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alreadyblondenow · 4 years

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I want it and I f*cking got it

Lee Haechan x virgin!reader

high school setting / crush became boyfriend

Themes: FLUFF, SMUT

Summary: You are the shining new girl and the Lee Haechan has eyes on you.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: This some high school shit realness haha, theres a part where he touched her without consent, swearing, detailed (?) smut, smut again, mentions of blowjob, fingering, oral, mentions of other idols, unprotected sex (pulling out), mentions of alcohol

A/N: Inspired by Hairspray’s ‘I can hear the bells’, I made this just for fun so I can take a break from writing fics with heavy plots. If there are misplaced words or typos I’m sorry. Happy reading!

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Lee Haechan, is so handsome.

That’s the first thing that came in your head when you saw him at the hallway for the first time. He was with his friends Mark, Renjun and Jeno laughing and teasing each other while walking to their next class. You on the other hand is watching them from a far while you put your books and other stuff in your locker.

“Forget it, he’s with Lia. The most popular girl in school” Yeri nudge you and told you more facts about Lia and Haechan. Because of your cousin Yeri, you’re now updated about your crush’s love life. In less than a minute you found out that they’ve been dating basically since freshman year, “those two are inseparable” she added.

A mild heat slowly builds up around your body because they will walk pass by you so you decided to turn your back on them. But then someone bumped you hard that you almost hit your head on your locker door. You wanted to shout and curse at the person who bumped you but you became speechless when you finally saw who it was.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t mean to bump you. The hallways can be so crowded, you should be careful”

Lee Haechan smiled and pats your head and went to his third period. Definitely unprepared and you didn’t expect that that will be your first interaction with him. It happened so fast. You can’t believe it but that sure made you smile from ear to ear, even your cousin was surprised. Being the new girl wasn’t so bad after all when you have Lee Haechan as your happy crush.

ROUND 1

The next day, during your English Literature class with Haechan, he tapped your shoulder and gave you a small piece of paper which you accepted when Mr. Kim wasn’t looking.

I’m really sorry about yesterday. Hope you’re okay -Fullsun

You wrote back with caution, thinking about how you’re just being polite and that this is not considered flirting.

No harm done. Thank you for the reminder about the hallways.

You turned your back and faced him quickly, gave him the paper with a smile then faced front again. Just like that the chance to flirt back with your crush slipped away. Why? Because you didn’t want to play with fire and ruin your good girl reputation in your new school by flirting with your crush who has a girlfriend.

Day by day, Haechan tries to start a simple conversation with you before class starts. Telling you how you look you look nice, asking you what did you eat for breakfast, updating you about the weather, and basically everything he could ever think of just to get the chance to talk to you.

It gets harder and harder to avoid Haechan so you gave up and gave him the satisfaction of finally having a decent conversation with you. It was in the middle of watching Titanic during class when he started to whisper beside your ear softly that sends tingles to your spine. Everyone was quiet and focused to how handsome Leonardo DiCaprio is while you focus on how Haechan melts your heart whispering how he loves this movie.

“That movie is the movie of my life”

“I agree that it’s a great movie. Nicely made and deserving for it’s awards but I still don’t know it’s connection with our English Lit” you whispered back to him, trying to be subtle as possible so you wont get caught by Mr. Kim. “I think Mr. Kim is a hopeless romantic, and so are you”

He giggled quietly at what you said to him, trying so hard not to forget how your voice sounds like the whole time you were whispering beside him. The next think you know, you two were keeping the conversation going until he caught you crying and hands you his handkerchief. It was not necessary but you felt him caress your head and pat it softly to give you comfort.

If the Lee Haechan is normally friendly like this, so be it. You decided to befriend him if you can’t flirt with him, you started talking whenever he sees you around school, during lunch breaks, class hours or dismissal. He continued giving you small notes during class that mainly contains questions about Romeo and Juliet, or whenever he notices that Mr. Kim’s tie doesn’t go with his outfit. Even giving you songs to listen to and a Micheal Jackson playlist. Little did you know he was flirting already.

“Hey, Jeno is having a party this Friday. You should go” your heart thumps the whole time you were putting your books inside your bag while Haechan was talking to you about Jeno’s party. “since you’re new here, I can introduce you around” he added and gave you an awkward smile.

“Not sure” you shook your head.

“Give me your phone” you didn’t have a choice but you handed it to him. You watch him save his number and name himself ‘Fullsun ☀️’. “Here, text me if you’ll go. I got you, I promise”

After that conversation with Haechan, you told Yeri the whole story which she finds hard to believe. You even showed her Haechan’s contact to make her believe you and she screeched like a bird when she finally did. “Not bad cousin! You should totally go, meet the popular kids you know” she winked at you, “who knows maybe you’ll be friends with Jeno and you can introduce him to me”

“Psh. Yeah, and show Lia that I’m interested with his sexy hot boyfriend? No thanks”

“Ooh by the way, update about the couple…” Yeri stopped walking, “they’re not together anymore. Shocker right? Story says, Lia told Haechan he’s not good enough for her”

“What the actual fu- How perfect does she think she is?”

How can someone say that to someone perfect like Haechan. What Yeri just told you made you swim with never ending thoughts about Haechan. Like, how is he holding on? Is he okay? Because he looked totally fine during the days he was talking to you. Should you really go to the party for him? “Thanks for the update Yeri, I’ll think about it. See you in school!”

When you’re finally home and relaxed, you thought maybe you could give the party a shot. It’s not that you hate parties, it’s just that you don’t know enough people to have fun in a party. But still, even though you’re convinced to go you always find a reason to stop yourself.

While you’re busy contemplating if you’re going to the party, Haechan is busy thinking about you and waiting for your text. Hoping that you will come save him from the sea of people judging him because of his ex Lia. “You do realise that once that girl step foot in this house and people start seeing you together, that will totally bring chaos in her life” Mark came out of nowhere with a cup of beer for Haechan.

“It’s my first time liking someone, I’m not going to let the chance slip away to try and win her”

“What do you mean first time? How about Lia?”

“Oh come on dude, you know I never liked Lia, it’s just a stupid favor I did for my family. I tried to like her. But really, I can’t” he scoffed and took a sip, “y/n gave me reasons everyday to like her”

Mark tried to warn his best friend but he figured he was too late. Haechan is already head over heels and no one can stop him from making a move to you. “Yeah, you’re right. This is the first time I see you smile because of a girl” Mark chugged his beer and left Haechan to get a refill.

To be completely honest, Haechan is scared to drag you with the drama that comes with him the moment he finally confess to you. He thought about ways on how to avoid all that and what Mark said when suddenly his phone dings.

You: Sorry it took me awhile. Send me the address?

This time, it’s Haechan who’s smiling from ear to ear because of you and nervous because you’re finally coming.

ROUND 2

You put on a simple white shirt, black pants, your favorite shoes and your favorite biker jacket. Hoping that Haechan will like your simplicity and that the party will appreciate people who underdress. Now that you know the truth between him and Lia, you’re not holding yourself back. If Haechan flirts with you tonight, you will definitely flirt back.

“You look iconic, come on I’ll get you a drink” he welcomed you with a hug outside Jeno’s house which you think is nice, he didn’t let you step inside a stranger’s house alone. The house looks great and you’re sure that without the neon lights scattered everywhere the house will definitely look like a home. Besides the generous amount of neon lights, the house is loud and full of jumping teenagers who are all strangers to you.

To your surprise, Haechan grabbed hold to your hand so you wont get lost in the crowd. You follow his lead which brought you to the mini bar beside the pool full of horny teenagers who are probably having pool sex at this very second.

“No hard drinks for the lady please” he said to his friend Renjun who mixes the drinks. He saw you and Haechan still holding each other’s hands and he quickly gave Haechan a teasing look that made him let go of you. “Before my dumb friend gets you into trouble, let me introduce myself” he offered his hand for you to shake which you gladly accepted, “Hi, I’m Renjun. I made every mixed drink you see in this party”

Haechan rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘show off’ towards his friend. “Impressive, and you’re not getting tired?- Oh y/n by the way” you shake his hand firmly and the next thing you know Haechan is getting the drinks and dragging you away from his friend to meet the other two, which you already knew who they are. Mark is the smart one and Jeno is the captain of the Taekwondo team.

The night went on beautifully and fun while you two flirt with each other the whole time in front of everyone to see without giving even one fuck about what they say behind your back. Even though you’re already a little buzzed because of the alcohol, you didn’t miss how Haechan placed his hand while he helps you win the beer pong game against Jeno and Mark, which again isn’t necessary because you know how to play beer pong.

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight. I’m taking you home” Haechan said while helping you put your jacket. He walked you home under the quiet and dark neighbourhood, laughing quietly while he tells you the most funniest jokes. Neither one of you don’t want to finish this night but it’s getting late, “thank you for inviting me to Jeno’s party” you said, stopping in front of your house. Crossing your arms and telling yourself that if this guy kiss you tonight, you’re going to scare him and make fun of him.

“Yeah, I definitely can tell you had fun” he slowly went closer to you and kissed your lips. Letting him fall to your trap. You pushed him away with enough force that tells him to stop, “s-sorry. I thought, were on the same page” Haechan panics and apologised immediately.

“Am I some kind of rebound? Or you’re just flirting because you want your ex to get jealous and win her back?” what you said was part true, you do want to know his intentions.

He breathes heavily before he explains with shaking voice, “The relationship I had with Lia is something I did for my mom, because my mom and Lia’s mom are friends and they want us to end up with each other. And I clearly don’t like that idea. I tried liking Lia but I couldn’t force myself when what I feel tells me exactly the truth and the answers to my questions”

He moved away to you while he’s pouring his heart out by explaining and telling you the truth. Hearing it made you feel guilty but at the same time you’re praising yourself for being a genius because you got Haechan to tell you the truth effortlessly.

“Quite frankly I don’t want this to end. If I fuck this up so what, I don’t care. I’ll fix it. I’m going to start over again, even if it means I have to bump on you accidentally on the hallway. Again. Just- fuck, I didn’t mean to move so fast, I’m so sorry” Haechan can hear his own heart beat, nervous that you’re just standing in front of him with crossed arms and not saying anything after everything he told you.

Soon, you can’t hold it in even longer. You burst into laughter and giggled loudly. Bringing Haechan closer to you and cupping his handsome face, admiring how cute he is with panic eyes. “It’s a joke. I’m sorry I made you nervous, handsome” you put your arms around Haechan’s neck and watch him get playfully annoyed to you. He shook his head on disbelief because you’re the only person who can match with his wit.

“Kiss me again?” you asked oh so sweetly, raking his soft hair.

He nods his head and kissed you again, softer than before and even meaningful than the first. You felt him smile in between kissing when you finally kissed him back. Savouring the feeling of your lips on his and the warmth of your embrace. And when the kiss is over, he puts his thumb on your lips, swiping the spit on those pretty lips. “Is this finally good night?” he asked, still looking at your lips.

“Sad to say, yes. Unless you find a way to climb up quietly to my room?”

He let out a soft giggle, “No. I don’t want to move so fast. Talk to you when I get home?”

“Yes please” before you two part ways, he gave you one last peck on the lips and finally let you go.

When Haechan got home, you were tucked in bed and waiting for your phone to ring and answer his call. And when he finally did, you two can’t see it but you’re both smiling widely while talking to each other and just hearing each other’s voices makes your heart flutter. It didn’t bother you two if the sun is shinning brightly already, Haechan waited for you to get tired and eventually fall asleep. Before he ends the call, he whispered a soft good night through the phone and went to bed with a smile.

ROUND 3

Come Monday, you were just telling Yeri about your weekend with Haechan and his friends and talking like how you two normally do around school when Lia blocked your way out on the girl’s restroom. “So you’re the new girl? If it wasn’t for you, Hyuck and I would still be together. You just had to ruin everything we’ve built for our relationship when you decided to go to this school”

“Not my fault you didn’t locked him up before I transfer schools. But it is my fault that you’re single now” you flashed a teasing smile at her before you head out and made sure to bump her shoulder on purpose. That would teach her a lesson and she will definitely know you’re not just anybody.

Truth be told you don’t want any fight because of someone who doesn’t understand the core meaning of the word ‘breakup.’ It’s clear that she’s just mad that you’re seeing Haechan now and that he’s more than happy with the relationship. But you can’t let someone treat you bad just because you got who you want, fair and square.

After school, you and Haechan went to his house to do some studying for English Literature. You love how it’s so quiet around their neighbourhood and the golden ray of light hits Haechan’s skin perfectly. From now on, golden hours with Haechan will be your thing.

You two sat on their hammock swing chair at their backyard, enjoying the golden hour by talking and giggling like little kids on a swing. “Who made this swing? I feel like I’m a baby” you said, feeling so comfortable beside Haechan.

“You are a baby. My baby” he raised his eyebrows once and winked at you. As your heart flutter because of what he said, you rolled your eyes at him and gave him a peck on the lips. Just a peck, because you knew all too well he will ask for more.

“What? That’s it? Just a peck?” he whines on disappointment.

“Yes. That’s all, come on. Homework time” breaking away from his embrace, you force yourself to stand up and convince Haechan to start studying. He brought you to your room so you two could focus on studying and to have some privacy after doing the homework.

“Guess who blocked my way at the girl’s restroom earlier” you sat on Haechan’s lap and put your arms around his neck.

“I know. Jeno told me he found Lia crying with Yeji and Ryunjin” he starts kissing your neck then realised he shouldn’t. “Listen, that girl is drama and I know you can take care of her but I just want to have a peaceful relationship with you. Please, just ignore her. These people will bring you down, and the more you notice them the more they will ruin you”

And it’s true what Haechan said, for the following weeks Lia’s group of friends has been hating you with all their might. Typical high school bullies who won’t stop at nothing but when Haechan took care of it, you felt so proud and safe. The look on Lia’s face when Haechan stood up for you in front of everyone definitely gave you the satisfaction and happiness. From there on, no one dares to meddle with your relationship with Haechan.

Things has been great between you and Haechan, you met his sister and his parents which are all adorable. Although his mom is still in favor with Lia, but nonetheless she respects Haechan’s decision.

After graduation, you spend too much time on Haechan’s place and sometimes things can go out of control. In the middle of making out with Haechan, your eyes widened when he suddenly slips his hand under your shirt and pull down the left cup of your bra. It felt uncomfortable and violating so you pushed him away from you.

“Nah, I’m not falling for that” you can’t believe what you’re hearing from your boyfriend and it’s making you crazy how suffocating it felt the whole time he was groping your boobs and pinching your nipples. Haechan thought you pushing him away was a prank like the one you did when he kissed you for the first time.

But he heard you sobbing and it made him stop. “Shit- shit! I’m sorry” he covered you with his thick duvet and gave you space. He went downstairs to get you a glass of water and slightly hated himself for what he just did to you.

Before he came back, you convinced yourself that he didn’t mean it and that your boyfriend is not a bad person. You made yourself presentable again and wiped your tears not wanting your boyfriend to see you scared around him. The moment he knocks on the door your heart jumped and you got nervous again, feeling your tears fall but you don’t know why.

He gave you a glass of water and you accepted it with shaking hands. Haechan sat on the edge of his bed, turning his back on you because he knew what he just did. He violated you and he didn’t even stop when you told him to, you don’t know but deep inside he’s punishing himself for being like that.

The two of you stayed away from each other for a good twenty minutes. Then you crawled towards him slowly and hugged him from behind, he’s more than happy that you don’t hate him and that you’re not going to breakup with him. “This will never happen again, I promise. I will never rush you ever again”

And it’s a promise he kept.

ROUND 4

When Haechan promised you that he will take it slow and not rush you with anything, he kept his word.

But now that you two are heading to college and spending the whole summer together as much as you can, you two can’t get enough of each other. There are times when you two will just lay down the swing, enjoy the quietness of the afternoon and watch the sun go down. Hands intertwined and legs tangled.

Some days are extra fun when you two help his sister bake anything she wants from cookies to cupcakes and Haechan will end up making a mess at the kitchen. Then by night you three will enjoy what you guys made while watching scary movies on Netflix.

And even though you’re still a virgin and so inexperienced compared to Haechan, you two find a way to feed your sex life without going all the way. You finally let him touch you without pushing him away or feeling violated, little by little you learned how to let go.

You remember when Haechan finger fucked you for the first time, you were so nervous because anyone can step in the living room and see that Haechan is on top of you. “Keep it down, my sister is on the other room” his kisses on your neck are not like any other, now it’s wet and his hands are all over your body. Kneading your clothed boobs, squeezing it a little harsh because he’s too horny. You can’t say you don’t like what he’s doing because you love it. Every part of it.

You love how his hands cups your boobs while he’s busy kissing your neck and you make quiet moans that Haechan loves so much. There were no talking the whole time, just pure kissing and quiet everything. You don’t have to ask him to do something because he knew perfectly well what you want. The couch is a bit uncomfortable for two people grinding on each other and kissing hungrily but no one seems to care.

“We won’t go all the way, I promise” he said but his hands are creeping under your skirt and on its way to remove your panties. “But we will go pretty far tonight, is that okay?” you nod your head nervously. To be honest he’s nervous too. Scared even. Scared that maybe you won’t approve of what he’s going to do and push him away again. You on the other hand really have no idea why he needs to remove your panties if he promised not to have sex with you tonight.

Heat surrounds your body when you saw Haechan put your panties on their coffee table. The living room is dark but once you opened your knees and lift your skirt, he will see your pussy for the first time. You breathe deeply when you felt his cold hands on top of your knee, ready to spread your legs open. “Shit- baby, stop” he stopped and gave you his jacket to cover your exposed legs. “Just give me a minute. I’m really shy right now, I don’t know why. Fuck, I’m sorry Hyuck”

“It’s okay, do you want to go to the bathroom to wear your panties?”

“No no, I don’t want to stop. Just getting shy that’s all. This will pass” it’s true you don’t want him to stop because you’re too horny now. “Kiss me?” he smiled and gave your request. You put away his jacket and pulled him close to you. Now you’re leaning comfortably on the armrest of their couch while Haechan kiss you softly. “I think I’m ready now” you told him in between kisses, but instead of making his move he just smiled at you and continue kissing you.

“I’ll tell you when you’re ready”

You don’t know what does that mean. You just enjoyed how he kisses you so filthy for the first time while his hands are resting on your closed legs. His tongue moves perfectly around your neck, leaving marks on the exposed skin of your cleavage and whispering dirty words that makes your legs spread unconsciously and put him right in between you.

“See, now you’re ready. You’re pretty wild yourself baby, spreading your legs for me huh” he teased you in between kisses that made you smile. Who would’ve thought spreading your legs for Haechan would feel really great.

In middle of feeling Haechan’s tongue dance around your neck and your hands are busy keeping him closer to your body, you feel his right hand made it’s way in between your legs and made contact with your wet folds. Without hesitation, you rolled your head back and closed your eyes as you enjoy his middle finger glide up and down your slit and spread your pussy juices.

Of course he knows what he’s doing, he watched you to melt with his touch underneath him while he play with your pussy. And again, unconsciously, you grind your hips on his finger completely letting go of your innocence. This will definitely not the first and last time Haechan will do this to you.

As your mind floats on how good Haechan makes you feel good, he flicks his finger a little faster, pinching your clit to make you moan, and finally putting his finger inside you. It made you open your eyes and look him in the eye. “that’s like a sneak peek on what it feels like to be fucked. Not even close but for the mean time, I’ll make cum using my fingers”

Your lips touched as he pumps his finger inside you, adding digits without any warning so you can have the full experience. Being quiet became a challenge when you’re finally on edge and Haechan’s fingers were still inside you while he’s whispering dirty things beside your ear. He needed to cover your mouth to muffle your moans when you finally came, closing your legs, crushing his arm in between them to ease the sensitivity of your clenching pussy.

“I fucking love you Lee Haechan”

ROUND 5

After slowly introducing you to more sexual activities you two are now bold and confident about touching each other. After a lot of trial and errors, you’re now an expert of sucking your boyfriend’s dick whenever you two are alone at their living room. You now happily open your legs for him to eat your pussy in your room and you let him finger you during Netflix and chill with his sister.

And now, after you suck him off and make him moan for the first time, you finally told him that you want to have sex with him and that you’re ready to go all the way. With no questions asked, Haechan helped you remove your clothes quickly and you did the same with him. Ending up fully naked in Haechan’s bed is making you shy like the first time he touched you and this is not good.

“Baby, calm the fuck down... stop moving” he giggle at you while lining his dick to your dripping entrance. The head of his dick is finally inside when you hiss again closing your legs and moving away from him. Telling him that it fucking hurts, even though it wasn’t even in yet.

“It wont hurt, I got you! You’re fucking dripping for crying out loud. Sliding in wont be a problem. Come on” he taps and caress both your thighs as he waits for you to open your legs again for him. Slowly he touches your soft skin, admiring how you stayed a virgin for him, your skin is glowing because of the golden sunlight from the window beside his bed.

Opening your legs again, Haechan kneels in between you and hooks both of his arms under your legs so you won’t get to close them again. “Line my cock so I can push in” you followed him like a good girl as he leans closer to your face for a kiss. His cock just perfectly lined to your cunt while you both kiss and enjoy each other’s sweet lips. Sweating and really nervous, he felt your chest move up and down against his and noticed that you’re getting scared every second that passes.

“Baby, it’s me, Haechan. Your boyfriend. Why are you being like this? Hmm? I thought you wanted this?” his tone was telling you to trust him because he’s your boyfriend. Telling you oh so sweetly to calm down or else he will stop and put your clothes back on. Still not moving from his position, Haechan didn’t want you to be scared before pushing his cock inside you so he continued talking to you.

“S-sorry. Just stuff running in my head. S-scared but I- yeah, I want this. Fuck, baby I want this to happen so bad. Can you just force it? Don’t wait for me to calm down?” You beg your boyfriend but he shook his head no.

“Where’s the love in that if I force this in you? I’ll kiss you while I go in, hows that?” the offer wasn’t bad, you nod agreeing to him and his lips touch yours the moment you nod.

Waiting for the perfect time to push in, Haechan can be really patient when it comes to you. When he felt you let go, he slowly pushed in and you swear you stopped breathing for a moment. Taking a second to finally believe that Haechan is fucking you now. Speechless the whole time as you feel him go inside you, you stare at his eyes shining because of the afternoon light.

Your hand flew to his face, gripping his chin and jaw as you feel slightly betrayed. “You said it wouldn’t hurt?” a small tear run down your eye as you feel the stretch of your cunt stinging so bad you can’t stop whimpering.

“Sshh. Of course it will hurt baby. Can you feel this?” Haechan was half moaning and grunting while talking to you, moving his cock in and out slowly to prove his point not pulling out entirely. You nod your head, moaning deliciously. Feeling how he’s so good, lips parted as you wait for him to be balls deep inside you, letting go a low “ooh” once he’s fully inside.

You reach in for his lips again devouring it while you clench and unclench all you want. “You won’t cum if we just keep on kissing. Stop luring me you minx” he kissed your left boob, biting and sucking it as he rolls his hips a little giving you a peak of what’s about to happen. Haechan pull away when he felt you stiffen again, hips roll slowly as you get familiar with the stretch.

“Sensitive baby, I cant-“

“Of course you can you’re my girl”

Without a warning he gave you piercing thrust, enough to make your boobs bounce. Licking the valley between your breast before you could curse him out. Reaching for your hands as he brings them both on top of your head together with the pillows, fucking you with a steady and fast pace.

“I love you. You know that right?” A breathy and weak “yes” escaped from your mouth. Toes curling already as you feel that knot on your lower abdomen.

After a few fast thrust and some delicious slow ones that you specifically loved, you reached your much awaited high and Haechan pulled his dick out and pumps it in front of you. Ruining his perfect blue sheets. Making you horny and crave for your boyfriend again, you reach in for another condom, “Again, Haechan please let’s make round two a little longer”

He let out a small laugh as he lays beside you, fingertips scraping on your golden skin. “So now you’re begging me to fuck you again huh, okay. Round 2 in five minutes, I need to catch my breath” he said and left a kiss on your shoulders.

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Masterlist

First of all thank you for reading! This is inspired by Link and Tracy’s love story in Hairspray. I just rewatched it earlier and damn I forgot how I used to love every song in that movie. Hope you guys can watch it :) Also listen to I can hear the bells hihi.

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itslieutenanthawkeye · 3 years

Text

Lucky Guy

Day 7 of Jeankasa Week: College AU

AO3

Sasha and Connie dragged him forward; they’d loaded him up on caffeine that very afternoon, picked up a set of clothes for him and tried to shave his stubble. Jean hadn’t allowed them to do the latter. The night was starting, and he already felt tired.

Final exams had worn him out, consumed all his energy for the sake of a pass, for the sake of a chance of a good job in the future, a nice home for his family. Not that he had any prospects at the moment, mind you. All he seemed to have was stress, and exhaustion nowadays.

He understood that the two dragging him to the party wanted to help him wind down, but Connie had already started taking over for his family business and Sasha had graduated culinary school a year ago. They were living the adult, independent life already.

Meanwhile Jean was stuck with physics and mathematics. At least the artistic portion part of his classes was fulfilling.

“So, where’s Niccolo?” Connie asked as they got on the tramway.

“He had to close up, but he’ll meet us at the party later.” Sasha said, taking them to the long seat at the back of the tramway. Jean sat in between the two, listening to their chatter in silence. “Aren’t you going to lighten up, Jean? You look like someone just died.”

Jean lowered his head, the repetitive rattling of the cart almost lulling him to sleep. “My will to live has died.”

“Come on, man, is it that bad since Marco left?”

“That traitor.” Jean said, with a tone of voice that spoke longing instead of anger.

Marco and he had decided to study architecture together; Jean driven by his knack for drawing, Marco driven by his desire to be by his side. A year into their university course, however, he’d gotten that scholarship to study photography in Hizuru. A great, one-in-a-lifetime opportunity that didn’t come around twice.

An opportunity that would force them to stay apart for four full years. Since neither had enough money to fly back and forth and Jean had not wanted to give up his studies in Paradis, they’d decided to remain friends. They’d been friends since the beginning, after all.

After the first months of heartbreak, Jean had realized that Marco had left him with just about enough money to pay for three months of rent. Although he couldn’t blame him, Jean had gotten the habit of cursing him lowly for the past year, whenever he was forced to balance his part time job and his ridiculous physics lessons.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t get another roommate.” Connie said, scratching the back of his ear. “Are you just holding out until a cute guy shows up at your door?”

“Or girl.” Sasha added, opening a bag of potato chips sneakily.

“Oi, Sasha,” Jean said, frowning. “We’re gonna get a fine because of you.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Sasha said, waving her hand to undermine the matter. “You guys want some? They’re new spicy ones.”

Jean reached out under her jacket and took a few chips into his mouth. “I take it the restaurant is doing well? With you being okay for paying fines, I mean.”

“Niccolo said that breakfast menu I came out with put us on top. If we keep it up, in about two years we’ll be able to set our next location,” she said proudly, her mouth also half full of chips. She gave Jean a significant look. “We’ll need an architect for the place. And someone here will be almost finished with uni.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to remind you.”

“You know you can ask for money, right, Jean?” Connie said, resting his back against the seat. “You don’t need to work yourself to death when you’ve got us.”

Another lazy smile came to his face. “I don’t want to be a burden to you guys.”

“You’re more of a burden when you don’t come with us to these things,” Connie said. “First, you missed all barbecue nights at Niccolo and Sasha’s. And now you didn’t want to come, and you know Reiner throws the best parties. His little cousin took down that Galliard guy the last time.”

“Isn’t she a kid?” Jean blurted out.

“She likes to sneak in to get in fights with the college kids.” Connie explained, laughing. “I think she’s been in martial arts since five or something.”

“Now that’s a surprise,” Sasha said, elbowing Connie as the tramway arrived at its next station. Jean looked at the person getting on and his breath caught. Wearing a corseted black dress, her hair up in a high ponytail and wearing a choker around her elegant neck, Mikasa Ackerman stood out as a comet across a blue sky.

“I didn’t think she’d come tonight,” Connie said. “You know, considering Eren.”

“What happened with Eren?” Jean asked.

“Don’t you check her feed?” Connie asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “You know, since you had that huge crush on her in high school and whatnot.”

“I’ve been busy.” Jean said, too tired to try and deny that crush he’d had on her in their school days, the crush that had always irked Marco somehow. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m too busy to be concerned about other people’s drama.”

“They broke up,” Connie said in a gossipy tone, as if Jean hadn’t just snapped at him. “Around six months ago. He skipped town. Didn’t want to be tied down or something, wanted to be free as birds or whatever. He’s backpacking in the continent, I think.”

Jean sat straighter on his seat. That dick. That stupid, nihilistic piece of shit. “Why didn’t you guys tell me? Isn’t Sasha her best friend?”

“Because you disappeared the whole semester, man. That’s why I told you to ask for money instead of working yourself to death,” Connie said, shaking him by the shoulder. “You miss out on parties and gossip.”

“Stop it. She’ll hear you,” Sasha said, lifting her arm to wave at Mikasa. “Hey! Mikasa, over here! Come sit with us!”

Jean felt heat in his cheeks. “Sasha, don’t. She’ll come.”

“That’s what I want.”

“I can’t talk when she looks this pretty.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Stop being an idiot, Jean.”

Mikasa’s eyes caught sight of them and she made her way to their seat, not bothering to hold onto anything to keep her balance as the tramway moved forward. They had known each other from high school and little things had changed about the way she moved; she carried herself with the elegance of a swan, and the strength of a mountain. He remembered teasing Eren about her being the boss in their relationship during their very last year of school, when the embers of jealousy had begun to die for Jean, and chuckled lowly at the memory of the enraged response he always received.

“Hi, everyone,” she greeted them. Sasha scooted to the side, and Mikasa sat between her and Jean, close enough for him to smell her perfume. “Are you guys going to Reiner’s?”

“Best parties in Trost.” Sasha said, offering her the bag of potato chips. “Want some?”

Mikasa dipped her hand in the bag. “Aren’t you scared you’ll get a fine?”

“She says she’ll pay it,” Connie explained, reaching over Jean and Mikasa to grab more.

“Sasha,” Mikasa said sternly. “How many more fines are you going to pay?”

“She’s paid more this month?!” Jean said.

“She has. It’s getting ridiculous, she can’t go on a tramway without getting hungry…” Mikasa stopped herself from talking and settled her eyes on him, with a vague surprised expression on her lovely pale face. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy with work.” Jean said, shrugging, hoping that she wouldn’t see the blush in his cheeks that look of her had caused. He waited a second, wondering if he should bring up that he had, in fact, seen her. “I saw you, though. Drawing, in the Maria building.”

Understanding washed over her face, and her mouth fell open. “You should’ve said hi, Jean.” She said. “It’s a huge classroom, there’s no way I could’ve seen you.”

“I’m sorry.” Jean muttered. Truth was, he hadn’t wanted her to see him in the state he’d been in two weeks ago. With his double shifts at work and his assignments for the end of the semester, Jean had resembled a walking corpse more than a human.

Mikasa was an anthropology and history major and, much like Jean himself, worked part time jobs. However, with her looks, most of her part time jobs were related to modeling. That morning at creative drawing, she’d been hired to pose for the class covered only by a thin sheet. And despite being a class full of professionals, Jean had still not wanted the girl who resembled a goddess to see him bordering a mental breakdown.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” She asked him.

“Does it show that bad?”

Mikasa’s mouth made a perfect O in terror. “I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

Jean chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It shows. If uni wasn’t free, I would’ve gone broke already.”

“You need to look after your health more, Jean. Have you even been eating well? If you don’t sleep and don’t eat well, you’re just going to burn out,” Mikasa said, then froze, grabbing the hand that was going to reach out to him. “I’m sorry. I just sounded like a mother there.”

“You’re right, though.” Jean replied, smiling at her. “I haven’t been eating well. With work—”

“Is that why you haven’t been to any of the barbecues?”

“You went?”

Mikasa nodded. “We missed you.”

Jean’s head came up with a thousand names to call himself in that moment. He missed his friends enough during the semesters without the knowledge that she’d been hanging out with them at barbecue night. “I’ll make it next time.” He managed to say. “Did Armin go?”

