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matwith1t · 3 years

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A/N: Hiiii!! More writing! Yay! This was a fun one!! It’s 98% fluff with 2% angst, but I promise it has a happy ending 🙂 Thank you all so much for your encouraging words!! I cherish them all & hold them close to my heart 🥺 Any and all feedback is appreciated! I hope you enjoy !

Summary: From your first date, first kiss, first hockey game of Mat’s, first I love you, to your first fight…You always learned something new about him.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: One swear word & brief allusion to smut // WC: 11.6K // Fluff & Slight Angst

It was your first date.

A blind date.

The nerves got the best of you, so you arrived at the coffee shop early. What if the subway line you had to take was late? What if you missed a stop? What if you took a wrong turn down a street? Twenty minutes might be a bit too early, but it was the only way to ease your anxiety.

You don’t even know the last time you were on a blind date. Your friend, Hayden, had set it up. After a drunken confession over a shared bottle of wine, you admitted you were scared that you were running out of time to find your person. And that’s when an idea clicked in her mind.

She said she had a friend––Mat––who was tired of flings and wanted to really date someone. You waved her off, the idea of being set up seemed too middle school for you. But after she showed you a picture of him…you gave her the go ahead to send him your number.

She contacted Mat, and he said that he was all in for a blind date with you.

You tapped your foot on the pavement as you stood outside of the coffee shop entrance you agreed to meet at. After scrolling through your social media a few times, you clicked on your messages. Were you at the right coffee shop? You clicked on his name, and triple checked that you had the correct place and time.

“Uh, Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, you peered up from your phone and saw a nervous looking boy––a boy you recognized from the picture your friend showed you on a drunken Friday night. With a nervous breath, you offered him a tight lipped smile, “Mat?”

He visibly relaxed at your confirmation that he didn’t walk up a stranger. He ran a hand through his messy styled hair and easily smiled, “Yeah, I––Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out a small laugh.

Oh my God, this is so awkward, you thought to yourself. This was why blind dates were only met for middle school. A blind date was not meant for anytime after that.

While you hadn’t even spent five minutes in his presence, your mind already jumped to the worst conclusion of this not working out as either of you planned. While dating might not work out, maybe you could get a friend out of this.

Mat took a step around you and opened the door, “Should we head in?”

With a nod, you thanked him for holding the door open. Walking in, you were instantly engulfed with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and the sound of hardworking espresso machines. The shop was bustling with city goers, but there were enough empty tables that you didn’t feel the need to rush to save one. You let out another deep breath as you felt Mat’s shoulder slightly brush yours as he stood next to you in line.

“What are you getting?” He looked down at you.

You tilted your head as you read the menu board that hung behind the counter, “Maybe one of their house lattes?” You then moved your gaze to look up at him, “What about you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, eyes not nearly looking at the menu for as long as you did to decide on a drink, before his eyes landed back on you with a smile, “An iced coffee.”

His smile was infectious. His smile was pretty. And you felt your stomach twist in knots the more you paid attention to the way his smile affected you.

“Also, you can––uh––get whatever you want,” his checks turned a bright shade of red as he stumbled over his words, “I’ll buy.”

You shook your head, but before you could say anything, the two of you were at the front of the line.

Mat was first with his order––an iced coffee––and then he turned his body to look at you, “And whatever she’s having.” You smiled in appreciation and gave the barista your order. You were about to move out of the way, and wait for Mat to be done paying, but he asked you another question, “Do you want anything to eat?”

You felt bad having him pay for coffee and something to eat. It was a coffee shop in New York after all, but the sound of your stomach making a high-pitched grumble sold you out. You felt yourself grow hot with embarrassment, and asked for a croissant. Mat tacked on two croissants to the order and swiped his credit card as if the steep price for two coffees and two pastries in a New York coffee shop wasn’t a concern.

From the two details Hayden had told you––which were his name and age––you knew he was young like you. If you wanted to splurge on a day like this, you needed to budget ahead of time correctly. While you were appreciative of Mat paying for you…it was a blind date. And you didn’t expect him to put so much effort into it

Maybe he budgeted his money better than you.

With your croissants on a plate, the two of you found a place to sit by a window. You tapped your fingers on the wooden table top. It was still awkward, you thought to yourself, as you counted down the seconds until your drinks came. Mat seemed to feel the awkwardness in the air too, but he braved his way through the weird atmosphere.

“So…” he nodded his head for ten seconds straight, eyes darting around the coffee shop, as he cut through the silence, “Where are you from?”

You answered his question, rambling a bit to fill the void, and then asked him the same question. It went back and forth like that for maybe thirteen minutes until your drinks were brought out to your table. Thankful that you had something to sip on if there was a lull in conversation, you circled your hands around the hot mug.

