until the rim was at your lips. You drank and he tipped the glass until you emptied it. When he let you lower it, you were dizzy and your stomach burned.

You placed the glass down and fell back against the couch. You touched your hot cheeks and he leaned in as he watched you. “The alcohol will add to the effect but I’ll call someone before it’s too late.”

“Effect? What?” You touched your forehead and your lashes fluttered. You tried to breathe away the wine but the spinning only got worse. “What did you do?”

Your vision was blurry as you looked over at him. He put his phone to his ear as his other hand rested on your thigh. “Hello? Yes, I need- I need help.” His voice was frantic, perfectly believable. “My girlfriend, she-- she’s passed out. I found her on the floor… I think she took something. Please, I can’t get her to wake up.”

He played the part so well you even believed him as you were drawn deeper and deeper into the void. Your eyes rolled back as you heard him give your address and you slumped against the arm of the couch. Your limbs were heavy, your head heavier. You couldn’t resist the warmth that surrounded you.

📞

You woke up to steady beeping. The sterile smell of the hospital made your nostrils dry and you groaned as you fought to open your eyes. Your entire being hurt; inside and out. The bright lights made your head throb and a figure beside you moved closer. Your vision cleared slowly as you looked at Steve and he took your hand in his.

“I’ll get the nurse, sweetie,” He said. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Wha-- St--” Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

He left you and returned with a woman in green scrubs. She made a note on your chart and looked at the machines you were attached to. She was gone just as quickly and left you with Steve who once more clung to your hand.

“I’m here for you, sweetie. We’ll get through this together?”

“What… what did…” You mumbled, “what did you do?”

“I saved you,” he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Alright,” The doctor swept through the open door, “Now, it’s good to see you stable, miss. That was a close one.”

“I--” You blinked as you tried to pull your hand from Steve’s but were too weak to do more than moan.

“We’ve managed to flush the drugs out of your system and your vitals have returned to normal. It is hospital policy to keep you under surveillance for three days but given Mr. Rogers’ crisis training and reputation, we feel it in everyone’s interest to release you to him.” The doctor explained. “We’ve explained to him the precautions to be taken and you should be confident in your safety under his care. Furthermore, we will have you return for some counselling when you are up to it. Again, you must already be aware that Mr. Rogers is also capable in that aspect.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Steve said as you stared.

“Please,” You said weakly.

“Remember, Mr. Rogers, your check-ins. Every four hours.” The doctor took a paper from his clipboard and handed it to Steve. “She’s lucky to have you.”

The doctor left and you watched helplessly. How could they release you to this stranger? How could they not keep you under their own supervision? Were you just another bed to be freed up?

You grumbled as you tried to sit up and only did so as Steve helped you.

“I’ll get a chair and then we can get you dressed, sweetie,” he said, “you’ll be safe with me.”

📞

The world passed by you as you watched it through a haze. You couldn’t seem to break through the frosted window before you. Steve moved you from the hospital to his car to his building to his bed. You barely recalled any of it as you reclined against the fluffy pillow. You were trapped in a limbo; never quite awake and never quite asleep.

And then you were painfully conscious.

Steve was beside you. The room was yellow with soft sunlight. You felt lighter but not free. A thick arm slung across your middle and he drew you close. He rolled you against him and you pushed against his chest as you faced him. His blue eyes were on you, deep and dusky.

“I called your work. Let them know you were on an indefinite leave.” He bent his arm behind you as he hugged you to him. “Permanent if you want.”

“Steve, what are you doing?” You breathed.

“Changing your life. That’s what you wanted,” he brushed his nose against yours, “you don’t have to work. You can stay here and find your happiness. With me.”

“No, please, Steve…”

“You said you were lonely, you hate your job, that you’re running out of time,” his breath glossed over your lips, “I can fix all that.”

He lifted his head slightly and kissed you. You curled your fingers and clawed his shoulder. He rolled you onto your back as his tongue poked at your lips. You resisted but he was persistent. You let him in and moaned around the intrusion.

He pulled away and framed your face with his hand as he gazed into your eyes. “I meant it when I said you were beautiful,” he purred, “The moment I saw you, even the moment I heard your voice, I knew I needed you. I knew I was the only one who could make you happy.”

“Steve, you don’t know me…” You pushed against him. “You don’t even know me.”

“No one does because you won’t let them,” he traced your hairline with his fingers, “But I’m not going to give up. Ever.”

His hand closed around your chin and he kissed you again. He rocked his body against yours. You wore only a tee shirt and nothing else, the cotton thin between your bodies; his entirely naked, you realised.

His hand slid further down as his lips moved against yours. He pushed his hand beneath your shirt and groped your chest with a hum. You winced and sank your head deep into the pillow as you tried to turn away from him. He circled your nipple with his thumb as his cock twitched against your thigh.

He forced his knee between yours and you gasped as you ripped your lips away from his.

“Steve, what are you-- please.” You begged.

“I just want to love you,” He murmured, “You deserve to be loved.”

His hand crawled down your stomach and nestled between your legs. You flinched and your thighs tensed against him. You wriggled and crashed his lips into yours again. You tried to pull his hand away from you but he was too strong. You suffocated beneath him and against his will.

His fingers slipped along your cunt. It had been more than a year since you’d been touched. It was intoxicating despite your reticence. You shook and as his fingers flicked over your clit and you gasped into his mouth. He rubbed you until your arousal slicked his touch and you grabbed his arm as a tickle spread down your legs.

He turned his hand and pushed his fingers inside of you. He bent them and pressed his hand to your bud. He parted from your lips and rested his cheek against yours. He rocked his hand and the pressure inside of you mounted in his grip. You arched your back and bent your legs around him. You couldn’t resist the sudden flutter deep in your core.

You slapped your hand against his neck and your fingers curved against his skin. You gulped at air as your orgasm rose against your will. Your muscles tightened all at once and the pleasure flooded from you suddenly. You drowned in it and let it carry you away.

Slowly, he removed his hand, leaving a trail over your stomach as he pushed your shirt up. He shifted and his cock prodded your pussy. He prodded your entrance and lined himself up he cupped your breast. He pushed inside a little at a time. Your nails sank deeper into his flesh and your other hand went to his shoulder.

He pushed himself to his limit. You had never felt so full. He tilted his hips and you moaned. You turned your head back and forth as he began to thrust; carefully, decisively. Each time, your voice grew louder.

He caught your chin and kissed you. He planted kisses along your cheek and down your neck as he continued to rock into you. His pace built, little by little, and the bed quaked beneath your bodies. Your hands fell to the pillow and you clenched it as your body melded with his.

You forgot all that had brought you there, the worries that hung over you endlessly, the fears, the doubts. You whined as another orgasm burst within you and you squirming beneath Steve. He grunted as he sped up, fueled by your cries, and pushed himself up as his hips moved against you.

He stared into your eyes as his sweaty blonde hair fell forward and his square jaw clenched. He saw back as he grabbed your hips and tilted you against him. He snarled and his motion turned stunted and strained. He growled through his teeth as he came, his nails cut into your flesh and he filled you with cords of hot cum.

He stilled you and let out a long breath as his shoulder curled forward and he hung his head. He squeezed your hips and caressed your thighs. He lowered himself over you and turned onto his side, keeping you against him as he lingered inside of you.

“I’m happy,” he uttered, “Are you?”

Your lashes fluttered as hot tears rose in your eyes. As reality sunk in like concrete and you stared over his shoulder at the wall. You were numb yet your heart swelled in terror. You nodded as a tear leaked from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you lied.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #marvel #mcu #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #dark!steve rogers x reader #one shot

751 notes · View notes

evanescentjasmine · 4 years

Text

Writing Egypt and Egyptian Characters: Rusty Quill Gaming Edition

I’ve finally caught up with the Cairo arc of Rusty Quill Gaming, which I was anticipating and dreading both. Fiction set in my country usually reduces it to a caricature of itself, especially when it takes place in the Victorian era, but considering everything they’ve said in their metacasts I was hoping Rusty Quill Gaming was the exception.

It wasn’t.

I’m aware the game world plays fast and loose with history and setting, but the problems in this case are more than just inaccuracies. However, because I want to help fic writers and artists be able to portray Hamid and his family well, this resource will be split into two parts. The first part will tackle details I’ve been asked about with regard to the setting; it may touch on things RQG went wrong, but I’m writing it primarily as a resource for artists and writers. The second part will be my criticism of RQG, and why I found the Cairo arc actively harmful. This includes discussions of Orientalism and some racist text.

I should also preface this by saying I’m not a historian. Everything I say in this resource is a combination of what I grew up with and what I remember from school, supplemented by Google and guesswork. I’ll be explaining my thought process throughout, which can help you see what’s actual history and what’s my extrapolation.

Part One: On Egypt

Historical Context:

Figuring out the history of Egypt in RQG terms is a bit complicated, so bear with me because this will take a while.

In real-world history, Egypt was a Roman then Byzantine province from 30 BC to around the mid 600s AD, at which point the Arab conquest swept through and Egypt became Muslim.

What this means is that when the Meritocrats took down Rome and took over the world, Egypt was still a Roman province. That gives us a several hundred year gap before the Arabs that may have maintained the same culture? Or morphed a little back to some pre-Ptolemaic Ancient Egyptian, given their Meritocrat, Apophis, is named after a great Pharaonic serpent?

Either way, given Hamid’s name and the fact they live in Cairo, the city built by the Arabs, we can assume the Arab conquest still happened somehow, despite having a Meritocrat in Egypt. Maybe a Meritocrat out there is Arab and settled in Egypt for a bit with or before Apophis? Maybe it took a couple-hundred years for the Meritocrats to get all the previous Roman areas under control? Maybe there was a whole war and the Arabs won and settled and eventually they got to a truce or got absorbed into Meritocratic lands?

Many Muslim dynasties ruled throughout the period from the mid 600s to the 1500s. Given the lack of Islam in this world, probably the Arabs were unified by some Pre-Islamic deity/deities and brought them over as well, because I refuse to just sweep everything under the broad Greek God rug.

In the 1500s, another Muslim dynasty took over--this time, from outside of the country, which is why it’s considered separate from all the rest. At this point, Egypt became part of the Ottoman Empire until the 1800s, which is when the Mohammed Ali dynasty started to try and secede and rule independently. And there was a brief blip of the French occupation for two years around then as well.

And, of course, we can’t forget about British colonisation, which started in the late 1800s with a veiled protectorate.

Presumably, since France and Britain are also Meritocratic and it seems like Apophis is currently ruling, we can disregard everything from the Ottomans onward. This changes, or should change, a ton, because Ottoman rule informed a lot of things from fashion to slang to nobility and so on.

What we’re left with is most likely a Cairo that is still Arab but with much more Pharaonic influence, as Apophis is in charge, as well as continuing Greek influence due to the Gods. I am not a Coptic Christian, so I cannot speak to how these changes in history and religions would affect the Coptic language and culture, but no doubt it would still be around.

