#either way she would have string lights up in their home somewhere and that's a fact

[phantomfelinelooseart]

WIP: Leshley decorating (originally going to be a Christmas picture, then a post Christmas picture, so now I'll just do two variants a regular one for now and a Christmas one to post in December later)

#my wips #resident evil #ashley graham re4 #leon s kennedy #leshley #eagleone #either way she would have string lights up in their home somewhere and that's a fact

[peachesofteal]

Picture

Same pairing as "I got you". When I first wrote these, I also wrote a hefty chunk of an entire Simon Riley series that just ended up sitting in my drafts. I've been editing it slowly and now it's being uploaded.

Simon Riley/female reader Part of the Sassy series - 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnancy, pregnant reader, blow job, praise kink, blood, violence, injury, PTSD, anxiety, trust issues. Simon is bad at feelings. Soap is a good friend. POV switches. Soap gives Simon a picture.

There’s a gun in your nightstand. You don’t use it, ever. You don’t need it, haven’t needed it, haven’t touched it. You think, after the baby comes, you’ll put it away for good. Bury it in a locked box somewhere beneath a pile of boxes in the basement.

Speaking of boxes, you’re standing in a sea of them. Different boxes for different parts of the crib, dresser, and little bookshelf. The old recliner you used to have downstairs is up here now, nestled in the corner next to where you think you’re going to put the crib. It’s not a rocking chair, but it will have to do. It’s a sage green, the soft hue calming to your nerves, which you think helps the baby. Your baby, who the internet says is the size of a banana and can hear your heartbeat, who likes to kick you in your ribs at all hours of the night. You rub your palm over your belly as you shift your weight, staring down at the instructions for the wood paneling of the bookcase. You’re rotating the shiny paper in your hand, trying to understand which piece fits to which when your doorbell rings.

You frown. You weren’t expecting anyone. You didn’t really have friends, anyone who would visit.

Your mind wanders to the gun for a split second, but you shake it off. You’re home. You’re not in danger. There is nothing to fear. The mantra grounds you, solidifies you enough that you make your way down the stairs and peek through the peephole in the door.

When you see Soap’s face on the other side, you can practically feel your blood pressure drop.

“Hey, Johnny.” You say in greeting, face apprehensive. He lights up when you open the door, and then freezes like you’ve shot him.

“Sassafras.” He whispers in disbelief. You sigh, and step to the side.

“By yourself?” Soap stares at you like you’re nuts. You nod.

“Yeah… not like I could get in contact. Not like I wanted to, either.” He grimaces.

“So, he has no idea, you’re having his kid… you’re five months pregnant, and he doesn’t know.” You scoff.

“You make it sound like I’m helpless.” He looks from you to the pile of furniture pieces on the ground at your feet, and then to the screwdriver in his hand.

“You’re not helpless, lass.” He says softly, eyes sympathetic as they glance over your belly. “But this is a lot, for anyone to do alone.”

Later, you and Johnny sit on your back porch. He sips a beer; you drink a decaf iced tea. Bugs chirp in the grass of your little yard, the yellow glow of the string lights that you managed to get up twinkle above your heads.

“So, what’re you havin’?”

“It’s a boy.” You whisper, smile on your lips. You remembered when the doctor told you, remembered everything you felt when she said those three words. You were so… angry. How dare the universe give you a boy? How dare it give you the reminder, the carbon copy of a ghost.

Now, you’re not angry so much anymore. Only sometimes when you think about how he forced you away. How he ruined your rep with Price just to get rid of you. How he held you the last time, body pressed to yours, nose smashed against your cheek.

You’re not angry when you think about the baby. His son. Yours. You love him, already. You knew you loved him the day you decided you were going to keep him. He was your baby. Yours to love. To protect. You weren’t going to let the memories of his dad get in that way of that. You weren’t going to let yourself be haunted.

Johnny stays for a few days, sleeps on the couch. He helps you build the crib, and the dresser, and the bookshelf. You two spend the time catching up, reminiscing about the time you spent together, tromping halfway around the world.

“Trauma bonded.” You joke with an elbow to his stomach, on the good side. Not the side that he took the piece of shrapnel to that shredded his abdomen.

“Never thanked you that day. Saved my life.” 

“You saved mine too. We’re even.” 

When he says goodbye, you give him an ultrasound picture. You have a ton, at least six tacked to your fridge. You watch his eyes get a little misty, and you laugh.

“Come on Johnny. It’s just a picture.”

“Yeah. Of yours… and LT’s… kid.” He practically chokes on the last word, and you roll your eyes.

“Come back and see us, okay? Little guy will need an uncle.” His lips part and the he swallows before hectically nodding, sputtering promises about coming to visit as much as he can. He gives you a cell number, his, to call if you need anything or want to talk.

“Can’t imagine you’ll be available too often.” There’s no way. The 141 has a no contact rule, no communication. It’s for their safety, and everyone else’s. You both know this. He rubs his neck with a frown.

“Yah lass. But I’m still here if you need anything.” He gives you another hug before tucking the picture into a pocket and stepping off your front stoop.

If you had known what he was going to do with it, you would have never given it to him.

Simon parks two blocks away, worn print of a black blob in his hands. The edges are starting to fray, the two pieces peeling away from each other from overuse, being held too much. He’s been holding this picture in an iron grip for over a month, pulling it out from the pocket in his vest to stare at it until he forces himself to look away.

He remembers the night he got it, the night everything shifted, when the world tilted on its axis.

“LT.” Johnny had called to him that day, sought him out immediately after he got back. He didn’t want to see Johnny, didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He knew where he went. He knew he had wanted to visit you; see how you were doing.

See if you were okay. After what he did.

“I need her gone.” He had told Price, voice full of conviction. You were a distraction. A liability. Sure, you had every right to be there, but he didn’t care. He had seniority and he couldn’t think clearly. Couldn’t work. You were everywhere, in his mind, on his skin. He felt like he needed you. He tried to break himself of it at first, tried to cast you out. Disappeared on you without a word, hoping you’d give up on him. But after the bombing, the one that almost killed Johnny, and almost killed you, he couldn’t do it anymore. He could still hear the buzz of the comms, the dead silence echoing back to him when he called for you, over and over. It played on repeat in his nightmares. It dredged up old memories, reopened the scars in his mind of other losses, terrible losses that he’d never escape.

“Ghost.” Johnny’s voice was sharp, urgent. Like he sounds when something’s gone wrong. “LT, stop. I needa talk to ya.” Simon turns, stomach full of dread. He can’t place the expression on Johnny’s face. It’s grim, sure. But there’s something underneath that’s gleeful, excited. It puts him on edge, and he grunts.

“What?” There’s something in Johnny’s hand, a folded piece of paper, and he thrusts it into his chest. “What’s this?” It’s a picture of a blob with some dates at the top. There’s a name too, one he doesn’t recognize.

“Your son.” 

Simon doesn’t remember a lot after that. He remembers finding a chair to slump over in, remembers staring at the ultrasound picture for a long time. Long enough that the sun went down, Johnny’s voice filtering in and out of his ears as he fought the rising panic in his chest. “- she’s doing okay but seems tired. She was trying to put the nursery together when I showed up-“  Nursery. A Nursery, like where a baby sleeps. A baby. His baby. His kid. Your kid. You were having his kid. “and she gets sick in the mornings, I could hear her throwing up from the couch but other than that she says she’s got it handled. I think-“ You were having his baby. You were making him a…. father. His mind stumbled over the word. Buried memories of his own father fought to rise to the surface, and vomit tried to crawl up his mouth. His lungs felt like they were drowning in concrete. His ears were suddenly ringing. “Ghost?” Johnny reached for his shoulder, and he pushed him away, harder than he needed to. “Whoa. Hey, LT.” 

“Johnny. Shut the hell up.” 

He spent the next month with the picture tucked close to his chest. He pulls it out at night, or when he’s sitting in the same spot for an extended period of time, waiting. He stares at the image, trying to work out if those are toes, or fingers, or a face. He wonders if you’re okay, if you’re taking care of yourself, if you need him. He stares at your name printed at the top, the name that he didn’t know, until now. The one you never wanted to give him, and he never understood why.

“You don’t show me your face.” you countered him one night after he made you come until you lost count, and he glowered in response, lips still wet with the taste of your cunt. The truth was, he wanted to show you his face. Wanted to take you away from the god-awful city the 141 was working through, hide you away somewhere safe and show you his face, let you memorize it the way he memorized yours.

He realized, with a carnivorous pit opening in his stomach, since he knew your name now, he could find you.

And if he could find you, others might be able to, too.

He parked two blocks away because he didn’t want to spook you. He didn’t think you’d take too kindly to a stranger pulling into your driveway at night, and he figured you’d take less kindly if that stranger was him. So, he walks. He walks down your street, eyes cataloging every house on the block, every car. Which houses have soccer nets and toys in the yard. What the speed limit was. When the last time the street had been paved or had its potholes patched. He listens to how many dogs are barking, how many engines are starting or already running. He distracts himself with it, the awareness, until he’s stepping up onto your stoop, hand hovering above your doorbell.

When you open the door, your mouth goes slack, and you stare at him like you’re seeing a ghost. He swallows, throat dry, words jammed behind his tongue. You look… off. Different. Sick. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, and you seem exhausted.

“Simon.” You say, voice half a whisper. He’s about to say hi, say sorry, say ‘can I come in?’ when he looks the rest of you over quickly and sees your belly for the first time. It’s swollen behind a sweatshirt that’s just a little bit too big, and he watches as your hand moves to rest on top of it protectively.

“Sass.” He croaks. You sigh.

“Want to come in?”

You’re dreaming of a memory. You know you are. You remember, this, this night, like it just happened yesterday. You’re on your knees, crowded against Ghost in a shitty dive bar bathroom. The music is thumping loudly through the walls, the floor sticking to your boots. 

“Thas’ it.” He mumbles, hand folding over your hair as you rock back and forth. Your mouth is stuffed full of him, lips stretched and cracked, drool dripping down your chin. So full, you can’t even flatten your tongue against your molars, but you think he likes the scrape by the way he groans every time he touches the back of your throat. “Bloody hell, Sass.” His fingers flexed against your scalp, and you feel the muscles is his legs tightening. He’s close, you can feel it, so you swallow him deeper until your eyes are leaking tears and he’s panting harshly. “That’s a good girl, just like that, so-“ He floods your throat with his come, salt and sweet and metallic filling your senses as it spills down into your stomach. He pulls you up to standing, pushing your back against the wall while he tucks himself back into his pants, and you’re about to tease him for being so quick off the mark when a fist pounds against the door, Soap’s voice on the other side. 

“We got a hit.” 

“Now?” you whisper, and Ghost shrugs. The 141 has been here for three weeks, tailing some small fish arms dealer, waiting for him to meet with his big fish buyer. He rights his mask, calloused fingers coming forward to adjust the collar of your shirt. 

“You keep your eyes open for me, yeah?” His touch traces along your cheek, and there’s something wild running beneath the surface of his skin, something you can just barely see. You nod quickly. 

“Yeah, Simon. I’ll keep em open.” 

The dream shifts. You’re sprinting down the street behind little fish, after he got spooked and tried to take off. He ran in your direction. You were the only option.

“Northwest!” you spit into your comms, rapidly changing direction as he does. He turns left, and then right, and then left until you’re in an outdoor market, turning in a circle as you realize you lost sight of him.

“Sassy, report.” Price calls and you swallow against your heaving breaths.

“Lost him. I’m at… don’t know. Don’t have coordinates. Some outdoor market.”

“Roger. Make your way east, we’ll scoop you.” You sigh in relief. You were a bomb tech, not a sprinter, and certainly not a stealth operator. You give another cursory glance around before turning to leave.

That’s when the shots ring out. Small pings that turn into loud screams as people run in every direction. Inwardly, you groan, and find yourself wishing you were still on the sticky bathroom floor with Simon’s cock in your mouth. Instead, you’re out here, out of breath, dodging bullets.

You duck behind a stall to pull your gun free.

“I’m taking fire.” You speak into the comms, fidgeting with your gun as you hunch over.

“Repeat.” It’s Ghost. His voice is tense, strung tight.

“Taking-“ bullets whiz by you and you pause, but keep the line open. “fire. They’re on top of one of these buildings.” It’s radio silence for a few seconds as you crawl along the stalls, low to the ground. There’s an alley a good hundred feet away, and you definitely could make it.

“Hold your position, Sass.” 

“Affirmative.” You sprint for the gap between buildings, pinning close to the wall and settling into a crouch, finger light on the trigger. You want to ask why you’re holding, but the answer comes when you hear responding fire, echo for echo against whoever’s on the roof. Price calls for you, seeking your location, and you answer quickly.

Two minutes later, Ghost is kneeling in front of you, gripping your tac vest and shoving you behind the blockade that is his body. He leads you out of the alley, steps slow and sure, confident…  until you hear a pop, and then a shout. 

The dream shifts, again. You’re standing in the med tent with your arms crossed while he’s getting a slug dug out of his shoulder, eyes tight behind the mask. He’s saying something to you, but the words are mush coming out of his mouth, slurred together and off beat. The medic gives him a nod when he leaves, and you release a breath

“I’m alright, Sass. It’s nothin’. C’mere.” A big hand finds yours. More words, jumbled nonsense. 

A doorbell rings from behind you, towards the front of the med tent and you frown. 

A doorbell. 

Your eyes open and you sit up in bed, curling over your ever-present bump that seems to get in the way of everything right now. You had heard a doorbell, right? You pull the ratty old sweatshirt over your body and creep down the stairs to check the door. It’s ten o’clock at night, for Christ’s sake. Who could it be? 

Fucking. Soap. You curse the Scot in your head. No good, piece of shit, sweetheart John MacTavish and his bleeding heart of gold, god damn him, you’re gonna- 

Simon clears his throat behind you, from where he stands, his massive body shifting uncomfortably in your living room. You close your eyes and try to breathe through your nose. Anxiety builds in your stomach, fear prickling along your scalp. What does he want? A dark thought shudders through you, the realization that if Simon Riley wanted, he could take your son. He could wait you out, disappear with him, and never be seen again. Two ghosts.

“Simon-“

“Were you gonna tell me, Sass?” He has the gall to sound put out, indignant, and you take another deep breath to calm yourself.

“That’s a joke, right?” You turn, face pinched with irritation. “You know, maybe I could have told you, if you hadn’t gotten me fired, if you hadn’t gone and destroyed my credibility with Price.”

“You went on bloody leave, and your credibility is not destroyed.”

“Yeah, sure.” You roll your eyes and then take a second to look at him, closely. His massive legs are straining in a pair of jeans, black sweatshirt with a hood pulled over his head and the infamous balaclava. He’s not wearing the paint, which surprises you, but you keep it to yourself. He looks good, and your hormones rush in your blood.

You don’t care. Just deliver the speech and give him what he wants. The out. 

“How-“ he starts but you cut him off. He’s not in control here, you are. 

“Am I? Or how far along am I?” He says nothing. “I’m okay. And I’m just over six months.” Your hand strokes your belly almost subconsciously, trying to settle the incessant kicking. He tracks you with his eyes, watching your palm move back and forth. You sigh. “Do you want to sit?” You motion to the couch, and he nods, slowly, lowering himself down next to you, posture rigid and stiff. He looks so uncomfortable, you almost laugh. “Look, Ghost-“

“Simon.” Simon. His accent is thick when he corrects you, and something tightens in your heart.

“Simon, you don’t have to do this. We don’t need anything from you. You’re off the hook.” His head snaps from the clenched fists that sit in his lap to your face. “I can do this. You don’t even have to be on the birth certificate. I have it all handled.” Lie. You’re lying to him, straight to his face, but he doesn’t know that. You don’t want him to know that you don’t have it handled. That you could be on bedrest in a matter of weeks, that you’re sick all the time and your PTSD is lingering in the back of your mind like a monster, waiting for you, watching for the moment you break so it can devour you whole.

“Who’s we?” his question snaps you out of your spiral.

“What?”

“You said ‘we don’t need anything from you’, who’s we? Is there someone else?” The words cut. They’re sharp, expectant, and he takes another look around the house. You know he’s already catalogued it, already looked for signs of another, checked to see if anything was amiss.  For a moment, you’re tempted to tell him there is someone else in your life, someone else in your bed. Someone holding your hand at all the appointments, someone rubbing your back as you chuck your entire stomach into the toilet every morning.

“N-no. It’s just me and-“

“Our son.” He finishes for you, and you close your eyes again against the swell of anger.

“My son.” You snap and if possible, his body gets even more tense. Your skin crawls under the sweatshirt and you stand abruptly, desperate to put distance between the two of you. “He’s my son, my baby. You haven’t been here; you have no right to just waltz in here like nothing’s wrong or like you have some claim to him.”

“I put him in ya, Sass. He’s my kid too.” Your breath catches in your throat. His entitlement burns in your blood, and you want to lash out. You have half a mind to hit him, strike him as hard as you can in hopes that maybe he’ll get the hint and leave you alone.

“You screwed me, Ghost.” You hiss his call sign, reverting back to it, distancing yourself from the man behind the mask. “I don’t know why you’re even here. You used me, then you treated me like trash and kicked me to the curb. Don’t pretend like you care now.” He stands from the couch, fingers raking down his thighs. You take a step back immediately.

“I wronged you. I know you hate me, but we should talk about-“

“Don’t. Just, let’s not do this, okay? We’re fine without you. We’re okay on our own. You don’t have to be here.” Silence fills the air between you two, and you curl your fingers into fists before you turn on your heel and stalk into the kitchen. Your hands are shaking, and you lean against the countertop to steady yourself, head spinning when you close your eyes. Why is he doing this? The floor creaks beneath his steps, and he turns the corner into the kitchen, coming to stand in front of you. He dwarfs you, and the size difference that used to thrill you now fills you with anxiety. You were going to have to give birth to his baby, after all. His giant, 94% percentile “large for gestational age” baby, as your doctor called it. He huffs a breath, and you glance up at him, noticing the furrow of his brow, the tense lines of his muscles. He looks nervous. 

“I- I’d like… I want to show you something.” Without giving you a chance to respond, he reaches for the bottom of the balaclava, peeling it up his neck before pulling free of it completely. Your brain short circuits. What, did he just… what? Your mouth drops open in shock as you stare. You can feel your heartrate increasing, and you blink in disbelief. He’s so… handsome. Handsome in a way you weren’t expecting. Not soft but, gentle in a way that surprises you. Strong nose, small scar on his cheek.

“Simon.” You whisper. He takes a hesitant step towards you, and then another when you don’t move away. He says your name, your real name. Not Sass, and you freeze where you stand. He knows your name. 

“It’s on the ultrasound.” He murmurs. He’s still standing so close to you, you can smell him, can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Simon-“

“I’m mad for ya. Always have been. If you give me a chance, I’d-“

“Stop.” You cut him off before he can say anything else, before he can wear you down even more. “I… this… it’s complicated and… it’s late. I’m tired.” Cop out. You weren’t mentally prepared for this. You had hoped you would never have to have this conversation, you assumed you’d never see him again.

“Okay.” You breathe a sigh of relief when he relents so easily. Simon was used to executing and resulting, immediately and favorably. “I’m staying close.” Your sigh of relief catches in your chest. Fuck. “I’ll come by… tomorrow.” It’s not a request, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Okay.” You agree. You can button this up tomorrow. You can figure out what he wants and then send him on his way, get rid of him. You’re not giving into him, into whatever this is, so easily, just because he took the mask off. You can-

“Sass.” His hand is reaching towards your belly, and he’s watching you with an almost hopeful, longing expression. It’s hard to tell, because you’ve only ever been able to see his eyes. Now, the eyes that you were so used to interpreting on their own had suddenly become much more complex. “Can I?”

“Um. Uh… sure.” You’re treading into dangerous territory here, but you can’t find it in yourself to refuse him. Our son. His words from earlier echo in your mind. His palm presses to your skin, resting softly against the swell, thumb stroking into your sweatshirt. There’s a kick, a soft one, right near his hand, and you watch his face change, the mystery and wonder encompassing it sparking pesky hormone tears behind your eyes. Oh no. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. You try to hold them back, but it’s useless. You’re staring at his face, his whole, unguarded, unmasked face while he feels his son kick for the first time.

It's too much. You step back.

He clears his throat.

“Right. Well, tomorrow then.”

The next fic in this series is here.

#simon ghost riley x reader #tw pregnancy #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #pregnant reader #female reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x you #peaches writes #sassy series

[passivenovember]

Sharing again!

--

mirrorball

--

“You’re irate,” Robin says. 

And Steve can’t pretend that he knows the definition or that somewhere, past the churning noise of the party, and the wafting heat from the dancefloor, Steve has the slightest clue what to say other than, “Probably.”

Because in all the months he’s known her, if Robin says he’s irate then he probably is.

Steve wants to go home. He’s been over this scene for a while now, holding an empty red cup so no one asks him if he’s up for seconds and thirds. His eyes sting from the smoke. He’s never liked that about parties that don’t rage under his jurisdiction. 

If they were home right now, cutting the night away at Steve’s house, he’d tell them to take it outside. Not everyone’s a smoker. Not everyone wants to die early from nicotine poison, at least not from something as insignificant as second-hand smoke. 

But these are Tommy’s digs. And apparently, anything goes, here. People smoke and drink and fuck right out in the open, probably depositing colonies of lost children on the shag carpet underfoot, and Steve’s had enough. 

“This is really bothering you, huh?” Robin asks. 

“What are you talking about?”

On the other side of the room, past a string of holographic flowers cut from cellophane that dangles in Steve’s line of sight, Billy’s got a kaleidoscope of color dancing on his eyelashes and he’s standing really close to a guy with pretty hair.

That’s all Steve can clock about him.

His hair is nice. Long and brown and curly. 

And Steve’s been told a million times by his grandma that he’s got more to offer than a head of thick, Italian locks but with only a red cup and Robin’s fifty-cent words tethering him to this basement, Steve isn’t so sure. 

Robin knocks their shoulders together. “Billy,” She says. 

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Billy’s eyelashes. “Where?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Steve snaps. “I just don’t see him.”

As if on cue, Billy steps closer to the guy. Gets right in the crook of his neck 'cause either. He knows Steve is watching or he’s trapped in his own little world.

Steve can’t figure out which is worse. Serving as the gasoline that fuels Billy’s night and earning a front-row seat to whatever happens next or being locked out. Forgotten. 

A sliver of perfect, golden skin peek-a-boos between the hem of Billy’s slashed Metallica tank top and a pair of leather pants Steve’s never seen before. Not in this basement. Not in his entire life.

He knows instantly he wants to see them trapped around Billy’s thighs. And on his bedroom floor. And melting, coughing up smoke until they’re memory when brownie-locks tugs Billy closer by his belt loop.

Steve crumples his red cup. “Let’s go,” He says. 

Again, Steve’s legs don’t move. 

“You should talk to him,” Robin says. “You should do something before–”

“Billy’s not going to fuck him,” Steve tells the shag carpet. He looks at Robin, and peers into her red-rimmed, pitying green eyes, because. “Right?”

She’s probably worried.

She’s probably tearing her hair down from its edgy updo in fear that their very own ray of Californian sunshine is going home with a stranger tonight. 

Robin’s lips disappear between her teeth, “I don’t know,” She says honestly. 

Robin cherry-picks her words. It’s such a contrast to the way Steve bulldozes his way through grand statements and sweeping apologies. It’s comforting. He hangs on her every expression to know he’s not crazy. He tracks the way she stares past those goddamn cellophane flowers until her eyes get big.

Robin glances over, cheeks red as speeding firetrucks even in the shitty light of this shitty fucking basement.

“What?” Steve demands, and he stares at the horizon to find, that. 

Billy and his Motley Crue knockoff have disappeared.

Steve sucks in a sharp, desperate breath. 

“Steve,” Robin says. 

He can’t feel his toes. He knew this would happen. He should’ve told Billy he loved him when he had the chance, and now.

Robin rubs his knee. 

“Maybe they just. Got swallowed by the wallpaper, or something.” And Steve sounds almost believable. He almost believes it himself, you know? Because how could his entire sex life have gone up in smoke in the last thirty-six hours? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. He was inside Billy Hargrove thirty-eight hours ago, and now--

The room might as well be empty.

“This is such bullshit,” Steve shakes his head. “He better wear a condom.”

Robin snorts, “You really think Billy’s gonna top?” Her fingers snake around Steve’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the knot of muscles in the side of his neck. “You can’t let it get to you, Harrington.”

Steve has to swallow the immediate desire to protect his shoddy, half-assed fortress of Cool Guy that has been falling apart, brick by brick, since the first time Billy sported hickeys on his neck in the shape of Steve’s mouth and told him that this meant nothing.

Steve wants to bury his face in his hands. 

He wants to pull his hair out by the root and scream and scream and never stop screaming until finally Billy admits that this is love.

That they’re in love with each other.

Whatever that looks like. Forgetting the condom, maybe.

Robin rocks their shoulders together. “Do you want another drink?”

Steve wants that, too. 

He hands his cup over, instead, “I’m going out for a smoke,” Steve mumbles, because even though Tommy’s parents have money and could replace it no-problem, he still pretends to respect the wallpaper he knows Mrs. Hagan chose special.

--

Billy only lets Eddie get his hands under his shirt because Steve’s watching. 

Only. Steve misses it, because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. He’s too busy talking to Robin, and it’s fucked up that the cocktail of vodka and cheap dope has Billy jealous about that, too. 

Like it’s not enough that he's consumed by jealous hatred of Steve’s sweater for draping itself over him all day, but Billy’s gotta drag his favorite lesbian into this. 

