#anyways that got deeper than i expected so i better just hurry up and post this lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Perspective

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse recounts the time he first met his now best friend who too has been gifted with a deep voice.

Requested by two Anons. This fic is a mash up of two very similar requests I got from an unnamed Anon and 🖤🥀 Anon, so a big thank you to the both of you for sending in your requests! I’m really sorry to be posting your requested fic so late but I hope the final product is gonna make the wait you had to endure worth it! If you come across it and read it, I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

“Yeah, yeah ok, I know.“ I can’t help but playfully roll my eyes at the comments that are flooding in, “Before any more people address it - even though it’s only been five minutes - I’m gonna address it myself: I apologize for the absence of the guest I promised would accompany me on this stream. She made the choice to party until late - or should I say early - and is currently probably asleep. And...I just don’t have the heart to wake her.“

In all honesty, all the blame should fall on Y/N’s lack of responsibility but I could never say such a thing - she rarely let’s herself loose and allows herself to have fun so there’s no way I’m gonna hold this one instance against her. Quite the contrary actually: I hope she starts going out and having fun more frequently cause really deserves it. She’s a super hardworking girl, studying college and working her ass off simultaneously.

“For those of you who don’t know who I’m referring to: the girl in question is Y/N, aka Jumpscaretastic, a horror games oriented streamer. She was supposed to join me for this freaky journey but...yeah I’ll have to endure it on my own because fuck me.“ I take a look at my chat again, deciding to keep this interaction with my viewers going for a bit longer before I start the game. I may be stalling but you sure as hell won’t hear me admit it. The game may be terrifying as hell - I have no doubt it is - but I doubt it would affect me so much if Y/N was here. My eyebrows furrow automatically at the sight of one specific question that I’ve been getting asked quite a lot recently and I’ve been doing my best to avoid it cause the idea - to me, at least - is so messed up. Why, we’ll get into that later. “No- ok, this is the first and last time I’ll be addressing this wild assumption, you guys, so listen carefully. Y/N and I are by no means related. I’m not related to every deep-voiced person on this planet, just FYI.“ Speaking of Y/N’s deep voice which I’ve gotten so accustomed to hearing, I can’t help but recall the first interaction the two of us had when she got invited by Toast for a game of Among Us with us when Felix canceled on us due to technical difficulties. “I may not be related to her but she really put into perspective how other people feel and react when they hear my voice. I, honestly speaking was astonished by hers.“

A few months ago

“Ok guys, since Felix texted me about an hour ago, saying he won’t be able to make it, I invited a friend of mine so I hope that’s ok with you.“ Toast announces when the majority of us have accumulated in the lobby.

“Yeah, all cool. An introduction to them would be nice though.“ Charlie says, tampering with his avatar’s appearance on the in-game laptop.

“Oh, I’m sure she can do that herself.” He says with a bit of a chuckle, “Y/N?“

“I’m here, I’m here.“

My gaze moves from my chat to the monitor displaying the game in an instant as though it would reveal to me who the owner of this unfamiliar voice that just travelled through my headphones is. You know how my voice is considerably deep, yeah well this girl’s voice is six feet below that. My eyes have widened without me even noticing as I hurry to unmute myself despite being a little late to the reaction party which already consists of a ton of ‘OMG’s and “WHOA”s from the rest of the people in the call. Not one of them, however, considers to question the authenticity of the voice.

“Was that a voice changer or something?“ I say, my eyebrows shooting up when I hear the laugh I receive in response to the question - a sound so deep but simultaneously sweet and girly it messes with my head.

“I wish I kept count so I could tell you which number on the list of people who’ve asked me that you fall under.“ The girl, Y/N replies, “But for the record no, it’s not a voice changer.“

Realizing how hypocritical this question probably seems coming from me, I decide to believe her - probably cause she gets nothing if she lies anyways. “Oh, so this is how it feels hearing my voice for the first time, huh?“ I say, slowly nodding my head, still in slight disbelief.

“Yeah, meeting her was quite rattling - in the best way possible though.“ I say, fixating myself back in reality following the little trip back in time to the day Y/N and I met. “She’s now one of my best friends so that should tell you enough.“

It goes without saying that, since she’s my best friend, I know her quite well. That being said, with the detailed knowledge I have on her, I can guess she’s gonna be in for a massive hangover when she wakes up. I just hope she texts me when she does so I can make sure she’s at least semi-functional. Just then, my phone buzzes with a message. Much to my shock, it’s a message from Y/N. Truth be told, I didn’t expect her to be up for another hour or two or three but here she is, sending a simple text that reads:

“My head’s pounding like a drum mid rock n’ roll concert“

There are no emojis accompanying the message, suggesting she’s deadly serious and in quite a bit of pain. Ok, I won’t sugarcoat it - she’s in a fuck-load of pain right now.

“The Sleeping Beauty has awaken and is complaining about a headache, just in case you were wondering.“ I chuckle seemingly nonchalantly as I silently contemplate whether to text her back or call her instead. Who’s gonna know better than my viewers, after all... “You guys think I should call her? Or would that annoy her?“ I ask, furrowing my brows at the chat as I see different responses coming in.

Meh, fuck it - I think to myself, already taking my phone to call Y/N when the support of my viewers floods in as well.

She picks up after two rings, letting out a sound that sets the tone for the discomfort she’s in.

“Hello to you too.“ I say, putting the call on speaker so my mic can pick up her responses. “Would you please rate the pain you’re in right now on a scale 1-10?“

“A hundred.“ Her strained, raspy and deeper than usual voice comes through, stealing a chuckle from me, “I’m hungover and still a bit drunk. Like, how does that even work?“

“The morning after is a straight-up bitch. Welcome to the world of bad decisions.“ I tell her compassionately, low-key wishing I could go over to her place and provide her with at least a tiny bit of comfort, as much as I can.

“Yeah...“ she sighs halfway dramatically, “Anyhow, we usually text around this time, what’s up with the call?“

“Just wanted to make sure my best-girl wasn’t really dying, you know. Who am I supposed to annoy in Among Us if you’re not there, after all?” I raise my brow and, although she can’t see me, I bet she can probably guess I’m doing that.

“Whatever...“ The same way I can imagine her rolling her eyes while smiling as she said that, “Tell me this, am I wrong or was I supposed to be on your stream today?“

I barely manage to hold in my laughter at the question, “Uh, yeah you were, but...” she doesn’t let me finish my sentence, instead cuts me of:

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, Corpse! I totally forgot. Believe me, if I could roll my ass out of bed I’d hop in but I really can’t. Unless you want me to be a bore for an hour and a half, that is.“

“For starters, you could never be a bore to me.“ I say matter-of-factly, “And for seconds, you’re kinda on the stream anyway...“

“Come again?“ She cuts me off yet again, “You’re calling me mid-stream? If so, hey everyone! Sorry I couldn’t join, I promise to make it up to both you and Corpse soon.“ A yawn comes from her end before she continues, “As of now, I think I’ll go back to sleep.“

“Alright, alright. I’ll call you again later to make sure you’re still alive. Sleep tight.“ I tell her, already hovering my thumb over the ‘Hang up‘ button.

“Won’t let the hangover bite.“ She slurs/murmurs, stealing my opportunity to end the call cause she does it herself.

I stare at my phone for a second, finally becoming aware of the grin that has spread across my face. Eventually, I address my viewers once again, “There you have it, guys. Technically, you can give her a pass for answering the call, especially in her current state, so let’s all agree to not hold this against her, cool?“

A brief look at my chat shows me the ton of fluffy comments that are coming in as a reaction to the interaction Y/N and I just had. One, however, sticks out especially. It reads: ‘You like her or smt?’

“Do I like Y/N?“ I read the comment out loud, a smirk coming across my face, “Of course I do. She’s a darling.“ If I had a webcam on I’d look straight into the lens and wink. That’s probably spark more than enough rumors, but at the very least they wouldn’t be wrong. “I’ve stalled enough, Outlast is waiting.“ I announce, finally starting the game. After all, it cannot be scarier than the conspiracies my fans could come up with. I get it though - from their perspective, we’re already the perfect couple; from my perspective we’re impossible because from Y/N’s perspective we’re best friends.

Ain’t that how it always goes?

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momoshin · 3 years

Note

just a thought but....6th member!gf having an exhibition kink and that’s how she ends up pressed against the hotel’s glass elevator with ryujin

“chaeryeong and yeji are going to sleep now” the door closes behind you as you walk to the bed, where ryujin lies waiting for you. “they said we should go to bed” you take off your slippers and easily climb on top of her with your legs at each of her sides “but i don’t want to go to bed yet”

“hm” she chuckles, knowing what you’re implying as she runs her hands up your thighs and under your shirt. “i can think of a few things to do before bed” she pecks your lips when you lean lower, and her hands usually go to your back, but tonight she cups your breasts and takes your nipples between her thumb and her forefinger

“not here” you whisper on her lips after she pulls a soft moan out of your lips. she doesn’t ask where, knowing you’ll tell her anyways. but she doesn’t expect you to pull her up and off the bed with you. you walk backwards until your back hits the giant glass window that opens a view to the city, all lit up, once you touch it with your back, you look up at her “here.”

she’s got her hands on your waist the entire walk here, and once you stop and tell her where you want her to fuck you it’s like her eyes darken, and she doesn’t say a word before pulling your shirt over your head and turning you around, pressing your front against the glass. it fogs up with your breaths that get heavier and faster as she kisses all over your body and takes off your shorts.

ryujin leaves your underwear on, because she likes the way your ass looks when she pushes it to the side, still somehow decorated as she makes you whine and moan over and over again. and she’s going to fuck you, she is, but she pulls away from you for a few seconds, after feeling you and kissing you all over she steps back and looks at you. how good your body looks surrounded by the lights of the city, how the glass fogs up whenever you breathe against it, and she wonders how much it will fog up when she actually gets to touching you.

“ryujin ah, you’re taking too long”

“don’t tell me what to do” she growls, spanking your ass when she approaches you. you didn’t bring any toys, you didn’t want anyone to see it in the suitcase scan and post it all on social media and then get in trouble. so you’ll have to conform with her fingers tonight. though that’s always been enough for you. “you’re so fucking wet, was it fucking in front of a window that got you this wet?”

“yes” you whine, pushing your ass further to her front whenever she teases you with her fingers and pulls away.

“does it turn you on that everyone can see you from here? is that it slut?”

“y-yes. i want you to touch me in front of all these people. please.” ryujin hums in consideration, she wishes she could see the view from outside, she can only imagine how good your tits look pressed against the glass, how your face looks against the glass when it contorts in pleasure thanks to her and her hands.

“you’re such a whore” she laughs, spreading your legs with her foot and putting her hand on your neck before the other hovers between your legs. “i want to hear you. i don’t give a fuck if the girls hear you too. understand?”

“i understand.” you whisper, hoping good behavior was enough for her to finally touch you.

“good” you don’t know why her voice is so much deeper today, but it’s driving you insane. specially because she presses her lips against your ear and her warm breath tickles your skin and makes it pebble up wherever it touched.

“hurry-“ she interrupts you with a finger finally pushing inside your cunt. still breathing in your hear, her other hand moves to hold you up against the glass for when your legs give out on you. “shitt!”

“i want another one. please add another finger.” you look back at her, which is easy since she’s just by your ear, and its so easy to look at her and give her the softest eyes that you know will make her cave and do what you asked.

“i don’t know” she hums, moving the one finger faster in and out of you. “i honestly think you’re just fine like this. don’t you want them to see you? if i make you cum too fast, i don’t think they will”

“please. please add another finger, two more even. please daddy. i need it, i want it so bad”

“okay” she shrugs “but you’ll hold your orgasm, until i tell you to”

“i can’t” you whimper, already feeling much better with three fingers in your cunt instead of one. “i can’t, it feels so good”

“you know what happens when you disobey me” she warns, three fingers fucking you faster and harder than ever as her hand slowly moves to your throat “im serious y/n”

“so am i!” you gasp “im so close daddy i can’t hold it… i want to but i can’t”

“don’t you dare” ryujin is mad. she’s so mad, but she doesn’t feel mad enough to take away your orgasm, now, if you disobey, she will make sure you face the consequences, but for now she’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.

“i-im sorry” when it finally hits you, you cry, shaking against the glass and holding her hand because it was too much. “im sorry i was bad.”

“go on the bed. now”

#i changed the elevator thing but i just had to write this somehow #also this is ofc in a world they DONT get caught lmao #if u dont like it lmk i can try again:)#6th member au #6th:ryu #itzy 6th member au #my stuff #itzy imagine #itzy imagines #itzy smut #kpop smut #ryujin x reader #ryujin smut

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Web!Jon Roleplays Canon!Jon: With Mixed Results?

I wrote this a while ago and now that Sucker’s Bet is finally finished I can post it! Yay! This takes place an indeterminate amount of time after the end of Sucker’s Bet. The exact opposite thing happened with this story that usually happens: I had a very depressing idea and then I was REALLY METICULOUS to make sure it was fluffy. What’s fluffier than healthy discussions about boundaries, needs, and consent?

CW for some unnegotiated roleplay stuff? The same topics that were hit in Sucker’s Bet are hit here. Suggestion of future sexual activity/language but no follow-up.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Sasha chanted, thumping her glass on the table and cheering uproariously. “Do it! Do it!”

Tim laughed drunkenly, slapping the table too. “Double dog dare you! Do it! Do it!”

Good lord, this was like secondary. Jon rolled his eyes, hiding himself behind his cider. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Martin.

Sasha: thought it would be funny, scientific curiosity. She wanted to see some magic, and Jon was a magician. Little more than a pub bet.

Tim: similarly, morbid curiosity. Had more complicated feelings about the whole thing, but that was partly why he was doing it: make everything normal, settle in, stop awkwardly hiding parts of us from each other. Thought that this would help them make friends, also a pub bet.

Martin…

They probably wouldn’t have asked if they weren’t drunk as hell.

Or maybe they would have. Jon was silently hoping that Tim and Sasha would become more comfortable with him. He had a lot of tricks and methods to make them more comfortable with him, but he had decided very firmly to relax. If Tim and Sasha didn’t like him...well, he had already done possibly the douchiest thing possible to them, and they hung out with him anyway, so their expectations were probably on the floor.

Granted, that was mostly in Martin contexts. He rarely hung out with them alone. They were probably only putting up with him because he was Jon’s boyfriend. Jon knew how it was, and frequently exploited it: you think you’re part of his group until you realize he’s terrible and break up with him, and then suddenly you have no friends, so you never get around to breaking up with him and you’re never happy and you never find someone you’re happy with.

Martin assured him frequently that they liked him. He suggested that Jon ask them, which he may have gotten from a CBT workbook that he surreptitiously read, but Jon was well aware how that put people in an awkward position. If they didn’t like you, what would they do - tell you?

Well. Tim would. Yeah, Tim would. This was why Tim was trustworthy and a good person. Jon loved people who were incapable of lying, it was like watching zoo animals through binoculars.

They wouldn’t have asked if they weren’t drunk as hell. But they were drunk as hell, and there was nothing better than pub tricks.

“What I don’t understand,” Tim said, in that kind of dancing lilting way that only the half-drunk were capable of, “is how you convinced everyone that you knew how to do that job when you, like, don’t read anything more complicated than fashion magazines.”

“I knew he couldn’t do the job,” Sasha said furiously, draining her gin and tonic. “I knew it, but did anybody listen?”

“We all knew, honey.”

Jon shrugged, adjusting his long linen shirt that hugged his torso flatteringly. Honestly, if Jon had been born a woman he would have been too powerful. “That one involved a little bit of spider powers,” he admitted. “But not much. I didn’t do much other than record statements. Telling Sasha that we ‘appreciate her initiative’, but, like, grudgingly, meant that she actually did most of the work.”

Sasha’s jaw dropped in indignation. “I did most of the - shit, I did! I did all of the archiving stuff, didn’t I?”

“I just looked really hurried and spent a lot of time in my office,” Jon said apologetically. “If you always sound stressed then people just assume that you’re doing things. I was really chatting up people on Tinder most of the time.”

“I was not paid enough,” Sasha grumbled, leaning back in her seat.

“You keep making yourself out to be lazy,” Martin said mildly. He wasn’t drinking, designated as the sober one of the group tonight. “But you were using that downtime to do other work for your other job.”

Jon himself had a drink or two and he was pleasantly light headed - not drunk, but tipsy enough to feel confident and to shut up all of the annoying anxious voices in his head. It was refreshing, and felt very good. That being said, when Jon was fourteen and Gerry sixteen Agnes sat them with a twenty slide powerpoint presentation on how drinking culture in the UK facilitated alcoholism without recognition of it, so these are things you should never do while drinking and this is how to prevent binge drinking and unhealthy drinking habits. Jon didn’t always listen - alcohol was God’s solution for anxiety - but he tried. Agnes also tried that with Annabelle, but she just hissed at her and downed an entire energy drink at once while staring her in the eyes. They figured Annabelle wasn’t at risk.

“I still don’t believe you,” Tim said imperiously, slamming his pint on the table and making his beer slosh. “If you did the whole schtick now, it would come off so fake.”

“Definitely. I never fall for the same thing twice,” Sasha bragged. “It would obviously still be Jon - what, Hawthorne? Jon Hawthorne. Or was it Hastings…”

“Hawthorne today,” Jon said politely. But he just shrugged, leaning back in his own seat and sipping delicately at his hard cider. “I can guarantee that, if I pulled out that persona again, nobody at this table would be able to see through it.” At Martin’s surly look, Jon appended, “Maybe Martin would.” Everybody shot him slightly incredulous looks, and he sighed. “I promise I’m good at my job! I’m only...transparent when I’m socializing outside of a persona. You all caught me at a weird time in my life.” He shuddered. “Vacations. Never again.”

“The problem with all of that was vacations,” Martin said flatly.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Sasha chanted, thumping her glass on the table and cheering uproariously. “Do it! Do it!”

Tim laughed drunkenly, slapping the table too. “Double dog dare you! Do it! Do it!”

Good lord, this was like secondary. Jon rolled his eyes, hiding himself behind his cider. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Martin.

Sasha: thought it would be funny, scientific curiosity. She wanted to see some magic, and Jon was a magician. Little more than a pub bet.

Martin…

In Martin, Jon saw the same thing that he had always seen. Even stronger, today, than ever. For a month, back then, it had been little more than intrusive thoughts and some light, bored mental meandering. For two, three, months, it had grown deeper and deeper, so thoroughly that it was a surprise. Jon had done a very good job with him. Granted, he had just meant to flirt to keep him complacent, not to end up...doing all of that, and going through all of this, and ending up here. That had never quite been in the plan.

Martin thought that this roleplay would he really fucking hot. Which, ultimately, swayed Jon: he liked it when Martin thought he was hot. It wasn’t hard, but somehow it meant much more to him than it did from anybody else. It was very strange: that something so easily attained was treasured so highly. Deeply nonsensical.

“I’m not doing it,” Jon said firmly, and both Tim and Sasha groaned. “It’s not a party trick, guys. Martin, can you scooch? I need the loo.”

Jon, of course, took a slightly meandering approach to the loo. He ditched his pea coat and scarf at the table hidden underneath the tablecloth just out of sight. He fetched a pair of abandoned glasses left on a pub (their owner was annoying a woman), grabbed an abandoned blazer off the back of a chair (its owner was almost passed out drunk, Jon could give it back before the end of the night). He slipped into the bathroom and added his new accessories, taking care to tuck his shirt in. He slipped a hairband from his wrist and quickly did his hair up in a messy bun - he really did need a lot of gel and some combs to get it in his bun normally, but he’d do the best with what he had. Jon glanced in the mirror, looking himself over and fixing his bun as best as he could. He took a deep breath, then two.

There was always that moment: when Jon slid into it. It felt like skidding on ice, thrust someplace else. Or like an exhale, centering himself as his molecules rearranged. It was a thrilling feeling, often accompanied by a heady thrill or adrenaline.

No matter how many times he did this, it was still fun. Jon loved it. He really, really loved winning. And Jon always won.

When Jon walked back to the table, his posture was uncomfortably stiff yet visibly hunched over. Look proud and professional, but deeply feel uncomfortable with the noise and sound and clamor of the pub. Anxious and socially awkward, but trying to hide it - that was familiar.

Jon halted at the table, where Tim was already telling Martin about a snowboarding accident. They stopped short when they saw him, one hand worrying at his blazer as he scowled at them. “Martin, will you move over? I can’t get to my seat.”

“Uh,” Martin said intelligently.

“Any day now,” Jon said frostily.

Martin quickly got up and let Jon slide in. Jon, who had been sitting pressed up against Martin’s side, took care to slide much further away so he was more hovering at the edges of the group - not enough that it was awkward, but definitely a bit to the right of Sasha directly ahead of him. He avoided eye contact with everybody, picking up his drink and sniffing it suspiciously. The accent was the easiest part of it, the only wrinkle carefully making it almost perceivably fake.

“Holy shit,” Tim said loudly, voice rising in incredulity, “you actually did it?”

“Did what?” Jon asked. He carefully took a sip of the drink, before grimacing in distaste. “Absolutely vile…”

“You did the thing,” Sasha said, so excited she was almost bouncing up and down. “You’re doing the thing, holy shit! That was such a Jon face!”

“Er. If you say so.” Jon busied himself with the drink again, obviously pantomiming sipping as he fiddled with the arm of the blazer. Under his breath, yet very audibly, he muttered, “What a waste of time…”

“Man, this is like, what, LARPing?” Tim batted at Sasha’s arm, looking excited. “I’ll play along. Remember we used to do this together?”

They had. Jon had to pretend that he was unbearably awkward about the whole thing, yet secretly excited to be invited. In reality, pubs were such a cornerstone of Jon’s existence he found them dull as bricks, but it had been fun to channel someone terrified of too many people in a room.

Sasha’s chin was propped on her hand, giggling. “What’s your organization system for the files, huh, Jon? What’s your organization system? How are you sorting the documents?”

“Tim told me that you don’t talk about work at pubs,” Jon said defensively. “He said you talk about - what was it -” He looked at Tim planatively, obviously lost. “Hobbies? You talk about hobbies?”

“How do you organize the files, Jonathan?”

“Yes, Boss, hobbies,” Tim said faux-sympathetically. He put a hand on his heart, pulling a face. “You gotta have hobbies, right? Shopping, haircare, stealing money, getting fake married?”

“That’s all for his job,” Martin muttered.

“I have hobbies,” Jon said defensively. He adopted an expression of panicked thought, groping for something. “I like...television.”

“What television, Jonathan,” Sasha said flatly.

Jon pretended to sweat. “Television shows?”

“Unrealistic!” Tim slapped the table. “Everyone at least knows a telly show, no matter how much of a nerd they are. Fakey Jon Sims.”

“I do!” Jon protested. “I - well, not recently, but - documentaries count. I watch documentaries. I was watching this fascinating one about the Jonestown Massacre, and the intriguing series of events the lead into the mass death -”

Then he was off, shifting into his confidence when infodumping. Confidence because he was so wrapped up in the joy of sharing information he forgot that it kind of included dominating the conversation, and he watched with satisfaction as everybody’s eyes started glazing over. Everybody except Martin, who was scrolling through his phone looking disinterested.

Looking. His cheeks were a little flushed. Jon patted himself on the back.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, cutting himself off, “am I boring you, Martin?”

But Martin didn’t even look up. “I’m not participating in this.”

“Aw, come on,” Tim wheedled. “Look, he’s even doing the Mah-tin thing. You always started fanning yourself whenever he did that.”

Sasha was, very drunkenly, taking notes. “It’s uncanny. Like a dead person brought back to life and annoying you.”

“Are we really making this entire outing about Martin?” Jon asked, pretending irritation. Play into it. Bloke wouldn’t admit it, but there was a reason he had liked Jon back then. It wasn’t for his sparkling personality, beyond the little flashes of something more tender underneath. Have your cake and eat it too. “You said that this would be fun, Tim.”

Tim just laughed. “Aw, Martin’s not fun?”

“I never said that,” Jon said stiffly. He glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye, clearly working himself up to say something. When he spoke, the words were almost forced out. “What..are you playing?”

“Sincerely buzz off,” Martin said flatly.

Jon couldn’t help it - his cheeks genuinely burned. He looked away, careful to keep an expression on his face as if he was examining the molding because Martin had said something socially awkward, but hot shame flared in his chest.

He made it seem as if he downed his drink. “Excuse me, I’m...getting us more drinks.”

Jon made a show of slightly stumbling as he made his way to the bar. Martin had given him the permission to extort drinks out of people through flirting and judicious eye-batting - guy was very strictly monogamous but also practical - and in barely a few minutes he had enough collected for their table. He carefully walked them all back, settling them on the table, and waited for both Tim and Sasha to grab their drinks and start enthusiastically downing them.

He wanted to drop it, ask Martin if he made him uncomfortable, reassure him. But that would ruin the momentum of this, the steam train picking up speed, and it was impossible for Jon to miss the dual things that Martin was feeling.

Super turned on. Also very uncomfortable. Jon decided that he was uncomfortable because he found it attractive, and he was dealing with some guilt over that.

It would be fun to reassure him, but Jon had the sense that he wouldn’t like him to do it in public.

Soon afterwards, with a little more friendly yet understated performance from Jon and uproarious laughter from Tim and Sasha, Sasha’s head had begun dropping onto the table more frequently than not and Tim decided that it was time to take her home. More accurately, Jon knew, to Tim’s place, as it was closer. He’d drop her on the couch, he’d slide into his own bed, and he’d think about a different situation. She’d wake up in the morning, eyes squinting against the harsh sun, and hope for a moment - but no, the couch again. Neither were willing to bridge the gap.

Jon and Martin stumbled out too. Jon had been intending on spending the night at Martin’s place - Jon loved cuddling, it was his favorite thing - and Jon made a show of acting slightly drunker than he was as Martin thoughtfully kept a hand on his back. He stumbled out the door, gripping Martin’s coat and giggling. He had strategically returned the blazer back to the guy, and Martin had his other clothing draped over his arm.

“And, in my opinion,” Jon stated decisively as he swayed, “as part of our anti-colonialist efforts we should give Ireland back to the Irish -”

“You can drop it,” Martin said, gently guiding him towards the tube station. They still had an hour before the last trains ran. “Seriously.”

Jon giggled, before slightly bending down to whisper in Jon’s ear. He kept the accent, the inflections, everything. “But you really find it hot.”

