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buckysbitch107 · 4 years

Note

Chris Evans with a girlfriend that has a really bad stutter like me. Like it may take about 5 mins for me to get a full sentence out. Thank you!

Sentences | Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Yes, you have a stutter. So what? Just because it takes a little longer for you to say a full sentence, doesn’t mean people need to be rude. Chris has always been the person you go to when you feel down or insecure, even before the two of you started dating. So when an interviewer asks a question that hits a little too close to home, Chris is right there to defend you.

Warnings: SWEARING, Angry Chris, A Small Bit of Fighting, Little bit of fluff at the end

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: This is my first time writing a stutter, so I hope I got at least some of it right! The person I used as a reference was Drew Lynch (One of my favorite comedians). I know there are different types of stutters, but his is the one I was most confident writing. I’m aware there are a lot of dashes in the dialogue. That’s the way I write stutters. I really hope you enjoy this one! Sorry if it’s bad or inaccurate!

“Thank-thank you M-Mr. Evans. I’ll see you tom-tom-tom-tomorrow.” You speak, pacing back and forth in your hotel room as your best friend sits on the bed. Her eyes widen as you end the phone call, dropping your phone on the bed before moving your head to look at her.

“And?”

“I go-go-got the-the pa-part.” You whisper, looking up at her with a surprised look on your face.

~~~

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh my god.” You mumble to yourself, pacing back and forth in the dressing room. You just finished up the last scene of the day, a very important scene. The kiss scene. It was going great, and then the next part of the script came up. The part that had Chris’s character, Nick, step closer to yours and take your face in his hands before leaning in and kissing you. The part that the two of you did perfectly. It felt so real… almost too real, and Chris hasn’t talked to you since that scene unless it was for acting purposes. You continue to ramble random points to yourself until a knock sounds at the door, distracting you for a bit. “Come in!”

“Hey, I heard you- oh my god what happened?” Scott asks, closing the door behind him as he steps inside. You turn towards him and sigh, your hands still doing the weird flappy thing they did whenever you got anxious.

“We-We did the-the-the, the scene.”

“What? What sce- oh. OH. OH MY GOD! THAT SCENE?!”

“Yes, that sce-scene!” You exclaim, continuing to pace back and forth.

“I know this is gonna sound weird. But thoughts?” You turn to look at him, the look on your face making him unconsciously take a step back. Your face remains in a state of rage until you actually begin to survey your own thoughts, and your face drops.

“It-It was-s great. Dammit, Sco-ott! It fe-fe-felt so-so real!” Your hands migrate to your forehead, pushing your hair back before running to sit on the back of your neck.

“Well, why don’t you ask him?”

“He’s-he’s been av-avo-avoiding me all d-ay.” More tears stream down your face as you continue to hyperventilate. You wouldn’t usually react like this, but the biggest crush you’d ever had in your entire life was possibly rejecting you, and you couldn’t even talk to him about it.

“I’ll go talk to him. Why don’t you grab a bottle of water while I go find him, okay?” You nod as Scott gestures to the minifridge in your dressing room. He walks out and you sigh, grabbing the water and chugging most of it. Meanwhile, Scott wanders around the set, looking for his younger brother. He finds him soon enough, talking with a coworker about something to do with directing. Scott motions to his brother and Chris nods, finishing up his conversation before walking over to his sibling.

“Yeah?" Chris asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

“You need to talk to Y/N.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“She thinks you don't like her.”

“What? What do you mean? Of course I like- oh. OH!”

“Yeah. Now please go fix it before she digs a hole in the ground by pacing that much.” Chris’s eyes widen a little more before he nods, running off in the direction of your dressing room.

~~~

“Oh go-go-god, you were ho-ho-hori-horrible at playing that-that trumpet.” You giggle, trying not to pee yourself in the passenger seat of Chris’s car. The man next to you scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns the steering wheel.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“You-you-you-you sounded like a, like a, like a dying pi-pi-pig.” You continue to laugh in your seat as he pulls the car into an empty parking spot.

“That’s a little harsh.” He responds, turning his head to glare at you playfully, resting his hand on your thigh.

“I had-had to p-p-p-play it for-for-for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Chris turns off the car and leans over, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening his door and stepping out. You open your door and step out as well, Chris walking around the car to grab your hand. He links your hand with his and slowly pulls you along, walking to two of you into the shooting studio. As the two of you enter, the studio’s cat steps into your line of vision. You gasp quietly, picking up the tabby before sitting in a chair behind the camera, set up on the small couch with some snacks and the cat. You barely pay attention as Chris sits down in the interview chair and the cameras start rolling, too distracted by the cat sitting in your lap. Zoning out, you don’t pay attention to any of the questions until you hear your name come into the mix.

“Now you met your wife on the set of Before We Go. Was it hard to make her stutter a part of the character?” Jason Nichols questions.

“Most people assume that it would be hard to incorporate a stutter into a character, but Y/N was actually super flexible and would sometimes even ask if we could do some more takes because she didn’t like the one we had. It was amazing what she did to make the movie an even bigger success.” Chris answers, causing a small smile to rest on your face.

“Now there are many eligible women in Hollywood, so why Y/N?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, she’s already paid less than you, and I don’t imagine that stutter of hers makes it any easier to land roles. I would have imagined you would go for someone in your pay grade.” Ouch.

“Alright, we’re done here.” Chris says, cutting the interview short by standing up from his chair. They quickly cut the cameras as your husband nods to you, telling you to pack up.

“I’m just saying-”

“You aren’t saying anything.” You can visibly see Chris getting more pissed off by the second. You try to pull him away from the scene, but the interviewer keeps trying to insult you. It’s all a blur before Chris finally snaps, punching the interviewer and knocking him to the floor before storming out of the studio.

“I-I am so-so-so sorry.” You whisper to one of the producers. She brushes it off with a quick “he deserved that.” before walking over to the interviewer and talking his ear off as she hands him a couple of tissues. You stand there silently, wondering what you should do when one of the producer’s assistants ushers you out.

“It’ll be fine! We’ll call back to see if Chris wants to reschedule, with a different interviewer of course.”

