#why are you purchasing a political game if you’re gonna be Like This | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

storiesofsvu · 3 years

Text

Classified Affairs Ch 28

*not my gif* Jackie Sharp x reader Warnings: language, politics, drama, I don’t wanna say hurt/comfort, but that’s the closest thing we’ve got.

The alarm went off far earlier than you’d expected and you let out a little grumble, snuggling deeper into Jackie’s arms as she rolled to silence the ringing. While it had been nearly a full week since you’d officially gotten together and you’d spent some nights together, those nights remained tame, clothed, exhausted from extra hours of work.

“Politics already starts so early,” you whined, “why on earth would they set a breakfast meeting?”

“It’s easier to make sure it’s private.” She replied with a chuckle, kissing the top of your head, “did you want to shower?”

“Coffee…” you mumbled back burying into her neck and she laughed again.

“I will make sure there’s fresh hot coffee for you the moment you step out of the shower.”

“Fine.” You tilted your head, cracking open an eye to actually look at her, submitting defeat that you had to get up, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Mhmm…” Jackie leant down, kissing you gently before nudging you toward the edge of the bed, “c’mon. We can’t be late.”

Sitting up, you rubbed at your eyes, stretching out your body, letting out a sigh as you did so before pushing off the bed, only pausing to kiss Jackie again before moving into the bathroom. The shower did a wonder of waking you up, the heat of the water relaxing you, taking away a bit of the anxiety about the day ahead. You stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you as you quickly fixed your hair and make up for the day before getting dressed, joining Jackie in the kitchen where, as promised, she had a coffee ready and waiting for you.

“Thank you.” You murmured, letting out a hum as you sipped back the beverage, curling into her side, wincing slightly as you went to lean your head against her shoulder, your free hand coming up to rub at the kink in your neck.

“You alright?” She asked, her hand moving up to replace yours, able to dig into the knot at a better angle.

“Yeah. I’m just honestly surprised your bed isn’t as comfy as mine.”

“Don’t you have one of those super fucking expensive memory foam mattress toppers?”

“A luxury I did not purchase myself.” You hummed over a sip of coffee, “come to think of it I didn’t buy the bed either…I only had a double.”

“How much of the stuff in your condo did she buy?”

“Most of it.” You pursed your lips, thinking about the countless amounts of gifts you’d gotten over the year, “oh god…I should really purge my apartment…”

“Hey,” she squeezed at your waist, “don’t get rid of all your fancy things just because she got them for you.”

“Jackie…one of her little manipulative mind games to try and get me back ‘behaving’ was to double what was in my account. And she was still paying me for a few months after that, I could completely remodel the place if I wanted to.”

“Do what you’ve got to do.” She pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Add that to the list of things to do this weekend while you’re gone.” You let out a little huff, “you’re sure you don’t need me there?”

“You’ve done your job perfectly already peach. Remy will be there to back me up, I just need you to watch and then be in those meetings the next morning.”

“If today goes as planned.” You reminded her before turning back to your coffee, leaning against the island. “Speaking of…what exactly is this breakfast? Cause part of it feels like some weird kinda double date, but like…it’s work related? I think?” Jackie let out a small laugh at that, her hand sliding across the island to play with yours.

“It’s their way of vetting you, making sure that you’re trustworthy, but in a more casual and comfortable atmosphere.”

“So how truthful should I be?”

“What’d’you mean?”

“Do they know that we’re together? Like, do we leave that part out?”

“If you’d like to we can keep that private.”

“It’s not gonna affect things later on? Like, I’m not gonna lose my job over it or anything?”

“Your job is perfectly safe, believe me.”

“Okay.” You sighed into your coffee, and she squeezed your hand, giving you a small smile. “I guess i’m just worried about all the lying and secrets that have been going on.”

“Hey…” she waited until you glanced back up at her, “Heather spun you into that web, you did what you had to do to get what you want.” She let out a small laugh, “hell, Frank’ll probably like you more knowing that you don’t shy away from blackmail.”

“Okay but can we maybe leave that reveal for a later date?”

“Of course.” She squeezed your hand again, raising it to her lips for a kiss, “just relax peach. It’ll all be fine.”

Not wanting to arise any more suspicion right off the bat, you drove into work separately, parking in your appropriate locations before re-meeting up outside the residence after a brief pit stop in Jackie’s office.

You were relatively used to the White House by now, able to successfully find your way around the halls and to most of the meeting rooms you needed to get to. However you’d never been in the residence, and despite knowing it was fancy, having been remodelled over the years, you were still relatively taken aback by its vastness. A staffer lead you through the foyer to the dining room where Frank and Claire were entering from another door, a mug of coffee already in her hands that she placed down on the table while greetings and pleasantries were exchanged before you all settled in at the table.

As Jackie had promised, things were more casual and comfortable, a little less uptight than when you’d been working with them before. There was small talk that wasn’t awkward as you began to break the ice, and there were stories told from each of you to make it seem less like it was an interrogation of you. As things were wrapping up and everyone was gearing up with another mug of coffee was when things finally shifted around to the more business side of things, focussing mainly on you.

“Well we know Jackie trusts you, and that you’ve been fully vetted by the White House security and background team before you took the job on her campaign so this is less about proving your trust to us, and more a way to double check that you don’t have any skeletons in your closet, so to speak.” Frank started and you gulped down an extra sip of coffee.

“I can definitely think of one.” You risked a glance to Jackie, “but technically from the other side…it’s already out there, and wouldn’t harm either of your campaigns at all, nor would it look bad on anyone but me.”

“The way I see it it would only look bad on the other person involved.” Jackie murmured softly over the rim of her coffee, fully backing you.

“So you’re aware of the situation?” Frank asked, his gaze drifting over to Jackie, who nodded with a small hum.

“Believe me, if there’s anything that could be damaging, Jackie’s been made aware of it already.” You added.

“How long have you been working in the political field?” Claire asked softly.

“Honestly? Since the campaigning started. I’ve got a degree in journalism, had a few jobs along the way that actually included using it but nothing major until this.”

“How did you find yourself in the White House of all places?” Frank asked with a small laugh that you returned.

“I actually used to P.A for Dunbar way back in the day while I was still getting my degree. I’m friends with her daughter too, who suggested I ask if there was any chance she had a spot for me on her team, she didn’t but she sent me over to Jackie. Which…all things considered…I’m incredibly thankful for.”

“She certainly is in some hot water isn’t she?” Frank chuckled darkly.

“I’m genuinely surprised she hasn’t dropped out yet.” Claire commented and you scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m sure she thinks she can get through this, manipulate her way into people’s heads to get back the state’s she lost.”

“The DUI was bad enough but at least she’s doing something about that.” The blonde replied, and you let out a little laugh, “she’s simply stayed pretty silent on this.”

“She doesn’t want to dig herself a bigger hole at this point.” You rolled your eyes, dropping back into your chair with a soft sigh.

“So it’s safe to say, you’re not working for the enemy then?” Frank raised a brow in your direction and you all but snorted in response.

“Absolutely not. I may be friends with Becca but she hates her more than anyone else could. I’m one hundred percent loyal to Jackie and yourself. And I’ve already taken the time, and this was before I started working with Jackie…to go through all my social media accounts and make sure there’s nothing there that would come back to bite me in the ass. I know myself having a proper image and reputation will make yours look better because of the connection.”

“Well it looks like you certainly have done your homework.” Frank clasped his hands together, “and that you’ll be a good fit for this role. Now, I do believe we’re all due in the Oval shortly.”

“Of course.” Was the resounding reply as you all started to move from the table, beginning to collect your things.

“Is there a washroom I could use quickly?” You asked and Claire quickly responded,

“Down the hall, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.” You flashed her a small smile as you darted down there quickly.

Back in the foyer, Jackie turned back to the other two, a near timid expression on her face as she addressed them.

“She did ask me to keep this part private, but I feel like you should know from the start, especially considering the debate this weekend.”

“Yes?” Frank raised a brow, curious as to if she was going to drop whatever skeleton you had in your closet.

“We are involved, romantically.” She let out a breath, “and while it is relatively new, we haven’t exactly shied away from being in public together. I already know the republicans will come for me for being gay, but if Heather manages to catch wind of our relationship I know for a fact that she’ll use it to try and drag me down.”

“I thought I caught a vibe.” Claire smiled, letting out a small laugh that Jackie nearly blushed at.

“If Dunbar tries anything we’ll be able to sink her easily.” Frank replied, “that will be the main tactic for this debate, as long as we come out of it as the better democratic choice, which, I dare say we already are…we’ll be fine. Team up on her, make her look even worse than she is.”

“I don’t think that’s a very hard thing to do.” Jackie replied.

“What is?” You asked curiously as you rejoined the group, picking up your binders.

“Taking down Dunbar.” Frank replied and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I just got a text from Becca. Jordan may be going to rehab and getting a year in prison starting next week, but he’s throwing a rager of a party this weekend while Heather’s gone. Out of pure spite, a final ‘fuck you’ to his Mom.”

“One child you can’t control and one that will do whatever she can to remind the world she doesn’t support you. And we’re supposed to trust you to run out country?” He scoffed out a laugh as he shook his head, it really was simply too easy at this point.

You left the residence separately, Jackie and yourself making a pit stop over at her office where you swapped out piles of paperwork and notes. (And she reassured you that you were doing wonderfully, and the Underwood’s had you in their good books, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before you moved through the halls of the White House).

You were then escorted into the Oval to find Frank, Claire and Remy already inside, the mood was more professional than earlier, more uptight, and you were wondering if Remy maybe didn’t know about the previous meeting. You all settled yourselves at the couches in the middle of the room, Frank offering coffee or water as the room cleared out of everyone unneeded, the door swinging shut.

“All things considered, Jackie, why don’t you start us off?” Frank suggested and in turn, Jackie turned to you.

“I’d like to offer you the position of campaign manager for the rest of the term, and once that’s completed, I’m offering you my chief of staff.” She smiled softly and you did you best to not let your jaw drop.

“I’m sorry…what?” You were completely baffled, you had no idea this shit was coming, especially since Jackie hadn’t prepped you for something like this.

“You’ve proved yourself. You’re loyal, you’re very cross trained and these last few months have proved to me that you’re more than knowledgeable and quick on your feet about the political side of things.” Jackie replied.

“And what about Remy?” You asked, your brow furrowing as you looked between them.

“He’ll be moving up to my chief of staff.” Frank replied and your face scrunched again.

“What happened to Doug?”

“It turns out he’s been working for Dunbar the entire time.” Frank rolled his eyes,

“Is that how she got the dirt on Claire?” You asked and suddenly all eyes were on you.

“What dirt?” Frank nearly growled out and you practically winced.

“I don’t know what it is Sir, I just know that she has it and it cost her two million to get.”

“May I ask..” he began again, eyeing you down slightly, “what exactly is your relationship with Heather Dunbar? You seem to have more than a few connections to her.” Your eyes darted to Jackie, wondering just how much you should let slip to the Underwood’s, if you could trust them and Remy the same way you trusted her. She in turn cast you a small smile and a reassuring nod. Causing you to let out a heavy sigh, your face falling into your hands as your elbows collapsed against your knees.

“More than I would like…” you started, glancing between the people in the room, “technically…I’m number twelve…” you avoided the gaze of the others, feeling Jackie’s hand squeeze against your wrist. You missed the expression on Claire’s face as she slowly put it together,

“Did…did you leak it?”

“Oh god no!” You shot back, “she was pissed enough thinking I was connected to the leak I’d never cross that line.”

“But all of that is true?” Frank asked and you let out a heavy breath, the feeling of Jackie’s hand on your wrist was the only reason that you weren’t breaking right now.

“Yeah….” You risked a glance up, “I would very much like to never have to verify that, but the whole sugar baby thing is one hundred percent true. I..I never would have if I had known about everything else, or about the politics of it.”

“Where did the leak come from?” Francis asked and you let out a huff,

“Rob. She accidentally paid an allowance from their shared account, he started to look back through their financials, found way too much info and was pissed as hell.”

“Her own husband is against her?” He asked in return.

“He filed for divorce the day it happened.” You returned and were met with a chorus of laughter.

“So that ring is just for show?” Claire asked with a grin and you huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah. She’s signed the papers, their marriage is done for, and has been for weeks, Rob doesn’t give a fuck.”

“Well her fall from grace certainly happened fast.” Frank chuckled, turning back to his desk as he picked up a few folders full of paperwork distributing them properly, “I’m afraid it’s time for the boring part now.”

The next near half hour was spent going through the folders, mountains of contracts, employment files, NDA’s and the like to be signed, debated and worked through. Finally, everything was signed away, the appropriate copies with the appropriate people, and you made your way out of the Oval. Remy was off in another series of meetings while you and Jackie shifted focus back to the campaign trail in her office. A few moments of silence passed before Jackie spoke, her voice soft

“You alright?” She raised a gentle brow in your direction.

“Hmm?” You nearly jumped at the intrusion, looking up at her, “oh, uh..yeah.”

“Is this about the Dunbar thing? Because they really couldn’t care less.”

“I’m fine.” You lied, ducking your gaze back down to what you were working on.

“Peach…talk to me. Please.” If it was even possible, Jackie’s voice softened even more, concerned about whatever it was that was bothering you.

“I just don’t want you to get upset…”

“I’m sure I won’t, but we’ll never know if you don’t tell me what’s going on inside that pretty little head.”

Placing your pen down you let out a sigh, running your hands over your face briefly before finally looking up at her,

“Just all the contracts, agreements….NDA’s….it feels all a little too…familiar…” her face fell, realizing what was happening now, “and that salary? Isn’t it a little much?”

“It’s the average starting point for that position.” She assured, “and remember, I’m not paying it, the government is.”

“Let’s be serious, we both know I’m not qualified to be your chief of staff.”

“Hey…don’t think like that, it’s a over glorified personal assistant job with a little bit more politics thrown in. You’ll basically be doing what you’re doing now with a few more added responsibilities and a little more power.”

“It feels like I’ve lied my way in here, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested you for the job if I didn’t think you could handle it. You’ve proved your work ethic over these last few months, you’re a fast learner and quick on your feet, I have confidence that you’ll be able to handle it, and Underwood has your back too.”

“Okay.” You replied quietly, part of you knew that she was right, that while you had technically swindled your way into the White House, you wouldn’t be moving up if you didn’t deserve it. But the other part of your brain was just flashing back to signing deals with Heather, and knowing how badly they blew up, how it nearly wrecked your life, the little tiny part in the back of your brain was telling you that this was going to end that way too. As if Jackie could see the wheels turning in your brain, she broke the silence again, having not picked up her pen yet, still worried about you.

“Anything else?” You glanced up, letting out a shaky sigh,

“I guess I’m kind of second guessing….us?”

“What do you mean?” Her face fell again, worried that she might lose you before you’d even really gotten started.

“I trust you, I really do, and I want to let myself love you, believe me when I say that. But part of me worries that maybe you’re not in it for the right reasons…like…I’m a ploy for election purposes or something.”

“Hey…whoa…peach….absolutely not.” She was up from her desk and across the room in a heartbeat, gesturing to the chair you were in, “may I?”

“Yeah.” You shifted slightly as she slipped into the chair, pulling you half onto her lap as her arm wrapped around you, placing a tender kiss on your temple.

“You are far more than a political ploy.” She assured you, her hand soothing up and down your back, “you mean entirely too much to me for me to even begin to imagine doing something like that.”

“And it has nothing to do with Heather?” You dared to glance up at her and she internally winced at the tears glazing in your eyes, “like…to get back at her? Or like, to hold something over her in the future?”

“God no!” She scoffed, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “she may be a political opponent and a terrible human being, but I think she’s gone through enough as is.” Her finger curled under your chin, turning your face up to hers, “I know you’re going to have some intrusive thoughts about me, or us, but believe me, I am here for you. I want to be with you because you are a beautiful, brilliant minded, strong, passionate woman that I happened to fall head over heels for. The only time Heather even crosses my mind when it comes to you is the fact that I’m furious that she treated you the way she did, and that she was an idiot for doing so, and for walking away from you. Because she is truly missing out. Not that she deserves you in the least, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, smiling softly at the way her thumb caressed across your cheek, swiping away the tear that had managed to escape. Jackie leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, then one to the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it crinkled as she did so. “God, I’m sorry I’m such a fucking disaster.” You laughed.

“Hey…none of that now.” She teased lightly, “you’re putting yourself back together, and I am more than willing to help you with that. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” You murmured, letting yourself snuggle into her for a moment longer, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself down. Jackie’s hand remained rubbing up and down on your back, pressing gentle kisses onto your head while you came down from your minor panic.

“You’re going to come out of this stronger, I promise you that my little phoenix.”

______

**disclaimer: this ch kinda reads like this is yn’s first time meeting the Underwoods & it’s definitely not, like homegirl’s been working alongside them for months now. Also obvi they’re not as fucking evil as they are in canon**

_______ @lesbianologist @screenee @disaster-and-disgrace @jamiethetrans @natasha-danvers @veteranwerewolf95 @laurenhope13 @imlike-so-gaydude @svulife-rl @gay-ass-bitch @oliviaswifey @mysticfalls01 @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @paulson-hargitay @svushots @nocreditinthestraightworld @yourtaletotell @cerberus-spectre @thatgaygiraffesquirrelgirl @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @addictedtodinosaurs @rosiewritesagain @imaginaryoperagloves @wandasbrat @lustvolle-liebe @disn3y7 @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @swimmingstudentchaos891 @anne-gillettes-wh0r3 @whimsicallymad @alexusonfire @mmmmokdok @muscatmusic18 @sia2raw @ladysc @season4scullyhair @dxtery @1-lindsay83 @mmemalwa @ms-calhoun @holycrapraewth

#Jackie sharp #jackie sharp x reader #heather dunbar #classified affairs #house of cards

85 notes · View notes

shivada-jade · 3 years

Text

codename: vind

older sibling!reader

characters: diluc, kaeya ➡ mentions: adelinde, crepus, la signora warning(s): alcohol consumption, swearing, and because for some reason, older siblings tend to be shorter than younger siblings. iDK WHY but ugh, yeah you're shorter than diluc and kaeya bc you're the older sibling. ik, i hate it too

like, i wanna be a tall 6'2 woman

diluc's 5'10 so u can still be tall in the story.. just not 5'11 😢 sorry over 5'10 folks

➡ WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 so uhh :D

notes: platonic w diluc and kaeya, duh bc ur the older sibling. sibling love!!! sibling love !! woop woop !

"Dad, I'm home!" You bellow out to the house, waving a polite hello to Adelinde who looked shocked to see you. You kick off your shoes and slide your way to the long table in the living room, swiftly grabbing an apple before heading upstairs.

Your hands graze the railings and make your way up to find your dad. Upon reaching the last flight of steps, you were suspicious with how the place was very quiet. Granted, your younger brothers are now adults, but it still felt too quiet. Maybe you expected to see your brothers playing a game of chess, maybe bickering and fencing. You were hoping to see your family after being away.

You were a part of the Fatui under the Mondstadt branch. It was and at the same time wasn't a choice to be roped into the Fatui. You got roped into the wrong group of friends and found yourself blackmailed by the infamous group.

You didn't want to join. You didn't want any of it. You've been disconnected from the world. Wiped out from the face of Earth. No one gave information to you, you couldn't learn anything about what's happening currently. The most you could do was send letters, but even those were difficult to send out. You had to do it in secrecy or you'd be in trouble.

Love, the better sibling,

[Y/N]

Or another common send off is:

Please write back soon,

[Y/N]

And your family never failed to send back letters. They asked what you're doing, where you are and how are you, still you never told them your occupation, fearful of what they would think and where your loyalties lie, so you told them you were working under an adventurer.

It's for the greater good. You remember trying to convince yourself.

You're a horrible person.

You were sixteen then. Your younger brothers were twelve. It's been 10 long years since you last saw them, and 6 years since you last received a letter back. You miss them dearly. You often wondered what sorts of adventures they did without you.

But why are you wondering about this? You knew what they did: you knew everything that happened.

You're living under a heavy burden.

"Dad?" You call out again. Maids and wine makers look aghast when they see you, and they're on the verge of fainting when you call out to your father.

Stop the act.

It's strange how the letters were suddenly cut off. The last letter you received was from Kaeya, telling you how you needed to come home straight away. You tried to, but the Fatui prevented you from doing so. A lady called La Signora supervised you directly to make sure you didn't leave.

You know...

Adelinde brushes the dust off her uniform and hurries up the stairs to catch up to you, "Dear, is that you [Y/N?]"

"Did you forget me that easily? I'm offended Miss Adelinde," you chided, but the teasing look in your eyes give Adelinde relief to know you aren't actually offended. "Miss, where's dad?"

You're sickening.

Adelinde takes one look at you and squeezes your shoulders with a smile, "I'm afraid that's not for me to say. Master Diluc should be able to-"

"Oh, where's Diluc and Kaeya?" You ponder, and the corners of your lips curl upwards. "Those two were always attached to the hip. Where are they now? Horseback riding at the vineyard? Ha! I-"

You glance at Adelinde's watery eyes and stop your babbling. "What's wrong Miss Adelinde?" You reach for her hands on your shoulders and hold them. "Ah, has father been making you work too hard? I can request him to lessen your load."

Adelinde shakes her head no. "You don't have a clue, do you? Oh," she sighs. "Please, rest yourself by the fireplace. I'll prepare tea for you." She rests her hands back at her side and scurries to the kitchen.

You frown, unsure why she's jumpy, but you follow her request and sit by the fireplace. The crackle of the fire contrasts the tense air you feel when maids brush past you, offering tea Adelinde made. You thank them, gently blowing on the drink.

After taking a sip, you place it down with a pinky to lessen the noise it makes on the table. You hear the door open, and the choruses of maids greeting someone.

"Welcome home, Master Diluc," you hear and other voices saying, "We've prepared a meal for you and your sibling, would you like to rest yourself?"

You peek from your chair, he obviously hadn't realized you yet.

Diluc's lips make a thin line and shrugs off his jacket, "Why is Kaeya visiting. Isn't he supposed to do his knightly duties?"

You have no clue why he says it like that. The venom in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You decide this is your cue to give him a warm welcome. You stand from your seat, and open your arms in a grand gesture and waltz to your brother. "Diluc! It's been a while huh?"

You clearly see him tense hearing your voice. His head snapped to your direction with his mouth parted. The maids respectively take their leave, bowing before they do so.

Diluc looks you up and down, still not believing you're there, like you're just his imagination. His hand slowly reaches out to you as if you're a dream.

Your feet lead you closer and you grasp him tightly in an embrace.

He freezes, but slowly relaxes in your hug, reluctantly bringing up his own arms to wrap around you. You feel his grip tightening, and you feel his shake out silent sobs. His face buries in your neck, letting tears fall on your clothes.

You soothe his back, and press a kiss on his hair. "I'm home, Diluc."

He trembles, pushing himself away to look at you clearly. Why hadn't you come home earlier? He wanted to vent, he wanted to yell, shout, he wanted to know how much he missed you in your absence.

He clears his throat and coughs in his fist. "You should have told me about your arrival," he adjusts the gloves on his hands, and looks to the floor like he did when he admitted he accidentally broke your toy when you were 10.

After these years, he still looks up to you as his older sibling. Not a thing has changed.

But you couldn't help but notice one thing. You knew Diluc and Kaeya had matured, you knew they would grow taller, but shit, now Diluc's taller than you.

"I sent a letter a month ago," you began. "It should have been sent to your office in the Favonius Headquarters? That's where I send my mail after you told me about your promotion to Cavalry Captain."

You squish his cheeks with both your hands. "Because I know you're a workaholic and only respond to letters that mean business, so that's where I sent it off to. You never write back, neither does Kaeya," you pause, thinking for a moment. "Neither does dad. Tell me he hasn't gotten sick that he couldn't respond to my letters."

Diluc lifts your hands off his face and frowns. He doesn't know how to break the news to you- not when you look so excited to be home and tell of your adventures to your family, so he asks, "Did you eat yet?"