There would also be a bigger, more long-standing connection to other Meritocratic countries. This explains why Hamid was British-educated and so many people speak such good English without a British occupation to create the power disparity that would make that necessary to rise in Egypt and such a mark of status.

However, this presents several confusing and contradictory aspects of the world building:

Why doesn’t this go both ways? Why aren’t there people in England and France who know Arabic or are influenced by Egypt? All we get is that the Tahan family are big. That’s it. If these countries are equals, it sure doesn’t look like it.

If Apophis is pharaonic and Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous...why would they hollow out a pyramid to put a bank inside? It’s a tomb. It’s made to bury dead kings in a way that follows possibly still-existing cultural and religious beliefs. It’s the equivalent of someone building a bank inside a mausoleum. It’s bizarre.

Relatedly, if Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous, why is Carter mentioning the Rosetta Stone? Why would the knowledge necessary to translate hieroglyphics have been lost?

I mention these questions so fic writers can keep them in mind while writing and, of course, it’s entirely possible to create a workaround. For example, maybe the Rosetta Stone is supposed to be translating something else, like an ancient hidden magic?

Describing Cairo:

I want to make one thing very clear: Cairo is not, despite Alex’s description, like Vegas. While we do certainly have hotels and casinos, to reduce the city to only that is very harmful for reasons I’ll go into at the end of this resource.

Cairo is a very old city with a mix of architectural styles and is very heavily Muslim in real life. In Arabic, its tagline is often “city of a thousand minarets,” so clearly RQG Cairo will be fairly different. Given Apophis’ influence, Ancient Egyptian styles might be more prevalent in Cairo, but very likely not in the form of pyramids unless those pyramids were for the dead. In real life, some buildings do incorporate Ancient Egyptian flavour, usually just in the form of lotus columns or hieroglyphs. These would only be found in public institutions, however, or, frankly, tourist-bait.

Residential buildings tend to be clustered very close together and, since it’s an old city, streets are crowded and winding as the city keeps building on itself and spilling out of its previous bounds. Estates do, of course, exist, but I’d suggest against using Bryn’s example of Alhambra as a setting for the Tahan home. Alhambra is a palace fortress in Spain and, although it’s Andalusian and therefore influenced by Muslim architecture, it’s very different than anything in Egypt. It’s as absurd as saying a posh British character lives in a house that’s basically Versailles and leaving it there. I’ve included images of some Egyptian residential estates below, all from the 1800s to early 1900s.

And here are some photos of Cairo in the 1800s:

As you can see, not quite Vegas.

A fic set in Cairo can certainly still have the Cairo strip with all the casinos, since that’s an aspect of canon, but a place like that would probably be geared more to tourists and foreigners than locals. So long you’re aware of this while writing, and that Cairo would exist beyond it, you should be fine. It might also be worth having characters explore the actual city.

Weather:

The stereotype is that Egypt is just hot and sand year-round. It isn’t. The further south you go, the hotter it will get, so that Upper Egypt (which is in the south, yeah), is hotter than Lower Egypt, which is where Cairo and Alexandria are. Alexandria, by virtue of being on the Mediterranean, has fairly cold (for us) and rainy winters and mild, humid summers. Cairo gets very occasional rain and has harsher summers but is also dryer.

And, of course, a thing to remember is that even in the depths of the desert, the morning might be quite warm but the night will be quite cold as well.

Sandstorm season (called khamaseen) takes place from April - May but in the middle of Cairo it’s more of an annoyance than anything else.

Language:

Since they speak Arabic, it’s important to note that spoken Egyptian Arabic is very different from written Classical Arabic. Egyptian is a mishmash of Arabic, Coptic, a bit of Greek, and a bit of French (and, in the real world, some Turkish too) all smashed together. Accents differ from city to city, and Cairene Arabic is best known for the fact we pronounce the letter jeem as geem (so all soft Gs are turned into hard Gs) and tend to replace the letter qaf with a glottal stop.

This means that a Cairene wouldn’t be called Jamal, they’d be Gamal. A Cairene would pronounce burqa as bur’a.

Since religion plays a big part in language, RQG Egyptian Arabic may be a bit different. For instance, the greeting most people associate with Arabic is “Assalam alaykum” but that’s very specifically Muslim or at least associated with Islam, and might not have been as wide-spread given...y’know, that Islam doesn’t exist. I’m not saying it’s incorrect to use, just explaining the context.

Alternatives could include “Sabah/masa’ el-kheir” which means “Good morning/evening,” and “Naharak/Naharik saeed” which is, “May you have a good day.”

Fashion:

Although this didn’t really feature in RQG, I’ve received a lot of questions about the period’s fashion and honestly it’s my favourite thing ever so I probably would have touched on it anyway. I’ll only go into broad strokes, as there are plenty of regional variations and, again, I’m no expert

Women

Egyptian women covered their heads and sometimes their faces not out of religiosity but out of a cultural expectation of modesty. This may well have come about as a result of the Arab/Muslim cultural majority, as to my knowledge this wasn’t the case in the Greek and Roman periods, but women of all religions covered their heads so that would likely still be the case in RQG’s Arab Egypt.

This isn’t with the hijab we know today. It may have been a cloth or kerchief tied over their heads and then the melaya laf (which is larger cloth, almost a sheet) that they wrap around themselves and over their head, as follows:

The black face-covering was called a burqa or bur’a (not the same as a Muslim burqa, which serves similar modesty functions but is a separate thing) or a yashmak and may have been opaque black, white, or netted, such as in this picture:

Underneath the melaya they would be wearing a long, loose, patterned dress:

Upper class Egyptian women tended to wear Western dresses with a white yashmak that covered their faces and heads. A yashmak is Turkish, however, and without Ottoman influence this style and name might not have caught on in Egypt.

Men

While the melaya laf and yashmak have disappeared from Egypt, the traditional men’s gallabeya and ammama, or turban, are still seen widely today. The gallabeya (or jellabiya, outside of Cairene Arabic) is a long, loose garment with wide sleeves and no collar. It’s in muted, neutral colours, usually lighter ones like white or beige in the summer and navy blue or grey in the winter. You’ll have seen examples of it in the pictures of Cairo above, and here’s another one:

Middle to upper class men and civil servants, however, tended to wear English suits with a tarboosh, or fez. Since fezzes were also a result of Ottoman rule, RQG Egyptians might not wear them.

And yes, impressive moustaches were also very much the fashion.

Names:

The running joke is that Hamid’s name is unnecessarily long, but my name is longer, and I don’t think that’s particularly unusual. We don’t usually go around introducing ourselves with all of them, admittedly, and I’m not sure whether Hamid does this as a way to indicate he’s overly fancy or because Bryn doesn’t realise it, but four names is not long. My ID boasts five, and I know of at least one more.

Arabic naming conventions use patronymics for all children, regardless of gender. What this means is that my name and my brother’s name is identical except for our first.

Mine is Jasmine + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name

And my brother is also First name + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name.

Egyptians do not typically have last names, but an important family may all choose to identify under a name and use that as their last, such as the Tahans. In my case, I use my fifth name as my last name and introduce myself in everyday life as Jasmine Fifth Name. Notably, my brother does not, and goes by First name + Dad’s name instead. This isn’t unusual. On paperwork, however, we still have the same name.

Additionally, Egyptian women do not take their husbands’ last names in marriage, nor do children take any of her names.

I’m not sure why, according to the wiki, Hamid’s sisters seem to have taken their mother’s name. Following Arabic naming conventions, they would all be First Name Saleh Haroun al Tahan, and their father would be Saleh Haroun al Tahan. A possible workaround might be that halflings have their own naming conventions that mean daughters have matronymics and sons patronymics.

A note to podficcers: please google name pronunciations beforehand because Alex and Bryn’s are actually often wrong. Ishak, for instance, is not pronounced Ee-shak. It’s Iss-haaq or Iss-haa’, because of quirks of the Egyptian accent I mentioned earlier.

Part Two: Criticism

I understand it can be difficult to portray a country different from yours with accuracy. I understand the RQG crew will not have had the perspective on Egypt and Cairo that I do by virtue of living here. I do also acknowledge that I’m sure none of this was actively malicious or on purpose.

But it doesn’t have to be on purpose to hurt, frankly, and given how often the RQG crew have talked about their responsibility with a game that’s intended for an audience, I expected better. Bryn has spoken about not wanting to fall into stereotypes for Hamid and, to be fair, by being a non-religious fancyboy Hamid does neatly avoid the religious zealot and the noble (or ignoble) savage routes. Unfortunately, he falls into another, which was hammered home by the portrayal of Cairo and the Tahans as a whole.

Our first glimpse of Cairo, after the sandstorm clears, describes it as “basically Vegas,” with hotels and garish casinos catering to the rich all along the “Cairo strip.” From then on, our only other images of Cairo are vast estates and a pyramid in the desert.

The only named Egyptians we meet are the Tahan family, who are introduced through an absurdly lavish estate compared to the palace fortress of Alhambra, a gambling problem that apparently runs in the family, murder, and corruption, as the head of the family who has already covered up a crime for one son then turns himself in to protect the other.

Then, to top it all off, Hamid is apparently utterly incapable of understanding why letting his brother get away with murder is an issue until the paladins point it out.

Do you see the pattern, here?

I understand this was aiming to be a criticism of the rich and powerful, but the fact remains that the Tahans are the only representation of Egyptians we get. While this may not be harems and hand-chopping levels of Orientalism, the image presented is of Cairo as a den of excessive wealth and vice, and Egyptians as corrupt and immoral.

This isn’t new.

The Middle East and North Africa (as well as India and China and everywhere else considered “the Orient”) has often been tied to images of wealth and overt splendour, usually hand-in-hand with the Oriental despot and corruption. This view went beyond just fiction and influenced the policies with which we were ruled.

Cromer, Consul-General of Egypt, wrote books called Modern Egypt. He had this to say about us:

“The mind of the Oriental, on the other hand, like his picturesque streets, is eminently wanting in symmetry. His reasoning is of the most slipshod description. . . . They are often incapable of drawing the most obvious conclusions from any simple premises of which they may admit the truth.”

In his opinion, our inability to follow logical reason led to us being inherently untruthful and, therefore, immoral. Similarly, British statesman Balfour was of the belief that:

“Lord Cromer’s services during the past quarter of a century have raised Egypt from the lowest pitch of social and economic degradation until it now stands among Oriental nations, I believe, absolutely alone in its prosperity, financial and moral.”

Egypt was under British colonial rule from 1882 - 1952.

You can see, I hope, why a storyline focused on an Egyptian family’s corruption in an Egypt characterised almost entirely by its casinos and one lavish mansion was very uncomfortable. The fact Azu was one of the people trying to explain morality to Hamid keeps it from sliding into a clear East vs West dichotomy, but the fact remains this is a British show featuring British players and this is the story they chose to tell.

The rest was just salt in the wound, really.

I expect mispronounced names and pyramids and jokes about camels in most media, but rarely do the makers of said media then go on to pat themselves on the back for doing their “due diligence” on a metacast about sensitivity.