But the conversation never hit a lull; it was fun not knowing anything about Mat before you met him. And he seemed to enjoy it as much as you. You struggled to drink your coffee in a reasonable amount of time to save it from growing cold because of how much the two of you consecutively talked.

“So what do you do?” You took a sip of your lukewarm coffee.

He raised an eyebrow, “What do I do?”

You hummed a simple mhm at him as you swallowed down your drink, “Like, for work,” you set your mug down on the table and leaned forward, “What’s your job?”

“My job…” Mat muttered under his breath as he leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes flickered down to see the slight flex of his muscles, and when you reconnected eyes with him, he smirked, “I play hockey.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together, “Hockey?”

Mat nodded his head, the smirk on his face growing, as he kept silent. The two of you had been doing so well in avoiding silences, but you caught yourself in one. So, you took a sip of your drink, in hopes he would say something more about his job. But he continued to confidently sit back in his seat.

Not enjoying the sudden awkwardness, you added a futile point to your conversation, “I––I have some friends who play hockey. Only on the weekends though. Kind of like a rec league? Or just a pick up game––”

If you thought his smile was infectious, all you had to do was hear his laugh.

It was soft, a little more high-pitched than you imagined, as he slightly shook his head back and forth. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as his eyes shut for a few seconds. As his soft laughter settled down, he scratched the bridge of his nose, eyes glimmering under the natural light that shined through the window next to him.

It was a glimpse into how he sounded when he felt happy. And you wanted nothing more than to hear a real––eyes screwed shut tight, nose wrinkling, head tilted back––laugh from him.

Mat mirrored you; he leaned slightly forward, forearms resting against the table as his smile slowly transformed back into a smirk, “I play professional hockey.”

Professional hockey…But he looked so young. The only rational explanation you could think of in your head was that he played hockey for a minor league team in New York.

With a nod of your head, you took another sip of your drink. The hour you had spent with Mat flowed easily, but for some reason, finding out that he was some sort of professional athlete produced a feeling of insecurity inside of you.

You took another long sip of your coffee.

“You’ll have to come to a game,” Mat’s confident voice dropped to a hesitant whisper, “If you want to.”

Setting the empty mug down on the table, you bit the inside of your cheek to conceal your growing smile. You let out a silent deep breath, collecting your thoughts, because if he wanted you to come watch him play, that meant he had to see some sort of future with you.

Whether the future be two and a half weeks, five months, or four years…He saw you in his life somehow.

“I’d like to see you play,” you assured him.

His eyebrows animatedly rose up, almost getting lost under the loose strands of hair that fell a little too perfectly against his forehead, and smiled wide, “Awesome, that’s––Okay, yeah, I’ll text you about it.”

Neither of you could hide the smiles on your face.

After sitting at the table with empty coffee mugs for quite some time, the only reason why the date ended was because Mat said he had to go dog sit for one of his teammates. Regretfully, both of you brought your empty coffee mugs to the counter, and walked out the door with smiles, laughter, and a promise from Mat to text you about attending one of his games.

As you made the journey back to your place, you didn’t know the last time you felt this giddy after a first date. While you learned surface level information about him; you also learned the sound of his laugh, and that he wasn’t too fond of dogs.

And you couldn’t wait to learn more about him.

–––

It was your first kiss with Mat.

A nervous first kiss.

It came close to a month after your first date, and admittedly, it was probably the longest you had waited for a first kiss, but Mat had a streak of away games that kept him from New York and the two of you had only hung out in public. While a first kiss walking through a park had been romanticized one too many times, it would have left you in a daydream––but whenever it felt right––someone always came up to Mat to talk about hockey. While he wasn’t approached in public often, it seemed like whenever he was, it ruined the moment.

Maybe it was a sign he would be better off as just a friend.

But that thought always disappeared whenever he gently slid his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and giving your hand a squeeze. And just like the first time you held his hand, there was an explosion of ecstasy in your chest. A good tightness in your chest you felt whenever he held your hand.

You were at a bar with Mat and some friends, your fingers interlocked and resting on his thigh, pressed close up to his side. A smile lit up your face whenever you felt his chest lightly shake with laughter or his thumb softly graze the top of your hand. The only part of the night where your smile tugged downward was when everyone decided to call it an early night.

As if Mat felt the same disappointment, he whispered in your ear, “I’ll take you back to your place.”

You wished he would ask if you wanted to get ice-cream at the parlor a few blocks over, or ask if you wanted to stay at the bar, but you knew he had an early morning tomorrow. All you wanted was to spend more time with him, and if him making sure you got home alright was how you spent more time with him, you would take it.

After tabs were paid off and goodbyes were said, everyone was off in their separate directions. Except for you and Mat.

Surprisingly, the streets weren’t that crowded for it being the early evening in New York, but Mat tugged you close to his side; fingers still intertwined. The walk to the subway was full of quiet conversation of observations the two of you made down the street with a few small laughs. And when you were on the platform for your train, your laughs turned to whispers.