You note the frown on his face. "'What's got you grumpy," you prod. "I need to find dad first. Told him in the first letter I gave him, I'd give the first gem I find."

Diluc watches you leave him to go to Crepus' room on the second floor. He hears the thuds on the floor and the opening of the door, but does nothing to stop you. You left with a smile, and you come back confused.

"Why is dad's room empty?"

How cruel.

...

Kaeya hums, passing by Flora's shop and purchasing a Calla Lily for the sake of it. He is well aware of the Fatui that stand by corners. Whispers of the wind give him intel, and so does alcohol apparently. He leans on a wall right outside Angel's Share, watching two Fatui members drink some of the tavern's strongest alcohol, imported from Snezhnaya.

"That damn," the one with the red and black mask hiccups, lifting a mug with foam overflowing. "Damn brat's gonna snitch on us to the Knights- *hiCC* boss lady wou- *HicC* would have our heads!"

Thankfully, their more responsible Fatui friend takes the mug and switches it with their drink, water. "You're the one who let Vindicta out of your sight when you know their frequencies to escape. This is all on you, buckaroo."

One of the Fatui escaped? How peculiar.

Kaeya hums, in steady strides he shows himself to the Fatui and takes a seat from another table and sits in front of the two. "My, my, my. If it isn't the wonderful Fatui," he divuldges. He twirls his Calla Lily around his fingers, amused with the Fatui's reactions.

Their mouths drop, knowing who he is and they hastily clean themselves up by sitting straight and wiping away the alcohol from their faces. "Good evening, sir."

"Evening to you too," he places the flower behind the person's ear, flustering them. "Well? Drink up. Everything you order will be on me."

The Fatui look at each other, skeptical with Kaeya's kindness, but the drunken one accepts the offer. Kaeya celebrates in the inside as he slowly gains Fatui intel.

Though, the second Fatui whom he dubbed the "Responsible One," took a while for them to take a sip. Turns out, they couldn't handle alcohol, that's why they avoided drinking it.

"So, my dear friends," he slides a coin on the table and stares both of them down. "A mora for your thoughts? I couldn't help but notice the tense of your shoulders when you first arrived here."

Responsible One raises their mug drunkenly, and gives a pointed look, "You... you know too much. How?..." They stare at their friend and whisper shout, "Don't tell him about Vind or-" They fail to continue their sentence and pass out on the table.

Kaeya feigns a surprised face and looks at Fatui number 2, "Who exactly is Vind? I'm sure you don't mean the storm watcher up at the cliff." He coats his voice with sugar, and it seems Fatui friend fell for his kindness.

"The damn brat," they spit out before hiccupping again. "Recruited them, fed them, saw potential, gave a home, and they escaped."

Kaeya nods and pushes another bottle of wine to the Fatui's direction, urging them to continue.

"Was supposed to be one of the Agents to spy on the *hiCc* to spy on the Ragnvindr family, because *HicC* Vind was one of the best there is. They were about to be promoted Harbinger after an assignment *hiCCUpp* but then Big Boss Lady said 'End the Ragnvindr legacy,' Vindicta left without a word. They escaped."

The Fatui downs another bottle of wine. "But judging from Boss Lady's reaction, Vind did the job: killed him and placed the blame on the Knights."

The Calvary Captain knits his brows and places his hands in front of him. It laced themselves and he watches the Fatui person empty out his wine.

"I'd be careful of what you say if I were you." His lone eye glints dangerously.

"End the legacy?" Kaeya frowns. "Can I ask..." He couldn't ask why or the Fatui would stop talking to him. "Can I ask when your beloved spy did their job?"

The Fatui waves a hand, "Six years ago. After they killed that damn aristocrat's father, they tried escaping. Big Boss supervised them under their watch. 'Potential' the Harbingers always say, but I don't see the potential in them if they don't have loyalties under the Fatui. A wild card, really."

They lay their cheek on the table. The temperature drops quite dangerously. Kaeya's diamond eye glints with coldness before it turns back to warmth.

"Rumours have it," the Fatui sighs, playing with his empty mug. "The training Vindicta went through is rougher, so we were hoping they would tie their loyalties to us. We let them explore once, and they escaped under my watch. Maybe it was their assignment to leave, maybe it's not, because Boss Lady was okay with it, she said 'Vindicta will always return in our hands.' when they first escaped, and surely enough they do return. But either way, I'm fucked for letting them go missing the third time of the week."

Kaeya laughs with no soul and quickly ends the lovely 'conversation.' He pushes himself from the table and stands, "Thank you for chatting with me, it's been interesting." He tucks in the chair and glances at the two Fatui dozing, or close to dozing off.

He swiftly turns away, scoffing when he's out of sight from people. Vindicta is a dangerous card. Not even the Fatui know where their loyalties side.

Vindicta. How peculiar indeed.

One of the best Fatui, which probably meant they were payed well with respect and mora, but why are they labeled as an escapee when they always return? With someone as dangerous as a Harbinger, who do they side with- the Fatui or something else?

Kaeya has a lot of questions.

...

Diluc sits on a cushioned chair and hunches over, resting his chin on his hands, thinking.

Always thinking.

The once lit fireplace is soaked with water he splashed over. The scent of burnt wood wafts nearby. The light chatter of maids go through one ear and leave the other.

How long had it been since he last saw you?

Eternity is his answer. It's been eternity since he last saw you.

He lets out a long sigh, throwing his head back and running a hand through his untied locks.

Too much thinking for today. Diluc groans in frustration and sits back up. He turns his head slightly, seeing you in the corner of his eyes taking out boxes of things you owned from 10 years before.

It doesn't make sense to him. Why come back so suddenly after years of not seeing you? Though, you claim you sent him letters, he never got them because he closed himself off from the Knights.

"Diluc," you set down a small picture of a family portrait you took out from hiding behind many books.

You are taking this oddly well.

You're taking this too well, in fact.

This raises a red flag for Diluc. He told you the fall out of your family, how he quit the Knights, but still you're going around the place like nothing had happened.

Don't you feel any rage? Or even sadness?

He sees too many red flags and hates it- from the way you can hide things like Kaeya so easily, to the way you just suddenly appear back in his life. It feels weird. It's not easy to let someone that in quick, yet you're still his role model, so it's okay, right?

He's always looked up to you when he was younger. You never were at a loss of words and stood up for him. You were the person he can turn to when something wrong happens, but what were you doing for yourself to be gone for so long? Adventuring Teyvat could not have taken ten whole years. Where did you even stay?

"Diluc," you crouch in front of him and talk to him as if he were six again. "I'm okay, okay?"

Diluc takes a shaky breath and sits up straight. His posture resembling a king's. "I have an idea, and I would like you to help me."

You look at him in awe. The realization settles in: Diluc has grown, and you're still stuck trying to make up the past.

"And what do I help you with?"

"Finding who's responsible for father's death."

notes: had this in my drafts for a long time and i was like "wait where was i going with this..." until BAM i have the idea again so im gonna continue it

(part 2)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader

100 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 3 years

Text

good heart

Movie/Game/Show: The Devil All the Time Dynamic: Arvin Russell/Reader Warnings: use of the daddy word but it’s purely platonic, sacrilege, post-canon, proofread but i am illiterate, fem pronouns Summary: Arvin knows he wants more, but he won’t let himself run for it. ~~~

Arvin slides onto the nearest stool he can find at the counter without looking around too much, peeling off his hat and holding it tight to the shiny surface with both fists. He keeps his head low and waits for a waitress to approach him.

“You want anything or you just getting out of the sun?” a voice teases from behind the counter.

His head lifts and he offers a fracture of a polite smile and nod, “Just a black coffee, ma’am. Please.”

“‘Ma’am’” you repeat as you write down the order, “You’re awful formal, don’t you think?”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Oh, no, you don’t gotta apologize for anything,” you awkwardly offer a smile, “I just tease sometimes, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Now, how many times have I told you to stop that,” an older man chides from the kitchen, “Bring that poor boy’s order over and stop messin’ with people.”

“Sorry, daddy,” you mutter, turning to hand over the ticket with Arvin’s measly order.

The man takes the paper and squints to read it, shaking his head before turning to the brunette boy at the counter, “Sorry ‘bout her. Gets bored around here.”

Arvin finally glances around the whole room and sees that the diner is empty of customers except for him.

He shakes his head and gives a slight grin, “Don’t worry none, sir. Just a rough few days, is all - nothin’ wrong with your daughter havin’ fun.”

He’s waved off by the older man and you soon return to Arvin’s front with a bounce in your step at his words, “Thanks for backin’ me up, stranger.”

“Just the truth,” Arvin murmurs, looking around the barren diner once again, “Slow day, huh?”

He internally cringes at the awkward starter but resolves to let it slide when you light up at the branch.

“Yeah, it’s Sunday service hours, ya know. Don’t get too many people willing to skip a meetin’ with the Lord for scrambled eggs and coffee.”

Lenora and Emma would be at service by now. Lenora would be praying with her neighbors and family by now. She loved services.

A bell dings before Arvin can claw out a subpar response and you’re making a trip to the little window between the kitchen and sitting area before carrying back a breakfast of toast, eggs, and coffee.

“Oh, I can’t- “

“On the house,” you wink, pushing the plate towards Arvin, “Don’t gotta eat it if you don’t want, but Daddy likes makin’ the effort to feed people,” leaning over and whispering so your father can’t hear, you let him in on a secret, “He looks mean but he’s got a real soft spot for people like you.”

He quirks a brow, picking up a fork to poke at his eggs, “Strays?”

You roll your eyes at the suggestion, “People who look like they need a good meal. He’s old but he reads people real well. I can take it back, if you don’t want it.”

“No!” he recoils and his face sours at the volume of his own voice, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you shrug, “Gotten a lot worse from customers for a lot less.”

Arvin finishes off a bite of toast before asking, “People yell at you often?”

Again, you merely shrug, “Polite young men like you ain’t exactly common around here.”

“Who could do that? You seem mighty fine,” Arvin shakes his head, “I don’t know you real well, ma’am, but somethin’ ‘bout that don’t rub me the right way.”

“Not much I can do ‘bout it. Daddy kicks ‘em out fast as he can but it ain’t like he’s always listenin’ out for people who don’t like his daughter.”

“What if I could get ‘em out?”

“What? You plan on sittin’ in a slow diner just waitin’ for people to get rough with little ol’ me?”

“Sad as it may sound, ma’am, I don’t got a lot goin’ on. ‘Sides,” Arvin shovels up more eggs on his fork, “your daddy ain’t a bad cook.”

You weren’t actually expecting Arvin to come back the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. Or even the week later. But he did, just like he said he would - he came back and made sure nobody gave you a hard time. He wasn’t the tallest or the most muscular, but nobody could deny the intimidation Arvin could give out. He seemed like he’d seen more than most men his age. Seemed like he’d done a lot more than a lot of men his age. After a day you asked his name, he panicked and said Eugene just in case either of you knew of the sins living in Arvin Russell.

After a mere week of him coming around, your father offered him a job at the diner. He’d take the floor while you had the counter, and if the floor wasn’t busy he’d be on call for anything else needed. After a month, you asked where he was staying and found out he had nowhere to really go and he felt guilt claw at his chest that night when he wound up sleeping in your father’s bed with your father on the couch.

But he seemed sweet on you, calling you darlin’ in that backwoods drawl of his - offering to carry dishes when he saw you struggling. Offering to take over your position if you seemed overwhelmed. Helped your father around the diner and in the house, kept you company, kept out people who threw fits in the diner. Never made a fuss, never made himself difficult.

He didn’t give out his real name until a few months into his staying. His legs bouncing under the counter with nerves and hands gripping the surface for any sort of purchase. By now he figured you and your father would have some sort of attachment to him, maybe he wouldn’t have to explain his past - maybe both of you already knew. Maybe you’d turn him in. Maybe you’d understand. Maybe he could stay.

Please, Lord, let him stay.

It was after closing hours, leaving just the three of you as he spilled all the weight looming over his guilt-wracked mind. Telling you both - he wasn’t born as Eugene. He was born as Arvin.

“Russell, ain’t that right?”

He wants to dig himself a hole and die in it with how your father looks at him. Judging and waiting. Spying and predatory. It reminds him of those woods. It reminds him of the sheriff.

“How many people have you told?” he’s surprised by how you reach across the table so quickly to grab his hands and hold them in your own.

“Just you two…”

“You shot that reverend. Suspected on a sheriff. We heard about you,” your father’s voice is cold and he wishes he could go back by mere seconds and never tell either of you who he was.

He didn’t want to go to prison. He wasn’t a bad person, he had good reason. He knows he had good reason but the bodies piled up and he felt his chances at getting out of this diner in anything but handcuffs slip away. He knows any chance he had at companionship with anyone other than his own head were burnt to ash.

“Why’d you do it?”

His attention is brought back to you at your shockingly soft tone when asking the question, he purses his lips, “It’s gonna sound like a lie, but I swear that none of those people were any good.”

“Arvin,” you lean towards him slightly to make eye contact, “I wanna believe that, I do. But you’ve gotta explain yourself more than that.”

He lets himself find comfort in your sincere expression for a few seconds longer before looking to your father and then back to you, “That preacher - he, he - he hurt my sister. Real bad. She… she killed herself cuz a’ him. And the sheriff chased me ‘round after I…” he shook his head, clenching his eyes shut at how ridiculous he sounded, “They weren’t no good, I promise you. I swear it.”

“Arvin, why’d you kill the sheriff?” you pat his cheek gently, “Why was he chasin’ you? Was it over the preacher?”

“No, I- I shot his sister. And her husband,” he opens his eyes in time to see that your father has come closer and he wishes he never opened his mouth, “They were tryin’ to kill me. I swear it. They took me into their car, said they’d give me a ride but they- they stopped and I saw him pull out a gun and I knew they were up to no good and I had to protect myself. I didn’t wanna do it, I didn’t want- I didn’t want any a’ this,” he looks away from your father and back to you, tears now springing in his eyes, “I didn’t wanna hurt anybody… I didn’t wanna kill them… I’m not a bad person, I swear.”

You wipe away his tears, “Arvin, I wanna believe you, I do. But I also know you know this is a lot to take in, right?” you look back at your father as if silently asking where to go next.

He pulls you away from Arvin and stares down at the young man as if he could physically read whether he was lying or not. Arvin wishes he was looking at you again, he felt more comfortable when he was looking at you. He felt more comfortable with his hands in yours. He wants his hands in yours.

“If I was you,” he begins, “If my sister was hurt however bad yours was, I know that I’d kill that man. If anyone did what that man did to make your sister take her own life to my sister or, God forbid, my daughter, I know that I’d kill that man. I know that if someone tried taking me outta this world, I’d kill them too,” he nodded to himself, weathered and wrinkled hands splaying out on the table, “I’ve never killed anybody with these hands, Arvin. But if I think you’re lying for a second, they just might have to.”

“Daddy,” you pitch in over your father’s shoulder nervously, “what’re you sayin’?”

“I believe you, Arvin. I believe you’re a good kid, I believe you wouldn’t hurt someone without a damn good reason. You’re good to us and you do good work here. I believe you’re tellin’ the truth,” he looks into the young man’s eyes, “If you ain’t, and you’re lying to me, then I hope the Lord makes you see our faces every time you close those eyes.”

“I ain’t lyin’, sir, I promise,” Arvin shakes his head, growing desperate as tears pool at his waterline, he just wants one of you to say it - just say he’s okay. Say he can stay. He can stay here with you. Say he’s okay.

He just wants to be okay.

Your father leaves wordlessly, retreating to the kitchen, lights flickering as he began the routine clean-up for the night and preparation for an early tomorrow. Arvin turns to you in the growing silence, you’re a blotchy outline with the tears gathering in his eyes.

“D’you believe me?”

You come around the counter and reach out, taking Arvin’s head and pressing it to your chest, just over your heart. Gently removing his hat and placing it on the counter, your fingers begin carding through Arvin’s messy hair, “I believe you, Arvin. The man you’ve been to me is not somebody who’d go around hurtin’ people, I believe you.”

He swallows at the lump in his throat, eyes falling closed and hands grounding themselves in your work uniform, “Thank you, darlin’. Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

“You’re safe here, Arvin. We won’t tell nobody, I promise.”

Your voice is more comforting to him than the thought of any eternal bliss waiting outside this life. He wants to protect it - protect you. He wants to stay.

“Can I stay…” he turns his head to press his face into the cloth of your uniform as if that’d prevent any upcoming rejection, “Can I stay, darlin’?”

“You can stay, Arvin,” you murmur, continuing to run your fingers through his hair, “I want you to stay.”

Arvin kept himself wound around you for as long as you’d let him hold on, and you were content enough to keep him in your arms until your father was finished with his routine in the kitchen.

“Ready to head home now?”

“I’m goin’ too?” Arvin pulled away from you just enough to not muffle his reply, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m still stayin’ with you both?”

“Arvin,” you cupped his cheeks to direct his eyes with yours, a small smile just peeking at your lips, “We believe you’re good. Of course, you’re comin’ home with us. We love you, Arvin.”

Your father nodded quietly, patting the boy’s shoulder before walking past you both, “I’ll start up the car, so hurry up. We got an early mornin’ tomorrow.”

It was in the dead of night later on that Arvin found himself still unable to relax. His eyes wide open and fingers nervously tapping at his stomach through the comforter on what used to be your father’s bed. What if you both were tricking him at the diner and there’ll be a police officer out in the front lawn by morning? What if you were at the station turning him in right now and he’s actually all alone in this house?

That thought has him springing up from the bed and down the small hall to where your bedroom door is shut. He feels guilty doubting the sincerity you’d shown but his brain won’t rest and his heart refuses to calm down. He knows he could never blame you for giving him up but he needs you in his life now that he has you.

He curls around the doorknob and pushes open until he’s fully inside. He can just make out your figure in bed within the darkness, his eyes hurrying to adjust to the night.

Creeping to the side of your bed, Arvin hesitates but ultimately shakes you awake anyway, “Darlin’?”

You hum and groan and rub your eyes until you’re fully awake with Arvin at your side, “What’re you doin’ up? Didn’t you hear daddy? We gotta be up early tomorrow.”

“I can’t sleep, I- I keep worryin’.”

At the admission, you’re sitting up and bringing a hand over Arvin’s, “‘Bout what?”

“D’you really trust me, or was that just an act back at the diner?”

“I believe you,” you make room on the bed and drag Arvin into it, coddling him to your body, “I know you’re good. I’ve known you for a long while now. It’ll take a bit to get used to, but I know you’re a good man. I love that you’re a good man.”

You’ve gotten so close to saying what he wants to hear, he could almost pretend it’s what you’d said. He could almost pretend he heard you say you love him - he likes to pretend that’s what he heard. But he knows he doesn’t deserve that love - he just needs to protect what he has now rather than strive for more.

“Thank you for believin’ me, darlin’.”

“I’ll believe you ‘til the end, Arvin. I know you’re good.”

He feels comforted, once again, by those words - by your words. He feels comforted by your hold and he hopes that this is a safe place to lie until his bones give out - if you’ll let him. He knows what he wants is to have and hold and cherish this home you’ve given him both in the form of a roof over his head and the spot between your arms but he has to remind himself that what he needs is to just protect you. At least until you decide his sinful heart is worthy of loving with yours.

#arvin russell x you #arvin russell fluff #arvin russell x reader #arvin russel x you #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel fic

107 notes · View notes

classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Mike Damone

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Mikes pretty infamous at your school. Pretty much the entire student body knows who he is; mainly because they’ve bought tickets off of him at one point or another.

- Everyone knows Mike and Mike knows everyone so it’s no surprise that you’d encounter him at some point; even if your initial meeting was a memorable half a second of him checking you out while you both walked to your separate classes.

- When Mike first sees you, he honestly doesn’t think twice about you. He sees you, he processes that you’re decent looking, and then he moves on. He only starts to take real notice of you when you seem completely disinterested in his existence.

- That sounds pretty harsh but it’s the truth. Later that day, he sees you at your locker and he approaches you, introducing himself and making his usual charming conversation. And while you’re arguably incredibly polite, you’re just not into him.

- And for some reason that bothers the hell out of him.

- If it were anyone else, it would have never mattered, and he sincerely does not understand why you’re any different. But the more he thinks about it, the more it bothers him and the more he wants you. Which leads to his pursuit of you.

- Mike likes to act like he doesn’t care; he really does, and he’s gotten pretty good at playing the part, so he always seems pretty nonchalant whenever he approaches you and tries to start a conversation; no matter how little time of day you’ll give him.

- But inside, he is losing his mind. His smile always drops whenever you aren’t looking at him and he lays in bed at night thinking about every tiny amount of attention you give him. He wants to hate you, and maybe he does, but more than that …he thinks he loves you.

- Your usual “avoidance” of him leads to him feeling like a kid on Christmas when you finally talk to him on your own accord; though it’s definitely just to try and purchase tickets. He gives you a ridiculously good deal and is on his best behavior the entire time, trying to charm you as much as he can while you’re actually paying attention to him.

- And to an extent, it does work. He was really sweet and did you a big favor so you felt a little more obligated to play nice. So instead of completely blowing him off, you made an effort to greet him in the halls, sometimes willingly talking with him for a few minutes or giving him a compliment every now and again.

- He’ll talk a big game around other people; mainly Mark, telling him that he’s got you in the bag or somewhat jokingly saying that you’re all over him, but it’s just to save face and keep up his overly confident façade.

- Regardless, you finally agree to let him take you out around a year or so after the two of you first meet. He’d probably asked you out or tried to hint at the two of you potentially hanging out dozens of times but this was the only one you actually accepted which made him do an internal double take.

- There was nothing different about his approach, he played suave, he told you what he was planning on doing that Friday night and then he invited you to join him. But this time you actually agreed, as though it were totally normal, he was compelled to ask if you were feeling all right.

- For your first date, he takes you to the mall and you spend the afternoon/evening going into different stores, grabbing a bite to eat at the food court and so on and so forth.

- You didn’t expect it but the two of you actually hit it off pretty well once you gave him a chance and kept an open mind. He was frustratingly smooth most of the time but he was also sweet and made you laugh.

- And he was on cloud nine; especially when you absentmindedly grabbed his hand while leading him somewhere or walking through a crowd. He enjoyed your company so much that trying to kiss you completely slipped his mind until after you were already back inside your house later that night.

- You share your first kiss after he walks you home from school one day; maybe after the two of you go on a few more dates. You’re standing at your front door and you’re trying to say goodbye when you sort of just look at each other and begin to lean in.

- After a minute or so, you pull away and when you do, you invite him in for a drink; an offer he eagerly takes. So he comes in, you get him his drink and the two of you spend the next half hour making out on your bed; but that’s besides the point.

- You kissed him and now you’re gonna see if you’ll regret it.

- There’s a lot of Pda in your relationship but a good amount of it is sexually charged or the sort of affection that fits his cool guy attitude. He’s proud of you and wants to be touching you at all times but he doesn’t want to look like a wuss while he does it.

- He puts his arm around your shoulders a lot. He’d probably try to do it even before the two of you started dating so it barely even phases you at this point.

- Neck and jaw kisses.

- Soft, sometimes sort of clumsy kisses. Mike acts like a ladies man but he’s been with very few girls so he doesn’t have a whole lot of kissing experience under his belt.

- You definitely have the capability to make him drunk with your kisses. You put him in a daze and get him wrapped around your little finger the minute your lips touch his.

- Making out a lot. It’s pretty much his favorite thing to do; though he secretly really likes all your innocent and doting affection.

- Sitting in his lap.

- He doesn’t use a ton of pet names but he does throw a couple of them at you from time to time, namely babe, sweetheart or princess.

- He likes to pretend that he doesn’t care for cuddling but he isn’t convincing anybody with his halfhearted complaining and nonexistent resistance while you pull him in. When you do cuddle, you’ll usually lay facing each other with your head tucked under his chin; or occasionally with his tucked under yours.

- He’s definitely a lot sweeter and softer with you when the two of you are alone together. He feels the need to keep up a reputation while you’re out in public so you only get to see his real, loving personality when you’re by yourselves.

