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carakook · 2 months

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Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

"Please don't slam the door in my face. Please just let me talk to you for a bit, I promise I'll behave."

→ Chapters list ←

⚘2. Wild Flower

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

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⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: Y/N attempts to cope with the end of the affair and stay firm in her decision to go no-contact with Jungkook. Jungkook, however, is a fucking mess, and it has barely been a few days. He is going insane. He knows this is for the best... but he also knows they both deserve closure. Y/N especially... she will never fully bloom without it.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 2K+

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex (no smut, but it is talked about), mentions of pregnancy, mentions of toxic masculinity, mentions of arguing, let me know if I miss anything!

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: Chapter two! This one is a bit short, but the next chapter will be much longer, this chapter is meant to give some context to their past and how things ended up this way. I truly hope you like it, and chapter three will be out shortly.

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↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Over - Lucky Daye (y’all this one is important, fits the vibe so well)

♪I bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

That weekend, you’re in shambles.

Hundreds of missed texts and calls. All from him. All tempting you to run back to him like you always do. But you haven't answered. You can't, and you won't.

His texts range from saying things like,

"I'm sorry. Can we please just talk?"

"Now you're leaving me on read? What the fuck?"

"I'm going crazy. Please talk to me."

"I want to hate you right now. Fuck."

"I do fucking hate you. I regret you."

"That was a lie, I could never hate you, I love you, so fucking much. I don't regret anything with you."

"You haven't blocked me and I can see you reading my messages so I'm not gonna stop until you answer me."

"Fuck wait, don't block me, please don't."

"Please Y/N."

It stopped there. The last plea and you left it unanswered. Because with each message he sent, even though you didn't text him back, you sent a tiny piece of your heart his way. He just doesn't know it.

If you weren't hurt, you'd find this entire thing so fucking amusing because, clearly, the man is losing it. He's acting like a desperate teenager who is overly attached to his girlfriend. Like a lost puppy. A man-child who's too persistent for his own good. So cute.

Except for the fact that you're not his girlfriend. You're his mistress, and oh fuck, that label leaves such a dirty and disgusting taste in your mouth.

He would never address you as such. As a matter of fact, as you're laying on your couch drowning in your own self-pity and a bottle of cheap wine, he remains in his second apartment, thinking precisely the opposite.

Thinking about the fact that you were never a mistress. You were so much more. As fucked up as it sounds, you were more than his wife is to him currently. He's never felt so loved, but also never loved someone so damn hard. You own his soul, and he's panicking at the thought that he'll never get it back. You've run away with it and refuse to let him in enough to steal it back.

But the thing is, he doesn't want it. He wants you to have it. If he could, he'd wrap it up in the most expensive wrapping paper, decorate it with stickers and bows, and hand it to you. But you stole it; you didn't give him the chance.

You didn't mean to. Fuck, you didn't want it. You don't even realize how much he loves you. You refuse to realize it because it'll only make it so much more painful. It's easier to believe that he loves his wife, not you. That he'll stay with his wife, not you. That he'll be happier with her, not you. It's so much easier because, despite the bitter pain in your heart, your one wish out of all of this is his happiness and well-being.

You know nothing about his marriage. Jungkook realizes this now. He never intentionally kept his marriage from you, but it was so easy to just forget about it when he was with you.

Because he wants to forget.

He once loved his wife and thought for sure he would never love anything or anyone more than her. They were young and in love, married each other while they were fresh out of college like dumbasses. He was a lovesick boy with her. He thought she was the prettiest, most precious thing ever to exist.

Until things changed.

After college, she changed. She has always been more mature, ever since they first met. But she created this power dynamic between her and Jungkook; she saw herself as more than him. She started looking down on him because of his choice of career... because of his choices in life in general.

One thing about Jungkook is he listens to no one. He's a selfish man in some ways and does not give a shit about anyone's opinion. But she was his wife. So it created some tension when she expressed she didn't want him to be some indie photographer; she wanted him to do something better with himself. She wanted him to try and make it big, like some sort of Hollywood hotshot working for celebrities, because he damn sure has the talent.

But he wanted something much more simple. He just wanted to take pictures. Of anything, everything, for anyone. He told her he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't waste his years of college to do something he didn't want to do. He didn’t drown himself in student debt to end up unhappy. Regardless of the money, he just wanted to capture the beauty in other people.

He has his own little business, and it does well. So well that his wife could stop working if she wanted to and continue living her lavish lifestyle. He's one of the most loved photographers in Seoul, but that's all. People enjoy the fact that he's humble and keeps things simple while providing them with photography skills that you can't get anywhere else.

His wife doesn't like this.

She wants more. Always wants more.

It was the first time he denied her wishes.

And it was the first time he realized that maybe this woman was not what he had thought she was all the years he had been with her.

The dynamic switched quickly. He went from lovesick puppy to stray dog, constantly feeling like he didn't belong with her, like he didn't have a place with her anymore. But he married her, dedicated several years of his life to her, and didn't wanna leave her. Marriage is hard sometimes… surely they could overcome it.

That’s what he thought, anyway. But as time went on, it became clear that this wasn’t just a rough patch. God, he fucking wishes so badly that it was just a rough patch.

The one thing that made him start thinking impulsively was the bomb she dropped on him shortly before he met you.

"No, Jungkook, I don't want kids. Not now, not ever, so drop it."

"Woah- what? We've talked about this before baby... I don't understand. What changed your mind?"

"You. I'm content with what we have, and I don't want to focus on some mini-Jungkook running around and causing chaos in my future. We're fine as we are."

That was the day that he realized, holy fuck, I don't love this woman anymore. This isn’t just some rough patch. She is not the woman he fell in love with years ago… maybe she never was.

Because he had the same thought but the polar opposite, her words stung him in a way he'd never felt. He has always imagined a mini-her running around, and it made him swoon. It made him feel so many warm fuzzies inside. But she clearly didn't feel the same. And the fact that she would view a child made by them both as a nuisance just because it was his? That broke his heart.

Kids have always been such a huge deal to him. He loves them. He is a huge kid himself. He's always wanted to be a dad one day and always imagined it would be with his wife. He used to fantasize in college about it, about his little babies running around while he made his little family breakfast; she knew it, too. She knew he wanted kids, and she always fed into these fantasies, adding onto them and making them seem real and plausible.

But it never was real. It was all an illusion to keep him under her leash.

She never wanted kids. She just wanted to keep him.

And he knows that now. It makes him sick.

After that conversation, he quickly put up barriers with her. Although he couldn't bring himself to divorce her, he distanced himself. And she didn't even notice, which is what gave him the confidence to pursue you.

He just wanted to feel something. He couldn't even touch his wife anymore. Couldn't even get hard by her. And she humiliated him for it. She made him feel like he was broken and gross. Dirty. It's similar to your feeling but in a completely different context.

And she wasn't willing to help, either. He had tried to confide in her, be honest, communicate. He tried to work it out, wanted to find ways to make it work, wanted to be able to touch her again. He offered couples counseling and maybe a doctors visit to make sure his junk wasn’t broken like she swore it was. But the moment she saw he wasn't hard for her like he always had been? She, too, put up her walls. She distanced herself and never mentioned sex again. Hardly even looked at him in such a way.

He wouldn't doubt if she was cheating, too. In fact, he knows in his gut that she started cheating on him way before he did on her. He doesn't have the balls to confront her either, considering he feels he's the reason for her straying away. He can't give her what she needs. He feels like he's not good enough for her. For anyone. Not even for you.

It's a mess.

So that night he saw you at the club, dancing with your friends, that sweet smile on your face that could end a war, he wanted you. Oh, he wanted you so bad.

At first, it was just lust. Seeing the way that you moved, so sensual and sinful, but mixed with that innocent smile? It was a deadly combination that left his dick twitching.

Never once did he think it would be a constant. He was sure it'd be one time, which is why he didn't disclose his marriage to you at first.

It was thrilling for him. He knew it was wrong; he felt like a child who was sneaking out and doing shit behind his parent's back, stealing cookies from the cookie jar. But he hadn't felt a thrill in months, hadn't been touched in months, hadn't even been looked at in months.

So when you noticed him staring, and your cheeks turned faintly red under the club lights? And you tried to look away? But then he saw you whispering to your friends and panicking, whisper-yelling, "He's so hot- he's looking at me- oh god, I'm gonna puke, look at him!"

Yeah. That was what he needed. He needed someone to stroke his fragile little ego that his wife tore to fucking shreds. And your over dramatic, yet sweet reaction? It made him so fucking cocky.

One time. Just once. Just a little taste to keep me sane. That's what he told himself.

But when he finally got that taste of you? When he saw the way you looked at him while he was above you? The way you whined when he kissed you? The way you acted like you'd never been touched before? And then when he felt you? Felt how tight you were, felt how much you wanted him, how you seemed like you had not been with many men? It did it for him. It started an addiction.

You made him feel wanted in a way his wife didn't. In a way that she never did.

You healed a part of him while also causing him to grow. To flourish. To become himself again.

He doesn't even care if it's sinful circumstances. He's just thankful for you. So fucking thankful. When he dies and gets sent to hell, he will personally thank satan himself for giving him the ability to sin with you.

Maybe in hell, he can even have you.

He knows that even with all of that, it doesn’t make what you’re both doing right. No matter what excuses his mind conjures up, none of it is ok. Cheating is never ok. He should’ve never pursued you. He should’ve never kept it going. He should’ve never even been in that fucking club that night. Or, he should have fessed up. Should have told his wife, left her, fuck, he should’ve done something different.

He should’ve saved you both. But he didn’t. Because he’s selfish. And he’s so fucking scared.

And even then, he could never regret you. Never.

This is why, as he sits in the bedroom of his second apartment, staring directly at the perfume bottle that fell out of your purse and onto his floor as you ran away, he made a decision.

One that he wasn't happy with.

He's a coward. He feels as if he can't leave his wife. There are so many reasons as to why, but the main one is that he's in so deep with her. Has a whole life with her. She's part of him. So he can't leave her. He wants her to leave him. And he secretly hopes that one day, she will. It’s selfish, wrong, but that’s how he feels.

However, he can't let you leave without making sure you know how much he loves you.

It's fucked up. He knows it is. He knows that when you love someone, you'll do anything to be with them. But he's a coward.

He still loves you, though. Loves you more than he even understands. Right person, wrong time. And it’s so fucking painful.

So he gets his shit together. He takes a shower, shaves, makes himself look less of a mess, and starts making his way to your apartment without announcing himself.

He knows if he tells you, you'll refuse to let him in. He knows you're trying to move on. And he wants to help. But he can't let you go until you understand the extent of his feelings.

And maybe, just maybe, has one last taste.

This is something you don't expect him to do at all. He's never pushed himself on you. He's never been the type to show up without an invite, or at least a little heads up first.

Which is why when you hear a knock on the door, you don't think anything of it. You ordered pizza. The best heartbreak food. So you grab your wallet and pull out a some cash, swiftly opening the door and saying with a pout and sniffle,

"Keep the chan-"

That's not the pizza guy. Nope.

That's him. And fuck, you feel yourself melting. Your heart turns to molten hot lava and burns you from the inside out.

He smiles sheepishly, and he holds out a single flower. He didn't buy it. It's a tiny little purple wildflower that looks a bit wilted, much like yourself. Pitiful. And clearly, he picked it on the side of the road on his way here.

This is the kind of shit that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, the guilt is worth it.

"Please don't slam the door in my face. Please just let me talk to you for a bit, I promise I'll behave."

"Leave."

You swiftly say as you begin to do exactly what he asked you not to. You honestly weren't going to do it; you were already thinking that if he asked you to stay, you would. But then he said that, and it brought you back to reality.

But he doesn't let you.

His arm darts out, holding the door from shutting entirely. He pushes it open, steps in quickly, closes it behind him, and looks at you with an intense desperation you've never seen before. Looks like a lost fucking puppy, or maybe a puppy who’s been put outside by their owner.

A lost puppy for you… a stray dog for his wife.

And then he gets on his fucking knees and begs.

Looking up at you, with the tiny purple wildflower, still in his hand, it drops down to his side in defeat. He's gripping it so tightly that it's losing its life quickly. The same exact way he’s clinging to the connection you share as if he’ll die without it. But much like the little wildflower, he’s sucking the life out of you.

His other hand grabs yours and squeezes. He says with a weak voice,

"Please. Let me do this. We need closure, and the last time we saw each other was not it. I'm fucking begging you to let me in just for tonight. And then I'll let you go."

As he holds your hand, you can't look at him. Instead, you look at the tiny flower, the one that he's crushing in his palm. He's holding onto it for dear life without even knowing. Similar to you, once again. You're that flower.

You're wilted, bruised, bent, crushed. All because he's clinging onto you, sucking the life out of you, and you've let him. And if he asks, you're going to continue to let him.

But then the flower falls out of his hand. He lets it go.

Oh, what a fucked up way for god to tell you that he isn't going to stay. He isn't going to ask you to stay; he's really going to let you go tonight.

So, as you stare at the flower, which is now on the floor, you murmur, "Alright."

You don't want to. But you're giving him the chance to let you go. Even though you wished he wouldn't.

He stays on his knees, as if he isn’t sure what to do now. As if he wasn’t sure he’d get this far… and honestly, that’s exactly it. He thought for sure you would kick him out and curse him for trying.

Or maybe, he thought you’d fight, too. And the fact that you aren’t fighting… it shouldn’t hurt him as much as it does. He’s the one who has put you in a position of constant guilt. But oh, how nice it would be if you fought for him.

“Jungkook, Jesus, get off of your damn knees. You look ridiculous.”

He blinks slowly. Yeah, ok, fair. His big ass on his knees begging like that. But god, he’d do it over and over again just for a little more time with you.

He’d let you spit on him and call him degrading names if it meant more time with you. And he’d even smile about it.

You both end up laughing at his dramatics a moment later, and it’s music to his ears… knowing that he can still make you smile even though he’s the reason you’re dying inside right now.

Closure. It’s what you both need. Just one more night to get everything unsaid out into the open… then you’ll both move on.

… right?

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

#bts #jeon jungkook #18+ only #bts fanfction #bts imagines #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts x you #bts x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n

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yangbbokari · 7 months

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Back To Me

Pairing: Kim!Seungmin x F!Reader

Genre/AU/Tropes: Angst, non-idol!au, lovers to exes

Warnings: breakup, language, regrets(if that counts idk), implied cheating, daddy issues

WC: 2.5k

Summary: Things with Seungmin just didn’t seem to ever look up and when you confront him about it, he lashes out

A.N: !NOT PROOF READ!Feedback is greatly appreciated*★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。also, I’ve been obsessed with “Back To Me” by The Rose since it came out and this ff idea has been weighing heavily on my mind. I am not implying that said idol(s) behave anywhere near what is mentioned in this ff. Inspo from

Song rec: ‘Back To Me’ by The Rose

You can still remember those sweet moments with Seungmin. You ran along the seashore as he snapped pictures with his camera you gifted him on his birthday. He took you on a short trip to the park and took pictures of you with your hair blowing in the wind. The both of you laid beside each other, getting lost in the other’s eyes.

But you can’t remember when it all started. What caused that sudden change in your relationship? Was it you? Was it him? You would never know…

You didn’t sense it. It all kind of just… happened. Slowly, Seungmin started to grow distant from you. You wish you knew why. I mean, you could’ve just asked him what’s wrong right? Well, the answer is no. How do you ask someone who’s never home and doesn’t reply to your texts? On days he would actually come home, he wouldn’t talk to you. When he did, all he would do was lash out at you for things that weren’t even your fault.

You tried to support him, you really did. You always kept your calm and told yourself it was just because of his stress stemming from work. But it wasn’t long before it broke you down. Nipping at even your smallest insecurities. So on one of the days when he came home, you just said it all to him.

As soon as you heard the door open, so did your mouth. “Come eat dinner. It’s gonna get co- I’m not hungry”, he cut you off. You got up from your seat at the table and forced him to sit down. He sighed heavily. “What do you want, Y/n. You're driving me crazy. I have enough shit from work and now you're being so demanding.” You scoff. You don’t know where it came from but a fire set ablaze in your eyes and all you felt was irritation.

I can make you mad, I can make you scream

“I’m the one driving you crazy!? I’ve just been looking after you and trying to help you through this stress. But suddenly I’m the problem? You know what? I’m tired of this. You can’t just blame me for shit I didn’t even know of. I’m trying to be a good girlfriend and for what? For you just to come home and berate me when you feel like it?” You were breathing heavily by now and the anger consumed you. “Well, you’re not the one working are you? You’re not the one earning money. You’re not the one putting food on the table. You’re not th- But I’m the one trying to make this relationship survive!!!”, you cut him off because you couldn't bear to hear those words come from his mouth. He knew how much they hurt you.

Your dad said the exact same words before leaving you on your own with your sick and dying mother. When your mother died, it left you in shambles. You were barely 12 then and so your aunt adopted you. And she treated you like her own. She was the only family you had left until you met Seungmin. But now it feels like she was and still is the only family you have left.

Seungmin huffed before taking a bite of food. But, he immediately spit back out along with his venomous words. “What the fuck is this!? It’s salty as hell! And you wonder why I’m not eating this shit.” Before you could even process his words, you heard the front door shut. You were all alone now. Again.