I see weird naming conventions and mispronounced names and “basically Vegas” and “crocodile steak” and “camel’s milk froyo” and I do not see due diligence.

I see a setting that barely looked past Cleopatra and I do not see due diligence.

I see a storyline that shows only excess and immorality and corruption and I do not see due diligence.

I see a disregard for me and mine, and I do not appreciate it.

Literature I’ve referred to in writing this criticism:

Orientalism (1978), by Edward W. Said

Orientalism in the Victorian Era (2017), a paper by Valerie Kennedy

Orientalism in American Cinema: Providing an Historical and Geographical Context for PostColonial Theory (2010), a thesis by Samuel Scurry

Popular Culture, Orientalism, and Edward Said (2012), an article by Robert Irwin

#rusty quill gaming #rqg #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #resource #criticism #orientalism #representation #long post

1K notes · View notes

milkybonya · 3 years

Text

it's you

order 005 for anon: large banana milk tea with pudding, lychee jelly and grass jelly

Warnings: some explicit language, flooding mentions

Summary: when you and your soulmate kiss, a small, very small part of your hair will turn white. But why would you and college!Minchan ever kiss when you hate each other?

word count: ~3k

[a/n]: i miss Minchan so much pls :( aLSO I'M SORRY THIS IS SO SH*T AND LATE BUT I HAD FUN WRITING IT!!!

"Move out of my spot," Minchan sighs, towering over you as you sit hunched over your notes in the front row of the lecture hall.

"No, why should I?" you spit out, still looking down.

"Because it's my spot, didn't you hear me say that?" Minchan clarifies with a scoff.

"Oh just shut up. Is your name written on here anywhere?"

He sighs and chooses to sit behind you, accepting defeat for now.

"Can you and Minchan not just give it a rest for one day?" your friend asks you as they take the spot beside you.

"If he wasn't so annoying, then maybe I would be able to do that," you say, organizing your notes for today's lecture.

Minchan kicks the back of your leg with his foot after hearing your words, and you turn around, sighing.

"You're literally proving my point. Just stop," you say.

"You stop badmouthing me first then," Minchan says with a smirk.

"Okay, good morning everyone!" the professor says, causing you to turn back to the front so you can pay attention.

The lecture passes peacefully as the two of you focus. Sure, you have a deep rivalry, but you're both dedicated students who never mess around when a lecture begins.

It's only after it ends that Minchan gets on your nerves again.

You find it right in front of a vending machine, pressing the buttons to dispense a drink. After he steps away, you realize that he had bought your favourite drink, and you don't think much of it until you step up to also buy that drink... only to find there's no more left.

"Minchan, what the hell? You don't even like that flavour anyway, why did you have to take the last one?!" you yell, pointing at the drink in his hands.

He shrugs in response, unscrewing the cap.

"If you want it, you'll have to do something for me."

"And what's that?"

"Convince everyone that we're dating."

"Just for a drink?!" you exclaim.

"I'll have a lifetime supply for you. Anytime you want, just tell me and I'll buy you one."

"Minchan... have you lost it? You know I hate you, right? Why would I pretend to be your s/o?"

"Because people think I'm dating this stuck-up asshole and it's ruining my reputation."

"Why would me dating you fix anything?"

"Because you get good grades, [y/n]. Not as good as mine, but good enough. And I hate your guts, but everyone else seems to think you're alright."

You sigh, shaking your head at the boy.

"I'll give you the drink this once. You've got till tomorrow to think about it," he says, flashing you a smile before walking away.

Confused, the drink almost slips out of your hands as you shuffle to your dorm, feeling bewildered.

"So Minchan, your mortal enemy wants you to fake date him?" you friend asks you, sitting on your bed while watching you pace around.

"Yeah."

"That makes no sense."

"Right?!"

"And all you get out of it is a lifetime supply of your favourite drink?"

"Yeah! I mean, those drinks are expensive so..."

"No, [y/n]! Focus!" your friend tells you, holding onto your hands and shaking them.

"Right, right," you mumble.

Your friend suddenly claps their hands and you jump back in fright, swearing at them for scaring you.

"I've got it! Just tell him that you'll only do it if he stops being such a little shit to you."

"So... fake date him to stop our annoying rivalry?" you repeat.

Your friend nods and you step back to properly consider their words. It doesn't sound so bad, especially since your rivalry with Minchan kind of started out of nowhere anyway, and you've always been hoping you never met him so this stupid thing would stop.

You: hey! dumbass!

stinky min: ???

You: let's do it

stinky min: ??

You: the,,, thing

stinky min: well don't be shy now

stinky min: spit it out

You: YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!

stinky min: you want to date me?

You: fake* !!! FAKE date you yes

stinky min: ok

You: ugh i hate you

stinky min: :D

You: IT'S ONLY ON ONE CONDITION THO

stinky min: and that is?

You: we end this dumbass rivalry and you stop being so annoying

stinky min: sorry babe can't do that

You: okay then bye

stinky min: NO WAIT

stinky min: i was joking..

stinky min: fine..

stinky min: tomorrow for our first class,, you better come sit next to me when i wave to you

"[y/n]!" Minchan yells, waving at you frantically with a big smile on his face.

You sigh and cover your face with your hand as you compose yourself, wondering why you're doing this for a lifetime supply of drinks and for this stupid rivalry to be over. Then, you finally look up and nod in Minchan's direction, approaching his spot in front row. You slide into the seat he saved for you while gritting your teeth and whispering, "why are you sitting in my seat?"

"[y/n], I saved a seat for you in the front row! Since you always like to sit here," Minchan says, obnoxiously loudly.

"I can see that, dumbass," you whisper, still continuing to smile at him while gritting your teeth.

"[y/n], be a bit more natural, would you?" Minchan whispers, stretching an arm around you and pulling you close.

You almost fly off your seat as you hadn't expected him to do this, but stay put despite your heart thumping heavily in your chest. When he leans his head on your shoulder, you have to do everything not to punch him.

"Your heart's beating so fast, my dear," Minchan mumbles.

"Are they dating?" someone whispers in the row behind you.

Murmurs begin to rise and Minchan smirks the whole time, his head still on your shoulder. His hair feels strangely fluffy and soft against your neck.

When the lecture begins, Minchan sits up straight but listens to the whole lecture with his hand around your waist. All of this skinship makes you dizzy and angry, and by the time the lecture is over, you've pulled Minchan aside to have a word with him.

"Minchan, if you're doing to do things like this, then I want out."

"What do you mean, babe?" he says, reaching forwards to push your hair back with his fingertips.

You catch his hand with yours, holding it there.

"This is what I mean," you say, pointing to his hand sitting on your head.

"Well we're dating, aren't we? Isn't it natural to show some skinship?"

"Minchan, firstly this isn't even real. Secondly, skinship isn't a required thing or anything. So just... chill out, okay?"

Minchan leans forward until his lips are right next to your ear.

"Why, is it cause I make your heart rate increase?"

"No!" you yell, pushing him a way.

A couple of students see this and speed walk away, whispering amongst themselves while staring at you.

"Okay, [y/n], calm down. I'll go easy on you, I promise. Have this drink and I'll see you later," he says, holding out your favourite drink.

"When did you even buy this?" you ask, taking it from him.

"Be there at the party tonight, okay?" he tells you while walking away.

What party? you wonder, until you check your phone. Someone has posted in your class about a party happening in Minchan's dorm building.

Sighing, you start to write a text to Minchan asking him why you have to attend a dumb party when you don't like parties anyway, but he messages you first.

stinky min: going to the party will be a great place to show everyone we're dating. and finally stop people talking behind my back... so be there, okay?

stinky min: and about the skinship.. i'm sorry. i'll genuinely stop. but at least you only have to see me a couple times during the day! it's not like we're in the same dorm or anything..

After getting your studying and classes done for the day, you head to Minchan's dorm building, which is already flooded with people.

"How isn't anyone getting in trouble for this?" you mumble, looking at the people scattered across the hallways with drinks in their hands, socializing.

You weave through the people, searching for Minchan.

"Hey! Looking for your... boyfriend?" a familiar voice asks you, taking hold of your arm.

You turn around to see your friend, looking lovely as ever.

"Yeah... seen him anywhere?" you ask.

They point upstairs while saying, "he's in his room, 204, waiting for you."

"Alright, I'll see you around then!"

"Don't have too much fun," your friend says with a wink.

Fun? This is not fun at all, you sigh, trudging upstairs and pushing past people to find room 204.

When you finally find it, you're surprised to see it's the only room with the door closed. You knock and the door knob quickly turns, revealing a very.... annoyingly attractive Minchan, with his hair parted comma style, wearing a white tee and a blue jean jacket.

"[y/n], you came! Come in, the real party's in here," he says, inviting you inside.

You walk in to find his TV showing a game he was playing, and he sits down to continue.

You throw him a confused look, but he just stares back at you.

"What? I know you didn't wanna be there, so let's at least have some fun before we have to go out there," he tells you, patting the spot on the ground next to him.

"Wow, Minchan. This is actually the kindest thing you've done for me," you reply, sitting next to him and taking the controller he's offering you.

After absolutely destroying Minchan in the game he thought he was the best at (what a reality check for him!) the two of you stand up and take a few deep breaths before stepping out into the hallway.

"Hey, you owe me something for beating you," you say before Minchan opens the door.

"Oh, shut up," he says, but with a smile.

As soon as he opens the door, people start to greet him. It isn't surprising, since he is just a bit of a popular guy. Okay, maybe more than a bit, but you don't want to admit that.

Many people ask Minchan if he broke up with Jennifer, the stuck-up asshole that he had been telling you people thought he was dating, and Minchan clarifies each time, with a bright grin, that they were never dating, but that it's only ever been him and you.

Everyone seems to find this so cute, but you almost vomit on the spot. Who would've known that Minchan could be so cringey?

Feeling tired after socializing with so many people, the two of you find your own space to stand in one another's company for a second.

"So, how does it feel, Minchan?" you ask him.

"To be dating you?" he asks back, a cheeky grin on his face.

You hiss at him and shake your head.

"No! To be rid of that dumb rumour about you and Jennifer."

"Ah, it feels good! Thanks, [y/n]. Do you want me to go grab your favourite drink for you? The vending machine here has it."

You take a second before agreeing, telling yourself that you deserve it after having role played for so long.

A few moments after Minchan leaves, the somewhat loud music that had been blasting this whole time stops, and someone starts yelling from up the stairs.

"GUYS, THERE'S BEEN A FLOOD AND IT'S SUPER BAD. IT'S SPREADING TO ALL THE HALLWAYS SO WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW!" he shouts.

Even from down there you can notice water pooling around his feet from where he stands near the stairs, and water trickling down the steps, too.

Some people immediately rush out, but you search around for Minchan for some time, wondering why he's taking so long. Then, the flood starts getting really bad, rushing down the stairs and beginning to approach you.