“T-Thank yo-u.” You whisper, offering him a small smile before walking over to your car, your fuming husband sitting in the driver’s seat.

~~~

“Darling? What’s wrong?” Chris asks, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, his bandaged hand brushing up against the door frame. You look up from your spot on the bed, giving him a small “mm” before looking back at your latest read. “Okay, what is up with you?”

“No-othing.” You mumble.

“Well it’s obviously something. You’ve barely said a word since the interview and you didn't even finish your dinner! Did, did I go too far at the interview?”

“W-What?! No-o! Not at-at all! It’s ju-ust-”

“Just what?”

“Do you-you think Nich-ichols was-was righ-t?” You question, finally deciding to look up at your husband. The look of confusion on his face would have made you laugh if your heart wasn’t silently ripping apart in your chest.

“What?! Of course not Y/N!” He exclaims, taking a mere four steps across the room to sit in front of you, Chris quickly taking your hands into his. “Why would you ever think that?”

“I-I don’t kn-kn-know…” You’re about to continue speaking when Chris starts moving, and it’s only a quick second before your husband has you sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around you.

“Everything that man said today was bullshit Y/N. I chose you for so many reasons, and I don’t regret a thing, you understand?” You nod, slowly tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “I love you. So damn much baby.”

“I lo-ove you t-too.” Chris smiles at you once again before softly kissing you, pulling back just slightly to look at you.

“Why don’t we head to bed? It’s been a long day.” You nod and Chris stands up, walking out to call Dodger into bed and returning quickly with the dog and his lion. The two of you were already in your pajamas, having decided to change when you got home. Chris turns off the lights and slips into bed next to you, his arm immediately taking its designated place on your side. You cuddle into him and sigh, feeling comforted by your husband. Dodger sits on the edge of the bed, laying almost all the way over Chris’ feet. The three of you fall asleep like that, the hours before having worn you out, finally feeling at peace.

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut @breakmy-bedbarnes@stuckys-hot-dogs @andreasworlsboring101@yaxamarvel @donutloverxo

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

#chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans #chris evans fic #marvel #fluff #stutter

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drivingsideways · 3 years

Note

For the ship and one word thingy, of you're still doing it(and thank you!) . Seunghyo and Seunwoo, exhaustion.

Hi anon! Sorry this is a bit late, and I'm not sure this will quite be what you were looking for, but I hope you'll enjoy the snippet. Once again, I'm setting this in my "Where Your Treasure Is" 'verse, but this works as a prequel to the first part of that series and is gen or pre-slash if you squint (or have read the rest of the 'verse!)

This is set post-canon, premising that Seon-woo gets a life-saving surgery, and Gu Seung-hyo is still with Hwajeong group but in an overseas posting. He's also dating Lee No-eul.

cw: mentions of physical disability, depression

The nurse is carefully unstrapping the prosthetics when there's a knock on the door, and a quiet voice says, "May I come in?"

Seon-woo looks up, startled. In the doorway is the last person he'd expected to see this morning, or indeed, for a long while.

"Gu sajang," he says, surprised. "Good morning," he adds, belatedly remembering his manners.

"Good morning, Ye Seon-woo-ssi. Is this a bad time?" Gu Seung-hyo asks, "I can come by later."

"Almost done," Seon-woo says, gesturing for him to enter. "I've just finished my exercise round for the morning."

The second leg is off now, and the immediate lessening of the weight makes him sigh unconsciously in relief, as he leans back into the pillows. It's been a month into the physiotherapy with the prosthetics, but he's still not used to it- neither to seeing the world from a different height, nor the strain on his back. He much preferred the chair still.

"I'll see you at 4," says Nurse Jang, with a smile, and he dredges up one for her. She's his favourite: a real sweetheart, with deft hands and a wicked sense of humour. She bows politely to Gu Seung-hyo, who bows back, before he takes the chair by the bed.

"I didn't know you were in town," Seon-woo says, "I thought No-eul-ssi mentioned you were in Indonesia."

"I have some meetings here this week," Gu Seung-hyo says, "And some free time. I hope this isn't an imposition on yours."

"My time has less value than yours, Gu sajang," he finds himself saying, "It's very kind of you to come by."

He curses himself inwardly the moment the words are out of his mouth. That had been well short of the inane courtesy that he should have responded with; that kind of self-deprecation wasn't as harmless with Gu Seung-hyo, as it might have been with another, less perspicacious man.

"Kindness has little to do with it, I'm afraid. I've been given a task," Gu Seung-hyo says smoothly, "I'm merely an errand boy."

He rises, holding out a brown paper that Seon-woo hadn't noticed before, toward him.

"From No-eul-ssi," he says, "Since she's unable to visit this week."

It's cherry tomatoes, which he knows come fresh from the little vegetable garden that No-eul's got going in her backyard in Gangneung.

Seon-woo smiles.

"Please help yourself," he says, holding out the bag to Seung-hyo, who looks hesitant but then picks one out, gingerly, as he seats himself again.

"You don't like them?" Seon-woo asks, as he roots in the bag, looking for the ripest one.

"I'm don’t usually snack in between meals," says Gu Seung-hyo.

Seon-woo nods; somehow that seems entirely in character. "It's nice though," he says, "To break the rule once in a while."

"Yes," Gu Seung-hyo says, and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little as he continues, "Though, as you know I'm rather fond of keeping them."

Seon-woo can't help chuckling at that, and the crinkles get more pronounced.

Silence reigns for a few minutes as they munch on the tomatoes; sweet with just a hint of tartness beneath. Gu Seung-hyo studies the room as he takes a second tomato, when the bag is proffered. It's not very large, but there's a long window which overlooks the garden of the rehab facility, and lets in the warm sun in the afternoons. The window sill and the small desk is covered in the detritus of Seon-woo's stay: books (from Choi Seo-hyun, mostly), a stuffed toy (No-eul), board games (which he plays with Jin-woo during his daily visits, flowers and snacks (eomma), a picture of the three of them taken at a cousin's wedding three years ago.

"This is a nice place," Gu Seung-hyo says, thoughtfully. "A good location, and they have good staff and equipment, it seems."

"Yes," Seon-woo agrees, wondering if Gu Seung-hyo's ever-ticking brain was thinking of a business opportunity. "I was lucky to get a place here after the surgery, it's always full, because they're competent but not very expensive. I have Chief Joo to thank for it, he pulled strings on my behalf."

"Did he?" Seung-hyo says, neutrally. "I'm glad it worked out."

Seon-woo nods, and attempts to concentrate on the sweetness of the tomato, and not the bitter aftertaste of pity.

It's hard though, getting harder every day, to not—

Gu Seung-hyo's studying the view from the window now, peering through the glass, hands shoved in his trouser-pockets. He's dressed in his customary three-piece suit, this time a light grey with a fine pattern, over a crisp white shirt and a navy tie. Conservative, reliable. Seon-woo wonders whom he was meeting today- some oldish government type, he assumes.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Gu Seung-hyo asks, suddenly, turning back to Seon-woo, startling him out of his thoughts. "Sorry, " he adds, taking in Seon-woo's surprised expression. "But I thought it was better to ask it straight, than attempt to infer."

"It gets better or worse," Seon-woo says, "but there's always some. It's—" he shrugs. "I'm doing as well as could be hoped, at this point."

"The prosthetics—"

Seon-woo shrugs. "They'll take time to get used to," he says, "It still feels strange. The ones I'm trying out are among the best on offer, but the cutting-edge stuff is only available if you're in some clinical trial."

"Who's doing that here, in Korea?"

"SNU, for one," Seon-woo says, "They're really out there in terms of their ongoing projects. But it's hard to say when one of those will become commercially viable."

Seung-hyo nods, thoughtfully.

He smiles at Gu Seung-hyo. "But it's boring to talk about me, you should tell me the news of the wide world."

Gu Seung-hyo's sudden smile reminds Seon-woo that he's a handsome man.

"Do I need to? Isn't that what the internet and that tablet by your bed is for?"

Seon-woo acknowledges it with a half-smile. "Then tell me stories," he says, surprising himself, "Of your adventures in the wild jungle of corporate life. I suppose the new assignment must be a relief after the drama at Sungkook."