I can make you cry

After taking a shower you had no strength to do anything else. It wasn’t exactly a physical problem. You were just mentally and emotionally exhausted. You laid down in bed and curled yourself in a tight ball, with the blankets covering you. You felt vulnerable and weak. Like you couldn’t do anything to save your once perfect relationship with Seungmin. Suddenly your face began to feel wet. You were crying. But now, you were beyond the point of just crying. You were sobbing uncontrollably.

Did he fall out of love with you? Or was he just playing you all along? Did he find someone already and he was waiting for a perfect chance to break up? Why did he change? Was it because of you? Or was this his true self and you were too blinded by love to realize it? What happened to that sweet smile that was always hidden behind the camera? What happened to his velvety laughs that would echo through the night? What went wrong..?

You ended up crying yourself to sleep but when you woke up, you found that you had a cold. It must’ve been from the crying last night. You felt your head pounding from all sides. You quickly went to the kitchen and took some painkillers. If Seungmin was here right now, he would be the one taking care of you. Does he even want to be here?

“No. Stop thinking about him, Y/n. He’s the reason you’re like this.”, you thought out loud. You hated the thought of even contacting him in the state you were in, but you needed someone there while you were sick.

Calling all day but I never pick up, instead of pulling my weight always pushin’ my luck

So you called him.

No answer.

Called him again…

No answer.

The cycle went on a couple more times before you sent a voice message.

“Hey, Baby. I’m sorry for what happened last night. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that and I understand that you’re also busy and stressed. But can you please come home? I just really need you here right now.”

It has now been several days and your fever isn't getting any better. You spend most of your time in bed but force yourself to take medicine and find something to eat. Left with no choice, you called your friend.

Yuna came over in no time, making sure that you weren’t hurt. But she could clearly see how much you were burning up and the immediate help you needed. She nursed you over the weekend until you were okay. When she asked about Seungmin and found out what happened, she tried her best to convince you to leave him. She always knew that he would do no good for you. But you wouldn’t listen. You refused to. It was only a fight between the two of you. He'd come back to you. Right?

You gave me all that I could take, yeah I take it all for granted. Head up in the clouds, yeah I'll never understand it

Seungmin didn't even return until a full three months later. When he arrived, he wouldn't even look at you. Even though he laid beside you to sleep at night, there was nothing but a wall between you two. It was suffocating you. But it clearly wasn't having the same effect on Seungmin. He would giggle in the middle of the night at some tiktoks he was watching, not minding that he'd wake you up.

It was all so frustrating but you just couldn't find it in you to leave him. Well... that's what you thought at first.

Love no longer remained and if there was any, it was fully one-sided. You were sick of this. The constant mental torture was doing you no good and it slowly killed you. It didn't feel as if you were even a couple. You felt like a caretaker. That's not what you bargained for when you started this relationship.

You tried everything in the books to get him to open up to you. Only to learn, that he was just getting tired of you. You no longer interested him. Or so he said,

"Meh. I've just been bored and trying to find a better entertainment source."

You were so fed up with his, if not irritated, nonchalant attitude. When would he realize that he was hurting you. This internal rage was constantly being built up and you just couldn't handle it anymore.

So you opted for the only choice left. To leave him.

I can make you leave. I can make you hate me for everything.

You packed your clothes and belongings into every box and suitcase you could afford and sent it off to your aunt's. You had already told her of the plan and she agreed. Now all that was left was for him to return home. Time ticked by and the anticipation was killing you. Your knee bounced furiously. You were chewing on your thumb nail until you heard the click of the front door. An exhausted Seungmin stepped through.

"Hey, Seungie. Can we talk?"

He groaned as he walked past you. "Let's talk tomorrow. I'm too tired."

"No. We need to talk like now. It's really important. Please?"

Seungmin rolled his eyes before walking back over to you. "What's so important that you're disturbing my rest?"

You nervously fiddled with your hands. It was more nerve-wracking than you thought. You mustered up the last of your courage you had left and looked him in the eye.

"Let's break up."

"What?"

"Let's go our own seperate ways and break up."

"Okay." He waved you off as he headed to the bedroom to sleep.

Shocked wasn't exactly how you'd describe yourself. To be honest, you kind of expected this. They way he brushed things off so easily wasn't new to you. So you didn't even cry. You just grabbed what you had left and made your way to your aunt's house.

As soon as she embraced you, that's when you let your tears fall. It hurt all too much. Everything that Seungmin had been doing to you for the past two years were spilled out in the hour long conversation shared between you and your aunt. Your hatred only continued to grow for Seungmin and soon, all that was left was hatred for him.

Seungmin didn't even notice that you never came to bed. In fact, everything you previously said flew over his head from his exhaustion. It wasn't until he had awoken that he realized you were nowhere in sight. At first he assumed that you may have went to cook breakfast or collect grocceries. But then he remembered what happened last night. He covered his mouth and his eyes began to water.

He began remembering the horrible things he's been saying to you. He didn't mean any of it. Most of the time it wasn't even directed towards you. It was just pure exhaustion. He only tried to come off as happy so he wouldn't upset you. But that only seemed to make it worse.

What he chose to do though, was give you time. He knew he wasn't the exact person you wanted to talk to at the moment. He shook his head at himself. You'd be back in a week hopefully. That's what he thought up until he felt like the house was a little too empty. SO he checked every nook and cranny. None of your belongings remained. No toothbrush, no clothes, no books, no devices, no personal items. Not even your scent lingered.

God, what had he done?

Calling all day, trynna make things right

Seungmin quickly grabbed his phone and called you. His fingers ran through his hair as the call never made it through time and time again. Now he was extremely worried. What if something happened to you?

So he called your closest friend, Yuna. She picked up rather quickly.

"The hell do you want, assface?" She said almost immediately.

Seungmin swallowed hard before asking her, "Do you know where y/n is? I haven't been able to reach her. Do you know if she's okay?"

"Shouldn't you be able to know the whereabouts of your own girlfriend?"

"Look I really don't know and I'm worried. Something went on last night and she's not home. Now my calls aren't getting through and I don't know what to think."

"Well to me, it looks like she finally took my advice. Have a horrible day, bitch." And with that, Yuna hung up.

"FUCK!!" Seungmin cursed loudly as he flung his phone across the room. Had you really left him? Was he that horrible of a person? He chuckled. Who was he kidding? Of course he was that horrible. The amount of pain he must've inflicted on you. His heart clenched.

He began crying as that was all there was to do left.

It's been a couple of months and both of you were trying to move on. Was it easy? No. At least you both tried though. But fate seemed to have other plans.

Just to fuck it all up when I see you tonight. Since you told me hit the road, I've been runnin' on empty, If anything I know it's how to ruin a happy ending

It was a Friday night and Seungmin chose to spend it at a local bar. Guess that bar must've been a little too local. Because there you were, standing just 20 feet away from him. Seungmin could feel his heartbeat accelerate. He so desperately wanted to run and hug you. It felt like hell without you.

You were no longer there to remind him that he was loved. You were no longer there wishing him good nights and good mornings. You were no longer there to cook him his everyday meals. You were no longer there to give him a goodbye kiss.

But you were here, with another man. Seungmin knew he had no right but he couldn’t help but feel jealous. You told him that you’d always be his so why was it different now? Truth was, he knew the answer. Anger and jealousy blinded him though.

He stomped the whole way over there and yanked you by the wrist. “Who’s this!?” He asked angrily. “What the fuck, Seungmin! Why the hell are you here!?” Seungmin didn’t even hear you as he suddenly flung his fist into the dude’s face.

You grabbed Seungmin by the collar and pulled him towards you, landing a hard smack on his face. “Stop, you fucking asshole.”

He immediately snapped out of it. Seungmin looked at you apologetically but it was already too late. He could see it in your eyes. The disgust, hat and annoyance. How could he do that to you?

”Wait, y/n…”

And he couldn’t even salvage it. So he left. That’s all he could do. He knew you wouldn’t take him back. When he thought about it, he wouldn’t take himself back either. So he began drinking. Drinking all the pain away.

But I can’t make you come back to me

He’d lost you completely and there was nothing he could do. He wanted to scream at you that you couldn’t leave him. But he knew he was in the wrong. On your wedding day he watched as you posted the photos. You and some other dude instead of you and him.

He couldn’t find the strength in him to go to the actual event. He’d lose control if he did. He wanted to tell you,

“I’m sorry.”

But what good would that do. If he truly wanted you to be happy, he’d leave you alone, and that’s what he did. He watched you from afar. He still cried from time to time. He was happy for you. But he had to admit,

“But, I still wan’t you.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a.n: this has been on pause for 3 months now😭 and idk if ya caught on to the 2nd song at the end but yeah. Anyways, hope ya enjoyed bc this has been a long awaited fix. Sry to anyone who was waiting. Have a great day/night!!! Love y’all!!🫶💕💗

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skz-sage · 1 year

Text

skz’s reaction to sage having to do a sexy choreography for aotm

taglist: @smh-anon @softieteez

song and choreography: dangerous woman by ariana grande

christoper bang

he would be very, very proud of her. he’d look away, cover his eyes at times, wanting to be respectful of her but he can’t help but look at the way she moves. all graceful and confident. him and hyunjin visted her during shooting, bringing her food she requested. he’d do anything to show his support for her. and he really means that. hyunjin would leave but chris would stay behind to make sure she has everything she needs. what a man.

lee minho

he would be forced to watch it by jisung, forcing it in his face. he’d both smile and cover his face. he’d text miju right after saying “I saw your cover.” “you’re the coolest, miju.” “but also what we’re you thinking??” see, in his head, miju is his pretty princess. minho isn’t very much the protective type but when it comes to sage, he’s protective. but he’ll let it slide this time. sage received so many messages from minho just because of this cover. at least she knows what’ll catch his attention.

seo changbin

oh boy, he can’t look!!! that’s sweet baby sage!! you’re gonna have to pay him to watch it. but eventually he did and he was in shambles. he was absorbed by her visuals. you could see her delicate feminine body type with a hint of abs and muscles. he’d give sage the biggest round of applause. him and miju are going out on a date for sure after this!

hwang hyunjin

he’d honestly be pretty surprised. sage isn’t the type of person to do sexy dances like this. she likes to stick to the boyish choreographies, not these provocative ones. she wanted to try something new for stay and hyunjin was actually an inspiration for this! she sees so many of hyunjin’s dance covers and she’s absolutely in love with them. in short, hyunjin was very much blown away who knows, maybe hyunjin will be inspired by sage and make something of his own again.

han jisung

oh he’s fucking jumping, screaming, crying, hollering, literally everything and anything. he’s just at surprised at hyunjin too. in his head, he thought there wasn’t a girly part of miju ever! because she’s very messy and boyish just like the rest of them. he can’t get himself to look, he’s covering his eyes and screaming. but he’s ok as soon as it’s over. hell rant about how beautiful, elegant and awesome sage is at dancing, explaining how she’s good at everything too. when it comes to her, he’s very passionate.

lee felix

he’s absolutely starstruck. he’ll be watching her with admiration in his eyes. hell act like such a stay. saying like “SON MIJU ACE OF STRAY KIDS” “MARRY ME!!” (minho giving him a death stare while felix says all of this 😔) felix also asked her to teach him. which caught her off guard but he said he just wanted to spend more time with her. like i said before, they always miss each other.

kim seungmin

the way he wouldn’t stop babying sage after this. waking up sage in the mornings with “cutest son miju~ wake uppp~”. it was rare for seungmin to baby her so this… is very odd to her. sage doesn’t know if she loves it or hates it. also, the dance is sexy. why would seungmin be babying her?? I don’t know, you would have to ask him! even then, I don’t even think seungmin would give you a clear answer. he just thought she was so adorable. I mean after seeing her, who wouldn’t?

yang jeongin

he’s the one to say something like “delete it!”. in his head he’s like “is this the real sage im watching?” because it’s just so odd to him that she’s dancing in such manner. of course not saying he doesn’t like it, he loves it! he’s just saying it’s weird to him seeing her moving her body in such a way. either way, he’s supportive. saying. “that’s our son miju!! look at her go! wow!!” she’s his little sweetheart!

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cherie-doll · 4 hours

Text

𓆩♡𓆪Headcanon : When They Come Back

✧˚ Ghost, Keegan, Soap, König, Phillip Graves

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Fluff for you suckers -hope you enjoy the word vomit ;(

Working under constant danger put a strain on them, at moments when it seemed like the world was nothing but shambles and havoc they’d close their eyes and remember what brought them warmth. There was a certain feeling they yearned for and were only satisfied when you were near.

There is something special in knowing someone is waiting for you.

Ghost

This man comes back completely drained; physically, mentally, emotionally…

At first, he was hesitant concerning your worry about him

“If you won’t let me take care of you, who will?”

Might be a little distant at first, it takes time for his mind to come back

No going out, at all

You say comforting phrases to him

“You’re not at war anymore, you can come home”

He’s been through a lot, a warm meal and hugs are all he needs for days afterward :(

It takes some time for him to recharge

When he feels better he lets you know much he appreciates everything you do for him

Takes time to admire you; he silently takes in your facial features

Affectionate gazes that flicker between your eyes and lips

He knows you aren’t obliged to it yet you make an effort for him and that makes him feel like he’s earned a much better reward than money or glory could give him

Keegan

Saying this man missed you is an understatement

It’s like you placed a spell on him the moment he met you

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t want to be a moment away from you

He’ll miss you in silence, won’t send letters or texts or anything knowing it’ll make his heart ache more

But when he walks through the door he falls to kissing you

Bites your lip just for the taste of you on his tongue

His lips leave yours for breaks in between intense kisses to whisper “I love you”

He feels empty without the intimacy and closeness of you

He doesn’t care what you do or don’t say, doesn’t expect anything big either, he just wants to see you with your arms open for him

Soap

No matter how bad it was this time, he always comes back with a smile on his face when you open the door

Even behind that loving smile, you catch the subtle dimness in his eyes

Peppers you with kisses all over your face

Extremely clingy

Needs to be reminded that the world can be kind and gentle

Needs you to dote excessively over him

You give him a shoulder massage as he washes up in the bathtub

Convinces you to join him

Afterward, you crawl into bed with him, cradling his head on your lap

Both of you turn into couch potatoes for a couple of days watching cozy films

König

Keeping up a stoic demeanor can be tiring, so he easily drops the poker face as soon as he buries his face into your neck

No matter how much prying you do, you won’t get him to open up about what disturbs him

He’d rather keep those horrors locked away from you, you’re his most cherished possession

A lot of quiet moments where he’s just content to be with you again

Little is said between you as tender and passionate kisses are exchanged

Don’t think he’ll leave your side for the next few days, you’re attached at the hip

As you trace the scars on his back to his shoulders, you feel his body tremble beneath your fingertips

Your touch is addictive to him; soothing him into a tranquil sleep

Phillip Graves

He’s had to deal with a lot of crap so he’s relieved to finally come back to some peace, and most importantly; you

At first, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with issues that aren’t yours, but as your relationship progressed he started opening up more

Oftentimes, he’s in an irritable mood when he comes back

You listen to him rant if that’s what he needs

Other times it gives him too much of a headache to even think about

He adores you for understanding him without words being spoken

With so many enemies he has, he feels undeserving of you, someone who’s like a warm ray of sunshine in his austere life

When he falls silent you know that’s your cue

A sort of haze entrances him as you trail soft, torturous kisses along his jaw

Your scent obscures his mind as he gets drunk on your affection

He can’t even remember what he was mad about

#cod fanfic #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod soap #konig x reader #konig cod #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #phillip graves cod #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #headcanon

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missmeinyourbones · 2 years

Text

DON’T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND

tags: post timeskip!megumi, best friends to lovers, fake dating, wedding AU, drinking & mentions of alcohol, lots of pining and yearning, me writing this and including a lot of megumi dialogue bc writers on here love to make him mute and indifferent >:( he is very passionate to me >:( | wc: 5.4k+

He’s made a mistake.

Oh, Megumi has made a huge mistake.

He knew he should’ve listened to that tiny, pessimistic voice in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to attend a wedding with you.

Granted, it’s not a terribly strange ask of you—you are best friends, after all. But Megumi should’ve denied your advance the second he discovered the twist to it.

He wasn't there to be just any old regular wedding plus one. He was there to be your date, your faux boyfriend for the night. To put on a show so your relatives could get off your case for being single.

With hesitance, he agrees. He can’t not agree to helping you out. Not when you’re his best friend, not when he feels his heart skip a beat every time you so much as sigh in mild disappointment or irritation.

But, god, was he wrong when he thought he could handle this.

He spends the week leading up to the wedding panicking over the unknown. What color would you be wearing? Would he have to dance with you? What’s the proper etiquette of a fake-boyfriend? Is there proper etiquette for such a role? Does he hug you? Hold your hand? Does he kiss you? The logical part of him is in complete shambles, leaving his idiotic instincts on autopilot.

I mean, you’d barely given him any information other than two main points: one, your relatives are snobby rich assholes, and two, all he had to do was “sit there and look pretty” (which made the tips of his ears instantly burn with a warmth only you can seem to provide these days).

Regardless of the way the passing comment made him feel, his sleepless nights and your lack of detail were enough to prove his inner conscience correct when it said that this was a mistake.

Megumi pulls his black SUV into your driveway with a swift turn of the steering wheel. The overplayed pop tune lowly vibrating his speakers further irritates his already overstimulated thoughts. With a brash turn of the dial and muting of the radio, Megumi doesn’t think twice before sending you a text that simply reads:

“Here.”

