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fizee · 1 month

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Naoya x Reader | 3.3k | 18+ only!

Includes: female!reader, femdom!reader, man ass getting ate, submissive!naoya (mostly).

Content Warnings: consensual sexual asphyxiation, blatant cheating, prostitution, casual sexism.

Part of the Jujutsu Journal collab hosted by @ayyy-pee, thank you so much for including me! A big thank you to @mysteria157 for beta'ing extensively for me, as well as a couple of my close friends, and a big happy birthday to (you know who you are)

Naoya hates the rain.

Even in the summer months it’s less refreshing to him and more of a nuisance- sticky, damp, and everywhere. It pitters and soaks into his clothes and he would have brought an umbrella- if this was a place where anyone cared about getting rained on.

It's not.

The hotel is dingy and not worthy of the sad little three star review rating it managed to gain. The pavement he steps over is cracked, and the entrance he steps through is worn. Whatever. It suits his needs, even if it makes his clothes stink. He’d never get recognized in this part of town.

He gives the front desk clerk a cursory glance- feeling snide at the state of his wrinkled shirt and miserably nonchalant disposition. Naoya doesn’t have to check in, nobody does here. But he drops cash on the desk and keeps walking, not caring if it’s too much or too little.

You had already texted him the room number. He wonders if a place like this even has an elevator.

He turns down the hall and is only mildly surprised to find that there is, indeed, an elevator, despite this place only having three stories. It’s got trace amounts of rust. It squeals when the doors slide open.

He glances at his watch, tapping the screen to pull up your text. 36. He scoffs to himself. You and your third floors. Something about feeling unsafe on the first floor, which is stupid. He’s never understood that about you.

He finds the room quickly, ignoring the fact that as he gets closer, his collar feels tighter. It’s been too long since he’s seen you. He swears he can smell your perfume over all the mildew in the disgusting sixty year old hallway carpet. The perfume was his choice, of course. A birthday gift. You had almost refused it, saying that you don’t take gifts from clients and blah blah blah. He’s not one to look a horse in the mouth, so he had made you suck his cock to earn it. It does smell good on you.

He knocks quickly, six short thuds on the door. He doesn’t bother to try the handle, he knows it’s locked. He gives a quick glance at the hallway around him when he hears the door unlock, and watches the handle turn.

“Mr. Zenin.” You greet him with a graceful smile. He rolls his eyes and walks past you into the room, not wanting to linger in the hallway.

“You’re late,” you accuse sweetly. “A half hour late, to be precise.”

“Put it on my tab.” He grumbles. You just smile, approaching him and helping him out of his coat just how he likes, smoothing your hands out over his back as you do. You hook the coat over the crooked little hanger that juts out of the wall, looking stupidly bespoke on outdated wallpaper.

He takes a seat unceremoniously in the faded pink chair sitting opposite the bed.

“This place is a dump.” He says. He eyes your clothes- pink and flowy, opaque but not thick enough to hide your shape. It flows over you like water, and his collar feels tighter. You smile gently and walk over to press your palms into his shoulders from behind.

“Dumps keep secrets.” You murmur. His hair smells good. You press your face to it and kiss him gently.

“Far cry from Aman,” He complains, reminding you of the hotel you had met each other in, all the way across the world.

“God, I haven’t thought of that place in years,” You run your fingers in the dips of his collarbones, laughing gently, “You were the only sober one at that party, stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“And you were the only whore not hanging off a man’s neck.”

“What can I say?” You undo the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his skin to your warm touch, “I’ve got… refined tastes.”

He hums. His watch dings once but he doesn’t bother to check it. He runs a hand over his jaw, reminiscing of how you had looked in that party room, full of investment cucks and coke addicted businessmen and glittery, shimmering whores. You seemed to almost glow under the dim lights, alone, calling to him with your gaze.

He sighs.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Long month.” He mutters bitterly. “You didn’t return my calls.”

“I was on vacation.” You dig your fingers into his trapezius soothingly, finding the spots that make him melt gooey like butter.

“Since when do whores take vacations?”

“Since filthy rich married men started paying them extra.”

He snorts. He reaches up and grabs your hand, pressing his mouth to your warm fingertips.

“Did you miss me?” You ask playfully, ducking your head to giggle in his ear, “Or did you miss my-“

You’re cut off when he grabs your face and holds you so he can plant a slightly slobbery kiss on your lips. Your glossy red lipstick smears on his mouth. He has his belt unbuckled by the time he releases his hold on you, but you frown for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” You had definitely tasted the alcohol on his tongue, but drunk he did not seem. Far from it. He’s looking up at you with an icy clarity.

“I don’t.”

“Mhmm. Does Mrs. Zenin know?”

“You’re a cunt,” he says, but there is no real bite behind it. “A stupid cunt. Suck me off.”

“Is that really what you want?” You snake around the chair, putting yourself in his lap. It’s a bit awkward with the bulky, ugly chair, but you manage to press the very core of you where he's most sensitive. Your hands drift up his chest and rest at his neck, and you lean in to whisper against his mouth.

“You’ll have work for that.” You kiss him gently. “Unless, of course, you can ask nicely for once.”

His mouth pulls into a half hearted sneer but his cheeks glow pink. His eyes meet yours and his pupils are wide and dark and calm, two tiny black lakes.

His silence is his answer.

“You really did miss me,” You murmur sweetly, bringing your hands up to press around his neck, thumbs securely pressed on either side of his windpipe. You press hard. His face slowly goes red. His hips jerk in pavlovian response. You can feel the hard length of him against the curve of your ass, begging to be free of his pants.

He gasps finally, Inhaling quickly through his constricted throat. He doesn’t avert his eyes from yours, looking at you desperately while you grind against him and tighten your grip on his neck even more. His hands grab at the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it comes in quick, needy huffs.

“I hope you can be good for me tonight.” You coo. You kiss him. He whines, attempting to chase your mouth when you pull away, but you keep an iron grip on his neck, preventing him from moving more than an inch.

You give him one more hard press into his lap and you can tell he’s already close, and so soon! His eyes are slightly glazed, drool threatening to drip from his open mouth. You'd bet all the money he’s paying you that he’s already leaking if you reached and touched him.

You release him suddenly, rubbing over his shoulders while he gasps for a full breath. He keeps his palms firmly to the chair, resisting the urge to grab you and hold you to him and ruin the ridiculously expensive pants he’s got on.

You slide off his lap and stand to soak in the view- the red streaks chasing over his neck, the tent in his pants.

“Stand up. Clothes off.” You tell him, dropping your robe to the floor. You don’t strip down like he begins to do, instead leaving the matching slip covering your body.

You hum in approval as he removes his shirt, eating up the lovely shape of his body. He’s always taken care of himself, almost obsessively so. His pants are next to go, and then the non descript black briefs.

He averts his eyes as he stands before you, nude. His erection twitches in the cold air.

“Got some tanning done, did you?” You step in and pet over his taught stomach, grazing low to tease him.

“Malibu.” He says, some of that snide returning, “and you could have come with me if you’d returned my calls.”

“I remember that. Some of your twitter fanboys posted about it. I doubt Mrs. Zenin would have appreciated me coming with you on a family trip.”

“Wasn’t really a family trip.” He grits out as you feather over his hips, his thighs, appreciating what a specimen he is. “The boys stayed with the nanny the whole time. And she just-“ he grunts when you reach lower and touch his balls, avoiding his cock alltogether, “She’s a prize tuna, I’ll give her that. Not like you.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s an extra six hundred if you want me to listen to you badmouth your wife. Get on the bed.”

He looks like he's going to say something, mouth parting and brow furrowing. You peer at him warmly, your pupils as blown as his. He closes his mouth, deciding not to say whatever was knocking around in his head, and climbs onto the bed without fanfare.

You watch him closely, enjoying the view of his nude body splayed out and primed for you to play with. He’s flushed everywhere he’s sensitive- his face, his chest, his cock. Without stimulation you see it already going half soft, so you kneel onto the bed over him and place your palm against his head. He gasps and jerks, grabs your wrist but quickly loosens his grip and just holds you there.

“C’mon,” he pleads. Though he’d cuss and whine if you described it as pleading. He ruts himself against your palm, his teeth dig into his lower lip. It's not enough but it’s also too much. He’s always been sensitive.

“You could ask.” You say, knowing he won’t. You pull away and his fingers twitch with the need to take himself in hand.

“You’re a bitch.” He says. “Evil fucking bitch.”

You laugh. It’s a light and gentle thing. He doesn’t think about how nice it sounds.

“You really know how to talk to a lady, huh?” You press on his shoulder, making him lay back fully.

“I can hardly call you a lady.” He’s got a hungry look in his eyes. He looks good laying there- hair slightly ruffled, cheeks pink. It’s a sight you’ve seen a dozen times but you’ll never grow tired of.

He lays still, waiting. He glowers at you while you make him wait. You come up near his head and sling a leg over his neck.

“Maybe this will shut you up.” You hike up the slip you wear and grin down at him. No, of course you’re not wearing anything underneath it. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your thighs and shove his nose into the neat curls there and lick a hot wet stripe into your core.

You’ve been wet and swollen for a while. It’s nearly conditioned. You feel a slight tingle every time he calls you, wanting to see you. Wanting to fuck you. But now you’re soaked, your cunt wetting his face without shame, arching your back when he finds your clit and sucks on it desperately.

You lock your thighs around his head, cutting off nearly all the airflow he would’ve managed to get before. He likes it. You reach behind you and grip the base of him, feeling him twitch and pulse. He suckles on your clit til you’re keening- and right as you squeeze his cock a little harder and your hips jerk a little more desperately, he shifts and his tongue delves deep into your dripping hole, licking and practically drinking you down. You make a choked little whimper, so close to release.

You grab his hair and hold him beneath you, grinding your cunt into his mouth and nose and eating up every muffled noise he makes. His tongue works hungrily, desperate to please you, delving as deep as he can into your cunt and searching out the spots that make you gasp and moan sweetly for him.

He swipes his tongue just right, and you fall over the edge, grunting and whimpering and twitching all over.

You roll over from on top of him and he gasps wildly, hair ruined and mouth wet and swollen pink. He just looks at you as you gain your breath, your insides gooey and warm and pulsing with aftershocks. He gives you a small, coy little smile.

“I guess I’m not the only one who was missing it.”

You shove at him playfully, all pretense falling away for a moment. You sit up to clear your head, not forgetting that he’s still hard, and leaking, and needy.

“Turn over. Hands and knees.” You tell him. His blush returns tenfold. He glances away from you in tentative embarrassment, though it’s obvious that what he’s hoping for isn’t going to be damped by a little thing like shame. He doesn’t have to be a shameful creature with you.

He does as you command, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows and knees, his back already slightly arched. You’re definitely appreciating the view. He hides his face from you.

“Oh, wow.” You grin. “Smooth as butter, huh?”

“Shut up.” He snaps, his voice muffled by the pillow. You take a moment to really see the view of him- his tight pink hole is smooth and perfect, obviously recently waxed. Or maybe even lasered. You never know with him. You run your fingers over him, light as a whisper, dragging a caress over his cock to his balls and finally to his hole. It twitches. Cute.

“I should take a picture, pretty as you are.” You say. You grab his cheeks in each of your hands, spreading him fully.

He mutters something about our NDA, something about you being a bitch. You don’t really pay any mind as you lean over him and spit out a thick glob of saliva over the tight ring of muscle, making him gasp.

He goes perfectly still In anticipation, his dick jerking with every lick you apply to him. You drag your tongue against his perineum up to his hole- he tastes clean, like only salt. You know he’s obsessive with how he grooms himself. Saliva slowly runs down, leaving a trail of wet across his balls.

You slip your hand under him to grab his length to give him one long, smooth pull, earning a tiny little whimper from him. You plant your mouth fully on his hole, tongue rubbing circles into the muscle. You jerk him off slowly, too slow to ever bring him to completion. He whines and twitches under your touch and you feel a throb deep in your core for the way he’s trembling.

You bring your head away from him earning a slight wet pop as your mouth breaks the seal it had over his hole, leaving your drool to cool on his heated skin. You slide your hand over his cock faster, gathering up his precum to make the slide easier, your grip is intense and tightens more around the base, pulling down and milking him like some breeding stud. His hips begin to move in the air, and the noises he makes, muffled by the pillow, are throaty and low. You know how he sounds when he’s close, how he shakes with the climb, and when he nears his peak you abruptly pull away to deny him. He groans loudly in frustration and need, and finally looks over his shoulder to glare at you, his fucked out expression not hiding his irritation.

“I don’t want you ruining the sheets.” You say. He catches on immediately, sitting up and grabbing you to put you under him. He practically rips the slip from your body, the fabric strains and the stitches pop, pulling it up and over your head so he can press his flushed skin against yours.

You almost protest, you actually did like that dress, but he kisses you with teeth and growls something about buying you a new one. He grabs your breasts roughly and you feel the length of him pillowing itself against your lips. But he doesn’t do more than that, rutting against your cunt and swallowing your noises with his mouth. He whines.

“Naoya,” You say, when your hot tongues part, “Naoya-“

He grabs your hips and positions you perfectly to plunge his aching cock into your slick heat, as desperate as an animal, and just as rough.

The sudden intrusion makes you cry out in pleasure, his thrusts coming in quick, needy bursts. He presses his sweaty brow into the pillow under your head. His hands hold your waist like a lifeline, his need ramming inside of yours, jerking and twitching and hot and wet. He kisses your cervix with every pump, leaving you breathless and needy.

But you know he can’t finish properly like this. You can see it when he pulls back to look at you, his face flushed and his mouth open and drooling. You wind your hands around his throat and squeeze, blocking his air and turning his noises into tiny pathetic gasps and wheezes. It doesn’t take long. His hips stutter and he finally, finally finds what he’s looking for, tipping over and cumming so hard he stops even trying to breathe. You feel every drop of him rush out to paint your insides, his cock throbbing hot within your liquid-warm walls.

You release his throat and he takes a sharp, ragged inhale, his body locking up with the rush of oxygen and endorphins. His cock pulses inside of you again as if his balls aren’t spent completely, and you feel his cum finding its way to the entrance of your hole and spilling out around his length, way too much to be plugged up inside.

“Fuck,” He grunts, “fuck.”

You hum and run your palms up his sides and down his back where you can reach as he pieces his senses back together. He pulls from your core and you hiss in strange pleasure and slight soreness.

He rolls to the side and slumps on the bed, breathing deep and enjoying the afterglow. You wiggle your hips, feeling him leak out of you even more, thick and warm.

You’re both silent for a few minutes. His watch dings right as you turn to touch his chest, his arms, run your fingers over the angry red on his neck.

He glances at it. Groans in pure discontent.

“Work?” You trace his nipple with an idle finger.

“Yes.” He sits up, glancing over the mess of the bed. “I’ve got an eight o’clock tomorrow, apparently.”

“You can’t cancel?” You shift and stretch, not missing how his eyes graze over your body. “You’ve already booked me for twenty four hours.”

“No.” He says, simply. “Obligations… responsibilities… I don’t know, whatever bullshit you want to call it.”

“Do you want a shower?” You lean over and press your smeared mouth to his shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I mean, of course it’s disgusting, but you don’t want to go home smelling like… well, you know.”

Naoya breathes, long and deep. Then he looks back at you.

“You getting in with me?”

A/N: “Tuna” is a term in Japanese hookup culture that can be equated to a ‘pillow princess’ in an extreme sense. There’s nothing wrong with being a pillow princess, but I personally believe it’s not something this Naoya is particularly into.

Thank you so much for reading!

#JujutsuJournal #Naoya Zenin x Reader #Naoya x Reader #jjk #x reader #fem reader #Reader x Naoya #naoya zenin #jjk naoya #jujutsu kaisen #i don't even fw naoya that much tbh #fizee.post

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lau219 · 2 months

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Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Part 3

Previous part here

…………………………………………………………………………….

“Is everything ok? You seem like something’s bothering you the last couple of days.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder as she stood in the large supply closet and saw Melissa assessing her with her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N answered her as she retrieved a few boxes of gauze and rubber gloves from the top shelf. As she turned around and made her way to the door, she continued as she and Melissa headed back out into the hallway. “Just feeling a little frazzled.”

“How come? Do you wanna talk about it?” Melissa took a few of the boxes from Y/N’s hands and helped her restock the cabinets as they moved from bay to bay in the ER wing.

“I just haven’t slept very well the last few nights,” Y/N shared. “It’s so hot lately and my AC is still broken. And then, when I was covering for Tammy at the kids’ baseball game a couple nights ago, Emmett had a stick up his butt about something and we got in some pointless argument.”

“Wait a second,” Melissa said as she stopped and turned around to face Y/N. “Emmett? As in your neighbor, Emmett?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, looking at her quizzically.

“I didn’t know his kids played on the baseball team,” Melissa said. “If I had known he was gonna be there, I would have volunteered to cover for Tammy. He is so hot!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at Melissa’s expression.

“Well, after how things went, I would have been happy to let you take my place.”

“That’s easy for you to say. He’s your neighbor; you get to see him all the time.”

Once they’d moved into the next bay that was further away from the nurses’ station, Melissa spoke again, her voice just a little lower.

“One time, when I was working, he came in here with some sort of cut on his side, and he had to take his shirt off so that we could take care of it for him. I swear to God, I have never had such a hard time keeping my hands to myself!”

Y/N laughed again and shook her head.

“You cannot honestly tell me that you don’t think he’s gorgeous,” Melissa countered.

Y/N neither agreed nor disagreed.

“Try having him as your neighbor and then see how you feel. His looks only make up for so much when he’s waking you up at the crack of dawn every weekend with the lawn mower.”

“So you do think he’s hot!” Melissa smiled.

Y/N just rolled her eyes. Of course, despite their rocky relationship, she never failed to internally swoon whenever she saw Emmett, but Melissa didn’t need to know that.

“And isn’t he a mechanic?” Melissa continued, now really just talking to herself. “God, can you imagine what he can do with his hands?”

It was something Y/N had thought about more times than she’d ever admit. But again, something no one else needed to know.

“Ok, that’s enough,” she said as she turned and exited the bay. “I’m worried I’m gonna have to hose you down.”

“Wait, so what were you guys fighting about?” Melissa asked as they returned to the nurses’ station.

“He got all bent out of shape because I bought his kids something to eat at the game,” Y/N explained. “He was running late, and they were hungry.”

“Why would that make him mad?”

“I don’t know, but before I knew it, he was demanding to reimburse me a dollar fifty and accusing me of showing him up in front of his kids, or some nonsense like that. I’ve actually never seen him get that worked up before.”

Melissa raised her eyebrow.

“Maybe he was embarrassed,” she offered. “Men don’t like us to think they need any kind of help or that they aren’t prepared.”

“I bought them a couple of hot dogs; I didn’t donate a kidney,” Y/N replied.

“Doesn’t matter,” Melissa said.

Y/N sighed.

“I was just trying to take care of the boys. But, of course, we just ended up fighting. That’s how it always goes. But this was especially tense.”

Melissa smiled mischievously.

“All I know is that if he was my neighbor,” she said, “I’d do anything I possibly could to get on his good side.”

Y/N just rolled her eyes again.

————————————————

That afternoon, Y/N had just placed a vase of fresh flowers on her kitchen island when there was a knock on her front door. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked through the kitchen towards her entryway. When she opened the door, she found Henry and Max standing on the welcome mat.