"It's more what I'm used to," Seung-hyo acknowledges, and then easily, as if they were friends, "but I admit I miss the challenge of dealing with the eccentricities of top-notch medicos."

The crinkly-eyed expression makes a reappearance. The man was quite unfairly charming when he chose to be, Seon-woo notes; he'd forgotten that, somehow, in the year since he'd last met Gu sajang.

"Your successor isn't faring much better, I think, the last I heard."

"No doubt your brother has nothing to do with that situation," Seung-hyo says, gravely.

Seon-woo laughs, "Nothing at all."

Talk drifts from Sungkook, to other things- Seung-hyo's new role, Korean chaebols, the economy, the Blue House's current occupant and the prospects for the next elections which are less than a year away, books that they discover they're both fond of, and music, and somehow, before Seon-woo realizes it, it's lunch time. There's a knock on the door- it's the kitchen staff with a tray of food. The young woman pauses when she sees Seung-hyo and asks if they'd like another tray.

Seon-woo, mortified by the realization that he's probably upset Gu sajang's schedule irrevocably, is just going to decline, when Seung-hyo says, "It looks delicious, I think I'll have some, if that's not a bother."

"No problem at all," says Min-joo-ssi, with a pleased smile, "We have extra trays."

After she leaves, Seung-hyo says, "Do you feel like having lunch outside in the garden? It's a fine day. I noticed there are some tables set out."

"Uh," says Seon-woo, "I've already made you late."

"Not at all," says Gu Seung-hyo, blatantly lying without missing a beat- another talent that Seon-woo had forgotten he had- "I'll call someone to get a chair."

He's already at the desk phone, quickly dialing the extension after a quick check of the list tacked on the wall, and somehow, before Seon-woo can quite process it, they're outside, under the shade of a garden umbrella, watching butterflies flit, and the bees stagger, punch-drunk, among the roses that are in outrageous bloom.

Seung-hyo eats heartily, Seon-woo notices, without affectation.

He looks up at that moment, to meet Seon-woo's eyes. "You must be bored of the food here," he says, looking a bit rueful.

"They try their best to vary it," Seon-woo says, "and eomma always sends dinner or breakfast with hyung, so I don't have too much to complain about."

Seung-hyo nods, though something flashes in his eyes, that Seon-woo has no way to parse.

A silence falls between them, as they finish the meal. It's not an entirely comfortable one—and Seon-woo feels compelled to occasionally make a remark of some kind to break it, as he becomes more and more conscious of the passage of time. Gu Seung-hyo doesn't look at his watch or mobile even once.

"Do you mind showing me around the grounds?" Seung-hyo asks, after they are done.

Seon-woo looks at him in surprise. "There's not much to see," he says.

"A walk might do me some good," Seung-hyo says, "I'm afraid I might have overdone on the meal."

"You should snack more often," Seon-woo says, smiling at him, "That might prevent these situations from arising."

"Shall we?" Seung-hyo asks, rising from the chair. "Where do I put away the trays?"

So they make their way toward the rear entrance of the kitchen to hand over their trays, Seon-woo wheeling his own chair, and Seung-hyo keeping pace with him. After, Seon-woo directs him toward the southern end of the property, toward the area where there are some tennis courts and even a basketball court set up for the residents who might be able to play.

It's just after lunch, so the courts are empty.

"You used to play," Seung-hyo says.

"Yes," he says, surprised.

"No-eul-ssi mentioned it," Seung-hyo says, "She said that your brother and you made a formidable duo on court."

"Is that so?"

Seung-hyo slants a smile in his direction, "Well, her exact words may have been that you were both bastard cheaters."

"Sore loser," Seon-woo says immediately, "She hated it when she lost."

"She's surprisingly competitive about some things," Seung-hyo agrees, and the accompanying smile is a revelation, starting up an ache beneath Seon-woo's ribs.

"I hope you'll be able to play again soon," Seung-hyo says, "The next time I come by, we should have a game."

"Sure," Seon-woo says, "Next time."

"Seon-woo-ssi," says Gu Seung-hyo, "You can say no, if you don't want to."

Seon-woo looks up, startled.

Seung-hyo is smiling wryly. "I'm quite good at it, so I should warn you it won't be an easy game. You should consider it carefully."

"Is there anything you aren't good at?" Seon-woo says, a trifle acerbic.

"Cooking," Seung-hyo says, immediately, and then adds, reflectively, "And the care of tiny creatures."

"What happened to the dog?" Seon-woo asks, immediately concerned. He's seen enough photos of the creature thanks to No-eul to justify the feeling.

"Oh nothing, Nighty is, as the kids say these days, living his best life. He's eomma's dog now, barely acknowledges me."

Was that a hint of petulance? That was unexpectedly amusing. But there was something a little wistful in it, as well.

"You aren't home," Seon-woo finds himself- consoling- the man. "It's quite natural."

"I'm aware," Seung-hyo says, "And it's fine. It's good, actually. Like I said, caretaking isn't one of my talents."

Unlike compartmentalization, Seon-woo thinks. I wish I had that.

"Shall we head back?" Seung-hyo's voice breaks in. He hadn't realized that they'd been standing there in silence for a while. "You seem tired."

There's something oddly gentle about the way he says it, something that makes Seon-woo both want to punch a wall, and break down crying.

It takes him a minute to gather himself, before he nods.

"Seon-woo-ssi," says Gu Seung-hyo, "Is there something you want to say?"

Seon-woo looks up at him.

Gu Seung-hyo's face is watchful, cautious, but not closed off.

Seon-woo looks away, across the empty basketball court.

"I regret the surgery," Seon-woo says, aloud, for the first time. "I wish I had never let myself be talked into it. I should have had the courage to—let go."

Seung-hyo doesn't respond for a long minute. Then, with a sigh, he says, "But there's so much to let go of. And why should you?"

Seon-woo turns to him, but Seung-hyo isn't looking at him either. Instead, he squats, running his hands over the rough grass at the sidelines.

"I don't suppose you could understand," Seon-woo says, softly.

"No," says Seung-hyo, "You're right, I don't. But it's not your disability or its consequences that I don't understand. It's that I've always wanted everything that this world could offer, and I'm determined to have it. Whatever it takes. I don't accept any other possibility."

He turns to Seon-woo after a minute of silence.

"An uncle of mine once told me that it was better to be alive than dead, and to be born than not at all," he offers.

"Was your uncle a priest?"

"A foreman in a factory that made precision tools. He worked forty years there for the same company, before he retired to a fishing village."

"Close," notes Seon-woo, and Gu Seung-hyo gives him one of his genuinely warm smiles, that he's only seen in photographs No-eul had sometimes shared.

"I'm selfish," he says, "about the world, and my place in it. I have an outsized ego, perhaps, to insist on my significance in the face of the vast unknown. But I am convinced that there's one thing only I can do, and that is to live my life to the fullest."

"The universe has been benevolent to you," Seon-woo says, "You're her favourite. You know, as a pep talk this is remarkably bad."

Seung-hyo smiles, a quicksilver flash of amusement.

"If you wanted a pep talk, you'd talk to your psych," he observes. "Or someone who's invested in keeping you alive, for one reason or the other."

"I'm exhausted by people trying to fix me," Seon-woo admits. "You're a nice change."

"I don't think you need fixing," says Gu Seung-hyo, "I suspect you have problems that need to be fixed. Like the rest of us."

"Is that how you see yourself?" Seon-woo asks, diverted. "As a problem solver?"

Seung-hyo shrugs. "It helps me to think of the world that way," he admits. "A series of problems that I can apply my mind to."

"Sounds exhausting," Seon-woo says, not quite kindly.

Gu sajang seems unperturbed. He shrugs out of his jacket and spreads it on the grass, before sitting down on it.

"It is, sometimes," he responds. "But there's that ineffable component called luck," he adds, "Sometimes the problems sort themselves out."

"Hashtag blessed," says Seon-woo, "Do you have a social media account?"

"I've hired a very competent firm to run my PR," Seung-hyo says, "Though they insist that I post at least one cute picture of my dog or my mother every day. I believe I have a respectable number of followers."

Seon-woo laughs.

Seung-hyo looks up at him, with a raised eyebrow.

"Likeability is a problem that's not too difficult to solve these days," he remarks.

"Another win for the universe's favourite," Seon-woo murmurs, "Hurrah."

The silence that follows lasts a while, but oddly enough, doesn't feel awkward.

