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summersnow82 · 1 year

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Somethin' Bad - Part 15

Author's Note: Hello, my lovelies! I hope you're having a relaxing, slow Thanksgiving Break! Thanks for hanging in here with me.

A big thank you to Tumbler user @jiahn for bringing it to my attention Travis Hackett was originally intended to be a lover of romance novels. I'm totally going to utilize that.

TW: Y'all, I had a hard time writing Constance, especially her interactions with Travis this go. I don't know if it's because I'm a mom, too, or what, but it was a struggle. Limited language, but still may be hard to read for some folks

Part 15

Annabelle had meant what she’d said to Travis: she did have a pot roast ready to go in the oven, and laundry to finish. After all, she was working with a severely limited supply of clothing, and as much fun as raiding Travis’ wardrobe – and his reaction – was she couldn’t quite bring herself to don his briefs. Once the roast was in the oven (she missed cooking!) and the laundry was running (thank God for modern conveniences!) she headed back to his bedroom.

Travis’ headboard was the kind with a built in bookshelf, and he’d utilized every bit of space. More Louis L’Amour coupled with Agatha Christie’s Hercules Poirot novels; Elmore Leonard and a few old Perry Mason paperbacks; a compilation of Flannery O’Conner’s short stories and a Dean Koontz novel that looked untouched. Annabelle took each book out carefully, mindful of the order they’d come in, and unearthed the books behind the ones Travis had on display. He’d pressed them flat against the back of the shelf instead of spine out like the books she’d just removed, as if he were intentionally hiding them from the casual glance.

Again, cautious of the order they were stored in, Annabelle removed them, casting a careful eye to the bedroom door. If Travis caught her now she was sure he’d be irate at best, and furious at worst. He’d hidden these books for a reason, and after glancing at a few of the covers she began to develop a theory as to why.

Beautiful women in billowing dresses with slits up the side, and barely covered, heaving bosoms reclined in the arms of scantily clad, well built men. Annabelle had seen more than her fair share of bodice ripper romances on her college roommate’s desk, but she’d never seen a man reading one. Annabelle grinned at the thought of her surly, brusque sheriff curling up to read about beautiful men and women working through built-up sexual tension, warring personalities, and eventual deep, passionate, forever love.

Travis has a soft side, she thought almost giddily, returning to the other books she’d unearthed. The others had more subdued covers: a handsome cowboy, and a lovely blonde in a high-neck lace dress with her hair piled high; a dark haired World War Two nurse in the arms of a striking sailor; a cute, nerdy guy casting a longing glance at a sexy red-head. Each book was well worn, and upon flipping through each, she noticed someone had dog-eared several pages she assumed were favorite parts; some were red hot, leaving her feeling flushed, while others were tender and sweet.

It was incredibly endearing.

Her investigation led her to several conclusions about her stoic sheriff: He was a covert romantic, he seemed to prefer the forced proximity/ arranged marriage tropes the most, and the historical romances set on the frontier and during World War Two seemed to be his favorite. From what she could gather, most of the heroes were about brooding, silent types who fell for feisty, warm women who often were in need of rescuing – that one hit a bit too close to home, but she tucked that thought away for later. Her last, perhaps most important revelation however, was Travis felt the need to hide these books.

These clearly well-loved, well-read books she imagined brought him great comfort and joy were either an embarrassment to him, or a source of shame. She was still pondering this when a loud banging came from the front door, startling her out of her reverie. Quickly and efficiently, Annabelle slid each book back in the exact spot she’d found it while the pounding on the door grew in intensity.

In her experience, there were two types of people who wailed on a door like this: someone in great fear with desperate need, or someone with ill intent. Annabelle was weighing her options when a woman’s shriek came from the opposite side of the door, and while her words were slightly muffled, her intentions became alarmingly clear. Annabelle’s skin goose-pimpled, and the hair on her arms raised as she considered her options: hide, arm herself with whatever she could find, or swing the door open and confront this threat head on. Annabelle, while impulsive, wasn’t a fool – there was no way she was going to that door unarmed.

“I know you’re in there, you little whore! Open up, or I swear I’ll break this door down.”

Annabelle didn’t know many people in North Kill, but from what she did know she’d hazard a guess Travis’ mama, Sean’s ex-judge, jury, and jailer, was the lunatic on the other side of the door. This knowledge and the woman’s screaming threat caused an odd calm to settle over Annabelle. It was the kind of calm someone gets when they’ve encountered enough aggression, hostility, and violence in their lifetime such things become disturbingly normal. Annabelle had faced her fair share of monsters, both human and supernatural, and the shrieking woman on the other side of the door ranked as more of a nuisance than an actual threat now that Annabelle’s fight response was kicking in. A wicked half grin slid over her features as she braced herself for the coming battle.

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Normally, when a prisoner showered in the North Kill station an officer stood vigilante while maintaining a respectful distance for optimum privacy and security. Travis’ standards had relaxed dramatically with his current “prisoner.” Half the time Sean seemed oblivious to his presence, rubbing a hand over his face, and staring off into space with a pensive expression; the rest of the time he was remarkably respectful and genuinely friendly. He’d ask Travis about his tastes in food, music, and literature with honest curiosity, and could hold a thoughtful, meaningful conversation while making Travis feel important and valued.

It was the weirdest freaking thing Travis had ever experienced, and he hunted werewolves.

Sean was currently enthralled in a description of time travel, alternating theories, his current hypothesis, and the data he’d collected thus far with all of his “down time,” as he called it. Travis was sitting on a bench, head in his hands, bored out of his mind; Annabelle was right, it did give him a headache.

So when his cell phone went off he had to stifle every urge inside him to shout hallelujah for an excuse to step out of the room. “Yes, Mrs. Thatcher? Everything all right?” Emily Thatcher was his elderly neighbor, a widow with three grown children spread out over the country, a bonafide gossip, and the winner of the church pound cake competition every year since 1972. A phone call from her wasn’t unusual, but the timbre her voice currently held sure was.

“Oh, honey, you need to come home right now. Your mother - .” He didn’t hear anything else after that, and he didn’t need to.

Your mother.

Travis felt chilled and nauseous imagining his mother within twenty feet of Annabelle. His Annabelle. His. She’ll kill her, he thought in a panic, breaking into a run for his cruiser. She’ll kill her the way she killed… he pushed the thought from his head. He had to focus and get home; he could recount his mother’s sins another time, but right now keeping Annabelle safe was all that mattered.

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It was worse than he’d anticipated when Travis got home. His father’s old pickup was parked in his front lawn – his lawn, not his driveway – and his mother was banging on the front door so hard he was surprised it hadn’t caved in. His father and Bobby stood off to the side like glorified lackeys, and if they hadn’t been men he deeply loved and respected he would’ve hated them for just fueling his mother’s insanity.

“Open up, you little bitch, or I swear I’ll burn this shack to the ground.”

Travis felt another piece of him break because he knew his mother meant it – she would burn his house down – hell, she’d burn the whole town down if it meant keeping him to herself. Because “family was the most important thing in the world.”

It was suffocating, exhausting, and spirit-breaking.

Travis stepped out of his car to face his raging mother when the front door swung wide open. Annabelle’s eyes narrowed as she levied the double barrel shotgun at the smaller woman. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but take your crazy back where you came from before I give the lawn a paint job.”

Travis froze. There was no hesitation or fear in Annabelle’s demeanor; gone was his feisty songbird, and in her place stood a fierce, take-no-prisoners warrior who would pull the trigger if given a reason.

Maybe, just maybe she’d been telling him the truth about herself all this time.

“You lower that gun, little miss,” his father called out, seemingly unbothered by her threat. “You’re on Hackett property.”

Annabelle didn’t move, and her resolve didn’t break. Instead, a slow, menacing smile slid over her pretty features. Oh, shit.

“Ma,” Travis called, and he was thankful his voice remained steady – the rest of him certainly didn’t feel it. All eyes turned to him, except Annabelle’s – hers stayed right on Constance. His father looked irritated, Bobby looked confused and a bit sad, but his mother looked unhinged. The slew of expletives she began to spit at him were nothing new, but it was the first time she’d christened his home with such colorful language.

“How dare you… we’re toiling away, and you’re living it up with this Twinkie… after all the sacrifices we made for you… ungrateful, good for nothing…”

He’d heard it all before; memorized it line and verse. Travis could recite every ill thought his mother had ever spewed his way so well it was the voice he heard when he closed his eyes at night. He had never been good enough, never would be good enough for her, and his father, for whatever reason, stood there and let her say it.

Like he approved. Like he agreed. Travis couldn’t decide which was worse – her abuse or his silence.

Bobby… well, he couldn’t much fault Bobby. He was the favored child before his accident in Afghanistan; loved by everyone, Bobby was the quarterback in high school with his sights set on playing in college, and then maybe the NFL. He had the talent, the drive, the build, and the support of his family to pursue it, and the encouragement from every doe-eyed teenage girl and aging football enthusiast. Robert Hackett was going to put North Kill on the map with his talent.

Bobby had something else, though: deep admiration and respect for his oldest brother. From the moment he could walk, Bobby was constantly at Travis’ side aching for any attention or affection his hero would offer him. When Travis graduated high school he enlisted in the Army – an outright act of defiance towards his mother. He returned home out of guilt and obligation, joining the police force because it suited his skill set better than anything else North Kill had to offer. He knew his brothers were proud of him, but he had no idea Bobby was rethinking his future plans, viewing Travis’ route as one of honor and self-sacrifice.

Their mother went ballistic when Bobby announced he’d enlisted “just like Travis.” He was going to make a difference “just like Travis.” He’d make them proud “just like Travis.” So when Bobby’s unit was hit with a roadside bomb and Bobby came home forever changed… well, Constance knew exactly where to point her finger and lash her blame.

“Are you listening to me, Travis Hackett? I am speaking to you.”

“More like screaming,” Annabelle said, and their words brought Travis back to the drama unfolding on his front lawn. His mother turned her eyes back to Annabelle, launching into another display of her disapproval.

Travis didn’t have many boundaries with his family – they tended to bulldoze right through them – but he was thankful now he’d never given them a key to his home. He cringed internally at the idea of Constance walking in and catching Annabelle unaware.

Just a few hours ago he’d left her with a tender kiss goodbye, and now she was pointing a gun at his mother. Something about the odd combination made his affection for her grow. His mother spat another vile sentiment his way again, but he didn’t hear it as he moved past the men in his family, his dark eyes set intently on the brunette.

“Are you all right?” He asked softly, sliding a hand around her waist and pressing his cheek to hers so only she could hear him. She made an affirming noise with a slight nod, but the gun remained poised at his mother.

His mother. His mother who was angry and stupid enough she might actually try to wrangle it away from Annabelle if he didn’t resolve this quickly. Constance may have broken his heart more times than he could count, but he didn’t want to see her hurt.

“Lower the gun.” He said, but she didn’t move. He repeated his words again more firmly this time. “Lower the gun.” Still nothing. Travis felt his frustration shift to the stubborn brunette. “Belle,” he said softly, raising a hand to the gun’s barrel, testing Annabelle’s resolve as he pressed down gently.

She tensed at his use of her nickname – he’d never said it before. “If she charges me I’m taking her down,” Annabelle promised. Loud enough for Constance to hear her, as if she was issuing a warning. The older woman had the nerve to smirk in response. The warning suddenly felt like she’d thrown down a gauntlet. Travis sighed. “We will discuss this later, Sheriff,” Annabelle assured him, finally turning her dark eyes his way as the gun barrel lowered.

“I promise.” She hesitated, finally relinquishing her hold on the shotgun, and casting a withering glare in his mother’s direction.

Constance looked like the cat who ate the canary as she grinned up at Annabelle. “Good boy, Travis. Now, get this hussy’s things, and Bobby and Pa will take her to the bus station while we have a nice chat.” Constance’s voice held a victory tune, but Travis wasn’t quite willing to concede. Not yet.

“Ma,” he began.

“Now, Travis. You’ve given your neighbors enough to discuss.” Her voice was saccharine sweet, but her words stung. He’d given?

“An… Alice is staying, Ma,” he said, stumbling to remember Annabelle’s alias. His mother would read it as weakness, which he supposed was better than telling her the truth.

“No, Travis.” Constance shook her head. “You’ve had your fun. Now be a good boy, and,” she cut her eyes to Annabelle, “take out the trash.”

To her credit, Annabelle didn’t seem bothered by Constance’s name calling, but a brow was raised as she cocked her head to the side, eyeing the older woman as if she was studying her for vulnerabilities. Travis closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. This all felt too familiar, too painful. “C’mon, little miss,” Jedediah called from where he stood looking deeply bored. “Travis can send you your things, but we’ve got things to do.”

No one expected Annabelle to laugh, and the whole Hackett clan reeled as if she’d slapped them. “Y’all are a real piece of work, you know that?” She asked, chuckling and shaking her head. “I mean, wow. Just wow. You come here with a whole new level of crazy, order your grown son to send me packing, and expect me to actually get in a car with two men I don’t know? The audacity.” She laughed again.

Jedediah frowned, glaring at Travis as if he’d somehow spoken through Annabelle. “You will get in this car, missy, and you will not speak to my wife like that again.”

Annabelle’s smile dropped. “It will be a cold day in hell before I go anywhere with you,” she declared. “And I will speak to ‘your wife’ however I deem fit after her ludicrous display just now.”

“Wow,” Bobby piped in with genuine disbelief. “She sure knows a lot of words, Travis.” He turned to his dad. “I don’t think she wants to come with us, Pa.”

“No, Bobby, she doesn’t,” Travis said, meeting his brother’s eyes. Even now he still looked at Travis with something akin to awe. He turned back to his mother to see her eyes firmly locked on Annabelle, like a snake planning to strike.

“Now you listen to me, you ugly little slut,” Constance sneered, thrusting a finger in Annabelle’s direction. “You get into that damn truck right now, or my Bobby will drag you by the hair all the way to the state line.”

“Ma, stop it.” It was meant as a warning, but Travis was afraid it sounded like a plea.

Annabelle cocked her head to the side, and pursed her lips like she was considering the offer. “Bobby’ll do it because…,” she trailed off, flashing Constance a grin. “Because you can’t?”

Travis groaned. Bait, set, trap. He saw his mother lunge forward, a primal scream erupting from her throat as she launched herself at the taller brunette. Annabelle’s body tensed, ready to fight, but before she could do anything Travis was in front of her, arms spread as he blocked his mother. The loud crack of Constance’s hand rang out, and he heard Annabelle gasp behind him in surprise as he took the slap intended for her. Neither woman had expected his interference, and for a moment everything was still.

Travis met his mother’s gaze, stars still spinning around his head. He searched her face as she looked back at him, her features devoid of shock or repentance – all she had for him was fury. Cold, hard, bitter fury; it was the same look she’d given him as a child before each beating, and he didn’t have to guess what was coming next.

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inpursuitofmeaning · 24 days

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March 30, 2024

To err is human, and today, rather unfortunately, I was very much a human (womp womp). I made a mistake. I didn't kill anyone or anything like that. In fact, it hardly has any consequences other than my own guilt, which is deserving. I called out a stranger (an employee of the karting event) on their passive aggressive comment. I didn't yell or swear or hurl insults, and tried my best to say calm, as I explained that I am more than happy to listen if I am doing something wrong, but I didn't appreciate her passive aggressive tone. I immediately felt guilty, because although I tried to stay calm, I still felt like I re-acted, instead of responding, and didn't think before I spoke. Looking back, I am probably recalling the memory with heightened adrenalin (from the race), and a human bias, making me think maybe she wasn't being passive aggressive, and rather it was me projecting my own insecurities, defensiveness, embarrassment (from spinning out) and therefore my ego. Recognizing this, I do feel rather bad about it. I brought it up after the race, and she tried to dismiss the conflict, to which I persisted. This I feel particularly bad about, so I sent an email to the karting place (in French) to try and apologize for my behaviour. Marcus Aurelius tells us the following...

"How rediculous and how strange to be surprised at anything which happens in life"

“When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: the people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous and surly. They are like this because they can't tell good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own - not of the same blood and birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. And so none of them can hurt me. No one can implicate me in ugliness. Nor can I feel angry at my relative, or hate him. We were born to work together like feet, hands and eyes, like the two rows of teeth, upper and lower. To obstruct each other is unnatural. To feel anger at someone, to turn your back on him: these are unnatural.”

I must look as this mistake as an opportunity to grow. And reflecting on it made me realize several things about myself

I recalled I was also being defensive this morning with my partner over a small mistake. I realized that I have a tendency to get so defensive and insecure over the smallest, insignificant things. Well, I have discovered I have a bit of an obsession with having a perfect moral slate. I was raised in an environment where "being good" was what gave me my value as a human. So when I make mistakes, it is a compromise of my entire sense of self and belief system. I have been aware of this for a while, and find my reaction and ability tpo deal with small mistakes cyclical, and heavyly depenandt on my external environment. Sometimes I can forgive myself, other times not. And I find it heavily depends on who the mistake affects (affects others = I think im the devil, affects me = I can deal with the consequences)

We are human, and I will make mistakes. Life is is full of mistakes. What matters is my ability to look at it with gratitude. I made this mistake now, so that I don't make it again, when im older, and potentially in a more significant situation. Of course I still feel bad about the way I spoke to this girl. I am not a conflictive or antagonistic person, and I find I struggle to find balance between when to defend myself, and when to let it go. I was a pushover for so long, that any form of conflict makes me highly uncomfortable. Even working retail, I dont know if it helped or hindered my conflict skills, as it filled me with so much fear for people. During the conflict, this girl just said its okay it dint bother me, the kart hurt my leg I understand, I are all good let us forget" and I said "well, I understand and im sorry I dint mean to hurt your leg, but your tone was passive aggressive and I didnt appreciate it". To which she responded "I understand". Why couldn't I have just understood in the moment? Isn't that the most human thing of all? To understand? Isn't that what we all want? I could learn something from that. She handled it much better than I did. And why does THAT embarrass me? Why do I think I should be able to handle it better (better than her, better than I did??)- because I read philosophy and think alot? that does not make me a good person, just like being good at things doesnt make me a good person (re: first bullet). Why am I embarrassed - it is my ego again.

“Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” I feel better after sending the email. Even though I know I can't change the past, at least I can learn from this mistake, become wiser, and not do it again.

“When you start to lose your temper, remember: There’s nothing manly about rage. It’s courtesy and kindness that define a human being—and a man. That’s who possesses strength and nerves and guts, not the angry whiners. To react like that brings you closer to impassivity—and so to strength. Pain is the opposite of strength, and so is anger. Both are things we suffer from, and yield to.” To err is human, and (rather unfortunately) am a human.

#nothing new #the life and times of emily #not my proudest moment

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sweetest-devotion · 3 years

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and what am i supposed to do when louis tomlinson drops a britpop rock album full of bangers and heartbreaking bittersweet ballads?

#because surly my reaction is going to be embarrassing #lt2 #lt2 tag

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katsuhera · 3 years

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paranoia

pairing: bakugou katsuki x f!reader tw/warnings: nsfw (18+), dumbification, alcohol, some choking, some degradation, some cockwarming, canon au but not relevant to story, aged up characters (18) wc: 4k

“paranoia, anyone?” kaminari asked, wriggling his eyebrows at the group. tonight was a chill drinking night, celebrating the start to summer vacation.

“ooh! i’m down,” mina exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands together. you sat in the corner, just blissfully happy and quiet. you hadn’t drunk too much yet, but you could undoubtedly feel a light buzzing coursing throughout your veins, enough to make you just want to sit and recalibrate as everyone else moved animatedly around you.

“what’s that again?” kirishima asked, sipping his drink. “i forgot how to play, i think.”

“okay, okay, wait, let’s all sit in a circle,” kaminari started, waving his hands around. “it’ll be easier that way.”

“tch,” bakugou scoffed, a surly look on his face as kirishima forced him to scoot closer to the rest of the group. “do we have to? this is probably a shitty game.”

“relax, it’s fun, i swear,” mina assured him, her gentle hand on your shoulder encouraging you to scoot in closer as well. “one of my favorite drunk games! i promise.”

“okay, so here’s how we play,” kaminari said. “we go in a circle, like clockwise or counter-clockwise, whatever, and each person whispers a question to whoever’s next to them, and the answer has to be the name of someone in this room.”

“it sounds kind of complicated but you’ll understand once we play,” mina said. “so, for example, i’m sitting next to kirishima – i will ask him a question that only he can hear, like, ‘who has the coolest quirk?’ and he’ll say like ‘todoroki,’ or something, out loud for everyone to hear. and if todoroki wants to know what the question was, he has to take a shot, and then kirishima will expose the question.”

kaminari nodded, adding on: “it goes like that, but usually the questions get… spicy.” he smiled toothily, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint to them. “all questions are fair game! let’s not be mean, though.”

“let me grab some drinks, but you guys can get started!” mina said, getting up and heading off to the kitchen.

you glanced around the circle, giggling inwardly at how dazed iida and some of your other classmates seemed. iida in particular never really got around to drinking much, but when he did, he was predictably a lightweight.

everyone else seemed to be fine and vibing, and you curled your knees into your chest as you got comfortable, waiting for the game to start. drinking games were always fun with your class, especially when mina and the rest of their squad took control.

“who wants to go first?” kaminari asked, looking around.

“i can,” todoroki volunteered quietly, surprising everyone else.

“oh? bet, then go ahead and ask bakugo a question. we’ll go counter-clockwise, then,” kaminari piped up, getting up a little to help mina set the bottles of alcohol and plastic shot glasses down in the middle.

a hushed silence fell over the group as todoroki sat pensively, thinking of a question, before leaning in to bakugou’s grimacing face.

“what a stupid question,” bakugou snickered, and answered without missing a beat. “deku.”

everyone nearly snapped their necks to turn around and look at midoriya.

“do you want to know what the question was?” mina asked.

midoriya shook his head violently. “i think i’m good.”

bakugou sneered before cracking his neck and pausing to think of a question for kirishima.

“hurry up, bro,” kirishima teased, earning a scowl from bakugou.

“shut the fuck up,” he growled, leaning in to whisper his question.

you loved watching their best friend dynamic. bakugou was normally on everyone’s bad side, his antagonizing manner turning most people who met him off from interacting with him ever again. but with the way he interacted with kirishima, you knew that he probably had a softer side that he was either too embarrassed of or insecure to let on.

you felt your cheeks flush as you lost yourself in thought, staring at the redhead and the blonde – well, mostly the blonde, and the way his triceps flexed smoothly as bakugou leaned on his arm to get closer to kirishima.

“what are you staring at?” mina whispered excitedly in your ear. startled, you snapped your head to the side to look at her.

“nothing, nothing,” you murmured, embarrassed. if mina knew, you’d never hear the end of it.

“um...,” kirishima started, his pale cheeks flushed crimson as he prefaced his response to bakugou’s question. his eyes darted worriedly around the circle, lingering for a bit on jirou. “jirou… i think.”

jirou’s head immediately shot up from its cozy spot on kaminari’s shoulder, narrowing her eyes as she looked at kirishima. “shot,” she demanded, eliciting laughs from the group. mina poured one out for her and handed it over, giggling as jirou downed it easily, not even a hint of a wince on her face.

“what was the question?” she asked, looking straight at kirishima, making him blush even further.

“who here is…” his voice trailed off meekly.

“who here’s most likely to have a daddy kink,” bakugou grinned, his vermillion eyes glinting with amusement. “interesting… jirou, hah? i can see it.”

you smiled as you watched their interaction spiral – you’d never seen jirou more embarrassed in her life. kaminari watched on in mild amusement, though you could tell that the tips of his ears were also red.

interesting, maybe it is true, you mused to yourself. can’t blame her, though.

“my turn! ask me a question, kiri,” mina said, clapping her hands and sipping her drink.

kirishima paused in thought before covering his lips and her ear with his hand.

“stop!” mina laughed, gently slapping his shoulder. “you really asked me this knowing who i’d say?”

“yeah,” kirishima chuckled. “go on, say it.”

“mr. bakugou katsuki,” mina said, rolling her eyes. “you want a shot, right?”

“tch,” he responded, grabbing the bottle. “tell me the damn question.”

mina waited for the alcohol to make its way down his throat before she exposed herself.

“‘who here do i think will get married last?’”

“and you said me?” he asked, indignant. “oi, raccoon eyes–”

“oh my god, relax,” she replied offhandedly. “clearly it’s because you’re going to be the number one hero or whatever and you won’t have time for marriage. anyway, i get to ask y/n next!”

bakugou growled, but left it alone, choosing to sit and glower at her instead.

“i’ve got a good one,” mina smirked, and immediately you knew that you were in for a tricky question.

“who here would you fuck?” she whispered, giggling as she pulled away and watched for your reaction.

you knew it was coming. not necessarily to you, but you knew that question was coming. it’s always asked. you sighed, regretting not sitting next to deku or momo who probably would have gone easy on you with the questions.

good lord mina, you thought frustratedly, putting your palm to your forehead.

“i hate you,” you said, monotoned, much to mina’s glee. “i need a shot before i answer.”

“here you go, bestie!” she replied, immediately pouring one out for you.

everyone else looked on eagerly, murmuring as you downed the shot, making a face as the alcohol burned its way down your throat.

“damn, what kind of question needs a shot before getting answered?” kaminari asked aloud, watching you with wide eyes.

you took a deep breath, looking around the group and trying to decide on who to choose. but your actions were futile; for you, there was only one answer – and there had only ever been one answer, really.

“... bakugou,” you said finally, hesitating to make eye contact with him.

“oh?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “shot, raccoon eyes.”

“i already poured one for you!” she said happily, handing it to him. within a second, his cup was empty.

“so? spit it out, y/n,” he grinned.

“who here… would i fuck,” you said the last word with finality, anticipating the hoots and chuckles you’d get from the group.

“this is such a lewd conversation,” iida interjected abruptly, waving his hands towards the middle of the circle. “we shouldn’t–”

“you’d fuck bakugou?” kaminari asked you, his eyes wide with shock. “why?”

“what do you mean?” you felt blood rush to your face, engulfing you in slight embarrassment as you actively tried to avoid the gleaming crimson eyes that were boring holes into the side of your skull.

“i can see it, i think,” momo said, smiling at you. you were sure that what she said was meant to be reassuring, but you weren’t so sure of how helpful it was at the moment.

“so, bakugou, got anything to say?” kirishima asked with a wink, slapping his friend’s shoulder.

he was uncharacteristically silent as the rest of your peers held their breath, waiting for his response.

“tch,” he started, eyes darting to yours. “just that i’m not surprised.”

you held his gaze somewhat defiantly, thanks to the alcohol. sober you would have cast your eyes down immediately, praying for the moment to be over.

“okay, okay! next, next – gotta keep the game moving,” mina said, not wanting you to have to stay in the spotlight for too long. “y/n, ask kaminari something.”

your mind was undeniably foggy with the way you could feel bakugou’s eyes burning into your head, and you weren’t even sure how you were able to come up with a question on the spot. you muttered something stupid about who would be most likely to get robbed, and thankfully, his answer and the following questions kept the game moving along smoothly.

as the night progressed, everyone found themselves drunker and more comfortable with each other, though the questions had definitely gotten spicier. as uraraka rested her head on midoriya’s lap and jirou found herself leaning into kaminari’s arm, you couldn’t help but smile at how cute they looked. your class had come a long way since your first year together.

“i’m going to pee,” you announced, getting up and wobbling as the alcohol rushed to your head.

“oh shit, are you good?” mina asked, getting up to try and stabilize you, despite not being too stable herself.

“yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” you said, waving her off. “bathroom’s right there, i’ll be good.”

you stumbled your way over, stepping delicately over kirishima’s legs as you cut through the circle.

you used your time in the bathroom alone to try and sober yourself up. the sensation of the running cold water on your skin seemed to wake you up, and you examined yourself in the mirror.

fuck… i’m drunk, you thought after a couple of moments, giggling at the realization. disheveled strands of hair framed your face, and your eyes stayed unfocused no matter how hard you tried to get them to focus. you sighed, thinking that that was the best it was going to get, accepting your probable future hangover.

you opened the door, wringing your hands dry when an unfamiliar hand grabbed at your wrist, swallowing it in its large palm.

“bakugou?” you gasped, startled. “what…? is something wrong?”

he continued to stare at you, his large figure slowly backing you up into the wall, his body encaging you.

“did you mean it?” he asked lowly.

“what?”

“don’t be stupid,” he said impatiently. “your answer to raccoon eyes’ question.”

oh.

“i…,” you spoke hesitantly. how the fuck were you even supposed to answer that? “yeah, i guess.”

“you ‘guess’? is that a yes or a no?” he stepped in closer, backing you impossibly closer into the wall. you cowered from his stare, his body suddenly seeming much larger than you’d ever noticed before.

“i mean, yeah, i would,” your voice came out small, despite all of the mock defiance you held in your stare just an hour prior. “happy?”

he paused, holding his breath and searching your face intently. his expression was unreadable; normally, his lips were pulled into a grimace – but now, they sat in a neutral position. his eyes were the only elements of his face that gave away some semblance of emotion.

“... yeah,” he replied finally. “you could say that.”

“huh?” you asked, confused.

“come,” bakugou replied simply, tugging at your wrist and heading for the bedrooms upstairs.

“what? where are we going?” you could barely keep up with his strides. “bakugou, they’ll notice if we’re gone–”

“let them,” he sneered. “everyone’s pretty much knocked out, anyway.”

your heart throbbed in your chest as you followed him up the stairs, still slightly shell-shocked by his actions.

there’s no way this is happening right now, you thought incredulously, the only thing grounding you being the feeling of his hand on your wrist. well, i guess i didn’t lie – i would fuck him, you thought, observing the way his back muscles rippled through his black tank top. you weren’t lying – you just never thought he’d take you up on it.

you rounded the corner, realizing suddenly that he was taking you to his room – his private, secluded room that no one in the class had so far had the privilege of seeing.

“your room, bakugou? what an honor,” you giggled teasingly.

“shut it,” he growled, but you knew that he was all bark and no bite at this point.

his pace was fast and before you knew it, you were already in his room, pushed up against his door with your wrists pinned against it as he towered over you.

“you should have said something earlier, princess, maybe this would have happened a long time ago,” he said, his breath hot on your neck.

you opened your mouth to respond, but were interrupted by his lips on yours, urgent and passionate.

his tongue danced with yours as your teeth gnashed slightly; the both of you were drunk and sloppy, falling into each other as you let your thoughts swirl into nothingness.

he pressed his hips forward into yours, and you gasped slightly at the feeling of his cock stiffening behind his sweats. automatically, you rolled your hips into his, eliciting a low groan from him.

“not gonna last very long if you keep doing that, princess,” he murmured against your lips.

“huh? aiming to be a pro hero and you can’t handle that?” you teased, but were swiftly cut off as his right hand circled your neck, his left finding purchase against the small of your back as he swiveled you around to toss you on his bed.

“oi, don’t test me,” bakugou said, immediately hovering over you, supporting himself with both hands on each side of you and his knee in between your thighs.

he leaned in to suck at your neck, his hand sliding under your shirt to grasp at your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his fingers.

a dull ache started to pulse in your core, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking the thin panties you wore. it didn’t help that with his ministrations, bakugou pressed his knee harder into you, as if knowing that you were desperate for some friction.

you arched your back into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to bring him closer to you.

“desperate slut,” he chuckled darkly, nipping at your neck. “you’re lucky i wanted this, too.”

“oh? is that a confession, bakugou?” you asked smugly.

“you wish,” he replied snarkily, fisting your shirt and tugging it up, exposing your breasts. he moved his head down, planting wet kisses across your chest while pulling your bra down, the soft flesh spilling out of the restraining fabric.

a light buzzing filled your body – anticipation mixed with alcohol, and your mind was blurry, unable to focus on a single thought at a time. you laced your fingers into his hair, tugging softly at the blonde locks as his tongue lapped gentle circles over your nipple.

he brought his other hand down to pull at the waistband of your sleep shorts, and you lifted your hips, making it easier for him. as his fingers met your clothed cunt, he laughed darkly, sending a shiver down your spine.

“this wet for me, princess?”

you inadvertently tried to close your thighs, an attempt to hide the unmistakable dark spot that had formed at the crotch of your panties.

“no no, don’t hide,” he crooned, dipping his finger below the waistband of the lace cloth. “where’s all the brattiness from earlier, hmm?”

“tch,” you scoffed, tugging harder at his hair as you were at a loss of words.

smoothly, he pulled the fabric down, a low moan falling from his throat as he watched the string of slick that connected you to your panties.

slowly, he glided a finger up your entrance, gathering your arousal on it before shoving it into your mouth, forcing you to clean it off. he watched each and every one of your movements – like a hawk watching its prey.

not wanting to be the only one exposed, you moved your hand down to tug gently at his sweats, silently asking him to take them off. he listened, removing them easily and throwing his sweats and boxers across the room.

“you look so fucking pretty under me, you know that?” he asked, enamored by the way your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked his finger clean. “wish we could have done this earlier.”

he slapped his cock on your cunt teasingly before sliding the swollen head up and down your entrance, eliciting small whines from you. you’d never felt more needy in your life – just the mere feeling of his cock near your pussy drove you nearly insane with want, the desire to be filled up.

without warning, he pushed the head in, grinning at the gasp you emitted.

“fuck!” you breathed, eyebrows furrowed as you felt yourself already having to stretch to accommodate him.

“i’ve barely even done anything,” he responded, his grin growing even cockier. slowly, he pushed further inside you, holding back his own moans as he felt your fleshy walls clench around him. “fuck, you’re fucking tight though, princess.”

it burned for a second before the pain dissipated, and you found yourself craving more. you rolled your hips into his again, needing movement.

“tch,” he said, feeling your hips grind into his. “so needy.”

he pulled out slowly before thrusting into you again, hard and fast, ignoring the mewls and whines that had started to bubble up your throat.

you couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, so preoccupied were you with the sensation of being so, so full that you couldn’t form coherent thoughts.

with each thrust of his hips, your breasts bounced enticingly, causing bakugou to chew the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from showing any sign of vulnerability. but it was too difficult – you were just so pretty, a fucked-out mess underneath him.

the sound of skin slapping skin filled the air, to the point where you were sure that if any of your friends on the floor below listened closely enough, they could figure out what was happening.

“baku-gou, too l-loud,” you gasped, trying to choke out the words despite the pace at which he was going.

“so? they’re just extras, let them hear,” he growled, pounding into you particularly hard for good measure.

you couldn’t hold back your moans any longer, all of them spilling out at once, falling upon his ears like music.

“god- fuck, bakugou,” you panted, your nails leaving angry red marks on his back.

wordlessly, he moved a finger to your clit, rubbing small circles into it, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

your legs spasmed around him, and you wrapped them tightly around his hips, slowing his movements but unable to fully stop them. you were dangerously approaching your orgasm, and you could feel your vision start to glaze over – the only thing you could make out was the image of his eyes, red and shining, staring at you, as if willing you to cum.

your nails dug crescent-shaped marks into his flesh as you approached the edge. “‘m gonna c-cum,” you managed, creasing your forehead in concentration.

he pressed his finger harder into your puffy clit, his strokes becoming longer and more deliberate.