“Hi guys,” she said as she smiled at them. “What are you up to?”

Henry looked a little embarrassed as he spoke.

“Hi, umm...sorry, but we just got home from camp and I don’t have my house key. I think I left it in my pocket in my clothes from yesterday. My dad never gave you a key to our house or anything, did he?”

“Oh,” Y/N replied as her smile faded slightly. “No, he didn’t. Did you call him to see if he can come home quick and let you in?”

Henry blushed.

“I...umm...I left the cell phone he gave me in my pocket, too. It’s not like the phones my friends have – it’s old and I’m only allowed to use it in emergencies, so I don’t always remember it.”

Y/N slowly nodded.

“Well, you can use my phone. Do you wanna call him?”

Henry shifted awkwardly on his feet, and then Max suddenly spoke up.

“Henry doesn’t want to call him because he already forgot the key once last week. He thinks Dad’ll be mad if he has to come home to let us in the house again.”

Y/N tried not to smile in amusement at the pride on Max’s face from telling on Henry, or the glare Henry shot Max for ratting him out.

“Well,” Y/N began. “How about this? Why don’t you guys camp out here until your dad gets home? You can leave your stuff here while you play outside, or you’re welcome to hang out in the living room and watch TV.”

“Really?” Henry looked at her with appreciative relief.

“Yeah, but let’s leave your dad a note on the door so that he knows where you are when he gets home.”

Henry nodded.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he smiled.

After taping a note to their front door, the boys came back and spilled their stuff on the floor of the living room. They then proceeded to make themselves comfortable on the couch, watching a movie while Y/N went about her afternoon, occasionally checking on them. She’d made them a snack when they’d first arrived, but when 5:30 p.m. rolled around and Emmett still wasn’t home, she checked in with Henry.

“What time does your dad usually get home?” she asked him.

“Usually by now, but he’s had to work late a lot the last few weeks.”

“What do you do for dinner when that happens?”

“We have stuff at home that I can make, or he brings something with him when he comes home. He calls me on the cell phone to tell me what we should do.”

As soon as he said that, the color drained from Henry’s face as he realized that Emmett may have been trying to call him on the phone he’d forgotten. He looked at Y/N helplessly.

“It’s ok,” she shook her head to encourage him not to worry. “You can call him right now using my phone.”

“Could...could you do it?” Henry asked. “I don’t want him to be mad at me. I mean, he never gets mad, really, but I already forgot once last week and...” he trailed off.

The thought of calling Emmett suddenly had Y/N as uneasy as Henry looked. Not only had she and Emmett never talked on the phone before, but they hadn’t spoken to each other since the baseball game. It would be so odd to call him. But how could she say no to Henry?

“Sure, don’t worry; I’ll call him. Do you have his number memorized, or should I call the shop?”

Fortunately, Henry knew Emmett’s number, and he wrote it down for Y/N before returning to the living room. The piece of paper in one hand and her phone in the other, Y/N dialed the number and waited for the ring tone, her heart pounding. Why was she so nervous?

After a couple of rings, Emmett picked up the call.

“Hello?” she heard his voice on the other end of the line.

She cleared her throat.

“Emmett? Hi, it’s...it’s Y/N.”

Clearly taken aback, he paused a beat before speaking.

“Oh, uhh...”

“Um, I just wanted to let you know that the boys are over here at my house. Henry forgot his house key and the cell phone, and so I told them they could hang out here until you get home. He didn’t want you to get upset with him, but he was afraid you might have been trying to call him to tell him when you’d be home.”

“Uh, I was just about to call him, actually,” Emmett replied, still sounding a bit taken aback.

“Oh, ok, well, when do you think you’ll be home?” Y/N asked him. “I can make them some dinner if you’ll still be a while. Henry said you’ve been having to work late recently.”

As soon as she said that, she regretted it. She worried it would trigger the same reaction he had the other day at the baseball game – that he’d think she was trying to show him up. But to her relief, his tone was calm as he answered her.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be home in about 30 minutes. I’ll bring something with me; you don’t have to make them anything.”

“Are you sure?” she asked him. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be a half hour.”

“Ok,” Y/N replied. Then she lowered her voice slightly so that the boys wouldn’t hear her. “Henry feels really bad because this already happened once before. Don’t be too upset with him, ok? It was an honest mistake, and they’ve both been angels the whole time they’ve been here.”

“Ok...yeah,” Emmett answered her. There was a brief silence before he spoke once more. “Thanks. I’ll be there soon.”

“Ok,” she replied. “Umm...bye.”

Then she ended the call and set the phone down on the counter, letting out a deep breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Part 4

@nyxxie-pooh @febris-amatoria @xsweetcatastrophe @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree @hannibellector @devotedlyshadowytheorist @aphroditeslover11 @natalie--rushman @garrison-girl-08 @fuseburner @neonpurplestars89-blog @strangeanchorbird

#emmett x female reader #emmett a quiet place 2 #emmet a quiet place x reader #emmett a quiet place #emmett fic #emmett smut #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian smut #18+ only

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scary-grace · 1 month

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Enough to Go By (Chapter 6) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 6

You find out what Tenko’s up to from the news – or from Kazuo, who texts you to tell you that “your friend” is making headlines again. It’s an uncharacteristic move for Tenko, who you know has been trying to keep to the shadows while he gathers allies, and it gets weirder when you find out that he showed up in a shopping center to have a conversation with one of the students from the class he attacked. You weren’t really watching the Sports Festival, but this kid made headlines for repeatedly breaking his fingers while trying to use his quirk. Every so often, quirked people make you really grateful that you don’t have one yourself.

Tenko didn’t get caught. He was long gone before the heroes and law enforcement showed up. But the incident leaves a weird taste in your mouth. He wandered into a mall to chat with a high school student. Why didn’t he talk to you? You’re supposed to be his best friend, his sidekick. He called the two of you hanging out together a date. What could he tell a high school student that he didn’t feel safe telling you?

The question consumes you more than you want it to, so you fall back on your now time-honored tradition of drowning yourself in tasks to avoid thoughts you don’t like. Work, and sitting with Yoshimi through her treatments, and ducking phone calls from your parents, who are moving the whole family – again – and want you to come home and help. Your mom threatens to throw away all your old stuff if you don’t, and even though you took everything you cared about with you when you moved away, the thought of your things being thrown out with the trash bothers you. It bothers you enough that you use your one day off in two weeks to go back to your parents’ house and clean out what’s left of your room.

When you get there, you find half the house out on the lawn, and your mother arguing with the oldest of your younger siblings. “Don’t take that tone with me, Haru,” she’s snapping. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not as important as helping out your family. We need you here to –”

It’s like something snaps in your head, and you’re swamped in the memories of a hundred times where you were told the same thing. You thought that with you gone, your parents would have pulled themselves together, but it looks like not. It looks like they just dragged your brother into replace you. You step forward without thinking, right into the middle of it. “Hey, Haru. Hey, Mom. Sorry I’m late.”

Both of them stare at you. There’s something accusing in Haru’s stare, not that you blame him for that. Your mom looks more relieved than anything else, and with her temporarily neutralized, you turn to your brother. “Go do what you need to do, Haru. I’ll fill in until you get back.”

Haru doesn’t need to be told twice, and he doesn’t wait around for your mom to protest. He books it, and you turn to face your mom again, the feeling of accomplishment at defusing a conflict drowned almost immediately by your frustration with yourself. Two seconds. You’ve been here two seconds, and you’ve stepped back into the part you used to play like you never left.

Your mom hugs you. “Haru’s been just terrible these last few years,” she complains. “Any time we ask him to help, he throws the biggest fit. I can’t count the number of times I’ve told him to act more like you –”

“He’s nineteen, Mom. He’s got his own life,” you remind here, like it’ll help at all. You step back out of her embrace. “I came to sort through my stuff. Where is it?”

She gestures vaguely at one corner of the front yard, and you make your way over, at which point you discover that what your mom described as your stuff is actually only half yours. The other half seems to be every picture and keepsake your parents have of you. You knew your relationship with your parents wasn’t ideal, that they stopped being interested in you the second you stopped being useful to them, but seeing this gives you pause. “Mom –”

“We’re downsizing,” your mother explains. “Take what you want. We’ll throw the rest out.”

Fine. If that’s how they want it, that’s fine with you. The first things you dump in the throwaway pile are every photo that consists of just you and one or both of your parents. There goes the whole first year of your life, like it never happened at all. After that, it gets a little more difficult, because your siblings are in the pictures and it’s not their fault they were born. You find a partially filled photo album, start stripping the pictures you want to keep from their frames, and fit them into the remaining spaces. You don’t have a lot of space for picture frames. And this way you don’t have to look at them unless you want to.

Most of your toys and books went to your siblings as hand-me-downs, usually before you were actually done with them, so most of the things that are yours are things you had to fight to save. Your favorite books, which you rescued by carrying them around in your backpack twenty-four seven. A journal with a lock on it and no key, but you know how to pick locks now, so it doesn’t matter as much as it did before. Then there’s a box that’s been taped, glued, and stapled shut, with DO NOT TOUCH written all over it. You remember mummifying this box when you were ten or so. You just don’t remember why you did it.

You can open it once you’re home. You stack the photo album on top of it and keep hunting through all the pieces of your life that your parents are planning to throw away.

In the end, you can’t take much stuff. You don’t have very much room, and while Kazuo would probably agree to let you store things in his house, you don’t want to have to ask him to do that. There’s not really that much important stuff here, anyway. The books and games from when you were really little? You outgrew them a long time ago, so what would you even be keeping them for? It’s not like you’re going to have kids.

That thought came out of nowhere. You sit back on your heels, frowning at the change of tune. In spite of the shitshow of your childhood and the fact that you’d most likely pass on your quirklessness and put the next generation in the same second-class position as you are, you’ve always seen yourself having children. Not very many children. Two, most likely, and a decent difference in their ages – enough that you could let them have their own time instead of treating them like twins, not so much that you’d run the risk of parentifying the older one even slightly. You think you’d be a good parent, maybe. At the very least you know what not to do.

You’ve been sure of that since you were old enough to figure out where babies come from. This is the first time you’ve had the other thought, and it feels like a certainty. When did it change?

The answer is lurking somewhere in the back of your mind, and you decide you’re not interested in answering it right now. With your stuff sorted, you dump the things you’re not taking into the garbage pile, making sure your mom sees which photos you’re getting rid of. You really should leave after that, but then the rest of your siblings come barreling out of the house, and you don’t think you should leave without saying goodbye.

Isuzu, the oldest of your younger sisters, is in her last year of high school. Music is her thing, and she’s applying to every conservatory in the country – keeping her options open, she says, but you know she means getting away from home. The twins, Shigure and Shinji, are both at Ketsubutsu Academy, training to be heroes. They’ve enhanced their control over their quirks to the point where they can induce specific parts of the vomiting process at will, and they demonstrate it on you, making your throat burn and your mouth flood with bitter-tasting saliva before your mom catches them at it and makes them stop. The triplets, a full ten years younger than you, aren’t even out of primary school yet. They want to be heroes, too.

Your dad arrives, with Haru in tow, as you’re making your second attempt to escape. He hugs you, too, and asks why you don’t come home more – right before he asks you to get the triplets washed up for dinner and check that they’ve done their homework. You almost tell him to go fuck himself, but ultimately you don’t want the fight. You herd the triplets back inside and start with the homework.

Isuzu follows you, not speaking up until after you’ve confirmed that the homework is completed and shooed the triplets off to the bathroom. “How did you do that so fast? It takes me and Haru forever to get them moving.”

“Practice,” you say. “More than I should have gotten. More than you’ll get if you get out of here.”

“I’m working on it,” Isuzu says. She looks uncomfortable, and like she wants to say more. You wait. “I’m sorry I told on you back then. If I hadn’t, maybe –”

You shake your head. “I had to go.” You cover your upper arm, the same motion Tenko made, and a chill runs down your spine. “I didn’t leave because you told them about this. I left because I got into my apprenticeship, and they told me I couldn’t do it.”

“What?” Isuzu looks shocked. “Why?”

“They needed me at home.” You shrug, your nonchalance masking the memory of the bolt of rage that shot through you when you realized what they were trying to do. “The only way to stop it was to make sure I wasn’t home anymore. I wish it hadn’t landed on you and Haru.”

“Haru’s madder about it than me,” Isuzu says. She leans against you, her head on your shoulder. “I remember stuff he doesn’t. Like that friend you had across the street. I don’t remember his name –”

“Tenko,” you say. Your heart lurches into an unsteady rhythm. “You remember him?”

“Not really. I remember you talking about him, though. You always had so many stories to tell.” Isuzu sighs. “Did they ever find out what really happened to him?”

“No,” you say. You did, though. You might be the only one who knows what became of Shimura Tenko, and even you don’t know the details. “I’m surprised you remember. Mom and Dad didn’t like me talking about him.”

“They didn’t like you being sad,” Isuzu corrects. “They don’t like me being sad, either. I’d be sad if it was my best friend who vanished. You said you were gonna marry him.”

“I – what?” Before you can follow up on the absolutely batshit thing your sister just said, one of the triplets comes back into the living room with obviously unwashed hands. “Arisa, I know you didn’t wash those. Go back in.”

Arisa sticks her tongue out at you. “You can’t tell me what to do. You don’t even live here. And you don’t have a quirk.”

“Right,” you say, a moment before Arisa activates her quirk and wallops you with every ounce of the contempt she feels for you. It takes all your self-control to avoid bursting into tears. “I can leave, though. Mom can’t get me in trouble any more, because I’m grown up. But she can definitely get you in trouble. Risk it if you want.”

Arisa glares at you for a moment longer, then heads back to the bathroom. You clear your throat and blink hard, digging your nails into your palm to give yourself something else to focus on. “Even I felt that one,” Isuzu remarks, wincing. “How do you take this stuff?”

You clear your throat again. “Practice.”

You make it through dinner, then book it, telling Isuzu and Haru to look you up the next time they’re in Yokohama and hitting the road before the twins or the triplets can use their quirks on you again. You cry a little bit on the train home, just enough to let off steam, and text your friends, who know what your family’s like and all advised you not to go. When they ask how it went, you send back a sad face.

Mitsuko: fuck them, then. they don’t deserve you

Hirono: come over and get trashed if you want. always makes me feel better

Sho: ooh, party at Hiro’s

Sho: count me in

Yoshimi: I can’t but 💛💛💛

Mitsuru: can I bring Izumi

Mitsuru gets a resounding thumbs-down from everybody for that one. Ryuhei chimes in, saying he’s down for a party, and Kazuo moves the venue to his house from Hirono’s shitty apartment in Kamino Ward. When you get off the train in Yokohama, you head over to Kazuo’s without stopping at home first.

Your friends have varying ideas on how to make you feel better. Mitsuko and Hirono think you should get drunk, so you drink a little, and Sho thinks you should bitch as much as you want about your family, so you do. Mitsuru’s got lots of siblings, so you complain about siblings together, and Ryuhei, not to be outdone, offers to beat up the triplets for you. “My quirk is perfect for it,” he says. “They’ll never know what hit them.”

They wouldn’t – Ryuhei’s quirk is called Reflection, and it bounces any quirk-based attack right back in the face of whoever sent it. “They’re ten,” you say.

“So?”

“Wait until they’re adults and it’ll be legal,” Kazuo says blandly. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh,” you say. You haven’t let go of it, although you relinquished the photo album to Mitsuko and Hirono after extracting promises that they wouldn’t take the photos out. “I’m not sure. I guess I thought it was pretty important.”

Kazuo touches his temple, then lowers his hand. “You don’t know, so I don’t know, either.”

“Let’s open it,” Hirono suggests. Mitsuko is still flipping through the photo album. “What kind of dirty secrets have you got in there?”

“I was ten. Not a lot of dirty secrets at that age.” You hold the box out to her. “Mind doing the honors on the tape?”

Hirono’s quirk is called Slice. It lets her cut narrow lines in any substance she draws her finger over, and you know she’s used it for good and evil at various points in her life. She cuts through the tape, you pry out the staples, and you and your friends from high school look down at the things you thought were worth hiding when you were ten years old.

There’s another journal, which means the one you grabbed was probably a decoy. You don’t remember being this sneaky, but you’re guessing you had a reason, and as you look through the other things in the box, you realize what it was. “I hid this before my memory got wiped,” you say. “It’s all things about my friend.”

“I thought they were just wiping your memories of the murder scene,” Mitsuru says, frowning.

“That’s what they got, sort of.” Memories are coming back to you as you peer into the box, memories of collecting these things, squirreling them away, panic beating at the base of your throat the entire time. “They were going for all of it.”

There’s a plush toy – a corgi, the same kind as Tenko’s dog, because you’d always wanted a dog and your parents always said no. Tenko got it for you for your birthday, the same year you had to go home early from his party. There are a bunch of photos, too, stolen out of a photo album – possibly the same partially-empty album you found when you were sorting. Some are from school. Some are from parties – yours, Tenko’s, Hana’s. Some were pretty clearly taken by Tenko’s mom. Seeing them makes you want to cry.

In the pictures, Tenko’s house is still standing. Tenko’s family is still alive. There’s Tenko like he used to be, dark-haired and grey-eyed and quirkless and happy. The two of you were always happy together, even if you weren’t happy at home. “These are cute,” Sho remarks. “Lots of puppy love going on here, and I’m not talking about the dog.”

You remember that you apparently told Isuzu you were going to marry Tenko and cringe from the thought. “Don’t be weird.”

“If it helps, it doesn’t look all that unrequited,” Mitsuko says, peering over your shoulder. “Check that one out.”

The photo she’s pointing at is from your class’s Valentine’s Day party. You and Tenko are trying to trade valentines, except you’re too embarrassed to look at him while you hand yours over. He’s not embarrassed to look at you. He’s grinning, that same smile that some of the other girls called creepy, the one you still like seeing because you know that it’s real, and he’s holding out a valentine of his own for you.

The valentine Tenko gave you is in the box, although his handwriting is impossible to read when you’ve had as many drinks as you’ve had tonight. In the corner of the box is another, tinier box. It looks like a jewelry box, and when you pry it open, a memory floods over you. There’s a locket inside. You put a picture in it the day before you got your memory wiped, and when you pick it up, you find the picture staring up at you. Tenko. Even five years after he vanished, you couldn’t let him go.

You shouldn’t have had so much to drink. If you were sober, you absolutely wouldn’t be bursting into tears.

Your friends aren’t exactly clear on why you’re crying, but they comfort you anyway, Mitsuko and Hirono and Sho hugging you while Ryuhei and Mitsuru hang awkwardly back, patting your shoulders. The only person who doesn’t get in on it is Kazuo, but Kazuo was never the touchiest, even before his mind snapped. And something’s up with Kazuo tonight. Even through your own mess of emotion, you can tell.

You wait until everyone else is drifting off before you try to get it out of him. “What’s wrong?”

“The HPSC is reactivating me.”

“They – what?” The alcohol’s made you just a little slow – the anger hits before the understanding’s truly formed in your head. “No, they can’t. They can’t, Kazuo! After what they did to you –”

“My provisional license is still active. That means they can.” Kazuo extracts a letter from his pocket and holds it out for you to peruse. You can barely read it. Your vision is swimming with rage. “When All Might crippled the black market, he took down every possible informant with it. Someone is backing the League of Villains. They need to find out who. My quirk is the fastest way.”