Before he can even make an internal comment about how big of a douchebag move it was to text you instead of going up to your door, the buzz of his phone demands his attention.

“Be out in a few mins. Running a little late, sorry! :)”

He takes a deep breath. Okay, that’s good. You don’t think he was an asshole for texting you that he was here.

Actually, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe you would’ve thought he was weird for going up to your door. He’s never done that when picking you up before. And this is a fake date, right? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to commit to the bit too early and—

The shaking of his car door handle jolts him from his thoughts. You stand outside, a smile on your face as you patiently await for him to unlock the door. He does so, wordlessly.

You didn’t even get out and open the door, the agitating voice returns. A real boyfriend would’ve done that.

You get into the car with a quick and hectic greeting, paired with an apology for making him wait a few minutes for your final touches.

Though a pair of scrappy heels clinks together in your left hand, and a water bottle (filled with a splash of liquid courage) balances in your right, Megumi can’t take his eyes off of you. He spares a glance to your dress—navy blue. He doesn’t know why the color makes him instantly sweat.

He doesn’t return your hello, or even appease your worry of keeping him waiting in the car. Instead, like a fool, he chokes on his own words.

“You—”

Nothing follows his stuttered response as you turn your attention towards him. Blushing furiously, he looks down towards his empty lap.

Composing himself, he manages to get out a shaky breath, “You look beautiful.”

He looks up just in time to see how your smile meets your eyes with a crinkle at his genuine compliment.

“Thanks, Megumi,” he swears he sees you blush, “you look really nice, too.”

The voice in his head asks him if the fake-relationship talk has started yet. Did you really think he looked nice? Or were you just practicing for later tonight, when you say it in front of your relatives?

He places an arm behind your headrest as he backs out of your driveway. The GPS reads an ETA of 45 minutes. Megumi’s not sure if he’ll survive the ride.

“So,” he attempts to begin casually, though his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel says otherwise, “what’s the story?”

Your voice elevates with genuine confusion, “The story?”

Megumi looks a bit embarrassed as he sheepishly shrugs, eyes remaining on the road. “Y’know, like if people ask us questions, or something.”

“Oh, right,” you’d forgotten the scenario at hand. “Well, I guess we could just be honest.” It’s a statement, but your voice fluctuates in pitch towards the end, making it sound more like an uneasy question.

Megumi releases the first of many nervous chuckles of the evening, “Honest, like ‘we aren’t actually dating, I’m just doing this to appease your snobby extended family’ honest?”

A giggle of your own escapes, not as nervous as his, but still riddled with a bit of unease. “No, god no, not like that.”

Sliding your heels on, you fiddle with the strap by your ankle.

“Honest, like ‘we met at school, hit it off instantly, became best friends’ honest,” you nonchalantly offer, before quickly elaborating, “except, we just say that we fell in love throughout the process.”

Easy for you to say, the voice echoes in Megumi’s brain. Because that is honest, he thinks bitterly, at least to him it is.

He releases another quick sigh before nodding his head in agreement and turning up the radio to avoid any further conversation. Another trashy pop tune fills his ears, but he ultimately decides that it’s better than discussing the night’s possibilities.

At first, Megumi was under the impression that he’d be lying like a sinner in church for the next few hours, but something tells him that this role might involve a lot more honesty than he initially intended.

...

The country club is nice, Megumi notes as the valet plucks his car keys from his hands with a smile.

Alright, it’s more than nice. It’s insanely posh. Megumi almost feels like he’s imposing just by walking up the stone stairs of the entryway. His shoes aren’t expensive enough for this.

Since the bride was an extended cousin of yours, you were lucky enough to skip out on the actual ceremony. Besides, with the stakes at hand, the reception was more than enough.

The two of you float around cocktail hour, kindly smiling at a few strangers but making no moves to insert yourself into any conversations. You sip on the drink of the night—some lavender drink with tequila and lemonade, an ode to the couple’s first meeting (according to the embroidered napkins that you don’t care enough to read about). Megumi more so plays around with the ice in his cup, making a face of distaste every now and then he sips.

The conversation is in whispers, consisting of hushed explanations of those around you. An older man with a red bowtie passes the pair of you, and you utter something about him being the father of the bride. You casually note that the woman standing behind you is your mother’s cousin’s godmother, but when Megumi turns his head to get a look at her, you pull his collar with a sharp “don’t stare!”

So far so good, is what Megumi finds himself thinking. This is easy enough. No one’s cornered you for conversation yet, he hasn’t had to introduce himself as your romantic counterpart, the faint feeling of your fingertips skimming his throat when you grabbed his collar still burns brightly. This is nice.

Or it was nice, until he jinxed himself.

You hear her before you see her, and the piercing sound of her voice is enough for you to identify a migraine forming.

“My darling! You look...” your aunt seemingly trails off as she scurries over to you, catching herself before fumbling over her syllables, “well.”

“Thank you,” you naturally reply with a nod of your head, ignoring how her voice wavers around the backhanded compliment, “it’s nice to see you again.”

Her eyes, almost predatory, squint with a cunning smile before seamlessly gliding over to where Megumi stands beside you.

“And this must be the boyfriend,” she gestures to him with a tight-lipped grin.

His heart nearly beats out of his chest at her simple words, ones he’s only dreamed of hearing in reference to you.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he awkwardly offers her a sweaty hand to shake, “the boyfriend.”

Your aunt accepts it eagerly with a look that he—although just meeting her—can immediately identify as judgment hidden behind an artificial smile. It’s in this moment that Megumi declares her as being similar to a vulture—hunched shoulders, sharp features, and glossy eyes reminiscent to those of a hunter.

Quick greetings are exchanged. Routine small talk weaves its way in, out, and around your conversation. Your aunt asks you about work and you lie about a past promotion, which somehow segues into her own personal problems. She beckons her husband over from where he leans against the doorframe, while mentioning something about how the two of them haven’t been resting much between vacations and purchases and grandchildren.

Your uncle doesn’t address Megumi—which you’d warned him of prior, as your snobby rich relatives don’t like to treat people they haven’t heard of with basic respect—and instead points an accusatory finger in his direction while addressing you.

“Is he good to you?” your uncle grumbles behind a glass containing a light-colored alcohol, as if Megumi isn’t there, standing right beside you with a similar drink in hand.

“Of course,” you quickly stir with conviction, “he’s great, really.”

You turn your head to look at your boyfriend beside you, only to find him already looking back at you. With a soft smile, for him and not your uncle’s accusation, you beam, “He’s my best friend.”

Not a lie in the slightest, but not quite the full truth, the words feel heavy on your tongue. Megumi is your best friend, but there’s an overlap—an overlap of some not-so-friendly feelings for your closest companion.

Your aunt’s shrill voice breaks the silence of the moment, and for once, you’re grateful for it.

“I remember that honeymoon phase, being young and in love,” she coos at the two of you with a blushing grin. Megumi feels his hand hovering the small of your back twitch at her next comment.

“Doesn’t last forever,” she half-teases, “so don’t take it for granted.”

His hand tightens around his glass.

It’s a joke, Megumi has enough personality to realize that she’s just poking fun at the differences married life can bring to a couple. But still, something inside of him churns at her light-hearted words.

“I think it’ll always be like this,” Megumi is quick to blabber out.

Her eyes widen a bit at his abrupt reply. “Like this?” she searches for clarification.

Megumi panics. He doesn’t dare turn his head to see your expression, though he can see your wide eyes gawking at him in his peripheral vision.

Your aunt expectedly awaits his elaboration as your uncle shoots him an even dirtier look than before—which Megumi didn't even think was possible.

He loosens his grip on his glass as he takes a deep breath, “Y’know, this…right.”

He hears a nervous laugh from his side, and when he quickly turns to face you, he swears that blush lingering on the apples of your cheeks wasn’t there before.

Your uncle, face still incredibly sour, lets out an affirming hmph. Your aunt’s fabricated smile returns to her face once more. “That’s the spirit,” she mewls.

As the conversation wraps up, Megumi can’t help but feel like he’d just barely skimmed death itself.

...

Cocktail hour ends without any more causalities, and Megumi finds his shoulders relaxing a bit as the two of you find your assigned table in the reception hall.

Luckily, it’s one you won’t have to share with an obnoxious aunt or intimidating uncle.

Taking a quick glance at the others in their seats, they all appear to be younger couples resembling Megumi and yourself. Megumi asks you if you recognize any of them, but aside from a possible distant cousin once-removed, you assume they’re all just friends of the bride and groom.

Megumi scrunches his nose at the realization that you’ve been placed at the randoms table. The relatives who surprisingly brought a plus one. The leftovers. Surveying the crowd around him, he bitterly wonders if anyone else here is playing fake partner.

Eventually, the DJ gathers the attention of the partygoers.

With an obnoxious microphone horn and terrible dance music, the bridal party members are slowly introduced—the whole process is agonizingly slow. Each individual gets a brief introduction, including their relationship to the couple along with a fun and quirky fact. Megumi uses all of his willpower to refrain his eyes from rolling back into his head as he fights off visibly cringing.

After what feels like hours, the head-turning moment arrives.

The bride and groom are announced, though Megumi can’t hear much of their introductions over the whooping and hollering of the audience.

It’s cute, he supposes. They seem excited—to be officially married to one another, to have a room of people cheering them on, maybe even to get this wedding over with. Whatever their reasoning may be, the glow on their faces is evident through their smiles.

An unwelcome thought enters his wandering mind.

He imagines you in a gown, something white and delicate, maybe. He doesn’t really care for the details. He’s sure whatever it is would look godsend on you. He imagines himself by your side, permanently glued to your hip with an uncharacteristically wide smile as you cut the cake or listen to a loved one’s toast. He imagines Gojo taking the stand, giving a speech that embarrasses the living daylights out of him. He imagines Nobara and Yuuji jokingly complaining about the food and teasing him for the way he almost trips over your dress when the two of you have your first dance. He imagines simple rings decorating both of your left hand ring fingers.

He imagines marrying you, spending the rest of his life with you. He’s positive that he could do it, that it’d be a lifetime worth living.

Suddenly very aware of the weight of his heart in his chest, he shakes that thought from his head just as quickly as it arrived.

Your light tone pulls his conscience out of his daydream.

“They make a nice couple,” you nod sincerely towards the pair of lovers, who are now taking their seats at the front of the room.

Megumi hums in agreement, and though he doesn't know these people, he trusts your judgement. They do make a nice couple.

“Alright,” you sigh, returning to your seat and shaking out your palms from clapping. You turn to him once more, that look in your eye just as bright as he remembers.

You breathe, “You hungry?”

Megumi doesn’t think his stomach is strong enough to keep any food down—but if he’s going to survive the night, what he does need is another drink.

...

Dinner wraps up just fine, mostly because the two of you keep to yourselves.

Megumi lets you try a bite of his salmon entrée, chuckling as you scrunch your nose at the lemon baste that marinates the fish. You don’t finish your side salad, so he finishes it for you—picked out olives and all. You ask him if you need to fix your lipstick once you’ve finished eating, he thinks you look incredible as is. You wipe the corner of his mouth with a satin napkin when he has leftover crumbs hanging by his lips. Your thumb brushes against his skin.

The casual domesticity of all of it, the way it feels natural to dote and be doted on by you, leaves his head spinning where he sits. The air suddenly feels too thick, too heavy for his lungs to inhale and digest.

With a quick comment about getting himself another drink and asking you if you need anything (boyfriend points, he mentally pats himself on the back), he manages to sneak away to the bar for a breath of fresh air.

He takes a moment for himself—the first one he’s gotten of the night—as he slumps against the barstool and earnestly flags over the bartender.

He needs something strong, something that will make the hairs on the back of his neck stick up and distract him from the lingering feeling of your fingers by his lips. Not being much of a drinker, he orders something he’s heard of in movies (and from Gojo’s stories), a glass of bourbon.

He knows he’ll hate it, but that’s alright. If it puts his mind at ease for an hour or so, it’ll be worth a few minutes of bitter burning.

Just as the bartender returns with a stout glass of the dark liquid, a body occupies the stool directly next to Megumi. He senses a figure in his peripheral vision, but his eyes remain on his drink as he swirls it around by the rim of its container.

He hears a familiar rasp croak from his side, “Oh, it’s you. The boyfriend.”

With unimpressed eyes, Megumi turns his head to be met with your uncle, of all people. Trying his best to maintain a good impression while simultaneously trying not to vomit into his drink, he simply concedes.

“Yup,” he sighs into the condensation of his glass as he admires the irony of the simple statement, “the boyfriend.”

Your uncle bitterly laughs into his own watered down glass before shifting in his stool to face Megumi properly. He silently watches him for a few seconds (which feel like hours) before clearing his throat in a presumptuous way.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” your uncle presses. Megumi knows he will, regardless of however he responds. With that being said, he plays along.

“Shoot.”

His fingers tap an unfamiliar pattern against the bar, “Does being at a wedding ever make you think of proposing?”

Megumi should be choking on the drink he sips. He should cough and gasp for air as he tries to recollect himself at the sudden ask. His eyes should pop out of his head at the mere hypothetical insinuation of proposing to you.

Instead, Megumi merely nods once more, certain in his words as he barely swallows.

“Yes,” he breathes, “it does.”

This is silly, Megumi knows it as he takes another swig of his bourbon. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s dreaming of a marriage with you.

I mean, sure, he’s walked you home from late nights at the bar, wiped away your tears of ex-lovers or silly rom-coms. Hell, he’s even let you brush his hair—on nights when you’re feeling a little down and he’s fresh out of the shower, he lets you quietly twirl patterns into his scalp with a bristled hairbrush.

That’s not anything worthy of marriage, right?

Your uncle laughs at his blunt response, and Megumi’s not sure how he should feel about his amused reaction. He doesn’t have it in him right now to be offended.

Your uncle takes a guzzle of his own drink, “The hell’s stoppin’ you, then?” He wipes the corners of his mouth with his sleeve and Megumi is suddenly reminded of your gentle touch by his lips just a few minutes ago, “Any reservations?”

You could say that, Megumi aches to spew—but he bites his tongue and shrugs, “A few.”

Your uncle downs the rest of his drink in a single swig, before wiping the final remnants of moisture from his mouth with the back of his palm and declaring a frank, “Fuck ‘em.”

Megumi’s eyes widen at the unexpected advice. He wordlessly watches your uncle place his now empty pint onto a coaster before signaling for the bartender to come back around.

After a moment of staring, the younger man softly chuckles to himself in both entertainment and disbelief. “Sorry?” he stutters.

“Your reservations,” your uncle clarifies simply, “fuck ‘em.”

Observing Megumi’s bewildered expression, he elaborates with a knowing smirk.

“I mean that’s what love is, right? The ultimate jump, the landing that’s not guaranteed. All of that sweet bullshit.”

The liquid of his newly poured drink sloshes around the glass as he waves his hands around in an animated manner.

Taking a moment to look at the bigger picture, Megumi thinks he might be right. I mean, sure, he’s an asshole who barely gave him the time of day before, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. He’s just as human as he is. Love doesn't discriminate against the wealthy or the poor, the brash or the meek, the boyfriends—fake or palpable.

“Yeah,” he sincerely acknowledges with a realizing nod, “yeah, guess I never thought about it like that.”

With a simple pat on his back, Megumi finds himself blushing beneath your uncle’s knowing gaze. He’s smug as he insists, “Well, maybe you should start.”

Megumi quickly downs the rest of his drink, immediately signaling for the bartender once more.

...

Megumi can’t fully feel his feet as they carry him back over to your table. He almost feels like he’s floating.

The room around him is slightly foggy, or maybe it’s just his hazy vision betraying him. Granted, he doesn’t know how long he spent wallowing at the bar next to your uncle—what he does know, is that he’s now tipsy enough to ask you a certain request.

It’s easy to spot him making his way towards you through the crowd of partygoers.

You’re not sure what is it that makes him so noticeable. Maybe it’s the soft smile adorning his pretty face that feels like it’s reserved for you and you only.

Before you can ask him where he wandered off to for the past fifteen minutes, he manages to extend a wavering hand out to you.

“Wanna dance?” his words are collected, though his actions are rather giddy. His face is flushed with a childlike rouge. His feet slightly turn in on one another as he sways where he stands.

You smile earnestly, before remembering the weight of the scenario. Letting your mind get the best of you, you can’t help but ask the question that sits on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you asking me because you want to dance with me, or because you think it’ll look good for the crowd?”

Megumi’s blasé expression remains. “Does it matter?” he lightly challenges.

Your heart falters a bit, because it shouldn't matter, but it does.

“Guess not,” you brush off the pit settling in your stomach as you rise and accept his hand.

He leads the pair of you to the dance floor, weaving you in and out of people’s way as he finds a spot he deems worthy. He eventually stops you, where you stand surrounded by a few other couples but slightly off to the side for some tasteful privacy. It’s the least he’s asking for out of this whole ordeal—just one private moment, one real moment, with you.

He’s a bit stiff as he waits for you to make the first move, though realistically he knows he should be the one stepping closer to you. After all, he did have to get tipsy enough to light the fire beneath himself.

You bite the bullet and wrap your arms daintily around the back of his neck. He wishes he could say he softens at your touch, but if anything, he tenses up even more at the feeling of your skin against his.

Slowly but surely, he follows through by placing his hands at a moderate position by your hips. It’s enough for him, it’s more than enough.