Nothing is holy, anymore.

The angry, love-drunk, pissed-off part of himself whispers that Steve and Robin are going home with each other tonight, even though Billy knows that means hideous fleece pajamas and no grabby hands.

It doesn’t matter.

Eddie scrapes a nail over Billy’s nipple and Billy thinks he’s gotta get even. 

If Steve is going to sit on that fucking couch and uphold their agreement that this means nothing, Billy’s going to fuck this stranger.

Done deal.

So Steve looks away and Billy tugs Eddie’s hand to his waist to get his mind off the mole on Steve’s cheek. 

“Got a condom?” He slurs. He’s fucked up. Can’t even stand straight without the wall or this guy propping him up. 

Eddie detaches himself from Billy’s neck, and. “A condom?” He asks, not understanding.

Even in Tommy’s shitty basement, he’s got nice eyes. 

Big and brown and kind, like Steve’s, but. He’s not Steve. 

That could be good, right? Billy could work with that. “You don’t wanna fuck me?” He bitches. Hurt, maybe.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, I do it’s just,” He catches Billy when he stumbles and puts him back on the wall like Billy’s mom used to do with loose paintings when Neil pushed her into them. “Shit, darlin’, you’re drunk.”

It’s kind of hilarious. 

Billy snorts. Knows if Steve heard him he’d say Billy’s cute, and Billy wants to go home. Not to Cherry Lane, but to Steve. He wants to live there forever, and Max could come, too.

“I am drunk,” Billy admits. He leans forward, wetting his mouth and grinning when this poor country idiot can’t help but zero in on the shine. “I’m real easy when I’m sloshed.”

“I don’t know–”

“C’mon, Harrington says I open up nice when I’m blackout.”

Eddie blinks at him. Straightens his spine, all noble, so he can stare down his button-snout at Billy to demand, “He fucks you when you can’t stop him?”

Like he knows Steve.

Like he knows them like Billy’s his mom and he needs to be rescued.

It pisses him off. Gets his dick to lay flat, for once, and Billy’s fucking tired. “Oh, like you were about to?” Eddies cheeks flare. Billy waddles forward. Says, “I don’t even know you. Stop acting like you know shit about shit because you don’t.” Because. “I love him,” Billy adds, “I’m in love with him because he deserves it.”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe.”

“That him over there?” And Eddie jerks a thumb over his left shoulder. Steve’s watching them, cool as a fucking cucumber, and that does something to Billy. 

Makes him look at the situation from outside of it. 

Like, he just offered to fuck this guy, this random dude, and Steve doesn’t even care. And he’s not stupid. Likes to pretend he is, though, and that’s worse. He may be having a grand old time over there with Robs, lounging like a king on the same couch Tommy fucked Billy on last summer, but he knows.

He’s gotta know. 

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” He gasps. 

It’s not Eddie’s fault. 

He’s a nice guy. He’s been sweet all night, asking about music and movies and books and only touching when Billy begs him for it. 

Eddie’s baby browns get big. He says, “There’s nothing wrong with you, sugar, people act crazy when they’re in love.” He pushes the hair off Billy’s forehead, looking sweet and concerned, “Do you wanna go outside, maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Across the room, Steve isn’t even watching them, anymore. 

He’s lost interest.

Maybe he never had it in the first place. And it stings. 

Strangely, Billy doesn’t feel like drawing blood when Eddie leaks kindness. He offers his hand and Billy is too drunk to do anything other than take it.

--

Billy’s edges are sharp enough to cut. 

The truth, though, is that Steve likes it. Every drop of venom tastes like gin burning down his throat, hungry for more because it leads to Billy.

Truth is, Steve sees through it. He’s been close enough to that incendiary spirit on dark midnights to notice the fireflies that gather for warmth around the hearth of it all. And the reality that Billy would even let him get close enough for danger to  flash red against Steve’s skin in the first place--

Maybe that’s one of the things Steve likes most. Even if it hurts, sometimes, there will always be proof that Billy was there. And that for a moment, their edges had fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

Maybe it’s just the beer talking, but Steve can’t let him go.

So Steve busts out of Tommy’s shitty basement, ready to tear springy brown curls from the scalp of that handsome, flirting stranger, when he steps into a puddle of rainwater, instead.

His skin is on fire. The shock of cold puts things into perspective, Steve’s chest opening like a summer tulip to the enormity of the universe.

There’s a calm spring mist, settling like diamonds across his skin. The Earth smells forgotten. Like for years and years, someone took the fabric of the city and rolled it up and stored it away, and now it’s free again. Resting, moth eaten and threadbare, against the backdrop of Steve’s shitty fucking night. Steve’s awful realization, that. 

He loves Billy. Earth-shattering.

And Billy’s going to fuck someone else. Apocalyptic. 

And even if Billy doesn’t make brownie-locks wear a condom, Steve will sit by his bedroom window all night just in case Billy decides that it means nothing, too. Just like them.

“Goddammit,” Steve hops out of the puddle a minute too late.

There’s water in his sock, squishing like fresh mud between his toes. He imagines being home. Warm and showered with a full belly, dozing in front of the fireplace. In Steve’s daydream, he’s naked from the waist down while Billy pushes and pulls his leg hair and calls him colonizer shit spawn for having a marble hearth in his living room. 

It doesn’t sting. Nothing hurts because in Steve’s fantasy, they belong to each other. Every impossible summit has been scaled and they’ve sidestepped waterlogged potholes to get to the truth. Their relationship means something. Everything.

Steve’s heart shudders, reality eclipsing the moon until everything's so bright he catches on fire. 

He stalks to the side-fence, peering into the watery darkness for a shock of American-made blue.

Billy’s car is nowhere to be found. 

And historic, champagne-pink revelations aside, Steve fishes around for his pack of smokes and refuses to admit that he’s out here to kill the guy who wants to get Billy’s mouth on him.

Steve would lose, probably. He’s fucked up. This probably isn’t healthy.

He wonders if Billy would plan his funeral. If he’d cry for him and swear off guys forever and visit Steve’s grave every morning with a hard on. 

Steve hopes so.

He’s embarrassed, to the very root of him. He needs a light.

So Steve bites the butt of his cigarette and pads around the yard, trying to find someone with a matchbox. The Earth is beautiful. Mrs. Hagan is an excellent gardener. All around, bushels of lilacs and marigolds are set to bloom. He studies the fullness of each blossom, eyes tracking the deep green of their clinging branches. 

It’s not even April yet and they’re thriving. That’s just the expert of Mrs. Hagan. She’s a smart girl, she knows how to nurture difficult saplings through hardships and winter months with careful hands, and--

Relationships are kind of like that, people have said.

Someone said that, once. Right?

Steve almost drops his cigarette. He yanks a handful of marigolds from the soil. They come up with their roots still attached.

That's gotta mean something. Bad poetry that feels like the ‘acknowledgements,’ page in one of those books his mom is always reading. Chicken Soup for the Soul. He imagines what Billy would say about this revelation after he’s chewed on it for a while.

Steve pets over the bleeding roots of his bouquet. He's never had gentle fingers. He tries to, with Billy and with everything else, but it always lands a little crooked. 

If Billy knew how hard Steve was trying, he’d probably call him an asshole. Chew on his thumbnail and ask how it is that Steve can read minds, all of a sudden, if Billy didn’t teach him. Because Billy taught him everything he knows, apparently. How to skateboard, how to bake pies from scratch, and how to fuck. 

Which flowers are his favorite.

--

Billy’s nails are sharp enough to pierce the skin. 

He’s never tried to do it on purpose, but he always manages, somehow. 

It’s raining. And Eddie’s hand is soft and warm and his fingertips are calloused just enough that when Billy nearly falls on his ass trying to side-step the tasteful rocks in Tommy’s side-yard, Eddie’s got traction to steady him.

“Nails are fucking sharp,” Eddie says. But he’s smiling.

There’s no shit, in that grin. He’s not aiming to eat Billy’s heart and soul or anything else. Nothing at all like Steve. Billy doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Not like I need to worry about keeping ‘em short,” Billy grins back, sighing in relief when Tommy’s parents had the good sense to invest in picnic furniture, “I’m not a top. I was, until Harrington--”

“I think if you say his name one more time he’ll appear,” Eddie teases, “Like Beetlejuice.”

Billy flops onto a sun lounger. “Think I’m gonna be sick,”

Overhead the stars vibrate, undulating until it feels like God is trying to hack and slash his way through the dark night sky to get at Hawkins. 

“Do you want me to run and grab--” Eddie pauses, staring around the yard with exaggerated care, “Harring--”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Told ya,” Eddie grins, “Beetlejuice.” 

And maybe it’s just the vodka talking, but Billy’s stomach is stuffed with butterfly hearts when this dumb, sweet, beautiful boy smiles at him.

Eddie perches at the base of the lounger. His boots plant themselves on the ground, nice and respectful, so if someone were to see them they might think Eddie was aiming to rescue Billy from alcohol poisoning right before he calls him a slur and takes off, cackling into the night.

He won’t, though. Eddie’s a nice person and even if he wasn’t, Billy knows when a guy’s caught.

Kid’s been watching him all night. Even now, Eddie peers through a curtain of springy curls, baby browns flitting all over Billy’s face and catching on the things Steve likes best about him, probably. His cum-gutter lashes and dick sucking lips--

“You eyes are really blue,” Eddie squints and slides closer, all, “Like, creepy blue.”

It’s written all over his face. Hook and line, blind with hope for things Billy could only ever give to Steve. "Creepy?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, full of wonder.

“Well fuck off, then,” Billy snaps. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“You’re not a baby, and I’m just sitting, alright?” Eddie's silver-lined fingers rise to pat around his vest. Billy squares his jaw when he pulls away with an unsheathed cigarette. “I’m smoking,” Eddie tells him, “Just sittin’ down until I can get the cherry sparked.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“Probably.”

“It’s annoying,” Billy shakes his head, staring out at the trees that line the Hagan’s side-yard, a hop and a skip to the neighbor's place. “You’re a good guy. Why are you so good?”

“’M not good,” Eddie admits softly. “You’re just. You’re fucking gorgeous, alright? And if you don’t wanna go home with me, I gotta keep you safe until the Prince can get to you.”

Billy’s eyes snap, heated, to Eddie’s grinning face. “This isn’t a fairytale,” He says. Because it isn’t.

But Eddie looks so hopeful. 

His eyes melt like chocolate kisses. 

“No, but it could be,” Eddie scoots a little bit closer, hand falling to rest on Billy’s knee, fingers slipping along leather. “Can I ask you something, gorgeous?”

“I’m not gorgeous,” Billy snaps. When Eddie grins again, Billy’s face warms. Hot as the sun. “Spit it out, Munson.”

“Why are you in love with him?”

“I’m not in love--”

“Billy.”

He’s uncomfortable, like this. A bug under a microscope so he’s gotta show his stinger and scare kindness away.

But Eddie’s too dumb to notice.

A thousand words bubble and rise like champagne at the back of Billy’s throat, each one fizzing out before it can shuffle past his teeth. All of them will land like fists. Split skin and draw blood, so.

Billy shakes his head. Settles on, “He’s not what I expected.”

“Yeah, but why him? I could be different than what you expected. I mean--”  Eddie’s fingers dance along Billy’s thigh. Touching but not quite, at the same time. Making his skin dance. “I already am, right?”

Billy shivers. 

“Yeah,” He admits. It burns like alcohol on open wounds to say out loud.

But the thing is-- 

“Steve’s different than you. Than everyone. He’s sweeter and brighter than anyone I’ve ever met. Event though it took forever to get there. He’s got layers. He’s not what you’d expect, because. He’s got this big fucking house, right? And it’s full of shit. Name-brand poptarts and every vinyl you could imagine and all his blankets are soft enough that they’re probably lost clouds, or something. And even when I’m with him, like. Even after we fuck and Steve gets what he wants from me, he always asks if I’m hungry. And he doesn’t believe it when I say that I’m full. That I’ve gotta jet. He cooks really good pasta. He sings. He’s got a good voice, and he puts my name in the song, sometimes. He lets me eat in bed and he plays with my hair while I fall asleep, and. That’s the biggest thing for me, you know?”

Eddie’s fingers wrap, like warm summer vines, around his own.

“I don’t sleep good anywhere. I get cagey, ‘cause of my old man. I’m always on alert. There was a while, last summer, where I slept with my shoes on. ‘S why I’m such a bitch all the time, I’m fucking exhausted, but with Steve,” Billy’s shaking. He’s gonna vibrate out of his skin. “Steve is my home town. He’s home, on a Saturday morning. I’ve never felt safe with anyone else.”

Billy’s going to cry.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Eddie doesn’t notice. And if he does notice, Eddie refuses to care. His eyes are intent on Billy’s face when Billy admits--

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie tells him, “It’s alright.”

“Vodka turns me into a chatty bitch. I’ve never told anybody that, before,”

Eddie’s thumb strokes soft over Billy’s palm. “The stuff about Steve, or--”

“Any of it,” Billy looks up, caught in waves of warm, sweet brown. He sniffs, suddenly more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. “If you fuckin' yap to anybody about this, Munson--”

Eddie’s smile is like the setting sun. “Put your teeth away, baby, I’ll take it to my grave.”

Billy opens his mouth to say thank you. To admit that this night, for all the good and bad and embarrassing, has made everything feel easier. 

Eddie seems to hear it. To feel it in his bones.

He kisses the back of Billy’s hand, lips sliding warm and soft along Billy’s thumb, to the pad of each finger. 

Billy’s heart hammers, unsteadily in his chest, when those lips press lewd, against his palm.

“Eddie,” Billy mumbles, sounding frail even to his own ears. “Eddie, I--”

--

A bomb goes off. 

Steve thinks the sky might as well be full of mushroom clouds because war’s waged when brownie-locks takes all of Steve’s knuckles across the bridge of his nose.

Steve’s not left handed.

The punch, it’s. It’s awkward and more force than anything else, and it hurts like hell. Something’s probably broken.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses, same time Billy’s new boyfriend says, “Shit,” and Billy puts both of his calloused, strong, stocky, perfect fists on Steve’s chest to shove him back.

Steve goes easy, because he deserves it. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. 

But. He’s seeing red, and he’s gotta know. “Billy--”

Billy looks like he wants to kill him, and he could. Steve would let it happen. He thinks about sinking to his knees right here, dropping the marigolds, begging to get his speech out before the light goes out in the sky forever.

Steve’s still got the unlit cigarette in his mouth. A bouquet in his hands. He takes it out. Drops the flowers. Steps closer and says, “Billy, did he kiss you?”

Because he has to know.

Billy stares at the marigold petals in fear. They're coiled snakes. They're the end of the world. “You’re drunk,” Billy says, same time his new boyfriend bolts upright and fucking cackles. 

“Harrington, huh?” Brownie-locks spits on the ground. It’s red. Steve tries not to feel proud. “Really are Beetlejuice, man.”

Steve ignores the boyfriend. He stares at Billy and tells the truth, “I am drunk. So are you.”

Billy doesn’t look at all like Steve imagined, now that his anger’s planted itself on brownie-lock’s face. 

Billy’s shaking. 

He’s got tears clinging to his lashes, and Steve knows everything’s his fault and he wants to die for that, but all the guilt in the world doesn’t stop him from turning on Billy’s new boyfriend and taking a step forward when brownie-locks says, “I wanted to fuck him until you came along.”

At least someone answers Steve’s question.

He feels a little bit like throwing up and a lot like going for round two. Turning this guy’s face to hamburger meat, but. 

Billy gets between them.

And he’s vibrating.

And no matter what they’re dealing with or how much they’re refusing to talk about, Steve never wants to be the reason Billy can’t hold still.

Regardless, Steve scoffs. “You’re seriously protecting this guy? From me?” 

He’s furious.

He’s so hurt and bleeding inside and angry--

“Go home, Steve,” Billy mutters. He’s not shaking anymore. He stands his ground, looking every bit like an avenging angel, and.

Steve loves him. He’s proud of him, but. “You don’t want me.” The words sound wrong. Garbled and stretched out.

The boyfriend stand ramrod straight all of a sudden, like, “Wait, that’s it?” And he looks so confused.

Hurt, even.

And that pisses Steve off, you know. Gets him feeling brave.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it,’” Steve paces forward, stopping only because Billy tacks a soft, warm hand to the center of his chest. “Are you really asking to get your dick knocked off, freak?”

Billy’s boyfriend laughs, “God, you’re so pretty and so, so fucking stupid.”

Steve knows. About the second part. So he rolls his neck and says, “Why are you still here?” Because--

Billy gets in front of him. He looks so beautiful, with moonlight painting his curls more bronze than gold. And his lashes are clumped together. “Why?” Steve asks again, because he has to know.

And suddenly it’s like everyone runs out of words.

They stare at him. Billy’s boyfriend rocks a little on each foot, eventually peering at the ground like there’s no place he’d rather be than nestled under it. "What's the with the flowers?" He asks.

The longer they ignore him, the more Steve’s set on digging the guy a hole in the ground. Burying him and leaving the marigolds there as a memory.

Steve’s losing his mind.

He’s going crazy, he--

“Why is this guy here with you, Billy?” Steve demands.

Billy stares at him, pretty pink mouth open. His palm is so warm on Steve’s chest, it’s like a sun spot. 

“Why do you want him here and not me?” Steve grabs that hand. Holds onto it, says, “Do you love him?” 

Billy bares his teeth. “Does it matter?”

“Billy,” Steve whispers. “Are you--of course. Of course it matters, you. You have to know, that--”

And he’s grateful to Billy’s boyfriend for not laughing at the way his voice, fucking. 

Cracks.

Bleeds.

Steve takes a deep breath. Tries again. “You’ve gotta know, right?”

And.

Apparently not.

Billy blinks at the stars, blue like the ocean set to spill. He takes his time. Gets his feet under him. Eventually, Billy bares his fangs and stares right through Steve’s skull. 

“Thought I meant nothing to you, Harrington,” Billy says.

And Steve dies.

He might as well not even exist. He might as well be a window. 

“Thought you just wanted me because I’m a warm place to slide into a night,” Billy rumbles, and. 

Steve. He’s never had teeth pulled when he could feel it. He’s never snapped a bone in half. He’s never seen God, either, but. 

He imagines it would all feel the same when he finally has the courage to say--

“I was just following your lead,” Steve’s so embarrassed. And ashamed. He can’t believe he made Billy feel like that, like a figment. 

It hurts worse than any pain he could conjure for himself, so.

"I. I mean, I picked marigolds for you, baby." Steve toes the edge of the cliff. “I love you," He tries, and. 

Falling feels a lot like flying, apparently.

Billy’s boyfriend disappears. Steve considers it a sign that even though Billy won’t look at him, he hasn’t pulled his hand away, yet.

#harringrove #angst with a hopeful ending #king steve #i love it when they're both assholes #anyway #thanks for reading!

[dutchforstrangers]

Suit and tieTai - Taiora one-shot

For @taioraweek 2023 Day 4

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

A/N: Another WIP that finally sees the light of day. Because I will never get tired of making these two oblivious dorks kiss for the first time in every universe possible.

Summary: It was one simple kiss that turned their ignorance into awareness of what had already been there the entire time...

Day 4: First kiss | Characters: Taichi Yagami (POV) x Sora Takenouchi | Genre: Subconscious blooming romance | Rating: K+ | Wordcount: 1.344

7:47am. When he woke up this morning, he had told himself he would start early, so he was sure to leave Hikari and Sora’s apartment on time for a change. But it had already been eight whole minutes since he had started fighting the tie around his neck in front of the mirror.  

Frustrated with himself and that stupid string of fabric around his neck, Taichi growled. “I have this very important meeting at work I cannot mess up,” he said to no one in particular.

“You good?”

The female voice came from the kitchen and belonged to Sora, since Hikari had already left the house for her internship at the kindergarten. From the corner of his eyes, Taichi could see her peeking.

“Yes.” Taichi said, but didn’t sound to convincing. He decided to switch his answer. “No. This tie, I swear, these should be forbidden!”

Sora grinned, with her elbows she nonchalantly leant on the kitchen counter. “You’d think as someone working in suit and tie every day, you’re good at tying it by now.” She teased him.

“Except I’m not.” He was fully aware of his tone sounding annoyed. And he was, because somewhere deep down in him, he knew he would always struggle with it. “And never will be. Sor, can you help me one more time, please?”

He definitely needed her help. Like he had needed it all the other times he had stayed over these past couple of weeks.

Sora chuckled as she made her way over to him. “Come here.”

“Good thing I’m staying over.”

“You’re practically living here by now,” Sora joked while her hands prepared the two sides of the tie around his neck for the actual tying. Her eyes fixated on the accessory.

Sora’s joke was one with truth though. The girls’ apartment was closer to Taichi’s work than the loft where he lived with the three boys, plus, it had a more cozy atmosphere compared to the messy boys’ energy. He had lived with Yamato, Koushiro and Jyou during his entire time at university, but now that Taichi had started working, he was ready to go a different direction regarding his living space.

“I don’t want to be near Yamato and my cousin getting it on constantly.” Which was another big reason why he wasn’t at home right. He watched a blush forming on Sora’s cheeks, her hands still working on his tie, softly and with care.

“Too much information,” she said. “How about Koushiro-kun and Jyou-senpai?”

“Ugh, Jyou’s never at home, either in the hospital or with his girlfriend, and Koushiro is busy most of the time, hidden behind his desk and wall of computers. Different from me, the boy is resistant to Yamato and all of his bedroom shenanigans.”

Sora laughed. She spent a lot of time with Koushiro, her being one of those rare friends who could talk to him without any form of technology between them, and she was very much aware of Koushiro’s ability of radiating the ‘I’m not giving a shit’ energy.

“Jealous?”

“Please,” was Taichi’s answer.

He wasn’t jealous, it was just him being ready for a change of pace. And so he found himself crashing on the girls’ couch quite a few days per week. He had to admit though, it also came in very handy that Hikari or Sora –but mostly Sora—were always available to help him out with his daily outfit struggles. 

Maybe he was in need of a life partner to settle down with, who could match his changed needs and wants, Taichi thought to himself, knowing he couldn’t keep crashing the girls’ couch forever.

“I much rather stay here with my lovely little sister and incredible friend who is—”

Sora patted his chest lightly and Taichi shifted his attention towards her hands after returning from his thoughts.

“… great at tying your ties.” Sora finished for him. Her feminine fingers worked their magic once more and a perfectly knotted tie hung loosely around his neck. She carefully adjusted his collar and the tie itself, making it look sharp. “There, you’re all set.”

The softness and collected happiness in her voice made Taichi smile. He showed her his signature grin before turning himself to the mirror to look at himself. Behind him he saw Sora look at him too and his own heart weirdly skipped a beat.

“Thanks,” he quickly said to cover himself, still genuinely happy with Sora’s fashion knowledge and friendly help. He walked past her to get to his jacket and coat.

“Oh! There’s this dinner thing at my place tonight, will you be there too?” Taichi remembered as he put the jacket and coat on.

“Sure will be,” Sora answered while on her way back to the kitchen. Again, he felt a bolt of luck going through his body and warming his chest.

“Great! Looking forward to it.” He hastily slid into his shoes, his eyes checking out the time on the watch around his wrist. “Shit! Okay, gotta rush, see you toni—”

“Wait! Not yet.” Sora shouted from the kitchen. Taichi already had the door opened, doorknob in his hand, as he turned his head around to see Sora crossing the small living room towards in a rushed pace. In her hand she held his lunchbox and he instantly remembered it was what he not only forgot to grab, but forgot to prep and pack as well…

“You left this,” she said it as if he hadn’t seen what she was bringing him. He took the box from her, immediately feeling it wasn’t empty, meaning she had not only noticed he forgot, but had actually prepped and packed it for him. The heat from his chest slowly rose to his cheeks. “Have a good day at work.”

She smiled at him with her kindest and most genuine smile. It made him smile in return and for just the briefest of moments, time stood still.

“Thank you, you too,” he said, suddenly realizing he was in a hurry. With the lack of air between the two of them, he swiftly close the gap and planted a quick kiss on her lip—

Wait.

He did what? When— how?

Time seemed to stand still once more.

“Erm… sorry,” Sora spoke first, face completely red, chest high from all the gathered air inside of it. “That wasn’t supposed to happen…”

Taichi shook his head, with that trying to get him out of his daze. “Right… So much for all the accusations of us looking like a married couple huh?” He joked, automatically resolving to comedy to cover up his own redness.  

“Y-yeah, hehe…” Sora nodded as one hand moved itself nervously to her lips, her fingers touching the spot where he had pecked her like a husband kissing his spouse goodbye for the day.

Even though he had been unaware of his own feelings at first, apparently, his body had known what to do. The kiss blissfully happened by itself, showcasing both him and her what sparks had been exchanged. Not only during the time spent in this apartment together, but during their entire life by now.

It occurred to him that, rather than searching for someone to settle down with, perhaps he had already found that someone. Sleeping underneath the same roof, she tying his ties, bickering like only lovers could.

That it was just one simple kiss turning the ignorance into awareness.

The smile on his face grew bigger. As much as Taichi wanted to stay, especially now –to reflect a bit longer, to talk about his newfound excitement— he had to run.

“See you tonight, Sora.” Taichi said emphasizing her name as he took off.

He looked over his shoulder one more time, just to be met with the view of Sora waving him goodbye like they had indeed been married forever. To that, Taichi snickered to himself, in his securing Sora would be the one to untie his tie at the end of at least today.