“He’s been busy with moving in with Annie.” Mikasa said, sighing. “I don’t think I’d talk to anyone outside work if it wasn’t for Sasha and Mina.”

“Wait, Armin moved out too?” Jean asked, growing concerned. “Did those two just up and left you alone in that huge apartment?”

“Armin left me some money to pay a couple more months’ worth of rent.” Mikasa said, almost apologizing in Armin’s behalf. Jean’s fists clenched automatically; he’d seen how smitten he was with that marleyan girl, but leaving Mikasa alone to pay for that huge apartment by herself…

“Besides, I insisted,” Mikasa added with a low voice. “I didn’t want him to wallow in self pity with me when he has a perfectly lovely girlfriend.”

Jean sighed tiredly. He should’ve known. Even heart broken, Mikasa cared more about her friend’s happiness than her own economic safety. In a way, it was something that made her all the more charming in his eyes.

“Hey, are you two going to ignore us all the way there?” Connie asked, slapping the back of Jean’s head. “Why did you have to sit in between us if you’re just gonna talk to each other?”

“He’s right,” Sasha said, shaking Mikasa by the shoulder. “Mikasa, pay attention to your best friend now! She brought chips for you!”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes in Sasha’s direction. “Since when do you carry food for anyone but yourself, Braus?”

Sasha’s face contracted into a miserable expression, and she threw herself over Mikasa, hugging her while kissing her head. “Not the last name treatment, Mikasa!”

Maybe a few years ago, Mikasa would’ve thrown Sasha back onto her seat. This time, however, she limited herself to exchange an amused look with him and Connie, patting Sasha’s head in a conciliatory manner. “Alright, alright. Control yourself,” she told Sasha. “Don’t you have a boyfriend? What will Niccolo say if he sees you hugging a woman like this?”

“He’ll probably think we look hot.” Sasha replied innocently.

“What a perv.”

“Mikasa!”

_________________

The tramway took them to the west end of Trost, where high skyscrapers and fancy apartment buildings rose into the sky. The elevator took them a whole thirty floors up to Reine’rs apartment. As soon as they walked in, Jean stared at the ceramic floors, the balcony with its hot tub and view of the distant mountains in the island. When Reiner came to greet them with a hug for each, Jean held him by the shoulders.

“When did you get this rich?” He asked, baffled. How had everyone gotten rich so quick before him?

“My mother and I won the alimony trial last month,” Reiner laughed, hugging him again to then make a wide gesture with his arms at the people in the room. From the way he moved, Jean guessed he was already drunk. “Nineteen years’ worth of unpaid alimony, all paid in full!”

The crowd cheered, raising their beer bottles in the air to celebrate his makeshift toast. “Galliard, Pieck!” Reiner said, stumbling back into the crowd, being caught by the two exchange Marleyan students. “Get the karaoke machine going!”

Sasha and Connie dived into the party in full, going over to Mina, who had her hands full while pouring two bottles of vodka into a large crystal bowl filled with fruits and juice. Jean rubbed his temple; getting drunk wasn’t on his list of priorities, not with so little sleep in his system.

He turned to look at his right, realizing Mikasa stood by the door, watching the crowd move around Reiner’s apartment with apprehension. He took a couple of steps in her direction, leaning against the wall with his hands crossed over his chest, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to appear nonchalant. “See anyone you know?” He asked.

“Too many people.” She muttered in response, rubbing her arms. “Sasha said this was going to be like the barbecue.”

One would think that with her looks and strength, Mikasa would be a little more popular. She’d been an introvert since secondary school, shielded behind the personalities of her two childhood friends. And despite that a few people had managed to break through the cold outer layer of her personality (like Sasha, who’s might as well have gone through it with a war hammer) it always seemed to Jean that there as hidden sadness behind her eyes, a brake of sorts that didn’t allow her to express herself to the fullest.

“Let’s go to the balcony,” she said, pulling his sleeve. “Bring beers.”

Jean almost -almost- felt bad for Reiner’s father as they walked along the balcony. Trost had skyscrapers aplenty, but very few had a perfect look of the suburbs and mountains, and very few had an infinity pool with a hot tub included. The place must’ve costed a fortune. He could almost see his own neighborhood from this height.

They found a set of unoccupied pillowed seats at the corner, far from Reiner’s infinity pool, and sat there to watch the city in silence.

“I live there,” Mikasa said after a while, pointing south to a cluster of colorful buildings. “It’s the big tall one, with the red lights.”

“Ah, party town,” Jean said. He and Marco had tried to find a place there, but the rent had been astronomical, given its strategic location near the universities and clubs. “Was it a big change from the suburbs? That’s where you grew up in, right?”

“It was a huge change from my uncle’s house,” she said, her eyes set on the red building, amused at some memory Jean wasn’t aware of. “He was grossed out when he visited last year.”

“College neighborhood isn’t for him?”

“He said it was too dirty,” Mikasa said, sighing. “Although I’m sure he was terrified at the number of teenagers that threw themselves at him. He said I was to visit him from now on.”

Jean giggled at that. “Girls threw themselves at Levi?”

“Apparently he’s got something that makes university students go crazy.” Mikasa said, making a disgusted noise. Jean laughed again; Levi had been their teacher in middle school. How any college girl found him so appealing, he didn’t understand.

“Well, at least you can have fun in that neighborhood.” Jean said.

Mikasa made another disgusted noise. “I was only there because Eren suggested it. It was too loud for my liking. Too many creeps on the streets. And the rent is too high.”

“How did you guys manage to afford that? I mean, Eren and Armin aren’t precisely rich,” Jean said, covering his mouth as soon as he realized what he’d blurted out. “I’m sorry, Mikasa! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Mikasa said, shaking her head in amusement. “Eren’s brother paid for most of the rent. He works in Marley and sent him money.”

She finished with a sigh, setting her eyes on the floor for a second before taking a sip of her beer. When she turned to look at him, Jean recognized annoyance in her eyes. “Now that he’s gone, Zeke stopped paying for that big chunk of the rent.”

“And Armin moved in with Annie,” Jean finished saying.

“And I’m in that huge place all by myself,” Mikasa said, taking another sip from her bottle. “Scraping my bank account to pay utilities, taking any modeling job that comes up besides working at Sasha’s restaurant, two months behind on rent.”

“Did Sasha offer you money yet?” Jean asked, recalling all the times their friend had tried to hand him checks for his rent.

Mikasa smiled. “A couple of times. But I don’t want to be a burden to her. As good as the restaurant is doing, having her own business can be tricky. One bad luck streak and she’ll be needing that money she offers me.”

“What about a roommate?”

“Nobody I know can afford rent there. I don’t want to disturb Niccolo and Sasha, and Levi has plenty on his plate. And it’s impossible to find a place this late in the year,” Mikasa said, sighing tiredly again. “Do you know how close I am to modeling underwear? A man in this shady company offered me so much money for nudes the other day—”

“Move in with me.” Jean blurted out, and his words were followed by excruciatingly long minutes. Mikasa rested her back against the seat, scrutinizing him with those perfect, serious eyes. “I don’t mean in a weird way. I mean, my rent is much less than yours must be. But ever since Marco left, it’s been harder to afford it on my own. I could use a roommate, and all the people I’ve interviewed were weirdos.”

“Won’t Marco be angry?” Mikasa asked politely. “Won’t he be upset that a girl is living with you?”

Jean smiled. “We’re not together anymore.”

“No?” She said, looking genuinely surprised. “Why? What happened? I thought—”

“Neither wanted a long-distance relationship, or had the money to afford one,” Jean explained, surprised at the lack of pain in his words when he spoke of what had happened. Perhaps, the exhaustion throughout the year had forced his heart to get over a heartbreak quickly.

“Besides,” Jan added, arching his eyebrow in her direction. “I know for a fact that hizuran people are beautiful. I couldn’t deny him having fun over there. So, we decided to stay as friends.”

Mikasa smiled, and Jean blushed. “You’re a good friend.”

“I’m not,” Jean replied, leaning back against his seat as well. “I had no idea about you and Eren. You’re our friend since high school, and I had no idea you’d gotten your heart broken too this year. So, I’m not that good of a friend.”

Mikasa rested her hand at her sides, her pinky almost touching his, leaning back to catch sight of the night sky. “You’re in no obligation to carry anyone’s pain, Jean, let alone mine.”

“What do you mean? You’re my friend.”

“I know. We are friends,” Mikasa said quickly, as if noticing the hint of pain her previous words had caused in him. “What I mean is…I knew it was going to happen. I saw the change in Eren. I knew he wouldn’t want to stay put. He was more in love with the idea of freedom than with me. I should’ve ended it a long while ago. So, no need to carry pain that was dragged on for no purpose.”

“And you didn’t want to go with him?”

Mikasa thought about it for a moment. He could hear Reiner and that Pieck girl singing at the top of their lungs inside, as well as Connie’s laughter. And yet, all his mind was set on was her, how her eyes focused on his as she spoke every word, how a bit of lipstick had smudged on the edges of her mouth due to their drinking. Jean had always been aware of Mikasa’s beauty, but he hadn’t been truly enthralled by it in a very long time.

“I don’t think I would’ve gone,” she said at last. “I love the island. I love my home. I want to have a peaceful life here, grow old here. I like seeing new places, but I don’t want to spend my life wandering. He did.”

Jean nodded, understanding her fully. All he’d ever dreamed of was a nice house in the inner districts, alongside the wife -or husband- of his choosing.

“Besides,” Mikasa said with a quiet laugh. “He never asked me to come.”

“What a fucking idiot.”

Mikasa blinked in surprise. “I’m not mad at him, Jean. You don’t need to be in my behalf.”

“I’m not mad on your behalf,” Jean said, shaking his head, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows, feeling all of that frustration he’d had towards Eren in high school come back in full. “What kind of idiot do you have to be to break the heart of someone like you?”

“Someone like me?”

“You’re fucking amazing!” Jean said, shocked by the confusion in her face. “Mikasa, you’re gorgeous, smart, strong. You can lift a whole hundred pounds without breaking a sweat…who would want to break your heart?”

Another chuckle escaped her throat, and she gave him a look that he could only describe a sweet. “Thank you,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “My heart was breaking the whole last year we were together, though. I guess in a way, him leaving helped me heal.”

“I hope he falls into a pit.” Jean muttered, then shook his head. “No, I hope I fall into a pit, for not noticing you were hurting before.”

“You had your thing with Marco moving away,” Mikasa replied. “If anything, I was the jerk for not helping you like Connie and Sasha did. I was too focused on trying to force Eren to be happy with me.”

“Still, I should’ve helped.”

“You’re helping now,” Mikasa replied, lifting her pierced eyebrow. “You’re letting me be your roommate, aren’t you?”

Jean took a deep gulp of his beer before speaking. “So, you are taking up on my offer?”

“Yes,” Mikasa said, setting her eyes on the section of town in which he lived in. “If you take up on my offer.”

“Which is?”

“The agency wants a couple male models,” she said, elbowing him playfully. “I heard from Sasha how you’re killing yourself at that part time. This money won’t be great, I do warn you, but it will be better, and you’ll have more time to study.”

The color traveled to his cheeks yet again. “I-I’m not a model, Mikasa.”

“No need to be modest, Kirstein,” she said, scrutinizing him again, her gaze sensing a shock of electricity across him. “I saw you on that beach trip we did. You’ve got nothing to envy from the models.”

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and Jean’s mind became a storm. Had she just told him she found him attractive? No, it couldn’t be. She’d just said he had nothing to envy from male models. But that was just a creative way to call someone hot, wasn’t it? She had no reasons to call him hot, however.

“Jean, I think—”

“Niccolo!” Sasha’s shouted drunkenly, startling the two in their seats. It wasn’t until they turned in her direction that Jean realized how close their faces had been to each other.

“Alright, alright. Do it again.” Niccolo laughed, sounding quite drunk himself. Sasha grabbed her shirt and tightened it around her waist, showing him her bloated stomach.

Niccolo giggled. “It’s adorable! It does look like you’re pregnant,” he said between snorts. “How many garlic buns did you eat back there?”

“Why are you calling your baby a garlic knot, Niccolo?!” Sasha half-laughed, half cried, only causing Niccolo to laugh harder. They were soon on the floor, struggling to catch their breath because of their laughter, and Jean was grateful for the protective mesh at the edge of the balcony.

“They’re drunk.”

“They’re high.” Mikasa said, casting a glance inside. “Ymir and Historia are here.”

“No wonder they’re high.” Jean chuckled. Historia wore a beautiful pink dress, looking as happy as ever with Ymir’s hands around her waist. Ymir, as always, wore a dark suit. As always, she was more focused on kissing Historia’s neck than the conversation around her. They’d been inseparable since their wedding, and from the sparkling necklace around Historia’s neck, Jean supposed their business was growing well.

Mikasa grabbed his sleeve. “Do you want to go get some?”

“You smoke that stuff?” Jean asked, wondering when he’d smoked anything last.

“Not really.” Mikasa admitted, looking at Sasha laughing on the floor while placing a thousand drunken kisses on Niccolo’s forehead. “It looks like they’re having fun, though.”

“We could do it to celebrate,” Jean said, shrugging. “You know, each of just found a good roommate and we might not be as broke from now on.”

“You are sure about the roommate matter?” Mikasa asked, frowning. “You’ll have to take a few visits from my uncle.”

“I’ll cope.” Jean said, looking at Niccolo and Sasha. “Are you sure? What if Eren returns and gets mad?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “He can get as mad as he wants. I won’t care.” She said, and from her tone of voice , Jean knew she was done talking about Eren for the time being. She looked more annoyed at the inconveniences that Eren had caused her than heart broken. Perhaps, the exhaustion had forced her to get over a heartbreak quick, as well.

Jean offered her his hand. “Shall we, my lady?”

“You’re still an idiot,” Mikasa said, intertwining her arm with his. “Thank you, by the way.”

“No, thank you,” he said, using his other hand to take their bottles. He offered one to her and lifted his own. “Toast? For roommates?”

“For roommates.” Mikasa said. Their bottles clang together, their sound foretelling a change of wind for the two, perhaps.

______________________

Gabi walked along the bookstore holding onto Falco’s arm. She and her mother spent summers with her cousin Reiner in the island. And despite this being her fifth year visiting him and despite the luxuries of his apartment, she missed him terribly each time she left. So, she clung to him before and after her journeys, enjoying their time together as if it were a treasure.

“Want to get an ice cream afterwards?” He asked.

“The place by the zeppelin museum?” Falco nodded in response, and Gabi smiled widely. “Alright, then. But it’s my treat this time.”

“Let me buy the comic books this time, at least,” he said, pulling out a book with a few giants on the cover. “This looks good, doesn’t it?”

Gabi frowned at the sight of the naked giants. “I hate historical fiction.”

“It’s not like titans were real, Gabi,” Falco said, running through the pages. “This is mostly political-oriented. See? They even consulted a historian from Paradis to write it.”

“Hey, I know her!” Gabi said excitedly, looking at the picture of the main consultant from the work. “She’s the head of the anthropology museum at the island. She’s Reiner’s friend.”

“Is she?” Falco said, his eyes wide as he stared at the picture of Mikasa, who wore a fancy pantsuit and had her hair up in a ponytail. Unlike at the parties, her make up in this was formal, no bright pink lipstick, no dark eyeshadow. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

“Falco!” Gabi said, then took a second look at the picture. “You’re right, she’s really pretty. Her husband is a lucky guy. He always says it himself.”

“Oh, she’s married?”

“Yeah, she married a friend of hers, I think. It was a late spring wedding, so I didn’t get to go. They’ve got a baby on the way and everything,” Gabi said, scrunching up her nose. “He’s friends with Reiner too, but I can’t recall the guy’s name.”

“Gabi, you see those people every summer,” Falco said, his kind face showing a slight hint of repeoach. “You should at least learn their names.”

“Reiner has way too many friends for me to remember,” Gabi replied, not wanting to admit that she did need to be a little more polite to them. “I do remember he had a bit of a horse face.”

“A horse face?” Falco said, horrified. “This woman here married a guy with a horse face?”

Gabi smiled amusedly. “She seemed quite smitten by him. Every time I go and they’re there, they’re always all lovey dovey. Kissing, hugging, they can’t keep their hands off each other,” she said, tilting her head to the side with a flirty smile. “Besides, it was just a nickname. The man is handsome, and taller than most guys, too.”

“Gabi, don’t talk so kindly about married men.” Falco said, closing the magazine with his cheeks flushed. Although his expression caused her own smile to grow wider.

“Are you jealous?” She teased, then placed a fleeting peck on his lips. “You’re way more handsome than horse face. And, you still have more years to grow. I’m sure that you’ll be taller than him by when we get married.”

“Gabi!” Falco said, flushing harder.

#Jeankasa #jeankasaweek2021 #JeanMika #jean kirschtien #Mikasa Ackerman #Jeankasa Week 2021 #fanfic #drug mention

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wkemeup · 4 years

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By Any Other Name (15)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.1k warnings: SMUT (18+), rumlow is a piece of shit, drug trafficking, cannon level violence, a serious emotional roller coaster because there was no good way to split these chapters 🌹series masterlist 🌹

Bucky was sick to his stomach; bile etching up his throat, rancid and bitter to his tongue, cooper pooling behind his lips. He felt the drip of feverish sweat drip down his neck. Nails digging into his own palms, puncturing skin, though he barely noticed the sting of it. How could he possibly pay attention to anything but the way you were leaning into your husband, giggling at his stupid jokes, fingers trailing along his jaw line in gentle strokes the way you touched him just hours earlier.

Your legs were thrown over Rumlow’s lap as you squeezed in beside him on the couch, tucked between the arm of the sofa and your husband’s grimy hands sliding along your lower back. You laughed at something he said and Bucky had to remind himself that it was an act, a ruse to get Rumlow to fall in line and lead you straight to the heart of his smuggling operation.

You were a better actor than Bucky gave you credit for, though it didn’t seem to ease his discomfort at seeing you this close to a man who had ripped your life to pieces.

Twenty-four hours. That’s all it took for Rumlow to fall to your spell. It turned out he was as needy for your devotion as he was for the money lining his pockets. You were right, that he would easily succumb to you the moment you started to show an interest. It was his fantasy; to rule Hydra with a beautiful woman on his arm, one who’s eagerness followed him outside of public events and into the private halls of this home. He liked the attention, the validation, the power over a woman who spend years despising him.

It was a game to him. One, he believed he won.

“What’s gotten into you, baby?” Rumlow drawled, his hands slithering along your thighs, slipping along your curves, and Bucky could see your sharp intake of breath even from his place at the far corner of the room. Rumlow didn’t seem to notice your tension solidifying to stone even with his hands upon you.

“I got tired of fighting this. Fighting us,” you replied breathily, expertly pulling the resentment from your voice and molding it to something light and sweet. It sounded foreign in your voice. “I got tired of telling myself I was better than all this, but the truth is… it’s me and you, Brock. It’s always been me and you.”

“That’s right,” he growled, his lips touching your jawline and Bucky tried to avert his eyes, tried to find something interesting in the room to stare holes into until he could count every last detail, every last molecule in the surface, but he couldn’t. He was drawn right back to you, tangled in Rumlow’s arms.

“I want in,” you said, crossing your legs over one another as his hand traveled along the top of your thigh; purposeful effort to block his path.

“Hydra is a tall order, baby. It’s not as pretty as you are.”

“I’ve seen the blood. I’ve seen the bodies in the basement.”

“And if I recall, you were rather upset with me for what happened with your cousin, but that’s the business, baby. That’s something you have to be on board with,” Rumlow warned, voice muffled by your neck as he kissed at the skin there.

Your jaw was clenched, eyes burning with rage while he was otherwise occupied, and Bucky watched as you tightened your hands to fists to stop the shaking. You did not spare him a glance, no casual look in his direction. He didn’t suspect you could stand it, not with Rumlow’s lips on you like that.

“I understand now,” you told him, voice surprisingly even as you ran your fingers through his jet-black hair. He pulled back and a short wave of relief eased at your shoulders. “Let me stand by you the way you’ve always wanted. I’m done with the shadows and that stupid library. I want you. I want Hydra.”

Heat in his chest, like fire and envy, Bucky clenched his jaw, wired shut. He wondered how those words felt on your tongue as you said them, if they tasted of the bile in his mouth or if your stomach was in painful, aching knots. He wondered how hard it was for you to dismiss the only room of this house you felt safe in. He wondered if you wanted to scream the way he did.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Rumlow smirked, pleased by your offers. His lips returned to your neck, marking skin to bruising colors, claims on your body visible for everyone to see, and Bucky had never wanted to kill a man more in his life.

“We have company,” you said quietly, a slight tremor in your voice he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care.

Your eyes met Bucky’s across the room for only a short moment, a wave of pain there; lingering guilt, sadness, remorse, to have another man’s hands on you, lips on you, marks on your body that do not belong to the man you love. It was the first time you’d looked in his direction since you started this charade.

Bucky wanted to tell you that it was okay, that he -- more than anyone else -- knew what it meant to push pieces of yourself aside for the sake of an assignment, but before he could offer you even the smallest of an encouraging smile, Rumlow’s hand on your leg caught his attention.

It pushed between your thighs despite the tight cross of your legs, slipping higher up, and your wide eyes flashed towards Bucky in panic.

“Sir,” Bucky coughed, stepping out from his place in the corner of the room; the silent guard, the observer to his own heartache. Rumlow pulled back from you, rolling his eyes and his hand slipped out from your legs. It was a momentary relief.

“What do you want, Karpov? I’m a little busy with my wife.”

He had to say something. Anything. Keep that piece of shit away from his girl.

“There are some orders for the shipment tonight that need your sign off,” Bucky said shortly. It wasn’t a lie, at least, and it may kill two birds with one stone.

“Jesus, fine,” Rumlow groaned, pushing your legs off of him rather harshly as he moved to stand. He brushed down his thighs, pushing over wrinkles in his slacks and a clear budge at his crotch he made no effort to hide.

Sharp pain in Bucky’s palms again.

“You know what?” Rumlow started, pausing at the edge of the room as he turned back to you. “Why don’t you come with me? You want to be front and center, baby? I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

You grinned, eyes brightening as you jumped up from the couch. It was like an entirely different person, a mask of a woman Rumlow always wanted you to be, and you threw yourself into his embrace. Arms wrapped around his neck, a slow kiss to his cheek, and Bucky could feel his heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest.

He moved to follow, but Rumlow held up a hand.

“Stay here, Karpov. I think I can handle my wife alone.”

Bucky’s eyes quickly flashed to yours, unwilling to leave you alone with this monster for even a second, but you gave him a short nod, tight on your smile. The steadiness of the movement, the subtly of it, and you told him through watchful eyes to stand down.

Bucky had never felt so useless in his life.

“Yes, sir,” he replied flatly, stepping back though everything in him urged him to you. He watched as you intertwined your fingers to Rumlow’s, tugging him along to the office, to behind closed doors, and Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat for the third time that morning.

***

“He agreed!” you exclaimed quietly, sliding between the double doors to your library where Bucky was there waiting for you.

Bucky sat on the couch, just on the very edge, tension tight throughout his body because you’d been gone for over an hour. He tried not to look for the sighs he knew so well in you; the slight tussle of your hair, the collar of your shirt uneven around your neck, a flush in your cheeks and a heaviness in your breath.

He was too distracted to realize you were perfectly put together. Not a hair out of place.

“He’ll take me to the docks tonight,” you confirmed again, smiling wide as you plopped down on the couch beside him, sinking in the cushions and sliding closer to him. The length of your thigh pressed to his and he wrung his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees, hunched over.

“James?”

He didn’t respond, too afraid it might come out like the garbled mess inside his head.

“I was expecting a little more of a reaction here. This is what we were hoping for isn’t it?” you chuckled nervously, hand sliding up his spine. Goosebumps trailed in your wake but he kept his eyes on the coffee table, on a particular stained ring at the center, overlapped to another, the evidence of your endless nights in this sanctuary.

When he didn’t respond again, you asked, “honey, what’s wrong?”

Bucky shook his head. He heard Rumlow start up the car outside minutes before you arrived, off to a short meeting downtown before the shipment arrived in the evening. Last minute arrangements to be checked off.

“I know I have no right to ask you this,” Bucky started, voice feeling thick and heavy on his tongue, “and you don’t have to answer. I know that you’re only doing this to put an end to Hydra and you’re risking so much to help us lock him up, but—”

“Are you asking if I slept with him?”

You were surprised as you leaned back to the couch, hand falling away from his back. A chill swept through his body in the absence of your touch and he turned back to look at you, guilt ridden and through hooded eyes, shielding over deep blue. He nodded.

“James,” you sighed achingly, “I told you I wouldn’t let it come to that. Regardless if I was with you or not. I’m not letting that piece of shit ever touch me again.”

A stone lifted from the pit of his stomach, though it still burned.

“All I had to do was stand a little closer to him,” you said slowly, watching his expression carefully, “tell him he was big and strong, stroke his ego a bit. He showed me the papers, explained it to me like I was five-years-old, as if I didn’t have multiple graduate degrees. He likes to put his hands on me; gives him some sense of control, but all I did was kiss his cheek. He tastes like cigar smoke, James. It’s disgusting.”

Bucky nodded, feeling rather foolish for letting his jealousy get the best of him. He tried to parade it as his protectiveness for you, but he knew better than that. You could carry your own and you would not give yourself to Rumlow if you didn’t want to, if you didn’t feel like it was the only option. He knew you’d do anything to finish this case and be done with that man for good, but you would not do that.

“I guess,” Bucky sighed, nervously scratching at the back of his head, “I just thought—”

“Well, don’t,” you replied quickly, teasing in your voice. You slid closer to him, pulling his hand into your own as you played with the lines in his palm, tracing over old scars and molding his fingers the way you wanted. He liked the way it felt, the submission of it.

Slowly, you caught his eye, a darkness coming about you as you smiled under your long lashes. With his hand in your left, you unfastened the button at the top of your jeans and slid down the zipper. Bucky watched, swallowing as you slowly guided his hand between the fabric and the silkiness of your skin.

Your hand over his, he touched over course curls of hair before he found a heavenly smooth, wetness pooling at his fingertips. He choked back a moan, watching the way you chewed at the edge of your lip.

“You are the only man that gets to touch me like this, do you understand? Only you.”

Bucky nodded, cupping at your folds. Your hand still placed over his, you pressed on his fingers like the keys of a piano and he willingly slipped his fingers between the lips at your core, sending visible shivers up your spine.

“Only me,” he repeated, two fingers circling at your entrance as you bit down hard on your lip, a gasp at its edge.

“Only you,” you said again, breathily, eyes fluttering shut as two fingers pushed inside you.

There wasn’t enough give in your jeans, not enough space for him to bring you to the edge the way he wanted to, so he pulled his hand back gently, much to the adorable pout pushing at your lips, and he chuckled as he started to tug at the waist of your jeans.

“Let it be only me then, sweetheart, and help me out,” he laughed, struggling to get them down over your hips because you wore them tight to your skin, like a second layer, and while he usually loved seeing the curves of your body so prominent in the light of day, it made for quite the inconvenience in the shadows.

You were grinning, picking up your hips from the couch as you laid back down, and scooted the fabric down to your thighs, where he was able to do the rest. Your panties came down along with them, and before you could even berate him for not following suit, he stripped himself of his own pants, leaving him exposed to you.

“We don’t have long,” he told you, knowing Rumlow’s schedule for the day by heart. It was an important day, after all. If all went well, he’d be behind bars by the nights’ end.

“Don’t need long,” you replied cheekily, gripping at his waist and guiding him to you. You tilted your hips upward, easing him inside of you in one swift motion. Bucky moaned loudly, muffling it into your shoulder.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” he whined, propped up on his elbows over soft cushions as he tried to find his breath. “You’re so goddamn tight. Feels so good. So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” you smirked, moving your hips just enough to make him gasp. “It’s all yours.”

Bucky chuckled nervously, trying to mask the very real throbbing of his cock inside of you; squeezed and on the brink just from the feel of your walls around him, holding him.

“You can’t say stuff like that to me, darlin’. I’m not gonna last.”

You shrugged, mischievous and completely unbothered. The way you smiled up at him, moon and stars and sun in your eyes, he wondered if he could just stay in this moment for eternity and be happy. He was sure that he could.

“You did say there wasn’t much time, didn’t you?” you teased, devilish smirk upon your lips.

“Guess I did, huh?”

“Better get a move on, James.” You pushed up against him again, the slight movement enough to pull a gasping whine from him; the tension of jealousy lingering in his veins and sensitive in all the right places.

You were a gigging mess, masking it in kisses to his shoulder, to his neck. Bucky couldn’t quite focus straight, not on anything but the warm, wonderful feel of you wrapped so tightly around him as he pushed into you, over and over, grinding down and breathing hot to your skin. Your hands roaming his back, his spine, his stomach under his shirt. Your touch was like heaven wherever it went.

It didn’t take long, not that either of you minded; especially when he snuck his hand down between your bodies and rubbed rushed and pressured circles at your clit. You gasped into his shoulder, nails digging to his back, and he marked his own colorful kiss to the curve of your breast.

“Right there – ah, yes – don’t stop,” you whined and every word, every syllable uttered in the thick, intoxicating cadence of your voice was like honey to him. It ran down through his veins, warmed him from the inside out, and he didn’t let up, not until you were withering and crying his name.

Well, not his name.

But still.

“James! Ah – God. I’m so close, so close.”

“I’m right there, love.”

Walls clenched impossibly tight around him and Bucky closed his eyes, unable to watch the way your lips parted, eyelids fluttering because he was already at the edge of his peak, but he needed to hold out for you.

And then it hit, you cried out, stilling under him as he kept up his movements, hips snapping to yours, pressure in delicious circles between your legs, and Bucky pressed his nose to your neck, breathing you in as found the relief to let go.

He spilled into you with a sudden gasp, his arms giving out as he fell onto you, hips lazily thrusting through the few final waves of that rush of bliss and warmth and unparalleled pleasure. He was panting, breathless, when he picked his head up again. You were grinning at him, pulling him in to kiss at his lips.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied with a slight chuckle. “Only when it’s your psycho husband and I know you’d rather have just about anyone else on this planet touching you the way he was.”

“Not anyone else,” you told him with a smirk. “Just you.”

“Right,” Bucky laughed, kissing your cheek. Joy and love and heaven in your smile. “Just me.”

***

The air was crisp down by the water; smelling of sea salt and ocean life, the brush of waves to the posts of the dock. The overhead lights illuminating the boardwalk were dim, flickering in the distance, because Hydra operated in the shadows, even amongst the night.

Bucky trailed a few feet behind you, keeping a careful watch as your arm was draped at Rumlow’s waist, his carrying over your shoulders. You were laughing at something he said, leaning into his side, and Bucky could tell even from the cadence of your voice that it was forced. Rumlow didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Tell me what we’re seeing tonight?” you asked, doughy eyed.

You were right when you’d told Bucky how well you knew your husband. Rumlow liked it when you played it dumb, when he could talk down to you. He seemed to disregard your intelligence entirely. It made him feel strong, to have this influence over you, to guide you blindly into the heart of a raging fire where he’d lend you to the flames in favor of his own skin.

“Our final shipment of Cerberus is arriving at dock 41,” Rumlow explained, pointing down to a hangar at the end of the pier. “We’ve got millions worth of product in that ship, baby. Millions more back at our storage site, too. And that’s before this shit hits market.”

“You ever try it?” you asked and Bucky raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “A king doesn’t eat the food he feeds to the peasants.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, thankful for the cast of midnight. You nodded at your husband, though Bucky could tell from the way you stared up at him that you were holding back your tongue. He chuckled to himself, laughing at his own wit like a self-righteous, conceited, piece of –

“Sir!” a voice called from the front of the ship, a little panicked. He pulled off his ball cap, held it tight in front of his chest, squeezing at it nervously. “We—uh, we weren’t expecting you.”

“Wasn’t aware I had to ring ahead before I showed my wife around my own fuckin’ ship,” Rumlow growled, shoving the man aside as he boarded the ship. You followed closely behind, stealing a quick glance at Bucky and then out to the empty docks before you turned your back to him and returned to Rumlow’s side.