“yeah? then go ahead and cum, princess.”

waves of hot ecstasy rolled over you, pure bliss washing your mind blank of any thoughts. bakugou’s own hips stuttered as you clenched around him, convulsing as you rode out your orgasm.

“christ, y/n, feels so fucking good,” he muttered, letting you ride it out for a bit longer before he flipped you onto your stomach, fisting your hair.

“ah!” you cried out, your walls still fluttering around him despite the pain you felt from your scalp.

he pressed a palm into your lower back, forcing you into a deeper arch as he started to pound into you again, his head lolling back in pleasure.

bakugou couldn’t get enough of the way your ass bounced with each thrust, and he grabbed onto your left hip for support, starting to quicken his pace.

“mmnh–, more, bakugou,” you pleaded, your eyes rolling back as your tongue peeked through your parted lips. you gave up on trying to think – you gave in entirely to him.

“more? fucking slut,” he said, but in truth, your mewls and moans went straight to his dick, forcing him closer and closer to his own threatening climax.

you’d started to back your ass into him, too, matching his pace, and it was nearly too much for him to bear.

“shit,” he hissed. “‘m gonna cum, princess.”

“inside, please–!” you gasped, desperate to feel yourself filled to the brim with his cum.

that was enough for him, and he let go, shooting white hot spurts of cum into you, painting your walls white with his seed.

he cursed, feeling his cock twitch inside of you as it softened, despite the way you continued to clench around him, sucking up all of his cum and refusing to let go.

you whined as he pulled out, the sensation of cool air suddenly surrounding your pussy making you sensitive. bakugou watched, entranced, as trickles of cum oozed out from your entrance before he stuffed some back in with his finger.

gently, he helped you onto your back and flopped to your side, quiet, pensive. you lay catching your breath, but suddenly felt the urge to cover yourself up.

as if he could read your mind, he got up and got dressed, leaving the room.

is that… it? you thought, suddenly apprehensive. you, too, wanted to get dressed, but the trickle of cum making its way down your legs was too uncomfortable.

within seconds, bakugou re-entered the room, a wet rag in hand.

“you’re back?” you asked, wide-eyed.

“what? yeah, i left to get this,” he responded, confused and holding up the rag. “did you think i’d leave you like this?”

“... dunno,” you responded, a little taken aback.

he knelt by the bed, cleaning you up gently and sliding your panties back up your legs.

you’d started to become more clearheaded, despite the alcohol still buzzing throughout your system.

“i didn’t know you wanted this, too,” you said quietly, after a few pauses of silence. briefly, you wondered if you would have had the courage to be so honest if not for the alcohol.

“... i always did,” he responded, averting his gaze and instead shifting his attention to finding your shorts.

your heart beat wildly in your chest as you watched his face, pale with a rosy tint to his cheeks, his handsome features illuminated by the moonlight that peeked through his curtains.

“really?”

“yes, shitty woman,” he grunted, evoking a little giggle from you as he finally seemed back to his usual, grumpy self. “‘cause i fucking like you, y/n. got it?”

he what?

did you hear him correctly? you blinked rapidly, your breath hitching in your throat as he made eye contact with you, his stare intense and piercing.

when you didn’t respond, he looked down, embarrassed.

“you don’t have t–”

“i like you, too,” you responded quickly, hoping that he’d look at you again. “for a while, actually.”

bakugou hesitated before getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed. he reached his hand out, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb, leaning in to press a light kiss to your forehead.

“sleep here tonight?”

you smiled, butterflies fluttering about in your stomach.

“of course.”

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hhjs · 3 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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sierraraeck · 3 years

Text

Happier

Spencer x Fem!Reader

Spencer x Luke

Masterlist

Summary: Things have been slowly declining in you and Spencer’s relationship. Going out to a bar alone one night, you figure out why.

Category: Angst.

Warnings: Brief mention of alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This was inspired by the song “Happier” by Marshmellow and Bastille. If you wanna give that a quick listen, go for it, if not, that’s chill too.

In the cold light of day we’re a flame in the wind

Not the fire that we’ve begun

But we ran our course, we pretended we’re okay

‘Cause with all that has happened

I think that we both know the way that this story ends

You met Spencer at a bookstore. He was a regular, but it was the first time you actually interacted. He was carrying enough books to nearly block his vision, and when he no-so-gracefully plopped them down at the register in front of you, the whole pile came toppling down. You watched in amusement as he collected three of the books from the floor and placed them back down on the desk, now ready to check out.

“You know, we provide baskets at the front for this reason,” you smirked.

He barely glanced up at you, and shyly said, “Do you know how many germs are on those things?”

You laughed, “I’m not sure I’d like to know.”

He quickly raised his eyebrows at you. “I wish I didn’t.”

You checked out the rest of his books in silence, then wished him a good day on his way out.

The next week, he was back in, and grabbed the same outrageous amount of books, dropping them on his way to you.

“Back so soon?” you questioned, remembering who he was quite well.

“I needed some new reading material,” he shrugged. You cocked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“The last thirteen books weren’t enough?”

“I finished them,” he nonchalantly stated.

“You’re kidding.” He shook his head. “Jeez. Is the only thing you do read all day?”

“No,” he innocently responded, “I only need a few minutes to read each. I’m actually an FBI agent.”

You stared at him blankly. That was not what you expected. “Wait, what? You’re an FBI agent, and you can read hundreds of pages in only minutes?”

He nodded as if there was nothing impressive about either of those. You were still shocked and mumbled, “Okay, wow.”

The third time he came in, you noticed that he was waiting until your register was free, so that you specifically could check him out. You had a bit more small talk, this time about some of the books he’d read. The fourth time he came in, you left some disinfectant wipes by the baskets, knowing that he really should use one, and wanted the germaphobe in him to feel comfortable taking one. He looked over at you and you smiled at him while he wiped down one of the baskets to use. It was that time while you were checking him out that he asked you on a date. You, of course, said yes. You wanted to know more about this mysterious, handsome man that worked for the FBI and could read an insane amount of books in only a short period of time.

Things were great at the beginning. You got to know each other, and the more you found out about him, the more and more you liked him. The two of you started spending almost all of your free time together, and you were considering asking about moving in together.

That is, until he started pulling away.

You weren’t sure what had gone wrong. Things were great, and then it seemed like one day he went to work interested in you and came home distant. Like his mind was elsewhere. You tried to ask him about it, but he deflected every time. He used to never like going out with his team, but he slowly started spending more time with them, and less time with you. You hinted at wanting to meet his team, and hoped that he’d introduce you to them soon, but with every passing day you grew more doubtful.

You’d been anticipating a break up for a while now, but you just didn’t think it’d be you who did it.

Spencer was out with his team again. He’d only briefly talked about them, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was one of his team members that was holding his attention. Maybe that JJ or Emily person, you thought.

You were tired of being left home alone, and were feeling even more down than usual, so you decided to go out by yourself. If Spencer wasn’t going to have fun with you, you could have fun with you.

You pushed open the door to the bar on the corner of the street, but stopped in your tracks when you saw Spencer, and the group of people around him you quickly put together was his team. You scooted out of the entryway, and just stood there watching them. You felt sort of creepy doing it, but it might’ve been the only time you could see Spencer when he wasn’t around you. Maybe it would tell you something.

What you saw felt like a spear to the chest. Spencer was smiling. He was laughing. God, you missed hearing that laugh, seeing that smile. It’d been so long since he’d done either, and that’s when you realized the full weight of how unhappy Spencer must be with you.

Sure, he’d been pulling away, but the process was so gradual that seeing the stark contrast of him with his team versus him with you was blinding. It was like the universe was throwing it in your face just to mock you. It was painful.

The thing that really got you, though, was the way he was looking at one of his teammates. It wasn’t one of the pretty blondes, or either of the jaw-dropping brunettes, but it was the dashing man next to him. You’d seen those eyes before, the ones Spencer was giving him. He looked at you that way once, but not at all recently.

You felt ashamed for it, but your initial reaction was resentment. You hated the very attractive man with deep brown eyes and a little scruff that you’d never met. He was the reason that your Spencer was drifting from you.

But that’s the thing. He wasn’t ‘your’ Spencer. He was just a cute, shy, germaphobic guy that you met at a bookstore. And based on the way that he was looking at his teammate, you wondered if maybe Spencer hadn’t been ‘yours’ for a while now.

Unbeknownst to you, you’d started tearing up, and only noticed it when some of the people around you started giving you strange looks. You furiously wiped at your face, and took a few deep breaths. At that moment, you decided to leave, to calm yourself down for the rest of the night and confront him about it tomorrow.

You were nearly out the door when you heard that oh-so-familiar voice call out, “Hey, Y/N!” You turned to see Spencer slightly jogging towards you, “What are you doing here?”

You experienced forever in a moment, hundreds of thoughts swarming your mind in an instant: I’m here because he never wants to spend time with me anymore and I was going to drown my feelings in alcohol; It doesn’t matter why I’m here because now I know what’s been going on between us; I can’t stay with him; but I love him; maybe we can make it work; he’s clearly unhappy with me and I’ve known it for a long time; the way he looks at his coworker is the way I want him to look at me; can I ever make him look at me like that again; what did I do wrong; this is that man’s fault; this is Spencer’s fault; this is my fault; maybe I’m just not good enough for him; why am I not good enough for him; god I think I might cry again; no I need to pull myself together, that’d be embarrassing; I wish I was good enough so I could see him smile and hear him laugh like that again; that man made him smile like that and laugh like that, something I haven’t been able to do in a long time; he doesn’t love me; he loves him; I love him; I want him to be happy, he deserves to be happy; I deserve to be happy; I want him to be happier than he is with me; I want him to be as happy as he is with that man all the time; I want that happiness to be with me, but it’s not; I want him to be happier.

We shouldn’t do this anymore.

It’s not that you couldn’t do it anymore, you wanted nothing more than to keep fighting for the two of you, but you had the astonishing thought that you just shouldn’t. I wouldn’t be fair for you to keep Spencer from the man he truly wanted, and it wasn’t fair to yourself to continue in this relationship.

In the blink of an eye, you heard yourself speak the words you never thought you would, words you couldn’t even believe you were saying out loud, right now, to the man you just realized you loved. “I’m breaking up with you.” You felt tears rising to the surface, but you swallowed them down. This is for the best.

Spencer looked beyond shocked, like he surly hadn’t heard you correctly. “What? Why?”

You gave him a sad smile, “Spence, this is the first time I’ve seen you happy, like really truly happy. And you know what? It’s not with me.”

This just confused him further. “I don’t…” he trailed off.

You gestured toward the strong-jawed man who was trying, and failing, to not-so-subtly look your guys’ way. “It’s with him.”

Spencer followed your gaze, and offered a small, confused laugh. “Who, Luke? No, we’re just-”

“I swear to god, if you finish that sentence with ‘just friends’ I will slap you across the face,” you cut him off. Spencer gave you a slightly startled look, so you lowered your voice to a more calming one. “Look, you should be with him, okay? You actually want to spend time with him and you’re smiling which I feel like I haven’t seen you do in months.”

Spencer was shaking his head. “Y/N, I can try harder, we can-”

You held up your hand to stop him. “I don’t want you to have to try. No one should have to try that hard to keep this going. It should be easy, effortless, which is what you’re getting from someone else. So no, we can’t and more than that, I don’t want to.” You felt almost as surprised as Spencer looked from your words. They were true, from the depths of your soul you felt how true your words were, and couldn’t believe that you were finally admitting that.

Spencer’s voice was small when he asked, “Why?”

You heard the double meaning behind the question, and answered with the first thing that came to mind. “Because I love you.” You realized it was the first, last, and only time you’d get to say that. “And that’s why I want you to be happy, even if it isn’t with me.”

Spencer was about to respond when a high pitched voice, sounding slightly drunk and a little bit annoyed, yelled across the room, “Yeah, new guy!” You saw the tall man approaching the two of you, and it all kinda clicked into place. New guy. So when it felt like one day Spencer woke up loving me, and came home distracted, that wasn’t too far off. He went to work that day, which was probably the same day that ‘new guy’ started working with him. It all started slowly making sense in your head.

‘New guy,’ Luke, walked up to the two of you, standing shoulder to shoulder with Spencer, and cautiously started, “Hey, what’s going on here?”

Looking at the man before you, you hated to admit it, but your anger diminished a little, and your jealousy grew. He was a very attractive man, full, strong build, piercing eyes, gentle face, and about the same height as Spencer.

You gave Spencer a pointed look about the proximity in which they were standing, especially when the other man’s shoulder brushed up against his. Spencer wasn’t a touchy person, but he actually seemed to relax in the other man’s presence. That spoke volumes.

You knew this Luke guy was also a profiler, so he could probably sense the tension, granted anyone probably could’ve. He quickly looked at Spencer before directing his attention back to you. “Can we help you with something?”

You wanted to scoff, or laugh, or vomit. Maybe all three at the same time. Can we help you with something? Clearly Spencer had never told any of them about you, and you couldn’t help but smile, with just a hint of bitterness, at his immediate use of ‘we.’ As if you were a threat that he needed to help Spencer defuse. But you also smiled because you were right. Again, it didn’t take a profiler to spot the very different tension between the two of them.

You shook your head, looking more at Spencer than at the other man, “No, I don’t think so. Not anymore.” There was no malice in your voice, only sadness, with just a dash of exhaustion. Who knew that pretending like your relationship wasn’t sinking took so much effort?

Spencer gave Luke a tight smile, “Just give us a minute?”

He wearily nodded, but backed away from the two of you. You sighed, “Look, he seems like a good guy and clearly already loves you in some capacity, and you know what?” You half-joked, “If he does something stupid you give me his number and I’ll give him a call.”

This earned a small laugh from Spencer, which made you want to both smile and cry. Of course, it was only after you’d broken up that you could get him to laugh. You settled for a small smile, and an immediate awkwardness settled over the two of you.

You made the first move, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. With a comforting hand on his shoulder, you looked into his sad eyes, and whispered, “Bye, Spencer.”

Those were the last words you exchanged, and you walked out of that bar without another look back.

You were letting him go.

You were setting him free.

Then only for a minute

I want to change my mind

‘Cause this just don’t feel right to me

I wanna raise your spirits

I want to see you smile but

Know that means I’ll have to leave

So I’ll go

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tk-writer · 3 years

Text

A Test of Strength. [Din Djarin x Reader]

The Mandalorian gets the best of you in a friendly duel.