“If Beau was a little too much, let me know,” Mat leaned down to whisper softly in your ear, “and I’ll beat him up.”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you leaned your head against his bicep, shaking your head, you looked up at him, “You said that last time. He’s nice, I like him.”

Mat hummed, “Sometimes his teasing goes a little too far.”

His voice was light-hearted, just like how Tito sounded when he teased Mat whenever he whispered in your ear throughout the evening, but there was an underlying uncertainty in his voice. Almost like he was concerned that if Tito teased you too much you wouldn’t want to spend anymore time with Mat. But that was quite the opposite. Whenever a best friend poked fun at the other, it was almost always meant in good nature, and it also showed that Mat confided his feelings about you with Tito.

You mirrored his soft hum, and squeezed his hand, as you shrugged your shoulders, “I wouldn’t mind more of his teasing,” you smiled up at him, hoping that he caught the hidden meaning behind your sentence; you seeing a future together with more interactions with his best friend. “My friends are the same way.”

Mat raised his eyebrows, and you ducked your chin into your chest out of nervousness at his next words, “So is that our next date? I meet your friends?”

Next date.

The thought of going on countless more dates with Mat caused an electric jolt to shoot down your spine. And when you flicked your eyes up to stare into his, you felt as if you were caught in one of your dreams. His eyes were already gazing on you in awe, with the corners of his lips lightly tuned upward into a soft closed lipped smile.

He moved his head closer to yours, it was just a centimeter of movement, but you noticed it. And you held your breath as you looked down at his lips, hoping that you would finally have your first kiss with Mat.

But like all of the people who interrupted the two of you whenever you were on a walk in the park, the harsh breaking sounds of the subway coming to a halt caused Mat to move away and stand up straight.

Mat cleared his throat and you let out a sigh at the ruined moment.

The train stopped, you waited until people were off the train car, and Mat swiftly tugged on your hand to make sure that the train didn’t escape before you had the chance to get on. The train car was empty, also a very rare sight on a still relatively early evening in New York. You made your way to sit on one of the empty seats, but your stretched out arm snapped back into Mat’s chest as he held tight onto your hand.

“Do you not want to sit?” You looked up at him as he gripped onto the pole in the center of the subway car.

Mat shook his head as he dropped your hand. But you didn’t have time to be sad at the loss of contact for long because Mat curled his arm around your waist, “Too dirty,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled you close to his chest, “And we’ve been sitting all night, kinda wanna stand.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pressed your palms flat against his chest as the train jolted to a start.

Standing in silence with Mat on the empty subway was more relaxing than it should have been. Because while the unpleasant sound of the subway on the tracks echoed through the tunnel, with your head resting on Mat’s chest, all you heard was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You could feel yourself dozing off as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your hip, but your senses heightened when he trailed his hand slowly up your back. The feeling of his fingertips making contact with your spine caused goosebumps along your skin. And you swore your breathing stopped when you felt his hand trail up your neck, his fingers cradling the back of your head with his thumb on your cheek.

Hesitantly––hoping that you knew what was to come in the next few moments––you looked up at Mat through your eyelashes.

His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he stared down at you with a crease in between his eyebrows. With your hands still firmly placed on his chest, you could feel the deep breath he let out through his nose.

“I like you,” Mat blurted out.

You let out a breathy chuckle at his admission. You knew that he liked you by the way he always held your hand and how he liked to call you more than text, but to hear him verbalize his feelings felt nice.

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile as you saw his head move a centimeter closer to yours, “I like you, too.”

Mat glanced at your lips, and then at your eyes, and even with a slight nod of your head, Mat still hesitated as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But you weren’t going to pull away––you didn’t want to pull away––because you had been waiting for this moment where your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath got caught in your throat.

And as you felt him let out another shaky breath, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. His lips touched yours gently at first, a tender brush, as if he anticipated being electrocuted by a spark. But when nothing happened, Mat tucked his lower lip between yours in another gentle, but lingering kiss.

You had plenty of first kisses before in your life; there had been first kisses that had been harder, more rushed, more chaste…but never had you felt a first kiss that was so simple and right than you did with Mat. Your lips were merely pressed together, but you could still feel him everywhere.

There was something so innocent about the kiss, as if both of you were afraid to mess up.

The two of you separated just as softly as you’d come together, just enough room to where you could peer up at him and still feel his breath across your face. Then the two of you laughed. Shy, whispery giggles that had more to do with nerves rather than humor. And as the two of you continued to stare into each other’s eyes, it was as if instinct kicked in and Mat’s lips were back on yours.

This time, your lips met with more certainty, eager to feel. A soft sigh escaped your lips when Mat parted his lips further and you felt the tip of his tongue. The hand that had previously cupped your cheek, was now on around your lower back as he pressed you close to him. And to keep yourself steady as the subway car went around a bend, one of your hands gripped his shirt as the other clutched onto his bicep.

