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vavandeveresfan · 11 days

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Writer Beware: How a Book Really Becomes a Movie.

Writer Beware is an excellent site of information for those who are or want to become traditionally published. The official blog of Writer Beware® shines a bright light into the dark corners of the shadow-world of literary scams, schemes, and pitfalls. Also providing advice for writers, industry news, and commentary. Writer Beware® is sponsored by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association.

by Victoria Strauss, April 12

Book-to-film scams are extremely common these days. If the publishing industry is opaque and secretive, the movie biz is even more so, and scammers take full advantage.

From disreputable marketers claiming to take your book to pitch events, to fake agents offering to represent you to major production companies, to scammers impersonating those production companies themselves, hordes of fraudsters are soliciting writers by phone and email with tempting-sounding "offers" and "opportunities" that they promise will route your book directly to the silver screen.

In reality, of course, the fraudsters have no Hollywood connections. The sole aim of these solicitations is to trick you into paying large amounts of money for products or services--screenplays, pitch decks, "cinematic trailers", and more--that you don't need and that may not even be delivered.

How to defend yourself? As noted by Jeanne Veillette Bowerman, today's guest post author, the best way to avoid being scammed is to understand the process. The more you know about how things should work, the easier it will be to recognize questionable or dishonest practices when you encounter them.

In the article below, Jeanne offers a comprehensive overview, unpacking the multiple and often complicated paths by which a book really finds its way to the screen...which, as you'll see, bear no resemblance to the shortcuts and guarantees claimed by fraudsters.

*~*~*~*~*

How a Book Really Becomes a Movie

Jeanne Veillette Bowerman

Anyone passionate about their work, desperate to get published or have their book adapted to film, is a perfect target for a scam. Like this one.

First, if you’ve fallen for one of these too-good-to-be true solicitations, don’t beat yourself up. It’s easy to do. Writers tend to be solitary creatures, many without a support system. That's what makes us vulnerable to exploitation. But the best way to protect ourselves is to understand how the book-to-film process works.

Get comfortable. There’s nothing simple about Hollywood.

The filmmaking industry baffles many—even those working in it. The reality is, there is no single way to get a film made. There are quite literally as many ways to break in as there are writers who’ve successfully done so, making scams harder to identify.

Sadly, when someone proactively reaches out to you, you have to assume it’s fake until you can prove otherwise. With scams abounding, the burden of proof has shifted. Due diligence has never been more important.

You do NOT need a screenplay to sell your book-to-film rights.

You do NOT need a sizzle reel or "cinematic trailer".

You do NOT need storyboards.

You do NOT need mood boards.

You should NOT have to pay any upfront fees.

You should NOT be required to buy anything.

Let’s go through the traditional paths first, then I’ll share an unusual story to demonstrate how varied this process can be.

Most common paths for book to film

What you need is a great story with cinematic elements that would attract a large audience. If it’s for TV, it should have compelling characters and a broader world that could translate to multiple episodes.

Your agent strives for one of three opportunities:

Sell the book-to-film rights directly to a studio or producer,

Option the book for a set dollar amount for a specific period of time, or

Sign a shopping agreement for a shorter period of time with no money being paid to the author.

1. Selling the Book

When you sell your book outright, that’s it. You’re done. You no longer have any claim to said material, nor the right to participate in the adaptation. You probably won’t be able to write a future sequel if the studio owns your intellectual property … which means they own your characters. There are exceptions though, depending on how the contract was negotiated. You definitely need a talented agent or attorney to assist … not a pitching or consulting “service” that solicits you via email.

The sale price typically will be 2-3% of the film's budget (that's money paid to you, not the other way around), but it depends. It always depends. Your agent should at least try to get you Executive Producer credit, or a consulting gig. But many producers want the author far, far away from the project. Your book is merely a blueprint for the film. A lot will change—subplots and characters will disappear—which can be difficult for the author to accept.

If you’re lucky, and have the proper experience and background, they’ll give you first crack at writing the script. But don’t expect it. Your payday is the sales of the rights plus more copies of your book being sold.

But … here’s the hard part … even if you sell your book, the movie may never get made. Yes, you read that correctly. It takes millions of dollars and hundreds of people to align to make a film. People often say it’s a miracle any film gets made. They’re right.

2. Option Agreement

An option by a showrunner or producer usually runs $1,000 to $30,000 for a set period of time (again, that's money paid to you), the standard being 12 to 18 months. This gives them time to “package” the project by attaching a director, actors, etc. and (hopefully) sell it. Note: It is illegal to not pay a writer for an option, hence why you’ll sometimes see an option happen for a penny or a single dollar—which is more common when optioning a screenplay, as opposed to a book.

The vast majority of options expire long before any movie deal can be struck, but they may be renewed for an additional fee. With each renewal, your agent will likely either ask for more money or less of a time commitment. I do know authors who have optioned the same novel multiple times—not a bad payday. But still, no film and no purchase of book-to-film rights ever happened in those cases. An option doesn’t guarantee you a sale.

3. Shopping Agreement

A shopping agreement is similar to an option, only the producer tries to shop it around town without paying the option fee. Since the author receives no money, the shopping agreement typically lasts only six to nine months. Renewable, just like options.

These are more common than traditional options because the producer gets exclusivity, albeit for a shorter period of time, without coughing up money. Authors might agree to this strategy simply because there’s some sense of hope that a deal will be made.

So, how do your book-to-film rights get sold?

Just like everything else in the industry, you need relationships with the right people. Agencies spend years fostering those relationships with production companies and will go directly to them to pitch the book, sometimes in person, sometimes with a phone call. They’ll set up meetings with producers, not junior execs. Junior execs are the ones who go to pitching events, not decisionmakers.

Usually, an agent only needs a logline or a one-sheet. A logline is a one- to two-sentence elevator pitch. A one-sheet is exactly what it sounds like—a single page that summarizes the book and gives details about the author. That’s it. What your agent will not do is spend money to hire a screenwriter or hire someone to create a sizzle reel, trailer, or story boards.

If a potential sale is on the table, your agent should negotiate development fees, as Hollywood famously tries to get writers to do development work for free. Get your agent to negotiate compensation for that. An agent might also ask for the title card on the film not to be buried and to also be able to use key art of the movie poster for the book cover.

Before any significant negotiations happen, they’ll want to know there is a clear chain of title, meaning must prove you own 100% of the property. This is where having a screenwriter adapt your book in advance muddies the waters. If you didn’t pay them to adapt it, and have it in writing that you own the script, you’ve now entered into a trickier situation where the producer might have to pay both you and the screenwriter.

Moviemaking is a business. As in any business, people want things clean and simple. So, say you fall for one of those scams where you split the cost of hiring a screenwriter, making a sizzle reel, and creating story boards. That scammer could potentially now own half of your work. No exec is going to touch that with a 10,000-foot pole.

The most popular word in Hollywood is “no.” Don’t make it easy for them to say it.

The author may, however, take a stab at writing the script themselves. I’ve had top producers at the New York Rights Fair tell me they actually prefer having an author’s rough draft for several reasons—it saves them development money, and they appreciate having the author slashing the story down themselves. Less room for arguments later.

Author Lee Matthew Goldberg has both adapted his own book as well as optioned another. “I've been told, with my Runaway Train project, with the actress attached, that my script is what gets the project in the door. And then ultimately, it's most likely not going to be my script [that gets produced] when it actually sells. But had I not had a script, and it just was the book, it might have been harder to sell … Hollywood doesn't like to read. It's easier for them to read a script than a book. So, I think it's in the best interest for an author to write the screenplay. Be open to the fact that their screenplay might just be the thing that gets them over the first hump.”

But brace yourself. Hollywood isn’t going to wrap their arms around you, as the screenwriter. You will get fired, and they will bring in a pro screenwriter. However, per WGA rules, if you’ve written that original draft, you’ll get a shot at the first rewrite … before they finally fire you. But you will be fired. Don’t be offended though. Every great A-list screenwriter has been fired. It’s how the business works.

What if you’re self-published and/or don’t have an agent?

Let’s say you’re self-publishing and query producers yourself, and they bite. That producer is not going to take your book to a pitching event (a common scammer claim). They have direct contacts with people in the industry and will set up a meeting.

Again, you could take a stab at writing the screenplay, enter it into contests (see below), pitch to actors' production companies, or query screenwriting managers.

If the script gets sold, they’ll still fire you. See above.

The case study: The Reincarnationist Papers

Buckle up … this is but one example of how long it takes to go from book to film … and how totally unpredictable the process can be.

In 2009, Eric Maikranz wrote and self-published The Reincarnationist Papers. On the first page of the book, he put a “bounty” on it, stating that whomever finds this book and can help get it sold to a major publisher or movie studio will get 10% of his take. Great marketing!

Years later, while on vacation in Katmandu, a producer, Rafi Crohn, finds the book on a shelf of a bathroom in a tea house—no idea how it made it all the way to Katmandu—reads the “bounty,” and that alone intrigues him enough to dive into the book. Loving it, he tracks down Eric and secures an option.

It’s now 2012. Rafi contacts Ian Shorr, a professional screenwriter who feels, “There’s something magical there … an element of Willy Wonka.” Ian then pitches his take on how to adapt the book to Imagine, Ron Howard’s production company. (Note: This is how open writing assignments work. Before paying a screenwriter, execs ask them to read the book and pitch their take.) In this case, they don't go for Ian’s vision. He pitched a Matrix version; they want a Harry Potter version. Imagine never finds a writer’s idea they can align with.

Movie is dead.

Almost two years later, the rights are about to lapse again, so Rafi, who liked Ian’s take, approaches him to see if he’d be game to write the script on spec (which means without pay).

Why would a pro screenwriter write for no money? Ian explains, “For me, it was like the one that got away came back … I was still thinking about that book.”

Ian’s manager re-ups the rights.

Since Ian is writing this on spec, obviously, he is concurrently working on projects that actually pay him. Go figure. And The Reincarnationist Papers is a complicated one to adapt, taking Ian about three years to finalize the script.

The script and the rights to Eric’s book finally get purchased by Paramount.

Time to celebrate, right? Nope.

Immediately after the script gets sold, the president of Paramount leaves, and the new head sees the $200-million price tag and crosses it off their slate. The book was not a best seller, and the risk is too high.

As Ian puts it, “This movie died a million times before it lived.”

What brings it back to life: the director Antoine Fuqua, about to do a film for Paramount, is craving to do a Matrix-type project, but was brought on to direct something else. A producer slips Antoine the script Ian wrote, now called Infinite. Antoine loves it, and tells the studio this is the one he wants to make. Total fluke. The right champion at the right time. Finally.

Again, relationships.

Ian writes more drafts for Antoine, they cast the movie, lose the star, get another star, shoot it in 2019, and it finally gets released in 2021. Just a short 12 years from book to film.

Ian sums it up, “I think a lot of writers don't understand that their work is going to change. They all want the adaptation for all those other reasons that Eric enjoyed—like book sales, publishing deals, sequels. But some writers definitely do struggle with the fact that there are changes. The second you get into bed with Hollywood, that's the first thing you have to be prepared for. Because the spec that I wrote was very different from the book that he wrote. And then my spec got rewritten by other writers, who changed what I wrote.”

There are thousands of stories similar to this … and also very different.

You can watch Ian discuss the adaptation process on Pipeline Artists here.

Oh, there are still more out-of-the-box options …

Have you heard of “The Book Whisperer”? Meet Lane Shefter Bishop. (You can find an in-depth one-on-one conversation I had with her on Pipeline Artists’ Symposium here.)

In short, Lane has relationships (there’s that word again) with literary agents and will often get a shopping agreement on the book prior to it ever being published. Her goal is to be able to mold the story, pre-publication, to help create a more cinematic experience, structured like a movie.

Frankly, it’s genius. Give the conversation a listen.

Pay-to-play versus true champions

Let’s go back to “What do I do if I don’t have an agent?”

There are more and more writing contests popping up that won’t lead you anywhere except a few dollars less in your pocket, but reputable ones absolutely exist. Full disclosure, I’m a Senior Executive at Pipeline Media Group, a company that discovers novelists, screenwriters, and filmmakers via contests. Trust me when I say I’ve heard all the arguments about contests being pay-to-play scams, but it’s not the case for most, so do your research on the top platforms.

I’m also a writer, and I’ve entered plenty of contests in my day. Some have propelled my career, others, despite being a finalist, did absolutely nothing for me. They didn’t even email me to inform me of my selection!

Just like with any opportunity that feels too good to be true, as mentioned, do your research.

Beyond reading a contests’ success stories, I always recommend doing a search for a contest’s past finalists. Follow them on social media and message them, asking what that contest actually did for them. Getting previous finalists’ feedback on their take will tell you everything you need to know.

Get more than one perspective though. Get as many as you can! Strike the most positive, and strike the most negative. Take the average, and you can be confident in the results. Writers will be honest with each other. And if they got screwed over, they’ll be more than happy to tell you!

Bottom line

Scams are everywhere. The best way to identify them is to know how the process actually works.

Hollywood loves adaptations for many reasons, but mostly because the bulk of the story development work is already done, and a dedicated fan base exists. So, cast out as many nets as possible, even if it means writing the script yourself.

Why not? No one knows your story as well as you do.

If you want outside help, please do your research. Check multiple references, not just one. The Golden Ticket isn’t going to drop in your inbox. If it sounds too good to be true, it’s a scam.

Above all, trust your spidey senses.

I’ll leave you with Ian Shorr’s final advice: “Because writers are so passionate, and because we're so willing to work for free, and because it's such an aspirational, dream-based industry, it makes us a really easy target for scammers. Plus, the way that Hollywood operates is so opaque to people who don't work there. It's easy for someone to come along and say, oh, yeah, this is how you play the game. The reality is, if you write something that people love, they will come to you. And they will put their energy into it. Just remember, anybody who’s looking for you to pay them is a red flag."

Jeanne Veillette Bowerman is a Senior Executive at Pipeline Media Group and Book Pipeline, Editor-in-Chief of Pipeline Artists, co-host of the Pipeline Artists original podcast, "Reckless Creatives," former Editor-in-Chief of Script magazine and a former Senior Editor at Writer's Digest. Her Script column "Balls of Steel" was selected as recommended reading by Universal Writers Program. A compilation of her articles is now available—Balls of Steel: The Screenwriter's Mindset. She is also a partner at Fringe Press and Co-Founder and moderator of the weekly Twitter screenwriters’ chat, #Scriptchat. She wrote the narrative adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Slavery by Another Name: The Re-Enslavement of Black Americans from the Civil War to World War II, with its author, Douglas A. Blackmon, former senior national correspondent of The Wall Street Journal and has now ventured into writing historical fiction. Follow Jeanne on X: @jeannevb

#writblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing advice #writing tips #writer beware #screenwriting #screenplays #writing scams #publishing scams #writer #writers #writerscommunity #books to movies

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applesontheground · 2 years

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your own prometheus 💉

CHAPTER ONE letting me in or letting me go | AO3

SFW | Word Count: 2,614 | Herbert West x GN Reader x Daniel Cain

contains: canon typical, exposition (better tags + notes in the AO3 link!!)

🎼: x (yes i made a playlist for this fic don’t look at me like that)

continued in i’m walking a line ➡

The elevator creaked, a red number flickering above your head with each passing floor. 2…3…4…

Your eyes were glued to the screen, a stack of returning documents tucked to your chest, and your focus just as steadfast on getting them where they needed to be so you could call it a day. The workdays often flew by with all the running around you did, but that didn’t mean you weren’t dog tired by the end.

7…8. Your stare fell to the doors, body shooting forward as they slid open.

You were the first to hop out and beat the crowd, a spring in your step as you passed the small group going in and giving a nod to anyone that gave you a passing glance. You didn’t quite look fit for an attorney’s office with sneakers that would squeak if you weren’t methodical with how you tread the freshly waxed floors, but anyone who had the gall to say anything would promptly figure you weren’t anyone important enough to criticize in the first place. That was how you liked it at the end of the day.

“[Mr./Ms.] [L/N]. Right on time.” The secretary stood when he saw you turn from the hall and approach the front counter, leading a few people standing by to glance as you trotted over. Your arm stretched over to him with the stack, and you simply chimed, “Always am, sir.” The moment the weight was taken from your hand, you already had a leg pointed back the way you came and gave him another quaint smile. “Have a good one.”

Running all over Essex county to make sure documents from law offices, police stations, and hospitals got to one another was anything but easy. They kept your shoes worn in the soles, pacing down hallways with various packets: documents ensuring someone was insured before an operation, freshly sealed copies of the death certificate to meet the hands of attorneys, or fresh warrants to transport to the jails – just in case they didn’t book the right person. It all went through your hands at one point or another, which made you feel some semblance of importance you supposed. It was as though you were a fly on the wall, existing between being removed as much as you were embedded within happenings in town, knowing everything and nothing about how it all worked.

No one really recognized you outside of that, which again, was how you preferred things.

After a brief stop by the records office, an off-shoot from the local police station, you said goodnight to the clerks and strode back out as soon as you had come. The early Summer air, like an open door to the long evening ahead, kissed you as you took your time making it to your car. Recollections of doing the same walk five years earlier, that new gig wonder still there, made you smirk to yourself. There had been charm in not knowing what would come of it, but another kind took its place from seeing it brought to fruition. This job wasn’t hard by many means, but it wasn’t as simple as you had thought back then either.

You were also still living at home when the courier work fell into your lap, but not now. You had a roommate now, who even after a few months of adjusting to the welcome still didn’t seem to know what to do with you being around some days. It wasn’t like you tried to serve as a nuisance, or at least the guy, Dan, didn’t say that you did.

You had met Daniel Cain through work, of course; being assigned as a courier for Miskatonic was a strike of luck – and whether it was good or bad was up to the beholder. After you had been stuck with him in the morgue trying to find a stack of papers that had been misdelivered, he was kind enough to help you dig them up, and then walk you to where they actually needed to be. It was somewhere in that little adventure where he mentioned he was looking for a roommate, dismissive of his own offer to hide genuine hope in his eyes.

You had pushed it off and admitted you would see how things worked out on your end before telling him yes. Neither of you had been kidding anyone, though. A week later you were on his porch and asking if there was still room for one more. He had been nothing but open arms, but it was maybe two days later that you realized he wasn’t going to be your only companion in his house.

The fact it had taken two days was a story within itself.

On the kitchen counter, your notebook had found a friend.

Entering quietly, your jacket was not even out of your arm yet before you approached the two books sitting close together, feeling as though you were intruding on a quiet conversation between them. One you recognized as your own, hand settling on it as you glanced at the other one. It was much worse for wear, and there was a dried stain on one corner and making the paper strangely fold with water damage. Who’s been taking care of you?

One ear was still on the house, only catching a sink shut off from down the hall in the back of your mind besides the resounding quiet. You took hold of the cover. Opening slowly, once again like it was something forbidden, you held your breath to glance inside. There was poor handwriting on one half of the page, and then a strange body-esque shape on the other. You guessed it could be close to a diagram you’d sometimes see in Dan’s medical books.

In your most pretentious of hearts, you even mused you could’ve drawn that better yourself. Drawing wasn’t your main hobby, but you almost had to laugh at how poorly whatever this was trying to portray had come together.

“Hey, you’re home a little early.” Dan greeted as he swung in around the doorway, already looking for the thousand little things he needed before leaving yet still giving a halfhearted smile your way. You had let go of the cover, smiling back as you wandered over to a stool by the counter. You perked up, idly turning the page in your own book while facing your back on the other one. “Hey yourself. Working the evening shift?” You replied.

“Yeah. It’s nothing I’m not already used to. I worked late almost every night back when I was still a student.” Dan was already easing up from his focused stride, standing beside you with his eyes going everywhere at once. When he seemed to catch your smirk, though, it sat a little more still. You nodded and mentioned, “Well, I don’t have plans tonight. Need anything done around here?”

“No, no… You’re perfectly fine just relaxing, [Y/N]. You probably ran halfway across town today.” Dan cleared his throat, hand suddenly settling on a shoulder and making you glance at it. “Look,” His voice fell lower, a quiet graze over you as he asked, “Will you...be alright here tonight? By yourself?”

You stifled a laugh, the smirk once again springing on your face. Dan didn’t mirror it, and insisted, “[Y/N], I’m serious.” You laughed again, this time letting yourself chuckle almost a little too loudly. “Are you asking me if I can handle being home alone? Of course I can.” You hummed, already looking back to your book in your lap.

“I’m asking if you’re going to be okay with what’s going on downstairs.” Dan clarified, and this time you looked back up with your smile gone. The frown was enough to finally dawn on you that he was being serious. You were silent at first, because up until that moment you had once again forgotten that there even was someone else downstairs.

Since moving in a few months prior, Dan’s other roommate had barely even looked at you. Not that you took it personally, of course, especially with assurances that it was “just how he was”. Like the rest of the household, he was a busy man. He had been doing some independent research up until he met Dan, and even then, you weren’t at all sure what he was spending all his time with downstairs. Following the reclusive nature, you simply never asked. You barely even bothered the guy if you could help it. In fact, there wasn’t a lot of room for him to complain when you were the one that was often woken up to loud clanging below the floorboards, or in the middle of laughing about something with your other roommate and seeing him in the hallway. The way he looked at you was enough to make any joy hole up back inside of you, unsure if you should even be breathing too loudly around him.

Despite all of that, you stomped down the uncertainty and nodded, even offering a small smile. “Yeah, it’s fine. I know the drill after four months of being your damn roommate.” You then tapped your foot on the floor, gesturing downwards with a tilt of your head as you murmured, “Does he need anything done around here? I figured I’d ask you since he doesn’t like to talk to me.”

Dan laughed, but then brushed something off your shoulder as he murmured, “He doesn’t hate you. I told you, it’s just how he is. I’m trying to talk to him about it.” He shrugged, lowering his voice, “I wasn’t even sure the guy liked me until a couple weeks of living with him, you know.” You nodded, quiet as you looked back down at your sketchbook. You had cracked it open, and a stray drawing of an eye stared back.

Dan pursed his lips, looking at how you gazed down as you huffed, “Guess that’s just how it is, huh? I don’t bother him. He doesn’t bother me.” You smirked, and after a second moment of thought, your eyes rose to catch Dan again. He was the one looking at the floor now, hands settled on his hips as he seemed lost in a thought. You then eased, “Hey, I’m not asking for anything – from either of you. We’re roommates, and that doesn’t mean we have to be best friends or anything. I don’t need to know his business, and if you aren’t worried then what goes on is obviously nothing to lose sleep over.”

You felt the joke in your chest, grinning now. “What,” Your voice fell to a low, goofy tone as you leaned in, making him glance at you as you prodded, “You guys got a body down there or something, Cain?”

Usually, that voice got a laugh out of him. When he didn’t seem to even smile, his jaw grinding instead, you sat back and found a normal tone. You even twinged as you dared to ask, “...What does he do downstairs, anyways?”

Dan’s eyes shot to the clock. “Crap, I got to go.” He gave you an awkward nod and uttered, “Hey, don’t wait up for me, okay? I won’t be home until four, it’s not good for you to be all sleep deprived.” You held your breath, the question unanswered but your train of thought deciding to release it as you rolled your eyes. “Alright, Daniel.” You muttered in the same voice, and this time he chuckled as he strode out of the kitchen. It almost felt like you two were married, the only thing missing from the whole exchange being an intimate kiss on the cheek. That thought was squandered as soon as it fell over your mind, your eyes averting the room like someone had heard it and your heart clenching in its place. You two only nodded to one another as he rushed out.

The front door shut, and you felt your hand start to pick at the edges of the sketchbook’s pages. You weren’t sure if you liked the idea of being Dan’s [girlfriend/boyfriend/partner]. It was something that seemed to be held in the offer of moving in with him, though not leaving a vague possibility unless initiated. Anyone who moved in with each other would have to experience some sort of domestic friendship, you figured, but there was something about how yours formed that started to sit more like a rock at the bottom of the ocean rather than algae on the pond surface whenever you went to bed alone every night.

You were terrified of what that feeling could possibly mean. It didn’t bother you when Dan brought home women, dated them for a week or two, but then inevitably found himself at a roadblock that just sort of quietly ushered itself out. If anything, you were the least of the problem when it came to being a third wheel. It was more about the man downstairs, as in his snide remarks you sometimes caught in the hallway while brushing your teeth or passing by on your way to avoid him. He was the one who seemed to like getting in Dan’s way when it came to others, including you. Christ, it was like you couldn’t think of one without thinking of the other at that point.

When you looked down, you realized your hands had wandered. You recoiled when you could see you weren’t touching your own book’s pages again.

With no one else around but you, you had the nerve to open the damn thing enough to start tracing out what you thought was trying to be depicted. It was a plain body, arrows pointing to certain veins traced out along the arms with…something written down. “Fucking doctor’s handwriting,” You muttered to yourself, squinting at a simple three words of unintelligible penmanship.

A resounding bang from under your feet, crawling up through the door that lead down and resting outside of the kitchen, took you away from your work. You pressed your hand down on it, leaving the pages wide open as you jolted to your feet and dared to peek out the open doorway. It lead your gaze down another corridor of the house, the one that went towards the basement.

You didn’t know what kind of impulse dragged you over to door, but still you tapped against the frame in a brisk knock and wondered if he even could hear all the way down there. You hadn’t ever been past this part since moving in, and it was more because the door was always either locked or Dan would tell you a myriad of reasons why there was nothing down there (besides your third roommate). His name had spaced your mind until this moment where you were quickly realizing that you weren’t getting an answer.

“Herbert,” You called, “I just wanted to say if you need anything done around here tonight that I can do it. I know you’re busy, but I wanted to throw it out.”

Resounding silence.

You peeled yourself off the wall and sighed loudly, rolling your neck. “Alright, nice chatting with you, have a good night!” You called through the wood one last time and walked away before you let something snarky find its footing. You stalked into the dark of the house, stretching a knot in your shoulders out and once again reminding yourself that taking it personally would only start a fight.

Dan doesn’t need that, the reminder was enough to get you to finally wipe the frown off your face, and head to bed before you could let it stir up anything else that would be hard to sleep on.

#herbert west x reader x daniel cain #herbert west x reader #herbert west x y/n #daniel cain x reader #daniel cain x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #poly!danbert x reader #✏️#💉#*holds up re-animator brainrot* look at it.#your own prometheus

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cornfarm · 3 years

Text

waves against the rocks

saiki kusuo x reader

word count: 2.0k

synopsis: you show saiki your powers. he’s unbearibly jealous, yet for the first time, he feels seen and understood by another person.

cws: mention of the reader having a bad family

genre: melancholic fluff

reader is gender neutral!

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notes:

greetings... i promise i’m working on cease and desist part 2 but i keep starting one shots;; I ALSO DECIDED TO CHANGE MY TEXT FORMAT... i yoinked all the capital letters away... it feels a bit more liberating

whenever i make my crazy op self insert oc, i always think about how i can make them a foil/double to the characters i like. for example my gintama s/i is also a traumatized war veteran. i thought like... wouldn’t it be fun to write the reader character as a direct foil AND double to saiki? they have everything he doesn’t, but he has a lot that they dont and it’s like,., mutual jealousy.

i also wanted to write saiki properly empathizing with someone. aiura and toritsuka are so fun because they both have different moral compasses with their powers and how they’d like to use them. however despite the fact theyre all psychics, saiki can’t really empathize with either of them.

i wanted to have saiki be excited about something, and feel truly seen. empathy is a very powerful thing.

i hope the “ability” i chose isn’t too cringe;;;

i can’t help but feel like i write saiki ooc so feedback would be super appreciated!

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perception. the way people are seen by others, the mental images and sour thoughts rooted in nothing but misconception. the falsafied persona of greatness, beauty, and kindness. perception.

you kept saiki afterschool. tugging at his sleeve, you quietly asked “i need to show you something, stay here for a few extra minutes?”. he refused you at first, but you stayed firm, “i need you to stay.” fierce. he decided to stay.

but you stood before saiki, right? were you there? he suddenly felt a bit weary, head pounding at the thought of you. your name, voice, scent, failing to find matches in his library of records. when he thought of you, his brain flickered through the faces and names of everyone else he knew.

you were a gap, a void, a sudden unconjurable memory. it was horrifying. but he quickly accepted it. the body circling behind of him was none of his concern, because there was nobody there. he supposes he should go home now. why was he standing alone in the classroom anyways?

firm hands land on his shoulders, warm, present. he remembers why he’s here.

“it’s not that i’m invisible, it’s just that your brain can’t recognize me, and refuses to acknolwedge me as a thing that exists.”

like a wave crashing against a rocky shore, the void is filled. your voice, your scent, your name, all slotted back into place in his mental library. he recognizes the hands on your shoulders as yours.

a hand snakes around and pushes up his glasses, covering his eyes.

“it’s not about visibility, it’s perception. you are unable to percieve me as a living thing, or of anything of importance. that’s why you can’t read my thoughts, and that’s why you’re so quick to give up trying to recall me.”

he’s practically trembling- you have one power. it was simple, but it managed to find a loophole around practically all of his.

“that’s terrifying.”

“right?”

you take your hands away and step in front of him. he adjusts his glasses properly.

“were you born with it?”

you nod, “it caused me trouble when i was a kid. i almost got left at an airport,” you chuckle.

“does anyone else know?”

“i’ve tried to tell my parents but they don’t believe me. they called me a liar and delusional, so i decided to stop trying with them. nobody else knows, i’ve never told any of my past friends either. when i found out about your powers, i thought maybe someone would finally understand. that’s the only reason i wanted to tell you.”

your lip quivers, “you believe me, right?”

truth be told, saiki’s stunned. he wasn’t expecting someone like you to have such an abrasive ability. despite how reclusive and fittingly unnoticeable it is, it was certainly powerful.

he’s jealous. you were able to freely aquire something he wanted- privacy, but he does believe you, afterall he just watched you waltz around him, outside of his keen field of view.

“yeah, i do.”

you smile, bright and wide- you’re nearly trembling. was being believed that big of a deal to you?

you take a step forward and embrace him, wrapping your arms around his torso as your head presses against his chest. he goes a bit stiff, and glances at the door. “hey, someone might walk in-”

“it’s fine.” you look up at him, meeting his eyes, and oh. your eyes are glimmering, shining greater than he’s ever seen them, “they won’t.”

burying your face back into him, he tenataively wraps his arms around your back. you continue, voice muffled, “’m sorry, you’re the first person who’s accepted me. i’m happy.”

the emotional explanation for your actions ease him a bit, “it’s fine.” he states back.

you finally pull away, and for a brief moment as you lose connection, you flicker out of his view, but you come back in again, placing your hand on his.

“actually, i can touch you while using my power without you being affected by them, but i’m manually using it on you right now.”

“if you touch someone while making sure they still can’t see you, what does that make them experience?” his voice is clear, a bit fierce in tone. you always had trouble reading saiki, but you could tell that this was interest. perhaps he was threatened, but he was certainly intrigued.

“they might whirl around and look who’s touching them and account it to a person around them, but if not, they might think they’re having sensory hallucinations. i can also talk to people, but because my voice doesn’t have any weight to it, it’s almost like a hypnotic suggestion.”

“so you can brainwash people?”

“not necessarily,” you let go of his hand, you must have released your power, your eyes are dark, “if i suggest something to someone and it’s something mild, they’re more likely to do it because it already falls into their line of thinking. if i suggest something bold, they might do it thinking it’s an impulsive thought.”