Perhaps he could even steal another kiss from her…

#taioraweek2023 #taioraweek #taiora #taichi yagami #sora takenouchi #digimon fanfiction #taichi x sora #digimon #taichi #sora #tai x sora #tai kamiya #tai

[eijakushingomel]

#4 The Ember Knight story idea

(High School! AU)

●Feat. Jiroon●

A new school, a new life. At least, that was what her father said to her when he told her she would be exchanging to a new school in a new state due to his sudden change of workplace. Usually, Jiroon would smile and congratulate her dad for getting a new promotion.

But this, moving to another state?

Yeaaah, she spent her next two nights alone in her bedroom after dad told her the news. At the very least, she would get to meet her old childhood friend, Quaring, again. The girls had been best friends when they were younger. Until Quaring moved to Nijel. They still kept each other's contacts tho.

The next thing Jiroon knew, the process of moving had ended, and she was in her new home. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was already registered to a new nearby high school. The same school Quaring excitedly told her about. Then the next several days, she was preparing for her new first day of school.

"You'd love there, Jiroon!" Quaring said, after they exchanged long hug and greetings "I got tons of friends to introduce to you."

Welp, at least Quaring was here. Can't be that bad, right?

________

Her new classmates were...interesting, to say the least. Just as she took her first step into her classroom, she was greeted with loud shouts and shrieks. Shaking her shockness away, she carefully scanned the whole room.

The loud noises were coming from two particular people, a dark green haired girl with a hairband and a blonde haired boy that styled his bangs to cover one eye. Fashion, maybe. The girl was locking the boy's head in her arms, while he was trying his best to grab her hair.

"Are you guys serious?" Quaring spoke up from beside Jiroon "It's not 10 yet. And we have a new student today!"

That was enough to halted the two students. They took one quick look at Jiroon before let go of each other.

"Ah, hi," the girl awkwardly waved.

"Sup," the blonde one pretended not to be flustered.

Jiroon chuckled sheepishly. Guess these were her classmates from now on. At least, until her father didn't make a sudden decision to find another job in another state.

Quaring shook her head, but proceeded to introduce them either way "That's Luzian, and that kid is Wadrin–"

The boy perked up "I'm not a kid!"

"–you probably got the gist of their personalities already."

Luzian rolled her eyes but didn't say a word. She turned around to join a conversation with three boys, two of them were looking so alike with one another. With the exception, one of them tied his hair to a short ponytail, as the other let his hair fell and brushed against his shoulder blades. The third boy was rather cute. He had a pale skin akin to a China doll and black jet hair, paired up with emerald for eyes.

Quaring noticed her line of gaze "Oh, them? If you already notice, two of them are twins. The one with ponytail is Najin, and the other is Nagyunn. And that's our resident sunshine, Lauzun."

Jiroon won't notice another person joining their conversation if she didn't hear him talk "Warning alert, if you want to talk to the twins, go to Nags first. He's way more tolerable than his brother, for first timer at least."

Jiroon nearly jumped on her feet. Oh geez, she didn't notice him. He was a tall guy with light blue hair and violet eyes. With a flustered cheeks, she waved at the guy.

"Oh-oh, hello."

He smiled "Hi, sorry for scaring you there. I'm Toorisun. One of your classmates as well."

She let herself relaxed "I'm Jiroon. I just moved here last week."

"I notice. Quaring can't stop telling the whole class her friend was com–," he was harshly cuts off by a rough jab onto his ribs, courtesy from Quaring.

The second redhead glared heatly to him. A silent warning caused his lips to glue together sharply. Snickers coming from somewhere in the crowd, Jiroon turned her head to see Wadrin and another black haired string eyed boy looked in mirth at them – specifically, at Toorisun.

To change the subject from Toorisun's mistake, Quaring was quick to introduce Jiroon to the rest of their classmates.

"See that girl that trying to steal that guy's sandwich? That's Yulnia! See that guy that Yulnia tries to steal his sandwich from? That's Myusa!"

"Wha– Yulnia! That's mine! Fidorance will kill you if he finds out you steal from me again!"

"See that fella crushing on Yulnia? That's Nuljin."

"Quaring–!"

"That string eyed character? That's Darigon."

"I'm not a string eyed–"

Technically, he was. Even Jiroon described him as one earlier.

"That red curly boy? That's Pymel. He's the saner one between Wadrin and Darigon."

"Why are you comparing me with those two?"

"That girl that creeping behind Najin? That's Marsha."

"What– holy– stop showing up behind me!"

"Jin-ah, she needs a bell."

"Why are you so calm with this? Help me, Gyunn!"

Right on time, a pale coloured hair boy walked into the class. He took one look at his surroundings before he decided to walk away. Sadly, he was caught by Quaring.

"That fella who tries to run away? That's Tyr."

"This is... chaotic," Tyr mumbled, relented by today's fate and strode to his seat.

Nagyunn folded his arms over his chest, leaned on to his table as he said "Not the worst one yet," he glanced at the clock on the wall "We still have eight hours left until school's over."

"Nine," Lauzun cheerfully added "We have clubs today!"

#the ember knight #nagyunn #najin #quaring #jiroon #toorisun #pymel #myusa #darigon #wadrin #lauzun #luzian #tyr #yulnia #nuljin

[pink-tonic]

Who Needed You Anyway?🔪

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Warnings: None

Text message labels:

Bold = Ayato

Blue text = Taro

I wake up to the sun's bright light on my face. I turn away from my window to avoid the light. I look around my room until my eyes land on my clock. It's early in the morning, and I need to get ready.

It's already Thursday.

I actually need to go to school this time. I skipped out twice already, and I can't do it again. Plus, I have plans with Aso after school.

I go to grab my phone, and when I turn it on, I'm met with my wallpaper of Taeko. I frown at the wallpaper.

When I look at her I feel so...dissatisfied. I don't feel happiness, I don't feel love, I don't feel anything positive. Just a few days ago, I was so attracted to her. She was everything to me. But now I don't even want to see her.

It's not hatred. No, it's not that at all. I just don't care for her anymore.

I would turn off my phone, but a text message from Taro catches my attention.

We need to talk.

This isn't one of his usual text messages, this one seems more serious. And I can't help but feel a bit of fear. I've never felt this way before. I'm actually scared for once...

I don't like this feeling.

'What?' Is what I respond with, hoping that it's nothing too serious.

I don't think we should be friends anymore.

I'm a bit surprised by how fast he responds, given that he sent it late last night.

Why?

It's because I feel that you're not making an effort to keep this friendship going.

Okay.

I hope you understand.

I leave the messaging app and close my phone. I let out a sigh in frustration.

I really did mess up.

But who really needs him? It's not like Taro did anything good for me. I only had him around because (Y/n) drifted away from me. (Y/n) was a better friend anyway. Taro was so boring. Always having his head buried in a book, not even caring to start a conversation with me.

He was useless anyway.

I take my blankets off of me, and I get out of bed. My feet met the cold, hard wood flooring, but I get up and make my way over to my corkboard. The corkboard is filled with pictures of Taeko. Clear shots, blurry shots, upclose, and far away pictures. It's filled with every picture I've taken of her. Red strings are scattered around the board, and a few of them even take the shape of hearts.

After work would end, I would come home and look at this and admire it. Taking in her features and all my hard work, but now I only see it as a waste of energy.

With anger, I snatch one of the pictures off the corkboard. It ends up ripping, and the pin holding it in place falls to the ground.

I continue to rip the pictures off the corkboard and the red strings, too. When I'm done, my bedroom floor is covered with pieces from the photographs, pins, and red string.

I walk away from the corkboard and leave the room.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

For the rest of the day, I avoid both of the Yamada siblings. I don't want to see either of them. I try my best to make it through the day, so I can go to the club.

Luckily, Taro made it easy for me and switched his seat in the classes I have with him. He would usually sit next to me, but he switched his seat, so he sits somewhere else now.

At least he did something right for once.

Finally, the last bell rings and I can now go to my club.

I make my way outside and head straight to the changing room. I go inside and head to my locker. I change into my gym uniform, but as I'm taking off my shirt, I hear someone.

"Hey, Ayato!" Aso greets me. He walks over to his locker and starts to change, too.

"Hey," I greet him back. I put my uniform in my locker and close it.

"You still remember our plans, right?" He asks me as he takes off his clothes and reaches into his locker to get out his gym uniform.

"Yes, I do."

"Cool! I'll see you after we're done."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Alright, Ayato!" Aso yells out, running over to me and wrapping an arm over my shoulders. The force almost trips me over, but I'm able to balance myself.

"Where should we go? I didn't actually think I would make it this far," he admits to me with a nervous laugh, "I thought you would turn my invitation down right away."

I ignore his statement and question further where we are going.

"Oh! Right, right. Let me think...," Aso starts to think, but it looks like he has no idea where to go, "Hmmm... honestly it beats me. Let's see where our legs take us." He shrugs after his statement and takes the lead.

We walk out of the school, and we start to make our way into the town. I'm hoping he isn't planning on going into a store since there isn't anything new.

I keep following Aso, and we go over to the railing that's overlooking the sea. It's starting to get dark, and the stars and moon are starting to take their place in the sky.  He leans over the railing and looks over it.

"Woah, I forgot how close we are to the sea. I kind of want to swim," he comments as he watches the different boats moving along the blue ocean.

I notice Aso looks over to a pair of binoculars that are placed facing out towards the ocean. I can see an idea go through his head as he approaches it.

"Look at this, Ayato!" He exclames as he points at the binoculars, "Do you want to look into it?"

I give him a nod, and he starts to smile.

"It only costs 300 yen," he states. I then see him rummage through his uniform pockets, and he pulls out a few coins. "I'll go first."

He slides the coins into the slot of the machine, and he is now able to use it. Aso is too tall, so he has to lower himself down a little.

This isn't very interesting, but Aso seems to be really interested by what he sees. He lets out a few 'Wow's and 'Woah's.

His time eventually runs out, and he backs away and stands up straight.

"You should try it, Ayato!" He encourages me.

I give in and rummage through pockets for any coins. I eventually do find some, and I walk over to the machine. I insert the coins in, and I lower myself to see through it.

At first, it's not very interesting since I get a zoomed in version of what I regularly see, so I'm just seeing a lot of the ocean and fewer boats. I move the binoculars around, and I eventually do find something that piques my interest.

It's to the far right, and I see a boat. The boat isn't anything out of the ordinary, but there is a person standing on the deck of the ship. They are holding a pair of binoculars and looking over towards the direction of the town.

It seems to be a boy around my age. It looks like he has silver hair, pale skin, and is wearing a fancy blue and black suit. While I'm looking, I see him put down the binoculars, and I can see his eyes for a brief moment, but he is quick to look through the binoculars again.

Eventually, my time runs out, so I back away from the binoculars and make my way over to Aso, who is once again admiring the ocean.

Aso notices me and looks over to me. "Did you find anything interesting?" He asks me.

"Not really," I lie to him. I'm currently not in the mood to explain what I saw.

He lets out a light hum and backs away from the railing. "What do you want to do now?" He asks me.

"I'm not sure," I want to call off the hangout and go home, but I know I can't do that. Aso is all I have now when it comes to friends, so I can't ditch him. Even if I really do want to.

"Can we go down by the beach?" He asks, and when he is asking, I can see hope and joy in his eyes. Hoping that I would agree.

I nod my head, and I start to take the lead. Aso follows me eagerly like a puppy.

It doesn't take long for us to make it to the beach. I see Aso starts to sprint to the water, as he runs, he discards his bag. But he doesn't even take his shoes or his clothes off. He goes in without a second thought.

He dives into the water, and he yells out how cold it is. I ignore him and look around the beach.

It's empty.

No one is here, which isn't surprising since it's nighttime. Who in their right mind would go to the beach at night?

Oh, wait…

I look back at Aso, and I see him splashing around in the water. He eventually walks out of the water and approaches me.

"It's so cold!" He whines out while taking off his shoes and throwing them on the sand.

Aso looks at me and asks, "You don't want to join?"

I shake my head and respond, "I'm not a  good swimmer."

I've only swam a few times when I was younger, but I wasn't very good at it. I would usually stay in shallow water, and I wouldn't dare to go deeper.

"Really? That gives me another idea!" He exclames as he takes off his shirt and pants, "How about we hang out tomorrow after school and swim together in the pool?"

I guess that wouldn't be too bad, but I have work tomorrow. Maybe I can call in and make an excuse? I've done extra shifts this week, so I don't think I would get in trouble.

I decide to agree with Aso's plans. He smiles at me, and then turns away to rummage through his bag, and he ends up pulling out a pair of swimming trunks.

He rashes to put them on, and he rushes back into the cold water.

I decide to take a seat on the sand and look out towards the ocean.

Maybe...this is the change I need. Right?

#fanfic #yandere #yandere simulator #yansim #male reader #reader insert #x reader

[sourame]

I don't know if you also do fics? but if it is the case, i would like to order one for kanata yatonokami being jealous/possessive with his mc fem ksnsks just because i like to see him like that xdd thanks and have a nice day <33

😈 u ask and u shall receive

Jealous!Kanata x MC

(fem! reader! will be using she/her pronouns.)

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

~~ below the cut! ~~

Kanata had fantasized about the perfect girlfriend for many years now. Someone who he could depend on when things seemed hopeless, someone to kiss when his lips felt the need. Which is why he chose her. She had made him fall in a way he could have never imagined. She was his rose in a field of thorny bushes. A rose he wanted all to himself.

Kanata never really took people out often, other than his brother and MC. Everyone else would be shoved away quickly. However, he knew those two more than anyone. He loved those two to death, especially his MC.

He thought a simple trip to a café would please her, so he took her out to one not far from his home. Kanata had never gone on a date before; part of him wanted to back out and just hang at home. But, if it pleased his MC, he would cross the world. A bouquet of small flowers in hand, he waited outside the entrance of a very average looking café. He didn't have the money for a fancy restaurant or a formal spot, but it still looked rather pleasant.

He reached into his pocket to check the time on his phone.

“.. Where is she? She should've been here ten minutes ago.." He muttered to himself, only a tad bit frustrated. His patience expanded only by a smidge when it came to her. In any case, he opened his messaging app and was just about to shoot her a text.

KANA: hey where r u?? ive been waiting for

Before he could finish, he heard the clicking of shoes running in his direction. Looking up from his device, his eyes landed on none other than his MC. Kanata felt his heart almost stop beating inside of his chest. Of course, this had happened many times. This was not the first instance where MC simply took his breath away for herself.

"Hi Kana! Sorry for being late, got caught up in some things." MC greeted him with a slight pant in her voice from running.

Kanata shrugged it off and handed her the flowers he had picked for her. "Don't apologize. I got these for you."

Inside the bundle contained Irises and Amaryllis. The iris flower represents compliments towards a person, while the Amaryllis represented beauty like no other. The bouquet was wrapped in a lilac-colored bow presented beautifully.

"I never really pictured you to be a flower person." MC teased with a very light chuckle. Kanata blew it off and motioned for her to enter the cafe with him, which she did.

Inside the café was a variety of colorful decor and signs. There was a standard chalkboard menu with a large selection of different drinks and small treats, a few employees scattered here and there. The cafe didn't have many people either, mostly students finishing work or those simply looking to relax.

Thankfully, there was not much of a line. Kanata and MC approached the counter quickly and told the barista their order. Though, something was off. Kanata could tell instantly.

The way his eyes dug into her appearance, his tone of voice when speaking to her. The casual small talk he tried to make with her.

Kanata tried to shake off his jealousy. That was until, he asked for her number, which clicked inside his brain instantly.

Kanata hand slid around MCs side, pulling her closer to him and shooting him a threatening look.

"Back the fuck off. If you wanna find someone to pathetically shoot your shot at, go search somewhere else. She's fucking mine." His patience had already been on a thin string, but flirting with his MC had cut that string.

The barista understood rather quickly and returned to making his orders without another word. Kanata and his MC exchanged glances for a while, before he decided to speak.

"You belong to me and me alone. No one is allowed to be romantic towards you besides me. Understand?"

#paralive x reader #paradox live x reader #kanata paralive #kanata yatonokami #kanata yatonokami x reader #cozmez x reader #cozmez #paralive #paradox live #paradox live fic #paralive fic #help im sorry if this was shitty #i tried

[dumpster-divers-unite]

You wouldn’t believe the waste at my old job.

I must have covered this at some point, but in case I haven’t: my old job (nursing home) created so much waste of every kind. Plastics and clothing were the 2 biggest contributors. The plastic was an every day occurrence due to our linen system, but clothing was -and is- a preventative waste.

In Western countries, we collect a LOT more then we realistically need. With such ease of access to StuffTM, we Westerners don’t recognize the true luxury we have in being able to get things when we want it in a relatively short amount of time or on demand. Clothing/fashion/accessories are bought, “consumed”, and discarded at alarming speeds. Many people don’t try to upcycle their goods into something new once they tire of it. Thrift and second hand stores are so stuffed to the brim with Stuff that they don’t have space for the newer fastest fashions. Where do you think your donated shirt goes when you’ve tired of it? It ends up in the trash after a week on the thrift store’s shelves… if it’s lucky to see the shelves.

I can only speak for the facility I’ve worked in, but maybe someone out there can pitch in too: I’ve witnessed so much good clothing go to waste that it makes me feel gross to be the one doing it. Those really well made CAT work boots that I wear near constantly now that were like new when I brought them home? Those would have been in a trash site somewhere because someone never claimed them. The strings I used to replace the criminally short original laces came from old hoodies.

I went back to my old work place later in the evening the day before last to keep my former co worker company for an hour or two. While she was telling me about all of the craziness she’s being put through, curiosity lead me through the lost and found to see what had changed. I found the same stuff that’s been there for almost a year, maybe longer. The newer abandoned stuff looks like it was new, or lightly worn. My coworker said she kept asking others what belonged to who but no one ever knew for some reason… either the stuff belonged to a super short term residents or it was unmarked and unwanted. Most of it is shirts, some are pants.

“We need to get rid of it.” She says. I agree, we need to get rid of the old stuff.

Out with the old, in with the new… sounds familiar.

I’ve thought about taking a shirt or pants that weren’t my size and using it as scrap fabric, but there is only so much space I can dedicate to that cause. For me, that space is limited to a single shelf. I’d love to take it all and use as much of the material as possible to make sure there was zero waste, but I know the truth: that clothing rack will be emptied to the trash and it will fill back up with unclaimed fast fashion. I’ve taken ripped, faded, and dingy items bound for the trash and made really good items out of it. I know I cannot and should not save everything because it “could be useful for the future”, that’s one way to spiral into hoarding disorders, but to me it feels wrong when I can’t help it.

I hope things like that don’t haunt y’all. Sometimes we have to let go of the pants or shirts that happen to fit us before we ever latch onto them. I’ve run across many shirts and a few pants that I’ve given to my partner sense he doesn’t have much and he wears them. No one claimed them for over 3 months and I wasn’t going to let him have nothing but 2 pairs of shorts, 2 shirts and a single pair of jeans that were thin and ripping at the booty cheeks. Moments like that make me proud that I think the way that I do, and that I’ve saved a hell of a lot of money by doing what I’ve done.

I benefited from this lifestyle change too! I’ve gotten to claim a white thermal shirt, a grey light button up jacket, and brand new trapper hat (ushanka) during the visit. It’s such a shame that people/their families won’t claim perfectly decent clothing, even after half a year.

#recycled words #dumpster diving #reduce reuse recycle #zero waste living #freeganism #clothing waste #clothing #freegan #waste not want not #work waste #workplace waste #lost and found #lost clothing

[decayedhearts]

I’m back with another depressing headcanon for Trey! Because I love those apparently! ✨

Content warning: mention of child death (illness), suicide (not Trey), alcoholism

This is my default bad development for Trey that applies in any verses in which he is not in a relationship after graduation or has somewhere to go after college. This ties in with his past, a glance of which can be seen in this post.

So he returns home after graduation to help with the bakery - as he’s always done. He has no aspirations to do anything else, knowing what’s expected of him. NRC was the longest break from his responsibilities that Trey could allow himself and he’s given up any hopes he had of ever doing anything other than taking over his parents’ business and continuing it until the day he dies. He doesn’t enjoy baking anymore but he’s good at it. In hindsight it feels like a waste of time that he ever graduated at all. Even if he had excelled at a subject, he would have gone back to the bakery.

The relationship between his parents does not improve over the years and by the time Trey graduates its obvious that his siblings are feeling it too. Especially Trey’s sister is clearly aware of at least some of the problems plaguing their home, even though they’re still not spoken about openly. Trey’s mother clings to him more than she ever has once he returns, but he avoids her as much as he can; more so than he did when he only went home for holidays. She no longer feels like the warm safe space a child can return to at any stage of its life; she feels like a burden, and the thought of her desperation being directed at him makes Trey want to run away.

He doesn’t. He lives day in day out with the same schedule. Getting up early and preparing the pastries and bread, helping with the sale during shop hours, cleaning the kitchen, stocking up at the market on market days, making food for the little ones, entertain the little ones, sleep, rinse and repeat. For a while it doesn’t feel as joyless as Trey expected. He teaches himself new things and they sell well; he comes up with ways to be more efficient, and he notices with relief that his siblings have become more independent with age. Maybe this is not the future he dreamed of, but maybe it’s not the worst one he could have asked for either.

Until his youngest brother falls ill. It’s a swift and terrible illness that no potion or healer is capable of curing and the unthinkable happens. Trey could not have imagined a greater tragedy to befall his family, but it is only the first strike of fate that sets a string of sorrow in motion. His parents finally drop all pretense, unable to deal with the death of their youngest in any healthy way. His father’s most recent affair - of which Trey has known for years - is brought to light and it is the final straw for his mother to lose the battle with her conscience. She disappears, leaving nothing but a letter for Trey to read to his siblings, speaking of her guilt and her love, and her shattered dreams. He burns it without speaking a word of it to anyone. Two days later his mother’s body is found near the bridge by the woods and for the first time in years she looks at peace.

Trey feels empty in the face of her death. His father still possesses the decency to handle her affairs and arrange for her funeral, but as soon as she’s been given her last goodbye, he makes arrangements to leave. This home, he says, holds nothing but bitter memories for him, and he wishes to start over somewhere far away from here. Trey, it seems, does not fit into this plan of a new life; for a week later all rooms except for his are cleared out, and the house is empty, his father and siblings gone.

Trey would later say they disappeared while he was out, but he saw his father packing the carriage days before, and heard his siblings’ screams for their brother in the middle of the night. It’s easier to pretend they left him behind than to explain why he chose not to follow.

The house is quiet with all of them gone, every room filled with a terrible empty silence that weighs heavier than his parents’ screams and his siblings’ happy shouts ever did. Others in town show compassion for Trey in the weeks that follow the incident, but strangers’ compassion rarely lasts long. They go back to their lives eventually and so does Trey. He returns to his schedule as if it’s all he ever learned to do. Getting up early, preparing the pastries and bread, handling the sale during shop hours, cleaning the kitchen, stocking up at the market on market days, making food for himself, sleep. Getting up early, preparing the pastries and bread, handling the sale during shop hours, drinking to ignore the lonely silence of the house, cleaning the kitchen, drinking until nightfall, sleep. Sleep until morning, do what he’s good at, drink until sleep.. rinse and repeat.

#( m: trey. ) #( headcanon. ) #( trey: headcanon. ) #didn't fit the narrative but he also starts smoking openly #which at nrc he only did in secret in his room #it messes with his ability to bake and cook as well as he used to #but he has been doing both for so long by now he doesn't really need to taste things anymore to make them well #his days become a blur of work; drinking and smoking; napping; and more drinking at the tavern until its late enough to go to sleep

[garoumylove]

Golden Hour Part 12

My fluffy domestic ♥️GarouxReader♥️ (from Garou’s point of view). In this part he takes you to the sea :) You can also read it on AO3 here :)

"Uncle," Tareo says as he sits on the living room floor the next evening. Kid's been looking dazed and confused ever since he came inside. He's got the mouse on the string but he's not really paying attention and the cat grabs it and goes full throttle, strangling and biting and ripping into it, having the time of her life.

You know, maybe we are more alike than I thought. This really is my cat.

"What?" I say from my usual place on the couch as I watch the sun begin to go down. It still disappears early enough but not as early as when we first made each other's acquaintance, me and her. I'd let the memories of the last months get the better of me if I was alone, thinking of her and all those times…

The tree outside is starting to block the light, the new leaves appearing every day.

"Uncle," he says again, as if completely forgetting he'd just said that.

"What?" I repeat. I'm getting used to this kid. My patience ain't wearin' so thin anymore. I could do this all day.

He's a good kid. I ain’t got nothing against him.

"I went to her house," he says, almost whispering, in awe, as if still not believing this good fortune actually happened to him.

"Oh yeah?" I can't help but grin. I'm happy for him. At least one of us is gettin' somewhere.

I frown for a moment, remembering my own fucking lost opportunity. So close. So fucking close.

I’ve been replaying that moment in my goddamn head since yesterday. Over and fucking over. Part of me is sure it would've all gone how I wanted it to. That it would be the start of something…good. But then another part of me doubts. What if she'd turned around and gave me a good fucking slap? I can't discount that either. I was ready to take some very big liberties and I wouldn't fuckin' blame her. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?

Anyway, back to the kid.

"How was it?" I say.

"Her house is nice," he says. "We played board games."

"Board games, eh?" I say, now there's a thought. I start thinking board games but then all my dirty little mind goes to is strip poker and then that image of her see-through shirt yesterday…and fucking heaven help me. No. Snap the fuck out. Back to this kid.

"Did you let her win?" I ask.

"No," he shakes his head seriously. "She's really good."

Yeah. That's the way. You don't let people win if you respect them. I'd fucking hate that.