You start speedwalking towards the door, not even stopping when someone grabs your arm.

"[y/n]! You waited for me?" the person asks.

You turn to find Minchan with his pants soaked up to his knees and holding your favourite drink while panting.

"No. Maybe. Anyways, let's go!" you say, dragging him out with you.

That whole night, no one gets any sleep as the campus' staff decide what to do with all the students who won't have a place to sleep. It's only at 4am that they decide on a solution: to send everyone from Minchan's dorm into your dorm, because yours is the one with the most vacant spots.

And as if by the worst luck on this planet, Minchan just has to be placed right. In your. Room.

He trails in at 4:32am, shyly following you inside and acting very differently from his usual arrogant state.

"So this is where you sleep, huh [y/n]?" he quietly asks, looking at your bed.

"Yeah, of course. This is my dorm, what would you expect? That bed on the other side is vacant, so you can sleep there. If you need anything, just go grab it. But if you can't find it or need help, you can wake me up, it's honestly fine," you explain, grabbing your clothes so you can get changed in the bathroom

Minchan stops you.

"No, [y/n], it's fine! I'll change in the bathroom. You change here and tell me when you're done."

You shrug and nod, accepting his offer.

Once you're both changed, you decide to just sleep, because by now it's 5am and you both have class in a little over 3 hours. But you're unable to sleep with the presence of another person in your usually empty room, and you notice Minchan rustling around in his bed, too.

"Having trouble sleeping?" you whisper, not wanting to wake him in case he's actually asleep.

"Yeah..." Minchan says with a sigh.

"Let me just turn on the light, cause I can't sleep either-"

"No! It's better like this." Minchan says, interrupting you as you begin to leave your bed.

You fall back on it, sitting on the edge.

"Anything... I can do to help you sleep?" you ask him, feeling weird that you're being so nice to someone who was your enemy not too long ago.

"Do you wanna cook something?" Minchan asks you after a long silence.

"Cook? Now?"

"We didn't eat," Minchan points out, making you laugh.

"I guess you're right!" you say, standing up to turn on the light.

With whatever random ingredients you have, Minchan helps direct you in making a meal, carefully teaching you how to cut the vegetables and how to fry things correctly. He always gets real close when he does this, but never touches you since he thinks you wouldn't like that. You notice this and appreciate it.

At one point, Minchan asks you to lean in close to the stove to look at the texture of the food. You lean in and place your head practically next to his.

"See how it's this colour and is a lot softer? That means it's done!"

Minchan turns to you after he says this, and this might sound crazy, but your faces are so close to each other that Minchan's lips literally graze yours when he turns to you.

He immediately jumps back and apologizes, laughing slightly for his stupid mistake while covering his mouth with his hand. You, on the other hand, feel mortified and hold your lips with your fingers, wondering if they haven't fallen off or anything, because for some reason, they feel like they're buzzing.

"Wait, [y/n], why is your hair... turning white?" Minchan asks, pointing to your hair.

You notice a strand of white in Minchan's hair too, and you also point up to it. Reaching out to touch each other's white strands, the two of you seem to realize at the same time.

"Ah... so it's you? You're my soulmate?" Minchan asks, his cheeks clearly tainted red.

"I guess so... Damn, that wasn't even a real kiss but it was enough to turn our hair white!"

The two of you remain speechless for a few moments.

"So I'm really soulmates with my enemy?" you ask, groaning.

"Hey, I guess we have to learn to love each other now," Minchan says, puckering his lips and fake-kissing the air.

You push his face away and run off towards your bed, leaving Minchan chasing you around your room while the two of you laugh loudly. Thankfully you don't get any noise complaints, but running around at 6am leaves the two of you running on an all-nighter for your first class.

As the two of you practically fall asleep on each other for the whole class, everyone giggles at your sleepy states, but most importantly, gawks at the white strands in your hair.

"So they were really meant to be, huh," your friend says, sitting behind you and kicking your shin, forcing you awake so you can pay attention.

66 notes · View notes

crystalas · 3 years

Text

Blazing Blue part 2

Chapter 2: So, it’s not a play date?

Pigsy was closing up shop when MK stuck his head around the door sheepishly.

“There you are! I was getting worried, did things with Monkey King run late or something?” he asked gruffly as he put away the last of the cooking pots for the day.

“Well, no…but I got held up by something…hey do we have any leftover noodles?” MK asked trying his best to be nonchalant, Pigsy glanced at him and gestured to the fridge.

“I know how hungry you get after your training sessions” Pigsy exclaimed, and raised an eyebrow at MK who was smiling a bit too broadly and looking…twitchy which was never a good sign. “Ok what is it?” he sighed.

“Well… I have a someone who needs to crash somewhere for a while so I was hoping…just for tonight?” MK said ever so sweetly and Pigsy face palmed.

“Ok I really don’t want to ask but I feel I need to, who is it?”

“…Red Son?”

Pigsy stared at him, gave a growl of frustration before rubbing the bridge of his snout to try and elevate the stress headache he can already feel coming on.

“Kid…times like this I really wish this wasn’t based on a children’s cartoon, because what I really want to say to that is not allowed for a kid audience!”

“Oh, but this is a fanfic written by an adult, who really needs to get out more.” MK offered.

“It is? Oh good” Pigsy took a deep breath and then said as calmly as possible “Fuck no!”

“Com’on, he’s is in a bit of a rough spot and needs somewhere to stay! We’re even truce buddies!”

“I never agreed to that term!” Red Son called from outside, MK reached out the door and dragged him in.

“He’s a demon? He is the son of one of your enemies? He tried to turn you into ash countless times? Need I continue to list reason why this is a bad idea??!” Pigsy shouted angrily.

“Look, I know where I’m not wanted, I shall take my leave!” Red Son growled and began to walk back out when MK grabbed his sleeve. “This is pointless he’s isn’t going to let me stay!”

“Damn right I’m not!” Pigsy retorted.

“Last time I checked I own the apartment above the noodle shop so really…” MK said slyly and Pigsy put a hand in front of his face.

“I rent it to you, so don’t even give me that nonsense that you have a say!”

“UGH fine!” MK growled and lead Red Son out of the Noodle shop, only for him to drag him behind the alleyway and use his staff to leap up to his apartment window, gesturing for Red Son to follow.

“You’re seriously going behind your friend’s back for me?” Red Son asked as he leapt up and through the window. MK walked in and started to tidy up the apartment to a more acceptable level of messy as Red Son looked around, last time he was in here he had burnt a lot of stuff. MK must have had to replace many belongings… so why was he this willing to help him?

“Pigsy just needs time to get to know you” MK explained as he got out a spare blanket and laid it out on the sofa. “Umm…is this, okay? I mean I’ve only got the one bed…”

“I may be a demon but even I have good manners when it comes to being a guest” Red Son declared loftily, besides he thought to himself as he sat down, I’ve been sleeping on the floor of our destroyed home for the last few weeks. This is heaven compared to that.

“Don’t worry we’ll find you somewhere tomorrow” MK said as he took off his jacket to get ready for bed and noticed that Red Son had not moved. “Umm…wanna take off your coat and get comfortable?”

Red Son gripped his coat and glanced away.

“Kind of hard to get comfortable in the home of an enemy…” he muttered.

“Now none of that! Remember we are Truce Buddies, I’m not so underhanded that I’d attack you in your sleep” MK declared confidently.

He might though MK suddenly thought to himself as it dawned on him that this could go wrong very quickly.

“Look, do you demons have anything to …I don’t know swear by? Because I’ve just realised this might be a long con or something to lure me into a false sense of security.” MK asked, Red Son sighed and looked up at him.

“It took you this long to think of that scenario? Noodle Boy are you really that naïve?” he demanded angrily but stood up anyway, “Normally I would have sworn on my family name but…given certain circumstances that’s not an option. So, I’ll swear on my flame that I will not do anything to intentionally endanger you or your friends so long as you swear on The Monkey Staff that you do the same!” he held out his hand and a small fire ball appeared and held out the other to shake with, MK took out his staff and took Red Son’s hand and shook it in agreement.

“Right, we are officially Truce Buddies!” MK beamed happily.

“I didn’t agree to that name!” Red Son snapped.

The next morning Tang walked in to grab his noodles for lunch, Pigsy was dicing up the vegetables to make the first batch for the day but had a fire extinguisher strapped to his back …and Red Son was sitting at a table looking grumpier than usual and also that he looked like he had fought a car wash and lost.

“Ok I feel like I missed something?” Tang declared.

“MK thought it would be a brilliant idea to sneak Demon Boy in for a sleep over, but didn’t take into consideration that fire alarms exist!” Pigsy exclaimed angrily “Now MK is on kitchen clean up duty for eternity for going behind my back and NEARLY SETTING FIRE TO MY BUILDING!!”

“In my defence” Red Son announced “I only sneezed.”

“I ain’t taking any chances Demon boy! You try anything and I’mma hosing you down!”

Tang sat down keeping Red Son in his peripherals and saw MK mopping the floor with an embarrassed look of defeat on his face.

“So, just to acknowledge the elephant in the room…why is Red Son here?” he asked gently.

“Because MK wanted a pet!”

“RED SON IS NO ONE’S PET!” Red Son shouted flaring up as he did so and got a face full of extinguisher foam in his face for his troubles. “WILL YOU STOP THAT??!”

“Okay…and the real reason MK?” Tang inquired as MK came out to mop up the foam for the third time that morning.

“We kind of have a Truce going on.” He said simply.

“That seems…fair I guess?”

“Yeah, well he can go home now cos I don’t want him here disturbing my business!” Pigsy growled and Red Son suddenly hunched over and glared at the wall angrily.

“If this is how you treat your patrons then maybe I’m not the problem!” he growled under this breath. Pigsy gave him a look and then turned back to his stove, he tried to turn it on but…nothing. He tried again and again for a few minutes but still nothing happened.

“Com’on! Com’on you piece of junk!” Pigsy muttered under his breath.

“I keep telling you need a new stove” Tang exclaimed.

“Last time I checked they don’t give them out for free! The freaking lighters are dead I’ll have to…” Pigsy said but stopped as a small fire ball flit past both of them and lit the stove top. They both spun around to see Red Son putting his hand down.

“Uhm…thanks?”

“Don’t read too much into it, I’m just hungry” he said quietly.

Pigsy shrugged and got to work and soon he brought out two bowls of noodle soup and placed one of them gingerly near Red Son, who took it and ate it quietly. After a few minutes Pigsy looked up to see Red Son smiling softly.

“What are you so happy about?” he demanded gruffly.

“Family recipe?” Red Son asked.

“Handed down through the generations. Why?” Pigsy replied cautiously.

“They remind me of this noodle stand I used to go to a lot when I was a child, it was my favourite place to eat back then. I suppose the taste makes me nostalgic” Red Son explained, Pigsy looked at him warily and then back at his photo wall.

“Pull the other one kid, my family started this business on a noodle stand but that belong to my great, great grandfather. You’re not even old enough to be around when this shop opened!”

