#very dialogue heavy Im sorry

[brad-bakshi-loves-bugs]

chapter 6 of wafwaf is FINALLY up! 

#wafwaf #we are fleeting we are feeling #fanfiction #wafwaf update #im not very happy with this one but im never happy with dialogue heavy chapters #HOWEVER #we're finally reaching the whole point of this fic so #its pretty important to include i think #im also half asleep rn and about to go take a nap so if there are any mistakes im SORRY i read it 3 times to check #but i can read it an infinite number of times and when im tired ill still miss things so #enjoy regardless!

[ofjunemoment]

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters? 

 OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills. 

 pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader 

 genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn 

 wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst,  idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

 a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports. 

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport  — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face? 

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand. 

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,”  You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg. 

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield. 

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times. 

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful. 

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class. 

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin. 

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t. 

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from. 

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped. 

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket. 

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.” 

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow. 

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves. 

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following. 

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly. 

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple. 

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green. 

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both. 

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night. 

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes. 

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break. 

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name. 

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class. 

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,” 

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving. 

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist. 

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath. 

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag. 

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead. 

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag. 

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process. 

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot? 

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently. 

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more. 

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.” 

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit. 

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?” 

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side. 

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation. 

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton. 

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . .  a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation. 

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead. 

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time. 

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue. 

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack. 

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face. 

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie. 

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you. 

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?” 

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit. 

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date? 

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm. 

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness. 

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups. 

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment. 

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play. 

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here. 

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place. 

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?” 

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead. 

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?” 

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner. 

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left. 

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time 

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me 

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey 

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh! 

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps. 

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure. 

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea. 

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement. 

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.” 

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench. 

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.” 

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer. 

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors. 

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy;  but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water. 

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek. 

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream. 

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair. 

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.” 

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him. 

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee. 

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more. 

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,”  His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress,  for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more. 

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength. 

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso. 

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you. 

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again. 

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills. 

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you. 

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.” 

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!” 

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time. 

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly. 

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows. 

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

#park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct jisung #park jisung smut #park jisung fluff #nct dream smut #nct jisung fluff #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung smut

[beary-rambles]

Bound by blood

summary: Its the morning after your unspoken confessions with jacaerys. And you are faced with the aftermath of your actions.

r.q: Ok 1. Your writing is so good 2. I need a part 2 to Jacaerys x alicentdaughter!reader where reader stays with Jacaerys joining team black and we need tk get everyone's reaction to alicent daughter!reader staying like

w.c: 2.1k

c.w: implied smut, alternative timeline, dialogue heavy, nail biter jacaerys, aemond appearance, fluff, even though they are now lovers they still argue lmaooo, not proofread, happy ending!

a.n: heavily requested im so sorry this took awhile and it might not be what people wanted but i hope you all enjoy !! <3

part one part three (backstory) (soon) masterlist

Your eyes flutter open and you rubbing your hand to cover your eyes as the bright shining sun begins to shine rays down on you. You look over at the spot next to you expecting to see jacaerys laying next to you but instead you reach over and feel the cold spot next to you. He must have been up for a long time.

A pit forms in your stomach maybe preparing yourself to turn over and see a cup of moon tea sitting on the bedside table but when you’re instead greeted by a folded piece of paper and a cup of water with some fruits.

‘I'm sorry that i will not be here when you awake my love, i had some things i must discuss with my mother. Do not rush yourself but once you're ready you should make your way to the main hall so we can speak.

with all my love, jacaerys’

you sit up, chugging down the cup of water and taking a few bites of the fruit before sliding off the bed, eyeing the red splotches of blood pooling around where you had been laying leaving some dried blood on your thighs. You needed a bath. As if they could read your mind a maid walked in and you jumped.

“i am so sorry for startling you princess.” with a bow of her head you relax and bring the blanket to wrap around yourself suddenly feeling very embarrassed that she saw you like this. An unmarried woman who had clearly been sullied.

“The princess had requested i come here and run you a bath my lady” The princess? your face heats in embarrassment as you can only nod you head. He had told her, of course he would, especially after last night he seemed very keen on you staying here with him.

The only you could think about as you get scrubbed down was the slight ache between you legs and your mother. You wondered how she would react to all this, what was going to happen when you don't return home, or maybe you do but come back? all of your stuff is in the keep but its nothing of true value to you you suppose, everything that matters to you is here because all that truly matters to you is jacaerys.

You worry what your family will think if you don't return home, maybe that they killed you or kidnapped you. Will they send people here to come retrieve you? You wonder what jacaerys is doing right now, is he considering the same things you are?

You're shocked to be presented with a nice black dress instead of your older green one, you stare at your old dress on laying on the ground. You remember when she had gifted it to you, she had said it was hand made for you made in the house color. You remember her face and how she smiled at you when you spun around to show it to her and how she told you how gorgeous you looked. you look back at the maid who was looking at you expectantly and you apologize allowing her to dress you. You cant get hung up on these things, especially now that you’ve chosen to stay it does break your heart a bit to think about the fact that your last conversation with your mother was so short.

You try to suppress your anxiety as you are led towards the main hall where jacaerys had asked you to met him. when you get closer you can hear heavy discussions, you try to softly open the door but once you’re in the room the door closes so loudly behind you you hiss. Dreadfully turning around to see the room full of not only rhaenyra daemon and her children but the velaryon’s and many a council man.

“Good afternoon.” Everyone nods their head at you giving you a good afternoon in return. You don't notice him until he's standing right in front of you, “jacaerys,,”He lifts up your hands and presses a kiss against your lips. “Did you rest well?” You nod and he smiles at you, his hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a necklace, reaching head hands behind your back to clip it on you.

You grab it in your hands and notice its a black metal sigil of house Targaryen. You look at him and he's just smiling at you, “You like it?” You hum and nod your head, he grips your hand and leads you towards the table where everyone had been standing around watching you. Your face heats when you notice rhaenyra’s happy face and daemons smirk.

“Now that the princess is here might we address the issue at hand?”

“where are we to go from here?”

Jacaerys takes a step closer to the table keeping one of his hands on your back “as i said we will be married tonight-”

You flashes back to last night where he had mentioned over and over again with shake breaths how he would marry you and how he would love to be your husband. You look down at the ground as you flush.

“Not to rain on your parade my prince but i have to be the one to ask it, how do we know the princess is to be trusted?” His hands slam on the table and he leans forward glaring daggers at the lord, “You will not accuse my wife of anything-” You place your hand on his back, “please do not get angry on my behalf Jace its fine. Besides there's something i should bring up.”

Everyone in the rooms attention turns to you, “I think it is best if i return to the keep.” Jacaerys whips towards you with an alarmed look, “what-” “i believe it is best if i inform my family i am staying here in person.” “That is a horrible idea they are animals!” “And you think they would act any better lest they believe me kidnapped?!” “You could send them a letter.” “a letter that you could easily have forced me to write they need to see and hear me say it.” “you are acting irrationally.” “I am acting irrationally?!?! for fearing they shall send their bannermen here to storm dragonstone putting everyone in danger?!”

“do they even like each other?” lucerys whispers to rhaena who just shrugs, baela stands with her arms crossed staring at the pair who are glaring daggers at one another, “they are angry because they care about each other.”

“and you would rather risk your own life?” “it is the best option-” “you are a ridiculous women.” “and you are nothing more than a fool if you believe you are right!”

“and what if they believe you are forced into saying it?” daemon cuts into you and jacaerys argument. You take a deep breath and step away from jacaerys, “They shall believe me, i am family.”

You look at jacaerys who has begun biting on one of his nails with a far away look. You grab both his hands and lace them with yours. “you must realize i am not asking for your permission.” he sighs and rests his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. “You must not leave me.” You can feel his heartbeat in the palm on his hand, beating erratically against his skin. He is afraid. Of not only you not returning back to him because you were forced to stay in the keep but because he is afraid you will not returned because you will be slayed.

“i will return to you i promise.” He is silent for awhile, thinking it over before he nods and takes a step away from you without a word. You turn your attention back to everyone else in the room trying your best to suppress your embarrassment as they give you sly looks.

“I do however agree with my son i worry for your safety should you return to the keep, they are not kind people.”

“I thank you for your worries my queen but unlike the rest of you they consider me their own flesh and blood. the worst that would happen to me is a few bumps and scratches i swear this. As i had been saying it is best if i were to return as soon as possible as i was even supposed to return last night. I am surprised they have not sent anyone to see me.” You know your mother must be worried sick and it leaves a pit your throat that you swallow down to your stomach. You cant think about those things right now.

As if on cue you hear a loud dragon roar from out side and you whip your head around to look out the window. “Vhagar.” “Aemond.” Jacaerys spits out next to you his face angry.

“I should go speak with him.” “I shall come with you.” “absolutely not. I will not have him harm you jacaerys. You remember what he did to you Jace.” You hand running lightly across the cheek where he had been struck.

“I shall go.” “I'm sorry prince daemon but i fear you are the worst option.”

You instead turn to the most familiar face in the room, “ser erryk will you accompany me?” As he was your sworn protector before he had left he nods, “Of course princess.”

A few more exchanges are spent between you and the others in the room, exchanging a kiss with jacaerys before you exit erryk quickly following behind you. Rhaenyra walks over to jacaerys and places her hand on his shoulder. “She will be fine sweetheart. You should not worry.” She rubs his back as he runs his hands down his face. “I hope you are right my queen.” She pinches his back lightly and smiles at him. “You love her.”

“More than anything.”

The grip you have on the fabric in your hand is tight as you quickly make your way down the bridge while aemond gets off vhagar. “Sister I am shocked to see you unharmed.”

“Aemond.” He stares at you with a curious look in his eye. “I had told mother the storm must have kept you held up but she was insistent i come and see you myself. She’s been worried sick.”

“extend my apologies too her.” He raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down. Once you two lock eyes and you stare at him not saying a single word. He seems to catch what you are saying and scoffs. “You are a fool.”

You shake your head at him, “They would not want me home anyway. For i have been tarnished and tainted by one you claim to be a bastard.” He freezes and you catch it even if its for a split second. His eye twitches. He says nothing just stares at you for a long moment. “I thought you were better than this. That you would get over whatever fascination you had with him. But it seems i was wrong.��

“extend my well wishes to sister and mother.” You toss your green dress towards him and he catches it. eyeing it before he looks back up at you. “I should kill you where you stand.” He makes no move to make good on his word, you doubt he fears ser erryk taking a step closer with his hand on his sword. “You do not wish to kill me brother. For there is no worse fate than being a Kinslayer.” Without even sparing another glance at you he climbs on vhagars back and flies off. You do not move from where you stand until he leaves you sight in the sky. a bittersweet feeling filling you stomach knowing it was the last time you would probably see him.

You do not notice you are even crying until ser erryk is crouched in front of you using his cape to wipe your face. “It is for the best princess.” “was it hard to leave your brother ser erryk?” he pauses for a moment, deep in thought before he nods. “It was. but i know it was for the best. You should feel the same.”

You rush back inside and are quickly greeted by jacaerys who was pacing anxiously by the doors his nail in his mouth but he quickly springs into action wrapping his arms around you tightly. burying his head in your neck as he lets out a sigh of relief. “do not worry my love. nothing will separate us.” and it is the truth. for not only a few hours later you two share a blood kiss, bounding the two of your souls together at last.

--

tags: @b00kw0rmsworld

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys strong #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #jace x you #jace velaryon #jace targaryen #jace x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house targaryen #jacaerys

[rrxnjun]

portrait of a blank slate. huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x fem! reader genre: college au. fluff, smut, and the tiniest bit of angst. warnings: swearing, alcohol, angry man renjun, very bad dialogue, this is the most un-renjun fic i've ever written, dry humping, a heavy makeout session, unfinished blowjob word count: 5.8k playlist: no specific one this time but i listened to a lot of keshi while writing this, so have this playlist of mine to fit the vibes a/n: inspired by that one tweet describing how someone's art professor met his wife the same exact way, lost the screenshot and also the og post im so sorry!

turns out all it takes to save a life is a bad, bad college party, a few shots and a weird, magical coincidence back in a girl's dorm room.

It’s hard to believe that Huang Renjun is currently finishing up the art portfolio he needs for his summer internship program after procrastinating and angrily stomping at every single bad stroke of his paintbrush for the last few months.

Because he’s not.

He’s looking at the canvas with stern eyes, the smudges on the white linen so messy he could cry just by looking at them, and the more he tries to save the disgrace currently scribbled in front of him, the worse it gets and makes the levels of frustration in him turn into rage and fury, because let’s be honest– what is Renjun’s primary emotion if not anger. 

And he tries hard to fix it again, he really does– he sighs heavily while doing so as he takes a smaller brush and tries to paint on a few hairstrokes to the portrait of Frida Kahlo he wants to execute– and in honest reality, it doesn’t even look half as bad as it does in the poor boy’s eyes when he takes a step back after holding in his breath and carefully piercing together the artwork. Maybe if there was someone else in the room– everyone but his annoying roommate Donghyuck, because that fucker always manages to make things even worse– they could talk him out of it, offer some words of consolidation, even, hype him up and tell him that with outsider’s eyes, the canvas looks beautiful and very well put together. But the truth is that there’s no one present right now, not a single soul in what feels like the whole campus right now, that could ease Huang Renjun’s frustration from what seems to be art block, when he throws the paintbrush to the wall (he’ll worry about the stain of acrylic paint later, when he gains consciousness) and puts a fist through the middle of the painting.

If he was a character in a comic book, his hand would go through the canvas and create a quite satisfying hole. He’s a real person, though– a weak one as well, to be quite honest– and his fist is stopped by the stretched-out fabric, making his hand bounce back, but now stained with all shades of brown and tan, which somehow only makes him even more mad and turns him into a furious animal roaming around free and causing uttermost chaos in his all true sense.

Nothing can stop Huang Renjun when he opens the drawer he keeps all his artwork in, taking out all the graphite sketches and colored pencil drawings, and then the next one containing the watercolor paintings and various other acrylic paintings done on expensive sheets of paper, stacking all of those onto one pile in the middle of the table. Not one thing is safe– except from the digital artworks he keeps in his iPad and his big A4 sketchbook he forgot about in the heat of the moment, since he keeps it on his nightstand– when he takes the big, heavy stack of art and runs, chimes towards the entrance of his and Donghyuck’s miniature dorm room, luck only standing by his side once in this whole evening when his said roommate opens the door and clears the way for him, looking at the poor boy with mouth agape in a slight shock.

“What the fuck are you doing right n–”

Donghyuck doesn’t get an answer. When he asks stupid questions, Renjun doesn’t tend to pay him much mind, settling on not engaging with the discourse if it doesn’t make much sense, so Hyuck should be used to the ignorance– he thinks this was a very valid question to ask at this moment, though. If he was curious enough, he’d even follow his roommate down the hall and watch him in his endeavors only to find out what’s the intention behind his angry stomping and the fierce look on his face. The truth is, though, he doesn’t care all that much.

That doesn’t stop Huang Renjun, though, as he chimes down the hall of the boy’s dormitory, kicks the glass door open (thankfully not the actual glass part, because that would for sure be expensive) and practically runs the rest of the way towards the bins at the end of the street, dumping the papers into the bin (forgive him for not recycling in his current state of mind) before he angrily kicks the poor object twice for good measure and turns on his heel, slowly, but still as angrily making his way back to his dorm room by stomping all the way up until the entrance.

The dorm guard doesn’t even ask for his dorm ID like he usually does– Renjun must have been quite memorable as he ran out of the building with 5kg of artwork of various sizes in his arms– but the truth is, the man isn’t as old and he saw the boy going out just a few minutes ago, so he doesn’t think it’s necessary. Renjun would appreciate the memo, although, when he remembers that the man always asks for the dorm ID, especially on the nights out when he comes back slightly intoxicated and too disoriented to look for the little slip of paper in his pockets, and on the nights when he forgets his dorm ID as well– the man was set on letting him sleep on the front porch of the dormitory once and it took Renjun 15 calls to get ahold of a sleeping Donghyuck and another 15 of him walking down the hall in slippers and pajama bottoms with his roommate’s dorm ID in hand before he could warm his bones from the cold slowly seeping into his bones on the January night– and that whole thing makes Renjun somehow even more angry at the whole situation.

And so when he comes into his room again, Donghyuck now sitting on his bed still in his outside clothes (something Renjun hates and would murder for), and his eyes land on the damaged canvas still waiting for him in the corner of the room, he wastes no time in opening his window and throwing it down from the second floor, not really caring where it ends up or if he’s gonna get a fine for violating one of the dormitory rules– to never throw stuff out of the windows..

“Dude, what is–”

“Don’t ask.” Renjun huffs as he closes the door and peels his clothes off, taking a towel that’s still hanging from the top bunk of their bed and aims towards the bathroom door. A true tantrum can only end in a cold shower, and that’s what Renjun’s gonna do as he washes his dreams down the drain and ends up silently crying himself to sleep tonight in agony.

It’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party since the days of ‘megaparties’ of Johnny Suh, the senior that’s slowly halting his party performance due to stilling in life. Renjun was dragged to Lee Jeno’s party by his roommate Donghyuck after he mourned in his bed for approximately two days before it got too much for the poor gemini, promising and honestly thinking that alcohol is truly the best solution for the poor boy’s misery. Again, it’s hard to believe Huang Renjun is currently at the best college party of the year when he listens to the loud EDM music piercing through his eardrums and he swears he catches a glimpse of a couple dry humping on the couch.

Because he’s not.

He’s at a college party, sure. He’s also getting some alcohol into his system– because why not, am I right? He’s not the one paying, and that’s always enough of a reason to drink. Is it the best college party he’s ever experienced, though? Absolutely not.