Word Count: ~1,000

~~~~~

“Teach me the Mandalorian Creed.”

You watch the Mandalorian intently as he polishes one of his Beskar armor plates. He answers without looking up.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He pauses, sets the armor on his work table, and turns to face you.

“Why do you want to learn?”

You focus on the face covered by dark metal in an attempt to appeal to his humanity. You knew this would most likely be his response, but you still hoped to sway his heart. The two of you had been through quite a bit during these last few months you had spent together. You were starting to figure out what made him tick. Or so you thought.

“I want to be stronger. I’m tired of being the one who always needs to be protected,” you hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling shy. “...I want to fight by your side.”

He doesn’t respond at first. It almost seems like he’s contemplating things. But he turns away again and picks up the scattered plates on the table.

“You don’t need to learn the creed in order to be strong.”

“But if I did, I’d improve my combat skills! And I could use gear like yours. And I…”

I wouldn’t be a burden to you anymore, you think. But you didn't dare say that aloud.

“Being a Mandalorian isn’t all fighting and gear. It’s a way of life,” He places the Beskar plates back onto his arm, flexing his muscles to make sure he has installed them properly. “And it’s not exactly a pleasant one.”

You frown and cross your arms. This is not going as you’d planned.

“I want to decide that for myself.”

He looks at you again and stands up, taking a few steps forward. It seems like he’s sizing you up, but you can’t tell for sure without seeing his eyes. After a few awkward moments of silence, he speaks again.

“Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He comes for you before you can take another breath. You manage to evade his first attempt to grab you, but his next movements are swift and practically invisible. One misstep and an uncoordinated stumble later, and suddenly you're pinned against the cold wall with both wrists strapped above your head with some sort of wire cord. You try pulling them down, but they don’t budge.

You’re trapped.

He stares you down, dark beskar reflecting your stunned expression. He slams one hand next to your head, which makes you flinch. You begin to feel very, very nervous.

“If I was an enemy,” he says in a low, surly voice. “You would be dead by now.”

“You don’t say.”

“Or… worse.”

“What’s worse than death?”

He suddenly jabs one side of your body, right between your waist and lower ribs, and the yelp that comes out of your mouth is so loud it almost startles him.

“Torture. Interrogation. Inquisition.”

With every word, he prods another part of your body. Your neck, your ribs, the center of your belly. And each time, you squeal and twist yourself away, or at least try to.

“Okahay, I get it! Now stop! I’m really ticklihihish!”

You didn’t know how much you would come to regret those words.

Something clicks in him; you sense it as his movements become more intentional. His random jabbing becomes more deliberate, although he continues to act as aloof as ever.

His next words make your heart drop.

“Never reveal a weakness to an enemy, unless you want it to be used against you.”

His hand slides down your side as he watches you thrash frantically from the gentle touch with an intense focus. Then he gives you a gentle pinch on your hip that makes your knees buckle and your breath hitch. If you hadn’t been stuck against the wall, you would have crumpled up on the ground.

“MANDO! Plehehease! Stop playing around!!”

“You wanted to learn the creed, didn’t you.” You can tell he’s grinning under the mask. Jerk.

“This isn’t the cr-EEEEK! Nooooooo!”

He's clawing your waist, gently digging into the soft, squishy parts of you seldom touched by others. His tickles are a bit clumsy at first, perhaps because he wasn't the type to do this often, but he gets into it the more you squirm. He tickles you with care, driving you crazy even with light flutters. After some time he gains confidence, tickling faster once he hears more of your tittered reactions. You throw your head back and scream with laughter, unable to do much else. You kick his shins weakly, which does nothing as his armor protects every blow. Once it dawns on you that you’re at his whim, your giggles grow louder and a bit more panicked.

It doesn’t last much longer. Once your laugh becomes screamlike, he decides you’ve had enough and releases you from your entrapment. When the cords are removed you slam your arms down at your sides.

“That’s… not fair…” you gasp.

“Anything goes in combat.”

“I’m not giving up. I could still beat you.”

That makes him scoff.

“Tough words from someone taken down with tickling.”

You feel your face getting warm and pray he doesn’t notice under the dim lights of the cabin.

“Hey!! You-”

You want to say more, but you’re silenced when he puts his hands on your shoulders. It’s a tender gesture, and you’re not sure how to respond. It didn't happen often, after all.

“Strength comes in many forms. You are strong in ways that I’m not. So don’t underestimate yourself.”

It’s a moment you wish had lasted longer. He lets go and turns away, pretending to tinker with the gear on his belt.

“Besides. It wouldn’t… be good. If you hid your face behind a mask all the time."

“Wha… why not?”

He walks away quickly, leaving you without an answer. Almost as if he embarrassed himself. Confused, all you can do is stare with your mouth gaping open before he disappears upstairs into the cockpit.

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #tickling #din djarin #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #gender neutral reader #ler!din djarin #ler!mando #oof sorry this got very mildly angsty and sappy #im gay and yearning leave me alone

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raleighcarrera · 3 years

Text

outpoint

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

a cut scene from chapter 4; after dionne’s party, blaine and kennedy work on their project a little bit and then not at all.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @natesewell ; @flyawayboo ; @withbeautyandrage ; @blainehellyes

~3.3k words | T

it would be easier not to be seen together if not for the fact that they’re no where near done with their project. in fact, they’ve barely even started.

there’s also the added complication of their less-than-platonic relationship; they’re far from just classmates, or even friends.

everything feels like it’s gotten out of control so quickly.

but he hadn’t planned for this. he’d agreed to go to vancross because it was that or the campaign trail; when he’d first arrived on campus, blaine had expected to coast through his classes, party until he forgot how pissed off at his parents he was and wait out the boring political drama unfolding back home with a few more years of school.

he hadn’t expected her.

to their credit, his father’s advisors had done their best to warn him. still, he’d slept through so many briefings before packing up and heading out that he lost count -- going to vancross was supposed to be a reprieve from being blaine hayes, a chance to get out from under his parents’ noses. the first daughter of rutherland was a nonissue, hardly part of the equation at all.

...then he’d met her, and she’d called him a jackass with that cute little challenging sparkle in her eyes, and a part of him that had long since been quiet slowly stirred awake again.

and now he’s here: playing it so cool that kennedy is clearly starting to doubt whether he even likes her at all, fidgety and tense where she’s doing her very best to pretend to be engrossed in her textbook, sitting right beside him on the couch in her suite.

her bodyguard is definitely glaring at him, too.

blaine looks away, clearing his throat and nudging kennedy with his shoulder. “hey,” he murmurs, voice purposefully low, “i think i found something.”

it’s only when she blinks at him curiously that he realizes he has absolutely nothing at all to offer her and only wanted an excuse to break the silence between them. he points to a random passage in the book in his lap. “we can use this for our argument.”

kennedy looks down at the section he’s indicated and then stares back at him as though he’s one of the dumbest people she’s ever had the displeasure of talking to. rather than wilt under the disappointment in her eyes, he only smiles charmingly back at her, until she heaves a sigh and says, “maybe you should just work on our citations.”

god, no. anything but that. panicked, he grabs for the book she’s holding before she can retreat silently into its pages, burying her nose in the spine and refusing to look at him like she has been for the last hour. “look,” he starts, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the sudden spike of nervousness that flares up within him is... new, to say the least. he needs a plan. “can we talk privately for a minute?”

she looks past him, quirking an eyebrow at her bodyguard. there’s a beat or two of silent communication between them that makes him feel uneasy and a sharp twist of her mouth before he hears the front door open and shut, and then they’re alone.

blaine exhales, jumping to his feet. “okay -- come on.”

he crosses the room without waiting for a response from her, prying open one of the windows in her kitchen. his head leans out to judge the distance to the cobblestones beneath them; it’ll be a bit of a jump, but he’s had worse. when he looks back at kennedy, she’s still blinking at him owlishly. “uh, what are you doing?”

“we’re ditching your bodyguard,” he grins, more confidently than he feels. it is kind of funny how she’s looking at him, like he just suggested a bank heist. “come on. he’ll be back any second.”

kennedy glances at the front door, then rushes over to meet him at the window. “but -- why -- we’re supposed to be working on our project.”

he arches his eyebrows at her, unimpressed. “and we’re obviously not making any headway. plus, i can tell you’re distracted, and since i’m pretty sure that’s my fault... i want to fix it.” well, those are words he’s almost definitely never said to anyone before. to cover up his own surprise at himself, and how uncomfortably true they ring, he widens his grin and asks, “don’t you trust me?”

as soon as she leans around him to peer down at the length of the drop, he knows he’s won. “not enough to go first.”

blaine winks at her before deciding to hell with it, leaning out the window and jumping down to the ground, wincing when his shoes slam against the pavement. fuck. that probably wasn’t worth a shot at impressing her.

though it is worth being in the perfect position to catch her, when she slips from the windowsill and straight into his arms, windswept and adorable. her trip down had been clumsy and imprecise, with all the grace of someone who had probably never snuck out of anywhere before.

before he can stop himself, he lifts a hand to her face to brush her hair back behind her ear. she smiles at him, as his fingertips graze her temple, and for a moment it’s like they both forget who and where they are.

it’s terrifying.

he sets kennedy down on her feet as quickly as he can, reaching for her wrist to tug her through the courtyard. “come on.”

“where are we going?” she asks, stumbling to catch up with him, “and -- slow down, jesus. i can’t run in these shoes. no one’s chasing us, anyway.”

right. he knows that. he’s done this plenty of times -- evaded his own security detail so frequently he could probably do it in his sleep. he’s snuck plenty of pretty girls around behind guards, including this pretty girl just a few days ago. there’s no reason he should be off his game now.

blaine shakes his head at himself and then slows to a stop, finally dropping kennedy’s wrist back to her side. “well, you can’t ever be too sure,” he muses, pleased to find that they’re definitively alone, no other students or faculty or wayward paparazzi following behind them. “but you’re off the grid, now. how’s it feel?”

kennedy pauses, then unleashes a blinding grin that’s a little bit dazzling. “i see why you do this all the time.”

he hums his agreement, trying not to stare at her smile. “we’re not even at our final destination yet.”

she makes an interested noise that he tries not to find sexy and fails. no one ever said he didn’t have a one-track mind. “where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” blaine promises, his own smirk sharpening as soon as they reach the gate and his hands find it unlocked. some state-of-the-art security.

kennedy falters beside him as he holds the wrought-iron out wide for her. “we didn’t fill out any paperwork.”

that’s true. but it would’ve been impossible to ask for permission when the plan was still only half-baked in his mind, sprung into being just twenty minutes ago. “we’ll be back before anyone notices,” he assures her, “except maybe your shadow.”

kennedy rolls her eyes, but his teasing does the trick. she saunters out of the gate with him without a glance back. “tatum’s just doing his job.”

“right,” blaine scoffs, “that’s all he’s doing.”

there’s a pause that feels just a touch too long before kennedy carefully asks, “what do you mean?”

“i mean --” he adopts the most casual tone of voice he can muster. it still feels like not enough, making him instantly regret dancing around this topic of conversation. “it just seems like there’s something else going on between you two.”

yep. kennedy smirks wide, as obviously delighted as any one person can look. he should’ve seen that coming. “is that so?”

“don’t be smug,” he mutters, hunching his shoulders in when a group of random strangers walk past them on the sidewalk.

“no, i’m going to,” kennedy argues, looking unfairly cute as she does the same, mimicking his movements. god, he hates her. “tell me, what do you think is going on between us?”

“only if you tell me why you’ve been so quiet,” he fires back, leading them off down a side street. “you’ve been weird ever since we got back from pavadena.”

“i have not,” kennedy insists immediately, though when he looks her way again while they wait for the light to change so they can cross the street he sees she’s biting down anxiously on her bottom lip. “i’m not even supposed to be seen with you.”

“i know.” he’s not, either. yet here they both are, in broad daylight together, in the middle of town. “so?”

“so, i’m risking a lot, and it’s like, for what? you didn’t even -- you’ve barely spoken to me, too.” she looks embarrassed by the admission, avoiding his gaze while she stares at the sidewalk instead. “when other people are around, you act like... it’s nothing. me and you.”

blaine frowns. it’s unexpected, how hurtful it is to hear her say that in the soft tone of voice she’s using, uncertain and uncomfortable. she shouldn’t sound like that. “isn’t that what you want?”

she sighs, hesitating for a moment before opening her mouth again. “i --” kennedy cuts off abruptly, leaning to the side to peer around his shoulder. with a sheepish shrug, he realizes they’ve reached their destination, and that kennedy’s stopped talking because of the music playing, trying its best to lure them across the street and into the carnival. “oh my god,” she laughs, her whole face transforming from shy to excited so quickly it makes his head spin, “how did you know this was here?”

her reaction is worth any potential disaster waiting for them back on campus. it might even be worth the ass kicking that’s definitely heading his way from that surly bodyguard of hers, too. “doesn’t matter. come on.”

they jog across the street with their heads down, though as soon as they’re actually on the fairgrounds he realizes there’s no need to look over their shoulders; it’s the middle of the day and the carnival is pretty much empty, a wayward toddler being chased by an au pair the only other sign of life on the premises besides a few bored looking workers hanging out of their booths.

“god, i haven’t been to something like this in ages,” kennedy gushes, already dragging him over to a big table marked tickets. “this is amazing.”

the thing is -- he knows exactly what she means. growing up like they did, being who they are, it’s impossible to do anything normal. he can’t remember the last time he had an afternoon out that was as mundane as this one, either. even date night with his last girlfriend had become a production; nothing was ever just dinner and a movie.

instead of acknowledging her gratitude, he shoves her out of the way with his shoulder and opens his wallet for the most tickets the teenager behind the counter will give him. kennedy completely ignores him while he pays, twisted around to look out over the fairgrounds, cataloging every offering with wide, overeager eyes. somehow she makes this traveling carnival that’s absolutely seen better days feel like a luxury destination, and as he passes the tickets over to her blaine finds that his smile is tough to dampen, despite his best efforts to keep his expression contained.

they burn through a good chunk of the tickets throwing baseballs at milk bottles -- mostly because kennedy insists she can knock down more than he can, and that simply won’t do. he refuses to stop until he’s won her the biggest prize they have available, an obnoxiously pink stuffed elephant with giant, floppy ears.

fortunately, there’s still enough tickets left for the fun house and the photo booth and every other stupid thing she wants to do that he pretends to hate but doesn’t, until eventually the sun’s starting to set and he knows their afternoon out is coming to an end.

“we should head back,” blaine suggests regretfully, watching her pick her way through the giant cotton candy he probably shouldn’t have bought for her with a mix of disgust and pride. “we’ve been gone awhile.”

“have we?” kennedy blinks, as though she’s only now noticing how late it’s gotten. “ugh. one more ride -- i have to finish this.”

“you don’t,” he remarks with amusement, noting the tips of her dyed-blue fingers even as they walk off indulgently towards the only ride they’ve yet to approach. “you can just throw it out.”

“that’s quitter’s talk,” she says through a mouthful of melting sugar, chewing with her cheeks bulged out while blaine uses the last of their tickets to get them onto the ferris wheel, which is completely abandoned except for the two of them, as far as he can tell.

once the door is shut and they take off it’s the most alone they’ve been in awhile. the last time they were this secluded was in the kitchen in pavadena, when he’d licked frosting off her fingers and she’d looked at him like maybe she wanted him to kiss her, too -- like maybe she wanted even more than that.

sort of like how she’s looking at him now, doe eyes wide and nervous, the cogs of her mind very clearly turning into overdrive behind them.

it seems so obvious, now, staring at her in the cart. of course she’d wanted him to kiss her on dionne’s birthday. she’d dressed up, searching for a sincere compliment that she hadn’t gotten and invited him to dance in the hopes that if she made the first move he’d make the finishing one, like they’d done before. and he hadn’t even realized it.

so -- he probably is as stupid as everyone thinks he is.

the ferris wheel creaks around them as they slowly ascend to the top, old machinery groaning while they climb higher and higher. it feels like it takes forever for him to sort his thoughts into a sentence that’s actually passable, but for once, he wants to be careful about what he says. “i didn’t mean to make you think i don’t care.”

he hears her inhale. kennedy flicks her gaze out at the view behind him, then bravely looks back at his face. “no?”

“no,” he confirms, shrugging helplessly again. “this is new to me.” even this conversation is beyond him.

but judging by the look on her face, he’s yet to colossally fuck up. that’s good. “me, too,” she admits, leaning in a little closer across the metal bench they’re both sitting on. “it’d be weird even if we weren’t... us.”

except that who they are has nothing to do with why this is so strange for him. kennedy could be from antartica, and he’d still be the unlucky bastard who finally met someone he thinks understands him and has botched talking to her about it at every opportunity.

well, there’s one thing he knows he can still execute perfectly. as the ferris wheel glides to a stop for them to take in the view, the setting sun streaming in picturesquely through the little window in the cart, he leans in and kisses her, hands fanning out low over the small of her back.

kennedy tastes like cotton candy and her hands are sticky when they cup his face -- sticky like they would have been if he’d seen the signs for what they were and kissed her in pavadena like he’d wanted to, if he’d taken advantage of the rare moment alone in the way he was now, crowding her back into the corner of the cart with a grip that he knows is probably too tight.

but she kisses him back just as urgently as he’s kissing her, dragging him in closer and biting at his mouth. she’s kissing him like she’s been thinking about this, too -- like she’s found it even a fraction as all-consuming as he has, late at night when he can’t get to sleep and he’s staring at his ceiling cursing the absurdity of it all.

the moment is gone in the blink of an eye. the ferris wheel lurches back into motion with a sound that would be alarming if he wasn’t so distracted, the cart swaying in the wind as they slowly come down the other side of the circle.

she pulls away despite blaine’s best efforts to keep her in his personal space, his hands still firm on her hips. “blaine,” she murmurs, so prettily he actually has to shut his eyes -- just for a second -- just to catch his breath --

light spills into the cart as the door is wrenched open. they’re on the ground again, and there’s a line of kids waiting for their turn on the ride. going up had felt like forever, but the descent was done before he could even figure out what he wanted to say.