Martin sputtered as Jon laughed uproariously - not his laugh, the Archivist’s laugh - and they teetered towards home.

On the tube Jon kept a hand on Martin’s thigh, and Martin kept glancing and glancing towards him, and Jon would shoot him a prissy look as his hand wandered up his thigh, and Martin would get redder and redder.

When Martin unlocked his flat door it took several times, with his hand shaking slightly, and Jon hid a smirk behind a hand. On some level, he was always roleplaying when he did these kinds of things, but with Martin it was usually so authentic that this was positively novel. Jon’s mind was already furiously churning as he set up the scene - yes, that would be exactly right, this would be fun -

Jon stumbled inside after Martin, who was already taking off his coat and hanging it on the peg. He put Jon’s coat up too, glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye.

The Archivist wouldn’t really notice something like that, so he didn’t either. “Lord, Martin, your flat’s as messy as your desk.”

Martin still looked a little pained, even as his cheeks were quite red. “Yeah, ha ha. My desk wasn’t that bad, you were just being picky.”

“Yes, I suppose I must apologize for that.” Jon drew himself up to his full height, stepping close to Martin - closer than the Archivist ever had. “Martin, I’m afraid - well, I have a confession.”

“Oh, boy,” Martin said.

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Jon said prissily. But he leaned in, keeping his expression just on the faintest edge of innocently scared. “I never wanted to admit this. It was just so inappropriate, what with me being your boss and all. I always - well, I always knew how you felt about me. It was...charming.”

Obviously involuntarily, Martin squeaked a bit. Adorable.

Jon reached out and put a hand on the back of his neck, leaning in. “Truth be told, I was looking at you too. I was just embarrassed. I didn’t like admitting it. But I couldn’t help thinking about it.” That was, obviously, how Martin’s fantasies had always worked. Not realistic, but realism wasn’t the point of your absent daydreams during a boring workday. “But I’m tired of hiding it. I really want you, Martin. I always have. I want you to bend me over my desk and -”

“Shut it off, Jon!”

Jon shut it off. They had agreed on the phrase ages ago, the very solid cue to drop all of Jon’s shit. Jon regularly kept up the shit just because he found it entertaining, and oftentimes comforting, but Martin sometimes found it unbelievably obtrusive when he was trying to have a serious conversation. It was difficult - Jon got panicked during serious conversations, so he usually defensively threw his shit back up again, and it was a self-perpetuating cycle that had frustrated and upset the both of them until they had sat down and talked about it. If Jon couldn’t keep up the conversation without lying, then they both walked away and came back to it later. It was work. But it was good work, the kind that allowed for the good stuff to flourish. Uncomfortable, messy, and real - but maybe that was what Jon liked about it.

“Sorry,” Jon said. He straightened, letting every expression drop away until he was back at his favored neutral. He knew that Martin found it unsettlingly blank, but he rarely complained. “Did I go too far with the desk thing?”

Martin just stood there, carefully controlling his breathing. Jon waited, letting Martin pick through his thoughts and try to shape them. It was probably more difficult than usual, considering how well Jon had been striking the right notes, so he gave him some time.

Finally, Martin said, “I get having fun with Sasha and Tim. I get us doing roleplay, privately, together. I get you doing a role for your job. But the Archivist gig has a lot of baggage with it, for all of us. Do you understand why I feel weird about you pulling that into bedroom stuff?”

“We watch TV in your bedroom,” Jon pointed out. At Martin’s flat, unamused look, Jon had to fight the urge to shuffle his feet. “I sincerely don’t understand your reaction. I’ve seen your search history -”

“Jon!”

“Research for before we got together, don’t think anything of it,” Jon said quickly. “But doesn’t that make it better? It’s not often somebody gets everything they want from somebody unattainable. Or, you know, not real, but…”

“Jon, for a mind reader you can be terrible at picking up cues sometimes,” Martin said, exasperated. “I know your reasons for doing stuff like this -”

“I’m fantastic at picking up cues,” Jon corrected, oddly huffy. “Because I always know what people want. Their desires, even if they don’t like admitting it to themselves. Do you have any idea how many people on this Earth are bisexual but won’t admit it?”

But, somehow, that just made Martin’s eyes widen a little, as if a realization had cracked. “It cannot be comfortable knowing how many people are attracted to you when you’re sex-repulsed.”

“It’s fine,” Jon lied. “I like it.”

“Jon.”

“Whatever. I got used to it.” Jon shrugged. “I like it when you like me. You’re my boyfriend. I want to make you happy because I like seeing you happy. That’s my ulterior motive.”

Martin sighed again, but thankfully he didn’t look as stressed anymore. Win. He broke away from Jon, instead dropping heavily onto the couch, and Jon hesitantly sat down next to him. His costume abruptly felt stifling, and when he saw Martin’s eyes linger on the bun he undid it and untucked his shirt. God, his hair was a wreck.

“The Archivist has baggage for me,” Martin said quietly. “I know how I feel, and I try not to be embarrassed over stuff that most people go through and feel. Had enough of that internalized homophobia for a lifetime. I...can’t avoid you knowing how I feel, or what I’m thinking. I know you can try not to look, but you can’t completely control it either. I understand all of this. But you knowing what I want isn’t the same as me asking for it. Do you understand that difference?”

Jon shrugged uncomfortably.

“Jon. Do you get that I felt uncomfortable because what you did was unnegotiated and you didn’t ask my permission?”

The feeling of embarrassment and guilt spiked higher, and Jon looked away and stared fixedly at some admittedly quite pretty art on the wall. “You’re making it sound bad.”

“I should have shut that down earlier. That’s my bad. You should have stopped to ask. Your bad. We’re both at fault, so we shouldn’t be mad at each other. Are we all good on that?”

Jon stayed silent for a little bit, staring at the wall, trying his best to assemble his own thoughts in his brain. He wasn’t smart. He had problems assembling the words for the complex and large and overwhelming feelings he felt so often. How was Martin so good at breaking this down and putting it into words, when Jon could barely even express how he felt?

Well, Martin probably had more practice…

“You’re so frustrating,” Jon whispered. “You don’t like asking for what you want. You do make me guess. You’re embarrassed to say any of it - the things you want me to do, or the things you like. You do want me to read your mind, because everybody wants a mind reader in their relationship. Especially when it comes to sexual things. But what I can’t read is the...choices you make. Just what you want. And you always make a choice that’s contrary to what you want, and I can never guess. So I do what you want, which is always the exact opposite of what you want me to actually do, and…”

After a second of silence, Martin said, “I need to work on that. I have to be more vocal too. But, Jon, nowhere in that did you mention what you want.”

Jon turned back to look at him, and saw that Martin’s expression was creased. With a mix of - sadness, frustration, conviction, dedication. Imagine being that dedicated, about anything. “Nothing about me minded this time,” Jon said, flabbergasted. “I liked it. I like playing, I like making you feel good, I like winning.” Martin opened his mouth, and Jon quickly said, “Don’t pretend that socialization isn’t a game that everyone is always trying to win, you liar.”

Martin shut his mouth. He could not deny it. Finally, he said, “I hate how you have to say this time.”

He couldn’t help it - he cringed, very hard. Terrible memory. Terrible, terrible, terrible - “I don’t want you to touch me the rest of tonight,” he said, in one rushed breath. Georgie told him to say it. Georgie, Melanie, and Martin. He was supposed to say this.

“Of course, no problem,” Martin said, quickly yet calmly. “Was there anything in that I shouldn’t bring up again?”

“That never happened,” Jon said, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “Stop bringing it up, it’s over, I’m fine - I’m going to bed!”

Hilariously, it was Martin’s flat, but Jon needed to dramatically retreat, so he ended up claiming Martin’s bed for his own. He was very aware that Martin would grab the couch for tonight, because Jon had asked him to. So he was left shoving himself into the pyjamas that he left at Martin’s, wrapping his hair, and sliding under the covers.

But he wasn’t really tired. Jon’s mind kept churning and churning, trying desperately to tease out his own feelings, before realizing that he really didn’t want to know.

It was a really good conversation. Jon was glad that they had it - that Martin hadn’t gone along with it if he wasn’t comfortable, that he had actually pointed out where Jon crossed a line. Nothing about it was bad. Everything was a work in progress - Jon and Martin most of all.

So much of them clashed. So much of them cared about each other more than the clashing. They ran up against these things incessantly, and Jon felt as if they worked it out every time.

He would definitely make Martin breakfast tomorrow. Lots of bacon, although Jon never ate the stuff. He would have to clarify that the way this ended - it wasn’t Martin’s fault, not really. He would probably also have to clarify that his random terror wasn’t something that was any of Martin’s business. He was the one person Jon didn’t want to talk it over with, actually.

Martin respected Jon a lot. More than Jon thought was rational, considering...himself. He never vocalized what exactly he wanted, because he respected that it was never in consideration. Jon had even seen him want it less and less - it barely even came up anymore. Except, of course, when Jon teased on purpose…

When Jon teased on purpose and didn’t tell Martin that he didn’t want something so then he made himself -

It was a good conversation, except Jon ruined it because something stupid that didn’t mean anything at all sent him into abject shame and terror.

This was so hard. Jon hated thinking this much. He decided to fall asleep instead. Much simpler.

In dreams, where everything was an illusion and nothing meant anything at all, nobody minded that none of it was real.

Tim: omfg im so fucking hungoverrrr I hate being 34

Tim: good time last night tho

Tim: also like it WAS funny but you know we like you best as you, rite? U normally dont so Ill validate: liking you best as you, always

Sasha: THE DOCUMENTS, JON!!!

Sasha: Tim says you might have gotten the wrong impression from last night so I’ll also validate: all of you is good. Even the bad parts are good. Does that make sense?

Sasha: Tim said that that sounded ‘backhanded’ but you know what I mean

Sasha: Man why is it so hard to just say what I mean!!!

Sasha: Life’s stupid. Tell Martin I said hi.

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tim stoker #sasha james #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfiction #jon in sb: i will pretend to be the man who was your friend if it'll make you like me #jon here: HAHA KNOW WHAT'D BE HOT?

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cyberdva · 4 years

Text

Breaking Up With My Girlfriend Prank (GONE WRONG) - C.B. ☆

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Summary: In the midst of the popular Prank War, Colby had the genius idea of pranking his newly announced girlfriend. A prank that would completely backfire on their relationship. Colby would go through thick and thin for his girlfriend, but even his dramatic acting messed something up. Can he fix it?

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Main Masterlist

Colby Brock Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Date Uploaded: 4/7/20

Warnings: Mild Swearing and Mentions of Sex

A/N: I have so many Colby ideas lined up…. quarantine work is currently kicking my ass, so I apologize!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

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“Colby this is your worst idea yet.” Corey had merely walked through the door and was already pounded with chaos. The infamous prank war had been escalating further than planned. It had gotten progressively worse. The ideas these guys had were coming to a point of destruction. Not just the house, some of the pranks had begun to take effect on their relationships. Aaron was frequently locked in his room playing video games rather than hanging out with everyone. People outside of the five core roommates had been dragged in. Anything for the views they say.

“Well I mean the fans have been requesting it. I’m one-hundred percent sure she won’t mind after I tell her where the cameras are hidden.” Emotions in the Trap House were only invisible barriers. So many times videos were filled with violence, purposely made for entertainment use.

“No wonder the fans wanted it… they all want a chance to date you…” Colby made his way to the staircase and paid no mind to the advice his friend was dealing him. Corey made note of the rabid fangirls that wanted nothing, but Colby for themselves. He was an unstoppable force and sometimes that led him to his own fall. Colby was back in his room, alone. It was oddly quiet. Perfect timing to begin filming..

“What’s up guys? It’s Colby Brock! Today I’m back with another prank. This one might not end too well,” His cheeky grin filled his face, on the inside anxiety ate away at every inch. “As you know, I have a wonderful girlfriend and the prank war is at its peak, so I’m breaking up with her.” A pause for dramatic effect, this needed views so he could win the war. “As a prank.” He extended his hands and put on a big smile. In his mind, Colby convinced himself that this was going to go smoothly.

“I’ve been dating Y/N for a couple months now and I felt it was time for her to get in on the action. I guess it’s an initiation…” Colby fiddled with his rings, he felt that everything around him was cloudy. “Sorry, I’m really nervous about this…” he giggled. His fingers found themselves running through his hair. With pupils wide, there was no denying this had to go horribly wrong.

“She should be on her way over here in a few minutes. Flabby post-its thrashed their way around as the heading wind of the opened window left more than to be desired. The camera’s microphone crackled. Even the universe somehow knew how utterly stupid this idea had to be. It felt wrong. He could say he cheated on her? Why would he do that?

‘Fuck.” Colby knew the audio files were now unusable. There was no energy left to redo this, he’s seen Corey and Sam do this so many times and their girlfriends were completely fine… after a while. He was being too hard on himself. His lungs filled with the cold, nightly air. He could do this. It’s just a prank. The window slammed shut as Y/N car slowly pulled into the long driveway. He could do this.

Colby had put too much effort into his emo-like inner monologue that reality even slipped away from himself. He made mere seconds to hide the camera and get into position. The video quality jumped even lower as Colby snatched a stray shirt on the scum-ridden floor. He tried his best to find a second angle, he fumbled with an extra camera and stuffed it on his dresser, underneath a towel.

“Okay guys, she just got here. I have no idea what I’m going to say, but I hope she forgives me.” Another nervous laugh on cue. He was sweating like he had just come back from the gym. The large front door slammed shut. He received a text…

Y/N: I’m on my way up! I’ve been missing you all day!

“Shit.” The sound of feet hitting the trashed staircase filled his ears. He looked normal, a bit more jumpy than normal, that was all. She was right outside her door, her hands gripping the door handle. With one last look at the cameras Colby flashed his eyes to his window. The weather grew dark and grim. Rain threatened to spill at any given moment. The door was now wide open and closed with a short click.

“Hey Colb… how was your day? Anything eventful happen?” Colby made no emotion, it was not that hard to do. He gave no reply which Y/N thought was odd. She dropped a small bag filled with what would most likely be food. She looked up at him. The silence was sickening.

Her eyes skewered around for possibly a camera. It seemed scarily unusual for something like this to happen. “Are you oka-”

“We need to talk.” His voice was stern as ice. As stern as an icy pond found on a freezing December Sunday. Y/n’s pupils dilated, it wasn’t the friendly greeting she was expecting. Far from it likewise.

“What do you mean? Did I do something wrong…” she plopped down onto his sheer bed. The awkwardness was indescribable. It was the first time the pair were unable to converse. It seemed fake, like a problem that would never arise. Colby rose from the bed, fist clenched. Y/N fell backwards into the mattress.

“It’s not really you. It’s me.” That is the phrase bound to start some sort of trouble. No one really knew what was going on.

Y/N’s face contorted, “I’m sorry. Yesterday we were having sex and today there’s a problem?” She stared down at her sweaty palms, small portions of rage and sorrow were quickly brewing. “Sorry, that sounded really harsh.”

Colby smacked his hands together and a clapping noise echoed, “This is what I’m talking about.” He turned around to hide his smile. This was a situation where even he couldn’t keep his face straight.

Baffled, Y/N sat with a raging passion, “What the fuck do you mean?!” Seriously! I assumed everything was well.” She didn’t know what to do next, honestly. Where to do amongst all of this.

“We need to break up.” Hell began again. This wasn’t what Y/N was expecting, tears fondled sporadically across her waterline and danced their way down her face like a drunken ABBA member. Her body jolted in a manner that was unthinkable. She left in a flustered hurry, Sam saw her waddling down the stairs and tried to make a headspace to connect the dots. He was interrupted by Colby stomping his way downstairs in sheer panic, equipped with a camera.

“It’s just a prank! Y/N! It was fake!”

The grand door slammed shut.

++++

“Devyn, has Corey ever pulled this shit with you? Seriously. He seemed so convincing. Do you think he secretly meant it.”

“Knowing Colby, probably not. You’re acting like he’s a stranger. You’ve known him for how long now? Two years?”

“It really wasn’t so thoughtful of him.” The eerie ambience of the phone static paired with the pitch black

“It was a prank. They aren’t meant to be thoughtful Y/N… well semi-excluding Jake’s pizza prank.” She sighed into the phone, “Not wanting to over excite you or sound mean. You’re kind of overrea-” She hung up the phone, Y/N knew she was reacting unlawfully, she just wanted this to leave an impact. I guess it would be better for the video anyways...her phone vibrated. Four missed calls from Colby.

The rickety door flung open and Y/N stepped outside. She convinced herself no one was watching. If Colby knew where she was he would most likely have a fit. The wind was the same as it was, whispering secrets into the ears of anyone brave enough to listen. A branch cascaded to the asphalt that bounded the ground into one, swift motion. Y/n popped her heels onto the road. There was silence. A stray shopping bag floated past her ankles. Y/N Thought about how Colby was feeling. Did she really hurt him by leaving? Was he not kidding about what he said? Shit. She felt sad. Cried. If only she knew what was actually going on. Fuck this. Fuck Colby. Y/N stopped in her tracks, “No…” she thought. “Devyn was right. I’m going back”

After a shitty teen-romcom reenaction Y/N made her way to the brooding boyfriend’s home. Colby sat in his room while Sam poked jokes at him, trying to cheer him up. He abandoned his phone on the stringy carpet and hoped she would get over it. She came back.

“I hate you, you know?” Her small amount of makeup was splattered down, Colby’s spirits crushed deeper.

“Just stay the night.. It’s the least I can do.” He begged. He pleaded. The last thing Colby needed was to lose her.

“You actually think I would drive home after all of this happened, it’s like 12 in the morning.” She re-opened the bag from before and cracked open a soda.

“I’m so sorry. This got way out of hand and I didn’t mean any of it. I love yo-“

“Shut up Colby.”

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Part 2? Y/N does a break up prank on Colby? Send me an ask to let me know!

#colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock x you #fanfiction #fanfic #youtuber x reader #imagine #youtube

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seimeinotaka · 3 years

Text

Movie Review (Vil x MC Fic)

(Cross-posted from AO3)

His confidence shaking, Vil keeps pondering over himself and why he keeps losing to Neige. It somehow ends in a discussion with Ann about Type-casting, the role of an actor, and focusing on what is truly important.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

The kitchen was empty, for everyone had gone to bed, having learned that crossing Vil and breaking the rules wasn’t something to take lightly. Twenty minutes before curfew, Vil was washing the cup he had just used. He needed water to clear his head. Beating Neige in the VDC, being the fairest of them all. He had these goals in mind, but no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. The water from the faucet couldn’t flush his thoughts away, as it flowed down his hands, so cold but Vil hadn’t even noticed either.

“-senpai?”

Why?

Why couldn’t he beat Neige?

What did Neige have that he lacked?

The cute character he always showed? Was it just that? Something he couldn’t even work with?

The hero, the beautiful holder of the Legendary sword. That was Neige’s role.

The cold beautiful villain. That was Vil’s role.

The water stopped.

“!”

Vil suddenly realized someone was next to him, having been struck slightly by their elbow, as this person turned off the faucet.

“Schoenheit-senpai, are you alright?” It was Ann, who had taken him out of his trance.

“Manager…yes, I’m fine,” he replied, still in a daze. He hadn’t meant to get so carried away in his thoughts that anyone saw him like this.

He wasn’t as annoyed as before with her, since she seemingly didn’t insult him and had apologized for whatever she had meant to say, though he was far from being on friendly terms with her. She seemed to be treating him with a certain distance, since their discussion had ended abruptly when she stormed off. He was perfectly fine with this unspoken arrangement.

Ann didn’t reply to his calm reassurance, but her expression let him know she wasn’t buying his words. She could keep her worry to herself, channeling it to win the VDC instead.

“…There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…” she finally said, after taking a deep breath to break the awkward silence. “It’s not about Epel…it’s about you…”

For a second there, she seemed to hesitate. Actually, this expression was the same one she had been wearing ever since she apologized when they crossed paths. As if she had something to say but feared doing so. Vil had never intended to ask her anything, ignoring her gaze if she had nothing to add to their discussions or practice.

“…Go on.” He prepared himself mentally, he was going to end up annoyed, but if he didn’t pretend to hear her now, she would be nagging him later on. He could certainly do without that, so he would take the lesser of the two evils.

She took a deep breath, and somehow bluntly stated, “You are going to get angry at me, but I might have heard your conversation with that Adella woman. About a film where Neige Leblanche got the lead and they wanted you to play the villain.” And just as that, she looked at him, ready to face her punishment.

He would have actually punished her, if he hadn’t been taken by surprise.

“How…?”

He had been extremely careful in answering his calls, only twice had he been contacted, and she wasn’t around then. Had Rook told her something? Rook had fine ears and he might have heard the phone calls, but he doubted his vice dorm leader would betray him and tell that private information to her.

“The other day… at the end of practice. I forgot my tablet after we uhhhh…had a discussion.” She grimaced, and forced herself to look at him. “I left it there but you were talking on the phone and I couldn’t just enter.”

“So, you decided to eavesdrop instead,” he coldly replied.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to! By the time I had realized what was happening, you left the room and I didn’t know what to do,” she hurried to add, stepping back defensively. “I’ve been thinking hard if I should talk to you about it but… Whatever. You are angry anyway, so, before you kill me for eavesdropping, lemme ask the following: Is Neige really that good? Or was it because he looks like the good hero?”

She was extremely right in him wanting to kill her in that moment, though her second question took him by surprise. “What do you think, Manager?” He was not going to talk about Neige.

“So, it’s the second…. I had a gut feeling it was like that. I looked around the internet, he’s mentioned a lot, I guess, but he just looks cute to me. I honestly don’t see why everyone goes wild about him. But I guess he does have the appeal to play the good-natured hero, just as you do look like a good fit for a handsome villain.”

He certainly did not need to have her rub salt on his wound, it was bad enough that Rook would blab and praise Neige. Clenching his fist, he was wondering how to curse her to make her stop.

“That’s pretty disappointing and boring, actually,” she said flatly.

“…What?”

“What do you mean what?” She looked at him confused, unaware that she was the one not making any sense at all. “I looked up the Legendary Sword, it’s supposed to be a groundbreaking film series, right? But if they go for such basic casting, is it really groundbreaking?”

Vil stared at her for a moment, a mix of extreme annoyance and deep confusion because what did one thing have to do with another? Not to mention, it was a series he loved.

"Have you even watched the first one?!"

How dared she say that.

"....No, but that's not really my point."

He gave her a scornful smile, as he said, “Of course, Manager. Here you go again, please give me your opinion on things you don’t know the least about.”

"I don’t need to watch a film to get a sense of what they are going for. I can get the aesthetic they are going for, and usually that goes in hand with the setting.” She shrugged her shoulders. “From what I heard of your conversation, yeah I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, you didn’t get to audition, so they offered you the role. Probably the same happened with Neige, so it means they are basing the casting on your physical appearance.”

It wasn’t his physical appearance entirely, but she wasn’t that wrong actually. He was almost impressed she could have figured it out. And that meant he had to be more careful than he thought. Though he should have suspected something, if she managed to dupe Azul.

“That’s pretty disappointing, they aren't taking your acting skills into consideration. A true actor can make the audience believe in their character, no matter how they look. That's strength of their histrionics."

"Don't you realize you're being overly idealistic? You didn't strike me as the type," he interjected, arching an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, but he was almost curious to see how farfetched her ramble would go.

"But, am I wrong? Also, you got a point. The plot and allegiances, the roles of the characters shouldn't be spelled out from appearances. That actually lessens the strength of your acting. It kills the story when I can see someone and know exactly that he is the bad guy just because he wears purple and looks cold. That’s not creative, it’s extremely boring. I thought that as a fashion model and probably a trendsetter, you would prefer to break the rules."

He wouldn’t deign to give her an answer, but she didn’t look at him like she was expecting one.

"The fact that you said I didn't look the type, that's exactly my point. I prefer when my characters are deeper than what they only look. When they surprise me because someone looks cute but isn’t the cute type, that keeps me on my toes. To subvert the expectations of the audience, while showing them a story they can't predict, that's what I would call legendary. Surely, a movie like that should have a legendary casting too."

"I see you keep taking about things you do not know. You keep talking about a movie you haven't seen and the casting of a sequel you don't know."

"...You have a fair point, but I can tell that the casting is very safe. To cast the cute actor as the protagonist and the beautiful sexy one as the villain. They didn't really take any risks."

"Perhaps you weren't paying attention to what I said before,” he groaned. “You have to understand the visuals that suit the atmosphere. A group of elementary children singing metal will look off."

"I actually want to hear that."

"Forget it, your taste is too extreme to understand my point," he grimaced, giving up on trying to get through her thick skull.

“I guess… though I find it sad that for all the boldness you have, you’re stuck with mainstream ideals. Though it seems to come with the industry. They are the ones with the money.”

"Suppose you are in charge of casting, Manager. Do you mean you would have me as lead instead?"

"I wouldn't have a prince charming as the lead in the first place. But the role would go to the one who acts the part better. Not just looks."

Vil looked at her with a stony expression, somehow her words stung and he felt uncomfortable.

"Though, if we have a hero like that, to cast you as the prince charming, the good hero they are picking Neige for... I would honestly prefer that. It's a risky decision, and many would question your casting, but if you were to sweep everyone's minds with your performance, you would win even more than if you went with a typical casting. There's a higher risk, but an even higher reward."

"Fufu, you still have no idea what you're talking about. Unfortunately, as much as your ridiculous idea sounds compelling, the truth is, Neige was cast as the main character."

"If it makes you feel better, I can write you as a main character in a story I make."

He smiled mockingly at her. "Ara, should I be touched? That a mere potato acting as a manager makes me her main character in her story? Focus on your studies."

"I mean, we can’t change things now, but if you were the hero and people questioned it, it's your job as the actor to prove them wrong."

"You sound awfully confident in my abilities."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

Vil was taken back. That was the most unexpected way to compliment someone, though he couldn't say he hated it. That said, she was incredibly annoying.

"You do enjoy talking about things you have no clue about."

"What I don't have a clue about? If I look carefully at you, I can tell you've honed yourself a lot."

"...what?"

"It's the way you conduct yourself. To be this knowledgeable about food and skin care, about music too. Dancing styles, dance moves. There's a limit to natural talent. You could understand things in theory but you call them by their names, that doesn't come from simple experience. Your pose is always perfect, both when you're walking and when you're fighting. To be able to have that degree of grace, you can't always do it unless you've trained yourself to be graceful. I get the feeling you're always pushing yourself to be perfect in any way. No matter what. Like you could be wearing burning shoes and you wouldn't show your pain."