It’s quite literally the worst party he’s ever been to. The music is too loud and the whole house smells of cheap vodka, people are pushing each other around and with the amount of alcohol in his system, the whole room feels like he’s on a boat, his stomach weak and his eyes hazy. Renjun must admit Hyuck’s therapy skills are kind of paying off– because at least now he’s not thinking about the wasted opportunity of a summer scholarship and is instead looking into the eyes of his cute classmate from History class across the room– but at the same time, he’s not thinking much of anything in this moment, and the glint of your eyes is the only thing he can focus on when you get closer.

That might be a good or a bad thing– depends on how the encounter goes. There’s a fine line between the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to get rid of his usual shyness and speak to other, much more attractive human species, and the amount of alcohol that’s just perfect for Huang Renjun to black out and puke on the floor, efficiently making it impossible for him to chat up the cute classmate he’s been eyeing the whole semester and ruining his chances of ever being seen in a good light in front of the said person ever again. He prays intensely that he hasn’t crossed the line yet when you open your mouth and speak to him in the crowded kitchen.

“Renjun!”

“Y/N!” he tries to mimic your tone, a flashy grin settling onto his face when you approach him first. You two aren’t strangers, after all– you’ve sat together in class during various exams and also accidentally bumped into each other in the cafeteria, but what were your courageous attempts in making conversation with him and efficiently trying to make him more interested in you didn’t lead to your desired goal of getting invited out by him, instead leading him to think you’re just that friendly to everyone and not just him, making the chances of him taking the next step that much slimmer. Not tonight, though– he really must have had too much to drink.

“How are you?” you ask, clearing your throat as you bump into someone and decide to shift closer to Renjun, making the boy’s breathing hitch in his throat.

“Wonderful,” he gasps, and for some reason, the response laced in irony makes an excited laugh escape your throat, and the more he listens to your bubbly giggle, the more he wishes he did music instead of fine arts, because maybe if he was competent enough, he could mimic the sound in one of his songs and replay it over and over even when you’re not around. 

“That sounds very genuine,” you note, which makes the boy laugh in return, making him wonder if maybe he could have the same effect on you– if you’re smiling wider now because of the sound of his laughter, or if you’re just amused at something completely else. 

It’s pathetic, really– the gloomy boy that was trailing to this party behind his roommate Donghyuck is nowhere to be seen now, instead replaced by the cheap imitation of a ray of sunshine that you brought out of him only with the magic of a few words and the few drops of alcohol on his tongue.

“Oh, trust me, it was genuine,” he teases, and you only nod to his attempt at masking his obviously saddened composure from before.

“Having a rough week?” you ask, and you sound truly interested– something Renjun hasn’t found in the tone of his roommate when he insisted on dragging him here– and maybe that’s the reason why he just shrugs and decides to come clean and be honest with you. You seem like that kind of person that wouldn’t make fun of his troubles, the kind of person that would genuinely want to help– although he’s not seeking counseling tonight, he figures he can talk a bit about his shitty mood if it means that it gets the conversation flowing.

“A rough life, actually,” he snickers before he sees you eye him with a concerned look, “just joking,” he adds before he retracks back and fixes his initial answer. “Some things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to, so I’m kind of moping around for a bit.”

You seem to feel empathetic towards the boy, nodding and pouting at his confession. “Well, I hope things get fixed for you, Jun,” you mumble, tone of voice encouraging– and maybe he could dwell at the caring nature of you a little longer, only if it wasn’t for your use of a nickname for him that just oh so sweetly rolls of your tongue and Renjun wishes he could legally change his name to the nickname so he could listen to the way it sounds forever– scratch that, to the way it sounds from your mouth forever, which means he won’t change it, just so it’s reserved for you and only you to say.

“What about you, though?” he finds himself asking in the midst of his inner screeching.

“Me? I’m great, totally fine, having the time of my life,” you emphasize, the over-the-top expression on your face making the boy burst into laughter as you wave your arms around as if to show him your surroundings. “I am a party person for sure, you know, so this is perfect,” you joke, and Renjun seems to get the memo. If he’s being honest, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you at a party before– not that he goes to many himself, which might honestly be the reason, actually– you could just be at different parties in different times that hadn’t overlaid, but by the way you’re currently tensely sipping at the alcohol in your hand, he figures you’re not too familiar with the scene of college partying.

“Who forced you to go? Was it your roommate?” Renjun remembers the girl from another one of his classes– you two were always walking around together and often got to class at the same time. Figuring out that you two lived together wasn’t as difficult, and she surely seems to be the more extroverted one.

“No, actually,” you say, eyes glimmering when he seems to remember the girl you share a room with, “to my surprise, honestly. It was another one of my friends– Na Jaemin, not sure if you know him– but the moment we got here, he disappeared and left me alone to deal with my thoughts,” you click your tongue and Renjun finds himself totally mesmerized with you– amazed with everything about you; the way you talk, the way you lean on the counter and watch him with stars in your eyes (which might just be the reflections of the kitchen lights, but don’t tell him that), the way you slightly lean into him when he cracks a joke and earns a laugh out of you…

“They always do that,” Renjun scowls, “they drag the introvert in and then force them to survive on their own…” he shakes his head in disappointment, clearly distraught over the situation. 

“Exactly! But if you ask them to come with you to a picnic, or to the library, they decline the offer. So much for being good friends,” you roll your eyes. Renjun finds himself smiling, and although he must admit that as every other college student, he himself would decline an invitation to a library if anyone asked, he’s like 99% certain that if it was you uttering out the question, he wouldn’t miss a heartbeat before joyfully jogging there with you. 

“Ask me next time,” he blurts out, a poor attempt at flirting, “I wouldn’t say no.”

And it seems like tonight is the night where you suddenly get the last kick of courage needed when you talk to Renjun– maybe fueled by his coy smile when he said the previous comment, maybe just acting out on pure hormones– tonight's the night where he breathlessly takes your offer, still not thinking much of it, but igniting a curious spark in his own heart nonetheless, when you scratch the back of your neck in the last residue of anxiety, scrunching your nose at him and mumbling under your nose, barely heard above the loud music resonating through the living room. “Do you wanna sneak into my dorm room, then?” 

Renjun almost chokes at your question– visitors in the dormitory are only allowed until midnight and as far as he’s aware, the clock is well after 2 AM right now, and he’s a male visitor, which is even more off the bounds in the eyes of the fierce woman guarding the entrance of the girl’s dormitory building. The more he stares at you, the more you seem to translate his silence into disagreement, which you panically try to undo with even more rambling. “I- I mean, since we both kind of hate this party and I think that if I drink more, I’m going to puke all over myself, so… My room is on the ground floor, so you can just climb in, if you wanted to. My roommate went home for the weekend, so there’s no one there, and we could– I mean, we don’t have to, honestly, but it’s kinda cold out and I thought we could both use a place more silent, ‘cause I really wanna head back now, but I don’t want to stop talking to you, y’know, and I don’t know if–”

“Okay, I’m down,” Renjun nods, efficiently shutting up your rambling, and when there’s a very apparent relief flashing over your face, he finds himself smiling in endearance at your antics, going as far as ruffling a hand through your hair in whatever kick the alcohol mixed with adrenaline gave him before you have him dragging his feet out of the house, both of your feet shuffling towards the campus.

The walk isn’t long, but he finds himself enjoying it. The condensation coming out of your mouths at the chilly weather serves more to the atmosphere when the both of you giggle out at absurd jokes and gossip, your voice breaking into soft hums when you sing a song under your breath in moments of silence that somehow feel both kind of awkward, but also kind of pleasant. He drags you by your hand to the other side of the sidewalk when a car passes by and you jump in surprise, eyes wide and glossy, mouth a little agape in an open-mouthed grin when his fingers stay intertwined with yours and you adjust your purse on your other shoulder, clearing your throat before you try to nonchalantly continue on with the conversation.

“I’ll go inside now,” you announce when you get to the girl’s dormitory building, breaking apart from the eager boy and coming closer to him when you confide the secret, “I’ll turn the light on in my room when I get there, so make sure to look out for the window. I’ll help you in, don’t worry,” you smile at him, and before he has a chance to reply, you disappear behind the glass door with a pep in your step. 

Renjun finds himself sighing– now is the moment when he should realistically get relief, the moment when he’s supposed to relax for at least a second and prepare himself for whatever might happen in your dorm room– but when he slowly walks over to the left wing of the building and squints at the dark squares of windows, he wonders how in the hell he’s gonna climb in. Escaping out will be an easy task– the windows aren’t that high up– but coming in will be the problem. He guesses it’s the same with the whole situation– he bets the easiest part of the whole evening will be jumping out and running to his own room– how to survive the night in your presence and not go completely insane, he doesn’t know and wishes he had a manual to before he agreed to do this in the first place.

When the light goes on in one of the rooms and you wave at him from the inside, he finds himself involuntarily jogging towards the window, gears in his brain turning faster than the speed of light when he reaches the wall and you grin at him, opening the window and offering him your hand. 

“If you grip the edge of the window and give me your hand, you can get in easily,” you say, watching as the boy cautiously looks around himself and scratches the back of his neck, mentally calculating his next movements.

“Have you done this before?”

“No,” you bashfully shake your head, “but my roommate did it twice, so I don’t think it’s that hard,” you note and nod at him, waiting for him to finally take action. 

Renjun finds himself doing what he’s been told– and even though he huffs and almost falls over to his back (which would kill him, he thinks, since his physique is very close to a turtle’s), victory fills his veins when one of his legs finally ends up in your window, his body stumbling forward and almost toppling you over when the warmth of your room welcomes him as he lands on top of your desk. 

“Welcome,” you laugh at him when he shakes his head in disbelief and takes off his coat, dropping it on top of the wooden table and watching you close the window behind him, so the cold doesn’t get in. 

“That’s one way of inviting guests over, I guess,” he teases you, watching as you roll your eyes at him and go over to one of the beds. Renjun notices the room is different to the one he shares with Donghyuck– you and your roommate have two beds instead of a bunk one, the table is right under the window and you get a little more space over-all. You turn on the little lamp kept on your bedside table, and the boy watches you with interest as you cautiously walk around your own room as if it’s your first time seeing it, reminding him a little of a deer in the headlights, clueless and suddenly out of ideas.

Renjun finds himself laughing at your behavior– he finds himself endeared by it, the way you play with your fingers in nerves and try to think of anything to do in the intimacy that suddenly envelopes you when you invite someone over to your dorm room in the middle of the night– and when you aimlessly end up standing in front of him, your big eyes even bigger and glossier than before, he snickers at the state of you and shakes his head.

“Okay, so I know I was the one who invited you over, but now I’m kind of helpless in what we should actually do and all…” you giggle, a little embarrassed when you bear your eyes into his, your body subconsciously slotted in between his legs, his position leaning on the edge of the table allowing you and inviting you to do so. 

“You’re cute,” he laughs at you, and before you have a chance to question him about the compliment, he has you silenced abruptly by his next actions.

“What do you–”

His hand is gripping your jaw and he leans into you, the newly found courage and affection towards you having him drunk on more than the alcohol, but also your whole presence– the way your hair smells when he’s this close to you, the way you pull the sleeves of your sweater further down when you don’t know what to do with your hands, the shyness in your gaze now that you have him in your cage– and his lips act on themselves when they press themselves against yours, soft but firm, tasting the strawberry juice mixed with vodka off your mouth, a surprised gasp against his lips more than enough to invite him even further in.

He feels your fingers tugging at his shirt and your skin growing hot under his touch, leaning back from you a little and finding you looking at him with a thousand different galaxies in your eyes, enough of a confirmation to him, but he’s a man– he still needs it vocally, when he grins lazily at you. “Was this one of the things you thought about when you invited me over?”

“Maybe…” you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, a clearly battled grin trying to settle its way onto your lips.

“You should’ve just said so, then,” he smiles when he leans into you again, a little more confidently this time and kisses you again, again and again.

You stay under the window for a while, lips pressed hard against each other as you try to learn the curves of each other’s mouths by memory, lazy hands threaded into his hair and an arm around your waist now, steadying you in place. Foreheads pressed against each other when you break away for air, giggles resonating through the room when his lips make their way towards your neck and the softness of his hair tickles your skin, fingers threaded when you tug him towards your bed and you watch him kick his shoes off before you follow him onto the soft mattress.

His head falls into your pillow and you straddle his lap, your hair falling into your face when you look down at him from your position, the newly found dominance in your position charging you with unexplainable energy, and Renjun can’t help but smile at you sweetly when your eyes meet and you eagerly lean down towards him, fingers once again intertwined with his, hands laying next to his head. Your breath fans his swollen lips that you once again find yourself attacking, the contact overwhelming you and making it hard to breathe. Who knows how long the both of you have wanted to do this but never had the courage to– it’s a miracle that it’s even happening tonight.

And with the built-up desire, you act instinctively– hands breaking away from his when you grip his cheeks and give him one last peck, lips now traveling down his jaw and neck instead, having the boy shivering under the contact, your actions slowly but surely driving him crazy when you find his sweet spot and you get a satisfied gasp from him, a reward for your tonight’s efforts.

His hand grips your hip, and something about the burn of his fingers even through the fabric of your jeans makes you move on instinct, earning yourself a sharper hiss this time that doesn’t make you stop, however– quite the opposite, actually– as you break into a wide grin at the very evident effect you have on him, your movements slow and painful, but still having him harden under you.

Goosebumps appear all over your skin when his cold fingers capture the skin of your stomach when he aimlessly tries to find a place in your body to ground yourself, but the more he answers to your movements, the more encouraged you get. He tugs you back down so you’re facing him, which does nothing to halt your painful pace as he drags out yet another kiss from you. 

“If we don’t stop now, it’s gonna be really hard for me to do so later,” Renjun huffs into your ear, which only gets you more excited.

“Who said I want to stop?” you ask him, fingers trailing up his side over his shirt, yet still making him fire up and flush in his cheeks. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do I look like I wanna stop?” he snickers, shaking his head in utter disbelief, hand traveling dangerously close to the cup of your breast.

“Let’s continue, then,” you muse, peeling yourself off him only the slightest amount, hands dragging themselves down his body until you reach the waistband of his pants, gently dragging the fabric down until he’s left in front of you only with a tent in his underwear, big eyes curiously and breathlessly watching you in your actions. He could be a gentleman and tell you you don’t have to, tell you to stop and come back up and that he will pleasure you first, but the more he watches you as you palm him over the thin fabric of his boxer briefs with the dangerous doe eyes of yours, the less he wants to do just that. In all reality– who is he to deny a blowjob from you? Or anyone, for that matter?

His whole body shudders under your touch, actions careful, but so painfully satisfying. Renjun watches your face with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the reality of it all sobering him up and making him aware of each shift of your body, each centimeter your fingertip travels against his skin, each motion that slowly makes a bundle of nerves appear in his stomach. It only gets too much for him when you lean on your elbows, nails gently pricking the skin of his thighs as your mouth hesitantly greets his dick, and he feels like a virgin again when his eyes peel off you just in case he finishes just by watching you blowing him off like a highschooler at his first blowjob, forcing himself to watch the ceiling instead.

Eyes traveling all over your room– the closed window opposite of him, the bed on the other side of the room, the walls above your bed– he gets lost in the galaxy drawn on a piece of paper that’s plastered right above your pillowcase, and another graphite sketch of eyes bearing right into your soul, as if they were watching him in the act, and another one, of a deer that looks through the shade of the trees, before it hits him.

“Oh my god what the fuck–” he gasps, and his tone must have sounded too different to the satisfied moans that have been spilling out of his mouth up until now, because you abruptly stop your movements and your gazes lock, your eyes completely mortified.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Oh– Oh god no, fuck, you’re doing amazing, trust me,” apologies spill off his tongue at your distressed state, “it’s just– where… where did you get these?” he asks, pointing towards all the drawings taped all over your walls that he failed to notice in the heat of the moment before.

“Oh,” you cluelessly hum, eyebrows furrowed, “I found them spilling out of a trashcan close to the boy’s dorms when I was walking to class one morning, and they were so pretty I had to take them.”

“I– you like these?” Renjun asks, full of strange surprise and genuine curiosity. You’re now sitting back on your heels and looking at the boy with big eyes, still slightly clueless and very much in a weird state of distress– because why would a man ask you about the random artwork on your wall in the middle of a mindblowing blowjob?– before you nod with a slight pout, agreeing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have decorated my room with them if I didn’t like them, y’know… Why are you… why are you asking?”

“Oh,” Renjun repeats again, a dumbfounded look taking over his soft features before he sits up on the bed and scoots closer to you, a weird sense of euphoria spilling out every vein of his body when the held-back dopamine is released into his system. A wide grin appears on his lips before he stares into your eyes with a milky way mirroring behind his eyeballs, glittering orbs haphazardly gliding over your face before he reaches your lips again, pecking them one, two, three times before you break away and look at him with furrowed eyebrows, a slight crease right in between them.

“What are you–”

“I think I’m gonna literally cum just at hearing those words, Y/N,” he blurbs out before he kisses the tip of your nose again, completely endeared and close to a happy boy under the Christmas tree, and while you may enjoy that look on him, you’re still slightly confused. Huang Renjun sighs almost a little too dreamingly and smooths the wrinkle between your eyebrows with a careful swipe of his thumb, still not giving you any explanation.

“Renjun, I’m afraid I’m not quite following why this is so important to you right now,” you mumble, having your partner laugh airly– just as if all his worries escaped through the window and you fixed his life with a few drawings plastered on your wall.

“Those, dear Y/N,” he points towards the papers stuck to your walls, eyeing the specific one he worked for 3 hours on and kind of mourned the morning after he realized he threw it away, months of practice and art that maybe wasn’t even that bad in the first place ending up in the trash because of a fit of rage, “are all mine. Mine as in, I drew them… And then threw them out in the middle of a slight mental breakdown.”