“most people won’t do extreme things, they’ll read those as intrusive thoughts. but sometimes people think my voice is the voice of god, or a passed on relative, and will do intense things regardless of their judgement. others have poor impulse control, and some are just batshit crazy.”

you sheepishly scratch your head, “but i don’t really like having that much control over people. i don’t want to use my powers to hurt anyone.”

“do you want to use them to help people?”

you pause. it seems you’ve thought about this quite a bit.

“well my powers can’t help people. they give me the ability to help people, but they can’t help people directly. i think it’s a matter of it i’m strong enough to help people.”

“are you?”

“would you hate me if i said no? of course i lend a hand to my friends when they need it, but i don’t think i’m strong enough to really make a difference. i want to live peacefully.”

you look down at your hands, “i wish i wasn’t born with it.”

saiki felt unnervingly softhearted. he struggled empathizing with his peers, but his heart pounded in solemn familiarity. “i don’t hate you for that, i’m the same. having the powers i do means i have the responsibility of keeping the world in peace. people would be jealous of me for the self-fulfilling purposes i could use my powers for, but i don’t want to use my powers to hurt people. i don’t want to help anyone either. i just want to be left alone.”

guilt. guilt was a disease, just like jealousy is. it eats at you from the inside, and creeps up at times least expected. it left both of you hollow and empty.

“i wish i didn’t have powers,” he continues, “i don’t think i’ve ever properly experienced life in the way i’m supposed to, like everyone else has. i’m envious of you, you’ve had a bit more normalcy than me.”

“i suppose we’re equally unhappy, then,” you smile at him. he had been staring out the window, but he turns to looks at you. you’re leaning on the door of the classroom, tilting your head, you ask him a silent “walk home with me?”.

“i mean,” you begin, “i’ve missed out on a lot. i’ve always had trouble making friends- my powers made it difficult for people to remain interested in me. i’ve gotten pretty good at controlling them, pk academy has been really good to me, but it doesn’t heal the damage it’s caused me.”

your teeth gnaw at your lower lip, “your family is so supportive of you, they love you so much, it makes me angry. i wish i could say the same about mine.”

it wasn’t too empty in the school, but your footsteps were loud and clear, both you and saiki walking in sync. saiki didn’t really know what to say, so he stayed silent.

sighing, you continue, “i don’t want to be alone, but it’s too easy to be reclusive when that’s where you’ve always been. if you live a life of isolation, making friends is scary and draining,” a grim smile forms on your face, as if you’re trying to comfort yourself.

but saiki does have to admit that the two of you have much more in common than he initially thought. he quietly thinks to himself, perhaps he could use your abilities.

“y/n,” he begins, eyes meeting yours, “will you do me a favor?”

“yeah, what is it?”

he doesn’t like being indebted to people, but he wants to test your limits. you don’t give him the chance to ask, “you want me to use my powers while we walk out together, don’t you.”

his mouth falls a bit open, lips parting, “how did you know?”.

you laugh, “you’re not the only one who can read minds,” and reach out to wrap a hand around his forearm. he raises a brow at you, seemingly amused by your comment. he expected you to take his hand again, but your firm grip on his arm was admitedly unexpected.

he felt his heart skip a beat.

“well? are you doing it?”

“yup, you won’t feel any different though.”

walking down the steps together, people passed the two of you, strangers, familiar faces, teachers. nobody noticed.

the two of you passed toritsuka at the steps, but he paid no mind. “you know,” saiki started, “when i use my invisibility power, that guy can still see me.”

“can he?” you murmur, your voice a bit low.

“if it’s easier, you can just think what you’d like to say to me, we can talk that way.”

you squint your eyes in concentration, “like this?” you think to yourself.

“yeah.”

you smile. you continue to hold onto his arm as he changes his shoes.

“that must be frustrating, that he can still see you.”

he nods. he supposes if toritsuka can’t see you, then aiura probably can’t track you- and him, down either.

“hold onto my arm while i change mine.”

without breaking contact, he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist. you hastily change your shoes, and slide your hand a bit up, taking his in yours.

“is it neccesary to hold hands?” he asks. his expression was nearly deadpanned, but the slight crease in his brows communicated just enough. he felt sheepish, a bit lost.

“no, but it’s nice.”

teruhashi stands idly at the exit, waiting, doing her best to gently shake off the boys that surrounded her.

“she’s looking for me.”

“is she? do you want to talk to her?”

“no.”

you pause.

“is she the reason you asked me to do this for you?”

he nods.

you turn and head towards the gate, but not before waving a hand in front of her face. you take a deep breath, before exclaiming a loud “teruhashi!”. she whirls around, trying to find the source of the voice, looking rather bewildered.

letting out a hearty laugh, you grin up at him. a slight huff of air escapes his upturned lips.

the two of you slip past the front gate.

“but you owe me something in return, i don’t give out my labor for free!”

he sighs, “what would you like?”

“wait, really? i was joking, you don’t have to do anything for me!” you double down on your demands.

“you say that, but i know you’re secretly hoping i’ll treat you.”

“shit, i forgot you can read my mind. that’s so invasive.” you pout, “not fair!”

“it’s fine, i don’t like being indebted to people, and you did do me a favor like i asked, so i’ll take you somewhere.”

you look a bit nervous, “really? you’re sure?”

“just accept the offer before i revoke it.”

you twirl in a circle, letting go of his hand and hopping a few steps ahead of him. “you’re buying me a nice coffee then!”

he lunges out to take it again.

“sure.”

and once more in sync, both of your hearts skip a beat.

#im sorry for writing so much friends to lovers in the pining stage i can't help it /j #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #the disasterous life of saiki k #saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki k imagines #saiki k headcanons #saiki x reader

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moonctzeny · 3 years

Text

love to hate me

request: celebrity! jaehyun + enemies to lovers + “don’t you want to know how i feel?”

pairing: friends to enemies to lovers! jaehyun x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff... this fic has it all folks

word count: 7.514k

warnings: toxic behaviour, public sex, light restraining, jaehyun pulls a ‘white boy punching the wall’ at some point

summary: “You and Jaehyun meet as SM trainees, developing a friendship until he debuts and you deicde to leave the company and pursue a solo career. When you reunite again in a music show and he acts like he barely knows you, you stubbornly begin a series of hate-brimmed sex rendez-vous. Your touch-and-go relationship continues on, until a song collaboration will force you both to deal with all your repressed feelings for each other”

a/n: this is the longest it has ever taken me to finish a fic.. I have a love-hate relationship with this (no pun intended XD). I hope whoever requested this likes it!

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Of-fucking-course you had to bump into him out of all people at the vending machine. All you wanted was a drink to refresh you before you got up on stage, and now you have to deal with Mr. Too Good For This World and his relentless teasing. His eyes, lit up by an amusement that was also evident in his smirk, stayed glued on your body, raking up and down at it for a second too long. Not that you didn’t like it.

“Stare much?”, you bark at him in hopes of snapping him out of his trance, and push through him to punch in the code of your favorite drink. But alas, he always had a comeback ready on the edge of his lips.

“You look ridiculous”, he states and you have to admit that your outfit, though fitting for the Halloween special of today’s music show, was way different than anything else he had ever seen you in. Reincarnated as Dorothy Gale for the night, your stylists had chosen a short, light blue checkered dress, with red stilettos that gave a sexy twist to the character’s ruby slippers. Hair neatly braided in two pigtails, decorated by ribbons and topped off by glittery pink makeup. The image of innocence. Jaehyun had to laugh.

“Says the man dressed up as Woody”

It was unfair, you admitted, how good he looked in that stupid outfit. His hair was gelled back, a few strands framing his handsome face strategically. The yellow shirt fitted him like a glove, its bright colour lighting him up as well. And those jeans, tight in all the right places, just melted over the muscles of his thighs. The ones that you’ve come undone on one too many times.

“So”, he lilts, giving you a once over before lowering both the volume and pitch of his voice, “want a ride?”

You scoff, sparing him an incredulous look, “on what horse, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply, only points with his eyes to his crotch that is undeniably sporting a visible tent, and you gasp when you see the outline of his dick twitching under your stare.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun”, you mutter with a disgusted look on your face before picking up the almost forgotten beverage that the vending machine had barfed out for you. The boy mentioned, however, was unfazed.

“They don’t call me Woody for nothing”

Almost choking at the drink that was supposed to calm you down, you catch his eyes rolling at you through your third cough. Well, that ruins one of your favourite childhood movies. “Don’t pretend to be a prude. Now are we going to fuck before you get on stage of not?”

You can clearly remember the first time you met Jung Jaehyun alone. You always spotted him somewhere in the SM buildings, joking around with his future bandmates, barely ever without company. As a fellow vocal trainee, he introduced himself to you as Yoonoh, filling up the awkward silence while your vocal teacher prepared the music sheets for the both of you to rehearse.

You were thankful the two of you always got paired up together. Jaehyun was charming, easy to be around, funny. He was a model SM trainee with the otherworldly looks he possessed, almost impossible for anyone’s eyes not to follow him when he entered a room. Radiant porcelain skin, soft brown locks, and a dimpled smile that made your heart melt in seconds.

You can also clearly remember the first time you had the privilege of hearing him sing. Jaehyun had a beautiful baritone voice, one that contradicted his flower boy image but matched his manly personality perfectly. The four walls of the small practice room resonated with his sound, that was stable and smooth like honey. The lessons were challenging but Jaehyun made them bearable through spending time with him. Maybe it was your shared struggles, or how you were always tired and vulnerable when you saw him. Maybe it was those damned dimples, but your heart always beat faster when you were around him.

“Sometimes I get discouraged”, he confides in you in that same room, hours later, early into the morning now. The vocal lesson stretched on longer than expected, leaving you two sitting on the floor, sharing a cup of lemon-honey tea to soothe your vocal chords. You let your head rest to the leather couch behind you as you stare into his handsome features one by one. What time was it? Shouldn’t you be back at your dorms by now? It didn’t matter, this was one of those moments when time seems to stop and life seems unreal. When the only thing that you care about is the person standing next to you, and whatever it is they have to tell you.

“I fear that I will never get to debut. There’s handsome guys all over the company. I just don’t know if my skills are enough.”

You thought he was crazy for thinking that way, wanted to scream at him that he’s just perfect and more than enough for the company, or for anything in this world for that matter. But Jaehyun was reserved, the type to always mask his true feelings behind a smile and you were more than glad that he finally opened up to you, that he saw you as someone trustworthy. You didn’t want to dismiss his feelings, so you just pet his hair while you listened to his concerns.

As you mindlessly gaze at the rainy weather outside, a couple of droplets following their own path down the froggy window remind you that time does run by. Even if every day seemed the same, following the same routine, going to the same classes over and over again.

Jaehyun had this sad look that contorted his pretty face and you hated it, reaching up to massage away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. You don’t know which godly creature made the hourglass of time freeze this moment, nor did you know why Jaehyun leaned forward to capture your lips into a kiss. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you for keeping your ears and heart open for him, for listening to him when he needed it most.

It felt so lovely while it lasted, two young people leaning on each other during an uncertainty that anchored them far away from their emotional shoreline. But life as a trainee isn’t a fairytale and falling in love can have serious ramifications. So you promise to each other that this will be a one time thing, and then you never speak of this night ever again.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jaehyun got to successfully debut, yet you didn’t have the same luck. The company had plans of focusing on their new boy group, thus postponing your debut for an uncertain amount of time. It was hard for you to decide to switch labels, to throw away the years of hope and dedication you had pinned on this company but the faith you placed on yourself was stronger.

It’s years later when you finally get to promote as a solo artist in a different company, and you are happy to say that the decision you made all those years ago was the right one. The exposure you got wasn’t the same as being in a Big 3 company, however leaving SM entertainment has its pros. Flexible schedule, less scrutiny, great creative freedom over your work.

This wasn’t the first time you have come across your old trainee buddy. Jaehyun had multiple comebacks in a year, so it was only natural that his group’s and your promotions would sometimes overlap. You were only a rookie, and NCT turned out to become pretty popular, so of course the wins were always tied to their names.

The first time you walked past him in the hallways, dark makeup and professional styling making you both almost unrecognizable, you expected a wave, small talk, maybe some reminiscing of the old times. Instead, you got a cold stare or at best, an arrogant smirk coupled with a “Do better next time”. It was shocking to you how much Yoonoh, the boy with the shy smile and awkward social skills, would turn into such a stranger.

How you always ended up sneaking out with him to have a quickie in one of the ready rooms, was beyond you. He rushed you inside before checking both sides of the hallway, cautious to hide from any curious eyes. The coast was clear and Jaehyun doesn’t like to waste time, so he pins you against the door he just closed behind him, face dipped in your neck. You can feel his fingers dancing on the skin of your thighs, eager to explore what is hidden under your frilly skirt, and their delicacy in contrast to his feverish kisses sends a shiver down your spine.

One pretty whine from your lips, then two, three and you can feel Jaehyun smile deviously against your neck. The softness is too enticing for him to resist, so he nips at it skillfully, trying to get a reaction out of you. He recognizes that you have plenty of talent as a singer, yet the symphonies you sing out for him in those little sessions seem to be his favorite.

“Jaehyun, cut it out. I’m going on stage in like, 20 minutes”

“Turn me on then”

Wasn’t he the one that basically flashed you in the middle of the cafeteria for just existing? Isn’t it his hard on that digs against your lower stomach? The demand made you mad, and you wanted nothing more than to entice him with a nice blowjob, only to take a big, strong bite off that cock of his. But see, you had a full face of makeup on and your career is way more important than a fuckboy, so you’ll have to get creative.

Flipping him around so that he’s the one trapped between you and the door, you start to suck on his collarbones , then nibble at the tender flesh. He seems distracted enough by it so that you open the button of his jeans and fully remove his belt from their loops with no objections. Palming him over his boxers to keep him entranced, you manage to bring his wrists together, wrapping the leather around them, then lastly fastening them in place.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes that he’s too late, wiggling his hands in a futile attempt to free himself. Your laugh is sadistic, making the hairs on his arms stand on edge and you gloat in the effect you have on him.

Giving your palm a good lick, you form a ring with your fingers, wrapping them around the base of his member. He hisses and drops his head back, thudding loudly against the wall. His cock enlarges and reddens as you move your hand up and down, changing the pressure according to his reactions. Jaehyun isn’t one to express himself freely but there is not much he can do to stop the low moans leaving his lips. Not when you rub circles over his tip with the soft skin of your palm.

He looks so fucking good, all squirmy and desperate and trying to hold himself from saying ‘please’. You almost want to keep going, squeeze him more until he whines and begs to cum, and admire the white beads dripping from his slit and covering your hand. Almost.

You halt your movements with a last strong stroke, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back at him. Jaehyun tentatively opens one eye to see why you have stopped, only to come across that bratty smile that he loves as much as he hates.

“You should have dressed up as a siren. Seducing people before they realize you are a man eating bitch”

“If you want someone to jerk you off you can go ask one of your little fangirls. I want to get fucked.”

“Let me go then. And you’ll wish you never did”

You scoff at his cockiness, nonchalantly freeing him from his constraints, and the way he immediately has a hold of your jaw reminds you of a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes have a crazy look in them, moving frantically over every part of your body like he can’t decide what to grab onto first. He decides on your hips, bending you over a table full of snacks and makeup tools and flyers of today’s schedule.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”, he asks you with a peremptory voice that signifies you’d better shut up.

You hear shuffling behind you and assume it’s him slipping on a condom, so you make yourself more comfortable on the wooden surface. A hard slap on your ass jolts you alert.

“I asked you a fucking question”, Jaehyun presses brusquely and flips your skirt fully over your ass, pulling your panties down until they’re bunched up right over your knees.

“It’s fun”, you moan out, breathless both from the pleasure and the stinging feeling on your right cheek, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Was the room occupied by one of the artists that have already been on stage? Or will they barge in at any moment to find you bent over and pussy dripping for Jaehyun to finally dive inside you? He chuckled at the sight of you, eyes feasting off your naked body, your ass up just the way he likes it. Not so innocent anymore, huh?

He doesn’t reply to you, aligning himself against your slit and bottoming out in one go instead. Involuntarily, you let out a small screech, the sudden stretch catching you off guard.

“You better stay quiet, siren. Or maybe you would like it if people found us like this? Saw how good you take my cock whenever I ask”

You wanted to bite back at him, but the only sound you could make was a guttural moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and you fall forward to bite your fist and force yourself to shut up. It was effective, yet Jaehyun had other plans for you, pulling your pigtails towards him in a strong grip that has you against his chest in seconds.

“Nuh, uh, uh, siren”, he hums in your ear, his panting making his voice sound huskier and smokier than ever, “How about trying to stay quiet by using your willpower alone? That way it’s more- how did you call it? Fun.”

He slows down his pace momentarily, as if he’s giving you time to answer him. But the moment you open your mouth to talk back at him, he thrusts particularly hard inside you, forcing a whimper out of your lips.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun”

“As you wish”

Jaehyun was conceited and cocky and a dick, but he was also a good fuck. He kept at it with what seemed like all the energy in the world, fucking you against that table until you came all over him, and your legs gave out. It ended how it always did, with him moaning how fucking sexy you look and how much he hates you, and you swallowing your pride as you swallow his cum. You’d tell each other to fuck off and never bother the other again, until you meet up at the next comeback, to do this shit all over again.

And that’s how things would stay if it wasn’t for that goddamn phone call from your manager.

“...so we thought what better way to promote your new song by recording a duet with NCT’s Jaehyun?”

No, no, no this can’t be happening. No way. Anyone but him.

“Are you sure this is the only way we can promote me? Can’t I just go to variety programs like every other idol out there?”

“y/n, duets by different group members are one of the most efficient methods of promoting there is! And with NCT’s latest song topping the charts this will be a great opportunity for you. Taemin and Sunmi did it. Suzy and Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Punch-“

“Alright, okay, I get it”

“Besides, since you used to be an SM trainee they specifically asked for you. The directors made some pretty big compliments on your work”

Isn’t it a little too late now? Not like they didn’t have the chance to debut you, right? That being said, there isn’t much to oppose to decline SM’s offer; your manager is right and you know it. Saying no to Lee Sooman and giving up a popularity push like that is basically career suicide. Nor could you let your manager know about your and Jaehyun’s little adventures, minutes before you have to go on stage.

“Just send me the schedule. I don’t have to record with him, right?”

“Oh no, they’ll record his part first and then they’ll send it to us. But there will be a music video of course”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

There was this little monster of worriedness that was screaming inside your head, refusing to shut up. This collaboration isn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t want to let Jaehyun’s pettiness get in the way of your career. Fumbling with your phone in your hands, you kept removing and reinserting its case compulsively, over and over again, until you mustered the courage to take matters into your own hands.You knew his number was buried somewhere in your contacts.

you [16:35]: hey it’s me, y/n

Jung Yoonoh [16:50]: y/n who??

you [16:55]: y/n y/l/n? the girl whose guts you were inside in last week? we have a song coming up 😒

Jung Yoonoh [16:57]: oh y/n right

Jung Yoonoh [16:58]: thought you’d have deleted my number

Well you sure have deleted mine, you murmur with your blood boiling, regretting reaching out to him in the first place.

you [16:59]: i always hoard peoples contacts

you [17:00]: old habits die hard i guess

Jung Yoonoh [17:00]: like the habit of me being inside your guts?

You gasp out after reading his last message, hands awkwardly juggling your phone until you’ve forced yourself to calm down. After waiting for a while, until your face has reached its previous temperature, you feel focused again, and type out your original intentions for this conversation.

you [17:05]: this isn’t what i texted you about.

you [17:07]: we have this project coming up and while I know we aren’t exactly on the best terms, this comeback is very important for me

you [17:08]: and i don’t want to fuck it up

Jung Yoonoh [17:10]: kitty cat, relax. maybe this is a brand new word for you but i know what professionalism is

you [17:10]: don’t you ever and i mean ever call me that again

you [17:11]: glad to see we are on the same page

You didn’t expect a message back, nor did you get one. All you could do from now on, was pray that the promotions would go smoothly and Jaehyun wouldn’t do anything stupid that would jeopardize your collaboration.

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And the day you dreaded finally came. The first day of filming for the music video.

You had already finished recording the song, a bittersweet balad about two lovers who lost their way, only for their paths to cross again. When you listened to the demo for the first time, it only took three notes from Jaehyun’s pre-recorded verse to spread goosebumps on your skin. His voice was deeper and even more developed than you remember. Long forgotten memories, shoved deep inside your brain so as not to leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, came flooding up again. But things have changed since then.

The sky was crying rain and lightning, fitting to the storm inside your head. Normally you'd be excited to film a music video, bubbling with energy and unable to contain a smile. Today, all you could do was let your teeth abuse the cuticles of your left thumb, until little drops of blood ruined the fresh manicure you got for the shoot.

Following your manager inside the studio, you take a quick glance at all the props the creative directors have prepared. They were very intricate, filled with all different types of flowers everywhere. Some of the fake rooms looked like classrooms, two others were decorated like teenage bedrooms. It was a lot more than you have anticipated.

“The song will be part of a drama OST, that’s why the budget is higher than usual”, your manager tells you as if he was reading your mind.

He leads you to the changing room, where you try on different outfits your stylist has chosen for you, while simultaneously being briefed on the concept of the music video. It’s kinda cheesy and cute, with you and Jaehyun posing as high-school students falling in love. Certain scenes of the drama, whose plot matches the music video’s, will intercept in between.

You’re seated on the makeup chair, sunk in the uneasiness caused by your co-star. Jaehyun had arrived a few minutes after you, his bare face more handsome than you’ve ever looked in your most glamorous state and you can’t help but stare at him. He is all polite smiles and bows to the staff, and even gives you a formal greeting.

You’re not sure why you just can’t bring yourself to stop your legs from shaking as the makeup artist patiently tries to apply a rosy blush on your cheekbones. It’s like you’re scared that everyone will see right through the both of you, somehow enter your brain and find out that you’re replaying your last encounter with Jaehyun in the music show’s waiting room in your head. As you try to read through his expression, to see if he’s nearly as nervous as you are, you defeatedly can’t decode what’s going on inside his head. Not like you ever could.

You glance at both you and Jaehyun through the mirror, admiring the youthful makeup. Blushy cheeks and innocent eyes of two teenagers in love, masking the raw lust between two nemesi. It couldn’t stray any further from the truth.

A staff member leads both you and Jaehyun (who is refusing to spare even one look your way) back to the main set. The director is passionately explaining what he wants to see from you in your first scene, but you can barely focus with Jaehyun’s eyes burning holes through your school girl outfit. You block him out and walk inside the ‘classroom’, spotting the cameras and sitting on your designated seat, while you wait for your signal to start.

Of course, you had acted before. Yes, you had expected for the director to ask you for some more intimate moments with your co-star. But when Jaehyun passed you a “love note” from the desk in front of you, looking all blushy and shy and with his dimples showing, you felt that the role of crushing schoolgirl became a little too easy for you to act out.

And maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same way too. He looked pretty flustered when he saw you dancing across class, shifting restlessly in his seat when you bent forward to tie your shoelaces. Whether you did it on purpose or not, was a question your ego didn’t allow you to answer truthfully.

Most of the individual shots would be handled at a different shoot, so all you had to do was get over this one day with him. That’s what you repeated yourself over and over again. And you did pretty well, smiling charmingly at the camera, with the director praising you for your “innocent look”. You didn’t miss the scoff slipping from Jaehyun’s lips but you were good at ignoring it, focusing on getting through the different scenes in one-shot.

You were currently leaning your body against the wall, playing with your hair while Jaehyun glances down at you, like a boy that is ready to confess to his first love.

“y/n, I need you to give me something more shy, more bashful”, the director yells eagerly, but you can barely hear him, too focused on regulating your breathing. The look your co-star is giving you right now might seem loving and pure to the staff, but you know all too well the motives hidden behind his facade. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence he purposefully keeps to make you squirm, right before he whispers the most sinful propositions in your ears.

Reading him like an open book, you stand still as he leans closer, just enough so that no one besides you get to hear his words.

“Come on y/n, can’t you act bashful? Or is it impossible for you to get embarrassed after getting fucked against the window of a TV station’s building?”

Clearing your throat, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every single sound and movement in the room. Suffocating, even in the light clothes you were wearing, and desperately trying to mute out his words that bring you back to the day he was repenting.

“When you were pressed up against that glass, moaning my name, all exposed for anyone that simply looked up to see, you weren’t too shy, were you?”

You raise your palm to wipe a bead of sweat that has collected on your temple, and breathe deeply through your nose, as if a good pump of oxygen would cool off the sudden heat between your legs.

“Shut up Jaehyun”, you simply hiss through your front teeth, but he isn’t done yet.

“You know I can’t hold myself when I see you in skirts. So pretty. And you love to tease me in them too, I’ve noticed. Flashing me again and again until you get to suckle on my dick”

You were sure his voice was barely louder than a whisper, but the thought of anyone accidentally prying into your conversation had your whole body raising in temperature. The heat didn’t take long to reach your cheeks and you couldn’t remember the last time your legs felt like jelly, as they do now.

“Perfect y/n, that’s exactly what I’m looking for!”

You blinked back at Jaehyun a couple times, your mind trying to process that the director is cheering you on instead of scolding you to focus. The trembling hands, the fast-paced heartbeat, your big doe eyes. Though involuntarily, you had nailed the scene.

“You’re welcome”, Jaehyun mouths at you just as the staff announces a break. He scurries off to his dressing room without a word, as if he hadn’t just spewed his dirtiest of thoughts on set. It was almost as if he was daring you to follow him, but it’s not like he had left you a choice. You were fuming.

“Jaehyun”, you called out to him strictly but he didn’t acknowledge you, only walked further inside the small room with his name written neatly on the door. He was removing some of the heavier jewellery, rubbing the red lines they had left on his neck and wrist, momentarily catching your eyes on the mirror's reflection. They were misty, unreadable, and with how unpredictable you knew he could be, you decided to close the door behind you.

“Closing the door?”, he muses and in just a few long strides he has managed to trap you between his body and the wooden surface. It is reminiscent of your last meeting at the music show, and the memory of you tying him up doesn’t help with the organizing of your thoughts. “What are you planning on doing to me in here?”

You point one finger against his chest, not enough to create any real distance between you, but it comforts you nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that out there? What happened to professionalism?”

“Relax, kitty cat. I was just helping you act better”. His eyes stayed glued on your hips, once again making you all wound up and jumpy under his stare, “And it worked. You should be thanking me”

“I. Told. You.”, you started, tapping your finger on his sternum to emphasize each word, “Never call me that again. Today’s already hard as it is, why do you have to make it harder?”

He takes one more step towards you, his chest now touching yours and your hand that separated you lands involuntarily on his right peck. As if his presence wasn’t overwhelming enough, you feel a hardness pressing against your thigh, and for a moment you worry he can feel how wet you really are under your skirt. His voice is a low, a deep rumble.

“I don’t know. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“You are unbelievable”, you scowl at him and free yourself from his trap. You turn to the big mirror to avoid looking at him anymore, and you come to the embarrassing realization of how fucked out you look right now. You had to get out of there as soon as possible, before you do anything stupid and lose any trace of self control left in you. But not before you gave Jaehyun an earful.

“What I meant was that I am out there, being paid to be all lovey-dovey with you. This is not something easy for me you know. It’s basically prostitution.”

You catch Jaehyun’s eyes in his reflection, and for a fleeting moment they turn a colour that you hadn’t seen them in for a long time. Hurt? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second, replaced by that smile that made him both irresistibly smackable and fuckable at the same time.

“Did it cross your tiny brain that maybe someone could hear you? Staff leaks information all the time! If they found out we were fucking…”

“Were? Past tense?”

“Are. Will be. Whatever.” You sigh, defeated, hiding your eyes with your palms as you face him once again. “Like I said, this is important to me. So no more dirty talk on set. Okay?”

Jaehyun avoided your glance, from embarrassment or uninterest maybe. “Okay”

You continue to sit there silently, but your head is so occupied with a million thoughts that you don’t notice. How you will get through the rest of the shooting, whether your manager is looking for you or not, the coldness of the glass Jaehyun had pressed you against that day. The only thing that snapped you out of it, was him suddenly taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, you ask panicking, but you can’t dismiss the pool of excitement in your belly.

“We have a wardrobe change after the break, remember? And since you refuse to leave my changing room..”

You clear your throat, trying your hardest to rip your eyes away from his abdomen, that you’ve so keenly marked with love bites before. His naked skin must have monopolized your attention way more than you realized, as you can’t remember when he slithered his way closer to you, towering over your height.

“Stare much?”, he almost growls, arousal dripping from his voice.

Every fiber of your being wanted to lurch forward, glide your fingers through his hair and start nibbling at those pretty lips of his. The sexual tension, amplified by the argument you just had, was filling the room like a thick liquid would fill a cup. One more drop, one more second of his staring and it would overflow. It felt so real, that you could feel that drop landing on your forehead. Then another one on your cheek, and that’s when you realized that what you felt was real.

“What the-?”, Jaehyun mumbles as he stares up at the ceiling, a big wet spot staining it and allowing the water drops to slowly wet his styled locks. As you start to put two and two together, someone knocks loudly on the door, making you both jump one feet away from the other.

“Get undressed”, a high-pitched male voice that you recognize as Jaehyun’s manager calls through the door, “the rain is ruining the set. It’s a wrap for today”

———————————————————————

A soft touch on your lower back, an even softer breath making your ears tingle. A tentative kiss on your neck that’s full of purpose and makes you shiver.

And then another touch, this time more south on your body. Fingertips grazing over your sensitive clit. Easily moving through your wetness and finally dipping inside of you. That baritone voice.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, kitty cat?”

You look up to meet the face of the familiar voice, only to meet Jaehyun’s baby brown eyes. The pleasure was enough to make you ignore the despised nickname, flowing intensely through your body. You let out a desperate moan, gripping his arms to keep your balance. His fingers are now dragging through your walls and you clench around them instinctively, confused but enamored by his touch. You are falling apart.

“Jaehyun? What are you doing?”

“I want to make love to you”

“Love? But you hate me”

He plants another kiss on the slope of your neck, his hands picking up in pace and making you feel like you’re floating on air.

“Love. Hate. Is there really any difference when I’m here, ready to please you? Willing to make you feel things you have never felt before?”

“You already do”, you admit, only seconds away from your orgasm. The bliss is so close you can almost taste it, but for now you choose to taste his lips. They are so soft and warm that you realize you haven’t kissed Jaehyun since that night at the practice room. How you miss him. Not the group visual, not the idol, not even Jaehyun. Yoonoh.

“Yoonoh”, you moan out against his lips as the pleasure overtakes you, a low buzz humming in your ears, “mmm yes, Yoonoh”

“Who the fuck is Yoonoh?”

You finally wake up, your manager shaking you awake being the first thing you see. The sun’s morning rays are peeking through your blinds, warming your skin in lines. Your phone’s ignored alarm clock is still buzzing on top of your nightstand.

“No one. I’m awake, thanks”

Fuck. That makes it what? The fourth night in a row you dreamt about him?