He looked at her, she liked saying the oddest things. Why was she focusing on that? Normally, people commented directly on his beauty. He wasn’t used to being told this, he was doing only the necessary things to achieve his goal. The obvious things that no one focused on. That no one praised.

You didn't praise the method, you praised the results. The finished product. It didn't matter if you did your best when you failed. The result was all that mattered.

Just as he couldn’t beat Neige.

However, her words made him uncomfortable. Was she offering a cheap clap on the back as his fate, and he hated that word, was to be the loser? Some cheap, meaningless sympathy as an equally miserable bandage to his mortally wounded pride?

"What is your game, Manager? Is this some attempt to get along with me to further your goals?"

She huffed, visibly frustrated and annoyed at him, when he should be the one groaning at her and her nonsensical questioning. "You know, you're really smart but you're horribly stubborn. I'm not dissing you. Damn this school. You're all a huge bunch of weirdos, you're always focusing on the oddest stuff."

"As if you can truly say that to me."

"Really? Riddle got so angry about breaking even the most ridiculous inconsequential rules that the Queen of Hearts made. I get things like ‘Don't run with scissors in the hall’, because you can actually get hurt, but the color of roses? The tea you serve after 6? That's just showing off your power in meaningless bullshit. It alienates people instead of making them like you. He is devoted and meticulous, except he's focusing on the stupid stuff.

“Leona is capable, he's actually smart and he could be an excellent student and magift player but he can't be bothered to do anything because he doesn't want to be compared to others. Well, duh, you're always going to be compared. Damned if you do it, damned if you don’t, it’s way better to be damned for doing your thing. The rest can go fuck off. It’s not like they are going to do things for you, and they won’t live your life.”

Was she trying to get on his good side by dissing everyone?

“Azul, for all the intelligence he has, is a big idiot. All the effort he made to hide his past, just to crumble because of a photo. Why would you want to alter it so much that you're no longer yourself? I don't understand. He could see how far he had come and how much he had improved himself, that the Azul in that picture, who was extremely cute mind you, would be just proud of who he had grown into. But no, he had to drag everyone with those shady contracts, trick everyone to profit off them, try to trick me instead of asking for help like a fucking normal person. I would have helped him without any of this idiot contract bullshit if he was just sincere and not an incredibly fucking shady yakuza.

“Jamil. Don't get me started on him, I'm still salty about it. It's a custom in his country, I understand that. His parents were in the wrong, I understand that but. Did he really have to try to fucking kill us? In the bloody desert?! Not to mention, he had Kalim, KALIM! Kalim wouldn't have minded that Jamil told him the truth about him having to play the incompetent servant when he's like a fucking genius. Getting average grades on purpose is really hard, you have to be super smart to do that! Hell, Kalim would have been the first one to support him if he knew the truth! Kalim trusted him, Jamil was his best friend. He even forgave him. With Kalim at his side, things would have been different. But no, Jamil had to fake this shady nice persona to get us to like him, then use everyone for his stupid nonsense and instead of talking! Like normal people! Attempted murder! Of course that is the right answer."

Her rant made him furious. It wasn’t her ranting about the others, as several of them, like Leona, were annoying in many degrees. It was because it showed how she saw the other students, and it made him wonder how she would later see him.

How would she casually dismiss all his struggles?

"I wish I had this much drive to care about stupid shit."

"You are exactly as Leona and Azul said you were,” he replied, wanting furiously to slap her, to make her shut up, “an obnoxious brat who talks as if she knows everything. Casually dissing everyone while supposedly praising them? I thought you were supposed to be a good quiet prefect. Your opinion doesn't matter."

"It does matter because when you die, you can't do anything of these things. You could fall off your broom next class, crack your skull and die, but all you worried about was an idiot meaningless thing, instead of doing what you really wanted."

Vil stared at her, shocked for a moment, her words a slap to his face. He didn't expect them nor the tone she used, a clear-headed but extremely heartfelt answer. It was rational, not spat out in the heat of the moment, almost a product of actual experience.

It was in that moment he realized she genuinely meant what she said before. She was genuinely praising his efforts, the things no one else even considered. And he wasn’t sure how he should feel. He was feeling annoyed, he could imagine her ranting about him next. 'You are an idiot, trying to best Neige in being the fairest.'

But what was the thing she would compliment him on as well?

The answer would have to haunt him, because he was not going to ask her about himself. He was scared of that answer. He was scared of being focused on something wrong, of being told his path was wrong from the start.

He had devoted himself to being the fairest of them all for so long, just to be told it was an impossible task from the start. The effort he put into it would be absolutely meaningless, as they weren’t in a fairy tale, and even if they were, they weren’t its main characters.

“Manager,” he said in a tone that he himself couldn’t discern. It was such, though, that Ann quickly cooled down from her rant, going from emboldened to suddenly stay silent, and hesitant. “I will not repeat myself. Stop talking as if you understand my feelings. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. All you need to know is that you have to devote yourself to the VDC.”

“But… I thought-”

“Yes, you always ‘thought’. Whatever you thought, you are wrong. Stop delving into others’ personal affairs.”

He saw her opening her mouth, but he wouldn’t entertain her any longer. She had damaged him enough, making him fear for a moment of his own goals, to let her destroy his shaking beliefs and crumbling confidence. With a fierce glare, hiding his inner turmoil as he had always done, the iron mask befitting a queen, he looked down on her once before leaving her alone, with only the wind to listen to whatever useless opinion she had to share.

This was a challenging fic to write given the limited information we’re given, at the time ofc, about Neige and the nature of the casting, as well as his personality. It was also interesting for me because it’s part of the culmination of the previous chapters. Vil is a very perceptive person and he would normally recognize when someone is genuinely praising him. However, in an overblotting state, where he is stressed and second-guessing himself, it wouldn’t be that hard to see that he finds it difficult to trust strangers, especially someone like Ann.

Ann herself is not entirely right either. She has good points about the others and about Vil, but she tends to see things from her own perspective and how she strongly feels, in particular to people like Azul due to her own personal reasons and past. Hence, she can’t sometimes really relate to things that oppose to what she believes and feels. Because she is also blunt, while well-intentioned, she can come off as obnoxious and intrusive, especially with how she words things. Basically both right now are not well emotionally and logically to reach an agreement and see each others’ points. But Vil wouldn’t be well right now because we’re in the middle of Pomefiore arc, F.

Thank you for reading!

#twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil x mc #twst oc #twst

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

Text

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7: Yeehaw/Western/Sheriff

Love & Duty

Notes: Okay, I’m pretty sure this isn’t nearly ‘cowboy’ enough, and I’ve already started an alternative piece, but I found an old tumblr post about how cowboys were just daytime witches, and I frickin’ loved it (I’ll link it in the morning) and my excitement got out of hand again. There’s definitely going to be more to this story, but separately.

I also just wanted to prove to myself I could smash out two prompts in one day, honestly. I opted for quantity over quality, and I currently only have some regrets - 4.5 down, 3.5 to go.

The old farmhouse sits outside Laredo, Texas. The wood has blackened from decades underneath the sun and seems to sink in on itself; the ground cracked and dry. The barn roof has caved in, obviously years before if the elaborate nest tucked at the edge is any indication. At the end of the drive, the sign once bore the name of the owners, but that name has long since faded into the wood.

It is an unwelcoming place, for any passerby or stranger - a house that actively discourages anyone from crossing the boundary, even if they never notice it.

But for those that sought it out, and for those few that lived there, it was very different.

—

It was a sacred duty, once upon a time - the Guardians of the Border, sent to protect and prevent the Southern Wars from spilling over from Mexico into America proper. For decades, girls from all the old families across the country were sent to Texas to run the Guard Houses, to protect and shield those. Back then, there were so many daughters that only the very best were accepted at the Border Guard Houses, most of them settled in the city houses, mixing the potions and preparing the weapons. Some girls were even sent home - there were only so many beds, after all.

And Texas remained well-guarded.

But time marches on. Vampire wars, human wars, they all have a death toll, and entire family lines died out. It became less of an honour, more of an obligation, and one that fell to the oldest daughter, or the oddest daughter, or the ugliest daughter. It became more important to keep the bloodlines strong than to protect the South from the never-ending Wars.

Mary-Alice Brandon was never surprised to be banished to Texas on her sixteenth birthday; she’d known her entire life she’d don the blacks and take up the mantle as six generations of Brandon witches had done before her. She was not good breeding stock, with her ‘visions’ and her temper and her complete disinclination to conform to her parents’ social obligations. Cynthia was a much better heiress, and so off to Texas Alice was sent, to three ancient ‘aunts’ who would train her in all she would need to know, having lived their entire lives defending the Laredo house.

The house wasn’t so bad, if you looked past the glamour. The house was in good repair, and the aunts maintained a lush garden out the back, of herbs and flowers. They had two strong horses - Hallow and Haven - and half a dozen well-pleased cats. Her own bedroom looked over the road, hidden only by the branches of an ancient willow tree. Of course, the aunts were strict teachers that expected impossible standards, and third-rate cooks. But no place was perfect, and at least here no one cared about manners or propriety.

But she missed the sunshine. That was one thing the aunts never budged on. “Day is for sleep.” And hell was raged over her head if she wasn’t tucked up tight in bed every morning before dawn, the curtains drawn tight and refusing to budge. Once every moon cycle, her aunts would have a dawn meeting with someone but she wasn’t allowed to join those until she was twenty one, when she formally became a Witch Guardian. Until then, she was just a handmaid and dogsbody.

Which is why she was up to her ankles in mud, trying to pry an overzealous hemlock plant from the ground because it was smothering the chamomile again, with nothing to light her work except the lanterns on the porch. And this was just the first of the positively irritating chores she had been assigned that night.

It was her own fault, really. She should have kept her nose out of the books, and maybe there’d be more lessons for her to finish.

Shoving her hair out of her eyes, Alice glared viciously at the hemlock plant, and wondered if the aunts would consider it ‘inappropriate behaviour’ to curse the damn thing to burn.

“Mary-Alice!”

One of the aunts came dashing out of the backdoor - all three were fairly interchangeable, which felt like an uncharitable thought, but it was the honest truth - looking more agitated than Alice had ever seen her.

“Yes, Auntie?”

“Get out of the mud, and go and fetch one of the horse,” the older woman said, buckling an over-stuffed messenger bag. “Be quick, girl. Change your boots, don’t worry about your dress.”

Struggling out of the garden and into the house to find her riding boots, Alice knotted her hair back before hurrying to the barn, where all three aunts were gathered, Hallow already saddled - she would have thought Haven a better choice, since Hallow was so big and she was not the strongest rider.

“You’re going to Del Rio, girl,” one of the aunts said, shoving over a mounting block with surprising strength. “One of our allies has suffered an injury and cannot be moved. Hallow should have you there by dawn.”

“Del Rio?” Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been into Laredo, let alone more than a hundred miles up the border.

“Yes. Now, they’re expecting you,” the second aunt said, taking her hand and half shoving her up and into Hallow’s saddle. “Everything you need is in the bag; there’s food and water for you, but you’ll need them to provide more for your return journey. Hallow knows the way; if you hit the yellow farmhouse, you’ve gone too far. There should be a scout waiting for you anyway, don’t worry. It’s a long trip, but it’s a good practice for you, and you’re a good, clean healer.”

“The boy’s in a bad way, so you best be off,” the final aunt said, looking grim. “Let us know how long you’ll be staying and when you set off home.”

“Okay,” Alice managed, a bit dazed from the amount of information she’d just been given.

“Blessed and safe journey, my dear,” the first aunt said, looking worried before Hallow decided they had lingered long enough, and moved out of the barn.

Alice suddenly regretted cursing the hemlock.

—

The ride was long and hard. She honestly regretted not getting changed into something more sensible - she’d learnt to ride as a girl English style, side-saddle, but the aunts had laughed at that particular pretension, and Western saddles and long skirts were not a winning combination.

The bag wasn’t heavy enough for any of them to have thought to pack her a clean dress, either, and she was truly wretched at cleaning spells. Perhaps the Del Rio coven could loan her a dress.

Hallow stopped some time after midnight, and she took that opportunity to eat - a floury apple, some dry bread, and cold chicken that was so well cooked it might as well have been ash. But it was food, and the urgency that she been sent off - alone - implied she didn’t have more than a few minutes to rest.

The rest of the trip felt long, and as pink and gold streaks began to hover at the horizon, Alice wondered if she’d taken too long - if the poor boy (boy? she’d never heard of a coven accepting a boy, but maybe the Guard Houses had decided to modernise) had already succumbed. But it wasn’t like she was provided with a map or proper direction…

It was dawn when Hallow began to slow, and she saw a man leaning against a signpost with an indecipherable sign, the road behind him leading to a fire-decimated house on a hill in the distance.

“Miss Brandon?” the man said, looking at her with suspicion before his eyes softened. “Ah, Hallow.” The horse clearly recognised him, nickering affectionately at the man.

“Yes, I am Miss Brandon. You are the scout from Del Rio?” she asked primly, as if she didn’t have mud on her face and dress and sleeves, and no hat.

“Yup. Come on, he’s in the house. I’m Peter,” the man said. “Budge up.”

Within seconds, Peter had swung himself onto Hallow behind her, and Alice gasped at the impropriety, but didn’t get a moment to say a word as Peter clicked and Hallow took off like a bullet.

As Hallow passed another sign that couldn’t be read, the fire-ruins shimmered before reforming into an expansive and well-lived farmhouse, with a large barn. Out the back, she could see pristine fields full of horses and cattle. It was like chalk and cheese from home, and for a moment, she was jealous.

As they stopped in front of the house, Peter slid off, and tied off Hallow’s bridle to the porch railing, reaching up to help her down.

“Quick now, one of the boys will come take care of Hallow, we need you to tend to Jasper now,” Peter said, half dragging her up the front stairs and into the house.

It felt like a bustle of activity, and was so bright and airy. The smell of fresh bread filtered through the house, and Alice couldn’t help but snatch a look as she was dragged deeper into the house.

“Char! The witching’s here!” Peter bellowed, and suddenly Alice was presented with a drawn-looking woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

“Oh, thank gods,” she said. “I’m Charlotte. Come with me. His fever keeps getting higher, and I’ve tried everything I know. We called out to everyone, but your aunt was the only one who got back to us.”

She was lead into a backroom, where a mattress was laid out on the floor, and the curtains were drawn. And in the middle of the room, moaning in pain and sweaty, was a tall man covered in scars.

Alice tried not to gasp. The scars were quite clearly vampire bites, healed ones. Covens had some natural immunity to vampire venom, but it only slowed down the process and allowed it to be reversed. There were dozens of stories of girls who couldn’t be saved, and had been burnt before the change could be completed. It was, unfortunately, one of the risks of their duty.

“He got ambushed,” Charlotte said, kneeling beside the man. “The harpy practically gutted him, but he got away okay.” She pulled back the sheet, to reveal an enormous wound that had been clumsily stitched, from the middle of his chest, slashing downward over his stomach to his hip. “It needs cauterising I think, but I’m no healer.”

Alice came back to herself then. Whatever was going on here - male Guardians, this untrained woman, all the bite marks - could be questioned after this poor man - Jasper, had Peter called him? - was treated.

Dropping to her knees, Alice quickly inspected Charlotte’s stitching of the wound. “It will need cauterising, it’s too deep,” she determined quickly. “And treatment for infection, but stitching it was a smart thing to do.” Charlotte looked relieved. “Did he get bitten?”

“His arms,” Peter said, and Charlotte quickly pulled off bandages, already blackening from the venom. Three bites on one arm, four on the other. Bad, bad business.

“Okay. Do you have a smock, and a place I can wash up?” she said, standing quickly. Walking into a sick room in her filthy clothes and boots had been a stupid thing to do, but nothing for it now.

“Of course - show her the bathroom, Peter,” Charlotte darted out.

Within moments, Alice had a smock over her underthings and a pair of borrowed slippers - Charlotte promising to wash her dress immediately - and she’d scrubbed every visible inch of her skin as fast as she could, her hair pinned under a kerchief.

It was a very, very long day. The bites had to be purified, cleaned, and bandaged to draw out as much venom as possible; the bandages had to be changed four times every day, to prevent the venom lingering against the skin. Jasper had to be fed the tonic that the aunts had sent every two hours to flush any venom that had already ended his system. Then she had to treat the fever, to lesson his evident discomfort, and treat the infection that had clearly set into the wound Charlotte had stitched, whilst reassuring Charlotte that it was nothing actively wrong that she’d done, just the unlucky result of riding home with an open wound.

But by the time night fell, Jasper was somewhat more comfortable - the moaning had stopped, and with a generous dose of pain and sleep tonic, he seemed to actually be sleeping.

Alice wished she could.

Instead, she changed his bandages again before finding herself in the kitchen, with Charlotte piling plates with food.

“We heard from the others,” she said, taking her own seat. “Days away, Carlisle is furious. Emmett’s already on his way back with Rosalie, but they won’t make it here for at least a week.” Charlotte looked exhausted. “At least they’ll bring supplies.”

“What’s done is done,” Peter said smartly, watching Alice as she began to eat, exhaustion in every one of her motions. “Jasper will be okay now, yes?”

Alice looked up. “Well,” she began, and sighed. “There were so many bites,” she managed, trying to be kind. “And he’s been bitten before - even one previous bite decreases the effectiveness of treatment. I swear I am doing everything I can possibly do.”

“You’re young, yes?” Peter shot back. “Not even a full Guardian yet?”

“Peter!” Charlotte scolded.

“No, I’m not of age yet. My title does not affect my ability - I have been trained. I have completed my lessons. There is nothing I can think of that I am not already doing,” Alice retorted.

“And we are grateful,” Charlotte broke in.

“Yup, I’m positive Jasper would be thrilled that his life is in the hands of a schoolgirl,” Peter muttered before getting up from the table and storming away.

Alice was too tired to be angry, and just sighed and went back to her food - Charlotte was far and away a better cook than the aunts; perhaps a week of edible food, and she’d be filling out her dresses properly.

“I’m sorry, Peter and Jasper… they’re like brothers. They’ve been together for years,” Charlotte said, looking at her plate. “…Please, please don’t let Peter’s rudeness dissuade you from helping Jasper…”

Alice looked up in shock. “No. No, of course not. I understand his frustration, I do. And there’s nothing he could say to me that would make me treat Jasper any less, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte smiled, and began to clear the table. “The guest room is at the top of the stairs, I’ve laid out a nightgown for you, and some towels. Peter’s taken care of your horse, and I’m sure…”

“That’s very kind of you,” Alice said gently, “but I’ll sit up with Jasper tonight; he’ll need watching.”

“Could I help at all? Watch him in shifts?” Charlotte asked, but Alice could see the exhaustion and worry in every line of the woman’s face. If they weren’t careful, Charlotte would fall ill too and she’d have two patients.

“No, it has to be me, to make sure the bites are clean and the tonic takes. We’ll have a better idea of how he is tomorrow, though,” Alice offered. “I would like to bathe, though, if you could watch him?”

“Oh, of course - there’s a washroom in the guest room,” Charlotte said, gesturing to the stairs. “Thank you, Alice. I mean it. Thank you for coming, I feel like everything is going to be okay now that you’re here.”

—

It was a long night, with exhaustion setting in for Alice - she hadn’t slept in over a day, had ridden half-way up the border… she felt like an old woman. But it was her duty. And she would do it to the best of her ability.

Charlotte had leant her several dresses, and it was quite strange to wear a colour that wasn’t black or grey, but a welcome novelty, even if the dresses were a size too big.

Settling beside the sickbed, Alice administered the tonic every two hours, and found herself changing the bandages obsessively, as soon as she saw or smelt the venom. She flushed out the bite wounds - one would need stitching. She’d have to cauterise the chest wound first thing in the morning; his fever still lingered, but the tonics and potions seemed to have had a powerful effect on the infection, with the red veins having already retreated.

Though, she might have to teach Charlotte how to administer stitches whilst she was here. The woman was clearly unfamiliar with stitching flesh. Maybe some rudimentary treatments so that they didn’t have to wait twelve hours for help.

The aunts had packed her two new books to read - purely educational, histories of the coven, that were not even a little bit relevant in her current situation, or interesting. But they did keep her awake.

Morning came, and Jasper’s fever had broken. She nearly cheered at that, and when Peter and Charlotte burst in at dawn, she gave them the good news. She thought that Peter was going to cry - Charlotte certainly did. But then she required the couple hold him down as she cauterised the chest wound.

Charlotte ended up vomiting at the smell, and Peter looked at little woozy, but at least he was held together with more than embroidery thread now. She quickly applied a fresh layer of ointment that smelt like mint and tea leaves to the raw wound and bound up his chest up in fresh bandages. At least Charlotte had the practicality of preparing an immense quantity of fresh, sterile bandages that looked like they been cut from good quality bed linens or petticoats.

The day moved slowly; Charlotte brought her meals in on a tray, and sat with Jasper whilst she changed her dress again, and sent a message to the aunts. Peter was very respectful around her, and brought her anything she asked for - purified water, feverfew, lavender, aloe vera. Jasper seemed to sleep more comfortably each day, as she fed him cold tea laced with every possible tonic and potion she had in her bag and could create from scratch. His bite marks were cleared every day, settling into fresh scar tissue. She was genuinely sorry that they had scarred, but there was nothing for it.

But only time would tell if the venom had made it to his heart.

—

Seven days. She had been at the Del Rio house for seven days and seven nights. Jasper had passed out of danger, and was now just healing, though he hadn’t regained consciousness. But Alice continued to nurse him, as was her duty and purpose here. She fed him careful sips of tea and then herbal broth, to build up his strength and hopefully reinforce his immunity; she rubbed ointments into his new wounds to keep the skin supple and preveshe lnt thick scar tissue and ease any discomfort. She helped Charlotte wash and dress him as soon as she deemed it safe.

That she had not been expecting. She hoped her poker face was good, because she’d really never seen a man’s body before. Not like that - she was only nineteen, had lived with the aunts since she was sixteen and had never been courted. Even her lessons had been done on whatever animals they could hunt or trade for from the market, not really humans. And this man, he was… handsome. He was tall and just the right amount of muscular and tan and, she shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

She couldn’t even imagine her embarrassment if this Jasper had seen her in such a way.

Oh, she was definitely sleep deprived. She had yet to sleep a single second in the guest room, snatching cat naps in the corner of Jasper’s sick room when she couldn’t hold her eyes open a single moment longer.

Which was what she was doing now. She twisted her neck uncomfortably; she’d been sleeping at a funny angle, she’d be feeling that all day. Stretching out, she looked over at her patient, only to see Jasper staring back at her curiously.

“Oh my gods!” Alice gasped, scrambling over. “You’re awake? How are you feeling? How long have you been awake?”

She quickly helped him sit up, reading for the water cup on the beside table. He took two deep swallows before coughing.

“Oh, it’s got lemon and mint in it, for healing,” she explained. “It’s helped, I promise. Hopefully we can get you back to normal drinking water and food tomorrow.”

“Who are you?” croaked Jasper, looking up at her with glazed eyes.

“Oh. Um, I’m Alice Brandon. From the Laredo Guard House,” she said, embarrassed. She was acting like a bumbling sixteen year old trainee, not a proper Guardian. “I was summoned when you were wounded.”

“Alice Brandon from Laredo,” Jasper repeated, a quirk of his lips. “Thank you.” His energy seemed to drain out of him all at once - totally normal for the severity of his wounds and his recovery.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Sleep now. It’s a great healer. Charlotte and Peter will be awake in a few hours.”

He nodded half-heartedly before he closed his eyes again, and Alice sat backwards. He was okay. Two blue eyes without a hint of red, talking and lucid, and drinking easily. She did it.

He lived.

—

Both Peter and Charlotte had wept when they realised that Jasper was conscious again, and Peter had nearly tackled the man when he saw Jasper sitting up, drinking water and talking to Alice, trying to piece together what had happened to him, and to learn how she had treated him - the Del Rio Guard House had fallen to the Whitlock-Hales several generations ago, and many of the old skills - like healing - had been lost.

In fact, it was only him, Peter, and Charlotte who were at the house full-time now - they hired local boys to help out on the ranch that funded the Del Rio clan. Jasper’s own sister and brother-in-law visited regularly, as did various other friends and allies, “but none of us are witchlings,” he coughed. “We were raised in the sun, not in the night.”

She smiled at reference to the old rhyme. “Even your sister?” she asked; girls were kept to the night, boys to the day. Old attitudes that had held true - girls were protected and cloistered (and much less likely to be caught poisoning or cursing) in the darkness. Their herbs and plants bloomed and grew so much harder under the moon than the sun. But boys, they were the fighters, the warriors, and battle against vampires and other dark creatures was best done when there was no darkness to escape into.

“Even my sister,” Jasper had smiled. “Rose would have made a horrible healer - punched me in the arm and told me to ‘man up’ the first time I fell off a horse; my arm was broken. She’s not nearly as committed as I am, but she helps. Her husband’s good at it too, he just married into the madness.” He spoke about his family with such affection, Alice felt a little jealous, but before she could ask any other questions, Charlotte and Peter were there, Jasper just as pleased to see them as they were to see him.

Alice slipped out to give them privacy - a bath and a clean dress sounded heavenly right now, and she ought to send another message to the aunts. She’d help Jasper wash and change afterwards, and hopefully be able to move him from the sick room to his usual quarters with fresh sheets. He’d sleep more comfortably in his own bed.

By lunchtime, Jasper was safely ensconced in his own bed, in a room that overlooked the a paddock of horses. He’d eaten some broth and drunk as many cups of herbal tea as Alice could press on him, as she fussed around. Peter had headed off to get ranch work done, and Charlotte had taken up a vigil at Jasper’s bedside with some sewing.

“Alice, please, you don’t have to do anything of that,” Charlotte laughed as Alice began folding clothing. “You should rest - you must be exhausted.” Turning to Jasper, she continued, “I don’t think she’s rested this entire time - she sat with you every night, didn’t even wake us to help change your bandages. She insisted Peter and I sleep.”

“Oh, I’m up at night anyway,” Alice laughed. “And I’m here to help.”

Jasper was watching her carefully now.