I'm about to ask somethin' else, I don't remember what, when he just keeps going with growing exciting momentum now.

"And then her brother came and played too and it was really fun! He's so cool! He's the captain of the baseball team! And then we went to the park and he got us some candy and…"

And I ain't listening anymore. I'm fucking scowling, deep and mad. This fucking asshole again. Him and his fucking hair, and his fucking face, and-

"Uncle, someone's here!" Tareo says as the front door opens.

"Oh!" She breaks into an even bigger smile as she sees Tareo. "Hello!" She says as I quickly get up. "I just wanted to bring this back," she says, turning to me now, still with that bright smile, holding out my PE uniform, all washed and dry and folded neatly and smellin' so good. She shouldn'tve bothered. Ain't like I'll be ever using it again. I told her not to bother but she wouldn’t listen and just took it home with her anyway.

“Hey Delilah,” she says, getting down on the floor with Tareo, petting the cat while she purrs and meows. “You’re looking so good now!”

“She’s getting bigger!” Tareo says, his exciting story momentarily forgotten. Good. Because I don’t want to hear another fuckin’ thing about that baseball son of a bitch.

“Yes, she is,” she agrees, nodding. “She’s getting big and strong, because Garou takes such good care of her,” she says and looks up at me.

I feel…fuck. Why does she have to say things like that? It ain’t like I fuss over the cat or anything. I just feed it twice a day and…fuck. I’m just gonna go put this back in my room.

I head upstairs without replying. What is there to say? But the way she looks at me, like she knows she’s right, like she can see right through me…

Well, I have been trying to be good lately. Or a bit less fuckin’ bad I guess. I haven’t gone out skulking around at night nearly as much these last few weeks. I’m trying my best, I fuckin’ swear. Only when I really, really fuckin’ need it. And after last night, I feel like I’m really, really, really going to fucking need it tonight. This frustration is turning into a fucking monster that I can barely control anymore.

“Maybe I should learn karate,” Tareo looks up at me with this newfound determination when I come back into the living room.

I remember looking back at them, on the floor there, playing with the cat. And it hit me. Since when did my house become the fucking meetin’ place? Shit felt surreal. A few months back I would’ve been sittin’ here alone in the dark and the cold, happy with my own company, and now, the lights were on and they were here and I found it didn’t bother me. This fucking strange turn of events. Just crept up on me. And I found, to my infinite surprise, I wasn’t too fuckin’ bothered by it.

I don’t know what I was thinkin’ at the time. I was just trying to think of a place I might show her that she’d actually like. And that was hard because it seemed like our interests weren’t at all aligned. But then I remembered that little town and the house and it made me think of the museum and well… There it was. She told me later she was surprised at the time. In a good way. But also it made things harder because she was trying to not get too close. And then I went and did something personal like that, thought of her specifically. Said no one had done that for her for a while. If only she’d known the hours I’d spent with her on my mind. Life is ironic like that.

“Oh, what for?” Ahe asks, looking up from Delilah to him.

“Um…” he suddenly falters, his cheeks gettin’ red. “I…uh…there’s…”

I got you, boy. I got you.

“To be awesome, like me,” I say, grinning. “Ain’t no one going to mess with him then.”

“Well, it would be better if he could solve problems without resorting to that,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me but I ignore it.

“I like your initiative, kid,” I say. I won’t be the one to teach you but good on you.

“Really?” He looks up at me hopefully. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

But I ain’t really listening anymore. He can do whatever he wants. What’s it to me?

Hmm…Initiative. Initiative…

This has got me thinking. Maybe that’s been the problem. Why none of this is goin’ nowhere. I haven’t particularly done nothing so why would she even suspect that I’ve been in this sorry longing state for so long?

Fuck me, she’s taken me places and always seems to be the one initiating.

Of course. Fuck. Why ain’t I thought of that? I ain’t ever asked her to do something or go anywhere. I remember that time, in the beginning where she said I’d made it clear I didn’t want to see her. Fuck. I ain’t exactly made a huge improvement since then.

And now I’m just deep in thought. I gotta think of something, somewhere…

Think. Think…

I’m thinkin’ so hard I don’t even really hear the rest of their conversation.

“We saw Uncle’s teacher before,” Tareo informs her proudly. “He said Uncle was the best student.”

“Is that right?” She says, mischievous smile directed at me but I’m too lost in concentration. I ain’t exactly an encyclopedia of romantic ideas here.

“I can imagine that,” she says as Delilah climbs onto her lap again. “He’s very strong and very smart.”

“But he said he wouldn’t teach me,” Tareo suddenly looks downcast.

“Just give him some time,” she says, smiling kindly at him and then turns to me. “You know, I’m getting really curious now. I want to see you doing some karate, wearing that white uniform you wear.”

“It ain’t karate,” I say, a bit too distracted, not really taking in their words. But fuck. It ain’t karate.

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughs. “Whatever it is, it sounds like you were very good at it. Very talented. I would have loved to have seen you with your teacher, seen your dojo. It sounds really exciting.”

“It ain’t nothing,” I say, hoping they’ll drop this thing already. “Nothin’ to see. Just an old building and an even older fuckin’ man.”

She can see I ain’t keen on talking about it and moves on carefully. I feel bad. I don’t mean to be fucking rude. But I’m still thinking when-

Fuck. Yeah. That might just work.

She hands the last wet plate to me after dinner, Tareo long gone and I dry it for her.

“Oi,” I say, putting it down on the bench, all casual like, “what are you doin’ this weekend?”

“Going on a hot date,” she says, wringing out the sponge and washing her hands. She says it so naturally and so seriously.

Suddenly everything is fucking deathly silent. I can hear the drip of the tap on the hard metal sink. Time feels…heavy. I’m vaguely aware of how dark it is outside.

I find I forget what I was going to fuckin’ say. I wasn’t expecting that. I-

She looks at me for a moment but it’s like I ain’t seeing anything in front of me.

“Oh my god,” she finally laughs. “What’s wrong with you? Look at your face!”

I snap out of it. I feel something extremely fuckin’ unpleasant in my chest.

“Is that so bad? Are you that surprised that someone might want to take me out? I’m not that old,” she laughs.

But I just keep starin’ back, as if turned to fuckin’ stone.

“I’m not going on a date,” she finally says, the laughter dying down. “Seriously, I was just joking,” she says. “You don’t need to look so horrified.”

I force my brain to start working again, to regain its usual composure. She thinks I’m surprised that someone wants her. And that ain’t it at all. I’m fucking seething, thinking I’ve missed my chance here. Fuckin’ kicking myself. What the fuck?

I feel this sudden relief when she says that last thing. The anger cooling.

“I ain’t horrified,” I say, just as nonchalant as her. I really gotta get my fuckin’ act together because this time she’s joking but next time, who fuckin’ knows.

Where’s that fuckin’ initiative?

“You want to go to the sea?” I ask, just like that. Ain’t making a big deal out of it. I mean, the sea is pretty fucking close here but that’s not what I mean and she gets it. I’m talking about the wild sea. Not the thing here with the shipping containers and the neon lights.

“Yeah!” She says, genuinely enthusiastic. “Like a little trip?”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking of the hour-long, or just a bit longer, journey.

“That sounds fun,” she says. “When do you want to go?”

It’s early Saturday morning. There ain’t that many people around at the train station. We gotta take the train down south about forty five minutes and then a bus. Well, if it was just me, I’d walk that last part. But I gotta be considerate of my lovely company here. It’s in the middle of nowhere and ain’t the easiest road to get there.

“You picked a good day,” she says, looking up at the sun breaking through the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand and then grins at me.

“Yeah, well, I’m a genius,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

I’d gone out again that week. In the night. I tried to ignore it, to avoid it. I fucking tried but by Thursday, the memory had gotten the best of me. The memory of my dashed dreams.

I was careful though. No hits to the face. Nothin’ she’d be able to see, and I kept my mouth nice and shut about it.

I needed that. I needed to feel like I was in control of somethin’. Like I could still achieve somethin’. And then Tareo’s babbling story about that fucking baseball loser, well that was just fuel for the fire. It ain’t his fault. He doesn’t know but fuck. It all came together and when I got to my usual hunting grounds, there was just this one little group…and I just kept to myself, honest, but then they had to go and say some things my pride really didn’t agree with and well…You know how it is.

“Yes,” she laughs warmly, “yes, you are,” she says, taking a step closer to me as we wait for the train.

She doesn’t ask why. Why I had this idea, or why I was takin’ her somewhere. I get the feeling she sensed it would be better for me that she didn’t and she seemed happy to just be there by my side.

“It’s nice to get out of the city sometimes,” she says, tilting her head back a bit, letting the sunlight wash over her beautiful face, closing her eyes for a second and I take that opportunity to just stare. I don’t care who’s watching. It only lasts a moment. As usual, only the moment.

I think about her words. I guess that’s true. We used to go there in the summer. Every holiday. But to be honest, I hadn’t been to that place in years. Not since middle school. Or was it before that? I don’t remember. Some of those fucked up years just blend together. A fucking series of unfortunate events, gone by in a blur.

“What are you thinking about?” She says, catching me in the throes of unwelcome nostalgia. The way she says it, she knows somethin’s up but she’s too tactful to push any further.

“Nothin’,” I say, turning away to look down the tracks, just in time to see the train coming, feeling my fingers dig into my palms in my pockets for a moment longer before relaxing them.

“I think that’s us,” she says as the train approaches.

We sit by the window, facing each other across this flimsy little table.

Suddenly, she whips out a deck of cards from her jacket pocket.

No fucking way! Strip poker? Here? Well…I didn’t think she’d be that frisky but what the hell. If exhibitionism is her kink I’m all for it. I ain’t got nothin’ to hide.

“What? I mean…we’re going to be here for a little while. I thought it would be fun!” She says, shuffling the cards. “Want to play Idiot?”

What now?

“Eh…?” I narrow my eyes. Where the fuck is this coming from? “What did I do?” I say, unable to keep an even tone.

She snickers before the laughter takes over.

“It’s the name of the game,” she says, dealing the cards quickly, expertly. “Idiot.”

“I don’t fuckin’ believe you,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “You’re just toying with me there. If you want to call me an idiot, just fuckin’ do it,” I growl, not convinced.

“No, I swear,” she says as she finishes. “It’s a Russian game. My grandpa taught it to me. We used to play all the time. He learned it from a friend when he was young. And then his friend moved away and he had no one to play it with, so he’d teach it to everyone he met. He loved that game. It’s not that hard. I’ll show you Idiot,” she laughs so pretty and kicks me under the table and I can’t stay mad.

And yeah, turns out she was telling the truth. It is a real fucking game.

Fucking Russians eh.

“You’re good!” She says as she beats me, just, for the second time as the scenery outside flashes by. Mostly green and blue. We’re out of the city limits and there ain’t nothing but trees and fields here. Occasionally, cows.

“Again,” I say, getting all tense. I gotta admit. I ain’t a good loser. I just ain’t. I ain’t gonna be happy until I get at least one round.

“Anything you want, Wolf Cub,” she winks and deals again.

I don’t think I have to explain the effect of her sayin’ something like that has on me anymore. You get the gist.

I pick up the cards and rearrange them in order. This is a good fucking hand.

“I ain’t going easy on you,” I say, remembering what I told Tareo. Don’t let people fucking win just to be nice. Also, I respect her too much to do that.

“I never expected you to,” she says and bites her lip seductively, jokingly, but inside I’m fucking aching. Don’t do me like that, my love. I’m already this fuckin’ close to-

“Fuck!” I say as I look at the first card she puts down. Anything but that.

“Go ahead, give me your best move, big boy,” she says, leaning back, holding her cards close to her face like a coy fan, watching me intently.

Looks like she takes this as seriously as I do. I like that.

“I don’t know,” I say, half pulling the card out of my hand, grinning at her over the rest of them, “do you think you can handle that?”

“You talk big,” she says, leaning in closer. “Show me what you’ve got,” she challenges.

If only. If only you really meant that. I would show you. I would show you anything and give you everything. Everythin’ I’ve got. It’s yours.

We step off the train onto a deserted platform, the only two visitors at this hour.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here,” she says, looking around the trees, the grass, the barely paved road down there. “Lead the way.”

We walk down the road a bit to the bus stop.

“There’s no schedule,” she says curiously as she does a tour around the fading, rickety bus shelter.

“Nah,” I say, taking a seat, ready for it to fuckin’ collapse at any moment. “It just comes when it comes around here.”

“I can smell it,” she says as she takes a seat next to me, and now I’m ready to catch the both of us at any moment if it collapses.

“What? The bus?” I tease.

“Yes, Mr. Smartass. The bus,” she nudges me and rolls her eyes before returning to her usual gorgeous smile. “The sea. It smells different here. I know we’re close. Can’t see it yet but it’s close.”

These days I let her take whatever photos she wants of me. But I get to take them of her right back. Photo for photo. She said if we were going to be a thing I had to get a phone too because it was just easier and I wasn’t that keen on the idea because who the fuck do I have to call? But then turns out it has some uses. For example, I especially enjoy receiving her half-naked pictures at what might be considered inappropriate times. She knows I can’t resist having a look. Teases, torments me. But it always makes my day. And then I always have to respond in kind which ain’t always easy but I do love a challenge. The wonders of technology, eh?

Eventually, not too long later, it does arrive. It’s just us and a couple of old people.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing the edge of my sleeve and dragging me right to the back “That’s where the cool kids sit.”

“Oh yeah?” I say.

“Yeah,” she says, looking out the window, enjoying the countryside view. “I had to take the bus to school and it was always the cool kids down the back. And I always wanted to sit there, just once.”

“What? Are you telling me you weren’t cool?” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. “I don’t believe that. You look like you’d fit right in here.”

She blinks at me for a moment.

“Me? Do you really think I had any hope of being cool? Me? Are you serious?” She laughs. “I was just happy to keep my head down and mouth shut.”

She says it like it’s a silly, fond memory now but I can tell it’s something she’s shut off. That she’s put distance between those years and now. A distance best kept up by humour and pretense.

“But I bet you were the coolest of them all,” she keeps teasing before turning back to the window.

I don’t fucking care. Who’s cool, who’s popular. All that fuckin’ shit. Just one more way to trample on others and make their lives fuckin’ miserable. I’d checked out of the social hierarchy long ago. It was never going to be on my fucking side anyway.

I glance at her again. Cool or not I don’t fucking care. I wonder how it would’ve been if we’d been in school at the same time. Would she have paid me any attention? Would she have joined in with the others who looked at me afraid or whispered as I walked by? I’d like to think not. I’ve experienced too much of her kindness to believe that. Or would she have just ignored me? Possibly. And the way she talks…sounds like there were people giving her a fuckin’ hard time too. Makes me wish I could’ve been there and taught them a little lesson, taught them to shut the fuck up and mind their own fuckin’ business. Or maybe she wouldn’tve appreciated that?

“The sheep are really cute,” she says, getting her phone out and snapping pictures of the lazy animals as we pass by. “Hey,” she suddenly turns to me, phone still in hand.

And before I can say ‘What?’ she’s already taken the picture. Fuck.

“Oi, delete that,” I say, none too pleased.

“Why?” She says. “You look good! See!” She turns the phone to me for a moment. I fuckin’ hate seeing pictures of myself. At least off-the-cuff ones like this.

“Delete it,” I say, turning away, a new self-consciousness growing in my mind.

“Fine,” she says, but it’s a bit too quiet and a bit too…disappointed. I watch her click her screen. “See? Gone,” she says, as if not minding one bit and yet…

I feel sort of bad and at the same time on edge. Did she really want to keep a photo of me? What for? Why? There’s this wild, rising hope in my chest. Why the fuck did I go and do that? I feel like I am indeed a fucking Idiot.

“Here,” I say as the bus rolls to a slow stop and it’s our turn to get off.

We stand in the middle of the deserted road. A black and white cat runs across, completely ignoring us.

“It’s so quiet,” she says as a warm breeze passes us and disappears into the newly green trees. “You can hear the birds.”

There’s just one main road and some smaller ones leading off every so often. The old houses are spaced out and most of them seem empty. Every once in a while they’re punctuated by a brand new one, sleek, all the glass glowing, reflecting the spring sun. The city encroaching even here.

“It’s busy in summer,” I say, remembering.

“So it’s like a little holiday village?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. I think the only people who live here all year round are pretty fuckin’ old. Or rich enough to not work judging by the new builds.

She closes her eyes.

“There it is,” she says, suddenly so relaxed, peaceful. “You can hear the waves.”

She’s right. You can. It’s just walking distance from here.

“So, where are we going?” she says, slowly opening her eyes again, turning to me.

“There,” I point up the road, up the hill covered in dense trees. You can’t see anything from here yet but that’s why I thought of this place. And to be honest, it feels excruciatingly pathetic now and I start to fucking regret all my decisions. I think back to the museum, the history, the fucking grandeur. What the fuck was I thinking. But we’re here now.

She looks like she wants to ask something but then changes her mind.

“Ok,” she says instead. “That’s going to be a trek. I want to get some water first,” she says as she spies the only store in this cobbled-together town.

We walk into the store. Its walls are made of wood and you gotta push open the door. To give you an idea of what we’re dealing with.

It’s the type of store that sells everything and nothing.

The old woman minds the ancient counter and seems so fucking happy to see us. We may be the first customers today, or since yesterday or even before that.

“Do you want anything?” She asks as she picks up a bottle of water.

“Nah,” I say.

“Oh, look!” She says. “They make bento!” She turns to the old lady. “We’ll be back for lunch too!” She says as she pays for the water and the woman is practically beaming.

“I could retire in a place like this,” she says as we walk past the last house and into the trees, the road turning into a narrow gravel path.

“I couldn’t,” I say.

“Why not?” she asks.

“What the fuck is there to do here every day?” I say. I’m bein’ honest. Yeah, this place is great for a couple of days but then what? What the fuck you gonna do? Count sheep?

“I don’t know? Go swimming? Garden? Just sit outside and enjoy the sun?” She suggests as we meander up the path in the cool, green shadows.

“My point exactly,” I say, not too impressed. Though who knows. Maybe when I’m as old as that old bastard in his dojo all I’ll want to do is sit around the garden all day. Who the fuck knows? Though I highly doubt it.

The elevation rises bit by bit as we keep walking. The path veers closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, the trees on our right thinning out until you can see the ocean.

She stops and I almost hit into her.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, staring at the horizon through the thin tree trunks, a light blue on top of a dark one, stretching out as if for infinity.

She’s got much more of an appreciation for nature than I do.

“This was a really good idea,” she says as we start walking again. “I haven’t done something like this in years.”

We stop again a few minutes later.

“Sorry,” she says, we’re getting quite high now, getting more of that view, of that endless horizon, the small leaves rustling above. “I’m not anywhere near as fit as you,” she jokes. “Give me a minute.”

“Want me to carry you?” I say, trying to make light of it but hoping she’ll say yes.

“What?” Her exasperation is palpable. “I’m not that terrible! Ugh…the humiliation. I can do it myself. What’s up there anyway?”

“A house,” I say. So fucking lame.

“Ok,” she says, as if that explains everything and we keep walking. It’s not far at all now.

“Wow!” She says as we turn the corner, the trees clear and the house appears. “Wow! Seriously! Imagine living here!” She says, looking out at the now unobstructed view. We’re high above the sea, the waves look so small and completely harmless from here as they roll in from miles in.

And then I think, wait, fuck. I only been here in summer before, and it was fuckin’ years ago. Will it even be open today? Shit.

She walks around to the front. There’s this old weathered information board explaining how this is a site of historical significance or whatever.

She stands there and reads through it and then turns to me, giving me this knowing smile.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s fuckin’ open-” I start, feeling mighty awkward when the front door opens and this older man with glasses appears.

“Did you want to look inside?” He asks, smiling politely but also excited like the old woman in the store. Seems they ain’t had any visitors for a while.

“Absolutely!” She says, excitement growing and grabbing my arm, pulling me up the porch steps.

This is a big fucking house. Old, very old, but big. The artist guy who lived here must’ve been rich.

The man lets us in and takes us into the first room, all these paintings on the wall, mostly of the sea. He starts talkin’ explaining about who used to live here and their life story. I ain’t really interested to be honest but she seems mesmerised.

When he’s done he says we can wander around and have a look ourselves and to ask him anything.

“This is a little museum, a little art gallery,” she says looking up at me with big bright eyes as he leaves us to it.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling something warm and deep in my chest with the way she looks at me. Suddenly so innocently excited, happy to be here. Her delight…It makes me fall in love even more. And it’s fuckin’ painful.

She walks around the room, studying each painting carefully. The light fills the room, illuminating the seascapes. She looks at the art. I look at her.

We make our way around the house and she seems as interested in the house itself as she is in the painting.

“Can you imagine living in a house like this? A century ago?” She asks, her voice almost this hushed whisper. “I find these kinds of places really…not magical. What’s the word? I don’t know…but there’s something special about it. Something romantic. I start to wonder about all the people who lived here over the years. It’s like…filled with stories. Does that make sense?” She asks, her face full of this wonder. “It probably doesn’t,” she adds laughing.

I never thought about it like that. To me, buildings have purpose. Four walls and a roof. It ain’t an interest of mine who lived here before and who’ll live here after. She asks if I can imagine living in a house like this and I start to imagine it. What if it was just us? Away from the city, away from everyone. Just us here. Us and the ocean. Imagine fucking with that ocean view. Now that’s romance, eh?

“What are you thinking about?” She asks when I don’t respond.

“About living here,” I say, trying to tease but getting a bit too lost in the thought.

“Thought you said you’d hate living somewhere like this,” she teases back.

“Eh, I can think of a few advantages,” I say vaguely.

“I like how they’ve really done their best to preserve everything as it was,” she says as we walk into another room, all the original furniture still there. “It really gives you a sense of the time.”

I don’t know how long we wander around and I don’t really mind. She seems to be rapt with the place and I’m glad. Feel like I did something fuckin’ right for once.

“This was great,” she says as we walk outside again, brushing her fingertips against the violet flowers growing wildly by the porch. “Thank you for bringing me…”

I can tell there’s something else she wants to say but still won’t say it, or ask it.

“It ain’t the museum or the Renaissance or whatever,” I mutter, caught off guard by her gratitude.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, soothing my doubts. “I loved it,” she smiles and then, with all the cheekiness in the world: “Better than any hot date.”

Well, suddenly my pride is fucking restored. With just a few simple words.

“Here, take a photo of me in front of the ocean,” she says happily, handing her phone to me and taking a few steps back. If I hadn’t been a fuckin’ clown she might’ve asked to take that photo with me. And I’ll never know now.

“So much easier going down hill,” she sighs happily, satisfied, as we make our way back down, the birds a bit louder now, sometimes fleeting in front of us, surprised by our presence.

“But where’s the fun in that?” I say.

“Look,” she says, “I know it’s nothing for you. I mean look at you! But I’m really going to feel this in my thighs tomorrow, and not in a good way, ok?”

I’d like to offer to look after and comfort her thighs tomorrow but it seems a little inappropriate.

“Hey, I said I could carry you,” I remind her. For a moment, or it might be my imagination, her cheeks turn that pretty rosy colour.

“And I said I didn’t want to be humiliated like that,” she reminds me. “I gotta work out more.”

The old woman back at the store gives us way too much food, way more than what we paid for and seems more than happy to do it.

“No, no! It’s fine! Please!” She says, trying to make her stop but the grandma won’t hear of it and just keeps going. Hey, I ain’t complaining. I’m starving.

Eventually we get away with way more food than intended and that’s fine by me.

“Let’s go to the beach,” she says, holding half of it in a plastic bag. “I assume there’s a beach somewhere here, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, pointing to one of the side roads. “Down that way.”

We sit on the sand, watching the water come in. High tide is just going out and each wave hits just a bit further back than the one before.

“This is so good,” she says, dipping her chopsticks into one of the open containers and then into the one I’m holding. There’s just too much here to divide like this is yours and this is mine. We just go at everything.

I agree but I got my mouth full so I ain’t saying anything. Just wolfing down as much of it as I can.

“And she probably made it all herself this morning,” she says, reaching over me for something else.

There are few things in life more satisfyin’ than a good meal. I can certainly tell you what they are but the point stands, there ain’t many.

She takes a sip of her water and holds the bottle out to me.

“It’s fine,” she says, sensing my hesitation. “It’s not poison, I promise.”

I take it. But it’s obviously not that bothering me. I feel every time we meet, we get closer. Ever fucking closer and yet never get there. This closeness, it just grows, despite everything. We get more and more comfortable around each other. We’ve seen each other almost naked, slept in the same bed, touched each other for one reason or other. She’s told me so many things about herself. Always closer but never meeting. And I don’t know how to close that distance and it’s fucking pulling me apart.

I still don’t know if I can experience happiness the same way she does. But I don’t give it too much thought anymore. I enjoy her company. Being around her does somethin’ good to me. Everything ain’t so dark and urgent and tense. I can just focus on the better things she gives me. On making her happy. She says I look happier these days. I don’t know how to take that. Maybe I’m just too used to my mind fucking with me and can’t see it myself and she knows better. Who knows. But life feels different. The world doesn’t seem like such a fucked up place most of the time. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m fucking happy and ecstatic as my baseline, but I’m happy with her. When we’re having dinner, or just lying around on the couch, when she takes me to some new place she wants to go to or when we’re in bed and I hear her moan, call out my name, tangled in the sheets. That’s the happiest. And we’ve come back to this beach since, and made each other very fucking happy here too. That’s all I got to say about that.

We sit in comfortable silence, just the sound of the sea and the occasional seagull overhead. The breeze is somewhat less warm by the water but it ain’t too bad. The weather is on our side, the sun doing its best for this time of year.