“Get, up. Quickly. We’re late”

You groaned at the banging of your head that was caused by you getting up so fast. It was early into the morning, as you had to get ready for the mv’s second shooting day. The heavy rainfall wouldn’t allow for the filming to continue for another week, yet aided your growing anxiety of having to encounter Yoon- Jaehyun again.

You felt a little stupid, like a kid that goes to middle school for the first time, anxious but full of butterflies in your stomach in the thought of seeing him again. You weren’t sure who the anger, that came with the inability to control the fresh feelings bubbling from your dream, should be directed at. Your manager for booking you this job? Jaehyun for making it his goal to have you dripping wet on set? You, for letting it all affect you so much?

You decide on the former, giving your poor manager the cold shower for forcing you to deal with the problems you’ve caused yourself. Checking your phone, you realise that you are, indeed, late, and wonder how quick you’re going to have to make your morning shower.

“Is Jaehyun and his team there already?”, you ask your manager as nonchalantly as you could, feigning mildly interested in his answer.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The other team asked for the shootings to continue separately”. You felt your stomach drop all the way down to your condo’s basement. And the icing on the cake: “Jung Jaehyun’s request”

Maybe your manager wasn’t as clueless to your electricity, or maybe it was your sudden impulse to pluck every loose thread of the pyjama top you were wearing that made him sense the discomfort following what he’d just said. He plops next to you on your bed, boards creaking in the silent room and you feel his rough hands patting you on the back.

“I’m sure he had an overlap in schedules and needed a break, nothing to do with you”

But you knew better, and you knew your palms wouldn’t stop itching unless you picked up your fucking phone and sent him a message.

you [06:30]: i heard you can’t make it to set today. everything ok?

You wish you never did. The radio silence from his number was way worse than any insult, any form of teasing he could give you on set. You even tried calling him, desperate for an answer, a closure even. Maybe he was busy. Maybe the shooting took longer than expected. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you; one of his managers uploaded his latest story on his instagram, not him. Maybe at the end of the week he would get back to you.

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

Going to his dorm unannounced was not a good idea. Waiting for someone to open the door for you, you hope his members will recognise you from your trainee days, or those rare nights Jaehyun sneaked you in when you were both lonely and in need of a… well, whatever you two were.

You’re starting to worry that whoever saw you from the peephole thought you were a sasaeng and called security, when Mark opens the door. His eyes are wide open behind his glasses, clearly not expecting you and immediately yelling for his ‘Jaehyun hyung’.

Soon, the called male arrives at the apartment’s entrance, annoyed for being interrupted from whatever it was he was doing. “What is it, me and Jungwoo are watching the season fina-“

As if Mark suddenly turned invisible, Jaehyun walks right past him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to his room without another word.

Jungwoo, engrossed with the aforementioned show’s season finale on his computer screen, tries to cover up his naked torso in panic when he notices you.

“Get out.”, Jaehyun orders him, and the younger man knows that his tone is not one to be argued with. It triggers the cold sweat that makes your clothes stick closer to your skin and forces your heartbeat to quicken, pumping blood all over your body. The door closes, leaving you both alone with only the sound of Jungwoo’s laptop still playing in the background. A lighthearted scene that is too oxymoronic against the tension that is just palpable at this point. What the hell were you thinking coming here?

“What the hell were you thinking coming here?”, Jaehyun speaks your thoughts out loud, and you wince at how empty your head is with excuses.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“What?”, he asks dumbly, hoping you would avoid asking again.

“Was it that hard to text me back? Am I such a waste of your time?”

Jaehyun seems angry at your confrontation, his bad mood escalating with every word that is leaving your mouth. He still avoids to look at you, toying with some plushies and decorations next to his bedpost. You realize you never had time to really notice them, barely recognizing them. You always entered the room blindly, pressed up against Jaehyun’s body and with his lips all over your neck, then left as soon as the sex was over. His apathy was infuriating.

One by one, you start to remove all of your outerwear, dropping your clothes on the floor until you’re left in only your bra and jeans. Jaehyun stares at you incredulously, then at the pile of clothes on the floor, unable to make out the reasoning behind your impromptu stripping.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked. Seems to be the only time you can actually pay attention to me.”

You reach for the buttons of your jeans, only able to unzip it halfway before Jaehyun has you pinned against the wall behind you, his fingers cool and pressing lightly against your neck.

“I-I fucking hate you!”, he cries, punching the surface to release some of the steam, and lets go of the hold on your neck almost completely. How tempted he is, to just fuck your right against that wall, pour out his anger by pouring out his cum inside you, then ignore each other like you always do.

It’s the easy thing to do, keeping the toxic circle going. All barking and fucking and no real problem gets resolved in the end. He wouldn’t even call a cab for you, preferring to be hated for something he wasn’t than to be rejected for showing the real him. You would still have no idea about his feelings towards you, going around saying how awful he was while asking for a round two. But Jaehyun was tired.

“Can’t you tell that I am trying to distance myself from you?”, he sighs and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so emotionally exhausted.

“Why do you dislike me so much? We used to be friends and then one day you-“

“Friends? Just friends?”, he interrupts you with a chuckle and a sarcastic puff through his nose, and you shake your head.

“If you also think that what we had was more special than a common friendship then why act like you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who wanted to ‘forget about anything happening and never telling a soul about it’, remember?”

“I thought we came to a mutual agreement! I was just trying to save our careers and it worked Jaehyun, you got to debut and I-“

“And you just threw away everything we had like it was the easiest thing to do! Do you ever want to know how I feel, y/n? First you want nothing to do with me, left the company without even saying goodbye. Then I try to forget about you, become an asshole to keep you out of my life and suddenly you want to jump my bones. One day you just play blind to everything, asking for professionalism and now I’m the one ignoring you? What the fuck do you want? A fuck buddy? A professional? A friend?”

“I want you, Yoonoh. Fuck, I just want you”

You’re not sure which one of you initiates the kiss. His lips are as plump and kissed as hard as you recalled, a couple of tears staining your cheeks that you didn’t realize you were holding back. It felt so right, the way his head pushed and pulled away from yours, always inviting you back to him. One hand was situated over the dimples of your waist, the other lost between your hair, untangling it gently. You decided to lay yours over his heart, feeling its tempo and calming yourself down.

You kiss for what seems like an eternity, so drunk in bliss that you can’t remember how you made it through life without Jaehyun’s taste all over your tongue. When he pulls away from your lips, you almost whine, but his fingertips dabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks feel just as comforting.

“I don’t want us to be like this anymore”, you whisper to him and he nods encouragingly, holding you even closer. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you all these years ago, I just thought ‘What would a brand new idol want to do with a failed trainee like me’-“

Jaehyun brings your fingers to his lips, kissing all your knuckles one by one and you think you’re gonna burst at the seams. “You weren’t a failure, you were the best thing to happen to me back then”. His voice is so sincere that you don’t dare question the veracity of what he’s saying and you let him continue. “When I saw you again I was so bitter, I decided to turn off my feelings. I think I get too comfortable in that role. I put it on for me, my members, my fans even”, he stops then, laughing sadly, “it’s how I finally got you”

It was your turn to open up his eyes to the truth, holding his face between your hands and admiring its beauty.

“That’s not true. I kept staying because I knew what was hidden behind all that armor. I guess, the sex was the only way to get closer to you”

“Not because I’m good?”, he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and you can feel his dimples forming under your fingers.

“Eh, you’re pretty good too”

He starts pecking your neck, his smile obvious in his kisses and you squeal when he lifts you to his bed. Bouncing on the hard mattress, you let him lay his body weight over yours as he gives you a million traces of his love.

“So, I’m guessing this means we start over?”, he asks reluctantly as he emerges from your half naked body and you hold back from cooing at him.

“I thought you loved to hate me?”

“I think I hate it, but I love you”

#neosmutcollective #Jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #nct smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #jaehyun fluff #nct

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

what a lovely dream it is

english major!wanda x english major!fem!reader

summary: who would have thought that wanda, the self proclaimed queen of reading science fiction, would be just as obsessed with shakespeare as you?

warnings: one use of the word “su*cide”. shakespeare. nerds quoting lines. bad writing. (i challenged myself into writing this in an hour and a half). cringey writing (there is a difference)

word count: 4k!

You and Wanda connected at first because you two spoke the same language from different regions. It felt like she spoke British English, and you spoke American English. You were on the same wavelength but not exactly the same individual wave, but it was as close as you had ever gotten with someone who you deemed worth your time.

While everyone else was partying or drinking until they threw up or flaunting around bags with white powder in them, you sat with your back to the wall after studying, reading a classic, knowing that the change of her leaning against the same wall and doing the exact same thing you were was high.

You met her in the library, on your third day at your university. You were trying to find your group of authors, your little nook where you would feel the safest in the entire school. You had stumbled right into the fantasy section, looked around for a second, and then tripped over a brown boot that was just at the start of the science fiction shelf.

“I’m so sorry,” a woman’s voice murmured, and you just shook your head and said that it was okay, much more interested in the way that your hands suffered from the fall on the carpet than the girl. Until you looked up.

It was everything about her that stunned you. The brown hair, the flush of her cheeks, the apologetic look in her pale blue eyes that caressed her features to sit in one beautiful and genuine expression. The moment your eyes landed on her, you swore that your heart stopped and started in the same second, and then took a run for it with all of the parts of your brain that you needed to make a coherent thought.

You promised yourself in that moment that you would never forget the way the woman in front of you looked. And despite seeing hundreds of more faces throughout your self-tour, you never truly did forget it. If you didn’t know any better, if you were perhaps any younger and less exposed to the cruelty of the world and fate and its way of not giving you what you wanted, you would have been certain that the universe had finally given you the contemporary meet cute that you yearned for.

But then, you saw which aisle she was in. You looked at the books and recognized the authors just to be sure, and then you turned to look at her. “You’re into science fiction?”

Her apologetic look fell completely into a look of pure surprise, and then excitement, almost as if she thought that she found someone else who liked the genre she did. “Well, it’s the best genre that was ever written.”

“Wow, how wrong,” you found yourself saying, and somehow, you knew that the look of offense on her face was all for fun. “It’s definitely gothic literature.” The look she gave you was one that you would never forget.

A week later, you ran into her in the cafeteria, holding a copy of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, your beat up one from home that you would put your life on the line for. The cover was torn up a bit and the pages were dog eared, from a time where you hadn’t discovered the way that bookmarks changed lives. It was the copy your cousin got you, and it was your favorite gift to date.

She was holding The Martian Chronicles. You nearly gagged.

At first, you thought she hadn’t seen you, or hadn’t recognized you, which was even worse. You sighed under your breath and said, “at least it’s not Nineteen Eighty Four,” and watched in complete horror as she turned around.

She locked eyes with you immediately, and her own eyes widened when she saw you, and then she grinned when she undoubtedly recognized you and your disdain for science fiction. “No, it’s even better than Nineteen Eighty Four.”

“Anything is better than that,” you said, swallowing down your nerves at speaking to the girl again, kicking yourself for being so nervous despite not even knowing her name.

She gave you that same “offended” look she gave you during your first interaction, and you cracked a small smile. “Um, don’t you voluntarily go into the gothic section?”

The smile dropped. “The most valid section in the library? Sure do.”

She smiled too, a genuine grin as she took a step forward and extended her hand. For a second, you just looked at it, the calmness that came with the discussion of literature suddenly washed away so far back into your mind that you panicked for a moment, not reaching for her hand until you saw it shake in just the slightest, like she was regretting even doing it.

You nearly bumped your elbow on the table trying to stand up and shake her hand. Your hands connected and you grinned so wide it felt like your face had split open. You told her your name and she repeated it to make sure she had heard you loud and clear, and then, she smiled even brighter.

“Nice to meet you, Dracula. I’m Wanda.” And that was where it started.

As your library meetups started to become more intentional than not, you learned that not only was Wanda a student that stayed in the dorms, but the student who was next door to you. You learned that she pretty much kept to herself for the most part besides a few other people at the university, and that she kept a small circle. You learned that her favorite book was Brave New World. You learned that she would rather shy away from classic romance novels, even though you didn’t mind them, and that she hated gothic literature. You loved it. Your favorite book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, for god's sake. So, you hated each other’s favorite genres.

But you both loved symbolism. And you were both English majors. And for some very odd, very coincidental reason, you both met in what was nowhere near the middle- Shakespearean plays.

Now, that was something that you were always made fun of for as a child. No one wanted to hang out with the girl who quoted Shakespeare, especially if it wasn’t even from Romeo and Juliet. Reading normal books just made you look “smart”, but you knew that genuinely enjoying plays would make you look pretentious. So you had always kept it to yourself when you left your hometown. Until Wanda came along.

Wanda came along, and suddenly, you found yourself quoting tragedies and getting the correct response back. Sometimes, she would even start it first. You would do nerdy things like halfway reenact scenes because even you guys weren’t that nerdy… you supposed.

One morning, you and Wanda were in a study group (that was hardly productive because it was just Wanda’s little circle that was actually astoundingly close), and she looked over your shoulder to see your computer, where you were hardly typing an essay about the importance of the establishment of places for higher education. She put her chin against your shoulder, sat there for a minute, and then turned her head to whisper in your ear, “nothing will come of nothing.” It was embarrassing, the way your eyes lit up at hearing her voice, and even more so when Natasha, Wanda’s extremely perceptive friend, picked up on what you were feeling. The red head shot you the widest grin ever known to man.

“C’mere, Frankenstein,” Wanda said one night, already looking over at you while you tried to finish your work for the day.

You held back the smile on your face as you sat on your bed, one leg over it while you typed. “I’m right here.”

“No, here,” she emphasized, and then she was patting the spot on the small couch in your room, the same look in her eyes that always came with when she asked for any kind of physical contact.

That was by far the worst thing about Wanda, and it hardly had anything to do with her. She was touch starved, and touch was your love language. Her asking you to hold her on the couch used to mean nothing to you, because at one point, you just thought she was pretty. But now, holding her hand on top of the table while you both were submerged in your respective worlds felt like a promise ring. Letting her rest her head on your shoulder and in your neck felt like giving your vulnerability over to her, and feeling her hand rub against your back felt like she was taking it and guarding it. But you knew she didn’t feel the same way, not at all.

She was straight.

But it did you no good when she quoted back some of your favorite lines. It didn’t help when she said all of the romantic lines towards you at the drop of a hat, almost like she didn’t even realize what she was saying. She didn’t understand the way your heart died and was revived every time she said something like that, something that was so dear and vulnerable to you. And she certainly never would, because you would never tell her.

Now that you thought about it, allowing yourself to fall for her was the dumbest and most destructive thing you could have ever done. The first bookworm who didn’t make fun of you for your knowledge and love of old plays was the one that took hold of your heart, and now you were paying for being such an idiot. Now you would have to sit through three more years of school with her being your friend, just your friend, while you pined over her. It was going to be hell.

And was it. You had to sit through her saying the most romantic of Shakespearean quotes every day and act like she wasn’t making your heart shake. You had to listen to her speaking the language that you two shared and pretend that you just wanted to be her friend. You were so attached to her and everything that you two had established together, and you couldn’t ruin it by giving her googly eyes. She was way too important for that. Because now, she was way more than a person who you could talk to about old plays. She was the person that you could talk to about anything, without a doubt. Anything but the intense crush that you were harboring for her, and the way that she made your heart sing and your soul ascend whenever you smelled her perfume or saw her smile. Anything but that.

§§

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” You looked up from your book only to see Wanda looking over at you, lying down on the blanket and just watching you. You swore later on when you were alone that you imagined it, but for a moment you could have sworn that you saw a flash of adoration in her eyes. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

You were choking on the inside. Your face was blank, but your mind was going haywire, and you couldn't think of anhytnign besides holding back the urge to say something that you had no chance of taking back. “You’re in a sonnet mood today, aren’t you?”

“And what mood are you in today, Jekyll?”

“I’m in the mood to finish this book,” you teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“What if I’m in the mood to sit and watch a movie?”

“Then you should do it,” you said, going the way your heart clenched at the thought of her cutting your friendly outing short. “I’ll follow you in an hour or two.”

She gave you a look. “You know I don’t go anywhere without you.”

“You can go watch a movie, Wands.” You sighed out, closing your book and wedging your pointer finger between the pages so that you wouldn't get lost.

“I’ll wait,” she said, and you shook your head at her.

“I don’t want to hold you back from getting in time with your favorite sci fi movies.”

“Can I go forward when my heart is here?”

You were hit with such a wave of longing that you had to shut your eyes for a moment, but it looked like it was simply a long blink. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I want to hear one,” Wanda said, leaning on her elbows as she stared up at you, and your heart pounded. She looked celestial, glowing under the sunlight with growing grass around her and a sweet smile budding on her face. “You never quote any back to me anymore, you know?”

You knew, for sure. It was on purpose that you didn’t quote back. If you were to continue the conversation in romantic quotes, it was going to feel way too real to you. You could handle Wanda and her touches, but you were not going to be able to handle quoting Romeo and Juliet to her. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled softly, and then you heard her make a sound with her tongue, a displeased clicking noise.

You looked up at her and lost your breath again, and your mental footing. There she was, looking up at you with her pretty eyes, giving you a look more intense than she had ever given you before. She was… it was almost like she was waiting for something, like she knew something. She was staring up at you and leaning on her hand in a way that was so oddly domestic in your mind, and you could almost see in your mind the way that she would do that if you woke up in the same bed, like she was waiting for you to wake up and trying to memorize your face. It made you warm on the inside, and just like she always managed to do, your brain turned to mush.

“Conscience doth make cowards of us all,” you blurt, and you saw her brows pull in for a second. You blinked.

“Huh?”

You were panicking on the inside. There were plenty of ways that she could have taken the quote that you had chosen, but you knew exactly what it sounded like. A half assed love confession. “You know, from Hamlet,”

“Of course I know it’s from Hamlet, Jekyll.” She shook her head at you and sat up, crossing her legs without breaking eye contact. “But why that quote? You know so many, and you chose the one about death.”

Unfortunately, it’s death by silence in this context, not by swords. “You said you wanted to hear a line,” you said, shrugging as you opened your book, trying to get rid of the embarrassment that you knew would stick to you for hours and hours.

“What a line,” she said, and then she rolled over to look up at the sky. Minutes later, you heard her sigh. “What a line.”

§§

Romeo + Juliet was a classic for your movie night. At first, Wanda showed it to you after you boycotted it for years, despite your male celebrity crush being one of the main characters in it. You had always avoided watching because of the modernism, but one Wanda made you sit down and watch it, you actually found good things about it. For instance, the party scene.

“It was done wonderfully,” Wanda would always say from beside you after your extremely predictable comment of the scene being a masterpiece.

Like always, there were a few moments of silence as you two watched the movie together, shoulder to shoulder on the small couch in your dorm while your roommate was off getting high. You watched the rest of it in near silence, halfway focused on the movie while the other part of your mind was split in two; feeling blessed that Wanda was even there with you, soclose, and feeling cursed that she was so close but so far. It was the perfect moment to hold her close like you wanted to so badly, but the timing wasn’t right. And that killed you.

“Do you ever think about how they fell in love so fast?” Wanda asked, and you shrugged your shoulders. “I’d say that they were encroaching on soulmate territory.”

“Soulmates, or foolish teenagers?”

“I hardly know of any teenagers who would die for each other, even if they thought they were in love,” Wanda pointed out, and you rolled your eyes at her. “Don’t give me that face. I’m right, and you know it.”

“I’ll always let you believe it, sci fi.”

“But, really, don’t you ever want something like that?”

You turned your face from the screen and looked at her incredulously, like she had gone mad while completing the process of growing three heads. “A suicide pact?”

She groaned and threw her head back. “No. A love like that. Take away the death and violence, and look at what they had.”

“It bloomed too quickly to have much potential later in life,” you countered. “That was infatuation, and that never lasts long.”

“You think that they both died for infatuation?”

“I think that they were young, and it’s hard to tell the difference between love and infatuation at any age, let alone as a teenager. I think they thought they loved each other to the ends of the earth, but I guess they’ll never know.”

“You’re so cynical. Just like a person whose favorite is gothic literature.” You laughed, leaning forward towards her without even noticing what you were doing. “Do you believe in love?”

“Of course I do,” you answered, giving her a look. “I’m just saying, Romeo and Juliet were not in true love. They were confused.”

Then, the playful air that the conversation was flowing on changed so quickly that you nearly got whiplash and your heart started racing. The way Wanda was looking at you sent a chill down your spine, and in that moment, you were worried. “Are you confused?”

You took in a breath. “About what?”

“About anything,” she said slowly, almost like she felt like she was walking on thin ice with skates on. “Books, people, love, food, sexuality,” she ignored the way that you choked, “writing a paper, how to get a strike in bowling. Or how to realize that Romeo and Juliet were definitely in love.”

“You’re so intent on proving that they were to me,” you said, a laugh bubbling over and into your words. “Why are you suddenly so passionate about them now?”

“The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.”

Your heart jumped out of your chest again, and your hands clenched into weak fists as you tried to will yourself into not assuming that she was talking about you. And then, white hot panic struck you at the thought of her being in love with someone else. “Speak low if you speak of love.”

“Why should I?” Wands asked, shifting from her position on the couch to put a hand under her chin and watch you, her kind eyes afire with something that you had yet to see in them yet. “Really, Jekyll. Why?”

You hardly waited a full second before responding as truthfully as you ever would. “I’m afraid.” Before she could get a word in, you shook your head and finally loosened your lips, letting all of your worries and fears slide right through your teeth. “I’m afraid that I’ve fallen in love with someone who can never love me back. I’m scared to admit that I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I’m afraid that you aren’t into girls.” You saw her make a face, almost like she couldn't believe that you were even suggesting the things that you were. “I don’t quote Shakespeare to you anymore because it feels too real to have you say lines like that back to me. I think that I’ve latched onto you without even meaning to, and now I don’t know if I can ever let you go.”

Wanda was silent. She was watching you, as quietly as the sun hovered over the earth while she shone her light. Your heart had never beat so fast before as you watched her watch you with a face so blank that you were sure that she hadn’t retained a damn thing that you pulled from the depths of your heart. Then, the daunting thought that she had heard and understood everything but chose not to act swallowed you whole, and your hands started to shake. You gave a humorless laugh and finally looked away from the woman who had raised your spirits and crushed them all within five minutes. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

“I’m so sorry.” You repeated, shaking your head and closing your eyes for a second as hot tears burned in them. When they opened, a fat tear sappetered onto your hand. I’m such an idiot. You looked to the screen, and then saw Romeo screaming, on the ground, and you could hear the words even though your ears were rushing with blood. I defy you, stars. “You don't have to say anything back, I know you don’t feel the same.” Your eyes pulled away from the screen. “I can leave- wait, um, this is my dorm. I-”

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” Wanda started slowly, and your brows furrowed as you heard the words fall from her lips. Fuck. You knew what this ended with, and still, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. “Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

Your eyes were wide by the end of it, watery and fixed on her. “W-what?”

“How could you not have known?” Wanda asked softly, and you but your lip to stop from bursting into tears.

“I thought you were straight!” You accused, and to your surprise, she laughed.

“No, sweetheart.” Your heart stuttered. “I’m not.”

Your breathing was still slightly heavy as you tried to get a grip on everything that was happening. “You… you feel the same way?”

“Of course I do, Jekyll.” She said, and you found yourself falling for her expressive eyes all over again as she stared up at you. You reached your hand out experimentally, like she did the second time you ever met, and you waited that torturous moment for her to take your hand in a way that was much different than all the other times you shared a touch. This touch was the moment of truth.

She took your hand, kissed your knuckles, and put your palm on her cheek.

“The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.”

“This can’t be anything but a dream,” you murmured, feeling her cheek in your hand and the way they were warm and flushed. The softness was bringing you in and out of your head, and every time you went back to reality, you were thrusted into a little sliver of paradise.

“Well, what a lovely dream it is, then.” Her lips found yours. The movie played on, the clock kept its incessant ticking, and your leg was starting to tingle from sitting on it in the same position for so long. But to you, time absolutely stopped. And as long as a particular science fiction nerd was in front of you, nothing that ticked or clicked or buzzed was ever going to matter.

*******

i said i wasn’t going to post this, but i did it anyway!! hope you guys enjoyed this fic!! it was a lot of fun to write but it also made me mad nervous LMAO let’s hope this wasn’t absolute dogshit

@teenwonder i know you said you wanted a tag on my stuff so here it is, love!! 💕💕

#marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #my fics #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader #lgbt marvel #english major!wanda

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willowbleedsonpaper · 3 years

Text

Shattered (Part 2)

James Potter x Reader

Read the first part here!

W.C. : 8055... sorry (?)

Warnings: Blood, sadness, heartbreak, my english, I didn’t proof read, that it is 01:00 am. Idk, you tell me :)

A/N: I dont know if this is what you all requested, I hope you like it and that you enjoy it. Thank you so much for your patience, I know I’m a slow writer but we can blame my brain for getting distracted way to easily. I spent one hour looking for a song I listened to years ago in the middle of writing this, and that was just today. Again, thank you for your patience.

Likes, reblogs, comments and keyboard smashes are appreciated.

Sirius stayed back with a knot in his stomach, the anticipation he felt as he saw you and James walk out of the Gryffindor common room more than he could bear. You had led James with the hold of your hand, looking back at Sirius with a small smile before you disappeared from his sight. He knew what you were about to do. He knew and he fought every single nerve in his body to not follow the two of you, rocking on his feet as he awaited your arrival.

His stomach dropped at the sight of James, walking back all alone. He raised his eyes over the people crowded at the entrance, waiting for your bright smile to meet his eyes, but you never arrived. James was all alone.

“Prongs.” he called his friend as he walked past them “Where are you going?” he held back from asking about you. It was clear you weren’t coming back.

James stopped at the stairs to the dorms, his hand supporting his weight on the wall “It’s been a long week.” he muttered, voice barely audible over all the fuzz “I’m going to bed.” he stated, never meeting his friends face as he kept his face low.

Sirius placed his cup down, walking over his friend who had gotten up the stairs. He called his name without a response, jumping the last steps towards their dorm “James!” he called once he catched up to him, placing his hand on his shoulder to stop him.

James jumped at the feeling of his hand, finally lifting his head. His cheeks were stained with tears, his lower lip trembling as he stared at Sirius “Not now, Pads.” he mumbled, taking his hand from his shoulder and letting it fall “Not now.”

Sirius froze there, not saying a word as James closed the door behind him. He had learned when to leave James alone, walking down the steps back to the common room with a defeated feeling in his chest. Your name popped in his head as he remembered his words to you.

I don’t think he’s pretending anymore.

What had he done?

He never made it back to his group of friends, his cup long forgotten in one of the tables of the common room. He walked as fast as he could, ignoring the looks from students as his head turned at every possible spot you could be, his feet with a mind of its own as he ended up at the door of your dorm.

His hand shook as he neared the door, the soft twist of the knob making his stomach wake with a thousand feelings, his palms sweaty as he pushed the door open.

He called your name softly, heart beating fast inside his chest. His eyes adapted quickly to the darkness, moving wildly all over the room to find nothing. He was about to give up, pulling the door with him as he walked out when a flicker of light caught his eye. He frowned, going back inside looking for the source of the little light, the crunching sound of something under his weight making him stop instantly. He took a few steps back, the flicker blinding him once more as he crunched down and suddenly he saw it. Sharp pieces of what looked like a mirror were scattered all over the floor.

He stayed there for a second, the thud sound coming from the bathroom making him go there, his knuckles touching the wood as he placed his ear over the door. “Y/N?” he called again. Not getting a response, he opened the door, the light bright in comparison to the room. And there, sitting on the cold tiled floor, he saw you hugging your knees as you sobbed quietly.

“Oh, darling.” he muttered, kneeling to your side in a second.

Your grip around your legs tightened, turning to your side to avoid looking at him. You ignored his calls and questions, his soft voice making the knot on your throat tighter as you wanted nothing more than left yourself cry and scream. You wanted to scream the pain away.

“Just leave, Sirius.” you said in between sobs, hiding your face in the piece of clothing in your hands.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave you, his eyes widening in worry as he saw you crumble down again. Your sobs were loud once more as you angrily cleaned the tears from your face. His face fell on the one thing you clung onto, his heart falling down inside his chest as he recognized the fabric as the sweater James had gifted you. He didn’t know what to do, this was his fault! You told him not to give you hope and nevertheless you listened to his foolish advice. You went ahead and confessed everything to James. It was his fault you were in so much pain and he didn’t know how to make it better. He wasn’t sure he could. Sirius wasn’t good at this, he had never been in this position before. He couldn’t tell you it would be alright, that it would stop hurting at some point. He couldn’t give you advice because he knew that was his mistake in the first place. He could only do the one thing he knew worked for him, the thing James himself did for him. Be there for you.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled, his hand going to hold your hand, the feeling of warmth making his heart stop. He immediately let go, holding his palm up to the light to see the red stains there, his face snapping at you as he went to the sink, grabbing a small towel from there as he rushed back to your side “Y/N, you’re bleeding.” he said hurriedly, clutching your hand against his and carefully tapping the soft fabric over your palm.

Your head snapped up instantly, finally turning to him as he held your hand, seeing the small cuts on your palms “I thought it stopped.” you told him, voice raspy as you sat straight.

He shook his head, taking your other hand in his as he began cleaning that one too “You knew you were bleeding?” he asked.

You nodded your head “I-uh..I tripped while holding my mirror.” you lied “Stopped the fall with my hands but ended up falling over the broken mirror. I cleaned them before, I thought they had stopped bleeding.” you said with an apologetic look.

He gave you a questioning look but said nothing about it “Don’t they hurt?” he asked, the worry in his voice rising as he saw you shake your head “You felt them, right?”

You shrugged your shoulders, letting him clean your palms. “I felt them, they don’t hurt.” you stated.

His movements slowed down considerably, the towel like a feather over your skin. He looked up at you through his lashes, your void eyes making him look away immediately. You stayed in silence for a long while, him noticing your wounded knees as well and doing careful work on them.

Once he was done, he stayed there by your side. You didn’t have the energy to tell him to leave, to remind him that he was on the wrong side of this messy situation and that he belonged at his best friend’s side.

“You should go and get some rest, Sirius.” you said, not looking at him but in front of you, staring at the same spot you had been staring for a while now “It’s past midnight.”

He didn’t realize when he got back to the floor again, both of you sitting there like two defeated warriors. He certainly felt defeated, the prospect of the weeks ahead not giving him any hope.

“They won’t notice I’m gone.” he said in a whisper. “The party is still going, your friends are still there too.”

You frowned, a dry chuckle leaving your throat “They’re hardly my friends, just good company and nice roommates.” you said, not giving it so much importance as you lifted your head from his shoulder, not realizing when you had leaned on him in the first place, and moved to sit in front of him, your legs crossed so the two could fit in the small space “You know for a fact they will be looking for you.” you said as firmly as you could muster “Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”

He shook his head, his hair falling to the sides of his head when he looked down “I didn’t even know where I was going.” he admitted with a humorless laugh “I saw James alone and after I talked to him I went to look for you. I was about to leave when I saw…” his words trailed down, dying on the tip of his tongue as he remembered the broken mirror on the room.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the mirror coming back to your head as the crashing sounds replayed in your memory over and over again. He caught you on your lie.

“How’ s James?” you asked in a whisper, not really knowing what you expected to hear.