Bucky took a steady breath, the weight of his gun heavy at his hip and he peered back into the darkness. His team was out there somewhere. Steve, Nat, Sam, and a dozen other tact team agents ready to storm the ship the second Rumlow incriminates himself. It was already bugged. Nat was already listening in from her perch within its radius. They’d know when the time was right.

Until then, Bucky would wait.

Stepping over the slight gap between the ship and the boardwalk, the gentle waves of the Atlantic sweeping in below, Bucky followed. He passed by several of the crewmen he’d spent months overseeing; some of whom grunted as he walked by, others gave him a curt, short smile.

He spotted Lenny attending to the ropes to keep the ship at bay; the kind, middle aged man who had no business being sucked into Hydra’s schemes, hunched over in a position that was sure to hurt his back. He paused, clutching at his chest with a grimace on his face, before he continued.

Bucky let out a heavy breath, taking a quick glance back at you and Rumlow to confirm your whereabouts before he jogged over to Lenny.

“Mr. Karpov!” Lenny greeted sincerely, a smile lifting up his rosy cheeks. Dirt lined his forehead from where he would wipe his head from sweat. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you down here, sir.”

Lenny was a good man. A hardworking father who got wrapped up in something far beyond his reach and Bucky had no interest in including him on the roster for the evening’s events.

“Lenny, I think it’s time you go home.”

Lenny narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, sir. I’ve still got some work to do and I don’t think Mr. Sitwell will be happy if I—”

“You do not want to be here tonight,” Bucky repeated, carefully eyeing the crewmen as they continued about their work. Jasper Sitwell stood a careful distance from the edge of the dock, observing from his position in a crisp, blue suit. Bucky turned back to Lenny, who seemed impossibly confused. “Be with your family. Tell them you were at the bar.”

“Oh, sir, they know what I—”

“Go home, Lenny,” Bucky warned again, retreating back into the ship, because he’d already spent too much time leaving you on your own. Lenny glanced nervously back at Sitwell before he nodded, slowly putting the ropes to the dock. Bucky waited for Lenny to start heading to the parking lot before he finally turned and ducked below deck.

“Look around you, baby,” Rumlow’s muffled voice echoed down the hall. “These are our riches.”

Bucky picked up his pace, jogging just slightly until he made his way into the cargo hold. You were pacing along the dozens of crates, sliding a finger curiously along the edges as you turned back to Rumlow with a smile on your face. You were wrapped in a tight black dress and heels barely the width of a penny, leaving you to wobble just slightly on a step, but you’d hid it well. It didn’t stop the crewmen from staring at you, anyway. You looked like the woman Bucky first met in Rumlow’s office; sparkling,, vibrant red dress and a hollowness behind your eyes.

“These are all yours?” you asked, a bewilderment in your voice. “Can I see it?”

Damn, you were good. Get Rumlow to open the crates him and that it was him who claimed ownership. Bucky had to stop the smile from curving at his lips.

Rumlow nodded, gesturing his hand out and waiting for one of his lackies to put a crowbar in his grip. He opened the crate with ease, and sure enough, it was lined to the brim with red bricks covered in plastic wrap, tied together by rubber bands. Cerberus.

That’s my girl.

“Just a line of this stuff will have the four times the potency of cocaine,” Rumlow gloated. “It could knock a body builder on his ass and have him daydreaming of fuckin’ unicorns in seconds.”

“Wow, that’s incredible,” you sighed, looking curiously to the brick as Rumlow held it up to the dim lighting. Your eyes flickered over to Bucky before you continued to ask, “so what happens now?”

Getting him to confess to distribution, too. You were a Godsend. Bucky wondered how wide Natasha was grinning from behind headphones and her computer screen a few hundred feet away, listening and in recording this very conversation.

“Now, we split it up amongst our suppliers,” Rumlow explained without missing a beat. “They bring it to the streets, and we watch the cash roll in.”

What a fucking idiot.

Rumlow continued to show you around the cargo hold, and then to the elaborate office at the back of the room. He poured himself a drink, though he didn’t bother to offer you one. In the moment he was distracted, you shot a glance back at Bucky, wide eyed and raise of your eyebrow.

Bucky checked his watch, figuring Steve and the team must be coming in soon. Rumlow was on the ship. You’d gotten more than enough from his confessions. What was taking them so long?

“Are we keeping you from something, Karpov?”

Bucky dropped his hand back to his side, letting his sleeve slip back over his watch. “No, sir.”

Rumlow rolled his eyes, returning to his scotch as he downed the entirety of it in one gulp. He turned to you, grabbed you rather harshly by the hips and pulled you tight to his chest. It left you unsteady on your feet, leaving you to grab to his collar for support.

“Now,” Rumlow purred, dark and low, “why don’t we celebrate, just the two of us?”

You laughed, though it was tight, tense, as you stared to pry Rumlow’s hands from you. “Not here, Brock.”

“Yes, here,” he urged, pushing you up against his desk, his hands riding along the skin of your thighs, shifting under fabric and digging into your curves. You gasped as he wiped the contents of the desk to the ground, shoving himself between your legs. “Karpov, leave us.”

But Bucky couldn’t move. He was a statue. He was frozen solid but there was fire in his veins, stones in his chest, vengeance itching at the surface, but he held it down by the bile in his throat. Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from your hands as you clung to the bottom of your dress, holding it firm at the mid of your thighs, though it didn’t seem to stop Rumlow’s fingers from slipping under.

“Sir,” Bucky called as Rumlow’s shoulders stiffened at the intrusion, “I think that we should—”

“What?! What the fuck do you ‘think’!?” Rumlow threw back in a heated growl, bounding towards Bucky across the room. He pushed his finger at Bucky’s chest and it was a relief just to get him away from you. Bucky watched over Rumlow’s shoulder as you slid off the desk, pushed down the edge of your dress, and nodded at him. Shaken, but alright.

“How about you make yourself useful and keep this level unoccupied for the next ten minutes?” Rumlow snapped, shoving Bucky hard in the chest. He turned back to you, like he was stalking prey and your wide eyes met Bucky’s.

He found his hand nestling on the cold metal of the gun draped under his coat as he watched Rumlow take each step towards you. Safety clicking off. Pulled from the holster around his waist. Aiming in Rumlow’s direction, and then –

Darkness.

The lights gave out across the ship, a deep unsettling blackness coating the room as Rumlow started shouting at his men, barking orders over the sound of crates falling on this side and grunts coming from the injured lackies.

Bucky couldn’t see a goddamn thing. He couldn’t see his own hand in front of him and when he tried to look in the direct he’d last seen you, he was only met with darkness. He didn’t even know what way he was facing. Your name was on his tongue, though he bit it back.

“FBI! Lower your weapons!”

Steve.

“Get on your fuckin’ knees!”

Sam.

Rumlow let out a guttural roar and suddenly there was gunfire. The brief shots illuminating a flicker to the room for only a second; short bursts of light capturing the flood of agents emerging down the stairway and creeping through the cargo room, diving behind crates of Cerberus, and light red powder misting up into the air with every misfire.

The generator kicked on with a low groan and dim crimson lighting cast over the cargo hold. Bucky blinked a few times, trying to adjust from the sheer darkness as he quickly scanned the room in search of you. The relief was instant as he found you peer out from behind the desk, having taken refuge there amongst the gunfire.

Bucky nodded at you, a hand gesturing to the ground; stay down, hold tight. It wouldn’t be much longer. Steve and Sam were at the forefront of the agents ascending to the lower level of the ship, night vision goggles removed as they fired back at the men who had yet to drop their weapons. The echo of the shots was deafening in the enclosed space.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Rumlow shouted over the chaos, shoving you towards the back of the office. There was nowhere for him to go, so Bucky turned back to the agents. It would only be a minute. Just one more minute and then Bucky would have you safe in his arms again.

One minute.

Bucky held his position, gun in hand aimed at his own team to keep up appearances. He was supposed to be arrested along with Rumlow. That was the plan. It was how he would preserve his identity after this all went down. James Karpov would have an unfortunate accident on the way to his lock up and Bucky Barnes could be free again. The death of another cover and the end of another assignment.

Agents rushed at him, shoving him to the ground, knees to his shoulders and as they yanked his hands behind his back. They were shouting at him, ordering him to ‘get down’ and ‘shut the hell up,’ because he had to put up some kind of fight to make it believable.

It’ll be over soon, Bucky told himself. It would be over and he would come find you. They’d throw Rumlow to the back of an armored van, hull him off to the county jail for holding, and Bucky would take you back to his apartment, wash the grim of your husband from your skin, keep you tight in his arms, remind you that no one will ever hurt you again. Then, he’d tell you his name.

When this was over.

Just a minute more.

But as he peered up to the back of the office, a wash of cold rushed over him, like ice straight to his chest and through his bloodstream.

It was empty.

“No,” Bucky gasped, tugging on the restraints behind him, desperately trying to shake off the agent holding him down. “No! Y/n! Y/n!”

“Hey! Hey, you need to stop,” Sam’s whispered harshly to his ear, hot to the touch and it burned him. He held Bucky still, pushing down to his shoulder blades as he stole a glance back at the Hydra henchmen being restrained one room over. “You’re going to blow your cover in the home stretch, you fuckin’ idiot! Cool it.”

“She’s gone,” Bucky panted, heart rate skyrocketing, threatening to leap straight into his throat to choke him right there. Bucky nodded to the back of the room, where you and Rumlow were supposed to be cornered. “They’re gone, Sam. I lost her. They’re—They’re gone.”

Sam lifted his knee from Bucky’s back, released his hands, and Bucky scrambled up to his feet, sprinting to the back end of the room. There were no doors, no exits, and somehow, you and Rumlow had both disappeared, managed to slip out unnoticed in the chaos.

Bucky ran his hand along the paneling, checking for trap doors, and he turned over his shoulder to find Sam quickly closing the door to the office, shielding him from the room of Hydra crewmen being arrested beyond the door. Bucky didn’t have time to care whether he’d been spotted, not with the ringing in his ears, the tightness in his chest.

“What do you mean ‘they’re gone’? They were right here. I saw them,” Sam argued through harsh whispers.

“There must be a trap door, a hidden latch, something,” Bucky mumbled to himself, ignoring his partner as he brushed right past him, running his hands over every panel he could find, pulling out books and trinkets from the shelves.

“Nat? You got eyes on Rumlow and Y/n?” Sam said, glancing up at the surveillance cam ahead. A moment passed before Sam, sighed and said, “Nat hasn’t seen them. They might still be on the ship. We’ll alert the team, Buck. You need to get back in position before someone sees you.”

It was like white noise; a blur of words and syllables strung together, until his hand slipped over a crack in the wall where the chill of a slight breeze touched his skin and he froze. Sam narrowed his eyes beside him as he readied his weapon.

Bucky pressed on the panel and with a single click, it unlatched, propped open and revealed a long, winding passage way through the bowels of the ship.

“Shit.”

“You need to stand down,” Sam warned, a hand to Bucky’s shoulder as he tried to stop him from rushing inside. “Let us handle this. It’s a miracle none of Rumlow’s crew have noticed you’re not in cuffs like the rest of them. With Rumlow still out there, you can’t afford to be made, Buck. He’s got resources and connections everywhere. Word gets back to him that you’re one of us and he’ll have you killed, man. Let us do our jobs. We’ll find her. I promise.”

Bucky tried to listen – honest, he did – but all he could focus on was the panic in your eyes, the fear so carefully hidden behind layers of confidence and determination, the unending trust you held for him as he let you slip through his grasp and into the hands of a monster.

Bucky took a deep breath, his hands planted firmly on either side of the door before he turned to Sam. “I’m sorry, brother.”

He jabbed hard at Sam’s wrist, forcing a release of his grip on his weapon as it fell into Bucky’s hand. Sam stared at him with wide eyes as Bucky kicked him square in the chest; not enough to cause injury but enough to knock the wind out of him for the few moments he’d need to escape.

He didn’t turn back as he heard Sam fall to the ground and he pushed his way through the tunnel, through the bare bones of the ship of metal archways and exposed wires. Hunched down under the low hanging ceilings, cobwebs stringing into his hair, until he was met with the crisp night air and the wash of salt water in the breeze.

It was almost as dark outside as it was in the ship and Bucky squinted his eyes, hoping to find a glimpse of you somewhere down the pier.

Gun in hand, he carefully made his way to the end of the ship, stepping back onto the boardwalk. Solid ground under his feet, he pressed forward; tunneled vision and heart hammering in his chest.

Then, a heavy blow to the back of his head. A Pulsing through his body like electricity, gun slipping from his hands and falling to the pavement in deafening sound. Knees buckled out from under him as a numbness swept over his body. Swaying. Losing balance as a blur of a red emblem came to view; a skull, six tentacles.

He lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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boxoftheskyking · 3 years

Text

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five

In which we have a scene at the bar

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Early November 2000

When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.

“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”

“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.

“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”

Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”

“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t.

“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.

“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.

“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”

“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”

“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”

“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.

Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”

“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.

Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”

“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”

Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”

“Serve yourself then, asshole.”

“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”

“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.

“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”

Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.

“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.

When he comes back the tension has receded.

“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.

“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.

“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”

“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”

“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”

“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”

“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”

“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.

“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.

Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.

“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”

Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”

Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”

Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”

“I’m a solid.”

“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.

It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.

Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”

“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.

“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.

Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.

“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.

“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”

They stare down into their glasses, drink.

“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”

He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.

“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.

“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”

“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.

“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”

“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.

“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”

“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.

“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”

“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.

Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”

Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”

Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.

He shuts the cooler and returns.

“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.

Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”

“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”

“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”

Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.

“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.

“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”

“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.

Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.

“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”

As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.

That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.

They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.

Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93.

“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”

Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.

“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”

“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”

He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.

He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.

“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.

“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap.

That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover.

Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty.

Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.

“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”

“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”

Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.

She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely”

“We just aren’t.”

“We’re busy.”

“We are busy people.”

Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.

“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”

“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.

“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”

Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”

“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”

His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.

“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”

Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.

“When you leave tonight, you better—”

“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.

“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.

“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.

“I said, leave it.”

“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”

Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.

“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.

“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”

“Forget about it.”

“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”

“A-Cheng, forget it.”

“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”

“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”

Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.

“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”

“I mean, a bit. Okay?”

“For cutting—?”

“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”

“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”

“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”

“But that’s not your—”

“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.

Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”

Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”

“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.

“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”

The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.

“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”

“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”

“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”

“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”

Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”

He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”

It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.

Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”

“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”

Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”

The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”

Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.

“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”

The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.

“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.

“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”

“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.

“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”

“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.

“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.”

“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”

Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.

“A-Cheng, it’s not—”

“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.

Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.

A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.

Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”

“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”

“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.

Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”

Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s.

“You’re doing good,” he says.

Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.

“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”

Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.

“A-Ling is lucky.”

“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.

“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”

An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”

“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.

“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”

“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.

“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”

“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.

“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door.

“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.

“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”

Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”

“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”

“Innocent is—”

“Zixuan, think about where you are.”

Zixuan nods.

All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City.

But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.

“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.

“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”

“But still.”

“But still,” he agrees.

“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.

“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.

“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.

“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.

“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”

Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What about you?”

Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.”

Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him.

“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.”

Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”

“The kids?”

“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”

Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home

#assorted writings #pick up every piece #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi

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threeletterslife · 4 years

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08 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (LITERALLY, WHAT’S NEW), kissing/making out but iN tHe cLaSsRoOm

→ wordcount: 8.3k

The car ride is so silent, you can literally hear the gears of your brain working as all sorts of thoughts fly through your head.

Jimin hasn't said a single word to you since you've left the school and neither have you. It's like the awkwardness is being fueled by the silence. God, you want to say something so bad, but what would you say?

Haha, sorry Jimin, but yeah, I might like you???

You mentally slap yourself, sighing. From the corner of your eye, you see Jimin steering steadily, both hands gripping the wheel tightly.

You almost scoff at the thought but... What if Jungkook was right? What if... he likes me too?

You've never really thought of that possibility before. Why hadn't it crossed your mind until now?

Because you're not supposed to fucking like your teacher, Y/N.

Right.

But still...

"Jimin?"

Your own voice surprises you as you can visibly see your ex-friend jump in his seat. Immediately, you regret ever speaking but it's too late now.

"Yes?"

Damn. You never realized how much you missed his smooth, beautiful voice until now.

"I... This... I miss this." You literally want to shank yourself for your inability to form coherent, non-humiliating phrases.

Jimin looks shocked but he doesn't turn his head to look at you. Instead, he mutters a soft, "Me too."

Silence follows after that, and you're worried you made the situation worse. Just as you think it's ruined forever, Jimin speaks again. "We kind of drifted apart, didn't we?"

You nod vigorously. "We shouldn't have... Right?"

"Right."

Silence again.

"I'm sorry," you say at the exact same time as Jimin. Both of you laugh, the awkward atmosphere lifting bit by bit. It feels exceptionally good to laugh with him.

"What are you sorry for?" Jimin chuckles. "You made no mistakes."

You flinch at the word, god, you hate it. "Okay, can we not call that a mistake?" you blurt out before you can even process what you said. Oh shit.

Jimin cocks his head. "What would you want to call it then?"

Ohhh, you fucked up, Y/N.

"I dunno... A... A?" You're stuck. You're screwed. You're roasted. "Um --"

HONK! BEEP! SCREECH! And an angry: "DRIVE, ASSHOLE!" saves you.

Multiple impatient people are slamming their palms hard on their wheels, erupting a shit ton of raucous noise in the evening air.

"It's a green light, go!" you shriek, laughing as your teacher hurriedly smashes his foot down on the excel.

Both of you are still laughing by the time Jimin pulls up on your driveway.

"So, an asshole now, aren't you?" you joke, snorting.

Jimin huffs. "People are so impatient!" He turns to you, grinning slightly. "But that's me included. Now, where were we? Something about 'not a mistake?'" he teases lightly.

Your face starts to flush an ugly shade of rose. "Just don't call it that!" you exclaim. "What else am I supposed to say? It was the best kiss I've ever had? Huh?"

It takes you a moment to process what you'd just said. Y/N, are you fucking kidding me.

Now it's Jimin's turn to flush pink. "Best kiss?" he says softly.

"O-oh, um... Actually..." You can't even deny it though. Granted, you've only ever had one other kiss in your life and that too, was with your goddamn teacher.

"Do you... hm..." Jimin trails off, hands still gripping the steering wheel as he refuses to make eye contact with you. "Do you... feel the same as me?"

You make a face. "What kind of vague question is that? How am I supposed to know how you feel? If I knew, I would've either cried from rejection or cried from happiness already!"

Jimin cocks his head, eyes still trained to look in front of him, not at you. "Damn," he mutters to himself.

"Damn straight!" you exclaim, getting weirdly worked up. "You know the fuck what? Let's say I do feel the same as you. Would you be glad or happy?"

"Aren't they synonyms?" Jimin asks, a small grin on his face.

You huff. "You're such an asshole! Glad, if you don't like me. Happy, if you like me back! Isn't it obvious?"

Suddenly, Jimin whirls around, facing you straight and grinning like a madman. Startled, you lean back. "Like you back? You like me?"

Oh, fuck. You forgot how much of a nervous blabbermouth you are. You sigh. Actually, you know the fuck what? What have I got to lose?

"Fine, you goddamn asshole. I like you," you blurt out. Immediately, your whole body feels so much lighter as if your confession had just lifted fifty pounds off your chest. So logically, you continue on.

"It's probably illegal for you to like me back so I won't even ask if you return my feelings. Ugh. I swear to fucking god I've been such a miserable little shit ever since we stopped talking. You're an asshole for avoiding me, you know that? And a dumbass for calling the best moment of my whole life a fucking mistake." You pause for a deep breath, nearly choking on air doing so. "But who am I kidding... You're no asshole or dumbass," you sigh, massaging your forehead as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You're amazing, smart, a workaholic, yes, but also a caring friend and teacher... I just—" You quickly bury your face in your hands. "I'm not crying, I just lost my train of thought," you say, your voice slightly muffled. Sniffling, you continue. "You make me just... lose my fucking words. You make me blabber like a goddamn second grader! You make me cuss so much, goddammit!"

You hear Jimin's low chuckle and jerk your head up, glaring through your teary eyes.

"Y/N, Y/N!" Jimin chuckles. "Are you really blaming your foul mouth on me?"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Park Jimin?" you rage. "I just confessed my whole heart out and that's the first thing you say?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—" Jimin laughs. "You're so adorable. I'd pay good money to see you confess to me again."

Your eyebrow twitches in annoyance... maybe even humiliation, you don't know anymore. Aggressively, you wipe away the tears welled up in your eyes and look away.

"Y/N?"

You pretend you can't hear.

"Y/N."

What was that? Must be some bird --

"Y/N!"

An angry bird at that...

"Yoon Y/N!" A hand grabs your arm, forcing you to look at the man you really didn't like at the moment. (Despite the fact you're literally whipped for him.)

You expect Jimin to apologize for being an ass, but to your surprise, he laughs. Okay, this bitch!

"I'm sorry, sorry, Y/N!" Jimin giggles. "I swear I'm not laughing at you. I'm just... I can't believe -- I like you too!" he blurts out.

What.

What the FUCK?

"YOU ASSHOLE!" you shout, shaking your arm away from Jimin's grip. "YOU MADE ME CONFESS LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT!"

Your teacher laughs again. "On my defense, I didn't think you were going to blurt out a confession. Besides, you don't have any idea how much pain I've been in, thinking you didn't feel the same. I'm laughing because of the irony! I'm not laughing at you, Y/N!"

You huff. "You're lucky I like you so much. Or else I would've shanked you."

Jimin scoffs. "You? Shank me? Please, Y/N, you're half my size."

"Oh, we're roasting each other now? Okay, fine. Who's the one who can't, for the life of him, keep his hands to himself when he's drunk, hm?" you say, proudly.

"That doesn't work anymore, Y/N. I think I'm safe to say that day I kissed you drunk was the best mistake I've ever made," Jimin announces, grinning widely.

You flout. "Asshole."

"But you know you like me."

"Oh, shut up or else... or else..." you trail off, "or elSE I'M GOING TO INVITE YOU IN THE HOUSE! HA!"

Jimin bursts out laughing. "Not really a threat, but I full-heartedly accept."

Something in your chest explodes at that moment—it's a burst of emotions, warm, fuzzy and cordial. You've got to admit, Jimin is an asshole. Too bad you're whipped for him—and he's whipped for you.

"I haven't been here in forever," Jimin chuckles as he enters your house. "Thanks for inviting me in," he teases, reminding you of your stupid outburst earlier. You scowl as your face flushes a brighter shade of red.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you mumble as you throw your backpack on the couch and head towards the kitchen. "Wanna eat anything?"

"Not in particular," your teacher answers, sliding into one of the kitchen seats. He places his elbows on the marble counter and rests his chin on his folded hands, looking at you in a way that has your heart leaping around in your rib cage.

Fuck. You don't know how long you can contain your happiness, literally feeling as if you'll burst out screaming that your crush likes you back in any second.

"Suit yourself," you murmur calmly, swinging open the refrigerator door and hiding your flushed face behind it. "Get yourself together, bitch," you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to calm your palpitating heart. Then, you put on a confident face, grabbing a bowl of pre-washed strawberries and shutting the refrigerator door.

"Actually, do you happen to have gum?" Jimin asks once you set the bowl of strawberries down on the table counter.

"Gum?" Your eyebrows raise.

"Yeah, mint gum."

Strange request, but okay.

"Uh, yeah," you reply, quickly opening a drawer to take out a pack of your favorite mint gum and tossing it whole to Jimin. He catches it midair with unsurprising finesse, unwrapping a piece and placing it in his mouth before looking up and smiling at you. His smile literally kills you.

I must be dreaming. There's no way all of this just happened. There's no way—

"So... what now?" Jimin asks, chewing on his gum thoughtfully. "We like each other but what happens after that?"

His bluntness makes you blush ever harder as you quickly pick up a strawberry and shove it in your mouth to prevent yourself from blurting out anything imbecilic. While slowly chewing on it, you give yourself some time to think.

What does happen now? What do you do if the person you like, likes you back? Hell, this isn't even a normal case—this boy, man, if you will, is my goddamn teacher.

After intense contemplation, you swallow the last of the strawberry and speak your very well put together answer: "I don't know."

Jimin blows a bubble with his gum, popping it somehow gracefully as he chuckles. "Well, you should know something. It's kind of illegal for us to be together—I don't know the exact laws but I'm pretty sure somewhere in the teacher handbook there's something about not having relationships with students..." he trails off. "But technically, if no one finds out, we won't get in trouble." He gives you a suggestive look, wiggling his eyebrows.

You burst out laughing. "Oh my god, Jimin—you're just so..."

"So... what?" he teases, scooching closer to your smaller frame.

"So... I dunno... Didn't I tell you? You make me lose all sense of the English language," you pout slightly, turning out your lips as you give Jimin a look. "And I have a fucking A+ in that class too."

"You're adorable," he comments, leaning in to ruffle your hair. And he doesn't pull away. Instead, his eyes linger around your lips, making you very, very self-conscious about them.

"A-Are you going to kiss me?" you whisper without thinking, your warm breath hitting Jimin's lips. Lips that curve up into a faint smile.

"Do you want me to?" His warm, minty breath makes you feel like you're floating in the soft clouds in Heaven but you manage to stay sane.

"I dunno... I mean, yeah? Wait, maybe. Actually..." you stop yourself before you stutter even more. His question had caught you so off-guard you didn't even know what to say.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Jimin mutters, his lips slightly grazing yours. You lean for more contact when—

"Wait, lemme spit out my gum real quick."

What.

You watch, slightly horrified as Jimin just sticks his chewed, mint gum on his finger. He looks like he has no intention of walking over to the trash can to throw it away.

"Sorry," Jimin says, giving you a sheepish smile as he cups your cheek with the hand that doesn't have the gum stuck on it. "Just wanted to have minty breath."

You roll your eyes. "For what?" It's a dumb question and you know it. You don't even expect an answer—and you don't get one.

Jimin quickly leans in, his lips meeting yours halfway. It's a small, chaste peck that barely gives you a chance to taste the mint on his tongue. But you're not complaining. Not when things are unfolding like this.

"If I haven't made it extremely obvious already, Yoon Y/N, I like you," Jimin mutters, breath hitting your cheek as he softly kisses it.

That comment alone has your stomach twisting around in knots. Blushing, you manage to reply a shaky: "You and me both, Jimin."

He chuckles, giving your lips another little peck before he pulls back, fondly admiring your face. "You have no idea how long I've liked you."

Feeling a surge of confidence, you slowly wrap your arms around Jimin's neck, giving him a smile. "Try me. Bet I've liked you for longer."

"Oh? Is it a competition now?" He leans in to kiss you, and this one lingers around on your lips just a tad bit more—actually, quite literally since he hasn't pulled back yet.

"Isn't it always?" you respond against his lips. Finally, finally, finally! you can taste the mint on his tongue as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. It's less like an explosive feeling of euphoria and more like a feeling of something slow, sensual and loving.

Jimin hums, moving forward to press you against the back of your chair, making sure every part of your body's touching his.

You've never really been a smooth talker—no fucking surprise—so you're very much glad you can express yourself with your actions. And Jimin, that little bitch, he's a somewhat of a smooth talker and an obvious connoisseur of kissing.

You melt against his body, his lips suckling yours as his fingers tangle in your hair. Honestly, you could stay like this forever—this warmth, this feeling, this silence. Dare you say this feeling was better than scoring hundred's on your tests—

But of course, things never go smoothly when you're involved.

With a loud gasp, you slightly pull away from the kiss, frowning. "Jimin, your hands..."

"What about them, baby girl?" he coos, leaning in to kiss you again.

"No, your hands, Jimin. They're in my hair," you say slowly, brows furrowing. God, no.

"Yes, baby, they are," Jimin says, staring at you as if you've just lost it. "Has my kissing really made you lose your head?" he jokes.

Oh my god. It looks like you just have to go out and say it then—

You close your eyes, deeply sighing. "You had gum on your finger, Jimin. It's in my hair, isn't it?"

"OH SHIT!"

You ended up having to cut a strand of your hair.

Yeah, thanks to your new fucking boyfriend, not only did you get a (quite literal) taste of his romantics, you also got his chewed up gum in your hair. How! Great!

But are you complaining? Not really.

Not when you're cuddled up with him on the couch and it feels more cordial than home itself. You can't believe you, the most pragmatic person you know, is literally playing around with stupid platitudes, but you might as well just found home with him.

You look at the cylindrical bottle with disdain, lips pulled out in a full pout. Picking up the concealer with a maximum of two fingers (to minimize the surface area you touch), you turn around to glare at your boyfriend who's watching you with adoration in his eyes.

"I don't even wear makeup," you whine for the hundredth time. "This is all your fucking fault, Park."

"Hey, hey!" Jimin raises up his hands in defense, giving you a sheepish look. "I quite remember that you liked it when it was happening... Oh, JiMiN, yEaH rIghT tHeRe!" He gives you a shit-eating grin.

You're blushing even harder than before, rolling your eyes and huffing. "Shut the fuck up."

"Now, now, that's no way to talk to your dear teacher, Y/N," Jimin teases. He walks over to you (you were very adamantly scrutinizing your bruised neck) and he wraps his arms around you. "If it helps, I can help you apply it?" He rubs his face into the soft material of your loose hoodie.

You groan. "Fine. You better know shit about makeup because I sure don't."

"We can learn," Jimin answers as he spins you around and takes the concealer from you. "What's learning without a few failures?"

Two hours later and half a bottle of concealer wasted, you're looking at your covered up neck in the mirror with satisfaction. "I feel like if your clumsy ass hadn't spilled the concealer halfway through, we would've finished earlier," you tease, poking Jimin's cheek affectionately.

Jimin scowls, checking his watch as he sulks. "It's only half-past four... We can still have our date at the park."

You smile as your boyfriend grabs your hand, tugging you towards the front door. "Of course... But hey, can we be back by seven? I have this test tomorrow—"

Jimin laughs, squeezing your hand. "Without a doubt... nerd," he mutters the last bit under his breath.

"What did you call me?" Your brows furrow up and you glare at Jimin.

"Oh, just the ray of sunshine in my dark, muddy life."

Conversations have never been your cup of tea. Sure, finding the root-mean-square-deviation was a piece of cake—or writing a literary analysis on The House of Mirth didn't even make you break out in a sweat. But conversations... That shit's hard.

There's so much you want to say, so much you'd like to share. But you have to factor in the others' reactions to your words to make sure you're not saying something rude or offensive. God, things are so much easier when you're just talking to yourself.

"No, but I really think mermaids are real!" you huff. "We didn't think of the possibilities of the oarfish or the deep sea hatchetfish or the fucking viperfish until we found them, you know! 95% of the ocean is undiscovered, alright? Mermaids are out there!"

"It's scientifically impossible!" Jimin huffs, squeezing your interlocked hands.

"Park, a shit ton of things were called 'scientifically impossible' before they were proven to be quite feasible," you sigh, patting Jimin's shoulder. "Admit it, Jimin, mermaids are real."

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N. I thought you were a woman of practicality!"

"What's more to it than you thought wrong?" you giggle. "Mermaids probably exist! What if I told you I'm a mermaid, huh? Would you run away?"

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Much so like the so-called non-existent mermaids," you pipe up, giving your boyfriend a shit-eating grin.

"Y/N, I'm literally so ready to—FUCK, DUCK!" Jimin yells, turning your body around and pulling your hood over your head and dipping his face into the small space under the hood as if he was trying to hide both of your identities.

"What? Huh? What's wrong?" you whisper, face flushing from the close proximity between you and Jimin.

"Holy shit, we shouldn't have come to a local park, holy shit!" Jimin murmurs, hands shaking as he wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer.

"Who are we hiding from? What?" you hiss. "Jimin, what's wrong?"

"Students!" he hisses right back.

The blood flowing in your veins runs cold and your freeze before you start to hyperventilate. "Students?" you repeat in horror, barely believing it yourself until you see them through a small space between the hood and Jimin. "Fuck! Oh, shit! Fuckshitholyhell, they're coming, oh my god, oh MY GOD—"

Before you can scream and blow your cover, Jimin's lips are on yours, face dipped further into your hood as he kisses you softly. You're too shocked to say anything, only to respond by moving your lips against his, steadying the hood over both of your faces with heavy precaution.