“They can’t do this. Not with what happened last time.” Your heart is hammering. Kazuo’s work-study was in Yokohama. When he collapsed, they brought him to your clinic, and you saw firsthand what overuse of his quirk did to him. “It could kill you.”

“There are safeguards, theoretically.” Kazuo’s voice is flat, emotionless. Like it’s been for two years and counting. “If you read further in the letter, you’ll see the protocol they outlined.”

You don’t need to read it. “You’ve got a medical condition. Using your quirk will exacerbate it. They can’t just conscript you like this!”

“It’s done,” Kazuo says. You look at him, speechless with fury, still too close to tears. “I didn’t tell you so you could get angry over something you can’t solve. I told you because I’ve predicted the types of questions they’ll instruct me to ask. I can ask them in a way that will preclude you in the answers.”

You hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “But in order for me to do that,” Kazuo continues, “you must keep yourself out of their search parameters. As long as you don’t directly aid your friend in the committing of a crime, you’ll fall outside their net.”

“Directly aid,” you repeat. “What does that mean?”

Kazuo gives you a look. “Failing to stop something is not the same thing as assisting in it.”

Now you get it. Kazuo’s telling you that simply knowing what Tenko’s up to isn’t enough to get you in trouble. In order for you to come under suspicion through Kazuo’s quirk, you’d have to actually do something – not just to help Tenko, but to help Tenko commit a crime. “I understand.”

You do. But that fury is still bubbling up within you, pointless as it is, at the thought that catching some vague scraps of information about the League of Villains is worth Kazuo’s sanity, Kazuo’s life. “We’ll figure something out. I won’t let them keep using you.”

Kazuo’s eyes are blank. They’ve been blank for years. But every so often you’ve seen a flash of something within them – some feeling, something familiar, something of the boy you knew. “You can’t save both of us,” he says, and his right hand falls from his temple to rest in his lap.

He was using his quirk just then. What was he asking? What did he see? You want to ask him, but he’s just picked up a half-empty bottle of vodka and drained it, and now it’s all hands on deck to hustle him to the bathroom in time for him to throw it back up.

The thought crosses your mind, as you’re rubbing his shoulders and offering him tissues to wipe his mouth, that it would have been easier if you’d fallen harder for Kazuo. If you’d fallen hard enough to cling to him even when his heroic ambitions pulled him away, hard enough to hold on even when the overuse of his quirk destroyed his ability to feel anything at all, hard enough to fight for him even when he doesn’t see a point to trying at anything any longer. It would have been hard, sure. But at the same time, it would have been easier for everyone involved if you’d felt for Kazuo the way you feel for Tenko.

You and Kazuo fall asleep on the bathroom floor, and in the morning, you’ve got a backache and a hangover. So does everybody else, but there’s something at least a little relieving in the fact that you’re all suffering together. You’ve got work, but it’s a half day, and it starts at noon. Plenty of time for you to go home and take a shower and try to sober up the rest of the way.

At least that’s what you think. When you step out of the bathroom in your apartment wrapped in a towel, you step directly into a warp gate, and it swallows you whole.

Kurogiri said he’d tell you what you were walking into the next time Tenko summoned you, but maybe he just forgot. You think you can probably talk Tenko into sending you back long enough to put on clothes. But once your feet touch the ground, it’s clear that you aren’t in the bar, where you’ve been nearly every time Tenko’s called for you. The air is cold and clammy, and there’s a strange smell, half antiseptic, half rot. You know this smell. You remember it from a field trip you took in nursing school. It smells like a morgue.

It smells like a morgue, and it’s pitch-black. You can’t see your hand in front of your face. Where’s Tenko? You can’t imagine him summoning you here without an explanation – which means he’s not the one who summoned you. Who did?

A voice issues from the darkness, deep and almost friendly. “Do you know who I am?”

The revulsion and terror that sweeps over you at the sound of his voice are almost enough to bring you to your knees. But you grew up in a family full of quirk users whose quirks affected the mind and body, and they loved to practice on you. Sixteen years of surviving it gives you the experience to stay on your feet. And when you think about it, you do know who this is. “You’re Sensei,” you say, and the man in the darkness makes a pleased sound. “Shigaraki’s master.”

“Very good,” the man says, but it isn’t – you only remembered to use Tenko’s new name at the last second. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me who you are – and who you are to Tomura.”

“I’m – nobody,” you say. Sensei’s influence over you intensifies, and you keep your feet with an effort. “I’m a nurse. He came to the clinic I work at last year. He’d hurt his wrist.”

“I see,” Sensei says after a moment. “Had you met Tomura before that time?”

Tomura? No. You shake your head, only to remember that Tenko’s master probably can’t see in the dark. “No.”

“But you’ve seen him since.”

“Yes,” you say. “When he’s injured, he sends Kurogiri to find me. So I can help.”

“I see,” Sensei says again. You’re tempted to point out that if the doctor, whoever the doctor is, had treated Tenko’s gunshot wounds, Tenko wouldn’t have needed to call for you in the first place. But that would escalate things. You keep your mouth shut. “Do you possess a healing quirk?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame,” Sensei remarks. “Would you like one?”

“No,” you say at once. Maybe too quickly, given the insanity of the statement. “It’s not possible to give quirks.”

“It is. And they can be taken away just as easily,” Sensei says. You stay quiet, and when he speaks again, it’s a change of subject. “It seems Tomura has taken a liking to you.”

“I – I wouldn’t know,” you stammer. How much does Tenko’s master know? “I don’t know how Shigaraki feels about anything.”

“Thankfully, I do.” Sensei goes silent for a moment. “I suppose it’s wise of Tomura to keep a medical provider in his orbit, even if you would be more useful to him with a healing quirk. What is your quirk?”

Your stomach instantly twists into a knot. “I don’t have one.”

“Mm.” Sensei’s voice takes on a reflective note. “Let’s remedy that.”

The darkness is complete. You don’t see the hand coming; all you can do is startle when it clamps down over your face, enormous and rough and hot. Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp, too quiet to be a scream but still too close for comfort. But just as suddenly as the hand settled over your face, it pulls away with equal speed. Sensei chuckles, a low, dark sound that makes your skin crawl. “You’ve been dishonest with me, but I can’t fault you for not sharing what you don’t know.”

You’ve been dishonest, yes. It doesn’t seem like he knows about that. But what don’t you know? “Sir? I don’t understand.”

“You have manners. It’s a shame Tomura won’t appreciate them,” Sensei says. “You will understand in time. Kurogiri?”

The mist begins to billow around you – and at the same time, it clears partially, revealing the shape of the man standing before you. He’s terrifyingly large, looming over you, and his face – “I would advise against telling Tomura of our meeting,” Sensei says as you stare up at him in terror, “but that is ultimately your decision to make. You and I will have no further dealings. Tomura has chosen you as a piece in his game. I will leave you to him.”

The terror drowns you. You fight to keep your head above water. “Yes, sir.”

“Sir,” Sensei repeats. “I do like that.”

The tone in his voice breaks your composure, just as the mist closes around you. By the time Kurogiri deposits you back on the floor in your apartment – in your apartment, they know where you live – you’re hyperventilating, panicking, almost out of your mind. “Shigaraki Tomura will call for you this evening,” Kurogiri says. “I do not know his purpose. I advise you to be prepared for either possibility.”

For a date. Or for a meeting with his new allies. You’ve never felt less prepared for anything in your life. Kurogiri vanishes, and you curl up in a ball, shivering. Maybe it’s from the cold. Maybe it’s from the smell of rot. Maybe it’s from the pure terror of meeting Tenko’s master, of the lingering sensation of his hand closing over your face. Whatever it is, you have to get rid of it. And you still have to go to work. You crawl back to the bathroom, turn the shower on scalding, and climb in.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shimura tenko #x reader #reader insert #please hold

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ztarvokwrites · 2 months

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Dracule Mihawk - Actions Speak Volumes

a/n: yo yo yo! had this scenario in my head for a few days n decided to write abt it before i lose my train of thought haha! here u go <3

synopsis: it's only when you finally snap that he realises just how much you're hurting, thus he does everything he can to make it up to you.

reader is gn!

warnings: none, just angst, fluff, comfort, maybe a bit of sexual tension at the end if you squint hard enough.

word count: 1,626

Your actions as of recent have been nothing short of frustratingly annoying. After Mihawk returned from a 3-month escapade for only the best supplies for the Guild (he does not trust Buggy’s lackeys), you’ve been acting uncharacteristically cold towards him. Alvida knows what’s bothering you, yet refuses to tell him why you’re suddenly so ice cold, a harsh and bitter contrast to your warm and kind personality that he adored so much.

“You should already know that, seeing how you’re so perceptive of everything,” She says as he asks once again what your problem is. His eyes are on you as you silently help Cabaji set up some weapons in case they need to battle the Navy again. “But, if you can’t see they’re hurting because of you, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“And what exactly did I do to them, may I ask? All I did was go out for supplies,” Mihawk responds sharply, looking at the young woman beside him from the corner of his eye. Alvida looks at him, dumbfounded at the density of the former Warlord. She grunts, putting her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, for 3 whole months without telling them,” Exclaims the woman, brows furrowing as she looks towards you, arms folding over her chest again. “Honestly, I’m surprised they’re still with you considering how bad you’ve been treating them!”

This made his head snap towards her so fast that Alvida jolted back, eyes wide in fear. His golden eyes, usually cold and unfeeling, look surprised at her statement. Surely she’s bluffing, right? Mihawk can’t recall treating his partner poorly. Sure, they might’ve had a little argument here and there, but he was still devoted to them.

“...What makes you think I am treating my beloved so poorly?” He asks, his cold voice holding an edge of offence to Alvida’s accusation.

“Well…” Alvida hesitates, voice weak for a moment before she continues speaking with confidence. “You haven’t been spending much time with them, your attitude towards them is just downright mean, you brush off their concerns like they’re a waste of time, and-”

“Alvida,” You interrupted, walking up to her with your arms folded. “Stop complaining, would you? Me venting to you when I’m drunk doesn’t permit you to go to Dracule about our relationship troubles. This is something between Dracule and I, so keep your nose out of it.”

Dracule.

You’ve never used his first name before, let alone with such… Unfathomable coldness. Mihawk stares — no, gawks at you, his stoic expression faltering slightly into one of pure confusion. Was what Alvida said true? When your eyes meet his, he watches as you narrow your gaze, a silent command for him to speak to you privately now that he knows too much. His gaze holds your own for a few seconds until you walk away. Following you, he tries to strike up a conversation, but you shoot his attempts down with a simple, “We’ll talk when we’re in private, so be quiet and follow me.”

And so, in uncomfortable silence, Mihawk follows you into your shared tent, staring at you with his arms crossed as you sit at the table. You speak first before he can even open his mouth, airing out your grievances and spilling your heart to the man, knowing he can shrug it off like before. You speak of the neglect as of late, how he has been nonchalant and uncaring towards you, how you’ve been feeling unloved by the man and how you’ve been constantly put aside now that you’ve all formed the Cross Guild.

And perhaps you’ve seen this coming — no, you have seen this coming; the way he deflects and tries to downplay how badly he’s been treating you because he simply refuses to believe it. Of course, this turns into an argument that eventually gets heated, as tears sting your eyes and threaten to spill down your cheeks. You’re practically screaming at this point, desperately trying to get him to see your point of view.

“For once in your life, Dracule,” There you go again, using his first name as if it were venom on your tongue. “Think about me! Think about us! Instead of your top priority being disappearing without a trace for months on end, making me worried sick about you — you should be prioritising what this relationship means to you because this means everything to me! You mean everything to me!”

Mihawk goes silent at your outburst, his arms unfolding and resting by his sides as his attention falls on you. He’s not focused on what he refuses to believe anymore, he’s only focused on you. Only you. It’s like his world stops once he sees your grief-stricken face, your tears finally escaping your tear ducts and caressing your cheeks as they drift down to your chin, your lips pulled into a tight frown. His face remains stoic as he listens, finally listens to you.

Oh, how he wants to hold you in his arms and apologise, but he doesn’t. He just lets you yell at him and open his eyes to the truth… But you’re gone once you’re done speaking, you're pushing past him and walking out of the tent to get some well-deserved air. The former Warlord steps out of the tent, trying to see where you ran off to, but you are nowhere to be seen.

It’s then that he decides he’s going to make it up to you. He isn’t a fool, he knows he hasn’t been as affectionate as of late, and this argument has made him realise just how much he’ll lose if he loses you. Mihawk certainly doesn’t want to lose you, not after all you’ve been through together.

Throughout the day, he gives you your space but finds little things that remind him of you as he explores what Emptee Bluff’s Island has to offer. Whether it be flowers or your favourite drink in the town that’s opposite Buggy’s Town, he soon returns with three or four bags of gifts and groceries — ignoring the questioning looks on peoples’ faces as he casually carries the heavy bags to your shared tent with ease.

As the week progresses, he slowly starts giving you these gifts in secret, leaving them in your chair or your side of the bed in the morning. Whenever you’d see them, your heart would skip a beat and ache with confusion before a small blush would rise to your cheeks. You know he’s a man of few words, so you are glad he is acknowledging you like this.

Finally, the time comes for the perfect last gift — a romantic dinner under the stars, far away from the chaos of the Guild, even if it was just for an hour or two. You show up wearing your best outfit, a little nervous as it’s been a while since the argument and neither of you have properly talked since. It’s not hard to find the spot, as the candles on the grass illuminate the blanket that you find your partner patiently sitting on. A small pang in your heart strikes as he lifts his head, his golden eyes meeting your gaze and scanning over your outfit.

You can almost see it, the way his eyes light up behind his cold exterior upon seeing you dressed up like this. Honestly, it makes you flustered the way he just stares at you before motioning you to come forward and take a seat beside him.

“...I thought I’d treat you to something special tonight,” Begins Mihawk, pouring you a glass of wine as you sit down beside him. With a small smile, you take the glass from him and have a sip. “...I’ve been thinking about what Alvida had exposed to me, and what you said during our latest quarrel about a week ago.” A lump forms in your throat as you swallow the sip of your drink, feeling dread fill your stomach. There’s a small silence that overtakes you both as you avoid his gaze, looking up at the stars as he looks at you with those piercing eyes.

“...I don’t want to lose you like I almost did before,” Mihawk continues, staring at you as he puts his drink down on the blanket, his hand gently touching your forearm. “So let me make it up to you. I’m sorry, I promise to never make you feel unloved ever again.” You avert your gaze from the stars, finally looking towards him with tears glistening in your eyes. The hand that rests on your forearm now caresses your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that dares to slide down your flushed skin with his calloused thumb.

“...You’re an asshole sometimes, Mihawk,” You respond, your tone slightly playful yet mixing with a twinge of hurt. “You don’t notice how much you hurt me until it’s too late, and you’re a man with so few words that it surprises me you argue back… But, somehow, you eventually find the right words to say and I come crawling back to you. But I’ve noticed that this time, it’s different. Your actions have spoken volumes louder than your voice has, and it…” You stop rambling once you take in the way he’s looking at you.

The way a small smile barely tugs at his stoic lips, the way his golden eyes soften and pupils dilate as he takes you in. You blush, yet he finds himself smiling just a little more, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. The two of you find yourselves leaning in, and for a moment you think your lips are going to collide, but instead, Mihawk opens his mouth to say, “Would you like to see what I’ve prepared for this evening, my dear?”

starnote: i'm sleepy :)

dividers by @/ saradika!

#ztarvokwrites #one piece #dracule mihawk #op mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #cross guild #dracule mihawk x reader

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yanderes-galore · 6 months

Note

Can you do Mike afton with your prompts 57, 53, and 10? Also can it be romantic?

Sure! I'll see what I can do :) Been a bit since I've done this AU. This is a new take on it.

@okchijt helped me with this so this is mostly their take while I filled in the plot they gave me. Requester wanted FLS AU.

Yandere! FLS! Michael Afton Concept

What is the FLS AU?

Yandere! FLS AU! Michael Afton Prompts 57, 53, and 10

"You're stuck with me, like it or not."

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

"I've given myself all to you! Yet you call me a monster!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Breaking and entering, Manipulation, Kidnapping implied, Forced relationship implied.

The phone rings on and on as you type away at your keyboard. On screen is an email soon to be sent to your boss, Henry. You were nearly at a breakthrough on an important case.

Incriminating evidence filled the email. Many documents and notes were attached all about two people behind a long list of murders. The case of The Aftons was very important to your employer.

Your job was to play detective. You were meant to work for them at their Pizzeria, collect evidence, then leave. That was it... that was the job.

Then one of them, the son, got attached.

You had a feeling he caught on to you. Even now as you type away and prepare to send Henry your evidence your phone rings. You knew it was him, the voice mails were endless.

You hadn't bothered to listen to them. Instead you focused on your email by putting on the final touches. Then your mouse drifted to the send button...

Only for the power to cut.

You go silent, eyes blown wide and looking at the computer in shock. There wasn't any storms. Did you flip something by accident?

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up? Are you ignoring me?"

The voice echoes from close by and you feel the hair on your skin shoot up. You spin your chair around and search the darkness for answers. Unfortunately... your questions are answered.

Michael stands in the doorway of the room. His posture is confident and he stares at you like you're his newest prey. You can only stare as he blocks your exit.

"Don't you know how much I've done for you?" Michael sighs. "I've been protecting you from my father as I already know your plans. I could've just killed you... but now I like you too much for that."

The man in front of you does a fake pout while leaning in the doorway. The fact he knew everything made your heart drop to your stomach. He's more clever than you thought.

"I've already sacrificed so much by allowing these games to play out. However, this still means I have to prevent you from exposing the family business, y'know?" Michael sighs, playing with your emotions to satiate the sadism within him.

"You're a monster for doing all of this!" You yell at the man. You can see Michael feign shock and surprise before chuckling.

"I've given myself all to you! Yet you call me a monster!" Michael accuses in a playful manner before turning serious. "I could've just killed you, but I'm nice enough to protect you and let you live!"

You quickly stand up to keep distance as Michael walks forward. Despite the situation you manage to keep yourself calm. It's in the line of work, after all. Yet you still find yourself shaking when he gets close to you.

"I've been so patient with you. I think things should go my way for once, shouldn't they?" Michael hums towards you. You try to run around him but he catches you with ease. It's funny to him... did you not think he was an experienced killer?

You feel your chest hit the desk hard as your arms are held behind your back. The resulting impact causes the computer to crash onto the ground, the email and evidence now long destroyed. Panic sets in as struggle and fight against the killer behind you.

Said killer only appears excited by your fate.

"I think it's time you rest, dear. Isn't it getting late?" Michael coos, raising the knife in his hand. You suddenly feel a blunt object smack into your head before your vision darkens.

"You're stuck with me, like it or not." Michael whispers with a giggle before your vision fails you.

#yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf #fnaf father like son au #yandere fls michael afton #yandere michael afton

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dkfile · 2 years

Text

golden hour

❛ you grab your milkshake and chug in hopes that the liquid is enough to drown the butterflies in your stomach. ❜

word count | 12.4k (12,449) genre | fluff, slice of life, best friends to lovers, summer vacation au ━ best friend!joshua

summer ends in less than a month, leaving you with a limited amount of time to build up the courage to profess your undying love for your best friend before he leaves again for college. alternatively the summer of pining, featuring a group of annoyed bystanders.