You look at him for a few heartbeats, eye contact never breaking before you avert your gaze towards the artwork on the walls– it takes you a few seconds before it hits you– and you gasp, hurriedly looking back at the artist in front of you, stars glimmering in your eyes now as well, matching his excitement. “Oh my god, are you for real?”

“Yeah.”

“You drew all of these?”

“Yeah,” he nods again, breathless.

“This is an insane coincidence,” you snicker, and Renjun didn’t know he had it in him– maybe it’s still the effect of alcohol that slips off his tongue when he speaks– but he cages you in his arms as he kisses you again, a whole new world appearing in front of him when the cheesiness meets the comfort of your walls.

“You’d call this a coincidence?” he hums. “Maybe it was fate.”

Earning himself a sharp laugh, almost mocking him as you swat his shoulder, you fall back with him towards the mattress, and while the heated moment might be gone, you don’t mind at all. Renjun looks at you with a certain softness in his eyes, a pride swelling in his chest, and for a moment, it’s true and you truly did open up a new reality for him and changed his life forever, fixed all of his problems, if you will, because the appreciation it takes for a girl to tape up at least 20 of his messy artworks onto her wall after finding the stash in the trashcan on her way to class might just be the encouragement he needed to keep going with the craft. 

It’s hard to believe that this shitty party actually brought him somewhere– not only to your bed, but also to your life, to a beginning of something new and a restart in something he thought he’d forever be giving up on.

“So… Do you need those back? Because I kinda like them here,” you giggle, and the crinkle of his eyes is enough of an answer to you.

“You can keep them. I’ll just draw new ones you can look at,” he muses, stealing another kiss from you and squeezing your hip, having you squeal against his mouth.

“Now, to get back to what we were doing before–”

#nct #nct dream #renjun #renjun x reader #renjun fluff #renjun smut #renjun scenario #renjun fic #renjun drabble #nct dream scenario #nct dream reaction #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagine #renjun imagine

[narwhalandchill]

how are we feeling about this project amber update

assuming this is in relation to childe bc who the fuck else JWDJWJKDJKW anon im so sorry if not. also so so sorry for how out of hand this got. i am simply unwell about him.

But! Well. there certainly are thoughts

(obviously 4.6 datamine of arle SQ and her voicelines; This Will Not Spoil Anything Abt The Main SQ Plot, i only discuss the relevant parts. also some p Heavy negativity towards fanon ooc at the start youve been warned dont @ me)

(i mean i didnt even read anything of the SQ but The scene w childe so idek the main plot of the quest rly either lmao. tho go at ur own risk if u wanna check the dialogue out; its the 2nd quest log but it does hint at the greater story)

TLDR: how i feel abt his appearance in a vaccuum? quite solid despite the briefness, actually. accounting for the way fanon is 100% likely going to be reading into this and turning it into the Lets Infantilize Ajax Even More 2024 championship? conflicted.

in other words; a certified labyrinth warriors moment - theyve expanded on childes character in a very interesting and quite a compelling way and while i Do like the potential in what im seeing from hoyos end theyve also done it so that its going to be misinterpreted to hell and back by fanon so i kinda have an immediate jaded love-hate moment going on JJWJDKJDKJWJDWKJ

its literally just labyrinth warriors flashbacks - that event has some of my ALL TIME favorite insights into who ajax is and how he views the world and himself but when the event came out all everyone cared abt was to warp it into baby boy stuck in scawwy paper boy dungeon dehumanizes himself by calling himself a weapon and doesnt love himself he is such a sad trauma meowkitten 🥺🥺so yeah

bc like lets look at this properly for a bit; okay he went back to fontaine to look for skirk still somewhat injured and waa waa my 286 month infant baby cannot Make decisions like that!!!!!11! which is to say. i am tired of him getting this shit every time.

is it smart of him to get on the move immediately with just the bare minimum of rest? no. do i like that hes straining himself before proper recovery? not particularly no. do i feel the particular need to psychoanalyze this grown man and feared warrior whos 100% survived Way Worse in Way More Extreme Situations for it? hell fucking no.

while not at all the course of action a medical professional would approve of. from childes POV its perfectly logical hes priorizing going back for skirk when its literally the FIRST TIME shes showed up in like. a Decade. when hes been looking for her all this time are you kidding me 😭😭😭 but fanon must keep fanoning for their widdle baby girl so what does a hater like me know

anyway. seething and venting over im gonna try to avoid bringing up how much i hate this kinda infantilization of ajax now im sorry for bringing it up so much on ur innocent ask anon KJWDJKWKJDJDKWJKD. neutral discussion moment. i Promise

so it seems that theyre going for the pulcinella-is-shady-about-ajax (and prolly his family) angle for good and like. personally for me as long as the only real source of that claim was scara (a cynical edgelord who doesnt believe in non-exploitative human relationships, mind you) i was rather skeptical towards just instantly drawing that conclusion, but well. with the scene in arles AQ it appears to be sth theyre building towards

i actually really fucking loved that scene bc while theres outsider perspectives (scara obvi; and even arles line for him has that vibe. and ppl still take that shit face value 💀💀) and a lot of fandom assuming childes like. completely clueless and naive and ignorant towards the potential risks involved with trusting pulcinella. this is actually a very clever demonstration of quite the opposite? and showcasing how despite his aversion towards schemes and lies hes still intelligent and knows the kind of people hes dealing with when it comes to his fellow harbingers

like. childe has a negative opinion of arle based on what pulcinella has told him about her because at face value many of her deeds are in heavy conflict with his values of loyalty and family. and because he does not have the further context behind her actions and what the HotH under her is really like. Obviously hed hold a very hostile and wary view towards arlecchino

(ESPECIALLY when with all this biased intel hes still going to run into kids from the house!!! and then hes going wtf? these are good kids. what the hell is that knave doing with them??? blink twice if you need help i will start a civil war for yall like thats how he is with kids!!!!)

so YES. pulcinella has given him if not false then at least misleading intel based on the political tension between himself and arlecchino and the wider HotH. and childes taken that at face value! sure! he is close with pulcinella of course he would!

BUT. THEN. he returns to fontaine and seeks arlecchinos help looking for skirk. and observes her behavior and modus operandi for himself as well as the kids. does he go "nah she must be just hiding the crazy evil shit i would never distrust pulcinella" and leave it at that when reality doesnt completely match his expectations?

NO. because when offered the opportunity through the traveler asking about the HotH childe immediately capitalizes on the opportunity to prod for answers and see if pulcinella is lying to him!!!!

and hes so fucking smart with the way he does it too???? i LOVE his intelligence. the entire thing is so simple yet elegant; it Completely relies on his reputation as the kinda gullible harbinger whod Never scheme or hide Anything to indirectly affirm or deny his suspicions. he doesnt Need to Pretend to care about the possibility of arle betraying the kids bc he genuinely does!! and when she pushes back against the accusation he doesnt Need to fake admitting to her that well, actually, its all just rumors so he could be completely wrong. and so on. like he navigates the entire thing so effortlessly. and whats the end result?

childe has Confirmation of pulcinellas possible ulterior motives in action AND that arlecchino is a much more reliable ally than he initially assumed. all the while appearing as just The Straightforward 11th. like obviously id need to hear it voiced first to be sure but in text it v much gives the impression hes almost kinda just. playing up the threats towards arle and being "dumb" on Purpose?? to get the answers he wanted out of arle without appearing like hes fishing for anything particular. and i just hhhhhhhhhhh

i love when he does this so muchhhh!!!!!! 😭😭 he doesnt need to become some machiavellian schemer to be able to strategize !!!!!! he avoids scheming bc he Dislikes it not bc hes incapable of it like this has Always been the case Since Liyue AQ and i love whenever they show that side of himm . my Beloved

so anyway. while i do still think the like "pulcinella is bad and has his family hostage" is still kind of a generic plotline and i hope the writing regarding the whole thing wont ultimately turn out to be sth That simplified and black and white. its p clear theyre doing Something with pulcinellas motivations and as they are. im Really glad theyre letting it show that childes not just some completely passive party being manipulated in this all. he Is thinking abt this stuff and his position among the harbingers. ig we shall see where it goes - not the greatest fan of the concept still, but canon text supports it becoming a thing way more than when it was just scaras word we had for it. hope theyll surprise me positively w how they go about it!

then briefly for the rest uhh

also loved arle and childe just shittalking the rest of the harbingers it was amazing. i wasnt expecting this kinda dynamic between them at all but its great lmao. also i wanna see childe hang out w the HotH kids

as for project stuzha; so we dont really get anything solid on it other than being summoned back to snezhnaya for it is apparently a Big Deal. but still very interested. let my man have his endgame significance Trust

childes appearance was obviously v brief ultimately but that was clear from his leaked linecount to begin with - i am pretty satisfied with what they seem to have done w him. like its not The Best but also i wasnt expecting his lore to get some massive expansion in another harbingers SQ . the worst i feared was that it was just going to be a flashback of arle returning his vision which did Not happen so massive W. i am super hyped to hear this scene voice acted proper and happy to see him again, i really hope he gets to appear at least once more in an interlude or dains quest or something before going on hiatus again but idk if thats too much to ask LKKWJDJWDJWD

also: i am never changing my namecard after this patch drops. oh my godddddddd its So Fucking Beautiful 😭😭😭😭

But. Yeah. lots of good stuff. unfortunately lots of it will get misinterpreted and fanon will get obnoxious about it. but i still love getting to see him again and i am speedrunning that namecard day fucking one mutuals and/or followers in EU please add me (UID 711090267) ill need coop buddies for the world bosses

thank youuuuuuu for the ask i hope this monstrosity of a monologue doesnt scare u off 💀💀💀

#im actually so sorry for dumping this on you anon i Really hope this was what you were referring to bc . if not then JJWDJKADJKDW #ill feel horrible 😭😭😭😭 but also. this is the brand i have no clue What Else would it be #i Guess it could be about arlecchino as a whole ? im sorry anon i didnt actually read the entire SQ log so idk yet how it all goes #but sure ask me abt my arle thoughts if ud like after this jumpscare once the patch has gone live jjkjkdjkwjkjkdw #also 286 months is 23 years 10 months. no i dont have an age hc for him set in stone or anything but eh . its in the ballpark #asks #aaaand unsurprisingly this goes into #childeposting #genshin

[flowerui]

♫ three little words (dedicate them to me), cyj

fluff, 4.8k words ୨୧ oh my god they were roommates :0 sorry to any academic weapons reading, im projecting a bit as an academic failure lol

wherein it only takes you about twenty-nine years to realize you're in love with your best friend... at least you got there!

꒰ requested. gender neutral reader (no pronouns or gendered terms used), reader is younger, unspecified age difference (but its implied that theyre very close in age), childhood friends to lovers, nonidol au, roommates, idiots in love, time skips, aging up, alcohol/drinking, a bit dialogue heavy, vomit is mentioned a few times, friend group ot4 ꒱

It’s hard to recall a time without Yeonjun; he appeared one day and stuck to you, almost as if he were a stubborn thorn in your side (said endearingly, of course).

It must’ve been when you were still in kindergarten—right, Yeonjun and his parents had moved in next door, and your moms both became friends and arranged a play date. Yeonjun had brought his PlayStation over and let you play it with him, so, obviously, to five-year-old you, that made the two of you best friends right away.

“Are you almost done?” Yeonjun bemoans from your bedroom floor, urging you to look up from your piles of textbooks and worksheets finally.

“No, I told you I needed to study and that you should go to your own house, you bum. Just ‘cause you don’t give a shit about your education doesn't mean I don’t.”

“You almost flunked last year. And you’re only studying because your mom saw you got a three out of a hundred on your algebra test,” Yeonjun deadpans, “how do you even score that bad?” Ugh, lucky, naturally academically gifted asshole. You roll your eyes and toss a pencil at his stupid face.

“Whatever,” you grumble, it’s not your fault you can’t be an academic weapon, and that school is whooping your ass instead with academics as a weapon. “I feel like my brain is about to start leaking out of my ears anyway, wanna go to yours?”

Yeonjun grins, sitting up from your floor with a start, finally regaining some of his earlier excitement before he had to wait nearly four hours (all of which were spent pestering you) while you attempted to study. “I ditched school yesterday to get a copy of Resident Evil 4 from GameStop.”

“What the hell—and you didn’t invite me?” you whine, “That’s cold, you better let me try it first.”

It’s hours later into the evening when you’re watching Yeonjun attempt to get through the wretched cabin section that you died approximately… thirteen times trying to get through, that he says, “You remember that guy, Taehyun, right? In my AP History class.”

“Mhm,” you hum, blinking your bleary eyes at Yeonjun’s TV screen from your very comfortable spot on his couch.

“He doesn’t usually talk a whole lot to me, but today, I couldn’t get him to shut up,” Yeonjun huffs a laugh as he maneuvers the character, Leon, up the stairs on screen, seemingly making it farther than you could. “He was complaining though, ‘cause he was partnered with this person who was into me. He couldn’t get any work done, they were just bugging him about me.”

You tear your focus from the TV to look at the side of Yeonjun’s face, you can see part of his furrowed brow and pursed lips. “Oh.”

It doesn’t surprise you that a lot of people seem to be interested in Yeonjun at school. In middle school, people started coming up to you, asking if you’d put in a good word for them with Yeonjun, because they ‘like-liked’ him, and you were his best friend. Then, it was at the end of eighth grade that you started telling those people to grow a pair and talk to him themselves.

You suppose you kind of understand. Yeonjun’s nice when he’s not being a little shit… and he’s not horrible to look at, one might even say he’s good-looking.

“Are you into them?” The question seems to roll off your tongue easily, but you’re not even sure why you asked, you don’t think you want to know. For some reason, thinking about it churns your stomach a bit.

“...No, I mean, they’re pretty, but,” Yeonjun sighs, tossing his controller to the side as he dies a second time. “they seem kinda… much. I dunno, Taehyun said they literally wouldn’t talk to him about anything besides me the entire class. It kinda weirded me out.”

“Hm, yeah.” You hum, a weird feeling of… relief washing over you. Yeonjun’s mom comes in to ask if you’re staying for dinner before you can think about it too hard.

Later that night, when you’re stuck staring blankly at your ceiling, you decide you were just relieved that Yeonjun wasn’t going to end up with some overly possessive weirdo. It’d suck to lose your best friend that way.

“Please do not throw up, because if you throw up, then I’m gonna throw up.”

“I’m not gonna throw up,” Yeonjun insists, but it doesn’t sound all too credible with the way he slurs his words, maybe you’ve also had too much to drink, but you swear he looks a little green. “I… am perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Uhuh.”

“Don’t ‘uhuh’ me,” Yeonjun grumbles with an attempted glare, you find that you can’t take him all too seriously, though; the flush on his cheeks, his inability to keep his eyes open for more than five seconds, and his perpetual pout make it all too difficult. “Oh, I—I think I’m gonna hurl.” He braces himself against the bar, eyes suddenly more awake.

That would be the reason you end up in a grimy bathroom on your twenty-first, making sure your best friend’s hair is out of the way as he empties the contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl.

“Why’d you drink so much, you know you’re a lightweight.” You ask when Yeonjun seems to be done, frowning as you wipe off his mouth with a paper towel.

“Am not,” he protests petulantly. “I was just—I just felt like it ‘cause I thought it’d make me feel better ‘nd I could stop thinking about other shit.”

“Did something happen?”

“...I stopped seeing that person I told you about.”

“Why? I thought it was going well?” ‘Well’ might be a bit of an overstatement. Like most of Yeonjun’s partners, you didn’t hear a whole lot about this new one, met them once for a brief moment, then didn’t hear of them again. It seems to be a common theme in Yeonjun’s relationships—his fleeting interest, you haven’t figured out if you should say anything about it.

“It was just, um. ‘M not over someone…. I didn’t feel right staying in a relationship knowing I’m still not over someone else.”

Oddly enough, that felt rather sobering to hear. You hum, stomach feeling a little off—you hope you aren’t going to throw up next… “You haven’t told me about that, wanna talk about it? It might feel better than drinking too much and throwing up in a disgusting bathroom. Don’t quote me on that, though.”

Yeonjun blinks slowly, then chuckles, “I’ll tell you about it some other time, I just really want to be in bed right now.”

Instead of getting an Uber or something, you trudge down the sidewalk with a clingier-than-usual Yeonjun, who barely manages to walk in a straight line. You internally celebrate when your apartment building comes into view; one of you seriously needs to get a car.

You have to convince Yeonjun to shower before you, almost like a petulant child. 

And apparently, wanting to be in bed means taking up most of your mattress and hogging your blankets for the night, because when you finish showering, you return to your room to find your bed occupied. You could just steal Yeonjun’s bed for the night… but you end up just crawling into bed beside him, listlessly trying to reclaim your covers.

He never ended up telling you about this mystery person he’s not over.

“I just don’t think it’s going to work out.” You sigh.

“But why? I thought things between us were going great, I—”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see this relationship progressing any further.”

“But, I—I told my mom about you! You can’t leave me, I love you!”

“Ugh, you asshole,” you cry out as Yeonjun pretends to cry hysterically and shakes you by your shoulders, “You’re supposed to be taking this seriously and helping me!”

Yeonjun cackles as you shove him away, “I mean he could react like that, couldn’t he?” Then, he sighs and places his hands on your shoulders—not shaking you this time. “Okay, seriously, it’s going to be fine, you’ll be in a public space, so worst case scenario, he embarrasses himself.”

“You’re right… ugh, I’m gonna be late.”

“You’re the one who wanted to rehearse the conversation again.”

Before sending you off, Yeonjun smushes your face, cooing, “Okay, go dump your boyfriend, my duckling, I’ll be waiting here with takeout and beer.”

“You are a grown-ass man.” You deadpan before you’re finally off.