“He’s, I- I really don’t know.” he admitted “He went straight to bed and asked me to leave him alone.”

You nodded your head, moving your hair out of your face, taking a good look at Sirius for the first time that night. He looked more broken than you felt, his face was contorted in pain as he never met your eyes. “Sirius.” you called him with a soft smile, his eyes lifting to look at you “Why does it look like you’re the one with a broken heart?” you asked.

He remained silent for a while, studying your face as you waited for his answer “It’s my fault.” he murmured “You told me not to give you hope and that’s exactly what I did.”

Your smile turned into a sad one, playing with your hands and the little charm on the bracelet you wore “It’s not your fault I fell for him.” you told him “We made a deal and I knew why he was doing this. If anything, it’s James' fault for being so bloody charming.” you said with laugh, the single tear running down your cheek betraying you and the pang you felt in your chest.

Sirius handed you a tissue, watching you clean your cheeks “Maybe there is no one to blame.” he said lightly “You can’t tell your heart how to feel, right? Not your fault.” he said, lifting a finger as he counted “I tried to help and it went awfully wrong.” you chuckled at his words, a second finger lifting as he sighed “And James can’t tell his heart how to feel either.” he dropped his hand, looking at you.

You nodded, pursing your lips but not disagreeing with him. “Who are you and what did you do with Sirius?” you joked, watching him roll his eyes “When did you become so wise?” you asked and he shook his head.

“Like an hour ago.” he blurted, making the both of you laugh trutfully for the first time in the night. “I should probably go.” he said with a sigh, standing from the floor and helping you to your feet, you walked in silence to the door of your dorm. He stopped there, turning one last time as he gave you a quick hug, murmuring goodnight at the side of your head.

He was a few stairs down when your fingers wandered back to the bracelet in your wrist, your eyes falling back as you held the small charm in between your fingers “Sirius!” you called him as you ran down the few steps he had taken, unfastening the chain and pulling it away. “Can you take this with you?” you asked him, holding it up for him to see “Please.”

He looked at it, his eyes moving from the bracelet and up to you. “What should I do with it?” he asked, opening his palm and you softly placed it over his hand, closing his hand in a fist.

You lifted your eyes to his, hugging yourself as you shrugged “Whatever you want.” you said, letting your shoulders fall. He bit his lip, nodding his head and putting the bracelet inside his pocket. A sigh left you as you saw him “Thank you.” you whispered.

He smiled tightly at you, nodding his head in your way “Of course.” he said, leaving you and your dorm behind for the night.

“Sirius?” Remus’ voice echoed in the common room, the place a mess as he made quick work in cleaning the space. The sound of footsteps caught his attention, walking to the stairs with the hope of seeing him there only to find Peter “Anything?” he asked desperately.

Peter shook his head, the sigh that left Remus’ lips cut short “Remus, I think Sirius can wait.” Peter said urgently, getting a confused look from Remus “It’s James.” he pointed up to where their dorm.

Remus dropped the bag in his hand, doubtfully following Peter “What about James?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” He answered, signaling for Remus to follow as he jumped the last steps up, pushing the dorm open.

Remus walked inside, Peter close on his tail. He didn’t see anything weird at first, checking Sirius’s bed before his eyes fell on the empty bed beside it. He looked around, looking for his friend when Peter lifted his hand, pointing right to the window and the figure sitting there.

“Prongs?” he called hesitantly, walking near until he was sitting next to him. When he got no answer he turned to Peter, the same Peter who just shook his face and pointed back at James with the shrug of his shoulders. Remus tilted his head, a sigh leaving his lips as he patted the place next to him for Peter to sit. “James.” he called firmly.

James only moved his head, resting his head on his knees as he hugged his legs. The sniffing sounds coming from him filling the room “I fucked up, Moony.” he muttered “I fucked up real bad.”

Remus wondered what he could be referring to, Peter looking between his two friends with the same confusion written all over his face. They weren’t left in the dark for long, James pouring his mind and heart out to his friends as they listened carefully. Not one thing was left unsaid, not the deal, the gifts he gave you, his initial plan to make Lily jealous, everything that happened that night, everything he didn’t understand.

“You were pretending all this time?” asked Peter, voice shaky as he awaited for them to confirm he understood everything, but Remus’ look towards James made him stay in silence.

If looks could kill, James would be dead. And if there was something worse after death he would be there as well. The silence was so thick, James felt like breathing became hard, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked down at the floor, not having the courage to look his friend in the eye.

“You’re an idiot.” said Remus. Nothing else. He left the words settle in, not giving a further explanation as he saw the guilt stir inside James’s chest.

“I know Moony, but…”

“There is no but here. You already know you fucked up, you said it yourself.” he said, his voice awfully calm as his face screamed a thousand emotions no one could nor wanted to name.

James felt the tears gathered in his eyes once again, holding Remus’ gaze with a shaky stance. He cursed under his breath, running his hands through his hair until he reached his face, hiding in the safety of his palms “I don’t know what to do.” he admitted, words muffled but clear to everyone in the room.

The door opened before anyone could say anything, the three friends turned towards the sound as they watched Sirius walk inside. He was completely oblivious to his friends all gathered around James, his steps faltering once he met the eyes of all on him.

“We looked for you everywhere.” said Peter with a nervous smile “You left the party early.”

Sirius opened his mouth, the words forming on his tongue and dying there.

“You went to see her.” James said, voice low as he met Sirius’s eyes “Didn’t you?”

Sirius turned his eyes away at the mention of you, walking to his bed and taking his jacket off. He moved slowly around the room, head low as he avoided the answers he knew he would have to give sooner or later.

Remus called his name, successfully making him snap out his trance.

“Yeah, I did.” he said, doubtful if he should go and sit with them or keep his distance. But once Peter and Remus moved to the sides and made some space for him to join he didn’t hesitate.

“How is she?” James asked, leaning his body forward.

“Better now.” he said dryly, not knowing how to explain the state he found you in. Not knowing in what state he left you in.

“What do you mean better now?” asked James in confusion, a frown set deep in his face.

Sirius shook his head “It would be better if you two talked.” he said.

Remus chuckled, looking down before he met the confusion of all his friends at the sudden sound leaving his lips “I can’t believe I’m saying this but he’s right.” he said, cocking his head in Sirius’s direction.

They all laughed, the air turning lighter as their laughs died down.

The subject wasn’t addressed for the rest of the night, all of them going to sleep a couple of hours later with their hearts heaving inside their chests. You had always been friends with the Marauders, more close with James, but still. They would be, in a way, losing a friend. They knew how you acted, how you thinked, you would keep your distance from them at all cost.

This plagued the minds of everyone as they went to sleep, some successfully getting some sleep while others didn’t have the chance.

Getting out of bed was easier than you thought it would be. The ticking of the clock making you open your eyes earlier than most days, there was no point in staying in bed. You went to the bathroom and followed your routine, getting changed for the day in your robes.

Twenty minutes later you were making your way through the empty halls of the castle, taking your time in getting to the Great Hall for breakfast as you enjoyed the chill morning air blowing in your face. You nuzzled your face in your scarf, feeling the soft material against your skin when the faintest of smells caught your nose, making your feet slow down as you looked down to the scarf. The pit in your stomach grew as you realized it wasn’t your scarf, not really, but the one James gifted you. There was no telling them apart, they were exactly the same scarf, except for the fabric that still lingered with his scent. It was clear for you it was his scarf, but no one else could know, so you kept going like nothing happened. In a way, he would be with you the rest of the day.

The day was just like any other for anyone watching, for anyone paying the minimum of attention. You made the effort of not standing out, which was an easy task, keeping yourself surrounded by your housemates in meals and during classes. No one even questioned you, no one asked where you went the previous night when you left with James, why you didn’t return. For the outside world you were still with James. For them, the previous night never happened.

You envied them, but at the same time you didn’t. You wanted the hurt to stop, but you didn’t regret telling James how you felt. You tried and he didn’t feel the same way. Now it was time to heal. Time for you to move on.

Only thing was, James remained one of the most popular students at Hogwarts. He was James Potter, Transfiguration prodigy, Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, known prankster and one of the Marauders. Everyone heard his name at least once a day and you weren’t the exception. Actually, you were far from being the exception, his name followed you everywhere you went.

Two weeks had gone by and you had managed to successfully avoid him. Of course you saw him walk around the castle, your steps faltering at the sound of his voice, your eyes staring at him longer than you should, your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name, but you never actually interacted with him, and for that you were grateful. You made sure you always were with someone by your side, you shared most of your classes with your best friend and in the ones you didn't’ you kept mostly to yourself, engaging with the professor and other students as you normally would. You went on with your life the way you did before James, before the deal.

“Miss Y/LN.” Professor Mcgonagall called after class, your heart beating fast inside your chest as you slowly packed your things and walked to her desk, making time until everyone had walked out of the classroom.

“Professor.” you said, standing in front of her “Is there something wrong?” you asked, your voice surprisingly firm as you said it.

“Oh, no.” she said, looking up at you through her glasses “On the contrary.” she pulled a parchment form beneath her desk, opening it for you to see. A sigh left your lips as you saw the list she showed you “Are you still looking for someone to tutor?” she asked, her smile widening as she said it.

You nodded your head, your excitement matching hers.

“In that case, I have the perfect candidate.” She said “It’s nothing complicated, he needs help in a few subjects and only for the upcoming exams if he wants to keep his position in the Quidditch team, and I have a feeling you will be happy to tutor him.”

“Really?” you asked, getting confused by her confidence in her choice “Who is it?”

She looked up at you, an amused smile playing on her lips “Potter, of course.” she said.

Your smile fell instantly and it didn’t go unnoticed by her, putting her parchment down as she focused on you “Is there something wrong?” she asked in concern.

You looked at her, smiling tightly “No. I mean, well… we’re not dating anymore.” you muttered the last words, sitting in the table behind you without a care if it was appropriate or not.

Just like yours, Professor Mcgonagall’s smile fell from her lips “Oh dear,” she said with a sympathetic look on her face “Well it matters not if you are in a relationship with Potter or not, right now he is the only student who matches your schedule.”

You knew what she meant. You started tutoring to get higher grades in your classes, you needed that extra, heartbroken or not.

“Of course,” you said, accepting the papers from her and reading quickly over her neat handwriting “Fridays at the library.” you said, Professor Mcgonagall nodding in approval as you went through the details.

Not five minutes later you were walking out of her classroom, papers in hand and your spirit lost once more. Why must fate be so cruel?

James walked the halls of Hogwarts inside his own head. Friends waved in his way, professors called his name, people told him to watch where he was going. He waved back by pure memory muscle, not even noticing who he was waving back to; he hid inside his shell and ignored the words of his professors, words going in one ear and out through the other; he didn’t even stood for himself against others, muttering a low apology as he kept on his way. He was living on automatic.

Friday evening, the clouds rolled on the sky as the sun started to set in the horizon, making the day darker and darker as he made his way to the library, the place with just enough light from the candles to walk around. He wanted to be somewhat prepared for the session with his tutor. He was supposed to meet with his tutor for the first time that day, Professor Mcgonagall giving him the details earlier that day, with a hard look on her face as she said he should be lucky to have the tutor she chose for him, but never actually giving their name.

He needed this, he needed to keep up with his grades if he wanted to play quidditch, not even stay captain, just so they would let him play.

For the past two weeks, Quidditch and his friends were the only thing keeping him at float, the only things that prevented him from sinking in the guilt he could feel around him, slowly reaching his neck, barely keeping his head out. He couldn’t afford to lose one of those things.

He sat at the table farthest inside at the library, the book about the subjects he needed help the most open in a line in front of him. The words never settled as he read over and over the same page. He grunted, pushing the book away as the ones beside it fell to the ground.

“What did the books ever do to you?” his face snapped up at the voice, meeting red hair and a bright smile. Lily placed the books back on the table, slowly taking the chair in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow, the sinking feeling in his chest lifting the slightest as Lily sat there with him “Are you my tutor?” he asked suspiciously.

Lily scoffed, looking at him before she rolled his eyes, shaking her head and resting her back against the chair “I have enough work with my classes as it is.” she said, looking over all the books he had gathered.

“Here I thought you were looking to spend more time with me.” he smirked, smiling but the facade falling as quickly as it appeared. He couldn’t even act like he once did.

She smiled, looking up at him in confusion “Aren’t you and Y/N dating?” she asked.

And then it dawned on him, they never officially broke up. No one knew what happened that night, not even he was sure what happened. “Yeah,” he muttered, head low as he scratched the back of his neck “Not anymore.” he added, looking up to see Lily’s reaction.

She raised her eyebrows, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest “Thats’ a shame.” she said, taking James by surprise “You were almost tolerable when you two started dating.”

“What?” he blurted out.

“That’s why I’m here.” she explained, and James gave her a dirty look, earning a chuckle from her “You didn’t think I was here for you, did you?” he muttered a No under his breath, the smile on Lily’s face growing but she said nothing about it “I’ve been looking for her all over the castle, I just can’t find her.” she explained.

“Why are you looking for her?” he asked, his voice suddenly flat as all emotion was drained from him.

She chose to ignore it, sensing the change in his mood as soon as he mentioned her “You know, it’s not important.” she brushed it off, taking her bag from the floor “I’ll find her by myself later.”

She said her goodbyes, starting to walk when his hand grasped her wrist “Lily.” he said, her eyes never meeting his. “Why are you looking for YN?” he asked again, never letting go of her wrist. Lily had a hard look on her, shaking his hand out of his grasp, lifting her head as her eyes softened.

“Y/N.” she breathed out, James' face turning into one of confusion until a sense he found himself missing every day for the past two weeks filled him once more.

You smiled tightly, hand over the handle of your bag as your eyes moved up from where their hands were second ago. Looking immediately at Lily with a more warmer smile.

“Hi, Lily.” you greeted her, not once meeting James’ eyes “I can come back later, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” she said, her body acting by itself as it leaned forward to talk but the words never appeared, her sudden burst of energy dying down as she looked down at James. Her face fell but she covered it up quickly with a smile, reaching for her bag on the chair “I was just leaving, I’ll see you both around.” She bid her goodbyes and walked away.

You followed her with your eyes, until her red hair disappeared in between the shelves.

“I guess you are my tutor.” James broke the silence and you finally looked at him, the pit in your stomach growing. You took the chair where Lily sat before, nodding your head at him “Y/N, I…”

“I am,” you confirmed, taking the chair where Lily sat before “I thought we could start with Herbology, since it’s your worst subject.” you said, cutting him short “I thought we could leave Charms and Transfiguration for last, you’re good at those and you’ll need little to no help.”

“Right.” he muttered, leaning back when you moved away from him. Taking a little too long in getting your notes, practically burying your face in your bag.

The session was long, meeting once a week having its burden but one you were ready to carry. You had to help him with most of the subjects, but he was clever and you already knew how to teach him. He was doing most of the talking, asking questions when he got stuck in something. You wanted to smile, a soft smile forming but holding it back as you looked down at him. He was really clever, but he doubted himself, most of the session based on his questions to ensure he had the right point or idea.

“It’s getting late.” James said, closing his book softly as he stretched his arms over his head, a yawn escaping him as he pressed his eyes shut. He returned his eyes to you, your own gaze lost on some spot behind him “Y/N?” he asked, waving a hand before you.

“Huh?” you asked softly, your eyes taking a little longer to snap back to reality, immediately falling to the now empty table “Right.” you muttered, grabbing your things and shoving them down your bag.

“Hey, Y/N.” said James, lowering his head to meet your eyes “I think we need to…”

You didn’t let him finish “I’ll see you next Friday. If you need anymore help, just find me and we can arrange something.” you repeated the speech you had been going over in your head long before you arrived at the library, watching him nod you breathe out in relief “Goodnight.” you said, walking past him and out of the library, everything James wanted to say left hanging in the air.

“Hello, stranger.” you slowly raised your head, your blank look softening as you moved your things to the side.

“What are you doing here Sirius?” you asked with amusement, turning to the side towards his usual spot, Remus and Peter deep in conversation to even notice your eyes on them.

He scoffed, taking the seat with an offended look “Two weeks.” he said, palm hitting the table with each word “Two weeks since we last talked and you ask what am I doing here?”

You shrugged, making a face as you lowered your head “I’ve been here all the time.” you said back “Besides, we’ve gone longer without exchanging a word and the world it’s still spinning.”

“Glad to see you missed me.” he muttered, grabbing pieces of fruit from your plate despite you slapping his hand away “Stop doing that, I’m stealing your food anyway.” he hissed, stretching his hand when you took your plate away from him.

You gave up in the end, giving him the plate which he took with a smile “I’m going to class now.” you said, watching him nod “Do you need anything?” you asked him, grabbing your bag and standing, Sirius doing the same and following your steps.

“I’ll walk with you.” he said, grabbing one last piece of apple and walking with you.

You didn’t fight him, walking out of the Great Hall and turning right only to be tugged the opposite way. You complained but it was of no use, your hands pointing back as Sirius led you, his grip on your shoulders difficult to fight. “You do know the way to dungeons is the opposite of where we are going, right?”

“Of course.” he said, satisfied enough with your path, he let go of you and walked by your side.

“Just making sure.” you murmured, watching him as he walked peacefully “Sirius.” you called “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” he said too quickly, the raise of your eyebrow making nothing to break him. “It’s nothing, I swear!”

“Right.” you laughed, shaking your head.

The walk, even though long, was enjoyable. You actually had missed Sirius, you missed them all. One month of having all your meals and spending all your free time with the Marauders was enough to make you miss it like it was your home. You missed the laughs, Sirius jokes and shameless flirting, you missed the blush rising up Remus’ neck at Sirius flirting, you missed having a serious and yet fun conversation with Remus about anything that came to mind, his wise words and sharp mind; you missed Peter, his sense of humour and never ending source of snacks, you missed sharing your food with him and sneaking them into class. You didn’t realize how much you missed them until Sirius told you all about them and how they were.

“You know you can always join us.” he said, the sad smile forming in your lips making him nudge your side with his elbow “I’m Sirius.” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as he walked backwards, entering the classroom with a smirk “No one is stopping you but yourself.” he said, walking to his seat next to James.

All consideration about sitting with them dying as soon as you met his eyes, holding your gaze for a second as he eyed you. His eyes moved away, the smile returning to his face but not completely, it didn't reach his eyes like it had before he saw you.

The pit in your stomach grew, letting your body fall to your chair as you dropped your bag on the floor. You sighed heavily, holding your head in your hands and waiting for the class to start. It was bound to be a long week.

“You can’t keep doing that.” Remus said that night in their common room.

“Do what?” Sirius asked, his eyes never meeting Remus’ as he threw the caramel in his hand at Peter, who catched it from the opposite side of the couch with a triumphant smile. Sirius threw a fist in the air, turning to Remus when he felt his glare on him “Use your words, Moony.”

“You have to stop taking Y/N’s attention away from James every time he’s with Lily.” he said, backing away as Sirius shushed him. “It’s friday, he’s with his tutor.” he reminded him, his body visibly relaxing as he flopped down on the couch.

“I’ll do it as long as I can.” Sirius said in a whisper “And you’re no one to talk, Mr. Glares.” he mocked, his eyes hardening in an attempt to mimic Remus’ look. Even Peter laughed at that, covering his mouth when Remus shot yet another glare at him.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you don’t feel how your face brings winter upon us every time you see James with Evans”

“That’s what upsets you?” Sirius asked in disbelief “Not that they’re both heartbroken?”

“They knew what they were doing from the beginning. It 's sad? Yes, but…” he paused, shaking his head “I just want James and Y/N being friends again.”

“Or more.” Peter mumbled, making both Sirius and Remus groan as they stared at him. “No.” they said in unison.

James sat at the library, head buried deep in a book. His hand fumbled in the inside of his pocket, the soft clicking of metal sounding over the soft murmurs of the many voices at the library. He looked up at the clock again, you were rarely late. He got up, walking through all the shelves and checking every other table. You were nowhere to be found.

He sat down with a sigh again, reading over the notes and all the questions he had over the week about his assignments. He considered looking for you, taking you up on your offer to arrange something else, but Lily stopped him on his way looking for you.

He saw you walk out of your classroom, talking with some of your friends as you made your way to your next class. He spent most of the previous night working on his essay but for every question he found the answer for he came up with three more. In the end, he gave up and waited to talk to you in the morning. Following close, he avoided all the people in his way as he jogged up to your group, coming to halt a few feet from you when he heard his name being called. He turned, watching Lily walk up to him.

He stepped back, meeting her in the middle “Evans.” he said, smiling in her way. His eyes glanced at you, finding you already looking at him. Your eyes moved away from him, head low as you and your friends walked away. James sighed, focusing on Lily in front of him “What is it?” he asked, leaning in the wall behind him.

“Remember the other day I was looking for Y/N?” she asked, fumbling inside her bag as he hummed in response “Well, I found something of hers. I believe you gave it to her.” she said, pulling from her bag a thin silver chain, the small charm hanging from the end.

James watched the bracelet with sadness, taking it from Lily’s hand “Where did you find it?” he asked, the coldness of the chain in his hand making his heart drop.

“The tree by the Lake.” she answered “I was going to give it back to her but then you said you weren’t together anymore. She showed it to me, you know? Well, everyone actually. She was so happy she showed it to everyone at our table.” she chuckled.

“Right” he said, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried and failed to remember that specific time. You told him all about your attempts to annoy Lily. Then it hit him, you weren’t pretending.

“Anyway, I thought better give it back to you.” Lily said, walking a few steps and then stopping “You know? Whatever happened between you two, I’m sure you can work it out. You looked happy together, both of you.” and with that she left, Marlene waited for her at the end of the hall as they disappeared in the distance together.

He didn’t want to bother you anymore, getting rid of the bracelet he gave you clue enough to know you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. He blinked fast, his vision blurry for a second as one tear fell down his cheek. Why was it so hard?

You were friends! You were one of his best friends. He trusted you and that’s why he asked for your help, you knew him better than most, you were used to being together, so what changed? You had kissed before your deal, held hands, hugged, every couple thing you did you had done before. Why was he asking himself what changed? He didn’t like you in that way, he told you so. Or did he?

“I’m so sorry.” your voice snapped him out of his trance, his eyes sad as he stared at you. Your hair was messy, one of your biggest and comfiest sweaters thrown over your head in a last minute manner, the scarf around your neck coming undone as you flopped won the chair. “Jamie?” you asked at his tranced state, his eyes snapping up at yours. You called him Jamie. “You okay?”

He felt all the color drain from his face, a bucket of cold water thrown in his face as he stared at you. When was the last time you had called him Jamie? When was the last time that you two had sat down and just chatted about life, that you made sure he paid attention in class and he made you get out of your room? When was the last time he heard you laugh, yell or muttered under your breath?

“James.” you called again, his eyes focusing on you before he jumped from his chair and left.

You were tempted to call him, but Madame Pince was giving you a dirty look already. You stumbled to your feet, gathering yours and James’ things as you ran out and after him.

He was walking aimlessly, his entire body and mind panicking. He could hear you calling his name, your hurried footsteps sounding closer and closer as he ran down the stairs, walking outside into the courtyard as the cold air hit his face.

“James,” you gasped, joggin all the way to the fountain to drop your things there. He was pacing, breathing short and rapid as he looked everywhere but to you. “James!” you called louder, getting no response from him “Hey, hey!” you said, grasping his shoulders “Talk to me.”

He took several deep breaths, holding your gaze and realizing he hadn’t looked at you, actually looked at you in the eye for far too long. “I’m an idiot.”

You frowned, your face contorted in confusion as you let your hands fall from him “Am I supposed to deny it?” you asked “‘Cause we both know I can’t.”

He chuckled “You still joke.” he said with a smile, running a hand through his hair as he turned his back to you.

“I still joke.” you repeated under your breath, looking at him “What is that even supposed to mean?”

If someone told you what was about to happen next you would have never believed them. No one, not in a million years could have prepared you.

“All this time I took you for granted. Thinking you were my friend, that this was supposed to be the way friendship works with you. I always knew it was different, never felt like Pads or Moony, but I took it because you were a girl.” he let out a breathy laugh, turning to look at you “Never felt like it did with Lily.” he muttered.

You hugged yourself, avoiding his eyes as you looked down “I get it, we’re friends.” you said in a whisper “You made that clear.”

“No, you don’t get it.” he said, making you roll your eyes tiredly, sitting in the brim of the fountain “I took you for granted.”

“I heard you the first time.” you said bitterly, looking at him with the same bitterness in your eyes “Look, James. I can’t be your friend anymore. I just can’t.”

“I don’t want you to be my friend.” he said, and you swore your heart shattered again. Lowering your face to avoid him seeing the tears gathering in your eyes, you wanted to say something Gee, thanks or That makes two of us but you didn’t trust your voice to say that without cracking.

“I never knew what love felt like until you went away.” he said, your heart stopping inside your chest.

“What?” you asked, voice trembling as you lifted your eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” he sat down in front of you, eyes wandering to your hands as he hesitantly took one in the warmth of his “I hurt you because I’m an idiot and you deserve so much better, so much better than an oblivious fool who doesn’t know what he has until he loses it.”

You tried to make sense of all the things he was saying but nothing made sense. “James...I-I”

“I love you too.” he blurted out, watching your every move, every twitch, anything that could give him an answer.

“No.” you said suddenly “You were pretending, remember?”

“That we were together.” he explained “But I’ve always cared about you, everything I did was because I wanted to. And yes, maybe Lily was there but I would’ve done it anyway, all of it.” his voice lowered considerably, watching you in your frozen state “I liked Lily because of the chase but I love you because it’s all I’ve ever known with you. I didn’t even know, everyone else did but not me. Two weeks of not being with you, not listening to your laugh, your jokes and your yells. I’ve missed the way we just exist together, going out and having fun. I missed playing with your hair, and you getting mad because I get it all tangled, I miss going to honeydukes and watching your eyes go wide as you don't know what to pick. I miss hugging you after a Quidditch match or after a long day.” he sighed, out of breath “I just miss you.”

You let the words settle in, processing every word and every thought as you stared at him in a blank state.

“I know I hurt you. I don’t want you to forgive me just because of all I’ve said but please, just please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” you said in a low voice “I never did.”

“You didn’t?” he asked in disbelief, and you shook your head.

“I could never.” you told him with the smallest smile. You looked up, the stars shining in the sky as you let out a breathy laugh “Come here.” you muttered, opening your arms as he practically jumped to you, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. Your arms hugged him, going over his neck as you sat closer than ever. One of your hands raised to the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair as you turned your face, placing a soft kiss in his cheek.

You don't know how long you stayed in each other's arms, at some point your head nuzzled in the crook of his neck as he held you close. The cold air hitting your faces.

“You kept my scarf.” he said, you tried to deny it as he smiled “It’s mine.” he picked up the end, showing you some loose threads and worn fabric “I recognize it.” he said. His eyebrows raised, letting go of your hand and reaching to his pocket. He moved back slightly, pulling the silver bracelet and holding it up for you to see “I believe this is yours.” he said.

“Sirius gave it to you?” you asked, his hand coming around your wrist and placing it over his lap.

“Sirius?” he asked, fastening the bracelet around your wrist “Lily found it.”

“Lily?” you asked, clearly both in confusion with the mix of names “I asked Sirius to take it.”

“And apparently she found it.” he said, holding your hand in his “Are you sure you don’t hate me?” he asked again.

“I don’t know, do people who hate each other do this?” you asked, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone, leaning in slowly and capturing his lips in a slow kiss. He moved closer, both of his hands cupping your face as he deepened the kiss, the smile that grew in his lips mirroring yours. He slowly broke the kiss, eyes closed as his forehead rested against yours. He opened his eyes and met yours, shining with bliss as his smile grew wider.

Your heart no longer felt shattered.

TAGS:

@fanficflaneuse @nebulablakemurphy @lupins-sweater @accio-rogers @gloriousrebelrunaway @slytherinprincess03 @not-today-anxiety @iwritesiriusly @trinimalfoyyy @haphazardhufflepuff @deafgirltingz @remmyswritings @peeves-a-legend @yourssuccubus @it-was-three-am @pamelalur15

If your name is like this it means I can’t tag you :(

P.S. At the end, the rest of the Marauders were watching James and the reader from one of the towers, they were so anxious that at some point Sirius yelled KISS HER YOU FOOL! and that he did. Their cheers could be heard all over Hogwarts.

#Shattered #James Potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #young!james potter #james potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era

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ellewords · 3 years

Note

atsumu was like the sun. he shined and glowed and warmed people just by being near them. without a single thought, he was able to brighten the mood in ways that no one else could. even on his darker days or when his being felt too harsh, he left an impact that made everyone long for more. you couldn’t always see him, couldn’t always feel his presence, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there somehow, unseen but known.

by association, that sort of made you the moon. you could shine brightly and leave a warm glow and comfort others when they felt like they were in the dark. but all of that wasn’t possible without the sun. without atsumu.

people didn’t know you unless you were by atsumu’s side. they didn’t spare you a glance until atsumu brought attention to you. but you didn’t mind. all you wanted was to have him by your side, to support you when you couldn’t hold yourself up, to be brilliant beside him even if you would never outshine him. you were content in your current situation.

so why did it hurt so much seeing him continue to shine? why did his warmth suddenly feel so cold? why couldn’t you be as bright as him all on your own?

or, atsumu will always be the sun, you always the moon. maybe now it’s time to accept that you’re nothing without him so you can finally shine for yourself.

-💛

— from elle ! 💛anon you never miss, do you? aaaa this was so good it lived in my head rent free ever since i first read it >_< i just had to write an addition to this for the way you made my heart actually ache. i hope i did your drabble justice :<< this just hit a lil too close to home ngl thank you for reading everyone, i hope you like this! reblogs are appreciated, they help a ton <3

fic notes / warnings : timeskip!miya atsumu x gn!reader, angst, fluff (-ish? kinda) ending, oneshot, wc: ~1.52k (!! my longest margins addition so far omg)

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

atsumu has a gravitational pull, that much has always been clear to you and everyone else; a pull so strong that you can’t help but orbit around him. every room he walks into, he commands the attention of everyone present. one can’t help but simply be drawn to him — with his bright smiles, boisterous laughs, and larger than life movements. it’s no wonder why everything seems to bend to his will, how the universe seems to revolve around him.

you’ve moved around him for as long as you can remember, every now and then, he lets you borrow his light. the world has associated you with him and you don’t blame anyone one bit.

his name has always come first. setter for the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. invited to the all-japan youth intensive training camp, miya atsumu. captain of the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu.

meanwhile, yours is treated as an afterthought, an attachment, a footnote in the awe-inspiring narrative of his life. you’re known as his childhood friend. his best friend, the one who cheers him on from the stands in every single one of his games. alleged significant other, according to whispers in the hallway and to the tabloids and paparazzi. his eventual confirmed significant other, ln yn.

atsumu and who’s that with him? atsumu and his best friend. atsumu and his significant other. atsumu, oh, and yn’s here too. it’s always atsumu before yn; his name before yours. sometimes, you wonder if anyone would know your name if he hadn’t started dating you.

you walk behind atsumu, not beside him, when you enter a room. fingertips loosely intertwined with his, you attempt to keep your head up as atsumu introduces you around. they spare you a quick “hi”, before beginning a conversation with your sun.

though he’s not really your sun, is he? you’ve always had to share him with everyone else. everyone needs a little sunshine in their life, a little warmth; his brilliance is dazzling, like everyone else, you revelled in his glow.

the world has always associated you with him, but it never worked the other way around. atsumu has always shined on his own; you needed him to have light for yourself.

no one blames the sun for burning a little too bright; it’s simply the way it is. similarly, you’ve never blamed atsumu for being the way he is. he doesn’t know, didn’t mean to do it in the first place. atsumu has always existed for himself, lived life the way he sees fit.

you can’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to. even if you forced yourself to.

staring at the sun is fascinating, but do it long enough and it starts to hurt. the warmth is no longer comforting, but harsh and prickly. the light is no longer magical and dazzling, but blinding and terrifying. it took some time, but you eventually convinced yourself to look away.