“She hasn’t stopped at all. I cannot imagine how efficient the Laredo House is,” Charlotte shook her head. “Though, I’m sure having proper recruits makes a difference.”

Alice shook her head, as she reached out to plump a pillow behind Jasper’s head. “Oh, it’s just me and the aunts,” she said airily. “All the old families are dying out, and, well, it’s not exactly a glamorous position. I knew I’d be sent to Laredo since I was very small, so I suppose my mother and father prepared me for it.”

“It sounds lonely,” Jasper said quietly.

And it was. She always tried to think of the positives, that she had her own bedroom, and she got to learn so quickly and do hands on practice much more quickly, and there were practically no chores but she had still been alone there for three and a half years. No companions, just duty. It hadn’t felt quite as bad until she’d come here, to this bright, happy place with sweet Charlotte and practical Peter and handsome Jasper…

“It’s home,” she finally said, honestly. “But I will take you up on that offer for a rest. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Jasper said.

“See that you do - you’re my first official patient, and it would look terrible if you died when I was napping,” Alice teased, before slipping out of the room. She could sleep, finally.

—

The next week and a half fell into a routine. Jasper regained his strength surprisingly quickly, and went from being bedridden to eating meals in the kitchen with them all, to back on his horse - an enormous brown beast named Duke - within the week, though he did seem to tire quickly.

He took to showing her their operation - the wall of blessed weapons in the barn and in the house, the modified saddles to carry the weapons, the horses carefully trained to protect their rider and be desensitised to the presence of vampires.

It turned out that Charlotte was a newcomer, a local girl raised as a kitchen-witch whose brother had worked on the ranch. Charlotte had fallen quite hard for Peter, to hear Jasper tell it, and hadn’t flinched when she realised she’d married into a quasi-family of cowboy vampire hunters. She had started a small greenhouse with many common herbs that was a good start, but Alice knew that they needed something a little more robust for their ‘business’. She immediately promised Jasper to write them a list of additions they needed - and send them seeds and samples - and their purpose as soon as she was back in Laredo.

It was all very pleasant, but Alice realised quickly that Jasper was, for all intents and purposes, healed. She had no place here any longer; his sister would arrive soon, and he had no use of a nurse or witching now. She needed to leave.

She announced those plans at dinner that night, as Charlotte presented another one of her delightful spreads.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said ruefully, as they all dug in. “The aunts cannot cook at all.”

“Miss this?” Charlotte asked innocently, passing out hot rolls.

“Jasper is healed,” Alice smiled, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “Your recovery will continue, and you should be conservative about what you take on for a months or two, but you have no need for me any longer. I should return home first thing tomorrow.”

Everyone froze.

“So soon?” Jasper managed, almost looking… hurt?

“The aunts need me. They’re elderly,” Alice explained, “and it’s where I belong.”

Silence.

“Well, we’re mighty grateful you came all the way out here for us,” Peter said. “We’d all be happy to see you around here again.”

“Ah, but that would mean one of you was hurt, and that would be acceptable,” Alice teased. “You’ve been very kind to me. If I could trouble you for some food for the trip home, Charlotte…”

“Oh, of course,” Charlotte nodded. Jasper was focused on his potatoes and not looking at anyone. “You must stay in touch, yes? It’s been so nice having another woman here.”

“Of course,” Alice gushed, trying to ignore the reaction she knew the aunts would have if she started using the messaging system for socialising. “I’m going to be lost without you!”

“You’re not the only one,” Peter murmured, and Alice chose not to pull at that thread, and instead turned the conversation to Jasper’s sister’s arrival and tried not to dread the next morning.

—

It was a moment of weakness when she waited til Jasper was downstairs helping Peter wash up, when she slipped the medallion into his cowboy boots. He’d never feel the tiny silver charm, blessed with protection and a long life, but it would keep him safe.

She tried to convince herself it was because he probably wouldn’t survive another bite, but it didn’t work.

—

She left just before dawn, once again clad in her blacks - freshly washed and mended by Charlotte - and Jasper was waiting there, holding Hallow’s bridle as she walked out, Charlotte’s food tucked into her bag.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said, realising Hallow was saddled and ready to leave.

“I wanted to.” He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful.”

Alice smiled - her black lace dress, from ankle to wrist to throat - was practically her uniform; she had four more just like it hanging in her wardrobe at home. Any particular beauty in the garment had faded the one hundredth time she wore it.

Jasper stepped closer to her; standing on the second step of the porch, they were nearly eye-to-eye.

“I never truly thank you for what you did for me - Peter and Charlotte filled me in,” he continued.

“It was truly nothing, it was what I was born for,” she said, wondering if it was Jasper’s proximity that was making her so warm, or if summer was coming early.

Jasper just stared at her and all of a sudden his lips were on hers.

She had never been kissed before, not even once, and it was… unexpected. Within a moment, Jasper deepened it, and she was properly clinging to his strong shoulders and oh, how could he do such a thing to her when she was about to leave?

Pulling back slowly, Jasper ducked his head. “I just wanted to do that once,” he murmured. “I couldn’t let you walk away without…”

“I can’t,” Alice whispered, somehow unable to pull away. “I… I’m not allowed. I would have to recant my vows, and the aunts have no one else to take on the Laredo house… I just can’t.”

Jasper looked at her. “That seems cruel,” he said in a low voice. “Looking after some old ladies until they die, then being left alone without being allowed anything more.”

“It’s how things are done,” Alice took a shaking breath. “I’m sorry. Please thank Charlotte and Peter for their hospitality.”

And with that, Alice took Hallow’s bridle from Jasper and mounted her horse, leaving for the Laredo house, trying to drag her mind away from what was behind her, from the first (and likely the only) kiss she had ever been given. From the way he looked at her, like she hung the moon.

She was, in all probability, never going to see him again. And that was how it was supposed to be.

#jaliceweek20 #does this even count?#it's set in texas and there are horses #alice cullen #jasper hale #my fic: love and duty #jalice #alice/jasper

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out-of-jams · 4 years

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A Dance of Fire and Wind || (05) || jjk

↠ A Dance of Fire and Wind ↞ One year ago you were banished from the Fire Nation, branded a traitor and a coward by the scar on your face. The only way to win back both your throne and the respect of your father was to capture the Avatar, master of all four elements.

You’d be damned if you failed.

Warnings/Genre: Avatar the Last Airbender!au. Female Prince Zuko!Reader. Avatar!Jungkook. Fluff. Angst. Explicit language. Smut. Light violence. Waterbender!Jimin. Sokka!Taehyung. Nonlinear drabble series.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/n: These will not be posted in order, so you do not need to read them that way! However, they will each be numbered, so if you do want to read them in sequential order, you can!

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

| Series Masterlist |

05: The Chase

“Catch me if you can!”

A grunt of annoyance left your lips, but that was the only response you gave to the obvious taunting. Not like the brat ahead of you would have been able to hear it anyway. The armor you wore was heavy, weighing you down as you ran through the dirt path streets of whatever small Earth Kingdom village you’d docked at an hour ago.

“Out of my way!” You bit out through clenched teeth. The older man who’d just been standing in your path met the side of the road with a thud with a harsh shove. But you didn’t care. Didn’t bother to pay any mind to the barely concealed disgruntled shout. Especially when whatever he’d been about to say died down in his throat the second he got a good glance at the color of your uniform.

The day had started out just like any other. You’d woken up at sunrise and did your morning exercises and meditation. It’d been right in the middle of said meditation when the door leading to the empty deck of your ship cracked open. Normally, the soldiers under your command knew better than to interrupt you and you knew for a fact that your uncle was still asleep.

When the presence had refused to disappear, a frown pulled at your lips and you snapped your eyes open in irritation. You ignored the flash of dull pain that licked at the harshly scarred, burned skin on the left side of your face, surrounding your eye and reaching all the way back your ear. One year later and the pain had still yet to cease. Not even the cool breeze drifting from the ocean was enough to cool the fire that itched beneath your skin. The heat that fluctuated with the rise of your temper.

“What?” You’d snapped, relaxing out of your meditative posture.

The soldier, whose shadow fell over your seated position, shifted. Whether in nervousness or caution, you frankly didn’t give a shit. You were known for many things, but your patience wasn’t one of them. His eyes dropped to the metal deck of the ship and the armored helmet over his head bobbed with the movement.

“I apologize for the interruption, Princess Y/n. But the ship is in need of restocking.”

A puff of breath, warmer than usual due to displeasure, passed your lips. “Then inform the captain that we’ll be stopping at the next port.”

“Right away, Princess.” He--you never bothered to learn the names of the peasant soldiers so far beneath you--bowed his head once again before making himself scarce.

Luck. That’s what your uncle would have called it when you’d happened to glance up in the middle of the village market just in time to recognize a familiar face. Your hand had been outstretched to place a few gold pieces into the palm of the tea vendor (your uncle had picked out an obnoxiously expensive tea set claiming that his last one had been damaged during a pirate raid two weeks ago) when you’d spotted him.

His bright yellow and orange outfit would have been a dead giveaway even if you hadn’t already noticed him standing there, frozen. Big brown eyes were wide with shock and you took a moment to acknowledge the fact that his two little lackeys weren’t by his side for once. Not that it mattered, you could’ve taken on all three of them in a fight easily.

One month. It’d been one month since you’d first laid your sights on the boy, the Avatar. Which marked one year and one month since your banishment from the Fire Nation. You’d never known what exactly to expect him to look like when you’d first begun your journey to hunt him down. But it sure as hell wasn’t a boy who looked barely even a year younger than you. Barely even eighteen. He was supposed to be the master of all four elements: Earth, Fire, Water, Air, and over a hundred years old. Not a teenage boy.

You’d managed to capture him once during that first month, when he’d voluntarily given himself up in exchange for the promised safety of the village he’d been taking refuge in. But the bastard was surprisingly and irritatingly slippery. From the moment he’d first escaped your ship and therefore your capture, the chase had been on.

So seeing him in that moment, across the market square, you didn’t even hesitate before shoving the gold pieces into the hand of the vendor. Your uncle, who’d been patiently awaiting his new wrapped tea set, had let out a sound of surprise when you bolted. The Avatar’s panicked squeak was audible even over the small crowd. You’d barely even cleared half of the distance between you before he turned tail and ran.

Whatever alarm the Avatar had been feeling seemed to have vanished and now he turned to childishly stick his tongue out at you from over his shoulder. His brunette hair, that clashed horribly with his outfit, fluttered around his head playfully. “Too slow! What do they feed you Fire Benders? Lazy cakes?”

A growl rumbled in your throat at the blatant taunt and you clenched your fist. It was anger that drew the fire from your stomach and down your arm. Fury that caused the air around you to simmer in warning right before you ignited it and sent a ball of fire flying straight at the annoying little shit.

The Avatar just let out a laugh, hopping into the air far higher than any normal person could achieve. He’d just barely managed to avoid the flames, but the vegetable cart that stood in the way wasn’t so lucky.

“My cabbages!” A male voice screeched as you sprinted by, but you didn’t care to spare a glance.

“Oops. Sorry!” The Avatar called back casually, like he wasn’t in the middle of a chase. Like you were some kind of game that he’d just so happened to fall into. Like you were some kind of fucking joke.

“Get back here!” You shouted, sending another volley of fireballs that the Avatar just managed to dodge. Around you, peasant villagers fled from the scene, terrified at the sight of fighting.

“Uh,” the Avatar twisted out of the way of a stream of fire, sliding off the wooden staff hooked over his back to throw a gush of powerful air to clash with your next assault. “No thanks.”

His muscular back flexed with the effort it took to hold you off, biceps bulging with the power of his swings. Spotting the large, inhumanly sized flying bison that the boy kept as a pet and used as transportation up ahead resting on one of the rooftops, you gritted your teeth. Two familiar heads poking up from over the leather saddle, both dark heads of hair, urged you to move that much faster. If the Avatar managed to reach them, he’d more than likely escape before you could capture him.

One of his weak companions noticed you and his jaw dropped open, eyes widening at the same time. His blue Water Tribe--wasn’t it a little too warm to be wearing something so fluffy and padded?--stood out amongst the dull brown buildings. “Jungkook, hurry! She’s right behind you!”

“Obviously.” The other, his voice much deeper and less fitting to his appearance, grunted. He was thin, but not as petite as the other and climbed his way to the front of the saddle, picking up the long reins tied to either end of the animal’s horns with his hands. “Appa, yip-yip!”

With a crack! the reins snapped and the gargantuan beast let out an answering howl that had you leaping upwards to kick a stream of flame, right into the Avatar’s path the moment he took to the air. At the last minute, with another swing of his staff, he sent your own fire careening back towards you. You barely even had to flick your wrist to disperse it, but it was already too late.

The Avatar flew through the air, hair whipping around his head and wind tearing at his clothes, to land safely inside the bison’s saddle. Out of your range, you had no other choice but to skid to a stop right in the middle of the steadily emptying street. You craned your head back just in time to see the Avatar lean over the side of the saddle. A blindingly white grin stretched his cheeks, doe eyes scrunching as he waved a hand.

“Nice try, but better luck next time!”

Your hands clenched into infuriated fists at your side.

Next time he wouldn’t be getting away.

#bts #jungkook #jungkook fic #bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsbookclub #magicshopnet #jimin #taehyung

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mahalkitajohnnysuh · 4 years

Text

MK (Part I)

As promised, here’s another Mark post to make up for that brief birthday piece that didn’t get to highlight him that much.

I’ll try my best to post a lot of Mark content since it’s his birthday month, so stay tuned.

Let the GIF below remind you of that. By the way, this is one of my favorite looks on him! Don’t you all agree?

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

–––

Summary: This piece was inspired by one of the prompts in @neoculturedrabbles list:

Prompt #20: “What did you do this time?”

POV: 2nd person since I wrote this late last year.

Word count: 749 words

–––

“Essie noonaaaaa!” It was the first thing you heard from Mark when he called you up late in the afternoon.

You just woke up from your nap and was about to start a relaxing day doing nothing, but the younger guy had to call you after drinking a glass of lukewarm lemon water.

“Yes, Mark? What can I do for you?” Your voice sounded hoarse, and you cleared your throat, so you sound better.

“I need your help, like, right now. Please. I really need you.” You sensed the fear in his voice, and you held onto your comforter tighter.

“What did you do this time?” Your voice could not hide the exasperation you felt at his call.

You should know by now that when he calls you with a whiny voice, he is up to no good.

“I forgot my wallet at home. I’m with Haechan, and you know how he is, he doesn’t bring a wallet when he’s with his hyungs,” you heard a sharp objection from his dongsaeng, “so can you please bring it here? You know how it looks like, right?”

You sighed, remembering his beat-up leather wallet that could’ve belonged to your uncle. “Yes, Mark. I know what your wallet looks like. Because I’m delivering it to wherever you and Donghyuck are eating, you have to treat me.”

It was his turn to sigh now but in defeat. “Okay, Essie noona. I got you. I’m really sorry I had to disturb you…”

“It’s fine, Mark. As long as you treat me to my fave cake and coffee, we’re good.”

The next thing you heard was Haechan laughing diabolically in the background before you hung up.

///

An hour after he called, you were on your way to the restaurant with his wallet. It felt heavy, and you wondered what it contained.

As you opened the door to the restaurant, you saw Haechan waving at you excitedly. You returned his wave in the same manner, making Mark sink deeper into his seat.

“Here you go, Mark Lee,” you said, handing his wallet before sitting down beside him. “Please don’t forget this every time you step out of the house, okay?”

He bowed in apology after getting the wallet, his face almost hitting the floor. “I’m really sorry, Essie noona,” he then looked at the guy across him, “but this one’s nagging me to hurry up a while ago, and I forgot to bring this in return!”

Haechan looked away, whistling a particular tune. You laughed at their interaction before you patted Mark on his shoulder.

“You should already expect that when you’re with him, okay?” You glanced at the blond boy, who gave you his trademark wink-and-hand-check pose.

Mark could only grumble in response, carefully fishing out bills out of his wallet.

///

After he paid for the meal he and Haechan ate, it was your turn to be treated.

You walked alongside the hyperactive boy, who you did a secret handshake with when he stood up from his seat. It took a minute and a lot of hype sounds (e.g., a lot of ‘hey’s’ and ‘get it’), making Mark embarrassed and amused at your thing.

“Hey, how come I don’t have like that with any of you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at both of you.

“’Cause you’re not cool enough?” Haechan replied in his usual sassy way, eliciting giggles out of you. “And you’re always out, dude. How can we have a special handshake when you’re not here?” You added, planting your hands on your hips.

Your housemate pouted, defeated again with your ‘teamwork.’ “Haechan and I have become close over the past few months too,” you said softly, glancing at the guy beside you who responded with a bashful smile.

“I’m sorry that I’m always out, you know I don’t have much control with my schedule,” Mark mumbled, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “But anyway, let’s have cake and coffee. My treat.”

You and Haechan exchanged your special high fives and screeched in delight. “Oh yeah! Mark’s treating us!”

“Guys, please. Stop doing that. It’s embarrassing,” your housemate whispered as he walked faster and farther from you.

Haechan, who was taller than you, hooked an arm around your shoulder and walked animatedly beside you. His energy was infectious, and you followed suit, later on singing a Queen song as you trailed the person who was going to treat you to dessert.

–––

FIN

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in-class-daydreams · 4 years

Text

:000 Offends me?? For wanting to read my writing??? Anon, I adore you, you’re so sweet and I appreciate you being considerate of me <3 Thank you for the sweet ask and just for you, I will post a snippet of the first draft of Neo!Blue Star that I’m trying out!

Love,

Admin Mango-Chan

(Reposting this bc tumblr hates me and refuses to let me format my posts dammit)

NEW! Blue Star Sneak Peek under the cut!

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Chapters: [In Progress]

Genres: Fluff, angst, sexual implications/content

Warnings: None in this snippet

Summary: After a physically and emotionally traumatizing fall during Nationals in your first year of high school, you’ve decided that you hate volleyball now. You transfer to Seijoh High and apparently you’re an anime protagonist, because even when you want to keep your head down, drama seeks you out. You meet an avid fanboy of yours, come across an old friend, and apparently your childhood crush is stupidly hot now, so finishing high school is looking to be a lot harder than you thought.

That morning, I noticed someone staring at me, but I figured I was just being paranoid. I felt eyes on me again on my way back to the classroom. New kids get stares, sure but this dude’s gaze was locked on me.

He was a bit on the taller side with glasses and a ash brown undercut. Even with the glare from his glasses, I felt the intensity of his stare. His stare cut across the hall from his place leaning by the window, surrounded by a couple other students I assumed were friends of his. Despite their presence, his sole attention was on me, and I felt him looking at me all the way up until I got back to class.

‘Well, that was super creepy,’ I thought, but I ignored the uneasy feeling and opened my notebook to start class again.

Not a whole lot happened that first week of school. I went to class, that weird guy stared at me during breaks, then I went home. People stayed away from me and I kept my distance from them. It was the perfect setup. I did as much homework as I had the energy to do, and on my worse days, Wakatoshi came over to hang out and help me through the rest of it.

Nothing interesting happened until the following Tuesday, after I’d stayed behind after school to talk to an advisor. That was when I ran into that creepy weirdo in the stairwell after school.

“Oh, it’s you! Hi!” He grabs my hand in both of his. I immediately yank it back, but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead of replying, I just stare at him. He takes a step forward, ending up even deeper in my precious personal space.

“I’m Itoi Justin! I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you!”

I lean back and eye him warily, getting a pretty good idea of where this conversation was headed.

“Uh, okay,” I say dumbly.

This Itoi is apparently perfectly content with having a one-sided conversation.

“I’ve been following your career since forever! I was so sad when you disappeared after your injury, and to think I’d meet you here of all places! It’s just-- I mean--!”

The guy is absolutely breathless in excitement, and it’s getting super uncomfortable.

“Look,” my nails scrape at the inside of my bracelet, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not her.”

I sidestep him to make for the exit, but he gets in front of me. Once again, he’s way too close.

“No!” He shakes his head so hard I’m worried his glasses are gonna fly off, “I’d know you anywhere! You’re her, you’re the Blue Star!”

Blue Star. Huh. I haven’t genuinely been called that in a long time.

“You used to be-- Hey, are you okay? I’m not gonna bite you, y’know.”

I glare up at him. He seems to shrink back a bit even though he’s almost a head taller than me.

“Well, I’m in an empty stairwell with some guy I don’t know who likes getting up in my personal space,” I poke a finger into his shoulder and he steps back willingly, “And he’s bringing up old shit that I moved here to avoid, so I can’t say I’m having a great time right now.”

Itoi visibly deflates. Even his glasses seem to slide down his nose a little bit in disappointment. He looks so sad that I feel kinda bad for being mean to him, even though I’m like this to everyone.

“Oh, I, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says quietly. He shifts in his spot like he wants to stay, but is having second thoughts.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, shoving my hands into the pocket of the hoodie I’m wearing under my uniform blazer. I brush past him, fully intending to make a hasty exit, but I can’t seem to get myself to leave. Cursing myself, I turn back around.

“Fine, Ichi--”

“Itoi.”

“--you come on a little strong, but I appreciate that you were my fan at some point.”

I take a labored seat on the stairs and try my best not to manspread in a skirt. Resting my elbows on my thighs I look back up at him.

‘Mm, he’s pretty cute,’ I think to myself.

It seems like all the life came back to him with that one sentence pseudo-apology. His eyes are shining with delight and he takes a seat next to me. He acknowledges my need for space, as he slides away from me to the other side of the stair.

“My father’s a journalist for the same publisher as Volleyball Monthly. He took me to one of your games for an article of his and I’ve been a fan ever since,” he tells me. “Even after my dad transferred to a different magazine, I kept following your career online.”

I make a face like I drank rotten milk, “Why?”

Itoi turns to me. For the first time, his face is missing the overwhelming excitement and it’s replaced by gentle, but passionate, admiration.

He grins, “I wondered that myself. I thought it was weird how interested I was in some random city girl’s volleyball career.”

“It is pretty weird,” I say.

The brunette huffs a laugh at my comment, “Maybe, but… I don’t know. It’s like when I saw you play, you weren’t just playing the game. It seemed like the game flowed through you. Your game came as naturally to you as breathing, and I could understand how you got your nickname. I never saw someone shine so bright.”

Even while my nails are nervously dragging against the engraving, I resist my desire to flee. Of course I’d been praised before, but never so openly and so, I guess, genuinely. My heart is stuttering in my chest in embarrassment, and I can’t seem to keep my voice stable.

“I-- Uh, thanks,” I grunt.

Itoi leans in further, “But I confess, I came to talk to you for a reason.”

“You came to murder me horribly.”

“Sadly, no.”

“Darn.”

The boy giggles. He looks forward and seems to stare off into space. “So, after I saw you and how electric you were playing volleyball, I tried to learn to play myself.”

“And how’d that go?”

“Terribly. I have the athletic skills of soft tofu.”

The corners of my mouth lift slightly.

“Once I realized I’d never be good at volleyball ever, I became a manager of the boys’ team in my first year. I’m better at the thinking and the analyzing, y’know?”

“We’re really playing into that glasses character stereotype, aren’t we?” I quip.

“You bet we are. The thing is, there’s a certain level of thinking to the game that requires experience on the court. I can’t provide that, but--” his intensity is back up and his eyes are boring into my soul, “You can.”

I pause, taking in everything he’s saying. The implication of what he’s asking washes over me like a hurricane.

“No.”

“Hear me out--!”

“No way!”

I stand up and stomp towards the exit.

“You need to join a club anyway!” He says desperately. Itoi gets up to follow me.

I reply without turning around, “I don’t care.”

“Don’t you want to be involved with volleyball again?” he asks.

My jaw clenches almost painfully. He takes me by the arm, and rather than slap him silly, I say nothing, and he continues.

“You used to love it. I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been going through, but I can’t imagine you want to abandon it completely,” he says desperately.

His tone makes my chest hurt for some reason. Right now, he’s annoying the crap out of me. He met me today. He’s only ever seen the me play volleyball at my tragically early prime, and he’s naive to think that using some lines an anime protagonist would say right before the final battle would magically fix every problem I’ve ever had since I ate shit in front of hundreds of people a year ago. I couldn’t tell you how I feel about abandoning volleyball but I do know that I feel like I want to vomit whenever I see a net.

I violently wrench my arm away and put space between us.

“You’re right,” I snap. “There’s no way you could understand what I’m going through. But don’t feel bad,” I hitch my bag up higher and throw a look backwards over my shoulder, “Not a single person does. Find yourself another manager.”

As I leave, I fully expect Itoi Justin to stop fanboying once and for all after finding out that the Blue Star is a bitchy, cynical person who can’t even play volleyball anymore anyway. I guess it was my fault for underestimating his blind faith in me.

“So?” he asks.

I stop in the doorway in surprise.

“What?”

He crosses his arms, making no move to come closer to me now that he has my attention. I could walk out the door right now, heaven knows I wanted to, but somehow that asshole knows I’m going anywhere.

“Of course no one understands how you feel. People may have seen you get injured or have heard of it, but in the end, you’re the one that got hurt. How’s anyone else supposed to know what you’re thinking? Bite and snap at me all you want, but it won’t make me feel your pain.”

He runs a hand through his hair, “I want you to be co-manager with me. I’m in my third year and I want the team to be taken care of after I graduate. I’m not asking you to play again or to give me an answer right now, just… Just consider my offer, okay? No one on the team knows who you are, if that makes you feel any better. And there’s one more thing...” he hesitates.

“Hurry up,” I say.

“The truth is, Seijoh has never gone to Nationals before,” he says slowly. “But you? You were projected MVP for a team almost certain to make it to at least the semi-finals!”

I give him a look, “And we both know that definitely didn’t happen.”

“I know, I know! I just-- They - the boys, I mean - have been working so hard and they’re so talented, (L/N). Please, you need to join a club anyway, and if you can’t do it to save your own soul or as a favor to me, can’t do it to help them? You remember wanting to go to Nationals, don’t you? Volleyball Monthy listed you as the number--” I cut him off.

“Holy shit, you talk so much it makes my head hurt!” Rubbing my forehead, I think about my first year in high school. He’s wrong about most things he said about me, but he’s right that, at one time, I wanted nothing more than to win Nationals. I remember wanting it so bad, by entire being would electrify just thinking about it.

Itoi waits patiently as I stare at the floor in careful deliberation. With a loud sigh, I look back up at him.