As the two of you shared your first kiss on an empty New York subway, you learned a few more things about Mat. You finally learned what his lips felt like pressed against yours, and that he was absolutely terrible at navigating the subway after the two of you missed your stop.

With the way he made you feel during your first kiss, you couldn’t wait to feel that spark of joy again.

–––

It was your first hockey game.

Your first New York Islanders hockey game where you knew a player on the ice…and more importantly, where a player was your boyfriend.

“Oh he will love it,” Hayden smirked at the #13 jersey you wore as the two of you walked with the crowd toward the arena, “I still can’t believe you thought he was a minor league hockey player.”

You lightly knocked your shoulder against hers as you let out a small laugh, “How was I supposed to know he played for the National Hockey League?” You raised your eyebrows at her, “You literally only told me his name and that we were around the same age when you set us up.”

She tipped her head back in laughter, “I thought you paid attention to sports!”

“I do!” You mirrored her smile as the two of you took out your tickets to be scanned, “But you can’t see what they look like under their helmets clearly.”

After the two of you passed security, you found yourself amongst a sea of white, navy blue, and orange as you walked to your seats, “I still can’t believe he didn’t tell you he played for the Isles.” She snickered, “He has way too big of an ego to let that slide.”

You felt your stomach churn with embarrassment as your whole body heated up.

While Mat said that he played professional hockey on your first date, he conveniently left out that he played for the New York Islanders. It was a week and a half after your first date when you found out that detail. Mat was away for a few road games, and as the two of you were texting, he casually slipped in that you should watch the game on T.V.

You thought he was joking because you didn’t think that they broadcasted minor league hockey games on television. But he called you to give you his NHL TV login and informed you to tune in at 7 PM for the New York Islanders game. Again, you thought he was joking, but you tuned in anyway.

The shock you felt through your body was unlike anything else you felt when you heard the announcers talk about how amazing Mat Barzal has played for years as an Islander. And when the camera focused in on him for a few seconds, you scrambled to text Hayden for confirmation.

But now, nearly three months into your relationship, you had found a time where your schedule worked with Mat’s to go to one of his games. He asked if you wanted to sit with his teammate’s significant others, but you said you would be more comfortable with Hayden for your first hockey game of his.

As the two of you sat down a few rows behind the Islanders bench, you tugged the sleeves of your #13 Barzal jersey over your hands. He’s your boyfriend, you thought to yourself as you felt self-conscious wearing his jersey, no need to be nervous…other people are wearing his jersey too.

But those other people didn’t share intimate moments with him. Other people didn’t know how his calloused hands felt as they delicately touched your skin. Other people didn’t know he slightly snored when he napped.

Sure, other people idolized him as a hockey player, but you were always in awe of him when you learned a specific trait about him that he didn’t share with the rest of the world.

“Do you see him?” Hayden leaned over to speak in your ear as she pointed to Mat skating on the ice, “Right there.”

With a hockey stick in his hands, Mat skated in circles to practice his puck movement. The face you admired so much was hidden under his helmet, but you could clearly see his number and last name on his jersey.

You smiled wide and nodded your head, “This is exciting.”

Hayden laughed at your eagerness to have the game start as you practically bounced in your seat. Soon enough, the players finished their warm ups and skated toward the bench. One by one, they hopped off the ice.

“I’m gonna call out his name,” Hayden smirked as she cupped her hands around her mouth.

But with wide eyes and embarrassment already in the pit of your stomach, you pulled her hands away from her mouth, “Don’t you dare––”

“Looks like he’s already found you,” Hayden’s smirk widened as she waved her hand at who you presumed was Mat.

You whipped your head around to the bench and saw Mat, with his helmet off, awkwardly half-turned around on the bench as he sat next to a number #18 and #27. And like every time you saw him, a smile that you couldn’t contain instantly made its way onto your face. You picked up your hand and animatedly waved at him with a beaming smile.

Mat lowered his head for a moment, hair slightly falling onto his forehead, and when he picked his head up to wave at you, you saw his cheeks twinged with pink coloring.

Feeling too excited watching your boyfriend play live for the first time tonight, you couldn’t help but turn your shoulder toward him as you showed off the #13 on your sleeve. When you dropped the hand that stretched out the sleeve to show him his number, you expected to see a smile as wide as yours on his face. But instead, you saw his eyes wide open and mouth formed in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as his chest expanded; taking in a deep breath.

Confused, you tilted your head and looked at Hayden, “Is he not happy that I’m wearing––”

Letting out her loudest laugh of the night, Hayden bent forward and clutched her stomach, “Oh, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Hayden had known Mat longer than you, so you knew that she knew things about him that you weren’t privy to yet. But her comment intrigued you.

“What do you mean?”