“ya sure ya wanna do this?” atsumu asked, immediately recognizing your hesitance. he doesn’t want to break up, he wants you to take your words back, he wants you to tell him that this was all just some sick prank. but right now, it doesn’t matter what he wants. what matters is how you feel, the emotions he didn’t realize you had been feeling.

“no…” you mumbled. the intensity of his gaze makes your knees buckle, but you stand your ground. even in the chilling darkness of his living room, he radiates light and understanding, making everything all the more difficult. you bite the inside of your cheek, letting a few beats pass before your next words, “but i have to.”

“i believe in you,” atsumu nodded, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans. he lets out a quiet exhale, eyes gazing on the suitcases in your hand, “yer gonna do so many amazin’ things.”

your grip on the bag’s handle tightened. it was the end of an era, one that you didn’t expect would be ending at all. but it had to be done. for the first time since you met atsumu, you finally began to think of yourself. a small smile plays on your lips, hoping that he picks up on the pure gratefulness of your tone, “thank you for lending me your light.”

his reply would play in a loop in your mind. even in a breakup, the darkest the night has ever been, atsumu offers you a little bit of light. as expected from the sun.

the moon goes through several phases. some days are better than others. it’s a wave of several highs and lows, but you grow to understand that’s how things are. on some nights it’s as invisible as they come, the clouds blocking out what little light it already produced. though it glowed on other nights, you often feel like nothing has changed. but you learn to trust the process either way.

gazing at the moon is calming, not dazzling and exceptional, but calming. it provides peace, serenity. you often gazed at the moon, especially on the nights where you could only toss and turn. a cold breeze would blow past you and send shivers down your spine, painting your bare skin with several goosebumps. leaning on the balcony railing and taking in the sounds of a city that barely slept makes you think of him.

you miss the sun; you miss your sun. you miss his presence and the warmth he brings you. atsumu checks in every now and then, asking how you’re doing and wondering if you’d ever want to meet for a cup of coffee. you’ve never accepted any of his offers for fear of only getting pulled back in.

you’ve never realized that you always had a gravitational pull of your own. atsumu spends most of his nights gazing at the moon. when his heart raced and his mind buzzed, the moon brought him tranquility — as did you, his anchor.

[ miya atsumu ] : the night sky is nice tonight, it makes me think of you. i like that we’re always looking at the same one.

[ miya atsumu ] : i hope you’re doing okay.

he’s right, the night sky does look nice. the moon is full and shining the brightest you’ve ever seen it shine. gleaming, enchanting, and breathtaking doesn’t seem to do its beauty any justice. perhaps the poets and artists had been right all along, the moon is the perfect muse. your thoughts almost convince you that its light isn’t artificial. but twinkling beside the moon are the stars, shimmering high above the world you know, their light completely their own.

you’re not okay. being the moon may not be too bad, but you’ve already realized that you want to be amongst the stars as one.

days turn into weeks, and eventually months. sometimes they blend together when nothing of interest or importance happens, though you strive for events that are worth remembering. you’ve found a job that you actually like, one that you truly excelled at. you’ve started to put yourself out there, to meet people that pushed you to be better than you had been the day before. slowly but surely, you began to create your own light.

some days your light faltered, some days are dimmer than others, but it was a light of your own. it’s one that didn’t need another’s glow to exist. soon enough, you find yourself accepting one of atsumu’s many offers for a cup of coffee.

he’s now brighter than ever. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu, has turned into setter for japan’s olympic team, miya atsumu. his radiance is as blinding as ever, the largest grin on his face as he waves his hand out the second he caught sight of you.

but you’re brighter now too, weaving through the cafe tables with your head up high. you’re more sure of yourself, standing taller, making each step towards him with purpose. you’ve lost the tension in your shoulders, the weight that built in your chest. and atsumu notices it too.

“you’ve changed.” he smiles, much softer than you’re used to. his gaze is fond as you settle in the seat in front of him.

“i know,” you reply, the corners of your lips twitching upwards, “but thank you for lending me your light.”

atsumu’s smile remains that same soft one that you’re not used to as he recognizes your words almost immediately. he leans back in his seat, gesturing a hand to you, “never gave ya anythin’, this is all you.”

he replies with the same words he said several months ago, the latter half of the sentence being the only addition. warmth fills your chest as he never lost a single ounce of sincerity. the only difference? this time you actually believe him.

atsumu may still be the sun, but you’ve become a star in your own right; you no longer need him to shine. maybe someday you’ll shine bright enough to allow yourself to exist beside him. but for now, this is enough.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

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athensgorgia · 3 years

Text

Jealous Gojo x female reader

Summary: Gojo is running all your dates with potential partners. He just doesn't know why yet.

Warnings: Mature language and suggestive themes

Gojo was sitting next to you. Why the fuck was he sitting next to you. For the first time in your life you had a date and Gojo decided to tag along. "Get the fuck out of here before my date gets here or so help me god I will kill you!" you seethed. Gojo payed your threats no mind flagging down a waiter "I want whatever cake you have. What about you y/n-chan?" he asks nonchalantly. "I want you to leave." you say in an exasperated tone.

"Now, now y/n-chan. We can't have that now can we? What if he's a total wierdo?" Gojo insists. "You're the one who is being wierd! I didn't even tell you I was on a date! How did you even know!?" you cried. "Well when something is really important I make it my business to know what is going on. Especially when it comes to my little y/n-chan." Gojo explains ruffling your done up hair afterwards. "Ugh, I'm not a little kid anymore you have to start letting me go." you sigh.

You think you've finally gotten through to Gojo. He turns to you and sighs. "That lipstick is so not your color." Gojo scoffs. Gojo then takes his hand and starts forcibly rubbing his thumb on your lips to remove the makeup. You Immediately start trying to slap his hand away, but him being the strongest it was no use.

Right then your date walks in and finds you and Gojo. Gojo's hands still resting on your face smearing lipstick everywhere. You instantly muster all your strength and shove Gojo off of you. "Hiro, hi it's good to see you!" you greet your date awkwardly. Hiro puts on a very confused face. "Hi, who is this y/n" Hiro asks. "He's nobody and he was just leaving." you insist and give Gojo a face that says 'beat it'.

Gojo cracks a sinister smile. "So Hiro, how much money do you make per year?" Gojo prods. You go to hit Gojo but your hands just bounce off of him. Hiro looks very nervous and stays silent. "I was just wondering what redeeming qualities you have since attractiveness clearly isn't one of them." Gojo prattles on. Hiro turns to you "Sorry I don't think this is going to work out." Hiro says not even waiting for an excuse and rushes out.

You place your head in your hands trying to recuperate from the fiasco that just unfolded. When you look at Gojo he's happily eating his cake not at all ashamed at what he had done. "Why would you do that? That's the first time anyone has ever even wanted to ask me out." you say too defeated to yell. "Oh it's definitely not the first time. This is just the first time I haven't assessed them beforehand." Gojo states casually continuing to munch on his cake.

"What!?" you gasp in disbelief. "Oh you know I've just been really busy so I couldn't get around to it this time." he shrugs. "Not that stupid the thing you said before!" you seethed. "I'm not just gonna let anyone date you. I have to make sure they're good enough for you. I have to do alot of research. It's very tiring you know. You should really thank me. The least you could do is pay for my cake." Gojo huffs mouth full of cake.

"Oh my god..." you whimper and run your hands through your hair. "It makes so much fucking sense." you cry. "Don't cry over that guy! He was as interesting as a piece of white bread." Gojo says with gusto trying to cheer you up. "FUCK YOU! I'M GOING TO DIE ALONE BECAUSE OF YOU!" you screech and then storm out.

"And that's why I need you to date her for me!" Gojo chimes. Nanami takes a deep breath "I'm not going along with this game of yours." he sighs. "Aw c'mon! She's a great girl. You won't find anyone better than her." Gojo pleads. "Find someone else it doesn't have to be me." Nanami deflects. "Yes it does Nanami! I can only let her date in good conscience if I know the person is good." Gojo insists. "Find someone else then there are tons of people better than me." Nanami states flatly.

"No Nanami you're perfect. You're young, handsome, responsible, make a decent living, and have a nice dick. I know because I peaked in the urinal." Gojo says proudly. Nanami was disgusted with Gojo's hidden knowledge and wanted to flee as fast as possible. "Fine one date." Nanami sighs already regretting his decision.

Gojo waited outside the door of your apartment and kept banging on the door. "Hi y/n! I know you're still mad at me but I have a piece offering!" Gojo announces. "Go away! I'm still mad at you!" you yell through the door. "I can make it up to you! I got you a date with the best guy I know!" Gojo promises. You open the door "What!? When!?" you ask very confused. "Right now. Go get ready!" Gojo urges you to hustle.

You get ready as fast as you can and bolt out the door with Gojo. The walk there was stressing you out. You had no idea what kind of person Gojo set you up with all Gojo sad was 'the blond one with glasses'. On your way there Gojo walked arm in arm with you making sure you didn't trip in your heels and assuring you looked great.

When you reached the front of the restaurant Gojo pushed you through the door and waved goodbye. You were nervous, very nervous as you scanned each table to find your blind date. Till you spotted a serious looking man matching Gojo's description. You walked over and introduced yourself "Hello I'm y/n l/n. I think Gojo Satoru set us up together." you said. The man stood up from his seat and held his hand out for you to shake it. "I'm Nanami Kento." He says formally as you shake his hand.

"Have you been waiting long?" you ask genuinely concerned about how long Gojo made Nanami wait. "I've been waiting two hours, but I know that's not your fault." Nanami replies coolly. "I'm sorry he's always been like that. He must have also dragged you here for a date." you apologize. "No worries. Your a pretty and polite young woman. I'm glad he's found someone like you." Nanami says and flashes the ghost of a smile.

"What do you mean?" you ask not quite sure what Nanami was referring to. "Gojo's always going on and on about you. I'm not even sure he realizes how in love with you he is." Nanami chuckles. "No, he doesn't like me like that. He's got pretty much all of Japan to choose from if he even wanted a partner." you say trying to shut Nanami down. "That's precisely why he likes you. He's just a regular man to you. You don't care if he's rich or handsome or strong. With you he can be whatever he wants. I bet you've even gotten him to share sweets with you." Nanami explains.

"No. That can't be." you say more to yourself than to Nanami. "Yes it is. He's an extremely busy man but he makes time to spend with you. Who do you think is always covering for him?" Nanami sighs hoping you'd understand by now. Nanami looks at his watch "Any moment now he's going to realize his feelings and storm in like the man child he is. Don't say anything one he walks in just go with it." Nanami says and as if on que Gojo walks in.

"Date's over Nanami. I've decided she can do better." Gojo says as he stomps over to your table. "Why, I really like her. I'm even considering marrying her one day." Nanami bluffs. "No, you're not right for her." Gojo hisses and pulls you out of your chair. Nanami stands up "Then who is?" Nanami prods trying to get Gojo to admit it. "I am! She's mine!" Gojo yells and holds you close to his chest causing an even bigger scene in the restaurant.

Gojo processes what he just said and carries you out of the restaurant. Suddenly Gojo teleports you somewhere and when you look around you recognize that this is Gojo's appartment. Gojo says nothing and just continues walking in the direction of his bedroom. "Gojo slow down! Where are we going!?" you protest. Gojo doesn't answer and continues walking to his bedroom's adjoining bathroom. He sets you down on the counter.

"Take your makeup off." Gojo demands. "What? Why?" you ask desperate for answers. Gojo doesn't answer he just grabs a wet towel and starts scrubbing your face. "Ow that hurts!" you protest, but Gojo continues scrubbing your face too hard. After your makeup is off Gojo smiles and drags you over to his bed. He pushes you down and straddles your waist.

"What are you doing!?" you scream. "Oh c'mon y/n isn't it obvious or do I have to tell you exactly what I'm going to do to you?" Gojo whispers in your ear. "No!" you yell as you push him off of you with all your strength. Gojo falls and lands on his butt looking utterly confused. You gather yourself and begin leaving. Gojo grabbed your arm to stop you "Wait... please." he said hesitantly. "Why should I you just tried to fuck me like some whore?" you hissed.

Gojo stayed silent gathering what he was about to say "Isn't that just how I make you mine?" he questions. "No that might work on some people but that's not how you make me yours." you state. Gojo gives you a dumb stare. He was utterly shocked. No one had ever not wanted to sleep with him, and if he couldn't win you over with his body then his personality sure wasn't going to win you over. Gojo broke into a cold sweat he wanted you like no one he had ever wanted before and for once in his life what he desired was out of his reach.

He wracked his brain for something people usually wanted from him. "I know! You're like Mie Mie! I'll just give you money! How much do you want?" Gojo asks cheerfully but he was not joking this time he was dead serious. You looked at him appalled and continued walking out. "Wait! Wait! Wait!" he pleaded desperately. You only stopped when he got down on his knees in front of you "Please! Just tell me how I get you to love me!" he begged.

You had to admit you liked seeing Gojo beg for you, but now was not the time for that. You tilted his chin so he was lookingup at you "You promise you love me?" you smiled. Gojo nodded his head frantically. "Then I'll pick you up tomorrow at six?" you winked and left. Leaving an awestruck Gojo in your wake.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #gojou x y/n #fanfic #fanfiction

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taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

Text

Always You | JJK (Drabble#5)

Summary: You suddenly feel so insecure before leaving for Japan.

Pairing: Always You!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: mutual masturbation, unprotected sex,

Notes: This is set before OC leaves for Japan! Remember requests for drabble ideas are open! Lets chat:)

taglist: @seagulljk @fancycollectormoon © taestefully-in-luv

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could get used to this for the rest of your life…snuggled up in Jungkook’s arms while lying in bed on a lazy Saturday night. You listen to him as he talks about a new project he’s working on for work…he speaks so animatedly, constantly talking with his hands. You giggle to yourself as he gets so excited speaking about some new scenes he gets to edit and he drops his hands to your body.

“What?” he pouts, “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Nothing.” You sing, “You’re just too cute.”

“I’m going to miss this.” Jungkook says softly, “Just lying here with you.”

“Me too, but a year will fly by.”

“So you say to make us feel better.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “It’s going to feel like forever and you know it.”

“Then I get two forever’s with you?”

“You’re so cheesy.” Jungkook chuckles and you hit his arm.

“You’re literally way cheesier than I am.” You turn over in his embrace and snuggle into his chest, nuzzling your face into his thiddies.

“Debatable.” He squeezes your body into his and sighs out. “I—”

You feel your phone buzzing on the nightstand and you groan at the inconvenience. Who is interrupting your precious time with your man?

“Ignore it.” Jungkook smiles, “If it’s important they’ll call again.”

“Good idea.” You nuzzle further into his chest. “It’s just you and m—”

Your phone starts going off again and you roll your eyes, releasing yourself from Jungkook’s hold as you check to see who the hell is calling.

“It’s Jimin.” You whine, “It’s always Jimin.”

“Answer it.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Hello?.......uh huh…..what?........ugh…..okay….well, what happened though?......oh damn, alright.” You speak into the phone and Jungkook is trying to listen in and he’s mouthing ‘put it on speaker’ to you, so you do.

“…And I told her! It’s your fault babe! But you know how Trina is. Anyway she needs us.” Jimin’s loud voice is heard on speaker.

“It has to be tonight?” you whine.

“Girl, she’s already at the bar. I’m on my way there now.”

“Fuck, alright. Be there in 30.” You hang up the phone and give Jungkook an apologetic look.

“Trina and Holly got into a fight and Trina is spiraling because she’s dramatic and claims she needs to get wasted tonight to forget about their fight.” You explain. “So we are going to meet her and Jimin at The Circle.”

“That places drinks are expensive though.” Jungkook looks disappointed to say the least. “Why do I have to go anyway? Why can’t you and Jimin just console her?”

“I’ll suck your dick right now if you come with me.” You offer with a wiggle of your brows.

“Okay, deal.” He says quickly with a cocky grin. “Making deals with you is so fun.”

~~~~~~

“Wait, you’re fighting because of … those?” your eyes travel down to Trina’s chest where you can see her freshly pierced nipples through her thin t shirt.

“Personally, I love them.” Jimin shrugs with a sly smile.

“Why doesn’t Holly like them? I wouldn’t think she would have a problem?” you ask and Trina hits her head on the bar top.

“It’s because I was dressed like this all day and we were supposed to meet her parents…she doesn’t want me to meet her parents looking like this.” Trina says with an eye roll. “Which is stupid. I don’t need her parents approval. But she’s worried what they might think.”

“Isn’t that kind of…fair?” you point out and both Trina and Jimin look at you with disbelief.

“Fair?” Trina spits out, “They’re just piercings!”

“Yeah y/n!” Jimin defends too, “Come on, its 2021.”

“It just seems like a useless thing to fight about.” You admit softly, you reach for Trina’s hand, “Ever heard of compromise?”

“Where’s her compromise?” Trina asks with a raised brow.

“Okay, fair.” You say, defeated. “Let’s just get you drunk.”

“Now you are finally starting to make sense.” Jimin says with a grin. “I’ll order the first round of shots.”

Your hand goes to Jungkook’s thigh as he sits next to you just listening to all of your conversations. He looks your way and offers you a sweet smile and you squeeze his thigh. Jungkook takes this opportunity to lean over and kiss you.

“Can you not rub your relationship in my sad face right now?” Trina groans.

“Whoops sorry.” You say with a sheepish grin. “We can tone it down” and Jungkook frowns.

A couple hours pass and Trina is starting to have fun, she’s on the dance floor with Jimin as they rock their bodies to the beat of the song. She looks a lot calmer and happier and that makes you smile.

“Jungkook?”

You hear a soft, feminine voice slice through the loud music, you turn your head to see a girl that looks quite familiar making her way over to your boyfriend.

“Woah, Ari!” Jungkook stands up, a bright smile on his face.

“I thought it was you!” she says, coming up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck as she goes in for a hug. You feel your chest get hit with a wave of anxiety. Who is she? Why do you recognize her?

“Yeah, it’s me.” He hugs her back and you watch as discomfort crawls all over your skin.

“You look so good, wow.” This Ari girl grabs a feel of Jungkook’s bicep and he turns pink. Is he fucking blushing? You clear your throat. And both of them look in your direction.

“This is y/n.” Jungkook smiles at you, his hands gesturing towards you and Ari raises a single brow.

“Right, you’re roommate.”

“Actually, his girl—”

“So Jungkook, we should definitely catch up. You still have my number right?” She winks at him and you want to throw hands.

“Yeah, I do.” He admits, “I—”

“I’m his girlfriend.” You cut in, “In case you didn’t know. Which I am just going to assume you didn’t, also can you take your hand off my boyfriends arm?”

Ari steps back, clearly embarrassed.

“Sorry I—”

“Also could you just leave us alone?” You chuckle bitterly and Jungkook goes red.

“y/n…” his warning tone making you shudder. “What’s—”

“Like, now.” You shoo her away with your hand and she stutters out that she’s sorry again before walking away.

You grab your drink and chug it back, staring at the dance floor with a blank expression.

“What the hell was that?” Jungkook finally asks, anger evident in his voice.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” You snap your head in his direction. “Want to tell me why she looks so familiar?”

“We…we use to sleep together.” He admits. “but why the hell were you so rude?”

“Because she was feeling you up. Which you didn’t stop her by the way. And call me crazy but it looks like you were blushing.”

“Okay, you are crazy. I wasn’t blushing. I was just embarrassed.” He says. “I was going to introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Really? When? Before or after she tries to get in your pants again?”

Jungkook’s face falls and he’s grabbing his whiskey and throwing it back.

“She wouldn’t have the opportunity to get in my pants. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“y/n…” he says softly, “I would never cheat on you.”

“How am I supposed to believe that when you can’t even reject an old fling? Is this how it’s going to be when I’m in Japan? Every single girl you’ve previously fucked is going to make a pass at you and you’re too nice to say ‘fuck off’?”

“Every girl I’ve?” Jungkook looks at you incredulously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What? It’s not my fault you’ve slept with half the city. I’ve gotta be worried about every girl who comes to talk to you? Because you’ve probably fucked them right?” you spit out, the alcohol finally starting to have its effects on you.

“Careful y/n.” Jungkook warns, “You’re saying things you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean them?” you laugh. “What’s it going to be like when I’m in Japan?”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that because you trust me.” Jungkook says but it sounds more like a question. “You do trust me, right?”

“I—”

“We have bigger problems if you don’t trust me, y/n.” he stands from his bar stool and looks at you with a pained expression. “I’m going home.”

You sit at the bar, feeling fucking bothered. You’re too angry to feel bad about Jungkook right now. You feel hot with irritation. Trina makes her way to you and notices your sour expression.

“…You literally shood her away?” Trina is trying not to laugh but can’t help it. “Damn, savage.”

“Was that too far?” You groan into your hands, “Jungkook is pissed.”

“You’re being insecure y/n.” Trina looks at you with a soft expression, she’s trying to be gentle with you. “Like, hella insecure.”

“Sure I got a little jealous….”

“Bitch, you told me you told him he slept with the whole city.” Trina points out, “You probably hurt his feelings. Making him feel like a lil slut and shit.”

“He said I don’t trust him.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do! It’s the girls I don’t trust!”

“Weak argument.”

“Trina…”

“Listen, you need to work this out, pronto. You leave in 10 days girl. You need to make sure you can trust your boyfriend when you’re in another country. And he needs to feel like you trust him.”

You know Trina is right. She usually is. You look at her with worry before you speak.

“I can work it out with him tomorrow, right now we are focusing on you having fun.”

“Oh girl, I didn’t tell you? Me and Holly worked it out.” She laughs. “Compromise, remember?”

“Proud of you.” You blow her a kiss and grab your phone and purse.

“I’ll text you, tell Jimin bye and love him.”

Trina nods her head and waves you off, you get up from your stool and head towards the bars exit.

~~~~~~

“Jungkook?” you creep through the front door to find the living room lamp lit up and Jungkook’s dark figure sitting on the couch.

“Jungkook?” you walk closer to him and he sighs out heavily.

“Let’s talk.” He whispers. “Now.”

You nod your head quickly and take a seat next to him on the sofa, you leave some space though.

“Okay.” You breathe out. “Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to fight.” He warns. “Let’s be mature.”

“Okay.”

“What the fuck was that at the bar?” he says calmly. “You were being…”

“Don’t say crazy.”

“Well? What do you expect me to say? I’ve rarely seen that side of you.” He says, his breathing beginning to pick up. “You embarrassed me!” he admits, sighing out.

“You let her touch you.”

“It was fucking harmless.”

“Oh? That’s harmless? She was getting a feel for your muscles? And that’s harmless?” you spit out harshly. “Think of it this way,” you give him an unimpressed look. “You would absolutely not stand for it if we were in each others positions.”

Jungkook gulps. It’s true…he would be going crazy himself, he probably would have punched a dude if he was touching you too long.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” You snap. “You absolutely would hate this.”

“You don’t trust me…” Jungkook says softly. “You think I’ve slept with every girl I meet…”

“Haven’t you?” You ask bitterly. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Jungkook face falls into a deep frown, he’s hurt. He looks hurt. He is hurt.

“Stop trying to hurt me because you’re mad.” He tries to say a little more sternly but there’s hurt in his voice.

“What number am I?”

“y/n…Don’t do that.” Jungkook scrunches his face up. “Don’t start this.”

“You know all the guys I’ve slept with.” You point out, “But I have no idea how many women you’ve hooked up with. What number am I?”

“Don’t.” he scoots a little closer to you, “It doesn’t matter.” He tries, “You’re the last person I will ever sleep with.”

“Until I’m far away in Japan and there’s no one to stop you from fucking some random—”

“Enough.” Jungkook’s voice cuts in sharp, causing you to flinch. “For fucks sake, y/n.” he stands up, frustrated. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he’s turning red.

“What’s wrong with me?” you yell, “You’re the one who doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants!”

“Why the fuck are you being so insecure? Have I ever made you feel like you weren’t good enough for me? You’re all I want, y/n. But you’re being crazy.” Jungkook takes a seat again, his head falling in his hands.

“Stop calling me crazy!” You cry out, “And understand that tonight you did very little to stop a girl from hitting on you! Right in front of me! How will you be when I’m not around?” you feel your eyes burning and soon, you’re starting to cry. Only because you’re so angry.

“She wasn’t hitting on me!” he yells, “And if she was, I didn’t notice because it does not matter! I only have eyes for you!”

“We just aren’t seeing eye to eye.” You state, wiping your face.

“Clearly not.”

“There’s no point in talking then.” You stand up and head to the bedroom, slamming the door shut. Jungkook guesses he’s sleeping on the couch tonight.

An hour or so passes and Jungkook is still sitting in his spot on the sofa. Just thinking. Why are you being so insecure? He guesses you are feeling more uneasy about leaving for Japan that you’ve led on. You are worried about all the girls that will talk to him, touch him, ask to hang out. And what if…he groans into his hands. He’s just trying to see your point of view and understand you. But in his eyes this just comes down to you not trusting him and that hurts.

Jungkook stands up and walks to your bedroom, he slowly creeps open the door just to find you quietly crying in bed.

“Baby…” Jungkook calls out for you softly and you freeze.

“Leave me alone.” You mumble.

Jungkook walks closer to the bed with a frown drawn on his face, he sits on the edge of the bed and begins rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly.

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong, remember?” you ask bitterly while sniffling.

“I thought a lot about it and I think I understand where you’re coming from now.” He continues to rub your back. “Will you turn around and look at me?” he asks. You shake your head over and over, denying his request.

“Why not?”

“I’ve been crying.” You admit. “I look ugly.”

“That’s impossible. You’re the prettiest person on the planet.”

“You’re saying there’s someone prettier on a different planet?” you half joke as you sit up.

“Okay, pretties person in the universe.” His hand reaches towards your face and he caresses your cheek.

“I’m sorry I was rude to her…” you finally say, “Actually, not really. But I am sorry that I embarrassed you.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Jungkook chuckles. “please just tell me you trust me.” His voice is pleading and it makes you guilty.

“I do baby.” You grab on to his hand that caresses your cheek. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t.”

“You’re just scared of being so far away from me right?”

“Yes…” you finally admit, “I do feel insecure…I just don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Have I ever made you feel like I wouldn’t be faithful to you?”

Your eyes widen at his question and you begin to frantically shake your head and he chuckles.

“Then trust me. With your whole heart and soul. Just trust me.” Jungkook smiles, “I will reassure you every day if I have to. That you’re the only one I see, the only one I want.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?” he asks, his brows pulled together.

“Going long distance. You know how many couples break up because of it?”

“Not us.” He says, “You’re my best friend y/n. We can literally get through everything together.” He assures you.

“You won’t have sex for months at a time…” your eyes fall to the bed, “What if you get—”

“Oh my god.” He laughs, “Do you think I am some sort of sex addict?”

“No, no. Well, maybe.” You joke. “I just don’t want you to—”

“I can handle it, Jeez.” His hand falls to your lap and takes your hand in his, “Love of my life, remember?”

“Yeah.” You whisper.

Jungkook leans forward until his lips are touching yours, but he doesn’t kiss you yet. “I love you.” He says softly then he’s putting pressure on your lips in a long kiss. Your hands immediately go to his hair, you softly tug on his locks as you kiss him back.

“We should sleep?” You whisper, pulling away.

“I don’t feel like sleeping” Jungkook goes in to kiss you again, his lips moving hotly against yours. You can feel his desperation with the way his tongue quickly finds its way in your mouth.

“I want you to touch yourself.” Jungkook says against your lips so suddenly making you gasp.

“W-What?”

“You’ll be touching yourself a lot while you’re in Japan because I’m not there, get used to it.”

“Jungkook…”

“I want to watch you touch yourself.” He says again. “I want you to take these little shorts off, and touch yourself. I want you to rub your pussy over your panties, then I want to watch you slip these pretty little fingers inside.” Jungkook breathes out heavily as he speaks. “Can you do that for me baby?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” He kisses your lips again, “And I want your legs nice and spread for me, giving me the perfect view.”

“Yes.” You lean back in bed shimmying your shorts off leaving you in nothing but your underwear and a tank top. You release a long, long breath and move your hand down to your hips…you look at Jungkook like you’re seeking permission. He nods his head slowly as his dark eyes gaze into yours.

“Go ahead baby.” He breathes out, “Show me what you’re going to do when I’m not around.”

You fingers slide over the material of your cotton panties, until you’re finding the spot that is most sensitive. You start rubbing slow, slow circles over it and you tilt your head back in satisfaction. Your anger sure made you frustrated.

“Good girl….let me know when your panties start to get really damp.”

“They are.” You admit shyly. “Want to feel?”

“No baby. This is all you. But I do want you to take them off. Wanna see how wet you are with my own eyes.”

You lift yourself up and drag down your underwear, leaving your bottom half bare.

“Spread your legs. Want to see how sticky you are.”

You gulp, but you listen. You slowly begin to spread your legs apart as Jungkook watches, your wetness stringing from one side of your folds to the other. He licks his lips, god, he wants to just eat you up.

“Fuck…” he breathes out heavily. “Gather all that,” he points to your pussy, “And get your fingers soaked. Then stick two fingers inside.”

Your fingers go back to your center, gathering your juices before you’re sliding two fingers inside your desperate hole. You groan when you insert the fingers and Jungkook smiles.

“Go ahead, start fucking yourself.” Jungkook palms himself over his jeans. “And be loud.”

You start to slowly thrust your fingers in and out of your hole, the squelching noises begins to fill the room along with your whimpers.

“Jungkook…” you whine, “Please touch me.”

“Not yet baby.” He says, still rubbing his cock over his jeans. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

“Pull your cock out, let me see it.” You command and Jungkook’s eyes expand in pleasant surprise.

“My cock turn you on?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Even just seeing it?”

“Yes.” You start to move your fingers faster, curling them every few moments.

“Whatever you want, princess.” He unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down to his thighs and drags his briefs down just low enough that his cock is making an appearance. It stands tall, hard and swollen.

“Oh Jungkook.” You cry out.

“What is it baby?” he smirks.

“Just enjoying the view.” You playfully throw his words back at him and he grins at you.

“Can I touch my clit?”

“This is all you baby, of course. What would you do if I weren’t here?”

Your fingers leave your cunt and you’re quickly rubbing tight, focused circles on your bundle of nerves and you throw your head back, and moan out in pleasure. Then you lift your head and gaze at Jungkook’s painfully hard cock.

“I can’t come without you.” You whine, “I need you.”

“You can. You gotta get used to it baby.”

“Jungkook….”