- Su casa es mi casa. After his first visit to your home, you might as well consider him a roommate because he sure as shit acts like it’s his house.

- He’s usually too shy or embarrassed to tell you that he legitimately missed you and just wanted to see you so whenever he drops by, he’ll make up some excuse for him to be there; even though it would be perfectly in his right to answer “what are you doing here” with “I just wanted to see you”.

- He knows how to appear cool; whether it’s a conscious effort for him or not, so he usually has little trouble when trying to impress you. Either way, you’re pretty proud to have him for a boyfriend and your praise consistently makes him wanna to act up.

- He definitely tries to act like people he think you’d find impressive are his friends; even though you probably already know he’s bullshitting you. You just halfheartedly let him believe he’s fooled you.

- Sitting around sorta bored while he tries to swindle people. You get interrupted by his business quite a lot.

- Getting walked home from school.

- If you’ve got a car then you’ll usually pick him up and drive him to or from school; or wherever else, because fun fact: that wasn’t his car that Linda spray painted, it was his moms!

- He has a habit of “fixing you”. He’s always plucking things from your hair or clothes, adjusting your shirt, smoothing out your jacket, etc. Sometimes he pretends like he’s doing something just to annoy you or have an excuse to touch you.

- Consistently looking at your ass.

- Whenever you ask him for a favor, he’ll always tell you that you owe him before begrudgingly doing whatever it is. That being said, after he does it, he’ll usually “forget” that you owe him or tell you to forget about it; or settle for a kiss as payment.

- No ones allowed to know but he’s legitimately whipped for you. It might not seem like it but behind the scenes, he’s bending over backwards to make sure that you’re happy.

- Mall dates. It’s your #1 hangout spot. He’s the boyfriend who shamefully holds your hand as you drag him from one girly shop to the next.

- Concert dates.

- Renting vhs tapes and watching them together.

- Mike has a full on bar area in his room so if you’re down to drink, he has the liquor. Although, to be honest, I think he’d secretly be one of those guys who wouldn’t let you get drunk because you’re his girlfriend and he cares about you. He’d teasingly refuse to give you any before allowing you to have a tiny glass.

- I feel like his parents aren’t home a lot during weekdays; because of work or what have you, so you’ll probably hang out more at his house than yours; unless your parents also usually aren’t home.

- He usually ends up eating dinner by himself and spending most days at home alone so he’ll oftentimes call you up and have you come over. You mostly just end up hanging out and eating in his bedroom while watching television together.

- He lowkey likes stupid old tv shows so the two of you marathon them whenever they’re on tv.

- Going to his house to listen to your favorite music because it’s the 80s and he’s got a whole fucking music station set up in his room. He’s also got more albums than anyone you know.

- Occasionally, he’ll fiddle around with his keyboard while you’re at his place and you’ll convince him to teach you a few little jingles while he’s at it.

- I think that every now and again he’d surprise you with a little gift, oftentimes nonchalantly telling you not to mention it or not to worry about it. He’d probably say something like “how did that get there” and teasingly pretending like it wasn’t him, secretly reveling in the smile on your face and the way you kiss his cheek.

- Him stealing your food.

- Trying to hold back your laughter as he jokingly serenades you.

- Stealing and wearing his sunglasses.

- Ratner third wheeling. The boy gets to see a whole new side of his friend; a side that makes him seem much more down to earth, because even though Mike will pretend like he’s the same playboy, it’s easy to see that he really loves you.

- Giving Ratner advice when he needs a different approach to girls or anything else in life.

- Motivational talks. He might not be the most eloquent but he’s definitely the most supportive when it comes to people he cares about.

- Lots of teasing. It’s his favorite thing to do besides make money.

- He loves messing with you so expect to be annoyed with him quite a lot: whether it be because he threw you in the pool, shocked you, or pretended like you had something on you.

- Defending him when people insult him. Quite a few people don’t understand why you’re with him so expect a few comments from your friends, family, or just random people you know.

- He tries to act nonchalant whenever he’s jealous but it rarely ever works. He usually ends up either having a smug look on his face; because he knows you have no interest in them, or he’ll try to get information out of you about them, maybe making fun of them a little while he’s at it.

- Mike isn’t incredibly protective, he’ll usually leave you to solve things on your own, but if the problem is serious enough, he’ll get involved. He’ll try to walk away with you, maybe say something snide to the other person or about the situation, but he isn’t scared to throw hands if need be.

- Mike is pretty good at keeping his composure but certain situations just make him lose it so sometimes he’ll say something he doesn’t mean in the heat of the moment and regret it later.

- He tends to avoid his problems rather than try and fix them which might lead to him avoiding you after a fight. That being said, he isn’t above apologizing and will always do so is he knows he did something wrong or made you upset.

- He’s a bit embarrassed to tell you that he loves you so he’ll usually only say it after you say it to him.

- Mike certainly isn’t the best boyfriend, he definitely has some maturing to do, so it’s up to you to decide if you want to stick around and wait for it to happen. Just know that he likes you a lot; even if he doesn’t always act the greatest.

#mike damone imagine #mike damone imagines #mike damone headcanons #mike damone headcanon #fast times at ridgemont high imagines #fast times at ridgemont high headcanons #fast times at ridgemont high headcanon #fast times at ridgemont high imagine #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanons #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanon

59 notes · View notes

jeontaehui · 3 years

Text

Dream VS. Dream | JAEMIN VS. TAEHEE

taehee scribbles each question she came up with down on the white paper, easily copying the ones she had prepared beforehand from her phone.

she makes eye contact with jaemin from across the set and gives him a playful wink, eliciting an enthusiastic reaction from the latter, “YEAHHH! SEXY!”

taehee finishes a few seconds before jaemin does and she looks to the camera to say that she came prepared. “i think i was too excited for filming this kind of content,” she giggles, “so i prepared them beforehand even if i didn’t know who i was gonna be with, but i changed some questions so jaeminie could answer.”

“it’s a mix of hard and easy questions,” taehee explains, yet her tone was unsure. “but jaemin-ssi is observant,” she nods, playing with the strings of her top, “and attentive, so i think he’ll get these right.”

“hello, jaemin-ssi,” she politely bows once they were both seated in front of each other, “what brings you here today?”

jaemin snorts, ��what brings me here today?” taehee nods, anticipating a ‘jaemin’ kind of answer from him. “i was just passing by,” he says calmly, “being sexy.”

“ohh, being sexy?” taehee repeats, “you’re doing great so far.” jaemin lets out another chuckle before asking the same question she asked him, “how about you, miss jeon taehee? what brings you here today?”

“oh i’m a reporter,” she tells him, and jaemin’s mouth forms into an ‘o’, “i report what’s on-set. this is the interview portion and i’m holding my cue cards.”

“are you only interviewing me?” “yes, i’m only interviewing you.” “i feel special then,” jaemin shrugs proudly, showing his pearly white teeth at the camera.

“ladies first.” “okay, i’ll start with an easy one — what is my favorite ice cream flavor?” taehee raises both brows, expecting jaemin to get it right away yet he says, “easy, mint choco.” a short laugh escapes her as she shakes her head, “no? mango? no also… is this a flavor from baskin robbin’s?” the disbelieving grins they have on each of their faces begin to match, “jaemin-ah!” “it is mint choco!” “no!”

“jaemin,” she says, tone serious but the smile on her face says otherwise, “just think simply.” one, two, three seconds pass…. “cookies and cream?” “good job!” jaemin finally chuckles in relief, “how can i not get that?” she clicks her tongue at him, “right?”

“what was the first menu we had together?” she asks next, and jaemin decides to think a lot longer before answering, “it was in 2019, right?” taehee nods, “ah, tangsuyuk!”

“it’s funny how you remember that because we only ate together like.. twice,” she giggles.

“next one!” jaemin says in english, causing taehee to giggle at his adorableness. “which of your things do i want to have?” his eyes widen, “which of my things do you want to have?” “mhmm.” “can you give me a hint?” she bites the inside of her cheek before answering, “you bring this to set.. or like every time we travel or go out.” jaemin’s eyes light up as he answered, “ahh camera! i remember you telling me now, yeah.”

“jaemin’s really good at taking pictures,” taehee tells the camera, “he takes them so well, and then you’re good at editing too.” jaemin could only smile at her and nod, feeling wholesome at her shower of compliments.

“i like taking pictures of you the most,” he tells her, surprising taehee. “really?” a soft hum sounds out of him, “and you don’t really take pictures of yourself, noona... you should take more pictures of yourself, you’re pretty.” “alright~” taehee brushes him off with a playful roll of her eyes, hiding the fact that she was feeling shy with his nice words, “okay, next question!”

“this one’s fill in the blanks,” she gives him a short glance before proceeding, “i wish jaemin was my ... blank.” he tilts his head to the left, thinking, “i wish jaemin was my blank. i have no clue.”

“think of this,” taehee decides to give him a hint, “you’re caring. you take care of the members really well. you’re a good hyung and a good cook!” jaemin titters for a short while, before a blank expression dawns over his features as he shakes his head, “i still don’t know.”

“older brother,” taehee tells him, putting the piece of paper behind the rest of her stack. jaemin’s brows raise in surprise, “really?” he hears a positive hum out of her, “i don’t know if it was jisung or someone else, but i told them, ‘jaeminie would be a good older brother’ and they said, ‘why not me?’“ they both laugh at that, it was definitely jisung.

“i can be your older brother starting now,” he tells her. “are you serious?” “yeah but you have to call me ‘oppa’,” a giggle escapes jaemin at the way taehee freezes, watching her resume to fiddling with the papers in her hands, “ahh... it comes with that.”

“okay, last question!” taehee laughs before she could even get her sentence out, “what did i recently buy?” the younger boy’s eyes drift across the set as he repeated her question, mumbling.

“ah!” he exclaims after a few seconds, his eyes crinkling as he laughed, “a turtle! rocky!” his chuckles were contagious, and taehee finds herself cracking up at the memory. “noona and i were sent to buy take out for the team,” jaemin starts, “so i waited in the car, but noona wanted to come out so she did and went in the same direction as our manager.” this is the part where taehee starts hiding her giggles with her palm, “when manager noona came back, alone, i went, ‘huh? where’s taehee noona?’ and then she comes by a few minutes later from the opposite direction with a turtle!”

“as soon as she went inside the car, she said, ‘everyone, meet rocky!’ and our manager went,” he widens his eyes into a pointed stare, his mouth going agape as he imitated their manager’s expression. you could hear taehee’s as well as jisung’s laughs from off-screen. “and you said, ‘that is definitely not food!’” taehee adds.

"what came into your mind that made you decide to buy a turtle?” jaemin grins, looking at the latter with amusement in his eyes. “you know how taeyong hyung has an aquarium in their dorm?” she answers him, “it’s nice to look at and i thought our dorm can have something like that too.”

“so jaemin got everything correct—” “i think i only got four though.” “let’s just say you got everything correct,” she brushes him off quickly with her hand, chuckling, “so now it’s jaemin’s turn to ask!”

“what’s the most recent item i purchased?” he throws at her, and taehee subtly sighs as she looked off set, thinking. “speaker?” she answers unsure, but jaemin’s smile tells her she’s correct before they proceed with the next question.

“how many speakers do i have?” taehee brings both hands to her chest as she tells him excitedly, “i know this! i remember counting it in your room!” jaemin chuckles at her cuteness, “so do you remember?” “wait, give me a moment.”

taehee taps her feet on the floor as she fidgets. “speakers come in pairs, right?” she asks him, “are they all by pairs?” jaemin shakes his head, “nope, not all.”

“mm, including the ones you bought yesterday.. six?” taehee’s eyes light up with hopefulness, making jaemin’s smile grow wider at her enthusiasm, but he shakes his head again. “ten?” her eyes widen when he tells her she’s correct, before furrowing her brows at the number. “why do you need ten speakers? wouldn’t you hear anything outside if you have that many?” jaemin laughs, “no, for the surround system, i need it.” “ahh,” she nods understandingly, “that’s cool.”

“for editing photos, which device do i use?” “the computer! imac!” “there’s more,” he tells her. “imac.. ipad?” she raises a brow, continuing when she sees jaemin nod. “imac, ipad, i... phone!” taehee shouts victoriously, “iphone, your phone. right?” he grins at her proudly, “you’re getting so much right. good job.”

“what’s my favorite color?” he asks, expecting she’d get this question right. “black,” he shakes his head no. “white,” nope. “you don’t seem like a blue type of person though... pink?” jaemin laughs, “noona! this is super easy!”

“mint hoodie—” “nope!” “that wasn’t an answer! i was just pointing it out,” he chuckles at her blatant excuse, deciding to give her a hint. “noona,” jaemin drops his head down to the floor before facing her with a serious gaze, “you’re holding it right now.” she flips her own stack of papers quickly and grins, “yellow! i was just about to say that, you should’ve waited for me. talent takes time, jaeminie.” the younger boy snorts, “getting answers right isn’t a talent.”

“what is my favorite dog breed?” she finds the fourth question the hardest so far, “there are lots of dog breeds out there!” jaemin starts to look around the set and call a member out, “jeno! where’s jeno? i’m sure jeno knows.” taehee’s mouth closes and opens like a fish out of water until she stops and gives him a sarcastic look, “do i look like jeno to you?” (jisung, from off the screen, laughs loudly at this.)

“jeno knows it the best,” he tells her. a small pout appears on taehee’s face yet it disappears in a split second, starting to shuffle the papers in between her hands, “i gave you questions that had you in it and you give me a question jeno knows best, huh.” jaemin laughs at the scoff that leaves taehee afterwards. he shakes his head softly, “he knows it best because it looks like him.” taehee blinks two or three more times before she gets it right, “ah, samoyed! it’s a samoyed.”

“i didn’t know that about you,” she mentions, “do you like it because it looks like jeno?” a short laugh escapes jaemin at her question, but he answers her simply with, “i just like it. it’s cute.”

“what game do i play these days?” taehee points her finger to him, “you play with haechan, yeah? apex.” an evil-sounding laugh comes out of jaemin knowing that she wouldn’t get this question so easily, “no? pubg.” “nope.” “okay then, is it on the phone or on the computer?” he shakes his head at her, “if i tell you, you’d get it right away. it’s not on both.”

taehee hums, “rock, paper, scissors?” he gives her another sly hint, “no, think of a nonsensical answer.” she clicks her tongue, “don’t break the ice.”

jaemin throws his head back with a laugh, before telling her the answer, “none.” he says that with such finality that taehee looks to the side in faux annoyance, tongue brushing against the side of her cheek, much to the amusement of the latter. “it’s so fun, right?” jaemin teases, “next one... i do not have it, so taehee noona got everything right in a sense.” taehee nods with him, leaning back and looking at the camera, “right, jaemin got everything correct too.”

“we actually know each other so well,” she says, glancing towards jaemin as he agrees with her, “this was a piece of cake.” she starts to get on her feet while the other does the same, putting their hands out for a polite handshake at the end of the video.

taehee tries to put an arm around the taller boy, chuckling for a bit when she had to tiptoe to reach his height. she doesn’t notice the grin jaemin sports because of this, “we’ll continue to know more about each other in the future.. and eat together more often! we should eat together more often.” she meets jaemin’s adoring gaze when she faces him, and so she grabs him by the elbow and starts leading them both off-set, “thank you!” “dream vs. dream, bye bye!”

98 notes · View notes

bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

summer love - lee minho

→genre: vacation au, strangers to lovers, a teeny bit of angst →synopsis: lee minho had randomly appeared on your vacation to a lake/campground. he was everywhere, until he wasn't. →word count: 11.1k →pairing: minho x fem. reader (featuring yeji and yuna (itzy) & BooSeokSoon + mingyu (seventeen))

Sunlight breaks past the slightly tinted window, crossing your eyes in a swift blinding act. You blink away, turning back into the busy car. The boy driving waves a dismissive hand back at the whining boy behind him.

"We're not stopping for coffee," the driver asserts, eyes drifting up to the rearview mirror as he shifts into the exit lane.

"Why not?" the boy behind him counters. "We're gonna pass it anyway."

"We're going camping," the girl beside you leans forward to smack her palm against the boy's shoulder.

"It's not really camping if we're gonna be in a house," he pouts, turning back to her. He even shoots a pleading gaze in your direction, as if you would have any power over this conversation with people you've briefly met.

You glance back to the blurred trees. They pass in what feels like hundreds every time you blink. Why does this have to be the last summer of freedom? Why can't time just slow down and allow you a final year of peace? An almost taunting desire to live adventurously strikes your mind. Yet even so, you're not sure you should have accepted this "camping" offer.

Yeji was certain this summer would be legendary, gripping at your shirt sleeve as she pleaded, "But please, come with. I don't think I can live with Soonyoung and Seungkwan for two weeks."

So you succumbed. Only with the faint certainty that something must come from this. Even if it was only a mundane, fleshy scar from a messy jump into the lake. You could picture a rock piercing your skin before you flinched up to water, threads of blood coursing behind you.

God, you need to live a little.

"Y/N," Yeji whines, dragging your mind back into the car.

You hum, looking over to her. Her sunglasses sat delicately on the tip of her nose, tempting to fall at the slightest twitch downward.

"Tell Seungkwan to stop his coffee cries."

"I just met the guy," you whisper, shooting a cautious glance at the pouting boy. His knees are drawn to his chest as he tempts his focus with a YouTube video.

"But you're intimidating," her lips are pursed when you return to her.

You fight a laugh. "That's a funny one."

Yuna, somehow tricked to sit in the trunk of the minivan, leans over the seat. "You are kinda scary."

They lead a powerpoint that must have been established prior to this conversation, for the specifications seem a little too clear. By the end of it, you simply shake your head. Intimidating is a strong word. You are simply quiet, you tell yourself.

The campsite is a desolate piece on the outskirts of a fancy city known for its grand skyscrapers and business opportunities. Columnar trees line a restricted area, where animals freely prance, protected by the idea of hunting. There are trails, the ranger told them when they checked in, that led to varying sights. A broad lake glitters beneath the humid sun. On top of that, clouds string themselves in sparse bursts.

At the cabin, Soonyoung and Seokmin bustle for the room with the best view.

"Hey," Yuna scolds, lugging her overfilled duffel bag on her shoulder, "Shouldn't you let the women choose first?"

For a quick moment, their eyes scan each other's faces before unisonly shaking their heads. "No."

You slip passed their noses into a barren room. White curtains inwardly swing from the impatient breeze. A deep breath parts from your lips as your eyes fall to the dark hardwood. Two weeks, you tell yourself. That's not too bad.

Deep laughter seeps from outside, sending an awakening jolt down to your feet. You lean towards the window, spotting a few boys on the lake's shore. One is chasing another with the claws of an angry crab.

"Get away from me!"

"This is karma," the other calls, kicking up lofts of sand in his wake.

In awe, you stare as the slightly shorter man catches up with the taller. Maybe two weeks will be more difficult than you thought.

ii.

A routine falls into place within the first few days. You awake before the crowd and sit on the dock for an hour. Maybe a little more, depending on the breeze. Then, you return to the cabin and sit on the porch swing, gently swinging your feet. Mingyu slips out into the humid air shortly after, his sweatpants bunched up by his ankles from sleeping.

"Do you wanna go swimming with us?" he will ask.

Your heart momentarily flutters before it dims to a burdening mass. "Maybe tomorrow."

He asks if you are sure, though he knows you will give the same nod, lips pressed into a polite smile.

You take to spending days alone, watching the clouds travel hastily across the blue sky and discreetly viewing the boys next door wreak havoc. It's calming, you remind yourself when you get the urge to accept Mingyu's offer, to be alone.

Each of your temporary roommates slips from the cabin in duos or trios. Soonyoung likes to rest an arm around whoever he's with, you notice, as though he's scared of losing them to an imaginary void. He always shoots you a smile before disappearing to wherever that day's activities bring.

On the fifth day, Yuna and Seokmin disappear on a hike with a whining Seungkwan on their tail. "It's so hot out here," he mutters as he passes you on the swing. Soonyoung and Mingyu rush to the water, shouting something about beating the mischievous boys in the cabin beside yours. Hair tied into a ponytail, Yeji steps onto the porch. She cups a 24-hour cooling bottle, taking sparing sips.

"Let's go to the lake," she sighs, sitting next to you. The teal outdoor pillows stutter beneath her weight before conforming to her shape.

You glance at her, though she doesn't turn to you. She speaks as though it's an order, not an offer.

Disturbed by your silence, she pushes, "C'mon, we've barely hung out at all. You're all solitude. We don't have to swim or anything. We can just sit on the sand."

A bitter sigh escapes your lips before you dredge into the cabin. Yeji resembles a home in this pool of unfamiliar faces, and you feel as though you can't deny her this. You pull on a bathing suit, despite her settled tune saying you didn't have to swim, and tug a pair of shorts on.

By the time you return to her, a green beach towel slung over your arm, she sits with her sunglasses veiling her eyes. Her head is upturned, looking at the birch porch ceiling. You hesitate, concerned that she might have fallen asleep, when her head twitches toward you. "Ready?" she asks, gathering her cup.

You slug towards the lake, basking in the sun's warm rays. It's not as humid as you thought it might be. A small, shaky breeze brushes against your bare shoulders.

"How's rooming with Soonyoung?" you finally say.

She sighs. "Terrible. He snores like crazy. I'm starting to regret giving you the single."

You chuckle, "It could be worse."

"How?"

"You could share a room with Soonyoung and Seungkwan."

"Oh, God," she shivers, despite the heat beaming down.

Sand invades beneath the comfort of your toes. Scalding heat shoots up your ankle as you hesitantly step. Purchasing cheap flip-flops was probably a mistake.

"Dude, I will drown you right now," Mingyu shouts.

Yeji leads you closer to them, stopping when only a couple feet barricade you from the water. She lays out her towel before tugging on her shorts' button. You follow her lead. Thoughtless, you step towards the dock, abandoning your belongings on your towel. The dock is about ten feet long, though its width bares close to six feet.

The water sways with each swing of Soonyoung's arm. You take a seat at the edge, dangling your feet until they graze the water. It's cool in contrast to the blistering grains. Mingyu pushes Soonyoung's head underwater with a broad grin. Water bubbles to the surface from Soonyoung's parted lips.

Shouts garnish the calm breeze. You glance over your shoulder. Yeji is laying flush against her towel, her eyes closed as she calmly begs for a tan. Behind her, a few running boys approach, some shedding their tops as they run.

"Minho! Give me my phone back!" a boy whines. You note that he's the same one who was being chased by a threatening crab. And the one he calls to, he glares over his shoulder with a shake of the head, is the chaser.

Minho turns back to his objective of the water before abruptly turning right, dragging the follower down the shore. His menacing laughs glide through the air, sending a sharp chill down your spine.

Begrudgingly, the chaser catches him, prying his phone away. In the distance, he looks like he presses a palm against Minho's shoulder, pushing him back. Their voices do not travel, but Minho's smile caught in the glinting sun does. You turn back to the water, whose dark surface returns the view of your eyes.

"Minho!" a voice calls behind you. You fight the temptation to turn.

"What?" the boy, presumably Minho, calls back.

You drown out the voices by slipping off the dock, plunging beneath the surface of the water. When you resurface, you brush back hairs glued against your forehead. Soonyoung points to you, begging you for a game of Chicken.

"There's only three of us," you point out, a tempting smile teasing your lips.

Mingyu glances to land, disregarding the background hassle of boys playing foot volleyball. "Yeji!" he calls.

Disinterested, her head bobs up. She pushes down her sunglasses, revealing a peek at her irises.

"Play Chicken with us!"

You can hear her sigh of defeat, pushing herself up from her towel and dropping her sunglasses. She flinches beneath the water, hands reaching to either elbow as she rubs warmth into them.

You watch her intently, until a boy peeks into your view from over her shoulder. Minho is juggling a ball with his feet. A steely grin catches his lips as his friends cheer him on. "10, 11, 12!" they chant.

You plug your nose before dropping your head underwater. When you resurface, the ball is lying against the sand, the boy's shoulders slumped. Hidden behind the fake pout, his lips remain curled.

iii.