He only pulls away when you're 110% sure you're tomato-red and panting for air. "What... was that for?" you ask, breathless.

Jimin grins. "To play the part of a romantic couple having their date at the park. No one looks twice at a couple engrossed in PDA," he murmurs. "They're gone, by the way."

"Oh thank the LORD! We should really—mmf!"

Jimin's lips crash down on yours for the second time that day, stopping you mid-sentence, again. You're not even mad—although PDA was something you always hated (being a watcher), you never thought how exciting it would be on the other side of it.

Or maybe Jimin's just a good kisser. There's something about how his lips tug and release, how there's just the right amount of affection and the way he makes you want to literally glue your lips onto his for eternity. (Ignore the last part that's borderline creepy.) But for real though. He's so perfect.

You sigh into the kiss, hands tugging on Jimin's shirt as he kisses you harder in response. The sounds, the taste, the feeling puts you on cloud nine, and you barely even notice when your hood falls down from the force of which he's kissing you.

And when both of you pull away for air, his nose still lightly pressed against yours as he pants softly, you can't help but grin so wide it physically hurts. Both of you catch your breaths together.

"I'm kinda glad this played out like this," you mutter, nuzzling your head into Jimin's chest.

"Today's date... or us as a couple?" Jimin chuckles kissing the top of your head.

"Both, of course."

Jimin laughs lightly. "You know, you can't really scientifically prove that mermaids exist, but I sure can scientifically prove that we're meant for each other."

"God, Park. That was another level of greasy," you tease as Jimin flushes furiously. "I'd like to see you try one day... With all that scientific evidence."

Your boyfriend just smiles, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he tugs you close into his arms. "Why don't we test my hypothesis out right now?"

You don't even get to answer because his lips are on yours.

Who would've fucking thought?

It's crazy how that night your teacher had drunkenly kissed you, both of your fates had been sealed. You would've never thought in a million years that you'd be so emotionally and physically attached to another being that wasn't Jin.

But here you are. With Jimin. How he looks at you when he thinks you're sleeping. How he tucks in a loose strand of your hair behind your ear so he can softly kiss your closed eyelids. How he hugs you so tight in the privacy of his cozy living room. How he loves it when you play with the silky locks of his hair and how you love it that Jimin's all you can really think about.

You're crazy for him—to the point you wonder if it's even healthy. But rest assured, you know he's crazy for you too.

Every single moment the two of you meet, your heart feels full, your shining smile never leaves your face and your eyes twinkle from sheer mirth.

Yes, he's your teacher, out of your league, almost a decade older than you. But you really don't care. Age is only a number and a teacher is only an occupation.

It could sound wrong at first glance—a teacher and his student in a loving relationship. Yet you can't really stop two people from being together, right?

Besides, life with Jimin as your boyfriend is good. Great. Amazing. Too good to be true. Ineffable.

Dates are never a problem. Underneath his nerdy persona, Jimin is a romantic freak. He's learned a thing or two from the pile of Nicholas Sparks novels he keeps under his bed. In turn, he's also learned a lot of cliché but romantic endeavors. Which is exactly why you've been stuck in the car for the past five hours, driving to the goddamn beach at an ungodly time of day.

"Jiminie," you whine, shifting positions in the cramped shotgun seat of the car for the umpteenth time. "Are we there yet?"

"God, Y/N, you've been asking that every five minutes!" Jimin laughs. "We're almost there."

"That's what you said three hours ago," you sigh, stretching your feet out. "Why did we have to go to a beach so far away, huh? And so early, jeez, it's literally five in the morning, and we started this road trip at midnight!"

"Oh c'mon, you know the answer to that." Jimin gives you a sideways, knowing glance. "We can't have any students interrupting our date—unless you're into that kind of stuff."

You snort, shaking your head. "Still doesn't explain why we hit the roads so early."

"You'll see." Jimin smiles, taking his eyes off the road for a quick second as he looks at you with adoration. You can't help to shut up when he looks at you like that. Come to think of it, you think Jimin knows that that look is the only way that'll get you to stop talking. He's using it against you. That little bi—

Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your own thoughts. It's that kind of growl that sounds like a mixture between a fucking fart and a burp. The most embarrassing kind, of course. There's an awkward silence that follows and then, laughter. Jimin's snorting, slapping his thigh with one hand as the other keeps the wheel steady while you're cackling like a goddamn hyena (you've never been blessed with a pretty laugh).

The situation wasn't even that funny. In fact, you felt like a sixth-grader again, giggling at immature shit all the time. But it must be the tiredness talking—er, laughing.

"Well you're hungry, aren't you?" Jimin manages to say, attempting to steady his breaths.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," you choke out, grabbing your gurgling stomach to shut it up. "Are we there yet?"

"Oh my GOD, Y/N," Jimin laughs again. He takes the liberty to literally reach over and pat your head. "You're acting like a goddamn child. Like I'm dating a kid."

You pause to think. "Okay but technically, you are kinda dating a child," you say, stifling a small yawn. "What a pedo."

Your boyfriend scoffs but grins. "Hey, hey, hey!" he protests, "just because you're a minor doesn't mean you're a child. Besides, aren't you turning 18 soon?"

"Eh, late birthday," you reply, shrugging. "I'm turning 18 in August."

"Well fuck, Y/N," Jimin sighs. "What are you so young for?" He shakes his head disapprovingly.

You roll your eyes. "Oh yeah? What the fuck are you so old for?"

"Excuse me, 24 ain't that old," Jimin pouts, lips pulling out so plumply that you have the sudden urge to kiss them. "It just seems old in comparison to 17!"

"Whatever you say... grandpa."

"I'm one word away from driving five hours back where we came from," Jimin teases, making you shut up right away. "That's more like it. We're almost there, anyways. Just in time too."

"Just in time for what? We better make this quick. You know, before Jin finds out that we've both vanished without a single text," you say.

"Relax, Y/N, you and I both know that Jin likes to sleep in 'til two during the weekends. We'll be on a time crunch, but it'll be fine," Jimin answers, shrugging.

You pout like a petulant child. "But just in time for what?"

"Oh! What do you know? We're here!" Jimin exclaims, flat-out ignoring you and your sulking ass. "I'll get the beach towels, you stay right here!" Your boyfriend excitedly opens the car door, rushing to the back of his trunk to rummage through the supplies.

"Hmph." You cross your arms, a bit pissed that Jimin won't tell you shit, especially when you're not the biggest fan of surprises. It's still slightly dark outside since the sun is barely peeking over the beach horizon. Which reminds you that you should be in bed, sleeping.

Oh well. Jimin time is worth sleep time.

"For you, m'lady."

Suddenly your side of the car door opens with Jimin behind it, grinning widely at you. He's holding that typical picnic bitch basket and that basic beach mat for couples. Then, you look down to see a fucking red carpet, starting from the parked car all the way to the sand.

"What the fuck."

"Why? Do you not like it?" Jimin asks, brows creasing in worry as you express your shell-shock.

"No... I love it. It's just. Damn. I'm just impressed..." you trail off. "You did all of this for me."

"Why wouldn't I?" Jimin grins, holding out his hand for you to take. "C'mon, let's walk down the red carpet."

You giggle, taking your boyfriend's warm hand as you giddily hop out of his car. "What did I do to get the honor of walking down this special carpet?"

"Well, for one, you miraculously survived this five-hour road trip. And two, you're dating me, a well-known celebrity, so you get privileges," Jimin teases, poking your cheek as he starts to guide you down the colored rug.

"Celebrity my ass," you snort. But you pull your body closer to Jimin's as he protectively wraps his arm around your figure.

Jimin chuckles. "Well if I ever become a famous rapper, my name should be Statz, you know, for statistics."

"Yeah, sure, and people will drop their asses to your passionate rapping about the wonders of the z-score table," you giggle. "I see you more as a dancer. You've got the body."

"Oh?" Jimin quirks his eyebrows. "Been looking at my ~body~?" he asks suggestively.

"Shut up, I'm underage," you snort, hitting his chest. "Besides, I catch you looking at me all the time. Don't act so innocent, grandpa."

"Okay, we're both guilty then," Jimin smirks, squeezing your intertwined hands before letting go. "Hey, look at that, we're just in time." He smiles, spreading out the beach mat and placing the picnic basket in the middle.

The soft sound of the waves and the salty breeze helps you relax. But the silhouette of your boyfriend setting up a romantic scene for you keeps your heart beating madly.

"We're watching the sunrise," you whisper, your voice coming out as a small squeak.

"Yup. Took you long enough," Jimin quips, grinning as he helps you sit down on the soft mat. "Just you, me and the sunrise, you know?"

You smile, snuggling into his warm arms. "It's perfect."

"Okay, good, 'cause I kinda might've forgotten to put food in the picnic basket... not to ruin the mood or anything. Ugh, I knew I was forgetting something but I didn't know what it was until I picked up the goddamn basket from the trunk and was like 'oh shit, it's fucking empty' and panicked. But I was like, nah, I should just bring it for show, makes it more romantic, right? So here we are with an empty picnic basket," Jimin rambles, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I hope you don't get hungry."

You laugh lightly, reaching for Jimin's hand to console him. "Hey, it really doesn't matter. My stomach should learn to take hunger once in a while."

"It's still perfect?" Jimin asks tentatively.

"Ineffably perfect," you murmur, leaning back against your boyfriend's chest to look out at the scenery. "Think the sunrise's starting."

And it was. You and Jimin sit in silence as vibrant colors of yellow and orange slowly mix with rich shades of magenta, painting the most beautiful canvas; the morning sky.

You're in awe with the beauty, living in the tranquil moment.

Then you hear a soft whisper. "I love you."

Your eyes turn wide and you gasp quietly, whipping your head up to see Jimin looking away from you.

"W-What?" you manage to say.

Even though it's still slightly dark, you can see the blush creeping up on Jimin's cheeks as he whispers again. "I... I think I love you, Y/N."

Now you're flushing all shades of red as your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. He loves me. He loves me! HE LOVES ME! You don't know what to say, what to do, what to think.

"W-What?" is all you can utter. Quite stupidly.

"Y/N, I..." Jimin sighs, looking you in the eye, "I love you."

You're in shock. Never have you ever been confessed to. Never have you ever been exposed to this kind of romance. Never have you loved someone to this extent either. There's a first time for everything.

And so you muster up all the courage running through your veins, clear your parched throat (when had it become so dry?) as you look right into your boyfriend's twinkling eyes. Jimin smiles, squeezing your hand. "Yeah. I love you," he repeats, surely, confidently.

You smile back, leaning in to place a chaste kiss against his lips. "You and me both."

You don't wanna sound like you're from a fucking fairytale or some shit, but damn you really think you got your happily ever after.

Yeah, like every princess out there you're practically an orphan, but you're surrounded by the most caring and loving bunch of people ever. And plus, you have your prince. Prince Jimin. (Why the fuck does that have a nice ring to it???)

But anyways, you basically have it all: a loving boyfriend, a hearty group of friends, an affectionate cousin and some impossibly immaculate grades. Now you kinda get why some people say they peaked in high school. You'll probably end up the same... yikes.

And acknowledging that, you know you've got to use the most of this peak in your life. You've been going out on frequent dates with Jimin (telling Jin they were math club meetings) and hanging out with Taehyung, Yoongi and Jungkook at school.

Now it's not so much of a struggle to be happy. And your happiness shows.

It's funny how putting a smile on your face can change a lot. You're no longer a turtle dwelling in her thick shell. You're no longer afraid of befriending people. You're no longer afraid of getting hurt because you have people to help you back up on your feet. You've put yourself out there, waved to a few people, exchanged salutations. And now, it seemed as if everyone knew and liked you.

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Hey, girl, what's up?"

"Y/N! Hey!"

"How did your philosophy presentation go?"

"How are you?"

"Damn something good happen today?"

The last one was Taehyung, suggestively moving his eyebrows up and down as he nudges your side. No doubt teasing you.

"Ooh, did Jungkook... confess?" Yoongi mock gasps, placing a delicate hand over his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "No, I'm just..." You huff. "I dunno, do I really need a reason to be happy?"

"Well then, do you need a reason to be so sassy?" Taehyung shoots back, chuckling.

"Excuse me, I wasn't being sassy!" you argue, crossing your arms. "Yoongs, help me out here!"

"I agree, she really wasn't," Yoongi chuckles, bobbing his head up and down in approval as you smile. "Sass is just ingrained in her personality, duh."

Your jaw drops open at the sheer betrayal. "What the fuck."

"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Taehyung laughs as you glare daggers into him. "Kinda forgot the second definition of 'sass' is 'Y/N.' Think I read it on the Merriam-Wattster dictionary before. Right Yoongs?"

"Right. All that SAT vocab practice last year really got to us, huh?"

"Guys, guys, be nice to Y/N!" Jungkook interrupts, literally appearing out of thin air as he casually swings his arms around Taehyung and Yoongi. You're inwardly glad that Kook's here to save you from your suffering.

"Hey, you always pick Y/N's side!" Taehyung pouts. He crosses his arms against his chests and leans against Yoongi. "It's soooo unfair."

The shorter male snorts, playfully pushing the taller off of him. "Yeah, I fucking wonder why."

"I'm so sick of both of your sarcasm," you announce, throwing your hands up in defeat. "But whatever." You turn to smile at Jungkook. "Hey, Kook. Any plans after school today?"

Jungkook immediately perks up, grinning from ear to ear. "No, why?"

"Well I dunno, I was wondering if we can go to the bowling alley," you say, scratching your head shyly. You're not usually one to initiate any hangout, leaving Jungkook absolutely shocked.

"U-Us?" He asks, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

"Yeah, the four of us, you know? Why are you so surprised?" you giggle, nervously twisting strands of your hair. "Not good at bowling?"

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head as he stands up straight and tall. "Uh no. I'll have you know that I used to take bowling lessons. Prepare your ass to be run over by the professional."

"Mhm, sure." You nod your head, voice dripping with pure sarcasm. "Bet. Loser buys dinner."

"You're on. Yoongs? Tae?" Jungkook asks. He turns to his friends who look at him disapprovingly.

"Hold up, we never agreed to this!" Yoongi complains as his face wrinkles in distraught. "Save me and my empty wallet!"

"Same, I'm kinda a broke fuck sooo..." Taehyung trails off.

"Fine. We all play then. But whoever scores the lowest between Jungkook and I will pay. Good?" you dictate as your competitive and slightly bossy side takes over.

"Perfect as usual," Jungkook sings as he swings his arm around you. "I'm thinking lobster night, what about you guys? And we'll thank Y/N in advance for the meal since I'm so gonna win."

You feel his warm arm around your shoulder, and instinctively, you lean in. His figure is warm against your side, his proximity letting you smell his fresh, clean scent. "Watch it, Kook. Don't make promises you can't keep," you chirp, smirking confidently. "I know a great lobster place downtown. Hella overpriced, but totally worth it. We'll go there."

"Great! It's all set then," Taehyung says, clapping his hands. "I'm practically drooling already!"

"I love freeloading off of my besties!" Yoongi chimes in, a great grin tattooed on his face.

"Don't worry you're not freeloading completely. You'll pay for dessert," Jungkook chuckles, momentarily taking his arm off of you as he slaps his friend's back. The shorter male grumbles unintelligible things, glaring daggers into Jungkook.

"Hold up, I just have to tell my cousin not to wait for me after school," you say, fishing out your phone as Jungkook slips his casual arm off of you. "Or else he'll worry and call the fire department, the police, the navy and the fucking president."

"Your cousin? The Kim Seokjin?" Taehyung says in awe as his eyes turn glassy. "He's so hot."

"Hey!" Yoongi protests, elbowing Taehyung in the stomach. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked hella jealous. "I mean... er, that's very inappropriate to say to your teacher!"

The last remark makes your face burn hot, (considering you've done worse with your teacher) so you quickly attempt to cover it by ducking your head down to dial Jin.

Your cousin answers in three rings. "Y/N????" he practically screeches. Even an idiot could tell he was worried, almost as if you called to break some bad news to him. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, hi," you chirp calmly. "No nothing's wrong I—"

"Oh thank god," Jin sighs into the phone. You slightly flinch as you hear a front-row sample of your cousin's dramatic breath. "So what's up?"

"Uh, yeah well, listen, Jin, you don't have to pick me up today after school. I'm going out with a couple of friends."

"Come again? Friends?? What frie—o-oh, uh, I mean, really? Um yeah, have fun then and be safe!" Jin slightly stutters.

"Excuse me, what do you mean, what friends? I have friends. A lot of them!" you announce, frowning. You grip your phone with two hands, lowering your voice: "I mean, now I do."

Jin laughs on the other line. "Mhm. Alrighty, Y/N. But for real, have fun and be safe, okay?"

"You know I will!"

"Good. Make sure to be with your friends at all times! Don't go wandering off on your own okay? Do you have enough money? When and where should I pick you up? Huh? Y/N?" Jin frowns he deattaches his phone from his ear. What the heck, you had just stopped talking. But that's when he realizes you'd ended the call quite some time ago.

Your cousin scoffs, shaking his head. He assumes you must've been so excited and ended the call early. A grin blossoms on his tired face. He can't remember the last time you had hung out with other people other than him and Jimin. Jin's glad that things are looking up for you—and he hopes things will stay that way.

"Did I ever mention how proud I am of you?" Jimin whispers. He nudges you softly as your cheeks slowly turn into a pale shade of pink from sheer contact with your boyfriend.

Scribbling down the last few words of your literature essay, you smile, resting your head against Jimin's shoulder. "I think this is the tenth time today, actually." You feel so safe by his side, perched on a chair pulled up by his desk. It's almost as if his classroom is your second home since you spend so much time with him in there. "But you can say that a million more times and I won't ever mind hearing it again."

Jimin laughs heartily, eyes scrunching up beautifully and lips pulling apart gorgeously. "God, I love you." He leans in to peck your lips lightly, sending your head soaring ten miles up the sky. The warmth of his mouth on yours lingers even after he pulls away, and you reach to touch your own lips to chase the heat.

"I love you too," you giggle, "aren't you glad I didn't say 'you and me both' this time?"

"Well, in your defense, you really didn't know it was common etiquette to say it back. Besides 'you and me both' can be our thing, you know? It can be just as romantic as saying 'I love you too,' " Jimin swoons, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand.

"I actually like that idea," you say, reaching up to ruffle Jimin's soft, black hair. "Say you love me again, please?"

"Jeez, am I starting to get you into clichés?" Jimin chuckles, leaning into your delicate touch. "I love you, alright?"

You snuggle up against your boyfriend's warmth, giggling as you take his hand in yours. "You and me both, Jimin."

Your boyfriend can't help but grin wildly at you. And you return his grin, flirtatiously batting your lashes to tease him. Subconsciously, your tongue darts out of your mouth, slowly wetting your lips. Jimin watches your every movement, eyes narrowing as his breathing slows.

Before you can say another word, his warm hands grasp your thighs, hoisting you up onto his desk leaving his papers flying across all corners of the room.

You squeak in surprise, gripping on Jimin's button-up shirt. "What the fuck, Jimin? You're so clum—"

You're interrupted when his lips come crashing down on yours, his hands coming up to caress the sides of your face as you rest your hands in his hair. Deciding to tease your boyfriend a bit, you part your lips only slightly, which Jimin takes as an invitation to attempt to slip his tongue through. But he soon finds out the small space between your plump, kissed lips is just not enough.

You giggle, satisfied with your teasing as Jimin becomes visibly frustrated. He whines, mouth still on yours as he pushes your bodies hard against each other. But you refuse to give in. Your boyfriend's hands fly down to your thighs, gripping them hard. "Stop teasing," he mutters breathlessly into your mouth.

His hands are leaving warm imprints on your legs, and you revel in the feeling, softly kissing the corner of Jimin's lips. "Or what? Do you have an event planned or something?" you say smartly.

You literally swear on your perfect grades that you hear Jimin fucking growl. You're still contemplating if you're dating a goddamn wolf or not when your back is roughly pushed back on the wooden desk. You yelp in shock, forced to peer up to see Jimin, smirking as he hovers over you. "Yes, I do quite have an event planned," he teases right back.

Now you can't help but stare at him with hooded eyes. It's almost as if you forgot that you were human, a fucking student, for goodness' sake. Your actions seem animalistic, full of something people would call lust.

Jimin's careful not to crush you with the weight of his body as he leans in to kiss you again. This time, you let his tongue slip through your parted lips.

There are no thoughts in your head. Only the feeling that you need to be closer to Jimin, that you're not close enough to him, even though he is practically on top of you. You can feel your temperature soaring up as his mouth devours yours in a deep, passionate way. He tastes like mint, your favorite.

"Jimin..." you sigh, legs intertwining with his as you firmly grip the front of his shirt.

You don't know if your boyfriend took that as some sort of sign, or if he was getting too hot, but the next thing you know, he's starting to unbutton the white collared shirt. You don't mind at all.

Instead, you tug Jimin's head closer to yours, deepening the fiery kiss and sending heat coursing through your veins. Both of you don't need to pause for breath as if the lack of oxygen would never keep you apart.

Jimin's still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and you contemplate breaking the kiss to help him out. But his lips are so warm on yours, moving in sync while pulling and parting. Without realizing, you let out a little moan. Normally, you'd be embarrassed, but you were too occupied to care. Besides, no doubt Jimin heard; his fingers were moving faster than ever, trying to discard his tight shirt off of his body. Something you have nothing to complain about—

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You break the long kiss apart, not to breathe, but to scream. Fuck. You can recognize that (shrill) voice anywhere.

There your fucking cousin was, standing in the doorway. He looks like as if he's been to and survived the goddamn Western Front back in World War I. And you kind of know why.

For one, you're still pinned under Jimin in a vulnerable (rather unflattering) position. Your face is flushed, lips swelled an angry red and clothes beyond what a normal iron can fix. Jimin's shirt is three-quarters unbuttoned, revealing his abs to the wrong person at the wrong time.

It looks fucking bad. And both of you know it.

Jimin's the first to react, scrambling to get off from atop of you and fumbling to button up his shirt. "J-Jin! We er... I mean, I thought you were gonna be in a meeting for two more hours!"

Your cousin is silent as if he was still taking in the atrocious scene. You're in a hurry to fix your hair and clothes, avoiding eye contact to save your own ass. Jin was going to burst out screaming any second now and you and Jimin both knew it.

"MY COUSIN???? AND MY BEST FRIEND?????" Jin hollers as predicted. His forehead vein protrudes unattractively as his eyes bulge out.

You and Jimin both flinch back, you gripping Jimin's arm for support out of instinct. Jin catches the action and screams: "NO! DON'T TOUCH HIM! DON'T TOUCH HER! WHAT THE—I-I—THIS IS — OH MY GOD ILLEGAL—WHAT THE ACTUAL F—"

Your poor cousin is a blubbering, shrieking mess. And honestly, you can't blame him. You and Jimin had started slacking off, being quite careless when it came to public displays of affection. It was both of your faults that your cousin had found out like this.

You helplessly look at Jimin in hopes for some sort of comfort, but upon looking at his scared face, you realize how much trouble you were actually in.

"WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS AT HOME. GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS. OHMYF—" Jin abruptly stops his yelling to massage his head. "Oh my god," he breathes. "We're going home."

Jimin looks at you, eyes reflecting pure fear as he wordlessly begs you to ride in his car. You're just as frightened, not knowing what your unpredictable cousin would say or do. Would he make you break up with Jimin? Would he ban you from seeing your boyfriend again? Force you to move schools?

Nevertheless, you're about to nod to agree when Jin turns around, glaring at both of you. "Y/N, you're coming with me. Jimin, I'll see you in the living room in five minutes."

Your cousin grabs your arm, dragging you away from your boyfriend who still looks shellshocked. You don't blame him. This had not ended the way you thought it would.

The last thing you see before you're pulled out of the classroom is Jimin raking his hand through his hair in frustration, mouthing the words, "We're fucking screwed."

It does nothing to calm your nerves.

—previous | next

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin angst #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

174 notes · View notes

what-a-messsss · 3 years

Text

2x3 rewatch

I keep forgetting that Brach is still in S2. Oops. Also, I apparently went to check something in S6 last time I watched something, so it started at 6x2 instead of 2x3 and I yelled. But anyway, on with this mess. “Death Came in Like Thunder” apparently. It sure did.

Ah yes, let us not forget that Branch is MANLEH. This shall be proven to us by him murdering his cousin, Trunk, with big ax. Chop chop, Branch, kill Trunk. But oh no, must also show that he is People Smart, so must also lose because this makes him likable. And many white people clap. Yaaaay. But be sure to say, “I let him win, Ferg,” while your competitor is right next to you, so he almost surely heard you. Good good.

Oh Ferg. Could you look more gormless if you tried? (I mean, probably not, since presumably that was the goal of the actor, so he would have been trying. But still.) Bb.

Heh, nice thematic cut to Walt also chopping wood. And YAY, Henry’s gorgeous truck (and gorgeous self). I’m just going to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Henry rolls up and just helps himself to some of Walt’s thermos of coffee. Because of course he does. But I do so love these touches that they put in that do underline the fact that they are married have been besties for going on 40 years. Also, I love this jacket of Henry’s. The woven top, jean jacket sort of one? Yeah, top 5 costume pieces of his for me. (Also on that list, all basically tied with each other, basically any pants he wears. I am reminded, when they cut back out to a full body shot. Because I am very shallow, and he is very pretty.)

Haaaaaa. And of course Cady talked to Henry before she talked to Walt. Walt is a butthead. And, yeah yeah, she just found out that he’d been lying to her for over a year, but that just proves my point that Walt is a butthead. And we’re back to this whole idea that she left her phone, which just... ugh. No. But Henry’s face when he says that she said that she is safe, and he’s so worried, but still willing to respect her boundaries.

“She is an adult, Walt.” “She’s my daughter.” For fuck’s sake, you jackass, your ADULT daughter; that’s the whole flipping point! Also, that little emphasis on my daughter, pfft. If you didn’t want to feel like she preferred her cool dad to you, maybe try being less of an AAAAAAASSHOLE. And, like, respecting her. Even a weensy little bit.

“Etta Place” I don’t remember if we find out why that’s the ‘assumed name’ that Cady chose, but I’m intrigued. Wait, I just googled. Looooool. She spent years with Butch and Sundance. Nice.

Walt is such a soft touch with teens. *snack crackle pop* that kneecap back into place. Vic starts this scene saying, “The 911 operator,” though, which is interesting, because I was kind of under the impression that Ruby was the main dispatcher, so it would be kind of heartening if she actually had back up with that. ...Or maybe they’re just far enough out that a cell call made would be picked up by a tower farther out and have to be routed back in to the station/them. I have no idea how that actually works. Another rabbit hole for me to totally not go down. Hopefully. Shit. They’ve apparently upped the fine for trespass since the show, though, because it’s $750 (or 6 months in jail) now and Walt says it’s $500.

And once again, we see Vic actually wearing gloves while investigating a suspicious death, and Walt just squinting into the distance helpfully. I suppose “things got bad” in Basque country around WWII, but there has been friction there that dates back before the Spanish Civil War, or even the Carlist Wars the previous century. It did get gnarly with the dictatorship of Franco, and the formation of the ETA in retaliation, though, so yeah. (Francisco Franco is also on the list of people who anybody with a time machine should go back and beat the shit out of.)

Shit, I forgot about the animal death.

Knock knock, no answer. Better just wander in without a warrant. I know that the guy who they know lives there is dead, but still, no fricking warrant; I suppose the worry of a poisoning could count as probably cause?

Gods, but there are moments when I do absolutely adore Vic, and they are usually when she’s taking the piss out of Walt. “Reclusive bachelor chic; you and Marco have the same decorator.” Looool. But also, sad, because Martha has only been gone for a little over a year, and Walt is not the kind of person who would, like, change stuff and get rid of her things, so that’s kind of odd. Maybe Henry and/or Cady went though and put away some of her things to try to help Walt move on? But damn, the ‘excuse you’ look on Walt’s face when she does say it, pffft.

AND AGAIN, Vic wearing gloves, Walt with his bare ass hands picking up the picture of Picasso’s Guernica; can you at least *pretend* you’re a cop, *some* of the time, buddy?

Lol at the barrabilak; they are pretty well by the Rocky Mountains, so it’s probably not all that surprising that Walt’s had some “Rocky Mountain oysters” before.

I had forgotten that Vic had four brothers. But her comment about Sal going off to look after the sheep and how if someone had told her that one of her brothers were dead she “wouldn’t care about any damn sheep,” I don’t know. It kind of annoys me. It’s totally in character for her, which is good, but I think it’s part of what can annoy me about her character. Different people grieve differently, but also, I know she’s only been in Wyoming for a year or two, tops, but how is it so hard to fathom that someone one would be concerned about their livelihood, even in the face of personal tragedy? Just, seeing beyond her own very narrow experience doesn’t seem like something she’s very good at. It would be one thing if she’d framed it as “this is suspicious, and here’s why I think so as a cop,” but it was, “I wouldn’t react that way personally, so it’s sus.”

Sure, be suspicious because there’s a suspicious death and family members are always suspects until ruled out, but approach it like a cop. Or at least think about it from more angles than just your own, not terribly similar experience. You’re a white city cop who can’t (or won’t) adjust to being in BF rural-ville, but these are immigrant shepherds whose family come from a homeland where the cops were just as likely to kill you as answer questions, and you’re side-eying a guy for going to make sure that their meal ticket doesn’t get obliterated?

I need to keep reminding myself that I really did want to like Vic. I really did. She just... they don’t make it easy for me. Maybe she’s serving as an avatar for audience who don’t know about some of the culture stuff, and the audience get answers from her ignorance? But honestly, I wish they’d picked a different way to handle that, if that’s what they were trying to do. Her response to Henry being salty about Thanksgiving still really pisses me off. Because it was shitty and racist, and... do we really need a character basically rolling their eyes and saying, “It was so long ago, why don’t you just get over it,” about something that is intrinsically tied to the genocide of so many people? Why are Indigenous people just supposed to “get over it” but “Remember the Alamo” and “Southern Pride,” and shit? Fuck’s sake. Honestly, that might have been the moment when they lost me on her character. She has moments where she’s awesome, but they never really address her being fucking racist or give her a chance to grow into a better person. Which sucks a lot. Fuck. Ok, that was a lot. Sorry. Back to the actual ep.

AH, nice of you to beam in from the campaign trail, Brancheroo!

Uh, so I paused it to look at pic in the newspaper, and then being me, started to look at the articles surrounding the pic. And the one with the headline “Fans Injured At Local Game” is actually about the Stewart case? From 1x3? I’m guessing that somebody went to the trouble of writing up an article for that for some S1 ep after it and they just plugged it in because when not paused, you might catch “Sheriff Longmire” there and that’s all they need. Especially since the text starts to repeat after the first paragraph. (I am the worst pedantic little shit.) Ooooor, maybe even though it’s S2, it’s hardly been any time since 1x3? The date on the newspaper is March 31, 2012, so there’s a timeline hint.

Awwwwww, once Walt points out the bird, Ferg knows exactly what it is. Occasional twitcher, are we, my lad? “A red-tip meadowlark,” indeed. Oh bb; Ferg’s face when he sees Walt looking at the pic of him with Branch in the paper.

“You go too fast, you miss the little things.” Every once in a while, he actually sort of mentors Ferg. I wish he did more of that, especially since we see later how capable Ferg can be.

Go suck an egg, Branch. Why does she get all the “good” assignments? Maybe because she was actually on the job when they found the body, not campaigning.

OPE. Lizzie’s gift. Yeah, I’d probably choke on that coffee if I were you, too, girl. Better hope that there wasn’t perishable food stuffs in that gift, because that has been in there for a whiiiiiile, hasn’t it. Wait, was Ferg in the office when Lizzie dropped off the gift? Because his face said more than just “Did somebody give Vic a present?” Suuuuper subtle with that whole pushing the drawer closed with your foot there, Vic. Pfffft.