"Thank you," Seon-woo says, finally. "For your time today. I'm afraid I've messed up your schedule."

"You were the only meeting on my list."

"You're dressed to meet a government bureaucrat type—" Seon-woo starts, incredulously- and then stops, outraged.

And this smile- pure mischief, that makes him look ten years younger- is something he didn't even know Gu Seung-hyo was capable of, he thinks, and close on the heel of that, he looks like someone I could be friends with.

"You didn't mess up my schedule," Gu Seung-hyo says again, "I don't have those kinds of luxuries in my life."

Seon-woo huffs, looking away. He feels hot under his collar, and it has nothing to do with the afternoon heat. He wishes he had more experience in dealing with this kind of thing- the kindness of strangers was one thing, but Gu Seung-hyo's place in his life was ill-defined.

What rot, says a voice in his head, he's the enemy.

It sounds suspiciously like Jin-woo hyung.

But Seon-woo doesn't have that kind of luxury in his life, either, or the inclination for it. Whatever lay between them- Gu Seung-hyo's time at Sungkook, his ongoing relationship with the love of Seon-woo's life- that was a past perhaps best laid to rest. Life was constant turmoil, and to fight against the current of it in this matter seemed a pointless waste of energy he didn't have.

"Tell me more about this research they're doing at SNU," Seung-hyo says after a minute, and Seon-woo takes the out offered. Sooner than Seon-woo had thought, it's almost time for his second round of physiotherapy.

"I have to get back," he says, "I don't want to make Nurse Jang wait."

"Of course not," says Seung-hyo, as he rises, folding his jacket neatly over his arm. "Shall we?"

They head back, slower than strictly warranted, as the conversation continues.

Nurse Jang is waiting for them at the door.

"Ah, Ye Seon-woo-ssi, I hope you had a good day today," she says, "with your friend."

It seems pointlessly rude to correct her; what was he going to say anyway—

"Yes," he says, not looking at Seung-hyo, "I did."

But he can't resist a glance, and catches quietly pleased look on his face, though, perhaps, to a stranger, it wouldn't look any different than his normal expression.

Somewhere between strangers and friends, he thinks, that's where they were.

As Seung-hyo makes his farewell, Seon-woo says, impulsively, "Next time, we'll play a game."

"Sure," says Seung-hyo easily, "Basketball?"

"Hmm, I prefer strategy games."

There's a glint in Gu Seung-hyo's eyes that Seon-woo finds highly entertaining.

"Loser pays for a meal," he says, recklessly.

But there was something, Seon-woo thinks, to be said for making plans for an unknown tomorrow.

'Deal," says Gu Seung-hyo, holding out his hand, " I'll be seeing you then, Seon-woo-ssi."

"Yes," says Seon-woo, as he shakes the proffered hand, "See you soon."

#jtbc life #writing things

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leonawriter · 5 years

Text

Held In Trust

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Dazai, Atsushi, Chuuya, Mori (mentioned)

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya, pre-relationship, or something.

Summary: Dazai has issues regarding even just the very concept of the Port Mafia's boss, given what the job entails. And then, the idea of Chuuya in that role is put into his head...

...

"Ah, but I thought you knew that I've had plans for such a long time, to have Chuuya-kun succeed me as boss, Dazai-kun?"

Dazai's smile had frozen in its place, the world going off kilter and in a way that reminded him, later, far too much of those times in the past when everything had gone so blank and grey that death had seemed a reprieve that he could only desperately reach out for.

From the way that Mori had smiled, he wasn't sure that it had gone unnoticed.

He wasn't sure what to think about that-

No, that wasn't true.

He didn't like it, at all. And yet, there wasn't anything he could do.

...

"Dazai-san?"

...hm?

"If... if something happened, between the Agency and the mafia, do you... do you think we'd end up fighting again?"

Dazai's first reaction had been to wonder where that had come from - but then again, this was Atsushi. Who had a habit of making friends in unlikely places, and getting attached in unusual ways. He hadn't been immune. Even Akutagawa had been dragged into Atsushi's influence.

But then, his next reaction had been to laugh, and if there was something more than a little bitter about it, then perhaps he simply feeling sentimental about things that weren't worth keeping.

"Ah... sorry, sorry! But... really, Atsushi-kun. They're the mafia. It's just like how Mori said, that time... you remember, don't you?" He linked his arms behind his head as they walked, staring up at the sky. It was easier than the idea of Atsushi with a disappointed look on his face. Not that he wanted to dash the boy's hopes, but it paid to be a slight bit more realistic at times. "The mafia works on pride and face. It's better not to assume any sort of truce or alliance can't be broken."

They carry on in silence for a while, with Dazai wondering if the more gentle tone and quiet voice that he had put the words to had helped soften the blow.

"I... maybe that is the truth, and maybe we can never fully trust the mafia, but... I'd still like to believe in the people we've come to know."

Which was certainly one way of looking at things, even if Dazai couldn't fully get behind it.

But as long as Atsushi knew and understood the dangers of expecting everyone to return the same faith that he had, as long as that trust wasn't simply blindly given... who knew. Perhaps Atsushi had the right of it.

...

In the next two weeks, he's dragged out of the river enough times that Kunikida confiscates his belongings - anything non-essential, capable of being lost downriver, that isn't waterproof, and that can't have a tracker put in it. They've started making waterproof phones, and he's heard Kunikida muttering about the idea of getting one for him, once, while Dazai had still been drying his hair, coat dripping onto the Agency's floor.

Atsushi dives in after him again, and he almost feels the black of oblivion before he momentarily feels the the sensation of a hand on his arm, dragging him back up toward the light.

For the first time in quite a while, he feels more than the usual hint of annoyance, a little frustration, at having been interrupted.

Then he sees the expression on Atsushi's face, the concern, and he wishes that anyone else could have dragged him out of the river.

It's a little harder to play it off as merely floating, when he had come to with a gasp, coughing up water.

...

It happens by chance, that he and Chuuya wind up working on the same job, and they fall into step a little too easily, a little too well, and he bites back a little more than usual, not to keep pace with him like that.

Chuuya looks at him like there's something wrong, and maybe there is, because the world isn't properly righted yet.

He's been having dreams recently, of his time in the mafia.

Sometimes, he'll dream that he had slashed mori's throat like the man had been afraid he would, and he had taken over.

Mostly, however, he dreams of Odasaku.

The mission isn't a particularly difficult one, and it's hardly one that requires either of them to work particularly hard to resolve it, either, but Dazai still fumbles a move, leaving Chuuya to pick up the pieces of the manoeuvre while Dazai nurses a bruised rib or two, which will take a while to heal.

Chuuya shouts at him and cusses him out, for that, for making him do all the work, and he smiles and laughs it off, saying that he must be having an off day, even as Chuuya says that the Dazai I know doesn't have 'off days.'

Maybe that was true.

Maybe he wasn't the Dazai that Chuuya knew.

Maybe, he thinks, lightheaded, something is wrong.

...

He dreams of Odasaku dying in his arms and the dream turns into the mafia headquarters, that room at the top of the tallest building in all of Yokohama, a wall of windows looking out over the city that the mafia owned.

Dazai dreams of the black envelope paid for in blood, and turns it over, and it's something else - another thing, some priceless, unimportant thing - and he looks up, and instead of Mori sat in the chair-

The figure is too small, the hat obscuring features that don't change even in dreams.

"A leader's got to be able to commit all kinds of atrocities in the name of the company, Dazai-"

...

He wakes with a gasp as if he'd just been dragged out of another river, and his chest hurts as if someone had tried to give him CPR, which wouldn't be a first, but was never a pleasant experience. The only thing reminding him that this wasn't the case is the fact that there's no water in his mouth, and he doesn't feel wet.

In fact, aside from his chest hurting, he actually feels comfortable, resting on something soft and... familiar. Familiar enough to make him open his eyes properly and look around, confirming his suspicion.