Suddenly, she stands up and starts to take off her shoes, rolling her jeans up as far as she can above her ankles. I watch her.

“You goin’ swimming?” I say.

“Yeah man,” she says with a wicked grin right back at me. “We came all this way!” And she runs the short distance to the water, wading in, making this cute noise of surprise when the cold hits her.

“Fuck!” She jumps, turning to me, laughing her little heart out. “It’s freezing! Come! Get in here!”

“You ain’t making it sound too appealing,” I call back, grinning, just happy to watch her be happy. I don’t know if I can ever experience that myself but I enjoy watching her.

“What?” She looks at me very seriously, a challenge. “Are you chicken, Wolf Cub? Don’t tell me you’re afraid to get your feet wet.”

What?! Fuck no! I know she’s using that goddamn reverse psychology on me but fuck. That won’t stand.

I get up and do the same as her, striding into the water. And yeah, it’s fuckin’ cold.

“You’re so easy to get worked up,” she laughs, slapping me on the shoulder. “I love it.”

I guess she’s right. I ain’t exactly zen. Occasionally, I wonder how I would’ve been if this and that hadn’t happened but then I think, that’s a fuckin’ waste of time because I can’t change the past. I am what I am now.

“I bet this place is even nicer in summer,” she says, looking straight ahead, letting the cold water wash over her feet.

“Well, it definitely ain’t as cold,” I say.

There’s a pause, she takes her hands out of her jacket pockets, just lets them be by her sides, standing so close to me.

“How do you know this place?” She asks, the pause finally over. And I feel like that’s what she was wantin’ to know all along, but at the same time kind of knowing the answer and not feeling like she could ask me that, take me down that memory lane.

I think for a moment.

The waves keep coming in and then I feel the back of her hand, her fingers skim across mine. I don’t know if it’s on purpose or just the instability created by this unpredictable water but it’s there, her hand and mine.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” I say, the brief feel of her skin in my mind.

She nods softly. Doesn’t press for more.

She knows me so we-

“You know,” she says, “it’s funny but,” she thinks of her words for a moment, still looking straight ahead, “I feel like I don’t really know you.”

I feel this unpleasant thing run through me, a fucking cold electric shock.

“I mean, of course I know you. I know you’re smart and kind, that you’ve got some things you need to work out,” she has this affectionate smile even though she’s not looking at me yet, “but I feel like I don’t really know much about you at all,” she says, finally turning to me. She doesn’t say it with resentment or accusation. Just this quiet curiosity.

I stand there, thinking and not thinking. Speechless for once. Processing this.

Is this it? Is this why I can never get any closer? I rage over it but in the end is it just my own fucking obliviousness? My refusal to have anything to do with the fucking world?

I don’t know what to say for once.

And then this rogue wave, bigger than the others comes at us and she yells and jumps out of the way, grabbing onto me, laughing, already moved on from her own words and my arms reflexively go around her waist.

We’re close. We’re so fucking close, standing in the cold salt water, pressing her inadvertently against my chest, knowing this moment will end very soon as she finds her balance again and pulls away.

And I think about all those times she asked me questions, tactfully, inconspicuously and I dodged and joked my way out of them. And here’s the result.

‘I don’t know you.’

Maybe it would be better if she never did?

And yet…

I keep a look out the window as the train takes us back. It’s not that late. The sun is still holding its own. She checks her phone, replying to a work email and I find myself getting restless. This wasn’t part of the plan, but with those ocean words ringing in my mind, I have to get over myself.

The announcement of the next stop comes over the speaker.

“Hey,” I say to her as she slips her phone back in her pocket. “We’ll get off here.”

She looks confused.

“What? Why? This isn’t our stop? We’re like two more stops away.”

Yeah, fuck that’s true. I don’t know how to explain.

“Just…come,” I say as the train stops and I start getting up.

She looks at me still confused but follows me out.

We’re in another part of town. A part very familiar to me.

“What’s up?” She says, sensing my agitation as I take us out of the station and proceed down the street.

“Nothin’,” I say. “It won’t take long.”

“Ok…?” She says and hurries to keep up with me. I don’t even notice how fast I’m walking. Part of me is telling me to turn right back around and go home but I’m fucking determined. I’ve listened to that part of my mind for years and now look the fucking mess it’s got me into. I gotta try a new approach.

We pass the houses and turn into a park. The sun begins to turn slightly orange.

“I think I’ve been to this park once before,” she says, looking around. “A long time ago.”

I say nothing. We’re almost there.

I take us off the main path, down a narrower one. It ain’t long now.

We stop.

“There,” I say, looking up at this place I thought I’d never see again.

“This is…” she trails off, quickly catching on, turning to me then back to the dojo, the white walls ablaze in the golden hour light.

She doesn’t ask but I say it anyway.

“You said you wanted to see it.”

This place. This fucking place. I remember. I remember all the fucking hours I spent here. Even when I wasn’t supposed to be there the old man let me stay. Let me watch all the other lessons that he thought were way too advanced for me. I remember prowling around here on the weekends when being at home was a fucking hell hole. I remember coming straight here after school, avoiding everyone and everything. Running sometimes. I scowl at the memory. I remember the old man, strict and yapping on about discipline. And I followed it all. Every rule. Every lesson. Putting my fucking all into it. And he never once, never fucking once noticed…

This fucking place…I fucking hate it. My home away from home. The place that kept me alive until I could stand on my own two fucking feet. And he never fucking noticed-

“Uncle!” I’m violently jerked out of my thoughts as the main door opens and Tareo appears on the steps in a white gi a size too big for him.

I’m as fucking stunned as can be.

First it’s him and then three or four other little brats run out right past him.

What the in the fuck…?

“Oh, it’s Tareo!” She says, waving to him as he waves back.

“Uncle! Are you coming back to train?” He says, jogging up to us.

“I-” I start, fists clenching despite myself when the old man appears, smiling like a saint down at us.

“I’m going to learn First of Flowing Water Crushed Rock like you!” Tareo babbles on, way too high on excitement.

The hell is this? I find myself glowering at the old bastard.

“This young man gave me an idea,” his mustache practically bristles with fucking delight as he nods at Tareo. “It’s good to have some new blood around here,” he says.

“We’re letting fu-...letting kids into the dojo now, eh?” I smirk.

I can feel her staring at me and I realise what the fuck I just said.

I’m not part of this anymore. Fuck. This has nothing to do with me.

This was a fucking mistake.

“Garou, I think Tareo is really happy to see you here,” she says gently, her hand softly on my arm, bringing me back.

I look from him to her.

“And so am I,” she says, the most tender smile.

This is it. I’ve done something right. Things are going well for once.

All these things flash through my mind. Her asleep on me, hugging me, the colour in her cheeks, wanting to take my photo…

This is fucking it.

Or so I thought.

Or so. I fucking. Thought.

#He just wants to be close to you #garou #garou one punch man #garou fanfiction #one punch man fanfiction #garou x reader #garouxreader #garou x y/n #x reader #one punch man #opm

[neo-shitty]

do i wanna know — l.jn

description. in which the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day.

pairings: lee jeno x female reader

genre. smut, slight pining, slight fluff, university!au(-ish), just a typical bad boy-good girl!au

warnings. swearing, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, hair-pulling, slight nipple play, messy sex, oral (m&f receiving), aftercare

word count: 10.4k

playlist: do i wanna know. (the only thing i loved abt writing this)

notes. there was an impulse to repost this yesterday, just in time too. happy jeno day! also i fucking hate this but i hope y’all won’t goodbye

“You have 1 new match.”

The notification sat atop others even long after the thread of flirty messages you’ve exchanged, the last few revealing your location and his final message—the ‘on my way’ haunting you for the past few minutes. The wait was always a double edged sword; you either got stood up or you’d end up having a night you’d simultaneously want to both remember and forget. 

There’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, the churn as you downed one shot after. You’ve always had your life planned out before you, whether it be by your parents’ hand or by your own. Somewhere along the line of your second year in university, a chain of uncharted events started happening, derailing every plan you had beforehand and throwing your life into complete chaos. Saying you were lost was an understatement. You were sure you planned your life well enough to avoid all further delays in your career. But one particular prick, a spawn of Satan himself, who came in the form of your Chemistry professor, lived just to make everything harder than they were initially.

And you hated her, but you couldn’t tell her that or they’d be kicking your sorry ass goodbye for the semester. But it seemed like she was telepathic anyway, because when your grades were released at the end of the term, yours missed the passing grade by a few points—making you kiss your dean’s lister dreams goodbye. 

It took you a while to internalize that you were now a semester behind your initial plan, your plan of a perfect life pushed back by months on some parts and whole years on others. So you say ‘fuck it’, storming out of your apartment and so began the string of impulsive decisions.

Maybe making decisions half sober wasn’t the best idea but it’s unfathomable to think that the best way to cope with an already derailed plan in life? Was to make even more impulsive decisions that would further worsen the situation via your favorite escape plan—drinking the daylights out of yourself and wishing you’d still make your way home. At the very least, you’d give yourself a pat on the back for making it back alive from an outrageous night and give yourself a false sense of hope that you still had control of the things despite everything going haywire around you.

So when you find yourself at a bar on a school night, where (former) straight-A-overachiever girls like you shouldn’t be, it tips the universe’s balance. 

It was obvious that your presence created a stir at the bar. AM was the closest spot to your campus, sitting right at the edge of the radius where alcoholic beverages weren’t allowed to be sold. It was typical; low ceilings, dim lights, smokey haze, alive with the hum of music and the chatter of alcohol laced individuals moving about. A pool table sat at one end of the room and booths sat on the other. Directly in your path was the bar and the empty chair you envisioned yourself spending the rest of the night on. It wasn’t everyday that someone who wasn’t a regular walked into AM and that alone got everyone’s attention—curious glances and hungry stares.

You find out about the latter first when someone finds their way to the elevated seat beside you, with more intentions of getting in your jeans than just getting to know more about you. Your clutch on your phone tightens, regret settling in when you’re finally on the spot you got yourself into. One night, you thought the whole time, listening as the man went about to brag about a life you didn’t give a fuck about. Hook ups were supposed to be relieving. This wasn’t the slightest bit relieving. 

Your head spins with the smallest of gestures, so you avoid turning your head and looking around. You’re struggling to find the right words to tell him off and the seconds seem to drag on forever up until someone interrupts from behind you.

“She’s with me.” 

You turn your head, vision lagging until you finally face the voice’s owner. Whoever he was, he didn’t look back at you. But he had his phone screen facing you, the familiar match notification right beneath his phone’s analog clock—the very same one you had. He doesn’t acknowledge you first, not even sparing a glance. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked with the man beside him.

“Do you want me to repeat myself?” he asks. His voice is bone-chilling, almost threatening. 

The other man looks back, stoic and unmoving, but when the other boy doesn’t back down he falters eventually. Clicking his tongue, he slides off the seat. “Next time you won’t be so lucky, Lee Jeno.” Your eyes follow him as he beelines past the crowd of spectators still looking your way, then out through the exit.

You sighed in relief when he was finally out of the bar and out of sight.

“What’s the school’s golden girl doing at a place like this?” Jeno asks, taking the previous man’s place on the seat beside you. 

Behind the counter, the bartender catches his eye and rushes over to pour him a drink, wordless. He presses the cigarette wedged between his fingers on an ashtray, lonely orange sparks dulling into nothing but grey ash and tossed aside. He keeps a respectful distance from you, not too far that you couldn’t hear him over the music, but not close enough to touch. His name rings in your head with familiarity, aware that he was someone who went to the same schools you did, but your thoughts were too hazy to pinpoint when you’d exactly been acquainted.

“The school’s golden girl needs some stress relief because she’s this close,” you raised two fingers, bringing them together but not letting them touch each other, “to dropping out.”

His chuckle is a low rumble out his mouth. “I never pegged you for the type who relieved stress like this,” he says, raising his phone with your exchange of flirtatious messages on the screen.

You weren’t listening anymore. Your thoughts are a flurry of drunken thoughts and impulses. But one thing remained rooted: you wanted to stop worrying about your academic problems for tonight—even just for tonight. So when you lean forward, pressing your lips against his own, Jeno flinches. The kiss came with a force similar to a headbutt’s—a literal smack—and you have a feeling that your bottom lip was torn but you were too scared to check. Sober you would have been appalled by your own actions, pulling you by the hair and dragging you out the bar. Yet you downed an entire bottle by yourself tonight and it was well beyond your capacity but you were that desperate to get the problem out of your head. 

Jeno was the one who pulled away, one hand on either side of you to keep you propped up. He doesn’t push you too hard nor too far away, just enough to create a gap between your face and his. 

You try to pry your eyes open but he’s nothing but a blur of abstract shapes that seem to change colors every now and then. He, on the other hand, was staring down at you, noticing the faint trace of tears staining your cheeks and your plump lips that had been on his just a few moments ago. He watched your eyes flutter open and shut every now and then but ultimately remaining closed.

Pretty, he thought. You’ve always been pretty in his eyes, even when he could only watch you from afar. You were way out of his league just as much as you thought that he was out of yours. That was the case for being on opposite ends of the same spectrum. You were ambitious and clever; consistently at the top of your class even when you were both younger. You had your life planned out and Jeno wasn’t even sure if he’d make it home the next day.

He had always been content with admiring you from afar—catching a glimpse of you through the doorway when he’d pass by your lecture hall, watching you eat lunch with your friends on the school grounds, just always from a distance and never up this close. But as much as he wanted to feel your lips on his again, it felt wrong.

Snapping himself out of the trance, he shakes his head as if it would magically make the blood rushing to his cheeks disappear.

“Yep, no babe. You’re drunk,” Jeno says, turning your chair so you’d be facing the bar again but keeping a hand on your arm so you wouldn’t fall over. 

“I’m not,” you slurred.

A deep chuckle bubbled out of Jeno’s lips, “That’s exactly what a drunk person would say. I’m taking you home.”

“No.” 

You say it firmly before you lose the battle of trying to stay awake. Your head falls straight to the counter but it never hits the cold, hard marble. His hand rushes up to catch you, your face hitting his warm hand instead. A glass bottle wobbles, nearly knocked off the counter before his other hand reaches over to grab it.  

Thank God for fast reflexes, Jeno thought. At least it’d be easier to take you home without having to argue with you.

You wake up for a moment on the bus ride home, your neck feeling sore from leaning on Jeno’s shoulder but it was better than hitting your head against the glass window every time the bus turned into a new street. Jeno had a hand pressed lightly against your cheek to keep your head from falling off his shoulder. You wanted to thank him for doing you such a favor but the bus’ movement only made you more nauseous than you already were. 

By the time you reached the bus stop nearest to your place, the world around you was no longer spinning. Your head still throbbed and your neck felt stiff from leaning too long but thankfully you’ve sobered up to walk on your own.

“Which one is it?” Jeno asked and you pointed at your door as you walked down the hallway of your apartment complex.

He walked you over with his hand still gripping your arm. He wasn’t tugging you harshly nor dragging you to your apartment door. He simply kept his hand there so you wouldn’t accidentally trip and fall over. 

“Jeno,” you said when you reached your door. Jeno turned and raised an eyebrow. “Thanks and I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“T’was nothing,” he assured you. “Next time you drop by AM, don’t go alone. Okay?” 

The lock dings as you punch your keycard in. You pushed your door open just enough to let yourself in. You turn around to shut the door behind you but Jeno jams the door with his boot. You find yourself staring up at him.

“Don’t go back there alone, okay?” he said sternly. His eyes find yours and for the first time the whole night, you get a clear look at him even when the hallway lights made your eyes sting with their brightness. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, a half-drunk half-sober you responded with, “Why? Wouldn’t you be there to save me again?”

He raised an amused brow, staring back at you for a few moments before stepping away from the doorway, never breaking eye contact until you closed the door between you.

You didn’t need to be around long to know who Lee Jeno was. 

Back in high school, his name would come up often on the school’s intercom; something about setting an alarm off or bringing alcohol on campus or cutting classes to take his bike out for a spin at the school’s basketball court. You’d hear him walk down the corridors with his footsteps echoing the empty hall as he heads for the school head’s office for the nth time that month alone. He doesn’t come back and eventually things would go quiet. You’d end up believing that they’d gotten rid of him this time. Only to find out a week later that he’d gotten away with it yet again.

Jeno was everything you were taught not to be when you were younger. The boy, more often seen at the bar than inside the walls of a classroom, was known enough that nearly everyone knew a tale about him or two. He was often the talk of the campus and for all the wrong reasons. Surprisingly, he’s more praised for his acts than the opposite.

He was everything you were taught to avoid ever since you were a child but you figured that was easier to say than to carry out, especially when he’s the one who draws closer.

What you had with Jeno? Frankly, you couldn’t answer it either. All you could think about was that night at AM and how things have never been the same since then.

He’d been coming up a lot more than usual. In the back of the lecture hall, across the cafeteria, at the end of the hallway, everywhere. You’re unsure if he had always been there and you’ve only noticed his presence now, or he had never been there at all but he was now. At the car park, in the next class, or just somewhere all the damn time, lingering in the back of your mind and stuck with you like a shadow.

Then he was joining you at your lunch table on the days your friends’ classes overlapped your lunch break, walking you back to your place on the nights you’d stay past sundown at the university library and did all the miniature things that collectibly left a huge impact on you. 

But he never said anything about it.

After lunch he’d leave just as quick as he came. When he walks you home, he’d turn around and walk away the second you’re inside. No texts, no calls. Just constantly popping in and out of your life whenever it was convenient for him. He never made it clear what his intentions were, nor what he was doing this for. 

With Jeno there was no certainty, as opposed to everything that ever happened in your life. You’re unsure whether he’d stick around for long or disappear the next day. Spontaneous, just as you were that night, and fucking unpredictable. He’d grown on you, you couldn’t deny it. And the surge of emotions you felt welling in your chest whenever he so much as caught your eye in the middle of a crowded hallway, wasn’t something you liked feeling—especially if it was one-sided. 

A toss coin dictates your fate on one girl’s night at the end of the semester. The neck of the wine bottle had ended up in your direction for the first time that night and your friends didn’t miss out on the opportunity to ask the big questions.

“So, you and Jeno huh?”

The saucy question is followed by a series of ‘oohs’ and scootches closer, all eager to hear the bit of gossip their friend had been keeping from them.

You feel your blood rush to your cheeks, “I’ve told you a hundred times before, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“You kiss him on one of your drunken adventures without us, he takes you home, he starts acting differently after that and there’s nothing going on between you?” your friend asked, arms crossed in front of her in impatience.

“Nope.”

“Nope or you never asked him?”

You don’t give her an answer. Your silence was enough.

She clicked her tongue, “That’s what I thought. My friend, what you’re playing is a waiting game.”

You sipped a bit of your drink, grimacing at the flavor before saying, “Isn’t he supposed to make the first move?”

“College isn’t a time to be modest, kid. When you see an opportunity, you shoot your shot,” she said as she made a finger gun pointed at another friend of yours, fired, and watched the latter dramatically fall over. “I can’t handle seeing you confused over something crystal clear. You’re supposed to be the smart one here”

“Alright, that’s it,” the latter said, setting her drink back down on the floor of the apartment before fishing out a coin from her pocket. “Heads or tails?”

You purse your lips before taking your pick. “Tails.”

“Heads, you head to AM right now and ask him what the fuck is going on between the both of you. Tails, you get to go on with your little waiting game and we won’t pester you about it any longer.” 

Before you have the chance to react, the coin was already doing backflips in mid-air.

‘See ‘ya’ was the last thing your friends said when they dropped you off at AM that night. It was a mistake to wear such short clothing on a chilly night. It was a mistake to even be there at all. The air was frigid when you got off, sending goosebumps all over the skin the breeze touched. You tugged your coat closer to your body to preserve the last bits of warmth from the car.

The two-storey building stood before you. The signage—a heartbeat monitor line shaped to make the letters A and M—gleamed brightly overhead. From where you stood, you could hear the music from inside along with the faint laughter of the customers. You pursed your lips, a mannerism you often did when you were caught in a dilemma. Head in or freeze to death. 

You didn’t want to die tonight.

Jeno lived on the second floor, which explained why he was seen here more often than elsewhere and why he was your closest match that night. You make a beeline through the crowd and head to the stairwell at the far corner of the bar. The music grew fainter as you climbed up each step, your own heartbeat now loud enough to drown out everything else.

You’ve thought about this night countless times before but now that you were finally here, you couldn’t figure out whether you had too much or too little to say. You wanted to confront him, wanted to ask him to stop confusing you, wanted to confess to him that you were catching feelings, wanted to know if he felt the same way. But you couldn’t find the right words to say it.

Hi, that night was a mistake. 

Hi, what am I to you? 

Hi, what the fuck do you want from me? 

Hi, I think I’m catching feelings for you. Do you feel the same way? 

I hope we can both forget about it and you would respect my wishes that you leave me alone. That made sense, you thought, but you might as well leave now instead of pushing through with this ridiculous plan. The point of the whole expedition was to coax the truth out of him, not pile up on the mountain of lies.

No matter how much you denied it, you didn’t want Jeno to leave you alone at all. In fact, you were hoping you’d get some sort of assurance that he’d be sticking around. It was a long shot but you wanted to give it a try.

‘That night was a mistake.’ My ass. 

The thing about mistakes was that you normally wouldn’t want to repeat them. Yet, if you had the chance to do-over the past few weeks since that fateful night with Jeno, you’d do it all over again without the slightest hesitation. And in the do-over, the confrontation would be a lot earlier.

You asked yourself when you had become so bold.

You knock thrice, knuckles shaking as they struck the wood. The deafening music from when you entered the bar was nothing but a series of muted beats that shook the floor beneath you. Time stilled as you stood alone in the hallway, your heartbeat erratic and your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t hear you? Was it too soon to knock again. 

But your eagerness consumed you, anxiousness at its peak. You couldn’t wait a second longer. The door opens before your fist lands another time and you look up to a familiar face but not the one you were expecting. Donghyuck stood by the doorway with his hand still on the doorknob, leaning against the doorframe as if to block both your view and your way. And to top it all off, he had his brow arched.

You shrug it off. “Is Jeno home?” The demand slips before you could give it any more thought and as the question hangs in the air between you, you think you’re overstepping. 

Donghyuck whistled, “Why so serious?” You don’t ignore him out of your snobbish attitude, you were just too unnerved to joke around. “Yeah, he’s inside with the others. Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

Thankfully, he didn’t feel like meddling in other people’s affairs tonight so he lets you off with no more than a grin. Better that than lengthy questioning.

“Jeno Lee!” he calls, “______’s here.”

Donghyuck pushes the door open further and you finally see everyone else. They were all seated on the sofa, eyes fixed on the game on the TV screen. Only Jeno turns to look at you, his side glance enough for you to rethink your decision.

“Come in,” he says, turning his whole body around so he could rest his chin on the sofa’s back. 

Your heart leaps to your throat when you catch him looking at you back. He had one eyebrow arched in amusement and a sly smirk. He patiently waited for you to enter but you didn’t, too nervous to move an inch. Overstepping again, literally this time. 

When you still don’t move after a few seconds, mouth opening every now and then only to close it, he turns to his friends. “Alright, boys. Get out.” 

At first, they didn't acknowledge him. For someone who owned the place, he didn’t look like he had that much authority. Or at least, that’s how they made it seem. When he told them he meant it, they finally stirred. 

Someone speaks up from one of the couches, eyes still glued to the screen, thumb pushing the joystick. “Why don’t the both of you talk it out outside?”

Another boy sits up, kicking the other boy before taking the controller out of his hands. Jaemin, you recognized, sets it down on the center table. “Let’s go.”

“But I just sat back down,” Donghyuck complained.

This time, Jeno is the one who gives him a look. He knows not to cross him, so he purses his lips and gets off the couch. On their way out, the three spared you a few greetings. Some smiled (Donghyuck with a playful grin, Jaemin with a friendly one) while the other didn’t hide their disapproval as he walked past you (Renjun, controller robbed). You shrug it off.

When they finally disappear down the stairwell, you took your first step in.

“You didn’t need to ask them to leave,” you said when you shut the door behind you.

Jeno kept his eyes on you, “As if you’d say a thing if they were here.” He chuckled and you looked down—he was right. You couldn’t even say anything to him alone. How much more if he had company? “Why the sudden visit?” he asked.

His question hung in the air for some time. First, because you were busy taking in the surroundings. His apartment’s base color was white with accents of grey and black which contrasted AM’s dark gloomy atmosphere downstairs. It was twice as large as your apartment and you even shared yours with 4 other people. Second, you didn’t know what to say. Gone were all the dialogues you had planned. For a moment, you even forgot why you were there in the first place. 

You stood there in awkward silence, clutching your coat tighter even when it wasn’t that cold in his apartment. You were nervous and conscious and seeing Jeno staring at you from a few feet away made it worse. You can feel him growing more impatient by the second. In the back of your head you could hear him say, ‘If you have nothing good to say, stop wasting my time.’ It was embarrassing in itself. Even more so when he made his friends leave just to accommodate you. You remember Renjun’s death glare in the back of your mind.

You had to start somewhere. All of this started somewhere.

“About that night,” you said but you trailed off eventually.

The confrontation scene was a lot better in your head. It was easier to plan out than to carry out. In your mind, it was smart and quick-witted. Out loud, you sounded awfully ridiculous. Heck, you couldn’t even get past the first three words.

Jeno scoffed, “What? Are you gonna tell me that night was a mistake and we should just forget about it?” he paused, catching the moment you looked up to meet his gaze. “Hmm?”