It's weird, the way that boy takes the throne in your thoughts. He is merely a stranger from afar, who sparingly shot a glance when Mingyu shouted to him. Something about owing him for the previous night's game. His eyes, sparkling beneath the blazing sun, had resembled the water. Glinting and dark, leaving you curious and needy for more. Your thoughts brace the view of his bare chest, beads of sweat dripping from his chin as he concentrates on juggling the ball.

You have to get out of your head, you conclude.

Before the sun rises on the seventh day, you're up and ready. A small bookbag is secured around your shoulders, the contents harboring copious amounts of water and a few granola bars. You glance around the cabin—at the small leather couch constituting the living room and the oak table whose legs have fraying wood, as though a dog had thought it was a bone—before you decide it's safe to depart.

Today's destination requires you to pass your parasite's cabin. You offer a short glance through the clear panes, refocusing on the gravel path when you catch a glimpse at a sleeping boy on the couch, face illuminated by his phone. It's not the boy who haunts you, you lamentably realize.

Splashes of rose and barely visible blue tarnish the sky in a messy gradient. You stop before the overhead greenery obstructs your view. In the edge of the sky, nearly fallen on the horizon, is the moon bidding its final goodbye. "Take care," it says with a sulking wave, "I'm just past the wall."

Under the blistering glimpses of heat through the leaves, you admit that you're grateful to the shrouds of protection. Humidity snips at your skin, mimicking the crawl of an insect. You swipe at your neck, though nothing lies beneath your palm. Just the damp residue of sweat.

If someone had queried you on the matter a few months ago, you would argue that solo hiking is too dangerous to be denoted as fun. Now, within the gaze of harmless deer and the occasional rabbit, you chuckle. They peek out at you from rotting logs, blinking to each other as if to seek confirmation.

A tree twenty-or-so feet away sticks out among its comrades like a sore thumb. Lesions trail its stump, marking the initials of lovestruck couples.

"You turn left at the tree of love, you'll know which one," Yuna had distractedly instructed the night before, a melting ice cream cone dripping down her fingers.

Your footsteps drown out songbirds and assemble their own tune. Each crunch of a stick signifying a beat to your journey.

The path eventually fizzles into a sad patch of grass with a podium pegged into it. Okinawa Path, it reads. Marked in 1985 by James Okinawa. Dedicated to his wife, Jiyeon Okinawa.

The horizon is curved like a bubble when you look out onto it. Leaves sway with the breeze in mass, assembling a synchronous dance. You can see the faint blue of the lake, its color lightened in the distance. If you squint a little, you can see the small ant-like figures running along its shore. Resting your hands on the metal casing of the plaque, you lean over. In the gaps of trees, a straight fall. You sigh, taking a step back.

Your stomach grumbles. It only takes a moment of peace for your chest to plummet. All that remains in your bag is an array of wrappers, food long consumed, and water. You glance at your watch. 12:19. If you left now at a pace twice which you came, you might reach the cabin at three. Maybe four, depending on how the animal's eyes draw you.

You nod, taking a final glance at the foliage and red hummingbirds plucking into bark, before heading back.

iv.

The hike, though momentarily ridding your thoughts of the boy whose laugh cast goosebumps down your spine, is rendered useless when you see him on your way back. Stood at the lake's mouth, he stares onto the water. His friends are vacant, you note, as your gaze shoots around to corners they might hide. You don't notice your feet have forgotten their trail until a cat sniffs your shoes.

His fur is soft when you dip your fingers to scratch behind his ears. Large green eyes stare up at you, leaning into your touch. You tilt your head, mumbling, "Where's your collar, little guy?"

He purrs as he slowly allows his eyes to close. You look around, catching eyes on the boy at the shore. A glimpse of a smile nuzzles against his lips, leaving you to wonder what possibly brews inside his head.

Behind you, the sound of gravel crunching beneath shoes. You swing around, searching for their eyes. A boy gapes at you, apparently frightened by your sudden movement. Then, his wide eyes minimize when he sees the cat.

Your fingers still linger by his ears, though they stop movement. He leans up, brushing his chin against them. Trying to revive their life.

"Soonie?" he finally says, eyebrows furrowing. A deep line of confusion betrays the skin between them.

The cat meows, trotting to the boy. He leaves you in his dust, as though you hold no purpose now that you've halted the affection.

He gently picks up the cat, cradling him in his arms like a baby.

"He's yours?" you ask.

His eyes jump to you and he hastily shakes his head. "No. He's my friend's. He threatened that he wouldn't come if we didn't let him bring at least one of his cats."

You chuckle at the absurdity. "Really?"

He nods. "I'm Chan, by the way. I think we're in the cabin next to you."

With the assertion of his name, realization drowns over you. "Oh! Right! I knew you looked familiar," you laugh. "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you," he smiles, a dimple emblazoning his cheek. His gaze draws to the shore, where one of his friends stands.

The cat paws at his chin, begging for his attention. He ignores it. Instead, he shouts, "Minho!"

When the boy turns to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity and lips pursed, he continues. "Your cat got out of the cabin!"

Minho allows his head to hang, a smile forming. He jogs up to you two, graciously accepting his child from the older. "At least I know you'll know to escape if you get catnapped," he whispers. Absently, he scratches beneath the cat's chin, travelling him into a blaze of content. He offers you a look, almost confused as to why you're here.

"This is Y/N," Chan intervenes, "She helped stop your cat."

Minho nods, lips parting in an acknowledging 'o.' He smiles. "Thank you. He wanders sometimes."

You nod. "No problem. He's cute."

"Takes after his owner," Minho jokes.

Chan rolls his eyes, smacking his shoulder. He turns to you, "He's Minho, by the way."

You fight the instinctive 'I know' to float from your tongue. In its place you glance back to your cabin, faintly imagining Seungkwan lighting the living room on fire because Soonyoung meandered a little too long. You turn back to them, "It was nice meeting you two, but I have to run."

They see you off with a wave, watching as you speed-walk to your cabin. Minho's eyes burn a hole in your tank top. Though, it feels like nothing in comparison to the blaze searing your chest.

Sleep fills the corners of your eyes like grains of sand. Incessant to remain as they are, tempting you into the peaceful bounds of sleep. The pillows didn't help. Pressing flush against your back, they mirror the puffs of clouds.

The shouts at the table, however, keeps you landlocked.

"Seungkwan!" Yuna screams after the crash of water splattering against the laminate.

"What?" he calls, his voice muffled by the bathroom door.

"Can you bring me a towel when you're done in there?"

"Why?" There's a dullness to his tone, and you picture him standing in the mirror and tuning his hair to its perfect shape.

"Because I may have spilled, like, all the water left from that jug," she returns quietly.

The door swings open, bouncing against the copper doorstop with a loud trill. You flinch, eyes shooting open. His head peeks around the corner at the puddle residing. His lips part to expel a distressed sigh and a hand flies up to scratch the back of his neck. A quick moment passes where he disappears into the bathroom and returns with two towels. Wordlessly, as though they are now in agreement, he hands her one before kneeling down and sopping up the mess.

You sit up on the couch, watching.

Seungkwan's gaze swivels back to you. He offers a small, pleading small—one you've become familiar with this past week. "Hey, Y/N." Like a younger sibling about to beg a pardon from the oldest.

"What do you need?"

"Can you run up to the Camper's Corner and get us another jug?"

Mingyu, the bearer of the keys to the minivan, has long disappeared for an impromptu fishing trip. The others, though wielding slumped gazes as they passed, followed him to the boat suddenly tied to the dock.

Yuna perks up, as though your thoughts are being broadcasted, "You can take my bike!"

Orange sky solemnly greets you when you step out from the porch. Discarded against the dark logs of the cabin is Yuna's white bike. Various stickers plaster the warm metal; some worn to nothing while others closely tug at life. When you pull at the handles and drag the hidden parts of the bike from an overgrown shrub, you notice that there is a small basket. You have to fight off the laugh that threatens you when you think of that five gallon container spilling over the small wire basket.

The leaves sing in a shaking chorus with the graces of the wind. A musk of burning firewood stings your nose. You glance to the sky at your right (where the actual tent campers stay) and see a gray plume of smoke. A lingering taste of s'mores catches your tongue. The only thing to allow the displacement of the idea is the small store whose blinding fluorescents slip out into the street.

Camper's Corner is a privately owned chain who strategically places their stores in campgrounds. Though, with the large, white metal sign bearing a small green tent, it screams out of touch. But, at least they had good prices. And a very wide variety of bug repellant (homemade!).

"Is this all?" the lady at the counter, mid 20s with a few piercings lining her ears, inquires.

You nod, straightening a bill before slipping it across the counter. She dispenses the change into the palm of your hand. That's all it takes to dismiss her to the distractions of her magazine.

The weight of five gallons was underestimated in your mind. It drags your shoulder uncomfortably to one side, and you know it'll only supplement the soreness you'll gain from the hike. You bring a hand to the metal bar at the door, though it swings open before you can meet it.

Surprised brown eyes cross yours. For a moment, the weight diminishes, and you feel nothing but the swirl of butterflies voyaging your stomach.

His weight shifts backwards as he steps out of your way, pulling you back to reality. You hurriedly step out of the store, mumbling your thanks.

You start for the bike propped against the bike rack before he calls out, "Hey, wait for me."

By the time your eyes have swiveled back to him, his spot is blank. Tarnished by the slow swing of the door coming shut.

The jug approaches the ground and you stretch, rotating your arm in apologetic circles. How did you let yourself agree to this? Why couldn't Seungkwan find you intimidating enough to not even dare ask?

The boy returns, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist. Your eyes mingle for a second before you lean to reobtain the jug. His hand darts past your hesitant fingers, claiming it effortlessly. He merely says, "You look like you're struggling."

You grab at the handles of the bike. "Something like that."

With only the sounds of footsteps and swooshing leaves, you watch the front wheel turn. Around and around. No true objective.

"Thank you, again," he finally says over the tunes of cicadas.

Too wide eyes find him, and he clarifies, "For finding my cat."

"Oh!" you exclaim. "No problem, really."

You glance down to the bag, whose contents peek back in splitting blinks through the hole at the top. "What's in the bag?" you inquire.

His voice is drunken with the subtle hint of a laugh as he answers, "Soju. For Mingyu."

"Did he guilt you into buying him some?"

His head tips to one side. "Kinda. I lost a game."

You feel nosy digging, though you cannot find the will to stop. "What game?"

"Twister."

The thought of this boy, limbs contorted into painful tugs, draws a giggle to the air. "How bad did you lose?" you find yourself asking.

He exchanges the jug into the hand with the bag, quickly drawing his sleeve up to reveal a large purple mark, green flooding the outer corners. His eyes linger on it before lifting to meet yours. "My entire weight went right there."

Lips parted in a mass of shock and amusement, you stare. Words fail you, though a bubbly laugh draws to replace it. His lips curl upward, hesitant as though he's not sure he should be living this moment.

The laughs dawdle to a small lingering smile. Only a few cabins litter the edge of the visible road ahead, though the feeling of parting already greets you. Tugging at your chest like a pestering child.

"Do you-" he starts.

"Why are your-" you inadvertently interrupt.

"Sorry, you go first," you both say in unison.

His shoulder brushes against yours as a laugh greets the trees and bunnies hidden behind shrubs. "Seriously, you go first," he manages, bringing a wrist to his eye.

"Why are your friends so loud?" you inquire. Most nights, even some mornings, you can hear their loud cackles. Sometimes, you listened in on their conversations—not because you wanted to, but because it was hard not to.

"Are we loud?" his bewildered gaze falls on you. You look up to meet him halfway, nodding. He shrugs. "I didn't realize."

The shining light from the indoor side of your cabin greets you. Like a parent greeting their child after a first date with a new, alien smile.

He gently hands you the jug. A protective hand reaches for your shoulder when you allow it to drag your shoulder a little. "You got it?"

You nod with a smile.

He turns for his cabin, and you call out, "What about your question?"

The treads of his shoes stop against the gravel. He glances over his shoulder. "I'll just ask you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, you think. He expects to see you tomorrow. The thought warms your cheeks.

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

His shoes scrape against the gravel again, dismissing the conversation.

You start up the porch, hand closing around the doorknob when his voice pierces the night sky. "Sleep well! I'll try to get the boys to be a little quieter."

vi.

Mingyu nearly falls from shock when he steps out onto the porch the next morning. His acquainted question slips from his tongue with an uncertain drawl, as though he is unsure what language he speaks.

"Sure. I'll tag along," you smile up at him.

He slowly nods, bringing a disguised hand to the back of his neck before he pinches the skin. Nope. Not a dream.

In thirty minutes he returns with a pink-faced Soonyoung, shirts discarded and three towels. Soonyoung hands you yours as he scans your body. He hadn't believed Mingyu, that newfound glimmer shining across your skin, but seeing it firsthand leaves him speechless.

The lake water is chilled, the sun precariously hidden behind a large white cloud. Mingyu shrieks at its touch, drawing back to the sand. Soonyoung stares at him over his shoulder, muttering, "Pussy."

Your focus reigns on the cabin beside yours. Its porch is vacant. Not even a single paw crosses it.

His promise had proven effective, for after eleven o'clock the cabin seemed muted. As if a young child had stumbled across a remote, carelessly slamming the buttons without being aware of their meaning. It brought a quick, heart-fluttering smile to your face before you pressed your cheek against the pillow and fell asleep.

Mingyu, irritated with your withdrawal from their conversation about snails, waves a hand before your eyes. When all he receives is a lost, empty stare with that absent smile, he follows your gaze. All the way up the small hill and to the cabin harboring eight boys.

He gasps, dragging a palm to your shoulder and shaking you. "Y/N," he repeats.

"What?" Soonyoung asks, trying to break into Mingyu's line of sight.

You fall back into reality, looking between them. You hum, raising your eyebrows curiously.

Mingyu stares at you with parted lips, hand grown limp on your shoulder. "Why are you staring at the enemy's house?"

"Enemy?" you ask.

"Enemy?" Soonyoung repeats.

Behind Mingyu, a boy scales down the small hill. His appearance brings a spark to your chest, alighting all your muscles. Burning your entire body.

The sun peeks out from a cloud.

Mingyu catches the sparkle in your eyes. The sudden smile tracing your lips. He glances over his shoulder.

"Minho!" Soonyoung calls, suspending a high hand to wave at him.

He waves back. His white shirt sparkles in the sunlight.

When he reaches you, he hands Mingyu the small plastic bag from the previous night. "Here. Don't think I forgot."

Pink blazes the boy's cheeks as he accepts the bag. He peeks inside.

You nudge his shoulder, "Is that why he was an enemy?"

"'Cos you thought he wouldn't hold up his end of the deal? Mingyu, you're unbelievable," Soonyoung finishes, shaking his head. He turns back to the lake, burying his feet beneath the water.

Shyly, Mingyu mumbles, "I'll be back."

He climbs the hill, disappearing into your cabin.

Minho expels a laugh. "He's funny."

He's still staring at the guarding cabin door. A smile peeks on his lips, leaving you to wonder again what he thinks of in that pretty head. Suddenly, his eyes flit to you. "Do you wanna go for a walk?"

You glance down at your bikini and cheap flip-flops. "I'm not really dressed for a-"

"You can borrow some of my clothes, if you don't wanna go into your cabin," he interrupts.

You wonder what he smells like up close. In the breeze, you had caught the brief scent of sandalwood and tea tree.

Behind you, Soonyoung digs his heel into the sand. "Go with him. Don't overthink it."

And so, taking the granted permission and running with it, you follow Minho up the hill. You lean towards his cabin, quickly mentioning, "I think Yeji and Seungkwan are still sleeping. I don't wanna disturb them."

He simply nods, guiding the way. Soonie waits at the door and tries to sneak out through the gap. Minho presses the heel of his foot against the cat's chest, pushing him back in. The cabin is quiet, save for the distant running of water. He guides you down the hall to his shared room. In the top bunk, a boy lays with his body facing the wall. Covers are drawn to his chin, shielding his identity further.

Minho offers a plain white tee similar to his—though his is emblazoned with the outline of a peace sign—and black joggers. Thankfully accustomed with a drawstring. Just as you had imagined, when you tugged the shirt over your head, it smelled woodsy. It hugs your skin, like the comfort of a flickering candle in a dimly lit room.

By the time you sneak back into the main area of the cabin, a boy leans against the kitchen counter, phone in hand. He glances up, blinking harshly when he spots you in Minho's clothes. "You have a girlfriend?" he asks, tipping his head.

Minho's only response is a scoff before he slips back into the great outdoors. You hold the other boy's gaze for a moment before following Minho quietly.

He guides you in the way of the Camper's Corner, though he takes a sharp left where you would normally keep straight. It's an unmarked path. He glances over his shoulder, as though to assert you're following.

"It's not too bad of a walk," he mentions, glancing down to your flip-flops.

After only a couple more feet, the fast splashing of water summons your ears. It pulls your gaze into its sourcing direction. A narrow creek stares back, water plummeting across sharp peaks of rocks. You gasp.

Minho turns to you, smiling when he spots the glimmer in your eyes. Similar to the one that the sun casts on the water.

He kneels close to the mud, plucking a small shell. He offers it to you. The tips of your fingers graze the smooth ridges. On the underside, little legs squirm.

"It's a hermit crab," he says.

"I know," you laugh, looking up to him.

He shrugs, "I had to tell Changbin what it was."

You stare at him, the small crab suddenly forgotten. He nods, as though to say 'I know, right?'

You gently return the hermit crab to its niche. Minho suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you back to the main road. His palm feels awkward in yours beneath the sun. Yet still, you dread the moment when it will shed itself away.

"Hey," you say. He stops, looking over his shoulder with pouty lips. "What did you want to ask me?"

The hint of a grin flashes across his lips, shining like the sun, as he shakes his head. "I already got the answer."

He turns back to the road, continuing to tug at your hand. The sound of his slides scraping against the gravel reminds you of last night.

"What was the question though?"

His grip tightens and he chuckles. "You're persistent."

"I'm just curious," you defend, inching to tug a little back on his hand.

He stops abruptly. You nearly crash into his back. He turns around to you, slipping his hand away from yours and placing it on your cheek.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. Or feel the warmth against your cheek.

His eyes are barren. For a moment, you're scared he might shun you away. Until his eyes crinkle and his teeth show, lips curled in a broad grin. "You should keep those clothes," he says, moving his hand slightly to catch a wandering strand of hair. He tucks it behind your ear.

"Why?" you manage to say through the pebble strangling your throat.

"You look cute in them."

Whatever breath you managed to withhold evacuates your lungs. You're not sure if it's the lack of oxygen, but you think he's leaning a little closer.

His hesitant breath tickles your lips and you meet him at the finish line. His other hand comes to cup your cheek as he kisses you. Your missing breath is found when his tongue trails across your bottom lip.

When he pulls away, he blinks as though he has returned from a blackout. Then, a chuckle slips past his lips. You stare at him, watching as the corners of his mouth upturn.

He grabs at your hand, pulling you up the road and back to the cabins. All the way, your tongue wettens your lips to revive his taste. You bite back smiles, grateful he cannot see you.

You feel like a schoolgirl again, calm and worryless.

vii.

He holds your hand as you step off the dock. The boat trembles beneath your leg and his grip tightens. "I got you," he reassures.

You sit opposite him as he tugs the oars back. The water winks up at you in fits of sparkling sunshine.

His invite had come like a surprise, preceded by the knock on the cabin. Yeji had answered, and before he even had time to ask for you, you were there. Peeking over her shoulder like an all too curious sibling. Normally, back at the apartment, life would play out like this. Someone would arrive at your doorstep, flowers in hand and ready to steal Yeji away on a date.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

So now, you sit in a boat, slightly seasick until Minho stops pushing the oars under the water. Only the quiver of the lake keeps you with a minuscule motion.

"I didn't really plan this far ahead," he says, looking back to the distant shore. On the dock, he notes, a boy stands. Then, running up from behind, he is pushed into the water. Impact splashing back at the one who remains standing.

He glances back to you, now having missed your words. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I said plans are overrated," you repeat.

A smile crosses his lips, somewhat feeling like a fond glimmer of nostalgia. You will chase after that smile, begging for the faint orange of this golden hour.

He leans forward abruptly, pressing his lips to yours. You smile into the kiss. The strings of his hoodie tickle your hand as you slowly bring your palm to his cheek.

The kiss brings that golden hour into clarity with pulsing fits of orange like a heartbeat.

When he pulls away, bottom lip slightly swollen, he pulls his sleeves over his hands as he glances down to the water. He will not admit what is on his mind, though the peek of his tongue slipping over his lips tells you all you need to know.

"What's your favorite color?" you inquire casually, drawing his eyes back to you.

"Mint," he quickly answers.

You learn that he cannot swim, despite his urgency to drag you out onto the lake, and that he's an only child. He just graduated college with a degree in Computer Science, though he doesn't know what he wants to do yet. Though, he makes it clear that he will never work retail. He has two other cats who were left back home because his friends had whined enough about bringing Soonie.

You find yourself smiling as he tells you stories from his former years. How he nearly flunked his Statistics exam because he accidentally went to the wrong class for half the semester (he couldn't explain how he didn't realize because your laughs suffocated his thoughts). How his friends rely on him for certain things. How he simply lives to live.

His lips find yours again after he tells you that he has a talent for catching people off guard. You flinch a little, though laugh.

As he pulls away, his smile reaches his eyes and you catch the glimmer of comfort sprouting in your chest.

His fingertips find the oars again when a cloud threatens the sun. It dims the lake, stealing the sparkle from the water.

A sigh slips past your lips as you watch the clouds turn. Vacation ends in four days, ready to drag you back to the needy college life. You wonder if Minho will keep in touch. Certainly, you remind yourself, he will. After all, you both live in the same city, so seeing each other shouldn't be a problem.

"What're you thinking about?" Minho asks as he's reaching for the rope to secure the boat to its dock.

His cologne lingers close as he leans over you. A hug-like comfort. You shake your head when he glances down at you. "Nothing."

viii.

A large pizza sits in the center of the table, steam rising from the center. Seungkwan leans over and grabs another piece.

"Gosh, we should've ordered another one," Seokmin sighs, glancing at the two empty boxes at the counter.

Yeji shakes her head, "Maybe if you guys didn't eat so much."

You smile, leaning back in your chair to watch this unfold. Seungkwan defensively waves his hand as he bites. Soonyoung chugs water to drown his words.

Mingyu, though, stares at you. His arms are crossed against his wide chest. He leans

forward, resting them on the table. The argument fizzles, leaving the elephant in the room to be addressed.

"Mingyu, why are you staring at me like that?" you laugh.

"Why are you so lighthearted? What did Minho do to you? Did he inject you with something?"

You blink, waiting for his questions to process. "I'm just in a good mood, I guess."

"Who's Minho?" Yuna returns from the bathroom, reclaiming her seat beside Yeji.

"One of the neighbor guys. He's really cool, actually," Soonyoung informs.

Mingyu shoots him a glare, though before he can speak, Seokmin has begun, "Yeah, you have been kinda weird today, Y/N."

You shrug, shyly looking down at your sweatpants that weren't technically yours. Minho had playfully pushed you into the cabin when you had offered to return them after your lake date. His smile had blazed brighter than the sun. Warmer than the sun. You smile at the close memory.

"See?" Mingyu points accusingly.

"I think you're overreacting," Soonyoung comments, grabbing the abandoned crust from Seungkwan's plate.

Yeji nods, taking a sip from her water before adding, "Just let her have her last summer love."

Mingyu huffs, leaning back into his chair. "I don't like him."

"Too bad," Seungkwan nudges him with a teasing smile.

Nighttime falls after a tense couple rounds of Mafia. Each time, Mingyu would insist voting you off, citing that you were suspicious and simply had to be the Mafia. Even when you were the nurse. Or the cop. You hadn't gotten the mafia card at all.

Your sheets are cold when you climb into them. And though Mr. Sandman has already dragged your eyes to a laze, you cannot find dreamland. Instead, you're left to listen to the night. Distant shouts from the neighboring cabin. You smile, wondering what Minho is doing.