He pulls you a bit closer when you rest your head against where his shoulder meets his chest. You don’t look at him, instead opting for counting the fairy lights on the ceiling as you gently breathe against him.

“Thank you for doing this,” he hears your faint voice vibrate his core.

He places a hand to the small of your back without realizing, “Doing what?”

His stance feels more sturdy as he sways the two of you. He finds himself leaning into your touch as the seconds melt by without notice.

Your voice turns into what resembles an ashamed whisper, “Coming here and, y’know, pretending.”

Megumi’s heart drops.

Right, pretending. Because that’s what he’s doing here tonight.

“Oh,” he shakily swallows, “wasn’t too hard.”

He takes a wobbly finger to your chin, prompting you to look at him. The voice in the back of his mind returns, but this time it’s encouraging, void of it’s usual pessimistic mourning. Now or never, it burns.

His movements are slow, hesitant, almost as if you’ll dissolve right beneath his fingertips. As he leans closer into your embrace, you feel like he’s moving in slow motion. The moment doesn’t feel real. It feels like you’re watching him through a film screen as he inches closer and closer and closer until—

His lips are on yours.

They’re soft, extremely delicate as they press themselves onto your own. It feels natural, like your lips were made and molded to fit directly against his. It doesn’t feel like a performative kiss with a faux boyfriend, because it’s not.

In that moment, you know. The way he shakily exhales into your mouth as your tongue barely skims the plush of his lower lip, the way he tenderly holds your chin in place as if you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever touched.

Somehow you know that without any words exchanged, the moment is real. It’s more than real to the both of you.

When he pulls away, Megumi looks pale. He doesn't look like how his kiss felt, passionate and light and sure of himself. He doesn’t look like the rom-com protagonist, whose eyes are stars in the reflection of your own. He looks afraid almost, regretful.

Suddenly finding himself alarmingly sober at the absence of your lips on his, the moment flees from his hands.

He excuses himself with a incoherent mumble and a hurried departure. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but the voice in the back of his head hopes you chase after him.

...

You find him outside.

It didn’t take you long to follow his exit. After a minute of standing alone in shock, you knew that you’d rather be by Megumi’s side, awkward and all, than be in a room without him. It feels lonely, cold without his heat burning beside you.

He has another drink in his hand as he anxiously trails in circles around an empty golf course attached to the country club. You wonder when he found the time to grab it; did he make a beeline right for the bar once he’d left you? Did he go to the bathroom, then hit the bar once more before coming outside? Did he steal a drink right from the grip of a guest and—

“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” the crack in his voice catches you off guard. You didn’t know he’d noticed your presence.

Your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It tells you to fix this, that this is your best friend. That whatever happened can be forgotten as long as it means keeping Megumi as your own.

You take a hesitant step forward in an attempt to calm his nerves, “Megumi, it’s alright, really, I just—”

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be fake,” he blurts out.

It feels sharp. You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the weight of the situation at hand, but he’s being incredibly brave.

Or maybe he’s not, maybe he’s absolutely petrified of fucking this up. Maybe he can’t go another day without knowing, or rather not knowing.

He finds himself rambling beneath his breath, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you were supposed to kiss me because you wanted to, not because you had to—”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen like this?” you mimic his prophetic choice of words.

Megumi’s too caught up in his worry to notice—to care—that he’s spiraled, he shakes his head and continues.

“No, it was supposed to be real. Not pretend, and to appease your shitty family,” the words are said harshly, though you recognize their intent as desperate, not malicious.

A bit disbelieving, your tiny whisper ignites something inside of him, “You’ve thought about our first kiss?”

Megumi’s eyes nearly roll out of his head and onto the concrete pavement by his scuffed and worn-out shoes.

“Of course I have—I’m in love with you!”

His eyes grow comically large, as if he wasn't in control of the phrase that just fell from his lips. He’d surprised himself with his tangent, revealing his cards to you before folding his hand and waving a white flag in defeat.

When you don’t respond, the panic sets in. Now, it’s Megumi’s fight-or-flight kicking in—and boy, does he know how to fly.

He immediately takes a step away from you, a defense mechanism. “I’m sorry, I should go, I—”

Your three steps forward cancel out his prior retreat, and before he can even manage to inhale, your lips are on his. Palms against the apples of his cheeks, Megumi feels the warmth of your mouth on his for the second time this evening—two more times than he’d ever thought he’d have the privilege of receiving.

You pull away breathless and Megumi expects you to vanish. To let him down gently, to tell him he’s made a mistake.

Instead, he’s met with your hands cradling his jaw.

“Did you mean it?”

He blinks a few times, still stunned from whatever the hell just happened, “Huh?”

“You’re in love with me,” you clarify a bit too quickly, “did you mean it?”

Megumi’s blushing expression is barely hidden behind his breathless shrug. “Yeah, surprise,” he attempts to joke around the confession.

You gurgle out a bubble of laughter out of pure instinct. Megumi doesn't know why you do, but it’s music to his hears.

You laugh and Megumi can’t stop himself from doing the same. The two of you stand, embraced in one another’s hands and giggles as you lose yourself in the sound of each other’s laughter. How silly. How utterly odd and awkward and ironic and now yours.

Pulling away ever-so-slightly, just to get a better look at your best friend—your lover, a duality—you squeeze his hand.

“That first kiss was real to me, by the way,” your smile beams as you whisper into his skin, “just so you know.”

Megumi bows his shoulders in a way that’s far too nonchalant for having barely survived the longest night he’s ever lived. He smirks, one that’s boyish and dizzy.

“Good,” he nods, “that makes two of us.”

The two of you stand there for a while, admiring one another and the little whirlwind you’ve managed to create. The muffled sound of the music from inside the banquet hall is background noise compared to the sound of Megumi’s breathing.

After a few moments, Megumi scratches the back of his neck—a nervous habit you hope he never outgrows.

“D’you wanna go back inside?” he meekly offers.

Your response is almost immediate, filled with seriousness and a twinge of offense, “Absolutely not.”

Megumi laughs and you want to taste it. So you do, leaning in and pressing your lips against his for the third time tonight. You feel him smile into the caress, teeth and all against your own.

He mumbles into the kiss, “Now that you have a real boyfriend, you no longer need to impress your snobby family, right?”

Pulling his leg, you remove your mouth from his with a bewildered expression.

“Boyfriend?” you remark with a howl, “Take me on a date, first.”

Megumi’s face drops at your words, and you bite back a grin from how easy he is to read. Grabbing his hand, you pull him towards the direction of the car.

Turning around and seeing his slight pout, you bring your intertwined hands up to your lips and press a warm kiss to his knuckle.

“Megumi,” you coo and it instantly grabs his attention, “I’m kidding,” you smile.

His hand tightens around yours.

“Thank god.”

tagging: @izu-fi @levismainbabe @zeninsbitch @134340am @alien-arlert @somelattes @moonamor @ironically-deadinside @dontasks-posts @bbyju @troiichiimera @asbony

#i have three (3) separate works all titled from dress by taylor swift #the chokehold it has on me #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fic #megumi fushiguro fic #megumi angst #megumi fluff #best friends to lovers #fake dating

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blainesebastian · 1 year

Text

because

words: 2,219 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) "reader jokingly brings up the fact that she has always wanted the clichés in a relationship but have never been with someone who would want to give that to her" warnings: none notes: requests are open for now :) thanks to anyone who's left me one! appreciate it xx tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted, @rairaielv

You’re still pretty new to the whole interview thing—this being your first major breakthrough in film with an upcoming project. Not that you’re not proud of everything you’ve done prior, of course you are, those steps are what’s gotten you to this point. Starring in a film you can really sink your teeth into. Great plot, wonderful character development, intrigue and opportunities for growth.

And it certainly doesn’t hurt that your co-star is Austin Butler.

The whole experience of working with him has been an absolute blur, you’re just trying to take things as they come at you—one day at a time. You can’t quite put into words how great it’s been to make this film with him, that he’s so incredibly humble in his experiences, that even though he’s done a film like Elvis, he’s still willing to learn and keep himself down to earth in how he presents himself, how he talks to people.

You’ve become really good friends over this entire process and, admittedly, you’ve been thinking about Austin in a not so friend way either but. How can anyone not have a crush on this man?

Regardless, you’ve kept that (for the most part) completely to yourself. The last thing you want to do is somehow disrupt your working relationship, especially when things are going so well. There was only one slight mix up and Austin’s never brought it up again so you’re ninety percent sure that it didn’t even happen. One too many drinks afterhours with people from set and all of a sudden you’re spilling state secrets out to Austin when he tries to make sure you get home safe. Not your finest moment, though you don’t remember it being too embarrassing?

Definitely something capable of keeping you up at night—that and admitting during an interview that you never had an ex that indulged in all the clichés of dating.

It’s like one of those early hours nightmares, your clock burning 2:35AM into the side of your head, as you stare at the ceiling. Along with your eighth grade prom date fiasco and that one time you told that hot waiter ‘you too’ when he said ‘enjoy your food’. Just…utterly putting you in shambles. And maybe it’s not something to worry about, you’re still getting used to interviews and not overtalking when you’re nervous. Austin’s given you some tips about breathing and really listening to the question, counting to three before replying so you’re sure about what’s going to come out of your mouth.

And you suppose it’s not the worse thing? Not like it’s a childhood story you’ve divulged and overshared that you should be ashamed about. It’s just…you mentioned to the interviewer that you’re actually kind of fond of all the old-school cliché things that come with dating. Fresh flowers, goodnight texts, someone that’ll call just to hear your voice, good morning texts, sending random pictures throughout the day of things that remind you of the other person.

Your past two relationships didn’t bother with any of those things, they were fast paced and kinda…thrown together? It feels so hard to describe them now that you’re outside of it, and it took you a while to actually listen to your heart that you weren’t as happy as you wanted to be anyways. There’s a difference between being single and just settling—you don’t want to do that anymore.

Especially if it doesn’t come with all the romances and small pieces of love languages that you feel it deserves.

It doesn’t have to be overdramatic or complicated…you’re just asking for effort. And the typical clichés? kinda demonstrate that.

“There was literally no reason for me to divulge that on live television,” You place your phone on your shoulder, holding it against your ear with your head. Your friend Katrina gives a soft laugh in response, “I mean, really, all the interviewer asked me was if I had a date to the Golden Globes.”

But that simple question just popped off the whole thing about why you’re single, about why you’re taking time to find someone right and not just jumping into a relationship. Then, of course, there are always those teasing questions about Austin—about your friendship, how sweet and humble he is, how handsome. Like…that’s all very obvious but why do people talk to you like you’re supposed to do something about it?

To threaten everything you’ve already built with him, personal and professional wise? No thank you.

“I think the real question everyone was asking is whether you’re goin’ with Austin.” A loud sigh leaves your lips, tipping your head back to look at the ceiling of your living room as you lie on your back on the couch. “There are no sighs when you have a man that hot in your life.”

A soft chuckle vibrates in your throat, shaking your head because…everyone (meaning Katrina) on the outside thinks it’s easy having a crush on your friend. That you could just…cross that bridge, build that connection if you really wanted to. But this isn’t a movie, you don’t have the script right in front of you, you have no idea what’s going to happen if you decide to do that.

And you’re not sure if it’s worth that risk.

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

“Oh my god,” You exclaim, amusement wrapped around your tone, “Are you my best friend or relationship therapist?”

“I get the privilege of being both,” Katrina grins, you can almost hear it as she speaks, “For free.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but smile, playing with a loose thread in the sweater you’ve got on. “All I called you for was to ask if we were still on for brunch tomorrow morning and if you think I made a fool out of myself on TV.”

Katrina sighs softly and hums and you can tell that she’s backing down, for now, “Yes always to brunch and no, you did nothing that was embarrassing. You were just honest—nothing wrong with that.” Then she pauses…and you already know she’s back at it again,

“Besides, maybe someone was watching and taking notes.”

You run a hand over your face, shaking your head—God, “Goodbye.” You laugh gently, pressing the red button before she can start herself in on another rant.

Setting your phone down on your coffee table, you’re considering ordering take-out or conquering laziness and going down your street to the taco counter on the corner when there’s a knock at your door. Your eyebrows draw together in confusion because you’re not expecting anyone…unless it’s your neighbor. She’s older and her cat is constantly getting stuck in the closet and she always has trouble getting her out. Sighing, you draw yourself up and off the couch, wandering over without looking through the peep hole.

Which is how your jaw almost ends up on the floor.

It’s Austin, which is not exactly surprising, he’s been to your apartment plenty of times—just not like this. He’s got a giant bouquet of black roses in his arms, almost kinda comical for him because he’s tall and skinny and it feels like it throws him off balance somehow. He’s also got a small white teddy bear, a maroon heart sewn onto its chest and you kinda…open and close your mouth because you’re so confused and slightly overwhelmed, you have no idea what to say.

Except the first thing that comes to mind, “Well, you’re definitely not Mrs. Deborah.”

He laughs lightly, pulling the flowers away from his face a bit so that they don’t obstruct his view as he steps forward into your apartment. “Was hopin’ I had the right door,” He jokes, “Hard to see around these things.”

Closing the door behind him, you’re still completely thrown off as to what exactly he’s doing here with these things like, “It’s uh—it’s not my birthday?”

Austin raises his eyebrows, “I know that,” He replies warmly and then begins talking about the roses, “I know gettin’ black ones is a little strange but I figured with all the…horror movies you like and Halloween aesthetic that you have up all year—”

Amused laughter wraps around your tone as you speak, “Halloween is a feeling, not a season.”

“—I figured you’d appreciate these.” He smiles and hands them over.

Your stomach does this ridiculous flip-flopping, cheeks kissing pink because you’re so confused and stunned. You take them carefully, pressing your nose and lips into a few flowers, breathing them in. Austin smiles and uses the bear to press a kiss to your cheek before giving you that too.

“I…not that I’m not completely in love with these,” You say after a moment, almost hesitantly, “But why?”

Austin hums, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “Because.”

And that stirs something heated and distinct in your chest. You’re attempting not to overthink such a simple answer. Because.

Letting out a breath and preventing yourself from spilling your thought process out, you give him a soft smile and bite down on the inside of your cheek. You turn to take the flowers into the kitchen, finding scissors to cut the ends of the stems off.

“Not sure I have a vase big enough.” You chuckle, wondering if it’d make more sense to split up the large bouquet—some out here, some in your bedroom. You settle for a smaller black glass vase you’ve got dried flowers in by the windowsill and swap them out, letting the rest of the bouquet rest in the sink until you’re ready for them.

You lean against the counter, taking a long look at the flowers as the word because spins around in your head. And while you’re touched at the sentiment, at the explanation that Austin has given you—you can’t help but wonder…

“I’m assuming you saw the interview?”

Austin smiles a little, the prettiest of blushes kissing his cheeks, highlighting some of the freckles he has on his cheekbones. It’s ridiculously attractive and your stomach does a full swirl before you have to look away. There’s this itch to run your fingers through the blonde curls above his forehead.

“I did—but it’s not the main reason why I brought you those today.”

A soft self-deprecating laugh leaves your throat, “Oh no? Not because you’re pitying me?” And even though you’re joking, kind of, attempting to smile through it—you’re worried that’s the only reason he’s even here, that he somehow feels sorry for you.

“No, hey,” Austin says softly, taking a step towards you to reach out and touch your arm. He gently grasps your elbow to keep you from backing up, squeezing, his thumb rubbing back and forth. “It’s actually uh—you probably don’t even remember this but, that time when we went out to drink with the cast and crew?”

And your cheeks instantly flush red because of course you know what he’s talking about. You thought for sure you could safely assume you hadn’t said anything that’d come back to haunt you. Which is worse? This or the interview? You shake your head, running a hand over your face,

“You remember that?”

He smiles a bit and moves his hand to play with a few strands of your hair near your cheek, curling them around your ear, “Kinda hard to forget.”

And while you feel like that should somehow make it worse…it doesn’t. Austin takes a step forward, keeping the proximity close between you. You can feel the heat from his skin radiating off his body, kissing your own, pressing against your pores like a gentle embrace. It’s dizzying.

“I mean, who knows what I even said,” You attempt to play it off with a small laugh, your eyes looking into Austin’s soft blue ones.

But given where this conversation has been going, maybe you should have been prepared for Austin to reply with, “You said you had feelings for me but you were afraid to tell me.”

God. “I really need to never be allowed to drink again.”

Austin smiles, shaking his head, “Did you mean it?”

You let out a slow breath, holding his gaze as your heart begins hammering in your chest. Here’s the moment of truth, right, where there’s no barrier of a long night or too many drinks to hide your emotions. There’s no taking it back after this, and yet you feel like Austin already knows what you’re going to say.

You lick your lips before a soft laugh echoes, “Of course I meant it.”

“Good,” Austin hums, cupping your cheek with his one hand, “Because I mean this.”

He leans down to kiss you, heat exploding pleasantly in your chest, slipping between your bones and making you melt towards him. You wrap your arms around his waist, keeping him close, and you can’t help but smile against his lips as he continues the kiss before you both pull back slightly to breathe. There’s butterflies in your stomach and you feel slightly dizzy from this turn of events. All these clichés that you never thought you’d be able to experience.

Then, unable to keep the smile off your face, you lean in and nip at his lower lip.