“I’m a lot older than I look, don’t forget demons count their lifespans in decades not years…in fact if I remember correctly back then photographs were only just becoming a thing and I was there when they took the photo. The guy looked proud as anything of his little noodle stall”

Pigsy spun around and scanned his photo wall, and sure enough there was the photo that was handed down along with the recipes. It was tattered and faded over the years but it still showed the look of absolute pride that Noodle chief had of his livelihood not knowing of what a family business he was about to create. And in the background was a kid with flaming spikey hair sitting at the stall while holding a bowl.

“Wait…that’s you?!”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“And the flavour just as good as Great, Great Grand pappy’s?”

“Even better I’d say”

Tang slammed down his bowl and ran up to Red Son.

“WAIT A SECOND!” He cried in ecstatic glee “You’re immortal??!”

“No…demons can age and die we just live longer. Think of it as reverse dog years” Red Son said a bit put off by this sudden attention of the quiet book worm.

“Then you’ve must have seen a lot in your time!” Tang squealed “I bet you’ve even met some of the other legends throughout the ages!”

Red Son gave a cocky smile and gestured confidently.

“Why yes, I have, though I’ve never spoke to them I have seen many historical figures come and go not to mention the rise and fall of emperors and kings, to be honest it gets a bit boring after a while!” he declared smugly, now enjoying the fact that Tang was practically frothing at the mouth at the idea of questioning a being that probably lived through most of his text books.

“Have you met any of the sages…I mean besides Monkey King?” Tang asked eagerly Red Son’s cocky smile evaporated for a second and his hand wandered up to his neck before shrugging.

“I guess so, but I was very little when that happened…” he said dismissively.

“What were they like?” Tang kept on.

“… …scary” Red Son whispered. “I remember them being very scary.”

“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that?”

“They were pompous jerks who picked on a little kid, whose only crime was being born okay??” he snapped angrily and stood up. MK who had been watching this from the kitchen walked up quickly to the angry demon before Pigsy had to get the fire extinguisher again.

“Ok maybe we should talk to Sandy about that problem now hey? Pigsy? can I take off now?” the three looked up at Pigsy who was still standing there with a look of blissful glee.

“Good as Great, Great Grand pappy’s” he sighed happily before snapping out of it. “Uh yeah sure seeing as Demon boy didn’t burn down my shop and helped out a little, I guess I can be lenient…but don’t try anything like this again got it??!”

MK saluted and Red Son wiped off the last of the foam from his hair as they left.

“So now what?” Red Son asked.

“We see if Sandy has a spare bed for you…hey were you serious about Pigsy’s family stall thing?”

“Like I said I had no need to lie about it.”

“And you’re seriously like…really, really old?”

“I’m still a child compared to others of my kind but yes”

“Why do you look human?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“It’s just, except for your mom and you every other demon I met looked…I don’t know weird.”

“And seriously how often do we get to question a person like you? It’s like interviewing a keshin!” Tang interjected as he walked in between them causing both boys to leap out of their skins and glare at him.

“You will have to excuse me if I don’t want to expose all my family secrets in one sitting with the people who are considered my enemies!” Red Son growled; MK opened his mouth but before he could say anything Red Son held up a hand to him. “Yes, yes ‘Truce Buddies’ I know but just because I am on that agreement doesn’t mean my family is!”

“So, let’s hope we don’t run into Demon Bull King huh?” Tang declared. “Because that would be super awkward for all parties, wouldn’t it?”

“Trust me I doubt my father even notices…and wasn’t the whole point of this ‘Truce Buddies’ thing was to FORGET about my family and your mentor, to just enjoy the day, have fun or whatever happy go lucky idea you suggested?!” Red Son exclaimed angrily “Quizzing me on my family history seems to be a bit off the mark wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh right, right” MK mumbled and rubbed the back of his head.

“Wait…you two agreed to a play date?” Tang asked.

“ITS NOT A PLAY DATE!” both boys screamed in horror.

As they headed to Sandy’s ship MK was on his phone texting Mai.

“Okay so Mai knows what’s going on and she’s going to meet us at Sandy’s. Also, she’s bringing snacks and her favourite video games so she can … ‘Show red boy how to have a good time, hero style’…” he said as he read the text out. Red Son gave a weary sigh remembering that massive hero speech she had given him while they were getting the peach of immortality. Then to hint at his father with all the subtly of a cannon launched brick through a glass window that he had done “Good hero work” …it took him forever to get over that humiliation.

As he contemplated the fact, he now has to endure her company and she probably will take this “Truce Buddies” agreement as a sign that he is going to become a hero and won’t shut up about it, his train of thought was destroyed as something smacked him on the back sending him stumbling and nearly hitting the pavement.

“HEY!” he shouted looked back, fire ball in hand ready to roast whoever responsible. “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO TRIP UP RED SON??!” but no one was there to enact his rage on.

“You okay Red?” Tang asked.

“…fine I’m fine…must have tripped or something…” he growled. As they walked on, they didn’t see the shadows following them purple eyes grinning in the darkness.

“This got a lot more fun…” Macaque sniggered.

#spicynoodleshipping #red son #monkie kid red son #monkie kid macaque

9 notes · View notes

merryfortune · 3 years

Text

You give me flowers of love

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #39 - Pink

Ship: Nodoka/Hinata

Fandom: Healin’ Good PreCure

Word Count: 3,757

Rating: M

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

AN: title comes from Bloodflowers by The Cure and is recommended listening for this fic.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Hanahaki, Horror, Gore, Emetophobia/Emetophilia, Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Past/Referenced Eriko/Hinata, Minor Blood

Hinata was not the type of girl who could handle horror stories, urban legends, or anything spookier than a rom-com set against the background of a popular coffee shop. However, there was something about this creepypasta that caught her attention. Maybe she read it to prove that she wasn’t a scaredy-cat or maybe she read it because something about it was almost too real.

It came across her Curestagram feed, screenshots reposted from another site with long form text functions rather than the optimized for photos aesthetic of Curestagram. It wasn’t late at night, quite the opposite, Hinata had just been scrolling as she was half nibbling on a banana muffin for morning tea. So she was kind of bored and not already unsettled by a vague anxiety sort of mindset so she stopped her scroll to read this totally true story from a friend of a friend that had happened upon her timeline.

The story involved a sickness. A lovesickness, hooking Hinata immediately since she was a hopeless romantic and leaving her vulnerable to what was hiding down below a few paragraphs after and Hinata realised she was reading a surreal medical horror story.

Supposedly, some girl from a high school in the next town over had been hospitalized due to damage to her stomach and esophagus but ultimately culminated in her passing away from brain damage due to suffocation. The suffocation that was the outcome of the damage she had taken to her stomach and esophagus had, supposedly, been caused by the growing of flowers inside of her. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They were baffled by the impossibility of it. Yet where they failed to posit theories at all, their patient had her own she desperately desired to reveal.

The nameless girl, as weak as she was in her final moments of speech and cognition, was certain with the most crystal clear clarity that she could muster said that reason for the flowers growing inside of her was due to a crush that she had been fostering for quite some time. A crush that was so powerful and deep that it had manifested as literal and impossible distress in the form of tiger lily flowers. Though her claims were dismissed as nonsense, despite the very given evidence that she had been vomiting exotic flowers, except by the narrator who was sharing her story online on her behalf.

Hinata got to the bottom line of the final screenshot and she dropped her phone on the table. She shivered and flinched as her phone clattered. Nyatoran looked up, alarmed, from the milk that he had been sipping.

“Heh? Are you okay Hinata?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah, I just lost my grip.” Hinata replied. It wasn’t a lie.

“Really? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Nyatoran pointed out.

Hinata made an expression that was both guilty and embarrassed, “Er, sort of… I read a ghost story online and I haven’t the stomach for them.”

“Oh, well, no worries then. I’ll keep ya safe from all the ghoulies then.” Nyatoran boasted.

Hinata laughed, “Thanks, Nyatoran.” she replied.

And that was more or less enough to keep her mind off what she had read for the rest of the day as she did her Sunday homework and such. At least until well after lights out.

Hinata cursed herself. She knew endless walls of text in screenshots never bore good news but it was under her skin now. It wasn’t even that scary, she tried to convince herself. It just so happened to play off something she had been thinking about in ways that cut deep and yes, even scary.

Hinata had a crush of her own. One she didn’t think she ought to act on. Or didn’t know how to act on.

Hinata had a crush on Nodoka. She was sweet and gentle yet so motivated. Hinata felt like she learned something new about either herself or Nodoka after every time they hung out. Things never felt old between them despite how natural their companionship was between them.

Catching feelings for Nodoka was inevitable, Hinata felt regarding their dynamic as close friends and their friendship was relatively intense due to their bond as comrades being Pretty Cures but that made Hinata sick to her stomach with fear. This wasn’t her first crush that she had on another girl.

In the not so recent past, Hinata had been wrong reading other girls’ opinions and feelings regarding her before. She and Eriko had been so close, childhood friends with a pact that seemed fit to stand the test of time when they had made it, and Hinata didn’t think it was a coincidence that already scarce contact between them after Eriko moved was when Hinata had confessed her feelings to Eriko.

The rejection had been crushing and Hinata had never told a soul about it. The wound was older now but it still hurt so, as lovely as Nodoka was, Hinata didn’t want to gamble their friendship due to that prior rejection. Yet her feelings crackled like electricity near a lightning rod whenever she was around Nodoka anyway. She could only hope that Nodoka was oblivious since she was so inexperienced socially due to her childhood spent mostly in the hospital.

(And that Chiyu never brought up the blatantly obvious which she would hopefully never do since she knew there was a place and a time and it wasn’t her place).

Thus, for all these different and entangling reasons, that horror story Hinata had read this morning really resonated. The thought of her unrequited feelings becoming literal, even in the form of pretty and seemingly harmless flowers, and suffocating. It was a very real fear to Hinata despite that fantastical execution that it was captured inside.

All because she was a magical girl infused with the power of light and thunder. She fought villains who caused infections in nature and created monsters. To her, it didn’t seem too far outside of her sphere of tried and true reality that such a floral disease of the body could exist. Heck, maybe it did exist and was tied to the war that she and her friends were fighting in secret on behalf of the Healing Animals. It was entirely possible this flower vomit disease was another agent or power of the Byougens.

Hinata groaned and the more she scolded herself for thinking about these horrible possibilities, the more she thought about them. She tossed and turned all night, in the dark and under the covers of her doona. She knew Nyatoran would live up to his boasting over morning tea if she asked but he was totally conked out in his little room. Hinata couldn’t bring herself to wake him, to unnecessarily burden him, so she just hid from her fears as best as she could in her blankets.

The following morning, Hinata was a wreck. She had bags under her eyes and was generally a drag. She hasn’t slept a wink last night but just like she was hiding from the horror story in her head, she decided to hide from the aftermath too. She touched up her eyes with concealer and finished off her make-up with a nice little kiss of lip balm, too. She chose a nice tropical flavour: pineapple with vanilla undertones and wore nude in practice. With that, she was ready for what was no doubt going to be a long, long day of school.