★ warnings | alcohol consumption, so much pining it’s ridiculous, little to no angst, i got lazy editing towards the end so if there’s mistakes please pretend they aren’t there ★ author’s note | i quite literally haven’t written anything since last year but i’ve been wanting to publish this for a while (this has been in my drafts since may 2021 and i didn’t finish it until this month omg), and since it’s a summer au i thought it’d be appropriate to publish it now

24 days before ━ Sunday, 12:30 A.M.

Minghao is holding a wine glass filled halfway with cola, paper straw dangling from his lips when he tells you that there’s no point denying the fact that you’re in love with Joshua.

“Everyone can tell, it’s obvious.” He hasn’t been meeting your gaze for the entirety of the conversation, and you can’t tell whether you’d rather him looking at you as he accuses you of becoming a victim to love (you poor thing), or narrowing his eyes at Chan as he attempts to dunk Soonyoung’s head into the water. “Even Seokmin can tell — Seokmin. He’s never going to be able to keep it a secret, by the way.”

“Oh, fuck you.” The venom on your tongue barely makes it past your teeth, and instead of your voice having a tone of finality (which you hoped would shut Minghao up), you only end up sounding frazzled. Which, frankly, you are, and it doesn’t help that the scratchy material of the pool chair is digging into your skin, refusing to make you feel comfortable. “I’m not in love with Joshua.”

“Sure, but you smile a fuck ton whenever he’s around,” Minghao takes a sip of his drink, a soft and refreshed ah falling from his lips before he continues, “people in love don’t do that.”

Your lips twist into a frown. “I smile a lot when I see Jun.”

“That’s different. Everyone smiles when they see Jun. Only you smile like an idiot when you see Joshua.” Before you can open your mouth to respond, Minghao shakes his head, “Don’t bother arguing, Y/N, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

You sigh, swinging your legs off the chair. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

As you slip your flip-flops on, Minghao asks if you can get him another soda. Instead of replying verbally, you flip him off and start your trek towards the cooler by the patio doors. It’s getting late into the night, and you’re sure all the good drinks are gone by now — everyone seemed to grab a can of cola earlier, and you think you saw Jun hog all of the coconut drinks for himself, which means the only beverages left are the juice boxes Seungcheol and Jeonghan bought.

You lean down to look through the drinks, and sure enough, a lone red box of apple juice sits in the corner of the cooler. You grab it before anyone else can, and when you stand to your full height, you see Joshua walking toward you in the corner of your eye.

His hair is wet and when he’s finally standing in front of you, you catch a whiff of chlorine.

“Is there anything left in there?” he asks. “Minghao asked me to get him something.”

Despite not getting a good look at the contents inside the cooler earlier, you reply with a begrudged, “Nope. Tell him the only cola we have left is what he has in his wine glass.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow, amused by the slight bite in your words. “You seem to be very angry with Minghao and his wine glass.”

“I’m not,” you say, doing an awful job at hiding the vexation in your voice. “I just don’t understand why he pours a can of soda into a cup.”

“You have to admit, it looks pretty sophisticated.”

“He’s drinking from a straw.”

“It’s cool, you’re just a hater,” Joshua shakes his head. The smile on his face falters for a moment when he takes note of the dry clothes you’ve been wearing for the entire night. “And a boring one, too. Have you been sitting on your ass this whole time?”

You shrug, picking at the material of the shirt you threw over your bathing suit. “Yeah. I don’t want to to drain all my energy tonight by fighting Jeonghan about the rules of water volleyball.”

He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “You know, when I asked you yesterday if you wanted to go midnight swimming with some friends, the invitation was to go midnight swimming with some friends, not kick back and bond with Minghao.”

“I wasn’t bonding with him, he was annoying me,” you wave your hand in the air in dismissal.

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

Joshua frowns. “You’re hiding something.”

You scoff. “I’m not!

He ignores your protest, instead giving you a smile that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest as he moves to stand beside you. “OK, fine, let’s say you aren’t. But if you are, you know you can tell me. I’m amazing at keeping secrets.”

Rolling your eyes, you begin to walk back to the chairs, slowing your pace at the sight of your spot being occupied by an inebriated Jun, who seems to be running low on energy as his eyes begin to flutter shut. Joshua follows your movements, a low whistle leaving his lips.

“Will you go in the pool now?”

“What?”

“‘Cause Jun’s passed out in your chair,” Joshua says, gesturing towards your friend. “You finally have a chance to suck it up and get in the pool.”

You snort. “The only way you’re getting me into the water is by force.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Huh? No— get away from me!” you shriek, juice box slipping out of your hands as Joshua moves behind you, and in one swift motion, pushes you into the pool. Before the water muffles your hearing, you briefly hear Mingyu yelp in surprise as he tries to swim away, just in case your body collides with his.

When you swim up, gasping for air, the first thing you see is Joshua laughing as he crouches down by the poolside, harbouring the type of grin you know will hurt his gums if it stays on his face for too long. Behind you, you hear Seungkwan chastising you for getting into the pool without taking off the only dry clothes you have, but the only thing you can focus on is Joshua, sitting there with his skin glowing in the moonlight, and looking like he just walked off a magazine shoot (but you think he always looks at that).

You force yourself to look away at some point, knowing that if you stare too much without saying anything, he’ll figure out that being underwater wasn’t the only reason you’re feeling breathless.

23 days before ━ Monday, 1:15 A.M.

“Andrew Garfield or Tobey Maguire?”

“What?”

“We can’t watch Tom Holland’s Spider-Man movie because we’ve watched it too many times and Seungcheol told me it’s unhealthy to know word-for-word what Tony Stark says in Spider-Man: Homecoming, so—”

“No, shut up,” you interject, shaking your hand to halt any more words from falling out of Joshua’s mouth. “You promised me we would watch Pitch Perfect.”

Joshua inhales sharply. “Oh. I was hoping you forgot about that.”

“What the fuck?”

“We’ll watch it next time,” he offers, throwing his head back and turning it to face you. In the corner of your eye, you can see the ridiculous and adorable pleading seeping into his features, eyes soft, features tender because he knows looking at you like this is what gets you into the palm of his hands.

Being in love truly is the worst thing to ever happen to you.

You huff, tossing the remote onto his lap. “I hate you,” you say, admitting defeat, to which Joshua yells in triumph. He quiets down immediately after he remembers it’s late and his neighbours are probably asleep or having an existential crisis.

“You don’t,” he hums, victory tainting his lungs and causing a teasing lilt to appear in his tone, “We’ll watch Pitch Perfect next time, maybe with Soonyoung and Chan, you know how much they love singing along to movies like that.”

Sighing in slight disappointment, you say, “You said that last time and look where we are now.”

Joshua moves and takes his hand out from under the blanket. “I’ll actually go through with it! Here, let’s do a spit shake.”

“No!” you protest immediately, reaching over to bring his hand back down. “I’ll just take your word for it.”

He shrugs, squeezing your hand lightly before slipping out of your touch and taking the remote to search for the many varieties of Spider-Man movies in the search bar. His touch, however, still lingers when you slowly put your hand back on your lap.

Perhaps love truly does suck, but you can’t imagine feeling anything else for Joshua.

22 days before ━ Tuesday, 2:24 A.M.

The deafening noise of pop music berates your skull until the uproar is all you can think about. Any and all requests for Seokmin and Seungkwan — both running on adrenaline the cheap booze gives them — to turn down the music goes through one ear and out the other, but you’re sure they won’t be this energetic when the sun comes up in a few hours.

“How have they not passed out yet?” Chan shouts over the music. You can only hear him because he’s collapsed next to you, all of his energy long gone after his impromptu dance battle with Wonwoo on the dance floor.

“They’re drunk,” Vernon calls, voice barely audible. “Leave them be, they’re playing good music.”

“Christ,” Chan murmurs, struggling to get up on his feet. “You think Mingyu would care if I crashed here? There’s no way I’m letting my parents see me like this.”

You squint at him, fingers loosely grasping the rim of your plastic cup. “What, you’re going to sleep already? With all this noise?”

“Believe it or not, it’s easy to drown this out,” he replies dismissively, staggering towards the stairs after calling a lazy and exhausted, “G’night.”

Vernon is quick to take Chan’s spot, careless about the liquid splashing out of his cup from his swift movements.

You sigh, “There’s no way Chan’s going to be able to fall asleep when Seokmin and Seungkwan are having their own little karaoke session over there.”

Vernon shrugs and makes a comment about the unlimited energy they’ve had since birth before he starts talking about the latest show he’s been watching on Netflix. You barely hear anything he’s saying, and you don’t know if it’s because the racket has sunk its persistent teeth into your eardrums or because, for the first time since the party started, you spot Joshua in the sea of people.

He’s wearing a green sweater and shorts, not caring much for the almost unbearable heat in Mingyu’s living room as Seokmin grabs his hand and drags him over to the makeshift DJ booth. Seokmin pries the microphone from Seungkwan’s hands (but not without difficulty) and hands it over to a tipsy Joshua, cheeks flushed from the alcohol in his system.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Joshua,” he says into the mic, introducing himself and laughing when someone — Jeonghan, probably — shouts that everyone here already knows who he is, and people who don’t are likely not going to remember him by the time morning peeks its head over the horizon. “I’m gonna be singing Sunday Morning.”

“Oh, dude,” Seungkwan whines. “That’s not a party song — and it’s not even Sunday!”

“We need something a little more calm, don’t you think?” Joshua shrugs, expertly dodging Seungkwan’s attempts to get the mic back. “Besides, some people here are exhausted and want to sleep — look at Y/N!”

You jolt at the mention of your name, almost forgetting you’ve been staring at the stage. You straighten, pushing yourself off from the back of the couch and giving him the most genuine smile your worn-out self can muster.

“Let him sing, Seungkwan.”

You aren’t sure if they heard you, but nevertheless, Seokmin plays Joshua’s song. Eyes glazed and lips parted, your exhaustion refuses to let you care that care that you’re staring at Joshua in a way you know isn’t appropriate for a platonic relationship. You’re just about to drift into dreamland when Vernon nudges you out of your reverie.

He gives you a knowing look before bringing his cup to his lips. “When are you going to tell Joshua?”

“Oh, come on,” you huff, tearing your eyes off the DJ booth to look for Minghao. “What’d Hao tell you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know before,” Vernon tuts like he’s almost disappointed you have these feelings in the first place (or because you’re less than willing to do anything about them). “You should tell him before the summer ends, otherwise someone else is going to fall in love with him and you’re going to beat yourself up for missing your chance.”

“Right,” you scoff. “You’re drunk, Vernon.”

“I’ve been drinking water this entire night. I’m driving people home later,” he corrects, unaware that you’ve already drowned out his voice, no longer wanting to hear what he has to say about your love life. “Besides, I think Joshua feels the same way about you.”

You aren’t sure if you hear him correctly, and your head is pounding too hard for you to care.

21 days before ━ Wednesday, 3:00 A.M.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Joshua laughs, face illuminated by the glaring white light coming from the screen of his laptop. “Oh, that’s no way to talk to a friend.”

You pout. “A real friend wouldn’t wake me up at three in the morning to watch the new Conjuring movie,” you retort, keeping your voice low — something you hope you can do until the end of the movie because you’re sure your parents would not be happy to be woken up to you screaming because of something Joshua forced you to watch.

“We’re not watching The Conjuring,” he answers, leaning forward to search for the movie that’s bound to give you night terrors for at least a week. “We’re watching Fear Street. It’s a trilogy of mo—”

“We’re watching three movies?” you shriek. So much for staying quiet until the sun rises. “I didn’t sign up for that— Joshua, I’m so close to kicking you out right now.”

“You wouldn’t do that. It’s raining and Seungcheol would be incredibly pissed if he found out you got me sick,” he says. When he leans back against the headboard and looks at you, something dangerous sparks in his eyes. “Also you wouldn’t mind if I stayed the night, right? We’re all hanging out later, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, karaoke, I almost forgot.” If you lose sleep tonight, there’s no doubt you’ll fall asleep while Seungkwan is belting out to Beyonce later, and the thought of having your guard down around Jeonghan is almost as terrifying as the horror movie category on Netflix. “Yeah, I don’t care, but you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“C’mon,” Joshua whines, resting his chin on your shoulder. Your breath hitches at the close proximity, “sleeping on your rug is itchy. I’m voluntarily protecting you from everything malicious during the witching hour and you repay me by making me sleep on the floor? What if the monster under your bed comes and—”

“OK, OK, OK,” you laugh, gently pushing him off you so you can breathe, ignoring how you can practically feel the absence of his breath against your cheek. “Fine, you can stay on the bed, but if you steal the blanket and I wake up freezing to death, then—”

“As if I would ever let you freeze to death,” Joshua scoffs. “Besides, it’s burning in here. If anything, you’d die from a heat stroke.”

“Oh, very comforting.”

Joshua cracks a grin. “I try,” he reaches over to pinch your cheek before saying, “Can we start the movie now?”

“No.”

“You can hold onto me whenever you get scared.”

“I’m going to be holding onto you for the entire thing, then.”

He shrugs. “That’s cool, I don’t mind.”

You have to clench your jaw to stop from smiling like an idiot and having him question the sudden change in your expression. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he confirms warmly, nearing his hand towards yours. When you finally take a hold of it, his expression becomes delicate, and you suddenly feel a slight fear of squeezing him too hard that you’ll break him. “Anything for you.”

You hope the universe loves you enough to ensure Joshua doesn’t notice your palms have gotten sweaty.

20 days before ━ Thursday, 4:54 A.M.

“Remember Spring Formal?”

You have to blink rapidly to wake yourself up, having almost fallen asleep after Joshua stopped talking a few moments ago. He called you in the middle of the night, saying sleep just wasn’t coming, and asked if you could stay on the phone with him until he got too exhausted to talk, but not without telling you that if you were tired he could just watch Netflix until the sun rose. You insisted on staying up for him because apparently, you’d do anything for love.

“Sorry?” you grumble, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as fatigued as you feel.

“Spring Formal, junior year. My mom made me wear that baby blue tie and took pictures of everyone standing on our porch as if it was graduation day or something.”

“Oh,” you murmur, the memories of the high school dance hit, and you’re suddenly springing to full consciousness. You remember Minghao teaching Chan how to breakdance on the dance floor, Jihoon and Jun leaving early because Mingyu somehow accidentally spilled all of the punch on them (which you assumed Jihoon and Jun were slightly thankful for since they didn’t seem to want to be there anyway), and Seungcheol asking you to go as his date because he (stupidly) wanted to make someone jealous. But most importantly, you remember Joshua — in his atrocious blue tie and wrinkled suit — avoiding you for the entire night.

You still wonder what you did to have him act like that, but that was one of the few things Joshua vowed to never tell you.

“Yeah,” Joshua says softly. “Do you remember?”

You hum. “Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing, I was just…” he pauses, and when you glance down at your phone screen, Joshua’s staring at his wall. His face is illuminated by the harsh light of his phone, but even with the lack of light, you can tell he’s pondering, which slightly concerns you since the worst type of pondering happens at this time of night. You know from experience. “I just remembered how horrible it was.”

You scoff out a laugh. “What?”

“I was so lonely,” he says. “I went to the dance alone, and I mean, I had Jeonghan and Soonyoung because they went stag too, but—”

“Didn’t you go to Winter Formal alone as well?”

“No, yeah, but that was by choice. For Spring Formal, I wanted—” he pauses again, this time more abruptly and it worries you. Before you have a chance to ask him to continue, he does so himself, “I wanted to go with someone and they were already going with someone else.”

A childish pang of hurt spreads throughout your chest. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, they were…” he purses his lips as he searches for the right words, before he looks back towards the screen, something akin to surprise spreading across his face as if he forgot he was on a call with you. “They were nice.”

“Who was it?”

“Oh, you don’t know them.”

You frown. “It was kind of a small school, Joshua.”

“You didn’t know them,” he repeats before he starts to slide down until his head hits his pillow and he’s no longer leaning against the headboard. “I’m gonna sleep now. Goodnight.”

“Goodn—” you say quickly as confusion tilts your lips downwards and the call is ended. Joshua’s face bright with blue light disappears in an instant, and everything is dark.

19 days before ━ Friday, 5:46 A.M.

You’re so used to the feeling of waking up voluntarily that you almost forgot the frustration that floods your body when you’re forced to be pulled out of sleep.

You hear Joshua kick something on your floor. “God, your room is a mess.”

Throwing the covers over your head and squeezing your eyes, you grumble. “It’s three in the morning.”

You half-hope that the clenching of your fists is enough to make Joshua disappear because as much as you enjoy the sound of his voice and the way his eyes crinkle into crescent moons when he smiles, there is nothing you hate more than waking up before your body is satisfied with the amount of sleep it’s gotten.

Early alarm clocks are for September, and August is nowhere near its end.

“It’s actually five a.m.,” Joshua corrects, still standing in your room and sounding like he has no intention of leaving. “Nice try, though.”

With an over-exaggerated groan, you peel the blanket off your head and glare at Joshua, who is staring out your window. “What do you want?”

“Hm, nice to see you too, Sleeping Beauty,” he hums with what sounds like sarcastic affection, but when he glances over at you, the tenderness in his expression is too warm to be fake. “Get up, we’ve got somewhere to be.”

You ignore his demand. “What time did you wake up?”

“Running on thirty minutes of sleep,” Joshua grins. “Which is why I need you. I don’t trust myself behind the wheel, so you’re driving.”

“Huh?” you blurt out. “Did you walk here? Your house is fifteen minutes away.”

“No, I called a taxi,” he shrugs, picking up your car keys and tossing them onto your bed by your feet. “Get off your ass, Y/N! It’s time for an adventure!”

You groan. “Call Jeonghan instead.”

“I’d rather hang out with you,” he says. Your heartbeat patters against your ribcage, and you find that his words have a tremendous effect on you, even if he just woke you up while exhaustion is tearing apart your seams. “Please? I’ll buy you coffee cake from that bakery by the mall.”

You sigh. “Fine.”

He smiles when you fully take off the covers. “Can’t believe you’re only doing this for cake.”

“I’m not,” you murmur truthfully. “I like hanging out with you.”

Joshua tilts his head, smile widening. “Aw—”

“But I prefer doing it when the sun is up.”

“The sun is up! Way to ruin the moment!”

18 days before ━ Saturday, 6:17 A.M.

Some people take photos to remember things. Joshua, on the other hand, makes Spotify playlists.

It’s because he has a nasty memory from seventh grade, where all the photos he took on his family’s road trip ended up being ruined from something spilling at the bottom of his backpack, and another memory of Soonyoung accidentally deleting everything from his camera roll the summer after that.

A picture can say a thousand words, but Joshua insists a photo doesn’t hold a candle to his 2018 me and chan just crashed jihoon’s car playlist (which consists of overplayed pop songs that Joshua shudders to when he hears them because that chilly autumn night in 2018 is something he does not want to relive).

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he muses into the dead of night while you’re lying in his backyard.

“I’m aware.”

“No, I—” his eyebrows furrow and he flips his phone so you’re staring at his screen. “Why’d you put Sunday Morning on here?”