they make their way back to the street silently. blaine is so lost in thought it takes him a minute to realize kennedy is on the phone, wincing and rushing to promise the world to whoever she’s talking to -- that they’d only run out for a little, that she was perfectly safe, that she’d be back soon. tatum, she mouths at him as soon as he catches her eye, though as she talks he finds it hard to do anything but stare at the blue corners of her mouth, where she probably still tastes like cloyingly sweet artificial sugar.

he half expects an ambush to be waiting for them at the vancross gates, but it’s quiet when they head back across the quad. after a few steps in the direction of kennedy’s dorm, blaine’s horrified to find that he’s dragging his feet, reluctant to let what was probably one of the better days of his adult life come to an end.

this is going to be a problem.

they stop on the side of her building, out of sight from any students who may be using the main entrance. kennedy clears her throat, then announces, “well... this was fun. consider me -- fixed. i think i’ll be able to get my head in the game, now.”

he should make a joke. she’s lobbed up the spike perfectly, all he has to do is hit it. he’s done it a thousand times before -- it should be as easy as breathing.

instead, he finds himself staring at her. blaine ignores what she’s said. “it’s not nothing.”

kennedy blinks. “huh?”

well -- saying it once was one thing. repeating it is something else entirely. he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “you. this. it’s not nothing... to me.”

she’s smiled at him a lot since they’ve met, in pretty much every way imaginable: exasperated, fond, excited, alluring. none of them compare to the way she’s looking at him now, her whole face lit up with joy.

the kiss she presses to his cheek is soft, yet still so heavy. there’s a promise of something that makes him feel off-kilter weighted beneath it, and his stomach unknots as he realizes he’s said the right thing. “me either. goodnight, blaine.”

she disappears around the corner, pink elephant tucked up under her arm, half-finished bag of cotton candy dangling from her free hand. he watches her go, shaking his head at himself again and running his fingers through his hair once she’s out of sight.

ideally she’d be out of his mind, now, too, but he’s starting to realize there’s just about nothing that can make that happen and, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want it, anyway.

you just went on a date, chirps an annoying little voice in the back of his mind.

huh.

so he did.

for the first time since he came to this stupid school, blaine whistles on the way back to his room.

#blaine hayes #foreign affairs #choices foreign affairs #blaine hayes x mc #myfic #long post #i'm worried blaine is ooc here but ! oh well ! i hope u guys like it

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oldbiddie · 3 years

Text

A Little While

Drinking wine and neglecting studying for my upcoming exam lead to this. Sorry for any errors you find.

**Please enjoy this drunken drabble. Like, comment, drop me a note if you enjoyed it.

You downed the remnants of your third glass of wine, looking down at your phone you couldn't help the frown that formed, you had received the succinct text about a week ago and still were struggling to comprehend it, let alone reply to it.

this isn't working out.

After you had received it, you had called him twice and left him a voicemail asking him to explain what it meant. Still to this day he had not replied to your calls and voicemail. Grabbing your phone off the bar, you opened your Uber app and went outside to wait for it.

"What are you doing here?"- He asked you, his voice sounding as tired as he looked. The dark circles had grown under his eyes. You quickly remembered the many nights you had to coax him into bed, shutting down his laptop. He would grumble eventually giving in, taking your hand as you would lead him to bed.

"I want an explanation, you owe me that much"- You yelled at him, immediately pushing out of your mind the "be civil" mindset you had told yourself you were going to keep. The raw memory of the day you received the text he sent you moving to the forefront of your mind. The asshole didn't even have the balls to call you, or do it in person. After four, of what you thought were happy months, of dating. That is how he chose to end things with you.

"I said everything that needed to be said that day"

"Over a fucking text, Walter"- You shoved him by his chest, the surly bastard didn't even budge. "Why string me along for so long if you obviously didn't give a shit?"

You raised your head finally daring to look him in the eyes, his expression remained blank, almost looking annoyed at your outburst. Your immediate reaction shocked even you, rage just coursed through you, blinded by it, you raised your hand and whipped it across his face. Walter stared at you with wide eyes, as his hand cupped his reddened cheek. His breath quickened and you noted how quickly his blank demeanor changed...to anger.

Everything happened so quickly.

Walter seized your wrist and pulled you flush against his chest, then slammed you against the wall. You twisted in his arms, clawing at his forearms as you tried to escape his grip. You needed space. For a moment, you stared at him. His face looked furious, both of your chests heaved in unison, before his lips descended onto yours, devouring you as quickly as he could.

The tears welled in your eyes could not be stopped, you shoved at his shoulders, "get off me, I fucking hate you". Finding an escape you almost earned the space you craved, but Walter quickly stopped you, returning you to the wall. Walter took no time in grasping your blouse and tearing it, buttons scattered everywhere. Walter didn't waste time in grabbing your waist and picking you up, walking you both over to his couch, he dropped you on it like a rag doll.

Quickly grabbing your legs, he pulled you towards him, bringing you closer to the edge of the couch. He didn't bother in treating your remaining clothes with any decency, shoving your skirt up, he swiftly discarded your underwear without any remorse. His fingers dug into the skin of your inner thigh as he spread your legs, delving between your legs. He lapped, fingered and sucked your sex, exactly how you liked it

"Fuck!"- You exclaimed, your fingers pulling at his wild curls, back arching as a matter of reflex against his talented mouth. It was almost embarrassing how he lewdly he ate you out, how loudly he was groaning against your cunt. It was only a matter of minutes before your orgasm took you over, almost drowning you in pleasure as he continued to suck at your lips. "Oh my god!

You heard the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his pants, not giving you a chance to prepare he buried himself deep inside you. The groan that escaped his lips, vibrating against your chest as he pulled you closer to him, his lips crashing against yours and silencing that gasp that escaped them. Walter set a furious rhythm against you, his hand making its way to your breast and cupping it roughly. He continued to pump his hips as fast as he could, releasing all the pen up feelings he was experiencing in that moment.

The mixed sounds of his hips slamming against yours, the wetness of your center, his groans, the feel of his clothed chest against your bare one, was just too much to bear. You clawed at his shoulders, as your legs and cunt wrapped tighter around him. The sounds it elicited from him was enough to push you to the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you screamed your release, he joined you only moments later.

He dug his face into your neck, his breaths heavy and hot. Your joined bodies becoming softer against each other. In this moment you wanted to kick yourself, this was not the initial plan when you decided to go to his place. But now, here you were, his heavy and muscular body between your aching legs. His dick still inside you. You couldn't help but remember the many times you had been in this position with him, with the ache in your chest growing you attempted to push him off.

"I am truly sorry"- He finally spoke, his voice muffled against the warm skin of your neck. You stilled turning your head towards his. He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You could see the sincerity in them, but then again, you had before and he still ended up dumping you...over text.

You pushed him once more and he rolled off you, you quickly sat up in the couch and adjusted your skirt and broken blouse. "If you really are sorry, then tell me why? Why did you just break things off like you did?"

The silence drew long between you both, before you did anything else stupid, you tried to stand up, Walter took hold of your hand, and finally spoke, "I received a threat at work, about you. This guy we have been looking for, are still looking for, threatened to hurt you because of me".

"Why didn't you just tell me that?"

"Because you shouldn't have to worry about these things, and if something happened to you i would never forgive myself", the tone in his voice holding finality to the words spoken.

"You deserve to have a normal relationship, with someone whose job is not going to get you hurt"- He quickly added, staring at the wall in front of him, not daring to look at your hurt expression.

You silently nodded, understanding that this was it. His mind was made up. Standing up from his couch, you bent down to grab your underwear. You fought back the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat, you quietly uttered "goodbye Walter" before leaving his home.

Walter remained the rest of the night on the couch, knowing deep down that this was the right decision.

If it indeed was the right decision, then why did it hurt like hell?

#henry cavill fanfic #walter marshall #henry cavill fanfiction #my drunken hand slipped #drabble #night hunter

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risquefanfics457 · 3 years

Note

Hoiy 💕 may I request Okuyasu and Josuke reaction (separately if possible ✨) when their crush and friend invites them to a sleep over game/movie night? And when they are like “who’s coming?” They would say “oh I wanted to play/watch this with you?” And if they would be like but what about your parents they would be like “ahh they are away for the week and I don’t wanna be alone at night” them being flustered and asking each other for advices would be hilarious XD thank you!

I already did 2 sleepover HCs, so this will be my last kind of sleepover thing. And it kind of turned into fanfics. Okuyasu’s S/O is female here.

Josuke

Josuke was walking home from school, pretty much alone. Okuyasu and Koichi had left earlier because they had exams and went home, so Josuke was a bit lonely. That was until you came running towards him, waving a hand in the air. “Josuke!” He turns around, “Y/N?” It’s odd for him to see you without his other friends around, not to mention he had an obvious crush on you, so when you approached he was a bit flustered.

You huffed and bent down catching your breath. “God, you walk so fast... Holy moly...”

“Uh, you alright, Y/N?” Josuke reached a hand out instinctively. You grabbed it, and he immediately grew red, not realizing he had held your hand.

“Sorry, Jojo. I was just wondering if you, *Huff* wanted to hang out?”

“Oh,” He scratched the back of his neck. “Like, you wanna get Okuyasu and Koichi?”

“No, not really.” His face goes blank, “Wait, so... just me and you...?”

“Well, yeah. If that’s okay.” You chuckle. “And get this, my parents are on business for like a week, so we have my house to ourselves!”

“-Alone?”

“Jojo, you good?” You straighten the straps of your backpack.

“Yeah, YEAH! I’m great!, I mean, I’m good. B-but why?”

“Well, heh, I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t ask but,” You began walking in the same direction, but your eyes staring at your feet. “I like having company... my parents are usually around, and I trust them, a lot, y’know? I just want to be around somebody I trust... andI just don’t like being alone. Especially at night...” You muttered quietly and stopped.

“Oh, well, in that case, I’m down.” Josuke confirms, his heartstrings pulling.

You’re eyes light up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You jumped around a bit. Josuke smiled and started for the direction of your house.

“Uh, Jojo?”

“Yep?”

“That’s that way to my house.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You should grab your toothbrush and like, pajamas or something.”

“Why would I need those?”

“Because you’re going to sleeping over...?” You cautioned, wondering if he agreed to stay for the night. His face glows like a cherry, and whips around, "I’m what?”

His mind was going to start to wander, and you began to panic.

“Well, you don’t have to, I just. I feel safer with people I love being near.” You spit out without thinking.

‘Oh, good job’ You chided yourself.

“Y/N?”

‘That’s it. You fucked up.’

“You... love me?”

You stuttered, “Oh, did I? I don’t remember saying that... you might be hearing things, on second thought, I’m good! I’ll just see you at school tomorrow-!”

You turn to run in a panic but you feel strong arms hold you in place. They were big and muscled, you couldn’t get out of his grip if you wanted to, and you... didn’t want to.

“Hey, Y/N. I-it’s okay... I-I like you too.” His chin rested on your head. “Please, just don’t run away.” You pulled your own arms up and put them on his. “I, I won’t.” He lets you go, and you turn to see his face, which was flushed, much like how you imagined yours was.

“Kinda more than like, really.”

“Yeah?” You smile warmly at him and it melts his heart. “Yeah. I pretty much in love with you...”

You jump up and wrap your arms around him. “So, it’s cool if you stay over?”

“Well, I’ve got to tell my mom. She can stick her nose in my business sometimes but I’ll just say I’m hanging out with Okuyasu if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.”

You began to walk again, this time in Josuke’s house’s direction, your hand drifted from you and found itself in Josuke’s warm palm.

Okuyasu

Okuyasu was hanging out at his place, just throwing some leftovers into the microwave. Exams had just finished for him. He felt kind of badly for going home early with Koichi and leaving Josuke at school but a few bits of some left overs from Tonio’s would surly brighten him up. He grabbed some sushi out of the fridge from last nights dinner too, and he went up the stairs to bring it to his dad, maybe he’d want some. When he got up he knocked and then opened his dad’s door.

“Hey, Pops, you like California rolls, right?” The green creature graciously took the food and some chopsticks and hugged his son, blubbering something and making pretty incomprehensible noises, but he could tell it was all smiles and gratitude.

Then a knock came from downstairs. “Hold on, Pops.” He bent out a window in another room and spotted you at the door.

“Ooh! Y/N is here!” He shouted down the hall and ran down the stairs. He smiled wide and giggled like a kid and swung open the door.

“Y/N!!!” His arms went up in the air and he pulled you inside without a second thought. “What’re you doing here?” There was a long beep from the kitchen. “Hold that thought Y/N! I got food in the zapper!” He always called things something strange like that. He ran back into the kitchen and you could sit down on the sofa and rethink why you were here. It’s just a question, nothing crazy, right?

He comes out with a plate with what you think is spaghetti. “So, whatcha doing?” He asks shovelling food into his mouth. While he baffles over the food you quickly think it over before spitting it out,

“Okuyasu, do you wanna have a sleepover with me?” He stops slurping up the pasta and looks at you, eyes like saucers. “Like, a friend sleepover? Or a more than friends who are having a sleepover. You flush.

“Uh, just a sleepover...” “Yeah, that sounds cool! Lemme go tell my dad!” He puts the food on a coffee table and sprints up the stairs. “POPS, IS IT OKAY IF I GO HAVE A SLEEPOVER WITH Y/N?” He yells down the hall. You curl up into an embarrassed ball on the couch, why did he have to say it like that...? “BE RIGHT BACK Y/N!” It was a few moments later he came down with his school bag, but with a blanket hanging out and a toothbrush in hand and toothpaste loosely hanging out of the other.

“Okay! I’m ready!” “Uh, cool.” You head out the door, and he starts heading in the direction to Josuke’s. “So are we grabbing Josuke and Koichi, or are they meeting us there?” You walk behind him and unknowingly grab his arm, “Actually, I was thinking... just you and me?”

He squints and bends down to your height, “Hmm, hang on. Okay, Y/N I’m not the brightest guy in Morioh, but something is up. Are you asking me on a date?” You let go of his arm. “Uhhh...”

“Because of you are, you should know that I am a man of many things, but lying is not one of them. So I’m gonna lay some truth on ya. I like you.” He points to you and flushes a little.

You stand in silence. Your heart races and your knees feel weak. “A-are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Now, I told you what’s going on in my head, now it’s your turn. Do you like me?” You are flabbergasted at the least. This was so, random, he never talks like this. Not to anybody.

“Yeah... I guess,” You smile weakly.

“So this sleepover is for just the two of us, because you like me?”

“...yes.”

“Alright, cool. We’re on the same page.” He starts walking to your house.

“Wait, Okuyasu! What does this mean?” You catch up with him,

“Y’know. I don’t know. I don’t get that far usually.”

You grin nervously, “Do girls frequently ask you out?”

“Oh, no. God, guy like me could never score a chic like you. Nah, this is all new.” The next minute was pretty quiet.

“You think, I’m pretty?” You inquired.

“Ha, I’m might be a bit slow, but I’m not stupid, Y/N.” You feel a warmth spread in your chest, and you kiss his cheek. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Did- did you just, kiss me?” “Is that a new one too?” You tease flustered. His moment of clarity suddenly stopped there,

“Yeah. Okuyasu, I’m not sure what to do right now. Do you want to date me?” He looks down at you with his hand where you kissed him.

“Yeah.”

“Do you still want to sleepover at my place?” You ask with his hand intertwining with yours.

“Yeah.”

(Okay so I have this headcanon that after Okuyasu’s brother died he made sure to let people know how he felt, and if he loved somebody, he would tell them, just in case he loses them) My heart- 💔

#Josuke #josuke 4 #Josuke Higashitaka #I LOVE JOSUKE #josuke x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #Okuyasu #Okuyasu Nijimura #okuyasu x reader #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jojo's bizzare adventure diamond is unbreakable #Diamond is Unbreakable #Jojo Diamond is Unbreakable #jojo x reader #jojo x oc #okuyasu x fem s/o

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Pretty Girl - Blurb 2

Summary: Pretty Girl can’t get her mind straightened out after meeting Detective Zimmerman.

Warnings: Swearing, spider.

A/N: A blurb I wrote up as a thank you for 200 followers! Love you all!

You were washing your hands under cold water as you stared at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, your eyes wide from embarrassment and nerves. Today, you admitted to yourself, had taken quite a surprising turn.

You had heard all about the surly detective during your first week, as you worked to form a friendly relationship with the staff at the CSPD. You paid just as much attention to those speaking about Detective Zimmerman as you did to everyone else, and found yourself intrigued at the mixture of admiration and humour their words always laced with. He clearly was among the highly respected within the station.

You’d overheard Ron laughing at the pile of paperwork he had stacking up during his vacation. You made a point on Friday afternoon to complete as much of it as you could, organizing each folder as you went. It was only when you finished that you had considered whether he might be someone who didn’t like others touching their paperwork, but it was done. Better to beg for forgiveness.

Today though, you were reeling, and it had nothing to do with the paperwork.

You’d worn your lucky blue dress for work and made two loaves of banana bread, hoping he’d like at least one option, excited to meet him.

Of course, no one had said he had such a presence, both physically and just in his overall persona. No one had bothered to prepare you. It was silly to think that anyone would warn you, it’s not like Donna could have taken you aside and say ‘by the way, you might want to rip your clothes off the moment you lay eyes on him.’ Totally normal reaction.

You scoffed at yourself in the mirror.

But Christ, when those honey-brown eyes found yours, you couldn’t stop the way your eyes widened at the moment. He was breathtaking. You’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but when he made his inference of your friendliness towards Ron, you instantly began to worry he would think you were a flirt or a ridiculous school girl type. You had seen the regret flash in his eyes when he noticed you flinch at his words. You understood that he didn’t mean anything by it.

He just came across so...gruff, it was hard to read him. And you were usually so good at reading people.

As you dried your hands with a scratchy paper towel, you considered the enigma of Flip Zimmerman. In just a brief introduction, you had turned into jelly and instantly wanted more; more conversation, more facial expressions to study, more handshakes. Was that normal, you wondered? Or was he handsome enough to make you lose your head? It had been a long time since you’d been in any sort of relationship, but that was no excuse for your reaction.

Movement out of the corner of your eye disrupted your thoughts, and you glanced up only to jump back into the wall behind you as a decent-sized spider crawled down the wall.

“Fucking hell.” You muttered, spinning and hightailing it the fuck out of there. You hated spiders. You’d see if you could find a bro-