Your mind short-circuits at his reply, flinching, the same way it would whenever you were up on a podium of a presentation. But there’s only one pair of eyes staring at you and yet somehow it was enough to strike the fear a hundred would. They were Jeno’s and he stared at you like you were see through, and no amount of effort to cover up would keep you hidden from him. You part your lips to say nothing, your words falling short at the back of your throat—they don’t even hang on the tip of your tongue. 

“Because clearly you haven’t.”

Finally, he looked away. You wanted to sigh in relief but the room was quiet enough that he’d hear a pindrop. Even then, with what little pride you had to spare, you didn’t want him to see just how much leverage he had over you, to see how his sly tactics worked. You tried to keep yourself together, putting up a strong front with the lack of eye contact. “Not with you popping in and out of my life every now and then. What’s up with that?”

He rose off the couch. His upper body was devoid of any clothing so when he stretched from sitting too long, it was hard to keep your eyes off of him. He was lean but he kept his body in condition. He winded his shoulders, flexing the muscles on his back and on his upper arm. You looked away when he turned. 

“So you noticed?” he asked. You could hear the smirk in his voice and you feel your cheeks heat up. He caught you. “Don’t be too conscious, you’re free to look. Promo’s exclusive to you.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention elsewhere. “Fuckboy,” you uttered under your breath. “Who wouldn’t notice?”

“You seemed like you didn’t,” he answered, cleaning up the mess the boys left behind. “Ignoring me when everyone else was looking.”

The teasing was relentless but you were growing impatient too. “I don’t have time for this, Jeno. What the hell do you want?”

“You.”

When you spun around he was leaning against the kitchen counter, loading the plates into the dishwasher beneath it. He still had a smirk plastered on his lips and it frustrated you. He countered every question you had with words that would turn the tables on you. You came here to do the questioning but it felt more like you were on the hot seat. You were wandering in uncharted waters like a lost boat in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. You were aware of the danger but you were letting your curiosity get the better of you. Like walking a tightrope with unstable harnesses, like a moth drawn to flickering candle light. 

“I’m serious,” you dismissed him.

“So am I.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Jeno laughed like it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. “And you like me anyway.”

You bit your lip, glad you had your back turned to him or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were getting. “What makes you so sure?”

“The fact that you’re here in my room confronting me about it,” he answered. “If I didn’t have any sort of effect on you, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

“My friends made me do this,” you defended yourself.

“But your friends would never make you do something you didn’t want to do.”

The tables have definitely turned now and you didn’t like it. You lost the upperhand, or maybe you never had it in the first place. It was as if he knew all your cards from the start and he took the liberty to excruciatingly drag out the part where he tells you that he’d known everything. 

You turned, defeated and embarrassed that you’ve completely fallen into his trap. “Why are you doing this?”

“This?” he asked, his annoying smirk still on his lips. “You’re in my apartment.”

“This, whole thing!” you burst out, throwing your arms in the air in exasperation. “Why did you start acting differently after the kiss? What’s with all the mixed signals? I just came here to ask you why you’re doing all the shit you’re doing because it’s so fucking confusing. Like do you fucking like me or not?”

The million-dollar question slips out of your tongue faster than you can even register it. You’re breathless when you stop talking and you only realize how loud you were talking when the apartment falls silent again. 

Across the room, Jeno stashes the last of the glass plates into the dishwasher before kicking the metal door closed. He leaned against the counter with his hands on top to support his upper body. “So you remembered that we kissed?”

It was the last straw for you. You rolled your eyes, “You know what, forget it.” You spun on your heel, marching back the way you came. A part of you wanted to remain calm and pester him until you got the answers you came for. But you were fuming with embarrassment. You wanted to slap yourself for even thinking that maybe all those gestures meant something. It obviously didn’t. In fact, you wondered why you never thought that he could’ve done that to a hundred other girls before you. 

Stupid.

You reach the door in seconds, grabbing the metal doorknob to swing it open. It opens by a few centimeters before it’s slammed back shut. The knob slips out of your grasp, so you let your arm fall to your side instead of letting it hang awkwardly in midair. 

You could feel Jeno behind you, his breath fanning your face ever so slightly. He had one hand pressed against the door. 

“Who said you were going anywhere?” he asked.

You turned around to face him, leaning against the door so you’d put some space between the both of you. You tilted your head so you’d manage to look him in the eye, “You wouldn’t answer my questions. What’s the point of staying here?”

Jeno looked down at you. His eyes shifted every now and then as if he were studying your features. You couldn’t help but feel conscious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from either. You found it hard to level your breathing with the proximity. This was the closest he’d ever been since the night you kissed him. 

Your cheeks flared up when his skin brushed yours lightly. “Fine, I’ll answer. But answer mine.” He waited for you to nod before he continued. “You remembered that we kissed?”

You remember the feeling of his lips on yours even in your drunken haze. His chapped lips, the scent of burnt cigarettes and the accidental teeth clashing. You would’ve dropped anything to let that night go the way you had originally planned it to. “Yeah.”

Jeno leaned closer and you finally broke eye contact. Your eyes trailed from his lips down to his jawline all the way down to his bare torso. Seeing you flustered made him amused, his lips forming a playful smirk again. He lifts his other hand, running the back of his palm down the side of your face. He traces your jaw with one finger before resting it beneath your chin. He tilts your head up so you’d stare up at him again. 

“Do you know that I want a do-over of that night?” he whispered, his voice raspy and low. He stared at you with hooded lids and your heartbeat spikes. The pit of your stomach stirs as you feel your own arousal begin to form. Every mental alarm system you set for yourself to avoid situations like these were blaring. You shouldn’t be here, you should be home. You shouldn’t be turned on by sweet lies.

Yet here you were. You balled your fists to suppress the last bits of your self control. Your fingers were tingling with the need to run them up his bare chest and down his muscled arms. You longed for his touch for way too long to hold back now. You wanted to feel his lips on yours again. You wanted to know what you missed out on.

What was there to lose? Your life was going haywire anyway already. Might as well make the most of it now.

Your response comes before you can ponder too much about it. “And you think I don’t?”

It was his turn to be taken off guard. You see the surprise in his eyes for a moment before they’re clouded again. He wasn’t looking into your eyes anymore.

And like the first time it happened, you pressed your lips on his. This time he doesn’t push you away. It’s when both his hands make their way to the sides of your neck that your lips finally part. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in. The kiss is sloppy and messy, with you just letting him take control. Then he pulls away to let you breathe, but the night was young and he was far from done with you. 

Your back hits the back of the door when he kisses you again, his leg slightly forward and wedged between both of yours—parting them slightly. Your hands finally find their way to his body, running them up his chest and feeling the outline of his muscles on your fingertips. You felt Jeno lose his balance when you pulled him closer, pressing deeper into the kiss and groaning. His thigh brushes you where you’re sensitive. Only then do you feel how aroused you were and you mutter a silent prayer he doesn’t prey on the knowledge of it. 

But you could already feel him smirking into the kiss, tensing the muscles on his thigh on purpose and making you wobble where you stood. Your legs closed on instinct, but it only made you more pathetic than you’d originally let on.

His hands clutch your coat, pulling it off your body before tossing it aside. His hands run down the side of your body, settling on the curve of your waist to pull you closer. As if you could get any closer than you already were. But no, he pushes you down, and electricity courses across your skin as you grind on his thigh. A moan escapes your lips only for him to catch it before he begins nipping at the skin on your neck.  

“Something wrong?” he asked, licking his lips after leaving his first few marks on your neck. 

Your own hooded, droopy eyes told him everything. He knew better than to let you walk with how weak your legs were. 

“Hop on,” he says and you oblige, wrapping your legs around his lower torso. Your dress lifts and reveals the rest of your thigh that had been hidden earlier. He ran his hand up your thighs, supporting your weight as he carried you somewhere more comfortable. You find yourself burying your face in the crook of his neck, sucking on the skin and leaving your own marks behind. He tilts his head to give you more room and hums—the vibrations reverberating just enough that you feel it on your lips. 

When you reach his bedroom, he locks the door behind him. He sets you down a foot away from the edge of the bed. You wobble for a bit before feeling the strength return to your legs. Jeno turned his head suddenly, capturing your lips again. Your head tilts back at the sudden pressure but his hand makes it to the back of your neck again. 

You take a step forward and his legs hit the edge of the bed, making him fall onto the mattress behind him. He takes one hand off you to support himself, keeping himself in an upright sitting position. His other hand snakes around your waist as you climb unto him. Your legs were on either side of him—resting on the mattress, while you took your place on his lap.

It’s your turn to smirk when you feel his own struggle beneath you. He groans into the kiss when your clothed mound brushes against his bulge. He pulls away and leans back, taking a moment to admire the view in front of him. You still had your arms hooked around his neck and you looked at him back. There’s a smear of lipstick right where your smirk ended. 

Jeno unwinds his arm around your waist to reach for your face, brushing his thumb against the skin where the smear was before he rests it over your lips. You grab his arm, keeping his hand where it is when he tries to retract it. He presses down on your bottom lip, marveling at how soft and plump they are. Your lips part at his touch, his thumb disappearing behind your lips as you suck on it.

You shut your eyes, feigning innocence even when you feel him pulse beneath you and it only heightens your own arousal. You bob your head once, letting his finger go only to catch him looking at you—hypnotized. Feeling cheeky, you kiss his thumb to catch his attention. It works and his eyes finally meet yours. 

“You should’ve said you wanted me this bad,” he says ironically, staring at you with hooded eyes.

You raised a brow, “I’m the one who wanted you? I wasn’t the one trying to get your attention.”

“I wasn’t the one who drunkenly kissed you,” Jeno rebuts.

“As you said, I was drunk.”

“Drunken actions are sober thoughts.”

You rolled your eyes before staring down at him again. You run a hand through his hair again before resting it on his shoulder. Pushing down, you lift yourself off his thighs. “Are we really going to argue about this? Don’t you have other problems?” you asked, tilting your head before lowering yourself on him again. He heaves a deep breath in and you catch his eyes rolling back for a moment before he stares at his clothed manhood beneath you. You follow his gaze and see the results of your antics. “Need some help with that?”

Jeno meets your eyes and gives you a wordless nod. 

You smile, hopping off the bed. You slip between his legs, kneeling on the floor in front of him. He watches you take your place, tensing when he feels your hand run up his thigh. Your hand doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub him through the material.

Jeno clicks his tongue, “Golden girl’s a fucking tease? That’d make a headline.” 

You only replied with a smile, flattered at the side comment. Your hands reach the garter of his sweatpants. Hooking it with two fingers each hand, you drag the material down all the way to his ankles along with his boxers. His member stood tall and erect on his lower abdomen. He wraps a hand around it, moving his hand slowly up and down. White substance leaked through his slit, the beautiful result of your endless teasing from earlier. The sight of it makes your own arousal pool unto your underwear, you worry the whole undergarment is too soiled now to be used later on your way home. 

You stifle a laugh and he raises an eyebrow, “Proud?”

You shrug playfully, “Maybe.”

“Now, suck it,” he says nonchalantly which makes you perk up your own brow.

“What if I don’t want to?” you ask, resting your arms on either leg of his. 

He rubbed his thumb against the slit of his shaft’s head, smearing it with pre-cum which he later brushed on your lip—hinting at the teasing you did earlier. “Sure, you don’t. When he puts his hand away, you lick your lower lip. The substance is salty on your tongue and there’s more of it still leaking out of his member. There will be strings of it if you do him good.

You move closer, lining your face up with the head. Your eyes meet when you look up to see how he looked from where you were. It’s now your hand wrapped around his pulsing member. His pre-cum alone is enough to lubricate your palm, making it easier for you to move your hand up and down. A groan escapes his lips when you run your own thumb on his slit, pressing down on his most sensitive area. 

You lap your tongue against the side of his shaft, tasting more of the white substance on your tongue and it makes your mouth water. You reach the tip of his head and he watches eagerly as you part your lips to take him in. His head reels back and a low groan escapes his mouth as you close around him. You feel him at the back of your throat and when you’re close to gagging you pull yourself up, sucking him all the way up with your mouth vacuumed. When your throat recovers, you take him in again, repeating the process while slowly picking up your own momentum. 

Jeno’s hand reaches over to you, collecting strands of your hair that fell off your shoulder whenever you lowered your mouth. You mistake it as a sweet gesture—an act of kindness in the midst of the heat—until he gathers all the hair up behind your head to use it as a grip. 

He utters your name—his voice coming in the form of a raspy, breathless whisper. You hum in response, slowing down to hear him out. His hand rests idly on top of your head. “If it’s too much let me know.”

You manage to give him a nod and brace yourself for immense hair tugging and relentless pushing on the back of your head so you’ll take his dick faster. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he tugs once on your hair and keeps you in place—your mouth a mere centimeter away from the end of his dick.  Jeno thrusts into your mouth without warning. The tip hits the back of your throat making you gag but it’s gone before your throat can tighten. 

“Baby,” he calls out. When you don’t look up immediately, he reaches for your face. His touch is warm against your cool skin. “Can you take it? If you can’t then we’ll stop.”

“What makes you think I can’t?” you answered.

His grip on your hair tightens again but he lets you take him in for a few sucks before he’s thrusting up to meet you every time you bobbed your head. Your fingernails dig into his thighs as he picks up the pace. You feel yourself gagging but your mind is too clouded with Jeno’s groans as his orgasm nears. You feel his thighs begin to shake beneath you, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. He barely gives you any time to breathe anymore but you understand his desperation to release. He thrusts one last time to shoot his load deep in your throat, pushing your head down so you’ll take all of it. But there’s only so much you can take. 

The sticky substance drips off the side of your mouth and onto your chest and you look up at Jeno imploringly. But he isn’t looking at you, he had his head leaned back as he relished in his release. His grip on your hair loosens at last and you feel your neck relax. You finally swallow to give your mouth a bit more room before proceeding to suck him again until his senses are back to normal again.

He was still panting when he was made aware of your presence again. You were still licking the sides of his shaft when he tried to get your attention. He tugged you upward when your lips finally left his still-erect member. 

“You did so well,” he slurs, barely comprehensible. 

The remark you were about the reply is muffled when he pulls you down to kiss you. You nearly fall onto his lap again but you’re able to hold yourself upright. Instead, he guides you onto the mattress. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand on the back of your head, as he lets you fall onto the sheets beside him. He doesn’t break the kiss, not even when your places are flipped. 

You were lying on the sheets, back arched until Jeno decided to pull his arm away. You were caged by him—lying between his legs with his hands on either side of the bed beside you. You kept your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss. 

Jeno’s hands find their way to your body. Your breasts fit snugly in his hands, one for each one. He gives them a squeeze, earning a muffled moan from you. He removes your arms from the back of his neck so he could slip the fabric from your off-shoulder dress off. When he successfully does so, he tugs down on the remaining cloth covering your chest. Your dress is left to rest on your abdomen.

He only breaks the kiss when he starts to move lower. He begins to nip at the skin by your jawline, down your neck, leading down to your collarbones. When his lips finally reach your breasts, he takes his sweet time to play. He takes one in his mouth and the other in his palm. Your back arches off the bed when his tongue flicks your nipple, while his other hand draws circles around the other. The sensation sends goosebumps all over your skin. You feel your arousal drip, you were starting to think you’ve started to stain the sheets now too. 

You yearn for contact when his lips leave your body entirely. You feel his hands run down the side of your waist and then your hip. They end up on the ends of your dress and he brings the fabric up, exposing the rest of your thighs that were kept hidden. He catches sight of the growing stain on the thin fabric.

His fingers wander over to where your crotch is. “How long have you been holding this in, hmm?” he asked, pressing his hand down on your folds before rubbing you through the fabric. 

You jolt on contact, already feeling sensitive from earlier events. You know Jeno doesn’t plan on stopping your agony any time sooner, not with all the teasing you’ve done earlier. A moan escapes your lips when he starts drawing circles around your nub and Jeno would be lying if he said he didn’t like the sound of it. The cloth rubbing against you was only further soiled by his actions. 

The fabric was drenched where he touched it and the thrill of knowing he was the one responsible for the mess you’ve made just made him more excited—evident in the throbbing of his cock even when he’d just released in your mouth.

Your breathing becomes uneven as he stimulates you even more. You find yourself grabbing onto Jeno’s arms, your back arching off the mattress every time he rubbed a bit harder. Your hips move to match his movements, thrusting up to meet him everytime he brings his fingers down further. 

“You like that don’t you?” he asked, feeling you throb in his palm. 

You were in too much pleasure to even manage to say a single ‘yes’ without moaning. You mumble an ‘mhm’ between breaths in reply. 

“Mhm?” he echoes, setting the fabric aside and swiping two fingers through your wet folds. His fingers easily slip through, coated in the substance that’s been gushing out of you since this heated thing started. He continued making circles around your nub—the direct contact making you more dizzy than earlier.

“Jeno.” His name leaves your lips as a moan.

He looks up and one look at you makes the thoughts in his head swirl. You gripped his arms tighter every time he rubbed faster. Your teeth kept your bottom lip clipped between them as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

He lifts himself off of you, moving back until his face was right before your core. His hot breath fanned your folds, sending a wave of goosebumps up your body. His lips meet yours. Your breathing hitches on your throat, becoming more and more uneven as his tongue flattens and licks up every bit of your arousal. 

“Jeno, please,” you beg as you tried your best not to rub yourself on his open mouth.

“Please what?” he asks, but you don’t get to answer because he licks the most sensitive part of you and your mind goes blank.

He had one finger parting your folds enough to make room for his tongue. Something tells you this wasn’t his first time. Nobody wouldn’t have known that all thrusts and no play wasn’t the way to go with women. His tongue sucks on the skin by your bundle of folds sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. His antics make it hard for you to even have time to breathe. 

Your orgasm draws closer with every flick of his tongue against your bud. He notices the way your breathing rushes. Your mouth hangs open, your back arched off the mattress and your hips thrust up but Jeno holds you down. 

“Fuck. I’m close.”

He doesn’t answer just licking and sucking just like you had been when you were the one between his legs. Your legs begin to shake as you feel your orgasm ripping through you—a lot more satisfying than usual due to the lengthy build up. Your legs close due to the overstimulation when Jeno doesn’t stop, keeping his face caged between your thighs. He pulls away, gripping your left thigh and kissing it. Your senses were still muffled from your release but you can see his lips moving as if he were saying sweet things.

His hand traces your thigh before he rests it on your mound—red from the simulation and throbbing after your release. He parts your folds with his fingers before pushing two digits into your hole.

Your legs go slack, parting when he pushes further into you. When he pulls out, the white substance from your release follows—dripping down your lips and unto the sheets beneath you. He basks in the sight and the mess he’d made of you.

Jeno comes up to meet you again, wedged between your legs and his member brushing against your thigh as he moves. He turned your head so you’d face him again. He leans down to kiss you, the taste of your own arousal still present on his lips.

The kiss is passionate as opposed to every lust-driven thing that happened prior to it. There is no rash teeth-clashing, just feeling his lips on yours and the occasional slip of his tongue into the area of your mouth. Your limbs hook around him, drawing him closer. The kiss lasts for a while until he notices that you were both running out of air.

He pulls away, looking down at you with drowsy eyes. “I’ve loved you long before you even noticed.”

You fight the urge to make a clever remark—that what you had between you was nothing but an illusion in his head brought about by the hormones triggered while in bed. But you bite your tongue and don’t continue. “If you do, don’t let this night be a night I’ll forget easily, hmm?”

Jeno smirks, reaching for the drawer of his bedside table. His hand scrambles through it for a while until he finds what he was looking for. The way he drew the packet confidently out of its box makes you chuckle.

“Okay, baby. But I don’t want any additional problems.” He brings the packet to his mouth, ripping the wrapper with his teeth before pulling the content out.

“Baby?” you ask, watching him put the condom on himself.

“I’ve been calling you that all night.”

“I like it.”

“Then that’s great. You should get used to it,” he says. Then he aligned himself at your entrance, rubbing his member between your two folds before pushing his tip in. You watch his shaft disappear into you and you feel him inside. He stretches you but he doesn’t move until you've gotten used to his size. 

“Why’s my baby clenching all around me? Are you that desperate to be fucked?”

His words make you clench even more, which was pathetic for you and amusing for him. No matter how much you wanted to play the brat, your body completely betrayed you.

“Fuck no,” you answered but as you expected, Jeno doesn’t buy it.

“Mhm,” he says, pulling out halfway before pushing himself back into you. 

Your eyes flutter shut, feeling the coming and waning pain of the stretch inside of you as Jeno begins thrusting into you. He starts slow, leaning forward so he could rest on top of you. His hand finds your face and he’s kissing you again—soft, passionate and almost loving. You’re unsure if what you were feeling inside was the build-up of your next orgasm or the butterflies flying about.

He adjusts himself, pushing you up so he could have a better angle when thrusting into you. You moan into the kiss as he reaches untouched spots inside you. His mouth leaves your lips again, sucking on the skin by your jawline all the way down to your neck. The combined sensation of his lips on your skin and his cock deep in you makes you even more sensitive. A moan escapes your lips every time he thrusted in and it just makes him more feral. 

He picks up the pace, unhooking your arms from his neck so he could pin them on either side of you. The view makes his mouth water. Your mouth hung open as you moaned his name—loud enough that it bounces off the bedroom walls. Your breasts bounced with every thrust he did. All around you, the room smelt like sweet aroma of sex with the echo of skin against skin muffled by the exchange of grunts and moans.

Jeno lets your hands go and you clutch on to the sheets. He had one hand massaging your breast and the other rubbing his thumb against your nub . 

“Jeno,” you breathed out, peering your eyes open for a moment before they flutter shut again as your orgasm drew closer.

“I know,” he pants as his thrusts quicken, “me too.”

The familiar feeling wells in the pit of your stomach once again—like knots tightening with every thrust into you. Toes curling. Heart pounding. Breath, too short and sporadic.

Then it all loosens. 

Your mind is the first to register your climax and you let the post-orgasmic feeling of bliss wash over you. Jeno fucks you through it, still thrusting at an alarming speed just so he could catch his own release. He pulls out before it happens, sheathing his cock of the plastic that was once wrapped around it. The hot strings of white spurt out of his slit and onto your dress. 

For the second time, you feel your juices spill out of you. You unhook your legs and let them fall unto the mattress, having little to no strength to keep them upright. You were still catching your breath when Jeno shuffled around you.

“_____,” he calls out to you.

You open one eye with all the strength you can muster but your eyelid already threatens to fall back shut. 

Jeno smiles innocently, almost as if nothing had happened just a mere few moments ago. “Tired now, are we?” he asked and you manage to give him a lazy nod in response. He pushed himself off the bed, slipping into his boxers and sweatpants again before standing fully at the edge of his bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You’re too tired to even reply. You were slipping in and out of consciousness. You could hear him cross the room, hear the water running, feel him dip the mattress around you. He was cleaning up the mess you’ve both made—his release on your dress and yours on the sheets. 

“Sorry,” you utter as he takes off your soiled underwear while you lay immobile. 

He shakes his head, “It’s alright, it’s on me for making you cum this hard.”

You raise one of your eyelids so you could lock your target. You kick him with whatever strength you had left in you before instantly regretting it when you start to feel pain in your lower stomach. You wince, your pain becoming evident on your expression for Jeno to see and he only laughs. 

“Can you sit up for me?” 

You nodded in response but your body didn’t follow. Jeno chuckles at the sight and offers his hands to pull you up. You take them. Even with the extra help, you still struggled to stay upright. He looks down at you—drowsy eyes, heated cheeks and pouty lips, trying desperately to stay awake. He leans down to kiss your forehead, reaching around you so he could tug at the ends of your dress.

“Arms up,” he mumbles and you oblige. He pulls the fabric up and over your head before setting it aside. He then hooks his arms beneath your knees, lifting you off the bed. He heads to the bathroom, kicking the door open. The room is spacious enough that he doesn’t struggle maneuvering around even while carrying you. “It’s warm,” Jeno whispers before setting you down in the tub.

The water was indeed warm when it wrapped around you—soothing and relaxing. You curl up, wrapping your arms around your knees and letting your head rest on top of it. Shortly after, Jeno joins you. He sits at the other end of the tub, his legs stretched beside you. He leaned back against the rim of the tub, arms resting on either side.

“What now?” you ask, turning your head so you’re facing Jeno. 

He raises a brow, “What ‘what now’?”

You stare at him, struggling to find the right words to use in explaining what was bugging you. “Are you ever curious with what lies ahead? Like ahead of this day, ahead of this?”

“No,” Jeno cuts you off. “Unlike you, I don’t have my entire life planned out. I live day to day not knowing where I’ll be at the end of it. Why’d you ask?” His eyes meet yours and you look away, keeping your mouth shut. He pursed his lips, “Did my presence disrupt your perfectly planned life?”

A chuckle escapes your lips, “To be honest, sort of.”

For a fleeting moment, you see him frown. He immediately regains his composure, masking himself in his cocky attitude once again, “We can always pretend none of this ever happened. But I’m not sure if you want that.” His eyes darted around the bathroom just to avoid yours. “I’m sure I don’t,” he mumbles under his breath, but you don’t catch it.

“I told you to give me a night I won’t forget and you tell me we could pretend none of this ever happened?” 

“I don’t want to be the reason your life is thrown off track, babe,” he answers, finally catching your eyes and staring right back at you. “But,” he continues, “I’ll stick around only if you still want me to. So, do you?”

The question hangs in the air between you. If you hadn’t felt anything at all and only ever viewed him as bothersome, you would’ve said no right away. If you were merely here to confront him, you wouldn’t have let things get this far. But here you were, sitting naked in the tub across Jeno as you watched the boy’s eyes stare right into yours.