Just because.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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gayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy · 2 years

Text

- Things people have over heard Scorpius and Albus say-

Scropius: Oh, fiddlesticks.

Albus : Look, I understand this is a tense situation, but let's watch the fucking language.

Albus : Oh, here’s my award for the most rules broken!

Scropius: That’s not an award, it’s an angry letter from Headmistress McGonagall

Albus , hanging it on their wall: Well, it has the word ‘most’ in it, so I’m calling it an award!

Scropius: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it.

Scropius: And I started thinking.

Scropius: Like, it was just trying to get food.

Scropius: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck?

Albus : Are you ok?

Albus : I think I need a hug...

Scropius: Good thing I'm hug shaped!

*45 minutes later*

Albus : You... you can let go now.

Scropius: No, I absolutely cannot

Albus : Caffeine no longer keeps me awake while I work, so instead I have Scropius periodically send me texts saying ‘we need to talk.’

Albus : It gives me the right amount of adrenaline and fear I need to keep going.

Albus : Talk dirty to me~

Scropius: Inflation is a serious problem and lumber prices are at a high.

Albus : Wha-

Scropius: The economy is in shambles.

Albus : I have an idea.

Scropius: A good idea?

Albus : Let's not get ahead of ourselves

Scropius: Oooh, a train!

Albus : We’re in a train station, Scropius.

Scropius, near tears: Please, Albus , I don’t speak meme! I don't know what a 'yeet' is!

Scropius: I’m in love with you.

Albus : We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork.

Scropius: I know.

Albus : Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

Albus : Remember that time you dared me to lick a swingset?

Scropius: No, I said "Albus , don't lick that swingset" and you said "Don't tell me what to do" and licked the swingset.

Scropius: *sighs* I have no friends...

Albus :

Albus : *coughs* Bitch, what am I? A roach?!

Scropius: Is the pink panther a lion?

Albus : Say that again but slower.

Scropius: I don’t get it.

Albus : Scorpius baby light of my life He’s a PANTHER.

Scropius: Is that a type of lion?

Albus : No, it’s a fucking panther.

Scropius: I just read a book about them and they aren’t pink!

Albus : AND LIONS ARE?!

Albus : When was the last time you cried?

Scropius: Uh 15 minutes ago, why??

Albus : really? That recent?

Scropius: Yeah *voice crack* is that a issue? *starts crying again*

Albus: You have had 4 mental breakdowns this week

Scropius: yeah? So?

Albus: It's Monday see a therapist.

#harry potter #scorpius malfoy #cursed child #harry potter next generation #albus severus potter #scorbus #draco malfoy #james potter #lily luna potter #rose weasley

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lisbeth-kk · 4 months

Text

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: Father Christmas - Silent Night - escape

To what lengths are Sherlock willing to go for his beloved John? Can the good doctor really persuade Sherlock to help Lestrade with a tedious case at a shopping centre?

December 19

The case is barely a four, and John knows it. Normally he wouldn’t have even considered asking Sherlock to solve it, but damn it, there are kids involved, and it’s almost Christmas, AND Sherlock has proven that he isn’t the Scrooge he claims to be. The fact that Greg had texted John instead of Sherlock, spoke volumes. DI Greg Lestrade had few hopes that the great detective would even bother replying to his plea, ergo he begged John to reason with him.

“Lestrade’s got a case for you, or his niece rather” John starts awkwardly. “You’ll probably find it tedious and mundane, but children are…”

To John’s astonishment, Sherlock’s head jerks up from his microscope, his gaze sharp and intense.

“What about children, John? Pray tell!”

His voice seems urgent which takes John by surprise.

“Well, Father Christmas failed to appear at Selfridges today and his elf, Greg’s niece, has no clue to where he’s gotten. His family and friends haven’t heard from him, and his phone is left at his flat. The costumer’s service at Selfridges is faced with crying kids and displeased parents in large numbers,” John explains.

Sherlock sits in his normal thinking position and asks John in quick succession what information they have on the missing Santa. After pondering John’s retort, Sherlock decides to go to Selfridges and question Lorna the elf.

“Why do you want to take this case, Sherlock?” John asks curiously when they’re seated in the cab.

“Because I don’t want any child to be disappointed like that. I experienced it myself when I was five…”

Sherlock trails off and doesn’t explain further, but the sad look in his eyes, makes John’s heart ache. John takes Sherlock’s hand and squeezes it, which earns him a soft smile, but Sherlock’s too lost in his own mind to give John more attention than that, which by the way is plenty for John.

***

When they enter Selfridges, Silent Night is playing, and it really doesn’t fit with either man’s mood. It’s too serene for the conundrum they’re here for.

Sherlock’s unusually gentle with Lorna, who’s in shambles. She proves to be the lost Father Christmas’ girlfriend.

“I texted him this morning. We were supposed to meet here at half past one. Nothing seemed amiss with his message. I really don’t understand…” Lorna says before she breaks down crying.

“Let me see your phone,” Sherlock requests softly.

He mutters something unintelligible under his breath when he scrolls through Lorna’s text history with Cory the Santa.

“Anything suspicious?” John asks silently.

Sherlock shows him a text from the week before where Cory mentions a Marion Wesley, apparently a former colleague who’s started stalking him again. When Sherlock asks Lorna about it, she looks shocked.

“Do you think she can be responsible?” Sherlock prompts.

In the background there are angry and accusatory voices to be heard from irked parents and whining children. The cacophony is suddenly overwhelming, and John can feel the tension building in his partner. They need to escape this room and get somewhere quieter before Sherlock combusts all over the establishment.

John gestures to Greg, who immediately understands and asks them to come into a secluded staff room around the corner. While they walk, Sherlock taps furiously at his phone, and mere minutes after scrolling the Internet or perhaps the dark web for all John knows, his face lights up.

“Got you!” he exclaims and beams at John.

Half an hour later, Cory is found in Marion Wesley’s cellar, only slightly dehydrated but fit for facing the queue of children at Selfridges.

“What a hero,” John murmurs when he and Sherlock watches him in action as an indulgent Santa.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agrees.

John moves closer to Sherlock, wraps an arm around his waist and leans in to whisper his praise. Brilliant. Amazing. Sherlock leans against John utterly satisfied with all of it. Having witnessed how quickly the atmosphere changed as soon as Father Christmas and his elf appeared, almost felt like being a part of one of those horrible American Christmas films his mother adores.

When they walk to the exit, Silent Night plays again, and this time it fits perfectly.

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @sabsi221b @gregorovitchworld @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @helloliriels @raina-at

#christmas ficlet prompts #sherlock fandom #john watson #sherlock #greg lestrade #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #ao3 fanfic #december moments #respite in december

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 years

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Who is in My House?

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: you are always going to continue to play with your husband lmao

Synopsis: "He just left, so come over" prank has Jackman in SHAMBLES

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Deciding that you wanted to play another prank on your husband, you started a group chat with all of the members of PG to get some ideas. You had been throwing ideas back and forth for about a week and a half when everyone agreed upon which one you should do.

Everyone voted for you to do the “He just left, come over.” text prank that had been floating around Tik Tok and you already knew your husband was probably going to have a mental breakdown or be completely pissed off.

PG would be going out to lunch, while you stayed home and pretended not to feel well. You knew that Jack would be hesitant to leave you, but you would have to reassure him that you were okay to make this work.

Clay told you that he would text you when they all got to the restaurant so that you would then send the text to Jack.

Everything was a go and you couldn’t wait.

“Baby, are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t like leaving you by yourself if you aren’t feeling that well.” Jack said while pushing your hair up out of your face that had fallen.

“I promise, I’ll be fine. Just bring me back something. I’ll just probably drink some tea and go to sleep.”

“You’re absolutely positive?”

“Yes, boo bear. I’m okay.”

“I love you and you better say it back this time.” Jack said while eyeing you.

“I love you too, more than anything else in this world.” You answered before laughing as he leaned down to kiss you.

“We shouldn’t be gone long.”

“Take your time, I want you to have fun. If I need you, I’ll text you.”

There was also one other person who was in on the prank and Jack was about to lose his shit when he found out.

No one other than Dua herself.

She was currently on her U.S. tour and she had a show tomorrow night in Atlanta. You quickly sent a text of the details of the prank last night and of course she was in.

About 45 minutes had passed when you received a text from your brother-in-law

Clay- He’s here. Everything is a go.

You- Lmaooooo it’s showtime

You ‘accidentally’ sent Jack a text thinking that someone was coming over to the house and you knew it would send him into a panic.

However, someone really was coming, but he didn’t know that.

You wanted for the prank to be a little different and that Dua would eventually show up.

You- He’s out with the rest of PG, you can come over! I could use the company.

Jack noticed that the notification sound went off alerting him that he had a text from you. He was hoping that you were okay and didn’t need him, but he got a lot more than he bargained for.

Knowing what was happening, Jack’s eyes went wide as PG was trying not to laugh and looking at the menu to distract themselves.

“Uhh, Jack? You okay?”

“Mm hmm.” Jack quickly answered, trying not to make a scene or make a big deal out of it.

“You sure? I mean you’re usually pale as shit, but it seems as if you got ten times paler when you looked down at your phone and read whatever wifey sent you.”

“I…” Jack started to say, but quickly stopped himself.

“What?”

“She was all like ‘I don’t feel good’ earlier and now I see a text saying that I’m out with yall and to come over? If someone is in my fucking house, I’m about to murder them and then I’ll deal with her. I guess she meant to send that to whoever and not me.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, it might just be Saweetie. I know she said she would be staying in Atlanta for a few days.”

“Nah, the way she worded it made it seem like it was someone else.”

“You worry too much. Y/N doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you. We’ve been wanting to come here for a while so your ass better not get up from this table. You see the way she acted with that Anitta girl and she sees how you acted with Giveon so do you honestly think she would do anything to break your trust?”

“Clay, facetime her right now. She might not answer if it’s from me.”

Clay simply shrugged and did what he was told.

It rang for a few seconds before your bright face came on the screen.

“Is that my favorite Harlow child? Hi, my baby!”

“Hey, Y/N, Jack just asked me to call you to check on you. He told us you weren’t feeling that well.”

“Well aren’t you sweet? That’s why I keep you around.”

“You know we should have gotten married instead.”

Jack rightfully smacked the back of his little brother’s head and all you could do was laugh.

“Ow!”

Clay purposely angled his phone so Jack could see you and took note of another person in the background and Jack’s eyes went wide.

It was so quick, that Jack didn’t really get a good look as to who it was.

“In another life, my love. I’m fine! I actually feel a little better since drinking the tea.”

Jack immediately snatched Clay’s phone from him and questioned you not wanting to put it off any longer.

“Baby girl.”

“Yes, pookie?”

“First of all in another life, my ass. I have no hesitations to throw your favorite Harlow child off the nearest cliff. And who the… you got someone in my house I don’t know about?”

“What? What are you talking about?” You curiously asked to play along and not try to laugh.

“Mamas, do not fucking play with me. I got that text message you obviously meant to send to someone else.”

“What text? Baby, I’m confused. Are you feeling okay?”

“I will jump through this phone right fucking now. Who the fuck is in my house?”

“Uh? Besides me? Your children. I just finished walking the golden girls. I think Blanche misses you because she curled up next to your pillow.”

“Y/N!!!!!”

“Jackman.”

“Do not get smart with me. I am going to ask you one more time.”

“No one, baby! I’m here by mys…..”

Without warning the facetime call cut off and if Jack was mad before, he was pissed off now.

“That’s it, I’m kicking both of their asses.” Jack said getting up and grabbing his keys. Clay put one hand on his shoulder to get him to sit back down.

“I didn’t even see anyone else on the call. You feeling okay?”

“How could you not?! They were sitting to the left of her.”

“Jack, is yall house haunted? If it is, I can’t stay there no more. Black people don’t do ghosts. I mean truth be told I know Y/N doesn’t either and if I know anything about ghosts and her, she’ll probably run them off.” Shloob said while taking a sip of his iced tea.

“No, it’s not haunted! There was literally another person there with her!”

“Well, try calling her back.”

Jack then whipped out his phone and proceeded to do so all for it to go to voicemail.

“She cannot be fucking serious right now. I’m getting my shit to go.”

Jack hopped in his jeep and was speeding down the highway to get back to your shared home.

He didn’t even bother parking in the garage and left the car out front before making a beeline to the front door.

Once opened, he walked around to the living room to find you sitting on the floor playing with your two piglets.

You looked up to see Jack and the pissed off look on his face.

“Uh, baby? Why are you back so soon? And where is my food? Look babies, daddy’s home!” You said while looking down at the both of them. They saw Jack and immediately got excited.

Jack was steadily looking around and checking behind the couches as well as in the closets.

“Baby?”

Jack didn’t even bother to answer you as he was continuing on with his search.

“Jackman!”

“Who the fuck you got in here, huh? I’m about to kick their ass right now.”

“Are we still on this? No one, baby. Except me and our tribe of children.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hmm well okay. Have fun searching.” You replied as you went back to playing with two of your children.

Jack tore up the house from top to bottom looking for someone that he thought had been in the house.

Once he gave up his search, he went downstairs to see you and Dua on the couch talking and laughing.

“Y/N!!! WHY IS SHE IN MY HOUSE?!”

“Correction, our house, baby.”

“Hi to you too, Jack!”

All Jack did was stare at her and give her the evil eye.

“See, I knew you had someone else in here.”

“Babe, Dua just got here five minutes ago.”

“Y/N….. I know what I saw on that facetime call!”

“I told you he was crazy. You should move in with me, now he’s seeing shit. Next thing you know you’ll have to put him in a nursing home.”

“Dua, shut your ass up and move away from my wife! Six feet at all times!”

“Jack!”

“Y/N!”

“Okay since we’re all saying names, I’ll do my own. Dua!”

“Baby girl…..”

“Yes, pookie?”

“Is that... Is that a camera?”

“Oops.”

“DID YOU…. THIS WAS A PRANK! SHE WAS HERE THE WHOLE TIME?!?!”

“UHHH……”

You took off running while Dua was laughing and with Jack following quickly behind you and catching you.

“Now, I know you didn’t think you were going to get far with those short legs of yours did you?”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

“Jack! Since I’m here, let me get a copy of that video!”

“HELL NO!”

“I mean it was better than me asking for your wife to sit on my face.”

“See, now I’m really about to have to beat your ass. You always come over here and act outta pocket.”

“Beat my ass? I’d rather eat hers.”

“DUAAAAA!!!!! AND Y/N STOP LAUGHING!!!”

Liked by jackharlow, claybornharlow, saweetie, dualipa, 2forwoyne, lilnasx, druski2funny, and 3,184,907 others

y/ninsta: my husband mad at me yall lmaooooo

jackharlow: y/ninsta I’m legally separating from you tomorrow 😐

lilnasx: what happened this time? lmaooo

claybornharlow: lilnasx another prank by wifey 😂

druski2funny: y/ninsta why you stay stressing my man out?!

2forwoyne: seeing him freak out about that text message was TOP TIER

jackharlow: HOLD THE FUCK UP

jackharlow: PG?!? YALL WERE IN ON IT?!

urbanwyatt: jackharlow we may or may not have an entire group chat that the primary reason is to prank you

shloob_: I told her not to do it

quiiso: shloob_ you stay throwing our asses under the bus. you were it on it too

jackharlow: urbanwyatt and to think I call you my best friend

saweetie: y/ninsta give that man a break! that hairline keeps going south because of the stress!

jackharlow: DIAMONTE!!!

saweetie: yes Jack?

jackharlow: saweetie after I get done kicking their asses, you’re next

y/ninsta: much thanks to dualipa lmaooo had my baby looking everywhere for you 😭😭

dualipa: y/ninsta glad to be of service!

jackharlow: dualipa where were you even hiding?!

y/ninsta: jackharlow you never looked in the backyard!

dualipa: jackharlow lemme at the wife and I promise not to do it again

jackharlow: dualipa one of these days, you about to learn to stop playing with me

dualipa: jackharlow so is that a yes?

jackharlow: dualipa it’s a ‘I still have my bb gun and I’ll shoot you’

dualipa: jackharlow you wouldn’t shoot your wife’s friend!

jackharlow: dualipa now, who told you that lie? you can get all this smoke any day of the fucking week and saweetie is next

saweetie: jackharlow now why am I in it?!

y/ninsta: saweetie that hairline comment lmaooooo

jackharlow: y/ninsta you laughing a little too loud over there for my liking. on your knees.

sza: oh my

y/ninsta: jackharlow DO YOUR WORST

claybornharlow: now I understand urbanwyatt’s pain

jackharlow: y/ninsta but don’t think this makes up for the shit you pulled today. consider this war and watch your back

y/ninsta: jackharlow may the best Harlow win (that’s me) but imma need you to make me cum first

jackharlow: y/ninsta who said that I was about to let you cum?

y/ninsta: jackharlow wait, what? 🤨

jackharlow: and dualipa if you so much as utter a WORD I’ll end you 😡

dualipa: jackharlow 👀

dualipa: y/ninsta I’ll make you cum kbye

jackharlow: DUAAAAAA!!!!