“I’ll give you an image to think of when you are touching yourself in Japan.” He says, he brings his hand to his mouth and spits in his palm, then he’s grabbing a hold of his member, slathering his saliva all over it, getting it nice and wet. He begins stroking his cock for you, as he screw his eyes shut and starts rubbing faster and faster.

You stare at him with eyes full of lust as you circle your clit faster and faster. You feel the tension building until it finally hits you. You release moan after moan as you come. Jungkook opens his eyes and watches you as you come undone, he smiles and nods his head in approval.

“Good girl. Good girl.”

You feel high just off his praises alone. Your fingers leave your clit and you crawl closer to him, your hand reaching for his face as you suddenly push your fingers past his pretty lips.

“Taste me.” You command and he looks up at you with big doe eyes and begins sucking your fingers clean. You make your way on to his lap and start kissing him ferociously, your tongue forcing its way into his mouth, he tangles his with yours just as quickly. His hands gripping at your hips as you grind down onto his hard length.

“ooof” he sighs out when he feels your wet folds grinding into his member. “How needy are you?”

“You just made me come by my own fingers when I have you right in front of me, that’s mean. Was this a punishment?” you breathe out and he darkly chuckles.

“I’m not trying to punish you baby.” He kisses all over your face.

“Felt like it.” You say, your tone shifting into something sad.

“Hey.” He tilts your head up with his fingers, “I’m not mad at you anymore. We worked it out.” He softly reminds you.

“But I still feel…” You look to the side and he sighs.

“Baby,” he slowly kisses your lips until he’s nibbling at your jaw. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise.” He leaves soft kisses down your neck, his lips caressing your skin tenderly. “You are the only one for me.” He promises while nibbling on your throat. “You can trust me.” He’s sucking into your skin now, no doubt marking you. “Can you trust me?”

You rotate your head as it falls backwards, giving him more access to your skin as you breathe out roughly.

“Yes.” You say breathlessly. “I trust you.”

“Good.” He’s lifting you off his body and setting you down on the bed gently, your head lightly bouncing off the pillow. He guides you by the arm to sit up, and he’s lifting your tank top off your body. He stares at you breasts and licks his lips until he’s groaning.

“Remind me one of these days to fuck your tits.”

“Why not right now?” you wink and Jungkook looks at you softly with a small smile adorning his face.

“Because right now I am going to make love to you.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his words, your stomach filling with tens of millions of butterflies. They all take off at the same time, a whole swarm of them, flying around making you feel a million things.

“M-Make love?”

“Oh baby, I am going to make you feel like the most special person in the universe.” He promises.

Jungkook stands up and removes his clothing, leaving him naked in front of you. His muscles have no doubt grown, his waist is tiny and his thighs, god, his meaty, muscular thighs…you basically drool at the sight. How the fuck did you get this lucky? You start to feel insecure again, like maybe you aren’t good enough for him? He’s so fucking hot and you’re…you.

“Why you frowning baby?” he crawls over your body, pinning you down. “I only want to see you smile.”

“You’re so hot, Jungkook.” You say more seriously, “Maybe…”

“Don’t say something stupid.”

“It’s just…”

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it.” He leans down and pecks your lips. “You’re hotter.” He says simply and you blush. “Your beautiful lips…your eyes…your cute nose…” he kisses each body part as he talks. “Your tits.” He smirks, leaning down until he’s grabbing a handful of your breast and he takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the hardening bud. He releases himself from your boob and leans back up to kiss your lips.

“And your cute tummy.” He slides down your body until he’s kissing the skin of your stomach. “And fuck, your hips drive me insane.” He says gripping at them until his lips find your hip bone and he’s sucking bruises.

“And this perfect, perfect pussy.” He says, lowering himself further until his face is only an inch away from your heat. “Can I have a little taste?” he asks with his big doe eyes and you nod.

“Thank you.” And he’s slipping his tongue between your folds and tasting you. You release a long moan when he does this.

“So delicious.” He says, making his way back up your body. “Think you can take my cock right now?”

“Yes.” You practically rush to get out, “Fuck, yes.”

Jungkook slides his cock between your folds before he’s slapping his cock on your pussy.

“You really think you can take this cock?”

“Yes, Jungkook. Please.”

“My perfect girl wants me to make love to her, right?” he says more softly, “Wants to feel me inside.”

“Yes.” You moan out, “Yes!”

Suddenly, the feel of Jungkook’s length entering your body causes fire to shoot through you. Maybe you should have let him stretch you out. But the burn feels incredible. He enters you very slowly, as not to hurt you. His hands find yours and once he bottoms out he’s lifting your interlocked fingers above your head.

“My perfect girl.” He breathes out heavily, “You feel so fucking good.”

“You feel even better.” You choke out. “Amazing.”

His chest is heaving against yours, his body crushing you but you don’t care, his cock inside you has you going crazy.

“You are my favorite person.” He says as he starts slowly thrusting into you, his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy. His hips meet yours softly as he carefully grinds into you. His thrusts are so controlled it is making you lose yourself.

“And I would do anything for you.” He whispers on your lips, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He begins kissing you, his lips moving over yours slowly.

“You’re so so gorgeous.” He whines as he starts fucking you a little faster, his hips still grinding into you deliciously. Then his lips are back on yours again, his tongue very sloppily dancing with yours.

The sound of his skin slapping yours and his loud, loud moans starts to echo in your ears. You begin to release higher pitched moans in his mouth and he swallows them down happily. Jungkook pulls away from your lips to gaze into your eyes, his lips parted as he whines in pleasure.

“Ahhh baby.” He continues to stare down at you with lust filled eyes, “Feels so good.” His eyes threaten to shut in pleasure but he manages to keep them open and on you.

“No one can compare to you…” he moans, “I am so, so”

He starts thrusting faster, “So in love with you.” He brings your hands down and detangles his fingers and his hand moves to cup your jaw and he’s kissing you again, so lovingly, so passionately. His hips slap into yours quickly as he starts to lose his control of his movements as the pleasure builds up.

You reach your hand between your bodies and start massaging his balls and he whines out loud, a loud and long moan. He starts fucking faster and harder now. His pleasure building so fucking fast.

“Can you come from my cock alone? Or do you need my fingers baby?”

“Your cock, I want to cream all over it.” You moan.

“Yeah? And you want me to come inside you, right? You want to clench around me so hard, milking me dry of my cum?”

“Yes!” You scream, “I need your cum!”

“Yeah, you need this cum of mine to survive right?”

“Yes baby!”

“You need this cum?” He lifts one of your legs up over his shoulder, and leans down close to kiss you again. This angle has his dick brushing against every fucking spot that makes your toes curl.

“Come for me my love.” You beg, “I will come with you.”

“You’re the love of my life, of course you will.” He starts fucking you deeper, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. You fondle his balls some more and he’s losing it, absolutely losing it.

“Gonna fuck my cum so deep into your pussy baby. That’s okay right?” he’s breathless as his hips slam into you.

“Fucking please!” You beg, your orgasm right around the corner, you can feel it building and building. You feel your mind go hazy, like you’re drunker than you’ve ever been. The pleasure so intense as the band inside you snaps.

“Aaaahhh.” You scream out as your orgasm hits you, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Jungkook looks into your eyes as he continues to thrust inside you, his own orgasm approaching as you squeeze his cock through yours. His thrusts turn sloppy as he hurries to lean down to start kissing you while he finally releases his cum. He breathes heavily into your mouth as he comes into you. His hips finally stilling when he leans back from kissing you with a dopey smile on his face.

“I love you so much.” He sighs out before slipping his cock out of you, “You always feel so amazing.” He admits between heavy breaths. “I’m so glad you were made for me and me only.”

You calm your own breaths as you come down from your high, your legs still shaking. You smile up at your boyfriend and caress his cheek lovingly.

“I’m the only one for you, right?” you ask quietly and Jungkook smiles sweetly, leaning down to peck your lips.

“Yes baby.” He smiles, “The only one for me.”

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #jeon jeongkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #always you drabbles

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1994sunflower · 3 years

Note

what if Michael accidentally hurts y/n. Like maybe she’s coming home from her classes and she sees him beating someone up and she tries to stop him and he hurts her on accident. Sorry I just really love your writing especially angst ;)

thank you so much! i love angst too hehe...I dont know how angsty this is but i put a little bit of fluff at the end lol

also, i’m so sorry for being so inactive guys i really am working on stuff i promise :(( but i’m also making like 20 essays for school applications so it’s going slowly. hope you like this!

in which michael accidentally hurts you

You’re never sure how they start. You couldn’t picture something making you so angry that you’d resort to fists. Even your boyfriend, as apathetic as he is with most people, you didn’t know his violent side intimately. It was just never the way Michael was with you. It almost felt like a stranger when you saw evidence of it acting against others, hurting others.

You never minded much, just tried to stop him and chastised him a bit while you patched him up. Because at the end of the day you knew he wasn’t a bad guy. Even appreciated his ability to defend himself and you. But still the mystery was always preserved. How the man that held you close, looked at you with nothing but love could be the cause of so many broken bones and bloodshed. Was it his temper that you had never seen or was it his not caring of anyone or even himself, the harm it could bring to him if he wasn’t careful.

Either way you hated it. Hated it each time you heard of it, his (comparatively much more violent) past of it and even more when you caught him at it yourself. It was never on purpose. Because if Michael had known you were anywhere near the vicinity he would stop, or leave to finish his business without you being there to witness that side of him.

You were docile, so much different than him. Michael knew that as well as anyone else. He knew he didn’t deserve you. So, he tried to hard to avoid adding to the list of why. He could imagine in his worst nightmares you seeing that dark side of him, the one that was so much better than before thanks to you, and be terrified. Realize what kind of man you had chosen and finally see that you needed someone better. Someone who wasn’t so aggressive, so violent, so scary. He didn’t want you to look at him with those eyes. Scared, like you never really knew him. Because the truth was you knew him better than anyone else.

Usually you’d catch him when you were walking back from class. Something he should be doing as well. Instead, he’d be somewhere where he imagined you’d never cross paths, far from your last class. Too bad you liked to walk around campus and take shortcuts more than you should.

It was usually the same thing. He’d have the upper hand. With his height and strength, it was easy. But that’d leave a victim, someone who couldn’t properly defend themselves against the wrath brought on by whatever they had done to Michael. Sometimes as little as bumping into him. You, with all your goodness and empathy, always stopped your boyfriend because you knew only you could. And if you could help someone, you’d always take the opportunity.

This time was a little different. Maybe Michael had gotten his days crossed, maybe he forgot you had lab that day and you’d have to pass by that way. But in the walk from your building back to off campus, in the little alleyway of one of the last buildings separating campus from the main street, you heard it. The building was tall and its brick walls looked more like formidable walls, so you had to keep walking until you were right at the entryway of the surprisingly big alley to see.

But your boyfriend was unmistakable. And so was the way he was punching down another boy. The boy was younger than him, it was obvious, maybe even a freshman. Which somehow made it worse. But they were almost equally matched in height and the boy, either from adrenaline or reflex, wasn’t just holding his hands up in defense. He landed more than a few punches back at your boyfriend. Hitting him in his jaw and face, you already saw some scrapes on his temple and cheek.

Your face contorted into panic at the sight of Michael getting hurt. Maybe even more fear-stricken at that fact than you would have been just seeing another person getting hurt by his hand. It wasn’t fair to care more about him than the other boy, especially when you were sure Michael was the aggressor. But you didn’t care. You loved him too much to see him get hurt. It was the reason you hated him fighting so much, you dreaded to see the consequences it could end up having on him. You’d told him so many times to stop fighting in the past but he wouldn’t listen. He was getting better but never stopping. Being as good for his girlfriend as possible so you’d be proud of him.

There wasn’t much need to worry, though. A few punches landed on him but he still was dominating the fight by far. Especially when he was more pissed off at the younger boy fighting back. But it didn’t matter. If it went on the way it currently was going, both of them would be more seriously injured than maybe they even realized.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t call out to him. Maybe it was the urgency of the situation that had you mute and just running to your boyfriend as quickly as you could. You always stopped him, but that was always when he realized it was you by the sound of your voice. It never occurred to you that he wouldn’t recognize your touch when he was so blinded by rage. You didn’t realize until you were too close, had already touched his arm desperately, hoping to stop any more attacks from raining down on the other boy. You didn’t even get a chance to call out to him, let him listen to your familiar voice that always seemed to soothe him.

By then, he had already pushed you away. He did it without even looking at you, his anger still directed at the boy and no one would stop him — at least when he thought you wouldn’t be there.

“Get the fuck off me.” His words were in a tone you’d never heard directed at you, only at other people. And his hand hit your shoulder and sent you flying back, landing with a loud thud on the concrete.

You weren’t sure if the feeling of your body left lingering on his fingers was what made him recognize who he had just pushed. Or maybe it was the recognition of your voice in the pained yell you had let out as you fell down. But he froze. So completely paralyzed, his body rigid. He was begging that as he turned around, slowly almost mechanically, he wouldn’t see you on the ground. That you wouldn’t be the person he had just physically hurt in his anger.

It was fruitless. As he kept his grip on his opponents shirt, but stopped yelling, stopped assaulting; just looking behind him, dreading what he would see. It was you. You sitting up, your knees and arms scraped from the fall, some blood and red, raw skin on the injuries. Your pretty dress was crumpled and dirty, bits of concrete, dirt and filth marred your spotless person. His pure, fragile girl.

But it was your face that had him letting go of the boy, arms hanging limply at his side, anger forgotten and eyes wide in horror at what he had just done to his girlfriend who he loved so much. You were looking up at him, tears in your eyes from the pain. They flowed down your cheeks and while you were silent, your eyes screamed at him what hurt more than any of the punches he had just taken. It’s your fault.

He hadn’t pushed that hard. But to your smaller body, even a light hit from him would be painful and powerful. Especially with his added strength.

“Y/N…” The boy was long forgotten. Even when he took the opportunity to run away. Michael forgot the reason for the fight in the first place. Nothing, really, entered his mind as important except you. All his thoughts had zeroed in on the scene in front of him, what he had just done to you. You were the best thing to ever happen to him. He cared about you so much. He loved you more than anyone else, even himself. Hurting you was the last thing he ever wanted to do. He’d hurt himself before he let anything touch you. All he ever wanted was to protect you. But yet, he was the one that ended up doing just that.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t-” Know it was you.

He fucked up. He’d never felt more ashamed at having lost control. If he hadn’t, he’d have stopped and seen it was you. He would have listened when your little hand took hold of his arm. Recognized the feeling of your skin on his like he could so easily do when he was in the right frame of mind. He wouldn’t have hurt you. You wouldn’t be on the ground, dirty and injured because of him.

But as he stepped towards you, already bending down to help you up, check on you, it got worse. It was worse before you pushed yourself back with the heels of your feet, putting more distance between him and you, making sure he couldn’t get near you. “Don’t touch me.”

Hurt flashed on his face at your words. At you rejecting to even be near him. The one person that had always stuck by him through everything and forgave him even with how often he fucked up. The one that gave him an unconditional love he wasn’t used to. Part of him new he deserved it, for hurting you even if it was an accident. But the ache he felt when he couldn’t even help you, ask for your forgiveness because you didn’t want to hear it right then, was strong.

Your voice wavered and broke but your eyes showed very clearly how much you meant those words. He wasn’t sure what was worst to see in them, the anger or the fear.

Why were you even there? He was sure you had class on the opposite side of campus. It was why he never imagined you were the one trying to stop him. He pictured you walking peacefully from your class back home to wait for him to get back to you. Not what actually ended up happening. He would have never fought in a place you could so easily have seen, so easily have gotten hurt. Especially when he wanted to make you see how much better he was being for you, even if not by much. If you had called out to him, he hadn’t even heard you.

Michael felt a pit at his stomach. Could already hear you breaking up with him, because a girl like you didn’t deserve to be on the ground, looking so pretty and innocent and have that ruined because her boyfriend couldn’t just listen to her and try to be less violent with others. Dread filled him at the different possibilities of losing you this could bring him. None of them did he want. But still, watching you wince as you emotionally collected yourself, he had to curse himself. He wouldn’t blame you. It’s his fault.

Even at your words, he still moved forward, getting down on his knees to be on your level. When you lifted up your palms from the ground, they were tinged pink from the fall and bits and pieces of the concrete were stuck to the palms of your hands. His jaw locked at the sight, regret filling his mind.

Taking your small hands in his, slowly, he sucked in a relieved breath when you didn’t push him away like he thought you would. Instead, he wouldn’t meet your big eyes as he felt them looking at him, he couldn’t. It was so shameful to see that pure wide eyed look of yours and know he had hurt someone that wholesome and kind.

His gaze stayed on your hands as you held them out palm up. One of his hands cupped the back of your two hands while the other he used to gently pick off the grovel. Not too fast lest they be sharp and hurt you. It was almost comical really, to see his hands, still bloody at the knuckles from the fight, being so tender only a few minutes later.

“Does it hurt?” He asked you when he was done. When you winced as you curled your fingers in was the answer.

You wouldn’t even look at him. Let alone acknowledge the apology begging to leave his lips. And he had to resist the urge to take you into his arms so he wouldn’t feel the coldness you were currently giving him. Tears were still running down your cheek by the time your backpack that had fallen beside you was taken up by Michael. He slung it across his shoulder easily, no matter how heavy you had found it. Then his arm was around your waist and his hand on your arm, pulling you up finally from the ground that should be kissed at your feet instead of you laying in it.

Clearly, he wasn’t taking your command to not touch you seriously. But you didn’t make any move to enforce it - despite how angry you felt, how struck at what he had done to you, no matter that he had done it unconsciously. He needed it, to feel as if he hadn’t completely destroyed everything in the relationship he cherished so much. That the only girl he loved and respected didn’t feel terrified of him and distrust him.

He’d brought a lot of emotions out of you, particularly pleasure, but pain was never meant to be one of them.

That much was obvious in the almost shameful look on his face all the way back to your house - the place you’d forced him to take you to instead of his own home. You would’ve preferred to go home by yourself, your anger and freight not being appropriate to be next to him, let alone have him nearly piggyback carrying you all the way. But he wouldn’t leave your side.

It was also seen in his small voice, as shaky and almost insecure as you’d ever heard it when you forced him to put you down as you finally got home. The security of your home giving you what your had been lacking the second Michael sent you to the ground, the safety you usually got from him was weak.

“I can help...”

“No, I got it.” Your words were cold, so different from your usually light and happy voice, as you walked away from him and to your bathroom where you kept the first aid kit. It was usually there for him whenever he got in a fight and got hurt. But now, you needed it.

He flinched at your tone. Despite whatever fights he ever got in, you were the only one who could ever truly hurt him.

Michael stayed in the living room silently while you disinfected your wounds and covered them up. He hurt you. You could still feel the pain of it, see it physically manifested. You were still crying, sniffling as quietly as you could. It didn’t hurt so much as it did scare you. Not that you were scared of him. Despite what happened, you knew it was an accident and you knew he would never hurt you purposely like that ever.

But the fact it happened, the fact he had been so lost in his anger that he didn’t stop and think about what he was doing and his surroundings. The fact that you had felt his strength in such an ugly, dangerous way. The suddenness of it scared you.

And you hated feeling that towards your boyfriend. You only wanted to feel happy and loved with him, nothing as negative as this. It was also frustrating, knowing you had warned him of consequences of his actions like this, though never expected you’d ever be on the receiving end of it, but he still hasn’t changed. But this was the last time you’d ever allow yourself to be in this position.

It made you almost think that your friends, the rumors, maybe they were more right about Michael and his anger than you were whenever you tried to defend him. You wanted your boyfriend to be safe. You didn’t want to believe they were right. Otherwise, you didn’t really know the man you claimed to love.

You were mad and frightened. But it came from a place of love. You didn’t want him to get hurt and you especially didn’t want it to get to this point where he couldn’t even stop himself before it got out of his control until it was too late. You loved him.

When you finished fixing yourself up as best as you could, you left the bathroom and moved quietly into your living room where Michael was sitting silently. His face was in his hands. His very posture screamed regret and you didn’t even want to imagine how dark and self-deprecating his thoughts were as he blamed himself for hurting you, you knew it was hard for him.

He’d told you so many times it was the last thing he wanted. You weren’t sure he could forgive himself. Especially when he knew his strength compared to yours, when he saw your injuries caused by his hand.

You weren’t sure he even felt your presence when you slowly sat down next to him on the couch, the kit still in your hands. “Here, let me cover that up.”

He had bruises all over his face, particularly his jaw but he had an especially nasty cut on his forehead.

But when you raised your hands to start working on it, Michael finally looked at you, only to move his head back and shake his head. You were too good for this world, to still worry about him after everything.

“Don’t waste it on me.”

With you red rimmed eyes, your voice was still more serious than usual but your words were almost normal, “Don’t be silly. You’re hurt.”

Michael kept silent as you focused on his injury. But you could tell his mind was moving quickly, probably figuring out what to say to you.

You wanted him to feel bad, it wasn’t okay and he needed to feel it in order to change. But you didn’t want him to drive himself crazy with kicking himself in the back for what he accidentally did. He stopped as soon as it happened, it gave you hope of how he could change. How this could be a wake up call.

It was only when you were almost done that he spoke. “I didn’t know you were the one grabbing me. I swear I would never have hurt you, it was too late when I realized you-” his head hung in shame, “You were already on the ground when I figured out it was you.”

He was silent for a while and you thought it was him re-living the moment you had been flung so strongly. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I would never hurt you like that. Ever. I promise. You’re the only good thing I have in my life. I can’t lose you and it shouldn’t have happened, I should have realized I was just so pissed off. And I thought you were in class. I never thought you’d be there. But it will never happen again.”

“Michael…” You sighed, you’d heard that before.

But he cut you off. “No, I’m serious. It won’t. I….I hated seeing you hurt like that. Especially because it was my fault. I know I’m violent but you’ll never experience that again. You’ll never see that again. I’ll never hurt you again so…please…I’m sorry.”

He was so rarely vulnerable with his words, let alone speaking so much. It was obvious he meant it. You took in his apology and his words. You didn’t say it was okay but you didn’t move away or reject his apology either.

“You won’t lose me.” When his guilty eyes bore into yours, you took his bruised hand. “I know you didn’t meant to, Mikey, you’re not that type of guy and you’ve never been violent towards me. But I get so worried seeing you fight and get hurt, you didn’t even realize it was me because you were so mad. It’s seeing you in a light that I don’t like.”

His words were soft-spoken and gentle, his rough hands encasing your smaller ones almost as if they were glass, like the most precious thing he had. “I know. I’m working on it.” Both of you knew he was. If just to keep you happy. His fights are fewer and farther between but when they do happen, they’re never any less bloody.

Michael’s eyes trailed down to your arm and your dress, marred with stripes of gravel and dirt. Your scraped knees. Your eyes puffy from crying. Even hurt you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He almost wanted to pull away, he had no right to be touching you, to still be the object of your love. Not when someone as sweet, innocent and peaceful as you was with someone as wrong as him. You deserved someone that brought only smiles out of you. Fuck. He cherished you. And he was disgusted at what he did; would always be, the memory would haunt him for a long time.

He almost looked in pain as he forced himself to keep looking at what he had done to you. “Does it still hurt?”

You almost didn’t want to answer, for his sake but still you nodded. “I have to change clothes, too.”

“You look so pretty.” It made it worse, how much you more you deserved. “You deserve better.”

Your eyes were confident with your next words, “You’re going to give me that.” He had to. Otherwise, you didn’t think anything you imagined your future would be was going to stay the same.

And he would. For you.

It didn’t mean he would be perfect or that his tendencies would change. You’d always catch him in fights or in some kind of trouble. But he would be in his right mind, he’d stop before he went too far. And most importantly, he’d never hurt you like he did today. It wouldn’t be hard. When you changed his life so much, he wasn’t in that state of mind he was when he was so angry and violent before he met you.

Michael started that new resolution to change by peppering you with kisses, grateful he still could, not stopping until you began giggling and pawing at him to stop. You were still kind of mad and hesitant after all, but it was hard to fight back against his sweeter side giving you more of an apology. He was careful to ghost his fingertips over your injuries so as not to hurt you as he took you in his arms like his life depended on you being with him.

“I love you.” His gravelly voice murmured, “So much.” You were everything to him. What he cherished the most in his life, who he would always need at his side. The last person he wanted to hurt. He was so lucky you were such a good, forgiving person that believed in him. Trusted him. Loved him.

“I know. I love you too.”

You and your love were the what that brought his happiness and goodness into his life. Without you, he would be so much worse than he seemed to be right then. You were the reason he could imagine a normal future for himself, one with a family and a home. The reason he was so much happier recently, why he hadn’t been in a fight in months before this last one.

He’d never hurt you again. You’d only ever feel good feelings arisen by him, like it always should have been.

Your voice was almost shy but your words were very much willing to take advantage of his guilty mind. “Can we have a spa night? I think it might help my wounds.”

Michael, your big, mature, manly, would-never-have-a-spa-night boyfriend looked at you, knowing very well the healing properties a spa routine could have on your injuries was bullshit. But still he nodded. He’d do anything for you.

Anything to make it up to you. To take away that hesitancy and sadness in your eyes, to try as he might to erase his huge mistake and replace that scary image of him and know that he was nothing like that with you. Anything to have the rest of the day bring you nothing but peace and happy memories with him, what you had always felt in your life that changed when you met your explosive boyfriend. Having you in his arms for the rest of the night, forgetting the cuts on both of your persons for the night.

“With face masks?”

“…Fine”

You smiled sheepishly, “….And can we watch Legally Blonde?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

#5sos #Michael clifford #Michael clifford x reader #5sos fluff #Michael clifford fluff #5sos imagines #bad boy fluff #bad boy michael #Michael clifford angst #5sos angst #bad boy angst #college au

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

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The Sound of Silence - The Maze Runner Newt Imagine

Request from @ausblack: was wondering if you could write a newt x reader where she’s like the new greenie and the only girl. Everyone think she’s mute because she never talked and Newt decides to take care of her since he’s the only one she seems comfortable with. One day another glader attacks her making her scream and for some reason Newt recognizes that it’s her, he gets protective and helps her out. Eventually she speaks her first words to him and they both get together in the end

Masterlist

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Sorry I haven’t posted in...a while. If it helps, you can think of me as a turtle. I’m damn slow and it’s pretty frustrating to wait but I’ll get there in the end! I hope I did this idea some justice because I thought it was pretty cool. Thank you for the request, I’m always open! (just remember the turtle analogy.)

Word Count: 3.6k

You stood in darkness. There was nothing in the darkness except for a quiet hum that rumbled the floor and the walls and the ceiling. It was power, some type of power that was running through this room and making it rise.

You stood in darkness. And you waited.

You weren’t alone, because your fear was so strong it had formed an icy hand, which wrapped around your throat, so tight it was hard to breathe. It took every ounce of your concentration to inhale, and exhale, and inhale again, and all the while the box hummed and rose, and you stood in darkness.

The hum cut off abruptly, the room halting with it. You strained your ears, and, through the loud beating of your heart, you could hear voices. Four heartbeats passed before the roof opened and the room was flooded with light.

You cringed away, raising a hand to block the brightness. Through squinted eyes, you saw boys encircling the room, level with where the roof would have been. Their voices floated down, gasps and shouts of “It’s a girl!”, and the sounds of shoving, bodies against bodies.

You took a step back, but there were boys above you there too. They were everywhere. One jumped down, making the whole box shake, and then you were turning around and around, looking for a break in the boys, a spot you could run through, someone to help, anything, anything, anything--

“It’s alright, love. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You whipped around to face the boy. He had his hands raised, and his eyebrows were knit together in sympathy. He had a kind face, with soft brown eyes.

Even so, any words you had were caught in your throat, caught by fear’s hand, trapped. Trapped, just like you. Your breaths came faster, your heartbeat quicker. Your hands trembled.

Across from you, the boy took a step back and looked up at the others. “Right, all you bloody slintheads need to back up!” He looked at one of the boys closest to the box. “Alby?”

The boy, Alby, nodded, then shouted, “Everyone, back to work!”

The crowd didn’t move. Your heart stopped. Your blood went cold.

Then, with a chorus of grumblings, the mob slowly dispersed. Boys peeled off this way and that, revealing grassy fields and large mountains in the distance. You peered closer. No, not mountains.

Walls.

“It’s a strange story, love, but we’ll tell you all of it,” the first boy said.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the walls.

“I’m Newt. D’you remember your name?”

No. You’d realized in the darkness that you couldn’t remember anything. You felt strangely detached, like you were watching some other girl with no memories who was abducted and brought to a strange place. You felt pity for her. You felt sad for her. And you kept drifting along, only half-listening to the boy next to her, the one who said his name was Newt.

Newt stepped closer. You watched the girl watch him, watched his mouth move, watched the girl take light, careful steps to the edge of the box and climb out. You watched her stumble.

It was the feeling of Newt’s hand on your back, steadying you, that brought you back to reality.

“I’ll take you on the tour, love,” he said to you, pulling his hand back. In a soft voice, he added, “Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”

Your lips parted. Words sat on the tip of your tongue. Are you sure and How do you know and Please be right. And, also, lingering in the back, Thank you.

You swallowed and looked away from Newt.

He started walking. He kept a slow pace, both because of his limp and so he could intermittently point out buildings and people. “That’s Frypan, he’s the cook, and there’s the kitchen. Next to that’s the Homestead. You’ll be sleeping there.”

He spoke with such authority that you wanted to ask what his role in this little society was. If there was a cook, there must be a leader, and you hadn’t seen any adults around. But your tongue wouldn’t move, so all you could do was tilt your head to the side and look at Newt.

He scanned your face, then nodded. “I’m Second-in-Command. Alby’s in charge, but he won’t raise a fuss about you sleeping in the Homestead. We…” Newt ran a hand through his dirty blond hair before making eye contact again. “We haven’t…” He sighed. “You’re the only girl here. We don’t really know how the rest of those shanks will react.” Noticing your instinctive recoil, Newt hastened to say, “But you’ll be okay. Most of these lot are good guys. And the ones that aren’t...Well, they know the consequences. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

There was that fear again, running its hands along your arms, past your shoulders, to your neck. It squeezed painfully around your throat, so painfully that tears threatened to spring up in your eyes. You gave Newt a quick nod and looked away, into the fields he was leading you toward.

He read you like a book and quickly switched topics. “These are the Gardens. When I don’t have other duties, I like to come out here. It’s good work, but it’s also just a good place to be. It’s peaceful.”

A short, round boy darted out of a row of tomato plants, cackling madly. Lumbering behind him was a tall boy with a shock of curly blond hair, who shouted, “Come back here, Chuck!” The younger boy, Chuck, gave no indication that he’d heard. He disappeared back into the plants, with the tall boy following him.

Newt sighed. “It’s mostly bloody peaceful,” he grumbled.

The smallest of smiles twitched your lips up. You forced them back down, reminding yourself that you were scared, that you couldn’t trust anyone here, and that the way Newt grinned down at you did not make you feel safe.

“We’ll have you start working here tomorrow, all right, love?” Newt asked.

You chewed on your lip, staring over the plants. Your eyes landed on the tomatoes, right where the boisterous duo had gone through. Flutters of anxiety filled your stomach.

“I’ll be with you. There won’t be anything to worry about.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Besides waking up with no memory, that is,” Newt added.

Your lips betrayed you again. Newt grinned, and the butterflies that had been flying inside your chest slowly started to settle down.