You were caught in the web of your own decisions and the slip-ups of your suppressed emotions. Your life was spinning further out of your control with every second you spent with him. He was everything you vowed to avoid in life—spontaneous, unpredictable and uncontrollable. Yet he gives you the opportunity to keep him in your life or not.

Having him around meant there were more nights like these; all of which were unaccounted for in your plan. Having him around meant having additional unwanted emotions; love, lust, jealousy. You never liked change, and having him around goes everything you’ve ever planned for.

But you think back on what he’d said earlier, about living life on a day to day basis without worrying too much about what the future held. It wasn’t certain anyway.

I’ll stick around only if you want me to. So, do you?

You do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to sound anymore submissive than you already were in his eyes.

You roll your eyes, “I can’t believe you’re asking me this after we fucked.”

The amused laugh that escapes Jeno’s lips makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter about. You’re unsure if it was because of the nervousness of trying out something with no certainty or you just liked hearing him laugh. “So, is there a next time?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, throwing the last bits of your caution into the wind as you take the leap of fate, “you tell me.”

© neo-shitty, 2021

#jeno smut #nct smut #ficscafe #nct-writers #neowritingsnet #jeno imagine #jeno scenarios #jeno angst #nct angst #jeno drabbles #jeno x reader #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct x reader #jeno imagines #jeno drabble #jeno scenario #nct drabble #nct scenario

[wearywinchester]

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic

[passivenovember]

mirrorball (pt. 1?)

--

“You’re irate,” Robin says. 

And Steve can’t pretend that he knows the definition or that somewhere, past the churning noise of the party, and the wafting heat from the dancefloor, Steve has the slightest clue what to say other than, “Probably.”

Because in all the months he’s known her, if Robin says he’s irate then he probably is.

Steve wants to go home. He’s been over this scene for a while now, holding an empty red cup so no one asks him if he’s up for seconds and thirds. His eyes sting from the smoke. He’s never liked that about parties that don’t rage under his jurisdiction. 

If they were home right now, cutting the night away at Steve’s house, he’d tell them to take it outside. Not everyone’s a smoker. Not everyone wants to die early from nicotine poison, at least not from something as insignificant as second-hand smoke. 

But these are Tommy’s digs. 

And apparently, anything goes, here. People smoke and drink and fuck right out in the open, probably depositing colonies of lost children on the shag carpet underfoot, and Steve’s had enough. 

“This is really bothering you, huh?” Robin asks. 

“What are you talking about?”

On the other side of the room, past a string of holographic flowers cut from cellophane that dangles in Steve’s line of sight, Billy’s got a kaleidoscope of color dancing on his eyelashes and he’s standing really close to a guy with pretty hair.

That’s all Steve can clock about him.

His hair is nice. Long and brown and curly. 

And Steve’s been told a million times by his grandma that he’s got more to offer than a head of thick, Italian locks but with only a red cup and Robin’s fifty-cent words tethering him to this basement, Steve isn’t so sure. 

Robin knocks their shoulders together. “Billy,” She says. 

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Billy’s eyelashes. “Where?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Steve snaps. “I just don’t see him.”

As if on cue, Billy steps closer to the guy because he either knows Steve is watching or he’s trapped in his own little world.

Steve can’t figure out which is worse. Serving as the gasoline that fuels Billy’s night and earning a front row seat to whatever happens next or being locked out of that world. 

Forgotten. 

A sliver of perfect, golden skin peeking between the hem of Billy’s slashed Metallica tank top and a pair of leather pants Steve’s never seen before. 

Not in this basement. Not in his entire life.

He knows instantly he wants to see them trapped around Billy’s thighs. And on his bedroom floor. And melting, coughing up smoke until they’re memory when brownie-locks tugs Billy closer by his belt loop.

Steve crumples his red cup. “Let’s go,” He says. 

Again, Steve’s legs don’t move. 

“You should talk to him,” Robin says. “You should do something before–”

“Billy’s not going to fuck him,” Steve tells the shag carpet. He looks at Robin, and peers into her red-rimmed, pitying green eyes, because. “Right?”

She’s probably worried.

She’s probably tearing her hair down from its edgy updo in fear that their very own ray of Californian sunshine is going home with a stranger tonight. 

Robin’s lips disappear between her teeth, “I don’t know,” She says honestly. 

Robin cherry-picks her words. It’s such a contrast to the way Steve bulldozes his way through grand statements and sweeping apologies. It’s comforting. He hangs on her every expression to know he’s not crazy. He tracks the way she stares past those goddamn cellophane flowers until her eyes get big.

Robin glances over, cheeks red as speeding firetrucks even in the shitty light of this shitty fucking basement.

“What?” Steve demands, and he stares at the horizon to find, that. 

Billy and his Motley Crue knockoff have disappeared.

Steve sucks in a sharp, desperate breath. 

“Steve,” Robin says. 

He can’t feel his toes. He knew this would happen. He should’ve told Billy he loved him when he had the chance, and now.

Robin rubs his knee. 

“Maybe they just. Got swallowed by the wallpaper, or something.” And Steve sounds almost believable. He almost believes it himself, you know? Because how could his entire sex life have gone up in smoke in the last thirty-six hours? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. He was inside Billy Hargrove thirty-eight hours ago, and now--

The room might as well be empty.

“This is such bullshit,” Steve shakes his head. “He better wear a condom.”

Robin snorts, “You really think Billy’s gonna top?” Her fingers snake around Steve’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the knot of muscles in the side of his neck. “You can’t let it get to you, Harrington.”

Steve has to swallow the immediate desire to protect his shoddy, half-assed fortress of Cool Guy that has been falling apart, brick by brick, since the first time Billy had hickeys on his neck in the shape of Steve’s mouth and told him that this meant nothing.

Steve wants to bury his face in his hands. 

He wants to pull his hair out by the root and scream and scream and never stop screaming until finally Billy admits that this is love.

That they’re in love with each other.

Whatever that looks like. Forgetting the condom, maybe.

Robin rocks their shoulders together. “Do you want another drink?”

Steve wants that, too. 

He hands his cup over, instead, “I’m going out for a smoke,” Steve mumbles, because even though Tommy’s parents have money and could replace it no-problem, he still pretends to respect the wallpaper he knows Mrs. Hagan chose special.

--

Billy only lets Eddie get his hands under his shirt because Steve’s watching. 

Only. 

Steve misses it, because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. He’s too busy talking to Robin, and it’s fucked up that the cocktail of vodka and cheap dope has Billy jealous about that, too. 

Like it’s not enough that he hates Steve’s sweater for draping itself over him all day, but Billy’s gotta drag his favorite lesbian into this. 

Nothing is holy, anymore.

The angry, love-drunk, pissed-off part of himself whispers that Steve and Robin are going home with each other tonight, even though Billy knows that means hideous fleece pajamas and no grabby hands.

It doesn’t matter.

Eddie scrapes a nail over Billy’s nipple and Billy thinks he’s gotta get even. 

If Steve is going to sit on that fucking couch and uphold their agreement that this means nothing, Billy’s going to fuck this stranger.

Done deal.

So Steve looks away and Billy tugs Eddie’s hand to his waist to get his mind off the mole on Steve’s cheek. 

“Got a condom?” He slurs. He’s fucked up. Can’t even stand straight without the wall or this guy propping him up. 

Eddie detaches himself from Billy’s neck, and. “A condom?” He asks, not understanding.

Even in Tommy’s shitty basement, he’s got nice eyes. 

Big and brown and kind, like Steve’s, but. He’s not Steve. 

That could be good, right? Billy could work with that. “You don’t wanna fuck me?” He snaps.

Hurt, maybe.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, I do it’s just,” He catches Billy when he stumbles and puts him back on the wall like Billy’s mom used to do with loose paintings when Neil pushed her into them. “Shit, darlin’, you’re drunk.”

It’s kind of hilarious. 

Billy snorts. Knows if Steve heard him he’d say Billy’s cute, and Billy wants to go home. Not to Cherry Lane, but to Steve. He wants to live there forever and Max could come, too.

“I am drunk,” Billy admits. He leans forward, wetting his mouth and grinning when this poor country idiot can’t help but zero in on its shine. “I’m real easy when I’m sloshed.”

“I don’t know–”

“C’mon, Harrington says I open up nice when I’m blackout.”

Eddie blinks at him. Straightens his spine, all noble, so he can stare down his button-snout at Billy to demand, “He fucks you when you can’t stop him?”

Like he knows Steve.

Like he knows them like Billy’s his mom and he needs to be rescued.

It pisses him off. Gets his dick to lay flat, for once, and Billy’s fucking tired.

“Oh, like you were about to?” Eddies cheeks flare red. Billy waddles forward. Says, “I don’t even know you. Stop acting like you know shit about shit because you don’t.” Because. “I love him,” Billy adds, “I’m in love with him because he deserves it.”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe.”

“That him over there?” And Eddie jerks a thumb over his left shoulder. Steve’s watching them, cool as a fucking cucumber, and that does something to Billy. 

Makes him look at the situation from outside of it. 

Like, he just offered to fuck this guy, this random dude, and Steve doesn’t even care. And he’s not stupid. Likes to pretend he is, though, and that’s worse. He may be having a grand old time over there with Robs, lounging like a king on the same couch Tommy fucked Billy on last summer, but he knows.

He’s gotta know. 

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” He gasps. 

It’s not Eddie’s fault. 

He’s a nice guy. He’s been sweet all night, asking about music and movies and books and only touching when Billy begs him for it. 

Eddie’s baby browns get big. He says, “There’s nothing wrong with you, baby, people act crazy when they’re in love.” He pushes the hair off Billy’s forehead, looking sweet and concerned, “Do you wanna go outside, maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Across the room, Steve isn’t even watching them, anymore. 

He’s lost interest.

Maybe he never had it in the first place. And it stings. 

Strangely, Billy doesn’t feel like drawing blood when Eddie leaks kindness. He offers his hand and Billy is too drunk to do anything other than take it.

#harringrove #mungrove #angst #partying #drinking #drug use

[beann-e]

“ honestly Suna sometimes it feels like your just sitting there — calculating — thinking of ways that you can piss me off” you let out in a huff of anger as you slammed your hand onto the arm rest placed in the middle of the car. Voice loud enough to be heard from a mile away and then some “ And then you don’t even fucking care “

“ I’m sorry you feel that way “

“ seriously ? seriously Suna “

“ oh I’m sorry would you like me to say it jokingly? “

The silence that towered over the both of you was tall and it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon “ WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY “ his hand came up to run down his face as he sighed

“ look I'm sorry baby but — “

“ but nothing — I'm tired Rin—I'm tired of you screwing with me“ you groaned “ honestly at this point just fuck off “

he moved to pull the keys from the car unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door as your jaw hung open “ what the fuck Suna — “

“ I'm fucking off you ungrateful bit—“

“ you asshole — all of a sudden you take everything literal right ?? huh only when you want to right “

“ y’know what— no you fuck off —ok y/n “

“ see that’s what I'm talking about “

“ honestly I doubt you even know what you were talking about in the first place “

your steps quickened as you followed after the male who stopped at your front door imputing the code and opening your house door “ This is what I mean by you keep fucking with me Suna “

“ oh “ he moved to sit down on the couch arms flung behind it and legs spread wide out in front of him. “ is it really— because , the 40 minute argument in the car about your best friend hitting on me didn’t quite make that clear “ he scoffed shaking his head along with it “ your shitty reasoning must of gotten lost on one of the many streets of Japan y/n “

His eyes glowing body perking up with his next sentence “ yknow what how about you go find it hmm then we can have this little talk sometime later -- preferably when I'm sleeping id hate to be awake for another one of your hellish complaints babe.”

your anger was only growing as the argument continued “ you fucking douchebag I bet you don’t even know why I'm pissed off “

He let out a small sigh of a laugh his legs shaking and hitting each other in a wave before they resumed their earlier position “ I don’t“

“ and you don’t care either do you “

“ I don’t “

Your heart broke for the first time ever in your relationship with the stoic male after hearing his words and tone. In all the time you and your boyfriend had been together you two never argued about his lack of emotion or care.

It never bothered you

It never affected you

until it did

4 hours ago

You smiled up at the taller male as his mouth continued to run while talking to the rest of his volleyball team. This was the first time you’d ever seen him talk for more than 5 minutes with anything other then yeah’s and small mhmms.

The both of you had been invited to a class reunion and you only decided to go because of his new teams constant nagging

Suna had been telling you all week to find something else to do and that you didn’t have to go with him. That it would be too boring and long and that you would be better off having fun without him.

Of course you put up a fight but, ultimately lost and decided to hang out by yourself for the earlier half of the day spending last weeks paycheck on this weeks shopping spree

it felt nice to treat yourself but you couldn’t help but want to treat your boyfriend too. The thought of him being bored alone plagued your mind and you had to get it out.

The only way to do that was to go to the reunion.

Now how you imagined it would go is you show up in your fancy new dress surprising him smile a bit , talk up some of the host and sneak your way in and then mingle and go home and cuddle and kiss your boyfriend all night

funny thing is somewhere in that prewritten script you had created you didn’t realize imagination is not always reality.

The sight of your boyfriend leaning against a wall with a glass in his hand and his other on the string of your best friends dress had you reeling in the disgust that you wanted to spill so badly on the floor right now

All you’d done was go to the restroom but now you sat with your eyes widening while you watched his eyebrows come together in annoyance with the string that wouldn’t come undone.

Your best friend faced away from him back to his chest and a small smile on her face. Cheeks heated from his touch and in that moment you cursed her for having a look on her face that made it visible how much she enjoyed his warmth. You wished she didn’t make it so obvious how the closeness to your boyfriend was making her feel

how it was encouraging her

Your heart broke when you seen Suna finally relax and blow air out of his cheeks before nodding softly almost thanking the gods that he figured it out and it was over

Your feet moving before you could even process what to say to either of them.

“ y-y/—“

your hand came in contact with your best friends face before she could even finish the loud slap echoing through the room as everyone turned to find the source of the noise

Eyebrows raising when they noticed it was not only a slap but a full on one sided battle between you and the girl who everyone seen as nice and quiet during your school years

They never knew of the undercover bitch that was lurking behind the surface. They’d never see the way she was smirking as she took every hit given to her in stride. Your boyfriends hands wrapping around your torso as he looked down and seen that you were hovering over her ripping her to bits

You never letting go of the grip your thighs held around her own as she whispered to where only you could hear “ aw poor y/n’s defending someone that doesn’t even want em—gonna go to jail for someone so unloyal huh “

Your eyes lit up with pure hatred as the security made their way over to you reaching to take you from Sunas hold and lessening your grip on the woman beneath you

“ sir we need you to let her go “

“ don’t touch me until you actually make it all the way to police academy you fucking lowlife. “ you spit out “ how the hell do you only make it to security much less high school reunion security “

“ the hell do you know — you don’t even know how hard police academy is asshole “

“ ah I bet your kids’ll be real proud “ your eyes squinted at his name tag “ todd — you kiss your wife with that mouth “

you laughed eyes rolling from him to suna “ or are you like this asshole and kiss your mistress with it instead ? huh toodles ? “

“ ha — ‘m gonna have fun with you--ya little prick. sir — let ‘em go or else i’ll pull out the big guns — they snuck in here and now their disrespecting an officer “

“ big guns “ your laugh circulated through the room “ ‘k sure let me stop before I get pepper sprayed “

“ my hands already on the trigger you lil bitc— “

“ hey “ sunas voice growled behind you “ watch who the fuck your talking to toodles“

“ just— get—get the fuck off dude I didn’t go to police academy so I could avoid this — their full on disrespecting me come on man get off“ your face scrunched up in annoyance as you saw the security look like they were about to cry

“ well I mean — “ he sighed “ it’s not like your a real officer right“ suna sighed out as he began to bite his lip in worry “ I mean we can let this slide right ? “ he nodded looking towards the males name badge “ uh toodles“

He coughed “ todd — I mean todd “

“ I’m sorry but, even if I could “ his gaze dead set on you “ which I really don’t want to — seeing as though they disrespected me “

His voice sounding proud as he continued “ and I'll have you know I'm security guard of the mouth asshole “

“ oh whoop dee fucking do Tinkerbelle ”

“ y-fucking-/n “ you could feel the way Suna was seething above you breath hot and you could tell his face was made up in a snarl “ if you don't shut the fuck up I swear on Atsumu’s unwashed boxers ill leave your ass prison letters starting tonight “

“ see —— sir I'm trying “ he sighed “ I really am trying to let this go but — “

“ their with me — “

“sure “ he scoffed “ I'll need to see some relations or — “

“ their my s/—their my plus one “ his eyes moved to look at everyone surrounding you guys then back to the position he now held you in before finally dropping you to the floor. Your heart dropping and ears tuning everything out from that point on.

Everything on mute until you got in the car and were finally met with his low voice as he buckled you in and walked to his side turning the car on “ y/n “

You turned to look out the window “ y/n that — “

His voice was so hard but so weak “ y/n that was so fucking embarrassing “ Your body shivered at his words

“ having to watch my fucking s/o almost get fucking arrested “

His hands tightened their grip on the wheel “ then turning around and having to talk you out of it in front of our whole graduating class “

his voice went deadpanned as he swerved a bit on the road mixing lanes “ and — and my team — oh fuck my team “

he started to breathe a bit heavier as you began to feel bad hearing the sadness in his voice. His body shifting in his seat “ all so you could “

he laughed a bit at the situation “ all so you could take your ugly ass insecurities out on your friend ? “

he scoffed looking from you to the road and back to you “ when did you two even stop being friends huh ? did I miss that or ?? do friends just go out and leave bruises on each other or is that something new? What-- is it like a new TikTok trend -- a fashion statement huh ?? the fuck is it because, I'm not a friend person so maybe you know something I don’t “

He scoffed “ maybe — maybe I'll never be a friend person after something like that. If friends are just beating each other’s asses in broad day light out the fucking blue then I'll just stick with ‘tsumu at least I know I can beat his ass if he were to pull some shit like that “

‘ friend ‘ you thought silently

“ poor kid didn’t even see it coming “ he shook his head at you turning back to the road “ holy hell that’s shameful y/n “

he whispered “ I don’t even wanna think about the rumors that’ll spread about us tomorrow “

The car was quiet only for a minute as Suna re arranged his thoughts before he could beat into you again “ friend Suna ? “

your voice was dry “ Rin do friends help each other out of their clothes ? “

your eyebrows creased “ do they focus so intently on another woman while their own is in the same room “

“ I didn’t know you were there “

“ SO YOU ONLY TAKE FRIENDS CLOTHES OFF WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ NO I “

“ YOU ONLY TOUCH OTHER WOMEN WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ y/n jus— “ he took a deep breathe and let it out “ just shut up its not like that “ he let out an uncomfortable and tired scoff of a laugh “ it wasn't like that “

“ it’s always shut up Suna it’s never ‘ what’s wrong y/n ‘ ‘ are you ok y/n ‘ it’s just ‘ shut up I don’t wanna talk so you don’t wanna talk either ‘ “

you locked eyes with the male in front of you “ I'm done Rin I'm— I'm done “

“ you cant leave me-- heh not after that shit you pulled back there  “ 

“ fuck if I cant--you don't look like my legs to me and as far as I know their still Bluetooth connected to my mind so-- “

“ you'll be an overnight clown you-you need me y/n “ he shook his head “ we need each other “ 

“ no you need volley ball because you need money-- because guess what asshole as of right now-- your homeless”

“ fuck you as if “

“ we’re over Suna don't let my words finally hit you when you walk out the shitty door”

“ that’s fine by me “ he scoffed “ get the hell out for all I care — I'll pack your shit for you “

“ no— I'll pack your shit asshole your living  in my house bottom feeder “

“ if you don’t shut the fuck u— “

“ then what ? huh what — you’ll leave me “

“ I swear to god I'll —”

“ you’ll what cheat on me with my best friend ah I'm so scared — “ your voice holding nothing but mock enthusiasm “ I can just imagine the way you’ll kiss her when I'm not there — these thoughts for some reason almost feels real y’know “

you watched as the man you’d taught yourself to love for 7 years since high school finally walked out the door. His perfume from earlier still hanging in the air long after the door slammed. Your mind racing when you were finally brought to one thought

‘ how did we end up like this and how the hell do we get back ‘

#Suna #suna headcanons #haikyuu suna #suna x reader #suna angst #Suna Rintarou #suna rintarō #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro headcanons #haikyuu!! #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu rintaro suna #suna rintaro angst #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x s/o #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #suna rintaro x you #suna rin

[feral-ella-flynn]

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy. 

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness.  At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse. 

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent. 

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll. 

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid. 

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and  you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore. 

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible. 

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket. 

“They had no goat." He shrugs. 

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge.  Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet. 

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

 The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge. 

“Please?”

 You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles. 

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road. 

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #m monster x female reader #troll boyfriend #Brúsi the Bridge Troll #troll lover #Feral Flynn Fics #monster romance #fantasy romance

[svchengss]

king of hearts | d.sc

PAIRING. dong sicheng x reader

GENRE. high school!au, fluff, slight angst, kind of e2l

WARNINGS. none (lmk if i missed any!)

WORD COUNT. 6.7k

SUMMARY. sicheng’s subtle flirts are not working effectively but it only motivates him to try and woo you more. the devil sure works hard but dong sicheng works harder.

PLAYLIST. king of hearts

TAGLIST. @floraljae @clovdless @mashiihearts @ndr1271 @kunrengui (shoutout to mashi for being a major help in the process of writing this <3)

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

music was blaring through the multiple loudspeakers scattered around the school grounds, booths of various interests that were set-up by the clubs being swarmed by visitors and ecstatic oohs and aahs from the ones playing games can be heard intermittently. the annual school festival of redlands high, an event that is looked forward to by every single student there. or maybe not, you’re quite unsure of the self-made data.

you immediately made a beeline to the dance club booth which is managed by yangyang, the president also holding the title of your best friend. a cartoonish grin crept up on his face when he spots you walking towards him.

“so, what do you think? looks legit, huh?” he crossed his arms together, observing the design of the booth with a proud smile. the set-up is definitely eye-catching, not much decorations going on, adding to the simplicity of the white theme with gold touch-ups. you browsed through the plastered posters on the board, inviting people to sign up for their upcoming audition. looking up to the signboard hanging outside, you showed a thumbs up towards him, muttering a quick ‘perfect’.

“so what exactly is your booth doing? there’s not much… activity going on?” you scratched the non-existent itch on your left eyebrow. the boy in front of you gave you an eye roll before explaining that there will be mini dance games - or just dance as he worded. an amused sound left your lips as you bent down, dropping your signature in the guestbook on the wooden table.

“are you coming to the stage shows tonight? i heard there’s a new band performing,” your ears perked up instinctively upon hearing the words. after your sister graduated high school, nobody paid any attention to keep the band going. the zikas, a trio that made the music club strive back then. either the newer batches were too lazy to make an effort or too scared if they weren’t up to the already high standards of the school.

“i’m going if you’re going,” you simply stated, which made yangyang flash you the same grin from before. you said your simple goodbyes when people started lining up to try the just dance game at his booth. after he reminded you to wait for him by the statue, you went off to check out the food sales, eager to fill your growling stomach since this morning.

you can do this, sicheng. you can do this.

he made sure to double check the tuning of his guitar for one last time before joining the rest of his bandmates on the stage. his tall and slim physique surely left an impact, seeing that some of the audience suddenly became more invested in the performance compared to the others. he’s wearing some band’s shirt - probably green day since it’s quite similar to your sister’s posters in her room, black leather jacket and his black hair middle parted. not to miss the silver pendant necklace on his neck, sparkling under the spotlight.

the moment he struck the pick through the strings of his electric guitar, the drummer and bassist followed after, producing a melody that is pleasing to your ears. he held the microphone closer to his mouth, singing the lyrics as you bobbed your head up and down to the covers they sang - american idiot and helena are the ones you recognized since you’ve heard the songs so often. yangyang on the other hand kept on sipping the chocolate milkshake in his hand, vibing with the music as well.

the next song was a sentimental one which you assumed is a self-composed one, since you’ve never heard this song before. before you know it, the performance is over and the audience have started packing up their belongings to hang out somewhere else or go home.

“good job everyone, we did well,” yuta, who played the bass earlier, high-fived the rest of the band with a sly grin on his face. guanheng chugged the mineral water down his throat before stashing his drumsticks into the bag while sicheng was lost in his thoughts. he doesn’t know why but you stood out from the crowd, only able to see you just now. he wouldn’t say it’s a crush, not knowing anything about you but it definitely made him feel something. a trigger in his heart, not knowing where it leads to. but what he does know is that you caught his attention.

“and you know what he said? i’ll come back crawling to him just like his other exes. what the heck is even that?” you took out the binders from your locker while listening to ningning rant about her love life. since you haven’t had any relationships before, you’re not really a professional in this aspect of life so you just kept your mouth shut to avoid giving useless advice.

“that sounds so rude, he’s such a jerk,” you commented, taking the first bite of your sandwich afterwards. the tea-spilling session eventually came to an end when she reached her class first and you kept walking to mrs. walker’s, english being your first period. nothing exciting really happened in that class except someone got their phone confiscated for texting in class - just the usual things. classes later, it’s finally recess when you met up with ningning and yangyang in the cafeteria.