It’s been a good few months since you started seeing this new guy—his name’s Mark, you realized you liked him enough to make things more official after several good dates. But, you’ve already been considering breaking things off with him for a while now; you seem to have this recurring issue when it comes to relationships… You just can’t seem to envision a future that includes your partner, even when it’s going well you ultimately lose interest.

Mark seems like a good guy, too, which makes you feel worse, but it’d be even worse to just lead him on, right? That’s what you continue reminding yourself as you trudge into a nice café that will be tainted by the memory of you dumping a nice guy for the rest of your life. You’ll never be able to enjoy the sweet treats of ‘Arcadia’ ever again.

“Hey, there you are,” Mark smiles as you take the seat across from him.

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I had to help my roommate out.” A fib, even though your mother tells you honesty is the best policy. Well, she lied about Santa and the tooth fairy; besides, your fib sounds nicer than ‘I was rehearsing how to break up with you with my best friend’.

“No worries.”

“Um,” it’s better to just get it over with, you remind yourself, just rip the bandaid off, “so, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound too good,” Mark chuckles, then clears his throat and continues when you don’t laugh, “What’s up?”

With a deep breath, you let it spill out all at once, “I don’t think this is going to work out, I just don’t see us—this relationship going any further. I’m sorry and I hope you can understand.” Okay, that wasn’t too scary, if you’re ignoring your shaky, clammy palms against your knees.

Mark nods, then looks down at his lap, then back at you, “I guess I should’ve seen it coming, I mean, I’ve seen the way you and your roommate look at each other.”

“Uh… you what?”

“You don’t have to play dumb about it, it’s obvious the both of you are in love. Guess I just liked you so much I hoped I could change your mind.” Mark sighs, “I think I’m gonna… go, sorry.” He says, then leaves you to spiral.

‘Obvious the both of you are in love’? You and Yeonjun? That’s ridiculous, right?

Leaving what was once your favorite café in a daze, you’re suddenly glad that you’d decided to walk instead of drive; you barely register entering your apartment complex, and unlocking your door.

“Hey,” Yeonjun is on the couch, takeout and a pack of beer spread on the coffee table as promised, “how’d it go?”

“It went fine,” you say with a smile that doesn’t quite make its way to your eyes, “he took it as well as he could have.” It’s weird, that you don’t just word vomit out every small detail, like you tend to with Yeonjun. But somehow, something about divulging everything feels weirder, so in a rare twist of events, you keep quiet.

Seemingly taking the hint that that’s going to be all you say for the time being, Yeonjun changes the topic, “Go change so we can eat, the new episode of The Vampire Diaries is literally about to start in like two seconds.”

“What the hell! I didn’t think I was gone for that long!” You shriek and make a run for it to your room to change out of your outside clothes.

Yeonjun snorts when you return, plopping onto the couch while trying to catch your breath. “I lied, there’s still like half an hour.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you hiss, and pummel him with the nearest throw pillow.

“I’m starting to think I’m gonna end up alone,” with a grunt, you tug your blanket up higher, “why’re we both so bad at relationships?”

“Rude,” Yeonjun flicks your forehead, and if you weren’t so cozy, full of food, and three cans of beer drunker, you might’ve sat up to take your revenge. But alas, moving even a mere inch feels like a herculean effort.

“You’re rude,” you stick your tongue out at him childishly. “Y’know I didn’t mean it like that, though, right?”

“I know.”

“Mm. Maybe…” You focus your bleary eyes on Yeonjun’s face above you. Even from this unfortunate angle, from where your head rests on his lap, he looks so… “If we’re not… If we’re still single by the time we’re thirty-four, I think we should just marry each other.”

Yeonjun laughs, “Okay, I think it’s bedtime, don’t you have work in the morning?”

If you hadn’t fallen asleep right then, you might’ve clapped back with a witty response, or you might’ve sat up, and looked at Yeonjun dead in the eyes and told him that you were serious.

“No, Mom, I am still not in a relationship,” you pause, then sigh, “Yes, I know I’m not getting any younger. And, no, I’m not gonna—wait, what?”

“You heard me, I asked when you’re going to give in and just marry Yeonjun. I like him, he’d be a nice son-in-law, he practically already is at this point!”

Only mothers would have the audacity. You have to pull your phone away from your ear to stare at the outgoing call screen in astonishment. “What… are you talking about?” You ask when you bring your phone back to your ear.

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve been living together since you were what, nineteen? Neither of you dates anymore, you spend all your free time together…You may as well get hitched at this point, instead of denying your poor mother the opportunity of watching her child get married any longer.”

You perk up at the call of your name, seeing two of your coworkers rush over, “Hey—random question—how early do you think is too early to get engaged? Lia’s only been with her partner for like three months, and they’re already engaged! You’ve been with your boyfriend for years, right? And neither of you has proposed?”

“Uh? My… boyfriend?”

“Yeah? Your boyfriend, his name’s Yeonjun, right?”

“Oh, he’s not my… He’s just my best friend.” You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing, the fact that all this time, it seemed like you and Yeonjun were dating, or having to tell two of your coworkers that you are actually painfully single. It doesn’t make it any better that the majority of your coworkers, while nice, are known for gossiping—all mostly harmless.

You expect your mother to make you feel bad about your relationship status (out of love), but not your coworkers.

“It’s weird, lately, I’ve realized that people think me and Yeonjun are together…? My mom even told me to just go and marry him, like?”

“Oh, you poor sweet summer child…”

“Have you still seriously not realized?” Taehyun pipes up beside Kai who regards you with a pitiful look. What’s up with everyone lately? You’re starting to feel like you’re the only one missing something.

“Realized what?”

“Oh, you’re hopeless.” Taehyun laments, looking as if he’s about ready to tear his hair out or reach across the dining table to knock some sense into you.

Ideally, you’d like to think you’re not at all oblivious. But, after many strange occurrences, you can’t help but consider: that you’ve never properly thought of Yeonjun that way—in a romantic sense. He’s always just been Yeonjun; the only person who you know for a fact you can trust with anything, and the only person who will stick with you despite all of your bullshit, like a stubborn thorn you can’t seem to be rid of (not that that’s an issue). He’s your everything, really.

When you imagine your future, you always see him fit in there somehow—but it occurs to you that as someone who’s never had a complete interest in marriage, or any romantic relationships for a long time for that matter, you could imagine walking down the aisle with Yeonjun, and more. Not only that, but you like imagining it.

Oh.

How dense can one be to fail to realize they’ve been in love with their best friend all this time? After nearly three decades of friendship, it’s seriously taken you this long to get to this conclusion? All those failed relationships you tried so hard to make work, it was all for nothing, because you couldn’t realize what you felt for what you already had! So much time wasted…

“Are you feeling okay?” Yeonjun apparates beside you, a palm carefully tracing circles over your upper back.

You feel bad for how you jolt away from him, seeing the surprise and mild hurt pass over his features in a split second. If you didn’t know Yeonjun like the back of your hand, you might’ve missed it. “...Sorry, I dunno—I’ve been kind of out of it lately, I think I just need to relax.”

“You haven’t been overworking yourself again, have you?”

“No…”

Yeonjun gives you a look as though he doesn’t quite believe you, but drops it. This time, you don’t jump away like frightened prey when he touches you—wraps around your side. “Let’s watch something tonight? I’ve been hearing about this new Kdrama called ‘My Demon’.”

“That sounds straight out of Wattpad… I’ll order the food.”

“Happy birthday,” Yeonjun sings as he saunters into your bedroom at… way too early in the morning. But all’s forgiven with the realization he comes bearing gifts—food. “What’s that, thirty-four punches I’m gonna have to give you, now? Fuck, you’re old,” he says as he sets down a delectable-looking plate of your favorite breakfast on your nightstand.

“Shut up, you’re older than me.” You narrow your eyes, sitting up to reach for your birthday breakfast.

“And if you punch me thirty-four times, you will not live to see another day, Choi.”

Getting older has meant that your birthdays have become a lot less eventful, but you haven’t quite minded it. They’re spent with your favorite person, anyway, so no complaints on your end.

Yet, somehow, you end up on a beach on the night of your birthday, sitting on a beach towel Yeonjun had neatly spread out and admiring the night sky. You’d had a simple plan to laze around at home all day, eat something good for dinner, drink a little more than you should, and then sleep like the dead. However, Yeonjun had other plans when he’d announced the night before that he was taking you on a day trip the next morning. ‘It’s only a six-hour drive’, he’d said, because he’s insane.

You suppose you had a little more to your original plan… you guess you also intended to profess your newly realized love for your best friend, and potentially ruin about twenty-nine years of friendship if things happened to go wayward. Well, you still intend on getting that over with.

“Happy birthday,” Yeonjun says once more, as he returns from the car with an unopened bottle of wine and two wine glasses. Huh, you guess that’s why he took so long to grab something to drink from the ‘cooler’, actually... do either of you even own a cooler? “Better appreciate this wine, it was pricey.”

“I distinctly recall telling you not to spend much on me this year,” you sigh, but you’re staring down the bottle, “and you already arranged this impromptu trip.”

“Well, I wanted to, it’s not every day you turn thirty-four.” Yeonjun doesn’t add anything else, as he hands you the bottle of wine; you decide not to call out how he can’t meet your eyes properly.

Cabernet Sauvignon 1999, the bottle reads. You don’t know much about wine—you’re not that old yet—just that it usually tastes good. “Is it good? I don’t think I’ve tried Cabernet Sauvignon, have I?”

“You haven’t, I think you’ll like it. It would’ve gone well with dinner.”

You hum, taking a corkscrew handed to you, as Yeonjun takes a seat beside you.

A couple of glasses later, you blurt, “Thanks. For this—the trip, dinner. And the wine. I like it a lot.” It’s not quite what you’d meant to say, in such a stilted manner. You guess you need a little more liquid courage, as you pour yourself another glass.

“I can tell, that’s like your third glass.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, as Yeonjun snorts into his glass. Cheeks warming, you start internally motivating yourself—if being alive for thirty-four years has taught you anything, it’s that everything’s worth a shot. You miss a hundred of the shots you don’t take… or whatever the saying is. “Do you remember that time I said we should just marry each other if we’re still single by thirty-four?”

After a pause, Yeonjun raises a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m surprised you remember that, considering you passed out right after… Are you saying we should get married, then?” Something passes over his features before he turns to you, and laughs something that isn’t exactly humorous, “I think that might be enough wine for you.”

“I’ve only had two glasses.”

“Two-and-a-half,” you correct after glancing down at your half-full glass. “I’m not drunk, maybe a teensy bit tipsy, but—fuck, that’s not the point.”

“What is the point you’re trying to make then? Yeonjun laughs, it almost looks like that familiar glint has returned to his eyes. You’d appreciate it if you weren’t about to implode.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat. Yeonjun continues to regard you with amusement; you vaguely wonder if he’ll still be amused once you manage to get the words—your confession out, or if you’ll go and ruin everything because of some stupid feelings. “Fuck, this is kinda difficult.”

“Okay, um,” maintaining eye contact is a test of your mental strength, which is why you avert your gaze even though you’ve turned to face Yeonjun, as you utter your next sentence, “So, it’s taken me an embarrassingly long time to realize that I’ve, uh, sort of, kind of been in love with you for probably forever. No, I—”

“I’m in love with you,” you rephrase more confidently, yet you end up shrinking in on yourself when the only response you receive is Yeonjun blinking blankly at you. “So, um, you could say something… right about now. Like, you hate me and are kicking me out? Well, ideally, you could say that you feel the same and—”

“Breathe,” Yeonjun reaches over to squeeze your clammy hand. Taking a breath as instructed, you realize you have not been breathing properly since you began speaking. “I was just—you’re being serious? You aren’t just drunk, and you aren’t fucking with me?”

“Two-and-a-half glasses, I’m tipsy at worst,” you reiterate, “and I’m not fucking with you either.”

“Oh.” Yeonjun breathes, which does nothing to assuage the anxiety that feels like it might have colored your face pallid, as it incessantly knocks against your ribcage.

“Oh? C’mon man, I just confessed my love to you, give me a little more than ‘Oh’, I’m nervous as shit right now.”

“Sorry, I was just…” Yeonjun laughs, the asshole laughs. “We really are best friends, huh? I spent all week trying to figure out how to make your birthday special, and confess my love to you at the end of the night. And here you are, beating me to it.”

“You… oh.”

“C’mon man, give me a little more than ‘Oh’, I just told you your love is reciprocated,” Yeonjun laughs as he repeats your previous words, teasing, “I’m nervous as shit, too.”

So, you down the rest of your glass before setting it aside and scooting too close for comfort, and ask, “Can I kiss you?” Because if thirty-four years of life has taught you anything, it’s to not waste any more time.

“Uh… yes.” Yeonjun’s widened eyes dart from both of your eyes, to your lips, and back.

And, so, you close the distance to kiss him. 

Maybe it’s not magical, maybe you don’t feel any supposed sparks or fireworks. But it feels right, like it’s meant to be as you cup Yeonjun’s cheek and shift to curl your hand around his nape. It feels like caressing the petals of a burgundy rose.

(“Have you just always known you loved me? Even when I threw up on you the first time we got drunk?” You ask, a few hours, and a couple more glasses of wine later.

“Ew, but yes, I knew I loved you even then.”

“...Huh. Would you still love me if a witch cursed me and I turned into a worm tomorrow?”

Yeonjun snorts, “A worm?” then he hums in thought, “I would buy the biggest terrarium, and the nicest dirt I can find, and take care of you. I’d find the witch and make her turn you back into a lovely human, too.”

“Good answer,” you smile, leaning over to kiss Yeonjun again, he tastes a little like remnants of Cabernet Sauvignon, deep and red, urging you to kiss him a little deeper. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips when you part.)

Upon thinking about it, not much changes between you and Yeonjun; apart from the kissing, consistently sharing a bed, sober I love you’s, and the other ‘unnecessary PDA’, as Taehyun so kindly put it, while Soobin had fixed the two of you with a disgusted look (you know that deep down somewhere, he’s happy for you both), and Beomgyu shot a thumbs up before going back to hogging the cookies Soobin baked—Kai was more focused on trying to steal some cookies, which he managed.

Your mother had practically wept out of joy when you told her the news, ‘I’m going to see my baby get married! I thought the day would never come!’ she’d cried out, and rushed to tell anyone that would listen to her. Overdramatic, and a little hurtful, by the way… You didn’t even say anything about marriage, either!

“Hm?” You reluctantly blink your eyes open at the call of your name, to see Yeonjun looking at you with a suspicious grin on his face.

“I love you.”

“...What did you do? I love you too, though, even if I have to become an accomplice.”

“I didn’t do anything bad, I just love you.”

“Mm, you loser. I love you more.”

“Hm, are you sure about that?” Yeonjun hums, your eyes follow him as he sits up and reaches for something from his nightstand, “‘Cause I think I love you more? So much that I’m asking if you’d do me the honor of marrying me.” He says so casually, contrasting how he carefully opens a small, velvety box. It gives a quiet creak as it pops open, revealing a simple silver band. A ring. An engagement ring.

After blinking the fatigue out of your eyes, and confirming that you’re not seeing or hearing things, you sit up with a start, “You—

“You dick, why would you propose to me while I’m half-asleep?!”

“Well, if you said no, I could’ve just written it off as you being tired and mishearing me… I’ll get you a nicer wedding ring, too, if you say yes, that is. Well, I already have one—”

Yeonjun grunts as you throw yourself onto him, “You’re such an idiot, I love you. Yes, I’ll marry you, there’s no question about it.”

You can’t recall the moment you started loving Yeonjun; maybe it was the day you met and he let you play his PlayStation. Maybe it was in middle school when more people started to see him, or maybe it was in high school…

Maybe you can’t pinpoint the exact moment, maybe you’ve just always loved Yeonjun. It’d be hard not to love him; he’s as beautiful as a white rose—inside and out—one that you’d pluck from the dirt with your bare hands, thorns and all, just to keep to yourself, even if for a little while. Maybe that’s selfish, but you think that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

You part from Yeonjun as your friends and family cheering fills your ears. Feeling like words can’t do your feelings in that moment justice, you kiss him once more, in hopes to convey them a little better.

“I know. I love you,” he says, because he knows you best.

Grinning so happily that your cheeks begin to ache, you properly part from Yeonjun this time, and walk hand-in-hand down the aisle.

#꒰ 📞 ꒱ new message! #choi yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x reader #kpop x reader #txt x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #yeonjun x gn reader #choi yeonjun x you #kpop x you #txt x you #fluff #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #kpop fluff #kpop x gender neutral reader #x gn reader

[folklore-girl]

ek ladki bheegi bheegi bhaagi si — a short story

a/n: okok so i tried my best for you @androgynous-pavbhaji <3 since this is your secret santa gift? im so sorry for posting this so late, this was supposed to come out a long time ago.. but ig happy new year? hope you like this!

word count: 0.6k

warning(s): bad writing, cringe dialogues + a shitty asf story in general :( im so so sorry.

raindrops splattered on the sidewalk as i hurriedly made my way to the bus stop, my clothes drenched from the downpour. my hands held up my handbag to shield my head from the rain and to try and deflect some heavy raindrops, but all in vain. for the millionth time, i cursed my stupid self for not carrying an umbrella, even though we were deep in winter, and there was no way I could’ve predicted this. i still should have.

and, to top it all, i was horribly late to my bus.

when i reached the bus stop a thousand years later, my shoes were soaked and my head was in an overdrive. i noticed a guy—probably my age—waiting at the stop too and decided i should probably wipe the mess off my face.

so, i took out my napkin, just to drop it on the ground like an absolute idiot. and as i bent to pick it up, the guy on the right offered me his napkin, in spotless white.

i was scared. not of the guy, but of ruining his napkin by using it. he saw me hesitate and said, “arey, it’s fine. i have spare.”

“pakka?” i asked, uncertainly.