The two of you had driven around town a few hours after hanging out with Seokmin and Minghao at their new jobs at the arcade, and Joshua somehow managed to convince you to create a Spotify playlist on his phone even though you’re prone to carsickness. One glance at a device while a vehicle is moving and your head just starts killing you.

But, Joshua had argued when you protested, I want to remember today.

“Oh, I added it because it’s your favourite song, and it was a good day, right?” you say a little dismissively. “Now whenever it plays, you’ll think of me.”

Joshua straightens. “That’s nice of you,” he whispers. “I hope you don’t expect me to put your favourite song in this playlist, though. Your taste in music is horrible.”

“OK, what the fuck?” you scoff, squinting at him. “That was so uncalled for!”

“I was just telling the truth!”

“I literally hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh, I definitely do.”

“OK,” he grins. “Sure. I’ll take your word for it then.”

17 days before ━ Sunday, 7:57 A.M.

You could never get sick of Joshua.

The moment the thought pops in your head, you realize it’s cheesy. You suppose you can blame all of your corny thoughts as symptoms of puppy-dog lovesickness, but no amount of denial will change the fact that you will truly never get sick of Joshua Hong.

Your feelings for him came like razor-sharp teeth. They bit into your heart, scarred the flesh, and the marks never healed.

This is why you’re up before you even have to be, sitting on Minghao’s back porch while your best friend goes through his supposed ‘well-thought-out plan’ to get Jeonghan back for the countless pranks he pulled on everyone a few weeks ago. However, Joshua’s well-thought-out plan consists of watching a bucket of ice melt.

“This is the best you could think of?” you mutter disapprovingly. “There’s no way all of this is melting before everyone wakes up.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he tuts, “and also I was scared he was gonna wake up if I turned on the tap.”

“Oh my God.”

“What? I have to be careful.”

You pout, rubbing your eyes to get rid of the sleep. “And why do I have to be up for this?”

“Because I love you,” he says casually, and because he has always been the type to drop affectionate comments like this with no regard for what it does to your heart. But then, as if he notices the surprise piercing through your features, he adds, “and also ‘cause this bucket is too heavy to carry by myself.”

You smile nevertheless, finding the slight flush in his cheeks endearing and decide that flustering Joshua is probably better than being asleep upstairs on the floor of Minghao’s bedroom, where the rug is too itchy and the blanket is too small to share with Mingyu.

Later, though, you realize that it’s probably best to think twice before getting involved in one of Joshua’s schemes (or, you know, double-check what pyjamas Jeonghan was wearing before dumping a bucket of ice-cold water on poor, innocent Jihoon).

16 days before ━ Monday, 8:19 A.M.

The kitchen reeks. A total of six burnt pancakes lie on two separate plates, three on each, meant for Jeonghan and Minghao since they couldn’t stop laughing at you and Joshua’s failed attempt at a prank yesterday. Minghao didn’t even care that you got his floors wet because Jihoon’s hostile expression added ten years to his lifespan.

The plan was to just make breakfast for Jihoon, but apparently, pancakes are harder to make than you thought (truth be told, you got distracted several times, but it’s your fault for allowing yourself to be easily entranced by Joshua Hong), so the burnt ones are going to Jeonghan and Minghao. Jeonghan, for always being a menace, and Minghao, for being an incredibly bad host.

After what feels like an infinite amount of attempts at cooking, you and Joshua have managed to make two decent pancakes before Jihoon wakes up to the smell of burnt breakfast. After high-fiving your best friend in success, you sit on one of the barstools and grab an apple from the bowl of fruit sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“So,” you begin as Joshua rests his elbows on the surface opposite you. “Are you and Vernon done stealing my snacks for your road trip back to university?”

Joshua grins cheekily. “Probably not. We’ve still got, what, a little over two weeks before we’re supposed to head back? There’s still time to raid your pantry until it’s completely empty.”

“You’re richer than me. Buy your own food.”

He pouts. “I like the stuff you buy, though.”

“You can get Pringles anywhere, Joshua.”

“But still.”

You blink. “But still what?”

He shrugs. “I like getting them from you.”

“But why?”

“God, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

Your eyes narrow, but before you can even argue with him about how the closest Walmart is a ten-minute walk from his house, Jihoon barges in with a bedhead and a scrunched nose.

“Oh, you guys are OK. I thought for a second you burned the house down.”

You shake your head, momentarily distracted from your conversation with Joshua. You don’t see him heave a silent sigh of relief. “No, but we made you breakfast!”

Jihoon blinks. “Are you going to poison me?”

Joshua scoffs. “We would never do that!”

"I don’t believe you— hey, get away from me!”

“They’re good pancakes!”

“Joshua, if you shove that thing down my mouth I swear I will kick you in the nuts so hard—”

“Whoa, I thought we were friends—”

“Not if you don’t get your grimy hands off me!”

15 days before ━ Tuesday, 9:48 A.M.

“Since when were you guys going camping?”

You’re shoving a towel into your already-full duffel bag when Joshua pops the question. You heard him happily talking to your parents five minutes before he came upstairs and leaned against your doorframe, and in those five minutes, someone must’ve told him you’re leaving the comfort of your own bed for three days with Seungkwan, Chan, Seokmin, and Seungcheol because he’s staring at you like you did something wrong. Cue the accusatory statement in three, two...

“And why didn’t you invite me?”

There it is.

“You hate camping.”

“I do not.”

“Oh, come on, Joshua,” you say exasperatedly, “I know you better than I know myself.”

He throws you a look of annoyance, but you’re right and he knows it. You’ve known him for a decade, and in those past ten years, you’ve learnt his faults, memorized his flaws, noticed the little things, scrawled his fears and his habits and stored them in a file cabinet in the back of your mind.

You have known him since he was twelve, held his hand when he needed you most, loved him for most of his life even though he thought you would get sick of him by fourteen.

You love him. And you know him.

But he tries to convince you otherwise.

“And when Seungkwan asked you if you wanted to come last week, you said no,” you add.

“That’s different, I didn’t know you were—” he cuts himself on. “Doesn’t matter. I changed my mind. When are you guys leaving?”

“Tomorrow. But Joshua—”

“Just tell Seungkwan I’m coming,” he interrupts and sends you a teasing, albeit tight, smile, “C’mon, summer vacation is almost over. Is it a crime that I want to spend the rest of it with you?”

You pause. “With just me?”

He waits a beat, registers your words, then straightens his spine. “And everyone else.”

“Right.”

He has no idea the type of effect he has on you.

“OK,” you nod, reaching for your phone on your bed. “I’ll tell Seungkwan.”

Joshua beams and your heart stutters.

14 days before ━ Wednesday, 10:32 A.M.

“Guys, Chan’s drooling on my shoulder!”

“Would you stop whining?”

“But it’s disgusting!”

“Joshua, Seungkwan, shut up.”

This camping trip was a mistake.

The van you guys rented is big enough, though, that you’re not all squished together with your stuff, but it doesn’t prevent loudness and arguments. You’re sitting in the back with Seokmin playing an oddly competitive game of Pictionary while Joshua and Chan sit in the middle row. Seungkwan’s in the passenger seat (“I am not handing over the music privileges to you guys. What kind of person do you think I am?”) while Seungcheol suffers in the driver’s seat, begging everyone to stay quiet so he doesn’t get distracted while driving.

Seungcheol prays to himself that the energy in everyone’s system will eventually dwindle into nothing in the next hour or so because the shouts coming from you and Seokmin mixed with Joshua’s complaints and Seungkwan’s favourite Girls’ Generation song are causing Seungcheol’s ears to ring. If he knew the trip to the campsite would be this unbearable, he would never have come.

Chan eventually awakens, scowling at everyone for being so rowdy, and asks Seungcheol to stop at the nearest gas station so he can use the bathroom.

When Seungcheol pulls up at the Shell gas station—but not without difficulty, since Seungkwan and Chan were arguing about which exit to take—Joshua jumps at the chance to negotiate with Seokmin about the seating arrangement.

Seokmin immediately shakes his head. “No way. Y/N and I have to finish this game in order to declare the Pictionary champion.”

“But Chan drools,” Joshua argues helplessly.

“So? I don’t want to get drooled on either. Just sit back here.”

“But then I’ll feel bad if I leave him alone,” he says. “Come on. I’ll let you use my sleeping bag.”

Seokmin perks up. “The good one?”

Joshua winces. You can see him regretting the bargain already. Whenever you lend Seokmin anything, he always gives it back in a worse condition. “Yes.”

“And all your mini KitKats.”

“What? No—”

“If you want,” you interrupt, “I can just sit with Chan.”

Joshua shoots down your suggestion immediately. “Nah, I want to sit with you,” he turns back to Seokmin. “Fine, I’ll give you my bag of mini KitKats. But only if you share some with me.”

“Deal!” Seokmin smiles, clumsily making his way to the middle row of the van, followed by Joshua climbing over the seats to sit next to you.

“Hi,” he says a little breathlessly. His eyes shine with excitement.

“Hi,” you reply. “Was sitting with Chan really that bad?”

“No,” he responds. He leans back, throwing his head against the headrest before turning slightly to meet your gaze in the corner of his eye. With a lazy smile, he adds, “But I’d rather be back here.”

“Aw, you love me.”

“No, there’s just more room here,” he scrunches his nose. “You just happen to be here, too.”

You snort and shake your head, deciding not to reply. When you glance out the window, you see Seungkwan and Chan chasing each other outside the station while Seungcheol’s inside paying for their stuff.

You stifle a laugh and take your phone out to record your friends, unbeknownst to the fact that Joshua’s staring at you with the smallest of smiles on his face.

13 days before ━ Thursday, 11:16 A.M.

The sun beats down on your back and covers you in so many layers of warmth you think you might collapse due to the heat. If you listen closely, you can hear the boys swimming down the lake; Seokmin screams as Seungcheol dunks his head in the water, Chan’s laughter, and Seungkwan’s shouts. You’re slowly starting to regret not going there with them, but all it takes is one glance at Joshua swatting away mosquitoes and those thoughts are forgotten.

You ignore his grunts of frustration as you try and set up the grill that’s on the campsite. Eventually, he grows tired of the lack of attention he’s receiving from you and snaps his fingers in front of your face before complaining, “Why’d I let you convince me to come to this thing?”

His statement elicits a gasp to fall from your lips. “Me? Convince you to come to this?” you repeat incredulously. “Don’t pin this on me! You were the one that was pouting about not being invited—”

“But you should know me well enough to tell me not to come.”

“Please tell me you’re fucking with me right now.”

He sighs. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re right, I’m just— this might actually be, like, the worst decision of my life.”

You snort. “You’re so overdramatic.”

“You would be acting like this too if mosquitoes were sinking their mouths into your skin and sucking you dry of blood,” he says, flicking something off his shoulder while you peacefully grab the hotdogs and place them on the grill. “These things are out to kill me, Y/N. I’ll either be dead or swollen with bites by the end of this trip.”

“I’m sure you’ll still look cute with fifty million mosquito bites on your face,” you coo. The next thing he swats away is your hand reaching over to pinch his cheek. “Or, if that doesn’t work out, just sweep the people off their feet. Surely the bugs aren’t sucking away your charm, too, right?”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “You’re so funny. I’m not gonna be flirting with anyone if my face is gonna be red from all the itching.”

“It’s not like you’ve been flirting with anyone this summer, anyway. Unless—” you gasp dramatically, placing a hand to your chest as if a lightbulb just went off above your head, “Do you have a significant other that you’re hiding from me, Joshua Hong?” When Joshua doesn’t react to your joke, merely staring at you blankly, your smile falters. “Joshua?”

He clicks his tongue before shaking his head. He looks at you like you’re the weird uncle at Thanksgiving who doesn’t know how to read a room. You feel like you’ve missed something, a memo of some sort, or that you’ve said something wrong, but before you have a chance to ask if everything’s alright, Joshua heaves a sigh, “You really are something, aren’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m not dating anyone, you idiot, otherwise you would know,” he scoffs, then crosses his arms. “How about you? Hiding anyone from me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you turn your back on him to check on the hotdogs. “I’ve been hanging out with you every second this summer, d’you really think I’d be able to hide something that big for so long? The closest thing I’ve had to romance this past year is the stupid blind dates Seokmin forces me to go to.”

When Joshua speaks, his voice sounds slightly strained and nervous, “And did any of them go well?”

“Nope,” you answer as you turn around. “Each one was a total failure. Anyway, are you just going to stand there or are you going to at least help set up this lunch? I’m not a servant, Hong.”

Joshua rolls his eyes but you spot a hint of a smile when he goes to grab the hotdog buns and condiments.

12 days before ━ Friday, 12:39 P.M.

Yesterday, after Seokmin got back from swimming, he was staring at you and Joshua with a knowing grin, eyes shining with mischief. Later that night, he asked if anything happened—from the vibes he got from both of you, he assumed something did, and when you only stared at him in annoyance, he sighed and exasperatedly asked if you and Joshua were a thing now.

“Absolutely not!” you had cried. “Seokmin, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Minghao told me you guys were on the brink of entering a relationship—”

“That fucking loudmouth—”

“Whoa!” Seokmin exclaimed, “Don’t talk about Minghao like that!”

Now, Seokmin has taken it upon himself to force you and Joshua together. He suggested you both head down to the tiny convenience store on the campsite to get food for everyone. You’ve become victim to another Lee Seokmin Set-Up

And you’re pissed.

Joshua’s been sending you concerned looks ever since the both of you began your walk to the store, but he tries to fill the silence with bad jokes and stories about the outlandish adventures he and Vernon got themselves into during college. When his attempts to get you to talk are fruitless, he corners you in the chips aisle, almost scaring you half to death when he sneaks up on you

You can feel the warmth of his body and your hands begin to sweat.

“Alright,” he begins with slight irritation, “will you tell me what’s going on with you?”

Stupidly, you blink. “Huh?”

“You’re being really weird,” he says. “You won’t talk to me. You’ve been sulking. Did something happen in the past few hours that I completely missed or—?”

“I’m fine,” you scoff, pushing Joshua away. He doesn’t falter, though, and follows you as you squeeze past two middle schoolers to get to the candy aisle. “Minghao just got into Seokmin’s head. They think they know me so well all of a sudden.”

Behind you, Joshua clicks his tongue. “Can you elaborate?”

You sigh. “Minghao and Seokmin talk. Seokmin decides to play Cupid.”

“What, like he’s gonna set you up on a date?”

You look at Joshua. He stares back, waiting for an answer, and then you shrug. “Sure, yeah.”

“Like with someone back at college?”

You, Seokmin, and Minghao go to the same university—it’s about an hour or so away from your hometown, so it’s not that far away. There, almost everyone knows Seokmin, which means everyone knows you as the friend Seokmin’s always setting up dates for. It’s a reputation you don’t want but he insists on upholding it.

Joshua, who goes to school across the country, hears about your failed blind dates every once in a while. You don’t tell him every date you’ve been on, in fear of annoying him, but you’re sure he somehow hears about them from Seokmin, anyway.

His eyes flicker when the topic is brought up. He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, crosses his arms over his chest, and stares at you, waiting for an answer. It’s intimidating, but when you dismiss the topic with a shake of your head and a simple—

“...Uh, sure. Yeah. But I’m not going through with it.”

—his alarming demeanour deflates. Disappears so fast you can’t even comment on it.

Sometimes, you like toying with the idea that maybe Joshua might like you back. It’s the gentle touch of his fingers and the way the corners of his lips lift at one of your jokes. It’s the way he acts, the way he looks at you, that makes you believe that you have a chance.

But then the fear crawls in. The second-guessing. And you shake every thought away.

You give Joshua a weak smile. “Come on, let’s get going before Chan starts complaining we took too long.”

11 days before ━ Saturday, 1:27 P.M.

Apparently, the best time to go bowling is three hours after you, Joshua, Seungcheol, Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Chan have arrived home from the camping trip. In an attempt to get everyone to come, Soonyoung says to think of it as the last hurrah before your last year as undergrads, and when you say that you’d rather stay home, Soonyoung tells Joshua to drag you along anyway.

So, here you are.

It’s surprisingly more fun than you expected. In the beginning, your exhaustion is easy to ignore, especially since everyone’s decided to ditch the traditional rules of bowling. Mingyu gets down on his stomach and pushes his ball towards the pins with all the strength he can muster but it only ends up in the gutter; when everyone in your lane laughs, Mingyu rolls his eyes playfully and reminds them that he’s still winning.

Jihoon scoffs from beside you. “Only by, like, three points!”

Mingyu sticks his tongue out at him.

However, as more rounds of bowling pass, the more evident your fatigue becomes—noticing this, Jeonghan decides to raise the stakes for the last game. Whoever loses, he declares, has to buy lunch for the friend group tomorrow, and just like he predicted, all your friends perk up. Competition ignites the adrenaline in everyone’s bodies and motivates them to do well. After all, who wants to lose their money?

But the adrenaline isn’t enough for you.

You just have to knock three pins down and you’ll have a chance of coming in any place but last. But you mess up and miss. The chance of getting a spare disappears.

You groan as you turn around, meeting Joshua’s eyes as he stands up for his turn. He’s the last one, and you’re sure that his impeccable aim will be the cause of the dent in your bank account tomorrow. He squeezes your shoulder when you pass by him and throws you one of his encouraging smiles before letting go and walking towards the alley.

Slumping into the spot beside Vernon, you frown and ignore his sympathetic pat on your shoulder. You almost can’t bring yourself to watch Joshua, but it’s always been difficult for you to take your eyes off him—he draws you in like a moth to a flame. You watch the flick of his wrists, notice how he drops the ball too early, and you stare at the bowling ball as it drifts closer and closer to—

“GUTTER!” Seokmin exclaims so loudly you jump.

While everyone stands to celebrate, you stay seated, waiting for the inevitable moment when Joshua will turn and look for you. And when he does, he shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, and he’s pulled away as Jeonghan slings an arm over his shoulder and drags him towards the counter where everyone goes to return their bowling shoes

On your way to the exit, you think you hear Vernon mutter something to Joshua in front of you—“You fumbled that on purpose, didn’t you?”—but the chance to ponder Vernon’s murmured words is taken away from you when Joshua glances over his shoulder, grins at you, and asks if you need a ride home.

“Yeah,” you say softly, “that’d be nice.”

Vernon gives you a knowing look as Joshua drags you towards his car.

10 days before ━ Sunday, 2:09 P.M.

The first time you meet Joshua, you’re both at Denny’s.

You’re dressed head-to-toe in patterns that don’t compliment each other—your mom still insists on calling you a fashionista every time she shows the photos at family gatherings—and he’s paired a Pikachu shirt with baggy khaki shorts. Even at eleven, wearing mismatched socks and a haircut he’ll soon grow to regret, Joshua oozes charisma. He’s popular amongst his peers, loved by his teachers, adored by his neighbours.

And you’re afraid of him.

Only slightly. You’ve seen him around while walking with your mom at the park. He’s always with his rather large group of friends: a band of loud, boisterous, and mischievous boys. You make sure to steer clear from them, in fear that your mother will force you to introduce yourself. She’s worried about you. The move to this new town has been anything but easy, and she wants you to spend the summer before eighth grade with people your own age. She doesn’t want you to be alone.