Newt led you through the rest of the Glade. You saw the Deadheads and the Blood House, learned about the various jobs and Keepers, and, through it all, you didn’t say a single word. Newt never pushed you. Instead, he watched for facial expressions. He responded to any tap on the arm or flick of your chin. He lingered in the comfortable silences.

As you sat in your room in the Homestead that night, knowing that Newt was asleep in the next room over, you felt your shoulders loosen, just a little. The fear was still there. It still held your throat tightly in its grasp. But you felt a trickle of hope springing in the cracks.

You woke the next morning to a knock on your door. Opening it, you saw Newt.

“Ready to get to work, love?”

You nodded. The smile you gave him was uneasy and weak, nervous and gone in a flash, but it made Newt’s eyes shine with happiness. He smiled the whole way to the Gardens. Under the shining sun, you weeded plants, hoed new rows, and picked vegetables.

Newt stuck by your side. He explained more about the Glade; all you had to do was point to a person or a place and he’d run through it, even if he’d already explained the other day. A few times, you found yourself picking out things you already knew, just so you could keep hearing his voice.

“And then Chuck convinced Minho and Thomas,” Newt said between laughs. Behind him, the sun sat heavy on the horizon, haloing him in gold. “He convinced Minho and Thomas to take the rest of Gally’s clothes and--” Newt broke off, devolving into laughter.

You hadn’t met Minho and Thomas yet -- they’d been busy in the Maze all day yesterday and in the Runner’s Hut all last night -- but you’d heard a lot about them from Newt by now. You’d also heard about “Captain” Gally, and you figured he probably deserved whatever ended up happening to his clothes.

Beneath the cover of Newt’s voice, you felt comfortable letting out a small laugh. It was the first noise you’d made in the Glade.

Slowly, Newt’s laughter stopped. He stared at you, eyes soft, his lips pulled up in a small, pleased smile. He didn’t say anything.

You looked down at the basket in your hands, trying to stop yourself from blushing.

After a second, Newt said, “Before we go to dinner, there’s one last place I want to show you.” He took the basket from you and handed it off to Zart, the Keeper of the Gardens.

The pair of you headed off towards the far wall, away from the buggy Gardens, the dark woods, and the noisy kitchen, where a hungry horde of Gladers clamored to get their dinner.

“It’s not one of the really important places,” Newt said as you walked, “so I didn’t show it to you yesterday.” His hands swung awkwardly at his sides, as though he wanted to reach one out, maybe to guide you, maybe to hold you, but couldn’t decide whether he should or not. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to or not.

All you did was nod.

Newt continued, “But I think, maybe, it could be good.”

As you neared the wall, you felt your stomach drop at the sheer size. You craned your head back and back and back, trying to see the top, trying to see if any ivy led all the way up. How could there ever be a way out of those walls?

A warm hand touched your arm.

Your head shot back down, eyes landing on Newt’s. The faintest pink burned on his cheeks, a glow from the sunset, maybe, or... You shook the thought out of your mind as he pointed to the wall.

Carved into the wall in front of you were names. Immediately, your gaze landed on Newt’s. Next to his, Alby’s name was done in blocky letters. Thomas and Minho had made their marks. Chuck’s name was squeezed between the two, as he often was in real life, when he’d inject himself into their days. You recognized enough names to figure out that every Glader had been here once and had left a permanent memento of themselves. Some of those mementos, like the ones with a single sharp line running through them, had already outlasted their creators.

“I thought, I don’t know...I thought maybe seeing other names would help you remember yours.” Newt rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the ground.

Your heart felt warm in your chest. Yearning took over. You reached a hand out, tracing the closest names, looping through the letters, dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s. You wanted to remember.

Please remember. Remember for Newt. Remember for me.

You pulled your hand away and pointed to Newt’s side, where his knife was strapped. He unsheathed it out without a moment’s hesitation. When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed over yours and you could swear your heart stopped. You had to fight to keep your composure, especially with the feeling of his intense stare as he watched you carve the first letter of your name into the wall.

You felt, rather than saw, Newt step closer to you. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, his smile almost took the breath out of you. Your hand stilled as you finished the first letter.

Newt repeated it, sounding almost awed. “Keep going, love.”

Forcing your eyes away from him, you continued carving. Each letter of your name was done with precision, right below Newt’s. It felt fitting to do it there, like he was some guardian angel looking over you, keeping you safe. Being around him made you feel...the English language wasn’t sophisticated enough to describe it. You felt warm. And calm. And the kind of happiness that made your cheeks hurt and your jaw ache, even when you weren’t smiling.

When you finished, Newt said your name, his voice reverent. “Y/N.” He repeated it. He glanced down at you. “Am I saying it right, love?”

He’d gotten closer than you’d thought. His breath nearly hit the tips of your eyelashes. If you moved only a few inches you’d be touching him.

You nodded.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded again. He was so close you felt dizzy. You would’ve agreed to just about anything he said at that point.

“Are you able to speak?”

Your nod was more hesitant this time, slowed by dread for his next question.

“Why don’t you?”

You wanted to look away but his eyes had a hypnotic hold on you. You shrugged half-heartedly. How could you explain that every time you tried to speak your throat closed up? That your mouth went dry and you forgot every word you knew? That your heart started beating erratically, and your palms began to sweat, and it felt like walls were closing in, and you felt the fear again?

Newt nodded. He took a step back, the tension in the air dissolving. Jutting his chin at the wall, he said your name again. A smile crept onto his face. It was that soft, sweet smile that had gotten you through your first days in the Glade.

It got you through the next week, too. A week spent trying other jobs, where your lack of communication proved rage-inducing for a certain captain and ultimately landed you back in the Gardens.

It was rare that Newt wasn’t by your side. Today, though, he and Alby were caught up in meetings with the other Keepers, trying to figure out how to discipline a Glader who’d been making inappropriate comments and trying to instigate fights.

Newt had told you the basics the other day. You hadn’t wanted him to go into detail. He’d seen that on your face and quickly switched to telling you about the first crops they’d tried to plant, which had been such a disaster that the Creators sent up multiple books on farming the next month. The conversation was much lighter from then on.

Being with Newt was so easy. Most of the others pushed you too hard to talk, which only made your throat dry up and your tongue feel like lead. You wanted to talk with them, sometimes, but...you couldn’t get the words out. You couldn’t think of them when it came time to speak. You had a mental block, barricades set up to keep you from feeling too comfortable here. Part of you needed to feel the fear that came with trying to speak. If you stopped being afraid, you’d start getting complacent.

The sound of the Walls grating to a close struck the same feeling in you, even though you were safe in the Gardens, well away from the terrors of the Maze.

“Y/N.” Zart’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Good job today. Some of the other shanks left a bunch of tools out, could you bring them to the shed? I have to track down Chuck.” His normally placid expression morphed into a scowl as he shook his head, his blond mop of hair flopping over his forehead.

You nodded. The two of you split off among the rows, Zart’s cursing fading as you approached a scattering of trowels and rakes.

You pursed your lips in disappointment before stooping down and trying to gather everything. You ended up with two rakes and a hoe tucked under your right arm, a few trowels held close to your chest, and a sharp hand pruner held carefully in your left hand.

Boys.

You huffed as you headed for the shed. It was a crudely constructed building that was made in the first few weeks of the Glade’s existence. You’d heard some other boys say that the first Gladers originally slept here, but Newt hadn’t mentioned it so you weren’t sure how true that was. If they had slept there, you didn’t envy them. It was smaller than your room in the Homestead, which was a far cry from large. You supposed it was in a nice enough location, though; it stood on the edge of the Gardens, close enough to the woods to catch some shade, but not so deep that you were alone.

As you neared the shed, you saw that you actually weren’t alone. A figure paced next to it, head bent low, features hard to make out.

You purposely tried to walk louder as you came closer, hoping you wouldn’t scare him. At the sound of a twig crunching under your foot, his head shot up.

You’d definitely seen him before; he had thick, dark eyebrows and a strong jaw. The bruise forming under one of his eyes was new, as was his now crooked nose. You were pretty sure his name was Connor.

“Y/N,” he said, stilling in his tracks. He made no move to help you carry the tools.

You nodded, gave him a tight smile, and headed for the door. One of the rakes almost slipped from under your arm, but you squeezed it tightly and took a few hurried steps.

Connor crossed in front of you. You veered to the side. His arm shot out and grabbed your shoulder, hard enough to jostle it and send the rakes and hoe tumbling to the ground.

“You think you’re better than me or something?” He was speaking quickly, too quickly, you didn’t have a chance to respond or adjust the trowels that were slipping through your grasp or push him away. In one quick movement, he turned and slammed you into the shed wall. Two trowels dropped. You clutched the rest closer, your breaths turning into nervous pants.

“Is that why you don’t talk? You think you’re better than me? Than us?” Conor loomed over you. He glowered at you, his eyes afire with rage. “Answer me.” He slammed you back again. Your head cracked into the wall and you let out a soft whimper.

“So you can talk.” His grip was vice-like on your shoulders. His nails dug into your flesh like he wanted to tear you apart. “So why don’t you talk? Why don’t you fucking talk?” Again, he slammed you into the wall.

Were you crying? Were you talking? Were you making any noise at all?

Were you even breathing?

“You make this place even harder to be in. We don’t need some fucking mysterious mute bitch when we have to solve the Maze. Don’t you get it? You’re a distraction!” Every few words were punctuated with a slam. The air whooshed out of your lungs in a pathetic cry for help.

You’d never tried harder to talk.

But now there was so much fear in you. Not existential fear -- real, in-your-face danger.

One of Connor’s hands released your shoulder. It ached in relief until his fingers wrapped around your throat and he leaned in close to say, “Fine. Don’t talk.” And he squeezed.

Each second was an eon. Your lungs screamed for air. Blackness lingered on the edges of your vision, closing in, closing in, closing in, leaving only a pinprick of light. Your legs went numb, as if they’d just fallen asleep, and the feeling worked its way up your body, down your arms, to your hands, where the last trowel and the hand pruner were about to fall.

Hand pruner.

You had no more air, you had no more energy, and yet your body was moving and you were thrusting the sharp end of the hand pruner into Connor’s gut.

He let you go with a cry, curling over and holding his stomach. Air rushed into your lungs, only to leave a second later as you screamed, “Help!”

Connor groaned and straightened up enough to launch a clumsy fist at you. You twisted to the side. Your foot caught on a gardening tool, sending you sprawling to the ground, clambering away on hands and knees, still gasping for air.

A wet hand grabbed your ankle. You kicked, connecting with something solid, and yelled out, “Someone help!” The hand left your ankle for a second, then you heard something heavy moving in the grass, and the hand clamped down on your calf.

You tried to wriggle away. People were coming from the Gardens, you could see their black silhouettes as the sun set behind them. You heard your name, shouted by your rescuers and growled by Connor. You kicked at him again. His other hand caught your foot, using you to pull his body further onto your legs.

He was heavy. He slammed a fist into your back, knocking you flat.

“Get off of her!” Your rescuers closed in. They wrenched Connor off and surrounded him. Warm hands, soft hands, gentle hands, helped you stand. Connor’s blood rolled down the backs of your legs.

“Are you okay?” Newt asked, his voice frantic. He held you, his touch like feathers on your arms, as he scanned your body up and down, looking for any injuries. “Is that--” he started to ask, staring at your legs. Mid-sentence, Newt turned away, calling for a Med-jack.

“It’s not mine,” you interrupted him. The words were hoarse and quiet but audible, and Newt whipped back around to face you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

His touch slid down your arms, his hands enveloping your own. “I knew that was you yelling,” he said. His eyebrows lowered and his face grew serious. “I knew it was your voice. I knew it was you, love.”

Words hung on the tip of your tongue. Words you’d meant to say your first day in the Glade. Words you’d wanted to say every day since. Words that you could never get out. “Thank you,” you finally said.

Newt smiled, so wide and so bright that your heart started beating like you were sprinting. “I’ll always be here for you, love.”

The distance between the two of you was quickly fading. “I know you will,” you said, and then, again, “Thank you.” A second later, your lips met. And you felt like thanking him all over again.

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 3 years

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if I can never give you peace — one || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 6k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers // Ao3

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): Descriptions of violence, Minor Character Death, Guns, kind of dark in general

Previous · Next

The first gunshot takes everyone by surprise. Unsure glances are exchanged all around, “did you guys hear that”, and disbelief is clear as day on people’s faces. There’s no way this would happen here, right? People are mostly aware of the fact that they’re technically working for a mafia leader, but this is the legal side of the business, and this building is in the middle of the town’s business centre. This cannot be happening.

You stay perfectly still, immobile where you were standing. Out of all the people here, you’re the one who is the most involved in the questionable parts of the family’s activities. In fact, you were just about to go up to Mr. X’s floor to discuss said questionable things — in this case, the smuggling of a large cargo of weapons.

The gunshot is still ringing in your ears when it is followed by another one, and then possibly more, but you can’t hear them because chaos erupts all around you.

People get up, start running around, some towards the elevators, some towards the stairs. Your brain tells you those choices are probably bad. If those gunshots are for the Family — and who are you kidding, they are — then whoever is firing them is coming up.

“Don’t use the stairs,” you order, and some people stop to look at you, unsure of what to do. They trust your decisions, to a degree, but you doubt it’s enough in this situation. “They’re probably coming,” you explain, even if three of the employees have already slipped through the door and left, “and I don’t think you should be in front of the elevator when the door opens.”

Blood drains from people’s faces. Downstairs, there are more shots fired. A woman starts to cry. Your brain is going in overdrive, processing everything, trying to come up with the best decision, and yet it doesn’t feel like anything is actually registering.

“You should barricade yourself in a room,” you say. Your voice is eerily calm, even to your ears, and it feels strange to hear it. It’s like a curtain has fallen between you and the world around you. You understand that this situation is terrifying, that you should have a reaction that is not apathy. You just don’t. “I don’t think you’re the main targets here. I’ll be going up to see Mr. X.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” a man shouts. “You just want to leave us here to be canon fodder! You—”

He’s shut up by your bodyguard pulling out a gun of his own.

“I suggest you do what she’s saying,” he orders, voice deep and gravelly.

On top of being armed, Hector is a bear hybrid you hired about a year ago. He’s tall and large, very impressive physically, which is generally enough to discourage any kind of altercation. He’s also a calm and gentle person most of the time. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him hold the gun he carries.

“You should stay here with them,” you tell him. He send you a disconcerted look.

“Are you sure? Even if they’re not the target, you might be.”

The statement shouldn’t take you by surprise. It’s something you should have considered immediately, and it takes you a second to figure out why you haven’t. If you are a target, that means the attacker knows about the workings of the organization. That would mean that they’ve been planning this for a while, and that they’ve simply gone completely under your radar all this time. Which is a lot more worrying to you than anything else.

“Stay,” you insist. When this is over, it will be better if people here think you had their best interest at heart.

If you make it out, that is.

Hector ushers people inside a conference room, and you walk towards the stairs. From there, you hear gunshots better than you did earlier, and you wince at the sound. You’re not used to it. It’s strange, since you’ve been working for the Family for years now, but you’ve very rarely heard people firing guns. You’ve never even had a gun pulled on you. You’d like to think it’s because you’re too careful, or too smart to find yourself in those situations, but the truth is you’ve just never been in situations where that sort of things would happen.

Sure, someone could send a killer for you — they have, actually — and then the carefully crafted net of precautions you’ve woven around yourself would — did — stop them, but you don’t participate in drug deals and you’re rarely out in the street, and that’s where those things happen most of the time.

You glance down. You’re on the fifteenth floor, so you doubt the employees who ignored your warning have made it out yet. You doubt they will, to be honest.

Glancing up, you wonder if you’ll make it to the twentieth before someone catches up with you and, since it’s a useless thing to think about, you begin your ascension. You’re not the most in shape, most of your daily exercise consisting in walking from places to places. That is a lot of walking, and you can do it without getting breathless, but you never take the stairs. Soon, you’re panting, and you’re about to take a break after three floors when you hear new gunshots that make you freeze.

These were in the stairwell. They echo deafeningly, and, for the first time since this all started, fear actually grips you. You swallow, heart beating loudly, and you keep going. You hear some screams, down there, and the horrible sound of flesh — bodies — hitting the floor, and then nothing. You’re sure someone must be climbing up those stairs, but you can’t hear them at all, and that terrifies you. You have no idea how fast they are, how soon they’ll catch up with you, how—

You slam open the door to the last floor. The time is not to discretion, and anyway, whoever is down there is probably coming for the twentieth floor.

The second you walk out, three guns are pointed towards you, and someone is screaming at you to stay where you are. You obey, until Mr. X’s bodyguards identify you. You had told him that hiring hybrids would be a good idea, since they rely more on their heightened senses and tend to have better reflexes, but you’d been ignored, so you had just shrugged it off and followed your own advice.

“Mr. X is inside,” one of the men tells you, pointing at the door, but not moving to take you there. You walk by him, and they all keep their eyes firmly on the stairwell’s door. That makes you assume the elevators don’t work, otherwise they’d have part of their focus on there.

“Mr. X, do we have any idea what— Miss Xanders, I apologize, I hadn’t seen you there.”

“It’s fine, (Y/N),” Anna says. “We really have more important things to concern ourselves with.”

“Do we know who’s attacking us?” you ask, giving your attention back to Mr. Xanders.

Mr. Xanders is an old man, you feel that he was already an old man when you’d joined. He had Anna quite late, when he was nearing his fifties, and he recently celebrated his seventieth birthday. You would know, you organized the party.

He’s looked old for as long as you’ve worked for him, using a walking stick, small eyes hidden behind large glasses, skin marked with wrinkles. But there was always something sharp and smart, cunning, in his eyes. Despite everything, he felt dangerous, and you had never doubted that he was not a man to underestimate.

Right now, though, he looks tired. Exhausted. He’s staring at his laptop screen and shaking his head, utterly confused.

“I can’t recognize anyone,” he says, and your heart misses a beat. Not good, that’s not good at all. “Can you?”

You walk around the desk quickly, examining the view you get from various cameras placed all around the building, and your hands involuntarily clench into fists as you see how dire everything is. On several different floors, men with machine guns are walking around, and you know for a fact they’re not working for you. You can’t see what’s happened to your people in the low-resolution, but you can guess, and your stomach tightens at the thought.

“How is that possible?” you whisper. “How has no one intervened yet?”

You know the police isn’t too keen on coming here, but this is genuinely insane. The only explanation you can think of is that they’ve been paid-off, and again, you don’t know how you wouldn’t have heard about that.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Mr. X says harshly, and you wince, focusing again on the men on the screen. You scan the men again, quickly. Some are wearing masks, but a lot of them are brazenly showing their faces, and that is one more thing that is not good. They should want to make sure no one would recognize them. If they’re confident enough to do that…

“I don’t know them,” you whisper. Some look vaguely familiar, but you just can’t place it, so you’re sure they aren’t big names. You have definitely not been on the look-out for them.

“Dad, we should really go up to the helicopter,” Anna says urgently.

Mr. Xanders hesitates, then nods, getting up in a movement that is slow and clearly painful. You help him out without thinking much about it, holding his arm and giving him his walking stick.

“How will you do that? The elevators aren’t working and the stairs don’t go to the roof.”

“We’ll reactivate the elevators,” Anna explains with a shrug, and you stare at her in disbelief.

“That will mean those people will be able to move freely in the building. I don’t think—”

“They are already moving freely,” Mr. Xanders barks.

“Still—”

Then, a lot of things happen at the same time. You were standing in front of the elevator, Anna calling it with a special key, the bodyguards surrounding you, eyes and weapons still directed at the stairwell door.

The elevator opens with a ding. And the door slams open.

There are gunshots everywhere. You dive to the ground, or maybe you’re pushed down, you’re not too sure. You look up to see two men falling down around you, the third guard ushering Anna and her father in. You try to push yourself to your feet, but the door is already closing. You call out, you can’t hear your own voice, ears ringing from all the noise.

You meet Anna’s eyes, filled with indifference and a complete lack of remorse, and then the door is closed, and you know they’re gone.

And someone, someone who wanted them dead and just killed two men, is in this room with you.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you turn around. As you do, you feel your lower lip starting to tremble, and you sink your teeth into the flesh to stop it. You push yourself on your elbows, and your eyes fall on a man with bleached blonde hair pushed back with a bandana, a round face that makes him look younger than you suspect he is, and a mocking smirk. Once more, you’re struck by the fact that you don’t know him. He’s alone and he took out two trained guards, not to mention the people he must have killed to get there, and you have no clue who he is.

His eyes confuse you, at first, and then you realize it’s their color that is throwing you off, an unnatural yellow, and the slit of his pupils. He’s a hybrid, you understand, and you curse yourself for how slow your brain is at the moment. You don’t have time to wonder if he’s part cat or part snake before he takes a step towards you. Fear grips you, and you consider crawling back, but you force yourself to stay unmoving. You don’t let emotions control you. That’s not who you are.

Instead, you stare at him straight in the eyes, even as you feel tears well up in yours. You’ve never been afraid of death, and yet it seems that you can’t stop your body’s reaction as you understand that this is it. This is how you die, where you die, this is who kills you.

The man crouches down in front of you, and lifts his gun to press the barrel against your forehead. He looks at you like an animal playing with its food. The situation seems to be amusing to him, and you think he is waiting for you to beg. You have no intention of doing that.

“Just make it quick,” you say.

You don’t recognize your own voice. The man’s smile widens, revealing pearly white teeth and a set of fangs. Tears start to roll down your cheeks, and you’re completely unable to stop them. You don’t feel sad or afraid, you just feel empty, but the tears keep falling. Still, you hold the man’s gaze. You won’t beg for your life.

“What if I let you go?” he drawls, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen at the possibility. Then, he laughs, pleased by your reaction, and you’re horrified to find out that this had an effect on you. The treacherous hope you’d just felt makes the reality of your imminent death crushing. A sob escapes you before you can get yourself under control again.

“Please,” you whisper. “Just get it over with.”

A pout forms on his face, and he shrugs. Then, to your surprise, he removes the gun from your forehead. The next thing you feel is the grip of the weapon, violently connecting with your temple, and then you don’t feel anything at all, not even the floor when your head hits it in your fall.

You wake up to the sound of soft, muffled sobs. It takes you a few seconds to piece things together, your head throbbing painfully and your mind in shambles. You lift your head with a groan, trying to take in your surroundings. Your thoughts are slow and you hate it. It makes you feel so vulnerable and defenseless.

Of course, that gets worse when you realize your hands are tied behind your back. That sends a jolt of adrenaline through your body, and you manage to look around you. It seems like you are in some warehouse, which, in your experience, is not a good thing. That’s where executions happen. They’re places that are accident prone, so the presence of blood could be explained easily, and they aren’t inspected that often anyway.

There's another sob beside you, and when you turn to look where it’s coming from, you find Anna, not just tied up but gagged, tears streaming down her cheeks. You assume that means her and her father were caught before they made it to the helicopter. On the other side of her is Mr. X, who seems to be in the same situation as her.

I’m here to be killed, you think. You can’t see another explanation. Mr. X and Anna are definitely here for that reason, so if you’re there with them— it means you’re here to die. You hope it will be quick, like you had asked that man, but you doubt it. If they took you here, it’s probably because they intend to make an example out of you. Intellectually, you don’t blame them. If this is a takeover of the family, they’ll probably need all the intimidation power they can get to keep the situation under control. It’s a ballsy move, certainly, and you would be at least a little impressed if you weren’t thinking about the creative and painful ways they can choose to get rid of you.

“Is she awake?” a voice asks. You turn your head quickly, too quickly, and another groan escapes you as your head painfully reminds you of the blow you just took.

You meet the mocking eyes of the man who knocked you out, before he looks away from you, at a large man you don’t think you’ve seen before.

“He wants to see her.”

The man nods, and then he’s on you in just a few steps, roughly forcing you up, his grip tight around your arm. You groan again as he drags you through the warehouse, to a large black car. You have just the time to think that someone must not want to be seen, if they’re in that, before you’re pushed into it. You lose your balance and land on your knees, and that’s when legs appear in your field of vision. They’re clad in black suit trousers.

You slowly look up. First, you discover elbows resting on spread knees, tattooed hands joined between them. Then there’s an elegant white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, muscular shoulders, a strong jaw, an amused, mocking smile and—

Your mouth drops open. Today is definitely proving to be a trying day for your reputation of never expressing your emotions, no matter the situation.

“Jungkook?” you ask, in disbelief.

Because it’s him. There’s something harsher in his eyes, his hair is longer, dark locks falling down to his jaw, and he’s lost any remaining softness he still had two years ago, when you last saw him, but it’s definitely him. He looks confident, and he’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, clearly knowing that he’s in full control of the situation.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna take a seat?”

He watches you struggle to get to your feet, something that turns out not to be that easy when your hands are tied behind your back, and doesn’t make a movement to help you. When you manage to sit opposite him, you’re still watching him like you’ve seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?”

You know you should be able to piece things together to get an answer now. The deferential tone the man had when he talked about him earlier, everything that happened since these first gunshots… In another situation, it would be obvious to you. But because it’s Jungkook, you can’t bring yourself to come to the natural conclusion.

Jungkook had an out. He could have left this world behind altogether. So why wouldn’t he?

“Come on, you’re supposed to be smart,” he says, mocking, and his smile is harsh and condescending. “I’m taking over for the Xanders family. I think that should have been pretty clear.”

There’s a moment of silence, a long moment, as he waits for it to sink in. He’s in no hurry.

“But why?”

He shrugs, lean back against the leather seat.

“Because I can. Don’t you wanna why you’re here?”

That… would be a good idea, actually, and you’re bothered by how long it took you to think about it. You’re also bothered by how you lost track of that the second you saw Jungkook. You blame it on the surprise and on the fact that you’ve known him since before you became as— you’d like to say ‘efficient’, but the right word is probably ‘emotionless’. Empty.

“Why am I here?” you ask, frowning. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it outside. It could be that he just wants to gloat, but something tell you he has—

“I have an offer for you,” he says, and then he grins and reveals his teeth. “It’s my way of saying thanks for how generous you were when you gave me five minutes to save my life.”

His tone is so abrasive it almost makes you wince, but you’re already falling back into your normal self. ‘Offer’ is a good thing, it means negotiation, conversation, things you can do, things you’re good at, things you can focus on to block out everything else, like the pain in your head or the guilt that settles in when he describes your actions.

“What offer?”

The grin disappears. He doesn’t seem happy he didn’t get a reaction from you.

“Work for me.”

That… makes sense, you suppose.

“I’m taking over for Mr. X. You know everything around here, and some people say you’re the best there is at what you do.” Then he shrugs, and casually pulls out a gun that you think was tucked in his back pocket. “That, or join him out there. I’m not sure you’ll like the outcome for that though.”

Despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but seriously consider the offer. If there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that it’s not a good one. Even if he manages to replace Mr. X, you doubt all the people who work for him will obey him. Stabilizing the whole thing will be a titanic task, but that’s not even what worries you — you can appreciate a challenge. No, the issue is that if you switch your allegiance, people will remember it. You will make a lot of enemies, and that doesn’t even include the people who simply will not trust you because you used to work for someone else. It’s a poisoned gift, really, and you’re sure Jungkook knows it.

“How do you plan on making the families follow suit?” you ask with a frown.

He rolls his eyes.

“Do people ever tell you how boring you are?”

They do, actually.

“This is not the only coup happening today. Some people who have already agreed to work for me will get in power. And the others… will take some convincing, but I’m sure they’ll come around.” He gives you a joyless, aggressive smile.

You’re still focused on his first words. You were already so puzzled that you wouldn’t have heard about what’s going on today — about how Jungkook is back in town, about how he’s been planning an entire takeover — but this is on a whole other level.

“How did you do that?” you ask, and when he lifts an eyebrow, you know you didn’t manage to keep your surprise out of your voice.

“Which part?”

“How did I not hear about that? I mean, Mr. X could sneeze and I would have known about it. People couldn’t open speakeasies without getting approved by me first — and they tried more than once.”

Jungkook looks at you, and disbelief passes on his face. This is what gets you? You couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about anything earlier, now you seem barely affected by the fact that he was threatening to kill you, but that caught your interest. Not just that, but you almost look impressed.

Okay, maybe you’re not as boring as he’d said, but you sure are fucking weird.

“We can smell you,” he says, tapping his nose. “It’s not too hard to figure out who you’re in contact with. Just had to make sure to avoid them. There were a few close calls, but we took care of it.” Then he shrugs. “It wasn’t as hard as you think it was. You’re not as cautious around hybrids.”

You stare at him for a while. He starts picking at his suit, looking annoyed by the turn the situation has taken, and you think about what he said. He’s right, you realize. You fucked up here — badly. You should have taken hybrids’ senses into consideration. You’d like to tell yourself that you didn’t think about it because there were no hybrids in high places, in the organization, but that’s not a good excuse. You file the information in your brain. You’ll do better.

“I’ll do it,” you say, and Jungkook glances at you.

“What changed your mind?”

“I’m— curious, I suppose. I’d like to see where this thing is going.”

Jungkook considers taking back his offer. He didn’t know what he thought would happen, but he expected it to be more interesting than this. Instead, you sat there, face as stiff as ever, and now you’re talking about being curious, which sounds wildly out of character, if you ask him. Yoongi’s told him you cried when you thought he was about to kill him, but he doubts it right now. It doesn’t look like anything can get through that thick shell of yours — and even if it did, he doesn’t think there would be a lot underneath it.

But the thing is, he was telling the truth earlier, when he said you were rumored to be the best there was at your job, and Jungkook is nothing if not a perfectionist. He likes to surround himself with the best. Which, unfortunately, means you.

“Suga!” he shouts, opening the door.

The man with the slit pupils jumps in easily, and looks at you with a disapproving twist of his lips.

“I’m not killing her, am I?”

He sounds disappointed.

Jungkook shakes his head in response.

“That’s Suga,” he tells you, pointing at the man. “He’ll explain how we work to you.”

You nod.

“I think he should kill you,” Suga informs you off-handedly, dropping on the seat next to you. “I think you’ll betray us.”

“If she does, I’ll kill her, if she fucks up her job, I’ll kill her, ” Jungkook says, and you have no doubt he means it. “Consider this your five minutes. Let them go, and you won’t have another shot.”

“That’s fine by me,” you say evenly. Betrayal has never been an option for you. You had no loyalty towards Mr. X, but the threat over your family was too big to risk it. And now, with Jungkook— you guess you’ll have to wait and see. You don’t think you’ll betray him, but if things turn sour… You suppose you’re not above it.

Maybe it should worry you, how little you value your own life, but you brush it off quickly. Thinking about it too much could compromise the way you do your job, and you can’t have that.

“So,” Jungkook says, leaning back, eyes watching you carefully. “What do you suggest we do with the Xanders?”

Suga opens his mouth, but Jungkook lifts a hand, signaling that he wants your answer. You wonder if this is some kind of test.

“Killing them would be the best decision,” you say, somewhat reluctantly. You know your decisions in the past, your suggestions, have lead to the death of people, but you’ve rarely been so direct about it. Then again, death is part of the game, when you work this kind of job. Mr. Xanders is about as close to an actual monster as it gets. And Anna… Well, maybe Anna isn’t. You don’t like her, and you absolutely believe that she was happy to enjoy everything that came with what her father did, but she’s not him. Which is a low bar to clear.