A prediction that she was very right in having. Just making it to lunch felt like an eternity and a half on low energy. Worst still, despite the precautions that Hinata had taken, both Chiyu and Nodoka had noticed that she wasn’t exactly her bouncy self today. Even with her favourite lunch box in her lap with fried chicken and a fruit drink, too.

“Are you okay, Hinata?” Nodoka asked and she batted her long eyelashes in concern.

Hinata knew she couldn’t lie or deflect around Nodoka, at least for the most part, and deflated, “No…” she moaned. “I slept awfully last night.”

“I expect that it wasn’t due to over studying?” Chiyu asked, sniping.

“No, I just. Couldn’t sleep.” Hinata shrugged.

“Well, be sure to put yourself early to bed tonight then. There’s nothing worse than being tired.” Nodoka said.

“Will do.” Hinata sighed.

“Also?” Nodoka prompted her.

“Yeah?” Hinata glanced at Nodoka was she tried a spoonful of rice from her side dishes.

“Your lip balm has a very strong smell today, I can smell it from here.” Nodoka laughed.

“Oh, joy…” Hinata hung her head in misery. She didn’t think it was so pungent in the tube.

“I didn’t mean that in a mean way.” Nodoka panicked whilst Chiyu had a discrete giggle at Hinata’s misfortune. “I really like it. I think it smells nice. Like cherries. I love the smell of cherries best.”

“Huh?” Hinata mumbled and she stared straight at Nodoka in confusion.

Nodoka stared back. Also in confusion. “Is something the matter?”

“Er, no,” Hinata awkwardly began and she forced herself to laugh and she flapped a hand about too to disguise her weirdness, “I must have been so tired this morning that I though I used one lip balm and instead used another.”

“That is a little odd…” Chiyu murmured.

But Nodoka seemed to buy it, she gasped, “Fwow, you must have been really tired this morning to make such a mistake. Promise me to get a good night’s rest tonight then.” Nodoka fussed for her.

“I promise, I promise.” Hinata replied.

Just as Hinata spoke, the end of lunch bell rang. She moaned with the utmost misery as she hadn’t finished her lunch even slightly and roused much sympathy from both Nodoka and Chiyu. So, Hinata crammed what she could into her mouth and swallowed before returning with her friends indoors to their classroom.

She plopped down in her chair and desk, her stomach growling almost immediately. Were it not for the teacher at the front of the classroom, Hinata would have flopped down and keeled over right there and then. She would have killed for a nap. Not even a luxurious nanna nap at this point, she would take a horrid power nap. Anything would have been better than nothing. Instead, the best she could muster was some daydreaming whilst scribbling in her work book so she could at least pretend to be paying attention.

Her mind strayed to Nodoka. She couldn’t help it. A silly little pining schoolgirl was exactly what she was after all. She doodled Nodoka’s name in her margins, surrounded with love-hearts, paw prints, and even flowers. It was a little bit childish but Hinata was a lot childish so she didn’t mind, she was more or less on cloud nine since Nodoka had shown her care for her over lunch, fussing for her like that.

It was such a small act but it was more than enough to launch Hinata’s heart in a million miles an hour race. So much so, she began to taste something at the back of her throat. It was a sweet taste accompanied by a fizzy sensation. Hinata liked it and it seemed to get stronger the more she daydreamed about Nodoka. Even though it was the middle of class, Hinata was letting her mind completely run away from the contents of what the teacher was attempting to educate on them.

Finally, after what felt like a day of self torment because of reading some stupid horror story about puking flowers, Hinata felt free of that gnawing anxiety. But just as she revelled in this, her stomach wretched. She dry gagged with the searing taste of bile at the back of her throat and her hand automatically clamped over her mouth, pen and all. The prior anxiety might have dissipated but a new one had spiked in its place.

Hinata frowned. Was it because she hadn’t eaten all her lunch that she suddenly felt nauseous? Or was it something else? She begged that it wasn’t her period, she was still quite irregular so this felt off or early to her.

Then she gagged again. She swallowed it back down. Hard. Whatever she swallowed was thick and sweet. It wasn’t vomit, Hinata had the startling realisation. She tried hard to keep it down but she failed. She vomited into her hand, or at least something similar. The motions were awful, worse than anything else she had ever had to eject from her body orally before.

Hinata felt sick to the very bottom of her stomach. Her hands shook as she slowly removed the one over her mouth and… and she couldn’t believe her eyes. They widened in shock as she saw the head of a flower in the palm of her hand. It was a cherry blossom, she realised. The pale pink petals were frayed at the edges, burnt by stomach acid and wet with her saliva; the anthers of its centre drooped and dragged, splayed across the petals. Her skin crawled as she marveled at the insane gravity of the situation. She quickly paled.

And the teacher noticed, “Hiramitsu, are you okay?” he asked from in front of the chalkboard, looking up concerned from the book he was reciting from.

“I-I, um, I need to go. To the nurse.” Hinata eked out her words with strained difficulty.

Her stomach flipped and she could feel another one coming up. It slithered up her throat and she hated the slow, dreadful sensation of it, the way it made her mouth taste of bile and cherries in horrible combination. Hinata bolted to her feet, afraid, alarming the whole class. She hid her mouth behind her hand again, holding tight that first flower that she had vomited.

“I need to go.” Hinata mumbled and she fled.

The feeling of her classmates' eyes on her felt like broken glass digging. She knew, deep down, they didn’t mean harm but their gazes only served to amplify the terror she felt as she fled. She was fast at first, escaping from the classroom but her stomach lurched and she vomited another flower and then again but two at once this time.

Hinata stopped in the hallway, she had to rest her shoulder against the wall just to stand as she looked down into the palm of her hand. The flowers were accumulating against her skin, wet and heavy, and accelerating in pace of production. Already she felt another lurch and this one was dire, Hinata didn’t think she would be so lucky to only vomit one or two this next time.

She had to get to the sick bay. She wasn’t sure what she would do there but anything had to be better than nothing, so she hobbled on in immense pain. By nothing less than a miracle, Hinata managed to get to the nurse’s suite without collapsing. Or with leaving too many flowers in her meagre wake.

The school nurse panicked almost immediately when she saw Hinata in this state. Hinata sputtered out a thank you whilst she was put to bed. Hinata curled up under the sheets, her stomach lurching and mangled petals dripped out of her mouth. She had to hide her ailment from the nurse. She just had to. She didn’t know how to explain it or anything else pertaining to it but fortunately, the nurse bought her some time by going to use administration’s phone to let her father know that Hinata was in immediate medical distress.

Hinata held her scrawny belly with one hand and her mouth the other. No matter how hard she tried, these flowers kept dredging up from inside of her and it was worsening. There was distention building inside of her, it was as if she could feel the bushels of cherry blossom flowers forming inside of her and something else too. It was raw and firm and poking up through her like a stick. Hinata moaned in utter agony as she tasted not just sweetness and bile in her mouth, but the cutting, metallic taste of blood too.

She whimpered as she tried to swallow it down. Attempting so, just made the nicks and cuts to her throat worsen and the petals to clog. Her lungs ached sharply as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes squeezed tight and she begged every deity she could think of for a saviour.

The door to the sick bay opened again. Hinata murmured to herself and the curtain was pulled aside, “Hinata?” a sweet voice greeted her.

“Huh?” Hinata slurred.

She rolled over, still holding herself but even a simple and slow motion like that was enough to rouse her illness violently. Her grimace was deep on her face as she tried to look at Nodoka, even feebly.

“A-Are you okay, Hinata?” she asked. “I couldn’t sit by and worry when I saw you ill you were, what’s wrong?”

Hinata opened her mouth. Mostly to reply, but that’s not what happened. She threw up in front of Nodoka and Nodoka couldn’t believe her eyes. Hinata was throwing up bushels upon bushels of flowers. Cherry blossoms. Nodoka blinked. She couldn’t believe the sights - or the smell. The smell was disconcerting with how almost pleasantly fragrant it was, heightening Nodoka’s realisation that this wasn’t Hinata pulling pranks.

“H-How on Earth did this happen…?” Nodoka asked.

She was horrified yet found herself unable to resist the impulse. She picked a blossom out of the pile that Hinata had vomited up. It was soft in her hand, even if it was grotesquely wet.

“I - I don’t-” Hinata tried to speak but she cut herself off when she felt something jut out of her mouth. An entire branch of cherry blossoms began to spike out of her mouth.

Her eyes began to roll back on themselves as Nodoka watched, in abject and frozen horror, as Hinata contended with this stick inside of her. It emerged slowly from the depths of her throat and made her chest convulse. Her fingers spasmed as she choked around it, flowers blooming along the thin and coarse branch.

“H-Help me.” Hinata sputtered out.

Nodoka nodded. She was scared, her heart was pounding, but she was first and foremost a helper of most empathetic ends. She had been on the receiving end of a strange and bizarre illness that had rendered most her childhood for naught. She couldn’t just let Hinata struggle. Suffocate.

So, she got onto the bed with Hinata. She straddled her so she could best approach the foreign object inside of Hinata. She focused her eyes and was as ready as she could ever be for an amateur operation quite like this one. Nodoka reached out and pinched the end of the branch delicately. It was entirely unsafe, Nodoka knew that, but she began to pull. She peered into Hinata’s pink mouth was clogged with twigs and petals, and tried her best to dislodge what she could.

Hinata gagged. Tears in her eyes and she plead, silently and afraid, that Nodoka could handle this. Nodoka’s hands shook but she did, in fact, manage. She tried her hardest and she did succeed even if it felt pyrrhic as Hinata screamed out as the last, and thickest, part of the cherry blossom branch was removed.

Nodoka flinched hearing the scream, dropping the cherry blossom branch between them. Hinata spat out blood and petals but the cherry blossom branch had been removed. She caressed her neck and it was raw with what it had been through. Her touches did little to soothe or quell her pain, she looked up at Nodoka with pathetic, red rimmed eyes.

“What was that?” Nodoka asked, her heart quaking. “How could any of this be possibly real?”

“I - I don’t know.” Hinata mumbled but that was a lie. She choked on her words all the same as she had choked on those cherry blossoms. Her hands squeezed tight. “No. I’m sorry. I do know.”

“Pardon?” Nodoka quietly exclaimed.

“There’s a very rare disease,” Hinata began, hasty, “that causes flowers to grow inside of someone suffering with a crush that they just can’t handle.”

“That’s horrible…” Nodoka murmured.

It was now or never, Hinata realised. Or she was going to end up exactly like the girl from the story that she had read yesterday. She knew it. She just knew it.

“Nodoka, it’s you.” Hinata confessed, half a sob in her voice. “I’m crushing on you.”

Nodoka was stunned by Hinata’s admission.