But you’re only alone for a few weeks. Because Joshua Hong speaks to you for the first time when you’re picking up lunch for your family.

Altogether, his friends take up two booths—you’ve noticed that they’re always together. Brothers, attached to the hip—but he stands to the side while he waits for his milkshake. He gives you a polite smile when you stand near him after giving your order, the change in your pocket making faint clinking noises whenever you move a muscle.

“Hi,” he says after a few moments. “You just moved to the neighbourhood, right?”

You blink thrice before realizing he’s talking to you. “Um.”

“Small town,” he briefly explains, “you kind of find out the latest news quickly, even if you’re not paying much attention. Anyway—I’m Joshua.”

“Oh,” you say, hesitantly shaking his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Cool,” he says, not unkindly. Despite the awkward tension clogging the air, he grins. “Since you’re new here, you should hang out with me and my friends! We can show you around, give you an exclusive tour. All expenses paid.”

“Oh. That sounds nice—”

“We don’t bite,” he interrupts. “Well, except Soonyoung. But he only does that sometimes.”

“Well. That’s nice of you to offer, but—”

“C’mon!” he says. There’s a certain way he says things. Gentle and kind. Nothing you’d expect from a boy your age. “It’ll be fun!”

Despite yourself, you give him an uneasy smile. “OK. I will.”

“Awesome! Here, this is my house’s phone number…”

You meet Joshua at Denny’s. The same one you and your friends are currently occupying (well, more like disturbing. You’re bound to be kicked out soon for how loud you’re being).

Given the fact that Joshua is about to enter his last year of college and he’s extremely broke, everyone gave him the benefit of the doubt after he lost the bowling game yesterday. It’s only fair that, if he’s paying for lunch, he gets to choose where to eat—and he chose his cheapest option.

You volunteered to share your plate of fries with him so he doesn’t have to buy a meal for himself. You’ve never seen him look so thankful.

The current topic of conversation revolves around humiliating middle school memories and Jeonghan has brought up rather incriminating videos of tween Joshua Hong. Everyone bursts into laughter so loud that the waitresses are side-eyeing your table, but the group can’t seem to bring themselves to care. Chatter overlaps. Seungcheol talks about his high-pitched voice. Mingyu talks about his outfit. Chan imitates his actions.

And as you’re about to point out how worryingly upset Joshua got over a game of basketball in Soonyoung’s driveway, your best friend catches your eye, and the laughter climbing up your throat halts—a few stuttered chuckles pass your lips and disappear into the air with your friends’ digs and comments. Nobody notices you falter.

But you don’t blame them. It’s subtle, the way your face softens once your eyes meet Joshua’s, and the only person who seems to have noticed the slight change in your behaviour is him. His lips quirk up as if this was the reaction he was expecting—as if he caught your eye on purpose just to see you fumble.

Your heart stutters.

You grab your milkshake and chug in hopes that the liquid is enough to drown the butterflies in your stomach.

9 days before ━ Monday, 3:53 P.M.

You hate grocery shopping. Being in a grocery store is the equivalent of getting sucked into a black hole with no hope of getting out. But alas, Mingyu needs food for the barbecue he’s hosting at his house tomorrow, and the people he recruited for his late afternoon Walmart adventure is you and Joshua. He believes the two of you will get the job done quickly.

He’s incredibly wrong.

In order to be efficient, everyone has split up. Like Mingyu, you’re hoping to get this over and done with quickly, but the list of foods he’s given you is written in an unforgiving chicken scrawl. You’ve managed to make out cheese, milk, and UNSALTED butter, but, unfortunately, the last item on the list isn’t so easy to crack. You’ve been staring at it for three minutes.

As your brain attempts to decode Mingyu’s writing, you don’t notice Joshua sneaking up behind you. He’s been calling your name for the last ten seconds, hoping you’d be able to know the different types of pasta he’s holding in his hand. But you don’t respond. He frowns in frustration and taps your shoulder, startling you so badly that it causes you to lose your footing.

God, you didn’t even see the bright yellow wet floor sign until now.

Joshua catches you. The pasta he was previously holding falls to the ground.

For what feels like an eternity, he stares, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to take in every detail. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never been this close to him before. You can spot faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, you can count the number of eyelashes on each eye, you study the curve of his Cupid’s bow.

“HEY!”

And then Joshua drops you.

Not even five seconds later, Mingyu’s towering over you as you lay on the floor.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” he scolds. He doesn’t even let you guys reply before he’s shaking his head in what seems to be disappointment. “I’ve been scouring the aisles trying to find you two, and when I do find you, you’re staring into each other’s eyes. Jesus. Can’t you do that some other time?”

When you glance at Joshua, he’s redder than a tomato.

8 days before ━ Tuesday, 4:30 P.M.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the entire town was currently in Mingyu’s backyard.

Your parents are around here somewhere, mingling with other attendees of the barbecue, unlike you, who’s chosen to lounge in the poolside chairs with Minghao instead. You two have been sitting in silence for a while, thoroughly entertained by the highly competitive arm-wrestling match a few feet away, and you almost forgot Minghao’s next to you until he says, “We have seven days until they leave, you know.”

Your eyes flit over to Joshua and Vernon, who are talking to Jihoon’s parents. In a week, the two boys will be making their way back to university, and you’ll only be able to contact them online. And even then, you still have to navigate around timezones and each other’s schedules—so, all in all, keeping in touch is going to be a headache.

It’s comedic how often you go through this routine. For the entire school year, you try to stop Joshua from lingering in the crevices of your mind, but all effort goes to waste once summer vacation begins. When you’re both back at home, all memory of the frustratingly laggy FaceTime calls and missed text messages is thrown out the window. For two months, the feelings you hoped disappeared come crawling back, attaching to you like a leech; marking your soul.

This is what happened last year. And the year before that. And then the year before that.

Minghao speaks again. “When are you going to tell him?” he asks. “Because I, for one, can’t watch you pine over him forever. At some point, this has to end.”

“You know it’s not that easy,” you murmur. “I can’t lose him.”

“Oh, please,” Minghao scoffs as you catch Joshua’s eye. He grins brightly and lifts his hand up to wave, “pigs will start flying before you lose Joshua Hong.”

7 days before ━ Wednesday, 5:39 P.M.

Nerves dance across your skin when the afternoon reaches its end. Joshua’s kicking people out of his house when you catch the mischievous glint in Minghao’s eyes and the way he and Seokmin look at each other while they’re slipping on their shoes. Like there’s an inside joke you don’t know about.

They’re plotting something.

“So!” Seokmin exclaims once he’s tied his shoelaces. Joshua gives him his full attention after shouting curses at Seungcheol for stepping on the newly done front yard. “Thanks for hosting movie night, Joshua.”

“It was more like movie afternoon,” he corrects before narrowing his eyes, “but you’re welcome? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean!”

“You’ve never thanked me for anything before—” he says suspiciously, “and you sound so chipper.”

Minghao hums. “What a strange comment. Seokmin is always chipper.”

“I know, but—”

“Anyway,” Minghao interrupts, “We better get going. I need to drive Seokmin over to the dentist for an appointment and we’re running late. Y/N, I know I promised to give you a ride home, but I can’t anymore. You’ll be fine, right? Joshua’s got you?”

Too late, you realize what they’re doing.

Your jaw drops. “Wait, what?”

Minghao’s already pushing Seokmin out the door when he adds, “Plus, you can tell him that thing we talked about yesterday!”

Joshua frowns. “What thing?”

“The thing!”

“MINGHAO.”

He grins, evil and malicious. “See you tomorrow!” he exclaims. Seokmin cries out a goodbye too, but not without wiggling his eyebrows. You watch in shock as the two boys stumble down the driveway in laughter before splitting off—Minghao to his car, and Seokmin to his.

Behind you, Joshua says, “I thought Minghao said he needed to drive Seokmin to the dentist?”

You scowl. “Those bi—”

Joshua taps your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and look at him. He stares at you with a look of concern that causes the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“What did you need to tell me?”

“What?”

“Minghao said you had a thing,” he says, crossing his arms while you stand by the doorframe. All it takes is one step back and you’ll be outside, free from the situation your friends have pushed you into. But you wouldn’t be able to make it far. Joshua’s faster than you are—more persistent than you are. From the look on his face, he’s desperate to know what it is you’re hiding from him.

Oh, this is terrible.

You try to throw him off. “It’s nothing important.”

Joshua scoffs. “Bull. I know when you’re lying to me.”

A sigh escapes your lips. “Joshua—”

“C’mon,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “I’ve known you for ten years. Nothing fazes me. I was there for your goth phase, I’ve seen you at rock bottom and I’ve stuck by you despite the fact that you like putting pineapples on your pizza even though I believe it should be considered a felony. So just tell me! How bad could it possibly be, because it can’t be as bad as that time you—”

“I like you.”

His smile drops momentarily. “What?”

You swallow your pride. “I like you.”

Time ticks by slowly. You don’t know how long the two of you stand there. You don’t know how long he stays silent. Faintly, you think you hear the sound of a passing car and the chirping of birds, but you can only focus on Joshua. All you can ever focus on is Joshua.

Please speak, please speak, please speak, please say something, please speak, please please please please—

“I’m sorry, I—” he stops himself. “I d— I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve just— it’s risky, Y/N.”

You frown, unsure of the point he’s trying to make. “Huh?”

“It’s—” he sighs. Stops himself. Then: “It’s not a good idea.”

“My feelings aren’t a good idea?”

“That’s definitely not what I meant. I just think that we have a good thing going, you know?” he says with an awkward smile on his face. “Me and you, best friends.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Y/N—”

“I should probably get going.”

“What— are you walking? No, let me drive you.”

“It’s a short walk, Joshua.”

He reaches for his keys. “No, it’s really not—”

“Joshua.” He freezes, hand lingering on the doorknob. He’s only a foot away from you, but you feel like you’re suffocating. Taking a step back isn’t enough to relieve yourself. You need to be able to breathe. You need more space.

You need to get away from him.

You sniff. “I’d rather walk.”

When you turn to leave, he doesn’t bother to follow.

6 days before ━ Thursday, 6:42 P.M.

stayc girls it’s going DOWNNNN groupchat members: you, minghao, seokmin

seokmin: y/n!!! everyone’s at the diner right now, are you coming?????

you: not today you: busy ): sorry

minghao: “busy” doing WHAT? you’ve been doing nothing all summer minghao: lie better

you: 👎

minghao: come onnnnn joshua’s here ;) ;)

you: sorry. maybe next time i’m really tired

seokmin: you just said you were busy

you: i can be BUSY and TIRED at the same time

seokmin: hmph seokmin: you better be coming next time

you: ofc

“Hey, Shua!”

Joshua, whose fingers linger over the keyboard on his phone, looks up. Minghao’s staring him down like he should be scared.

“What happened with Y/N last night?”

5 days before ━ Friday, 7:00 P.M.

joshua: hi joshua: sooooo joshua: i know ur mad at me and im really sorry. i understand why ur avoiding me but i don’t want that to stop you from hanging out with everyone joshua: so just a heads up: i’m not coming to karaoke tonight. you don’t have to worry about seeing me

Friday, 7:58 P.M.

joshua: damn i really thought you’d fall for that and show up 👎 joshua: i know i messed up big time but can we please just talk? i didn’t handle things well on wednesday, but can i explain why? joshua: you don’t owe me anything but i really need you to hear me out joshua: please, y/n

4 days before ━ Saturday, 8:19 P.M.

What do you do if your best friend doesn’t like you back? You avoid him at all costs.

What do you do if avoiding him results in you also avoiding your other friends? What do you do when they call you out on it?

You reluctantly allow them to drag you into their late-night adventures, becoming an accomplice to their shenanigans.

What do you do if the aforementioned adventures force you to face the best friend whose existence you’ve been trying to forget?

You suck it up.

A game of hide-and-seek in the park quickly sours your mood when your hiding spot in the small crevice under the playground is invaded by Joshua. He has plagued your mind for years on end, slashed your heart in two, and here he is again, violating your personal space. It is only when he settles across from you that he realizes he’s coincidentally ended up hiding with you, and upon sensing your annoyance he mutters a haste but sincere apology.

In the distance, you hear Seungcheol finish counting and only five seconds later you hear him shriek before shouting at Vernon about how immoral it is to scare him when it’s this dark outside.

Mind you, the sun only started to set ten minutes ago.

There’s minimal room in here. Joshua’s head hangs low because if he sits at his full height, he’ll bang his head against the platform above him. You’ve both pulled your knees to your chests, but one small move and your legs hit. You can hear his shallow breaths, his nervousness spiking when he hears Seungcheol approaching closer and closer.

“So,” he begins. You’re sure that he can’t speak any quieter, but just the sound of his voice has you dreading the possibility of Seungcheol hearing and finding you two. The winner of this game is awarded the last drink in the cooler and you’re extremely parched. You need to prevail.

You throw him a look. “Please shut up.”

“Y/N.”

“Joshua.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since Wednesday.”

“Oh,” you respond, unsure of the response he wants to hear. In the corner of your eye, you can see Wonwoo attempting to change hiding spots. “Well. Sorry.”

“I mean, I know why,” Joshua continues, his voice rising. “I didn’t handle things well, I said that in my texts, I’m not sure if you saw them, your read receipts are off, but—” he exhales, backtracking, “I just needed you to know that. You’re my best friend, you know, and—”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” you say urgently. “Now please be quiet otherwise Seungcheol’s—”

He ignores you. “I got spooked. And I was worried. I never told you this but I was planning on asking you to Spring Formal in junior year,” he smiles faintly at the memory. “But I backed out because you and I have always been this— we’ve always been friends. Nothing more and nothing less. And I thought that’s how we were supposed to be. But then you went with Seungcheol, and I felt something. Something I couldn’t pinpoint. ‘Cause I’ve liked people before, small crushes that come and go within a week, but I had never felt so strongly for anyone. Not like that. Not like this.

But you’ve been with me since we were in seventh grade and I didn’t want to ruin that. Not when we already don’t see each other because we’re on opposite sides of the country. You are—” he exhales. By now, you have already forgotten about the game. “You are the most important person in my life. And if I lose you, how am I supposed to live? How am I supposed to breathe?”

“Joshu—”

“Damn, you’re fucking loud.”

You yelp just as Seungcheol pokes his head into your hiding spot. There’s a glint in his eye, something that tells you he’s heard every word that’s been said, but instead of saying anything, he pats Joshua’s shoulder and says, “You’re done, guys. Still gotta find Soonyoung. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No,” you say.

Seungcheol huffs. “God. Listen, I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but can you help me find him? Because I’m in desperate need for this game to end—and he’s also my ride home, so finding him is vital for my survival.”

Joshua sighs before crawling out from under the playground, leaving you speechless and alone as darkness slowly sweeps the park and engulfs you whole.

3 days before ━ Sunday, 9:00 P.M.

You have always hated the rain. You despise the way it sticks to your skin. Loathe the way it patters against the car windows, always coming back despite your windshield’s greatest efforts to wipe it away.

And yet, here you are, soaked head to toe on Joshua’s doorstep.

There is only one car in the driveway, so you assume his parents are out, which means there is no one to witness your inevitable humiliation except for the person you care about most. So, you think you could count that as a win.

The moment you push the doorbell, you hold your breath. A small part of you hopes he doesn’t answer and your pathetic, drenched self can trudge home in defeat, but then you hear footsteps coming towards the entrance and two moments later, the door swings open. Joshua’s hair is dishevelled and he’s wearing his favourite red Coca-Cola shirt that he’s had since he was sixteen. His lips part and his eyebrows rise once he registers that you’re standing in front of him.

Then suddenly, you’re filled with rage.

You don’t know what triggers it. Maybe it’s the humidity or the raindrop that lands on your eye, or maybe it’s just seeing Joshua that causes your blood to boil. The words he said yesterday still linger in the back of your mind.

Before you can control yourself, you spit out, “You’re an idiot.”

Clearly, he didn’t expect that. “Oh. Hi to you too.”

“And do you know why you’re an idiot?”

“I’d really love to know.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking yesterday when you confessed to me and then left before I even got to register what you said—that’s a dick move! You didn’t even give me a chance to reply and by the time I fully got my head wrapped around what you said it was already, like, midnight—”

He suppresses a grin. “It took you four hours to process that?”

“I was in shock, Joshua, it took forever to wear off,” you scowl before continuing to ramble on, “and I was going to come talk to you in the morning but then my mom took my car to work and it started raining so I decided to wait it out, but it’s not stopping, so I ran here and— yes, I know, I’m soaking wet but—” you exhale, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I just wanted to tell you that you really are something, Joshua. A full-blown fool—”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! What you said yesterday about losing me was bullshit. You have to know it’s bullshit. God, I—” you scoff out a laugh, “I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen. I’m in love with you even though you’re a gigantic pain in the ass who blasts rock music at dawn and send all your text messages with those stupid iMessage effects. My feelings for you have consumed me, Joshua, and despite it all, I still love you, and if that doesn’t prove anything then—mmph!”

You don’t notice just how close Joshua’s gotten until he slants his lips over your own, interrupting you. As your eyes flutter shut, his hands reach up to gently cradle your face while you wrap yours around his neck. When you inhale, all you can smell is the coconut shampoo you bought him for his birthday, and you’re not sure if it’s the scent that makes you dizzy or if it’s Joshua’s lip against yours, reluctant and slow as if he can’t believe this is happening.

When he pulls away, he keeps his forehead on yours before giving you a radiant smile.

“I love you,” he mouths.

Your heart leaps.

“I love you, too.”

2 days before ━ Monday, 10:17 P.M.

“Does anyone know where Joshua and Y/N are?” Mingyu asks as he picks at the raisins in the trail mix he’s sharing with Seungkwan. “I haven’t heard from them in a while.”

Seungkwan frowns. “When was the last time you talked to them?”

“Oh, I texted them an hour ago.”

“You really are something, you know that?”

“Thanks!”

“That was not a compliment—”

“Minghao!” Wonwoo interrupts before the two boys next to him get carried away. “Have you heard from them?”

Minghao hums nonchalantly, briefly thinking about the multiple texts he received from Joshua in the last twelve hours: first a picture of you asleep on Joshua’s bed, blanket all the way up to your chin despite the tenacious heat. Then at noon, Joshua sends a picture of you and him eating leftover Chinese takeout while playing Mario Kart (you won, for the record. Joshua doesn’t bother to acknowledge it). And then at seven, Minghao gets a text saying that you and Joshua will not be in attendance of Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin’s Last Day of Summer Eve get-together.

Not up for it, Joshua had said, which Minghao interpreted as: I would rather avoid the teasing and questions about our relationship for as long as I possibly can.

So, Minghao shrugs, answering Wonwoo’s question with a sly smile. “Haven’t heard from them.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes. “Really? You’re not lying?”

“Mhm!”

Soonyoung snorts. “Maybe they’re making out right now.”

Silence.

And then, all eyes are on Minghao.

“Wait a second—” Jun says.

Wonwoo gasps and points an accusatory finger at Minghao. “So you did lie!”

The latter scoffs. “I didn’t even say anything!”

Seungcheol begins flapping his arms frantically, scrambling for his phone. “Everyone call them right now.”

Incredulously, Jihoon says, “Everyone?”

“They’ll have to answer one of us.”