"Oh, so you're awake now, huh?" He blinks, wondering why Chuuya had taken him back to his home, when even though it wasn't as though Dazai didn't know where it was, hadn't broken in on a few occasions, it was still a rare show of... of something, that he wasn't entirely certain how to interpret. "Fat load of use you were at the end there, you could've warned me you'd gotten yourself hit to the head." Which was funny, really, because he couldn't remember that, and yet if Chuuya said it had happened, then it probably had. "I had to drag your ass back here, the least you could do is be thankful, shitty Dazai."

"Ah," he says, as if it makes sense. Which it still doesn't.

Chuuya disappears off to the kitchen, and when he comes back, it's with a glass of water and painkillers. The correct dose, no more and no less. It's not like he hasn't had Chuuya look after him as he suffered from bruised ribs before. They know what to do.

He drinks the water and swallows the tablets without a word.

"...oi, Dazai."

It's better not to assume any sort of truce or alliance can't be broken, he'd said to Atsushi, and he still remembers seeing Ango one last time in Lupin, telling him to go, before he changed his mind.

The reality of losing people was no stranger to him. To position, to broken loyalty, to death.

Why, then...?

Chuuya sighs, clearly frustrated with something - him - and sits himself down on the side of the sofa that Dazai had cleared when he'd sat up, feet drawn toward him.

It hurts, he thinks, because he's only just taken the painkillers, and they haven't had a chance to work yet. It hurts, he thinks, and he isn't sure that he's just thinking about his bruised ribs.

"I thought my job as your secretary fielding your calls after something like this had ended when you quit, but no, I had to be the one to tell that Agency of yours you weren't dead."

He winces, a little, and finds suddenly that the ceiling is very fascinating.

"Tch... the silent treatment, is it?"

Chuuya doesn't get up to move, though, just sitting there, and Dazai can feel the barely held in frustration pouring off of him.

"...Atsushi-kun asked me recently, what would happen to the tentative alliance we've got, if something were to threaten it."

"....Hah? Like that's gonna happen. Boss' orders say no fighting with the Agency, that's what happens."

And you should know that, was left unsaid. Didn't need to be said.

"And if anything happened to Mori?"

"That a threat or a warning?"

He closes his eyes, and hears Chuuya shift awkwardly more than sees it. Which rubs at him wrong, because Chuuya is confident and as the best fighter in the Port Mafia, he doesn't do awkward. Or he shouldn't, at least.

"A question," he says, no matter how much he might want it to be either of the offered options.

There's a pause, as if the future hangs in the balance on a string between them.

Eventually, Chuuya sighs.

"You know I can't make promises neither of us can keep, shitty Dazai," he says, "and open your eyes. The last thing I want is you falling asleep on me again after you hit your head." He doesn't, a small smile playing about on his mouth, as if he's tasted something bittersweet. Chuuya punches his arm. "Next time it'll be your chest I hit, dumbass."

"And... if Chuuya were in charge?"

He sidesteps the matter of keeping his eyes open by only - just - glancing out of the corner of his eye for Chuuya's reaction to that.

A reaction which is a long, drawn out breath.

"This isn't about Atsushi, is it," Chuuya says at last, slowly.

"...no," he admits. Quietly enough that if Chuuya weren't so close, he likely wouldn't hear. "It's not."

...

Chuuya doesn't give him an answer, straight away. Instead, he stands and leaves the room, and a few moments later Dazai hears water boiling for coffee, and moments after that another glass of water is set in front of him.

"Well?" he asks, once Chuuya's back on the sofa.

He'd prefer to be having this conversation anywhere but here, and not with a couple of bruised ribs, but if it weren't for needing it in the first place, he probably wouldn't have the issue of his injuries to deal with now.

"Me? I'm not the one with the issues here, Dazai. If I end up as boss after Mori's gone - which won't be happening for a while yet, by the way - that's on me. You lost your say on the leadership when you left."

There's resentment, like there always is. Usually, that wouldn't bother him.

Today is an exception, in more ways than one.

"I left because of a disagreement over leadership methods, actually," he hears himself say. It's the first time he's been so open with Chuuya as to say anything about the circumstances of his departure, and the way Chuuya looks at him, sharply, speaks volumes.

"Ha...? And there I thought it was something to do with that Mimic incident."

"In a sense," he says, because in a way, it was. It was both, and neither, and everything else besides. "You never met the kids Odasaku picked up... did you?"

He's fairly sure Chuuya hadn't, at least.

A shake of a hatted head confirms what he'd thought.

"No. But then, he was your friend, wasn't he?"

Dazai tugs against the pinstriped sleeve of his shirt.

"I saw them in passing, a few times. But I can't say I met any of them properly."

"Huh," Chuuya says, and then, "I don't see how this has anything to do with... oh."

"Boss knew Odasaku was the only one who could fight the leader of Mimic," he says, the words ringing dead in his ears, and if it were any other time, any other place, he wouldn't say this - even to Chuuya, because it was easier if Chuuya just thought that he had decided one day to quit and turn up one day on the other side, for the pure hell and thrill of it. "Boss also knew he wouldn't."

The rest didn't need to be said.

If Mori had needed someone to do something for the sake of the organisation, then he would have ensured that they were encouraged to do so, no matter the personal cost.

Chuuya doesn't respond for the longest time, and when he does, there's a weight to his words that mere gravity can't compare to.

"I'm... not Mori," he says. "I... Dazai, I don't think I could be boss like him, even if I tried." He doesn't miss the way Chuuya takes his hat off, the same one he must have received from Mori after being inducted into the mafia all those years ago. Chuuya looks at it as though it holds the answers to all the world's questions. "I said before, didn't I? I can't make promises we both know neither of us can keep. But the way I figure, the mafia looks out for our own."

He looks up, as if searching for something in Dazai's face, blue eyes as open as they always had been, because Chuuya has a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, Dazai remembers now.

"He was my friend, Chuuya."

It's important. He can't say that four years ago he might have not cared so much about the fact that the children had died, because people died every day, and the mafia had been the cause of so many that he himself had lost count. He would now, because Odasaku would want him to, and because he'd look at the children and think of Atsushi, and Kyouka, and Kenji. People change, after all.

Chuuya punches his arm again.

"For a genius, you can be a complete dumbass, Dazai."

"Eh? Chuuya?"

"You think I don't know what it's like to lose friends, huh? Honestly, I'm insulted." From anyone else, he'd take offence, see it as anything other than the still-awkward attempt at a connection that it was. "Get over here."

His chest still hurt, and not having adrenaline to push the pain out of his mind made it that much more obvious when he shifted and it flared up, but it wasn't quite as bad as it had been before. Maybe the painkillers had started to work.

Even so, no matter whether it made sense or not, he felt more relief relaxing against Chuuya than he had in sitting up against the soft cushions of the sofa.

"I still won't go back to the mafia," he finds himself saying. "Kunikida-kun would kill me," he adds, as an afterthought.

"Yeah, yeah... I get just about enough of you the way things are now. Try coming back and I think I'd kick you out so hard there'd be a Dazai-shaped hole in the walls."

The worries aren't completely gone. But... maybe Atsushi was right, even more than he'd thought.

I'd still like to believe in the people we've come to know, the boy had said.

Maybe Dazai wouldn't ever be able to put his trust in Mori, or the mafia, ever again.

But in Chuuya... well, it wasn't as if that would be something he'd have to learn from scratch, would it?

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd stuff #soukoku #Leona fic

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kamino-ink · 6 years

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Brawl | Lee Minho [Disney!au]

✧ Genre: Disney!au, fluff, cheesy as fuck Minho, suggestive bc its Minho how can I nOt-

✧ Summary: You’re not exactly the most interesting of people, at least not your eyes; but one of the biggest delinquents in town, the son of Ursula, insists on defending your honor no matter what.

✧ Word Count: 2.6k

✧ Want to read other parts of this series? Check out my masterlist!

✧

you weren’t the child of some important fairytale character, rather you were simply a normal citizen growing up as normally as anyone else