“Cyrano Caballero” How daaaare that skeeve take Cyrano’s name in vain?!?! (I have a thing about Cyrano de Bergerac. It’s quite possibly my favourite play, and I adore the character, and have exactly 0 chill about it at all. I find Brian Hooker’s translation of “The Ballade of the duel at the Hotel Bourgogne Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian” with “Then, as I end the refrian, thrust home,” vastly superior to any other translation that I’ve heard or read, though for the rest of it, I will grant that there are others to be preferred. But that version of his Ballade is exquisite, and I will not be swayed. Holy shit, FOCUS. That is so very much not the point.) It’s not even a throw away line in this ep, it’s just a random, very well chosen, if utterly appallingly insulting, company name. It’s actually incredibly clever for what the business is, and if it didn’t make me so stomping mad, I would applaud whoever came up with it heartily.

Vic’s face listening to this jackass’ spiel is a thing of beauty. “A good woman goes a long way of easing the obvious stresses of your daily life,” the jackass says, cutting his eyes at Vic when he says “obvious stresses,” and I caaaackle.

What is it about this guys’ horrible glasses that just makes him so much more hate-able? I’m not entirely sure, but kudos to whatever costumer put those on him, because they are perfect. In the ‘I want to punch him’ way of perfection.

And after all of that about Walt’s “lady friend,” Vic brings Lizzie’s present. Womp womp. That went super well. Yuuuup, run while you can.

Poor Ferg. Branch manipulates him, Vic ignores him, Walt shuts him down... Poor guy just can’t get a break.

I actually kind of like this motel manager--the one who “doesn’t judge people” and is a stickler for warrants? At least somebody in this county cares about warrants. Also, those doors are actually really pretty. Nice colour, and the carved scrollwork designs are nice.

What an odd shot: the one when they’re coming out of Walt’s office after talking to Skeevy McGrossFace and Rosa. It’s a weird sort of shaky-cam stepping back, just preceding Branch walking, and then turns to follow him when he sit’s on his desk. But it’s a really different style of shot than I can remember, so much so that it’s a bit jarring, especially after the series of nearly stationary close ups that we just had. Weird. [18:42-18-50]

Cady! I haven’t made much note of her costuming before this, but it seems notable that’s she’s only in monocromatics. Especially next to Fales in muted tones, but still some colour, and surrounded by the colourful grafitti of the alley where her mother was stabbed. Nice way of setting her apart from everything.

SHEEPIES! Ooooo, that wagon is so cool. Ah dang, the way that Sal corrects Walt’s pronunciation of his brother’s name is so gloriously passive aggressive. Good for you, my dude. Names are important, and people should have the respect to make the effort to get them right.

Aaaaaand Walt, the definition of Do, Don’t Tell, just shoves the guy to keep him from drinking the possibly dangerous water, rather than, like, using his words. Walt’s gonna Walt.

Iiiiiiiii am a mess, truly. It cuts to an architectural model and I start giggling like a 6th grader, because I know it’s going to be a Jacob scene. He’s not even on screen yet, ffs. HANDS. I’m fine. Totally fine. (That’s totally a lie. I just rewound to the beginning of the scene because I kept giggling too much to pay attention. What the hell.) First time we’ve seen one of the chips, which at this point must be a marketing mock-up, since nothing is built yet. And he actually types, not just doing the hunt-and-peck thing that is sometimes easier on a tablet.

Looking at the weaving that is up on his wall (maybe a rug?) I’m hoping that the prop people actually did buy from Northern Cheyenne artisans. They apparently did most of their filming in New Mexico, so I hope they made the effort to get the patterns right, and buy from the actual tribe they’re supposed to be portraying, I guess? And now I’m distracted by the fact that the random hanging light behind Jacob is at a weird angle?

Look, ever since I realized that the “Hey,” that Jacob does is apparently just A (thanks to it also happening in That Damned Xmas Movie) I am endlessly amused (and charmed) whenever Jacob does it. I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does. (This is legitimately embarrassing. How much trouble I am having focusing. Beyond my normal focus issues, which, as shown above, are already impressive. Because thiiiiirst.)

“My boys at the lumber yard did just throw you a campaign rally.” I love how Jacob is basically apparently not just his secret angel-investor, but also a sneaky campaign manager. Did Branch just think shit like the rally just happened? He’s not fricking Ferris Bueller; somebody organizes those. And apparently it’s either Jacob himself, or someone who Jacob appointed to do so.

“I thought you were just a casino developer.” You have noooo clue, Brancheroo. “I prefer to remain a silent partner. White people get nervous when Indians start taking back their land.” Oooooope. Especially interesting because there are previsions for the Tribal Council to purchase land to be Tribal land (Section 6 of Article IX of the Tribal Constitution), but this seems more along the lines of personal acquisition. Though maybe not, because “on the board” doesn’t necessarily equate to being the owner.

The set up of Jacob’s office is so interesting. Functionally for the show, it’s probably for better shooting angles, so that we can see more of Jacob behind the desk while Branch is sitting in front of it, but from an in-the-verse decorating standpoint, bit’s fascinating. He has this focal wall with the gorgeous wall hanging, flanked by floor to ceiling window, but instead of having his desk centered on that wall and directly facing the bulk of the room, it’s at an almost 45 degree angle on a huge rug, and it’s so unexpected. I kind of love it, and want to analyze it for days. Also worth noting is that pride of place is given to the Hotamétaneo’o headdress which is on a stand centered in front of the wall hanging.

How fucking tired must Jacob be. He’s used to Walt... Walting, but then Branch comes in, who he is literally spending his own money to support in his bid for sheriff, and he pulls the same shit of assuming that he’s behind Bad Shit. And then Branch frames it as “bad P.R,” so he’s there to “discuss it with [him] privately.” And then basically threatens him with Walt. I swear. ...there is something a little amusing about Walt being used as the stick in the carrot and a stick method of negotiating. He certainly is enough of a blunt object most of the time.

Oh fuck you so much, Branch. Playing the “can’t give you details about an ongoing investigation” card as though you have some professional or moral leg to stand on after basically blackmailing Jacob with Walt’s vendetta is just such shit. You don’t get to look down your nose at Jacob’s quid pro quo pragmatism when you were the one who came to him for financial backing. You sanctimonious little shitheel. If you didn’t want to deal with Jacob, you shouldn’t have taken his $100k. He’s a business man, and you’re an investment, and not a quixotic one.

“He’s probably the only person to have died from [hemlock] since Socrates.” And then Walt’s incredulous look and her, “Alright, I googled it,” were subtle comedic gold.

Ooooooo, that was a nice little shot. Not quite foreshadowing, but showing Branch’s suspicions and sort of inviting the audience to share them. Walt says his bit about the Army poisoning “Indian wells” to kill them off and get their land, and then we see Branch fiddling with the Four Arrows chip and narrow his eyes considering and slip the chip into his pocket, looking suspicious. It’s a really neat little moment of visual storytelling, no lines, literally three seconds long, just sort of snuck in there, but super effective. Really nicely done.

And again, Cady is in monochromatics. And, shit, just gave Fales Henry’s name. Aaaaaand right after, she realizes that the junkie was killed and realizes that it had to have been one of her dads (or so she thinks).

Sal’s monologue in the cell is a good emotional payoff that plays off of Vic’s comments towards the beginning of the episode. I see the narrative worth of her making them, and how the structure of the episode benefits from it; but seeing those writing elements from the outside of the show doesn’t make me able to like her as a character who said them in-universe. And then the threat Sal makes of vengeance on someone who killed one he loves also underscores the stuff with Cady’s investigation into her mother’s death very well. As much as I gripe about the writing *cough S6 cough finale cough* there really is some damn good writing in this show, and I don’t show enough appreciation for it.

Huh, and now there’s a sort of inverse of that weird shot preceding Branch from earlier, but this one is much more effective and less off-putting. This one [33:00] precedes Walt as he walks back into his office, still a medium close up, but it’s much steadier, and the way it is framed, it does quite a bit to convey his mindset, and he walks out of the shot and we see the three deputies following him in like baffled ducklings, making the shot serve another purpose, too. Which honestly makes that earlier shaky follow shot of Branch even weirder, because this one was so much better.

And then Walt has his creepy little speech about how someone would want to watch the light go out of their eyes and not caring if you get caught. I do appreciate that when he’s talking about the psychology of killing with poison he doesn’t just call it a “woman’s method” which media so often does. It might have been the writers keeping who the killer was abstruse, but it was still more gender neutral. Especially since according to The U. S. Department of Justice's report on Homicide Trends in the United States (1980 to 2008) of all poison killers in that time period, 60.5 percent were male and 39.5 percent female. (Table 5 on page 10.) So that long held idea that even Sherlock Holmes was written to have that poison is “of course” a woman’s weapon is pretty crap.

Awwww, the good old days when Walt paid attention to animals. ...I am still bizarrely salty about the fact that he never named his horse. What a good pupper!

And then we have a classic example of Sneaky!Walt, which always takes people quite by surprise, because he’s usually as subtle as Miley Cyrus.

Also because when he does this, it tends to be pretty fucked up, in a Make Someone Think They’re About To Die way. And then he does His Thing, where he just lays out all of his suppositions, with no proof, only the terror of her thinking that she’s been poisoned and you’re withholding medical intervention to get her to confess. And is, irritatingly, correct about his theories. But I’m pretty sure this qualifies as coercing a confession? She thinks she’s fucking dying. Even Vic looks at him like it’s fucked up, and her moral compass where he’s concerned is... skewed.

They way this reveal was played out, (”How’d they find her so fast?” “Hard to say...”) is somewhat ambiguous as to whether it’s supposed to be that Branch went there to tell Jacob or not, but I kind of doubt it? I kind of figure that the meeting that Jacob was having when Branch rambled in was already with Rosa signing the paperwork. Jacob is smart. So, HAH. Little good your “can’t comment on an ongoing investigation” schtick did.

And then the news that someone in law enforcement has been asking after Henry.

“Lizzie was waiting for you here tonight. You should talk to her, Walt. She seems to think she is in a relationship with you.” ....omgs. The tone. I mean, yes, the blisteringly glorious SASS, but how does one not read that as incredibly shippy? Howwwww?

“You are an honest man, Walt. I would like you to stay that way.” Oh Henry. When did you decide that you weren’t? Was it when you hired Hector? Or was there something before? ...I feel like there were things before that. Hello darkness my old friend.

“It is not your job to protect me.” “It is my job...” THOSE WERE THE DAYS. Those were the fucking daaaaaays. And the emotions on Henry’s face after Walt says, “That was my right,” as though Henry cheated him of something. I am so deep in OT3 feels I cannot even see daylight here. The feels of them having been an OT3 and then Walt pulling this shit, and Henry having to defend his own “right” to avenge Martha? It wrecks me. “A good woman was murdered. A bad man is dead. End of story.”

#Longmire #Walt Longmire #Cady Longmire #Henry Standing Bear #Branch is such a tool #Jacob Nighthorse #The Ferg #Victoria Moretti #Episode commentary #How many tangents did I manage to go on this time?#so many #Martha Longmire #I ramble about shots and framing and narrative too.#It took me so long to do this.#I am such a mess.

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hutchhitched · 4 years

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Social Commentary in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

I haven’t written a lot of meta about The Hunger Games trilogy. When I first read them, I devoured the entire set in three days before I was part of tumblr or writing fanfiction. My own metas were in my head and part of things I taught my classes and discussed with my friends, but not something I generally put on my blog. I don’t know why. (I do have a meta about Peeta’s hijacking that I’ve been meaning to write for a while. Maybe once I’ve finished this book. Hint: It has to do with George Orwell’s 1984, which I used in my classes last year and was performed at a theater in Houston right as the pandemic hit.) I don’t know if reading this book when I’m a decade older and after a really rough few years of my own has anything to do with it or just that I’ve been exposed to so much by being in this fandom, but I’ve got a lot of thoughts about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. I’ve only read Part 1 so far, but here are some observations. (It’s long, but at least read the last one—even if you have to skip to get there.)

Spoilers below:

Reaping day is July 4. We already knew it was during the summer, so that’s not a huge stretch. What intrigues me is the symbolism of July 4 for Americans since it’s Independence Day. For those of you who aren’t American or aren’t sure why that struck me, here you go. Independence Day represents the day the Declaration of Independence was signed (although, it was actually two days later, but whatever). The Declaration of Independence was issued 14 months AFTER the beginning of the American Revolution in April 1775 at the battles of Lexington and Concord and was not the cause of the Revolution as so many believe. Penned by Thomas Jefferson (at least colloquially), it famously discusses the celebrated (but sadly, not practiced) phrase that “all men are created equal.” That’s the phrase that’s trotted out and waved about, but the Declaration is mostly about tyranny and the role of government. In fact, the Declaration doesn’t start with “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” Instead, it begins with this: “When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…” In other words, the Declaration of Independence does indicate that all humans are created equal. It also discusses what the government is supposed to and not supposed to do. Having Reaping Day occur on July 4 is a brilliant jab that adds an entirely new level to what Independence Day means and how it’s celebrated—with lots of flag waving and fireworks and BBQ (and very little knowledge of what the document itself actually says).

Which brings me to Sejanus Plinth. Bless him. He’s the voice of compassion and reason in part 1 as he speaks up about treating other humans with respect and dignity, about the humanity of those in the districts, as he feeds the hungry, as he challenges the inhumanity of the Games. In short, he’s the Peeta Mellark voice from the final council of the tributes in Mockingjay. I have no idea what’s going to happen to him in the rest of the book, but he’s the humanity I’m craving as I read. A note on his name: Sejanus was a close friend and ally of the Roman Emperor Tiberius. Sejanus worked to improve conditions in the Empire and served as a proxy to Tiberius when he was absent. He was strangled to death in 31 AD/CE. His last name is what makes me stop and want to hug Collins. Four years ago, I had no idea what a plinth was. I’d never heard the word, but I was the prop mistress for my church’s summer musical, and it was on the list of things I had to find. I googled it and found out it’s a base on which a statue (or something else) is displayed. In Mary Poppins, it was used as the base for a statue that came to life and talked to the characters in the park. In other words, it’s a place on which someone can take a stand and deliver a message—a platform, if you will, of the character’s compassion and humanity.

I don’t remember if we got that Tigris was Snow’s cousin in the original trilogy or not. What I do remember is that she was a former stylist who Snow thought was no longer useful and had her removed from the Games. I haven’t figured out yet how I feel about her in this book, but her banishment and desire to see Snow destroyed are even more intriguing to me as a result of her inclusion as his relative. I would not have pictured her as a Snow before reading the new book. I’m still waiting to be convinced. “Snow comes out on top” is awesome. I wish I could write half as well as Collins.

There’s so much Holocaust imagery in this book, it’s terrifying. The cattle cars, the inhumane treatment of the tributes, using a veterinarian to treat the tributes instead of a doctor, the numbers, the cages, the rats, separation into districts and restrictions on travel, the hunger and starvation. Ugh. I’ve spent the past several years studying the Holocaust with some of the leading Holocaust and genocide scholars in the world both here in Houston and in Israel. I’ve traveled to Germany and Poland to see the death camps and headquarters of the Gestapo and Nazis and so on. The Games themselves are genocide, by definition, as an attempt to reduce the population of undesirables by targeting the children so they cannot reproduce. Hearing Survivor stories always reminds me of how Collins discusses Victors. There are no winners, only survivors. Survivors have never forgotten the Holocaust, nor should they. It’s what helped so many of them find compassion and humanity and forgiveness (and equally what causes such despair and depression in so many, as well). During my time Yad Vahsem in Jerusalem last summer, one thing was repeated over and over and over. The real triumph for Survivors aren’t the children; they are the grandchildren and then the great-grandchildren. In Panem, there can’t be too many grandchildren if the children are killed before they reach child-bearing age. (There’s also something in there about Snow being raised by his grandmother, but I’m gonna let that one rest for now.)

In one of the seminars from last summer at Yad Vashem, a scholar of Holocaust music taught us about the role of bands and singing in the camps (all levels, from death camps down to prison camps). First, there are some achingly gorgeous songs (the lyrics of one which were preserved on a child’s shoe in the death camp of Majdanek). Second, she asked us what we thought were the purposes of songs and music in the camps, and we all gave the standard answers—an attempt to distract themselves, holding onto humanity, finding beauty in the midst of horror, and hope. As a faithful fan of The Hunger Games and the saying “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear,” I was just as astounded as others when she said, “There was no hope. People died in death camps. They were starved and covered in shit and piss and lice and filth. They wanted revenge.” I don’t think revenge is what music represents in this book or in the original trilogy, although I think that argument can be made with the use of the Hanging Tree song in rebellion in the movies, but I can’t get that woman’s statement out of my head when I read this book. Not everybody has hope. Katniss didn’t when she first volunteered. I think there’s something to that.

Lucy Gray Baird is not Katniss. I haven’t exactly figured out who she is, yet, but she’s not Katniss in the first part of this book, which I think some people were hoping she was (as an analogy, obviously). Her flirtations with Snow are fascinating, and her outgoing and peculiar behavior at the reaping in District 12 was my first indication that the title was not as clear cut as Snow=Snake and District 12 female tribute=Songbird (alluding to Katniss). She puts a snake down the dress of the daughter of District 12’s mayor. She also sings. Is she both? Is she the songbird only? If so, then why the snake? And Snow doesn’t appear to be the snake either. My bet’s on Dr. Gaul. She’s a piece of work. Or maybe it’s Clemmie. Interested to see where that goes, too.

Lucy Gray’s insistence that she’s not from District 12 is fascinating. She insists she’s Covey, which by definition is a group of birds. The Covey are a group of traveling performers, who were stopped in District 12 and not allowed to leave. Trapped birds—interesting. Also, besides the Jews, the Roma/Sinti were targeted during the Holocaust. This group was commonly and derogatorily referred to as “gypsies,” people who moved about frequently and were suspected of crime, stealing, and a myriad of other issues. The Roma and Sinti immigrated into Central and Eastern Europe from India. If Katniss and others in District 12 are descended from Lucy Gray, then that covers the non-white argument about her ethnic makeup. I have no idea if that was Collins’ intention, but it makes a lot of sense in my brain.

As for Snow, he’s not a villain in this book. At least he’s not yet. So far, he’s the hero (or maybe anti-hero is better), but he’s definitely not the villain. Since we’ve read The Hunger Games, we know he’s the ultimate villain later, but he’s not so far in this book. He’s got ambition and cunning, but neither of those are ultimately villainous. He mourns his mother. He loves his cousin and grandmother. He’s proud of his father’s military service. He’s sad about his friends who die. He’s interested in, if not attracted to, Lucy Gray. We know what he becomes, so it’s hard to read about him as a person with hopes and dreams and struggles. Why? Because it humanizes him, and when he’s humanized, it’s harder for us to say, “He’s evil, and that’s why he did those things.” This is much the same way people blame the Holocaust and World War II on Hitler. “Well, he’s evil, so of course he did that.” Or how we dehumanize gunmen in massacres—“Well, he was clearly a sick individual, so he shot up the place.” Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying these crimes are excusable (in real life or in Collins’ works). What I am saying is that knowing Snow was a child shaped by war, hunger, poverty, and loss makes it harder for us to distance ourselves from this “evil” person. His characterization is uncomfortable because it makes us face that we could also do terrible things in specific contexts. Evil people are rarely born. They are almost always made, which means any of us could be a villain. That is what’s really terrifying.

A couple of other notes before this gets way too long for anyone to read.

The role of the government: Sejanus argues it’s the government’s job to take care of its citizens. This is an argument that’s raged in the US (and other countries) for a long time. The question is how do governments take care of the citizens? By feeding them and giving them health care and making sure everyone has enough? Be protecting them with a huge army? By allowing broad civil liberties (e.g., choosing whether to wear face masks during a pandemic)? By instituting restrictive liberties (e.g., gun control, wire taps, screenings at airports)? It’s a really interesting point Sejanus makes early in the book. Not surprising not everyone agrees.

Mention of the three other book titles (almost): The Hunger Games are mentioned several times. There’s a reference to something that “really catches fire.” And then there are the jabberjays. There are no mockingjays yet. Probably because there is no mockingjay yet. Seriously, Collins is brilliant.

The role of war: War is not good for those who live through it. Snow is traumatized by the war, as are the rest of the Capitol’s citizens. It makes most have little empathy for those in the districts who rebelled against them. War has destroyed the city. It’s weakened the economy. It’s destroyed the Snow’s fortune. And then it also leads to the Hunger Games. This book is anti-war just as much as the original trilogy is. It is not anti-soldier, but it is anti-war.

The role of children: Suzanne Collins lives in Connecticut, right? Yes, she does. You know where? Sandy Hook. More specifically, Newtown. Where children were shot to death in their classrooms by a gunman a few years ago. A ton of gun control people thought the slaughter of children would be enough for gun control to be implemented in the wake of that mass murder. It did not. Since then, there’s been a meme that’s circulated (taken from a tweet) that says, “In retrospect Sandy Hook marked the end of the US gun control debate. Once America decided killing children was bearable, it was over.” On page 60 of the book (right at the end of chapter 4), Snow insists the Hunger Games are to show how much people care about children when Dean Highbottom asks what the purpose of the Games is. And then there’s a paragraph in which Snow wonders if people really do care about children. He concludes that children don’t seem to be quite as important as we claim they are. I don’t think that’s a coincidental commentary on Collins’ part.

So, that became a lot longer than I planned, but wow. This book is fascinating, and Collins is a genius. I’m so ready for more. Part 2, here I come.

Hey, @everlarkedalways, does this count?

#tbosas #tbosas spoilers #balladspoilers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #spoilers #book spoilers #long post #hunger games meta #meta

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severeblizzardlady · 4 years

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Music in My Ears

Soulmate AU - You hear your soulmate’s music. But what are you supposed to do if they happen to be in another universe entirely?

Pairing: Jin Bubaigawara x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Sexual themes (some non-con/dubious consent), Jin’s shenanigans (also, language barriers? Sometimes they’re a thing, sometimes they’re not), and a weeeeee bit of yandere

Disclaimer: I don’t own the music

“Baby shark, do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark--”

“[Name], I swear to God, you need to stop singing that fucking song.” Your cousin said, glaring at you from the corner of her eye. After visiting your cousin and her family for the week, it was time for you to fly back home. She’d offered to drive you to the airport, even though you were fine with getting a taxi.

Obviously, she was starting to regret it.

“It’s not my fault that’s the only thing your kids wanna listen to!” You snapped. And it was true. The entire time you’d been there, those sweet, angelic children begged to hear that song at least once or twice a day.

She muttered something then, something about “empty heads,” but Mom had taught you not to hit someone when they were driving. Louder, she said, “Just listen to the song all the way through. That should get it out.”

“Okay,” You reached for the stereo’s power button only to get your hand smacked. “Hey!”

“I’m not listening to it, use your player!”

Dammit. “Hmph, this better work,” You stuffed your earbuds into your ears, finding the song. “I don’t wanna get thrown off the plane mid-flight.”

---

“No good, no good, no good.” Jin Bubaigawara, AKA the villain Twice, couldn’t breathe. The walls were constricting all around him, and not just from that yakuza Mimic. He’d been slow in making the wall that separated Twice from that Salaryman hero. It was on purpose, he’d wanted Jin to get caught.

No way, that couldn’t be right!

Gin grit his teeth. The pull was getting worse, the one deep inside, threatening to rip him into pieces--of course it wasn’t, he was fine. Just dandy even!

“Gonna split apart. Hooray! I’m...splitting!! I won’t!”

Hurting, it hurt so bad. No, actually, it felt just fine, like a warm bubble bath! Where was Toga? Why couldn’t he have just ignored those beaked bastards that day?

“Gonna split...if I don’t cover up!!” He, he was--

“Baby shark do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark!”

The splitting stopped. Something in Jin’s chest shifted, no it didn’t! It was deeper, in his soul. Like a piece that he hadn’t realized was missing had just snapped into place as music filled his ears. A song about sharks that just kept going in his ears. Even as Toga wrapped her handkerchief around his head to prevent him from splitting further (Unfortunately!~).

Did this mean he had a soulmate? For all of his life, Jin had never had a soulmark. No red strings, no mysterious bruises (but the ones he made were plenty mysterious on their own!), no music...until now. The song sounded like it was for kids, a real banger! Was his soulmate a kid? They could just call him grandpa!

“If this cooperation thing doesn’t work out,” Toga said suddenly, dragging Jin out of his thoughts (She didn’t have to be jealous!). “We’ll never get our revenge.”

“It’s the end do-do-do-do-do-o. It’s the end!”

---

You didn’t get thrown off the plane. And you no longer had the Baby Shark song in your head. Both were a plus.

Once you were home safe and sound, you had a little time to rest and relax before you were back to work again. Honestly, you hadn’t planned to spend your entire time off visiting family, but your parents blackmailed you. Really, you serenade a cat in public one time, and suddenly you’re marked for life.

Whatever, you would do it again in a heartbeat. All cats deserve to know they’re loved!

You worked. And worked. And worked. And worked. And every day after work, you’d collapse on your couch with something quick to eat, like food from the freezer section at the store or takeout. Sometimes your neighbors, the couple in the next place over, would start yelling or start having sex. Both were loud and messed with your stomach--whether in anxiety or just...not wanting to hear them have sex because, holy shit, who had sex that often (where they leads in a smutty romance?). So you’d listen to music.

You flinched at a dull thump that came from the wall on the other side of your apartment. You knew, from the one time they’d invited you over, that your neighbors had a bookshelf there. It sounded an awful lot like something had been slammed into it.

“O-oh fuck!” The woman moaned.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.” You nearly threw your takeout to the floor with how quickly you grabbed your ear buds. Trying to shove them into your ears as a repetitive thud started, you turned up the volume as high as you could before pressing play. Then, as Freaks by Timmy Trumpet started playing, you collected your food and hustled to the bedroom.

“I need to move.”

---

“The bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war. Ah, the mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Huh?” Jin whipped around to see Dabi fixing him with a blank stare. Wait, nu-uh, the blank stare was his usual look. That was Dabi’s annoyed look.

When Jin just kept staring back, Dabi sighed. “You hearing your soulmate again? Every time you do, you start wriggling like you’re gonna pee yourself.”

“That’s because I wanna dance! Nah, you caught me, this music’s bad on my bladder!”

Weeks had passed after the League had gotten their revenge on the bird bastard yakuza. With vengeance for Big Sis Magne taken care of, it was back to business. Well, when they felt like it anyway! They mostly lazed around a lot.

With the yakuza’s serum in their hands, it should’ve been smoother sailing, but Jin wasn’t able to copy it. Shigaraki’s disappointment had been palpable that day (well, maybe he was just constipated!). The guilt of it weighed on Jin. Again, he’d let his friends down again.

And yet, every time he felt down, every time he felt like a failure, he heard it. Music. His soulmate (stalker!).

The second time he heard the music was when he was in the middle of a League meeting. One second it had been quiet, nothing but Shigaraki discussing their next steps, and then:

What a splendid pie, pizza-pizza pie. Every minute, every second, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy!

He was pretty sure kids didn’t listen to metal. But maybe their parents were just really edgy!!

But the songs kept coming, none like the first. Some had a whimsical element to them, though, like the music had been doused in glitter and summoned from a unicorn’s ass.

The music always came when Jin needed it. Always when he felt useless, like he couldn’t provide for his friends or protect their happiness. Maybe his soulmate could sense his distress and that caused the music. Nah, it was aliens.

“I still think we should find ‘em!” Toga cut in, chin resting on her hands. “Even if you don’t recognize the music, you. Being away from your soulmate for too long can’t be healthy!”

“Yeah,” Spinner piped up, “but even so, how’re we supposed to find them? We can’t even find that music online.”

Both were good points (eh, sorta). Soulmates had to unit at some point, particularly those with a hearing bond. Eventually, they’d begin hearing more than just each other’s music. They’d hear conversations and anything else their mate happened to hear. It drove people insane, the way the universe was desperate for destined lovers to be together. Or maybe it needed to be more aggressive, push a little harder!

But....

“We’ll find them eventually,” Jin gave his friends a thumbs up. “For now, let’s focus on what’s ahead of us!” Of course a soulmate was nice, especially one that cared for him--so nosy!--the way his did. But his friends needed him. Unlike his soulmate, they were right there, and he could make sure they got everything they needed for their happiness.

Toga watched him with curious eyes even when Shigaraki finally arrived for the meeting, but she didn’t say anything else.

---

“You don’t look too good, [Name].”

You smiled despite your upset stomach, trying to wave off your coworker’s concerned stare. “Had a little bit of food poisoning this morning.” Just the mention of food made your stomach want to wring itself out until you vomited again.

It’d been a mistake, drinking as much as you had the night before, but you’d finally managed to snag a new place and had celebrated with a drink. Or three. Man, that had not been smart.

“Hey, if you’re not feeling well, head on home, all right?” Your coworker said, stepping back a little. Like you were going to puke on her pumps. You would’ve bristled at that if your head didn’t hurt so much. A little bit of vomit would’ve been an improvement. Her shoes looked like they’d seen better days. “We’ve got that meeting this morning too.”

Yeah, that was the only reason you’d shown up. Your boss had reminded everyone about how important the meeting was. There was no way you could miss, especially not because you were hung over.

As you ambled into the meeting room, there was a buzzing in your ear. You frowned, rubbing the back of your neck. Instead of dying down, especially once the meeting started, it got worse, to the point the buzzing sounded like, like music. A slow song, one full of longing and love. God, were you so messed up from just three drinks that you were suddenly hearing music?

Which was what you thought. At first. But then it kept happening when you hadn’t had any alcohol. It was never at the same time of day, sometimes it happened when you were eating lunch or talking to someone. It was good, almost always rock after that first romantic-ish sounding song, but you had no idea why it was happening.

You could still hear, but there was music. Music no one else could hear, and you’d asked plenty of your coworkers, nearly making an ass of yourself in the process.

The only time it stopped was when you got home. The time you really needed it to and had to resort to your own music (until you could move out at least).

You wondered if you were going crazy.

---

Jin was going crazy. And he didn’t want to say it was Shigaraki’s fault, because it honestly wasn’t! It really fucking was though.

“We’re finding your soulmate,” Shigaraki said one day after they’d taken down a wannabe villain group that was trying to stake a claim on the League’s territory. The group had some valuables among them, some money and a nice stereo system.

Shigaraki had taken one look at it all and demanded it get carried back to the base. Mr. Compress, the swell guy, did all the heavy lifting, and he’d broken a sweat by the end of it!

“I thought we had more important things to do,” Dabi groused. He’d stepped out earlier, something about calling a potential recruit.

“We’re not doing anything without Jin,” Shigaraki stated, turning on the system. Music filled the air. “And if that means we have to take the time to find his soulmate, we’ll do it.”

If only Shigaraki wasn’t looking out for them all. If only Shigaraki didn’t believe in him. Because even with the music on his side, nothing had changed. Jin was letting everyone down because nothing seemed to be working. Not that first song, the one that was literally saying, “I’m here, darling, come find me. May this song be the only one that fills your ears so you know I’m thinking of you.” It was made for auditory soulmates by a singer with an auditory soulmate.

It was because you were a child, wasn’t it? Because you didn’t understand, were too young, couldn’t tell your parents. You were avoiding him, wanted nothing to do with him, thought he was a waste of your time.

The music could only do so much to fill the void your presence would fill. He couldn’t think about anything for too long without you somehow being involved. People watching turned into wondering what you were like. Fighting turned into imagining you being amazed by his abilities. Smoking out his window at night turned into dreams of you calling for him from his bed, saying you missed him. Needed him.

But the searches still turned out nothing. The music did nothing. It was like you weren’t even real to begin with.

Where were you?

---

“It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong. To be honest, your hearing seems to be even better than most at your age!”

That had been the oto--ear doctor’s diagnosis after he’d tested you. After a quick Google search, you’d been sure you had tinnitus, which would’ve made sense with how much music you played to drown out your surroundings, but apparently you were wrong.

You hadn’t told the doctor you were hearing full songs that you’d never heard before. But maybe you should’ve? Even as you’d gotten in your car after the appointment, you could hear it again, that slow, yearning song that you’d first heard. God, if only Google had a melody search bar!

The music had stopped as you pulled into the apartment parking lot. You sighed. “Just like clockwork, huh?”

It was your last night at the apartment. Tomorrow, you were moving everything into a new place. One that was closer to your work so you’d be able to walk more. Maybe get some fresh air. And maybe the change would make the weird music go away.