“What if we just raided one of their houses to see if they’re there. Give them a nice surprise.”

“Seokmin, no.”

1 day before ━ Tuesday, 11:33 P.M.

Seungcheol is holding an empty can of beer, slightly buzzed, when he tells Joshua he’s surprised he managed to tell you about his feelings before summer reached its end. The confession may have happened days before he’s scheduled to leave, but Seungcheol’s proud nonetheless. Better late than never, right?

He drums his fingers on the ground, legs dangling over the edge of the pool when he asks, “So, you guys are doing long distance?”

Joshua hums. “Gonna attempt to, yeah.”

Seungcheol nods. “Well, you two should be able to do it,” he says sincerely, eyes straying to you and Jeonghan arguing over the rules of water volleyball. “I mean, you two have always defied expectations, haven’t you?”

Joshua frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We had a betting pool on how long it’d take for one of you to confess,” Seungcheol begins, cutting Joshua off before he can ask any further questions, “which was years ago. We gave up on it by sophomore year of college. Most of us thought you’d be a thing before high school graduation, you know? Completely overestimated you guys.”

“Wow, thanks—”

“And it’s not like we didn’t try to help you, but you guys are the most stubborn people I’ve ever met!”

“I get it, Cheol.”

“If I had a dime for every time I heard, ‘oh, but they don’t like me like that, I don’t want to ruin our friendship,’ I’d have a fuckin’ yacht, man.”

Joshua scowls. “I get it, Seungcheol.”

The older boy throws his hands up in defence. “Just saying,” he chuckles. “But I’m happy for the both of you. Really.”

Joshua exhales, leaning back and throwing Seungcheol a grateful smile. “Thank you. You could’ve said that without the extra commentary, though.”

“Mm, no I really couldn’t.”

“Hey!” you exclaim from the other side of the pool. From the looks of it, you and Jeonghan have finally resolved your argument. “Are you two gonna keep on blabbering or are we finally going to play?”

In unison, Joshua and Seungcheol say, “We’re coming, we’re coming!”

Joshua slowly gets into the pool, leisurely swimming towards you. He wraps his arms around your torso despite your complaints about his cold fingers and kisses your shoulder while Jihoon and Wonwoo, appointed captains, decide their teams. You don’t notice the way Joshua’s eyes soften when you excitedly beg to be picked first, or the way his grip slightly tightens in hopes to keep you close for as long as possible. He knows the two of you will end up being split up, anyway—Wonwoo said himself that nobody wants to have both lovebirds on the same team.

When you eventually release yourself from his grip, teasing him about being picked while he still hasn’t, he scoffs, but he can’t control the laugh that escapes him; the happiness that envelopes him.

He still can’t comprehend the fact that, for years, you didn’t notice how hopelessly in love he was, but no matter—you know now. Besides, it’s not like he noticed your love for him, either.

Jihoon calls out his name and he’s snapped out of his daze.

You grin as he swims over to his teammates. “I’m gonna destroy you, Hong.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, you wish.”

At the sound of your laugh, Joshua becomes sure. Sure that this is it. He is to leave tomorrow and he doesn’t know how long it’ll be before he sees you again, but he’s convinced Seungcheol’s right—a few months at college has never torn you apart before, and it definitely won’t now. Joshua won’t let it, not when it took him a decade to get you. He isn’t letting you slip through his fingers.

He’ll be yours forever.

#joshua hong #hong jisoo #joshua #seventeen #svt #joshua hong x reader #joshua x reader #joshua scenarios #svt scenarios #joshua fluff #svt fluff #joshua imagines #svt imagines #fic: golden hour

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blue-rose-soul · 3 months

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For Bastard child au. Assuming that Lucifer finds out before the finale how would he respond to knowing Alastor got hurt fighting Adam? How would Charlie?

I've been waiting for an excuse to talk about this! Well, not this exactly, just...

Okay, so the general consensus is that Lucifer couldn't step in sooner with the extermination because he had an agreement with Heaven, and that Adam broke that agreement by targeting Charlie, a hellborn. Alastor may be Lucifer's son, but he was born on Earth to a human mother. He has a human soul and came to Hell as a sinner. An extremely powerful sinner, but a sinner nonetheless.

In other words, he's not protected under the same agreement.

But! But but but, I figure Lucifer must have been keeping an eye on the battle from somewhere, so he could know when to step in. So he saw Adam and Alastor fight, saw Alastor nearly die, and saw him barely escape with his life. In the end, Niffty doesn't need to step in to finish Adam.

"You come at me, and my family!?"

Lucifer does it himself.

They know Alastor isn't dead thanks to Husk (and possibly Niffty) but are still concerned when they can't find him in the ruins of the old hotel. Lucifer does make an attempt to look for Alastor, but he doesn't know Alastor well enough to know where to look. But his daughter is still here and still needs him, so Lucifer puts the search aside and helps Charlie rebuild her hotel.

And in the end, Alastor returns. Alastor would shove Lucifer off when he joins in the group hug, but he doesn't want to aggravate the wound he's pretending not to have*.

I think that, whether or not she knew Alastor was her brother, Charlie would show the same amount of concern for him. Wanting to know what happened after Adam broke through his shield, why he disappeared from the battle. Just, wanting to know if he's okay. Alastor just brushes off her questions and keeps her at a distance. The biggest change is really between Lucifer and Alastor, and later between Lucifer and Charlie.

The guilt is crushing Lucifer. He knows how badly hurt Alastor was, and knows that instead of coming back to the people who would help him, he hid away somewhere to heal alone. Lucifer tries to be subtle about it, but he's constantly checking in on Alastor, asking if there's anything he needs, or anything Lucifer can do for him. He's not subtle at all.

And Alastor is not at all amused. He doesn't care that Lucifer was late to the battle! He didn't ask for or want Lucifer's help! It was his own fault for getting sloppy and letting Adam get a hit in (not to mention a disadvantageous deal but he's not saying that bit), and he doesn't need Lucifer coddling him. Unfortunately, with his cane broken and his body healing slowly, Alastor is uniquely vulnerable for the first time in a long time. But Lucifer's awkward hovering and Charlie's concern is only serving to make Alastor all the more agitated. So he sticks the needle where it hurts; Lucifer's guilt.

He accuses Lucifer of waiting until after Adam had mortally wounded Alastor specifically so his 'mistake' would be erased. Of wanting him deader than dead.

Then he coldly tells Lucifer that if he can't be bothered to show up when it matters, he shouldn't show up at all.

Later, he assures Charlie he doesn't hold any negative feelings towards her even though Lucifer came running to her rescue while he was willing to let Adam nearly eviscerate Alastor. After all, it stands to reason that Lucifer would choose his real child over a bastard. The King of Hell has made it perfectly clear he doesn't need a 'busboy.' Charlie tries to speak in Lucifer's defense, but, Alastor is pleased to note, her heart isn't in it.

Afterwards, he listens from the shadows and grins as he hears Charlie asking Lucifer why he saved her but not Alastor. Lucifer telling her the terms of the agreement he made with Heaven doesn't satisfy her. Alastor's her brother, they're both Lucifer's children! Lucifer should have stepped in, agreement be damned! The recently repaired cracks in their relationship begin to widen once again and Alastor is pleased.

(*I'm going to cackle if season 2 drops and it turns out we were all wrong and Alastor's completely fine.)

#ask #anonymous #Hazbin Hotel #the Devil's Bastard AU #Lucifer Morningstar #Charlie Morningstar #Alastor #and here on your right you'll see Alastor taking advantage of Charlie's desire for a sibling bond to drive a wedge between her and Lucifer #Season 2 episode 1 prediction: Alastor's got his cane back and he's not injured in any way shape or form!#but not in this AU in this AU he's bleeding every minute of every day lol #just imagine Alastor dealing with wave after wave of upstart sinners thinking they can become Overlords #if they just get in a lucky hit on the injured Radio Demon #not to mention whatever Vox and the Vees are planning #and all the while Alastor's choking on his own blood acting like he's fine #and glaring at Lucifer every time he tries to step in

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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AITA for kicking my little brother out after a fight?

yes, the title is catching, so bare with me please.

my family and I (19NB) live like cottage core folks. we have separate sheds here and there that are modified to be tiny houses, whilst there are actually 3 houses placed and modified on our land. I switched many houses to find the most comfortable one, and that I have. Our aunt (M, dunno her age) is visiting us currently, and because we have no proper space for her to sleep, she's sleeping with my mother (R, mid 50s) as her husband (C, late 50s - early 60s) is forced to sleep at my house for the time being. There are many reasons as to why I'm uncomfy with this choice, a lot of them are personal, but one that stands out the most is that I'm uncomfortable with sleeping together with other folks, unless I trust them the most. I took some of my belongings to another house, along with one of the wifi motors we use (we have two) and tried to sleep in a house that my brother (N, 18) occasionally visits to cook his food. The first night was doing fine, until the second night kind of got worse, and where I would be called the asshole.

N has level 3 autism, as I have level 2. he doesn't understand not like change, and so do I. I was invading his space where he should be cooking, yet I try not to get into the middle of his process. he noticed I slept there now and decided to force me to cook for him, and I simply calmly told him he could do it himself. that part, I know he can understand, but he chooses not to do so for some benign reason. after trying to bother me several times, he decided to grab my stuff and use them without my knowledge, which quickly made me furious and aggressively told him to get back to whatever he's doing. that wasn't the right thing to do, admittedly, which resulted to throwing a Yeti stainless cup at my head and computer. that was where I drew the line entirely and have forcefully kicked him out of the house where he was cooking, all because he wanted to be rude and abusive towards me.

I called C to handle him momentarily as N was beating on the windows and yelling bloody murder, we were lucky that we didn't live in an urban neighborhood. C accused me for starting all of it when I calmly explained what was happening, and he kindly took it and left me be. on the other hand, R barged in and yelled at me for 1. taking the wifi motor to another house and 2. kicking N out. I was already exhausted and told her the same thing that happened, yet she refused to listen and still has blamed me for the troubles that happened. I told her why I was here, that was not relevant for her at all. I told her I needed space and a place to sleep since the other houses were not best suited for me, that was not relevant either as she looked at me stupid since her two options were let C sleep in her house with M and have R sleep in her car, or have C sleep at my house whilst M and R continue their shenanigans late at night.

not that this is too relevant, but to add damage to the situation is that this has been an occurring thing with how R treats N and I, with no little respect or freedom at all. every boundary that has been established has been either bent far beyond repair or blatantly crossed and ignored selfishly. This is not the first time she's acted this way towards us, and will probably never be her last. Instead of working through the situations that are brought up, she refuses to take accountability and let everything fall into her own hands, which never really works out at the end for everyone.

After the argument, I slept at an old house that was completely trashed, absolutely stunk, and did not feel comfortable at all. I do not have enough spoons to handle this on my own, and I refuse to help my family through the mess to avoid unnecessary consulting and other comments.

I will admit fault about not thinking through this situation, but I still need an opinion on this.

AITA for kicking my brother out for throwing a cup at my head? AITA for trying to find a place to sleep peacefully at my own comfort place?

(paws, in case something happens)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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belzrgr · 7 months

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Hiii! Hope ur having a good day/night. I was wondering if you could write hurt/comfort abt the reader having a rough time dealing with mental health issues (depression specifically) and sanji comforting them. I understand if not you do you ofc 🩵

I wanted to write more, to actually show you Sanji taking care of you instead of merely telling you about it but it's been sitting in my notes and I didn't want it to gather dust there. Please feel free to request more or something else, though I hope this is a bit like what you've wanted ♡

Sanji & gn! Reader (you/yours)

Tags/Warnings: self-neglect, depression, self-doubt, Sanji wants to help, petnames used for reader (mon amour), hurt comfort

How long has it been since you last changed your clothes? Although you asked yourself this, you couldn't really be bothered either way.

Your body felt heavy, especially your head that laid on your now flat pillow. A grumble came up from your stomach and you curled up with your blanket in your hands. Even though you were so incredibly tired, you couldn't sleep and when you did manage to, it was never enough.

Sooner or later, you would have to stand up and show yourself to the crew unless you wanted them to cone look for you but right now you couldn't get yourself to move. Little particles of dust flew through the air illuminated by the sun shining through the window.

You didn't even know why you felt so sad, why no matter what food you thought of you didn't want to eat anything because nothing sounded tasty, why the idea of doing what would usually bring you joy only sounded like a chore now or why you struggled so hard to even sit up from your bed. Well, that wasn't completely true. Theoretically you knew why but you didn't know why your depression has become so much worse again recently.

Thinking of your crew just made you even more sad now. Maybe they didn't even notice you missing, your brain told you, or maybe they're happy you're not there to drag the mood down.

It made you feel like a burden, wasting away in your bed while the rest had fun outside. What if a fight broke out and they needed your help? You were just dead weight like this, taking up space and food - well not food right now at least.

Despite the chaos in your head, you continued calmly watching the dust in the air outside of it.

The door opened. You looked over to see Sanji standing in the frame and looking right back at you.

"... what's wrong?", he asked you without leaving any room for you to deny that you weren't feeling well. Yet how did you say this anyway? How could you explain to him how you felt so that he understand when even talking made you want to just hide under your blanket completely and ignore everything around you?

Apparently you took too long to answer and Sanji stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He walked over to your bed and squatted down next to it so your were more around the same eye level. Your gaze never left him and your stomach growled angrily.

"You haven't been outside your room much lately. Don't think we haven't noticed you missing, especially during meals." - Sanji's voice was gentle, not accusing. - "It's not the same without you. We miss you, I miss you. So please, can I help you?"

As he talked, he took the hand you had sticking out from under the blanket. Just so that you could take it back if you wanted but you didn't. It felt nice.

You opened your mouth to say something but closed it again. Then you opened it once more, "Thank you."

Sanji huffed lightly.

"I haven't even done anything yet, mon amour."

His thumb caressed the back of your hand.

"How about I draw you a warm bath and make you something light to eat? You can eat on the deck to get some fresh air too and if you will let me, I could clean up your room a bit."

For a moment, you just stared at him but then you nodded. You still didn't really want to stand up but if he helped you, it didn't seem so impossible anymore.

#vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #Mine #Writing #Drabble #Hurt comfort #Depression #gender neutral reader #gn reader #One piece #Fanfiction #Fanfic

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submenarehotties · 1 year

Text

“ 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩! „

submissive! katsuki bakugou x dominant! female! reader.

(does not follow the plot of the mha/bnha manga or anime)

cw’s + tw’s: nsfw, explicit language, nipple play (bakugou receives), overstimulation (bakugou receives), mean! reader, slight angst, bakugou wears lingerie, slight blowjob (bakugou receives).

timeskip: “❀ ❀ ❀”

summary: Who says Bakugou can’t have an early birthday present? But - does he even deserve it? After all, he just pissed you off. But, you're pretty generous.

note: bakugou is 18+. you & bakugou are pro-heroes. not proof-read.

word count: 1.4K+

Katsuki Bakugou had been an asshole lately and his birthday was coming up. It was certainly pissing you off. Did he even deserve a present from you?

“Hey dumbass Deku! Where’s my girl?” Bakugou accuses, stomping into Midoriya’s room.

“Hey, Kacchan! And (y/n)? I don’t know where she is.” Midoriya replies with a hand resting on the back of his neck awkwardly.

Bakugou grabs Midoriya by the collar of his shirt, “Don’t call her that, only I get to call her that, shitty Deku.”

“O-Okay… Sorry!” Midoriya apologizes.

“Hey, Izuku, I was wondering if you ha—” You walk into Midoriya’s room, pausing at the scene before you.

Bakugou immediately drops Midoriya at your sudden voice.

Ignoring Midoriya who was on the ground, Bakugou stomped his way over to you, his gaze worried, “Where the hell did you go?”

“Are you hurt?” Bakugou rasped as he scanned you.

“Why would I be hurt…?” You question.

“You weren’t in your room last night.” Bakugou explained, his hands resting at the small of your back, holding you close.

“I was only training Izuku. His skills need to be more refined while fighting, so I offered to help.” You reply confusedly.

Bakugou turned to Midoriya furiously.

"You lied to me? You fucking asshole! You knew exactly where she was—"

A loud slap echoed throughout the room. Everything and everyone in the room froze but you. You roughly grabbed Bakugou's chin and made him look you in the eye.

You were furious. You thought Bakugou had learned and agreed to stop fighting with Midoriya at every chance he could get.

You leaned over his ear and whispered, "I swear Katsuki, if you pull a stunt like that again, I'll leave you hot and bothered, no one to touch you - at all. I don't give a fuck if it's close to your birthday. So do me a favor and shut your goddamn mouth."

When you looked at Bakugou again he had a flushed face.

"Yes, m-ma'am," Bakugou murmured.

“W-What is happening right now?”

Bakugou’s head whips over to Midoriya and he almost bursts out with something stupid that would’ve got him in trouble.

But, Bakugou simply says, “Be quiet, you damn nerd.”

Bakugou’s quiet, but more respectful than you’ve ever seen him.

Midoriya had a blush of his own. Now that made you smirk.

“You’re free to join—if you’d like.” You tease.

You could’ve sweared you saw a flash of green from Midoriya’s fists that were held tightly. Hm…

“Please s-stop. Enough teasing.” Bakugou grumbles under his breath, before storming out of Midoriya’s room.

You chuckled to yourself before calmly walking out of Midoriya’s room, you give Midoriya a wink. Man, it’s so easy to make him blush.

“Damn it—” Bakugou grabs you by your waist and slams Midoriya’s door, pressing you against his shut door. “I can’t leave you alone for a fucking second. Was this your plan? To make me jea—never mind…”

You hummed with a very sweet smile on your face, “I’m getting bored - you’re boring me. Put on a show or I’m moving on.”

Bakugou flinched as if he had been slapped again. You hadn’t even slapped him.

You lied. Bakugou could never bore you. Thrashing against you as you made him give into extreme pleasure. He denyed the pleasure until you proved him wrong.

You wanted to toy with him. Make him hurt, just like he hurts the feelings of others. For no damn reason at all.

“Whatever.” Bakugou murmured, his shoulders slumping, a low sigh escaping him.

Bakugou simply walked away.

You couldn’t contain your smile any longer. It was lucky that he had just left.

One thing you also noticed before you saw Bakugou leave was… He was shaking.

Bakugou couldn’t stand that he couldn’t read your feelings. You didn’t let anyone see.

Bakugou wanted to be the first one.

Bakugou watched you from a distance as you talked with pro-hero, Hawks - as if you hadn’t just hurt his feelings a few minutes ago.

Bakugou thought he was doing a good job for you. But… He was boring you?

He needed to fix that.

❀ ❀ ❀

You and Bakugou shared a house. You had easy access to him. You liked it that way. You took your ‘frustrations’ out on him.

Bakugou heard the door shut and flinched even though he knew the exact time and second you came home.

Usually you’d greet Bakugou. Of course, he always gets home before you.

You rolled your shoulders and let out a tired sigh. You needed a drink. You poured yourself a glass of wine and scrolled through social media.

You heard the bedroom door open then close.

“Hey.” Bakugou whispered in greeting.

Without looking up, you continued to scroll through your phone, glass of wine in your other hand, “Hi.”

You heard Bakugou come closer, but you didn’t dare to pay attention to him. You were ‘mad’.

“‘m sorry.”

“For what, Kats?” You question.