“Fine,” I snap.

“You’ll consider it?” he practically screeches.

“I’ll consider considering it,” I grumble and try once more to take my leave. He doesn’t stop me this time, but when I’m out of sight, I can hear his excited screaming echoing throughout the stairwell.

#haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader

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eremiss · 4 years

Text

Core

Mid 4.0 / Pre-Nadaam

The Nadaam was approaching somehow quickly and slowly at the same time. Each hour seemed to take a week, yet in the blink of an eye it was evening with only two days remaining until the motley crew of Scions, the Warrior of Light, the Doman Prince and his friend led the Mol tribe into battle against the other Steppe clans.

Somehow that wasn’t the most outlandish thing Gwen had ever done. Top 10, perhaps, but far from first.

For their part, the Mol seemed… anxiously optimistic about the whole thing, with extra emphasis on the ‘anxious’ part. For what it was worth, Cirina and Temulun seemed perfectly assured that the outsiders would lead them to victory.

Gwen and Alisaie took lunch slightly apart from the tribe, taking a moment to relax and breathe. Hien and Lyse were still off with Gosetsu, helping to train the Mol and make what improvements they could to their armor and weapons. They were all awaiting the Nadaam, but also word from Alphinaud, Tataru or the Resistance. Being so far out in the Steppe left them fairly cut off from most everything, and while that came with some advantages, the lack of ready communication was proving to be more than a minor annoyance.

Gwen and Alisaie conversed only lightly, and the latter did most of the talking. She talked about X’hrun and her training, about the Mol and what she thought they might be able to improve in what little time they had left, about Urianger, and about Alphinaud and his paranoia, which was exemplified in his insistence to use only scant, vague details in his letters in case they were intercepted. Gwen was content to listen, crunching quietly on an apple while her eyes wandered around Alisaie’s general vicinity.

It was difficult to find a balance between being aware of the goings on in Eorzea and not getting caught up worrying about them; between wondering what they’d find when they returned and fearing the worst.

Between being confident in Thancred’s abilities and worrying for his safety, wondering when --or worse, if-- she would hear from him, and the ever-looming temptation to take the absence of letters as a sign of tragedy or misfortune she was yet unaware of.

Is he even getting her letters? Rather, are they actually being delivered to him, wherever he’s gotten off to, or are the moogles dropping them all off at the Stones instead? She’d been assuming the former but, thinking about it, the latter would be easier and far more convenient for dozens of reasons. Safer, too, perhaps.

Do Imperials use post moogles? She never even thought about it.

“Well someone is lost in their head,” Alisaie's voice had the lilt of a joke. "You’ve started eating the core."

How far into Imperial territory would postmoogles go, anyway? They’re magical creatures, so perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult to flit about unseen, or use aetheric travel to cover distance quickly. But, seeing how Thancred’s usual assignments hinged on his ability to sneak around and go unnoticed, a visit from a potentially-conspicuous post moogle likely wouldn’t be appreciated.

Could that blow his cover? The thought made her stomach clench.

She quickly told herself it was a ridiculous idea, because it absolutely, certainly, definitely was, but it stuck around anyway, catching in the wrinkles and loose threads of worry and restlessness she hadn’t been able to tie up.

But what if...

Alright, now you’re just being a worrywart. Gwen scolded herself. Thancred can take care of himself, for one. And he’s got a million more important, more urgent things to do than reply to letters. Just like I do. She cast her gaze back towards the thick of the Mol camp, something like impatience stirring in her head.

Why was it that the more important and pressing an issue or task, the more it hinged on needing to ‘hurry up and wait’?

“…Gwen?”

It was a curious thing to be confident in someone’s abilities, to trust them and their capabilities, yet worry for their safety. Having both thoughts at once, confidence but doubt, sure yet still uncertain, didn’t feel quite so contradictory or backwards and upside-down as she’d expected it to. The two thoughts wouldn’t blend together or settle on some sort of middle point or compromise, but at the same time they weren’t wholly dissonant with one another. Odd. She should write about…

Did Alisaie say something about a core?

Gwen blinked, vision returning as she pulled her focus from her thoughts. She found Alisaie looking at her with an amused smile.

“Hm?” She mumbled eloquently through a mouthful of apple.

Alisaie replied with a teasing grin, “You were so lost in thought you started eating the core,” and gestured at the bare, half-eaten stump of apple core in Gwen’s hand. “I know you’re prone to getting lost in your head, but I didn’t realize how lost.”

Gwen’s mind blanked for a moment and she covered her pause with an awkward laugh, “I, ah… H-hey, I don’t get that lost in my head,” and she shot Alisaie with a sidelong look and matching pout.

Alisaie merely grinned wider, eyeing the half-eaten core meaningfully. “No?”

“No. I,” the seemingly innocuous phrase stuck to her tongue for a moment, weighed down by experiences she hadn’t thought of in years, “I’ve always eaten the core.”

Alisaie’s expression said she thought that was an excuse--and a poor one, at that.

Gwen made an effort to be utterly insouciant as she took another bite of the core. A difficult thing to manage under the pressure of an attentive, questioning gaze that made her momentarily forget how to not be incriminating or awkward.

Trying to chew in some sort of natural, unconcerned manner was equally difficult.

Seeing her so determinedly sticking to her story, Alisaie cocked her head to one side and called her bluff, tone just shy of skeptical, “Always.”

Gwen shrugged, not caring to try and remember. “Since I was a child.”

The younger mage frowns slightly, looking puzzled. “Why?”

Gwen didn’t say that was a strange thing to ask, nor did she admit, because sometimes it was all I had.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and it was food. Sure, the core was tough, but it was perfectly edible; and tasted fine, too, unless she managed to crunch down on a seed just right.

Not wasting precious and vital things like food, particularly over such minor gripes as texture, blemishes and taste, was one of the first lessons she’d learned when she’d been struggling to provide for her brother and father. It had become all the more vital after they’d died and she’d been left alone.

But, while simple, the truth was a dark, heavy thing that was fragile in some places and jagged in others. She’d gotten in the habit of keeping her past separate, somewhere else in her mind, but the walls that held it back were delicate. Things were already starting to leak out; she didn’t need to go inviting more.

“Just habit,” Gwen hedged, dodging around less-than-pleasant memories from her younger years that were suddenly drifting through her head like leaves on a breeze.

Alisaie made a thoughtful sound under her breath, puzzled frown growing a little deeper. The skepticism and all hints of teasing were gone, replaced with genuine curiosity. “How’d you pick that up?”

“Ah, you know,” Gwen shrugged, “trying not to be wasteful.” Not a lie, she knew better than to try, but not quite the truth either.

Alisaie opened her mouth and then paused, her expression morphing with something that looked like realization. She abandoned whatever she was going to say in favor of casting her gaze around herself in search of something.

Suddenly she reached out, her own discarded apple core clutched in her hand when it returned.

She stared at it contemplatively, brows drawing together and furrowing. “You were,” she said slowly, sounding a bit like she was thinking out loud, “on your own growing up, right?”

The look on her face reminded Gwen of someone who was trying to solve one of those brain-teaser puzzles, the ones made of metal or a few pieces of wood that were so easy to take apart but so very difficult to properly reassemble. She looked like she had all of the pieces and mostly understood what the final result should look like, but she was struggling to figure out how to properly fit them together.

Gwen nodded, wondering what she might be thinking.

“You learned botany,” Alisaie said in that same tone. “It must have made life a bit easier.”

Gwen didn’t recall saying it had been hard, though that was the truth. She should have figured that half truths would be enough for the younger red mage to start grasping the whole picture.

This was always the part where she would… leave off and withdraw. She didn’t need to say anything more, she could simply be silent and leave Alisaie with whatever conclusion she’d drawn. She was under no obligation to try and clarify or explain anything, or share more about herself than she already had.

It’s not the first time her friends have been curious --far from it, even-- and it wouldn’t be the first time she tiptoed around details and skirted the truth. She rarely volunteered much information about herself, and even when asked she tended to answer in halves and vagaries before nudging the conversation elsewhere. Everyone had things about themselves that they kept secret, including the Scions, and they all had their own ways of avoiding discussing them.

She wasn’t... doing it because she was embarrassed, really--though there was certainly a smidgen of that. Or maybe more than a smidgen. Even knowing other Scions, including Thancred, had their own less-than-auspicious beginnings didn’t fully erase her self-consciousness and unease about her own.

But more than that, she...liked the way her friends viewed her now, and she couldn’t help wondering how becoming aware of her past might affect that. Maybe it would impact their view of her, or how they acted. Maybe it would just be a fact to file away, and nothing else.

Gwen was sure nothing would change for the worst, at least, and that was a comfort. Her friends weren’t the sort of people that judged others based on upbringing or means, and it wasn’t like she was some sort of sordid criminal confessing to their past misdeeds or anything like that.

Still, it was like divulging a secret, which was always something of a nerve-wracking prospect. Telling them would --could, rather; might-- change something. Somehow.

But was that really such a bad thing? No. Everyone and everything changed all the time. Her friends wouldn’t think less of her for her past, nor whatever means she’d had to resort to or adopt in order to take care of herself. They would merely... know. That was all. Knowing wasn’t a bad thing.

They didn’t need to know, maybe, but it wasn’t about need. It was about trusting her friends, and being open and honest with them. And herself, in a way.

Gwen had recently been coming to the realization that she was not very much of either. Out loud, anyway. And she wanted to change that.

But right now?

She considered it, feeling the smooth peel and rough, stumpy stem of her apple core.

Now.

“Usually. Not always,” Gwen said mildly.

Alisaie’s look came apart a little, her expected solution coming undone when the pieces didn’t fit. Her brows furrowed as she began thinking again.

“The Twelveswood has seasons, just like everywhere else, and... Not much grows in winter,” Gwen went on with a shrug. “But even then, everything doesn’t always work out for the best. Things were just,” she hesitated, trying to find a word, “rough sometimes. And sometimes there was nothing that could be done about it except... dealing with it. I learned to made the best of what I had.”

She ate the last of her core. “A lot of it became habit.”

That all felt very ‘half’ still, even though she’d made an effort to actually try and at least give her the general picture. Not specific, maybe, but less vague. And it was also true, which was like being honest. It was enough to give clarity, at least, and let Alisaie see that she still had a few things misaligned.

Sure enough, a look of comprehension came over Alisaie’s face that was more gray and melancholic than Gwen had expected. Part is consideration, maybe trying to imagine going through such things herself, and part of it is the sort of look that said she might be feeling as though she should have been able to notice or figure all that out on her own, without having to have it laid out for her.

Gwen’s mouth twisted and she almost winced. This was part of the reason she didn’t enjoy talking about growing up. It always hit others harder than it hit her, as she had lived her whole life with it and they were only just finding out, and always brought down the mood much too far for much too long. She should say something to--

Alisaie exhaled sharply through her nose, her look of realization suddenly hardened into one of resolve.

She turned a determined glower on her apple core, staring hard and thinking harder. Then she gripped the core tight and bit the top off with one sharp motion.

Gwen blinked dumbly at her, watching her face scrunch with displeasure as she chewed.

“Wh...?” Gwen mumbled uselessly, bewildered.

Alisaie turned that sharp look on her, daring her to question the action and whatever resolve or realization it signified.

But she hadn’t been intending to eat it before, not until Gwen had explained...

Oh... Comprehension came together slowly, congealing into something warm and heavy that settled snugly in Gwen’s chest, faint amusement rippling after it. She softened and slouched, unsure of what to say or how to respond.

Eventually, when Alisaie appeared to almost be done chewing, Gwen motioned a bit listlessly at the core, “You’re, ah, supposed to eat it from the bottom up.”

Alisaie froze, eyes widening. She looked like Gwen had just told her she’d eaten something poisonous, one cheek bulging like a nutkin. It was almost comical.

But Gwen enjoyed living, so she kept her amusement to herself. She couldn’t keep a smile off her face, but she made it warm and friendly rather than amused. “It tastes better that way.”

Alisaie resumed chewing and scowling. “You could’ve said something sooner.”

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

Thanks to the bestest beta reader ever: @rhymingteelookatme :D *throws confetti*

I got the idea and ran with it and then it got kind of anime-y lol

Need moar Alisaie

#FFXIV #alisaie leveilleur #Stormblood #WoL & Alisaie #Gwen and Alisaie #Alisaie is best little sister #hmmmm wonder what was going on in her head hhMMMMmmmMMMM #little bit of silliness but also a little real #My writing #Guinevere Ashe

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iwantthedean · 5 years

Text

A New Fall

Graphic courtesy of @atc74.

Part Two: Paula Red. A charming combination of sweet and tart.

Summary: Y/N and Jensen meet and hit it off, until she finds out why he’s really there. Pairing: None … yet. Word Count: 1885 Warnings: Set post-Season 15, which I know makes a lot of people sad to think about. Square Filled: This entire series will fill my proposal square for BTZ Bingo.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read part one! The feedback was incredibly encouraging. I’m so excited to continue this series and share it with all of you!

Masterlist

An inservice day at the school kept you busy in the morning, but gave you the afternoon to be at home. You had done what you could as far as the farm without getting more information from Mr. Kemp, so you were going to enjoy just being in the orchard for the day. Maybe you’d even venture out to the pumpkin patch.

After you changed from your casual teacher attire to jeans, an old sweatshirt, and a pair of worn boots, you headed out the front door to retrieve something from your car before you forgot about it. A shiny sedan pulled up the gravel driveway and parked behind your car. For the moment, you forgot about whatever it was you had come to retrieve and shut the driver’s side door. You hurried the keys back into the house, then returned to the front porch in time to see a tall man coming out of the sedan. He slid his phone into his back pocket, then waved at you.

“Can I help you?”

He extended his hand in your direction. “I hope so. I’m Jensen Ackles.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you returned, shaking his hand. It was warm and oddly comforting, having your hand in his. “What can I help you with?”

He looked at the house, peering on other side before returning his attention to you and answering your question. “I just came to check the place out. I hear good things about it.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m the owner, so I can show you around. Are you ready?”

Jensen nodded and followed you back behind the house. With the orchard in view off in the distance, you talked about the acreage of the farm, the history of the place, then talked about the apples and pumpkins you sent to the market every year.

“They’re popular locally anyway,” you sighed. Then, you forced yourself to perk up -- whoever this guy was, he didn’t need to hear about your personal problems. “Are you new to the area?”

“How do you know I’m not from here?”

There was a teasing glint in his green eyes; you prayed that you weren’t blushing but the heat in your cheeks told you otherwise. “Because most people around here who dress in Carhartt jackets and boots like you are, drive trucks not rented cars.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed. “I haven’t moved here yet, but I’m considering it.”

You smiled. “Well, it’s a great area. C’mon, let’s head out back and I’ll show you around.”

The October air was cool and crisp, but the both of you were dressed for it -- and, actually, you were used to the cooler weather. You offered Jensen a ride in the farm truck out to the orchard and the pumpkin patch, but he assured you the walk would be nice.

“Did you grow up here?”

“I did,” you nodded. “After my great-grandfather bought the place, it was handed down to my grandfather, then my dad, and when he decided he wanted to move to the Midwest, he handed the reins over to me.”

“That’s really great,” Jensen commented. He blew on his hands for warmth, then put them in his pockets. “Ever thought about moving?”

Again, you pushed away thoughts of being forced to leave. “Never. I love it here -- especially this time of year, with the Fall colors and the smell of the apples. You’d think that living here I wouldn’t notice it anymore or enjoy it, but it just … it never gets old.”

You looked at him and smiled; Jensen returned the expression. The closer you got to the orchard, you noticed him taking deeper breaths.

“Smells pretty good, huh?”

He drew in another breath before answering you. “Yeah, it really does. Is it like this year-round?”

You shrugged. “Depends on what’s blooming or in season. We’ve got a few different types of apples, so that we have some available to sell most of the year -- but yeah, that apple scent is there most of the time.”

“Refreshing.”

You were glad he thought so. Maybe he’d come back more often to get the smell of the orchard. Or to see you. However it worked out.

Cool it, Y/N, you told yourself. You’ve got enough going on without adding a guy into the mix.

You knew you were right. Licking your lips and toning down the flirtatious smile, you cleared your throat.

“Have you ever picked your own apples?” you asked, reaching for a basket at the end of one of the rows of apple trees.

Jensen shook his head. “That I have not done.”

You handed him the basket and told him to follow you. “C’mon. We’ll change that right now.”

* * * * *

He watched her as she walked the row of trees, her eyes searching all of the apples on each branch, until she found the perfect one for them to pick from.

“You wanna start from the bottom, and pull from the tip of the branch. It’s okay to pull them a little under-ripe, so they store for longer. Just pull and twist.” She demonstrated the motion for him, dropping the plucked apple into the basket. “Sometimes they’re okay towards the top, too. Depends how fresh you want them. Go ahead, give it a try.”

While she retrieved another basket so she could pick some herself, Jensen gave picking a couple of apples a try. The smell of the freshly-picked apples was overwhelming, in a good way. After only a few minutes, he got into a groove, and the bottom of his basket was covered.

“Maybe I should slow down,” he chuckled, showing her the contents of his basket. “Am I doing okay? Yours look more ripe than mine do.”

He eyed between the two basket concerned that maybe he hadn’t been on quite the roll he thought. If he had picked this many apples that weren’t supposed to be picked yet, he was going to feel pretty crappy.

“Those are great,” Y/N returned. “I’m picking some that are more ripe because I want to use them today.”

“What are you making? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She shrugged. “Applesauce. Way better out of a crockpot than a jar, lemme tell ya. I figure I’ll make a good batch and jar some to send to the market.”

“Market?”

“The Farmer’s Stand. There’s a few farms besides mine that grow stuff because it’s been handed down over generations, not for a living. They sell our stuff and keep a small percentage. I’ve sent applesauce there before, apple butter, cookies -- a lot of different things. The locals love it.”

Jensen made a mental note of the name of the market. Maybe he’d stop there before heading back to the hotel later. Whatever it was about the way Y/N talked about the farm and the apples and the pumpkins and the baked goods, it made him want to try it all. More and more, this place was seeming to be a good investment opportunity.

He broke out of his thoughts to see her reaching for a particular apple on a higher branch. Jensen stepped up behind her and pulled the apple off the branch, just the way Y/N had shown him to do.

“Here you go.”

She turned a little so that she could look up him. Maybe it was their proximity, maybe it was the way that she smelled like apples and cinnamon and a hint of vanilla. Whatever the reason, he suddenly felt much warmer than he had when he arrived.

Y/N cleared her throat and sidestepped away from him. “I only need a few more, then I’ll take you out to the pumpkin patch.”

He waited patiently while she found the apples she needed, then they went back to the main house. They left the apple baskets behind the house. Y/N informed him that the pumpkin patch was further away, so they would take the old farm truck out there.

“Don’t bother with the buckle, it doesn’t work,” she laughed, pulling away from the garage. “So, tell me. What’s got a monster-hunter from Kansas out here on the East Coast?”

Jensen did a double-take. “A what?”

Y/N laughed again. “Okay, that was a lame line. I was trying to find a clever way to be honest about knowing who you are, but maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

Jensen smiled. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting it, is all. Thanks for being honest.”

He wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t honest at that point. He could have answered her question, but he was concerned that it would ruin the afternoon. The subject of his role of Dean Winchester was dropped, and they made pointless banter the rest of the way out to the pumpkin field.

* * * * *

When they made it back to the house, Jensen found himself a little disappointed that their time together was over. Sure, he could find an excuse to see her again -- and, truth be told, he probably would.

“I’ll get you a bag for the apples. Do you want one for the pumpkin, too?” she offered.

He shook his head as he slipped out of the truck. “No, just for the apples is fine.”

She smiled at him, and he felt warm all over again. They both retrieved their apple baskets -- each with a pumpkin added -- from the bed of the truck, and went around to the front of the house. She left him on the porch to retrieve a bag for him, so Jensen sat on the top step to wait for her.

Another sedan pulled into the driveway behind his, immediately causing Jensen to panic. He checked his watch; based on the time, he had a good idea who was going to be getting out of that car, and it was going to put an end to his pleasant afternoon.

The moment Bartholomew Kemp stepped out of his car, Y/N came out of the house, handing him a paper bag. She looked up at the sound of the car door shutting. With a frown, Y/N skipped down the steps to greet the visitor. Jensen set the bag and the basket to the side and hurried to join them.

“Mr. Kemp, what are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Y/N greeted, exchanging a polite handshake with the older man.

Bartholomew pointed to Jensen. “I was trying to get here first so you and I could discuss it beforehand, but I’m actually here to meet with this gentleman. Mr. Ackles, I presume?”

Jensen returned the other man’s handshake. “Please, call me Jensen.”

Bartholomew nodded. “Bartholomew Kemp. I take it Y/N already showed you around?”

Jensen chanced a glance at Y/N; rightfully, she was fuming. He could tell, even if she tried to mask her anger. “She did. It’s a great place.”

“That it is. Why don’t we take our own walk around, and we’ll talk numbers?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

Bartholomew made way toward the trees, almost the same trail Jensen and Y/N had taken earlier. Jensen turned to thank Y/N for showing him around, but she was already storming towards the house, stopping only once to send a death glare in his direction.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612@mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque@feelmyroarrrr @atc74 @theplaidshirtmadness @blacktithe7 @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian@smoothdogsgirl @melbrandes @xtina2191 @spnbaby-67@emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @gabriels-trix@applesugar88 @rainflowermoon @deansgirl215@thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @jerkbitchidjitassbutt

Jack Attack: @tiffanycaruso @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish

Two for the Money: @jayankles @akshi8278@jensensjaredsandmishaslover @supernatural-jackles@adoptdontshoppets

A New Fall: @marilynnlew @backseat-of-deans-67chevy@traceyaudette @ellen-reincarnated1967 @maddiepants @littlewhiterose @tftumblin @monkeymcpoopoo @pinknerdpanda @thatgirl1456 @deangirl7695

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axelsagewrites · 5 years

Text

Puck*Purple Piano Project

Ship(s): Noah Puckerman x reader

Request: Negative

Warnings: Not really. Anxiety maybe

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

I walked through the school, camera in hand and a pass around my neck. When I chose journalism as one of my subjects, I knew I'd have to take photos and interview people but that didn't stop my skin crawling when my teacher decided I and Aaron would be the ones covering the glee clubs 'purple piano' project.

Aaron was beyond uninterested. He was clearly just taking the class to fill a column and shoved the camera and notebook into my hands as soon as the bell rang. "So how do you wanna manage to workload?" I stuttered out.

"You do the photos, interviews, writing, and formatting. I'll put my name on it. Got it?" he said. I nodded quickly. He grunted in response and walked away to his hockey friends. I'm not scared of him...I just don't like confrontation...?

"Kill me," I muttered under my breath as I walked through the corridors. My teacher had given me a 'journalism pass' while glee was on so I could try to get some photos and interviews. He made the mistake of assuming I'd have help.

Biting my lip, I fidgeted with the camera from next to the door to glee. I could hear music and I didn't want to interrupt. When I heard the song finish, I took a breath before knocking. A few seconds passed when the door opened.

Mr. Shue looked a little confused, "(Y/N) if this is about Spanish I can't talk- "

"It's not about that," I cut him off. He looked surprised, "Oh sorry um," I grabbed my pass and held it up, "I'm supposed to do a story on the um purple piano thingy?" it sounded like a question.

It must've worked because he smiled, "Yeah of course," he let go of the door handle, letting the door open more. I glanced over to the room of confused teenager's id never spoken too before. "What do you need to know?" snapped my attention back.

My hands began flicking through the notebook, frantically trying to find the page, "I have a few questions about it if that's okay. And possibly an interview,"

"Perfect," he said before walking into the middle of the room, "Right guys looks like we're going to hit the papers. This is (Y/N) from journalism and they are going to do a story on the purple piano project. Told you this project would be exciting," I loved his enthusiasm, but the groans and eye rolls told me I was the only one, "They've got some questions and they need an interview. I'm assuming (Y/N) while want to interview a couple of you," He glanced at me and I nodded, my eyes darted back down to my notebook, "Maybe some photos as well?"

"If that's alright with everyone," I said, checks tinging pink.

"So," Mr. Shue clapped his hands, "Who volunteers to do an interview?"

You could hear a pin drop. Unfortunately, it only lasted a moment before Rachel stood up. "I'll do it. I'm sure you'll all be supportive since we all know that I have a way with words Afterall," Oh my god I'm going to die.

"Uh uh. I don't want Berry representing us," A cheerleader from the back yelled.

"So, are volunteering Santana?" Mr. Shue asked.

She folded her arms and sat down, "I never said that. Do you really want Berry speaking for us? We get slushied enough,"

"Hey!" Rachel spun on her heels to glare at Santana, "I'll have you know I have practised for interviews for years. I know what I'm doing," when she turned to look at me, I could feel hope drain from me. "I'll have to have a copy of your questions first and I've got some of my own if you need anyway,"

Santana scoffed, "At least Rachels enthusiastic," Mr. Shue said, "You need to be proud of glee or people won't listen to us,"

"They look terrified," someone chuckled. Okay, maybe I was but still, rude. My cheeks flushed and I glanced over to where it had come from. Puck. I knew who he was. He'd never spoken to me, I'd always walked the other way, but I heard stories.

Suddenly bickering started. Within seconds it was full-on yelling. Mr. Shue turned to give me a sorry glance. It didn't end till some boy stood up and almost shouted, "Fine, I'll do it!" the room went quiet. he turned to Santana, "Happy?"

She glanced between the boy and Rachel, "I don't like it but its better,"

Rachel pouted. The boy sighed and turned to her, "You do so much for us that you deserve a break Rachel,"

She pursed her lips before rolling her eyes, "True," she sat back down, "Finn can do the interview,"

Mr. Shue sighed and turned to me, "Sorry about that," I just nodded, "You guys all take a break and calm down I'll go into the hallway and answer some of (Y/N)'s questions. Okay?" A few grumbles were heard before they all grabbed their phones. He rolled his eyes and led me into the hallway.

He shut the door and turned to me, "Sorry about that. Finn's a good guy. I'm sure your interview will go fine. So, what do you need to know?"

"Just a few basic questions," my hands were clutching my notebook. I began scribbling down his answers so I could write up the background information. "That was the last question," I said, celebrating in my head.