“yup,” he said and i thanked him, smiling.

he smiled back. and i thought, wow. i guess men aren’t all bad, then.

i took the napkin from him and dabbed my face with it gently, still scared to damage it. when i was giving it back, he said “it’s ok, you can keep it.”

“you sure?” i asked again.

“yes!!” he laughed, “it’s alright, you know. i don’t bite.”

“no, but, i’m not used to all this,” i gestured with my hands and his eyebrows rose in confusion. “kindess?” i finished lamely.

“well then, you will be soon,” he winked and i looked away because i was in a loss of words.

meeting a decent man made me feel like i was in some other dimension, some dream where kind strangers were real and not a thing to read in tumblr posts and fawn over.

by now, my heartbeat had slowed down and my breaths were much less frantic, so we talked about our buses.

“oh, me too,” he smiled, “we’re both going to mumbai.”

“that’s nice,” i smiled as the bus approached the stop, “i bet the ride is gonna be fun.”

he smiled, “hopefully.”

we hauled up our luggage and sat in the bus, me in the window seat with him by my side.

we talked for almost the entire ride there, exchanging our names and talking shit about distant relatives (my lord, we had the same type of humour). and when we grew bored of talking, we both decided to do something else. he plugged in his earphones and i found out that i couldn’t find mine anywhere.

i looked out of the window and i could tell it was going to be a long road.

he noticed and offered to share his wired ones. feeling utterly helpless, i gave in.

later, we discovered that our music tastes were very similar and i soon found myself scooting closer to him as we listened to his playlist together.

by the time shuffle lead us to ‘i guess i’m in love’, i knew the feeling burning up in my chest, threatening to spill over. it was beautiful and warm, like sunlight filtering in through the curtains. like the first day of spring, my heart was blooming and after a long time, i felt the butterflies.

but it couldn’t be, could it?

i woke up to the sound of mumma calling my name. i’d fallen asleep with my head in my arms, crossed on the windowsill while rain poured outside and my chai grew colder with each passing minute. right next to it, my phone had just finished playing the song “ek ladki bheegi bhagi si” on my wired earphones and suddenly the surreal scenario in my head made sense.

i guess it was a dream, after all.

xoxo

#. ༉‧₊˚ — her writings ! #desiblr secret santa 2023 #dss2k23 #desiblr #desi aesthetic #desi tumblr #desi tag #writers on tumblr #female writers #writeblr #writing #moodboard #bollywood

[thunderandsage]

netflix avatar ep. 2 thoughts (spoilers!)

overall:

the framing: plot-wise focuses on the kyoshi warriors episode but philosophically there is soo much going on here

the clumsy exposition is gone! i repeat, the clumsy exposition is gone!!

I am struggling to find ANYTHING bad to say about this episode. genuinely enjoyed myself and at times forgot i should be reviewing. 9/10

details:

zuko and iroh intro was so good—the dialogue was a lot more natural here and lots of characterization going on

yesss katara having both save-the-world and the ambition to become a better waterbender as motives! the actress is still a little lukewarm with tone but its getting better

MOMO

a grave for gyatso and aang holding back tears—jesus this kid can ACT

zuko and iroh comedy duo yesss

SUKI MY LOVE

ok the exposition is getting better—suki’s mother explaining the kyoshi island’s isolation is very naturalistic, makes sense in-context and sets up good contrasts of philosophies

sokka and suki awkward interactions as they should be in their full turtleduck glory

okay but aang and katara splashing each other is so cute! they’re just kids! they’re each the last of their kind with a burden to keep tradition going but they’re just kids!

okay but suki questioning the ways of her village’s life contrasted with her pride as a kyoshi warrior is an incredible addition to her character

SUKI AND SOKKA FIGHTING AS FLIRTING and yet they’re still both such losers 😭 (affectionate)

aang’s struggle over how to keep control of his powers… hmm i sense future conflict

sokka copying the training through the doors and then being invited in leading to romantic tension with a fight/dance… they’re such big dorks (lovingly)

at this point its getting hard to draw up points because im getting so immersed

the taking-off-the-makeup for a heart-to-heart is such a classic and i love it, a little heavy handed with the romance but at the worst its just sweet

KYOSHI!!! and they’re very accurate with her utilitarian philosophy which makes excellent contrast to Aang

commander zhao appealing to the island’s isolationism to get what he wants and the setup is so smooth!!! ok and is that suki’s mom indirectly saying that aang isn’t an outsider? and the wink and the fight—

“how many have already been hurt because you haven’t been there” kyoshi you’re supposed to be an earthbender where did this burn come from???? damn???

HOLY SHIT the framing of the attack of the waterbenders as ANOTHER GENOCIDE my mind is entering the avatar state

the focus on non-benders vs benders has made this fight really good and we see sokka using moves he learned from suki! battle couple!!!!

ok i thought it was a little dumb at first but katara’s flashback to her mother’s death makes her hesitancy actually kind of work

KYOSHI IN BATTLE KYOSHI IN BATTLE KYOSHI IN BATTLE

ok but aang making sure to bow back is such a small but precious detail

im not usually a fan of romances but that sokka and suki kiss was sweet

the gaang bantering on appa

“somehow the avatar has returned” (so sorry i just had to do that ONCE)

#avatar the last airbender #atla #natla #netflix atla

[k9wa]

𑣲 A GUY THAT I’D KIND OF BE INTO. featuring rindou haitani.

• SYNOPSIS : rindou, your friend since childhood, is listening to you vent your frustrations over some guy you’ve been silently crushing on and realizes holy shit—you’re talking about him.

• CONTENT : unreq love, mild angst, gn reader (“they” used like twice,) a bit dialogue heavy, might be a little ooc i've never written rindou before ...soz...

• NOTE : rindou baby im so sorry i did this to u. ib a bmc song because i have no hoes or something

rindou haitani had been your friend since you were both children. 

you weren’t best friends by any means, but you’d gone to school together since your middle years, and those days upon days of having classes together or being seated next to one another had led to an inevitable friendship between the two of you. not that you were complaining, you liked having him around more than you thought you would.

it was only natural that once befriending rindou, you were introduced to his brother, ran, who was a year older than you. thus, the trio that was the haitani’s and their plus one was created.

rindou had always been the one you gravitated towards the most, maybe because you were the same age as him. he was the one you would find somewhere in the halls when you wanted to whine over homework or teachers when you were younger, which eventually blossomed into complaints over exams and college prep during lunch behind your highschool. you clicked with him easier, enjoyed his company when he was around and it was something he reciprocated. 

of course you enjoyed being around ran as well, and the times where you three would be together as a group (which to be fair, was more often than not) were some of your favourite, you were never quite as close with him. it was likely due to his brother always stealing you away when he got the chance, and being the older one he saw the signs before they were even visible.

open scene to the aforementioned younger brother laying horizontally on your bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone while you sat parallel at your desk, textbook and laptop long abandoned for playing with your pencil and leaning your head over the back of your chair.

get-togethers outside of school were a fairly fresh development in your friendship with rindou, only having started about halfway through your second year of highschool. rindou would still sometimes get a tad bit…awkward when he stepped into your home, and it never failed to make you chuckle.

“okay, spit it out already. fuck’s wrong?”

rindou’s voice cut through the silence draped over your room like a weighted blanket. he'd been watching you chew at your lips and listening to you tap that damn mechanical pencil against every surface within range, it got on his nerves.

truth be told, he was more nosey to know what you were visibly hung up on than anything.

“eh?”

you halted your fiddling, attention refocusing on rindou who had rolled onto his stomach, palm holding up the weight of his head from his chin while his elbow crushed one of your poor stuffed animals.

“y’look like someone just killed your puppy. and you’re doin’ that thing where you fidget with shit when you think.”

when had he gotten so observant of your nervous habits? you pouted.

“i don’t look like that.”

“you do.”

“do not.”

rindou stared at you, you stared at rindou. 

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him about it. you told him quite a lot already, at least considering your friendship had always been primarily in school. what had you hesitating, thinking over your words and proceedings more carefully, was that he was directly involved with the very thing that had you so…squirmy.

rindou was quick to pick up on your reluctance. as much as he wanted to know what was going on in that head of yours, it's not as if he was gonna pry into it to see what was running on the hamster wheel he was sure you had in there.

“...uh, you don’t have t'a—”

“you’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

an unforgiving snort was all you got in response.

“you bein’ a dumbass isn’t exactly breaking news.”

“ill kill you, haitani.”

the tense eye contact— well, tense on your part— continued. 

god, you hated how he was persuasive without even trying.

“okay, just listen, ya?”

his eyes followed as you stood from your desk chair and made your way over to the bed beside him. you flopped down tiredly, back against the mattress while your eyes traced the various posters on the ceiling, the shape of the windowsill towards your feet, generally anywhere that wasn’t in rindou’s direction.

“i’m listening.”

he watched you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, waiting patiently (though it was a thin and fragile patience) for you to find the words to begin.

“so, imagine there this person,”

he nodded.

“and you’ve known them since you were kids,”

he nodded again.

“and you’ve never been like– crazy close with him, but you’ve always seen them as a friend regardless.”

rindou nodded again.

…him?

…oh.

he saw where you were going.

you hadn’t even realised you’d allowed the pronoun to slip, tossing all anonymity out the window and revealing that the troubles you were about to vent were actually over a guy.

but rindou did, and he couldn’t stop his tongue from running itself over his front teeth, licking them as he tasted an all too familiar flavour of bitterness on his taste buds. 

rindou’s feelings towards you were complicated in their own way. 

he was aware he had emotions regarding you that were, well, less than platonic. he was aware that it had started when you met in your second year of middle school, when he was seated beside you in history and you’d teased him for his coloured hair and offered to share your pack of chips with him in the same sentence. it wasn’t a jaw dropping first impression, not something outright unique or exceptional, but it stood out to rindou. you stood out to rindou.

he didn’t have plans to really… do anything about any of it though, it was always something he preferred to keep buried deep in the home you’d made yourself in his gut. he wasn’t even sure if he had the set of emotional skills to—

“you still following?”

rindou blinked. fuck, he wasn’t listening

“yeah, keep goin’.”

he’d just have to fill in the blanks.

“it’s like– i don’t even know when i started seeing him like that.”

you’d given up on the vagueness regarding the neutral pronoun you used prior.

“maybe it’s just ‘cus we’ve both gotten older?”

who were your other friends again? perhaps he could use the process of elimination to single out who you were talking about.

“any time we eat lunch together, or i pass him in the halls it…picks at my brain. dunno when it even started.”

rindou thought, shuffling through the filing cabinet of his memory to try and remember who your other friends were. but upon thinking about it, he hadn’t seen you eat lunch with anyone else outside of him and ran since you’d formed your little trio.

“we have gotten closer over the last couple months. maybe it’s something t’do with that.”

…and then he thought more.

who had you known since you were a kid, that you’d started growing closer with recently, who you also frequently ate lunch with and—

“it’s like he went from this guy that i’d never usually be into…”

oh shit—

“to this guy that i'd—like—kind of be into?”

were you talking about him?

he cursed the way he felt the smallest sliver of hope start to rise in his chest. it was coincidental, you had other friends, other people you’ve known for the amount of time you have him, he’d be grasping at the smallest of straws to think anything differently.

your eyes met his when you looked up expectantly for an answer.

“that is pretty fuckin’ stupid.”

typical rindou.

you smacked his bicep with the back of your palm, rindou snorted again.

it wouldn’t hurt to test the waters just a little bit, right? to see if his sneaking suspicion was correct? 

“so, who’s this guy anyway?”

“pfft, like i’d ever tell you.”

it was rindou’s turn to smack you, he was rewarded with the sound of your laugh falling on his ears.

“so yer’ gonna talk my ear off and then not even tell me who the fucker is? you’re lame.”

“you wanted to know what was wrong!”

mission failed. 

the room fell into a silence, not quite awkward, yet not quite comfortable, just calm. rindou didn’t know how to push the subject any further without either giving himself away entirely or coming off as some nosey freak, so he begrudgingly decided he was better off to try and drop it entirely.

“do you think it’d be worth it to tell him?”

you were the one breaking the quiet this time around. rindou sighed and dropped his head, his face meeting the crinkles of fabric in your duvet.

“fuck if i know.”

“cmon, help me out here.”

“it'd help if i knew who the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“you seriously haven’t figured it out?”

those words made rindou's witty response catch in his tonsils. the more you went on, the more the little voice in his head said: ‘thats me, they’re talking about me, they have to be,’ the more you went on the greater the need to know if you were really talking about him inflated and grew.

“…why don’t you just tell ‘em if it’s such a pain in your ass?”

you hummed.

“i don’t wanna jeopardise our friendship, i guess. i like having him around too much.”

rindou lifted his head in time to catch a glimpse of the warm smile dawning on your lips.

“that's why i'm asking you. do you think the risk is worth it?”

yes, rindou thought. for fucks sake, take the risk, he wanted to scream it as loud as he could.

“sounds like it.” he began slowly, swallowing a breath. “think i know who you’re talkin’ about now too.” 

“it's about time.”

his chin returned to his palm. 

“wanna hear you say it, though.”

you groaned, mimicking his position by rolling into your stomach as well, the two of you laying shoulder to shoulder. rindou could feel the knot in his stomach tighten.

“you’re an ass.” the cow plush you’d hidden your face into absorbed your words. you supposed it was harmless to tell him at the point you’d gotten to. the proverbial cat was proudly sunning itself in the windowsill, there was zero chance he didn’t know who you were talking about. he was pulling your leg the same way he always did. teasing you.

“fine.”

rindou couldn’t control the way his palms began to sweat, directly contrasting his feeling of…cockiness? certainty? whatever the better term was, he could feel it deep in his chest, threatening to push past his ribs.

“i'm talking about…” 

he waited, listened to you huff, listened to you swallow to try and shove down your doubts, watched your fingers play with the tag of your stuffed animal, he knew the word that would come next;

‘you.’

“ran.”

exactly as he—

…what?

…you—

…you had a thing for ran?

if you had looked up at all, decided to remove your face from the cow print protecting you from what you assumed was some kind of shit eating grin, you would have seen the way rindou’s face drained of all colour.

rindou couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do anything. 

he felt like such a fucking idiot. 

of course it’s ran, he thought. 

why wouldn’t it be ran? 

it's always ran.

your room began to feel like it was shrinking around him, like it was suffocating him just being there. he became so hyper aware of your shoulder pressed against his, the smell of you overtaking his senses in a way he never thought he would hate as much as he did.

where you expected teasing, and rindou’s jokes, you were met with…nothing. a heavy stillness that could be felt in your bones. was he… upset? you didn’t know, your eyes were still harboured safely in your plush. now that you think about it, it was a gift he had gotten you.

you hadn’t wanted to tell him originally because you assumed it would piss him off, for the sake of possibly screwing things up between the three of you, or maybe because he wouldn’t want to be a third wheel or— or something. what you didn’t expect from rindou was the absence of a response entirely. 

finally there's some sort of feedback from rindou, a reminder of life that he’s still there beside you, but it’s the opposite of anything you could have hoped for. the weight to your right moves around, until it's removed from your bed wholly, and it finally prompts you to raise your head.

“rin?”

he doesn’t answer you, but you can hear him mutter ‘fuck this’ under his breath as he picks his bag up from your floor, fishing for his keys in his uniform pocket.

“rin, hang on a sec—“

he’s already in the hallway before you can stop him, the only option was to get up and follow him out, and that you did. you’re practically tripping down the stairs to catch up to him, too bad he was already out your front door, mounting his bike and letting the engine roar to life once you’d finally done it.