She just shook her head as her shoulders still slightly shook.

You turned back around in hopes to see Mat, but when your eyes landed on the bench, you saw Mat being jostled between the two players he sat next to. And upon further inspection, you read the last names on the jersey’s; Beauvillier and Lee.

Lee was still elbowing Mat when Tito turned around with a wicked smile. He cupped a hand around his mouth, “Nice jersey! He loves it!”

Tito’s voice fell a little flat among the crowd that started to fill their way to their seats, but you still heard him. And his comment only spurred on more laughter from Hayden.

At this point in your relationship with Mat, you were used to Tito’s teasing. And in the time you had been in the arena, you had grown accustomed to Hayden’s laughs. You didn’t think too much of their actions, your mind still wrapped around how all you wanted was for the game to begin.

And soon enough, the game started.

You were on the edge of your seat for the entire first period, clutching Hayden’s hand anytime Mat was shoved from behind or slammed into the boards. The second period was just as thrilling, and even though a penalty was called on Mat, he caught your eye briefly before he sat down in the penalty box. And the third period…While you stood up and cheered with the rest of the arena whenever the Islanders scored, no amount of excitement in the first two periods felt as exhilarating as when you watched Mat score.

With Hayden, you leaped up and hugged her tight as you cheered with a blinding smile.

“He scored!” You held her at arm's length away before turning your attention back on the ice.

His line-mates gathered him up in a hug, patting his helmet, and then he skated out with a wide smile. Mat was on his way to high-five his teammates on the bench, but before he held his glove out for them, he quickly pointed in the general direction of where you were sitting.

To anyone, it looked like he was pointing toward the Islanders bench, or even at the fans. And while there was an increase of cheers from your section at Mat’s little call out, you knew he was pointing out one specific fan in the crowd.

After the third period ended––with the Islanders winning by three––fans could either be heard still celebrating, or seen walking up the aisles to beat the traffic. But you and Hayden stayed in your seats, and especially paid attention to Mat who was out on the ice giving a post-game interview. His voice boomed through the arena, but all you could focus on was his heavy breathing and how his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.

With most of your section cleared out, you and Hayden walked down to the row right behind the glass that was closest to the ice. Not one to shy away from being heard, Hayden pounded her fist against the glass and shouted your boyfriend’s name, “Mat!”

She continued to pound on the glass and call out his name until his post-game interview ended. And when the camera cut, Mat’s eyebrows automatically rose as he skated toward the two of you with a smile.

Through the glass, you waved at him, “You played so well! So amazing––And that goal?! You were so incredible.” His wide smile slowly transformed into a smirk as his eyes darkened just a bit, “That was so much fun.”

Mat chuckled and shook out his hair, “‘I’m glad you had a good time.”

“You two!” Hayden called out. You and Mat both broke eye contact with each other to see your mutual friend standing a few rows up with her phone pointed at the two of you, “Smile! It’s your first hockey game together.”

You let out a soft laugh as you turned around and leaned your back against the glass, standing up on your tiptoes so you didn’t look shorter next to Mat who wore skates. And as if he was physically next to you, and not separated by plexiglass, you leaned your head towards him and smiled wider than you had ever in your life.

After Hayden finished taking more than enough photos to commemorate your first hockey game of Mat’s, you spun around to face him again. From behind, you heard an usher say that it was time for fans to leave the arena, but you clearly heard Hayden say, I’m with her and that’s her boyfriend.

You rolled your eyes at Hayden and scratched the bridge of your nose as you stared at Mat through the glass.

“I need to change,” He chuckled, “But I’ll meet you outside? Hayden knows where the exit is.”

You nodded your head vigorously, “That sounds good, yeah,” the smile you had when you took your picture together never left your face, “I still can’t believe how well you played, it was––Oh my God. I can’t wait to come to more games.”

The smirk Mat had on his face as you praised his performance morphed into a faint smile as he poked the glass with his glove where your face was, “Keep the compliments coming when I’m off the ice.” You rolled your eyes at him as he waved at you, “I’ll see you soon.”

You raised your hand to touch the cold glass, “Bye,” you whispered as your fingertips slowly trailed down the glass as you watched Mat skate away backwards.

Feeling like you were on top of the world, you spun around with a lovesick smile on your face, ready to meet your boyfriend at the exit. Walking up the aisle and out of the arena, Hayden sent you the pictures she took of you and Mat. And as you waited by the exit Mat said Hayden knew, you set your lock screen and home screen to one of the pictures taken just twenty minutes ago.

When you heard the familiar laugh of your boyfriend, your ears perked up and you put your phone in your bag. And when you saw him walking out in his game day suit with Tito––who shoved Mat’s shoulder––for the hundredth time that day, you smiled.

Standing up from the stone ledge you sat on with Hayden, you rocked on your heels as you waited for Mat to come closer. And once he wasn’t too far away, you sped walked over to Mat as Hayden walked more slowly behind you as she snorted at your eagerness.