“Argh,” You gasped, exiting the bathroom and walking straight into a solid wall. Only, the wall reached out and steadied you before you could fall back from the force with large, gentle hands. No way.

“Damn it, darling,” You met Flip Zimmerman’s eyes, your head having to tilt back because of his height. Jesus Christ, he was fucking tall. “I’m sorry, are you alright?” His brows were furrowed in concern as he steadied you before stepping back. Something about the intensity of his gaze struck you, heat pooling in your stomach.

You suddenly felt entirely too nervous as you stood alone with him, his manner intimidating. Did he realize this about himself, you wondered? “I’m fine, goodness, I should apologize, I ran out of there like a bat out of hell.” Wait, what? When have you ever used that expression before?

Flip raised a brow at your words, “Something scare ya?”

Well, the fucking spider did until I saw you again.

Oh great, you had to tell him you were afraid of a tiny little spider. This was not your day.

“I, um,” Fuck, you thought. You closed your eyes and tried to find the right words, so as not to sound like a complete idiot. “It’s silly, I was washing my hands and noticed a big spider and I really, really hate spiders-I live alone and I can never kill them easily, I always get the broom so I can stay far back, so I thought I’d run out here and find a broom-“ You broke off when a smile split his face. You had to blink a few times to clear your head.

He had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

Your grin came in response to his, but words failed you entirely as you looked upon the transformed man before you. You wanted to make him smile like that every day.

“I can kill it for ya’, no need to resort to desperate measures,” He joked, and you giggled because apparently, you had lost the ability to function otherwise. “But do me a favour?” His smile fell into a more serious frown, his eyes flashing with concern. There was that intensity again.

“What’s that, detective?” Ah, there was your voice. About time, you thought.

Flip took a breath before speaking, “Accept my apology, for earlier. I’m a grumpy S-O-B and my words came out harsher than I intended, I only meant to tease. I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand through his hair nervously as he spoke, the action sending warmth shooting straight to your core. You suddenly felt the urge to take his worries away, smooth out his frown. You had to cross your arms to keep yourself from reaching out to hug him, such was the strength of your desire. He was apologizing to you, and all you could think was about how to get him to smile again.

You worded your response carefully, wanting to make light of everything while still conveying that you were a competent human being. “Of course I accept, detective. Jimmy warned me you were a mean lumberjack-his word, not mine. I just-“, You stalled, finding the right words, “Worried I’d given the wrong impression, is all. I’ve got a good work ethic and don’t want anyone thinking I’m silly or chatty over hardworking.”

He looked astonished at your words. His voice was quieter when he replied, a low timbre, “You organized all my files for me, while I was off?”

“Yes-why?” You asked, curious.

Flip laughed, a booming rumble that made you flush.

That smile. Damn, damn, damn.

“Darling, that knocked two hours of painful catch-up off my plate and we hadn’t even met before, I can already tell you’re impressive, so if anyone here ever tries to question that, you send them to me.” His eyes moved to the door behind you, as if just remembering how you both ended up in this conversation in the first place, “I’ll go kill that monster in there for you.”

He began to move away before you had found your voice again, though when his hand pulled the door open you heard yourself say, “Wait!” He looked around at you, and you grinned up at him, saying the only thing that came to mind, “Thank you, Flip.”

When he had disappeared through the door, you let out a breath, your shoulders caving forward in relief.

Well fuck. It was official.

You were in a world of trouble.

But then, you’d never been afraid of a little trouble, had you?

Tag list: @tashastrange89 @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @morby @pradaxstyles @10blurredsmoke10 💜

#reader insert #fanfic #fluff #adam driver #adam driver x reader #flip zimmerman x reader #friends to lovers #adam driver x you #zimmerman x reader #bonus chapter #blurb #thank you #fem reader

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joonsdiary · 4 years

Text

worth fighting for (06)

pairing: jungkook x reader genre/warnings: a pinch of fluff, a dash of angst / royalty au, historical au / tw: indignant!koo, apologetic!reader, jimin being the supportive bun that he is, if you came for a fun time this chapter probably isn’t? word count: 4,815

summary: fresh out of the perils of war, jungkook didn’t think that his task as the newly appointed general would be to look after you.

SIX.

“Congratulations, Y/N. The distance you so crave is finally there.”

You mumble to yourself as you watch Jungkook’s back disappear into the horizon. Had it not been for your sharp tongue, perhaps you would’ve prevented the damage you’ve inflicted upon him. You hadn’t seen his expression as he didn’t bother to face you, but his slackened shoulders are enough to let you know how he feels. Your heart wrenches painfully as you swallow thickly.

Yes, his mistrust towards your capabilities is unwarranted, inflicting your pride. You aren’t some weak helpless princess who needs to wait around and be rescued – you are more than capable of saving your own ass. But that doesn’t give you the authority to overstep your boundary and bring up his dead brother, of all people.

You blink up at the sky, unable to keep the tears pooling from staining your flush cheeks. There’s no use in feeling sorry for yourself now, though. You have to apologize, and somehow make it up to him. An action that’s easier said than done if Jungkook does not brush you off with every attempt.

But he does.

Throughout the rest of the day, you chase him around like a puppy does their master. There’s not much left to do since Jimin gathered firewood when you were busy stomping on Jungkook’s feelings. The tents have also been set up, courtesy of both Miyoung and Jimin. That doesn’t stop Jungkook from coming up with creative ways to dismiss your presence, though.

“I’m going to relieve myself. Will you follow me there, too?” Jungkook deadpans and you wilt away, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

“No,” you toy with the string of your dress. You look up at him and open your mouth to say the words that are eating you up. You don’t have the chance to, though, because he turns to leave in search of a dense forest area. Your shoulders slump in defeat as you massage your temples.

“Did something happen between you and the general?” Miyoung approaches you with caution. You don’t turn to address her presence, but you nod at her inquisition.

“I was being a dimwit.”

“You can be a bit dense at times,” Miyoung mumbles thoughtfully, and you give her a slanted gaze. She returns the favour with a playful smile. “What is it; you finally confessed, and he rejected you? It was so bad that he wants to avoid you, but you can’t help how your poor heart yearns for him.”

Her statement is like cold water being splashed to your face. “What do you mean finally?”

“I’m not going through the whole spiel about you acting jittery around him again,” she says wryly. “But you’ve been really, really obvious.”

Your face blanches, and Miyoung gives you a puzzling gaze.

He hasn’t noticed though, right?

You push the thought away since what she said hasn’t crossed your mind. You’re bound to someone by agreement, and you have no plans of tearing that for something as meagre as your feelings.

“Judging from your reaction, I’m guessing that’s not what happened?” her brows creased with worry, and you shake your head.

“Would you believe me if I say that I’ve done something more idiotic than that?” you give her a sheepish grin and dive into telling her what happened. Your gaze travels to Jimin, ensuring he doesn’t hear any of what you’re saying. It’s enough that one other person knows of your stupidity. She listens with intent and waits for you to finish.

“…and then he just walked away. I’ve been trying to apologize to him since, and you can guess how that went,” you awkwardly point to the direction Jungkook has gone. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and dread fills your chest. Her silence speaks volumes on her position in this matter; she thinks you’re in the wrong as well.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” she begins slowly, uncharacteristically picking her words as if not to say anything that will disfavour you. “But you didn’t have to bring up the topic of his late brother like that.”

“I know,” you exhale, feeling exasperated. “I know that. I slipped in the most immodest way possible. But he doesn’t want to give me the room to explain.”

“Perhaps you should give him some space. It looks like he needs it if he’s actively avoiding you.”

I know that, too.

You sigh defeatedly. “Maybe you’re right. It seems selfish of me to keep pushing myself where I’m not wanted.”

“He’ll come around,” she offers a reassuring smile, which lifts your mood in the slightest.

But two days pass, yet there’s still no sign of Jungkook’s temper thawing. He rescinded his offer to teach and you agree amicably, opting to listen to Miyoung about taking the diplomatic approach in order to give him the space he needs. It’s not like he had been willing to teach you more either way, so you graciously collect your losses. If avoidance is what he desires, it’s what he’ll get.

Jimin has noticed the surly atmosphere, but he doesn’t dare ask anything. You feel apologetic for placing him in the dark by not saying anything, but you don’t think your ego could handle another moral beating after confiding with Miyoung.

You’ve chosen to stay in the carriage in the instances where you’re not needed, which happens to be most of the time since they still refuse to task you with too much work. You occasionally volunteer with Miyoung but otherwise avoid Jungkook like the plague, and you refuse to eat any meals with them as you hide away in your tent. You delude yourself into thinking that it’s the easiest task you could possibly be assigned but hearing his laughter on the other side of the closed doors prove harder than anything you’ve ever done.

You prepare your heart, nonetheless, telling yourself it’s the punishment you deserve after breaking his.

On the third day post-Jungkook, a soft knock comes at the door of your carriage. You put down your embroidery — a suggestion from Miyoung you’ve gingerly agreed to complete despite how tedious you think it is. Hope blooms in your chest and you eagerly open the door. Perhaps Miyoung talked to Jungkook about your intentions to apologize —

“Your Grace.”

Jimin’s crescent eyes greet you, and you try to hide your disappointment with a stiff smile. He steps aside as you disembark, stretching your limbs that have been bent to one position for hours. The afternoon sun is hidden beneath grey clouds, and you don’t have to squint too much as your gaze sweeps the surroundings.

“General Jeon wants to unrein the horses. It seems like we might camp out for a while. He predicts a storm might be coming and would rather be stationary when that happens.”

You nod as your eyes search for the said general. Your shoulder deflates when you don’t find him.

“I can still stay inside though, right?” you offer a meek smile, hoping he’d say yes.

“Actually…” he trails off as he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “I’ve noticed you’ve been keeping to yourself a lot and…well…”

He meets your gaze, a grin forming on his lips. “I was wondering if you wanted to go for a horse ride. Help you stave off some of that dark aura surrounding you lately.”

You allow yourself to laugh at his statement, already feeling more at ease than you’ve been the past few days.

“If you insist,” your words are filled with excitement. He offers his elbow and your palm rests on the crook of his hand.

“None of them are Luna, but I promise you they’re just as wild-spirited.” You allow him to guide you to where two horses await, saddled and unbound from the carriage. Approaching the caramel-coloured steed, you hold your palms out and run it along its neck.

“I’ve been so preoccupied these past few weeks to even ask if this was possible,” the horse neighs as you run your fingertips through its thick mane.

It doesn’t take long for you to settle down and once you do, Jimin mounts his horse.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you turn to him with a genuine smile. “And having a horse of your own to ride this time around.”

“I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen where you leave me behind. As powerful as my thighs are, I still don’t stand a chance in catching up to a horse,” his tone is bright as he claps his hand on his thighs for full effect. You laugh at the memory as your grip tightens around the rope.

“Don’t blame me for feeling excited. I’m sorry it got you in trouble though,” you lament, feeling apologetic since you heard he was severely punished by the stable master. You suspect the order came from your father, though, hence his reluctance for you to bring Jimin along. But in a scenario where you had to place your trust in the hands of a few, there’s not an inkling of doubt in your mind that he would be one of them.

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” The certainty in Jimin’s tone is enough for you not to press.

The two of you begin at a slow pace, and you welcome the cool breeze of tousling your hair in every direction possible. You bask in your false sense of freedom, your spirits already lifting the slightest.

“I’m sorry, too, for my recent actions,” you begin as vaguely as you possibly can. You’re not sure how much Jimin knows about your situation, but you have been ignoring him too as of late. It doesn’t feel fair, especially because he’s the one making an effort to bridge the gap you’ve built.

“That’s quite alright. Given your circumstance, I understand if you feel closed off at times.”

“Circumstance?” Your brows knit in confusion and you face Jimin. He returns your confusion with a small smile.

“Trekking an unknown path towards the Northern border, where no Southerner has been able to do in three generations since the conflict started. Not only that, but you’ll have to marry their monarch.”

“Oh, that,” your eyes flit back to the small patch of road ahead of you. You’re unsure what Jimin has in mind as a destination, but he promises it’s not a long ride. “The least I could do.”

Jimin dips his chin.

“I know you’re attempting to diminish the responsibility you’ve chosen to bear, but you have a lot to lose, too.”

You shake your head at him, unable to acquiesce with his considerate words.

“Compared to what you went through during the war…” you trail off, unsure of how to continue. The last time you talked to someone about death and loss, they walked away from you. Perhaps you’re not as eloquent as you’d like to think in spite of your status, so you don’t say anything further.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but this isn’t a competition of who suffers the most like you make it sound to be.” His smile is mellow, his voice gentle but not condescending. The kindness in his eyes almost deceives you into falling infatuated with him. “You don’t have to undermine your sacrifice just because you think you’re not losing a limb or getting stabbed with an arrow.”

The sentiment is enough to fill the corner of your eyes with fresh tears. You laugh softly, sounding slightly unhinged. “You make me sound so benevolent.”

“Aren’t you, though?” His lilt is playful, but you shake your head in disagreement.

“Far from it, actually.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, you know. You both.”

You don’t have to ask twice to figure out who he’s talking about. Curiosity is nagging you but you’re unable to find the right words, so you let silence permeate.

“Did he say anything…?” you whisper, and you’re sure Jimin didn’t hear it.

“About you?”

His reply catches you off guard, and you make an effort not to seem overly eager. “No, just… broadly speaking.”

“If you must know,” Jimin pauses and eyes you suggestively. You pull the ropes to halt the movement of the horse. He mimics your actions, and you fall in step with each other, pulling the reins so the animals would follow. His features soften as he looks ahead. “He hasn’t spoken much of anything. Of you.”

“Oh.” You try not to sound distraught, but your voice wavers. “I guess he must still hate me.”

“Do you think he’d still be here if he hates you?”

You blink up at him, and with the most impassive tone you can muster, you answer, “Yes.”

“You’re right,” he says after a short pause. “He’s hard-headed in that way where he’ll see this through to the end, regardless of how he feels.” Jimin chuckles as he shakes his head. You grin up at him. “You’re both stubborn— ”

“— as a mule, I am aware,” you finish for him, and his eyes twinkle in amusement.

“Am I that predictable?” He places his hand on his chest in mock offence. You nod at his inquiry, realizing that you’ve been missing this type of banter.

“Thank you, Jimin.”

His eyes form into crescents, smiling from ear to ear at your appreciation. He stretches his arms out wide. “Now that you owe me…”

“Name your price, Park.”

He throws his head back and barks out a laugh.

“It’s nothing complicated,” he begins once he’s calmed down. “But Miyoung refuses to tell me what went on between you and General Jeon. I know she knows.”

“And you couldn’t have asked Jungkook?”

“The man will snap me in half if I so much as attempt it.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you roll your eyes and bite back a smile. “Also, quite bold of you to assume that I’ll tell you. Is that why you’ve decided to bring me along on this trip with you — butter me up so you can get the answers from me?”

“It was worth the try,” Jimin grins, shrugging. “But really, I’ve brought you here because I think you need to unwind. You’ve been spending a lot of time stacking brick walls around you. Miyoung was starting to worry.”

Your heart swells and your face grows warm, thankful you have the company of the right people. You slowly realize you did yourself a disservice when you decided to close the door on the two people who care about your well-being.

“Now help me help you end this lover’s quarrel so we can move on along,” Jimin’s tone is still light. But you shake your head defiantly, ignoring the pervasive radiance of your cheeks. He pauses his walk, and you do the same.

“It’s not like that at all.”

You close your eyes, steeling your nerves as you let out a shaky breath. Jimin nods in understanding and patiently waits for you as you gather your thoughts.

* * *

Jungkook treks through the sparse wooden area. The task has been like clockwork every time you stay somewhere new. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened weeks ago, so he’s thorough in his search. He wants to make sure no stone is left unturned, metaphorically speaking.

The only difference this time is he didn’t bring his horse along. When he told Jimin to free the horses for the night, the older suggested that he leave his horse to be looked after, as well. He agreed, but now he doesn’t think it was a good idea. Especially since his thighs are throbbing from all the walking he’s done. The weariness is enough for him to call it a day and head back to camp.

Until he hears an inconspicuous laugh. By a man.

His body goes rigid, his brain wires into autopilot as his legs deftly take him to the source. The closer he walks, the clearer it’s becoming that he’s heading towards the carved-out path he’s already gone through hours prior.

“…snap me in half…”

His ears perk up in recognition, eyes thinning into slits as he attempts to form the image of Jimin’s face from a distance. He steps closer but realizes he’s not alone, so he turns his back against a sturdy tree.

Your voice cuts through the air and arrests him on the spot. He still couldn’t make out much of what is being said, and he desperately wants to know.

“No, you don’t,” Jungkook grumbles to himself.

But his feet move closer and he stands behind another tree.

“…brick walls around you. Miyoung was starting to worry.”

Jungkook is beginning to feel like a half-wit. Nothing is stopping him from going up to them as a normal person would. None of this sneaking around horseshit. But he’s unsure what your reaction will be if he does show up all of a sudden. He has been the biggest idiot in the whole country the past few days, so he will not be surprised if you walk away and leave abruptly if he steps out.

“Should I really disturb them?” He mumbles to himself.

He’s surprised that you’re even doing something besides isolating yourself either in your carriage or your tent.

No thanks to you, his subconscious nags.

It isn’t his intention to push you out all the way. He wasn’t feeling bothered by your subsequent attempts to talk to him after he walked out on you as he makes it out to be. But his ultimatum had been the sword fighting lesson; your lack of protest when he revoked it made him think you gave up trying. He didn’t let his surprise be known – he’d been the one who wanted to cancel, anyway. Then so be it.

He’s not surprised when you took it even further and refused to converse or have a meal with anyone. The action feels like an exaggeration to him. He’s the one who lost a brother, after all, not you.

He is caught in a daze for a moment, lulled by the soft timbre of your voice. No discernible word files in his mind — it’s not information he doesn’t already know. He isn’t the least bit surprised that you chose your confidante to be Jimin; as Jungkook has learned himself, Jimin gives quite the advice. The man is practically like a walking library — at times he could be spewing utter nonsense, but more often than not he says the most knowledgeable things only an elder would know.