sure life was interesting enough watching the children of important figures in the land of fairytales and stories, but you preferred to mind your own business in the solitude of your home by the beach

you’d moved out from the main hub of town about a year ago, deciding that you didn't need to rely on the financial support of your parents after graduating

and even if you didn't say it, a lot of people who knew you personally were well aware that you were content with living in the town of magical or powerful beings; while others craved to leave the land in favor of exploring the rest of the world, it was essentially impossible

some of the founders of the land arranged a sort of plan to keep the coming generations safe from harm - if they were all trapped in one place, they couldn't harm innocent people outside of their realm or vice versa

so basically all of you were stuck on a single island, meant to inhabit it for generations to come

but none of you were allowed to ever leave the island, as doing so would alert normal humans of your existence; one could never trust their intentions

so while you were technically a child of a couple in the universe of Peter Pan, you didn't really care about your status

on the other hand, those who resided in the central part of town consisted mostly of the children of characters who played big roles in their stories; from Mulan to Merida, almost every character written down in the books had been cast into the real world so they could live in peace

so here you were, fresh out of the comfort of your parent’s home, sat sipping on some herbal tea to clear your sinuses by the beach

miniscule grains of sand snuck between your toes, but you didn't quite mind, choosing instead to let your body relax into the sand

you had come out here for a reason; to be free of the binds in town and live your own peaceful life of utter solitude

“Jisung you moron, I cannot believe that you got us kicked out again!”

“Listen Seungmin, its not my fault that they couldn't handle my bare-chested sexiness-”

“I am this close to hexing you, asshole. Just because your dad never wore a shirt in his goddamn life doesn't mean you need to be the same.”

it was mostly a life of solitude, not counting the occasional intruders who would freely walk down the shore of the beach just in front of your cozy hut

you recognized the pair arguing just feet away from yourself; they were the sons of Tarzan and Maleficent, respectively

oh my god if they're here, I bet that dickhead is here too-

“Morning, gorgeous. I was wondering when we’d pass by your... hut.” Lee Minho himself hummed with an amused smirk, his piercing gaze darting down to your more than exasperated expression

ah, Lee Minho was a peculiar case indeed. He was the only son of Ursula, having been born merely a month before the island founders transported everyone here

while most parents, good or evil, tried to make sure all of their children would get along with one another, it was as if Ursula had thrown that idea out the door and encouraged her son to do the things he did

he was enticing, owning a voice of gold that would make anyone’s heart to backflips if he spoke to them

he was also known to be one of the most cunning, strongest people on the island

Minho frequently picked fights on people of all shapes, sizes, and ancestry - he didn't give a flying fuck if you were the love-child of a famous prince and princess, he could and would initiate a brawl if he wanted to

while a good portion of the community looked at the man in distaste and fear, you knew he was a good man deep down

he only ever picked fights with people who really deserved it

for example, when a group of kids in high school had been making fun of Changbin’s parents since his dad was bisexual [in this day and age? wild] Minho was the first one to throw a punch, helping his friend beat the shit out of them

yeah they were suspended and nearly expelled, but from that day on you couldn't help but admire him in a sense

you’d grown up side by side, but since you weren’t too important, you weren’t really involved with anything the other big-leagues did

while Minho was captain of both the swim team and the dance team, you were usually found in the background, simply minding your own business

of course you felt an odd connection with the man, as well as other kids older than yourself and those born in the same year as you

all of you had been born before the transportation to the real world, and while the youngest included the likes of you and Minho both, just born months ahead of time - each of you wondered what life was like in the world of fairytales and fictional stories

but something inside your head convinced you to approach him all those years ago back in high school

you’d been watching him and the son of Cinderella since the start of their swim practice, admiring how easily he moved in the water

which was because he was practically made for it, considering his ancestry

“hey, Minho,” you’d called out to him, still leaning against one of the walls when he glanced over to you in surprise, “come here for a second.”

and he’d done just that, walking over to you in all his glory, water dripping down his bare chest and arms, his black hair wet but still somehow looking neat and presentable

“uh, hi?”

“could you - could you teach me how to fight?” you’d stuttered out to him in sheer panic, his own eyes twinkling in curiosity at your request

“I um - you see, well, I have to walk home alone after work most nights and it isn’t exactly... safe, I guess.” which isn't a lie, in all honesty

in the late hours of the night, you worked at a measly grocery store to get some easy cash, but having to walk home alone was incredibly scary

even though all of you had been, for the most part, raised in the human world, there were still low-life's and downright villainous people residing on the island

knowing that you could possibly run into someone like that alone with no way of defending yourself was a daunting thought

“yea, sure, why not.” Minho had agreed almost immediately, much to your surprise

ever since then, after school, the boy would drive you to the gym and train with you

whenever you got off of work he was right outside the front door where you would walk out, waiting so he could walk you home each night

you were a bit confused, since you had been training with him so you wouldn't feel defenseless by yourself - but he insisted on making sure you got home safely no matter what

over the years the two of you grew to be quite close, so much so that you'd been nominated prom king and queen

you still had the picture of you two dancing in celebration, red solo cups in hand as he had been in the middle of twirling you on the heels of your feet when the candid photograph had been taken

“What? Too distracted by my dashing good looks to talk?” He pressed on smugly, snapping his fingers just inches in front of your face to snap you out of your daydream

“In your dreams, Minho,” you retort with a roll of your eyes, accepting his hand lent out to help you stand from the sand you’d been sitting in, “I was just... thinking.”

“Ouch, that must hurt.”

“Shut it, octopus.” You hiss, flicking his forehead while Jisung and Seungmin made their way towards the two of you.

“Anywho, Chan is throwing some huge party tonight and invited you to come.” He informed you with a bit of bitterness to his tone, much to your amusement

it was painfully obvious how Minho had a... thing, for you, to say the least. while you didn’t know if it was a short-lived infatuation or genuine feelings, it was hilarious to witness him become jealous over the smallest things

like one time where Felix, the son of Belle, had been helping you with schoolwork in the library

his head was close to yours, bent down so he could quietly explain how to work out the difficult problems [what? he is a genius, so you didn't mind the younger boy helping you out at all]

then Minho had sauntered in, almost immediately spotting two of his closest friends so close together with the smart Felix whispering something to you

despite your protests, Minho had insisted that he help you instead, sending Felix away by reminding him that they had a dance competition in just a few days - the freckled boy had gasped and rushed out quickly to the studio just for some extra practice, trusting the older boy to help

needless to say, you had failed that assignment horribly

“aww, is little Minho jealous?” You asked him in a teasing tone, wiping off the remnants of sand from your sundress, making Jisung and Seungmin snicker behind you

the black haired man glared at you playfully, though his lips were curled into a pout

“Y/N, I am not jealous - oh, forget it, I was wondering if you wanted to come to town with us while we picked up some food and shit for the party.”

you shrugged, knowing full well that you didn't have anything else to do for the rest of the afternoon besides sitting in the sand or wading in the water

“Sure, just let me put on some shoes- Minho!” You squeaked in surprise when he doesn't even give you the chance to finish, as he’s easily picked you up and thrown you onto his back