Hinata panted, her face was going bright red whilst her heart pounded like a hammer at her rib cage. She couldn’t believe it. She had done it. But it felt like a weight off, she had to admit, she didn’t realise her crush had been such a burden until right now. She felt herself lighten with the confession, from the very pit of her stomach, upwards and outwards.

Nodoka averted her gaze and Hinata was reminded once more why a crush was called a crush. That borderline feel good feeling from before popped. Burst. Nodoka played with her hair, fidgeting, and then managed to speak in a very calm and very quiet voice.

“I have a crush on you, too, Hinata.” Nodoka replied. “I admire so much how you sparkle and shine. It’s very refreshing to be around. I like you too. A lot.”

Nodoka reached out to Hinata’s hand and held it. She was so warm and she was still trembling but Nodoka’s caress of it did soothe her. Hinata hazarded a smile, like she couldn’t believe her ears, through her scarlet expression. Nodoka leaned in and kissed Hinata.

Hinata was unable to kiss back, afraid of her own breath but Nodoka didn’t mind. It was pungent with cherry blossoms and wet but she found the kiss sufficiently sweet, kissing Hinata’s soft, balmy lips. They were tinged with pineapple and vanilla beneath that overwhelming sensation of cherry blossoms.

“Thank you, Nodoka…” Hinata murmured and somehow, she didn’t know or understand how but she wasn’t going to complain, she was cured, prettily, of her affliction.

The cherry blossom flowers on the bed or in her gut, disappeared. All with seemingly little aplomb. Even the branch that had to have been removed from her throat, all with a soft, fizzling noise that Hinata could hardly hear over the sound of her pounding heart. She still had the cuts and scrapes, but she was no longer growing flowers inside of her stomach. Hinata was cured and Nodoka was her blessed, angelic cure.

#100ships challenge #femslash #nodohina #healin good precure #healin good #precure #nodoka hanadera #hanadera nodoka #cure grace #cure sparkle #hiramitsu hinata #hinata hiramitsu #writing tag #i really like this fic so i hope you guys enjoy

9 notes · View notes

killmytyme · 4 years

Text

cherry cola | calum hood

image from this post by @siyahraat

this fic is brought to you by @myloverboyash absolutely destroying me with this text post, which I reblogged and went off in the tags and then couldn’t get it out of my head so I had to write out the entire scene. is this maybe the most self indulgent thing I have written in a really long time? yes. is this good? probably not. but i saw this whole cozy 3am snack run in my mind and had to get it out here somehow.

warnings: none except for the most gross amount of fluff

word count: 2.4k

_______________

The thing is, you had been craving a cherry cola slushy all day. It was all you could think about for the whole day, but you knew you didn’t need one, so when you had gone out earlier you summoned your willpower and didn’t indulge. The problem was that now it was 3am and you couldn’t sleep, and all you could think about was the gas station a 10 minute drive away that had the cherry cola slushy you needed. The other problem was that Calum was fast asleep, and you really hated driving alone late at night. It had been hours now of you laying awake and only thinking about the slushy before you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. You rolled over to face him and gently shook his shoulder.

“Cal,” you whispered, watching his face twitch as he started to stir. “Cal, wake up.”

“Hmm?” he questioned, blinking awake slowly. His arm reached out to pull you into him. “’S’wrong? You okay?”

“I need a slushy,” you say, pulling at him to move with you as you sat up. “We need to go get one.”

“Babe,” Calum’s eyebrows raised as he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. You knew what it would say, you knew how crazy this probably sounded. “It’s 3am, we can get slushies tomorrow.”

“No, Cal, I need a slushy,” you whine. “I know it’s 3am, I know it’s crazy, but I think I’m actually going to die if I don’t get a cherry cola slushy right now. Immediately.”

“Cherry cola?” There’s laughter in his voice, and you know you’ve won him over. “Babe, the best slushy flavour is blue raspberry. That’s just an objective fact.”

“Okay, well, it’s an objective fact, Calum Hood, that I am wasting away here without snacks or a slushy to sustain me!” You hop out of bed and grab the hoodie he tossed on a chair before he crawled into bed, throwing it at his face while he laughed at your dramatics. “If you loved me like you say you do, you’d get up and drive me, unless you want me going out at 3 in the morning by myself, which is dangerous and-”

Your voice is cut off by the feeling of the hoodie you’d just thrown his way coming down over your head, and you squirm your arms up into the sleeves, Calum pulling the sweater down over your body.

“You’re lucky that I love you, you know that,” he says, smiling fondly at you. You grin back at him, the smile not leaving your face as he gets dressed and starts the hunt for his keys. “Who would have thought I’d find someone who drags me out of bed at ridiculous hours because they need a slushy, of all things, and I’m still in love with them.”

“It’s all part of my charm, you know,” you say as you tap your foot impatiently.

“If you say so.” He finally locates his keys and you both make your way out of the house and into the car. The night air is crisp, and the street is quiet in that way that only the middle of the night can be; still and peaceful, knowing you’re likely the only ones awake and moving, feeling alone but nowhere near lonely as Calum starts the car and intertwines your hands, backing out of the driveway.

You start pressing buttons on the radio to bring up some music for the drive, and he laughs when you land on the Top 40s station. At this time of the night it’s a DJ set, some local up and coming DJ getting the 3am slot to play terrible remixes to popular songs. Just your luck, you flipped to the station in time to hear Calum’s voice floating out of the speakers.

“Don’t you love this song?” you giggle, turning up the volume and singing along as the chorus starts.

“I wonder who it’s by,” he comments, playing along with you.

“It’s this band from Australia, they’re not that big so you probably haven’t heard of them. Pretty underground stuff.” You can’t stop giggling, and Calum couldn’t wipe the fond grin from his face if he tried. You get like this when you’re tired, silly and giggly, and it’s one of his favourite ways to see you. “They’re okay, their old stuff is better. Newer albums aren’t their best work.”

“Bold words from someone who hasn’t missed a beat singing along,” he squeezes your hand as he teases you, and even after all this time the simple action stirs up the butterflies that never seem to vacate your stomach when you’re around him.

“Hey, I never said I had good taste!”

“Clearly, you dragged me out of bed at 3am for a cherry cola slushy.” He laughs again at your mock gasp, but you don’t have time to defend your slushy choice before you realize you’ve driven by the gas station.

“Cal! You missed the turn, we need to-”

“Don’t you want other snacks? If we’re up, I kind of want cheese puffs. We can grab slushies on the way back, okay?”

“Calum Hood,” your voice is serious now, and he glances over with concern on his face. “You are a genius. Cheese puffs are exactly what I want. Can we get popcorn, too?”

“You can have everything you want, babe.” Calum turns the car into the grocery store parking lot and you learn your head back against the seat, facing him, and it occurs to you then that everything you want is just him and a thousand more midnight snack runs like this.

Once you get inside the store you both give apologetic waves to the cashier who nods tiredly at you and waves you in. The store is 24-hours but you both still feel that twinge of guilt walking in so late. Calum grabs a basket and starts heading to the snack aisle but you pull his hand back and gesture towards the produce.

“We have to walk the aisles! Like we always do,” you say, staring longingly at the rows of fruit.

“We always do that when we come here at 3 PM, not AM,” he says patiently. You ignore him, still staring at the apples until he sighs and gives in, letting you drag him through every aisle.

You each comment on things as you walk by them, falling into your usual store rhythm. One of the things you’ve always loved about Calum is his ability to make even the most mundane errand fun, the way he plays into your bits and lets you be unabashedly silly. He doesn’t think twice when you pause in front of the assortment of breads, fresh from the bakery, and ask in all seriousness for him to choose which bread he thinks most represents him.

“Kaiser buns,” he says without pausing to think.

“Yes!” you shout, and you both dissolve into giggles when a nearby associate jumps, clearly shocked by the noise. Calum calls out an apology as you continue to laugh. “Suits you. Crusty on the outside, soft on the inside,” you say through your laughter, poking him in the side.

“M’not crusty,” he says, tone offended, but you can tell by the crinkles around his eyes that he’s amused by your antics.

“You said kaiser! Not me!” You grab a bag for yourselves and toss them in the basket, much to Calum’s chagrin.

The rest of the trip goes just like that, pausing every few steps to delve into a deep discussion about white eggs vs brown eggs, or the best breakfast cereals, or the uses for the wide arrange of infused olive oils. By the time you make it to the check out you’ve spent far too much time in the grocery store, but the cashier, a woman with grey hair and kind eyes, smiles warmly at you as she rings you through.

Finally back in the car you dig out the container of cheese puffs and feed some to Calum as he drives. The DJ set is still going, this time the song is a mashup of two popular songs. You do your best to sing along but it’s switching between the two so quickly you can’t quite keep up, and Calum nearly has to pull over from laughing so hard at your attempts to follow along with the lyrics. In retaliation, you refuse to give him any more cheese puffs, pouting in an exaggerated manner at him.

When he pulls into the gas station and parks the car, he leans over and presses a soft kiss to your mouth in apology, murmuring a soft “sorry for laughing” against your lips.

“You’re only saying that so you can get more cheese puffs,” you sigh dramatically.

“You got me,” he smirks, lips still close enough that you can feel it on your skin before he pulls away and - the asshole - snatches the cheese puffs from you as he goes.

“Calum!” Your yell is met with just laughter as he hops out of the car, cheese puffs under his arm, and races into the gas station.

You catch up to him, giggling at how ridiculous your night has turned out, and find him standing in front of the slushy machine clearly deep in thought at his options. Under the cherry cola slushy dispenser sits an already full slushy cup, ready for you. You open your mouth to thank him and he shushes you, eyes squinting as they flick over the 6 flavour options he has to choose from.

The feeling that has been creeping up on you more and more frequently comes back again as you watch him. It’s the butterflies in your stomach, and the feeling that your heart is going to actually come bursting through your shirt with how full and warm you feel just looking at him. An hour ago he was fast asleep, and now here is he is with you, being silly and selecting a slushy flavour like it’s the most important decision he’s ever made. You’re so in love with him sometimes it overwhelms you, and it’s never in the moments you expect. It’s in small moments like these - in the back corner of a gas station at nearly 4am, under fluorescent lighting, wearing your rattiest clothing. It’s single minutes in time that make you positive there is never going to be anyone else for you, you only ever want to spend your 3am moments with Calum.

You’re roused from your staring when he moves towards the machine, moving your cup so he can place his directly under the cherry cola dispenser and flipping the lever. You make an indignant noise, and he shoots a smirk at you.

“You’ve been talking about it all night, I had to get it,” there isn’t even a hint of an apology in his voice for all of his teasing earlier, but you don’t even have it in you to rib him for it because you’re too focused on trying not to let how ridiculously happy these moments make you show on your face.

In fact, you wait to say anything at all until you’re back in the car, happily sipping on your slushies, the music acting as background noise now. Your hands are tangled again, and Calum’s thumb rubs softly on the top of yours.

“This slushy flavour actually is delicious,” he says eventually when you’re close to home, breaking your comfortable silence. “I understand now why you needed to get out of bed to get this. It really was an emergency.”