Yet it seems odd to Jungkook. Yes, you talk to Jimin and are friendly with him. But to be able to confide in a stable boy, of all people, when you are royalty? Technically you can command anybody to talk to you and keep you company, but that’s not the case. It seems to him that it had been Jimin who’s coaxed you into opening up; like how friends would.

Jungkook’s stomach drops. There had been a moment where he genuinely thought of you as a friend, but he needlessly threw it aside by being obtuse.

The next words you utter disarms him.

“...I didn’t mean for him to interpret as if I wish it had been him who died instead.”

A twinge of guilt carves out of Jungkook’s chest as he tries to remember exactly what you said that day. The more fragments of his memory slip through his fingers like coarse sand, the more foolish he feels. He scarcely recalls what you’ve told him verbatim that had him so irate at that moment. He can only remember his reaction to it.

The anger bubbling from the pit of his stomach. The jealousy and hurt coursing through his veins. The regret looming over him as he walks away.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Stalking around private thoughts that you choose to share with anyone but him, feels all sorts of wrong. He shouldn’t pry, especially after ignoring your attempts at apologizing and pushing you away roughly like a rag doll.

He wills himself to walk away from the conversation. It’s the least he can do.

* * *

Speaking to Jimin after refusing to talk to anyone for a few days feels cathartic. You’re thankful that he provides a peaceful aura and being able to let everything out is invigorating.

“How do you know Jungkook’s brother, anyway?” Jimin asks as you descend back to the path you came from.

“Oh,” you blink for a few moments before chuckling. “I guess I haven’t told you. I grew up with them, so to speak. Hoseok taught me everything I know about bows and arrows. We were practically —”

“— attached at the hip,” Jimin cuts you off suddenly. You look at him quizzically, but nod in agreement.

“Are you sure you’re not my soulmate? We practically finish each other’s sentences all the time,” you tease. But his face is unreadable as if he’d gone in a completely different dimension without you. He grows quiet and you let him soak in the information.

“You didn’t grow close with General Jeon, though.” He says slowly, sounding more like a statement than a question. You nod your head, nonetheless.

“He was quieter and more distant back then if you can imagine,” you begin softly. “Although he was quite a pain to deal with at times; who isn’t at seven?”

Jimin laughs, nodding in agreement.

Your memories of Jungkook are sparse, but you’ll never forget the day he challenged you to a game of archery at the height of your lessons with Hoseok. You were eleven and Jungkook would only be around every so often, always getting called by his father for his own training. You shake your head at the thought, still unable to wrap your mind around how a mere thirteen-year-old boy could be shoved into the harsh environment of endless training.

“But he had always been competitive, especially against me. Although he still hasn’t beaten me at archery. Maybe that’s why he dislikes me so much,” your nose wrinkles at the thought.

Jimin scoffs and shakes his head. “On the contrary…”

“Hm?” you look up at him, and Jimin’s eyes widen in panic. He looks away momentarily before clearing his throat.

“What I meant was — you lied, completely! About having beginner’s luck.” Jimin’s cheeks are ruddy when he turns back to you, and you wonder what has him so flustered. “The highwaymen that stop us next time better be on the lookout. We have a master archer in our midst.”

You eyed him suspiciously, but a grin forms on your face all the same. “Flattering could only get you so far, Jimin.”

“I only aim to tell the truth, Your Grace,” his head shakes and you roll your eyes. Jimin hesitates before continuing. “I’m sorry for your loss, albeit belatedly. I’m sure you were devastated to hear about what had happened to him.”

Your mood plunges, but you muster a small smile. “Hoseok was like an older brother I always wanted to have.”

Jimin’s forehead creases in confusion, but he nods in understanding. You swallow the lump that wedged itself in your throat.

“His presence was always so bright; his ability to bring a smile to everyone is such a gift. That’s why losing him feels like you’ve been robbed of warmth,” your eyes trail forward, but they’re unseeing. Your thoughts flit back to Jungkook; if you are here feeling like your heart has been ripped out of your chest, you can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through.

“You remind me a lot of him,” you beam at Jimin, anxious to shift your mood.

“Sounds like I have a lot to live up to,” Jimin chuckles.

“You have the whole radiant part down. You’re practically bursting with sunlight at the seams.” You squint and pretend to cover your eyes for full effect.

“Flattering could only get you so far, Your Highness,” his eyes flicker with playfulness, lips unable to hold back a grin.

“I only aim to tell the truth, Jimin.”

His laugh bubbles from his chest as satisfaction fills you to the brim.

* * *

“I don’t want to speak out of turn…” Miyoung begins cautiously, but her lips are set in a straight line. “But will you stop pacing, for the love of god?”

Jungkook glowers at her, fists balled as steam billows out of his ear. The frigid wind does nothing to cool down his boiling body, but the grey clouds mirror his current mood. Despite the overcast masking the skies, he knows that the sun is about to set sooner rather than later.

Yet there are no signs of you or Jimin returning from your impromptu trip. He’s been mulling over the decision to leave you for hours, and every second that ticks by weighs heavier on his shoulders.

I knew I shouldn’t have left. He sighs in an attempt to alleviate the tension in his muscles. “They were supposed to be back hours ago.”

“I had no idea. It’s not like you’ve said it about five times in the last ten minutes.” Miyoung says sardonically, but Jungkook knows she’s just as anxious as he is. It’s evident in the way she looks towards the direction where he also came from every minute. “I’m sure they’ll be back at any moment now. I’ll start preparing a meal.”

She turns to leave just as the winds pick up their speed, ruffling Jungkook’s tunic. He nods wordlessly, but at her proclamation of finding something to do, Jungkook resumes his pacing. He’s thought about going to the same spot he saw you and Jimin, but that seems like a terrible idea the more he thinks about it.

One, you’re probably long gone by now and he wouldn’t know where you went next. Two, there’s an off chance that you’ll miss each other, so leaving would be futile and a waste of energy; you’ll be back, he’ll be gone. What a travesty.

“Why did I decide then to have some morals and leave them be?” he groans and dips his head into his palms, slapping himself in the process.

For a man with a calibre such as him, he’s currently lacking in all his areas of expertise. Nothing makes him feel more inept than his inability to care for you, which speaking candidly, is his sole task. Surely, he’s had more daunting responsibilities; one that requires him to think on his feet but at the same time not make haste decisions. So far, he’s done neither and no one is to blame but himself.

He feels the soft patter of the rain on his forearm, followed by the quivering rumble of thunder. Jungkook comes to a halt, his heart being propelled faster than a horse in a race. The light drizzle turns to a torrential downpour within minutes, and he curses the heavens; their timing couldn’t be more perfect.

“General!” Miyoung beckons, which compels Jungkook to run and seek shelter. Encased in the warmth of the tent, he shakes off the remnants of water in his hair as he heaves a deep sigh.

“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t go out there now.”

Miyoung rolls her eyes, and Jungkook gains an inkling as to why you insist on keeping her around out of all your chambermaids. If he didn’t know any better, he might think you two are cut from the same cloth.

“Terrible idea. Do you not hear that?”

As if on cue, the second round of thunder rippled through the silence. The wind howls louder, causing the tarpaulin to tremble with fear. A shiver runs down his spine.

“We don’t really have a choice—”

Jungkook is cut off by the pounding of hoofbeats against the dirt, which is all the consent he needs to bolt out of the safety of the tent. He squints against the rain as one horse approaches. His heart sinks.

“I was closer here than I was to her, so I assumed it would be better—” Jimin slides off the saddle and Jungkook quickly takes the ropes from him, not bothering to take his own ride.

“Where?” his tone is clipped, head swimming with endless thoughts as he awaits Jimin’s reply.

“She said something about dipping her toes in the water, I—” Jungkook’s feet slipped in his first attempt to embark and he cursed under his breath. Calm down, Jeon. His trousers squelch uncomfortably beneath him as he takes a seat, but that might be the least of his worries.

“Stay put in case she comes back.”

He doesn’t need to ask why Jimin had left you in the first place; you had probably forced him to go back on his own. Tugging at the reins slightly, he carefully steers the horse in the right direction. With one command he is off; his lungs burning in his chest as thousands of water droplets pellet his face, blurring his vision.

— previous ; next ; series masterlist

#jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jimin fic #bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #writing

251 notes · View notes

perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

Text

Best Laid Plans

For @pickledchips

For Megamind month. Here’s the AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990803

Or continue reading below:

“Move your arm,” Megamind hissed as Minion's robotic arm connected with his rib cage.

“Sorry, sir,” Minion tried to move but instead elicited an “ouch” from the other direction.

“Wayne, you don't feel pain,” Megamind groused. “Why are you in here, anyway?”

“This place is swarming with reporters. I'm still supposed to be dead, remember?”

Megamind bit back the retort of 'well your music career certainly is' and instead focused on the situation.

Fact 1: All three of them were cramped in a very small utility closet in the fanciest restaurant in town

Fact 2: They were going to have to come out sooner or later

Fact 3: He was far too embarrassed to come out right now, so maybe he should weigh the option of dying here more carefully.

“Why are you in here?” Wayne finally ventured. Megamind was already in the closet when he'd darted in. Megamind didn't answer him. “All right, fine. Minion, what are you doing in here?”

“I lost the ring,” Minion admitted.

“I forgot the ring,” Megamind murmured, only audible due to Wayne's super hearing.

“Ring? You and Roxanne-”

“Well not now, obviously! I had everything set up, it was supposed to be beautiful and ...I forgot the ring. I left it at home in my other cape. So I had Minion look for it and he was supposed to bring it here-”

“But somewhere between the lair and the restaurant I lost it,” Minion admitted.

“So why hide in the closet?”

“I made a whole spectacle of myself, and she knows it's coming now and now I don't. Have. The. Ring,” Megamind spoke each word very carefully, not certain why Wade didn't seem to think this was a big deal. They'd both been around humans long enough that this should have been obvious, right?

A knock came at the utility closet door.

“Go away! No one's here!” Megamind replied automatically, then smacked himself upside the head with a closed fist. No way that would work on anyone. He momentarily wished he had the Forget-Me-Stick, then reminded himself that as a good guy now, he wouldn't be able to use it. Probably. Maybe if the situation were dire enough.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Roxanne's voice came from the other side. “None of you guys are being as quiet and sneaky as you think you are. The whole restaurant's heard most of your conversation. Come out before you all end up needing to go to the chiropractor.”

“Metroman? Who's Metroman?” Wayne let out a boisterous fake laugh. “Never heard of him, citizen!”

“Knock it off, Wayne. All three of you come out now. Minion, I know you realize this is silly.”

“But I lost the ring!” Minion wailed.

“Who cares?” Roxanne snorted, pulling the door knob from her side. Megamind grabbed the knob from their side and tried to hold it shut.

“Why is she so strong?!” he complained as he leaned all of his body weight into the others, trying to keep the door from opening. “You could be helping,” he looked pointedly at Wayne, who could have kept the door closed with just a pinky.

“Fine, we'll come out,” Wayne agreed.

“Traitor!”

Wayne pushed the door open with his pointer finger and Roxanne had to jump out of the way to avoid the door falling on her. “Feeling better, boys?”

“No!” Megamind and Minion chorused together, collapsing into each other's arms as they cried in an over the top way. Roxanne bit back a chuckle. It wouldn't be kind to laugh when they were so upset, but she thought they were being ridiculous. But then, they didn't know the whole situation.

She pried her boyfriend off of Minion and pulled him by the shoulders into a kiss. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” He always looked dazed after she kissed him. It had been a few years of dating, but the same reaction every time. He'd once told her that her kisses could make time stand still. He could be somewhat poetic when he wanted to be.

“I'm saying yes, you goof.”

“But the ring-” Megamind and Minion were both talking in sync again, looking ready to start blubbering at any minute.

In response, she merely wiggled her left hand in Megamind's face. There on her finger was the engagement ring he'd picked out – diamonds and sapphires. “But – you- how?!”

“Minion must have just dropped it on the floor when he came in,” She explained, “When you two bolted for the closet, the waiters and I looked around and found it on the floor. One of them,” she jerked her thumb in the direction of a bored looking teenager waiter, “I think his name is Zeke? Anyway, he washed it off for me and I put it on. Because my answer is yes. I will marry you.”

“But it didn't go perfectly,” Megamind pouted.

“What else did you want to happen today? You asked, I said yes,” She grabbed his hand, “Code name ...we're engaged now.”

“Minion and I don't do that anymore,” He tried to look surly, but he was failing quickly. “Fine. But – but the wedding has to be big. A huge thing – spectacle. All of Metrocity-”

“Metro City,” the other three corrected automatically.

He continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. “Everyone in the city will show up. Maybe fireworks! Definitely a cake – no, two cakes. No....that won't be enough with this many people ...forty cakes!”

“Can I go home now?” Minion interrupted. “I have some laundry to do.”

“Sure, sure. Thank you, Minion,” Megamind went right back into planning the wedding even as Wayne also took his leave. “I'll get a brand new outfit made. Something even more devastating than the Black Mamba. And of course, we'll have to find a great designer for your dress-”

“Ok, can we just get back to dinner?” Roxanne interrupted. “Wedding planning can take forever and we haven't even set a date yet. Let's just ...let's focus on having a nice dinner, ok?”

“Of course!” Megamind grabbed her hand and led her back to their table. “Anything you want,” he raised one eyebrow suggestively “Fi-ahn-see”

“...Are you trying to say 'fiancée?”

“You know, I'm not sure,” He admitted. “What's good here? I think I'll have a steak.” He grabbed her hand and they stayed that way, even while eating. It made it harder to cut his steak, but hey, love requires sacrifice, does it not? He kept glancing from her face to the ring on her finger, and by the end of the night his face hurt from smiling so hard.

He was going to marry Roxanne.

Life was good.

#megamind #@pickledchips #october is megamindmonth #Roxanne #Wayne #Metroman #Metrocity #Minion

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2sunchild2 · 5 years

Text

Daminette au: Slow burn

I’m writing this instead of my fic because I just got hit by a little bitch, named inspiration.

Au by the great and powerful wizard of Oz @ozmav

Tags owo: @mindfulmagics @realrandomposts @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @slytherinsheashire @kelelamentia @justatempo-writes @jaynintodd @maribat-archive @starry-bi-sky @ayuchan07 @kaitlinmarley @miraculous-mangoes

ՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁ

15 year old, the meeting

Damian Wayne was never the social type. He mostly kept to himself and tended to stray away from any social interaction. There was plenty of that at home. He repeats to himself every time he gets upset over not having a friend.

He walked up the steps of Gotham Academy so he could escape whatever embarrassment Jason was planning on putting him to. The kid around him began whispering, and although immune to it (they talked about him a lot), he couldn’t help but eavesdrop at th conversation going on two feet away. He didn’t want to be obvious so he didn’t lean in too much, but he heard snippets.

...new girl...

...Paris...

...just moved...

A new girl? Interesting. He would look into that when he gets the chance. He made his way to the science classroom, bumping into an unfamiliar body. The people around them quieted down, staring curiously. The body ended up being a girl, who unfortunately dropped her books. She blushed in embarrassment and started speaking in a language he knew, but never really spoke.

She was rambling in French.

She was unfamiliar to him.

Oh... she was the new student.

She stopped when she noticed the silence and looked down, probably more embarrassed than before, if that was even possible.

“Damian Wayne.”

He had no reaction to the voice of Olive Silverlock (a real character I swear I looked it up) who marched up to him with a steely gaze.

“Are you trying to scare our new student on her first day?” The silver haired class president didn’t give him a chance to answer since she turned to face the flustered French girl, “You’re Marinette, right?”

The girl managed to nod. Olive grinned and locked their arms together, “Let’s get you settled in your dorm, ‘kay? And then I’ll give you a tour.”

The girl smiled at that, her blue eyes shone brightly. She let out a soft ‘merci’ to Olive and she turned to Damian before being dragged away.

“Je m’excuse.”

16 years old, the first step; starting out

Damian Wayne was not one to go out with a girl. That was Dick’s job. And yet, he looked at his best friend, whose head rested on his shoulder as she thought of a new design.

They were at the park today. Marinette mumbles something about the need to be inspired. They were in the manor at the time and Titus, with his amazing timing, wanted to go outside. It was a win win for everybody.

Damian watched as she focused on the blank page she seemed to be at war with. It was actually funny to see her this frustrated. He tried to hide his chuckle and failed. It was rewarded with a bone-chilling Marinette Dupain-Cheng glare. He put his hands up in surrender and smiled sheepishly. She went back to her glaring match with the paper.

Damian sighed and leaned back against the bench, “Don’t stress too much about it Angel, inspiration will surly make its way to your lap in no time,” he gestured towards the book set on her thighs.

It seemed like someone was in fact listening to him. A pretty pink petal had landed in the middle of the sketchbook. Marinette picked it up curiously before letting out a gasp. She turned to Damian with the biggest smile he’d seen today, “My best friend Damian,” she started, “I was hit, by a little bitch called inspiration.”

Damian let out a laugh. Only Mari.

17 years old, the second step; accepting

Damian Wayne didn’t like a lot of people. And Chloe Bourgeois was far from being one of the few. She arrived in Gotham, claiming to be a friend of Marinette’s. He was doubtful but the girl kept insisting and frankly, he wanted her to shut up.

Turns out the blonde girl was right because the next think he knew she was being tackled by his best friend. They were both on the floor, laughing in the lobby of the student dorms.

They sat in the cafe and he couldn’t help but notice how much lighter Marinette seemed to feel with this girl. She looked happy.

Damian decided that Chloe Bourgeois wasn’t so bad. As long as he got to see his Angel smile, he was content.

18 years old, the third step; falling

Damian Wayne was not an emotional person. He didn’t cry when he failed that one exam. He didn’t cry when he got badly hurt in a fight (though he tried to reassure Mari he was okay but she was not having it and he kept flinching every time he moved). Hell, he didn’t even cry during graduation.

So you can imagine the shock he was feeling when he felt a tear rolling down his cheek as Marinette stepped out of her dorm room in her prom dress. He could see Olive smirking at him from the corner of his eye but he paid no attention to her, he was to busy gawking at the beauty in front of him.

He never left her side during the party. And if she ever walked off to talk to some friends, he would always be watching her. Some guys kept telling him how ‘whipped’ he was. He did was he did best and ignored them.

The last dance of the night was surely something he’d remember for the rest of the night. They held each other closely while the music was playing in the background. He stared at her bluebell eyes as though nothing else mattered. It was just them.

It was safe to say he wasn’t expecting a slow kiss. But it happened. He enjoyed it. And he kissed back.

19 years old, the fourth step; realizing