A huff slips from your lips and an open palm rushes to your forehead. How have you allowed yourself to fall this deep? Maybe Mingyu's right. Maybe you should take a step back. Yet still, the imprint of his lips against yours haunts you with the pull at your heart.

You roll over, tugging your covers to your chin. Like the boy in Minho's room.

A hollow noise echoes throughout your ears. It travels upward, like your window being pulled. You flinch, though fight it off. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just the wind. Or a deer. Or maybe it's a little rabbit.

But then, your heart stops beating when the rustic-style comforter pulls away from you.

Instinctively, you shoot up, swinging your arms. One connects with the heavy meat of a human. It heaves, doubling over in pain.

You tremble, heart shattering against your ribcage. Though, you gain enough strength to reach for the lamp, pulling down on the string.

A boy is balled up on the floor, clutching at his ribs. He glances up at you, squinting beneath the sudden light.

"Minho? What are you doing here?" you whisper. You realize you're in his shirt. And his sweatpants. They're comfy, okay?

He pulls himself up to sit at the foot of your bed, still holding his side. "You have got a strong arm," he gasps for air.

"What are you doing here?" you repeat. At the loud, though distant, chant of someone's name, you add, "Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

He shakes his head. The tips of his fingers pull at the hem of his shirt to reveal his chest. A slim red mark has already formed. He drops the cloth, glancing back to you, "I wanted to see you. You're more fun than they are."

You fight a smile. "You barely know me."

He shrugs. "So?"

You look down at your lap sheepishly. "I'm sorry for hitting you so hard."

"Don't be," he reaches for your hand, pressing your fingers against his momentarily and intertwining them. "I probably should've had a better gameplan."

You can't exactly disagree with that.

"Do you mind if I stay here tonight?" he asks, glancing back out into the open window.

"No, but can you not go home or something?"

He turns back to you, lips slightly pursed. "I'm getting tired of being with them. They're kinda draining."

You know the feeling, thinking of Seungkwan and Soonyoung's full-fleshed arguments that seem to have a daily timer of 7 P.M.

And so he kicks his shoes off and curls up next to you before you turn off the light. His arm curls around you as he sighs. His breath tickles your skin, flaring small goosebumps.

You rest your ear against his chest, hearing out for the small thumps of his heart. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

"You never told me the question," you say.

"It's not important anymore," he replies, pulling you a little closer.

Crickets swell in the silence that follows. His chest is warm, a comforting contrast to the earlier sheets. Yet still, you feel yourself asking, "Don't you think we're going too fast?"

And he simply responds, "You can never feel like you're moving too fast if you're constantly running out of time."

You hum. A response curls at your tongue, though your lips fail to move.

When you return to consciousness, the warm pillow you had rested upon is gone. The only evidence he was ever even there is the window, still open, and the wrinkles in the sheets.

ix.

He is not at the lake. He is not at the hidden creek. Maybe he's on a hike, you think. But as you pass his cabin and peek inside, your stomach drops.

The place is pristine, as though eight young men had never even stepped foot inside. You take a peek inside, scanning through all of the rooms. Nothing. Bare beds and bare halls.

His shirt itches against your skin. Not a single goodbye. Pricks of something volatile poke your skin as you realize you have nothing to contact him by. No phone number. No cringy Snapchat username he made when he was thirteen. Nothing.

You drag your feet back to your cabin, passing Seungkwan huddled over a bowl of oatmeal. His greeting distantly floats through your ears, though you fail to process it.

When you fall into your bed, sheets still indented by his figure, a hot tear scales your face. His scent is all around you, like a taunting lullaby. You jolt up, tearing the shirt off of you and throwing it as hard as you can. It caves against the wall, slipping down silently.

You pull over a different, non-Minho shirt and rest back against the mattress. Though still, he remains.

A sob clogs your throat. You want to punch a pillow. Or a wall. Or him. No, you wouldn't punch him. You cannot even find it in you to direct your anger at him. Instead, you decide, you must have done something wrong. Maybe you whispered something in your sleep that infuriated him. Maybe-

A soft knock at your door.

"I'm sorry," you sob, burying your face in the pillow as you clutch the sheets.

Beside you, the bed dips beneath someone's weight. A hand falls against your back, its fingertips tapping lightly.

You expect it to be Yeji. Or Yuna. But instead, when you look, it's Mingyu. His face is blank, not even a trace of an "I told you so" glazing it. Instead, his eyes are covered with a film of pity.

"Did you know?" you manage through the tears.

Slowly, he nods. "I'm sorry."

You shake your head. "It's not your fault."

He pulls you into a hug, and you're glad that his scent does not resemble Minho's. Mingyu smells only like cotton. Freshly washed cotton.

"He's a dick, not telling you he was leaving," he says, drawing a hand up to your head.

Seungkwan's voice drenches the room with bitterness. "Who the fuck hurt you? I will kill-"

Mingyu looks back at the boy standing in the doorway. He shakes his head, beckoning the boy to leave. And he does.

You're grateful for Mingyu.

Only three days remain in your vacation, yet each second is more brutal than the last. Dried tears glue strands of hair to your cheeks. At night, Mingyu comes in and lays with you, rubbing small circles into your back as he tries to make you laugh. Yeji stands in the doorway, confused arms crossed against her chest.

The day before you leave, Yeji stops at your bedside and whispers. "We can leave today."

You look up to her, shaking your head slightly. That's all the energy you have to do. Your voice is a croaking mess when you bring yourself to say, "Don't let me ruin your fun, please."

The final day, as set aside on the drive here, is a day of fun. Hiking and swimming and laughter. Though you remain in bed, sheets pulled to your chin as your fingertip rubs small laps along your lips.

When Seokmin sneaks into your room at dinnertime, a small slice of pizza resting on a paper plate, he says, "You deserve better than him."

You nod. But you're not sure you believe him.

You find yourself wondering what he did in the car ride home. What he's doing now. If his cats are happy to all be together again. You wish that you could have seen Soonie's little smile again. Or even seen Minho's fatherly intuitions with him for even an extra split second.

A fingertip rests on your bottom lip. The car is silent, save the low hum of the radio. Disguised by his sunglasses, it appears that Mingyu's eyes are glued to the road at all times. Though he steals a parental glance in the rearview every few seconds, as if to check you haven't withered away.

Even when Seungkwan coughs, Soonyoung bites his tongue. They do not argue the whole way.

When Mingyu arrives outside your apartment complex, you gather your things and get out of the minivan. Its familiar blue paint stings your eyes with tears. You look back into the car before saying with a forced smile, "Thank you, guys."

xi.

Summer dissipates with green fading to amber. You look at the golden leaves scattering the ground of the campus. Minho's smile flashes in front of your eyes, and you shake it away. A parasite.

You jog to class, sparingly glancing at your watch to count each minute you're late. At five past eight you get to the lecture hall. A quiet apology slips past your lips until you climb the stairs to the back.

For a history class, the seats are rather full. You sit at the end of the second to last row, beside a tanned boy with light brown hair and round glasses. His eyes stick on you a little too long, burning your skin.

Professor Nam discusses the syllabus rather quickly, his words failing to succumb to first-day stutters. His sudden clap makes you flinch, and his voice booms all the way back to you. "That's it. Scan the first chapter to familiarize yourself with the material. You're free to go."

You gather your things and are ready to descend the stairs when the boy beside you calls, "Wait!"

You glance back at him and a flash of familiarity blankets him. His words return to you before you can exactly place him. You have a girlfriend?

"Are you Y/N?" he asks.

Pain shoots through your chest and you take a wary step backwards.

He continues, quickly apologizing, "Sorry to catch you off guard like this. I'm Seungmin."

He proffers his hand. You take it. "Nice to meet you," you manage.

"You too," he smiles. Though, to you, all he says is 'You're the girl he ditched?'

You cannot find the words to form a question, though he beats you to it. He seems to do that, you note.

"What happened with you and Minho?"

Then, when he catches the sparkle of tears glazing your eyes he frantically adds, "If you're comfortable with telling me."

You look down at your shoes, remembering the days of sunshine that quickly turned to cloudy messes. "I don't know, really."

"He was a mess after we left, but he wouldn't tell us anything that happened," Seungmin rambles.

Your eyes shoot back to him. A hoarse laugh grabs your words, "He was a mess?"

Confused, he hesitantly nods.

"He didn't tell me you guys were leaving," you announce, the words stinging you all over again. "And he never left me anything to contact him with. I thought I did something wrong. I probably did."

You remember the white shirt stuffed into your closet, a pair of sweatpants crumbled beneath it. His scent is faintly attached to the fibers. Though, maybe, it's just your imagination.

Seungmin's eyes soften. "I'm sorry. You probably didn't do anything. He wouldn't react the way he did if you had. He's just stupid."

You dismiss yourself, aiding the excuse that you're meeting with a friend for coffee and he understands. Seungmin watches as you leave the lecture hall, a soft sigh tickling his lips.

When you get back to the apartment (not having another class until noon) you cry. Hot tears that irritate your skin. You pull out the tee shirt and hug it close. And the words, again, fall from your lips like a mantra. "I'm sorry."

xii.

Seungmin asks you to coffee a week later, a hint of something unfamiliar in his eye. You agree, though only under the pretense that he pays.

The coffee shop by the campus is riddled with already tired students and rushed projects. Seungmin sits by the window. An iced americano is cupped in his hand and he absentmindedly sips it, eyes over at a set of baristas scrambling to fulfill orders. His gaze breaks, falling onto you and he waves.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" you ask as you pull yourself onto the stool.

He shakes his head, gently setting the sweating coffee on a napkin. "No, I just got here."

He glances back to an aproned barista, who anxiously stares back. His eyes are apprehensive, tinged with a glimmer of something fierce. Seungmin nudges your hand, pointing at the boy.

You feel your heart stop beating. You might be leaning forward and passing out. You might be dying. But one thing's for sure, the boy who is currently holding your eyes makes you blister with heat and blur at the eyes. He stares with a freezing gaze that shoots goosebumps all along your skin.

And then he offers a hint of a smile that warms your body like a blanket. He glances to a coworker, inaudibly says something, and removes his apron. He tosses it into a small blue basket before rushing over. Seungmin gives up his seat.

Minho smacks the back of his head. "Thanks for drinking all of my americano."

"Shouldn't have left it there," Seungmin shrugs before starting towards the exit.

At the door, he turns back and smiles, "Have a good talk!"

You dumbfoundedly watch as Minho lifts himself to the stool. He rests interlocked hands on the table, creating a cage around his half-empty americano. "I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" you look at him like a lost puppy. His heart softens and the guilt overrides him.

"Leaving," he glances outside, down the street where Seungmin crosses.

You somehow manage to keep looking at him. "Was it something I did?"

"No," he instantly turns back to you. "It was me."

"That's what everyone says," you fight a hurt chuckle. "You can tell me, really. It won't hurt."

And with a forced reassuring smile, you look deep into his eyes.

He shakes his head. "No really, it was me. I was confused and terrible at facing what I was feeling. I didn't want to admit that constantly wanting to kiss someone was more than friendly."

"I take it you still are," you mention. "Considering Seungmin didn't even know."

His head twitches in a nod. "Something like that."

A silence lies over you, though it's unlike the one you held when you walked back from the Camper's Corner. This one seems menacing. As though it has the power to destroy everything.

He suddenly grabs your hand and plays with your fingertips. He does not know the number of times you have pressed them to your lips—sixty-two. He does not know the days you spent staring at your ceiling, eyes burning from spilling insufficient tears. He does not know that you halted communication with everyone, save Yeji, from the trip because they reminded you too much of him. Yet still, his touch cascades your body with heat, as though none of that happened.

"You really don't have to accept this, but I would like to make it up to you."

Your heart catches in your throat and it echoes its thumps throughout your entire body. "Are you asking me on a date?"

Hesitantly, he nods. "I think so."

Your smile burns a whole through his chest. You ask innocently, eyebrows raised with joy, "Can I come see your cats?"

He laughs. "You'd have to meet my mom 'cos they live with her. My apartment complex doesn't allow pets."

"Second date, then."

"You already think you wanna go on a second date with me?" Minho grins, leaning a little closer.

You blush, shaking your head.

You stare into his eyes and see a tiny reflection of yourself. Behind that, you see remorse. Lost time. He's going to make up for it. That's a promise, even if it's not verbal.

xiii.

His laugh bubbles throughout the small room like the sizzle of soda. He pulls the cat close to him, cradling him like a baby. You watch as the cat paws at his chin.

He looks up at you, "I think he likes me."

You smile as he glances back to the cat. He nestles his fingers beneath the cat's chin and gently scratches.

Upon the idea of coming to a cat cafe, he was hesitant. "They might smell Soonie or something," he had pouted.

"It'll be fine," you had promised, taking his hand. They were warm, you recall, like those last days of summer.

And now here you sit, perched atop a chair while Minho rolls around with the cats. All swarming him like he carries a cat-summoning device. His smile is radiant against the sea of calico and tabby.

A flutter ravages in your chest when his eyes find yours. "Why are you staring at me like that?" he laughs.

"Like what?"

"You just look," he thinks. "I can't explain it."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "Cat got your tongue?"

He delivers a wry laugh, returning his attention to the tabby who paws at his chin.

You watch as he fights the crowd to sit up. One immediately climbs upon his shoulder, reaching up to dig its paws in his hair. He gently pulls it off of him, resting it on the plush rug. He returns to his spot aside from you, bringing the straw of his iced americano to his lips.

"I feel bad," he finally says, curiously glancing down to the tugging sensation against the cuff of his sweatpants.

"Why?" you ask, resting your forearms on the table.

He looks back to you. "Because this is our first real date and we're in a place aimed for my interest. I'm supposed to be the one making things up to you, not the other way around."

You fight a laugh. "You know I like cats too, you know?"

"Yeah, but," he hesitates. "they're not really paying attention to you."

You shrug. "That's fine. Watching you interact with them is enough."

He smirks, "So you're saying you like watching me?"

"Interact with cats, yes," you confirm.

A hand grabs yours as he leans across the table to kiss you. His lips taste just like you remember—those sixty-two times did not go to waste. They're soft and taste vaguely of his coffee addiction. Back in summer, they had tasted like faint watermelon. Sometimes strawberries.

Abruptly, he pulls away. "Wait, I didn't ask if I could kiss you, I'm so sorry."

"You didn't ask me the first time you kissed me."

He squints, "Really?"

You nod, a shadow of a laugh tumbling over your lips.

He glances out the window, a look of reliving riddling his features. Eyebrows knitted together. Lips fallen agape. Finally, he looks back to you. "I don't remember not asking."

"Do you remember asking?" you tease, biting your straw between smiling teeth.

"Touche. But that's under different circumstances than right now. I'm supposed to be regaining your trust, not spontaneously kissing you."

You cock your head at him. "In summer, we barely knew each other and you were sneaking into my cabin to sleep in the same bed as me. How is that much different from randomly kissing me?"

He shyly brings his straw to his lips again, taking a long sip that extends the silence. "Summer was different," he finally says.

"Elaborate on that for me, please."

He sighs, flecks of red darting across his cheeks. He looks like he's about to give a presentation for a class he's failing. "Summer Minho," he finally begins, "was insanely stupid."

And then, his words fall. Another silence, save a couple cats clawing at a scratching post.

"And?" you urge him to continue.

He pouts. "I wasted so much time. We could've done this whole dating thing months ago, but because I wanted to run away from those scary feelings, we're here."

Then, in your stunned silence, he adds, "I wish I could go back and force myself to stick around. Or at least leave you a note. I thought about doing that, you know."

You sigh. "You can't change the past."

He lamentably nods, looking down at a sleeping cat to disguise the film blurring his vision.

"So let's make up for lost time," you declare, standing up.

He looks at you confusedly. "What?" he croaks.

"Minho," you offer your hand. Hesitantly he takes it, standing too. You continue, "I don't think I was ever really mad at you. I focused all of the blame on myself. So please, kiss me whenever. Show up at my doorstep at three in the morning because one of the boys got on your nerves. I don't care. I just want to be with you."

A small smile twitches as a lonesome tear slips down his cheek. He pulls you into his chest. The vibration of his laugh shakes against your ear as he whispers, "You're gonna regret saying that part about me showing up at your doorstep."

You laugh and shake your head, though deep down you know he's probably right.

xiv.

Lee Minho is a piece of work. Having the nerve to show up at your apartment while the world is shaking with thunder. His hair is soaking wet, as are his clothes. Though, kept dry, is the brown bag of Chinese food he shoved beneath his hoodie.

He laughs through shivers when you open the door, alternatively drenched with the desire for sleep.

"Did I wake you?" he asks, teeth chattering.

Through squinted eyes, you slowly nod, stepping out of the way to let him in. So tired, you note, that you didn't even bring him a towel before he enters the apartment. Small droplets of water quiver at his movement, pooling beside your doormat.

"Do you still have those clothes I lent you?" he shouts when you retreat back to your room.

A response is unnecessary, for you're already bringing them to him. White tee and black sweatpants, neatly folded. His cologne officially disappeared in the last wash, subtly replaced with your laundry detergent and Yeji's rose perfume.

He steps into your bathroom, quickly asking where your towels are. You point to the small bamboo cabinet Yeji insisted on buying the week before.

You glance at the green digits atop the stove. 12:56 A.M. A wry laugh clogs your throat as you suddenly remember what you had told him two weeks ago on your first date. Though, this begs the question: do you regret telling him that? No, actually. Because now, you will finally be able to fall asleep in his arms again. Plus, he brought you food for unintentional compensation of waking you. That's commendable.

He returns from the bathroom, his new clothes lay over dry skin. Yet, his hair is still damp and sticking every which way. He vehemently shakes his head like a wet dog, sending a few droplets to brush your skin.

He tugs on the top of his shirt, bringing it across his forehead to wipe at straying rain.

Then, he stands still. A simper creeps across his face and he approaches you, entrapping you in his arms. Gently, he sways you, mimicking the boat on the lake. "Sorry for showing up unexpectedly. Jisung kicked me out."

You fight his grip to look up at him. "Why?"

"I may have joked about kidnapping the cats and bringing them to our apartment."

"Was it really a joke?" you inquire.

He laughs. "No."

You press your ear against his collarbone, silently sighing. A content smile crosses your lips as you close your eyes.

xv.

A distant, long forgotten episode of Haikyuu! hums on the TV. Minho's forehead is pressed against your shoulder and his light snores usurp the quiet argument between Hinata and Kageyama. Minho's arms have gone limp around your waist, loosened by the depths of slumber.

You turn in his arms and stare at the slope of his nose. The way his lips are barely parted. The way his eyelashes tickle against his cheeks. His hair has long since dried, though frizz defies its normal shape. You smile before pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

In your younger years you had imagined that your final year of college would be tinged with the weight of growing old. Now, every time you're with Minho—in his arms or merely in his presence—you're relieved of all of the nonsense adulthood brings. No stress. Just simply living. It's like a constant adventure with him.

His eyes peek through heavy lids and he tips his head back a little, tapping the back of the couch. In a drowsy voice, he mutters, "Stop watching me sleep, weirdo."

You giggle. "You were snoring."

He shuts his eyes again, humming as he returns his head to the pillow. Barely audible, he whispers, "I love you."

A loud thump echoes in your ears before a smile creeps up to your lips. "I love you too."

In the morning, he will deny this ever happening. Yet still, you will smile and go along with it. "Maybe I was imagining it," you will say with a shrug before disappearing to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. In your wake, he will whisper those three words again, and you will pretend you hadn't heard. Though a smile will fall on your lips when you return to him, two mugs cozied in your hands.

Now, you know that it's nearing four in the morning, and though your tiredness has long fled, you rest your forehead against his and shut your eyes. Lee Minho loves you, even if he denies saying it in his slumber-drunk world. He wants you to stay. And in return, he will stick by your side. Even when you forget Dori's birthday.

#bandaigaeru #skz #stray kids #skz scenario #skz scenarios #skz imagine #stray kids minho #stray kids lee know #lee know #lee know x reader #minho x reader #minho imagine #lee know imagine #lee know scenario #stray kids au #skz au #lee know au #lee minho

112 notes · View notes

x0401x · 4 years

Photo

Los Amigos

A short story from Tsujimura-sensei’s site for Henry’s birthday. Was actually published months ago, but I decided to post the translation today to celebrate the date. As always, feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases.

T/N: To the Spanish speakers reading this, I know that the lyrics of the happy birthday song aren’t quite right, but that’s how Tsujimura-sensei translated them. She’s trying, guys. She’s trying. _(:’з」∠)_

Someone from the distant past once said, “You come to know who your real friends are as you grow older”. Shimomura Haruyoshi’s actual feelings were that he didn’t want to know.

In short, he thought, this means one thing: although you meet a relatively large amount of people when you’re young, you only manage to keep in touch with a few of them after you get tossed about by time, by society and by individual people. This was nothing but a general theory, and he wished he could retort with a “that’s none of your business”.

Having left Japan and come to the remote countryside of Spain, he had but a handful of “friends” who he could keep in touch with. His days of being chased by lessons that seemed to keep on rushing and rushing no matter how fast he went were fulfilling, and though the presence of his school mates who played music with him in the same institute was stuffy, if he let himself go even just a little easy, he would be attacked by a sense of loneliness. It felt as if he were alone in the world and was doing things frantically.

“That’s why I’m really grateful to you, Enrique.”

“That aside, it would be great if you could improve your English a bit more.”

“English is hard... I’m already buried up to the neck with Spanish; my head would burst if I tried to study English too. It’d burn up, dude, burn up.”

“Ooh. That would be a problem.”

“Right? So let’s talk in Japanese and Spanish.”

“But if we do that, your English won’t improve. Just as you gave me assignments in Japanese, I gave you assignments in English. It’s okay, you can do it. I believe in you.”

“Enrique, you’re surprisingly spartan.”

“Not at all. Compared to my step-brother, I go as easy as it can get.”

“How many assignments does your step-brother give?”

“Let’s see... firstly, he would make you do a three-minute speech. After that, he would comment and make you do another speech based on it. And then comment again.”

“Oeeh. My mistake. Enrique-sama-sama. I like my curry sweet.”

“I like any kind of curry. Now, please do your best.”

Haruyoshi Shimomura fidgeted in front of the video call screen, and after hesitatingly saying, “All right, all right”, he slapped his cheeks as if he had made up his mind.

“Eh... I’m gonna do last time’s task, ‘short speech’.”

When prompted with a “go ahead” the young man began to speak.

His dream was to become a guitarist. There were many types of guitarists, but his goal was to become a guitarist who could do live concerts in Japan. He also wanted to invite his family and friends to his concerts. He would be happy if they could listen to his music and enjoy themselves.

That was it.

After saying this much, the young man’s words trailed off.

“Eh~, we still have quite a bit of time left, so for the rest, I’m going to do a ‘speech’ now,” saying so, Shimomura Haruyoshi reached his hand outside of the screen and took his guitar. And then, while playing the strings, he began to sing.

Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you I hope this year will be Good for you, Enrique Happy birthday to you

As he finished singing Cumpleaños Feliz, he put away his guitar and clapped his hands.

The blond man on the other side of the screen was bewildered. “Why...?”

“‘Why’, you ask? Today’s your birthday, ain’t it? November 9th.”

“Forgive me if I forgot, but when did I tell you that?”

The young man smiled back at the man who asked him in English as politely as usual, except a little quick. “I asked for a telephone game. When I went to that party, I wanted to ask a lot of stuff since I had gone through the trouble, but we didn’t have much time to talk in the end, right? I wanted to at least ask about your birthday.”

The one that the young man had asked about it to was not the birthday person himself, but instead an old friend of his who had organized the party, Nakata Seigi. After saying, “Wait a bit”, Nakata Seigi went to ask his employer, who prided himself in a refined beauty that resembled Mount Fuji at the break of dawn, and then quickly came back with the information.

“My bad for asking it without telling you. But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Do you know what my relationship with that person is?”