“first of all, cut him off. block him. everywhere,” yangyang emphasized the last word, knowing how much of an idiot the guy can be. you just scrolled through your socials, double tapping on certain posts that caught your eye. owning a cat looks fun, you made a mental note to bring the idea to your parents later. the bell rang which signals that classes are starting back soon and the same cycle of events continues before it’s time to go home.

you observed yangyang’s sharp moves, following to the beat of the song echoing in the dance room. it’s currently half past seven and he’s still here, beads of sweat running through his hair. and why would he stay in school so late, you may ask? obviously, he’s here for a reason and it being an upcoming dance tournament is the most accurate one. while you’re here, sitting on the floor, back against the mirror and legs straightened out with your phone in your hand. it amazes you how the goofy boy transforms 360°, being all serious when he’s in his element.

“let’s go home, i’m tired already,” he panted out breathlessly, using a cloth nearby to wipe his sweaty forehead. you wait for him by the glass door as he packs up his things when the lights in the music studio also switched off. you wondered it must be the band guys so you paid no attention whatsoever. of course, your predictions were right when you saw two lads stepping out.

since yangyang is taking too much time tidying up the dance studio and the music studio seems unoccupied, you decided to check it out for a bit. it’s been a long time since you last entered the room, always accompanying your sister for her extra practice when you were younger. not much has changed, except some additions of instruments can be seen. not seeing anything in the dark condition as the room is only illuminated by the faint lights from the hallway, you pushed the switches down only to be met by a gasp.

“what are you doing here?” the tall boy approached you, a stern look visible on his fine features. your eyes scrambled around the room in an attempt to find any logical excuses for your ‘break-in’ but to no avail. your tongue was dry, not a sound escaping your throat when you heard yangyang’s voice, signalling your cue to exit the room and escape from the tension building between you and the boy. he just shook his head, the black hair bouncing left to right as he finally caught on.

it’s you, you’re the girl from the crowd. and your name is y/n.

the walk home was filled with one-sided conversations where yangyang kept on babbling about how he should improve the choreography he created earlier while you only added small comments. your mind is filled with embarrassment, too much that you feel slightly mad at yourself. why didn’t you say anything earlier? now, you look like a complete idiot with communication issues in front of that boy.

“yeah, and remember that pasta? we should definitely try it again, it’s like, so good,” yangyang said, earning a nod from you when you saw the boy from last night’s music studio tragedy approaching your table. you tried to look away but it was too late.

“dude, just wanna let you know that mr. park is seeing us after school,” your grip on your fork loosens up when you realized he wasn’t talking to you. maybe he forgot about the incident? you really hope so.

“yeah, totally. thanks sicheng,” yangyang playfully winked at the latter, earning a disgusted look from him who started walking away. he glanced back at you with a smug smile on his plump lips, making you freeze up again.

he didn’t.

“are you okay, y/n? feeling sick?” ningning furrowed her eyebrows upon seeing your sudden change of demeanor. you shrugged her off and continued to consume the macaroni placed on the tray in front of you, mentally cursing at yourself for the poor life choice you’d made. well, at least you know that his name is sicheng, right?

oh boy, you’re in for a long ride.

you can’t wait to go home and snuggle under the covers, today has been a long and tiring one for you. you had three pop quizzes as if all the three teachers intended so, your class had to run multiple laps during p.e. and so on. you’re already planning your routine in your head, trudging your way to the lockers when you saw him leaning against yours, scrolling down his phone.

“crap,” you muttered under your breath.

there it is, the smirk on his face returns when he spots your figure approaching. oh, how you wish you could wipe it off his face. he moved a couple steps backwards to give you some space to arrange your things before locking it, turning your head towards him.

“i’m sorry, why are you here again? and if it’s because of last night, then i’m sorry if it bothered you or anything,” you huffed out.

“what? i didn’t really care, it’s not like you were stealing anything, right?” he squinted his eyes, eyeing you up and down suspiciously, laughing shortly after seeing you get riled up.

“damn, you really need to learn how to take a joke. y/n, right? i’m sicheng, nice to meet you.”

“why exactly are we having this meet-and-greet or whatever this introduction is?” you crossed your arms, waiting for his response. but he didn’t, immediately turning on his heels and making his way towards the stairs, probably going to the studio.

“jerk,” you cursed under your breath, walking out the school building.

“what? you got accepted? seriously?” ningning’s voice echoed against the cafeteria walls, earning surprised and annoyed glances from other students who were either satisfying their grumbling stomach or simply having conversations. yangyang softly nudged her elbows using his, asking her to lower her voice down before telling you to go on. you were quite surprised as well, the acceptance email was not what you expected to receive. when you filled in the application form, it was just a mere shoot-your-shot agenda to see if you’d make the cut. although this is just a camp, you’re still unsure of what lies ahead.

“yeah, it starts next week. but i’m so nervous though,” you sipped the iced coffee in your hands. you’ve only watched videos of people producing their own music from scratch which you start to take an interest in. however, you’ve never done it hands-on before, only having basic music theory knowledge thanks to the piano lessons your parents signed you up for when you were young.

“you’ll do awesome, i promise,” yangyang gave you a reassuring smile, making you release some tension from the overthinking you’ve had since you received the email last night.

“thanks yang.”

now, here you are on the first day of attending the internship camp. you stood in front of the tall mirror hanging on the wall, straightening your cardigan and applying some makeup onto your face as touch-ups. it’s currently 7:40 in the morning, the earliest time you’ve ever woken up on a saturday. your siblings are still swallowed in their states of sleep. you double-checked the contents in your tote bag, making sure that no important things are left behind. you totally don’t intend on leaving a bad first impression on your first day.

after bidding a swift goodbye to your parents who just woke up, you drove your mother’s old honda to the completely new destination - mbyte studios. the tall building with light grey and blue painted walls definitely made it stand out, a futuristic look catching the eyes of the passersby. taking a deep breath, you entered the main lobby before being escorted to a room on the second floor. you assume it’s a waiting room for all participants of the camp, scanning that majority of the occupiers might be college students. you thanked god that the camp takes place on weekends so your high school senior life won’t be interrupted that much.

DAY 1

your eyes widened when you spot sicheng with the same white and blue tag you’re wearing, seated on the sofa. what the hell is he doing here? you avoided acknowledging his presence, trying to make yourself as unnoticed as possible heading over to occupy the seat farthest from his. after quite some time staring at the paintings hanging on the wall, a middle-aged lady with a petite figure entered the room, making you sit up straight.

“welcome to mbyte studios! i’m the assistant director, mrs. hwang. first and foremost, congratulations on being accepted. it’ a pleasure to witness the start of your musical journey embarking here. i believe that we should know each other first?” she gestured for any volunteers. sicheng stood up from his seat, charisma evident in his stance which left quite an impression on the others. the strong confidence in the way he speaks made the woman smile amusingly.

some names later, it was your turn to introduce yourself. the moment you stood up, he immediately recognized you and you were sure you caught him making some faces. the ice-breaking session went well thankfully, mrs. hwang elaborating on the social rules and the itinerary throughout the whole six days. one that caught your attention was assisting the producers on making a track from scratch, just like you had dreamed of.

when it was finally time for lunch break, you shot up from your seat to get away from sicheng as fast as possible but to your dismay, he beat you to it, jogging up towards your standing position.

“i didn’t know you were into music, what’s the sudden occasion?”

“it’s none of your business actually,” you sneered back, obviously not favouring his attention.

“woah, relax. you’ve got quite a temper, don’t you? by the way, we’re having lunch together,” he placed his phone onto a nearby table, pulling a chair for you.

“just eat on your own, i don’t have the appetite,” you flash a sarcastic grin before disappearing into the women’s restroom. he just laughed bitterly at your response before walking towards the food counter, joining his newly made friend, jaehyun. being the same age, they’re easy to click.

DAY 2

“today, we’ll be focusing on the recording process. you’ll be assigned into groups that will have a tour of the whole department. our staff will facilitate each group,” the manager said loud and clear. you remembered his name was johnny. the tattoo on his shoulder really stands out, considering the fact that he’s always wearing a sleeveless shirt.

but what are the odds when your groupmate is none other than the guy himself, sicheng. it’s like the universe truly resented you for having to be associated with him at any event. your group was escorted to the farthest recording studio on the floor. to say that this was a great experience is truly an understatement, making you observe the gears used in astonishment. you hate to admit it but sicheng has a handful of knowledge on this particular topic, always correctly answering the questions directed by the staff. maybe it wasn’t quite surprising upon knowing that his career choice is a singer, not that you care anyways.

again, nothing out of the ordinary happened today, except that you and sicheng had lunch on the same table. of course, it’s not that you accepted his offer but he welcomed himself to the spot. being the quickly favoured participant among the rest, obviously they welcomed him with open hands. he placed himself among the two guys sitting at the right corner, eyeing you whose eyes are still not leaving the article you were skimming through. with the last spoon of food shoved into your mouth, you quietly excused yourself from the group. sicheng just watched your movements in subtle signs of annoyance.

with the final task of doing microphone check-ups, day two of the camp ended with a breeze. you can’t wait to go home, get into a warm bath and spend the night watching netflix. it was a tiring one indeed but you’re not one to complain. pushing the car keys into the ignition slot, the sound of the engine starting is still nowhere to be heard even after a couple of retries. you rested your forehead onto the steering wheel, cursing silently in your head, having to get a taxi and call your mother about this incident. you’re sure to be receiving a handful from her, not to mention her soft but stingful remarks.

“hey, are you okay?” a deep voice interrupts your stressful state of mind. looking up, it’s sicheng with a concerned look on display. you hesitantly shared your problem, making him press his lips together probably thinking of a solution.

“you know, i don’t really know how to fix your broken engine or whatever but i know someone who can. let me just ring him for a sec. and you’re coming home with me.”

and that’s how you ended up in the front passenger seat, sicheng steering with one hand and the other rested on the windowsill. the faint music from the radio can be heard, probably a song by jon vinyl. you’d steal quick glances to see his other hand dancing in the air, enjoying the rhythm of the song playing. besides that, it was silent as both of you are preoccupied with your own things - sicheng on the road while you on your phone. he tried to make small talk but you would say it’s unrequited, only replying with short sentences. after a good ten minutes drive, the sight of your brown painted gate becomes a sign for him to stop the moving car.

“your car is safe with my friend so you shouldn’t worry about it or anything. also, what’s your number? it’ll be easier for, you know the car business of course,” he reached over to unbuckle your seatbelt, handing over his phone to you after. the close proximity made your breath hitch, the dewy scent of his perfume diffusing into your nose. not too strong, he has a good taste.

“thanks and um, i’ll buy you a drink later. just for today.”

“are you asking me on a date?” there it is, the significant tug on the side of his lips making its presence once again.

“stop being so narcissistic and move along please,” you rolled your eyes before giving him a small wave, stepping into your property. sicheng stared at the numerals on his phone screen, a small, proud grin etched on before driving off the lane.

“how was the camp? met any cute boys?” the first thing you hear in the hue of the blue monday morning is ningning’s chirpy voice. sometimes you wonder how she gets all boosted up at this hour of the day. yangyang is the polar opposite, his appearance as if he just got out of bed, the hood of his denim jacket resting on top of his auburn hair.

“it was good and no, no cute boys. but sicheng was there,” you replied nonchalantly, a mischievous grin crept onto her lips. you can almost predict the words that are going to spill out of her mouth.

“what’s up with her?” yangyang yawned, his eyes lazily gaze at you. you just lifted your shoulders, having no idea whatsoever. a ping sound was heard from your phone, notifying that a new message is received.

unknown: hey sicheng here

unknown: ur car may be ready tmr. want me to drive u there?

listening to your heart, you were about to type ‘no’ but remembering the fact that your parents will be busy the whole day tomorrow and yangyang is coming home late once again, you have no choice but to accept the lad’s help.

now you’re back in his vehicle, the same spot as before. you’ve only noticed now that a musical note charm is hung on the rearview mirror, a semiquaver to be exact. you’d say that it looks authentic, gold specks shining when sun rays hit the surface. observing the interior of his car, there are quite a number of small decorations.

“can we get coffee first? my treat for the car and the ride,” you suggested, looking at him whose eyes are focused onto the road. the traffic is quite pleasing today, nobody honking mindlessly at the other drivers and flipping each other off with the famous middle finger gesture. his side profile does look charming, some type of earrings dangling from his ears. if you’re going to be honest, his appearance does seem to be your type. you’re not one to say about his persona though, always managing to bother you at any time of the day.

“sure, wanna go to the new cafe? i heard it’s good,”. you just nodded while he skillfully steered the steering wheel, moving the car to the new destination. you turned your eyes to look outside from the car window, seeing the one hundred and one manners of the citizens. a mother struggling to take her child who’s having a tantrum out of the toy shop, a young couple having their romantic meal in the french cafe. the motion of the car stopping awakened you who was being distracted by your clouded mind.

from the moment you stepped into the place, the interior caught your attention. the light brown painted walls with black furniture complementing each other perfectly, making a retro-like appearance. the funky song playing faintly in the background surely is a mood-setter, just how you like it. even the barista serving you is being friendly, making a couple of small talk in the midst of operating the machines.

you would say that it was a pleasureful day for you. the exquisite taste of latte washing down your dry throat, getting your car back without too much babbling from your dear mother and the gap between you and sicheng closing in for a little.

the last sentence baffled you for a second.

DAY 3

sicheng’s eyes shot open from the short slumber he was trying to get - failing miserably even, upon spotting you enter through the door. he pulled the chair beside him in hopes for you to get his message and take the seat. a frown made its way onto his face when you just waved at him, making your way to another spot a few chairs to the front. he scoffed, head tilting slightly before approaching you instead. you shot him a puzzled look, roughly translating to ask him what he’s doing here.

“i just want to be close to you. now focus,” he redirected his eyes onto the muscular man who just entered the room. he’s a songwriter - the best one in this company to be exact. you were focused on each point he explained, making small notes on your laptop. it’s not always that you’ll get a chance to be guided by a four-time award winning songwriter, might as well gain some benefits from it.

“another tip i have is to use all types of chords. remember, do not stick to the same ones, you’ll lack creativity. for instance, use major, minor, dominant, diminished, and augmented. i promise you, more ideas will be flowing and better quality songs will be produced. you got me?” the questioned, earning buzzing sounds of positive responses from the hall.

DAY 4

another day of group work, you’re given the task to create a melody according to the themes given - for your group, it’s love. looking at sicheng, he’s already on his electric guitar, strumming mindlessly to find the perfect note to start on. the rest of you are now juicing out some thoughts on this particular sense of human nature.

“love gives us thrill, the feeling of excitement, the feeling when you’re uncertain about something but when you have that special someone with you, you’re sure to wing it all,” jaehyun suggests, earning nods of approval from the rest of your groupmates.

“you’re a pro at this, mr. romantic,” you teased him, earning a soft chuckle. a dimpled smile is etched onto his features, rosy cheeks and his eye smile making you fawn. prince-like visual and a sense of humour? a two in one package, totally.

“not really. i guess i’m a sucker for romance movies,” he rubbed the back of his neck. your small conversation came to a halt when you heard a crooked, loud sound coming from the rough strum on the guitar strings. you turned around to see sicheng gazing directly towards the both of you, a sharp one even. jaehyun just blinked his eyes before catching onto the situation unfolding in front of him while you’re still being completely oblivious. you tilted your head in confusion, unsure of what’s gotten into him.

it’s the day that yangyang has been looking forward to since the past few weeks, his dance tournament. you’re seated with ningning on the bleachers, music from the loudspeakers echoing through the walls. with the cheers of the bewatchers whenever someone captivated them with a trick or dance move, usually the risky ones, it truly is a loud atmosphere.

“now, welcoming contestant number 43 to take the stage,” the host announced, you and ningning clapped with all your might, shouting words of encouragement as well. yangyang took a deep breath before lifting his right hand up, cueing for the music to start playing. just then, there’s the sound of someone plopping down on the hard surface next to you - sicheng. he’s looking casual today, a light yellow hoodie replacing his usual dark clothings.

“what are you doing here?” you shout whispered while ningning raised her eyebrows at you.

“didn’t yangyang tell you? i’m here to watch him dance,” he countered your question before darting his eyes back to the boy who’s busy popping on the dance floor, tinashe’s song playing in the background. he ended his routine with a moonwalk, making his way to the end of the stage. you’re confident that he’s going to win the competition, looking at how precise and clean his moves were. all the late night practices he had eventually paid off when he’s announced as the second placer. nonetheless, he’s still proud of himself, not to mention you and ningning who have been with him throughout his whole journey.

“you did well,” sicheng welcomed him with a fist bump which he reciprocated back. you didn’t know that they were this good of friends.

“i’m starving,” he rubbed his hand onto his stomach, making you remember that your stomach has been rumbling since you only ate a cereal bar that morning. you were about to catch up to yangyang and ningning who were walking fast ahead when you felt a tug on your shirt, looking down to see sicheng crouching down to tie your loose shoelaces.

“you might fall,” he placed his hands into the pockets of his hoodies, waiting for you to come along.

“um, thanks,” you muttered out before catching the glances given by your friends, later teasing you about the scene.

roars of students can be heard coherently, filling the basketball court. the basketball captain, a tall one with black charcoal hair is shooting a three-pointer. the players are then called over to their respective sides for whatever strategy their coaches will be implementing in the third-quarter. the home team is currently leading by five points, knowing that the players wearing the significant red and black jersey have been training their asses off for a while now.

but why exactly did you come to the game tonight? besides from the main event happening in the moment, the other reason is now standing in his position, strumming his electric guitar producing a funky sound that vibrates through the walls - a cue for the start of another buzzing stage. sicheng has been bugging you about watching him perform tonight and after quite some time evaluating, why not? when he finally caught you among the crowd, he flashed you a flirtatious wink. right before the band bowed as gratitude to the audience, he gave you a gesture to wait for him at the back of the gym.

“you came! but seriously, thank you,” he rested the sparkly white guitar against the wall, enveloping you into a hug. this is new, you tried to hide the flustered state of yours as you reciprocated his movement. from the corner of your eyes, you can see a black-haired guy approaching the two of you, followed by one with long, white hair and a bandana nicely keeping the fluffy strands in tact.

“ooh, who’s this?” the first one wiggled his eyebrows, later introducing himself as guanheng, the latter named yuta. to your surprise, the bond between you and them are quick to form with guanheng piloting the conversation. not to mention his subtle jokes making you giggle at times.

“well y/n, your little boyfriend here is getting jealous so we’ll excuse ourselves for now. see you whenever,” guanheng banging his drumsticks into the air while yuta gave you a quick wave before disappearing into the store room of the gymnasium. the nickname they gave sicheng surely made you a bit shy.

boyfriend?

DAY 5

you’re seated in front of the computer screen, your chin resting on the palm of your hands and the tabs of different colours left untouched. you redirected your gaze onto the projector screen, the words ‘arrange, mix, edit and master like a pro’ on it. a long sigh leaving your lips, you try to remember what the producer said earlier.

don’t make the song sound too repetitive

a good buildup promises a good melody

you can have a certain instrument playing only on one part for cinematic impact

DAY 6

“i’m hyo and you’re,” she moved the wheels of her chair to the back a bit to take another look at the clipboard resting on the desk, “sicheng, y/n and jaehyun, right?” the three of you nodded in harmony, anticipating for the next order that will be given.

“okay cool, we’ll be brainstorming first,” and she proceeded to explain what the requirements for this project are. you mouthed out the important points she gave, soft rock, heartbreak and drums. you’re on a roll today, contributing your countless ideas during the first few minutes of the discussion. sicheng just looked at you discussing with hyo, your lips pursed slightly. his gaze seems full of adoration, even jaehyun said so.

“any objections?” hyo looked over to the rest.

“i think she made some great ones. i’m sure this project will come out fresh,” jaehyun voiced out his opinions, sicheng nodding after. he went straight to handling the instruments , you and jaehyun collaborating for the mixing process. hyo eventually chimed in on some times, giving small advice whenever you seem stuck in the brain. with the hours ticking by, you’re feeling more satisfied than ever with your earphones in, listening to the final product created.

all of the participants are then assembled in the hall again, waiting for a final speech by the director which formalizes the end of the camp. sure, you’ve earned worthy knowledge throughout the six days. but if you’re being brutally true to the sound of your heart, it would be how you came to learn sicheng’s true antics. he might be the cocky guy who thinks they have the power to do anything but in truth, he’s just some guy with an honest heart, honest intentions to know you better.

summer break, your most anticipated event for the past few weeks. the moment the last bell rang, that scene in high school musical 2 kept replaying in the back of your head, the students doing a parade in front of the lockers picturing how your little heart is doing backflips in your chest right now. all the beach trips ningning planned is making you feel dizzy. you turned around to a voice calling out your name from the end of the hallway, your eyes catching the sight of sicheng jogging towards your spot. he stopped in front of you, hands on his knees catching his breath.

“are you free tomorrow night? there’s a party at guanheng’s and you know, it would be really cool if you join,” his fingers tracing onto each other, waiting patiently for your response.

you didn’t even have the time to process his invitation when ningning crashed her body against yours, yangyang following suit.

“a party? y/n would totally love to come, right?” ningning nudged your arms softly while yangyang tried to stifle a giggle. you were about to mouth out a ‘what?’ before sicheng cut you off.

“cool, you guys should come too. tomorrow at 10,” he and yangyang exchanged finger guns gestures before leaving the three of you. you just stood there in disbelief, eyeing them up and down before ningning dragged you to the parking lot. a stringful of grumbles escaped your lips, making the guy laugh obnoxiously.

“i can’t believe you guys did that,” you extended the seat belt, buckling it to the slot beside you.

“please. but you do want it, right?” you can’t deny, what she said was true. plus, you should have some fun and distress before having to go back to the usual dull routine of yours.

“how do i look?” you turn around, revealing the baby pink crop top and flare pants on your legs. it’s not your best outfit but giving the cliche excuse - you have nothing to wear, the two articles totally complements each other

“you look hot, that’s all i gotta say. right, yang?” ningning lifted her head from the headboard, glancing over at yangyang who’s going over his messages.

“yeah totally,” he lifted his hands, giving you a thumbs up. you threw a jacket onto your shoulders and grabbed the black purse on your dresser, glancing at the wall mirror one last time.

from the moment you stepped into the venue - guanheng’s place, smells of alcohol lingered around your nose, a group of people cheering ever so loudly over a game of beer pong, some already passed out on the couch. not to mention a brownish stain on the carpet - probably from someone throwing up. the mess would take a whole day to get rid off, you note to yourself. your friends are no longer to be found, both of them getting affiliated with god knows what. your eyes scanned the living room for sicheng but his presence is still nowhere to be found.

you decided to step towards the kitchen bar, pouring a drink for yourself. the mixed sweet and sour taste of it remained on your tongue for a couple of seconds. looking over at the snacks served, you grabbed a strawberry flavoured lollipop from the clear bowl. the crowd is cheering loudly for some type of incident happening at the back of the room, the music has been turned up to be a little louder than the volume before and you’re suddenly getting a little bit overwhelmed. you grabbed your purse and stepped out, inhaling some fresh air and looking up to the starry night sky.

“y/n? where have you been?” sicheng approached you from behind, making you a bit startled.

“sorry, hanging out outside can calm me. where did you go?” you popped the lollipop into your mouth.

“some jerk decided to throw up in front of me,” you pinched your nose with a disgusted expression, making him roll his eyes.

“do you want me to accompany you out here?” he offered. you just nod your head, placing yourself on the patio with him following suit. the sweetening flavour empowering your senses. it’s definitely much more calm out here, allowing you to clear up your mind. it’s not that you hate the atmosphere in the house right now, you’re just not in the mood.

“you know, you look pretty,” you turned around to meet his face. his brown eyes brimming with unconfessed love.

“shut up, stop with the jokes,” you lightly land a smack on his arms.

“what if i say i’m not joking?” he looked straight into your eyes, trying to find any emotion inside you. the sudden seriousness is making you feel much more awkward so you forced out a laugh, turning your attention right back upwards. the stars are shining brightly tonight, you can almost spot a constellation.

“i know what you’re doing, dong sicheng. just stop it already, it’s not working on me.” denial, that’s what you’re experiencing in the hot minute.

a gentle tug can be felt on your wrist, his eyes still not leaving yours.

“didn’t anyone tell you before? you’re really pretty. like, i can’t even describe it to you. you’re just,” he leaned over to caress your cheeks, “pretty,”.

what jaehyun said on the other day is true, after all.

love gives us thrill, the feeling of excitement, the feeling when you’re uncertain about something but when you have that special someone with you, you’re sure to wing it all.

your heart is beating so fast, it could fall out of your chest at any moment now. even the faint music blasting through the speakers inside the house can’t flush down the sound of your heartbeat. you’re not used to this, the sudden need of the significant skin to skin contact that symbolizes love between two individuals.

“can i?” his face in a very near proximity from yours, whispering into your right ear with his honey-like voice. you pulled the candy away from your mouth and nod, giving him the approval he needed before he dived in. heat rose from your stomach to your chest. you could only focus on how soft his crimson lips felt on yours, invading your privacy by all senses. you felt the kiss expand beyond your bodies, whirling you round, swirling you into the stars. he pulled away with a soft smile, you thought you could melt right then and there.

“wow,” that was the only word escaping your throat. your jumping heart still hasn’t settled down yet, your very first kiss still feeling surreal. you could see that sicheng is very much mirroring your emotions, his slender fingers grazing over his lips - the one that has come in contact with yours.

“the strawberry lollipop is sweet,” he commented, making the both of you laugh.

a ping from your phone awakened you from the gushy eye contact with him, unlocking it only to find yangyang’s text message. the second part of it made you fluster.

yang: yo r u coming in or what? and congrats for the kiss, we thought we’d have to wait longer for this

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