She left.

Well, not entirely. She just wasn’t in Gotham at the moment. And she wouldn’t be back until Christmas.

Marinette had gone off to college abroad, in Paris, specifically, to pursue her fashion career.

And even tough they video chatted every weekend, it wouldn’t fill the gaping hole in his chest. He wanted her there, with him. He wanted to snuggle up to her while they watched one of those cheesy rom-coms she enjoyed so much. He wanted to sit in the kitchens and watch her hum a Disney tune while she baked. He wanted to hold her whenever she cane running to him with good news. He wanted to be with her while she sat down and sketched. He thought it was adorable the way she scrunched her brows in concentration, or how she stuck her tongue out when she was sketching, or, whenever she had artist’s block, when she’d doodle little things on his hand. He wanted to hold her dammit. He wanted to take her out, court her. He wanted to be with her, and for her to be with him. He wanted to hug her so tightly and tell her how much he loved her.

Huh. Love.

That’s something he hadn’t thought about before. Did he love Marinette? Or was this just admiration?

No. Fuck that. Fuck admiration.

He loved her. He fucking loved her.

He was in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

20 years old, the final step; confessing

Damian Wayne was not nervous. Of course he wasn’t! He was Damian Wayne! He was Robin for fuck’s sake. Surely that would be harder than a little confession.

Right?

That was what he had initially thought.

And he was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Damian Wayne was a fucking wreck.

Marinette had been rambling about one of her design projects. One she, obviously, passed with flying colours. That wasn’t what he had been paying attention to though. Maybe it was how the July breeze seemed to brush her hair, making it fly. Maybe it was the way she used her hands so animatedly whenever she told him a story. Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled when she got exited over something.

“I love you.”

That made her stop. And it made him regret opening his mouth.

She stared at him, mouth agape, face as red as the strawberries in the bowl she was holding.

“I...you...what?”

Well, he couldn’t take it back now. And he did mean it. God this was noth how he had imagined confessing.

“I love you,” he took a sharp breath, “I’ve loved you for quite some time now actually. I only realized it last year.”

He raked his had through this hair and let out a shaky breath, “I honestly don’t know how it happened, but it did. And I’m glad it it.”

He looked back at her to see how she’d react. Her eyes were still wide and it didn’t seem like she’d be saying anything so he decided to continue.

“You don’t have to answer immediately! I was uhh... wondering if... you would let me court you... you don’t have to accept I mean you already have so much going on but if you’re willing—”

He was cut off. It took him a second to process what was happening.

She was kissing him.

Holy shit! She was kissing him!

But before he could kiss back, she pulled away, much to his disappointment.

“I love you too, silly,”she gave him a big toothy grin, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could practically hear his hear beating in his chest.

She intertwined their hands and leaned in, “And I would love for you to court me.”

They were about to kiss again, but, this time, someone else decided to interrupt.

A faint ‘yes!’ was heard near the bushes, the voice sounded scarily familiar to Dick’s, which followed by a slap and an offended ‘ow’.

“Should we tell them we know they’re spying on us?”

His Angel laughed and shook her head, “Let them have their fun.”

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥

Last post before I start school!

#maridami #daminette #maribat fic #marinette x damian #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug au #made me emotional

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ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Tri-Arame: Sitting Sasuke

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~3k Rating: G Time Frame: Late in the first trimester of their 2nd year Story Arc: Stand Alone

———-

Author’s Note: Ever since myon included Sasuke in her SetsuAyu doujin, I knew I needed to include Ayumu’s pet in my fic as well. And I had to borrow a certain idea from the doujin as well, because it fit so well with headcanons I already had for the girls.

I’ll link the doujin as well as another source of inspiration in my followup post so tumblr doesn’t drop this one from searches; the tag is barren enough as it is...

----------

Setsuna hummed happily to herself as she entered the clubroom and turned toward her hidden stash of manga with the intent of getting a chapter or two read before the others arrived. The next book was being released soon in one of her favorite series, so she wanted to reread the previous book to remind herself where everything had left off. Of course, the series was so good that any of the books warranted a reread on their own merit as well.

However, something on the other side of the room caught Setsuna’s eye. Strange, she didn’t remember an aquarium there before. Her manga quickly forgotten, she made her way over. Oh, it wasn’t an aquarium as it wasn’t filled with water, rather it just had a bowl of it in the middle. What was the term used for… terrarium, that was it. So, what critter had one of her friends decided to bring to school?

Setsuna hunched down to get a better view into the various structures in which an animal could hide within the terrarium. At first, she didn’t see anything, so she shifted her position to check through one of the side panels. And that was when she finally spotted it, a purple snake, coiled up inside something that resembled a pink rabbit.

“It’s so~ cu~te!” Setsuna couldn’t help saying aloud as she stared, transfixed at the animal.

Though she’d never considered herself a fan of snakes, she wasn’t exactly afraid of them either. She’d seen larger snakes at the zoo and smaller ones while out hiking but had always been indifferent toward them. This time, however, instead of a neutral reaction, she found herself wanting to hold this one and see it up close. As such, Setsuna had to resist the urge to pull off the top of the terrarium and reach in. It would be best to ask permission from the owner, she told herself. After all, she didn’t know if it was venomous or if it would be afraid of strangers or whatever and the last thing she wanted to do was to scare or hurt the cute little thing.

“Setsuna-chan?”

Setsuna jumped and let out a startled cry as she whirled to face the door, twisting awkwardly from her position and throwing herself off balance. “Yuu-san? Ayumu-san?” She uttered, catching herself on the bookshelf.

“You found him…” Ayumu’s expression was apologetic.

“Eh?” Setsuna was confused. How was she expected to not notice such a sizable addition to the clubroom?

“Sorry for not asking permission first.”

Oh. Yeah, it did actually violate one of the school’s policies. But Setsuna hadn’t even considered that earlier as she had been so distracted by the adorableness. And of course, he belonged to Ayumu, the pink rabbit enclosure should have been enough of a giveaway.

“It’s fine. I’ll let it slide this time.” Setsuna assured.

Relief took over Ayumu’s posture. “Thank you.”

“So, to what do we owe the pleasure of his visit?”

“Construction.” Yuu said.

“Hm?”

“That storm last week did some damage to the exterior of our apartment complex.” Yuu explained further. “So now they’re fixing it.”

“And the noise has been stressing out Sasuke to the point where he’s not eating or even wanting to be held or do anything other than hide.” Ayumu continued.

“So, poor Sasuke-san is scared?” Setsuna turned her attention back to the terrarium. “Awwww…”

“Under different circumstances, I’d give him to Yuu-chan for a little while, but she’s right next door, so that wouldn’t be much of an escape.”

“That makes sense.”

“Plus, I’ve temporarily banned Yuu-chan from feeding Sasuke because she…”

“Ayumu~!” Yuu suddenly whined. “That’s supposed to be a secret! And besides, it’s not my fault he keeps looking at me with those adorable, pleading eyes. How could I not give him a second serving?” She blinked and covered her mouth as she realized she had just been the one to divulge the details of the supposed secret.

Both Setsuna and Ayumu laughed a little at the cute behavior.

“Anyway,” Ayumu continued “I was hoping I could either leave him here for a little while or maybe someone from the club could…”

“I’ll take him!” Setsuna offered before realizing she was interrupting. “Sorry, I mean…”

This time, it was Yuu who chuckled at the reaction.

“It’s alright.” Ayumu dismissed with a shake of her head and a smile. “But are you sure? Do you want to check with your parents first?”

“It will be fine.”

“Have you ever taken care of a snake before?”

“No, but surly I can look up what I need online, right?”

“I’ll just write up a list of things that Sasuke is used to, like feeding times and temperatures and light and such.”

“That works too.” Setsuna nodded. “Say, uhm… you said he didn’t like being held…”

“Oh, no, he usually likes it when I hold and play with him, but he’s just been so stressed by the noise…”

“I see, do you think maybe I could…” Setsuna’s gaze drifted back toward the terrarium.

“Well, he’s pretty shy around strangers.” Ayumu admitted. “It took him a number of visits to get used to Yuu-chan. You’re welcome to try, of course, but don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t respond.”

Setsuna couldn’t help smiling as she lifted the hinged portion of the lid. “Hey, Sasuke-san.” She cooed as she reached her hand toward the pink structure.

A curious purple head poked out at the mention of his name and a forked tongue flicked out to taste the scent of the new person invading his home. Setsuna paused a few centimeters away, remembering Ayumu saying he might be shy and hoping Sasuke would be the one to close the distance. Thankfully, her instincts were right and a moment later he was coiling around her hand and wrist. She giggled at the strange sensation of scales sliding over her skin.

“Wow…” Yuu breathed in awe.

“I think he likes you, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu said happily.

“He really is adorable…” Setsuna swooned as she pulled her arm out of the tank and moved it closer so she could better inspect the creature.

As if in response to the praise, Sasuke slithered farther up the raven-haired girl’s arm and held his head up close to her face.

“Uhm, forgive me for asking, Ayumu-san,” Setsuna started as she reached her free hand up to pat the snake gently on the head “but what made you choose a snake for a pet? He’s adorable, but I would have thought you would go with something…” she paused to decide the best word “fluffier? Like a rabbit or something.”

“It was all Yuu-chan’s fault.” Ayumu responded with a smile that indicated a wealth of warm memories were welling up within her.

Of course. That made sense.

“Rabbits are definitely one of my favorite animals,” the redhead continued “and Yuu-chan has known that since not long after we met. So, for my birthday one year, she saved up and tried to buy a stuffed rabbit she knew I would like.”

“But it turned out to be a bit too expensive.” Yuu added with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “So as a last resort, I found a plush I knew I could get from a crane machine, a purple snake. I was worried she wouldn’t like it, but…”

“I’m sure Ayumu-san would like any gift from Yuu-san.” Setsuna thought aloud.

“You’re right there, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu confirmed.

“Working hard to obtain a gift but ending up having to get something else that is still loved by the recipient because the thoughtfulness of the giver is more important to them is a classic trope.” Setsuna explained. “Some of my favorite episodes and chapters have been centered around such a plot device.”

Both Yuu and Ayumu laughed lightly.

“So that made you fall in love with snakes and that’s why you got Sasuke-san?” Setsuna pondered.

Ayumu shook her head. “No, that was Yuu-chan again. She spotted him at a pet store and set up a plan for me to get him.”

“Like with the plush from years before, he was more expensive than I could afford.” Yuu admitted. “But I had the store hold him for a few days and between Ayumu and I, and with some help from her parents, we were able to get him.”

“Mmm, that sounds nice.” Setsuna said with a smile, despite a small pang of jealousy. But who could blame her? Who wouldn’t want to be with someone so obviously devoted to them? “Hehe.” She suddenly laughed as a completely different idea came to her. “If I put him over my shoulders, instead of a feather boa, I’d be wearing an actual boa.”

“He’s a python actually.” Ayumu corrected. “A ball python. But he does like riding on my shoulders at home.”

“Want to ride my shoulders?” Setsuna asked of the snake on her arm as if he might actually understand. “I’d wear him through practice if I wasn’t afraid of him falling.” She continued as she coaxed Sasuke into position.

“He’s pretty good at holding on as I walk around.” Ayumu said. “But the sudden movements of our dances might scare him.”

“Mmm.” Setsuna nodded in agreement. “But still, wouldn’t it be fun to design a costume around him?”

“Maybe write a song about him?” Yuu chimed in.

“Yeah, something like a ballad with slow, graceful movements.” She hummed a random tune and made gentle wave motions with her arms, carefully monitoring Sasuke’s response. “Though I suppose if he’s shy, he may not like the crowd too much…”

“Or the flashing lights and effects.” Ayumu added.

“Well if that’s a concern, why not a small, private show?” Yuu suggested. “Like just the three of us?”

“That might work better.” Ayumu seemed to be warming to the idea.

“Sounds like fun.” Setsuna said with an excited smile.

“Oh, and if we do want to share it with others,” Yuu shared in the excitement “we could always film it and make it a PV to post online.”

“That’s an amazing idea, Yuu-san! We should try that someday.”

“Semp… AAAIII!” Kasumi’s call for her senior turned into a scream.

“Kasumi-san?!” Shizuku exclaimed as her fellow first-year spun and barreled into her as though she had forgotten she was there.

“S-s-snake!” The ash blonde cried in a panic, trying to push past the brunette to escape the clubroom they had just entered.

“Kasumi-san, wait!” Shizuku called before giving chase to her fellow first-year.

“Uhm…” Setsuna pondered as she moved back toward the terrarium. “Do we have anything here that we could use to cover this thing until I can bring it home after practice?”

“I think Kanata-san has a blanket or two…” Yuu thought aloud.

“We probably shouldn’t borrow them without her permission.” Ayumu dismissed. “What if she is scared of snakes as well and it ends up bothering her to have her blankets used in such a way?”

“Perhaps we can leave him in the student counsel office for the time being?” Setsuna offered.

“That sounds good.” Ayumu nodded.

“Back in you go, Sasuke-san.” Setsuna guided the snake down her arm and into his terrarium. “Everything will be alright. One short little move now and another big one in a bit, but then you’ll be in a nice quite apartment. Sound like a plan?”

For his part, Sasuke slithered into his rabbit enclosure and coiled up. However, after a moment, he poked his head out and stared at Setsuna for a few seconds before pulling back in.

“Looks like he agrees.” Ayumu commented before lifting the tank to take it to the student counsel office.

----------

Everything was not alright.

Setsuna sighed as she stared at the snake in the terrarium she had just finished setting up in her room.

She really should have checked with her parents first. Or perhaps she should have made sure she knew everything about caring for a snake before she jumped at the opportunity to do so. While she maintained confidence that she was able to do everything on Ayumu’s list, it took quite a bit of convincing before her parents let her store the frozen mice in their freezer.

And what the heck was up with this one instruction on the list? Was it normal for snake owners to sing to their pets to encourage them to eat? Or was it simply something special Ayumu did for Sasuke?

Well, Setsuna did recall reading at some point about some study performed with music as an aid in plant growth. And it was true that music had a power that transcended the need to understand the language of the lyrics. Babies and many mammals responded positively to music. So why not reptiles? Suddenly, the practice no longer seemed strange to Setsuna.

She got up and quickly made her way to the bathroom to retrieve the mouse she had left thawing in the sink. Ayumu had mentioned that since Sasuke was well past his scheduled feeding, that Setsuna should make an attempt as soon as possible.

“Ready to eat, Sasuke-san?” Setsuna asked, pulling the mouse out of its bag with a large pair of tweezers and opening the lid of the terrarium. “Here comes a cute little mouse.” She moved the food as though to pretend it was alive.

When Sasuke did not seem to repond, Setsuna leaned down to check. Sure enough, he hadn’t budged at all. His eyes were open, so he was undoubtedly aware of Setsuna and the presence of food, but he remained still.

Well, music it is then. Setsuna stood straight and took a breath.

“Hashiridashita! Omoi wa tsuyoku suru yo.” Setsuna began, keeping her volume low so as not to disturb her parents. However, she almost forgot the next line when Sasuke’s head popped out of his enclosure. “Nayandara kimi no te o nigirou.” The snake seemed to be ignoring the mouse and stared directly up at her. As there was no music accompanying her, Setsuna skipped a few beats ahead to keep the song going. “Daiji na kimochi maru de uragiru you ni sugoshita…”

Setsuna continued through the first verse, watching Sasuke for any further response beyond occasionally flicking out his tongue. Upon reaching the chorus, she began moving the mouse again. This time, it caught Sasuke’s attention. Just inside the enclosure, Setsuna could see scales sliding past each other as the snake shifted its position. Then, right as she reached the end of the chorus, Sasuke struck.

Startled at the swift movement, Setsuna almost dropped the tweezers. Her mental record scratched for second before she recovered and continued into the second verse. She then withdrew the tweezers and gently closed the lid before watching with fascination as Sasuke began the process of slowly swallowing the mouse.

Only a bulge behind Sasuke’s head remained as evidence of his feeding by the time Setsuna finished her song. Smiling, she retrieved her phone and snapped a quick picture to send to Ayumu.

“Good boy, Sasuke-san.” Setsuna cooed a she hit Send.

UeharaAyumu: He ate!

UeharaAyumu: Oh thank goodness

UeharaAyumu: I was so worried

UeharaAyumu: Thank you so much Setsuna-chan!

ScarletStorm: You are welcome, Ayumu-san

ScarletStorm: But no thanks are truly necessary.

ScarletStorm: I merely followed your well-written instructions.

UeharaAyumu: But I do need to thank you

UeharaAyumu: For providing Sasuke with an environment where he felt comfortable

UeharaAyumu: He trusts you

UeharaAyumu: And that is enough to be thankful for

ScarletStorm: Very well then.

ScarletStorm: On a related note, your instructions say that I should not hold him until he is finished digesting?

UeharaAyumu: That’s right

UeharaAyumu: I think most of us might need a rest after eating basically a week’s worth of food in one meal

ScarletStorm: That makes sense

Though it made sense, Setsuna found it a little disappointing. While her primary reason for agreeing to watch Sasuke was to help a friend in need, she also had a selfish reason of wanting to experience what it might be like to have a pet, even if just for a week or so. And part of having a pet was petting it and holding it and the like, right?

UeharaAyumu: But don’t worry, Setsuna-chan

UeharaAyumu: He should be good to go in a day or two, depending on a few factors

UeharaAyumu: But given the circumstances, I would bet on the lower side of that range

UeharaAyumu: Just check in on him when you get home from practice tomorrow

UeharaAyumu: He trusts you so if he’s ready, he will come to you if you put your hand near him like you did earlier today

Setsuna chuckled. It almost seemed like Ayumu had read her mind though the phone.

ScarletStorm: Alright, I will try that tomorrow.

ScarletStorm: Thank you, Ayumu-san.

UeharaAyumu: I’m the one who should be thanking you

UeharaAyumu: For agreeing to take care of Sasuke

UeharaAyumu: And for getting him to eat

ScarletStorm: You already thanked me for that.

ScarletStorm: And the pleasure is mine.

ScarletStorm: Anyway, I need to get back to my studies.

ScarletStorm: But I wanted to give you an update on Sasuke-san first.

UeharaAyumu: It was very much appreciated

UeharaAyumu: Have a good night, Setsuna-chan

UeharaAyumu: See you tomorrow!

ScarletStorm: Yes, you as well. See you tomorrow.

Setsuna set down her phone and turned her attention back to the terrarium, only to find Sasuke staring up at her. Oh dear… was this what Yuu meant when she meant by adorable, pleading eyes? She suddenly empathized with the plight the twin-tailed girl faced. The temptation to go thaw out another mouse was ris… No. She shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Sasuke-san.” Setsuna apologized. “Ayumu-san said you can only have one at a time. She was very clear on that. But… she didn’t limit how many songs I could sing to you… Would you like me to sing something else?”

Sasuke lifted his head and flicked his tongue as if to respond that he was interested.

“Alright.” Setsuna said with a smile. “How about an old favorite of mine from one of the best groups in school idol history?”

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Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Arame #Love Live Nijigasaki #fanfic

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