"Alright. If you need to know anything else just come ask," He said. I nodded as I stuffed my notebook into my bag, "Are you going to be okay (Y/N)?" Mr. Shue looked genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit nervous, I guess. They can be...intimidating,"

"I'm sure your interview will go fine. I'll ask Finn about time and tell you in Spanish. That way you can go calm down." Mr. Shue said. I nodded along, "Finn's nice, I promise,"

Finn might be nice but that didn't help. When Mr. Shue told me the only time Finn could meet was Thursday lunchtime in the library I almost jumped out a window. I had to do an interview and I had to lose some lunchtime? Uh.

I figured things couldn't get much worse. I was wrong.

Coming to the library a little early, I began setting things up. I had my question sheet and had brought my phone to record. When I'd been questioning Mr. Shue I realised my hand definitely couldn't keep up.

As I was straightening everything up someone flung themselves down onto the chair next to me, "So this is what a library looks likes?" I felt like I was about to fall through my chair. That wasn't Finn. "Do you come here often?"

I looked up at Puck and froze for a second. He rose an eyebrow, "Um sometimes," I snapped out of my shock, "Wh-wheres Finn?"

"Sick," he rolled his eyes, "he called around to ask someone to fill in so here I am. Now let's hurry up. I don't want people thinking I want to be in this place,"

"Is it alright if I record this so I can take notes later?" I force out.

"Is my voice just that irresistible?" Puck leaned onto the table, eyes burrowing into me.

"No, it's just it helps get better notes and any quotes," my eyes fell to my notebook as I mentally kicked myself. "I won't post the recordings or anything,"

I looked up as he sat back "Sure I guess,"

"Okay so first question..." I only had a few questions for him, but Puck had a magical way of making everything take forever. Somehow, he found a dirty joke in everything or I had to try to pull an answer out of him. "Why is glee so important for you personally?"

"I get out of class,"

I hold back an eye-roll, "We all know you'd just skip so why glee?"

Puck sighed and leaned back in his chair, "I don't know. Chicks dig it?" I groan and just sit my notebook down. "Look I don't know," Puck said, "I just like it I guess,"

"Is it music? The performance?"

"Everything. I always liked the music. Music lets people be a lot more honest without being judged," Puck shifted in his seat a little.

"Do you think people are judging you?"

"Well yeah," he scoffed, "Look at me. Teachers think I'm a slacker, people here all think I'll shove them in a locker, my mum thinks I'll be in jail by 20. Everyone judges you. You could sing your heart out in a song and no one cares because they assume it's an act,"

His words shocked me into silence. Puck stared at the desk for a few seconds before looking up, "Wow um I- "

"Like I said, chicks dig guitar." Puck slumped back into his chair, "How many more questions?"

"That's it," I said, pausing my voice recording. "Actually, just wondering what name I should put down?" He rose an eyebrow, "Puck's surely not your real name. is it?"

"Kinda. Its Noah Puckerman," Puck stood up and grabbed his stuff, "Wait are you going to put all of that in?"

"Um, some of it. I'll quote some stuff and clean it up a bit. If that's alright?"

"Yeah, whatever. Later, loser," He stood up.

"For what it's worth," I start which causes Puck to wait, "I don't judge you,"

"Yeah right," Puck rolls his eyes.

Maybe it was a bit of a fib, "I mean you sat hear and answered all my questions. You can't be all bad,"

"You'd be surprised what I can be," Puck put his bag over his shoulder and rushed out the library. Every person he walked past jumped out the way.

All I had to do now was get some photos. I'd seen the purple pianos around the school, so I had some pics of empty pianos. I was trying to get a better shot of one of them sitting in the hall, but I was amongst a crowd of people. The crowd seemed to vanish all at once and I glanced over my shoulder and almost jumped out my skin, "Noah," I said, eyes wide. He'd been standing right behind me which convinced everyone to move.

His eyes scrunched for a second then something seemed to click, "Why'd you call me that?"

"It's your name?"

"Everyone just calls me Puck," he shoved his hands in his pockets.

I felt my skin starting to burn, "I'm just used to using first names. I'll use Puck if you prefer," Before the library Noah made me feel scared now it was more like a nervous feeling. I just really didn't want to mess up. Especially after his last answer that was way deeper than I expected I didn't want him to think I was judging him. I guess I kind of had...

"It's um fine I guess," He said, "Look um Rachel's organised some song thing for this piano thing. If you still need pictures you can come and um get them,"

"Yeah that'd be great," I smiled. Honestly, the way my teacher droned on and on about photography and journalism was beginning to worry me but if I got a shot of a performance I wouldn't have to worry.

"Cool um gives me your number and ill text you when and where," The way he grinned made me a bit nervous. He rolled his eyes "I'm not going to do anything with your number," My face went red as I pulled out my phone because does anyone actually know their own number. The looks people gave us didn't help. "I'll text you. Later (Y/N),"

Seemingly true to his word he didn't do anything to me. No prank calls, no extra telemarketers, no weird texts. Just a time and location.

I was a little late as I walked into the auditorium, but I quickly realised the song. They were performing 'You Can't Stop the Beat' in bright purple clothes. They were just going into the chorus when I grabbed my camera.

Since there was no one else there I was able to get a shot from almost every angle. As I was snapping pics, I realised I couldn't see Puck. I felt...disappointed? I'd decided to try to get a closer shot so climbed up onto the side of the stage, making sure to stand back. I was lining up a shot when I happened to glance at the band.

Puck was playing the guitar at the back of the stage. You could barely even see his face. I quickly snapped a couple shots. When I saw his head turn, I darted off the stage. The song just finished, and I got the last couple shots.

They all seemed to be out of breath, fair enough, and Rachel started clapping, "We did its guys," Santana rolled her eyes and everyone else ignored her.

Finn jumped off the stage and walked up to me as I was looking at the photos. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the library. Was Puck alright? Did you get all your questions?"

"Yeah, it went great. I was typing it up last night. I think it's gonna be good," I said truthfully. I wasn't too confident normally, but I was proud of my work. Now I had the photos. "I should probably thank Rachel,"

"What for?" Finn asked.

"Puck told me she said I could come to take photos of this," I said. Maybe she hadn't mentioned it?

"Uh, Rachel never said that," My face scrunched up, "Not that you're not allowed too," Finn said quickly "You are but Rachel never invited you,"

"Oh, I um just assumed," I said.

Before I could say anything, else someone ran over, "Oh photos. can I see?" It was a lanky pale boy I think is called Kyle or Karl or something.

"Yeah sure," I brought up some photos and a mini crowd formed as they all tried to spot themselves.

Luckily the crowd started to die down, "You know you got some really good shots," Rachel said, "I can't wait for the article. You've got so many good pictures I can't wait to see which one you chose,"

I didn't know what to say so just smiled awkwardly. Rachel wandered away with Finn and thankfully it was over. The room was basically empty apart from the band packing the stuff up.

Puck had his guitar in a case and walked over to me, "Your pictures work out?"

"Yeah um they did. Thanks for telling me," I said.

"Well, I figured Rachel and you know would um like them," Since when did Puck trip over his words? "Text me when your articles out,"

"Of course," I smiled. He gave a quick, but still awkward, smile, before walking away, muttering under his breath.

I was able to finish my article over the weekend and brought it in ready for Monday. Puck hadn't texted me. I didn't expect him too but as I went to text him that I was handing it in I couldn't help feeling a little bad. As I walked into the school, I passed him though. I wasn't a 'smile at people I kinda know to say hello' person but as I passed Puck, I mentally prepared myself and smiled. He smiled back quickly before going back to his friends who hadn't noticed.

There was a faint smile on my lips as I walked into journalism. It quickly vanished when Aaron walked up to me. "You finish?"

"Yeah um I- "

"Give it," He rolled his eyes. My hands quickly rummaged through my bag and every second felt like an eternity. As soon as I pulled it out, he grabbed it out of my hands. I cringed as I saw the paper crease. He grunted something before walking up to the teacher's desk and dumping it down like it was nothing. I took my seat and sulked for the rest of class.

The day didn't get better but at least it didn't get worse. My friends let me rant about Aaron during lunch so that was good. Towards the end of lunch, my friends all had to head off to a class early since their teacher was anal about timeliness.

I went to my locker to get some stuff to study for my next period which thankfully was a free. I'd just opened my locker door when it was slammed shut. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I-uh- "

"You didn't put my name on it!" He was holding a copy of the article id written. I was basically cornered against my locker as he held the paper up in my face "You had one job and you could even do that right,"

"It's not my fault," I said meekly, instantly regretting it.

"Oh yeah?" He said, moving back a bit, "Well this is mine," When I saw the slushie in his other hand I screwed my eyes shut. I hadn't been slushied before, more unnoticeable than unlikeable, and expected the cold to wash over me.

"Hey!" Was followed by a thud and feet scuffing the floor. I opened my eyes to see Puck pushing Aaron into the locker beside me, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Back off singer boy," Aaron spat.

Puck grabbed his collar and lifted him up against the locker, "What did you call me? Huh?" Aaron went white. Puck let him go and shoved him again, "I asked you a question!"

"Noah calm down!" I tried to keep my voice low as a crowd started to form.

"No, I wanna know what he called me," Puck glared daggers into him. Now I don't like Aaron, but I also enjoy not having a school record.

"I-I didn't say, anything, man," Aaron said.

"Noah please," I walked right up behind him, "Walk away,"

Puck glared at him before turning around to storm away. I didn't know whether to follow. Then Aaron turned to his friends, "Look at him walk away,"

"What did you just say?" Puck was back.

"Noah!" My voice was sharp. I grabbed his arm and tried to drag him away. There was no way I could force him to do anything, but he let me lead him away.

I kept walking, leading him, till there was no crowd. I pulled him into the empty glee room. "What the hell were you doing?!" I asked.

"He was going to slushy you," Puck said as if I asked why he didn't kick a puppy, "What did you want me to do?"

"Not start a fight and make this worse? Embarrass me?" I almost yelled. I steadied my breathing, "Why do you think people judge you when you always jump at people at any second?" I said before thinking.

His face fell but was replaced by anger, "That isn't fair. I was defending you,"

"You scare me!" My eyes were getting watering and my heart was beating, "Puck you used to terrify me. I would walk the other way encase you decided to throw me or my friends in a bin,"

"I'm not like that- "He tried to say.

"You did it to that boy in glee every day. He was known as bin boy for crying out loud. If you keep getting into fights out in the real world, you'll end up in jail- "

"That isn't fair!" He yelled. I wasn't frightened. My breathing was ragged, and I wanted to cry but I wasn't scared of him. "You don't get it," Puck's voice was almost a whisper. "It doesn't matter what I do people assume the worst. Everyone thinks I'll turn out like my dad. I want to make something of myself, but people won't let me,"

"Because you prove them right," I snap, "Every fight, every insult, every detention, you prove them right. People who make someone of themselves do it because they work despite the judgement not because of it. Think about what you want not what they think,"

"So, I was supposed to let him slushy you?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Because you didn't deserve it. Because I like you!" Pucks neck was going red and he began pacing, "Because your nice and you work hard and you don't get angry and you don't judge me and you-you," His breathing was getting faster.

"Noah!" I say. He pauses, "You need to calm down."

"How am I supposed to calm down? He was about to slushy you?"

"Noah every time you act out, they win," I walk up to him, he doesn't move, "It's your turn to win. Calm down, do your homework, make something of yourself. Where do you think he's gonna be in 5 years? Probably working a minimum wage job with three kids figuring out all the ways to avoid child support. If you don't want to turn out like your dad you need to work for it," I said, "You gotta start somewhere,"

"I don't know-how," He walks over to the nearest chair and drops onto it.

Sighing, I walk over and sit next to him, "Breath. Noah, you need to breathe," He doesn't look up. I place a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up, "Every time you get mad take a breather. Take a breather then decide. I know you were trying to do something good, but you need to take a second when this happens,"

"What if I make the wrong decision though? What then?"

"Try again," I said. "No one's perfect. Not every choice is a bad one,"

"Yeah well, I don't exactly have a great track record for doing the right thing,"

"And I don't have a great track record for doing the brave thing," I said, "I play everything safe. I'd never be able to stand up for myself let alone someone else. You wouldn't have stood up for me if you didn't care, you wouldn't have taken Finn's place if you weren't a good friend. Face its Puck, you have a heart,"

He rolls his eyes, "Prove it," I crack a smile at his words.

"Well I mean you did kinda say you like me," I mumbled, taking my hand off his shoulder.

"I did didn't I," He sighed, "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Defiantly not scared,"

"I'm not scared," I cut in. Noah rolls his eyes, "Maybe of Puck but not Noah. Noah's nice,"

Noah turns to face me, "I mean what I said. I don't typically ask it like this but (Y/N) will you go on a date with me?"

"With Noah? Definitely."

#glee imagine #glee #glee ships #puck glee #glee puck #noah puckerman #puck #noah puckerman imagine #puckerman imagine #glee puckerman #noah puckerman x reader

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suicidalcatz · 5 years

Text

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 7

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5 ; Chap 6

Masterlist : here

AN : You’re so gonna hate me for the ending. And the twins are Taurus just like me so I based some of their personality traits after some knowledge I have of our zodiac sign... I’m writing part 10 atm ! Please feel free to message me or tell me what you thought of this part! I can’t say it enough, thanks for the love and support ! Each week I’m more excited to post the new chapter.

Chapitre 7 : Won't you come over ?

Replying to Jake's texts after what had happened felt wrong, but I couldn't leave him on read. Our relationship was great so far and I couldn't sabotage it for a misunderstanding with Josh. What I could do, on the other hand, was talking to Josh. So I started testing the waters when I met Jake in front of the school the next morning. It was the last day we were giving out flyers. The festival was coming soon and then we were all on Christmas holidays so we had to give as much as we could today. It was exhausting but every minute spent with the brunette was worth of everything else.

- Just ask.

We were both quiet before he spoke out of the blue, leaving me confused. Did I think out loud ?

- I can see there's something bothering you, he said without looking at me. Shoot.

With a defeated sigh, I let myself slouch, taking a break from our activity. Jake did the same, sitting on a step and gesturing for me to join him. Not many people wandered outside at this time of the year, and the stone was so cold under my butt I felt a shiver run down my spine. A few more minutes sitting there and it'll get anesthetized. Jake must've caught it because he gently rubbed my back in a vain attempt to keep me warm. I couldn't feel it through all the layers of clothing I had on my back but it felt good nonetheless. His caring attitude always succeeded in making me feel better.

- Have you heard anything from Josh ?, I asked tentatively.

The boy next to me raised his eyebrows in a knowing way before interrupting his back rubs, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and politely offering me one. He lit his own when I declined his offer, and took his time blowing the smoke in the air before answering me.

- Not after his lunch extravaganza from yesterday.

The choice of words made me wince a bit. He didn't sound as patient as he had been the day before.

- I don't know what got into him, admitted Jake while admiring the park before us. He wouldn't talk to me when I got in our room after school, so we just kept silent. He can be very stubborn and never explains what upsets him, expecting you to guess. I tend to be the same, so I know it'll pass. Don't you worry about it.

Even if Jake's advice was to let it be, it bothered me too much to just wait for things to become less awkward again. Was it really siblings' rivalry ? I couldn't tell. And as much as I understood and respected Josh's choice of not wanting to adress the issue, it wouldn't solve anything at all. I couldn't possibly just sit here and wait for him to come talk to us. What if he did that with every little things we did that upset him ? We had to talk it out.

It was now my time to admire the scenery in front of us. The peacefulness of it calmed me a bit. When all the students were already lining in front of their classrooms, the quiet melody of the wind brushing the trees' leaves accompanying Jake's soft inhaling sounds put me at ease. The singular smell of tobacco didn't threw me off, in fact it mixed weirdly well with Jake's perfume. There was something very him in that mix. Tobacco, shampoo, incense, and something that I could only describe as his scent. Something I'd love to make a scented candle of. Sometimes, after spending entire hours together, I could smell it on my coat, or hair, and at times like these I'd smile to myself thinking how it'd be nice to sleep on his shirt, to bath on his scent.

- Mama are you listening ?

- I'm sorry, what ?

Daydreaming of him when he was just a few inches near made me embarrassed enough for my cheeks to turn pink and my voice to crack a little. As someone who tended to be lost in his thoughts a good portion of the time he didn't take offense in it and got on his feet, repeating the part I missed.

- I said you must be real popular because half of the flyers were taken by the Illustration Department.

Always the polite one, Jake offered his hand to help me get up and I took it this time, enjoying the light squeeze of his fingers under mine as he got me on my feet.

- Not really. But I manage to get along with everybody, curiously so.

- I don't think that is.

The brunette spoke seriously, stuffing his cold hands in his pockets as he lead the way to the nearest entrance. Can't say I was a fan of cryptic messages but I couldn't bring myself to ask him for precisions either. Truth to be told, deep down I understood the subtle praise but acknowledging it would mean falling for him even deeper than I had already. And it scared me.

Nobody came to what Mandy had baptised The Lunch Club today. And it wasn't because of the overly obvious movie reference but simply because the four of us weren't comfortable enough to eat or even hang out together given the current situation. Josh would probably skip it because he was still upset, and getting together without him just didn't feel right. Of all things it would just prove Josh's point, if I had understood it correctly. And I would lie if I said that eating in the dorms wasn't convenient. It had a lot of advantages. First of all, the heater. Comfort. And actual warm food.

Mandy came back from the workshop just as I was making pasta, already exhausted and looking like she didn't have a proper night of sleep in days.

- Are you alright ?

- I'm so tired you have no idea, I worked all week-end to finish a stupid dress.

Poor girl, she couldn't feel her fingertips and her hands were covered in band aids. She sinked into a chair and I patted her on the back to try and bring her a little bit of comfort while she explained everything that I missed over lunch, keeping me updated. We didn't have much time to talk these last few days since we were so busy working on our assignments, and also because I went home for the week end.

- By the way, she said with a mouthful of pasta, How's Jake ?

The death glare I gave her only made her grin grow wider as she set her plate aside. To be fair maybe I owed her an explanation because she got caught in that extremely awkward Kiszka situation last time and she doesn't even know anything about it. Well, she did know a bit of it but we didn't have time to properly gossip yet.

- Well... We text sometimes and he's... I don't even know how to put it into words dude, he's dreamy.

Mandy motionned for me to give her my phone so she could look at our texts and I did. There wasn't anything private in here anyway, just friends chatting. Sometimes getting cocky. Studying her face and biting my lip, I saw her blinking a few times, opening her mouth in false shock, or whistling.

- Oh my, you guys get along, don't you ?

I shook my head in disbelief.

- We do. But there's nothing that interesting-

- Not yet, she cut me with a raised finger. But I can tell you're going there, just be patient. Or maybe be more daring, you know ? Test the waters.

Of course I took note of that. Mandy didn't seem like it but she was of very good advice (most of the time). And she had way more luck with boys that I did. Hell, she even had luck with girls. Being more daring, noted. Jake himself, without being flirty, liked to tease and wasn't afraid to sound over-confident, so being bold wouldn't do me any harm, I guess. I'll show him that two could play this game. But right now, my mind was set on something else.

- Do you know where I can find Josh ? I'd like to talk to him.

Pausing, Mandy squinted her eyes, thinking hard. Every hint was good to take, the school wasn't as big as most campuses, but there was enough students to form a small town.

- Try asking Jake ? He must know, she shrugged. Last time I met him was this saturday night, he was carrying snacks and wandering around the school in his Pjs. Man he must love those cheese balls.

Although the last sentence was more rhetorical than directed to me, it made a lightbulb lit up in my brain. Without any explanation, I put my plate in the sink, excused myself, grabed a coat, my sketchbook, and stormed out of the dorms. Saying that I was running to my destination was a bit of an overstatement, but walking very fast was an accurate description. My coat was halfway wore and hung loosely around my shoulders, allowing the cold air to caress my neck and make my skin tingle. My hair must've looked like a mess because I had tied it while cooking, and don't even get me started on my panting, lungs frozen and cold sweat running down my spine because I hurried like someone was after me. By the time I got to the vending machine near the cafeteria, there wasn't anything I wanted more than to nap right here right now. But at least, I caught Josh on time.

- We need to talk.

Was it the heavy breathing or the way my back fell completely against the candy dispenser, I didn't know, but the boy jumped, letting go of his change in the process.

- Fuck you scared me ! What the hell are you doing, surprising people like that ?

- Trying to chat with my friend.

I kept my eyes on Josh as he knelt to get his money, studying his back tense and his movements stop. The boy let out an audible sigh before raising his head to me, searching for something into my eyes, probably sincerity. He couldn't hold my gaze more than mere seconds before focusing on his candy again, and a wave of panic started hurtling my body, setting in my stomach, tying it in knots.

- I'm sorry.

It wasn't me speaking, it was Josh. The boy nervously scratched his neck, refusing to look at me.

- I shouldn't have snapped at you, it wasn't fair. It's not about siblings rivalry or anything, you know ?, he murmured while idly twiddling his bag of chips. I guess I was feeling a bit left out, got a little jealous...

His voice was barely audible now, and seeing him looking vulnerable and ashamed to admit the truth had my heart tighten.

- I can't ask of you to tell me when you text my brother, I don't have any right to do that, it's just... It was stupid, I...

- Josh, I interrupted. It's okay. I'm sorry too. We should've included you or tell you. It wasn't fair of us, and I don't want you to feel left out.

My hand found its way on his shoulder, and I felt him relax a little under the comforting touch. Maybe he knew I was being honest, because he gave a small nod and a bashful smile, a look I didn't know I'd see on his face one day. It gave me the courage to keep up my momentum.

- You know what ? Why don't you drop by our dorm after school ? We'll chat and have a drink. Just the three of us.

Mandy wasn't bothered at all my our improvised get together, on the contrary. She loved the guy, in a friendly way. We both did. When I texted her this afternoon in the workshop she got so excited she said she'll buy some beer when she got out of her lecture. Josh and I had exchanged numbers too, so all misunderstanding was clarified now, and receiving both of their overly enthusiastic texts got me in the mood too. By the time the teacher said we could pack up, I was already at the door, jumping out of my shoes and tidying the room as much as I could before Josh's visit. He needed the key to enter our building, so Mandy picked him up while I was putting some music, and both were already very loud by the time I heard them climb the stairs, laughing and exchanging jokes while carrying huge bags of booze.

- Do you know it's an honor for you to get invited to our lair ?, said Mandy as she put the beers in the fridge. You're actually the first person we ask to come over.

- Are you serious ?!, Josh inquired, pretending to be shocked. Ladies, it's an immeasurable pleasure to be your first. I'll be worthy of it, I'll behave, and you'll be so amazed by my charming self that you'll keep asking for more afterwards.

The dirty joke made us snort real loud, and even made my cheeks color, as I yelled his name, outraged by his unabashed and salacious humor, looking very proud of himself. It was something Mandy and I often used to question a few weeks ago, his flirty behaviour. And whereas we thought he was a womanizer at first, it turned out that it was just his usual self. Josh was over confident, much to handle, loud, energetic, witty, kinky, and all over the place, but damn was he right. The boy was a delight to be around. We went from cracking jokes, to confessing shameful sexual anecdotes, to having passionate conversations about the meaning of life, all the while drinking, and it was amazing and fascinating. The more time passed, the more I was sure we were gonna be long time friends, and it filled me with an indescriptible sense of bliss.

- If you’ll excuse me ladies, I have to go to the bathroom, could any of you show me the way ?

Mandy got up to accompany him to the hallway where the public toilets were, and I took the opportunity to clean the mess we made on the kitchen, putting beer cans in a plastic bag and carrying it outside, with the rest of the dorms' trash. Living in the dorms wasn't exactly what you'd call quiet, since everybody invited everybody to stay for the night, have a movie, sex, or booze. What was great, on the other hand, was all the freedom we had. We were all 18 or above, so the school let us be, not being bothered by boys and girls mixing, or what we did in here, only sending a supervisor once in a while to check for any drugs or broken stuff. In times like these... we all were in trouble. Like a shitload of trouble. It happened a few times, of course, but most of it we behaved, only throwing some parties once in a while.

I put the trash in front of the building, then got back inside, gradually hearing their loud voices giggling maniacally the more stairs I climbed. They probably had way more drinks than necessary and didn't even bother closing the door to our room, voices so heavy I could hear them clearly one floor below.

- Come on, you're telling me you girls are single ? Can't believe it.

- Do you really think we have time ?, replied Mandy incredulously. Besides, she's more into long-haired, most-of-the-time-disconnected-from-reality brunettes.

Okay. This wasn't smelling good. I had a really bad feeling about this conversation. I didn't want to believe it, but deep down I just knew where this was going. Adrenaline rushed through me when I heard Josh's confused voice so out of it he didn't understand why Mandy was being so precise, and it was even worse when I couldn't hear them at all. My shaky legs ran, leading up the stairs, nearly tripping over at the last step and turning right to enter the dorm, not even taking the time to close the already ajar door behind me. They weren't in the kitchen. Why weren't they in the kitchen ? I heard noises and a low admirative whistle in the other room, where our shared bedroom was. Oh no, no no no no no no.

- Mama you've got some real talent, said Josh while glaring at something.

Lump in my throat, I took a step forward to see what he was intently staring at, only to discover a huge painted canvas of Jake's face. My heart skipped a beat, my eyes went wide. Mouth agape, I could feel all the color leaving my face, only able to stay frozen in place, watching our guest trace the outlines of his brother's long hair on the canvas with his fingers, admiring every bump of paint, every detail of the portrait I made. Never have I been so ashamed in this moment. All I wanted was to disappear, to go far, far away. There was no way he couldn't recognize his own twin. My brain, in a last attempt to save my dignity, did the only logical think it could think of at the moment. Lie.

- Why, thank you sir, it was a lot of work. Wasn't too pleased about forgetting all my magazine pictures at home, I had to use what was left. Unfortunately, a selfie of Jake. We should avoid telling him, by the way, he'll get too cocky.

It physically hurt, lying like that. First because I was keeping this secret from Josh, and second because it wasn't true. Jake would never be my last choice, ever. And speaking foolishly about him even if he wasn't here made me feel bad. It was bullshit. It wasn't a lot of work, and I didn't have a picture to look at. All of this, I painted it using my memory, only closing my eyes and remembering the glimpses I captured of him, relishing the memories... But even if it felt wrong to lie, I just couldn't tell him the truth. It was fucking creepy, he'd probably freak out or worse, tell Jake about it. Mandy must've realized her mistake because she went very silent and didn't dare contradict me when I gave Josh that false explanation. With a bit of luck, Josh won't even remember it tomorrow.