“Eh? With Nakata’s boss? Nope, nope; you a client of his?” While saying that he should have asked how Richard knew his birthday, Shimomura Haruyoshi gave himself a forehead slap.

As Enrique smiled and said nothing but “is that so”, he once again expressed gratitude for the courteous celebration of his birthday. The Asian young man shook his head with a “no biggie, no biggie”.

“Y’know, I... I’m aware that I’ve walked a thorny road when it comes to building up relationships with other people, and it’s not like I’m gonna be in Spain forever, but even if I go back to Japan, I also don’t think I’m gonna settle there forever. Even if people say that ‘you come to know who your real friends are as you get older’, it’s just a matter of having less friends with time, isn’t it? That’s why,” Shimomura Haruyoshi laughed, “Enrique, thanks a lot. I’m grateful to you. Thanks for being my friend. When you seem to be having fun, I have fun too.”

Enrique made a completely exhausted face, then gave an embarrassed-looking, bashful smile after moment and applauded him. “That was a wonderful speech.”

“Ah, the one just now? It counted as a speech? Lucky me.”

“Haruyoshi... you are... pretty frivolous... sometimes.”

“Sorry, sorry. Wait, Enrique, when did you learn such a difficult word in Japanese?”

“I read it in a book.”

And so, Enrique began speaking in English once again. He talked about not knowing the saying “you come to know who your real friends are as you get older”, but he knew the following words.

Shimomura didn’t understand very well the proverb that he recited torrentially from memory. He was only able to catch the words “friendship”, “wine” and “milk”.

As he titled his head with a “so, in short, what do you mean?”, Enrique gave an elder-like smile and said in Spanish, “‘Friendship is like wine. Raw when new, ripened with age, the true old man’s milk and restorative cordial’ - these are the words of Thomas Jefferson, one of the presidents of the United States.”

“A brewing of friendship, huh.”

“There are no true or fake friends. Friends are just friends. They’re not an universal medicine that can solve anything, be it uncertainties towards the future, homesickness or other such things. But I believe they’re something limitlessly similar to that. Haruyoshi, please cheer up. We are music pals. I’m here with you.”

Shimomura gave a strained smile. He, who had the natural disposition of a youngest child, was fond of the sometimes fastidiously straightforward side of this man named Enrique. If anything, he was the sort of companion that made Shimomura want to follow him.

“Thanks, Enrique. I feel like I’m gonna cry. I’m counting on you from now on too.”

“Same here; please take... care of me.”

“Hehe.”

And so, the two brought the language study to a close and moved on to talking about briefing sessions for new songs like usual. “By the way, about those Yakuza-like lines used for threats that I had to teach you a while ago, why on earth did you want to know something like that, and surely you didn’t actually have to use them, right?” was a question that Shimomura Haruyoshi forgot to ask.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #the case files of jeweler richard #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #richard #tsujimura nanako #henry claremont #shimomura haruyoshi #novel #my translation

77 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 34 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 33 here. Part 35 here.

Summary: A graveyard is a good place to bury all kinds of things.

Words: 5200

Warnings: inappropriate cemetery conduct

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: me, publishing last chapter: haha wait until they fuck on the graves, people will be--

everyone in the comments: ARE THEY GONNA FUCK IN THE CEMETERY

(DO I HAVE A FUCKING BRAND? I hate myself LMFAO)

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter--it was like pulling teeth to write, and I had to re-do it like three times. Thanks very much to @thetorturerwrites for assistance! I'm still very much loving this story, loving y'all's feedback, loving your thoughts. Hopefully you don't hate me too much for the ending of this chapter. Oopsie!! Love y'all so much. BE SAFE. <3

Beds of clovers blanketed the abandoned parking lot, pavement cracking and parting to the encroaching wilderness beyond, green valleys drowned in the sheets of rain. The Audi whirred in frustration, then stopped, wheels sloshing the muddied ground. Kylo Ren exited and stepped into the downpour without an umbrella--or really anything else that might protect him from getting absolutely soaked--while you readjusted your bonnet and flipped up the hood on the coat he’d given you.

By the time you’d managed to clamber out of the car, he’d already started down a grass-eaten pathway, long strides cutting a straight line off the winding concrete walk. You scampered to catch up with him, water pelting your face and splashing your boots--you called after him, but he either failed to hear you, or simply didn’t care.

As he crossed into the cemetery proper, you passed entire yards decorated with forgotten graves--in the ground, you imagined the skeletons, filthy with dirt, nameless and faceless and truly dead, their identities known only to memories razed by the ravages of time. Tall oaks and maples stretched into the sky, their trunks smothered with overgrowth, some of them swallowed to the branches. Within them, you spied evidence of life--stick nests, a family of ravens sheltered from the storm under ceilings of vines. And then, further into the cemetery, a bird strangled in a mass of these same vines, wings quartered and neck snapped.

You followed him into a clearing, plumes of wildflowers burgeoning through a white brick path that meandered to a marble slab only slightly shorter than Kylo himself. At each side of the slab, a raised black granite tomb, plantlife weaving to obscure the ledgers. Beyond that, a grass ocean billowed into a valley, rolling to the edge of a forest, all of it waving in the storm winds. Lightning bleached the sky, and you squealed, folding your arms over your chest.

Kylo stopped before the feet of the tombs, staring. Rivers raced ridges into his hair and over his cheeks, dripped down his long nose, his eyes pooled with vacancy, clear and empty and absent of anything you had the ability to name.

“You wanted to know what made me,” he said. “Ask the right questions. I’ll tell you.” Thunder groaned, miles away.

“Okay,” you said, squinting at him. “Where are we?”

He exhaled through his nose. “My parents’ graves.”

A curtain of rain swept the air, and you glanced between him and the graves before crossing to the slab, tearing through the slippery leaves. The stems were coiled tight around one another, but a sharp tug, and they ripped to the side, revealing the engraved dedication in large, block letters.

Organa.

Frowning, you glanced at him for a moment; he stood, still blank, failing to offer even the slightest acknowledgement of your presence. You sighed. The name Organa was familiar, but you’d only ever known it in connection with a late senator. To your surprise, as you tugged more, you saw her name: Leia Organa. One of the tombs belonged to her--and listed underneath her, the owner of the other tomb: Han Solo.

Breath evaporated, the pieces colliding like atoms, sparking light. You blinked, tracing the names with your fingertips as water creeked through the indentation. All he had said was what made me. But to know him--this mystery, in some moments more monster than man, and in others more hallowed than human--saddled you with more confusion than ever. This was a non-answer, a presentation in lieu of conversation.

You turned, brow raised. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t.”

“Why did you take me here?”

His jaw tensed. “They are,” he said, voice stark in the storm, “what made me.”

More lightning, and you jumped, cursing yourself internally. You couldn’t reconcile the restrained, adjusted grandeur displayed at this gravesite with the person at its border. You knew enough about politics before Gilead to understand that a senator’s son was someone ostensibly raised in a home of democracy. Yet this man was one forged in war.

This man, the one who had helped craft and arrange the society that controlled your life, the one who had taken and destroyed any hint of hope in your life barring him--this was a man raised with values of freedom, of self-reliance? In this moment, his flickers of tenderness didn’t matter; they were snuffed in the shadows of your dependence. Kylo Ren, regardless of his rebellion, afforded you only what he determined was necessary. It was only by his grace you were out of your red dress, only by his allowance you’d known any level of escape.

Your enslavement was as it had always been--it’d only changed, you realized, in its terms.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you grumbled.

“Then you haven’t asked the right question, little bird.” His tone was chiding, but his face was blank.

“Wasn’t your mother a senator? Or something?” It was difficult to remember--it had been years ago. “Didn’t she campaign for civil rights?”

“She did.”

“Wasn’t she well-liked? Popular with her constituents?”

“She was.”

This game was wearing on you--but he was right. You hadn’t asked any right questions. “But… you helped create Gilead.” You swallowed. “You talk about destiny and roles and…” You shook your head. “You’re still a Commander.”

Kylo Ren blinked, unfazed by the rain.

“What happened?” you asked. “Did she do something wrong?”

“She feared what she didn’t know.” His voice was dry. “She abandoned what she didn’t understand.”

“I…” That had disarmed you. But it wasn’t an explanation. “What didn’t she know?” you asked. “What didn’t she understand?”

Darkness flashed across his face. “Everything.”

The crack in his facade spurred you. “But she was your mother.” You were testing him, watching his reaction. “Didn’t she try?”

“Trying would imply she had direction.” His stare sank into you, fangs at your flesh. “She was lost.”

You raised a brow. “Lost.” There was a dropping dread that he was leading you toward a conclusion that would result in you forever seeking his permission for your humanity. You wouldn’t let him off so easily. “She hurt you.”

It was, technically, a question, in guise of a statement. But Kylo was silent. His eye twitched. It stoked hunger inside of you, a craving for his vulnerability.

“But that doesn’t make you right.” You gestured toward the graves. “Just because you were hurt doesn’t mean that someone like her raises...” You cleared your throat, swallowed. “Raises someone like you.”

A bolt snapped, blanched him in light. “Someone like me.”

You met his gaze; those pools were churning, now, deep below their shared surface--an ancient beast submerged in forced indifference, daring you to speak it into existence, goading you to give it a name.

“Yes.” You shivered. “A murderer. An owner of another human being.”

The sky quaked. Over his shoulders, a bird flock fled the trees. Kylo advanced, irises burning with something like anger, distant and buried, his teeth grit. Your fingers found purchase in the vines--you anchored yourself to them.

“Do you have questions,” he asked, “or observations?”

Your jaw tightened. “I have a question.”

“Then ask.”

“Okay.” You squared your shoulders. “How did they make you?”

Kylo stared--more lightning--illuminating the terrible void in his eyes. His shoulders fell, face sharpening in self-assured stoicism. “In the same way that a neglected grave grows weeds.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You’re the grave.”

“No.” His gaze simmered as it met yours. “I’m the weed.”

“What?” you asked. “How are you the weed?”

“It’s as I’ve explained.” Kylo sniffed, returned his attention to the tomb. “I had no choice.”

“But how did you have no choice?”

“There were no other options.” His lids fluttered, thunder cracked. He stared at the ledger, following the twisted clot of leaves that shrouded the inscription on the granite. His tone was frozen steel. “They gave me no choice.”

Your fingers curled around wet stems, and you swallowed. The conversation you’d had in his den floated through your mind--it feels like I’m dying, like I don’t even have a choice. In his mind, they’d been killing him. Anxiety clenched your chest.

“Kylo, you’re not making any sense.”

“Very few things made sense,” he said. “The world required order. I found truth. Truth they disagreed with.” For a moment, his expression etched in despair and exhaustion--the sky blinked, and it was gone. “Ask me how they died.”

“How did they…”

You paused, looked at him. It had been big news--they were shot in their home. You gulped. A terrible, black-ink reality crept into your gut. The gunman was never found.

Hands trembling, you spun, yanking the vines to the side, exposing the dates. Both of them, deceased on November 18th, 1979. The date was too familiar--the day of the recording. The day Ben Solo signed his commitment to the foundation of Gilead. Your heart seized, throat closed, and you turned, dragging your gaze along the ground, traveling up his figure, resting on his face.

Kylo Ren’s eyes were obsidian, brittle-edged and fragile to fracture. You struggled to breathe, wanting to ask how, ask why--knowing that, in his way, he’d already given you the answer.

To any garden, a weed was an invader, gnarling through the dirt and choking eager life, sapping it of space--without intervention, an untamed weed consumed its home, ate its brethren, dominated to meet its needs. They were not like so many flowers, tended to with gentle hands, encouraged to flourish and blossom in their beds. No, weeds existed in the realm of burden, forever unwanted, accepted only to be controlled or destroyed. A weed could only be afforded the privilege to exist if it left the perimeter of the garden, renounced its birthplace, and decided, with defiance, to live.

You pulled the coat tight around you, folded your arms. “Did they deserve it?”

The obsidian sharpened under your stare. And he swallowed. “No.”

Nervous heat rushed your skin. “You know that this isn’t truth. This isn’t right.”

Kylo reached beyond you, plucked a leaf from the vine. “I brought you here so you would understand,” he said. “There is value in knowing and realizing your purpose. In knowing your role. Inherent and unalterable.” He crumpled the leaf in his fist. “Without Gilead, purpose and meaning are lost. My parents failed to realize their purpose, and the world suffered. You’ll realize yours.” Tossing the debris to the side, he fixated on you again, his hair sticking like black thread to his face. “I’ll realize mine.”

Lightning split the sky. This hadn’t been a pilgrimage, it had been a proselytization. In his desire to grasp at meaning, he’d attempted to convince you of it, too. Yet by now, you could see, see his doubts plaguing him, deep currents in his mind--could see that in convincing you, he’d wanted, too, to convince himself, that he was born demonic, abandoned to Hell in the depths of destiny. But you knew better. You knew him.

Scanning you, he turned down the brick path. “Come.”

“What is my purpose, Kylo?”

He froze mid-step, a statue in the rain. Water whispered, then howled, a susurrus in crescendo, punctuated by a sharp, static crack in the sky. You squeaked; Kylo peered at you from over his shoulder, and even through the storm, you saw it. He was your reflection again, an augmented refraction--if you were afraid, then he was terrified.

“What’s my purpose?” you repeated, stepping toward him. “Don’t you know?”

He didn’t speak, and didn’t move. You took another step, and another, passing like a ghost under the veil of rain. Kylo watched you, obsidian strained to splinter.

“You can't answer because you know you're wrong.” You wanted to stare into him, stare through him. “You know there's something more to this life, that we have options, we have choices--”

He shifted, and took the tiniest, most egregious step back. “We don’t.”

“We do,” you said. “But you can’t admit it because you can’t admit that you chose all of this!”

“I didn’t.”

“You did!” You were an arm’s length from him. He didn’t move. “You chose your name, you chose your path, you chose this life--and you chose mine, too.” Another step, close enough to count the constellations on his face. “But it doesn’t have to be like this. You can be whoever you want to be.” As if possessed by its own destiny, your hand rose, grazed his fingers, your grip slippery and warm--he trembled when you held him. “You can… you can be Ben--”

Sneering, he jerked back. “No.”

You shook your head, reaching for him again. “But I want to know him.”

“Why?” His pupils were shadowed in waterfalls.

“Because,” you said, “that’s who you are--”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” you said, grabbing his hand, “I want to know him, I want to know Ben Solo--”

Kylo snarled, wrung you away. “Why do you insist on raising the dead?” He loomed--you retreated, and he chased you back, spitting through his teeth. “There is no Ben Solo!”

“But that’s your name--”

“My name is mine to give! Not yours to know!” His face was aflame with fury. “You want Ben Solo to free you--Ben Solo was the coward. Ben Solo killed his parents.” He drew closer, pressing you back with every step. “I saved you. I carried you.” His lips twisted in a mirthless smirk. “I fucked you.” Kylo had your back flat to the slab now, obsidian shattered in the throes of his wrath. “You don’t know Ben Solo. You know me.” He caged you underneath him, a black sun burning heat and gravity between your bodies. “You know what made me, little bird,” he muttered, a delicious threat. “Are you afraid?”

In the summer storm air, he sweltered you, so hot that when your wet gown glued to your back, you had no way to know if it was sweat or rain. His focus flicked between your mouth, your eyes, your mouth, and he leaned closer, framing you between his forearms, his breath scant. You stared at him--your devil, your echo, your enigma--and knew, despite all of his impossible complexities, you would never, ever be afraid.

Jaw steeled, you pushed off your hood, snatched your bonnet, tossed it to the ground. Lightning streaked and pealed with thunder. You didn’t even flinch.

“No, Kylo,” you breathed. “I’m not.”

You licked your lips, exhaled. And his mouth was on you.

Kylo Ren’s kiss was a slippery bruise, melding madness at your skin, tongue driving into you while he inhaled through his nose. You met him, movement for movement, groaning against him, fingers folding into his hair, thumbs tracing the tops of his ears, and he gasped along your lips before capturing them again, snatching your wrists and pinning them with one large hand above your head. Arousal sparkled in your belly--you wriggled in his grip, offering a needy roll of your hips before swirling your tongue around his. His hold on your wrists tightened, and he pinned you to the stone, grinding his growing desire into the apex of your thighs.

You throbbed, a full-body pulse, humming into him with a shudder. Kylo nipped your lower lip and slid to your chin, following the streams on your skin as he pressed clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, falling to suck and nibble at your heartbeat. Whimpering, you nuzzled your head into his, and he responded with a sharp bite to your neck, barely-restrained, earning a squeal from your throat.

“Are you sure you’re not afraid?” he murmured into your ear. “Do you think you can handle me?”

Lust seared you like fire. You smirked. “Try me.”

Kylo growled, wresting you from the stone by your arms and guiding you back until you toppled onto one of the vine-encrusted tombs. He was greed incarnate, tearing your coat from your shoulders before he grappled the neckline of your nightgown and shredded the buttons apart. Your cunt clenched, lungs stalled--he kissed you again, big hands groping at your tits while he pushed you flat along the grave, crawling over until he straddled you, a beast bent over his meal.

Rain bathed you both, rivers roaming over your curves, white cloth of your bra a dewy illusion over your breasts. His thumbs skimmed your nipples with prickles of pleasure, and you moaned, shoving your hands under his shirt, reveling in the hard planes of his body--he tensed, moving back to your neck, sucking at your throat. You memorized the muscle under your fingertips, Kylo’s skin damp and hot under your hands, and he was voracious, without restraint, pulling painful hickeys from your pulse.

Need burned between your thighs, and he shifted lower, marking you in abandon, drawing tissue between his teeth, welts popping to life under the pressure of his lips. Anxiety flitted through your mind--he was leaving visible evidence--but the soft groan from his chest wiped it clean, your back arching to offer more of your untamed flesh. Grateful, he bit at the swell of your tits, crimson crescents blooming, and his hands hiked up your skirt, tugging at your underwear as he laved at your nipple through your bra, scraping it with his teeth through the fabric. You squealed, squirming, and he yanked the garment free, leaving your sex aching from exposure.

Kylo fumbled at your folds, two thick fingers peeling you open, assessing your slickness, teasing your entrance. “So wet already,” he said and clucked his tongue. “And in a cemetery. You’d take my cock whenever I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to rub against his hand. “As if you aren’t ready to fuck me on your mother’s grave.”

He snickered. “You’re wrong.” He leaned to your ear, thumb skating your clit--you gasped. “It’s my father’s.”

Kylo pushed into you, and you tightened around him, hips twitching, head lolling along the leaves. His mouth ravished you again, leaving purple pebbles in its wake while he claimed you from chin to clavicle, spit and storm and sweat blending on his tongue. Scissoring you open, he rolled your stiff clit, rocking his wrist, curling and working your walls, his other hand palming at his erection in an attempt to pacify himself. You bucked your hips, a shivering moan escaping, and he cursed, slamming in to the knuckle.

“If I fuck you now,” he muttered at your jawline, “you’ll have to take all of me. Everything I give you.” He bit your neck, hard, forcing a cry from your lips. “I won’t be able to control myself.”

Heat scorched you, and you pulsed around him in anticipation, his fingers crooking in your wet core. Thunder grumbled in the distance. “Thought I’d long proved my capability.”

Kylo purred, and bit you again, pain shooting through you. “I haven’t been able to fuck you properly in over two weeks.” Last night hardly counted, you agreed. “I need to wreck your little cunt.” His thumb swiped fast over your swollen nub. “I’ll fuck you like Ben Solo never could.”

You shuddered, meeting his eyes. “Do your worst.”

Snarling, he leaned onto his knees, tore his fingers from your core and stuffed them in your mouth; you whinged in surprise, starting to suckle them clean. You were tart and tangy, your tongue slipping the length of his digits to swallow it all--Kylo’s free hand unleashed his dick, twitching eagerly despite its thick, heavy length. He jammed his hand to the back of your throat, and you gagged before he depressed your tongue, prying open your jaw.

“You know how this works.” He gazed at you, lightning an electric halo around him. “Beg for it.”

When he released you, you gasped into the rain. “Please, fuck me.”

Before you could blink, he slapped you, sending spit from your teeth. “No, slut,” he hissed. “I said beg.”

Your face burned--humiliation, shock, and most importantly: desire. If this is what he meant, you wanted more. “You’re not being very respectful of the dead.”

Kylo scowled and smacked you again, branding your cheek. He seized your scalp and jerked you toward him, his other hand stroking his dick.

“Don’t make me wait any longer for your pussy,” he said. “Or I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll wish you were among them.”

Your head spun, dizzy with shame and longing--perhaps the same culprits responsible for your temporary insanity. “Then I might keep you waiting.”

Seething, he reeled back and cracked you with the back of his hand, pain blinding you, screaming in your ears. He jostled your head in his grip, waiting for your eyes to refocus--his face was red with impatient desire.

“If you won’t beg for my cock,” he said, “then you’ll beg for mercy.”

A starving behemoth, he spun you around and slammed your face to the tomb--you heaved, buried in the vegetal scent of wet leaves, and behind you, Kylo was panting. He tossed your sopping excuse for a skirt up your back before wrestling with your hips until they were in the air, rain pelting your exposed ass and cunt. One hand fisted your hair, the other gathering your wrists behind your back, and without warning, he broke your core, cleaving it open with a sharp, unbelievable bliss, head hitting your cervix. You cried out, recoiling in pain, and he shook you in reprimand.

“Oh, no.” He drove his palm into your head, his nails scratching your scalp. “Don’t run from it.”

Kylo rammed into you, spearing you with his cock, your body quaking with the force of each of his violent thrusts. His breath was already ragged, furious groans pushed from his chest as he fucked deep into you. Your lungs were empty, finding oxygen in his onslaught, your walls squeezing his length in delight, your clit buzzing for attention, clamoring for the long-awaited sensation of cumming around him.

“Such--such a needy little cunt,” he growled. “It missed this cock, didn’t it?” When you didn’t respond, he struck your skull on the stone. “Didn’t it?”

You keened in pain, face smashed on the tomb. “Yes!”

“I know.” He released your wrists, letting them drop limp, and reached under your belly, slick fingers rubbing merciless circles on the bundle of nerves in rhythm with his pistoning hips--you wailed, drooling with pleasure, assaulted with a sudden, immediate need to orgasm. “I know what you like--fuck, you’re so tight when you’re about to cum…” He groaned, punishing your pussy with hard, rapid thrusts. “Prove you can take it. Cum on this cock.”

Between the attention on your clit and the size of his dick, you snapped, convulsing and trembling while your blood flooded with flames, blazing heat through your thighs and to your toes. Behind you, Kylo hissed, fucking you through it, valiantly holding off his own orgasm as yours fizzed at your flesh. When your core’s pulsing slowed, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back, and you writhed underneath him.

He smacked your face, and you whined. “Don’t squirm.” Kylo shifted until he was standing and dragged you by your ankles to the edge of the grave. “I’m not done with that pussy yet.”

Propping your calves on his shoulders, he lunged forward, palm clamping down on your neck, his eyes wild, crazed with desire. His free hand pinched your cheeks, and he plunged in, jaw dropping in disbelief when he sheathed himself again in your wet heat. With a hiss, he stuffed you full before sliding back out and pounding your cunt, growling breath leaking from his lungs, his hold on your throat tightening.

The pressure in your head only doubled the frenzy of being fucked--you wheezed, your pulse thumping in your temples, and this spurred him on, drilling you with a depraved stare as he plowed into your tight pussy again and again and again. The rain was steam on your skin, thunder a distant noise behind the sound of slapping skin and your strangled, whimpering moans. Your walls clenched and fluttered around his throbbing dick, sore clit twitching once more with a growing demand to be sated--Kylo grunted, tugging you closer.

“Open.”

Wincing, you did--and he spat into your mouth.

“Swallow, bitch. Show me.”

Against his massive hand, it was difficult, but you managed with a grimace, popping your jaw apart to prove it, and Kylo smirked, rewarding you with painful, blissful strokes of his hips. He wracked your body to its limit, your breath lost ages ago, your heart flying through your veins, your ass sore from the dig of vines.

“Poor thing,” he cooed. “I think you need to cum again.”