He’s smiling at you, but not in a teasing way. It’s the smile he gave you when you first met Duke and won the small dog over after hours of patiently sitting on the ground and waiting for him to come see you. It’s the smile he gave on the first night you moved into his house and he looked around at the mess of boxes among his things. It’s the smile he gave you when he walked off the stage the first time you unexpectedly showed up on tour to surprise him.

It’s the smile he can’t control, the one that comes out in his happiest moments. Those moments always include you.

“We should get married,” you blurt out. You feel your eyes widen slightly when you say it. You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even registered the thought before you were saying it. You knew, though, you wouldn’t take it back. You didn’t want to see 3am without him ever again, and you hoped he felt the same way.

“Okay,” he says easily, his happiest smile still shining bright on his face. “Wait, like now? There are some people who might actually kill us if we got married at 4am in sweatpants. Like, I think Luke might actually kick me out of the band if I rob him of the chance to dress up and attend a wedding. You know how he is.”

“Not now,” you laugh. “You’re right about Luke though. I just mean...we should. You know, at some point I’d like to get married.”

“Me too.” You’ve pulled into the driveway now, but neither of you make a move to exit the car. This moment feels small, but it also feels large and vulnerable in a way that even the sound of a door opening might break. “I kind of want to be woken up by you at 3am for slushies for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” you reply softly. He starts to lean towards you and meet him over the centre console, pressing your lips together. It doesn’t even make the list of the most passionate or heated kisses the two of you have shared, but somehow the soft press of your lips feels like more - feels like everything.

Later that morning you sit on the couch, his head resting in your lap as you chat about everything and nothing, finishing your snacks and watching the sun come up outside of the windows. In a way, this feels like everything, too. From the minute you shook his shoulder a few hours ago until now, it all feels like a moment that needed to happen, like the universe knew you needed this collection of small moments to get you here.

“Hey babe,” you say after a few moments of silence. He hums in response. “Do you think at our wedding we could have a cherry cola slushy machine?”

Calum bursts into laughter, but you can feel him nodding his head where it’s resting on your legs. “You can have everything you want, babe.”

He cuddles into you closer, and you can tell from his relaxed face that he’s drifting to sleep, and all you can think as you close your eyes is that you already have everything you want.

#calum hood blurb #calum hood one shot #calum hood #faith writes #sdhakhdk this is literally so niche and specific to my interests and so self indulgent!#no one asked for this and yet everyone got it and thats how we do it here at killmytyme dot tumblr dot com #also: yes that outfit is the exact one i pictured him in the entire time. what of it.

186 notes · View notes

toe-ruoikawa · 3 years

Text

prev masterlist next

summer loving- an oikawa x reader smau/classic fanfic ABANDONNED

3. The Diner

(y/n) runs - or, well, bikes - to the miyagi prefecture during summer break to escape her stifling family. while she's out in miyagi, she meets a cute boy named oikawa tooru.

taglist

@theshirleygamer @mikkasquare @krxstynnn @90s-belladonna @ayaeushi @dearkozume @heavenini @thats-kinda-sketchy @pyblos @yacoka (ur bio said u moved lol) @pnkcts @yikes-buddy @ochabby @michelepiekenma @namyari @pleasemelafook-outta-ere @neonghxst @lustingfor5sos @sayoomi @birdiewolf @sorrythatspussynal

yeah, you loved suga's mom probably more than your own, but without suga there to actually create a bridge between the two of you, your conversations were dull and awkward, and you had left the house as soon as you thought she wouldn't mind.

for a few hours you had gone around the town, taking pictures of whatever seemed pretty to you. you had taken at least 50 by the time afternoon rolled around. that's kind of your thing; photos.

your camera roll was full of gorgeous landscapes-rolling hills and swaying trees, gigantic buildings and fluffy clouds, delicate flowers and creeping vines. it was a shame that you had lost some of your best shots when you had gotten rid of your old phone, but at least now you have a clean slate to fill all over again.

you're just finishing up a mini shoot of some train tracks when it hits you.

the single most delicious smell in the entire world hits your nose, and you almost black out it's so wonderful. it smells like frying oil and ice cream, and you almost cackle in glee because you had brought money for food and you just found the best place to spend it.

following your nose like a bloodhound, you start to walk past all the cute little buildings that had served as background for your railroad pictures. the smell keeps getting stronger, mixing and dividing into similar, more specific scents, like french fries and fried chicken. you feel your artist heart squeal with excitement as you round the corner on the block and find yourself in front of a cute American-themed diner.

the name of the restaurant is written over the door in fluorescent green lights, and there are similar signs hung in the windows of the diner. as the sky gradually darkens, you can tell that this is your photographer paradise. the booths in the diner are bustling with people who you swear are all smiling, and there's a bar where a few loners and couples sip at their extra thick milkshakes, with the overflow cup on the side. you haven't even set foot in the building and you could bet away your life's savings that the floors are checker tiled.

"ah," you don't even realize you've gone into the diner until the bell at the door jingles above your head, and you just gaze at it in dreamy shock. your feet are pulled to a red leather stool at the counter where you sit and swivel around a few times.

"what can i get to get you started?"

you swear you almost die when you see the outfit the waitress is wearing. the entire retro vibe of the restaurant has your artist heart weeping tears of bliss and the uniforms are just icing on the cake.

you order your favourite flavour of milkshake and a side of fries and then glance at your phone to see what you've missed from suga.

you don't really ever understand most of his vague volleyball tweets. from what you can gather, the team is a bunch of hooligan children that suga babysits, with the help of daichi, who you only know through suga's texts.

seeing as you don't even want to know what watermelon and hills have to do with volleyball camp, your thoughts drift to your other best friend, aki. you had blocked her with your new twitter account so there would be no chance of her stumbling across it, but you couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt as you look at her account. she's probably the closest thing you have to a sister, which is why you had to leave her behind, too.

sisters are lovely but they're also snitches.

you put your phone face down as the waitress from earlier reappears, setting down a plastic basket full of fries and a milkshake, as well as a large metal cup filled with refill milkshake. ah, the glory of retro american diners. you're about to dig in when the bell rings and you hear laughter from someone your age.

the idea that it could be someone that recognizes you jumps into your head and you spin around in your swivel stool so quickly that you almost launch yourself off of it. in your commotion your eyes lock onto the warmest brown eyes you’ve seen in your entire life and you swear time slows.

they belong to a cute brunette, who has come to the diner with a group of friends. he is quick to look away, playing it off like he had been glancing around the restaurant. he waves to the waitress, who smiles bashfully, and follows his friends to a booth table that you know by the way they are drawn to it is undeniable their booth.

the boy with the warm eyes does another sweep over the diner as his group settles down, and as the chocolate irises linger on you, you realize that you’ve been staring at him the whole time.

flustered and feeling heat rise to your face, you jerk yourself back around in the seat so you’re facing your meal and take a long sip of your milkshake. ignoring the sting in your skull from the sudden cold, you flip your phone around and quickly open your texts.

taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the embarrassment you’re about to undergo willingly, you turn around in your swivel stool.

much to your bewilderment, the boy is already staring at you.

he waves at you and you freeze for a moment, taking in his dark hair and his huge, intelligent brown eyes that are gazing right back into yours, and then you offer him a small smile and meek wave of your own hand. the lazy smile that had stretched across his face brightens in return.

instead of earlier when he had entered the diner, now the boy seems content to keep eye contact with you, and, with each quickened beat of your heart, you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with his gaze in yours.

you almost start to daydream when one of his buddies elbows him, clearly jiving him by the way the other boys are laughing. he turns his attention to them exclaiming something you don’t hear that makes the booth burst out into raucous teenage guffaws.

coming to your senses, you’re certain your face must match the shade of red on the ketchup bottle that you clumsily dump on your fries. you shoot suga a few more texts, stuffing a handful of fries in your mouth to keep yourself from squealing.

the mere idea that this beautiful and pretty boy might even consider to be interested in you has your heart melting in purpley yellow puddles of pure simp essence and your brain turning into honey. you find yourself slurping down the rest of your milkshake in an attempt to beat back the steady blush that burns on the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

sadly, whenever you turn to look back at the booth the boys are eating in, he never has his attention turned on you. you know there’s a chance that you’re just not catching him at the right moments, but as his laughter continues fills the space throughout the evening, your certainty that your shared gaze was a one time occurrence grows.

eventually, disheartened and a tad embarrassed, you give up on trying to catch the boy’s attention again. you pay for your meal before going to the washroom.

when you return, the group had left. disappointed in yourself, you’re trudging over to the door when you notice a turquoise and white jacket laying in the seat of the booth.

“excuse me, but the group that was sitting here earlier just left, right?” you call out to the waitress that had served both you and the group.

“huh?” the waitress looks up from the table she’s wiping down. “oh, yeah. they’re gone. did matsukawa leave his jacket again?”

“yeah, i guess,” you shrug. an idea pops into your romance driven brain, and for once you don’t wave it away immediately. “if you don’t mind, i could run it out to him. i’m leaving anyways.”

“that’d be a big help, sweetie, thank you!” the waitress graciously accepts your offer and then turns back to the table she’s cleaning.

you’re exiting the diner with a ring of the bell overhead, turquoise and white track jacket in hand with the words ‘aoba johsai’ printed on the back, when you stumble into a wall of warm fabric.

“woah there!” the voice you’ve been tuned to for the past hour replies, and the cute boy’s grabbing your shoulders gently to steady you. you gaze up into the calf’s eyes that you had been so fixated earlier, and they focus back on you for a brief moment, before trailing to the jacket in your arms. “oh, look! you’ve got mattsun’s jacket.”

“oh, yeah, here,” you hand the boy the jacket, only now realizing how much he towers over you in such close proximity. despite how that thought makes your heart race, you jump at the chance to get to know the boy a bit more. “so you’re not matsukawa, then?”

he laughs, not unpolitely, throwing his head back the slightest bit. “no, i’m oikawa tooru.” he fixes you with a sunny smile, like you’ve surprised him in the best way possible, and it’s like you’ve never realized how gorgeous a smile could be.

“(l/n), (y/n),” you grin back. “so oikawa-san, what’re doing here coming back for a jacket that’s not even yours?” on the inside, you’re practically screaming; when did you become so bold?

“well,” his grin turns sheepish. “i meant to ask you for your number earlier but iwa-chan kept breaking my train of thought, so i figured i could try again now.”

“oh, thank god you’re asking,” you let a sigh of relief as you pull out your phone. “i wanted to ask you earlier, too, but i chickened out.”

the two of you exchange phones and enter your numbers in a new contact, while oikawa makes a little joke about your default wallpaper, which you laugh a little too hard at.

“let’s go out sometime this week!” oikawa says as his words of parting, and you hum in agreement, waving goodbye.

once you’re far away enough from oikawa, you check your phone as if making sure the contact is real. you giggle once you realize what he’s put as his name. maybe this summer won't be so bad after all.

31 notes · View notes