“rindou!!” you attempt to shout over the purr of his exhaust from your front door.

he's already gone, speeding away down your street and right out of your fingertips. it isn’t until he’s too far out of sight to see, to reach, to touch, you put the pieces together and understand his reaction, why he was so eager to leave. 

you fucked up.

rindou doesn’t know whether he’s fuming or he’s hurt, whether he’s disappointed in you or himself, whether he’s even able to blame anyone for this, just to give him a reason to fault anyone but himself.

the sound of cars passing him, or rather him passing them filled his hearing, the city lights of roppongi reflected off of his glasses and into his pupils, he could still smell you on his jacket; you were burned into it, left some sort of mark on it from all the times you’d held onto him while he drove you home. it made him so fucking nauseous.

he can feel his phone vibrating against his thigh, he knows it’s you. he truly considered just tossing his phone over the railing of the highway to get you away from him, out of his head.

it was always fucking ran.

rindou haitani could never hate his brother, despite his occasional admitance to disliking him. they were brothers, that's just how brothers were. 

despite the bumps in the road, or people who didn’t see their relationship for what it was, they were brothers, they always would be.

in spite of that sentiment, rindou couldn’t bring himself to look his older brother in the eye upon arriving home that night. 

when he finally entered the safety of his bedroom, rindou freed his phone from the pocket of his uniform pants he’d yet to change.

his screen was flooded with notifications, the contact name ‘+one’ written on over half of them.

he skimmed through the messages, the quiet clicking sounds from his keyboard filling the room, the messages all consisted of some sort of ‘im sorry’ or ‘i didn't know—‘ he skipped those ones, ‘pls just answer’ there was an abundance of missed calls alongside them. he turned off his phone completely.

was the chip on his shoulder deep enough to be considered a gash yet?

it was always ran.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

#literally what is a rindou #rindou haitani #ran haitani #rindou x reader #ran x reader #haitani brothers #haitani x reader #rindou angst #rindou fluff #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev #tokyo rev imagine #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fanfiction #haitani rindou imagines #UNEARTHLY

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

this is not a take technically this is an advertisement for my favorite fe pairing but hello i think everyone should consider lon’qu/tharja. they’re very sweet. their chain is one of lon’qu’s few backstory/lore-involved supports and unlike the other one that gets heavy into it (cherche, also a good chain but we’re not talking abt that right now) where she already knows his history, he willingly tells tharja what’s haunting him and she’s sympathetic to his struggles and kind in tone as she responds to him. she wants to help him and works on devising a memory wipe for him. when he decides to not erase his memories of ke’ri because he doesn’t want to forget her even if his trauma is related to his memories of her she accepts it (although in en she does grumble a bit about it bc it was a lot of effort to prepare what she needed, in jpn the tone is a lot softer and she accepts right away and doesn’t press it.)

their s support is also very sweet. tharja is the one who proposes to lon’qu, saying she wants to be there for him and support him as he works through his traumas. robin does come up, as they do in almost all of her supports bar donnel & kellam :(, but she brings them up solely so she can bait him into giving her an answer because he’s like What at first and it’s funny to me. she’s like tch… whatever…. if you don’t respond i don’t care… i’ll dedicate the rest of my life to MU…. 🙄 and then lon’qu responds. LOL. and his jpn dialogue for this reply includes, and i quote: “I...want to be near you. You understand about me and women... I want to touch you...and I want to respond to that. I'll show you that I can overcome this flaw...” (TL: Miscellany on SerenesForest’s Awakening TL thread). like that’s such good dialogue. and his EN dialogue is also really good i just like that JPN bit. the EN is: “However, there is a strength and grace about you that I find appealing. You are the first to look so deep into my heart and accept what you saw there. With you at my side, I might finally free myself of this painful past.” still very good.

they just want to be with and support each other. he’s afraid he’ll put her in danger by them being together and she’s swift to say she can take care of herself. and then says (this one’s jpn dialogue again bc i love comparing en/jp dialogue it’s fascinating to see the differences) that she wants to get closer to him and asks him to promise that he’ll work to overcome his fears with her. and then he gives her a ring as proof of his dedication to her, showcasing he wanted to propose to Her and that she just beat him to it.

it’s sweet. they’re sweet. lon’qu’s future past conversation with noire mentions that being with tharja does in fact help him out a lot. they’re a pairing and a family that work together sosososo well. please consider them (i have pictures of their dialogues but i cannot attach them bc i’m anonymous so just take my descriptions of everything and handful of quotes sorry). lontharja the world 4ever

im convinced 👀

#lontharja #tharja fire emblem #lon'qu fire emblem #fe13 #fe awakening #fire emblem awakening #fe #fire emblem

[impossible-rat-babies]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

i got tagged by @lilas! ty friend! im gonna tag (sorry for possible double tagging): @thevikingwoman, @hythlodaes, @lavampira, @consulaaris, @gefiltefished, @scionshtola, @starrypawz and anyone else!

a lot of these are from unfinished wips w/o context, im so sorry

1. “Nay, I should have spoken my mind soon after arriving Slitherbough. Mistaken as you were to my nature upon us reuniting, I would not so easily cast aside that which you beheld.” They pause, a bitter smile coming to their lips. “A brilliant soul, I have been called before— nomenclature befitting Hydaelyn’s Chosen. And yet it is not Her light which eats away at me now.”

2. “I care in the loneliness that stood before me in the place beyond the stars. How it looked down at me and I wondered how I had not yet memorized its face. How it asked me if this would be the last time I would gaze upon its face, and if the ache between my ribs would leave me.”

3. Eyrie pauses, worrying their lip. “Pity—pity and sorrow ‘twas what I felt most keenly. Not truly alive, but never allowed to die. A most vile fate for a once great wyrm of the first brood.”

4. “Keeping yourself busy are you?” Alisiae asks, shutting the door behind her. They hold up the book idly, a sigh escaping their lips.

“T’was Krile’s idea. A measure put in place should my vision stagnate at this state, or deteriorate further.”

5. “I know, Alisaie.” They whisper softly, reaching out again to take her hands. Tinged with barely there warmth and stiff fingers as their hold her hands tight. “I know I am dying. I can feel it—beneath my chest, next to my heart. ‘Tis so very dark and cold there.”

“Then why?” She asks, voice tender in her throat. Fingers tensing in their gentle hold. “Why keep telling us it is going to be okay?”

“I would not have us give into grief.” They reply.

“Tis for the dead we grieve, not for the living. With the ache in my chest comes fear, but I would not give up hope. I would not see sorrow rob us of what time we have left. I would not see you mourn just yet.”

6. “Tis easy to peer from the outside in and question why your grandfather gave his life unto a people so fit to squabble and worry naught of any greater threat than that beyond their own borders. Your anger was not unfounded, Alisaie.”

“Still…I should have known better. What would grandfather have had to say?”

Eyrie grins, inclining their head towards her. “Oh something important I would imagine—he was oft given to providing sage advice…if asked or not.”

7. They look up at the sky stretching so far above—the distant twinkling of the stars.

“Ignorant I was to the horrors that would follow. All of my many long years in the wood had made me blind. To what one had to endure—what one would be asked to do; what I have done to my fellow man. There came a time when I stopped and looked back to see myself very far from the intentions that first compelled my feet to walk forward. And there would be no returning.”

8. “I can storm the tower, Y’shtola. ‘Tis simply…”

They rub their hands together, eyes narrowing.

“I do not trust my hands. Alphinaud tended to some of my hurts, but I was more afraid of his touch. Afraid of my own hands should he have found a bruise too tender or raw; what horrors a simple touch would invite into my head. If i had grabbed his wrist in my terror and broken it…how could I forgive myself for that? For hurting him?”

9. They pause, letting the words sink in as the boy deflates, working his lips in ill disguised frustration.

“Alphinaud.” They break the heavy silence looming above them. “I am not a sword to point at the enemies of Eorzea, or the Scions. I am not a soldier to be ordered about—told of my singular duty and thus committed to the cause without fear. Without despair or anxiety. Standing as a shield before the plight of a helpless world, begging for a hero to lead her to a new path. There is resentment there, Alphinaud—I will not lie. I love Eorzea.”

#im only doing 9 bc im running out of wips #but ty for the tag i appreciate it ^^ #eyrie doesn't talk a lot but they are very verbose when they do #oc: eyrie kisne #ffxiv

[vinetae]

Hi could I request some fluffy fluff of jungkook getting sick with a bad sneezy cold in the rain because he was playing with bam and girl y/n caring for him or you can make it Ot7 and his brothers find out he is sick and care for him . Just fluffy and comfort im sad these days need some peace .

Aww, I'm so sorry you're feeling down, love. I hope you feel better soon! <3 let me know if you'd like a part 2, or you can request something else 🥰 Thank You for the ask!

(I do not apologize for the smut. I will NEVER apologize for my steamy scenes. Thank you and good day). 😉

My Love - drabble

Genre: F2L, Implied smut, 16+

Warnings: term 'maid' used, heavy make-up session, no confessions, just kissing, Jungkook being stubborn and not following Y/n's rules, Dom!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, cute cuddles and lots of banter. (The dialogue makes it seem like enemies to lovers instead lmao).

.

"Ah! Bam! Bring it back "Jungkook tells out, a 1,000-watt smile paints his cheeks as he chases after the now grown puppy. Your lips curve to a smile, watching your best friend enjoy this beautiful sunny day. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Boom. 

The thunder struck from nowhere, startling you from your nearly-finished chapter. Hands flying to help your body stand, calling out to Jungkook to hurry up on inside. His body twists, scrunching his nose at the thought. 

"Oh come on, Y/n!" It's just water." He chuckles, throwing the orange flying disk towards the little shed placed in the back of land, huffing as Bam had no run towards the tattered porch in search of dryness. Jungkook bends at the knees, snapping and clapping to call the large dog over. He doesn't budge.

"Ah, you two are weenies." His hands throw into the air, acting as if he'd been being filmed for a dramatic scene from a Korean romance TV show. Heavy drops of rain flow down the side of his cheeks, as you watch the cyan blue material of his hoodie darken, being soaked by mother nature's tears. Your lips roll out a heavy sigh, glancing over to the dog who'd been sat near the door, waiting for entrance. Bam and you share a similar look towards the adult child, shaking your head. 

"He's an idiot." 

..

And an idiot he was. 

The next morning you two had been planning a hike up the nearby mountain, in hopes of getting to seep in a workout for the day. His plan, nor yours. He basically had to beg you to come with him on that 3-hour hike. You're thankful the rain had downed so much, making the hiking trails nearly impossible to grip with your shoes. Now, plan B had been just to wait in the living room, as Jungkook hooked up the system so he could play Overwatch. 

Your legs fold inwards, hugging tightly to your body as you scroll on Instagram for the next hour. Only the quiet sounds of morning drips of rain tap the window as well as Jungkook's slight groans of frustration from loosing a match. 

"Oh come on! I totally had that headshot!" Hid hands throw into the air, frustrated from not receiving the point he's so earned. Leaning back against the couch, he finds a more comfortable position between your thighs. It hadn't been unheard of for friends to cuddle a bit, especially for you two. 

You'd known each other for almost a decade, meeting back in middle school when you'd become a transfer student for Mrs. Choi's class. Jungkook had been quite a shy, quiet boy. Very much the classic 'anime scene where the main love interest sits by the window, tapping his fingers onto the desk, while looking out somberly'. Even though girls had practically been falling to his feet as if he'd been a king, Jungkook still never paid them any mind, and instead quickly flew past them to avoid any confrontation. 

That is, until you came along. 

Being the transfer student, you'd been just as nervous. Not knowing where to sit, the class schedules, and being in a whole new atmosphere than your old school back in the States had your hands practically glued to the insides of your hoodie. The dress code had become more strict, due to the uniforms every student was mandated to wear. 

Crashing into the most notorious boy in class, making the two of you knock into the lockers, hadn't been the most ideal first day of school. You're quick to extend your hand out to offer a helping hand, but he just takes off in the other direction. 

After a few months, the halls had been buzzing with rumors of a guy in your class being picked to start training at a small idol company. Not really knowing what all that meant, you shrugged it off. Taking a few steps into class, your feet halt when Jungkook's eyes meet yours. A shy tint of red brushes his cheeks, as he makes his way towards the side, taking a seat. 

..

"Do I scare you?" Your arms swing by yours sides, anticipating the answer. Jungkook's hand comes to rest on his locker handle, eyeing your changed expressions quickly. His voice is soft and small. 

"N-No.." he sounded unsure of himself. Your hands press against the locker, sighing in frustration. His body leans away from yours. 

"Why don't you like girls?" You question, leaning your head to lower your voice. 

"Are you gay?" His eyes widened, choking on an invisible foreign object lodged into his throat. Hand coming to pat his chest, as another wave of blood red hues splotches his cheeks. 

"I-I..uh- class." Just like that, he's gone. 

..

It had only been when you two met at the same club one night right after graduation. A few drinks later, and he'd become the life of the party. You, on the other hand, couldn't handle your liquor very well, being bent over the outside of the club, as one of your girlfriend's had been rubbing at your back, holding your hair.

Jungkook stumbles through, eyebrow quivering at the strange scene. His eyes trailing down the lengths of the woman's beautiful figure, admiring the way her little sparkly black dress hugged her curves gently. However, the scene spayed before him had been anything but a turn-on. He'd decided to come help the poor woman, bending over alongside her to give some comfort. It hadn't been until he recognized the little penguin earrings she'd been wearing that he finally realized it had been the girl from his class. 

"Y/n?"

The rest had been history.

..

"You little peice of sh-" 

"Jungkook." Your voice, stern and commanding. Bam's ears perk at the sudden outburst of his daddy, hopping down from your side of the couch, nuzzling into his side to make sure everything had been okay. 

Jungkook sighs, patting his pup's head lightly before focusing his attention back towards the video screen. 

"Sorry Bam-ie. Daddy's okay." He scratches behind Bam's ear, making the large dog's tail flick with happiness. Suddenly, Jungkook's loudness makes both Bam and your's were perk. Setting down your phone to the side, you sit up, reaching around to feel his forehead. 

"Koo, you're burning up, dummy." You scold, pulling his permed, curly natural locks back out of his face. A smile curls his lips, tilting his head back in content, landing in your lap. 

"Mmm, that feels good." He sighs, loosening his tight grip on his control to instead focus on your small strokes ontip of his head. You lower your head, Spiderman-ing this situation. 

"I told you earlier that playing in the rain wasn't good for you." He whines, tilting his head to the side to look out the window. 

"It's fine. I'm not-" he jerks up, chest sending him into a fit of coughs. After a few seconds, he calms down, making your eyes roll to the side. 

"Aright, that's it." You stand, walking to unplug the control to his console, as well as his Xbox. He lets out a string of groans in retaliation, but you'd pay no mind. Arm lifting to make the heavy man stand, you point towards his room. "Bed, now." 

A smirk tugs his lips, eyes swollen and groggy but still could muster out a little tease. "Mmm, sounds great, baby~" you bend down, throwing the controller from his lap onto the couch, pinching his ear to make him stand. 

"Ow ow ow ow ow! Alright alright! I'm going!" He lets out a few whines, as you lead him to the bedroom. His lips poke out in a pout.

"So mean." He teases.

You push on his center chest, lowering his body to rest under the covers. Hand coming to rest on top of his forehead, making a low white echo in the small room. 

"You're warm." 

"I think you mean, hot." 

"If you were hot I'd be having to drive your dumbass to the hospital right now." He huffs, wiggling down into his little cocoon comforter you'd created. His head tilts to the side, flashing a cute bunny smile. 

..

"Y/nnnn" jungkook drags out, making your groan as you take a few steps into his bedroom. Tissues spread all over the comforter, as his laptop propped up onto the side, as he'd been laying on his stomach while watching the newest Netflix original, Bridgeton. (Not sponsored). 

"Yeah?" You reply. A quick smile flashes across his face, holding out his little thermos you'd fixed for him. 

"Be a dear and fetch me some more, liquid." His voice is posh, much like the one of the characters from the TV show. 

"Talk to me like that against and I'll put rat poison in your liquid." You bite back, snatching the bottle from his hand. He faints a hurt expression. 

"Y/n, that's not how you treat the sick." His voice is scratchy, but audible. Mainly because you'd learned to read through his mumbled voice all throughout middle and high school. His eyes doe and cutesy, making your fists clench at the sides. Letting go of a sigh, you compose yourself once more. 

His smile shines through. "Much better." His arm stretches to the side, groaning as he pops a few of the disks in his back, shaking his body. "I'll take the water now."

His eyebrow quirks, smirking at your flushed cheeks in anger. 

"You're a real milker when you're sick, you know that?" He chuckles, twisting over to the side to spread out on his back, finding a different position. 

"I don't think this is how you treat your king, Y/n." 

"I should've left you outside in that hellstorm." 

His smile widens. "But you didn't."

"I should've."

His body props up, lips leaning closer to yours in proclamation. 

"But you didn't. Now, pheasant," 

Eye roll. 

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Missy." His tone leaves a small burning sensation in the pit of your stomach. A victorious smirk plasters his face. "Now then. I'll be needing a few things from you, pheasant." 

"Keep calling me that and-"

"I won't have lips to blab with, yeah yeah. We've known each other for almost ten years, you really need to come up with better threats." You scoff at his arrogance. 

Why I oughta-

"Firstly, you are to address me as sir." 

You laugh out loud. "Hah! Like hell I woul-"

His expression hardens, a smirk pressing his lips. Voice lowering to a dangerous level as he leans in. 

"Or i'll leave this ass so red, Rudolph will be jealous." 

Eyes widening at the sudden comment, you heed his word hesitantly. God knows how many boxing classes he's taking so far. On top of all the workouts he loves to do? He'd beat you to a pulp in one second flat. 

"F-fine." His eyebrow quirks, awaiting another syllabus from you. 

"What'd I just say?" 

He's an asshole. 

Swallowing your pride (which had been very high and mighty), you Play along to his little games, cursing yourself for ever getting into this situation in the first place. 

"Yes, s..sir." you choke out, cringing from your own words. His smile widens victoriously. 

"Good. Now," he peels back to the blanket, pointing to the bottom of his bed. "Rub my feet."

..

You're really gonna kill him. You don't care if his net worth is 500 or 50 million, you are gonna kill him. 

All day you ever heard was-

"Maid!"

"Pheasant!"

"Y/n!"

You were seriously on the verge of strangling this man. No wonder the boys would always send him home when he got sick. He's a pain to deal with!!

"Oh Y/n-"

THAT'S. IT. 

You throw the little towel you'd been using to wipe off the dishes, staring into his bedroom. He flinches at the sudden outburst as your voice yells at the top of your lungs. Bam's ears perked in alert. 

"I've had it with you! Getting me to rub your feet, do your chores, fluff you DAMN PILLOWS. I mean, who's so incapable of fluffing his own fucking pillow!?" By this point your voice had been strained and tired. Your body ached with exhaustion, sleep threatening to do a mandatory shut down of it all. 

His fingers toy with the little thin sheet of his comforter, while his other hand had been patting Bam's stomach in patterns. 

"And Another thing! This whole 'sir' act ain't working anymore, buddy boy. So, if you want something, you've got legs." 

All you could hear was the growing of his chuckle falling past his lips. His head throws back, laughing at your composure. 

"Your face is red'' he comments, throwing the comforter off of his body to place his feet on the floor. He rises, towering your figure easily. 

"I just wanted you to keep me company. Honestly I didn't think I would get away with half the stuff you did." He chuckles, twisting your figure around. Before you know it, you've landed on the bed, flat on your back. His body comes to tower over yours, before plopping right down beside you. 

"Well i-I'm just a nice person." You mumble. Arms folding across your chest in retaliation to this. You hated how happy he was right now, laughing at your exhaustion. 

"Mmmhm. Why don't we watch a movie here? Jimin texted me saying that they'll be back soon." He replies, typing a few characters onto his keyboard before another movie pops up. 

You chuckle at his decision. "Really?"

His eyebrow raises in confusion. "What?" 

Your hand is lowered, pointing at the screen."sharknado?" 

A smile paints his face. "Well of course. The best cinematic movie ever to be produced!" 

Your eyes roll, nudging his side in combativeness. "Better than Iron Man?" 