The hand at your cheeks snaked between your legs, flicking your aching clit, and you groaned--or tried to, anyway--the speed of your pulse resonating through the grip on your neck. He felt it, too, head bowing in pleasured shock as you thrummed around him, your oncoming climax massaging his thick cock with every new thrust. Resolute, he rubbed you faster, watching you--in his gaze, you saw nothing but an endless, ebony void of lust.

“Whose cock is inside you?”

The words croaked out. “Y-yours, Kylo.”

His choke tightened, and your vision whirled. “Who’s fucking you right now?”

“You--you are, Kylo--”

“That’s right,” he sneered, and swirled your nub so quickly you squealed. “Cum.”

Your orgasm charged you, whiting your sight, and you screamed, throttled from his hand as every muscle below your waist contracted with an agonizing ecstasy. Your pussy milked and squeezed his cock, but he resisted his own climax once more, sinking into you until you descended, and shoved you back along his father’s grave. His dick dripped with your slick, and he was heaving, cheeks flush with exertion. He drank in the sight of you--cunt spread and abused, raindrops scattered like crystals on your skin, your throat and chest smothered with the evidence of his possession--before he pounced, a raving animal.

“You’re going to take all of me,” he muttered. “Every single fucking inch.”

Kylo pinned you to the stone, one arm coiling under you to fist your hair, the other cranking your leg back until your knee hit your stomach. He panted, wedging his hips between yours, his cock throbbing as he positioned it at your pleading core--baring his teeth, he slipped in, your pussy so wet and ready that it swallowed him with ease. Groaning with pleasure, he hammered into you, stretching you wide, filling you to the root. Locks of hair slid into his eyes, and he tossed them back, wetting his lips and fucking you deep, trapping you in his feral gaze.

“You want me.” He popped your head back as a prompt. “You want all of me.”

You nodded, despite it. “Yes--oh--I do.”

He swallowed, leaning into you, pressing his forehead to yours. “After all of it,” he said, barely a whisper, “after everything.”

Your chin trembled, his admission about his parents piercing your heart, swelling it in anguish. In the setting of his hopeless rejection, his savagery, his apathy, his hollow rage--none of it mattered, not to you. And you knew, just as he would never know a woman more willing to hold his soul without still wanting, you would never find another man like Kylo Ren. And there would never be anyone you would want more desperately, or reluctantly, than him.

“Yes.” You wrapped your arms around him, safe when lightning crashed, rocking your hips in his pace. “No matter what.”

“Fuck.” He wound your hair in his fist, and wrenched your head back, tearing at your throat with his teeth, harsh thrusts pulverizing your cunt. “Fucking whore… I’m--fuck--I’m going to make you break again.” His hand left your leg, long fingers back to stroking your tender clit. “And then I’m going to fill you up with my cum.”

Senses barraged, you shrieked, overwhelmed and oversensitive. He was right. You wanted mercy. “Kylo--fuck--please!”

“No. Take it,” he snarled into your ear. “Take it.”

He assailed your nub, and you quailed, curling around him, shaking from his power, lids shut while he nipped your neck, demolished your pussy, panted hard into your ear. It was all too much, too great, brain crashing into a wanton mess. You spasmed, biting your lip, hauled through sensitivity and into a new plane of pleasure, rapture singeing your skin, and you gasped, choked, begged in babbling nonsense for release, for him to send you soaring and screaming and cumming.

“Perfect,” Kylo moaned, pumping into you, folding you into his frame. “Make yourself mine. Cum for me. Cum for me, angel.”

Your mind split--euphoria and disbelief--and you imploded, twitching, your climax shining lucent through your skin, shattering your sanity, igniting Kylo, too. He groaned, grunted, burying himself to the hilt, warm cock pulsing as he poured hot cum deep into your cunt.

Had not known how you’d gotten there, you might have thought you’d joined the residents of the cemetery, your spirit buoyant above you for long, witless moments, until it returned to you, floating back in a daze. When you arrived to Earth, you realized Kylo was arriving too, kissing your cheek, holding you close, the both of you fighting to regulate your breath. When you’d both relaxed, he slipped out, leaned back on his heels, revealing you to the trickling rain.

You stared at him, head heavy, attempting to comprehend what he’d called you--angel--attempting to catalogue every minute of this encounter into whatever part of your memory would carve it in permanency. Sighing, you smiled at him, joy bubbling in your chest, but he only gazed at you, affection twinkling--then guttering in his eyes. He absently thumbed your chin before he tucked himself away, and you followed suit, trying to piece together what little was left intact of your clothing. Not that it mattered, as it was all completely drenched with rain. You felt like a paper bag that had been left in a swamp.

Having finished, you looked to your Commander, who was standing at the head of the gravesite. Waiting.

Blushing, you trotted to meet him--when he turned to lead, you reached out.

“Wait.”

Kylo stopped, glanced back. Between you, you felt it again--fate, kismet, serendipity, destiny--whatever it was called, it was something that you could see, the frame of your future like an open door for you to peer inside. Beyond the threshold, the vision was luminous and distinct, a sunray lancing Gilead’s storm: You and Kylo Ren. Together, and safe, and free.

You didn’t know how you’d get there. You only knew that for the first time, you’d understood exactly what he’d meant.

“What if we…” You shrugged, as if what you were about to say was no big deal. “No one knows we’re here. No one has to know where we went.” Watching him, you stepped closer. “What if we leave? We can figure it out, we can get help from the Resistance,” you said. “What if we just... go?”

The sky screeched above you--the storm was close, almost right overhead, and a torrent of rain gushed from the clouds. Kylo stared, inscrutable, studying you piece by piece, an inspection of your sincerity, brow furrowing. Then his lips pinched together, his eye twitched. He stepped toward you--

Pop.

At first, you’d thought it was thunder--and when the pain hit, you’d thought it’d been lightning, instead. But then you glanced at your arm, scrutinizing the source, and found only frayed fabric, burnt thread, and a gash of bright, red blood. You blinked, adrenaline crashing into you like a freight plane.

“Oh,” you mumbled, fuzzing gaze drifting to Kylo. “I think I’ve been shot.”

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #choking #slapping #the good shit y'know #anyway sorry to this man

145 notes · View notes

bre-meister · 4 years

Note

absolutely adore the way you write the greens! so buttercup and butch and just domestic bliss? just any fluff is fine!

first, I’d like to apologize for long this took, and then I’d like to apologize for how long this is...she got a little out of hand but I hope you like it!

Family Trips

Butch was happy. Quite frankly, he couldn’t recall a time in the last few years that he hadn’t been happy, but today he was especially happy.

Buttercup had offhandedly mentioned needing some basic things for around the house when they had been cleaning up after dinner one night and he knew their four year old could use a new pair of shoes - God knows that kid went through sneakers like a maniac but Butch supposed between his superpowers and being his son that it wasn’t that surprising. So, he had suggested that they take advantage of the upcoming weekend and spend a day downtown. Both adults agreed that now would probably be the best time to get some much-needed shopping done considering the recent drop in monster attacks that usually came with the changing of seasons.

So, when Saturday rolled around Butch woke in a good mood knowing that this would be a day specifically for spending time with his family. His mood got even better when Bruce was well mannered at breakfast. Despite being very obviously excited for a day out, the boy was showing none of his usual signs of misbehavior even going as far as to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when Buttercup asked him what he wanted for breakfast.

The car ride to the mall was also uneventful in the best of ways. Bruce sat in his car seat with no objections and talked candidly about all the fun things he would do when he stayed the night at his cousin’s later that day. Butch made a mental note as he drove that a stop at the candy store would probably be in order before they dropped Bruce off at Brick and Blossom’s.

“Mamma?” Bruce ended his excited rant to ask his mother a question,

“What’s up, green bean?” Butch smiled at the nickname his wife had for their son.

“Can I get a dinosaur so I can take it with me and I can play with Bryce?”

“I know for a fact that Bryce had tons of dinosaurs you guys could play with tonight. I’m sure Bryce wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Butch could see Bryce’s face form a small scowl from a quick look in the rearview mirror.

“Ya but, I don’t have any to play with at home either.”

“Well buddy,” Butch interjected, “you would if hadn’t broken yours.”

Bruce deflated at the memory of why he no longer had any dinosaur toys.

“Here’s the deal.” Buttercup turned in her seat slightly until she could look Bruce in the face, “If you behave, maybe Daddy and I will let you pick out a new dinosaur.”

Bruce immediately perked up at the possibility of a new toy,

“Really?”

“Only if you behave the whole time.” At that, Buttercup reached to tug playfully on one of Bruce’s legs.

The little boy pulled back and roared, throwing his arms up. Butch could only assume that he was pretending to be a dinosaur. He let out a chuckle as Buttercup continued their little game until Butch found a parking spot.

“Ok mister dinosaur,” Butch opened the passenger side door and helped Bruce out of his seat, “remember the deal.”

Bruce smiled up at his father, “Behave!”

Butch chuckled before holding his hand out for Bruce to hold onto as they crossed the parking lot and entered the typically crowded mall.

For his credit, Bruce sat patiently as a store clerk fitted him for new sneakers - green of course. He politely gave his input on what dress his Mamma looked prettiest in for her interview with his aunties the next week. He even ate his lunch in the food court without making any more of a mess one would expect from a four-year-old.

After lunch, the small family had just two more things from their list to pick up. Thankfully, the sheets and towels that Buttercup preferred were found in the same store.

“Mamma,” Bruce tugged on Buttercup’s hand as they made their way inside the homeware shop, “can I ride in the cart?”

Buttercup looked at the lines of grey shopping carts that Bruce was currently pointing at.

“Are you going to stay in the cart the whole time?”

The little boy nodded his affirmation so Butch made his way over to snag one, ruffling Bruce’s hair as he went.

Butch knew when he suggested this family day at the mall that Bruce would most probably be tired by the end and he could tell his original instinct when, instead of floating up into the seat himself, Bruce lifted his arms up to Butch. He made a show of lifting the boy into the little plastic seat upfront - even without his powers, it would take minimal effort considering that Bruce was a little small for his age - causing the four-year-old to giggle.

“You’re silly Daddy.”

“Am I? Or are you just really heavy?”

“Am not! Mamma, am I heavy?”

Buttercup chuckled at her two boy’s antics,

“No baby, but Daddy is.”

Butch scoffed, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation and hurt. Buttercup turned her head slightly but didn’t stop pushing the cart towards where she knew the sheets would be. Bruce laughed at his parents' familiar back and forth.

“That’s pure muscle you're talking about, woman! Heavy my ass.” Butch said once he caught back up.

Buttercup gave him a look. Bruce tended to repeat words he learned from his Dad and, more often than not, it would lead to a scolding for her from her older sister. He mouthed a sorry towards her but they both knew he wasn’t. Personally Butch thought those lectures were kind of funny considering that, before they got together, Brick cursed like a sailor. His older brother would still let something slip every now and again - it never quite ended well for the redhead when that happened.

Bruce seemed to have not noticed Butch’s own slip up though,

“I’m gonna have mus-cels just like you Daddy!” Butch could tell that, sometimes, Bruce was bothered by his small size. He always tried his best to encourage him when that happened,

“Of course buddy! You’ll get there in time, just like me.”

Buttercup made a beeline straight to the collection of black sheets, stopping in front of the vast choices to decide which ones to purchase. Butch never put in his two sense on these kinds of things. If it were up to him they'd probably be sleeping on the scratchiest sheets in existence - just something to cover the mattress. He’d learned in the years they’d been together though that his wife had skin more sensitive to these kinds of things than him so he usually just let her get whatever she wanted and when he had to pick, he’d just go with whatever was softest.

They'd been standing in silence for a few moments until Bruce spoke up,

“How much longer Mamma?”

“Not much longer green bean. I just need to figure out which one of these is least likely to tear.” Buttercup pushed and pulled the cart in front of her slightly in an attempt to calm Bruce.

“I feel like we just bought sheets.” She said exasperatedly.

“Probably because we did. Ya know, we wouldn’t have to keep buying them if someone would just stop ripping them.” Butch lowered his voice to a level he knew only BC would be able to hear, Bruce not having learned how to train his superhearing to that extent yet.

Buttercup blushed at the implications of the sentence. She looked away from all the sheets for a moment to sneak a glance at Bruce who looked to be on the verge of a twitching episode brought on by his annoyance at all the sheets - a quirk he inherited from his dad. One look at the kid told both his parents that he would need a nap before heading over to the red’s place.

“Hey, the towels are just around the corner. Would you mind - ?”

“Don’t worry, I got you.” Butch didn’t need her to explain to know what her goal here was, they knew each other better than anyone. If they split up they could get out of here faster which meant Bruce could get his nap faster.

He also knew that no matter how tired he was Bruce would insist on getting his Dinosaur. Butch supposed he earned it - his behavior today had been wonderful aside from currently but who could really blame him?

By the time he found what he considered to be the fluffiest towels available - green, gotta stick with the theme - Buttercup had apparently decided which sheets would put up the most fight against her superstrength. He met back up with her and Bruce in the line for the register upfront, the latter of which was almost jumping out of his seat at this point.

Deciding to avoid disaster before it struck, Butch placed the new set of towels in the cart and gathered the squirming child into his arms. Bruce seemed to settle down once he was no longer confined to the shopping cart.

Looking ahead of him at the long line for checkout Butch made an executive decision.

“Hey,” he turned towards his wife, “I’m gonna take the little man to the toy store and get him his reward.”

“Dinosaur?” Bruce perked up immediately.

Buttercup shot Butch a thankful look before turning to address their little boy,

“Well you held up your end of the deal, it’s only fair we hold up ours. But you still have to behave for the rest of the trip, got it?”

Bruce shook his head eagerly, giggling as his Momma tickled his stomach.

Butch made to set the boy down so he could walk but was stopped by Bruce’s protest,

“No Daddy.” He tugged on Butch’s sleeve slightly to let him know that he wanted to be carried.

Usually, he would insist that Bruce walk, he was a big boy after all but Butch knew he would probably be pushing his luck. Butch was a brave man but even brave men did not want to handle superpowered tantrums in a crowded place.

Placing the boy back on his hip, Butch was reminded of when Bruce was smaller and he’d carry him around more often. His kid was already four now - time really flew by.

Bruce layed his head down on Butch’s shoulder and, for a minute, Butch thought the boy had fallen asleep due to how quiet he was. He was proven wrong though as soon as the toy store came into view. Bruce immediately began to squirm in his father’s hold - a sign he wanted to be put down. Butch complied but kept a firm grip on the child to avoid a superpowered accident.

Butch noticed that Bruce seemed to take careful consideration as to which toy he wanted. Eventually, he had narrowed his choices down to either a green and blue-winged dinosaur and a purple t-rex. Bruce looked up to his dad with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster and, although Butch had a weakness in anything involving his kid, he had prepared himself for this. He schooled his features into what he hoped conveyed sternness.

“One.” He held up a finger to emphasize.

Bruce sighed deeply and Butch tried to hide his chuckle at the blatant show of disappointment. The child stared at the two plastic toys in his hand before ultimately deciding.

“I want the pterodactyl!” Bruce held up his prize to his dad’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhmm, I’m sure Daddy.”

Butch’s superhearing picked up on a few older women swooning over the apparent cuteness of their current scene.

“Look at how cute they are.”

“Men with babies are just adorable.”

Bruce must have picked up on them because he turned to the end of the aisle and assured the two women that he was most definitely not a baby.

Butch made to apologize on behalf of this kid but the women waved him off,

“Of course, how silly of us. You’ve got quite a brilliant young man on your hands there.”

“Oh,” Butch answered back, “you have no idea.”

The two women laughed. They made a few more comments before leaving, mostly about how handsome Bruce was and how he looked the spitting image of his father - Butch had to agree with both.

Father and son made their way to the front of the store to pay for the toy.”

“What’s this again, a triceratops?” Butch knew that he was wrong. He lifted the toy towards his face and made a show of examining it just to get a laugh out of his kid. The question was also used to distract the once again noticeably tired child as they waited in line.

“No Daddy,” Bruce sounded exasperated and Butch couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, “It’s a pterodactyl.”

“Hmm. You should make sure to show Uncle brick when you see him today ok? I don’t think he knows his dinosaurs very well.”

Bruce perked up at the idea of teaching his super-smart uncle something new. Butch knew he was being a little shit but he couldn’t help it. Brick wouldn’t correct the little boy but he knew he would be practically dying to give the boy a lecture as to why ‘pterodactyls’ aren’t a real dinosaur and how the proper name was pteranodon (look, Butch was a smart cookie too he just didn’t flaunt it the same way as his brother).

After paying and handing the toy back off to Bruce, Butch checked his phone to see a message from his wife to meet her back at the car.

Bruce once again motioned that he didn’t want to walk. This time Butch placed the kid on his shoulders and Bruce sat contentedly, one hand gripping onto his hair to keep himself steady. One the walk to the car Bruce used his free hand to make his new dinosaur fly, squawking noises Butcha assumed were supposed to be dinosaur sounds occasionally escaped from his mouth.

When they finally made it to where they had parked, Butch saw Buttercup leaning against the car with the various bags they had accumulated over the day sitting on the ground around her feet. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You have the keys, genius.”

Despite her rude comment, Buttercup placed a kiss on Butch’s cheek as she haled Bruce off of his shoulders. Bruce happily settled into his mother’s arms, eyes drooping, and head resting on her shoulder. Butch unlocked the doors as Buttercup made her was around the car.

“Are you tired, green bean?”

Butch heard Bruce mumble his dissent and he imagined that the boy was shaking his head although he couldn’t actually see from where he was placing the bags in the back of the car.

Walking back around to the driver's side door Butch could see his wife place a kiss on their son’s head. Bruce responded with another squawk and Butch couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his wife laughing so candidly with their son, happiness exuding from both of them.

The car ride home was just long enough to lull Bruce off to sleep. Buttercup made sure to be gentle as she brought the sleeping child inside the house and up to his room. When he woke he’d be upset that he had indeed succumbed to the nap that he so obviously needed - preferring to have rather gotten to his cousin's house early so he could show off his new dinosaur.

Pulling the covers back Buttercup layed Bruce down in the small bed and carefully tucked the covers around his little body. Bruce shifted, turning from his back to his side and hugging his new toy closer. Buttercup moved his bangs out of his face.

“He’s gonna need a haircut soon,” Buttercup said in a form of acknowledgment of her husband having entered the room. Her voice was low so as to not wake the sleeping child.

Butch hummed, moving away from the door frame where he had been standing and closer to the bed.

“You need one too.” Butch ran a hand through his hair. She was right. He tended to keep the sides short but the hair on the top of his head was beginning to curl in front of his eyes.

“I brought all the bags in.” He mimicked her volume level.

“And I suppose that's all you did?” Buttercup said, referring to his habit of bringing in groceries but leaving them on the counter instead of putting them in their right place.

Butch just shrugged,

“ I wanted to come check in on you two. I’ll put everything away later.”

Buttercup turned her head away from him but not fast enough to hide the small smile that tugged at her lips. Looking back down at their son she placed a kiss on his chubby cheeks before standing up from the bed. Butch opens his arms and Buttercup gladly accepts the affection.

“He’s getting so big.” she sighed.

“I know. Thank you for giving him to me. I never thought I’d ever have...anything like this, I -”

“Stop it.” Buttercup sternly interrupted him. “It doesn't matter what you may or may not have done in the past, it’s exactly that - the past. I love you, ok? So much. So does Bruce. That little boy adores you, Butch; you say he’s a Mamma’s boy, but all I see is that he wants to be just like his Daddy. Don’t ever say anything like that again.” By the end of her scolding Buttercup was holding Butch’s face in her hands. Butch leaned in and kissed her.

When they broke apart, Butch looked back over to Bruce who was still sleeping peacefully, hair having fallen back into his face.

“We should have another one.” the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them,

It was something they'd been considering lately - having another kid. Butch wanted to. Secretly, he was hoping they’d have a little girl. He could see it now; she’d look just like her Mamma and he’d spoil her senseless. Bruce would be a great big brother.

“I want that.”

“What?” he was confused.

“Whatever world you’re thinking up in your head where we’re all happy and loved and Bruce gets a sibling, I want it.” Buttercup was smiling so wide Butch couldn’t help but mirror her.

“How did you…?”

“You say it all the time, we know each other better than anyone; sometimes better than we know ourselves.”

Butch didn’t think his smile could get any larger but as he stood there with his loving, beautiful wife in his arms and his son sleeping peacefully and contently just a few steps away, he couldn’t help it. His smile was so wide and so bright and yet, Butch knew that it still couldn’t convey just how happy he was, how lucky he was, how...loved he was in this life that he never thought he’d be able to live.

#ppg fanfic #ppg buttercup #ppg greens #my writing #buttercup #ppg butch #butchercup #fanfic

30 notes · View notes

normallee · 3 years

Text

They Were Roommates || Notia and Norma

TIMING: Before Christmas LOCATION: Norma (and Notia’s) Apartment PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @normallee SUMMARY: How to be a Human 101

“Hello, roommate! I have arrived home!” Norma called out as she hung her pirate hat onto the coat rack inside the door. The entire apartment looked bare to her. Nadia had been pairing down her belongings and attempting to make it appear more human. She wasn’t convinced she was doing a very good job but the ghost in a mortal’s body was the authority on these matters. She supposed she’d have to trust them. She stepped inside and looked around some more. “Did you leave Tom on the porch again? That’s not very nice. We need to keep him until Christmas. I heard it, too, requires a turkey. And I cannot imagine having two of them running around.” She went to the sliding glass door and let the turkey back into the apartment. It was big and smelly but she had grown strangely fond of this large feathered creature. Maybe it was because it reminded her vaguely of a shriken. She wasn’t sure. “Are we going to have more lessons today?” she asked. “I have a pen and paper and everything this time. I’ve been told that is what students bring to classes. They also always have gum in order to make bribes of friendship and annoy teachers.” She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a pack, holding it towards her roommate. “Would you like some chewing gum?”

The lack of loud colors in the apartment meant nothing when there was a loud turkey and an equally loud Norma running around, but Nadia had been nursing a cup of coffee long enough that she only flinched a bit when Norma walked in. “Hi, Norma,” she said, a bit too tired for a proper greeting. She wasn’t sleeping much, these days, and… she wasn’t cold, she didn��t get cold, but her body sometimes reacted like it was, shivering for hours before she could get it to stop. She was fine, now, but it came and it went. “Tom?” The fucking turkey. “Oh, yeah! You know, it’s actually proper etiquette that, between the holidays, the holiday turkey is kept out of living spaces. Turkeys need plenty of fresh air, you know. And grass. Keep ‘em inside for too long and they get interior depression.” The turkey thing had been Norma’s idea, sure, but Nadia was rolling with it because, fuck, it was funny. Annoying as hell, but so, so funny. “Yeah, I’m down for more lessons.” They were pretty fun, especially when half the shit that came out of her mouth was made up. Sure, she gave Norma a few good pointers; she didn’t want the woman to get caught and end up killing this body because of some bad advice. “Yes, perfect. It’s always good to take notes. You’ll be quizzed on all of this, later.” She took a stick of gum. “Thank you. See, politeness. A very useful tool.” She popped the gum in her mouth and settled in for the inquisition. “So, what do you wanna know today?”

“Yes, Tom the Turkey. He informed me that was his name through a series of gobbles.” Norma started scribbling notes already as the turkey started to follow her around. “I think he also says that he much prefers the indoors, but we will take your advice into consideration.” She sat on the couch, sitting on the edge with rapt attention with her pen in hand, ready to learn. She would have to take good notes if there was going to be a quiz. Did she need a highlighter? She saw most people studying used one of those and they looked like fun. Oh, right. She had to pay attention. “Well you rearranged my apartment and I’m still not sure as to why. So more about that, please. And as well, I need to understand how a book of faces works. And why toks tik. And what a yeet is. And what humans shop for. There are so many shops and strange items to purchase, I don’t understand the value structure. Did you know that some rocks cost more than others? Why? They’re all rocks. It’s very odd.”