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kizka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #jake kiszka #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 9

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 6,538 for this chapter (41,509 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan wakes up alone. He's stretched out on Phil's sheets, mostly on his stomach, and he buries his face in a pillow to hide from the afternoon sunlight streaming through Phil's small windows. He listens carefully, but he can't hear Phil shuffling around the room or anything.

He's not overly worried, really. This is Phil's place. It would be next level weird for him to cut and run.

Sure enough, when Dan blinks away the spots in his vision and looks around the flat, he sees a sticky note on Phil's headboard. Had to go to work! Won't say your name on the radio lol, it says, and Dan feels a surge of fondness and embarrassment.

He rolls onto his back and rubs at his face, trying to wipe the stupid grin off even though nobody's here to see it. He grins wider when he remembers that someone else is here, actually.

"Thor," he calls out, not bothering to sit up. "C'mere, buddy!"

The jangling of Thor's collar and the rapid taps of his claws on the hardwood floor let him know that the dog is approaching.

Dan looks over and sees Thor sitting at the side of the bed, head cocked and ears perked. He might actually start to cry; he is obsessed with this dog.

"Hey there," he coos, patting the bed next to him in invitation. Thor just keeps looking at him. If Dan were to assign a human emotion to Thor's vibe right now, he'd say the dog looked dubious. "C'mon up, little guy, I won't bite."

Thor jumps up with his stumpy legs and Dan laughs delightedly at the height he can manage when he's got a running start. He snuffles into Dan's borrowed shirt and gives him a bunch of sloppy kisses.

Truly, there is no better way to wake up. Dan is in heaven right now.

He gives Thor a bunch of pats and coos nonsense at him for a little while. He's not really in a hurry to go anywhere. In fact, he wouldn't get out of bed at all if it weren't for his bladder starting to get angry with him. Dan sighs and gives Thor a kiss on his tiny forehead.

"I gotta get up," he laments. He blinks at Thor.

Thor blinks back.

"You need to get up, too," he informs the dog very solemnly.

Thor puts his front paws down like he's getting ready to play and lolls his tongue out, smiling at Dan.

Dan clutches at his chest dramatically and fumbles around for his phone. He needs to capture this moment. He notices that he's got missed texts, missed calls, but he shoves the spike of anxiety to the side in order to focus on getting cute photos and videos of Thor. He takes a bunch of the corgi alone, giggling to himself the whole time, and then pulls Thor close to him to take a few selfies as well.

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick piss, Dan lies back down and looks through the camera roll. He's smiling at his phone and petting one of Thor's soft ears. They're all super cute pictures, good enough to post if they weren't so laden in implications.

Two photos - one of them grinning wide at the camera and a follow-up where Dan's face is scrunched in laughter as Thor gives him a surprise kiss to his nose - get messaged to Phil instead of posted.

It's almost as good, really. After a beat, he sends the photos to Jaime and Patrick as well. He's already talked to them about everything, more or less, and he just wants to share the joy he's feeling right now to people who get it. His thumb hesitates. After a moment of consideration, he sends just the silly picture to Adrian.

Adrian responds with a knife emoji, followed by a heart eyes emoji.

They're never going to be like Phil and his brother, working together and razzing each other over dinner, but that's okay. Dan feels a little bit of softness in his chest, easing some of that decades-old guilt. Maybe they can, at least, be more than the strangers they are now.

Spurred on by something as simple as his brother replying immediately, Dan holds his breath and opens the text chain with his mum.

Blimey dear that must be a load off after all this time! Of course I still want to see you on Saturday... I love you with my whole heart and always will xx.

Fuck. He's not going to cry. He won't cry. Not here. Dan inhales lungfuls of air in gasps, trying not to let them turn into raspy sobs. Thor makes an inquisitive noise and noses at Dan's hand.

"I'm okay," he whispers, even if he isn't quite sure that's true. He makes a bunch of typos as he replies to her, just a short love you too that takes him an entire minute to get right. He doesn't want to make a big deal over this, even though it is a big deal, so he just adds a heart emoji and buries his face in Thor's soft fur.

His phone buzzes a few times, but Dan ignores it for a little while. He feels safe in Phil's bed, Thor in his arms, and he doesn't want to face the world again until he feels a bit less fragile. Eventually, though, Thor wiggles out of his grasp and bounds off the bed in search of a toy.

Jaime and Patrick have both responded to the dog selfies, Jaime with a string of barely-comprehensible emotional texts and Patrick with a single exclamation point iMessage reaction.

Phil has sent him a selfie in return, wearing radio headphones and a pout. Hate that I'm at work!!!!!!!!, he captions it. Dan hates that, too. He sends a quick shot of Thor on the other side of the flat with the caption, abandoned by both of u.

By the time he circles back to his mum, he isn't really sure what to expect. She isn't the type to wax poetic about her feelings, none of them are, so he doesn't anticipate another round of affection and love and pride right this second. Maybe in her goodbye text when he heads to the continent. Not right away.

Sure enough, she's said, Why don't you & I grab lunch in the city on Saturday? I've been meaning to try this new sushi bar... xx. Dan's heart sinks.

It's okay, he reminds himself. His mum loves him. Adrian loves him. They both said so.

His mum not wanting him to come to the house anymore speaks volumes to Dan. He expected this, anyway - his dad barely wanted to see him before this, Dan's always been nothing but a physical reminder of his wasted youth, and it isn't shocking that he doesn't want to see Dan now.

Dan lies back down and covers his head with Phil's duvet. He'll let himself be sad, just for a minute, for the loss. This is the first relationship he has to cut off if he wants to live authentically, move forward as a gay man who doesn't hate himself, and it hits hard. Maybe he'll let himself be angry, after this. Then, he'll get out of bed and start living the authentic, quietly proud life that he's only ever dreamed of.

It's okay. But, right now, it stings a bit.

By the time Thor's ears perk up and he runs to the door, a clear indication that Phil is home, Dan has well and truly gone through some stages of grief and landed on repression. He's been playing Guild Wars and idly tidying Phil's flat throughout the day, lazy with the impromptu day off as he is. Thor follows him around and Dan plies him with more treats than he thinks Phil would approve of.

Dan feels a little sheepish when Phil comes in and he's just lounging on the sofa with his laptop and a pair of Phil's ridiculous slippers on his feet. The flat looks better than it had last night, but Dan has done fuck all with himself. He could have at least showered, he supposes.

"Hey," he says, tugging an earphone out and giving Phil a quick glance. "Sorry, I'm raiding, I'll give you attention in a second."

"Hi, Dan, my day was good," Phil says dryly. "Thanks for asking."

"You signed up for this," Dan informs him, not taking his eyes off the screen again. He can hear Phil enthusiastically greeting Thor, which makes him smile. "I did make dinner, 's in the oven."

"You cook?" Phil sounds far too surprised, in Dan's opinion.

Dan's character gets murked, and he shuts his laptop with a little huff of a noise. Normally he'd wait out the respawn and keep playing, but he's got more important things to focus on. "No, not really. I know how to throw a bunch of stuff in a pot or dish until it's food."

He gets a proper look at Phil while he peeks in the oven and feels even more like maybe he should have gotten dressed.

It's not like he's dressed up nicely or anything - he's wearing the corgi jumper that he interviewed Dan in and a pair of Vans that are surely on their last legs - but the fact that he is dressed gives him a head start on Dan. He looks a little tired, and Dan wonders if it's comfort or a distinct lack of it that has Phil's shoulders hunched forward more than usual.

"It smells good," Phil informs him, smiling a bit. "You didn't have to do that, y'know."

"Shut up, I wanted to," says Dan.

"I don't think I've come home to food cooking since I lived with my parents," Phil says, his hands inside out in his jean pockets. "I, uh, better not get used to it, huh?"

That definitely is a problem. The elephant in the room, that Dan can't just stay here forever. Dan sighs and stands, carefully stepping around the sofa so he doesn't trip on Thor. He comes close to wrap his arms around Phil's shoulders, smiling when Phil immediately takes hold of his waist like they're dancing.

"Hi, Phil," Dan mocks softly. "Good to see you, how was your day?"

Phil laughs. "Alright. Better now."

"Good," says Dan, and then he kisses Phil. It hasn't even been a full day since he did it last, but he hums and arches into it like it's been months.

They're making up for preemptive lost time. Dan is distracted, though, even when Phil licks into his mouth and pulls him closer. He can't stop thinking about the call he'd made to Amy earlier, the things his agent had said to him.

Netflix announces renewals and cancellations whenever it pleases, not on any sort of set schedule, so Dan will have to live in limbo for a little while. Amy doesn't know how long, exactly, but she promised him to at least find him a British film or series to do in the space between seasons. She called him an idiot, but she agreed to it.

Dan is wondering if he should tell Phil about that conversation. He spends half a minute tossing the possibilities around in his head while Phil sucks on his tongue, his lip.

This is so stupid. Dan pulls back from the kiss. He laughs a bit and puts a palm on Phil's chest to stop him from coming back for more. It warms Dan, knowing that Phil doesn't want to stop kissing him.

"Down, boy," he jokes, and Phil rolls his eyes.

"I don't like this habit you have of interrupting us," says Phil. His cool hands slip under Dan's borrowed Friends shirt. His thumbs trace mirroring shapes just under Dan's ribcage. Now that is distracting. "You could just let me keep kissing you."

"I could," Dan agrees. "But I've got shit to say, y'know?"

Phil grins at him, exasperated in a way that Dan thinks he could get used to. "I've noticed, Dan, that you always have shit to say. And I'd love to listen. Any other time."

"Rude," says Dan. There's no real heat to it, since Phil is right. "It's just that I almost didn't tell you something important because I didn't want to get your hopes up or sound like a freak, and then I remembered the disaster that not talking became last time, so, fuck it."

Even though he's already had experience with watching Phil's eyes go neutral and guarded, it's still a bit of a weird thing to watch happen up close.

It's not even that Phil is a particularly good actor, it's just that he's clearly so practiced in hiding his reactions to things that he can switch it on in an instant. Dan huffs a bit and pokes at Phil's cheek.

"None of that," he scolds.

"None of what?" Phil asks. He's smiling now, though. "What's so important?"

"I talked to my agent," says Dan. "Things are up in the air until we know if we're getting a fourth season, but. I'm thinking about moving to London if we aren't."

Phil's smile goes absolutely blinding, but he sounds suspicious when he says, "Really? That's something you want?"

"I always wanted to live here," Dan says with a little shrug. "Just got lucky in America and ended up staying. Nothing specific was really drawing me back here, I just knew London was always a 'someday' thing. Every time I come back for Christmas I remember how much I like it here." Dan pauses, then jokes, "It's not all about you, y'know."

It kind of is. The timing of it, at least, but Phil doesn't have to know that.

"Yeah, alright," Phil says, outright beaming at Dan now. "Makes sense to me, it's a way better place to live than Atlanta."

Dan laughs. "Atlanta is fine, you jealous bitch."

"I guess," says Phil. He presses a couple of soft kisses to Dan's jaw. Dan is ready to get carried away again before he adds, "It must be hard being so far from your family, as well. You'll get to see them more."

He knows that Phil is only trying to motivate him into staying without actively using himself as a reason, but Dan still grimaces.

"I'll probably see them about the same amount, honestly," he says. "Except my grandma, I'm sure I'll have tea with her every once in a while."

"Don't be silly, I'm sure they'd be excited," says Phil.

That's a very easy thing for Phil to say. Dan can't help the face he pulls at the idea of his family being excited that he's nearby. "They really won't. My parents aren't like yours, Phil, and my brother definitely isn't."

Phil cocks his head and blinks. Dan almost laughs at how eerily similar the action looks to Thor's confusion.

"Well, I know nobody's family is perfect," Phil says, squeezing Dan's waist. "I just figured you'd like to be closer to them."

"No," Dan says honestly. "I mean, it's not like it's a reason not to live in London. Where I am in relation to my family doesn't really affect my decision either way, TBH."

He kind of expects Phil to keep arguing with him about it. Dan only reached out to his mum about getting together in the first place after Phil got all disapproving about how little Dan sees them. Maybe he just takes Dan's word for it this time, though, because all he says is an easy, "Okay."

That's all it takes, really. Phil's agreement, even if he doesn't understand. Dan has already told this guy more about himself than anyone else he knows, and he can feel the words bubbling uncomfortably in his throat.

"I don't actually want to talk about this," says Dan, "but, like, okay, I came out to my family and only some of them are handling it well."

Actual understanding dawns on Phil's face, and he just nods.

"We won't talk about it, then," he says. Like it's that simple. "Let's eat. I'm gonna take Thor to the park afterwards if you want to come with us."

Dan leans in for a grateful kiss that lingers a bit too long. Phil's hands travel further up his shirt, tracing along Dan's ribs and making him shiver. "Thanks," he murmurs into the barely-there space between their mouths. "I'll come with you guys."

For as long as Dan has known about commitment issues, he's known that he has them. With personal projects, with schoolwork, with his own sense of self. It's hard for him to settle on something, harder still to follow through. He's felt it with the women he's dated, too, but he'd already known there was an underlying issue that made it impossible for him to say, 'yeah, okay, this could be something I do long-term'.

Now he's making out with a man who he's pretty sure is his boyfriend, even if they hadn't actually said that word, talking about sharing dinner and dog walks and clothes, and Dan has never done this before, and he knows that he's committing to something just by being here right now.

He waits for that moment of panic so he can whack it aside with some logic, but. It never comes.

Huh.

When they head to bed later that night, it isn't because Phil has almost passed out on the sofa again. They'd been ignoring a film for about an hour to snog, and Phil's perpetually cold hands had started wandering about five minutes into that.

Dan had managed to handle Phil's hands under his shirt, in his hair, on his thighs, even brushing the side of his neck, all without major issues. When Phil had decided to outright grope his ass through his too-tight jeans, though, Dan's brain had short circuited. So he'd dragged Phil across the room and pulled him down in a tangle of limbs and laughter as they accidentally elbowed and kneed at each other.

They're not exactly graceful people, but Dan can't complain much with Phil's hands in his back pockets and Phil's mouth on his jaw.

Dan's breathing already feels too loud in the softly lit room, small windows not letting much background noise through at all, and Phil isn't even doing much of anything to him yet.

The part of Dan's brain that exists only to remind him that he's attracted to men has literally never been so loud. He'd foolishly assumed that admitting it to himself and other people would shut it the fuck up, but instead it is outright screaming at him.

You're so fucking gay! it reminds him, as if it's yodeling from the top of a mountain.

Yeah, Dan thinks, he is, he's aware, he's currently straddling a guy he really likes and mouthing at his neck to try and get his breathing as ragged as Dan's is. He doesn't need the commentary.

Still, it keeps shouting, and it only gets louder when Phil tangles one hand in his hair and tugs him back up for an open-mouthed kiss.

He's kissing you! AmazingPhil is kissing you! that part of his mind is chanting, and in the short break between their lips meeting, Dan can't help but murmur a, "Shut up."

Phil pauses. Dan realises he's said that out loud and promptly wants to die.

"I didn't say anything," says Phil. His voice is low and amused, and Dan feels a renewed spark of heat up his spine.

"Not you," Dan says.

Raising his eyebrows, Phil makes a point to look around the flat as best he can without dislodging Dan from his hips. "Uh huh. Y'know, I always knew this place was haunted. I just figured I'd be the one to make friends with the ghosts."

"You're ridiculous," says Dan, but he can't stop himself from smiling.

"I'm not the one talking to ghosts," says Phil.

"I'm not taking to ghosts, Phil, I'm talking to myself. My brain won't shut off, it's so fucking loud right now."

Phil laughs, but he doesn't seem like he's making fun of Dan. He twirls his finger around one of Dan's curls and grins up at him. "I can help with that," he says. In case there were any doubt about what he means, Phil squeezes Dan's ass. "Bet I could make your brain be quiet."

"Yeah?" Dan grins and noses at Phil's jaw. "Yeah, alright, do your worst."

"What do you want?" Phil asks, using his light grip on Dan's hair to make Dan look at him. Dan personally thinks he could tug harder, but they can talk about that when Dan has to pull up a PowerPoint presentation on his kinks.

That's not an easy question. Dan wants everything, whatever Phil's got on offer. He shrugs.

"Honestly," says Dan, "I'm even easier about sex than I am about food."

"This has not been easy," Phil grumbles, good-natured about it. Dan cackles in response. Not a very attractive sound, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He just smiles.

"Okay, yeah, fair enough," says Dan. "You know what I mean. You can make that call, I believe in you. Although, for you to make an informed decision, you should know I haven't showered since..." He trails off, frowning.

"Not a good sign that you can't remember," Phil laughs. He doesn't seem anxious the way he has when Dan pushes him in the past, but maybe he's just feeling the same loose vulnerability that's making Dan go mad with it. Phil hums and toys with Dan's hair. "Uh, alright, you wanna maybe fuck me?"

The suggestion being somehow both unsure and totally blunt makes Dan laugh, and then Phil is ducking giggles into Dan's collarbone, too.

"How is that a question?" Dan grins. "Sure I do."

Phil is grinning back at him, bright and beautiful, and Dan has to lean in and connect their lips again for a long moment. "Mm, you wanna grab the stuff from the loo, then? And put Thor in there while you're at it."

"Why do I have to?"

"You're on top of me."

"I don't have to be. You go put the dog away."

"No, you should - okay," Phil cuts himself off with a laugh and takes his hand off Dan's ass to hold it up between them in a fist. "Rock, paper, scissors you for it?"

As Dan proceeds to lose two of three - and then three of five, and then five of seven when he keeps complaining about not being in the Zone - it occurs to him that this whole thing feels ridiculous.

It's not a bad thing. Dan hasn't had silly sex in a very, very long time. He's certainly never had sex with someone he trusts quite as much as he trusts Phil. He's trying not to think about that too hard when he lures Thor into the bathroom with treats and his favourite toy, because he doesn't want to accidentally activate his own fight or flight reflex.

Phil is propped up on his elbows in bed, watching Dan with an absent smile on his face, and Dan remembers seeing him like this when they were drunk together. He'd been sprawled out over Dan's sheets and smirking up at him and Dan hadn't done anything about it.

"God, I'm stupid," Dan breathes, and Phil laughs.

"Yeah," he agrees, even though he can't possibly know what Dan is thinking about. "You just gonna stand there?"

With a rude gesture, Dan tosses the bottle of lube at Phil, who yelps as it almost hits him in the face. Dan finds himself cackling again as he fights to get his ultra-skinny jeans off his legs while he's still standing. He'd put them on to go to the dog park - stayed in the Friends shirt, though, it's very comfortable - but he's regretting that now. Phil's cotton shorts would be way less awkward to shimmy out of.

"Must you watch me do this?" Dan huffs, hopping on one foot as he tries to yank his jeans down over his other ankle. "It's not exactly sexy."

"It's very funny, though," says Phil.

Dan manages to get his jeans and socks off without injury, and then he flops back into bed to help Phil with his own tight jeans.

"We need to rethink our fashion," Dan laughs. Phil is giggling, too, and lifting his hips for Dan, and this is all so fun. Dan had actually forgotten that sex could be fun. His jeans come off easier than Dan's, thank god, and Dan runs his hands over Phil's thighs with a little hum. "Damn, you're pale."

Phil makes an amused, choked-off noise and kicks out at Dan without actually trying to hit him. "Hey, fuck you, you're supposed to say nice stuff to me."

"I'm so sorry, Phil, the beauty of your alabaster legs just drive me crazy," Dan simpers, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes. He's being a dick about it, but the sentiment behind the words are true enough. Phil's got nice legs, nice thighs, a nice semi in his nice boxers. Dan brushes his fingers in a way that's probably ticklish and laughs when Phil kicks his shin for real. "Fucking ow, do you want me to tell you how hot you are or not?"

"You're so annoying," Phil informs him, and then he's sitting up to take his shirt off and Dan's mouth goes dry for real.

"Oh," he says, shifting further up the bed so he can flick his thumb over the metal bar in Phil's left nipple. He hadn't really expected that from Phil. Dan blinks, trying to get his brain back online. "Why didn't you get both?'

Whatever Phil was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. He sits there for a moment, stumped, the pads of Dan's fingers curiously poking at his nipple. It doesn't seem like it's very sensitive. Dan wonders if that's from the piercing or if Phil just doesn't have sensitive nipples. He wonders how long this piercing has been here - it hadn't been, back when he was an avid AmazingPhil subscriber, and Phil hasn't taken his shirt off for YouTube in years.

Then, Phil shrugs. "You only get one pierced, don't you?"

"I think most people get both," Dan says, but he's talking on autopilot right now. He shakes his head, tries to clear it. "Fucking symmetry or whatever, yeah?"

"I guess," Phil says. He doesn't shrug again, but his broad, bare shoulders twitch like they want to. He's got freckles and beauty marks on his shoulders and arms and torso, and Dan wants to get his mouth on every single one.

"No offense," says Dan, "but I really didn't peg you as the piercing type."

Phil smirks a bit. "Wow, the MySpace boy I was trying so hard to be is crying right now. Yeah, I dunno, it was one of the really impulsive things I did a couple years ago. Getting Thor was one of those, I think I told you about that."

He had. Dan remembers it, vaguely, remembers wondering if Phil was hiding a tattoo under his clothes.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as I expected," says Phil. "And definitely not as much as my other ones did."

Dan narrows his eyes and looks Phil over, dubious. Phil isn't wearing anything but a pair of boxer briefs with sushi print on them, and Dan can't see any more metal or healing holes on him. Phil's little smirk only grows while Dan looks him over carefully. "Stop fucking with me, you don't have more piercings."

Phil raises an eyebrow and his hips in a synchronicity that Dan didn't know his body possessed. Dan swallows, hard, can hear his heart pounding as it rushes all the blood in his brain south and makes him a little dizzy.

The room is quiet and still and too hot for a long beat. Then, Dan pulls his borrowed shirt off and chucks it somewhere over his shoulder so that the cool air of the basement can stop him from overheating. He slides his fingers under the hem of Phil's boxers and pulls them down his long legs, unable to stop himself from dropping a kiss to one of Phil's very pale thighs as he does.

"Fuck," Dan breathes. He nips at Phil's thigh a bit, making the muscles there jerk. "Alright, so I can see how that would hurt more."

Phil's cock is pretty and thick, which Dan suspected but had no way of knowing, and it's also got two piercings in it. Dan knows the name of the one, a Prince Albert ring right at the tip of Phil's dick, but he has no idea what the other is called.

He has to touch them, of course. He wraps his hand around Phil's cock and rubs his thumb back and forth over the ring, watching Phil's face carefully as he does.

"Dan," is all Phil says, but his voice has gone low and his eyes have gone dark, so Dan figures he's doing something right.

"What the hell is this?" Dan has to ask, trailing his fingers down Phil's cock to nudge at the bar through the bottom of it, right above his balls. "Like, what is it called? Also, why did you do this? Also, also, I want to suck your dick now."

Phil laughs, throaty and dark, and that doesn't help Dan's situation at all.

"You only grabbed one condom," he points out, waving the wrapper in Dan's face. "So you can either fuck me or suck me off, your call."

"I don't need a condom to suck your dick," says Dan.

Somehow, even with Dan's hand idly stroking him and playing with the piercings, Phil manages to roll his eyes. "You do. I'm not giving you a safe sex lecture, Dan, either make up your mind or go get another condom."

Dan sulks, but he doesn't bother arguing. He hasn't actually heard Phil be so strongly opinionated about something before. There's not a hint of hesitation or anxiety in telling Dan what he wants, and Dan likes that too much to bicker over something as miniscule as a condom.

"Fine," he sighs, sitting up between Phil's legs and letting go of his dick.

"Aw, Dan," Phil lightly mocks. He reaches out and pets Dan's hair, which Dan is only a little embarrassed to lean into. "It's like you don't even know that getting tested together can be third base for gay people."

"Well, I don't know," Dan huffs. He's a little prickly and defensive about the teasing, but Phil smiles at him so softly that he melts all over again. "It's been a while, okay? And it's not like any of us were the smartest bulbs about this shit in uni."

With a sympathetic little hum of a noise, Phil pulls Dan up by the hair to kiss him. It's slow and lingering and Dan's body is pressed against Phil's with the angle, only his thin Calvins in the way of them sliding together. When Phil pulls back, Dan is the one who gets stopped from leaning in for more.

"Sorry," Phil says, quiet and sincere and still smiling. "I really will talk about why it's important to me later, but right now I just really need you to put your stupidly big hands to work."

Another request, no hesitation. Dan is only too happy to oblige.

Dan has never fingered another guy before. The rare times, back in the day, that he hadn't been craving something inside him to ease that constant tension he carried around with him, Dan's sexual partners had just done the task themselves.

Still, it's not rocket science. He's had his fingers in women and in himself before, how different could it be?

Too much lube and a wrist cramp later, Dan is getting the hang of things. He's using his right hand on Phil so his left wrist can take a break, pushing and prodding deep with his longest fingers to coax drawn-out noises from Phil's pretty lips. Dan kisses him, rocks against his hip, murmurs absolute nonsense into his ear that he'll feel embarrassed about when he isn't so fucking turned on. He hasn't managed to consistently hit Phil's prostate or anything but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He's grinding into Dan's hand, biting his lip hard, murmuring, "That's it, you've got it, c'mon, give me another."

"Yeah, alright," Dan breathes, carefully pressing another finger into him and shuddering at the way Phil's back arches into it.

This is easily the hottest thing he's ever done, and that might be pathetic if it wasn't so obvious that nothing else could even come close to this. Phil doesn't bother telling Dan when he's ready, he just shoves the condom into Dan's free palm and wraps a hand around himself.

"Not getting any younger, here," Phil says on a little pant, and Dan realises that he's just been staring.

"Right, fuck, okay."

Dan's fingers shake a bit, but he manages to get his boxers off and his cock ready without any incidents - aside from another mean twinge in his left wrist. He waits and just looks at Phil again, spread legs and long neck and all gorgeous man, and Phil's eyelashes flutter as he tugs lightly on one of his piercings, fuck.

"C'mon," Phil urges again, hooking a lanky leg over Dan's hip to pull him closer.