you huffed and puffed at him, gently smacking his head as he lead your small group off the beach and up the path towards the main part of town, ignoring your squeals of protest the entire time

about an hour had passed and you were still stuck on Minho’s back, even after all that shopping and going through shops to find food

Jisung and Seungmin were walking just a few feet ahead of you two, carrying the light bags of food for the party in their hands while Minho lagged a bit behind them, his hands supporting your legs still wrapped around his waist

“Goddamn, look at that ass!”

“You think her boyfriend will get pissed if we snap a pic?”

you gawked in disbelief at what you were hearing, turning your head to see two younger boys cheekily winking at you

you had completely forgotten you were still wearing a sundress, and while your backside was protected by shorts, it still left little to the imagination

you felt Minho pause abruptly in his tracks just so he could slowly turn around and face your disgusting catcallers

“Say another word about my girl and I swear to god I’ll snap your limbs like twigs.” He threatens the mischievous boys lowly, his voice dead serious and intimidating

as if they were wanting a death wish, the pair of boys rolled their eyes and sent not-so-discreate winks to you, completely ignoring the boiling man carrying you

“Hey lady, if this weirdo isn’t giving you what you need, we can solve that problem for you.”

with a deep breath Minho gently slid you off of his back, pushing you behind him while Jisung and Seungmin made their way back to you two, clearly wondering what had happened to make their friend so eerily pissed

“You two shitheads need to learn some fucking respect,” the tall man growled in a growing fury, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, “or would you like me to knock some common fucking sense into those empty brains of yours?”

“Alright alright, we’ll back off man.” One of them gave in with a roll of his eyes, holding his hands up in surrender as he started to lead his partner past you and the two boys still staring in curiosity

then, as they made their way past you, one of them reached out and squeezed your ass invasively, smirking at your gasp of shock and disgust

he didn't have time to even blink before Minho had swung at him so hard that he’d been knocked out

his friend looked back quickly, his eyes wide in fear at what just happened

if he decided to fight back, you were sure that Minho would turn the confrontation into an all out brawl

“Take him away before I decide to make the bastard bleed.” Minho growled, now standing in front of you protectively while the boy nodded comically fast, picking his friend up with one arm and waddling away

that night you decided not to go to the party - the confrontation from the shopping trip still had you a bit zoned out, and you knew that if you had gone you would've been too anxious with so many drunk, hormonal people crowded into one space

“Minho, you didn't have to stay with me.” You sigh to the man, glancing over to him and watching as he clenches his jaw, still clearly upset at the event earlier that day

you could tell that he blamed himself for whatever reason; he probably thought he could’ve prevented the sick guy from touching you, but none of you could’ve predicted that he would have acted so rashly anyway

“Too bad, princess, you're stuck with me.” He huffed back, not sparing you one look in fear that he might lose it and freak out about the incident again

you let out a deep, resounding sigh before you scoot closer to him on the stairs of your porch, resting your head on his shoulders comfortingly

you could feel one of his hands trailing up your bare thigh, his fingertips lazily tracing your skin as you both watched the ocean waves lap at the sandy shore of the beach

“Let me... let me be the only man who can touch you, Y/N.” Minho blurts out suddenly, though his voice is oddly serious and quiet

your cheeks heat up quickly at his blunt statement, though you can’t seem to comprehend exactly what he’s suggesting

“When that sicko touched you today, I was so close to ripping his head off. You didn't give him permission so that’s why -” he breaks off with a gulp, his fingers now squeezing your thigh, as if he was testing his boundaries, “that’s why I’m asking for your permission. Please, princess, let me touch you.”

you find yourself letting out a soft, nearly inaudible ‘okay,’ and within milliseconds the man has tilted your chin up with the pads of his fingers and thumb, his serious gaze boring into yours

“Are you sure?”

“I - yes, I’m sure, Minho. You were my hero today, and shouldn't heroes get a proper reward?”

you watch with red cheeks as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, now parted as he leans in closer and closer, until your noses are touching and his pink lips are grazing yours

“Princess, you are going to regret those words when I’m done with you tonight.”

✧

#skzwriters #stray kids au #stray kids Disney au #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids #lee minho #Minho scenario #Minho imagine #stray kids fluff #stray kids suggestive #lowkey this sucks lmao #end me

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asimbelmyne · 6 years

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A Forget-Me-Not in the Fork in the Road: Chapter Two

Fandom: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Rey

A03 Link

Summary: He’d wait at the fork in the road almost everyday, tethering his horse to an old apple tree beyond the fence row, biding his time until he’d catch a glimpse of her hair in the distance, the swish of her pale dress, or the dying echo of her voice on the breeze, taunting his ears. She didn’t expect anything less.

A/N: This is going down a path I didn't think that it would take. Kylo is clearly a huge ass in my story, and believe me, Rey isn't going to handle his bullshit without giving a little in return. It would go against her character to do otherwise. I don't know if I'll change the rating, and I don't know how things are going to progress. Regardless, I'm having quite a lot of fun in the meantime! This is definitely out of my comfort zone.

Rey's hatred for Plutt had grown in the span of a few moments, curling around her heart, preventing any form of rationality from finding its way in. Her capacity for forgiveness had always outweighed her distaste of cruelty, but he had forced her hand. His behaviour had become intolerable, rivalling the look in Ben's eyes when she had questioned the reality of their acquaintance for the first time, defying every rule she had been taught out of contempt for his stature in life. She wanted to scream at him for being so unreasonable, but Plutt wore his conceit like a badge, acting under the assumption that he had lived long enough to do so, allowing the look on his face to vocalize everything she knew him to be feeling. Her anger was irrational, bursting from beneath her skin like an explosion, one she could no longer repress without becoming a flaming mess herself. Plutt had done enough to warrant her anger. He stood several feet away on purpose, occupying the entrance to his mill like a stone sentinel, preventing her from getting in. His height was imposing, but not enough to deter her wrath. She should have known he'd resort to something like this after Ben's candid slip up, but Rey refused to acknowledge how serious he'd been in the face of her captivity, gripping her wrist as tightly as a noose, fearing the inevitable. Ben's hunger for ambition had always been particularly unnerving, but she didn't think he'd ever go out of his way to consume her too. His family hadn't made much of an effort to conceal his true nature. He was a ghost, a name whispered in warning, and a shadow instead of a person. She should have turned on her heel the moment he had appeared in her life.

Plutt nearly smiled in light of her fury, but his face was too withered to display any emotion other than annoyance, as if she were nothing more than a speck of dirt trapped in the sole his shoe, entirely undeserving of his notice. Rey wanted to punch him in the face, demanding he let her stay in an attempt to salvage what remained of her life, but she knew he'd rather die than be humiliated by a woman her size, a woman with nowhere else to go. Her plight in life was crippling. Ben's face appeared in her mind like a mirage, a fictitious delusion that continued to infiltrate her thoughts no matter how hard she fought against it, destroying everything she had worked so hard to achieve on her own. The memory of his stare was unwelcome, a constant reminder of his selfishness, the feverish glint that had seeped into his eyes upon seeing her, and his pride. Plutt's expression confirmed Ben's involvement in their standoff, snapping the redundancy of her life, something she had grown to rely upon. Without the added benefit of belonging to someone, she was nothing but a woman, alone in the world.

"You can't do this," Rey said, seething with rage.

Plutt merely laughed, folding his arms across his chest in a display of pure disregard. "I already have! I can't say that it's been fun, but you don't concern me anymore."