Not wasting a second, you pulled out your headphones and stuck them in your ears. Who knew what would be waiting for you tonight? At least it would be the last time though! With that happy thought, you stepped out of your car....

and felt the world give way underneath your feet.

---

“I know that we’re just perfect strangers, and perfect strangers, that just won’t do, no.”

God, were you trying to kill him?

Another day fighting nobodies and taking everything they had. Jin felt like his skin was too tight on his bones, like everything was too loud and too bright and not bright enough. Jin had gone back to the base early. It was a bad idea, too dangerous (how fun!) on his own. But he needed to play the song again.

He’d been playing music all the time to tell you he was there listening, waiting, needing. Except you weren’t coming (Sure you were!), always just teasing him with your stupid music--nope, you were definitely calling to him right back!

“Why not make today the day that a perfect stranger falls for you, oh!”

You didn’t want anything to do with him, that was why you were hiding! The fabric of his costume crinkled as Jin clenched his fists, body shaking with rage. You were just mocking him, tormenting him, he wasn’t worth your time at all!

“Then I don’t need you either!” He roared, lunging at the sound system--

There was a rumble. The building shook, throwing Jin off balance. He yelped, tumbling and shielded his head at the last second. The shaking stopped as soon as it started.

“What the hell?”

Yeah--wait. He didn’t say that. Slowly lowering his arms, Jin found himself staring at a complete stranger in the middle of the League’s base.

---

You were sitting in some sort of warehouse. You blinked. Then you blinked again, just to see if that would help. It didn’t. “What the hell?”

Your ear buds were still in, “Herp de Derp” still playing in your ears. And you would’ve taken them out right away if it weren’t for the costumed guy on the floor staring at you.

Was he some sort of cosplayer? The costume, black with silverish gray lines on the body suit and red wrist...things and a mask that was half gray and half black, looked sort of familiar. Like you’d seen it on Adult Swim at some point while channel surfing late at night.

You hoped that all the muscle accentuated by the suit was padding. Wait, no, you needed to leave.

“S-Sorry, I...where am I exactly?” He said something then, but you couldn’t quite hear because, duh, your music was still on. “Um, sorry,” you tapped your ears and tried to smile (it was all getting creepier by the second), “just lemme....”

Tapping a finger on the screen, you paused the music, pulling out your ear buds.

The guy jolted to his feet then, making you flinch (you were starting to think the muscles were his, if the way they flexed was any indication). You had no idea what kind of expression he had under that mask but the eye holes were wider than they’d been before. Like he was bugging out. “You.”

“Y-yeah?” He had a really nice voice. It was a shame things were getting more surreal and even creepier by the second. You were still on the ground, your legs felt numb.

He was on you before you even realized it, solid, warm body pushing into you, making you feel that, no, there was no padding. The shock of it startled you, making your nerves zing in a way they never had before, like something about this was right, even as your stomach flopped at the fact that you were in a strange place with a strange man who was touching you.

His body slotted against yours perfectly, making you feel every inch of him. Your mouth was dry, no words could come out, only a slight squeak. “You’re not a kid, I was worried. I was looking forward to being called ‘grandpa’!” His hands trembled as they went to your face, tracing your lips, cupping your cheeks. “I knew the universe would make sure we came together. Except this was all me!”

You had no idea how to respond, not to his babbling or his contradictory way of speaking. You didn’t get a chance to either. His mouth was on yours, lower half of his mask pushed up out of the way. There was a vague feeling of stubble, but all you could focus on was the tongue in your mouth, inviting yours to meet it.

All you could focus on was the thick hands sliding down to your ass to drag you forward until you were sitting in this man’s lap.

All you could focus on was the heat of it all. Of how good it felt. Of wanting more. Of wanting to go home, wherever that was.

He moaned when you clutched at his back, mouth leaving yours to plant kisses down your neck. “My soulmate, all mine. Finally.” He panted the words between each kiss, as though being away from your skin for even a second was too long.

Soulmate?

You shivered when he began to shift, hands moving to your hips. When he finally spoke again, his voice was raspy, thick with desire and something too dark to be considered love:

“I’ll never let you go.”

#severeblizzardlady #just wrote something lemon scented #first time for everything i guess maybe #jin bubaigawara #bnha twice #jin bubaigawara x reader #bnha twice x reader #bnha soulmate au #unedited we die like perpetually exhausted pigeons

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groce-marie · 5 years

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What a Beautiful Wedding - Sanders Sides One Shot

Hi! So this is sorta the first fic thing I’ve ever written ever, so please give me feedback. It’s also a very vent-y fic about ~certain~ events that have happened in my life recently. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Also big thanks to my beta reader @cup_of_nk aka @mynameiswha . She’s the reason it actually makes sense.

Warnings: Deceit (his name is Dorian Grey), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Let Me Know If I Missed Any!

Roman loved love.

His favorite movies were always romantic comedies. He claimed his favorite book genre was fantasy, but his guilty pleasure were the romance books you’d buy at the grocery store. He’d remember gawking at the stunning, shirtless men on the covers, wondering when his own prince would come. For a while, he believed he already had.

What a fool I was, he thought bitterly, taking a long sip. He grimaced as the vodka burned its way down his throat. He was never one to drink alone, but tonight he made an exception.

As a lover of the romance, it was quite uncharacteristic of him to be glaring at his newly wed friends. The friends he had set up so many years ago.

The wedding had been perfect. Lee and Mary Lee had trusted their romantic friend to plan everything for them, and Roman had exceeded expectations. The venue was gorgeous, the flowers were beautiful, and yet Roman wasn’t enjoying any of it. The only thing he was enjoying was the open bar that Lee and Mary Lee insisted on. Granted, at the time he thought it was in bad taste-- “a place for mopey people to mope,” he had told them, “A wedding is something to celebrate.” Yet here he was, on a first name basis with the bartender, sitting alone at his table, scowling at his closest friends as they shoved cake into each other’s mouths.

Stop staring, and start smiling. You’ll get wrinkles if you frown too much, Roman reminded himself as he gulped down the rest of his drink. In an attempt to avert his gaze, his eyes fell on the empty seat next to him. The little paper placard read “Plus One”. He was tempted to tear it to pieces. Instead, he headed back towards the bar.

The seat beside him was supposed to be reserved for his boyfriend, Dorian Grey. Dorian, the love of Roman’s life. Nearly three years ago, Roman had stumbled upon the most handsomest prince in the world, and had fallen madly in love. He thought Dorian had too, because Dorian said he did. “Why would I lie to the second most handsome prince in the world?” he would tell him late at night, when Roman’s insecurities ate at him the most. During those late nights, they’d discuss wedding venues, themes, and even baby names. After Lee and Mary Lee had gotten hitched, Roman considered the same. He even bought the ring. What a waste of money.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” Dorian had said, arms entangled with another, in the bed they used to share. Roman wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to punch the stranger that had ruined his happily ever after. But instead, Roman had remained silent as the two scrambled for their clothes. Once the other man had left, Dorian became frantic. “It was a mistake,” he said. “It’s the depression,” he said. “I’ll do anything,” he said.“You know I love you.”

All Roman could think about was the ring in the nightstand.

“Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

He wanted to. He wanted it to go back to the way things were. He wanted to go back downstairs and pretend none of it happened. But it wouldn’t change the fact that Roman’s heart had shattered. And he couldn’t piece it together enough to forgive Dorian.

Now, a month later, Roman was alone at a wedding. He had gotten another drink from Logan, who nodded in thanks as he placed a dollar bill in the tip jar. Lee and Mary Lee were now sharing the first dance as husband and wife. Most people were watching with soft smiles on their faces. Roman, however, was watching it with tears in his eyes and an uneasy stomach. A result of the vodka, or the memories, he couldn’t tell.

The worst part was that Roman didn’t hate Dorian. He wanted to. It would be so much easier if he did. But he couldn’t, not after being so head-over-heels in love with him. What he did hate, however, was how jealous Roman had become over Lee and Mary Lee’s happily ever after. He deserved one too.

Or did he?

I should text him, Roman thought, the anger spreading inside his chest like a virus. I should text him what I think of him. So, Roman pulled out his phone, and began drafting a lengthy, strongly worded text to his ex lover.

“All right,” The DJ announced as Lee and Mary Lee finished their dance. “Can I have all of the other love birds on the dance floor please?” Several couples joined Lee and Mary Lee, and the DJ put on yet another cheesy love song. Roman’s thumbs idled over the send button. It was their song. With a loud groan, Roman dropped his head on the table.

“Same,” A deep voice suddenly spoke next to him. “Weddings make me want to kill myself too.” Roman jumped, and turned to see his new companion. He was sitting in the reserved empty seat next to Roman, and the first thing he noticed was his striking grey eyes. What a pity it looked like he hadn’t slept in the past few years. Roman knew Lee and Mary Lee pretty well, and yet he didn’t recognize the stranger next to him.

“Oh jeez, you look worse than I thought,” He stated so bluntly. Roman scoffed, cheeks hot in indignation.

“That’s rich, coming from someone who looks like they’re headed to a funeral!” Roman instantly retaliated.

“Hey man, the night’s still young,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t say the same thing about you, though.”

“I am only twenty-eight years old!”

“Well, if you keep frowning like that you’re going to get wrinkles.”

Roman gasped. “Well, at least I fit my suit! Did your mommy rent that for you? Huh, Hot Topic?”

Another shit-eating grin. “Aw, you think I’m hot.”

Unbelievable! What was with this guy?

Roman sighed deeply, giving up, and lifted his glass. “Can’t you let me drown my sorrows in peace, whoever you are?”

“But what’s the fun in that?”

Roman rolled his eyes, and took a sip.

“The name’s Virgil, by the way,” he commented, plucking Roman’s placard off the table. He glanced up at him through his bangs. “Roman Prince, right?”

Roman decided to ignore him. Maybe he’ll go away.

A silence fell between them as they watched the other guests enjoy themselves on the dance floor. Virgil reached for his purple tie, and loosened it. Roman watched the motions of the man’s hand as it ran through his hair. Huh, he matched his tie to his hair. Interesting...fashion choice, Roman thought to himself. Virgil’s hand was… large. He propped his chin on said hand, and Roman couldn’t help but notice how strong his jawline was. Quick, stop staring, he admonished himself, tearing his eyes away.

“Do I really look that pathetic?” Roman finally asked.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Roman muttered, staring back down at the half empty vodka soda in his hands.

“Are you the Roman that planned this whole thing?” Virgil asked, changing topics. Roman set down his drink.

“That’s me,” Roman boasted with a smile.

“No wonder it’s so lame.” Roman gasped and clutched his chest like he had been shot.

“Excuse me,” He exclaimed. “This wedding is not lame! The venue is breathtaking, the weather is perfect-”

“The ceremony took so long,” Virgil interrupted.

“It’s a wedding,” Roman screeched, “What were you expecting?!”

“Let’s just face facts,” Virgil said with a wide grin. Roman could tell Virgil was enjoying seeing him all riled up. “Weddings are just outdated, overly expensive pageantry.”

“Uh, no,” Roman passionately disagreed. “A wedding is an event centered around the union of two people who love each other unconditionally. We get to watch them take the next step in their relationship. They vow to be devoted, loyal, and honest to each other for as long as they live. A wedding is sacred, romantic, heartwarming-”

“I hear you,” Virgil interrupts. “But you’re not looking at the big picture. A wedding is two people inviting you to sit in a crowd of strangers, watch them shove cake into each other’s mouths, make out a little bit, and tell each other how much they love each other while dressed like a butler and a princess. You’re shamed if you don’t go, and you regret coming if you do.”

Roman was quiet.

“I mean, look at you. Look at me.” Virgil gestured to himself. “We aren’t exactly enjoying this.”

“How can you hate love so much?” Roman snapped.

“I never said I hated it. I’m happy my cousin Mary Lee found someone as great as Lee. They deserve their happily ever after. Everyone does.”

“Do we?” Roman asked quietly.

Virgil looked at him. “Well yeah, I never said you were wrong. A wedding can be everything you said, and everything I said.” Roman doesn’t respond. Virgil glances down at the “Plus One” placard in front of him. “I guess I’m sitting in someone else’s seat.”

Roman’s head snapped toward the placard in Virgil’s hands.

“Well, since he’s not using it,” Virgil said as he tore the placard to pieces. Roman goes to stop him, but he hesitates. Why is he still defending him? Virgil’s right, Dorian wasn’t using it. The little paper pieces piled up on the table.

“By the way,” Virgil added, “You don’t look that pathetic. On a scale from 1-10, 10 being super pathetic, you’re a solid six.”

Roman laughed. “I guess that’s better than a ten.”

“Well, on a different scale, I’d say you’re a solid ten.”

“Only ten?” Roman teased.

“Don’t push it, Princey.”

A pop song with a catchy beat came on. Virgil suddenly stood, and extended his hand out to Roman.

“I’m not much of a dancer. But you look like you’d enjoy it. So let’s go dance.”

With a smile, Roman took Virgil’s hand. Virgil dragged him onto the dance floor, abandoning Roman’s forgotten drink on the table.

The two of them danced their hearts out. Roman sang along to all of the songs: he made the playlist after all. He could tell Virgil seemed uncomfortable, but Virgil stayed with him. It was a kind gesture. Roman would be lying if he said he didn’t notice how handsome Virgil looked when he smiled.

When the DJ announced that the final song was a slow song, Roman pulled Virgil close to him.

“You’re not that bad of a dancer, ya know?” Roman said.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to put that on my resume.”

The two swayed to the beat. Virgil looked up at Roman.

“What are you doing after this?” Virgil asked. Roman’s cheeks flushed a dark red. Oh.

“You tell me.” He said, and god did he love seeing Virgil smile.

For the first time in his life, Roman felt like the most handsomest prince in the world.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #tw deceit #prinxiety #sammywritesforonce

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Fifty-Four: A Bird Cage ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji ] [ SasuHina, death, animal death ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It had been a birthday gift from her father to her cousin: a sleek, golden-wired bird cage, complete with a canary that sang like there was no tomorrow. Neji had been fond of birds since he was young, lamenting not having one of his own. The dawn of his thirteenth year saw him finally get one. No more staring longingly at wild avians, or ones that looked to him dolefully in the pet shops. He finally had one all his own.

And oh how he loved it.

When it wasn’t in its cage (which was rarely), it was sat upon his shoulder. He could be doing homework, eating, finishing chores, and the little golden bird would be there, singing and singing. Neji would always tell her he hated to see the creature caged, so he kept it out as often as he could. It wasn’t true freedom...but it was more than the bars of its confines.

The pair were a match made in heaven...until tragedy struck.

Hinata and Neji had been walking home after dark, having stayed at school for a basketball game. The younger cousin’s crush had been playing, and insisted she watch. And Neji, ever much the older brother, had stayed. They didn’t live far from the high school, and so the jaunt back seemed simple enough.

But not that night.

The assailant came out of nowhere, taking Hinata by the arm. Her cry alerted Neji, who - without a hint of fear - had moved to take her back. Knocked aside as the pair tussled just within the mouth of an alleyway, Hinata hadn’t the time to get back up before she noticed a glint of metal. It shone brightly for a moment in the lamplight before disappearing...as the blade sank into her cousin’s side.

He’d grunted in pain, threw the man off as the knife remained in place. Then unarmed, he’d fled into the night

Hinata had no experience with wounds - frantic fingers had tried to do something. Anything! She knew well enough not to remove the weapon, lest he bleed out...but it was clear something vital had been struck. Crying out for help, Hinata wasn’t answered as blood pooled and skin grew cold.

...he’d given his life to save her.

Pronounced dead on the scene, there was no trip to the hospital. Hinata, in shock, remained with an ambulance as they worked to keep her conscious. All she could do was stare, not quite believing.

From that day on...the house was silent. Hardly a word was spoken...but most noticeable was the lack of birdsong. The little canary went quiet, clearly aware of the loss.

It refused to eat, to drink. A trip to the vet found nothing wrong. But Hinata knew, when she found it still at the bottom of the birdcage the next morning...it had died from a broken heart. The boy it had loved since being brought home was gone.

She’d buried the little thing in the backyard, next to a memorial in the garden she kept for her cousin. It might not have been Neji’s burial site, but...it was as close as she could bring them.

Hiashi had tried to throw away the cage, but Hinata insisted she keep it. When asked why, she had no answer...save that it was one last relic that tied the two together.

It went with her when she moved out, hung in a corner in her apartment. And still, it remained empty. To try and replace the previous occupant felt..wrong.

Her landlady - who doubled as her boss that owned the bakery just beneath her - had asked about it once. Hinata’d told the tale, and the older woman never again brought it up.

It seemed it would forever incite silence.

Or...so it seemed.

Today, Hinata is running late - a hard thing to do when work is only a flight of stairs away. But her boss is indulging: a kindhearted woman five years her senior who gave her the place to stay once her father kicked her out. Any child of his refusing college, he’d said, had no place under his roof.

So, now Hinata lives in a tiny studio apartment...but the smell of fresh bread permeates everything. She considers it a win-win.

The morning is always their busiest time: people seeking breakfast before work flood the bakery every weekday. But the pair of them revel in it, hardly noticing the passing time in the rush.

Today, however, things get a little...interesting.

After the first wave, the pair find themselves in a bit of a lull, talking amiably as they tidy up and prepare for the inevitable second round. It’s during the quiet that a lone customer walks in, shouldering his duffle bag and glancing to the menu.

Her boss takes the order as Hinata finishes mopping, washing up and then filling the quota: a loaf of sourdough bread, and an iced coffee: black. A little odd, given that it’s still Winter, but...well, the customer gets what the customer wants.

With the bread bagged, she goes to turn and deliver the drink...only to find a spot still wet from her cleaning. Her shoes slip out from under her, and with a cry, Hinata topples over...and the drink goes flying.

...all over him.

Thankfully she doesn’t conk her head on anything, waving away her boss and insisting she’s fine, far more concerned (and mortified) about the man beyond the counter. Rattling off apologies, Hinata tries to make amends only for him to wave them aside.

“It’s fine - I’ve got my gym clothes in my bag, I can just change.”

“I-I live just upstairs - I can wash your shirt for you!”

“No, really - I -”

“Please! A-and you can change there - our bathroom’s so small, it’d be a pain.”

He glances to the manager, who shrugs. “...okay, sure.”

Hinata scurries up the stairs before him, fumbling her keys and unlocking the door. “The b-bathroom’s over there - I can rinse the shirt in the sink so it doesn’t stain.”

“Thanks.”

To her embarrassment, he just...strips it off then and there before moving to fish his spare shirt out of his bag. Well...so much for using the bathroom. Spinning around pink-faced, Hinata channels her nervous energy into scrubbing the garment.

“...you have a bird?”

“I...w-what?”

“You’ve got a birdcage.”

Mid motion, Hinata goes stock still.

He seems to realize he hit a nerve. “...er…”

“...my cousin did. Before he, um...before he d-died.”

“Oh, shit...I’m sorry.”

“...it’s fine. It was...a long time ago now. But...I just couldn’t get rid of the cage. I’m not sure why.”

Redressed, he crosses the room to admire it, hands in his pockets. “...he liked birds?”

“Very much so.”

“Y’know, I volunteer at a raptor sanctuary. If you want, I could get you a free pass.”

The offer comes out of nowhere. A free pass? After she’s the one who inconvenienced him? “...um…?”

“Seems like you’re attached to them, too. Or...the idea of them. Thought maybe you’d enjoy it.”

There’s a blink, and then she softens. “...I guess I would. Neji would have liked it more…though that reminds me, I didn’t...introduce myself. I’m Hinata.”

“Sasuke.”

Wringing out the shirt, Hinata eyes it carefully, seeing no trace of the coffee. “Okay...I think it’s all right. I’m...so sorry about that, Sasuke.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a shirt.”

“Still...I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Accidents happen - no worries. And it looks fine. I need to wash all my stuff anyway.”

Hands now empty, Hinata absentmindedly fiddles them. “I-I’ll pay for your drink.”

“It’s fine.”

“But -?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He gives a snort. “You always so overly polite?”

“Y-you’re a customer!”

“Yeah, but you don’t gotta bend over backwards. You washed my shirt, so call it even.”

Lips purse into a small pout.

Descending the stairs again, they come back out into the bakery, still quiet. “So, this is the place I volunteer at,” Sasuke offers, handing her a card. “Just ask for me - I’m there every Saturday, I can get you in.”

“So...do you like birds…?”

“Big ones,” he replies with a hint of a grin. “Hawks, mostly - we help rehabilitate them. I can introduce you to a few we’ve got around right now.”

“O...okay!”

With his order finally finished (and in one piece), Sasuke takes his leave with a farewell. The remaining pair watch him go before Hinata’s boss turns to her. “So…”

“...so?”

“You got yourself a date!”

“W-what?! N-no, I just -”

She laughs, hands on her hips. “He invited you out so he could see you again!”

“W-we were just talking about birds, that’s all! He didn’t ask me out, he just...brought it up because it was relevant!”

The elder woman just smiles knowingly. “...well, you better take him up on it - you don’t meet cuties like that every day, hm?”

“P-please, that’s not -!”

Before she can refuse, the bell dings as a small group of customers walks in. Her boss just gives a glance and a nod before they concede back to work.

A date...it’s not a date! It’s just...just a… Admittedly, she’s not sure what to call it. But...well, she’d be happy to see such interesting birds up close, regardless.

Neji...I wish you could go with me. I’ll take lots of pictures, if I can! And maybe, someday soon...she’ll be able to fill the birdcage again.

This prompt was...very random xD Of course the first thing I associate in Naruto with birds and cages is Neji, so...I tried to work that into a modern AU to have it lead to a meeting between our typical ship. I'm not...sure I pulled this off very well. It feels like it should be a lot longer. But sadly my time is limited, so...hopefully it's still somewhat passable. Anywho, that's all for tonight. I'll see everyone tomorrow! Thanks for reading~

#uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #hyūga neji #sasuhina #death //#animal death //#best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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cherryyharryy · 5 years

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Chapter 4: Vertebra

It drives you crazy, getting old

The sky was a beautiful shade of blue without a cloud in sight. The grass was freshly cut and the flowers were starting to bloom, decorating the walkways of each house Harry and Adeline passed by.

The windows were down and the sun was generous, grazing their faces with the perfect amount of warmth, not too hot, just enough to warrant the air conditioner and for Harry to ditch the jacket he’d brought.

He pushed the sunglasses further up his nose which had gained a few extra freckles, as did his slightly burnt cheeks and the tops of his shoulders, which had grown considerably since he finally put his New Year’s resolution into play and had been spending three mornings a week at the gym.

“It’s this left, up here.” Adeline slipped her hand into his over the console, flicking her eyes to his ridiculous jaw busy with a piece of gum.

“Stop starin’, love, you’ll make me blush.”

“Wasn’t staring.” She swatted his arm, and she definitely did not admire the way his smirk carved out his dimple or the way a vein in his neck swelled. “Couldn’t tell if you were blushing or not anyway. That’s a nasty burn.”

“Doesn’t hurt.” His hand left hers to tap at his rosy cheeks. “It’ll be gone soon. I’ll be a bronze god before summer even gets here.”

“Well before you golden up you need to slap some spf on that, especially since you’re gonna be in the sun all day, don’t wanna make it worse.”

“It’ll be fine, Addy. S’just a little burn.”

“Alright,” she mused. “It’s that house, the brick one with the oak tree in the yard.”

“You mean the one with a million balloons on the mailbox and a hundred cars parked out front?”

“Oh shut up.”

“Well I wouldn’t wanna miss it, now would I?”

“Just park the car, smart mouth. And help me get the present out of the trunk.”

***

Chatter and children laughing, the crackle of ice being stirred in a pitcher of lemonade and the high pitched barks of Daisy, the chihuahua, running around greeted Adeline and Harry when they stepped through the door. The house was full of family that she hadn’t seen since the holidays and plenty of people she’s never seen before.

“Which one’s your cousin?” Harry asked.

“Uuum, Grace is over there.” Adeline nodded towards a little girl in a soft purple dress. “Guess we should say happy birthday, huh?”

She adjusted the present in her arms, and only managed one step before Harry was yanking her back by the shoulder as a handful of kids ran by.

“If we can make it to the backyard before this tea set gets destroyed it’ll be a miracle,” he chuckled.

“Adeline!”

Adeline shoved the gift into Harry’s arms and ran to her sister, throwing her arms around her look-alike with a squeal. They latched onto each other like glue, only pulling apart when Brianne started to speak.

“Mom and dad driving you crazy?”

“They’re working on it,” Adeline chuckled. “And doing a fine job.”

“Well graduation’s around the corner. You’ll be free as a bird before you know it.”

Adeline looked over her shoulder, lips parting to call out Harry’s name but her voice was lost as soon as her sister pulled her back, resembling their mother more than ever with her brows scrunched in concern and her lips tight in a line.

“So what schools did you get into?” Brianne asked, holding her sister at arm’s length. “And you’re doing a double major, right? Oh, and you looked into internships I’m sure, before you picked a school?”

“Uuuh, well I applied to one and got in, so, that’s that.”

Brianne’s face twisted into a grimace, a disbelieving laugh matching her tone. “What do you mean, one? Addy...you need to make sure the school is a right fit for you and what you want to pursue.”

“I got a couple small scholarships. And my SAT score was good enough, sooo yeah, perfect fit. Plus it’s way too far to commute so I’m moving out in July.”

Brianne shook her head, but before she could continue Adeline beat her to the punch, pulling Harry over by his arm who’d been standing off to the side.

“This is Harry, I told you about him when you visited last month.”

“Hello, Harry, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, shifting the present in his arms. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So, Addy,” Brianne continued, “What program—”

��Lemme help Harry with this, it’s heavy.” Adeline yanked the gift from his grasp and marched towards the back yard, leaving her sister mid-sentence with Harry following right behind her.

“God this was a mistake,” she groaned, setting their present down by the pile of other wrapped boxes and gift bags. “I should’ve lied and said I had, volunteer work or something.”

“You’ve never volunteered.”

“Well I should’ve started. Like today.”

Harry pulled her into his side and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Just ‘cause you don’t have your whole life planned out like she did doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s not even—she just, did...everything,” Adeline complained, throwing her arms up and letting them fall against her with a slap. “Dual enrollment, paid internship, graduated early, got engaged, got promoted. S’fucking annoying.”

“Heeey, watch it there’s kids here.”

“Don’t remind me. Just how I wanna spend my Saturday, standing out in the heat for a seven year old’s birthday party.”

“We’ll have fun. There’s cake.”

Adeline sighed and shook her head, looking up at Harry with her hand cupped over her eyes to shield the sun from her view.

“You need sunscreen.”

***

Harry was eating his words. Neither of them had any fun whatsoever in the two hours they’d been at this party. The only attention they were getting were demands of their future plans, spitting out answers to the same questions over and over again.

“What schools are you going to?

“Are you gonna study abroad?”

“You’re not just getting an undergraduate’s degree are you?”

They were currently camped out on the swing set, doing their best to hide without being obvious, each with a juice box and sour attitude, watching the twenty or so kids chase each other around the yard.

“She didn’t like it.” Harry sucked the last drop of his juice and flattened the box with his grip. “I mean she actually said she didn’t like it. Who does that?”

“‘Least she was honest.”

“Who cares about honesty? D’you see the look on her face? Might as well of given her a bag of rocks as a present, would’ve gotten the same reaction.”

Adeline shrugged her shoulders. She kept her head down, engrossed with the grass she was pushing up with the toe of her shoes. “Her parents got her a phone. Can’t compete with that.”

“And that’s another thing—who the hell gives a seven year old a phone?”

Adeline sighed and reached over to tug on his sleeve, gaining his attention away from the crumpled box in his hands.

“In other news, I’ve had about fifteen people grill me about school.”

“Yeah I know. Apparently journalism isn’t a ‘wise career choice’,” he mocked. “If one more person tells me to major in advertising I’m gonna explode.”

“Did you tell them how successful your mom is?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he grumbled. “And the fact that my mom created her very own local magazine means jack shit to these people. Or that it’s what I want to do.” He thrust his finger against his chest.

She hummed in response, kicking up a patch of dirt she’d been working on with a dandelion now uprooted. “Well I had my aunt very generously berate me on us wanting to go to the same school together.” Adeline straightened up and turned towards Harry, lifting her nose in the air as her voice came out in a whine to imitate her aunt. “Addy, dear, you don’t need to be concerned with that boy. It’s better if he goes to a different school so you won’t have to see him after you break up.”

“Oh so now we’re breaking up?”

“Yep. And I should pick a major right now. Like right. fucking. now,” she grit.”

Harry looked over with an amused smile on his face, reaching over to link his hand with hers. “You okay there?”

Her eyes were big, and he knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. “What if you don’t get into Peru? You’ve already been waitlisted on all the surrounding schools. The only other one left is basically on the other side of the state.”

He swallowed with a nod, no sense in trying to argue with her reason when he knew she was right. “If I only get into Chadron...then I only get into Chadron. If we wanna make it work then we will.”

“I want to.”

“I do too, love.” His thumb skimmed over her knuckles and he gave her hand a squeeze, forcing his own worries about being so far apart out of his mind. “Right now I’m just hoping I get into college. Those rejection letters suck.”

“You will,” she assured. “And—”

“Addy! Harry! We’re cutting the cake!”

They both groaned in unison, prying themselves off the swings and stretching their stiff muscles.

Adeline smoothed over the landscaping she’d done with her shoe, pausing to pick up the little weed to present it to Harry.

“S’kinda like a sunflower.”

He hesitantly took it, brows raising up in disdain. “S’nothing like a sunflower.”

“It’s yellow.”

“Are you two coming!?”

With another shared groan they sulked back towards the house, hands linked together with the dandelion tucked behind Adeline’s ear.

***

After the cake had been cut, which neither had an appetite for any longer, and the backyard was littered with shreds of wrapping paper, Adeline grabbed her purse and nodded towards the door.

“Go start the car, I’m gonna say goodbye to my parents and then we can leave.”

She flew through the house until she finally spotted her mom in the kitchen tying a kid’s shoe.

“Me and Harry are gonna head out. I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Wait!”

Adeline stopped in her escape already halfway out of the room. “What?”

“Can you just watch those three over there?” She nodded towards two little girls and a boy by the back door. “I’m taking Jeremy upstairs to change.”

The boy with now tied shoes smiled up at Adeline, a big pink stain on his shirt that he didn’t seem bothered by.

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled.

Adeline trudged over to the kids and led them back outside, warning them with empty threats to stay where she could see them. She settled on a patio bench as they played in the yard with a few of the other children.

All was going well until someone called somebody else a mean name, and then a shove brought one of the little boys to the ground.

“Hey!” Adeline jumped up and ran to the crying boy, helping him up and dusting off his clothes. “You okay? Are you hurt?”

His whimpers grew louder until he was nearly screeching, tears pouring from his eyes.

“Hey, you’re alright,” Adeline cooed. “You wanna go inside? Do you want some candy? A popsicle?”

He pulled his hands away from his red eyes and nodded, his cries softening as she carried him in and set him on the counter while she dug through the freezer.”

“Okay, here you go.”

He didn’t waste a second grabbing the dessert from her hands, mumbling a thank you around the treat.

Adeline sighed and leaned back against the fridge, checking the time on her phone and answering Harry’s text asking what was taking her so long.

“I heard screaming is—oh my God!”

A woman with dark hair came barreling towards the little boy, yanking the popsicle from his mouth and pulling him towards her across the counter.

“What!? What’s wrong?” Adeline yelped.

“Did you give this to him?”

“Yeah, he—”

“He’s allergic! Why would you do that?”

Adeline’s eyes shot open as she shook her head, mouth fidgeting around apologies. The woman glared at her, lip curling up as she examined her child.

“You better hope nothing happens to him. What were you thinking? Are you crazy?”

“I—I was just trying to calm him down, he—”

“Leah what happened?” Adeline’s mother rounded the corner, her face twisted with concern.

“Your daughter gave William a red popsicle.”

“Oh, Addy,” her mother winced. “Why would you do that? He’s allergic to red dye.”

“I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know?”