While you found it fun to watch Mat skate around the ice having the time of his life, there was nothing you enjoyed more than hugging him. You almost didn’t see his glowing smile––one that showcased all of his teeth––before you barreled into him.

Arms wrapped tightly around his waist, you hugged him impossibly close to you, “That was––Ah!––I’m still not over how fun that was,” you pressed a kiss to his neck before tilting your head up to look at him, “I know I already said how good your goal was so good––And I’ll stop after this––But really, that was so cool how you skated around those defenders and––”

Both Tito and Hayden’s laugh caused you to stop complimenting Mat on his goal. You caught a glimpse of Mat’s glare on his two friends, and then turned your head over your shoulder to see them hanging off each other as they laughed. You felt Mat’s hands tighten around your waist, the tips of his fingers felt like they burned a hole through your clothes and scorched your skin.

“Oh don’t––Don’t mind us,” Hayden wiped a few tears away from the corners of her eyes, “Please, carry on––”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Barz, will––He’ll––” Tito’s face went red as he found it harder to breathe through his laughter. But once he calmed down, he chuckled, “Don’t stop praising him, he loves it.”

Mat flipped off his friends as he raised his hand to where the 13 patch was on your shoulder. With a small smile, he tugged on your sleeve a few times, “Hayden, send me the pictures you took,” he yelled over to his still laughing friends before he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

As the night continued on, the four of you celebrated the win and Mat’s goal with drinks at a bar. As you leaned your head on Mat’s shoulder, you learned how fun it was to attend one of his games. And you learned that the rush of joy you felt course through your veins when you saw Mat succeed was unparalleled to any feeling of happiness you had ever felt with a partner.

And late that night in Mat’s apartment, as your hands wandered through his hair, over his biceps, and across his chest…He trailed his lips across your cheek, down your neck, and down past the valley of your breasts…You also learned that Mat liked to be praised in more ways than one.

–––

It was your first I love you.

The first I love you that you said to a person where you felt the sensation of those words taking over every crevice of your body…but like your first date, those words made you anxious and light-headed at the thought of admitting it.

Love.

Love was a commitment; a feeling that shouldn’t be taken lightly when in relation to two people who mutually cared and respected each other. It was a word you cherished, a feeling you craved nothing more in the world; and it was exactly how you felt about Mat.

Eleven months into your relationship with Mat––that you didn’t even think would get this far––you knew you were in love with him. There were times the sentence almost slipped past your lips, and there were moments where you thought he would say it too…but like your first kiss, both of you were hesitant.

Since the day you met him, you learned something new about him each day, and you didn’t want to stop getting to know him.

“So, what are you doing with your break?” You spoke through your phone as you waited at a street corner for the light to change with a group of people.

Mat scoffed, “This is hardly a break,” he bitterly whispered into his phone, “Literally not even a five minute water break.”

You gripped the brown paper bag of small groceries in your hand as your heart ached at his exhausted voice. Mat explained to you that the Islanders were going through some sort of bootcamp to get them out of their losing slump. But the bootcamp was on top of their already packed schedule of games and practices.

“And they can do this?” The light changed and you moved with the crowd, “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Mat let out an exasperated breath, and you could picture him running a hand over his face, “I miss you.”

Him changing the subject wasn’t lost on you, but with the limited time Mat had and how drained he sounded, you knew better than to press the subject further.

“I miss you too,” you smiled softly as you dodged a few people walking down the opposite direction of you on the sidewalk, “I just bought stuff for dinner tonight though, so that’s––”

But your sentence was cut off as someone rudely knocked into your shoulder hard––Watch it, they sneered at you––and caused you to stumble into a few people walking next to you.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized to the people you crashed into. They smiled in appreciation, knowing full well that if it wasn’t for the person who bumped your shoulder, the accident would’ve been averted.

“What was that?”

Mat’s worn out voice from before disappeared as he now sounded on high alert.

“Nothing,” you let out a sigh, because while you knew it wasn’t your fault you stumbled into people, it still felt embarrassing, “But as I was saying, for dinner––”

“No, that––I heard someone yell at you,” Mat’s voice was low, insistent on what he heard on your end, “What happened? Are you okay?”

You sucked in a deep breath, “Yeah, someone just bumped into my shoulder.” Because while it was New York, and you had been bumped into plenty of times before, it had been a bit of a rough day. But you didn’t want that one thing to tip you over the edge, especially when you knew Mat was having it worse than you, “It’s fine, I’m fine. The eggs didn’t crack so it’s a win.”

Mat didn’t laugh at your attempt at a joke.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He paused before his voice dropped to an earnest whisper, “If you need me I can leave to come get you.”

“But practice––”

“No,” Mat cut you off, “If you need me I can leave.”