“That you’re bored of me…”

You sighed, finally looking up at Bakugou, shocked at the sight before you. Bakugou in your lingerie.

Just from your stare, Bakugou’s head popped through the panties. He swallowed nervously.

“Come here.” You commanded.

Bakugou listened and moved in front of you.

“You think dressing up as a whore is gonna get me going?” You ask, running a hand down Bakugou’s chest.

“Yes…?” Bakugou sounded unsure as he shuddered from your sudden touch.

Hell yeah it was.

You stand up and grab your wine, walking to the couch, before sitting yourself down comfortably.

“Come sit. Now.”

Bakugou was there in an instant. His hands were shaking, his body covered in goosebumps. You knew he wasn’t cold. He was like a bitch in heat.

“Do you deserve it?” You ask, circling a finger around the head of his cock.

“Deserve what—hmghh…” Bakugou moaned, his hips instinctively thrusting up for friction.

“Fuck, this is so e-embarrassing.” Bakugou murmured his eyes on you, sweat already clouding his sexy face.

“Why not make it more?” You tip your wine glass down his chest, the wine painting his chest red like art.

Bakugou’s eyes were glued to you as you lowered yourself on your knees. You watched Bakugou in return. You spread his legs wide.

“Don’t close your legs. Got it, Kats?” You state.

Bakugou let out a weak whine and gave you a slow nod. He was already in a pleasured state. Just your attention was enough.

You leaned up and placed kisses all down his chest, licking and sucking at any remainder of wine. Bakugou whimpered, his hands all in your hair, his legs shaking trying to keep them open for you.

You flicked his nipples with your tongue. Bakugou was shuddering uncontrollably under you.

“Been a while, hm? Since I last played with you.” You taunted, putting pressure on his dick with your hand.

The friction of the pattern on the panties and the pressure, just felt so damn good to him.

“I-I can’t—!” Bakugou’s head was spinning.

“Going to cum so soon? You’re more desperate than I thought. Hm… Go ahead. Cum for me, Katsuki.” You say, continuing to tease his cock and torture his chest with your mouth.

Splurts of his cum coated your hand and you pulled down the panties and you used his cum as lube to continue to jerk him off. The pleasure quickly ended and turned to a tickling, painful feeling.

“N-No!” Bakugou cried out, trying to close his legs, his hands shakily trying to remove your hands from him.

“I’d like to see you try, you whiny bitch.” You taunt, quickening your strokes on him.

Bakugou was always bad at overstimulation. Just after one time cumming is hard for him. That’s exactly why you chose to do this to him.

“Fuck, I can’t anymore—mghh—nooo!”

“If you can’t anymore, why is your cock still leaking then, hm?”

“I-I—”

Your mouth connected to his cock and he couldn’t hold any sounds from coming out of his mouth even if he tried. Your mouth was so warm. He started to feel pleasure again.

“Feels good. Oh~!” Bakugou started to thrust his hips again.

You teased his cock with your tongue, running your nails down his chest.

He came a second time and was extremely tired and sluggish. You cleaned yourself and him off, changed him, and helped him walk to your shared bedroom.

“‘m forgiven?” Bakugou slurred as you both got into bed.

You smiled.

“Of course you are, Kats. Pretty sure you wear my lingerie better than me.” You tease, as Bakugou buries his head in your neck.

Bakugou only blushes and buries himself further into your neck embarrassedly.

a/n: this was supposed to be posted april 18, but i was lazy and i didn’t have any time to actually write it, but it’s probably already bakugou’s bday anyway. so hbd, you rude bitch!

click here for my masterlist(s).

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wheels-of-despair · 2 months

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Live A Little | A Worth It AU | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

In This Edition: You have a realization and make things right! Words: 3.5k

"Looks like someone had a late one."

You roll over to face the wall without opening your eyes. You're in no mood for your aunt's teasing. You haven't been asleep long enough to have forgotten why you feel so miserable. You've thought of nothing but Ralph all night long. You're still in yesterday's clothes, which Ralph helped you back into. You haven't even bothered to wash off your makeup, which has surely been smudged after hours in Ralph's bed and a full night of crying.

Everything goes back to Ralph.

Except for you.

He thinks you betrayed him. And he has good reason to. His sister has been playing these twisted games with him all their lives. You'd followed her around and fooled yourself into thinking she might be a friend... briefly. But why should he believe that you were any different than every other girl who'd used him to win some stupid prize?

A choked sob escapes from your throat.

"What did he do?" your aunt accuses, all traces of humor gone from her voice.

"Nothing," you croak.

"Then what did you do?"

You turn your face into your pillow and let your tears soak it. You feel her sit down on the side of your bed.

"I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me what happened."

You breathe out a shuddering breath and speak to the wall.

"On the night I met Victoria, she made a game. She had a bunch of girls compete for Ralph's affection. There were winners and losers and I sat there with her and watched it happen. Because I thought he was enjoying it, and nobody would get hurt. And then it went too far, and I told him about it, and the game was over."

"That's why everyone was giving you the ol' stink-eye," your aunt surmises.

You nod.

"And then I ran into him the next day in the library. We had the same idea; get a book and hide from them. But we started talking, and we started walking, and we never even cracked open our books. And then we met again the next day, and had a wonderful time, and… and last night, we ran into Victoria. She brought up the game. He thinks I was…" You can't bring yourself to continue.

"He thinks you were playing him like all those other girls did."

You answer with a sob.

"You really like him, huh?"

You nod your head, unable to speak.

"Do you love him?"

Of course you do. He's the most beautiful person you've ever met, inside and out. He's kind, he's funny, and he's intelligent. Simply being in his presence makes your world feel a little brighter.

But Ralph Penbury's heart has been toyed with time and again. Why should he believe that you were any different than the girls who'd tell him they loved him or take him to bed for a piece of jewelry or a chance to be in his sister's entourage for a day? How was he to know that your feelings were real?

You bury your face in your pillow to hide a fresh wave of sobs.

"That's what I thought. Does he know that?"

"No," you choke out.

"So why are you lying here in a puddle of your own tears instead of finding him and telling him?"

"Why should he listen to anything I have to say? He thinks I'm one of them," you wail.

"Because I saw the way he looked at you during dinner. And unless that boy is falling in love with every girl who gives him the time of day, he's probably in the same position you are right now: Face down and in danger of drowning."

You stop crying abruptly.

"Get up, get dressed, and go talk to that boy," she orders.

You rise and redress as quickly as you can.

"If I don't see you 'til morning, I'll understand!" she smirks as she pushes you out the cabin door.

You arrive quicker than you expected. You peek cautiously into the hallway where his room is before you enter, praying that Victoria isn't in it. Clear. You approach his door and knock.

"Ralph?" you call quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone else at this early hour. (Or let Victoria know you were here.) "Would you please open up and talk to me? I can explain."

No answer. You put your ear to the door and listen for movement. Nothing. Perhaps he's already gone down for breakfast? What if he never came back to his room? Should you go look for him?

"Ralph?" You knock again. "Please?"

After another moment of silence, you sigh and retreat. A few doors down, a steward comes out with a pair of shoes in need of shining. It gives you an idea.

"Excuse me," you smile.

"Yes, miss?"

"Mr. Ralph Penbury dropped this last night," you pull out your handkerchief, "and I wanted to return it, but I'm not quite sure which room is his. Would you be a dear and see that it gets back to him?"

"Of course, miss," the steward smiles, reaching for the handkerchief with his free hand.

"Thank you so much!" You walk in the opposite direction and turn the corner, then whirl around to peek out like you had upon arrival. The steward knocks on Ralph's door and announces himself. It opens. He's in there. The steward presents Ralph with the handkerchief, which Ralph refuses, because it's not his. The steward apologizes and leaves confused.

"Oh my goodness," you say, rounding the corner again. "I believe I've given you the wrong one. I've left the gentleman's handkerchief in my stateroom, this one's mine."

"Oh." The steward returns the square to you.

"So sorry for troubling you," you smile. "I'll get his to him later."

"No trouble at all, miss," he says, an odd smile on his face. Probably attributing this exchange to silly women-folk and their tiny brains.

When the steward disappears from sight, you return to Ralph's door and knock again.

"Ralph? I know you're in there, and I know you don't want to see me. So I'll explain from here." You take a deep breath and survey the hallway, making sure you're still alone. "I spent time with you because I wanted to. Not because of your sister or one of her stupid games. Just because of you. I adore you, Ralph Penbury. You are the sweetest, most wonderful person I've ever met. And it breaks my heart that you think I had an ulterior motive."

You rest your head against the door.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that I was engaged." You close your eyes. "I can't marry him, Ralph. I won't. Not after you." Tears begin streaming down your face again, ruining your freshly applied makeup. "Ralph, you made me feel things I didn't know were possible. I thought I was cold and hollow inside. But you… you made me feel so warm. You made me feel alive. I can't go home and marry someone I'll never love and live a life I don't want to live. I need more. And I didn't know there was more until I met you."

You knock your forehead on the door to end your rambling.

"What I'm trying to say is that I love you, Ralph."

Silence.

You step back from the door, hoping it'll open. But it doesn't. The damage is done. He'll never believe another word you say. You heave a sigh and address the door one last time.

"I hope you find someone who deserves you, Ralph. Because you are truly wonderful. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

You wipe your eyes with the handkerchief that had been passed around and turn to leave.

You make it three steps before a "Wait!" stops you in your tracks.

You slowly turn. Ralph is standing in the doorway, still in his rumpled clothes from yesterday, eyes teary and nose red.

"Do you mean it?"

"Every word," you breathe.

Ralph bounds toward you and crushes you in a hug. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug him back with everything you've got, never wanting to let him go again.

Eventually, Victoria's voice carries through the walls, announcing that she's awake. Ralph backs into his room without letting you go, and you grin as you shuffle inside pressed against him. You kick the door shut.

When his grip loosens, you look up.

"Missed you," you say.

"It's been a very hard…" Ralph scrunches his face in concentration. "Eight hours?"

"Indeed it has," you agree with a laugh, reaching up to wipe your eyes.

He sits on the edge of the bed, holding out his hands for you to take. You step closer and clasp them in yours.

"Is there… is there anything else I should know about you?" he asks bashfully.

"Ralph, ask me anything, and I'll tell you. I don't want any secrets between us."

"What's he like?"

"What's who like?" you ask in confusion.

"Your fiancé."

You laugh in surprise.

"Why do you want to know about him?"

Ralph's big brown eyes drift to the floor.

"I want to know what he did wrong," he says quietly. "Why you don't want him."

"Ralph…" You sit on the bed next to him. "It's not that he did one specific thing wrong. It's that he was wrong for me."

"How did you know?"

You think about it for a moment; sure, Donald did a lot of things that annoyed you. He chewed too loud, always ordered the exact same thing at the exact same restaurant, and insisted on calling your family's maid "girl" after years of being reminded that her name was Nancy. He was too serious, difficult to engage in conversation, and unbelievably boring. But even with all these minor annoyances, he'd never really made you feel anything at all. You smile when you find your answer.

"I didn't know he was wrong… until I found someone who was right."

Ralph's face brightens slowly while this sinks in. Soon, his worried frown turns into a grin that crinkles his eyes. You can't help yourself. You have to lean over and kiss him.

An hour later, you lie on your side in just your chemise, staring into those beautiful but sleepy eyes of his.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

"You," he breathes.

"Good thoughts?" you ask.

"That's all I have when it comes to you."

You lean in for a kiss, grateful to be with him again.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" you ask, reaching out to stroke his hair when he settles back on his pillow.

"No," he mumbles. "Did you?"

"No."

"Maybe we nap for an hour?" he asks, eyelids getting heavier by the second. You keep stroking his hair until he falls asleep, then allow yourself to slip into dreamland as well.

When you open your eyes again, Ralph is staring at you.

"Sorry," he says nervously. "I didn't mean to-- I wasn't watching--"

"Shhh," you whisper, scooting closer to him and snuggling into his chest. His apologies stop, and he nuzzles his cheek into your hair.

"Did you sleep well?" you ask, muffled by his chest.

"I did," he answers. "Did you?"

"Mhm," you hum. "Have you been awake long?"

"Not very," he says. His stomach rumbles.

"Perhaps we should get dressed and see if they're still serving breakfast," you suggest, giving his belly a rub.

"Actually… we slept through lunch."

You raise your head and look at him in surprise.

"We did?"

"It's nearly three."

You stare at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

"We can go to the restaurant on B-Deck. I think I shall perish if I have to wait for the dining saloon to open up," he says dramatically.

"Then let's hurry, I can't have my Ralph wasting away to nothing," you declare, crawling out of bed and surveying the pile of clothes in the floor. "Would you kindly help me back into that dress you nearly tore off me this morning?"

"Certainly, darling," Ralph says, holding up your knickers by two fingers and giving you a mischievous look.

You snatch them away with a playful glare and dress as quickly as you can. The process would've gone a lot faster, had Ralph not kissed his way up your back where he was supposed to be buttoning, but you thought it best not to complain.

Finally, you set out from Ralph's room toward the restaurant. You're seated quickly at a table for two, where Ralph proceeds to order a ridiculous amount of food for you to share.

You raise an eyebrow when the waiter leaves.

"I'm hungry," he shrugs. "Oh, did we forget something? Did you want something else? We can call him back!"

You decline with a laugh and discuss the décor while you wait for your food to arrive. It's much more intimate than the massive dining hall, where everyone is served at once. The restaurant is nearly empty, given that it's an odd time of day to be eating. You don't mind a bit.

Conversation ceases when the food arrives, and you realize how ravenous you are. You and Ralph tear into your meals, having missed several now, and don't stop until you've sampled everything.

"Would it be unreasonable of me to suggest another nap?" Ralph asks, stifling a yawn as you exit the restaurant.

"Not at all," you smile. "As long as I'm allowed to join you."

"Darling, I never want to sleep without you by my side again."

You lean into him and walk back to his room, free yourselves of your clothes once more, and fall back into bed.

"If there's more to life than eating and napping and making love, I don't want to know about it," Ralph mumbles.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, wondering if any dream could be better than your current reality.

When your eyes open again, you're unable to take them off Ralph's face. You've never seen anyone look so perfect and peaceful. Gone is the downtrodden boy taking orders from his hateful sister. The annoying brother who's always the subject of some mean-spirited game. The means to an end, to be tossed aside when he's no longer useful. You'll die before you let anyone hurt this beautiful boy again.

Ralph begins to stir. He stretches in a way that reminds you of a cat, and greets you with a goofy smile.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

"How I never want to get out of this bed," you answer.

"That can be arranged," he smirks, inching closer to you.

"Oh, really?" you ask playfully.

"Just the mattress, or the bed itself? Never mind. If it's bolted down, I'll have someone cut it out."

You chuckle, and Ralph smiles.

"Or…" He bites his lip. "My bed at home is much larger than this. Softer, too. If… if you'd like to come back to London with me."

Your heart melts.

"You don't have to," he quickly adds. "It was just an idea."

You reach out to cup the side of his face, and he quiets.

"Ralph, I'd love to."

"Really?" His whole body seems to be vibrating. You start feeling it too. His excitement is contagious!

"Really," you confirm, grinning just as hard as he is.

He captures your lips in a kiss, and another hour with Ralph is spent between the sheets.

"How long do you plan on staying in the States?" you ask afterward, head resting on his chest.

"I'd like to visit with my uncle for a while," he says, hand drifting up and down your bare back. "And meet your family. Would that be alright?"

"They're a lot to handle," you chuckle. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"I'd face anything for you."

"You may reconsider that statement once you meet my mother," you tease.

"I wonder if she'll like me?" he ponders.

"She won't," you say confidently. "But that's alright. I'll like you enough for both of us."

"Why won't she like me?"

"She has her heart set on me marrying Donald the Dull and becoming an obedient little housewife, just like all her friends' daughters. Raise the children, worship the husband, spend all my free time gossiping under the guise of bettering my standing in the community."

"That doesn't sound appealing at all."

"It really doesn't," you agree. You look up at him with pure adoration. "But I didn't have the courage to admit it until I met you. I owe you everything, Ralph. Even if this isn't forever."

Your heart stops when you realize what you've said.

"What do you mean 'if this isn't forever'?"

You feel sick. Now is not the time for this conversation. You just got him back, and now you're losing him again already!

"Can you honestly say that you're ready to spend the rest of your life with a girl you've known for four days?"

Ralph swallows, a pained look on his face. You close your eyes and brace yourself. You offered him an out, and he's going to take it. And he's probably right to. Declaring your everlasting love this early is insane. What were you thinking?

"Only if that girl is you."

You burst into tears. You can't help it. You love him, and the thought of being without him is agonizing. He pulls you to his chest, and you hold him tight and cry in relief.

"I love you," you whisper, as soon as you're able.

"I love you, too," he replies, with a kiss to your forehead.

"Would you marry me one day?" he asks. You look up in surprise. "This is not an official proposal!" he clarifies. "Just… one day. Is that something you'd…?"

"Of course, Ralph."

Another kiss leads to another roll in the sheets. As you lie there afterwards, happily pressed against his side, you see him smile.

You poke a finger into his dimple, and he grins harder.

"What's got you so happy?" you tease.

"I'm just thinking of something that someone told me once," he says.

"Do tell, Mr. Penbury."

"She said that it's different when you're in love."

"She?"

Ralph licks his lips nervously and considers it for a moment.

"The woman who escorted me into manhood."

"The woman who escorted you into manhood?" you question.

"I'm trying to put it gently," he says. "She was… not a lady. Not like you."

"A prostitute?" you guess.

Ralph nods.

"Your first time was with a prostitute?"

"I didn't know it at the time," he admits.

"Victoria?" you ask, fearing the answer.

He nods. You blink back tears.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset with you, Ralph," you breathe. "I'm upset for you. Your first time is supposed to be special. Something you'll treasure for a lifetime. And your own sister stole that from you."

"It turned out alright in the end," he assures you. "I learned a lot of valuable lessons under her tutelage."

You kiss his bare shoulder, unable to speak. Ralph clears his throat.

"But she told me that… er, engaging in coitus is different than making love. And she was right. It's so much better when you're in love."

You let his words sink in, and your heart warms.

"Then perhaps we've just experienced a first together," you suggest softly. You'd had no illusions about loving your first. But Ralph was right. Being with him was entirely different.

Ralph turns to face you, so he can kiss you properly.

"And a second," he mumbles, moving to kiss your chin. "And a third," he says, kissing your collarbone.

You laugh and wrap your legs around him, and by the time the sun goes down, you've lost count.

"I feel like I've known you all my life," he whispers a few hours later, when you're both too exhausted for more strenuous activities.

"Imagine if we had," you smile. "Imagine all the luncheons and horrible dates I could have avoided. All the games and torment you could have escaped." You sigh. "Or perhaps, we wouldn't have suffered enough to appreciate what we have now."

"Or perhaps," Ralph says slowly, "we could have been happy together all along."

You lean in to kiss the tip of his nose.

"I guess we'll just have to settle for being happy together for the rest of our lives," you whisper.

"Better late than never, I suppose," Ralph grins, inching closer.

Your lips meet in a sweet kiss.

"I love you," Ralph whispers against your lips.

"I love you too, Ralph."

And then your lips become too busy for words.

#writings of despair #ralphtanic #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters

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