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#jack harlow #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic

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pantoneyoongi · 1 year

Text

are we just friends? | myg

title ; are we just friends? you don’t need me like i need you

description ; if we fuckin’, are we just friends?

cast ; yoongi x you

word count ; 7.2k

tracklist ; like i need u - keshi, drunk text me - lexi jayde, urs - niki, somebody - keshi

tags ; angst, drinking / alcohol, friends with benefits gone wrong (no explicit smut), pov switches, very brief mentions of poor family dynamics and financial issues, this has been in my drafts forever so fuck it here it is

you’re getting real fucking tired of being broken up with.

your scowl deepens, jaw clenching and rotating as you repeat the video on hoseok’s story. it should probably be illegal to have access to social media during a breakup. except is it really a breakup if someone never really committed to you in the first place?

you want to curse hoseok out. you want to saunter up to him and jab a finger into his chest - yoongi doesn’t like partying, you want to snap in his face. he doesn’t like clubbing, or even drinking all that much. he said so. he told me.

like a child, you want to point out all the things yoongi told you in quiet confession, wave it around as proof that yoongi did care about you. that you knew things about him even his best friend didn’t know. but it’s not hoseok’s fault. hoseok is a good guy. he’s your friend. it just so happens that he was yoongi’s friend first, so yoongi gets the hoseok post-not-breakup-breakup package while you get the anger roiling under your skin watching yoongi throw back shots and eye hoseok’s camera lazily, one dark eyebrow arching as hoseok’s cheers and laughter sound loudly even amidst the pounding edm.

it’s not really anger. jimin would know this best; he’s your best friend, evidence of which is coming through in the form of several text messages asking you to open your damn door. you won him even in the war of your last real breakup - an honest-to-god shock to you, really, considering who had been on the other end of that particular ruined relationship. but that one had ended in utter shambles, that one was the reason you were in this mess in the first place, all your shattered pieces picked up by none other than an unsuspecting min yoongi, the one person you never thought would be able to carefully piece back together the glass that formed your heart. somehow, without either of you knowing, he rebuilt it all, fitting every broken piece neatly together. it almost worked, too. you almost couldn’t see the cracks. that is, up until he swept it all away in one fell swoop, all his hard work left in remnants on the ground.

let’s be real. even if he really had managed to fix your broken heart, glass is still a fragile thing. easy to shatter.

you throw your phone to the side, letting it land with a dull thud against your comforter. you lower your head, one hand running through your hair, exhaling a heavy sigh. this is infuriating. frustrating. exhausting.

you’ll call it everything but what it is.

painful.

“i really didn’t wanna do this but you leave me no choice,” a voice calls out from your front door.

you curse under your breath. with the last bit of willpower you have in you, you push yourself off your bed, swinging open your bedroom door to find jimin kicking off his shoes. you don’t know why he bothers asking you to open the door if he’s just gonna use the key anyway. “the spare key was for emergencies, asshole,” you grouch, but jimin levels you with a look that says he’s tired of you playing games.

“yeah, well, you should’ve known i’d use it for whatever i want anyways,” he snarks back, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs at your breakfast bar. “plus i think this qualifies as an emergency.”

you sprawl over your couch. “in what world does this qualify as an emergency?”

“mine. it’s fucking cold outside.”

“you’re literally indoors. this is an apartment building, jimin. and who asked you to come over? it sure as hell wasn’t me and i don’t remember having roommates-” you yelp when he shoves your legs out of the way to make room for himself, plopping down and then resituating your legs over his thighs to placate you in spite of your sarcasm. hm. he is cold.

“stop being annoying,” jimin says it without any real bite, though his fingers do pinch your leg, almost earning him a knee to the stomach, save for his fast reflexes and uncanny strength for someone his size. he glowers down at you. you scrunch your face back.

if hoseok’s post-(not-breakup)-breakup package is getting yoongi absolutely wasted, then jimin’s post-(not-breakup)-breakup package is talking through your feelings. well - it’s just a jimin thing in general, not exactly reserved for breakups and relationships. too bad you’re allergic to unpacking your emotional baggage.

the two of you sit in silence for a little bit, you staring up at your apartment ceiling while jimin idly taps rhythms against your knee with one hand, his other hand scrolling through his phone. he knows he has to ease you into it. breaking into your house (with a key you gave him, willingly) is already a bit aggressive of a move. if he pushes any harder too quickly, you’ll lock him out, literally and figuratively.

you tense when you hear the familiar clip of hoseok’s instagram story play on his phone, jimin’s hand still drumming away on your knee, though you know he felt the way you stiffened. his fingers slow a little, then come to a stop. hoseok’s video ends and you’re thrown back into silence.

jimin tilts his head toward you but you refuse to meet his gaze. his voice is soft. “you should talk to him.”

that’s unexpected. you know jimin knows exactly what happened, even if you haven’t spelled it out precisely for him. your eyes snap to jimin’s. “i tried.”

“tried as in you fought with him or tried as in you told him how you feel?”

your mouth clicks shut. winning jimin in the breakup war doesn’t feel very victorious sometimes. you wish you won hoseok in this breakup war. getting wasted is starting to sound a lot more fun than jimin’s unnervingly accurate assessment of what happened between you and yoongi. too bad hoseok doesn’t even really know there’s a breakup war happening right now.

“what’s the point?” you meant to sound flippant but it comes out bitter. your voice quiets. “even when he doesn’t know, he’s already run for the hills.”

there’s a vulnerability that’s starting to peek through. an odd trait that formed in your relationship with jimin after losing your ex was that the softest parts of you only came out when you were around jimin. otherwise you were all metal and stone, an immovable force. but jimin has always been gentle with you, in spite of the sass. the trait is only odd because -

never mind. one heartbreak at a time.

“don’t you think maybe he’d stay if he knew you loved him? maybe he’s running because he’s scared.” jimin’s eyes are still on you, attentive as ever. he’s a good friend. he’s also probably right - you know he’s right - but logic doesn’t factor in when it comes to feelings. it never has.

“love is a strong word,” you reply back simply, and you’re lucky jimin doesn’t roll his eyes. but it tells you how serious he’s being, jimin frowning back at you. the ache in your chest is consuming you slowly. you can feel it reaching up to your throat the longer jimin stares at you.

“y/n,” he says sternly, and you feel your throat constricting, like the ache is a hand and it’s stretching from your heart, around your lungs, and up to your neck, wrapping its fingers tight. your heart beats hard in your chest, hurting in a way that feels both too familiar and utterly unknown, all at the same time.

but you’re a fighter. you always have been. always have had to be. very few people have gotten close enough for you to let your guard down, but you let it happen again and now look where you are? now look what you’ve gotten yourself into?

“it is,” you say stubbornly, but it lacks strength. your vision is cloudy. every part of your mind is rejecting this reaction so you force the tears away. you blink hard, once, twice, three-four-five times. your vision clears.

the worst part about being friends with jimin is that he knows exactly when to bend to you so that you can’t fight. you’re so good at throwing up walls and coming out kicking and screaming that whenever jimin concedes, it’s like you’ve run full force into a locked door that suddenly swings open, so you’re left with no choice but to carry through on the propulsion and land sickeningly hard on the ground.

“if you say so, y/n,” jimin murmurs gently. the dam breaks.

jimin gathers you into his arms as you inhale shakily, eyes closing. you don’t realize you’re trembling until you feel the light pressure jimin uses to hold you, keep you still, while you bury your face into his chest. crying is the worst part of all this. it’s gross and it gets all over jimin’s shirt and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop. you cling to him like a lifeline. fuck min yoongi. fuck him. fuck him for his stupid ideas and his shit decisions that you participate in and the convincing cheshire grin he has. fuck his shining eyes and gummy smile and the way his hair is swept off to the side, curling into a little comma, just the way you told him you liked it, in that video hoseok has uploaded. he knows what that does to you. he has to know.

fuck min yoongi. fuck min yoongi. fuck min yoongi.

you won’t say it. you won’t give him that. you don’t care what jimin says. if yoongi wants you, he can say it first.

being a world class fuck-up is something yoongi is unfortunately well acquainted with.

he might have the riches now, but that doesn’t erase his nonexistent college degree or his shit excuse of a personality or his burned bridges. the one he has with you is smoldering. he knows exactly how to put it out but instead he’s watching the flames pick up in heat.

he stares down at the bottom of his empty glass, willing it to refill itself with more alcohol. he can afford another shot but he probably shouldn’t have one, considering how fuzzy his world already is as of right now.

but the alcohol isn’t working. fuck, it’s not working. his world gets blurrier by the minute yet somehow you are still crystal clear in his mind, embedded in his memory, rooted deep inside the ache that weighs his heart downdowndown, the kind of hurt that feels like someone is clawing his chest open and there’s no amount of sutures to close the wound. the alcohol isn’t numbing the pain. it’s burning him alive instead.

he wants to fling the glass at the wall. he wants another fucking drink. he wants to go home.

it’s too loud. there’s too many people. yoongi hates people, hates being around crowds, hates the bitter taste of alcohol searing down his throat. he just wants - he doesn’t know what he wants. he knows exactly what he wants. he hates that he knows exactly what he wants.

he lifts his glass to slam it down on the table, but loses the force right before it hits the counter, and it slips out of his grasp, wobbling a little before it settles into place. the music is giving him a headache.

his phone buzzes. with a tired hand, he clicks his phone on to see the message, both eyebrows shooting upwards when he sees the text from hoseok.

he turns, searching the crowd for his friend. he spots him a little ways across the room, hoseok lifting a beer bottle, tilting his chin towards the door. yoongi looks back down at his phone.

[11:18pm] hoseok: ready to bail and finally tell me what you’re moping about?

yoongi sucks in a cheek. he raises his glass back to the bartender. “another one, please.”

his phone buzzes again.

[11:26pm] hoseok: guess that was a no

yoongi finds hoseok again just so he can make sure hoseok can see his lovely smile as he tips back the drink.

if there is anyone in the world who would succumb to something as idiotic as fuck buddies, it would be you. you never actually thought you were the type, but not even mina was surprised when she found out. she’d simply hummed and nodded, then gave you a foreboding glance that you probably should’ve thought a little longer about. maybe it would’ve given you the hindsight to not let yoongi get tangled within your sheets.

but being with yoongi was never about thinking straight. it was, in fact, the complete opposite. you wanted to forget. you wanted to think about nothing. yoongi was always particularly good at wiping your mind entirely clean, until the only word you could even possibly try to coherently say was his name. he loved doing that to you, gritted teeth and wicked grin and dark eyes blown all the way out.

the problem is that yoongi is also your friend. he stayed, like jimin did. but this was where yoongi and jimin differed wildly. yoongi’s comfort had his hand running along your skin, a pleasant thrum vibrating through your entire body. jimin’s comfort had you slamming the metaphorical (and sometimes the non-metaphorical) door in his face every time he tried to make you talk things through.

it’s a shame you always choose the destructive path. but yoongi didn’t feel destructive, he just felt good. you knew yoongi wasn’t looking for anything but your hands on him. he knew you weren’t looking for anything but his hands on you. maybe that’s why it was easy to open up. the expectations were nonexistent and somehow that led to all your walls crumbling, yoongi carefully dismantling the bricks to see what lay behind. the ruins you were left in.

“why did you stay?” you shouldn’t ask. you know better than that. but still, you do. “he was your friend, too.”

you half expect him to crack a joke about staying so he could sleep with you, but when you loll your head to the side to meet his eyes, you’re suddenly holding your breath.

“because he was wrong,” yoongi murmurs. he hesitates; you can see the way the thoughts turn over in his mind, how he slowly makes the decision to continue. “and you were hurting.”

you can’t keep looking. you turn away, but yoongi’s hand finds yours under the sheets, a pinky looped over yours, then another finger, then his hand is shifting to hold yours lightly, palm to palm. he squeezes, once. your breath pulls in shakily.

“yeah,” you breathe out, a little brokenly. “i was.”

he swallows. “i’m sorry.”

you squeeze his hand back. “me too.”

it first happens three months after the breakup. yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him to so much as ask but he does, and one thing lead to another, and suddenly you and yoongi are fucking on maybe a weekly (twice a week - three times a week - daily) basis.

there’s no rules. neither of you know how to set them. you both know yoongi exclusively does hook-ups and you’re in no position to jump into another relationship. this is just easier.

he should’ve set rules. if not for his sake then for yours. he’s your friend, for god’s sake, and you’re nothing like him. you don’t hook up, you barely do relationships, except the one you just got out of. he’s the only one between the two of you thinking straight and still he doesn’t do right by you. still he just runs head-first into it like it doesn’t mean anything.

yoongi scrubs at his face with both hands, trying to shake you. trying to shake the fact that he always knew this was going to end poorly. yoongi runs from commitment like it’s his worst nightmare, but even after everything, he stayed by you. he can’t give you up.

he couldn’t when he saw the way you looked after your breakup, a shell of the person you used to be, and he can’t now, even when he’s hiding from you behind a too-expensive bottle of whiskey.

he’s woe to admit it but you’re one of his best friends. even before the fucking, there was a fire there, a competitive spirit that kept your friendship burning with quick wit and sharp tongues. it was fun. the two of you circled each other like tigers in a cage, but neither of you wanted out - the glint in your eyes as alluring as it was encouraging - pushing him to his limits, forcing his brain to work faster, harder.

but when he needed you - you slowed. maybe you didn’t even notice. but when yoongi, on the verge of completing his college career, couldn’t push any harder, you were the one who sat with him and told him it was going to be okay. “sometimes college isn’t for everyone,” you’d shrugged. “not everyone has to fit the mold.”

you said it like you thought yoongi was too good for the mold. like he was meant for better things. you said it in a way that made yoongi feel like maybe you were right.

and you were.

when yoongi tries to order another drink, a hand on his shoulder stops him, hoseok waving off the bartender. “let’s go,” hoseok says, tone firm enough to suggest yoongi doesn’t have much of a choice. he’s done for the night; hoseok’s finished letting him drown his problems in alcohol. “come on.”

begrudgingly, he follows hoseok through the crowd of people, head still spinning. when they break through the doors into the cool night air, yoongi grimaces. hoseok’s already ordering an uber, though yoongi suspects hoseok isn’t even tipsy anymore.

“uber’s ten minutes away,” hoseok informs him, and yoongi makes a vague noise of acknowledgement. ten minutes is too long. it’s cold and he’s tired now that he’s escaped the club’s strobe lights and deafening music. he drags himself over to the curb, planting his ass on the ground like the pathetic, drunk, grown man he is.

hoseok comes to sit beside him, though he settles in much smoother than yoongi does. hoseok’s polite - lets yoongi take a minute for himself before he dives straight in.

“you gonna tell me what this is about, or should i just save us both time and cut to the chase?”

hoseok as a friend is the oddest mix of no-nonsense and gentle prying. currently he’s in no-nonsense mode, which, for someone who has had as much alcohol as yoongi has in the past hour or so, is just exhausting.

yoongi grunts, and it’s enough of a response for hoseok to make a decision. “okay,” hoseok purses his lips like he’s actually debating if he should carry through, then does it anyway. “so, y/n.”

yoongi groans. “what about her, hoseok?”

hoseok throws him a look. “we both know that’s what this is about, yoongi.”

yoongi doesn’t answer. maybe if he stays quiet for long enough both the headache and hoseok will disappear. hoseok releases a slow breath, and gentle hoseok replaces no-nonsense hoseok when he asks, “why don’t you just tell her?”

there’s a pointed look hoseok gives him that goes entirely missed by yoongi. his head is still pounding from the excessive amount of alcohol he’d downed, combined with the heavy bass that’s thrumming through the sidewalk he’s sitting on. yoongi presses a hand to his aching temple. he’s just not as young as he used to be, he muses.

“tell her what,” yoongi’s voice drags, a result of some mix between his brain being muddied and just sheer resentment about having to even talk about this. whatever this is.

hoseok clicks his tongue. “i know you hate this,” hoseok makes a sweeping motion towards the club they’d exited from. “you think i don’t know you by now? you only drink like you’ve got several livers when you’re running from your feelings. shit habit, by the way.”

“you always come with me,” yoongi points out. hoseok shrugs.

“someone has to babysit you.”

yoongi glares at hoseok through his peripheral. hoseok makes an expression like, i’m just telling it like it is, and yoongi scowls because he knows hoseok’s right. hoseok is there every time yoongi begins this garbage routine, but he’s also there by the end of it, too, slowly nudging out what’s truly bothering yoongi.

hoseok’s been trying to guide yoongi towards better coping mechanisms, but sometimes the healthy shit doesn’t work. sometimes yoongi needs something stronger. like vodka.

(he doesn’t even like vodka.)

yoongi sighs deeply, head hanging between his knees. it’s a little pathetic that he’s sitting on the sidewalk waiting for an uber to pull up considering his age, but here he is. running from his feelings at twenty-seven just like he did at twenty-two when they first hit him like a train wreck. back then, he didn’t even so much as acknowledge the funny feeling sitting in his chest. he’d outright ignored it. it wasn’t the time or place. but he got himself into this shitty situation, so does that argument still stand right now?

“do you love her?” hoseok asks, and he’s being genuine, trying to help yoongi figure it out, but it feels like a punch to the gut. yoongi might’ve preferred that. he shoves his hands aggressively through his hair, trying to clear his head. god, he’s not sober yet. not even close.