You thought about it. You thought hard about just waiting off in a park for Mat to come pick you up. But the subway station you needed to enter came into your eyesight. Even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head, “I’m fine, I’ll just need a hug when I see you later.”

At that, Mat let out a breathy chuckle, “You and me both.”

You smiled, the familiar feeling of love that started with the squeeze of your heart spread through the rest of your body.

“Dinner at your place?”

“Yeah, my place tonight,” you answered him, “How much longer of this practice?”

You could hear the eye roll Mat gave off with his irritated voice, “Three fucking hours.”

Even though you weren’t a professional athlete, you rolled your eyes with him at how ridiculous all of the intense practice sounded, “As much as I want to keep talking with you,” you dreamily smiled to yourself because there was nothing you loved more than hearing Mat’s voice, “I know you said if players were late they have to run laps after practice.” You grimaced, “And I’m about to go under for the subway.”

Mat let out a sigh, he didn’t want to stop talking with you either, “Yeah…Running laps is the penalty.”

“You should be used to those.”

Mat scoffed at your comment, ”I’ll see you later at your place.”

“Mhm, bye Mat,” you hummed as you began to make your descent below ground, “I love you.”

“Wait, what––”

You ended the call and slid your phone into your bag as you took out your subway card. Easily, you swiped your card past tourists, and walked through the turnstile to the platform back to your place. While the rest of the day wasn’t on your side, the subway was, because your train pulled up right as you got to the platform.

While there were still seats available for you to sit in, you had grown accustomed to standing in the middle of the subway cart. You hooked your elbow around the pole, so that your hand wasn’t directly touching it, as you thought about the day on your way home.

It started off normal; waking up, getting ready for work, arriving at the office. But then small things started to happen; you forgot your laptop charger back at your apartment, someone had accidentally taken your lunch from the communal fridge because they thought it was theirs, and then someone spilled coffee on your freshly printed reports. But then the day got worse; Mat texted you saying he wouldn’t be done practice until late, your co-worker best friend said they were leaving the company for a new job, and then that stranger hit your shoulder.

But hearing Mat’s voice made your day a little better.

Knowing that he took time out of his grueling schedule to check in on you made your heart flutter even more with love.

Love.

Your eyes widened as the grip you had on the handle of the paper bag dropped. Your grocery bag fell to the ground just as fast as your heart. Because the last sentence you said to Mat replayed in your mind like a broken record.

I love you.

You didn’t even realize that you had said those words. You clutched those words close to your chest; held them so tight as if it was a secret Mat didn’t already know. And now all of a sudden…Your secret was out in the open.

The bile churning in your stomach caused your body to overheat and you wanted nothing more than to be out of the subway. You picked a loose piece of skin by your thumb so hard that it started to bleed. You swore under your breath as it began to sting, and curled your hand into a tight fist––with your thumb on the inside––to put pressure on the cut.

Unable to stand still with your anxiety, you got off a stop early and walked the rest of the way back to your apartment.

You had nearly walked into several people, almost walked across the street on a red light, and more or less banged your forehead against your front door. You thought you had unlocked the door, so when you turned the door handle, stepped forward, and walked into the wooden door…you saw that your keys had fallen to the ground.

Once you properly unlocked the door, you quickly walked into your apartment and hastily set the grocery bag down on the island. With shaking hands, you buried your face into them and let out a muffled whine. Because how could you let those words out so casually? How could you have been so careless?

Mat had three more hours left of practice. And that left you with three hours in your apartment alone.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at your phone to see if he was still coming over. So you cleaned. You changed out of your work clothes––into a pair of athletic shorts and one of Mat’s Islander shirts––and deep cleaned as much of your apartment as you could.

And it was when you were bent sideways, windex and paper towel in hand, as you scrubbed the inside of your microwave that you heard a key in your door. You felt your heart freeze and you scrubbed the microwave even harder.

The creek of the door echoed through your modestly sized one bedroom apartment just as loud as your heartbeat pounded in your ears. The door shut the same time you heard the thump of his practice bag hit the hardwood floor.

And if you listened closely, you could hear him let out the same anxious deep breath as you.

Mat ever so slowly made his way out of the little hallway, and when you saw him appear in front of you––still bent at your awkward angle––it was as if you saw him in a different way.

Mat inhaled deeply, and then in one breath, his shoulders relaxed as he smiled at you, “I love you.”

You stared into his eyes enough times to know they were hazel, but where he stood in your kitchen, his eyes were dark brown. They weren’t illuminated with flecks of gold or green like you had seen in the past, but they were warm and inviting as his eyes captivated you in a different way than ever before. You loved his eyes.

You ran your fingers through his hair enough times to memorize the feeling how soft it felt, but his hair was a little longer in the front than usual. And with him looking like he ran right off the ice to be with you, his loose strands of scraggly hair fell messily against his forehead. You loved the way his hair framed his face.