“She’s not wrong,” Suga echoes, sounding annoyed.

“Letting them live would be seen as a proof of weakness and they would try to come back. It’s just— a bad idea.”

You can see Jungkook’s jaw tensing. Next to you, Suga starts to make his leg shake. You suppose he has the same kind of bad feeling you do.

“What if we kill Mr. X but not Anna?” he asks, and Suga groans. Jungkook rolls his eyes and develops. “Yoongi, we’re not taking over the legal part of the business. We can just— leave that to her, and not bother about it.”

“We’ll have to figure out something else to launder money,” you say, because that was the main point of that side of things, legal just in name really. That is not your biggest concern, though. “But if you kill her father and not her—”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Yoongi snaps. “She needs to die.”

He’s right. It’s just the smart thing to do.

“People here aren’t impressed by mercy,” you insist, and that’s when you realize you’ve lost that fight already. Jungkook knows it. There’s no way he doesn’t. He’s made his decision, even if it’s a bad one, and trying to change his mind is useless. So you’re quick to jump to the things that need to be done if he lets Anna live. “You need to get her to sign emancipation papers.”

Jungkook tenses suddenly at the suggestion and a low growl comes from his throat as he bares his teeth at you threateningly. Yoongi barely moves, but you see his hand settling on his hip, near his gun, which you guess serves as a reassuring gesture. The car fills with tension, and you swallow. You feel small and defenseless. It’s not that rare a sentiment, but you suddenly become extremely aware of the fact that you’re alone with them, hands still fucking tied behind your back, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

“Anna doesn’t own me,” Jungkook snarls.

“Legally she does,” you explain. You’re choosing your words carefully, making sure not to anger him any more, but you’re still staring right at him. “You may have forged an ID or something, but if she lives and she can prove she hasn’t freed you— the consequences will be bad.”

There is a second that feels like an eternity, Jungkook just staring at you, lips now in a tight line, before he shrugs and you can breathe again.

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

Yoongi groans and sends you a furious glare that you don’t understand. You agreed with him. What did you do to deserve that?

“I’ll take care of Xanders,” Jungkook adds. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Can someone— Can someone untie me?” you ask as they’re moving towards the door.

Jungkook glances at you.

“We’ll see when we come back.”

A grin flashes on his lips when your lips twist into an offended expression, and then he jumps out of the car, followed by Yoongi, and leaves you alone in there.

Fuck.

What an asshole.

Jungkook walks towards his captives with long, confident strides. Yoongi is right behind him, of course, his shadow, the perfect killer. He may disapprove of Jungkook’s plan, if you can even call it that, and he sure doesn’t like how easily you dropped the topic, but he’s still loyal to him. If he fucks up, he’ll clean up after him.

Jungkook savors the moment when Anna’s eyes fall on him. He can tell she recognizes him immediately by the way they widen and how she tries to speak through her gag. It’s been years since the last time he saw her. Much longer than the last time he saw you, which leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s thought about this so much. A long time ago, he dreamt of her telling him she wanted him back, but over the years, it mostly turned into him finally taking revenge, and he intends to fully savor it now that it’s happening.

He removes the gag from her mouth, and takes an unhealthy pleasure from the way she sobs out, loud and desperate.

“Jungkook, Jungkook, baby, please, please…”

Jungkook only needs to glance at Yoongi for him to set her free, albeit after an annoyed roll of his eyes. The second he does, Anna falls from the chair, right into his arms. Jungkook knows that she’s only trying to save her life, doubts she’s thought of him for more than a split second since he’s disappeared, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to enjoy it.

“Hey baby,” he grins, and he watches as she winces when she sees his sharp teeth. Right, she didn’t see him after that.

Fuck. It’s been a long, long time. She really didn’t give a fuck about him, huh?

And yet he can’t kill her. And yet he knows her bright, pleading eyes, the light weight of her body, the curve of her neck by heart.

“I’m going to need you to do something for me,” he says, voice deep and eyes boring into hers.

She blinks.

“And if I do you won’t— you won’t kill me?”

Jungkook’s opinion of Anna is far less charitable than yours. He thinks she’s an opportunist, will do anything to preserve herself and, sure, she’s not personally involved in her father’s business, but she wouldn’t bat an eye if she was. She likes to play the innocent girl who’s horrified by what’s going on with her family, but she just isn’t. As simple as that.

“Nah. I won’t.”

It doesn’t take long before Anna is kneeling on the floor, writing down what Yoongi is dictating to her, reading from his phone. Jungkook could do it, knows the text by heart, learned it a long time ago when he still hoped for it, but he just stays there immobile instead, watching her at his mercy.

It’s not as nice as he’d imagined.

Finally, she hands him the piece of paper with trembling hands, a small smile forming on her lips as she thinks that her nightmare is over.

Jungkook takes it, reads it over, and nods. Then he pulls his gun out, and Anna’s smile vanishes. Jungkook thrives on her reaction, on the idea that he has complete power over her in that moment. It feels dark and twisted, but fuck, it also feels good.

“But I—”

He shoots and Anna yelps, protecting her ears in reflex.

It takes her a second to realize he wasn’t aiming at her, and relief washes over her, before she understands what it means. She turns around, slowly. And screams.

A clean shot, Jungkook decides, looking at Mr. X. The man had been glaring at him the entire time, and he doubts he would have groveled like Anna had. Now, his blood is splattered on the floor, head thrown back, mouth open, staring at the ceiling with empty, dead eyes. Jungkook doesn’t care when Anna runs to him, sobbing, calling for him, trying to shake him awake.

“We’re going,” Jungkook announces to Yoongi, who finally seems a little less angry with him.

He doesn’t look back at Anna as he walks away.

You rub your wrists, then your shoulders after Yoongi has cut you free. Jungkook doesn’t say anything about it, just sits back in the luxurious car. You thought he would look content, happy with himself. He doesn’t.

When the car stops in front of your building, you’re not sure what to do. Part of you still can’t believe he’s letting you live.

“We’ll come and get you tomorrow to get things started,” Jungkook informs you while staring out the window. “You know, you probably should have moved two years ago,” he adds, and for some reason, that really rubs you the wrong way.

“I changed the locks,” you answer, and he grins.

“You still haven’t figured out how I did it, right?”

You frown. You haven’t.

He looks genuinely pleased by that.

“What should I call you?” you ask. “Do you want to be the new Mr. X?”

He growls at the suggestion, but seriously thinks about your question.

“Call me— Call me Mr. Jeon,” he decides spontaneously, without explaining his decision, and you nod. This should help make things more professional, isn’t if this isn’t actually a professional setting.

“Fine, Mr. Jeon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You’re pleased to find that your voice is back to normal, calm and even, not letting anyone know of whatever you’re feeling.

Except Jungkook and Yoongi can probably hear how fast your heart is still beating, but that’s a problem you’ll have to deal with some other time.

You step out, and linger there a second too long, the door open. Finally, you gather the courage to turn around and look at Jungkook.

“Why are you back?”

You mean a lot by that. In the city, sure, but also in that setting. You’d always thought— you’d always thought Jungkook was better than that. You’d always thought he should get the opportunity to get away and he’d be fine. That’s something you can’t shake away, can’t push under the rug.

He couldn’t escape.

He stares at you blankly.

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

Then he leans in and closes the door, and you’re left alone on the pavement.

Tagging list: @chaiwivluv @mintyrae

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook #jeon jungkook #hybrid jungkook #bts mafia au #bts hybrid au #can you tell that jungkook isn't okay?#jungkook isn't okay #hope you'll like it!#candywrites

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swcetnight · 3 years

Text

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength." Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

enjoying this story? please be sure to like and reblog!! It would really help me out, and i would love to hear your thoughts and feelings regarding this work 🥺🤍 thank you for taking the time to read!!

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#fic: it’s definitely you #faes fanfics #bts x reader #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung x oc #bts fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst

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jiilys · 3 years

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would u help me out for a second. im in the mood to write for the first time, and i think your style is beautiful. sitting down n actually trying though, im stuck as fuck! i’m realizing that in your dialogue/scenes you’ve got a lot of Little Things. little tiny elements that are subtle & just enough. how are you deciding that lily is building a house of cards at the moment or sirius is sitting in a tree or whatever during a given scene? how do you come up with those ideas for dialogue that are so silly & real & sneakily tender? do you know where it’s going when you begin? any advice for just… starting something?

ps: i appreciate you. you make it look easy & that’s very very cool

This is a lovely question!! Sorry it took me so long to get to it, I didn’t want to get it wrong. Also I’ve included some examples to try and explain what I mean in practise, but it also comes off rather like plugging. tragically this is unavoidable. Anyway, all that being said I have no idea how to advise you about dialogue and coming up with it, I think just listening to people talk helps. Don’t forget contractions, and when in doubt always trust the reader to keep up, real people don’t say perfect or even grammatically correct sentences a lot of the time. We also cut each other off all the time, especially when we’re trying to be funny. Like, here’s an example from warm front:

“He’s not even two. He probably would have thought it was, like, having a lie down or something.”

Harry was laughing now, “A lie down?”

“Yeah, a spontaneous, truck-induced–“

“–Permanent–“ “

–Permanent, lie-down. I’m almost jealous now actually.”

Another thing, but people say um and like or can't speak or cut themselves off, especially when they’re nervous. James when Lily says she loves him for the first time: ‘“Wow,” He breathed, “I’m– wow.” He put both hands on her cheeks and kissed her crazy, abruptly, dumbly. Her head spun.’ He can’t even speak! Dumb boy.

I think natural dialogue sometimes just requires you to read it aloud, which is very embarrassing but ultimately quite useful in trying to figure out whether something sounds normal or not. Use casual words, and try not to go dictionary hunting: if you cant think of the word chances are your character can’t either

In terms of concepts I have no idea, but I do have a few tips. I write all my short one-shots in one document (its called ‘just bad’ lmao) so its easy to start something, write a few lines, and then if it doesnt work just start a new concept, but still have all the old stuff handy. if you feel like you’ve written yourself into a corner its probably because you took a wrong turn earlier, so its just a matter of going back up and figuring out where you turned onto the dead end, or where a line could be funnier and/or sadder and/or more meaningful. Sometimes the bare bones of a decent line is there but you have to work it a little.

In this harry/ginny thing where harry is apologising for all the attention and ginny brushes him off she says:

“It’s nothing,” her voice, all force, “Anyway, it’s more funny than annoying.”

The response went through a few drafts, all variations on the same thing:

(1) “You’re funnier.” [too short, doesn’t make sense, and not really that funny. unholy trinity]

(2) “You make it funny.” Harry said, looking at her for real, “It’s not– you make it like that.” [this could work! I have no idea why I cut this, I think I forgot abt it lmao]

(3) “You’re the funniest person I know, Harry said, sincerely, and Ginny felt her heartbeat all through her, “You make it funny.” [jumping from ‘its more funny than annoying’ to getting this sincere out of nowhere is a little much, even for harry who is famously whipped]

I ended up going with this:

“It’s nothing,” her voice, all force, “Anyway, it’s more funny than annoying.”

“You’re funny.” Harry said, looking at her for real, flustered, “I mean– you make it funny. That’s all you.”

It follows the flow of the conversation and I think the way he says it, ‘you’re funny’ like its obvious, and then being like oh fuck and over-explaining it stumbling a little “I mean– you make it funny. That’s all you.”. You know when you like someone and you say something that gives you away before you can stop yourself? I wanted it to sound like that. Just gotta keep in mind how people behave, we are so stupid a lot of the time, we give ourselves away.

The thing about short stuff i find is implying a lot of history without actually describing a lot of it. I normally do this by having memories come up as almost shards, one second of feeling. You know when you’re in a conversation with someone and they mention someone or a past event, and it rises to the top of your brain, but only for a second? i find sometimes when you’re reading stuff people will try and replay entire memories or events mid-conversation, which is not something you do when you think. You don’t need to replay it beat by beat, you were there! This sounds vague as hell so I’ll try and show you what I mean:

From good crimes: “Petunia is engaged.” Lily’s voice, raw and wrong, “To Vernon. Eliza Hunt told me at the supermarket.” Sudden flashes of Petunia, the only time he’d ever met her, sat in the back of Lily’s twenty-first, pinched and whispering. “Whose Eliza Hunt?” This seems as good a thing to say as any.

pretty on the nose (the phrase ‘sudden flashes’ is pretty so i'll allow it from past me). But see how you don’t need to know how Petunia didnt talk to anyone, how she left early, how she was the odd one out: you don’t need to read all that, you already know because she was sat in the back and because pinched is such a mean verb, spiteful and sharp, you can already imagine how the evening went without me saying so

From my proposal take, after Sirius finds out they’re engaged: Sirius’ grip on his shoulder tightened for one second, still grinning, and James knew what he meant. “I know.” He said, because only Sirius had been there for all of it, when they were fifteen, drunk on Firewhiskey for the first time and James had said I think I’ve fucked it, I think I’ve fucked it but I like her for real.

you don’t need a description of the whole night, what party they were at, who they were with, what they were talking about: the important bit is that Sirius was the first person he told, and that they’re both remembering that at the same moment because they’re soulmates lmao. You know when something big happens for a friend and you feel so full of pride & love that you feel like you’ll burst into confetti?? this needed to feel like that, and you only need a flash for it

I feel like I’ve sort of strayed off from what you asked me, which is really advice on how to start something. I normally start with a line, usually of dialogue, and then try and build from there because dialogue is my thing. You might have a different thing! Some people write from concepts or locations, or an image. i might start with one or a few lines of dialogue, write them down, and then try to build from there. For example for the proposal thing I started from james just saying “Marry me”, which I find more romantic than ‘will you marry me’, purely because it sounds like he simply couldn’t stop himself from saying it, like it rushed out. Another example, this thing started from just “don’t be mad at me” “okay” James agreed instantly, because he is such a sucker for her.

When I write I don’t normally know where I’m going! I normally set out to write something I think is vaguely funny and evokes An Emotion, and then I just play around with stuff until I get there. when I write certain stuff and I have scenes in mind, stuff I want to happen, but I find that if I try to plot it to tightly its not exciting to work on, because sometimes you write a good line by accident, that you hadn’t thought of when you sat down, and you surprise yourself. That is a really nice feeling! i want to maximise that feeling.

'What I mostly try to remember is that writing something down, anything down, is useful. Sometimes you write for a whole night and dont get anything useable, but its like clearing pipes. Sometimes you have to flush through shit to get to the good bits. All the rough stuff, the things you don’t like or didn’t work, you wrote to get you to the stuff that did work. All of the bad shit got you here! It wasn’t a waste, you were working to find the good thing

If I had any tips its just the usual stuff, read! It is annoying how much that helps. Also, and I know this may make you shudder, but reading poetry is useful just because in no other literary or media form is language so important. In comics you have pictures, in novels you have plot and character, in film you all that and cinematography, but in poetry you live and die by how good the words are. If you want recs here’s my poem roundup tag, that I do sometimes, or if you want something just now read this by Anne Carson, which uses words like ‘smashing’, ‘boatwash’, and ‘green’ in the best way possible. Also it has these lines: “Recently having learned to recognize the type of tree called sycamore, / I see them in any forest— / the ones that look harrowed, / in shreds, but / go also / straight up into life,”

I mean, think of a sharper image than that?? It’s not possible. Just try remember to stay true to your characters and that in real life, the little stuff is the big stuff. Little things the people around you do normally show they care more than big speeches, and if you want to show love that’s how to make it feel lived in. You want to build a world! the little stuff is usually the world. Take some from your own or dream the ones you wish you had.

This truly was a very kind message and I’m so grateful you like my stuff, I hope any of this was even half-useful, although now reading it back it is borderline nonsensical. I’m going to bed now, good luck with the writing, and don’t forget to send it to me!!

caro xoxo

#writing bitching #said it already but loved this message it was so thoughtful. seemed pretty articulate to me i think ur writing is gunna be just fine!!!#rooting for you & anyone trying to write something rn. words suck and are difficult! they are also better than drugs & sex. regretable #kindnesses

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sketching-shark · 3 years

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LMK fandom: Oh, what do we do about this guy who has nothing but hurt Xiaotian, tried to replace Sun Wukong and his crew, hurt Tripitaka and ordered servants to cannibalize a monkey? Oh I know! We’ll turn him into our little meow meow~ he’s so innocent and Sun Wukong is obviously the villain!

What doesn’t help is this idea is perpetuated by multiple fan fic writers and artists for some reason. Especially some aus they make that turn SWK into a bastard for the sake of the story rather than considering cultural context and thinking they should be respectful.

And almost everyone lets them get away with it just because the art or fanfic is good and they get so popular that no one can point what is actually wrong without feeling like they’re going to get attacked.

I'm starting to feel like my blog is the one anons go to specifically to vent their frustrations about the Six Eared Macaque in his lego monkey show form & the associated fandom lmao. But I guess this makes sense, as I’ve had fun quasi-dragging him before & will in fact use this anon submission as an opportunity to have my own, to put it academically, bitch fest about not just this fandom's favorite protagonist-traumatizing meow meow, but about the way villains are often treated in not just fanon, but increasingly in canon works as well. But same policy as with the last anon; I'll post my opinions below the cut, and as fandoms love to say, don’t like don't read if you don't want to see me dunking on the six eared simian & common fandom tendencies towards villains.

Oh man I would say where would you even begin with this but anon you’ve pretty much started yourself with my main gripe with a lot of ways that the Six-Eared Macaque is portrayed in fandom; there seems to be this unspoken agreement that his acts of violence towards Sun Wukong, Qi Xioatian, and Qi Xioatian’s loved ones are either to be framed as somewhat or totally justified, to be immediately forgiven/excused, or to simply & completely be ignored. Like friends maybe this is just me not seeing the proper posts but while the fandom is inundated with art and fanfics of Macaque as a generally decent individual & a true member of team good guy, I have yet to see one person address the fact that this monkey literally kidnapped & mind-controlled Xiaotian’s best friend and father figures & forced them to brutalize Xiaotian while ol’ Six Ear looked on and laughed (X_X). Like this kind of fandom villain treatment is definitely not something that’s solely at work for Monkie Kid, but it is kind of nutty how fandoms will swing between yelling that people should be allowed to like villains without even mild critique, and then will just flat-out not address the villainous behavior, and will even bend over backwards to frame even characters who committed genocide as just poor innocent widdle victims who need a hug. At its worst, I’ve even seen tons of people in a fandom get really angry at other people who don’t like a villain, and will even start accusing those people of hating real-life mentally disabled or abused individuals all because they don’t like the fandom’s favorite literal war criminal. The Monkie Kid fandom is FAR more chill & better than a lot of other fandoms I’ve come across in that regard, but that is an exceedingly low bar, & the tendency to woobify certain kinds of villains-- as with Macaque and the extreme emphasis on his bad boy/sad boy thing--is very much at work.

I’ve also talked before about a kind of monoculturalization of certain character interpretations and story beats in fandoms, and one of the more popular ones that seems to be applied to Macaque a lot is the “hero actually bad, villain actually good” cliche, as observable from the general fandom assumption that Mr. Six-Ears he wasn’t even slightly lying or remembering things through a rose-tinted or skewed lens when he gave his version of his and Sun Wukong’s past. Like at this point it seems the possibility that people WILL NOT even consider is that Sun Wukong never did & still doesn't care that much about the Six Eared Macaque (in JTTW they weren’t sworn brothers & in Monkie Kid the only thing the monkey king really said to Macaque before attacking him was a pretty contemptuous "Aren't you ever going to get sick of living under my shadow?," & responds to his "beloved friend" getting blown up with "You did good, bud" to Qi Xiaotian, who did the exploding), or that their original fight may in fact have mostly been instigated by Macaque. After all, to repeat what this anon summarized & what I've said before about their original JTTW context (& in an example of the things that do feel like it's often lost in translation) is that the Six Ear Macaque was a villain not just because he beat up the Tang Monk, but because he wanted to take over Sun Wukong's entire life and identity so he could have all that glory, prestige, and power for himself. To quote the macaque himself from the Anthony C. Yu translation, "I struck the T'ang monk and I took the luggage...precisely because I want to go to the West all by myself to ask Buddha for the scriptures. When I deliver them to the Land of the East, it will be my success and no one else's. Those people of the South Jambudvipa Continent will honor me then as their patriarch and my fame will last for all posterity." And in order to do this, the Six Eared Macaque had apparently made Sun Wukong's "little ones," his monkey family, his captives through either trickery or force, and gotten a number of them to take on the appearance of Tang Sanzang and the other pilgrims. It's also made clear that in very direct contrast to Sun Wukong, he doesn't care about these monkeys beyond how they might serve him. In fact, after Sha Wujing kills the monkey posing as him the Six Eared Macaque not only all but immediately replaces him with another, but also "told his little ones to have the dead monkey skinned. Then his meat was taken to be fried and served as food along with coconut and grape wines." So this monkey is not only willing to risk the lives of a lot of other monkeys for his own personal benefit, but is also a literal cannibal. And yes yes, I know a lot of people have argued that Monkie Kid shouldn't be considered a direct sequel to JTTW & that's fair enough (for example, Sun Wukong probably shouldn't be smashing anyone into a meat patty in a children's cartoon lol). And of course, it needs to be noted that there are a buttload of really out there & really cursed pieces of media based on JTTW & that were created in China. Yet the above description is the oft-ignored in the west original facet of the Six Eared Macaque's character. And it is this selfishness, entitlement, and treatment of other individuals as tools for his own self-serving ends that is, from where I’m standing, still very much present in Monkie Kid. Like besides repeatedly going out of his way to physically and psychologically traumatize Xioatian, with the last episode Macaque seemed to be going right back to his manipulative ways. I’ve seen people frame their last conversation as Macaque softening to Xioatian a little bit, but personally that read a lot more like that common tactic among abusers where even after they’ve hurt you they’ll dangle something you want or need over your head (in Macaque’s case, the promise of desperately needed training and information about a serious looming threat), with the implication that you’ll only get it if you do what they want you to, such as, in this case, Xioatian going back to Macaque as his student even after having been so terribly hurt by this monkey, which would give Macaque power over Xiaotian and probably Sun Wukong as a result. And it is this violence and manipulation that it seems the fandom at large has tacitly decided shouldn’t even be addressed, instead leaning more towards a (and this is an exaggeration) “Six-Eared Macaque my poor meow meow Sun Wukong has always been bad & has always been wrong about literally everything” reading.

And while it is the case that I am not Chinese and feel that as such it would be best left to someone who actually comes from that background to provide more context into how common interpretations of the Six Eared Macaque from China may clash really badly with the stuff the western fandom creates, it also must be noted that, as much as we all want to have fun in fandom & in spite of all the out-there versions of JTTW from China, we westerners should recognize that there is a very long and very ugly history of western countries stripping other cultures’ important religious and literary works for parts & mashing them into their own thing while implying or even insisting that what they present provides a true understanding of the original piece. And while I trust most individuals in regards to Monkie Kid are able to step back and think “this is a lego cartoon and not a set guide for how I should understand JTTW” (especially given the insistence that JTTW and Monkie Kid should be considered there own separate works) there does nevertheless seem to be something of a tendency to take the conclusions people come to, for example, about Sun Wukong’s characteristic in his lego form & then assume that’s just reflective to Sun Wukong as a totality. I imagine a good portion of this is due to people not reading JTTW & especially to not having easy access to solid information or answers about JTTW’s many different facets (like geez awhile ago I was trying to get a clear answer on what is considered the most accurate translation of the names of Sun Wukong’s six sworn brothers & got like 5 different responses lmao), but that tendency to take a western fandom interpretation & run with it instead of doing any background research or questioning said interpretation is still very much at play. As such, & as made prominent in the way people have been interpreting the dynamic between Sun Wukong and the Six Eared Macaque in the lego monkey show, tbh it does seem kind of shitty for western creators & audience to sometimes go really out of their way to ignore all of this original cultural & narrative context for the sake of Angst (TM) in Macaque's favor, demonizing Sun Wukong, and shipping the monkey king with his evil twin (X_X).

And speaking of which, even beyond the potential inherent creepiness & revulsion that can be inspired by this specific ship given common interpretations of the og classic's original meaning (again, it's my understanding, given both summaries of translated Chinese academic texts I've been kindly provided with, my own reading of the Anthony C. Yu translation of JTTW, & vents from a number of Chinese people I've seen on this site, that the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China as having originated from Sun Wukong himself as a living embodiment of his worst traits, hence why only Buddha can tell the difference between them & why the monkey king is much more slow to violence after he kills the macaque), I'd argue that in the face of all the uwu poor widdle meow meow portrayals lego show Macaque is, especially if you include JTTW's events, still in the role of “Sun Wukong but worse” as he is very much a violent & selfish creep. Like he was basically running around in JTTW wearing a Sun Wukong fursuit, but there he had the sole reason of wanting to replace Sun Wukong wholesale so he could have all the good things in the monkey king's life without actually having to work as hard for them. But if you combine that with Macaque now claiming that he used to be best friend with Sun Wukong in his pre-journey days (something that's made funny from a JTTW context given that that status actually belongs to the Demon Bull King lol), his original violence has now blown into this centuries long and really unhealthy obsession with the monkey king. Like he's apparently gone from wanting to literally be Sun Wukong to being so obsessed with getting revenge on Sun Wukong that he's got basically nothing else going on in his life. Like he's only appeared in two episodes but...does he have any friends? Any family? A career or even a hobby that DOESN'T center the monkey king? Anything at all outside of his "get revenge on and/or kill Sun Wukong/use his successor as my personal punching bag” thing? Like dude! That is extremely creepy and extremely bad for everyone all around! As I’ve said before, this seeming refusal to see beyond the past or to do something that doesn’t involve Sun Wukong in some capacity is a trait that makes Macaque an interesting and somewhat tragic villain--he even seems to be working as Sun Wukong’s reflection in a mirror darkly, with lego show Sun Wukong pretty clearly not being able to heal from his own past which is hinted to be defined by one loss after another, and with Monkie Kid even kind of having these two characters somewhat follow their JTTW characterizations in that in the latter half of the journey Sun Wukong often gets sad & starts crying in the face of what seems insurmountable odds (& Monkie Kid Sun Wukong does seem to be hiding some serious depression behind a cheerful facade), whereas the Six-Eared Macaque retains a worse version of Sun Wukong’s pre-journey characteristic of getting pissed and lashing out if things don’t go his way--but it’s also what would make any current friendship or romantic relationship between these monkeys horrific. Although to be fair even the fandom seems to recognize this in an unconscious way, in that a lot of the art & fanfic seems to swing erratically between them kissing & screaming at each other in yet another example of bog-standard fandom adulation of romanticized toxic relationships lol.

At the end of the day, of course, this is nothing new. You'll find versions of this dynamic across a ton of fandoms and now even canonical work. And as such, I can only look at this kind of popularized relationship dynamic with a kind of resigned weariness whenever it pops up, & my frustrated question with the popularity of this kind of pairing is the exact same one that I have for a multitude of blatantly toxic villain/hero ships, given common fandom discourse & the tendency to either ignore or justify the villain's actions & demonize the hero: if you're THAT convinced that everything is the hero's fault, if you believe THAT much that the hero is the one in the wrong for the villain's pain and their subsequent actions, then why are you so set on them not only becoming a romantic pair, but framing this get-together as a good thing? Like I know we contain multitudes but that's waaay too many contradictions for me to wrap my head around. And it definitely doesn’t help that one branch of underlying reasoning behind this kind of pairing seems to be the ever-present “you break it, you fix it” mentality, where the assumption is that if you’re in a failing, abusive, and/or generally toxic relationship (platonically or romantically), if you put in enough time and effort & attempts to compromise, you’ll be able to restore/have the relationship you dreamed of, even with someone who hurt you really badly. And this assumption isn’t limited to fandom: I’d even argue that it’s everywhere in the culture, hence why a lot of people feel like they “failed” if they have to get a divorce or make the choice to leave an unhealthy friendship. Personally, I feel like people could really benefit from more stories about how it is not only the case that the people you hurt don’t owe you their forgiveness & you can still become a better and happier person without the one you hurt in your life, & that while it can be really hard it can also be a good thing to leave a relationship, even if it’s one that once meant a lot to you.

But in all honestly, from my own perspective this kind of pairing is starting to read far less like enemies to lovers and far more like a horrible fantasy where you can pull whatever shit you want, even on the people you "love," & never be held accountable for your terrible behavior or even have to consider that maybe you were in the wrong. It's another facet that makes me larf every time I see people insist that fandom is an inherently "transformative" or "progressive" form of storytelling like friends you are literally just taking status quo toxic monogamy & rebranding it as somehow beneficial & romantic (X_X).

But as to anon’s last frustration, it is hard to know what is the appropriate response with this kind of thing...like for my own part I’m keeping my frustrations to my blog & now increasingly to posts that you would have to click on the “read more” button to see what I have to say, but I totally get the hesitation to give even a mild critique to big names in a fandom. Like I've now seen it happen repeatedly where someone who has a big name in a fandom will make something that's kind of shitty for one reason or another, someone will message them with some version of "hey, that's kind of shitty, you shouldn't do that," and the typical response is either to blatantly ignore the issue completely, or more popularly to make a giant crying circus that seems deliberately geared towards stoking emotions on both sides of the, for example, fiction does/doesn't affect reality issue so that something that didn't even have to be that big a deal gets blown out of all proportion, with the big name often framing what often started out as a very mild critique into a long crying jag about how the initial response to their kind of shitty thing was so mean/cruel and they're just a poor innocent & that YOU'RE the true racist/sexist/bigot etc. if you don't agree with their opinion. It must of course be noted that there have also been numerous instances of people taking it too far the other way & sending not just big names but smaller creators literal deaths threats over stuff like innocuous ships which like holy hell bells people that’s a horrible thing to do. But for the big names at least, the end result of all this fighting is usually that once the dust has settled they have more attention/fame/money/power in the fandom than before, and with anyone who might have a problem with their stuff feeling afraid to voice their opinion lest they be swarmed by that person's fans. In that way fandom does often seem to increasingly be geared towards presenting an “official” fandom perspective about various facets of a piece of media instead of allowing for a multitude of interpretations, and with criticism, no matter its shape or form or how genuinely warranted it may be, being hounded out of existence. I feel like a lot of this could be made less bad if there wasn’t this constant assumption & even drive to think that a different interpretation of or criticism of your favorite work of fiction or your fanwork isn’t a direct claim that you are a thoroughly loathsome individual (& maybe also if people cultivated an enjoyment of learning things about important works from a culture outside their own, even if what you learn clashes with your own initial understandings), but I guess we’ll see if that ever happens.

So these are my general thinks about the Six Eared Macaque’s current fandom meow meow status & some of my bigger gripes with fandom tendencies as a whole. I stand by my idea that the most interesting & beneficial route for Macaque moving forward would be a kind of “redemption without forgiveness from the ones you hurt” arc--as I think was done pretty excellently with the character Grace in Infinity Train--and if for no other reason than gosh dern this monkey really needs to cultivate some sort of identity beyond his “Sun Wukong but worse” persona.

#lmk macaque #monkie kid macaque #6 eared macaque #monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #qi xiaotian #lmk monkey king #sun wukong #monkey king #journey to the west #jttw #fandom criticism #lmk

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