"Did he put you up to this?" she demanded, barreling headlong into his space. "How much did he pay you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're lying!"

"Says who?" Plutt hissed, gipping her chin hard enough to cause pain. "A nobody? Don't fool yourself into thinking I give a shit. You're a pain in my ass, just as pathetic as everyone else in this godforsaken hellhole. You've overstayed your welcome."

Rey flinched, swatting his hand away in disgust. His eyes were alight with something she refused to name, glittering in the space between them like a black hole, bordering on regret. She had always done what he had asked of her. She had been a valuable asset to his industry, willing to work long hours with little pay, possessing little wealth in life. If she left, someone else would take her place. She was expendable, another cog in Plutt's clockwork, a piece of a puzzle so large, few had ever seen it in its entirety. The anger she had been harbouring for Ben flared anew. He would never understand her role in life because he had never experienced it for himself. They'd always be at an impasse, close enough to peer into one another's lives without actively taking part, dipping their toes into a surface so opaque, they could hardly fathom what lay beneath. Rey liked to imagine Ben's existence as being somewhat boring, composed of activities she'd often make fun of, activities she'd never end up doing herself. His ideas about her responsibilities in life were clearly unrealistic. Plutt's hand strayed near her face and she eyed it warily, waiting for the inevitable collide.

"He's ruined you," he told her softly, and for once, she looked up at him in surprise.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but he merely laughed.

"Look who's the liar now?"

Rey stumbled around the bend, lifting the hem of her dress well above her ankles. Her confrontation with Plutt had ended badly. He had never been particularly considerate as a person, but his final words continued their assault long after she had left him alone, bothering her far more than she was willing to admit. Ben lived in a place beyond the restrictions her status in life had forced upon her, a place where he could do whatever he liked without consequence. His decisions had often been fickle in nature, indicating how little he cared about other people in light of his own problems, but his neglect, his lack of empathy for her situation in life, contradicted everything she thought she had known about him. He was capable of feeling things beyond selfishness, beyond the impenetrable cage he had trapped himself in, yet his desire to have her usurped everything else. Rey could see it in his face, how he had hidden himself in the bushes on purpose, blending into the foliage like the apples he enjoyed eating so much. He smiled upon seeing her, pleased that he had caught her in such an awkward situation. Every time she took a step in his direction, he'd catch a glimpse of her hair tumbling down her back, free from its intricate prison, coiling around the base of her neck and into the plunge of her bodice. Rey was aware of how she appeared to him. She looked desirable, wet from walking around in the rain, flushed red from anger, and completely furious, forgoing decorum in a vain attempt to keep her dress from getting muddy. He had ruined her life.

"You're a monster," she hissed, speaking loudly enough for him to hear. "You know exactly what you've done to me!"

"Ignorance is bliss. I thought you had realized that by now."

"What do you take me for? An idiot? Our relationship is far from being socially acceptable and I refuse to pretend otherwise!"

A frown appeared on his face, but it didn't linger there for very long. He stepped out from beneath the tree, close enough to count the freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose, joining her in the rain. There was something off about him and she couldn't quite put a name to it. The smile she had seen earlier felt like a ruse, put in place to honor the very pretences they had grown to rely upon so much, a ruse she hated more than his expressive eyes. Rey knew that Ben had closed himself off from everyone else, retreating somewhere deep inside of his own head in an act of self preservation, protecting what remained of his heart. While his mouth said very little about how he really felt, his eyes didn't lie. His displeasure with her words had become obvious, emanating from behind his gaze like an inferno, a searing accusation that rivalled the anger he had kindled inside of her soul. The look in his eyes bothered her, and she hated it. He deserved to feel degraded, forced to acknowledge the severity of his actions and their impact on her life, mirroring everything he had made her feel. His selfishness spoke louder than anything he'd ever say out loud.

"I saved you," he said darkly, clenching the fabric of his pants between his fingers. "I saved you from a life of needless suffering, a life you clearly didn't want."

"You destroyed everything that made me a person, Ben!"

His dark hair fell between his eyes, exaggerating the anger that burned from within, growing larger and larger like a seed in its infancy. His fury had been a thing of legend, a weapon of mass destruction few experienced without crumbling a little in the process. Rey knew what he could do to her if he so desired, but she didn't care. Her life had been difficult. His anger was as transitory as ripple, a stream she'd easily cross if things got out of hand.

"Don't give Plutt too much credit," he said, looming over her. "You were a person long before he forced you to work for him."

"What would you have me do then? Work for you?"

"I'd have you right where you are, beside me. That's all I've ever wanted."

Rey sighed in defeat, brushing his hair away from his eyes. He leaned into her warmth, kissing the inside of her palm. The sensation of his mouth stifled her anger. She allowed her hand to slip across his jaw, sinking her fingers into his dark hair, moving close enough to feel his heat. Her fears had come true. He'd never say it out right, but he didn't need to, not to her. His feelings were as obvious as the colour of his eyes, dark, alluring, and hot, coiling around her heart like a noose. His mask had slipped, but he was too enamoured with her to slide it back into place. Their acquaintance endured because he had never seen her as anything but his equal. He enjoyed hearing her stories and opinions, admiring the sound of her voice alongside his own, free from everything they had been born into. He was completely and utterly himself when they were together, and she didn't hate him for it. She disliked his penchant for cruelty, his vivacity for life, and how he continued to act as though the entire world were his to control and his to preside over, ignoring the rules that dictated their lives and what they were supposed to do with them. She refused to adhere to his warped perception of who they could become in light of what they already were. Her grip on his hair tightened, but his discomfort was lost in favour of her own thoughts.

"You live in a world so detached from mine, that it would be shameful to debase yourself just to be with me. Is that what you want?"

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against hers so lightly she could barely feel it, but the intent behind his kiss spoke volumes. "Yes," he said, folding his hands into the curve of her spine. "I'll drag you down with me if I have to."

"I won't go easily," she said, trying to pull away, but his fingers were insistent, rooting her to the ground.

"I don't expect you to."

"Then why bother?" she asked, but his mouth had found the curve of her jaw.

Her grip tightened once again, enough to elicit a pained groan from his lips, but he didn't seem to care. He continued to wander, mapping out the column of her throat with his tongue. She wanted to pull away, abandoning his touch and the warmth that came with it, but she couldn't deny her feelings. To do so would be hypocritical, ignoring everything she had seen in him and in herself, and she didn't think he'd forgive her for that. He knew her far better than she would have liked. Every time his lips found her skin, her inhibitions began to fade away, bleeding into the background until his mouth, hands, and body took precedence over everything else. He was unraveling her, pulling at her seams, leaving her naked and vulnerable beneath his hands, trapped like a deer in headlights. His fingers found the spaces between her ribs, trailing up the length of her body, coercing a sound from her throat he hadn't heard in weeks. She arched into him, gripping his hair so hard he swore out loud. His kisses tasted like rain, open-mouthed and sloppy, stifling her anger entirely. The urge to run filled her to the brim.

"You owe me a song, remember?" he told her, digging his fingers into her hips.

The look on his face was shameless, but his eyes were sincere.

#rey #ben solo #kylo ren #rey x kylo ren #rey x ben #reylo trash #reylo fic #chapter 2 #Star Wars Fic #the last jedi #historial AU #A03 #a03 fic #reylo fanfic #reylo fam #in process #fanfiction

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