Leah pulled William off the counter and settled him on her hip. “I think I’m gonna take him to the hospital. And Adeline, you’re not to watch my child ever again.”

With that she was gone, a melted popsicle dripping onto the floor and a teary-eyed Adeline left to clean it up.

“Where are the other two? Did you leave them alone?” her mother asked.

Adeline froze as she pulled paper towels off the roll, uttering a quiet yeah. Her mom rolled her eyes and ran outside, yelling at her to clean up the mess.

Once the counter and floor were wiped clean she headed towards the front door, forgoing anymore goodbyes in fear of an impending break down. But as soon as she reached for the door knob Harry came waltzing through, his smile dropping as soon as he saw the first tear slip down her face.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

She shook her head, mumbling a quick let’s go as she went around him for the door again.

“Adeline.”

“Can I fucking leave?” She gritted under her breath. “What Brianne?”

“Are you two leaving?”

Adeline looked to Harry and rubbed her eyes. “Yep.”

“Well you could at least say goodbye to Grace. And me.”

“Bye, Bri.” Adeline rolled her eyes. “I’ll call you when I get my life together.”

“Adeline why did you give William a red popsicle?” Her dad appeared beside Harry, his hands shoved in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “His mom’s really upset.”

“Oh my God! Why can’t anyone understand that it was an accident?”

“He’s allergic, Addy,” her dad continued, “that’s not an accident, that’s a trip to the ER. You could’ve seriously hurt him, you need to be more responsible.”

She rolled her lips in and sucked in a breath, filling up her lungs as much as she could while she counted to ten.

“You need to tell Grace goodbye before you leave,” Brianne chimed in.

“Fine,” she bit.

Adeline grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him through the house and out the backdoor where everyone was standing around. Her eyes skimmed over every kid that darted by, her anger boiling by the second.

“D’you see her?”

Harry shook his head, taking a step back to peer into the house for any sign of Grace. “No not yet. Maybe we—Ahhhhh.”

When Adeline jumped around, Harry was lying on the ground, well, on the long table that he now broke which was bent under his weight, on the ground. The crash itself was spine-tingling, an explosion of something shattering mixed in with his shouts.

“My tea set!” Grace came bounding over, her tiny hands pulling at Harry’s shirt. “Look what you did!”

“M’sorry, I—I fell.” He pulled himself up with Adeline’s help, groaning as she picked out shards of pastel porcelain from his backside.

“You broke it! You did it on purpose!”

“I did not,” he grumbled, frowning down at the child who had a scowl on her face. “I slipped. Was an accident.”

Right on cue Grace’s mother stepped out of the house, rushing over to her sobbing child to assure her they would buy her a new tea set. She looked up at Harry with her brows pulled in. “Harry, dear, you need to be more careful. Both of you, really. You’re older and you need to set the example, stop acting so crazy.”

Adeline bit her tongue. Example for what? If it was possible there’d be steam piping out of her ears and fire shooting out of her mouth. She held back a bundle of words, and instead of furthering her embarrassment she tugged on Harry’s sleeve and headed back inside.

Silently they both made it outside and back into his car, where they both slumped in their seats. After a few minutes of stewing in peace Harry started the car, flipping the visor down to block out the setting sun.

“Well that was eventful,” Adeline groaned once they pulled out of the neighborhood.

“They expect you to have your whole entire life planned out, but then God forbid you make a mistake, you’re treated like a child. S’crazy.”

Adeline shook her head in understanding. She dazed off at the scenery passing by, deciding to do herself a favor and push today as far into the back of her mind as she could. Her eyes started to get heavy, and before she fell asleep with her head against the window she slipped the little dandelion out from behind her ear.

She twirled it in her fingers a few times before turning to Harry and sliding the flower behind his own ear, running her hand down his jaw and grazing her thumb over his cheek.

“Ah,” he flinched, pushing her hand down. “M’burnt, don’t touch me.”

#ribsfic #ribsc4 #harry styles #writing #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harrystyles #cherryyharryy

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downn-in-flames · 5 years

Text

Owl Never Do That Again

The fact that owl mail delivery has persisted as long as it has is bad enough in Freddy Weasley’s opinion, but this particular occurrence has given him an entirely new reason to massively prefer texting.

Read it on: HPFT | AO3 | FFnet

OWL INDUSTRY IN DECLINE, MILLENNIAL OBSESSION WITH MUGGLE TECHNOLOGY TO BLAME

"No fucking shit," Freddy says, throwing today's edition of the Daily Prophet on the table. It's more to himself than anything, because his two flatmates are still asleep and therefore can't hear him, but it feels like necessary commentary nonetheless.

Honestly, the fact that owl mail delivery has persisted as long as it has is bad enough, in his opinion. Muggles came up with much more efficient communication methods years ago that didn't involve birds who shit all over your things and nip you when you try to retrieve your goddamn mail from them, and yet somehow, so much of wizarding society has spent so long firmly entrenched in this antiquated (and frankly, quite dumb) communication method.

The owl industry deserves to be in decline. Good riddance.

Almost if the nearest owl could tell that Freddy was thinking ill of it, there's an insistent claw tapping against the window.

Honestly, who the hell is sending him a letter these days? Even his parents, who grew up using owls as their sole form of communication, have purchased magic-resistant cell phones within the past few years.

But despite his internal grumbling, he slides the windowsill open and lets the offending creature in, taking the letter from its outstretched claw.

The name is written in a curly cursive font that he doesn't quite recognise, and… huh, that doesn't really look like it says Freddy - at least, the first letter doesn't look quite right. There's no address or last name on the envelope, which means that this particular sender seemed to have quite a lot of faith in their owl. Very misplaced faith, if you ask him.

Despite all of these red flags, Freddy still flips the letter over and goes to open it. But before he can break the seal, there's a rather aggressive peck made to his hand.

"Ow! Fuck!" he yelps, staring at the offending creature. "What the hell was that for?"

The bird stares back at him, and it becomes rather evident that he's waiting for a treat.

"I don't have any owl treats," Freddy explains to the bird, hoping it will understand him somehow.

But the bird remains resolute, breaking eye contact with Freddy for just a moment to look pointedly at his now-bleeding hand, almost as a warning that he's not afraid to strike again.

"Fine," he relents. "You can have a bite of my toast."

He grabs the toast he's just prepared for breakfast, offering a piece to the bird. But instead of merely taking a bite, the owl wrenches the entire slice out of Freddy's hand with a surprising amount of force, before taking flight and departing through the still-open window.

That damn bird stole his breakfast.

"This is why you're in decline, you know!" he yells out the window, as if the owl will actually hear him or actually care.

"Isn't it a bit early to already be insulting Lorcan?" Freddy jumps at Lysander's unexpected arrival in the kitchen. "I mean, I agree that he's going downhill, but damn, it's not even 10 yet."

"I was yelling at the bird," Freddy explains, before realising just how insane that sounded.

"There's no bird here," his flatmate replies, looking massively entertained by Freddy's evident distress.

"There was." Freddy waves the letter still in his left hand. "Gave me this, made me bleed, then stole my breakfast."

Lysander crinkles his eyebrows. "Who's still sending you letters these days?"

Freddy shrugs. "No idea. There's no return address."

"I feel like you probably shouldn't open it - could be Wartcap powder or something."

Lysander's warning goes entirely unheeded, as Freddy tears open the poorly addressed envelope. There's no poison inside, just a letter - harmless, really. He unfolds it and starts reading.

My dearest Teddy,

So, that's why the first letter looked weird. This would probably be the point that a more straitlaced person would stop reading and deliver the letter to its true recipient, but Freddy's too curious to do the responsible thing. Teddy is a good family friend after all, and Freddy wants to know exactly who's calling him "my dearest."

I've missed you so much. This place isn't the same without you here with me. Everything about these streets reminds me of you - the way we used to hold hands and talk about anything and everything as we tried to avoid getting hit by all the bicyclists that insist on using the sidewalk, the little bakery where you bought us six pain au chocolats and we ate them all in one sitting, and the little alley by the beach where you snogged me senseless until a little old lady came by and yelled at us over 'common decency.'

Keeping things between us a secret is hard. I want nothing more than to share all the sweet things you've done for me with Maman every time she goes off about 'that tête de noeud who broke your heart' - because you're not a dickhead, and you've more than made up for the misunderstanding between us all those years ago. It makes sense to ease back into things given our history and our families, but at the same time, I just want to yell to everyone how in love with you I am? I know you'll tell me we've got all the time in the world for that, but fuck, patience has never really been my strong suit.

At that, Freddy's eyes immediately flash to the bottom of the page, because he now has a sneaking suspicion exactly who wrote this letter - and if his premonition is right, he's just encountered some prime family gossip.

Sure enough, there's a loopy 'Love, Victoire' written at the bottom of the page.

That's a whole other revelation entirely, but he's staving off the shock of his cousin being back together with her ex-boyfriend until he finishes reading the rest of the letter. It's proven far too juicy to stop now.

After a few paragraphs of relatively mundane descriptions of her current vacation in Juan-Les-Pins, Freddy has basically accepted that nothing more exciting is going to come out of snooping through Victoire's letter.

Which means he's entirely caught off guard by the contents of the last paragraph.

We'll see each other again in just one short week, but until then, I'll be thinking of you constantly. Some innocent, some… not so much. You've corrupted my thoughts all over again, you know. I think of you every time I touch myself late at night, pretending it's your tongue making me fall apart instead of my own fingers. But of course, there are some things I just can't replicate on my own, like that time you -

Freddy has to stop reading right then and there, and suppress a very strong urge to gag. Merlin, what does she think she's doing, practically writing softcore porn into a letter?

The responsible voice in Freddy's head reminds him that she thought she was writing to her boyfriend, in which case, it's an entirely acceptable thing to do, but still. He's mentally scarred for life, and it's all her fault.

(It's entirely his own fault for reading the blasted thing, and he knows that deep down, but blaming Vic for everything seems easier right now.)

"You look like you've seen a grim," Lorcan comments, having come into the kitchen at some point while Freddy was reading.

"Worse," Freddy replies flatly.

"Freddy got a mysterious letter, and it seems to have broken him," Lysander provides, as context for his twin.

"Who still sends letters these days?"

"That's what I said," he says. "I also suggested it might've been poison, but I don't think it was? Although given how uncomfortable Freddy looks right now, it might've been even worse than that."

"It was meant for Teddy," Freddy elaborates. "The owl delivering it must've misread the name - our names do rhyme, after all. And it was from… Vic."

"I thought they broke up like two years ago," Lysander comments.

"Yeah, wasn't it some nasty thing?" Lorcan adds. "Like, she kicked him out of her flat and accused him of never really loving her or something like that?"

"They've apparently made amends since then," Freddy replies. "More than amends, it seems. The letter got a little, er, explicit towards the end there."

At that, both the twins' faces light up. "Oh, I want to see!" Lorcan says enthusiastically.

"Absolutely not," Freddy shoots back, sticking the letter back in its envelope.

Yeah, maybe he snooped in mail that wasn't his and accidentally read about his cousin's sex life, but that doesn't mean he's letting anyone else do it.

No, now he's going to be responsible and deliver this letter to its intended recipient.

He may not be able to look said recipient in the eye when he does so, but he's going to turn it over nonetheless.

As fate would have it, Freddy doesn't have much of a chance to see Teddy until a few days later, at which point he's mostly recovered from the shock of accidentally reading his mail. Now, it's just funny more than anything, and he's got a pretty brilliant plan of exactly how he can use this against Vic.

It's just a matter of getting Teddy to go along with it.

He raps on the door to Teddy's office in the Auror department, waiting for a reply before entering.

"Freddy," he grins, as soon as the door opens. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you know Freddy rhymes with Teddy?"

Teddy's eyebrows furrow. "... Yes?"

"It's funny," Freddy replies conversationally. "I never gave it much thought, until an owl turned up at my window with an envelope with a mangled first letter."

At that, Freddy dramatically produces the offending piece of mail. "This is yours, I believe?"

Somehow, Teddy doesn't even need to open the envelope to know exactly what this note contains. "Ah, shit. That was… definitely not meant for you."

"Damn right it wasn't," Freddy agrees. "I've been mentally scarred for life by some of your girlfriend's more, er, descriptive writing."

At the mention of the word 'girlfriend,' Teddy's eyes flash from the letter he's holding up to Freddy. "So you know."

"A bit hard to miss the 'I just want to yell to everyone how in love with you I am' comment in there," he shrugs.

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" A look of worry crosses Teddy's features.

Freddy absolutely wouldn't, but he's also got to keep a poker face if he's going to get this situation to work out in his favour. "I don't know, it's awfully interesting family gossip, you know."

"Freddy, please."

He pretends to think about it for a moment. "Alright, I'll keep quiet, on one condition."

"And that condition is?"

"You let me fuck with Vic about this letter the next time I see you both," Freddy replies, unable to hide a smirk.

Teddy snorts. "Done," he answers. "I would've endorsed that idea even if you weren't holding confidential information over me like blackmail."

Freddy's smirk turns into a full-blown grin. "Fucking brilliant."

The Delacour-Weasley return to England is nothing short of a massive fanfare, mostly due to the cooking capacities of Nana Molly.

They've only been gone for a month, which really isn't much longer than they'd all go without a family dinner, so the fact that it somehow warrants its own celebration is a bit of a mystery to Freddy.

But he shows up at the Burrow anyways, because a) this is the perfect moment to follow through with his plan of thoroughly embarrassing his cousin, and b) his mum would probably have his head if he didn't show.

It starts off innocently enough.

When he sees Vic, he makes sure to greet her with an almost theatrical level of enthusiasm.

"How was the south of France?" he asks. "Did you successfully avoid getting hit by any of the bicyclists that insist on using the sidewalk?"

"Huh?" She looks at him, visibly confused by his fixation on that detail. "Why would I -"

Freddy shrugs, acting completely nonchalant. "Dunno, just heard it was a problem down there."

"Oh," she answers, but it's clear that she's still a bit skeptical.

He redirects his attention to his Aunt Fleur, knowing that if he lingers around Vic any longer - or pulls out any more direct quotes from her letter - she'll start figuring things out, and what's the fun in her figuring out his game at the start of the night?

Teddy arrives later, with Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry and their kids - now that Freddy's trained for it, he doesn't miss the slight distasteful look that crosses his Aunt Fleur's features as she surveys the blue-haired boy.

Teddy winks at him.

He'd been so completely on board with this particular prank on his girlfriend; apparently Victoire was the only one of the two with any interest in writing handwritten love letters instead of sending racy text messages the way normal couples do, and while Teddy has gone along with it for Vic's sake, he'd also told Freddy that he's hoping this might dissuade Vic from the idea entirely.

Once they've all had a drink (or more - family dinners have had a tendency to get rather boozy ever since a decent number of the cousins turned of age), Freddy decides it's high time to resume his plan.

They're all sitting in a circle of lawn chairs - him, Vic, Teddy (three seats away from her, so as not to arouse suspicion from the rest of the family who didn't know their secret), James, Dom, and Molly.

"So, Head Boy, huh, James?" Dom says, with a wicked smirk on her face. She'd been known to terrorise James while he was a Prefect, and Freddy's got a very good feeling that the pattern is going to continue this school year.

"Yep. Got the letter on Thursday," James replies casually, and he's either pretending that he doesn't know just how much Dom is planning on messing with him this year, or he's stupidly naïve.

"Oh, I know that," Dom grins. "Trust me, your dad texted mine and within minutes, I was hearing all abouthow there's 'another Head Boy in the family.' "

"Amazing, isn't it?" Freddy comments. "How fast text messages are. I mean, can you imagine - if it was a letter, your dad might never have heard."

And luckily for Freddy, Victoire takes the bait. "I think there's a certain charm to letter-writing. Text messages are too short."

"Clearly you've never gotten a text from Molly then," James retorts. "She writes bloody essays that you literally have to scroll through to read properly."

"I guess Vic might have a point," Freddy concedes, suppressing his shudder as he does so - he's definitely lying through his teeth at that one because Victoire most definitely does not have a point. "I mean, after all, you can't address a text message with loopy script and a bunch of hearts."

"But you can send things with confetti and include heart emojis," Dom replies. "Which is all the same, really."

Freddy's strongly inclined to agree with her - although he's personally never sent a text with confetti attached - but he can't agree with her just yet. Victoire's watching him with a raised eyebrow again, and it's clear that she's still trying to figure him out.

"You know, there's another perk to owls," Freddy adds. "It's so easy to send a text to the wrong person, but have you ever heard of someone sending an owl to the wrong person? I mean, how much would you have to fuck up for that to happen? You'd have to not address the letter properly, forget their full name, and have an owl that can't read."

Teddy is doing miserably at concealing his laughter. Honestly, if he keeps this up, he's going to ruin a plan he's not even a part of; Freddy glares in his direction briefly to remind him of that fact.

"Or just have really illegible handwriting," James chimes in. "I think Al's owl got lost for a few days one time because he writes like a fucking toddler."

Dom laughs. "Speaking of owls, did anyone else see that bullshit article in the Prophet a few weeks ago about how we're supposedly 'destroying the industry'?"

"I didn't bother reading it," Molly replies. "In between us destroying the housing market and wizarding robes, I wasn't quite ready for yet another indictment of how we've supposedly fucked everything up instead of, you know, modernising and getting smarter like normal societies are supposed to do."

"Also, like, damn, if I could afford a house, I would've bought one by now," Teddy chimes in. "It's honestly a fucking miracle I'm able to afford a one-bedroom in the middle of London, given the dollar-Galleon conversion rate."

The conversation shifts to griping about expenses and budgeting - something Dom and James can't contribute much to, given that they're still in school and living with their parents, but a discussion that Teddy, Vic, Molly, and Freddy can all contribute to heartily.

"Lorcan set the oven on fire last week," Freddy contributes. "Do you have any idea how fucking expensive it is to repair an over - even after you've fixed the worst of it with magic? Because I sure fucking didn't."

"Does your complex not pay for that sort of shit?" Vic asks.

"Not when you've lit it on fire because you're trying to magically speed up the rate at which your cookies bake," Freddy replies. "I believe our landlord's exact words were 'not my fault, not my problem.' "

"Tough luck, mate," Teddy sympathises.

Freddy shrugs. "It's all good. Lorcan paid for most of it, and I just handled the lack of cooking apparatuses by buying six pain au chocolats and eating them all in one sitting."

Vic's eyes are firmly trained on him again, but Freddy makes a pointed effort not to look at her. "Freddy..." she starts.

She doesn't get a chance to finish that sentence though, because Nana Molly calls them all over for dinner.

Despite the fact that so many of them are technically considered adults - Teddy is twenty-two, for Merlin's sake - they all end up relegated to a table separate from their parents. It's the 'kids' table' even though it doesn't contain all that many children.

Nana Molly's roast is incredible, as always, and Freddy makes sure to voice his appreciation to the adult table parallel to them more than once.

"I just want to yell to everyone how in love with this roast I am, you know?" Freddy says, as his third or so compliment of his grandma's cooking, and he thoroughly enjoys seeing Vic frown in confusion.

Somehow, the topic switches to Quidditch. Despite all growing up together, the entirety of the Potter/Weasley clan has massively different opinions on Quidditch, frequently resulting in rather heated conversations.

"All I'm saying is, Puddlemere's at the top of the league and the top of their game right now," James contributes. "They're the team to play for and the team to beat."

"And their fanbase is also loaded with bandwagon fans," Al chimes in. "Like you."

"I am not a bandwagon fan!" James retorts. "I'll have you know that Dad has a picture of me in a Puddlemere jersey when I was eight. I've been a lifelong fan."

"And yet, you've also got a picture of you at twelve wearing an Appleby Arrows jersey," Teddy adds. "So from where I see it, you're supporting whichever of your many teams happens to be winning at the time."

"Rude," James retorts, as Al laughs pointedly.

"And Al, here you are talking about bandwagon fans when your team has just as many bandwagon fans as Puddlemere does. Don't act like Portree had some massive fanbase before Specter came along."

"Teddy, you're an arse," Al replies.

"What a tête de noeud, am I right?" Freddy asks, positive that he's butchering the pronunciation of that phrase but not caring much. He's looking directly at Victoire as he speaks. "Your mum must be right about him, after all."

The look on her face is priceless.

But Freddy can't stop now - they're officially far enough into the night that he feels perfectly confident in making the reason for his behavior blatantly obvious. "Such a corrupting influence, really. But we all adore him for his wit - no one else could quite replicate that tongue of his, and - "

Vic stands up abruptly, practically knocking her chair to the floor in the process and garnering the attention of pretty much the entire family. "Freddy. Can we speak alone?"

"Sure," he replies casually, unable to hide the smirk on his face.

That's all the permission Victoire needs to grab him by the hand and practically drag him back inside the Burrow.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, she rounds on him. "What. The. Fuck."

Freddy just stands there in silence, still grinning at her.

"You're - you're quoting a letter of mine, that wasn't sent to you, by the way, back at me," she observes, finally putting the pieces together. "How the fuck did you get your hands on that?"

"Remember when I mentioned just how much screwing up it would do to accidentally send an owl to the wrong person?" Freddy replies. "You checked all of those boxes."

"My owl is not illiterate!" Vic defends immediately.

Honestly, of all the things to take offense from, the fact that she immediately stands up for her stupid bird is a perfect example of the kind of incredible obstinance that the entire family is practically known for.

"He's also incredibly violent," Freddy adds. "I've still got a scar from that, if you want to see."

"He only gets violent when people deserve it," she retorts. "But we're getting off-topic. How the hell did you get my letter?"

"Well, you see," Freddy starts, "it turns out that Teddy, when written in cursive, looks remarkably like Freddy. And so when you only addressed it by his first name, and sent it along with your only slightly literate owl, I was gifted with that lovely piece of writing instead."

"And you read it? Instead of, oh, I don't know, taking it where it was meant to go immediately?"

Freddy shrugs. "I was curious. And might I say, you go into entirely too much detail via written communication. Even your boyfriend doesn't need to read that on paper. Save it for in person - where no one else can have to suffer through that."

"No one forced you to snoop through a letter that wasn't yours," she snaps, before suddenly blanching. "Shit, so you know about Teddy and I then?"

"I quite literally do not think you could have made it any clearer."

Vic flushes at that. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

"Nope," he replies. "And I'm not going to. I'm enough of a dick to read mail that doesn't belong to me, but not enough to reveal a secret that isn't mine to tell."

"Well, thank you." She looks a little surprised, and honestly, Freddy's a little offended at that. His own family should know that he's not that much of a prick.

"Is everything alright in here?" The door opens, and Teddy walks in.

"Yes?" Freddy replies, although it sounds more like a question.

"He knows about us," Vic tells him. "He got his hands on a letter of mine - I'm not sure if you ever ended up getting it - but he's promised not to tell anyone else."

Teddy just grins. "Oh, I knew all of that."

Vic's mouth falls open. "You… knew? How?"

"Freddy hand-delivered the letter to me last week."

"And you didn't, you know, think to give me a heads up?" Vic asks, turning away from Freddy to face her boyfriend. " 'Oh hey, Vic, just so you know, your cousin got ahold of one of your more explicit love letters, he knows about us, don't freak out too much.' "

"It was a condition of Freddy's," Teddy shrugs. "Plus, I figured it'd be fun to get you worked up over nothing, and who better to do that than Freddy?"

"Teddy Lupin, you - are - an - arse." Each word is accompanied by a finger jab to Teddy's sternum, but she's suppressing a grin, so she's clearly not that mad at him.

"And yet you love me and my arse," Teddy retorts, wrapping his arms around her.

She rolls her eyes. "Apparently."

Freddy starts to feel very acutely like a third wheel in a situation where he honestly doesn't want or need to know any more details about their relationship. "So, if things are all good, we should, er, probably go back to dinner before our family starts asking questions. That's probably the last thing you two want right now, after all."

"You're probably right," Teddy replies, letting go of Vic again.

Freddy walks to the door, but stops before he can turn the handle, spinning around and facing the two of them. "Although, while I've got you two here, can I make a request?"

Both Vic and Teddy look at him curiously.

"Next time, just send a goddamn sext like a normal person."

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fic #hp next gen #harry potter next generation #teddy x victoire #teddy lupin #victoire weasley #tedoire #tedoire fanfiction #fred weasley #hpfanfictalk

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octaviainthewasteland · 6 years

Text

Haribo Hearts

AO3

Summary: "Once we are born, we begin to forget The very reason we came But you I’m sure I’ve met Long before the night the stars went out We’re meeting up again"

Rating: Teen and Up

Artist’s work: by amazing @zoemaru boop

Beta: BIG THANKS TO @sondeneige for being patient with my sorry ass and making this work much easier to read.

Thanks to @pidgebigbang for organizing the event!!!

“But you can love other people, right?”

Mum falters, and together over her and the dough, which she has stopped kneading, settles an odd silence. Like when someone asks for a question to be repeated, as if they have not heard it, but they definitely have, they are just trying to buy time to put the social puzzle together, to understand if it is a trick or a genuine question, because, really, who asks that kind of question anyway?

“Of course,” she says eventually, pinching Katie’s cheek and leaving sticky fingerprints, “I love you, for one. And Matt.”

Katie frowns and wipes her cheek with sudden ferocity.

“You know what I mean. Of course…”

Of course you love us. We are your children.

Of course you love dad. He is your soulmate.

The pie ends up mediocre, but after all, mum has never claimed to be a perfect housewife. Katie’s parents met in the office. Two kids, a dog, guests sometimes on Fridays and a few journalists here and there. They are a normal middle-class family, a specimen of the intellectual elite. They have never been stopped in the middle of a street for an autograph, but the wall of the staircase is covered in photos from school science fairs. In these photos, Sam Holt is always surrounded by excited kids with their volcanoes and planes and other projects.

Katie glares at these photos, munching on a piece of the pie, which has been highly praised by dad and has always been completely tasteless. There is no point in lowering her eyes to her shoulder, the lines are not visible. Not yet, only under the bright light and only if she squints, she can make out some general figures – but she can feel a little swelling under the tips of her fingers. First there was just an itchy patch of skin, and now this. Her mark is beginning to appear, right when dad and Matt have begun to get ready for their Kerberos expedition, and they are going without her, and it means that she would have to apply to the Garrison in their absence. Her application is going to be successful, no doubt, how can they reject one of the Holts?

Before, she used to love the idea of being accepted to the Garrison, but when all the action happens somewhere else, and she will be stuck in the dusty classrooms, behind a tiny desk.While dad and Matt will be exploring the universe and will be the first people to go so deep in space?

And now, of all times, she is reminded about all that soulmate crap. Someone’s writing, someone’s name on her, like a stamp, an official sign that now she belongs to someone else. No funny story at the table in fifty years: “Oh, I met your grandpa by accident…” Because everything is set. She knows. They know. Everybody knows.

To be fair, it is not like she has her doubts about her parents loving each other. Nonetheless, isn’t it so cruelly ironic? So many movies and books, plots and stories about a person, who is about to get married but meets their soulmate and it changes their whole life? They’re unable to resist, and is it realistically possible to resist, and if it is, why doesn’t anybody resist?

It may be another way for Mother Nature to ensure the procreation of humanity. But what about people who cannot biologically or psychologically or plainly do not wish to procreate? To begin with, there would not be any same-sex soulmates, then. They have been taught in history about the LGBT movement, and one of their mottos has been: “The Universe is never wrong”.

The Universe is never wrong.

Katie shakes off the crumbs and leans on the banister, listening to soft voices of her parents in the living room. So what would Descartes think about all this? Did he have a soulmate?

Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. Without doubting there is no existing. Then how can they study the theory of knowledge and that blind faith in the authority is dangerous, and then just accept something so unexplainable? Some time ago people believed the Earth was flat, and they imprisoned Galileo because he doubted that. If now they know that they can be wrong about something as big as the Earth, how can they not doubt ‘the universe’s choice’?

Katie does not believe in God, and refuses to abide by a random choice.

The invisible mark on her skin is itching.

“We’re so sorry.”

“My condolences.”

“Katie, tears are normal. It’s okay to be sad.”

But the thing is, she is not sad. She is angry. She swallows hot tears, peeved by her own powerlessness, with mum’s apathy, with Iverson’s annoyed expression that morphs into pity, with the guard’s indifference, when they drag her out. Let them not even hope she would comply. That she would surrender, she twists and turns like a crazy cat. She scratches and bites them, tries to kick or head butt anyone at arm’s length, and she screams, screams, screams – cadets, who pass by, look at her, immediately recognizing the Holts’ girl.

“Poor thing.”

“What a nightmare.”

Sympathetic faces are fusing into a whirlpool, and it makes her sick, and she throws up in the ‘ladies room’, her whole body shuddering. Sobs become coughs, then slowly turn into frantic hiccups, and it is all lies that it gets better. It doesn’t. Not a bit. Just worse. Because the Kerberos accident has already become yesterday’s news, and they “have to move forward”. Because they never told them the truth, thinking that some quick excuses would ever be enough to bury two empty coffins, so they would stop asking and simply give up. The flowers at the little memorial have not withered yet, and already everyone seems to have forgotten about Sam and Matt Holt. And Shiro. He hasn’t even got a coffin, as he had wanted to be cremated, for his ashes to be scattered from as high as a bird flies. He has even chosen a pilot to perform that. Yet there is nothing to scatter.

She grits her teeth. Not yet. No coffins and no ashes yet. Even if everyone gives up, even if nobody else in the whole world gives a shit about them – she will not forget, she will find them and bring them back. Everyone knows the Holts’ girl, but no one knows a Gunderson’s boy.

It gives her its own twisted glee. She has never been considered pretty, not that it ever bothered her. Her palms are too big, her knees knobby, frog-like eyes and of course her bushy eyebrows, wide and expressive. Everyone has agreed, though, that her hair was nice. Long and wavy, only if difficult to tame into a plait. Gnawing her lip, she butchers her long hair, she relished the thought that this ‘Lance’ would never meet Katie Holt, and Pidge Gunderson is nobody’s soulmate.

She should have known better.

The boy is all legs and arms, all jumpy and jerky, like a grasshopper. His friend lifts his arms helplessly, mouthing a silent sorry. Pidge is still shaken by the fact that Iverson let her be – or not her, but a ‘distant cousin’ of Matt’s, a live copy of a diseased boy, so Iverson doesn’t look too closely, averts his eye to avoid the eye contact for longer than two seconds, he’s “yes yes, cadet, try your best” and Pidge would never give him a reason to look at ‘him’ more closely. So she misses the moment, when the boy’s arms snakes around her shoulder, and she is struck by an electric bolt, she is suffocating and feverish, and before the boy opens his mouth to introduce himself, Pidge already knows his name.

Lance.

She never says it out loud, but she kind of envies the rest of the team.

Pidge realizes that while scrubbing the sink in the kitchen. Thanks to her allergy, she is relieved of the dusting duty, because instead of cleaning the table in the common room. Lance started doodling on it, and when she pointed out that he has the worst case of the chicken scratch, he kept poking her nose, which ended up in an endless series of deafening sneezes.

It has been hardly a doodle, to be honest, more like a wiggly writing, a name, repeated all over.

Katie Holt, Katie Holt, Katie Holt, Katie Holt, Katie Holt – Keith destroys that obsessive scribbling with one wipe, and Lance attacks him of course, because apparently, his mark isn’t quite normal, just a single letter ‘S’, and obviously, he must be super mega jealous of Lance’s amazing soul mate. Hunk grunts disapprovingly, because he has nothing at all, and Lance is quick to apologize for his inattentive words, but still reaches out to smack Keith. Hunk doesn’t hold it against him, because Lance shoots words like he shoots a rifle – carelessly but dead on target – but Hunk is used to it. He is a little bit concerned about not having a mark, but if you have priorities and if you’re not Lance, you realize there’s not much time for romance and soulmates with all the training and the whole universe under oppression from an advanced alien race of violet lizard cats.

So, Keith has a wriggle of a letter for a soulmark, Hunk has none at all and Shiro has lost his mark with his right arm. Not forgetting to mention that soulmates as a concept is unknown to Alteans in general.

When asked, Pidge lies and says that she does not have one either.

“Maybe your soulmate isn’t born or hasn’t hit puberty yet,” Shiro tries to console her. “Mine appeared quite late. I was already thinking I got none at all.”