“You… understand the turkey.” It wasn’t a question, but Nadia still cast a doubtful glance towards the creature, looking into its beady eyes for a sign of intelligence. It, Tom, whatever, stared back. Even though the turkey blinked first, Nadia felt like she’d lost a battle of wills or some shit. “Well, thank you both so much for your consideration.” She looked around the apartment, grateful that it wasn’t in the same state that it’d been when she arrived, though it was still a bit odd. The flamingos had been allocated to outside, and she’d managed to get rid of most of those damn trophies. The furniture was better put together, though she didn’t have the patience to really build shit, and she’d short circuited the fucking apartment twice putting things together, but it looked less like an alien lived in the joint. Instead, it looked like an alien and their human roommate lived there. “Okay, so I rearranged things to look, like, more human. Yeah, yeah, all the shit here was very human, but too much human stuff makes you look… less human and more human impersonating. Also, some of that shit was old and obsolete. You don’t need it. Now it looks more liveable, you feel?”

Nadia chewed thoughtfully on her gum. “Okay, so a book with faces on it’s like one of those people from Game of Thrones that’ll steal your face and pretend to be you, but a Facebook is a website, like that town forum thing but with more videos of cats and babies. Uhhh, toks tik is, like, a clock metaphor, and to yeet is to projectile vomit, I think. Humans are dumb, but they typically make purchases for necessity and amusement, in that order if they’re smart.” This was something that she knew about. “Necessity’s like food, water, booze… Toilet paper and hygiene stuff. Amusement’s literally anything to keep them entertained for their short, short lives.” And she knew all about that, didn’t she? “Most of the stuff you’ve got here’s amusement purchases. You need more necessities. Some stores specialize in certain things, be it necessity things or amusement things. And the rock thing is all about rarity and aesthetic. Some rocks are more valuable because they’re prettier, shinier, or because they’re so damn hard to get a hold of. Then, of course, there’s paper money, where someone just wrote a number on a piece of paper and the rest of us are supposed to go along with it like chumps.” Nadia snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love money, but it’s fuckin’ useless.”

“Well I can’t be completely sure but he’s easier to understand than most humans, I will say that much,” Norma said. Tom gobbled in agreement before waddling off looking for seeds. The entire apartment felt oddly empty now that Nadia had rearranged it and had removed some of her belongings. They had all been meaningless but she had come to enjoy them and the sense of familiarity they brought. “Old? None of it was very old. All of it was from the last century at least. That is very recent, let me tell you. Nothing has even started to rust yet.” There was barely any dust, too. She had been very proud of this fact. Humans were always so dusty. As Nadia talked, Norma scribbled furiously, taking as many notes as she could. They were in a few different languages, mostly something that just amounted to furious scribbles. She wasn’t entirely sure what note taking actually entailed but it seemed like she was doing it the same way she had observed. It’s not like she needed to read these later anyway. “Food, water, booze. Booze? This is alcohol, correct? That is necessary? Interesting. I do find humans more tolerable when inebriated.” It made them drop their inhibitions and without those, they were far more prone to chaos. She did very much appreciate the improved hygiene over the years, she would say that much. Her face scrunched up in confusion again. “Wait, money is useless? Then why is it so often considered valuable and a thing that mortals will both risk and waste their lives on?”

“Seriously?” Nadia asked, marginally curious. “What does he say?” She watched the turkey, completely confused by the dynamic that he and Norma had going on but, really, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about her roommate. Norma was odd as hell, and that was saying something because some of the fuckers Nadia had worked with over the years had been strange. “Anything older than, like, twenty years is considered old. Some old things are good. Old might mean that it’s worth more, or is considered vintage. But, sometimes old is shitty.” She paused. “Phones older than, like, three years are very shitty.” She peaked at Norma’s notes, frowning at what looked like a mess of squiggly lines. What the fuck? Some of that couldn’t even be an actual language. “You gonna be able to study those later?” she teased. But then she sobered up. “Booze is alcohol, yes, and it’s absolutely a necessity. The drinking kind, not the medical kind. That kind’s not important. But it’s vital that humans have alcohol at least once a week, unless their lame and abstain from that kinda thing. But yeah, most people are way better to be around drunk.” It made them more fun and easier to manipulate. Nadia was a fan of doing business in bars. “Because people apply a fictitious value to slips of paper, and people think they’ve got to work themselves to death to get it, which is dumb. It’s just paper. Just, like, take it.”

Norma thought that Nadia’s question was very strange. “He gobbles a lot. And makes strange clucking noises. Your ears function, yes?” She shook her head. Did she think the turkey spoke in English? That was very silly. Tom made another gurgling noise and she nodded. “You’re right, Tom. Humans are simple minded.” She made a mental note (and a scribble in her notebook) to get Tom more grain. He seemed to enjoy it very much. “Twenty years?!” Norma shot up and practically dropped her pencil. “That’s so recent! Like a blink of an eye!” She let out a huge sigh and reached down for her writing utensil. “How am I supposed to remember what’s recent? That’s such a short time span, the next twenty years are almost here.” She broke the tip of the pencil at her next eplatantion. “Three years? Why do you bother having these gadgets if they are immediately outdated? Why bother? This is silly! That’s no time at all. Do you all really think a year is a long time? Like it matters? This is exhausting. How do you all live so slowly and quickly at the same time?” This felt hopeless. She threw her pencil away, behind the couch. It didn’t matter. “So all humans need alcohol to survive and I can just take their paper money. What about their plastic money? That one is mostly unlimited, right? The currency that is allowed on the small rectangular cards? I ran into some issues the other day but I think I resolved it.”

“Yes, my ears fucking function.” Nadia sighed. “I don’t think that the turkey speaks English. I was wondering if you spoke turkey. How the hell do you understand him?” Asshole. But she didn’t call Norma that, didn’t want to come off as too much of a jackass, even though Norma was the one to start the name calling with that simple minded shit. “Yeah, twenty years is pretty recent, I guess. In the grand scheme of things,” Nadia mused. “But not all of us live for… how long have you been around again?” She was hoping, maybe this time, Norma would say. She was beyond curious about her seemingly ancient roommate. “Technology upgrades at a rapid pace. New stuff comes out every few months, each thing better and more technologically advanced than the last. We’ve come a pretty long way from the invention of the wheel.” She laughed a bit bitterly. “Good question! I did the smart thing and just upgraded bodies when the old one expired.” She took a sip of coffee, glad that Norma was at least absorbing some information. “Yes, and you can, but you’ve got to be sneaky about it. It’s not taking so much as stealing. And you can steal the plastic money, credit cards, they’re called, too, but you gotta be especially sneaky, and you can’t use them for long, or you’ll be tracked. Credit cards are pretty simple: you use one, and they charge you for it. Not immediately, but eventually. I don’t use ‘em. I don’t trust banks.” They were only good for being robbed.

“I don’t speak turkey, I just understand the turkey. It’s very different.” Norma gave an exasperated sigh. It was far less complicated than being human was so it was strange to her to get such pushback about it. Tom agreed. She could tell by the ruffling of his feathers. “I lost track,” Norma said nonchalantly as she doodled severed heads and some intestines spilling on the floor, along with some nice bleeding hearts with knives through them. “Based on your current calendar, quite a few centuries, I believe. But there have been other calendars and other systems of time so it’s all rather subjective and silly.” She added some more blood splatters around the heart with a flourish of her pen. “The real solution would be to get a better, less human body,” she said, mostly to herself, with another sigh. “Can you upgrade bodies like technology? That’s only a ghost thing, correct?” She had a feeling if humans could, they would. They tried so hard as it was to appear less old and feeble as they progressively aged. “Stealing. That’s a thing that is against the human laws, right? Most of them seem to be very against that. I know there are many in different places but that one has always been frowned upon. Humans are very possessive despite the fact their goods and money does not go with them to death.” Her next doodle was a man dying by way of a small plastic rectangle. ‘What’s not to trust about banks, though? Is that not where the money lives? Which you need. Please explain.”

Nadia blinked at Norma, unsure if this was a topic she wanted to keep discussing. “Okay.” It wasn’t. She cocked her head a bit looking at Norma’s paper with raised eyebrows. Violent. She could get behind that. “Damn, okay. That’s, like, an impressively long time. And you don’t age or…” Norma didn’t look much older than Nadia Diaz’s body. At the most, Norma didn’t look any older than Nadia had been the first time she’d died. “Right, right. Super subjective. Very silly. Time’s an illusion, and all that.” She raised her eyebrows a bit. “I mean, you’re not wrong or anything, but less human bodies aren’t exactly easy to find, you know? Outside of this town, at least.” She kind of liked her humanness, too. It was familiar and useful. So what if she couldn’t light herself on fire or have supernatural strength? She could blend in, and humans were in an abundant supply. They trusted their own, even if they didn’t always realize that other species existed. “Yeah, it’s just a ghost thing. I kinda dig this body, though. She’s worked well for me for, like, over six years, now.” She wouldn’t give up this body without a fight, at this point. Besides, it’d literally die without her in it, now, since Nadia Diaz was gone. “Stealing, yeah. It’s definitely against human laws, but laws are subjective. What’s another person to tell me what I can and can’t do, you know?” She grinned lazily, leaning back. “Doesn’t matter. We like to look good, impressive, for the living. Nothing’s more exciting to most people than being better than everyone around them. Wealth makes them believe they’re better. And banks steal money. They all just work for big corporations and the government, and they’re fucking useless when people come along and take your money from you.” Like Nadia literally did all the time. “Why should a group of bureaucratic assholes be in charge of the value of pieces of paper? It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Physically? No, not really,” Norma answered, eyes still glued to her paper and the hatch marks she was adding to the spleen sketch to add some shading. “For the most part I believe I look relatively the same as I did when I was last human.” The words always felt a bit like boiling water in her mouth. To admit she was ever anything so plain was shameful and never something she enjoyed advertising to her demonic cohorts. They all thought they were so much better than her because they had never once been mortal but it was not her fault that her near godhood was delayed a few years. It hardly mattered in the grand scheme of eternity anyway. “If you say so. You are right, however. There really is an overabundance of humans. I see why it would be much easier to acquire one of their bodies. But you should really consider a siren. I think it would suit you.” Norma tilted her head to get a better look at her work. She ripped the page out, crumpled it up and tossed it behind her before she started on her next set of illustrations. Norma was unsure if anything that Nadia was saying about these bureaucratic institutions were correct but she found herself nodding along in the appearance of understanding and solidarity, something they had gone over in the previous weeks. Questions were an indication of non human behavior, at least that was what she had been told by her current tutor. “So we steal money to be wealthy and toppled the banks. Very much noted,” she said, letting out a small sigh as she finally looked back up at her current roommate. “This is all very nice. Thank you. I appreciate you. But can you just show me how to find the cat videos in the world wide web again instead?”

“Huh.” Nadia took all of Norma’s information in with interest; it was the first time the other woman had admitted to once being just that, a woman. A human woman, in fact, who had somehow managed to become immortal in a way that seemed way better than any deal the undead got. “That’s pretty fucking cool.” Maybe she could check in to figuring out how Norma had become, well, Norma. It’d be pretty fucking funny if she made this body immortal. Then, if Nadia Diaz’s ghost really was still hanging around, there would be no doubt that she’d outlast it. She laughed, though, at Norma’s next remark. “A siren? Makes sense, I guess. I’ve been told I have a wicked good tongue, anyway. Imagine if it was supernaturally so.” Whether or not Norma actually took her words to heart was irrelevant. Half the time, Nadia was just fucking with her. It was fun. Norma seemed to genuinely believe whatever came out of Nadia’s mouth, as long as she said it in the right tone. And, besides, what harm could it do? It was fun, and, if Norma ended up robbing a bank or something, it’d be funny as hell. She could feel that Norma was losing interest, though, so the cat videos question didn’t come as a surprised. Nadia was only a little exasperated as she finished her coffee and went to grab her laptop. “Actually, this time, you are gonna show me how to find cat videos. Remember, it’s just like I taught you.”

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #humanmoodring #nadia #notia #they were roommates

11 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 4 years

Note

You’re probably gonna be mad I’m asking, but what happens to Cloud-as-Prompto when Cor and the other citadel adults figure out his home situation?

*sigh-laughs* I’m not mad, I’ve known for a while now that Tumblr is filled with enablers and the moment I yote a new AU into existence it would get asks about it XPP. Alright then buckle up NEW FICLET:

-It takes them a while to figure it out, not because Cloud/Prompto is ... particularly hiding it, he just makes sure to never mention it because he doesn’t want any drama and the adults at first assume everything is fine.

-When Prompto stays over for sleepovers with his new friend the Prince, they are mostly concerned with security, not with the boy’s home life. They assume his parents gave permission, because- well- the Citadel, of course their child would be safe there.

-But then he keeps coming over for sleepovers more and more frequently, to the point one day Cor sits up and realizes he hasn’t seen anyone take Prompto HOME in about two weeks now and THAT raises red flags. He discreetly asks around and all the servants confirm that no, Prompto hasn’t gone home in two weeks. He goes to school with Prince Noctis and then comes to the Citadel with him.

-Alarm bells fully ringing now, Cor goes to ask Prompto about it himself, because surely there’s an explanation that isn’t the one poisoning the tip of his tongue.

-Prompto looks up from the video game he’s playing with Noctis when Cor enters, and something in Cor screams. He’s been politely avoiding the boy for the most part, one because his job does genuinely keep him busy and two because he doesn’t want to ... put expectations on the boy that shouldn’t be there. This is not the baby he gave away for the boy’s own safety, not the baby he grew so attached to hauling him out of the lab and to safety in Insomnia over the course of months. This boy is one who has been raised from age 1 in a loving, proper home environment, who has no memory of who Cor is beyond the “Immortal” persona the media touts. Cor SHOULD be looking at a happy, gentle child, if a shy, quiet one from all reports of the servants.

-So why is he looking into the eyes of a soldier?

-Noctis pauses their game and bounds up, eagerly asking why Cor has come to visit. Cor idly pats Noctis’s head without taking his eyes off Prompto, who stares back with assessing blue eyes. There is warmth there, a sort of trust Cor assumes must come from Noctis’s stories (because there is no way the boy remembers those months on the run, no way), but aside from that spark, there is no childishness. No naivety. He doesn’t see the shyness the reports mention, he sees the cool assessment of a soldier, watching the world for threats.

-Cor begins to feel sick.

-He hides it and gently asks Prompto about what he’s noticed, about the two weeks of unbroken sleepover, and does Cor need to call his parents? Is everything alright? They DO know where he is, don’t they?

-Prompto shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. He tells Cor that everything is fine, Zack (Prompto’s nickname for Noctis, though Cor has no clue as to the logic behind it) just wanted him to stay over this long, that’s all. No, Cor doesn’t need to call his parents, everything is fine, he likes being in the Citadel with his friend.

-Prompto doesn’t answer the last question. Cor asks it again. Prompto’s gaze flickers away with something akin to ... hurt. Not the guilt of a child, but the unease and simmering anger of someone who is thinking “why now? Why do you care now?” and Cor feels dread as Prompto shrugs.

-That’s not an answer, he tells Prompto.

-Prompto sighs and shrugs again, “I left them a note. I don’t know if they’ve read it by now or not. Depends on if they came home before heading to their next conference.”

-And Cor’s world drops out from under him.

-Cor asks more questions until Prompto seems to get distressed and suddenly Noctis is there, bristling protectively, a too-old glint of magic in his eyes that only happens when a genuine tantrum of all tantrums is on the way. Noctis tells Cor to get out and Cor evacuates. He has research to do anyway.

-It takes him a week to compile all the clues and reports and evidence (a week Prompto spends with Noctis, a still unbroken “sleepover” that is now alarming in its length). It takes him several hours in the training room before he is sane enough to present his findings to Regis.

-He glares at Regis and Clarus the entire time they read. Tries very, VERY hard not to sound accusing when he asks what they want to do now (tries hard not to let his fury leak into his voice or manner, his urge to scream at them because THEY were the ones who vetted the couple that adopted Prompto, THEY were the ones who were supposed to know what decent parents looked like and pick a good home life for the baby Cor brought home, not the child soldier, not Cor, and look at where it’s led).

-He is mildly gratified by the look of guilt on Clarus’s face and the horrified anger on Regis’s.

-The Argentums are a very respected couple, upstanding members of their community, hard workers, and donators to charity. They are well liked by their colleagues and peers, trusted by their employers to the point they get sent often on business trips on behalf of the company, and while they are by no means RICH, they are comfortably middle class.

-None of the people Cor’s agents had interviewed, not even the ones who considered themselves close friends of the Argentums, even knew they had a child. If it weren’t for the school attendance records, yearly checkups at the local hospital, and periodic purchase of toys for Christmas and birthdays, there would be no evidence that Prompto Argentum even EXISTED.

-Toys were not a replacement for love and presence in a child’s life, and the Argentums were definitely NOT doing that.

-“Cor-” Clarus starts, Cor growls at him, feral and furious and hurting, his fingers itching with the memory of holding the child he saved from that lab, his heart shuddering with the memory of how the boy had reached for him and cried when he handed him off to what Cor had been PROMISED would be loving, gentle parents.

-“You will FIX this,” Cor snarls wetly.

-Regis nods, his magic unfurling to settle on Cor’s shoulders like an apology and sympathetic anger all in one, “We will contact child services immediately and have him removed form their custody. I will personally ensure this is kept quiet and away from the media. The Argentums are not ... unreasonable people. Once they are shown the evidence of their own- their own neglect, I’m certain they will give him up without a fight. We’ll find suitable-.”

-“You will give him to me.” Clarus and Regis stop and stare at Cor. Cor who’s hands are balled into shaking fists and his lungs stinging with the fury he thought he’d worked out in a training room, “We did it your way and Prompto has been neglected all his life. Give him to me.”

-Regis’s lips thin in worry, “Cor, raising a child is- a huge responsibility, they require a great deal of time-,”

-“Time the Argentums never spent?”

-“There is also security to think of, it has been seven years since you broke into that lab, but there is still a chance someone will look at his age and realize what he is.”

-Cor can feel his teeth grinding, “Just say it’s because he’s Noctis’s friend. I took him in for security purposes, to ensure the prince’s best friend was well protected. He can even keep the Argentum surname. He looks like them, no one will think of the lab baby that disappeared.”

-Clarus reached out and gently touched Cor’s shoulder, “And if he does not want to live with you? You’re a stranger to him, Cor. A FAMOUS and intimidating stranger.”

-Cor comes so close to punching Clarus in the mouth it’s a miracle he doesn’t. He shakes off Clarus’s hand and storms out, back to the training rooms to try to get a measure of his sanity back.

-The entire process is kept very, very quiet. With the king himself backing the order and Prompto’s original origins weighing in the back of their minds, the Argentums fold to the claims and give up Prompto without a fight. Cor thinks there is genuine regret and heartbreak in their eyes, genuine surprise and horror when their crimes are listed before them. As if they hadn’t realized until that moment just how MUCH time they spent away from the house and the little boy they claimed to love. Cor feels nothing but anger toward them.

-Prompto is informed of his removal from their custody only after the fact and he goes very, very still. Something cold lingers in blue eyes as he quietly asks if he’s going to be placed in the foster system. Cor is angry again that Prompto doesn’t ask about his parents, doesn’t demand to go back to his “mom” and “dad” (is angry that he calls them “the Argentums”, like he never thought of them as parents in the first place). Noctis is clinging to his best friend with wide eyes and instantly begs Regis to adopt “Cloud” so they can be brothers. Regis smiles sadly and explains he can’t do that, it would put a spotlight on Prompto that he doesn’t need, and that Prompto deserves to go to new parents who can spend time with him.

-“I don’t want them.” Everyone stops and looks at Prompto. Prompto glares at the floor, works his jaw and carefully outlines each word on his tongue before saying it, “I don’t want to go to new parents. My last ones didn’t care, what will make the new ones any different? They’ll keep me away from Zack. Or just want to adopt me for my connection to the royal prince. I don’t want new parents.”

-Regis reaches out a hand and starts to gently explain that Prompto HAS to have parents, that this time will be better, Prompto just hunches his shoulders and glares harder at the floor. There is something cold and broken in those blue eyes, something Cor KNOWS down to the fibers of his soul.

-Why do I bother saying anything when I know no one will listen to what I want anyway? My opinion doesn’t matter.

-I don’t matter.

-He’d seen those eyes in the mirror for a very, very long time until he ran away and joined the Crownsguard at thirteen, desperate enough to MAKE something of himself, to BE someone, that he was willing to risk death in the military. If only because joining was HIS choice, not someone else’s.

-Cor is speaking before he can think better of it, “What do you want then?”

-Every stops and stares at him. Noctis is already beaming hopefully at Cor, and Prompto looks ... surprised, wary. Cor kneels down in front of the seven year old, equalizing their heights as much as he can, and murmurs seriously, “You need a guardian of some kind, it’s the law. But if you don’t want new parents, what DO you want? Is there anyone- is there anyone you would prefer as a caretaker? One of your teachers, or ... even one of the servants here in the Citadel? We could ask if they would be willing to adopt you. At least until your age of majority.”

-Prompto stares at him, the looks down at the floor. He blinks rapidly as tears start to form and mutters something Cor could have sworn was “stupid child hormones” under his breath before sniffling loudly and ....

-Reaching out to tentatively hook his fingers around Cor’s sleeve.

-“Can I ... pick you?” Blue eyes peer at him shyly, cautiously, “Can I pick you as my guardian?” And Cor feels like his chest is going to burst.

-He wants to say yes instantly, but instead he asks, “Are you sure? You don’t know me. I am the Marshal of the Crownsguard, my duties will keep me very busy. I WILL make time for you whenever you need, but I won’t be able to spend as much ... as much time with you as you deserve.”

-Prompto’s lips twitch into something like a smile, “You’re safe,” he whispers and then looks away like he’s embarrassed. Then he opens his mouth and shatters Cor’s world, “You took me away from the- the men in white coats, and the cold, and the green.” The boy shudders with MEMORY that he should have and glances at Cor again, “I trust you.”

-And Cor can’t breathe.

-Regis and Clarus both look like a stiff wind could knock them over (just like how Cor feels) and Regis manages a strangled, “You were just a baby...”

-And Prompto shrugs, lets go of Cor’s jacket to fidget with the band around his wrist (that covers his barcode, covers the one visible remaining sign of the trauma and experiments they had done to him and oh ASTRALS how much does the boy remember), “It hurt a lot. People remember things that hurt better than they remember nice things. It was cold, and ... scary. They kept making me sick. Then Cor came. He picked me up and took me away. He brought me here and ... I know the Argentums weren’t very good parents. But they never hurt me. They never-” Prompto’s eyes blow wide and his breath stutters like he’s remembering something truly terrible and he shrinks mindlessly into Noctis’s tight hug, shaking like a leaf in genuine terror before he shakes his head and looks pleadingly at Cor, “I trust you,” he whispers again and its a knife to Cor’s heart, “please. Don’t send me away this time.”

-Noctis is still clinging to Prompto like a protective limpet, so when Cor reaches out and snatches Prompto against his chest, he’s clutching Noctis as well, but he doesn’t CARE. Because Prompto REMEMBERS the lab and the flight, somehow he remembers (has to remember, because the Argentums were never told any of that, there was no one but Cor to tell Prompto about those things and Cor hadn’t spoken to Prompto in all those seven years) all the trauma and fear and that Cor had LEFT him and Cor knows he will never forgive himself for this.

-But he will make it right.

-“Okay,” he breathes into Prompto’s hair, “You can stay. You can stay with me.” He inhales shakily, raises his head and GLARES at Regis and Clarus, daring them to disagree this time. Oath or no oath, king or no king, Cor will fight them this time if they try to take Prompto away.

-Regis dips his head in a shaky acknowledgement, still off-balance from the revelation that Prompto remembered “I’ll have the paperwork brought up.”

-Cor buries his face in Prompto’s hair again with a shaky sigh and a tight squeeze. Prompto is his.

-He’s never, ever letting go again.

#SE asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Clouds and Moonlit Skies verse #dad!cor #oh look new ficlet

188 notes · View notes