"It's gonna be like that, is it?" Dan laughs breathlessly. He hoists Phils body up by his thighs for a better angle and keeps a hand on Phil's ass to hold him there. "Fucking pillow princess, I should have guessed."

"Whatever, Dan," says Phil. He seems very distracted by Dan lining his cock up and slowly, so slowly, pressing inside of him. Phil groans then, the loudest noise he's made yet, and rocks his hips to take more of Dan's cock than Dan is giving him. "Not gonna fucking break, c'mon."

"Jesus, Phil," Dan half-laughs, half-moans. "So demanding. Feel so good, though, shit, I can't stay in Atlanta, I can't not have this all the - fuck - all the time."

It just kind of slips out, the way everything Dan babbles during sex slips out, but Phil is nodding along anyway, wrapping his arms around Dan's shoulders to pull him down into a messy kiss.

The wet noises where they're joined should be comical, maybe, all squelching lube and skin slapping against skin as Dan starts to fuck into Phil properly, but Dan is too focused on the breathy noises escaping from their kiss to care. This is just what sex sounds like - this is what sex with Phil sounds like, and Dan could really get used to that.

Phil's heel digs into the small of Dan's back to urge him on until, presumably, his leg gets tired or cramped and he wraps them both around Dan's hips instead. They gasp into each other's mouths at the slight change in angle, and Dan's hips snap forward.

If Phil weren't sucking on his tongue right now, Dan would be prattling on and moaning loud and generally making an idiot of himself. He feels the telltale sensation of heat in his gut that means there's an orgasm at the finish line, he just needs to get there.

Dan plants a hand on the bed and lifts Phil's lower body a bit more with the other, moaning absolute nonsense into Phil's mouth as he thrusts a little harder and faster to try and get Phil where he is.

A whine reverberates through Dan's body as Phil makes the noise with his teeth on Dan's lower lip, and then Dan can feel the rhythmic nudges of Phil's knuckles against his stomach as he jacks himself off, fast, because he's close too and Dan can tell. Dan wants to wait it out, he does, but Phil feels too good around his cock for him to hold out any longer. His orgasm hits and he groans like he’s been punched in the stomach, burying his face into Phil’s neck as he does.

He hears Phil say, "Fuck, okay, just stay there," and stays deep inside of him, pressing wet kisses to his neck and grinding his hips in little circles until Phil gets his, too, toes curling against the backs of Dan's thighs with a quiet groan and one hand gripping his hair so tight that Dan sees stars.

Dan presses a soft kiss to Phil's jaw and carefully pulls out of him to flop onto his back, trying to get his breathing back to a regular rate. He's seriously unfit when he isn't filming, his personal trainer would be so furious about all the Domino's he's been eating. He laughs at the thought of his trainer's angry face and then he's just giggling, throwing an arm over his face to hide from Phil's curious eyes.

"I think you fucked me stupid," Dan tells him through the giggles, and Phil responds with a low chuckle.

Arms are wrapped around Dan's waist and a line of kisses are dropped along his collarbone. "Hey, now," says Phil, his voice low and fucked out, "I can't take credit for that. You were stupid when you got here."

"Oi," Dan laughs, shoving at him. If they had more energy, they'd probably roll around until all the mocking words are just breathless laughter, but as it is they just manage to elbow each other a few times and then curl closer. It's quiet for a few minutes, just holding each other close and letting their hands brush softly over each other's skin.

Then, Phil yawns.

"Okay," he says, like he's psyching himself up. "Contacts out. Dog out. Pants on."

"That last one seems optional," Dan says, waggling his eyebrows. Phil laughs and swats at his chest.

"You," says Phil, swatting the same spot again for good measure, "condom off, pants on."

"What is this pants agenda you're pushing on me?" Dan hums into Phil's hair. It smells sweet, like some kind of berry. "I'm not sure I'm interested in these pants you speak of."

Phil laughs and pulls away to stretch all his long limbs out. Dan takes the opportunity to shamelessly check him out again, admiring the glints of metal that the majority of the world doesn't get to see. "You will be. Thor's going to want to cuddle after we locked him up."

He watches Phil as he searches his room for clean boxers, wolf-whistling when he bends down and laughing at the finger he gets in return.

"Yeah, okay," says Dan. He feels a smile spread across his face before he even thinks about it. Yeah. This is what he wants. This is what, for some godforsaken reason, he's been allowed to have.

#dnp fic #phanfic #phanfiction #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #words words words

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gwoongi · 5 years

Text

𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ☽ slytherin yoongi

𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 min yoongi / reader hogwarts au words: 4378

a/n: once again, the prompts were taken from this post :-) feel free to send requests (i am currently working on requests sent to me, thank u for all ur patience!) ((this fic features prompts 3, 4, 5, 6, 16, 17))

a/n 2: in this fic we give pansy parkinson redemption bc i love her and she deserves the sun and a man like jeongguk

Yoongi should have known that things were too good to be true when he was sorted into Slytherin alongside another fluently speaking British Korean, Jeon Jeongguk. Looking back on the ceremony, over six years ago now, it’s definitely too perfect to be realistic; and actually, now that he’s thinking about it, Professor Dumbledore looked way too happy to see two Koreans in the same year in the same house, sitting on the same bench eating from the same bowl of creamy mashed potato.

His family moving to Sussex when he was five was a risky move. Yoongi had no real friends in his town, if you didn’t count the next door neighbour’s ratty Yorkshire Terrier who always escaped his garden through the fences and regularly took a shit on their patio. Yoongi was never a social butterfly; he could be found sitting inside during break-time with a colouring book or a blank piece of paper, drawing and writing or otherwise just staring out the window at the other kids playing hopscotch on the playground. Honestly, he didn’t care about joining groups and being friends with people - Yoongi had expected to move back to Daegu for high-school, just like his family had planned. Then his Dad got some promotion that paid the bills and then Yoongi got his Hogwarts letter.

Now, Yoongi sits in the Slytherin Common Room, six years later, staring at Jeongguk with his arms folded and lower back rested against the back of the sofa, situated in front of the fire. He stares at Jeongguk with an unamused stare, blank like his notebooks for potions, one eyebrow cocked with disbelief.

“You’re sexiling me again?”

“Look, this is only until next weekend,” Jeongguk pleads, the eleven year old that Yoongi wanted to wrap in cotton wool on the Hogwarts Express threatening to jump out with big bug eyes. “Me and Parkinson are finally hitting it off.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Oh, right. I forgot you’re chasing after Malfoy’s sloppy seconds.”

“She deserves better than him,” Jeongguk frowns, and Yoongi looks closer and notices that Jeongguk is serious about this. He’s serious about Pansy Parkinson, and he should have known from the first time Jeongguk recited an essay probably titled, Why Pansy Parkinson Is Actually Really Nice, with bullet point number one being that Jeongguk found Pansy secretly tutoring three Hufflepuff first years in DADA, and discovered that Pansy bakes mint-chocolate cookies with the house elves at midnight, when nobody is around. Jeongguk personally finds it a shame that she wasted so much time trying to get Draco Malfoy’s attention when he very obviously always had eyes for a certain know-it-all Gryffindor, and as for Yoongi - well, he doesn’t really have an opinion.

“Anyway, it’s just for now,” Jeongguk continues, shaking his head as if getting rid of the thoughts. “I’m sorry - I know, I’m the worst.”

Yoongi just sighs, straightening up and looking at Jeongguk. “Whatever Guk. Let me get my jumper- you owe me, though. After tonight, you fucking owe me.”

When a wide smile spreads across Jeongguk’s face, Yoongi almost thinks that it’s worth it; he climbs the stairs to the sixth year’s bedroom and grabs his jumper, a gift from Jeongguk when he went to America last summer, and then hops back down into the Common Room, where he’s incredibly unsurprised to see Jeongguk already twisting his arms around the short black-haired girl.

Yoongi almost wants to smile; Jeongguk’s too sweet for Slytherin, with only his cool exterior and black clothing that makes him even remotely scary. He watches before heading out of the Common Room as Jeongguk wraps Pansy’s hair around her ear, revealing a helix piercing she got over Easter last year, and he nuzzles his nose into her cheek, eliciting a series of uncharacteristic giggles from the girl. Yoongi nods and walks away - they look good together, he thinks, and then he stops thinking when he leaves the Common Room at 9:15pm, realising he has nowhere to go.

Kim Seokjin was the Slytherin prefect, coincidentally on hallway duty when he sees Yoongi stumbling into the corridor near to the kitchens. Seokjin isn’t a snitch, unless it’s on other houses, and he pretends to look the other way when Yoongi heads down the corridor towards the house-elf who hurries across the hallway, waving at him with a familiar smile and beckoning him inside of the kitchen.

Now, not that Seokjin has ever gone out of his way to stalk Yoongi and map out his ideal evenings outside of the Common Room, but he’s pretty sure he has never seen Yoongi stalk the kitchen hallway, dangerously close to the Hufflepuff Common Room, whose door is directly inside the kitchen by the barrels of vinegar. But Seokjin shrugs instead of going to investigate, already on the hunt for other students whose names don’t start with Min and end with Yoongi.

Yoongi follows the elf into the kitchen, listening as they chatter about a lemon sponge they made in the morning that sits to cool in the cupboard above the sinks- which, although Yoongi is not a chef, he thinks is a weird place to store a cake. He notices the pale yellow jumper knitted around their body and he rolls his eyes, already knowing it’s the work of Miss Hermione Granger, who has also taken it upon herself to pin pamphlets for her saving elves club, or whatever, all around school. Yoongi recalls ripping one down from the Common Room after Malfoy stuck it there to be supportive; he has nothing against the elves, but he does have everything against Malfoy sticking Gryffindor propaganda around his Common Room, because god-damnit, Yoongi is older and he makes the rules of what can and can not be stuck on their corkboard.

He follows her further into the kitchen, bowing out of politeness as the rest of the staff rush around him. It occurs to him that nobody in this kitchen ever really has a day off to rest; either that, or Dumbledore hired about a million elves to man the kitchen, as six push past him to run into the adjoining kitchen where he smells cookie dough. The elves haven’t quite mastered the bow, and they stutter in movements around him trying to get away. Maybe they’re just not as polite in Scotland as they are in Korea, but again, it’s not as if he’s been back to Daegu since he moved to Sussex. He has his Dad and his Dad’s crazy skills to thank for that one.

“...and Winky must work! Miss Y/N, Winky needs to bake!”

Out of instinct, Yoongi ducks behind some empty shelves, looking like a right idiot as Winky, one of the elves, dashes towards another student in the kitchen. Yoongi glances upwards, noticing the student right away, and a breath of air is pushed out of his lungs. Winky tugs at the girl’s corduroy slacks with a small whimper.

“I won’t make a sound. It’ll be like I’m not even here,” the girl promises, patting Winky’s head and she stubbornly moves away. Yoongi already knows Winky is harmless and the girl is Winky’s friend, probably the only other student besides himself who Winky bakes extra batches for.

“You can’t just sit there all day,” Winky squeaks. “What if somebody comes in and sees that Winky is not working?”

“I will fight them,” the girl replies, jutting her chin out with defiance. “If they hurt you, I will beat them up. Okay?”

Winky nods for a moment before crying out with realisation, running backwards to hurry into the room where an explosion of flour bursts, and Yoongi winces with a hiss when an elf scurries past him and steps on the back of his ankle. His cover is now exposed; he leaps into view whilst glaring at the elf as they run away, and Yoongi looks towards the girl who stares back with a half amused expression, bringing a slice of sponge cake to her mouth and taking a bite.

“It’s a bit late for a slice of cake, L/N.”

You crack a smile, swallowing the dry cake. “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion, Min.” Despite the words, you part your legs and beckon him forward with the wave of your hand, bringing the plate and breaking a corner of the cake with a fork. “Say ah!”

Yoongi does not say “ah”, but opens his mouth for the bite. When he swallows, he looks back at you and scoffs when he notices a cheeky grin on your lips: “I’m not here to make friends.”

“Who said that?” you reply, nudging the plate away towards the sinks. “Nobody said that.”

“You’re so funny,” Yoongi says with a monotone voice, and you don’t even flinch when Yoongi positions himself between your legs, resting his hands on your hips, fingers feathering your waist and the skin shown from the cropped tee. In-fact, you lock him in place, hooking your ankles behind his back and bringing him closer, slightly dipping your head to capture his lips in a kiss.

At first it is light, almost as if it never even happened. Yoongi squints at you when you pull away, expecting more, and one hand moves from your waist to your cheek where he brings you back down for a second, this one much deeper.

Your relationship with Yoongi has always been confusing, and complicated, and most importantly, secret. Nobody at all knew what was going on between Yoongi and yourself; even better than that, nobody at all knew that Yoongi knew who you were. To some, the dynamic was even weirder than Granger and Malfoy, born rivals, born opposites, a lion and a snake. In this case, it was the snake and the badger, wriggling around in tight spaces around the castle, sharing kisses like last breaths.

Yoongi had always been fond of you, even when you stared at him with slight fear in first year when he tried to sit next to you in History of Magic. The emblem on your breast meant very little to him, but meant everything to everybody else; he’d walk several steps behind you, waiting until late fifth year when he finally plucked up the courage and accidentally cornered you into Filch’s store cupboard. Granted, it worked out fine, with the cupboard rising in temperature very quickly, but it never answered the question of What The Hell Was This, and how long it would last. All Yoongi knew was that from the moment he had you tongue tied and dripping in Filch’s dusty cupboard, he would do anything to have a second taste.

Yoongi pulls away first, viewing the way your eyes remain closed for a long three seconds before they fluttered open, peering down at him. He almost straightens up with pride when you unhook your ankles and let them gently swing next to him, your fingers curling in the strings of his jumper.

“What are you doing down here?” you ask finally, your voice quieter without any need to be loud. Your face is, after-all, inches from his own, and the smell of burning is non-existent with the sound of elf footsteps filling the room, just like normal.

“I need a place to stay,” Yoongi replies after a moment's pause. “I’ve been sexiled. Again.”

You hum noncommittally, still curling the strings. “Well, that’s tragic.”

“And you owe me,” Yoongi reminds, because apparently, he does a lot of favours for people. You had almost forgotten how Yoongi took the blame for your failed prank on Cho Chang after someone mentioned in the Hufflepuff Sleepover that she “totally snitched on Potter, and even though he’s a bit of a bellend, nobody deserved Umbridge’s detentions.” Yeah- the mustard bomb you planted in her bag backfired when it blew up on Umbridge herself, and Yoongi couldn’t bear to let you sit through her torture-detention and took one for the team. You apologised excessively when he left the room late at night and kissed the back of his hand over and over until the pain turned into numb lip stains, and he promised you could do him a favour in the future to make up for it.

“So, what?” you ask. “You want to stay in the kitchens? Not very sanitary.”

“I was thinking more your Common Room, but I guess, if you’re ashamed of me, then I can sleep out here in the cold surrounded by elf feet…” His voice trails off and he perks when you laugh, your hands fluffing his hair and then falling back to your lap. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” you shake your head with a grin. “I’m not ashamed of you, by the way. I just...I didn’t think you wanted to make it official like that.”

“Nobody’s making it official.”

“The second you walk in there, every Hufflepuff is gonna label us as the next Dramione. You want that?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Who wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You pause. “I could make a list?”

“Please, no-”

“There was George Weasley- I remember when he awkwardly turned me down in the library in third year, his loss-”

“I’m too sober for this,” Yoongi groans, pulling away completely. Instead of turning away completely, he reaches for the large plate of lemon sponge cake and cuts two large slices. “Look, can’t you just do me this favour once? It’s just until Jeongguk finally dicks down Parkinson.”

“Pansy Parkinson?”

“Yeah, the short one. Not very friendly, hides behind her hair, actually kinda cute when she stops being a bitch and chasing after Malfoy.”

“Oh, yeah, I know her. We made brownies together in September,” you nod, jumping down from the counter and wiping away invisible dust from your trousers. “Aw, she’d look so good with Guk. He’s what she needs, you know?”

Yoongi nods reluctantly, “That’s what he said, too.”

As Yoongi continues carefully cutting two slices, you bound towards the barrels lined up outside the entryway to the Hufflepuff Common Room, tapping the passcode while Yoongi remains otherwise occupied. Once he’s finished, he peers over his shoulder as you stand by the entryway, muttering to a Hufflepuff who always sits by the door on an evening to stop people from entering, because one loud-mouth once told a Ravenclaw how to get in, who told someone else, who told the entire school.

Yoongi can feel his eyes softening, and he probably figures there’s sparkles in them as he watches you; it’s like his whole body has turned into a soft mush, and his heart physically hurts watching you giggle with the other Hufflepuff, gesturing back towards Yoongi with your thumb and meeting his smile with teeth and crescent mooned eyes.

Yoongi’s definitely not in love - there’s not enough here and there for that to be realistically possible. All he knows is that he’s fond of you. Fond doesn’t even cut it. There’s something about you that makes him feel safe, and accepted, and comfortable, and when you call him over with the all clear, he very nearly drops the plate into twenty pieces as he steps towards you. God, his heart is in his throat and his hands are kind of shaking- in the orange glow of the candlelight surrounding the kitchens, Yoongi thinks you look the most beautiful. He almost can’t breathe.

The Hufflepuff Common Room is both everything and nothing like what he expected. When he steps inside, the room feels huge, and almost circular, with a humongous fire that roars forever and a circular carpet just in front of it, and on top of that, a large Chest acting as a coffee table and three large, worn suede sofas. The room feels homely- not like his home, decorated with modern decor, but like a home he’d expect to see on telly, with natural colours and plants that hang from random items around the room, a big painting of mountains above the fire and a clock that seems stuck on midnight. He smells tea and honey, spotting a makeshift kitchen set up by two early-bird students who stare at him owlishly as he enters, one hand glued to yours.

He almost jumps when the coffee table Chest springs open and three giggling Hufflepuff’s step out; he vaguely remembers someone saying that Newt Scamander had one of those, a chest that opens into a whole other world. Then, he also recalls the time you told him about this, under the full moon and ocean of stars, on top of the astronomy tower.

(“We’ve got a bar down there. It opens into a bar when you enter, and there’s an outdoor area with a park and a pond and a canopy, and there’s a hammock, too! I remember Cedric Diggory- remember him?- I remember him taking Cho Chang on that hammock. The hammock broke, you already know what happened there.”) ((Yoongi now wants to go into the Chest.))

Instead, you tug him towards the sixth-year Hufflepuff bedrooms, where you swing the door open without a care of the other sleeping students. Yoongi actually flinches for you, and pauses upon entry when he realises that half the beds are bloody empty, save the one girl snoring loudly with earphones in in the corner, facing the wall decorated with postcards and a newspaper cutting of Harry Potter, which Yoongi personally finds quite creepy.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say with a sigh, kicking off your shoes to bounce on your bed. Yoongi almost feels jealous, because these beds definitely look bigger than the ones in Slytherin.

“How come we never came back here?” he wonders aloud.

You shrug, taking the cake off him as he kicks off his shoes and climbs next to you. The bed squeaks slightly and you flush, for whatever reason Yoongi already kind of knows, and when he’s settled, you cuddle in between his legs, taking a fork from his pocket and picking at one of the slices.

“I thought you were embarrassed of me,” you confess quietly.

“What...why would I be embarrassed of you?” Yoongi asks. Expectantly, he stares at you until you look over at him through a mouthful of cake. “Y/N…”

“I don’t know, okay?” you surrender. “Probably house anxiety, or whatever.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I know what people say about Hermione and Draco behind their backs,” you reluctantly say, shuffling to face him. “I didn’t want that. I know you didn’t either. And every time we’d meet, it would be in some place secretive. I don’t know, I just thought...that you didn’t really wanna be seen with me, or whatever. It’s stupid.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he puts down the plate and fork and gently turns your head towards him with his hands, a frown on his face and between his eyebrows. “Baby…”

“And it’s okay,” you reassure quickly with a smile. “It’s really okay. It’s a big step! It’s a big thing. I don’t mind the secretiveness...makes life more exciting, you know?”

“Mhm, I know.”

“And I like you a lot, Yoongi,” you murmur, and when he smiles widely, you groan, “but I like being secretive right now. It’s fun running around and hiding in classrooms. And it was so much fun having sex in Snape’s supply cupboard while he was interrogating Harry Potter in the corridor.”

“Oh, wow, I’d forgotten about that one.”

The clock on the wall ticks to 2am when you shuffle further into Yoongi’s body, wondering if you can get any closer. With a groan, Yoongi forces more cake into his mouth, laughing around a chunk when you giggle at his face, scrunched up with fake pain.

“Oi! You’re getting crumbs all over my bed,” you mutter, wiping away a little pile of crumbs onto the floor. Yoongi shrugs, putting the plate on the bedside table and rolling over, pulling you into his arms with his cheek squished against your head. “Oh my God. This is our first cuddling session- hold on, wait, I need photographic evidence of this exact moment-”

“Ugh, can’t you just relax for two seconds?” Yoongi complains, holding you in place. “You can just take it tomorrow, or whatever.”

“You’re staying?”

Yoongi looks down at you. “I’ve been sexiled, Y/N, I can’t just go back to my room and listen to Jeongguk and Pansy all night.”

“And so instead, you have come to annoy little old me. I see, I see, it’s okay.”

(Yoongi lets you complain playfully for a little while until you fall asleep on his bicep, and he takes a little longer than expected to look at you, mapping out all your features and details before dragging the quilt covers over your body.)

“Hey, where’d you go last night?”

Jeongguk trails behind Yoongi as they walk into the Grand Hall together, stomachs growling for a breakfast. As he walks towards the Slytherin table towards the far right of the hall, he takes a glance at the Hufflepuff table and his heart jumps when he sees your bed of messy hair, facing a girl opposite you with panda eyes. He tears his gaze away before anybody can notice him looking.

“I thought you’d sleep on the couch, or something,” Jeongguk shrugs.

“The couch is too close to your sperm sharing session,” Yoongi replies, and Jeongguk grimaces visibly and stacks bacon onto his plate. “Speaking of...everything go okay?”

Jeongguk’s face twists into pure affection: “Yoongi, it was amazing. Really. God, I feel so bad for her- Malfoy really was a dick, and never gave her any attention. All I had to do was tell her she was doing well and everything changed. She’s so nice, Yoongi. I think I like her. A lot.”

Yoongi nods, genuinely listening. “That’s good.”

“And, seriously, she was so good,” Jeongguk continues, and now Yoongi switches off slightly, grabbing a pancake from a plate. He only half listens to Jeongguk spill the details of how Pansy does something with her tongue that no other girl or guy has done for him, and thankfully shuts up with Pansy slips next to him on the bench and leans into his side, her hair in little space buns, freckles on display. Yoongi’s never seen those before. He looks at her with a knowing stare and she wriggles with discomfort, a smile eventually replacing the frown on her small and slightly red lips.

“Please,” she sighs, “stop telling him about your sex life. Your sex life is now also my sex life, and I’d rather nobody knew.”

Yoongi scoffs loudly. “It’s okay. We can share sex lives, if you wanna.”

“If I knew any better,” Seokjin pipes up from further down the bench, “I’d think you’ve never touched anybody before, Yoongi. Have you ever been with anybody in your six years of being here?”

“For your information, Virgin Mary, I have.”

Jeongguk twists with shock. “Really? I thought you hated all the Slytherin girls.” He turns to Pansy: “not you, baby.”

“And who said it was a Slytherin who has me tied down?” Yoongi snaps back, shoving in a piece of pancake.

Everybody around Yoongi pauses, not really knowing what to say to that. Draco Malfoy looks up with a sneer when he hears, sipping his tea and calling down to Yoongi. He almost doesn’t believe that, he says. It feels nice knowing that people follow in his footsteps.

Yoongi gives Draco one dirty look. “Unlike you, I respect my other-house girlfriend and take care of her. We have a long history of loving sex, instead of a long history of mental abuse and bullying. Now, sit back down and eat your fucking waffles, Malfoy, I’m not in the mood to hear you try and convince me that you think Granger is any different to what Parkinson was. You wouldn’t know how to treat a girl properly if someone wrote the steps on your big ass forehead.”

Yeah, nobody really says anything after that, and the Hall falls into a silence for a short twenty seconds. The only noise seems to be the quiet sniggers of a Hufflepuff girl behind Yoongi, who Jeongguk notices moving with giggles. He looks at her and then back at Yoongi, doing the Math when Yoongi smiles to himself at the sound and grins into his pancakes.

(“So... who is the Hufflepuff girl you’re dating?”

Yoongi sighs. “We’re not dating. I just said that to shut up Malfoy.”

“So, you’re fucking a Hufflepuff.”

“Actually, I like to call it we’re-dating-but-it’s-way-too-exciting-to-fuck-in-Snape’s-office-and-labels-are-so-last-year.”

“...You’ve screwed her in Snape’s office? Man, you’ve got balls.”)

((“Wait. You’re screwing Y/N L/N?”

“Correction, I am screwing Y/N L/N with my whole heart inside Snape’s office.”

Jeongguk shudders and when Pansy lifts her head up out of his shoulder, she squints in Yoongi’s direction and yawns: “wait, the one who makes brownies in the kitchens?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies. “And what about it?”

Pansy shakes her head, thinking about it. She lies back down on Jeongguk’s shoulder with a little smile, “She told me that once. I thought she might be joking, but looking back on it, she really talked about you as if she was talking about the stars.”

Yoongi thinks about that for a minute.))

(((“Dude, I think Snape knows.”

Yoongi glances at Jeongguk in potions, stirring the purple liquid. “Knows what? That we fucking suck at potions? Yeah, no shit.”

Jeongguk opens his mouth to speak and pauses when Snape briskly passes their table, sending a curt glare in their direction and then turning to another table. Across from where the duo are standing, you sneak a glance up from your cauldron, half-heartedly pouring in the next vial of liquid.

“No,” Jeongguk replies, “I think he knows that someone had sex in his office. Heard him complaining about it to Dumbledore after breakfast.”

Yoongi flushes. “Oh?”

“Yeah. The words “little shits” were used,” Jeongguk nodded. “You’re on his hit list.”

Yoongi doesn’t quite believe Jeongguk until Snape not-so-accidentally bashes into Yoongi from behind, sending the contents of his cauldron all over the table, soaking not only his own robes and books but also yours. Snape only shrugs his shoulders and forces out a, “You should watch what you are doing,”, taking five seconds to say each word, before deducting fifteen points from Slytherin.)))

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