“i don’t know,” he gripes, frustration lacing his entire body tight. “i don’t fucking know. i don’t know how to-” he cuts off, breath drawn in sharp. i don’t know how to tell if i’m in love.

yoongi’s never been in love before. he doesn’t even know what love looks like. it can’t look like those shitty movies hoseok’s sister loves to watch so much - “the girls who get it, get it, yoongi,” she always teased, wagging a finger in his direction whenever he’d scoff at her - but it’s honestly the only frame of reference he’s got. his parents sure as hell didn’t love each other.

but then he thinks of you, thinks of the way your eyes spark dangerously and excitedly when you’re about to wreck him in whatever game you’re playing this go around, or how the right side of your lips curve up first before the rest of your mouth follows when you smile, or the way you look utterly relaxed when you’re tangled in your sheets, eyes lazily following yoongi around the bedroom. he knows there’s one other frame of reference he has for love, and it’s always been you.

because love looks like waking up in your bed. or you waking up in his. it looks like your eyes lighting up whenever he pulls up your favorite movie. or the way you dress like you’re putting on battle armor whenever you’re headed into the office. it looks like the excuses you made to sleep over after nights yoongi spent leaving his touch searing across your skin, and he pretends like all those excuses make sense just so he can do it all over again in the morning.

it looks like you, age nineteen, when he first met you as you stumbled into taehyung’s dorm room instead of yours, exhaustion written deep into your bones, and you hadn’t noticed yoongi until you were already trying to curl yourself next to taehyung, puppy eyes pleading taehyung to run his hands through your hair. it looks like the way you straightened the instant you spotted yoongi, all your walls flying back up so fast it gave yoongi whiplash. it looks like how the only person you ever allowed yourself to be soft around was taehyung. because nobody else was allowed to know. including yoongi.

it looks like the feelings yoongi drowned in parties and alcohol and different people in his bed every weekend, from the day he found out you started dating taehyung just months after he met you. it looks like you with your heart ripped out of your chest, making yoongi feel exactly the same, when taehyung broke up with you years later.

love looks like a lot of things. but to yoongi, all of them are you.

you don’t hear from yoongi for weeks on end. or is it days? time passes differently both when yoongi is around and when he isn’t - hazy when you’re in his bed and hazy when he’s not in yours. either way your mind is running loops on yoongi, yoongi, yoongi.

the only glimpses you catch of him are on hoseok’s story. but since the night the two of them went clubbing, most of these are pictures and videos of the back of yoongi’s head, yoongi refusing to entertain hoseok. the weak link in you wishes hoseok was better at goading yoongi, so you could at least catch a glimpse of his face again.

coming home to an empty apartment is far more exhausting than spending hours in the office. you excel at your job, and you work hard to make sure you do. you’re never going back to being helpless and in debt again. there’s no amount of heartbreak that could slip you up. even when taehyung broke up with you, you simply told everyone you were going to be working from home for a little while, splitting your emotions between writing reports while running through buckets of ice cream.

(mina recommended it. she said if you can’t express your feelings, at least eat them. you owe yourself that much.)

you probably looked ridiculous. sniffling as you barreled through numbers and reports and meeting decks all while your heart lay crushed underneath the constant replay of taehyung saying, i think we should break up.

you’ve never begged for anyone in your life. you’ve never asked anyone to stay. but you begged taehyung, cried and screamed and tried to understand why he would want to leave. taehyung was a pillar in your life, and when he left, your entire world shifted on its axis. everything crumbled.

you’ve always known your heart is made of glass. it has to be handled with care. that’s the only reason your ribcage is built with steel, fortified and bulletproof. you can’t afford the pain - you don’t have the time, energy, or money.

but taehyung slipped through. he made you feel like it was okay. the things you were self-conscious about slipped away when you were around him, because he made you feel like those things didn’t matter. like it was okay that sometimes (most times) you bailed on plans because a shift opened up and you had to take it. or that you dedicated the remainder of your free time to studying, so you could keep your scholarship. so you could ace your classes. pull yourself from the worst of poverty up to the top of the world.

you made it, and he was there, and then all of a sudden, he wasn’t.

it hurt. it hurt like a crater in your chest, like someone plowed straight through without remorse, tooth and claw just tearing out your heart with a sadistic smile. how could he leave? how could he understand you while you fought your way through to the top, only to say he didn’t know how to be around you anymore?

“you don’t need me,” his smile was wounded, and it felt unfair. he was the one sending fractures through your system, tremors shaking the foundation. everything you built. by yourself. with him. everything - gone. “i’m not good enough for you anymore.”

wrong. liar. coward.

kim taehyung is a coward. if he didn’t love you anymore, he should’ve just said that.

yoongi remembers a lot of things when it comes to you.

he remembers the day he met you, he remembers when you kicked his ass in beer pong on one of those rare nights that taehyung could convince you to come out and take a break, and he remembers watching you graduate, the proud grin as you walked across stage, the look in your eyes that defied the world, announcing your presence. i made it, yoongi could hear it in the way your eyes scanned the crowd. against all odds.

you’ve always carried yourself with confidence. back straight, head held high. you leave flames in your wake, unstoppable. you accept nothing less than your best.

but then taehyung broke up with you, and something changed.

in the weeks after the break-up, several arguments ensued, jimin, taehyung, and yoongi at each other’s throats in a way they never had been before. petty arguments are familiar to yoongi, but this, he knew, was different. different because its turning point was you.

yoongi was over it by the time they were arguing for longer than three days, but jimin held on, so yoongi stayed put, too. but taehyung wasn’t budging, and jimin was tired of arguing, and in the end, taehyung lost not only you, but jimin and yoongi, too.

jimin somehow managed to lasso yoongi into coming along to check up on you after the fact, even if yoongi was convinced they were already weeks too late - it’s you. there is no one he knows who is better at being poised in the midst of a storm.

then you opened the door, expecting mina, and yoongi had all his preconceptions about you wiped clean.

you’d looked sunken in, hollow. nothing like the uptight, stickler for schedules, no-bullshit person yoongi had come to know. you’d never skipped class in college, and you didn’t take sick days at work. all these years and you kept every part of you spick and span, crafted perfectly so no one could ever see the shaky foundation underneath, how fragile you truly were.

even when it had registered to you that it was jimin and yoongi at your door instead of mina, you didn’t rebuild your defenses.

you couldn’t.

it’d triggered something funny in his chest. you so rarely let your defeats show. but you’d held on for so long, and without taehyung, there was nothing holding you together anymore. yoongi had never seen you with your walls down before, only window glances that disappeared as quickly as they came - but there you were, eyes downcast, your whirlwind force died down to nothing.

yoongi nurses his drink, eyes faraway. seeing you with your guard down once was already a rarity, but he saw it again, and again, and again after nights spent laying next to each other in bed. but this time he got to see it in the form of your genuine smiles, laughter ringing out, your happiness exuded in the form of tears in the corner of your eyes from giggling too much. he got to see it on the nights yoongi convinced you to watch the movies hoseok’s sister loved so much, and saw your eyes long for something you didn’t have anymore, even though you called yoongi a ‘secret sap’ for wanting to watch something so melodramatic.

you let him in. soft kisses, quiet gasps, the press of you against him. deep inhales as you lay with your head buried into the crook of yoongi’s neck. one of yoongi’s hands tangled in your hair, the other cupping your jaw, a thumb running slowly against your cheek. you have a hard time letting people in, but yoongi thinks he might be worse.

why else is he running from you right now?

[12:47am] yoongi: fkcing miss u so bad

[12:47am] yoongi: want u

[12:49am] yoongi: want evrythign abt u want to feel u agin

[12:51am] yoongi: fuck

fuck.

yoongi stares at his phone. you don’t have your read receipts on but yoongi knows for a fact that you check your messages religiously, so there’s no way you haven’t seen the line of drunk messages yoongi sent last night. all things considered, it could’ve gone a lot worse. yoongi could’ve said something phenomenally stupid, like, i might be in love with you, which would arguably make this go from embarrassing to terrifying in less than a second.

yoongi rereads his messages.

no. still terrifying.

fuck.

“you’re up,” hoseok looks unimpressed in yoongi’s bedroom doorway, probably because he had to haul yoongi’s absolutely wasted ass back into his apartment last night. “i told you someone needs to babysit you.”

yoongi waves an arm carelessly, shifting to get upright. he has the world’s worst hangover but nothing feels more pressing than the four drunk texts he sent you last night. “i’m a fucking idiot.”

“i’m glad you know,” hoseok pushes himself off the wall and into yoongi’s room. “but i assume there’s a reason you’re re-informing me.”

yoongi shoves the phone in hoseok’s general direction, and hoseok - asshole - snorts when he reads it. yoongi glares up at him. hoseok shrugs back. “don’t look at me like that,” hoseok lifts yoongi’s phone in the air, using his free hand to point towards it. “this? this is sad, hilarious, and also not the worst thing you could drunk text your ex-fuck buddy you have feelings for.”

yoongi heaves a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. being hungover is already a miserable experience, but hoseok stating everything he’s avoiding out loud like it’s a simple fact makes this much worse.

the bed sinks when hoseok comes to sit beside him, throwing himself back. “i should’ve just tossed you on the couch instead,” hoseok bemoans, stretching out against the sheets. “taken your bed for myself. but look at me. i’m the best friend in the universe.” hoseok makes himself comfortable on yoongi’s bed, humming and cracking several joints along the way, but yoongi is both too used to his best friend and too deep in his own thoughts to notice or care.

hoseok sighs. “yoongi,” he draws yoongi out of his own head, nudging yoongi’s side with his foot. “you have to talk to her at some point. hey - i’m serious,” hoseok doubles down when yoongi tries to get up, hoseok using his foot to kick yoongi in the side and force him back down. “you can’t keep avoiding this. it’s not fair to you, and it’s not really fair to her, either. you owe her your honesty.”

yoongi knows hoseok’s right. he knows his friend is right but it’s just so - so overwhelming, he doesn’t know how to grasp at his feelings when he’s sober and awake. how can he stand in front of you and tell you he loves you when he’s already scared of the end? of losing you? yoongi can’t afford that. he can’t not be with you. he can’t lose you. it’s why he’s never crossed the line.

but who is he fucking kidding? the minute he fell into bed with you, he crossed as many lines as humanly possible.

there are not a lot of things you would rewind time for.

everything you fought past, got you to where you are today. if you wanted a penthouse, you could have one, easily. you just choose to live a simpler life, with as few grandiose things as you can get by with. sure, there are still luxuries you’ll splurge on, but for the most part - you’re satisfied with making do. a roof over your head, your debts paid, and a fridge full of food. there’s not much else to want for. the only way you would’ve wanted to make it here is through your own wits and hard work.

so you don’t regret it. you’ve largely grown past resenting the fact that you never got a lot of what other kids your age got when they were young - an easy life. but you’re grateful for what you have, even if that means you lost a number of things to get here.

still, there are some moments you wish you could go back to.

when taehyung left, you couldn’t understand him. you didn’t understand him. jimin didn’t either, and apparently neither did yoongi. you love jimin, and the way you feel for yoongi, well - it’s besides the point. taehyung was one of jimin and yoongi’s closest friends. having them fight and eventually split felt a lot like your fault. you ruined things. every human relationship you entered, you fucked up. with even the slightest tip of your finger, it all came apart at the seams.

so maybe you would go back, and undo a couple things, even if it meant yoongi and jimin stayed with taehyung instead of you.

or maybe you would go back, laugh in yoongi’s face when he suggested sleeping together, if it meant you didn’t fuck this up all over again.

but yoongi’s texts from last night are still staring back at you from your phone screen, and you know that you don’t really want to take any of it back. you don’t regret it. you don’t want to undo the nights of tangled sheets and muffled drunk laughter and bickering over what to eat for dinner or the image of sleepy yoongi in the morning, hair ruffled and eyes barely open. you don’t want to take back gazing at him and realizing you have feelings for him, and letting it show. you don’t care that it scared him. you were honest with him. even if you didn’t say it out loud, there’s no mistaking it. you both know it.

you heave a sigh. with your eyes shut, you press the now dark screen of your phone to your forehead, grasping it with both hands, before slowly re-opening your eyes, setting your phone to the side. yoongi drunk texting you had sent an excited thrill through you, even against your better judgment. you know he’s just talking about your body. it’s not about you. it can’t be about you-

there’s a knock at your door that startles you. your name comes shortly after, and it sounds too much like a plea. it sounds too much like yoongi.

hesitantly, you raise to your feet, heading towards the door. you’re still in your pajamas - a ridiculous set mina bought you as a joke but turned out to be incredibly comfortable - and with a held breath, you open the door to find the person you’ve been non-stop thinking about for weeks on end.

he looks a little surprised to see you in the doorway, as if this isn’t your apartment and like it wasn’t him who came looking for you in the first place. his lips part, but nothing comes out.

you want to fight. you want to be angry and yell at him for leaving you alone the last time he was here, right before you both decided to drop off the face of the planet, leaving jimin to come knocking down your door and hoseok to drag yoongi out of bars and clubs. the last time yoongi was at your door, you’d thrown all your walls back up because yoongi had done the same after seeing the affection in your eyes the night before. he couldn’t handle your feelings and you couldn’t stand the sting of rejection again.

but he’s here. he’s here and there’s no armor you can form against that look in his eyes.

you don’t even say his name, don’t even let him in before it comes tumbling out, “i think i love you.”

all at once, the storm in yoongi’s eyes clears. you can see the way his world quiets inside, breath escaping him and he softens, tension slipping off his shoulders. slowly, he steps inside, closing the door behind him, and you take a step back to match every step he takes in.

shoes toed off, jacket shrugged off his shoulders, he comes closer and closer. for someone who ditched you because he was scared of commitment, he sure looks quite at home inside your apartment.

“i’m not gonna take it back,” you whisper. “i don’t care. i mean it. i don’t give a fuck if you’re scared, i’m not taking it back.” you wield your feelings like it’s a weapon. or maybe, like it’s a shield.

his expression doesn’t change, that contradicting mix of someone who feels simultaneously at peace and fiercely determined, all at once. he backs you up further and further, until you hit the back of your couch, your fingers catching on the edge to balance yourself. he doesn’t touch you, but his hands do come to rest on the back of the couch too, caging you in.

his eyes scan over your face, features softening the longer he looks at you. this is the yoongi who lay in bed next to you all those nights before. the yoongi who secretly enjoys watching the same movies hoseok’s sister openly loves. the yoongi who makes you laugh till you can’t breathe, who ignites a competitive streak in you, who has always quietly believed in you. this yoongi doesn’t have his walls up in the form of a tantalizing smirk and dark eyes. this yoongi is the one who stood by your side, unconditionally.

his hands shift to your waist, grip firm but light. his forehead presses against yours, both your eyes fluttering shut, but you hold your breath as he exhales his.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “i wasn’t being fair.”

your eyes open to meet his, and his apologies swim in his eyes, layers deep. his hands tighten on your waist, like he’s scared if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

“you’re one of few constants in my life,” he confesses. “i was being greedy when i asked you to sleep with me. because i wanted more without the risk of losing you, and i thought if we were still just friends, it’d be fine. i used every excuse in the book. but i’ll always want more, y/n. i - “ he swallows, and you grip the couch a little harder. “i’ll always want you.”

your breath escapes you, and the corner of his lips quirk up. “i think i’ve loved you for years,” his teeth catch on his lower lip. “well - i know i have.”

you tremble a little when your hand comes up to grip his shirt. “asshole,” you scoff out, but there’s no force behind it. “you could’ve just said that instead of running away for three weeks.”

he laughs at that, hands moving to press you against him, draw you as close as he can get. “sorry,” he repeats. “i’ll make it up to you.”

“i’m still mad,” you breathe, but your eyes are on his lips and he knows it.

“that’s fair,” he agrees, then you’re melting against him, hands buried in his hair as you tug him flush to you, all words lost to his mouth on yours. you’ve missed him. you’ve missed him too much to do only just talking, wanting his hands, mouth, anything you can get, on you.

you can tell yoongi feels the same, the urgency in which he presses himself close to you, the way he kisses you equal parts desperate and soft. yoongi holds you like he can’t bear to let go. like if he loses even another second with you, then there would’ve been no point to him lowering his walls to stand in front of you to begin with.

“don’t ever take it back,” he whispers against your lips when you finally pull away.

“hm?”

“you said you’re not gonna take it back,” the corners of his lips tilt upwards ever so slightly. “that you love me. don’t ever take it back.”

you can’t help the curl of your lips in response.

“couldn’t even if i tried to.”

#yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x yn #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #yoongi #angst #im so sleepy rn idk #fic: awjf

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ro-botany · 11 months

Text

The Risen King and his Tactician

In my previous post about Risen King Chrom, I talked largely about who and what he is. What I didn’t touch on was questions of why and how; the reasons for his existence and the means by which he’s controlled. So that’s what I’m tackling today.

Naturally, this means an examination of Grima’s thoughts on the matter. It's not a purely tactical decision on their part.

---

The first reason I could think of for why Grima would make a Risen out of Chrom was that it was an act of tactical cruelty aimed at their enemies. Nothing kills hope and morale in the enemy troops quite like making the shambling corpse of their exalt attack them! But while that’s almost certainly part of the point... It doesn’t explain why RK Chrom’s mind is intact. You can get that effect for a lot cheaper by bringing him back as a garden variety Risen with no sentience to speak of.

After reading the Forging Bonds supports, I initially thought part of the point was to be cruel to Chrom. They’re being sarcastic. They’re taunting him with his dead friends and torturing him by making him slaughter his people. That motivation would explain why he’s still mentally present—if the aim is to torture a foolish idealist son of Naga, it would hardly be satisfying if he weren’t actually there to be tortured.