"Hey now." His voice faints actuality, straining to keep a straight face. Your head tilts back, chuckling at his response. 

"Mhm, that's what I thought."  Your back hits the headboard, but he's quick to catch it. 

"Ah, more condition." Your head tilts in question, fists being ready to knock the shit outta this little pri-

"You must address me as 'my love'." 

"What? Since when were those the rules?" 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, cuddling up into your side. "Since I made them up." 

"I'm not doing that, kook."

He pouts. "Okay fine. Then 'the best boyfriend in the entire world' will suffice." 

"Hah!" You slap his leg in a comedic way. "In your dreams, koo. Besides, you're not my boyfriend." His head tilts to the side. 

"Hmm, I think we must fact check this hypothesis-" And just like that, his lips crash onto yours. The hushed sounds of the laptop play in the background, as his tattooed hand comes up to stroke your cheek. The top of his tongue fighting for dominance, in which you're quick to give. Your hand reaches down, tugging on the hem of his shirt to lift it, fingertips dragging along the hidden dips of his abs, a moan groans against your lips mid-exchange. He's quick to pull you in his lap, as your straddle him, hands carding through his messy locks, as you both share a passionate, but sloppy kiss. 

When coming back up for air, you pull away, as you both are left breathless. Chests heaving, trying to calm yourself. Eyes locked onto each other, as the sounds of your chests rising and falling in weight, fills the spaces in. His chocolaty irises bard into yours, eyelashes blowing lightly from your gentle breaths rolling down his features. 

Soon, you cut the tension. "That's gross, Kook." His heart drops at your words. Was he a bad kisser? Did his breath stink? Do you think his hard-on right now is gross??

A smile presses your cheeks, brushing his bangs out of his face. "Now I'm gonna get sick." A relieved chuckle exhales his chest. Hands pulling your hips further up his body, wanting to hold you closer. 

"We'll be sick together, Jagiya."

You glance down, seeing the sheet of his sick sweat rub onto your skin. "Ah, damn it. I'm all gross now."

A smirk tugs his lips. "Shower?" 

You think for a second before responding. "Sure, but this time, YOU rub my feet." 

He chuckles, carrying bridal style towards his bathroom, setting you down onto the toilet's lid before pecking your forehead. 

"Yes, my love." 

.

.

.

#jungkook #bangtan #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x female reader #jungkook dreamers #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #Jungkook is a asshole in this but it's cute #bts jk #bts in the soop #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #jk bts #jeon jungguk #my love

[champagneand-strawberries]

He loved me too (D.M)

Sequel to ‘Thank you for loving him’

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Every memory of him was tainted with betrayal. So why did her heart still stop at the sight of him. And why did she still want to save him?

Warnings: Swear words. Mentions of suicide, death and violence

Words: 2.3k

A/N: The pacing of this is so weird im v sorry. This was so hard to write though, I didn’t know whether to include the battle or time skip idk. She is very description heavy bc I hate writing dialogue but I really wanted to write a reunion so here you go. 

Everything had changed.

She supposed everything had changed that night, as she was staring at the body of Dumbledore struck dead at the foot of the astronomy tower. She supposed it was then that the world started to crumble around them, with their only protector dead and Harry Potter missing it appeared there was nothing left to do but stay alive.

The letter had stayed tucked away in her trunk, far from the prying eyes of anyone who might rifle through her things looking for a reason to crucio her. For once being a Slytherin had its perks; even if the rest of the school still despised the colour green it was the one thing that offered her an ounce of protection against the cruelty of Hogwarts’ new dark professors.

With Snape as Headmaster and the Carrows running free it was a wonder anyone was still choosing to be alive. She awoke every morning, dreading the day to come. The castle was no longer filled with laughter and joy, instead it was filled with pain and anguish. It became an unspoken rule to not mention the tortured cries of the younger students coming from classrooms or staff offices, instead everything went ignored for fear of receiving the same punishment.

Defence against the Dark Arts was the worst. Having since been renamed to Dark Arts, the use of dark magic spells had become almost a daily occurrence and Amycus Carrow believed that they were best practiced on other ‘disobedient’ students in order to teach them a lesson. Eventually the screams of students as they twitched and contorted on the dusty floor faded into background noise and with every unforgivable curse that left her lips and the tip of her wand, she reminded herself of what it would mean if she refused.

Maybe everyone else has it easier.

If a Gryffindor refuses, it’s expected. If a Ravenclaw refuses, who cares. If a Hufflepuff refuses, they are weak anyway. If a Slytherin refuses… They are a traitor. If a Slytherin refuses, they are to be made an example of. If a Slytherin refuses, they should hope death is kind to them for the Death Eaters will not be.

…

“Harry Potter… is dead.” His voice echoed around the broken courtyard, only overpowered by Ginny’s scream as she was held back by her father. In that moment she knew they had lost. He was their last hope, the only one who could have done what so many others had failed to do. Voldemort’s voice faded into white noise and her vision blurred as she staggered slightly, her legs failing her as she collapsed to the ground.

She could feel her chest heaving as she clutched onto her clothes, the fragments of rock around her; anything to ground herself as she felt herself slip further and further away from reality. Then suddenly, a pressure on her shoulder before something black blocked her view and a hand tilted her face upwards.

Draco.

She could see his lips moving, muttering words to her but everything was still ringing in her ear until she felt his lips pressed to hers for a split second before the warmth of him left as quickly as it had appeared.

She watched as he slowly walked across the graveyard of the Hogwarts she once knew, her chest heaving from the battle that had since ceased. Her eyes barely focusing as Voldemort wrapped his arms awkwardly around the boy she once loved.

The boy she still loved…

Their words still rung in her ears, the memory of that night reliving itself over and over again as she watched his mother pull him into her arms, Lucius Malfoy cowering slightly by their side. Her throat burned as tears filled her eyes, blocking her vision once more as she tried to regain any semblance of a reality that wasn’t this one.

The screams and shouts from the students surrounding her, however, were the thing that managed to bring her back to reality. Forcing herself up onto her feet, she looked across the courtyard searching for the head of platinum blond hair she was so desperate to see. But instead, she saw something infinitely better.

Hope.

Hope in the form of Harry Potter darting across the courtyard behind the archways lining the halls, throwing hexes blindly behind him to block the barrage of spells coming from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. She fought against the rush of students heading inside towards the great hall for cover, away from the rage of the battle on the grounds outside. Her eyes finally caught a glimpse of long white hair in the carnage and knowing that Lucius wouldn’t be far away from his son in the midst of the battle, she ran.

Death eaters had begun to disappear the moment Harry rolled out of Harry’s arms, only those closest to and most devoted to Voldemort had stayed by his side, the rest had run far from his perilous clutches to save themselves from him.

Unfortunately, the most devoted were also some of the most experienced and with every step she took there were twice as many curses that the few death eaters left hurled at her with as much venom and power as possible.

Hexes and forbidden spells flung from wands on every side, the threat of death looming closer and more threatening than anything the ministry could conjure up. She ducked and stumbled her way across the courtyard, eyes dancing frantically across the rubble for a glimpse of the platinum hair she had run for before. Only now she had no sight of it. No sight of the Malfoy family. Not Narcissa’s ducked head as she led her only child away from the battleground. Not Lucius’ pitying frame as he stumbled after his wife and son. Not the boy she loved under his mother’s arms as they took themselves away from everything their trust in the mighty Lord Voldemort had led to. 

Suddenly she was flung to the ground, sharp rocks and pieces of debris tearing through her shirt and into her skin as her body tumbled over itself and rolled through the remains of the castle. Then, white hot pain like never before surged through her body. The screams echoed throughout the edge of the courtyard as she twitched and shook on the floor, driving dust and stone further into the gashes on her skin. 

She vaguely saw clashes of green and red light from behind the mound of dirt she lay behind before it suddenly stopped. 

Everything stopped. 

The light. 

The pain.

She thought she was dead. For a split second, she hoped she was dead. That relief would have been easier than coming back into the world she resided in. In the corner of her eye she saw a flash of black as a death eater apparated away; then came the pain again. 

Her body ached as every muscle twitched and relaxed over and over again and her throat felt as though it had been ripped to shreds from the screams. Her jaw and neck covered in spit and bile from dry heaving the moment the gods granted her mercy enough to breath. 

If this is karma, I deserve it tenfold. 

To think, this was the curse she inflicted on children. Innocent children whos only crime was to want something better. To want to live better. To want to live without fear. And yet, she had given them plenty to be scared of. 

Suddenly, the same light as before lit up the remains of the walls of the courtyard above her. Green and red battling before her very eyes. She watched as the green faded into the red and, as before, it disappeared once more. A faint whimper the only indication of anyone behind her. 

“Harry.” Her voice hoarse and quiet.

Rolling over she pulled herself across the floor and between the rocks, enough to peer around to see the victor. Eyes welling up at the sight of Harry Potter, the boy who lived, stood before the body of Voldemort, covered in black cloth, in the centre of the courtyard.

“We won.” She whispered, pushing herself onto her knees, still weak from the effects of the cruciatus curse inflicted on her before. 

“Draco!”

... 

There he was. Finally, after what felt like hours, she had finally found him. Nestled between his parents in the remains of the great hall, the three of them tucked away in the corner away from the harsh glares from those who weren’t tending to the wounded or crying over the loss of loved ones.

She stood, staring at him. Allowing herself to mull over every single thought rushing through her head: angry, then sad, then happy; all before the cycle repeated itself over and over again. Losing herself in her thoughts her eyes closed, flashes of him appearing as memories flooded her thoughts so strongly, she swore she could smell him from across the room. Forcing her eyes open she was fronted with black. Specs of dirt covered the fabric of the suit she lay her eyes upon, the marks smeared into the stitching where someone had tried to dust it off. Travelling upwards she saw the chain of the necklace he always wore peaking underneath the collar and then there he was.

He looked much the same. The sharpness of his jaw, sloping up to his ears. Then the slight roundness of his cheeks, covered in dirt and scratches. The curve of his nose, leading to his piercing eyes. Only now they seemed softer, rougher, and sadder all at the same time. Her hand reached up to trace his hairline, up to his forehead where a hex had caught him, leaving a scratch, following the bloodstains down to his chin where she rubbed her thumb across his faint patch of facial hair. Her eyes never met his, and yet his didn’t leave her, watching her every move and willing her to stay despite his betrayal.

They stood there, ignoring everything. His parents. Her friends. The staring. The silent whispering. Then suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the Great Hall.

People ducked and fell to the floor, unsure whether it was death eaters back for a final round as revenge for killing their Dark Lord. Those who didn’t opened their eyes to see Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of her, clutching his cheek as she stared where his face was in front of her. His father was up in an instant, beginning to storm over to where she stood before Narcissa grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked down at her confused, as she shook her head and gestured over to Draco still on the floor. She ran her hand down his arm, grasping his hand in hers as they watched their son climb to his feet, not even bothering to dust off his trousers as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words were the only ones he could think of to even try and redeem himself from the mess he had put himself in, and they seemed to capture her attention perfectly.

“I’m sorry that I left you. Th-that I didn’t tell you, but it was only to keep you safe. All of it was- everything I did was to keep you safe.” He stuttered over words, pausing mid-sentence to catch his breath before stumbling over his words all over again. She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, watching as he flinched slightly in anticipation and closed his eyes.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me because I can’t even find enough words to say I’m sorry but please… please just know I never- had you have stayed in the bloody bed maybe it wouldn’t be like this and for god’s sake will you say something!” His eyes snapped open at her silence. Mouth open ready to counter whatever she was going to throw at him, instead he saw her. The corners of her lips tugged upwards into a small smile; her eyes filled with tears as she reached up her other hand to rest it on his other cheek.

“I don’t know if I could ever forgive you Draco. But I do know that I never stopped loving you.” Draco’s hands reached up to grab her own, brushing his thumbs across the back of her hands down to her wrists as he traced the skin he had not touched in so long.

“That’s all I can ask of you.” He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and pushing his face into the crook of her neck as he surrounded himself in her, his nose buried in her hair as he clutched onto the fabric of her clothing.

Not enough time had passed before they were interrupted. Draco opened his eyes to the shadow of his mother stood beside them, her eyes moving between the two of them.

“May I speak with you?” Her gaze looking to the girl stood in Draco’s arms, hands folded in front of her as she waited patiently for a response.

“I- Yes of course.” She began to uncurl herself from Draco’s hold, who seemed reluctant to let her go. “I’ll be back soon my love.”

She followed Narcissa out to the bridge overlooking the valley and Black lake where they stood against what little remaining wall there was left, listening to the wind whistling and pushing small stones across the paving beneath their feet. 

“My family has been through hell these last months. I don’t doubt you have been through something of a similar nature, but I want you to understand that I will do anything for my family. Particularly my son.”

She looked over at Narcissa almost cowered under her intense gaze.

“The love you gave him before... I suspect he will need it now more than ever. But I need to trust that you are willing to give him that.”

She looked back at the scene in front of them, eyes following a bird as it launched from a treetop and flew over the valley.

“You thanked me once, for loving him. But he loved me too. And for me, that is enough.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction

[youngpettyqueen]

for prompts, might I suggest a number 14 with Julian takin care of Kira, and a ‘it feels worse than it looks—no wait-‘ with Julian being a bad patient?

oh my god I finally fucking finished it.

I am SO SORRY this took so long I got hit with. the most violent writer's block ive had in a HOT minute and this had me fighting for my life. I dont even know how many times I wrote and rewrote this. I went through so many different ideas it was actually ridiculous. at one point I had something finished but it Was Not Good and I dont believe in posting writing I dont like so I scrapped it and started again

I keep waffling on whether or not I like this, but thats entirely because ive spent way too long staring at it. im sure in a few days ill actually really like it, cause I really like the dialogue, which was what I wrote out first. pulling myself out of my perfectionism, I do think I like this, and at the very least im proud of getting it down when it gave me so much trouble

again, im so sorry it took so long, but writer's block is a bitch and ive had a lot going on lately, so I hope you understand <3

for the readers- 14 on the list is "Stop pretending that any of this is ok. It's not." I did adjust that one a bit cause I was having trouble making it flow. but, without further ado, here's what I've got! 

Kira slides down with her back against the wall, grinding her teeth as she clutches at her wounded shoulder. The pain is still hot, the hole burned into her skin practically still smoking. She hisses as her palm makes contact with the sticky, raw flesh, but she still clamps down. 

“Anytime you wanna get over here, Julian!” She calls, her voice strained. 

“Doing my best, Major!” Julian calls from where he is, hunkered down behind some debris as a makeshift shield against the barrage of disruptor fire. 

This is, in eloquent terms, a right fucking mess. Getting into a fight with a bunch of Jem’Hadar soldiers is never a good thing, even when they’re prepared. When they’re not prepared, it’s even worse. And this time, they weren’t prepared. Because there weren’t supposed to be any Jem’Hadar on this planet. This was supposed to be a quick pit stop for the Defiant, replacing some whatsit that O’Brien said was damaged in their last firefight, but then there were Jem’Hadar soldiers and they’ve managed to land themselves in a whole different firefight. 

It really just hasn’t been a great week. 

Kira inches closer to the wall’s edge. Her grip on her phaser isn’t stable, but it’ll have to do. She takes a deep, steadying breath, and then she twists over so that she’s peering out from behind the corner. She spots the Jem’Hadar pinning them down, quick count tells here there’s 3 of them, and she snaps her phaser up to hit them with some fire of her own. The motion pulls at her injured shoulder in a way that makes her want to scream, but she bites down on it. 

Julian, bless him, takes the opportunity to lunge out from behind the debris. He scrambles across the gap, barely dodging the returning fire from the Jem’Hadar, and manages to throw himself down behind the security of the wall. He plasters himself up against the wall beside Kira, right as she ducks back behind cover as the Jem’Hadar’s fire intensifies. 

Kira looks at him. He looks at her. He’s breathing hard and heavy, his hair a mess and dirt and blood staining his face. She musters up a grin to tell him, “You’re late.”

Julian gives her a flat look as he turns to her. “Forgive me, it’s a bit difficult to make house calls in the middle of a battlefield,” He replies, sounding very, very tired. But then his eyes flick to her bloody hand, still clamped over her wounded shoulder, and she watches his expression shift as he clicks back into what’s affectionately referred to as doctor mode, “Let’s see that shoulder, then.” 

Kira moves her hand, letting Julian get a look at the wound. She winces as he pulls aside the burnt fabric, taking a deep breath in through her nose and resisting the reflex to jerk away. “How’s it look?” She asks, mostly just to distract herself. 

“Like it needs more than what I’ve got,” Julian replies, frowning, “The dermal regenerator I have will do for now, but this is deep. I’ll need to immobilize your arm,” He tells her, giving her an apologetic look, “If you move it too much, you’ll risk tearing it open again.”

“Just do what you have to,” Kira tells him, “Won’t be the first time I’ve had to shoot myself out with only one arm.” 

Julian nods, and returns his attention to her wound. “Right,” He pulls his kit up and rifles through it for a second. The first thing he pulls out is a hypospray, which he quickly sticks into her neck. Kira relaxes fractionally as the painkillers immediately start to work, dulling some of the burning in her shoulder. Then he’s pulling out the dermal regenerator, and bracing his hand against her shoulder again, “Try to hold still.” He advises.

Kira just gives a tight nod, already gritting her teeth and bracing herself. She feels the dermal regenerator start to work. The hypo helps, but it doesn’t take away that burning, itchy sort of feeling of muscle and nerves and skin stitching itself back together inch by inch. She clenches her fists tight, breathing hard through her nose as Julian works. 

“Sorry, I know this stings,” Julian says, “I’m doing the best I can. This regenerator wasn’t meant for a wound like this.” 