“Meet me and my sugar baby in thirty years,” Pidge mumbles in reply.

Not that they talk about it often or something – unless you’re Lance, of course – it just pops up now and then, especially when Allura and Coran notice the marks on the actors during the movie night. Coran thinks it’s wonderfully romantic.

More like a premise for groundbreaking disappointment, if you ask Pidge, as she moves on to polish the tap. Lance seems enamored with this imaginary ‘Katie Holt’, he flirts and falls in love with every skirt, because she’s a reflection of his little dream. Because he’s so full of love for the One and Only that he just can’t hold it anymore and the love spills over the edges and covers everyone around. It’s a little bit disturbing. It’s a little bit scary.

Because sooner or later Lance will find out that his sweetheart ‘Katie Holt’ is just scrawny Pidge, who is always sweaty and has moons of dirt under her nails.

Which yet again proves that this whole soulmate thing is crap, because they haven’t suddenly fallen madly in love at first sight. Maybe it has some activation code? Like your soulmate has to address you by the name that is on their soulmark or touch it or something? Does that mean that soulmarks mean nothing for mute people or someone in a situation like Shiro? Figures why he’s so unbothered by the whole ‘lost my soulmark in space’ issue.

After ten thousands years of slumber, the castle has stood up quite well, and yet it still resembles most of all a haunted house. Dust and alien spider webs everywhere, the windows have grown turbid. The exterior of the castle is covered by plates that resemble their solar panels, so there has been enough energy to preserve Allura and Coran’s bodies and coordinate cleaning bots, but many of them got broken or lost throughout the time. The energy also supplied the defense system, so nobody could break in, but at the same time nobody has aired the place for ten thousand years, and the air conditioning system has been defeated by time and lack of sentient presence.

There seemed to always be a distinct odor in corridors and they even spotted some mold. Usually (always) it’s the cleaning bots’ job, but blabbing something about discipline and necessity of chores for self-organization, Shiro has coerced them into helping out. More likely he couldn’t sleep at night so he busied himself with something while they stayed on Arus. It would be foolish to jump right into the action, while nobody had any idea what has been going on in the Universe for the past thousand years and paladins still didn’t have any sort of training with the Lions. Thus, they have stayed for a while to prepare and catch up.

Pidge wonders who used to sleep in her room and she is grateful that the cleaning bots have removed previous owner’s belongings before she moved in. The paladin uniform has no size, but she had to adjust the seat in the Green Lion. She can’t help but wonder what life had been like then. Allura and Coran do not let too much out, and all the documents are in Altean – they understand each other because of the universal translators, but in order to read stuff, she has to be better than the intermediate level she can read at now.

They have watched a couple of classic Altean movies, too, during the movie nights. Pidge tries to watch them in the evenings, with subtitles rather than translation. Altean language is unlike any language on Earth (not that she personally speaks many, but she’s not a brat who resorts to generalizing, she checked it against any known languages in the system.) It’s difficult to distinguish separate words, as their speech is melodious and mostly consists of vowels. Although Lance’s vocabulary is built on the derivatives of ‘quiznak’, he often joins her. Hunk is busy learning how to pilot with Shiro and after a unanimous vote, he is not allowed to culturally exchange with Coran. However, it has been too little, too late, the damage has already been done. Now they are running laps and exercising to BTS and Girls’ Generation, transmitted throughout the whole castle

There are certain things that will most surely turn you listless, that will rob you of any energy and make something as essential and undemanding as a trip to the restroom into a challenge. One of those things is Coran’s enthusiastic account of the adventures of his youth. While the components of these anecdotes individually are unbelievable and would suffice for a next generation of Hollywood movies, and Coran’s manner of speaking is quite engaging, he has a habit of focusing on wrong details, the aspects of these stories that are the complete opposite of cool.

Another one will be writing reports. No explanation necessary. Everyone hates writing reports.

For Pidge, the third one is summer. There was no school in summer and yes, she didn’t like school that much, but sometimes it was nice. Summer was never nice. She knew that her classmates went someplace together or at least keeping contact, FaceTiming, Snapchatting, WhatsApping or otherwise osculating each other through social media. No one has ever sent her a message to ask how her summer was going. She didn’t bother, because she had Matt. He’s never been really popular either.

But then he left for Garrison, where population of nerds is three to one. “Don’t call them nerds,” – often said Dad, - “call them people of extreme passions”. Yeah, for example, he and Matt, who seemed to have an extreme passion for this Shiro guy. Shiro was a special kind of nerd, like the mastermind of espionage who managed to blend into the crowd of jocks, but a nerd nonetheless. He could not tell Nitrogen from Sodium (he still tried to drop cringy jokes: are you made of Copper and Tellurium?) but he could draw the star map with his eyes closed and all while piloting a can without an engine through a meteor shower.

Shiro would sometimes come around, but more often than not he would snatch Matt away somewhere, because apparently there was a Buttercup to their Bubbles and Blossom, who resided closer to the Garrison than here. They invited her along, but she didn’t want to be a deadweight, so she refused, reduced to a sulking amoeba at her desk, melting under the July sun, too lazy to open a book or even lift her eyelids, but too hot to have anything more substantial than constant drowsiness.

So one cannot overstate the extent of willpower it requires keeping concentration, while being stuck writing a report under Coran’s guidance, while being horribly sunburnt. Pidge peels off a little piece of dead skin from her nose and sighs. Thanks to conditioning systems, it was nicely cool inside the castle, but she can’t appreciate it, because she’s already a boiled crab and she’s not in the castle, she is in a tent with almost transparent walls. Objectively guys have it worse, because they’re currently digging wells for a nation of desert dwellers, but Pidge is not a very sympathetic person, especially while impersonating Freddie Krueger. Coran remains to look fresh and chirpy, which is beyond annoying.

The planet of eternal July, wonderful. Pidge can’t wait to return to the cold abyss of outer space.

Had they been more careful, the robeast wouldn’t have destroyed the reservoir, the only reservoir for miles and miles of dust and soil so dry it cracks. It is their responsibility (plus there’s a high probability they’re the only ones capable) to build a new system of water supply.

And so they have stayed for a little longer. First day they have worked with Lions, but it proved that the soil was too crumbly and needed a careful approach. They resolved to good old digging and sometimes applying bayards, namely Hunk’s cannon or Lance’s blaster. It was time-consuming, tiring and seemingly unsuccessful – although Allura assured them that they would soon reach underground waters. Pidge got her free pass, when she got sunburned even through damp clothes. Others had to continue.

That’s the kind of work they do everywhere. In Allura’s words: not only fighting, but also rebuilding. Pidge hates all this physical work, but she can’t deny it has its own merits, when they make living a little bit easier for someone. She tries to keep a journal of all the different races and cultures they come across, but there’re so many. Could she have imagined that back in her room, paralyzed with boredom? She has always had a vivid imagination, but she couldn’t process that Earth, a whole separate world, a multitude of languages, practices and traditions, different people and countries – always has been a speck of the cosmos, with histories much bigger and older than her.

So far none of the alien had an idea even remotely similar to soulmates. It puts a whole discourse of soulmates into a new perspective. It puts a whole discourse on the existence of God into a new perspective. They have seen aliens larger than life: ancient, powerful, terrifying – totally godlike. Woods of Olkarion, Balmera, Ziggurat and many more. Meeting such entities is a lot like having a religious experience.

The further from Earth, the more Pidge rethinks her own views and in fact she finds herself leaning towards agnosticism rather than atheism.

Coran stops short of the climax of a recount of his days with fashion pirates (for the seventh time), when the drapes are drawn for a mere moment, and they are hit with a strong wave of dry air, devoid of anything but sand. Guys crawl inside and drop dead on thin cushions. Coran goes around, literally nursing them from a little clayey cup. After a while, one of them jiggles like a worm, refusing to get up and walk like a human being, and gets closer to Pidge.

It’s Lance, obviously. He uncovers his face, blinding her with a grin.

She should comment on him reeking of sweat and how funny he looks in a turban made of wet cloths. The truth is, she must look as ridiculous as he. More ridiculous, because despite turban and Halloween mummy inspired costume, he still manages to look… nice.

Lance reaches out to flick her nose, but stops at the last second and chucked with affinity.

“Wanna check something out? We’ll need to take the Lions, though.” “What? Now?” she tries to say that without moving any muscles. “Yep.”

She means to say no, but shrugs and nods instead. With a sudden burst of renewed power, Lance jumps up and drinks some more water, eager to take off right away.

“What about others?” she finally croaks. “Hunk?” Lance pokes him. “No, thanks,” mumbles back the pile of clothes. “Shiro?” “No.” “Coran?” “Thank you, but I must decline.” “See? They’re quitters. Sad and bitter.”

With a raised eyebrow, Pidge turns to Keith, but before even asking she realizes he’s definitely not interested.

Maybe it’s a smart move, she considers, while entering the world of heat and sand again. They take Blue, because Green channels Pidge’s mood about moving in such weather, and Blue carries them towards the horizon, rigged with steep mountain peaks.

This planet has its own sun, larger than the Earth’s one, like a ball of blazing whiteness. She doesn’t rotate, which means there’s no night and day, and the other side of the planet is nothing more than frozen wastelands. Tribes’ greatest punishment is being stranded on the borders of the eternal night. Throughout the whole known history of several millenniums, there are only six known cases of such sentences. There is also a myth of a lost tribe, though. At the beginning of civilization, there had been Thirteen Tribes, but after the Great War, one of them had been banished forever. However, the Thirteenth Tribe survived, tamed the night and prepared to return one day and get their revenge. Voltron has scanned the surface of the planet while passing and they haven’t noticed any life forms on the icy half, but who knows? Maybe they’re good at hiding. Maybe they’ve gone underground. Maybe they’re ice zombies. Game of Thrones might be onto something.

There is some irony in the fact that one part of the planet suffers from water shortage, while the other is basically covered with water. In times of the greatest needs, there were many expeditions to bring the ice, but only few returned. Not only there is a drastic gap in the temperatures, the only way is through a mountain chain. Being better equipped, Voltron has brought large chunks of ice, but people really need those wells.

Blue gracefully lands on a secret plateau, and Lance commands Pidge to put on the paladin suit. They leave the armor, content with the layered black jumpsuit.

When they exit Blue, Pidge is about to ask what’s it all about, but swallows the question.

The high sky is heavy with reds and orange and smudges of yellow, blues and purples – it looks like a mindless watercolor practice, it looks like nothing she has seen before. They have passed it on their way and she hasn’t even paid attention. It’s not visible from far above.

“One side is eternal day, another is eternal night, and in the middle…”

In the middle is the eternal sunset. Sunrise. Neither and both.

Lance looks smug and rests his elbow on her shoulder. The soulmark pulsates, and she’s afraid for a moment, that he will feel it even through the clothes, but Lance remains oblivious. The cool air gently touches her hurt face and eases the pain.

For once in a while, Pidge doesn’t think anything. She just stands on the edge of a plateau and enjoys the sunset. Or sunrise.

Neither.

Both.

#pidge big bang #plance #pidgance #pidge gunderson #vld lance #voltron

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st-str-strangerthingsfic · 6 years

Text

Chapter 3: September 1.5, 1985 Lunch at Hawkins Middle

Chapter Selection: [Chapter 1]--[Chapter 2]--[Chapter 3]--[Chapter 4]--[Chapter5]--[Chapter 6]--[Chapter 7]--[Chapter 8]

First through third period passed by in a whirl. After English, they’d shuffled back and forth down the hall to social studies and then math. The only minor hiccup so far was when Mrs. Wentworth had taken role at the beginning of second period.

“Jane Hopper.” She rang out, eyes peering over her silver frames. El was lost in thought looking at the book cover of To Kill a Mockingbird, the first book Mr. Sanders had slotted them to read that month. She ran a hand over the shadowy figure of a bird perched on a branch and wondered why Mr. Sanders was having them read a book about killing birds.

“Jane HOPPER.” Mrs. Wentworth repeated. Mike, sitting next to her this time, reached across and nudged her.

“El, that’s you!” he whispered.

El’s eyes bolted from Mike to Mrs. Wentworth. She raised her hand tentatively and with a short, sharp “Here!” Mrs. Wentworth nodded and marked her down. A titter of laughter erupted around El. Some girls toward the back of the class were leaning over and whispering. El absently looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with a blonde haired, blue eyed girl who grimaced at her. She turned back around, glancing at Mike who smiled back at her and mouthed ‘It’s okay!’

After Social Studies, they stopped at El’s locker rejoining with the rest of the group before heading to Math. El hesitantly stowed the Harper Lee novel in her locker. This time, Max took her arm, pulling her ahead of the party much to Mike’s chagrin.

“Sooo. How’s the first day going?” Max inquired, secretly chomping on a piece of gum. El watched the way her mouth opened and closed for a minute, the faint minty smell washing over her. She decided not to mention the girls laughing. It hadn’t been that bad.

“Good so far. I’m glad I have classes with everyone and Mike. It’s a lot to remember though.” El was having a great day so far, but first days were also overwhelming.

“Dude, I know. But don’t worry, it gets easier. What do you have after third period?” Max squinted trying to remember (the party had made sure to memorize El’s schedule in addition to their own as a precaution. Mike had asked them to, just in case anyone got separated from El). El withdrew her schedule from her pocket.

“Biology with Mr. Clark” she replied, looking over at Max who nodded in sudden realization.

“That’s with me! Hell yeah!” Dustin reached between Max and El’s shoulders to high five with El. She slapped his hand with a wide smile.

When Math began and they were distributed their textbooks El flipped through it quickly. Dustin had assumed this might be the hardest subject for El, since it was for most anyone. But Mike had quickly responded with: “You don’t know that, she’s smart! She might be really good at it without even trying.” Always quick to defend that Wheeler.

Miss Shelby was a new math teacher this year at Hawkins Middle. She was young, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. She welcomed them in with a clap of her hands and had them each introduce themselves while she ticked them off on her role call sheet. This time, El didn’t hesitate. After Max, she sat up straight in her chair and with a bright smile announced, “Jane Hopper!”

“Nice to meet you Jane.” Miss Shelby smiled back and marked her down. After role, Miss Shelby set them the task of doing a practice quiz. After the audible groans (and an excited gasp from Mike and Lucas), she passed out the papers. El leaned over and began.

Math was hard, but she enjoyed taking the pieces apart in each problem, the way Mike and Lucas and even Dustin had showed her on different occasions during their tutoring sessions. She parsed out each problem methodically, her breath evening out, her mind relaxing and thinking quickly. She enjoyed the sound of her pencil softly scratching across the page, the shuffle of feet, the quiet humming breaths of her classmates around her. She glanced over at Mike after finishing a particularly taxing problem. His eyes were trained to his quiz, focused and excited, his pencil flying across the page. He was almost finished.

She allowed a quick smile to flash across her face before setting back to work. Mike was the first one to stand up and return his paper to Miss Shelby. Slowly, more and more students filed up to turn in their papers. Eleven was one of the last three students to slip from her chair and hand her paper in, but she did so with a satisfied smile and even breathed a ‘Thank you’ to Miss Shelby before returning to her seat. Dustin gave her the thumbs up and Lucas slipped her low high five. Mike beamed proudly.

After third period, the party split up. El was confused for a minute.

“Wait, Mike, you’re not coming to biology?” She asked as Dustin tried to tug her off down a side hallway.

“No, I have biology during sixth period with Lucas and Will, remember? You’re just going to be with Dustin for this class but I’ll see you for lunch. I’ll meet you right by your locker after okay?” His hand was clasped around the wrist that wore the bracelet he’d made her. His thumb absently outlined the heart there. El nodded an affirmation.

“Right…I-I just forgot,” she said shaking her head and looking down. The nervous butterflies returning to her stomach. Classes had felt easy and swift with Mike and the rest of the party around her, but she had forgotten that it was impossible to have every single class together.

“Hey, I’ll see you in an hour okay?” He pulled her into a quick hug, running a thumb across her cheek before nodding toward Dustin.

“Have fun!” He said to both of them before turning and running off to join the rest of the group. El turned and linked arms with Dustin who grinned from ear to ear.

“Biology is so awesome, you’re not even going to believe what we’re going to do this year! Mr. Clark told me everything over the summer…dissections, experiments, crazy health videos, shit we’ve never seen before —,” as comforting as Dustin’s voice was, El looked over her shoulder back down the hallway where Mike had gone. She could just see him about to turn a corner. Just as he was about to slip from her view, he turned around and caught her stare and started waving wildly at her with a huge eager grin. She couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“What?” Dustin asked, looking over his shoulder, but Mike had gone.

“Nothing,” El smirked, “Dustin what did you mean by ‘dissection’?” El’s eyes looked worried, her face tilting forward toward the ground trying to sound the syllables out exactly as he had said them. Dustin’s eyes widened in that way when curiosity overcame him.

“Oh man, just wait. It’s brutal but seriously awesome.”

He pulled her through the door to biology room. “My lord.” He called toward Mr. Clark.

“Dustin,” Mr. Clark called back in affirmation. “Oh, welcome Jane! It’s so nice to see you again. We’re so glad to have you with us at Hawkins Middle. Let me know if you have any outstanding questions, I’d be happy to answer them as I’m sure Dustin has let you know.” Mr. Clark’s eyes twinkled affectionately. El wasn’t sure if he recognized her as Mike’s blonde-haired cousin from a couple of years ago or not. If he had, he never let on. He simply accepted the story of Jane Hopper, the chief’s daughter from a wayward affair resurfacing after tragic circumstances. Mr. Clark was already her favorite. The boys only spoke about him in the kindest terms and he was a key figure in providing the textbooks she had needed to help tutor and get her up to speed for this year. She was truly grateful.

She nodded at him and made her way to the black two-person lab table that Dustin sat at. When Mr. Clark turned on the projector after welcoming the class back from Summer break and clicked onto the first slide of a flayed toad with diagrammed body parts, she heard an excited Dustin whisper:

“Oh NICE!” El’s furious note taking recommenced.

After the bell signaling the end of fourth period, El shoved her notebook and new biology textbook into her backpack. She jumped from her chair and nearly sprinted toward the door, pausing to mention a thanks to Mr. Clark before leaving.

“HEY! WAIT UP!” Dustin called, furiously trying to stuff all of his papers into his backpack. El loved biology, but it was by far the hardest class to take notes in. For one thing, she kept finding herself glancing around looking for Mike. She had to keep reminding herself that this and sixth period were the only two classes they didn’t have together. Dustin had poked her more than once during the hour to refocus her attention.

For another thing, Mr. Clark seemed to say so many important things it was hard to capture everything he’d said in her notes. A few times El had glanced over, exasperated, at Dustin’s notes only to see that he wasn’t really taking any. He was staring in awe at the slides. She’d have to get better at taking notes quickly since Dustin wasn’t going to be any help in that department.

El rounded a corner too quickly, walking fast but not quite running toward her locker. Her curls bounced and her eyes were wide as she struggled to remember the route back to her locker. Finally, she saw the rest of the party huddled around her locker. She leaned forward a little and quickened her pace, skidding to a halt next to Mike. He received her brightly with:

“Hey! There you are! How was biology?” He handed her her lunch box after opening the locker for her. She reached in and switched out some books for her fifth period class that she’d needed. “Wait, where’s Dustin?” Mike asked a frown coming to his face.

Mike peered over El’s shoulder and she turned her head just in time to see a frantic Dustin sprinting down the hall.

“OUT OF THE WAY OUT OF THE WAY!” he yelled, taking fitful breaths. When he stopped in front of them, he buckled over, hands on his knees catching his breath.

“Dustin, what the hell?” Lucas shot at him, annoyed. “You broke Rule #1 too!?”

Dustin held up a finger in front of him, pulling in breaths before leaning up, a pained look on his face.

“Mike…[breath]…your girlfriend…[breath]…needs to slow down..[breath].” At this Mike blushed. The topic of girlfriend/boyfriend had yet to be broached between he and El.

“She doesn’t run at the speed of light Dustin, I think you can keep up.” Max shot back.

“She just TOOK OFF OKAY?! I TRIED.” Dustin slowly regained his breath and threw his hands up over his head, “Jesus.”

“It’s okay just…” Mike turned to El, “You have to stay with a party member at all times, remember Jane?” The name didn’t roll off of his tongue the way ‘El’ did. He wasn’t practiced at saying it the same yet.

She nodded and turned to Dustin, “Sorry, Dustin.” He waved her off. “Lunch?” she asked brightly of Mike. A grin swept over his face and he took her hand leading her toward the cafeteria.

The lunch room was like nothing El had ever seen. It was packed with kids her age and younger, with resounding laughter, bickering and just a constant hum of noise. It was, in one word, overwhelming. Her hand tightened around Mike’s for a minute. The party made their way to their designated table, a low cracked bench and wobbling table top scribbled on and chipped. El set her lunch box on the table and they settled in.

“Mike, where’s your lunch?” Will asked. El looked concerned and rattled herself for not noticing sooner.

“I forgot it at home. It’s fine you guys, I’ll eat when I get back,” Mike waved it off and turned his head to meet El’s gaze. She unpacked her lunch and pulled out half of her sandwich handing it to Mike. At this, everyone else parsed out pieces of their lunch for Mike. He was trying to push it away, protesting that he wasn’t even hungry when out over the intercom a voice blared:

“MIKE WHEELER TO THE FRONT OFFICE. MICHAEL WHEELER. FRONT OFFICE PLEASE.” Mike looked up toward the intercom in confusion.

“I’ll be right back,” he touched El’s shoulder and jogged off toward the open doors leading out to hall. El watched him go for a minute and turned back to her lunch. She and Max were discussing their excitement for next period (art!) when from behind, El was bumped. It wasn’t even accidental, she was bumped so hard that she was pushed into the table her top half curling over the table top. She turned around quickly in her seat.

“Oops,” the same blonde hair, blue eyed girl from Social studies stared back at her. El’s eyes narrowed a little before stating, not making eye contact: “It’s fine.”

The girl erupted into a peal of laughter as her friend leaned in whispering something in her ear and staring pointedly at El. “I KNOW!” she laughed nodding toward El before turning on her heel and moving across the cafeteria followed by a gaggle of tittering teenagers.

“Who was that?” Max asked, concerned. El shrugged. And then, on a second thought turned to Max and under her breath said:

“Don’t tell Mike.” Max looked at her with a flash of concern and glanced back to the retreating girls. She didn’t’ have a good feeling about this. She’d been the new girl once and had only escaped their teasing because of the crazy, hectic rumors surrounding her brother. El turned back to her lunch and began eating and joining in on the conversation. Will gave Max a worried glance, having quietly witnessed the entire interaction. But when Mike returned, his mom-delivered lunch box in hand, El was laughing and joking with Dustin and Lucas about Dustin’s obsession with Dig Dug. Mike was thrilled to see her so wrapped up in his life with his friends and school. It was everything he’d hoped it would be.

Before the bell dismissing them from lunch rang, the group had already planned an excursion to the arcade later that week, homework permitting, and a potential sleepover the following weekend for Dustin’s birthday.

Before shuffling off to art class with everyone, Mike pulled El back a little behind the rest of the group and laid a quick peck on her cheek, overcome with excitement, “I’m happy you’re here.”

She smiled up at him, wrapping both her arms around his middle, smooshing her face into the crook of his neck and walking awkwardly sideways. He reciprocated by wrapping his arm up around her shoulders, pulling her in tighter, their feet knocking into each other as they walked.

“Me too.”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 2 #mileven #mileven fanfic #mike wheeler #eleven #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #will byers #my fic #Chapter 3

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ruknowhere · 6 years

Text

Coyotes On The Beach

there are always risks, some small like losing this document, others of more significance like losing a life. I’ve done lost lives and find myself alone in a cabin in a dying forest of grand old sequoia trees. Thought about taking a bath this morning but there is a spider living in the tub and it seemed wrong to kill her with a flood.

The road flooded on my way here so I ended up spending a night in overpriced inn with a noisy clock that i took the battery out of. Never have been able to figure out why anyone would want to hear each second of their life click away.

There are icicles hanging from the cabin gutters

been a long time since I have seen icicles, the last were actually made of glass by Dale Chihuly. I took my daughter and fiancee to a spot I know in Leavenworth Washington. A faux bavarian town set in real lovely mountains. It was a pre wedding trip. Time for them to relax and for me to try to pal up with my son in law to be. Well three years later I am still trying to pal up with that guy but he is that guy for my daughter. They love each other and what more could anyone want for their child then happiness

I sure want happiness.

Leigh owns this cabin which is in one of the prettiest dang places I have ever been and I have been to many. This is a forest from another time. Huge trees fit for huge creatures. Now it is empty. I saw a marmot or at least that is what I am calling it and a few squirrels.

Not many birds and zero people. empty Odd, here in this national forest, set aside as a monument by Obama, nobody wants to venture out anymore.

The campground is nameless now, all the signs removed, perhaps for winter or perhaps forever. It used to be call Belknap Campground and it is in the middle of a sequoia grove.

Anyway Leight I bet is a piece of work. From her pictures and various little bits gathered online I suspect back in the day she was quite a piece of ass too. I know you can’t talk that way anymore but after all we are nothing but mammals wanting to do it like they do on the discovery channel.

Leigh’s cabin is reasonably well built but it is devoid of any human touches. To say it is furnished sparsely would be an exaggeration. Not even a spatula for cooking an omelet. There is a small radiant heater built into the wall with a warning note attached that says not to move it because it goes off. As far as I can tell it is always off but I am nothing if not resourceful and have found that the oven and stove burners do a fine job heating the place and the fireplace makes for some ambience deluxe. The wood bundles I bought at the Springville store crackle and have a nice smell. It is warm enough now to be naked. I have a picture of a naked gal laying on an oriental rug. She has a perfect body, long blonde hair and the rear view of her cunt makes my cock tingle. I know I shouldn’t say cunt but for guys of my time the thought of a moist cunt with a cock thrusting in and out until you can hardly tell whose cream is oozing out unless you lick it up is well simply divine.

Fire,

Fire on the mountain

the thing about being alone is you are not really alone

you’re left with all your memories

people

places

come and go

that can be good

or bad

but there is always the loneliness

the new memories are missing something

someone

the other day facebook said it was your birthday

funny for some reason I thought that your were born in july

oh well doesn’t really matter

anyway I bought some beer in your honor

a limited release from Lagunitas

Undercover Investigation Shut-Down Ale, 9.7% Alc and 66.6 IBU, especially bitter as they say

they also say Beer Speaks, People Mumble

I mumble and ramble thinking of the ESB ale at Rogue we drank on occasion

and remembering some of the great places we went together and especially the music

funny how people’s lives touch and nudge one another in new directions

I was remembering a picture you showed me once of you and some blonde hippie girl, maybe girls, back in the days of your youth standing in some sunny place

don’t know if you have been to death valley, if not you gotta get here, one of the most spectacular places I have ever seen and it has those high vistas you like

this whole trip has been pretty fucking beautiful.

California highway 190 from the deepest darkest forests near the coast with huge old sequoias

remnants of another time

falling snow, mudslides and flooded roads made it interesting

to the painted molded rocks and mountains here in the desert

thinking of you

saxophones guitars

blonde girls I never knew

Yazmeen Sophie (is it Sophia now?) and Will

happy birthday dude wherever you be

see that’s how it is with being alone

friends come and go

but still I wish I had

someone

on this trip with me

what a long strange trip it’s been

I started this life as a tumbleweed

blowing across a Texas highway

carried to a cabin in the woods

and a house in the jungle

babies were born and grown

before the wind carried me elsewhere

when nobody knows you you can be anybody

the danger is you are nobody or you can’t remember who you are now

a coyote ran across the road

2 cars stopped and people got out to take pictures

coyote stopped and looked back at them with a real wtf kind of look

he smiled at me when I drove by

one of those smiles you are not sure what to make of

especially from coyote

10.

early into my hike this kind of shady looking guy sez to me

you got go up there to the right, just a little way it is worth it

you really got go up there it is worth it

I was in a good mood so I thought why not

I got kind of a suspicious feeling though when I saw a wrapper that said 10 times more

absorbent and more so when I saw a woman putting a pad in her panties

her red bush caught my attention

I asked her if she was alright and she said oh sure and told me

a nice guy with a welcoming smile had seen her in a bit of a panic because she knew she was bleeding and didn’t know where to go

he told her to go to the right, just a little way

not sure what his intentions were when he sent me up the same path and come to think of it his smile reminded me of that coyote

11.

I walked away but she said stay as she buttoned up her pants hiding the red bush which was still in my mind. She asked if I would walk a bit with her. I really didn’t have anything to do for the rest of my life so I said why not. We got to talking and her story unfolded. She was forty seven, worked most of her life as a waitress or such in nameless towns but really just wanted to back pies and fuck. Well I like pie and like to fuck so I decided to walk with her a bit more.

12.

Darwin Falls, Edward Abbey and De-evolution

bet you are wondering what that has to do with fucking and wondering more if this story is a story.

Nothing and maybe or depends on your idea of a story

I do promise there will be some fucking complete with juicy cream pies

but not just yet gee we hardly know each other

13.

The road to Camp Nelson was the victim of a flooded bridge and mudslides

I was a victim of the closure of the road to camp nelson where my cabin in the woods was waiting for me. This meant spending the night and a lot of money at the local inn but the bartender Lois made it interesting and at the cafe there was a big moose head mounted on the wall. Bad days for mooses. Sitting at the table under the moose was a lady maybe 70 years old and definitely attending to internal stimuli, or fucking crazy as they say in the biz. She was eating a bowl of gruel, drinking coffee and talking up a storm. We ended up talking about storms and mooses much to the dismay and annoyance of the dad and his two young kids who looked sternly at the two of us and the moose and walked out. Earlier the waitress a curvy hispanic gal bursting out of her clothing had spoke with this dad in a soft voice I wasn’t supposed to hear all about my unusual behavior. I must say she was pretty unfriendly especially since when I came in there were no other customers talking to her and I was being all friendly. But me and crazy Lois talked a bit more. I paid $10 for 2 eggs, toast, potatoes and coffee and left, Lois still carrying on many conversations and men across the street were getting ready to cut off limbs from an old tree which was thinking about taking out a roof and garage.

14.

So before we go much further into this story I have to tell you some of what happens is true and the names have been changed because mainly I can’t remember them or didn’t know them to start with.

So now we can go much further with the understanding that there will be shameless self promotion, lots of fucking some things that you might not have known before

advice of all kinds and questionable scientific explanations, if that kind of shit bothers you it will be one of many reasons not to read anymore of this vulgarity.

15.

I once had a dog named Blossom. We were living on a commune called Folly Farm, way more folly than farm. It was me and blossom, Flannagan my forever best dog, shaggy terrier poodle mix. Blossom was a husky shepherd mix and poorly named due to her tendency to cut the smelliest dog farts with no shame. There were other hippie type people who maybe will show up here and include a long lost cousin with great tits, long red hair and criminal ways.

Blossom liked living on the commune. She found a way to escape the fenced in abandoned garden she and flanigan ran in among the mullein and foxglove. The first thing she did when she got out at night was kill and mame our ducks. Not really a good way to be on a commune. One of the women there was a bit of witch and great at most all commune type things including chopping the heads off the wounded ducks. Later I discovered she gave great head. We lived together for awhile until her husband came to get her and the kids. I learned a lot from her about mind connections over long distances which I am using right now as I think about a mermaid I know. Blossom developed some kind of weird relationship with a group of the local coyotes and ran around with them made lots of noise (she could howl with best of them) and killed lots of things like pets and farm animals which made the neighbors not too happy but they didn’t know if was blossom because for some reason she didn’t fart with the coyotes.

16.

At the Daze Inn in Vegas I learned that if you plan on drinking a lot of tequila and smoking lots of legal weed it is important to know how to navigate to one and only one light switch. Safety First.

17,

Once you have found that light you can go on drinking and inhaling

Viva las vegas

Where anything is possible but not likely to happen

18.

I was married once, hmm grammar check once when I was married cause I was married twice legally.

I was married once, married a long time until I thought it would be a great idea to be swingers and she found out there was someone she liked to fuck better and in fact who loved her more and better than I ever did and she knew she loved him as opposed to me who she knew she never loved.

19.

But enough about me.

to be continued?

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