But I think the main reason I read things that way is due to Heroes’ visual limitation of only having one portrait per character. They can’t adjust a character’s facial expression to better convey tone, which means that wherever tone is ambiguous in the text, the words are coloured by the expression of that one portrait. Since m!Grima’s portrait has that malevolent little smile, we interpret him as sarcastic or taunting and ignore the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the words are genuine.

Read those supports again, and this time ignore the portrait art.

Grima’s phrasing is never blunt. They couch all these hard truths about the situation in these long, indirect statements that soften them. They never bring up a point unless Chrom, in his panic and denial, brings it up first. They even play along with his delirium at first! None of the content of what they’re saying, absolutely none of it, is actually comforting; but the intent to comfort is there in the phrasing. It’s not “Robin is dead”; it’s “Robin is gone, lost, but I am here.” It’s not “Your friends are dead, and now they’re my pawns”; it’s “I know your friends are precious to you; don’t worry, I can bring them back, and you can lead them just like before.”

And they also lie about who killed Chrom. “Who stole your life, you might ask? It was I, with none other than the Fell Dragon Grima, within me.” It’s a bit convoluted, but it sounds like they’re trying to avoid implying it was Robin. But these supports aren’t a timeline where the details of Chrom’s death are unknown; we know he died at the Dragon’s Table fighting Validar, and his very obvious fatal wound is the same spot Robin stabs him at the Dragon’s Table in the premonition from Awakening. The spot that Robin stabs him, under Validar's control. If I were to speculate, I’d say it sounds like Grima is trying to preserve the memory of who Robin was. Spare Chrom the reality that it was his other half that killed him.

And the thing is, Grima has no reason to attempt to speak kindly to Chrom or to absolve Robin of blame... unless Grima remembers enough about being Robin to still care about Chrom. Regardless of how you interpret the nature of the connection between Robin and Grima, it’s not unreasonable to assume that Robin’s memories and emotions are part of Grima in some way, and influence their actions.

Why does Grima bring Chrom back from the dead? Because Grima never chose to kill the man they loved, and now that they’re a god again, they have the power to undo it.

But! We know that Grima is capable of true resurrection. They bring Validar completely back to life in the main timeline, living body and intact soul, when they aren’t even at full power. So if Grima cares that much, why not bring Chrom back as a living person?

The answer to that one is simple: because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Chrom would ever willingly participate in their apocalypse. What good would it do to bring him back only to have to kill him again? The fact that they don’t want to bear him being gone is what has them raising him in the first damned place. Grima needs him to be on their side... So they force him to be. They remake him as a Risen; a being bound to as dark a role as they are, and by definition, something they can control.

And here’s where we get to that how question. While Risen are naturally controllable through dark magic, there’s never been a Risen with a will before, and certainly not one with the blood of a different divine dragon. And given Validar’s actions, Grima is acutely aware of the fact that holy blood creates the possibility of control by another. Which means Naga might try something. They needed to counter that possibility.

Look at Risen King Chrom again and count the holy brands. It’s not just Naga’s anymore; he bears the brand of the defile too. At first I thought it might be attached to his sword, but I enlisted the help of a much healthier Chrom to check, and...

...no, the brand is absolutely attached to RK Chrom’s hand.

Grima covered all their bases. They minimized any chance that Chrom’s willpower or Naga’s meddling could interfere by making a blood pact with him as a second means of control.

Channelled dear old dad a little with that one.

---

So why does Risen King Chrom exist? Because Grima still loves Chrom. Or to be more precise... he exists because Grima loves what Chrom represents.

He’s the idea of companionship. A symbol of the brief moment that Grima was Robin, and was happy. And they love that idea so dearly that they can’t let it die. They bring Chrom back—but they don’t bring him back as he was, they remove his ability to choose and then force him into something that has the shape of their former relationship and none of the heart of it. Grima is still the tactician, and Chrom is still the exalt, and they’re marching to war with the Shepherds like they always do. They’re together like they always were. Right? Grima is acting out a hollow facsimile of a different life, and Chrom is trapped in a nightmare he can’t escape from.

What’s worse is I think Grima knows it’s cruel to keep him around like this. But they’re too rigid in their own beliefs to stop what they’re doing, and too selfish and lonely to let him go. And I think some part of them takes comfort in the fact that they’ve broken Chrom of his ability to hope, too. If even he can’t keep fighting the tide of fate, there really was nothing they could do to avoid this. (Nevermind the fact that they rigged the game so he couldn’t fight even if he wanted to.)

#fire emblem #grima #chrom #risen king chrom #meta #i am incapable of brevity and i refuse to apologize for it #*slaps the side of the grima/chrom ship* you can fit so much toxicity in this bad boy #i think i'm preaching to the choir a bit as far as the regular group of grima studies folks i've found are concerned #but nonetheless i find it fun to dissect this stuff in detail so here we are lol

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mandatory-blog-stop-asking · 12 days

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Final Fantasy 7 Remake, Tifa, dementia, and caretaker trauma.

Spoilers for Final Fantasy 7 original, Remake and Rebirth. Discussions about dementia, mental health, caretaker trauma and events that haven’t been covered in the remake trilogy yet. Also, I am sick and not as eloquent as i like to pretend I am – if this reads like shit, blame the virus. I just can’t get this thought out of my head. The "keep reading" is just before the Rebirth spoilers start if this somehow reached you and you don't want to read about that.

When I think about Final Fantasy 7 I usually don’t think of Tifa. I was never a massive Tifa fan like most people I talk to are.

She’s fine, don’t get me wrong, but I could never quite connect with her when I was a kid, or find her all that compelling. Over time I’ve resigned to thinking it’s because I’m just not super interested in her as a character, since she mostly relates to Cloud while everyone else is doing their own thing. So, when they decided to make a massively expanded Final Fantasy 7 remake trilogy, I thought this was going to be the perfect opportunity to change my mind. I’m not that much of a hater that I want to dislike one of the most beloved characters of all time.

Remake (the game not the trilogy) came and went and I really like what they did to her as an individual: having more of a relationship with everyone else means I get to look forward to when Tifa talks, especially with Aerith. I think their fast-friends-to-battle-sisters routine rocks and Remake really hammered home how they compliment each other. I especially really like how I can’t always tell if they’ve both teasing Cloud individually or together, on purpose.

Like, the brother is not going to smash, this feels like it’s all for them. Aerith is even cracking up over it. Gals being pals with their clueless best friend. They have so many good moments together and they really bring out the best in each other.

But then comes Rebirth and all of a sudden the story is necessarily way darker. Even if Remake involved dropping a city’s worth of metal on top of… well, a city, Rebirth is when shit gets real. Sephiroth’s manipulations come into full force, everyone deals with their traumas and personal quests, and Aerith dies. Even though Rebirth stops short of starting the original’s Disk 2, it still has one hundred and fifty hours of story and character content to bite into.

And Tifa got a lot more of that this time around. She was given a much more prominent role in this narrative than she used to have: Tifa goes to the Lifestream by herself, Tifa has a whole thing with how she has a scar from her encounter with Sephiroth as a young woman, her relationship with Aerith has never been deeper, meaning that when she dies Tifa is left in shambles, and she’s pretty much the one person in the party who’s never in a position where she’s wrong about something. She’s always the rock everyone can rely on, and she knows that’s her role.

And then there’s Cloud.

I feel like the thing I’m most fascinated by with Tifa in this franchise is how she’s slowly becoming a caretaker for someone with dementia.

NOW, LOOK.

I’m not saying that’s the literal text, or that we’re going to have bathing and feeding minigames in Mideel. I don’t think the game is actually about dementia proper. But I do think the game, both the OG and the remake trilogy, do make a point about all the ways in which you can lose someone.

Final Fantasy 7 is a game about identity, environmentalism, loss, riding multicolored giant cocks that are somehow faster than cars – it’s got a lot going on and people have been interpreting its text for decades. But one of the things I feel gets mostly ignored is what Tifa is going through when Cloud becomes wheelchair-bound in his post-Crater vegetative state. She leaves the party to take care of him while the rest of the gang goes on to have wacky adventures under Cid’s leadership for a little while. It’s obviously temporary, but as far as Tifa knows, she’s going to spend the rest of her life taking care of the love of her life, never able to actually talk to him again.

And like, that’s fucked, right? That’s a major life decision that gets talked about way less than what happens right after. And I mean, with good reason – the Lifestream section of the game is one of the most fascinating parts of the experience, and it immediately cancels out what Tifa decided to do, because Cloud comes back. Fully back, too, without any asterisks. But think about what Tifa was ready to do! That’s so much!

The Remake Trilogy elaborates on every singular aspect of the original game, to good and bad results, but this has turned into showcasing Cloud slowly but surely losing his mind over the course of two to three games. What was about three or four moments in the original game that culminated with his pseudo-mental death when delivering the Black Materia is now basically two hundred full hours of Cloud becoming progressively more violent, progressively more unhinged, and progressively less connected to his friends and the world around him.

Cloud starts talking to himself through extreme headaches, he starts seeing things that aren’t there, he actually even raises his weapon at Tifa due to being convinced by the voices in his head that she’s somehow not real. And throughout it all, Tifa is begging him to come back to normal, to be the guy she remembers him as. She never leaves his side, she never gives up on him, but she also doesn’t know what to do to make him stop.

But of course, we know that’s not all she does. Throughout the games, we see Tifa actually playing along with a lot of Cloud’s delusions a lot of the times. She lets him believe his version of the events of Nibelheim because she’s scared of what will happen to him if he realizes he’s remembering everything incorrectly. She lets him lie about Zack drowning in the river – lie to himself, no less – because the lie keeps him under control. When something bad happens to Cloud, Tifa takes on a caring attitude, not necessarily a correcting one. When Aerith does it, it’s for the sake of the World. When Tifa does it, it’s for the sake of their relationship, which has to last through this latest breakdown, there is simply no other choice from her perspective.

This feels so familiar. I used to care for people with dementia professionally. Not literally every night, but for enough. Watching Tifa go through Cloud’s worsening mental state reminds me so much of watching someone progressively lose their minds, with nothing you can do for them other than making them comfortable.

Tifa’s arc of wanting to be there for Cloud but having no idea of what she can actually do for him climaxes, for me at least, with Cloud being fully engulfed in the lies he tells himself after Aerith’s death in Rebirth. He has done this before; he lies to himself so hard about who Zack is that he creates fake memories in the room he slept in in order to make sense of reality. Cloud has basically fully divorced himself from the linear progression of events in his life; he will not live a life where bad things happen to him, no matter who has to suffer for it.

And when Tifa sees him obviously going through it again, clearly not reacting to the things around him and letting himself go more and more, getting stronger headaches and becoming less reliable and less able to take care of himself…

He’s doing it again, she must be thinking. He’s never gonna stop doing it; he can’t stop doing it. This is the rest of her life. This is the man she wants to spend her days with, and every passing day, he’s less and less of himself. Cloud is not here anymore. And as far as she knows, he might never be here again.

Tifa in the original was a cool girl who was willing to do whatever she needed for her friends and chosen family, and that included staying with her beloved even when his body betrayed him. Tifa in the remakes is someone watching her loved one wither away due to something she can’t help him with, needing more and more help to communicate and work. And he needs her help, specifically, because he’s surrounded by people who came into his life without necessarily expecting to carry him through it. She’s all he’s got. Now that Aerith is gone, more than ever, she’s all he’s ever going to have.

It’s becoming more and more obvious. Barret can see it, and is visibly disturbed by it. Yuffie can see it, but she’s too young to understand. Nanaki can see it, but he’s going through the ringer himself, the world is on his back as the Guardian of the Canyon and he doesn’t know if that journey will always overlap with his friends’. Aerith could see it, but now she’s gone, and everything is worse.

Everyone asks him to please take care of himself, they keep asking him if he’s okay and if he needs a break, and he keeps just moving on because self-care would imply there’s something wrong with him, and there’s nothing wrong with him, Aerith is alive and well and she’s going to work with us and I can see her, I can see everything the way it should be–

By the time Cloud starts talking about his visual hallucinations, Tifa doesn’t even say anything anymore. It’s just another day when Cloud fades a little more, replaced with this bossy, awful person who keeps killing people while saying a bunch of nonsense, and she has to figure out a new way to keep him calm and in working condition so they can save the world or whatever. But fuck, at this point she must be starting to wonder, why bother saving the world if she’s just going to have to take care of him after that, too?

I see so much more doubt in Tifa about whether or not what she’s doing is making a difference this time around. Tifa in the OG was resolute, but also barely affected things compared to Aerith or Cloud himself. In this, Tifa is the last voice of reason in the man’s life. When everyone leaves – and they will leave, eventually – she’s the one who is going to stay behind and figure out where to go from here.

And there’s just such tragedy about the fact that she doesn’t know things will get better. She’s imagining how she’s going to keep him contained while they fight now, being so weak herself after Aerith’s demise. She’s beginning to realize this is it for the long haul and that people are starting to move away when Cloud starts talking crazy. Cloud keeps lying, to her face, and there’s nothing she can even say at this point, because everyone only hears the lies. Why correct him? Why bother demanding to be treated well if he doesn’t even live in the same reality that she does, at this point? How do you even ask for help if you don’t know what would help?

And, like, look, this reading has problems and it only goes so far – dementia is not something you “treat” and it doesn’t magically get better just because you fall into the manifestation of all the life on the planet. At least I don’t think that’s proper FDA-approved yet.

But I really think making Cloud’s mental breaks so much more clearly outside of his own control and even knowledge makes for a much more harrowing portrayal of a life being lost slowly. In the original, you can never really tell how much is Cloud just “pretending” he’s Zack and how much is Hojo’s experiments on him doing it. And, for the sake of my sanity, I’m not counting Crisis Core’s weird explanations here. But in Remake it’s… genuinely a man losing his sanity and his identity, and he doesn’t even know it.

And without knowing that herself, all Tifa knows is that the man she loves needs help. Forever. But who’s gonna help her now that Aerith is dead?

To finish this ramble, there’s this moment in Rebirth’s Cosmo Canyon section that I think really nails what they’re doing with Tifa.

Cosmo Canyon has been reimagined as a place of religion– while in the original Bugenhagen was a wise mentor with all the answers about the cosmos and honestly, kinda felt like he was a man of science to me, in the remake trilogy he’s basically a cult leader. He’s very smart, obviously, but he very specifically keeps being dismissive of Tifa’s questions about the Lifestream, a place she has been to and he hasn’t.

There’s a lot you can read here – how blind faith numbs you to others and not just the truth, how even wisened individuals aren’t always the ones you want to go to with your problems, or just, hey, don’t join a fucking cult just because it seems harmless. Even Barret, who was incredibly excited to go to the place, becomes immediately disappointed at how people there react to his work and his opinions. He wants to actually save the planet, they want to just talk about doing it and then charge their root chakras with mako or some shit.

But anyway, Tifa goes to a meeting with a bunch of other cult members after being told this was the place where she could get some answers. She sits down and listens to people’s problems and thoughts like they’re in a support group. Everyone has anxieties, doubts and things they want to share. Finally, a place where people listen!

It’s now Tifa’s turn, and she decides to share what she’s been through. Specifically how she’s anxious about the future after her experiences with the Lifestream, and how this relates to her personal history and fight for a better tomorrow.

They don’t even react.

There’s no jeering or booing or anything, there’s just silence. No one really expected her to talk about real things they could be doing, or how it has affected her daily life. This is a group for people who want to say they’re going to help, not actually do anything.

And listen, it’s a plot moment, she’s talking about the plot – but she’s also being told that her story matters, only for her to get shot down when looking for help. She keeps talking about how people need to fight back against adversity, how this planet and everyone in it is all we have, and how we have to team up and gang together and take care of each other, take care of the planet, but she doesn’t know how to do that! She’s doing her best and she just wants some pointers here, because she doesn’t feel like she’s doing it 100% correctly! Bad things keep happening to her! Is it her fault?

I really read that as her asking if things are bad because she’s not doing enough. No one elected her a hero, and it’s as much her responsibility to take care of the planet as is anyone else’s. But… if it is partially her responsibility to take care of the Planet, and the Planet is dying, what other responsibilities is she not doing properly? Is she failing the Planet? Is she failing Cloud? Is she failing herself?

And then she immediately apologizes that she’s being a bother, and tells people to forget about it. Some polite clapping ensues, and a wisened old man gives her a generic answer about challenging herself, without really engaging with what she said.

Tifa looks like she’s been alone in every room she’s walked into when she starts talking about her feelings and her doubts. There’s no one there for her. The professionals don’t care, her living friends have no idea, and she doesn’t know what to do. But someone has to do something.

Then it hit me, why I like this version of Tifa so much more: Tifa is someone who has to do something. I think that’s a really good way to expand on her character from the original. It may have also broken my heart about how much doing something is destroying her. Because at the end of the day, Tifa takes care of everyone, but no one really takes care of Tifa.

Well, anymore.

#tifa lockhart #final fantasy 7 #ff7 rebirth #ff7r #ff7 remake #spoilers #rebirth spoilers #ff7 spoilers #dementia #tw dementia #tw mental health #yes folks it's bad takes all the way down #you thought my reading comprehension was only mostly bad #the depths of me trying to find ways to like characters i don't really care for know no end #honestly a big part of the problem with of tifa for me is i never understood what tifa sees in cloud #girl you deserve better

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