Kira grunts a wordless acknowledgement. If she says anything, it’s just going to be a string of curses. Instead, she focuses on keeping her ear on the sound of disruptor fire, making sure it isn’t getting closer. If the Jem’Hadar decide to come after them, she wants to be ready. 

“Done,” Julian pipes up. She looks over as he puts the regenerator back in his kit, taking the worst of the pain with it and leaving her with a dull ache, “That’s the hard part done. I’m going to move your arm now,” His hands are gentle, taking her arm and carefully easing it away from her side, “There we go. Alright, hold it there, please.” 

Kira does. Julian sits back, and unzips his jacket to get at his undershirt. “This will have to do,” He tells her, tearing a couple of strips from his undershirt, “These won’t be the most comfortable, but they’ll have to do. I’m out of bandages.” He leans back in, starting to bind her arm with the torn fabric.

“Sorry about your shirt.” She cracks weakly.

“I’ll get a new one.” He replies, without so much as a smile.

She hates how flat his voice is. Hates how… unlike him, it is. Quiet, with no bite. “C’mon, Julian, where’s that boyish optimism of yours?” She asks, “I could really use a hit of it right about now.”

Julian secures the bandage around her arm. “I must’ve dropped it when they started shooting at us,” He says, not meeting her eyes, “Do me a favour, Major. Don’t pretend any of this is ok,” He sits back again, still not meeting her eyes, all caught up in taking in his work, “Cause it’s really not.” He does look her in the eye, then. And he looks so… tired.

But then, he’s looked like that for a while, hasn’t he?

Kira gives him a smile. A sad, quiet little smile. “I never said any of this was ok,” She corrects, “I’m just… used to it, at this point.” Very, very used to it. Used to it in a way she hopes he never is. 

Julian considers that for a moment. His expression is hard to read- sad, maybe. Sympathetic. Then he sighs, and breaks eye contact. “Well, I suppose I’m getting used to it, too,” He scrubs a bloody hand through his hair, “We should get going. Can you walk?” He asks.

No time for sentiment, then. Kira nods. “It’s just the arm,” She assures him, “I can do a hell of a lot more than walk.”

“Good,” Julian starts to push himself up to stand, “Let’s-“ He doesn’t get far. He wobbles suddenly, his eyes widening slightly as he nearly topples right over. He barely manages to catch himself, bracing a hand against the wall before he can fall against it.

Kira quickly reaches out to steady him. “Julian?” She sits up, frowning, “What’s wrong?”

Julian frowns, confused. “I… don’t know,” He says, looking down, “I can’t feel my-“ He cuts off, suddenly, his eyes fixing on something, “Ah.”

Kira’s brow furrows. “Ah? What’s-“ She follows his gaze, and comes to the same abrupt halt as she sees just what he’s found, “Ah.” 

Julian has a substantial wound in his thigh. A chunk of his pant leg has been burned away, revealing a raw, painful-looking burn that’s steadily oozing blood down his leg. Kira’s eyes widen at the sight of it. That doesn’t look good. That really doesn’t look good.

“Well,” Julian says, “That’s not ideal.” And then he sways alarmingly, nearly crumpling right to the ground.

“Julian!” Kira lurches forward, manages to catch him by the arms. He grimaces as he eases himself down, taking his weight off his injured leg, “Damnit, Julian, what were you thinking ignoring this? Gimme that tricorder-“ She reaches for his medkit, not waiting for him as she rummages through it herself.

“I wasn’t ignoring it!” He exclaims, “I couldn’t feel it! Honest!” 

Kira finds the tricorder and pulls it out. “Don’t tell me they augmented the ability to feel pain out of you,” He shifts again, adjusting his position to give her a better angle to scan him, and it draws a painful hiss out of him, “Guess not.” She hums.

Julian manages a weak chuckle, the first one she’s gotten out of him all day. “Not as such,” He confirms, “I’ve just been- gah!” He grinds his molars as she pulls the burnt fabric away from the wound, “Preoccupied.” He growls.

Kira huffs softly as she reads the results on the tricorder. It’s not a fun wound. “So busy trying not to get shot that you didn’t realize you got shot?” She asks, arching a brow at him, “I’m almost impressed.”

“Only almost?” Julian asks, all mock indignation, “I’d hate to see what I’d have to do to actually impress you,” He mutters. His eyes drift down, then back up at her. He looks worried, “How bad is it?”

Kira puts the tricorder down. “How bad does it feel?” She dodges. 

“Pfft, this little thing?” He scoffs, gives a weak little wave that’s probably went to ‘wave off’ the pain, “It’s nothing. Just a scratch. It feels worse than it… no. No, wait, that’s not right,” He blinks, and she can almost see the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out the order of the words, “I don’t mean to alarm you, Major, but I think the shock might be setting in.” He tells her.

Kira can’t help but roll her eyes. “No kidding,” She says, “This isn’t my first time, Julian. Hand me the regenerator, I’ll do what I can with it.” She holds her hand out expectantly.

Julian hands it over. “Now who’s being serious?” He asks.

Kira adjusts how she’s holding him, making sure she’s holding the burnt edges of his uniform away from his skin so that she doesn’t accidentally fuse any fabric to him. “Oh, so you can make jokes,” She takes the dermal regenerator and adjusts her hold on it, making sure it won’t slide out of her hand, which is slick with blood, “I thought you dropped that along with your optimism.” She gets the regenerator going, doing what she can with the wound.

Julian chuckles again, grins at her. “I told you, the shock’s setting in,” He replies, all charm, “I’ll say anything just to say anything. Apologies, but I’m going to be talking your ear off until we get out of here.” He warns.

Kira keeps her eyes on her work, keeps her hand braced on his thigh to hold him still. “As opposed to when you don’t talk my ear off.” She counters. After a few seconds, she can see that the burn’s healed as much as it’s going to. She switches the regenerator off and hands it back to him.

“Rude,” Julian huffs, taking the regenerator and putting it back in his medkit, “How’d the regenerator do? I don’t want to look.” He’s looking even as he says it, like he can’t help himself. 

“It’ll hold,” She tells him, not seeing any point in sugar-coating it. He would see right through her in a second, “For now. I’m gonna bandage it, just in case,” She adds. Now it’s her turn to get at her undershirt, tear it up for strips of fabric, “I liked this shirt, you know.” She informs him as she does.

“I suppose we’re even, then,” Julian cracks weakly, “Have I ever told you you’d make a great medic?” He asks.

There’s the Julian she knows. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” She tells him. Satisfied with her bandages, she gets them ready, “I do have one question for you, Doctor.” 

Julian frowns, confused. Yeah, the shock really has set in if he can’t see what she’s doing. “Go ahead.” He invites.

Kira starts wrapping his leg. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” She asks.

He looks even more confused. “What are my-“ She yanks the bandages tight before he can finish, and he cuts off with a pitched yelp, “Fuck!”

Maybe it’s a bit mean to chuckle, but Kira can’t help it. She doesn’t often get to hear him curse. “Oh, language,” She tuts as she finishes tying the bandages off, “There. Nice and tight. That oughta hold you together till we get out of here.” She gives his knee a pat. 

Julian pouts at her. “You enjoyed that.” He accuses. 

“I did no such thing,” Kira replies smoothly as she pulls his medkit closer to her and starts rifling through it, not bothering to ask him, “Want a hypo?” She offers.

“No,” Julian shakes his head, making her stop short and give him an incredulous look, “I’ve only got the one left. Save it for someone who needs it.” He reasons. 

Her look quickly flattens. “Don’t start with the heroics, Julian,” She advises, “You’re not gonna be treating any patients until after you’ve been treated. On the Defiant.” She doubts he can even stand on his own, let alone treat people.

“I can hold out till then,” He insists, “Someone else might-“

“Julian,” Kira cuts in, not giving him any room to argue, “Take the fucking hypo.” 

Julian’s brows shoot up and he looks a little stunned. Just for a moment, though, before he huffs a bit of a laugh. “Now who needs to watch their language,” He says, his tone light and teasing, “Alright, go ahead.” He nods.

Kira takes the hypo out of his kit. “Oh, thank you,” She replies, making sure her own tone savours strongly of sarcasm, “You’re a terrible patient, you know that?” 

There’s that grin again. All charm. “So Nurse Jabara keeps telling me.” He replies, like the pain in the ass he is.

“You should listen to her. She’s always right,” Kira sticks the hypo in his neck, and watches his shoulders instantly sink down a notch. She didn’t even realize how tense he was, “Better?” She asks. 

Julian takes a deep breath. Probably the first one he’s taken all day. “…Much,” He admits, with the decency to look a little sheepish, “Thank you, Major.” His smile’s a bit less charm now, a bit more sincere.

Kira finds herself smiling back. “Anytime,” She says. She shoots a quick look around, regaining her bearings a bit now that they’re both taken care of. She can still hear blasters firing, but not as close. They might’ve moved off somewhere else. Or they could be waiting, “We should probably get moving.” She suggests.

“Probably,” Julian agrees, “Just one problem, though. I don’t think I can walk.” He tells her.

Kira figured. “Can you limp?” She asks, “I’ve still got two good shoulders, both perfectly good for leaning on.” She offers, patting her shoulder for emphasis.

There’s that glint in his eye. First time she’s seen it today- stubborn determination, or, in another word, cocky. “I think I can manage that.” He says.

Kira grins. “Great,” She ducks in and gets her arm around his waist, pulling him in snug against her as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, “Alright, lean on me. Steady. And…” She pushes herself up, and brings him with her. He leans heavy into her side, and she tightens her hold on him to keep him steady, “Up we go. Ready?” She asks.

Julian takes a moment to find his balance, shifting most of his weight off of his injured leg and compensating on Kira’s shoulder. “As I can be,” He tells her with a nod, “Let’s go.”

And they’re off. Making quite the sight as they hobble back into the action, pressed hip to hip and clinging tight to each other. But, hey, they’re still kicking, and they’ve still got their phasers, so they’ll make do. They always do. 

#fic bitching #star trek: ds9 #kira nerys #julian bashir #like I said I really like the diaogue #I had fun writing the dialogue #and it came to me pretty easily once I settled on what I wanted with the scene #this was originally. a bunch of things #my first idea was two separate scenes #and I drafted several versions of those #but they just wouldnt flow #even the one I had literally finished just. I did not like it #it was not good #and I dont say that to be hard on myself I know im a good writer and what I wrote wasn't good and thats fine! #they cant all be bangers #but I wasn't gonna post something i knew wasn't good #hopefully the wait was worth it cause like I said while I keep scowling at this #I know its cause im grumpy it took so long #and its cause ive stared at it for way too long so it was never gonna look right #until I posted it #anyways! thats enough tag rambling #I hope you enjoy! #I love Julian and Kira theyre besties in my brain

[sockiestupidity]

desc: miggy and reader bond over catholic guilt🤭

warnings: probs religious trauma, (possibly) bad spanish and bad writing, bad dialogue, ooc miguel (probs), panic attack, VERY SOFT MIGUEL LIKE ACTUALLY IM NOT EVEN OVER EXAGGERATING

VERBAL READER?????

you were roaming around spider society as usual, finding comfort in the unusual ambiance. as you walk to miguel's office to turn in your reports (lab?? room?? idk) you feel slightly off but are unsure as to why. as you enter the room you're met with miguel's back. you snap to get his attention.

he turns around "I've been expecting you for a while. Do you have the reports that I asked you for?" he looks at you expectantly, raising an eyebrow slightly.

you hand him the papers and watch as he sifts through the papers. he lets out a satisfactory hum "perfect." he pauses for a moment, setting the papers aside "are you free? i'd like to give you some pointers, your hands on combat is still sloppy" he explains.

your monotone expression changes to one of shock, surprised that miguel wanted to offer you training. you begin to rack your brain, you knew you were supposed to go somewhere, but you weren't sure where. all you knew was that something was wrong. you hesitantly nod, still having a slightly off feeling as you do so.

your brain makes a sudden realization, tuning out the world as you begin to panic somebody is trying to speak to you but it sounds muffled, as if you're underwater. you watch as the blurry figure approches you with worry.

"hey. look at me for a second" the voice speaks out. you dont respond as the figure attempts to console you. "Mírame por favor. Mírame" strong large hands grip your shoulders, attempting to bring you out of your daze.

"Escucha mi respiración" you hear calm breathing and attempt to match the steady breath. you let out a choked cry, feeling a pain in your chest, a tear rolls down your face "shh shh. Escúchame" your breathing begins to calm "that's right, you're doing so good" he praises you as your breathing starts to steady out.

you look up, eyes meeting his face "m-m sorry" you manage to get out. your lip trembles. you couldn't believe that this was happening infront of the man who was basically your boss.

you watch as his face softens, and he speaks once more "it's not your fault" he reassures you. you begin to walk away from him, ready to leave "wait" he pauses, grabbing your attention "do you-" he hesitates "do you want to talk about it?" he asks you.

you look at him in surprise. you take a shaky breath and nod. he pulls out a chair for you "go ahead, sit" he offers. you're still in shock, having never seen miguel act like this. you take the seat.

"go ahead, whenever you're ready. you can take your time if you'd like" his chair is turned to face yours.

you nod and take another breath. "so um. i dunno. i guess i just. i just freaked out thats all" you try to downplay the situation at hand. your voice is small, not used to talking to other people.

he frowns slightly "what..what led to that?" he asks you, wanting to get a better understanding.

you shrug in response "realized that i forgot that i was supposed to be somewhere today" you respond vaguely.

he gives you an expression that tells you that he knows you're not telling him the full story.

you let out a heavy sigh "um-i uh.. i was supposed to um attend church today and i..forgot" you admit.

his face contorts into a surprised expression "i didn't know you were catholic"

"i mean, not really. my parents were though" you look down at your feet "you know, it's kinda funny, theyre gone and i still feel guilty when i dont go"

he hums in understanding "i was raised catholic too" you perk up at his words "we're more similar than you may think" he smiles sadly "you're not bad for not going to church, okay? plenty of people have done worse. you shouldn't be attending out of fear, you should be attending if it's something you want to do and enjoy"

you hesitantly nod, still feeling terrible about the situation. you wipe away your stray tears.

he suddenly gets up "i wamt to show you something" you quirk your head in intrest "come on" he gestures for you to get up.

you nod and follow him. you find yourself in an elevator heading up. the both of you end up on the roof of the building.

"sometimes i come up here to have a bit of thinking time to myself" he explains as if he could sense your confusion"there's so many things ive done in my life that..i think god would be displeased with, and i often find myself thinking that maybe all of..the stuff that's happened in my life happened because of what i did. whenever i start thinking like that i come here" he looks into the skyline

"if you ever start feeling like that, i want you to come here, close your eyes, and take a deep breath" he speaks in a fatherly tone. you nod.

something about being in that space felt therapeutic to you, and you felt comforted by a sense of familiarity "thank you"

he looks at you softly "of course" you then bring him into a hug. his body stiffens for a moment but then embraces you in return. "you can talk to me if you're having these kinds of thoughts again, okay?" you nod and just let him embrace you. the both of you let go and just stare up at the sky in silence. you close your eyes and let yourself feel the wond brush against your skin.

A/N: not my best work but i had to get this idea out of my brain😮‍💨 anyways i rlly hate this qnd will probs delete later lol

#across the spider verse #atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #platonic relationships #miguel o'hara fanfiction #platonic reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x you #atsv x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #teen reader #(teen reader implied at least) #miguel o'hara one shot

[youre-ackermine]

hello dearest, I hope you’re doing well 🩵

for the aot ask I’ve come with new questions:

15.a) if you could have prevented the death of a single character, which one would it be? (I already know the answer but still 🤣)

15.b) what is your favorite (top 3 if you can’t choose one) soundtrack?

15.c) do you prefer the anime or the manga?

much love to youuu 💓💓

Hi my dearest Dee ✨

I'm fine, even if I barely slept last night. I hope you're doing well too!

<><><><><>

15 a- If you could have prevented the death of a single character, which one would it be?

As you already guessed, I would have saved Hange of course!

Like Erwin died when the answer to his lifelong quest was within his grasp, Hange sacrificed themself before they could explore the outside world, quench their thirst for knowledge, help make people's lives better with new discoveries... I'm fascinated by their intelligence & all those amazing qualities that make them one of the best written characters in SNK, personality-wise. They would have been such an asset in the post war SNK universe.

15 b- What is your favorite (top 3 if you can't choose one) soundtrack?

If it's about the instrumental OST only, those I listen to the most at the moment are:

For the songs with a vocalist, my all-time favourite are:

I can't listen to 'Bauklotze' without crying now obviously 💔

15 c- Do you prefer the anime or the manga?

To be perfectly honest, I read the whole manga only once. I often read a random chapter or a few panels online but I still have to read it again (& it's a pain in the ass because I have the Edition Colossale & every book is f*cking heavy lmao). Besides, the French translation is not very good imo, it missed most of the dialogues' subtleties / nuances :((

Still, the manga panels are amazing, Isayama has a real talent for drawing the facial expressions & making us understand what's going on or feel so many emotions without a single word.

But I love the anime, even if a few things missing or changed kinda rub me the wrong way! The animation is insane (Levi's action scenes are always flawless & omg it's part of why I love the short badass so much!). The music is amazing & epic. The VAs are phenomenal (I only watch the Japanese version with French or English subtitles). It's a f*cking great show!

Just a few words about the scene between Eren & Armin in the last episode. As much as I cannot accept Eren's actions, I still felt sorry & sad for him. But the scene with Armin in the manga was so pathetic it almost swept away my sympathy towards him. Thanks Mappa for fixing this scene, making it a real moment of emotion between soulmate friends, & giving Eren a bit of his humanity back.

So anime it is!

<><><><><>

Thanks for taking the time to send these to me!

Sending much love back ❤️

Have a nice Sunday lovely Dee 😘

#val has mail 💌 #moots game #ask game #snk ask game #aot ask game #lovely moots 💕 #dee ✨ #atruewarrior #spotify links #spotify