Everything about him…from the slight stubble on his face that came close to breaking the Islanders facial hair policy, to the way he never got mad at you when you stuck your cold feet under his warm legs when you sat on the couch together. From his annoying traits, to the quirks only you knew about him, you loved everything about him

You released a breath you didn’t know you held because this…this was what it felt like to feel in love. It was fresh and exciting with hearts pounding. It was desire pouring through veins. It was a give and take; intertwined lives.

As the two of you stood in your kitchen, you learned what it felt like to feel entirely at ease with your place in the universe. For better or for worse, love is learning everything there is to know about a person.

And you couldn’t wait to learn how he loved.

–––

It was your first real fight with Mat.

And it terrified you.

The day had felt odd from the start; your routine not flowing like usual. And as the day continued on, you didn’t know what caused the negative feeling in the pit of your stomach to grow with every hour that passed. And even at the end of the work day, when you were in your own apartment, the feeling still lingered.

Already in a bad mood, you should’ve known better than to turn on a hockey game. But you knew that seeing Mat, even if it was through a T.V. screen, would make you feel better. He always made you feel better.

But he played a careless game.

It wasn’t even that he was playing bad, because honestly, he was playing really well. By the end of the first period he had two assists and handled the puck well. When the second period came around, he had scored his own goal. But Mat being Mat…he let the goal get to his head. The newfound confidence he had led him to be more aggressive with the opposing team’s players and more mouthy with the referees.

And with only six minutes left in the third period––the Islanders trailing by a few points––Mat dropped his gloves and instigated a fairly bad altercation with another player. You turned the television off before you could see Mat skate away to the penalty box.

Around an hour later when Mat walked through your apartment door the two of you stared at each other. You were curled up on the couch with a book, and he stood at the opposite end of the couch in his game day suit. He squinted his discolored left eye, his swollen bottom lip was bruised red, and you saw a few dried spots of blood on his face.

Neither of you were in the best mood, but that still wasn’t an excuse. Maybe you each expected the other to comfort you on your bad days…but that wasn’t the case for either of you now.

“I wish you were more careful,” you whispered up at him. You were still on the couch and he stood stiffly at the opposite end from you, “I don’t get why you have to fight.”

Mat let out an irritated breath out through his nostrils, “Did you even watch the game?”

Stunned by his attitude, you shut your book and rolled your eyes, “Of course I did. But that doesn’t mean––”

“Then you should know why I got in a fight.”

With a scoff, you flung the blanket off you and stood up. You mirrored his stiff position––jaw clenched, arms glued to your sides, and eyes narrowed in at him. The couch being the only barrier between the harsh words you threw at each other.

“That has nothing to do with what I said,” you huffed out, “I said you should be more careful––”

“I heard what you said,” Mat interrupted you with a snap in his tone as he shrugged off his suit jacket, “But I can’t control a fight if it happens.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I watched the game, Mat. I saw that you started it.”

“So it’s my fault?” He didn’t look at you as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, “Look, I don’t expect you to understand everything that goes on on the ice––”

“Excuse me?”

Mat rolled his eyes and his already irritable tone of voice sharpened, “Maybe if you cared a little less you wouldn’t be mad.”

His words felt like a punch to your gut. If you cared a little less. The squeeze of your heart was different than what it felt like when he told you he loved you a few months ago. Because instead of a warm tingly feeling that lifted you up, you felt a harsh burn throughout your body that made you want to shrivel up and hide.

Mat was one of the people you cared most about in the world.

But with both of your bad attitudes, like water and oil, your words caused more separation.

Your response was harsh––If I cared a little less, then who would care about you––and it sparked Mat’s short temper. He told you there were other people, people who wouldn’t make a big deal if he got in a fight because it was hockey. The yelling continued, intentional words of hurt shouted between the two of you. And soon enough, with both of you too blinded by rage, neither of you remembered why the argument even started in the first place.

“There are other people,” Mat spat out as he breathed heavily, “People who know me better. If we weren’t together, there would be other people who––”

His cruel words caused complete and utter devastation to flood your body. And you let the anger and agony of Mat’s ill fated words overtake every logical thought in your mind.

“If you don’t need me, then what are you waiting for?!” You threw your hands up as your shrill voice cracked as bad as you felt your soul shatter. Chin wobbling and chest heaving with erratic breaths, you repeated the question. Although this time, your voice was a whisper as the destruction of your words caught up to you, “What are you waiting for?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. And in a hurry, he scooped up his suit jacket from the couch and turned around. His heavy footsteps echoed through your silent apartment as you followed him to the door.

You choked on your words, “Where are you going?”

With his hand gripping the doorknob, you saw his shoulders tighten as he took a deep breath, “I can’t be with you.”

It felt as if the world froze, but at the same time, everything felt like it went too fast. A whirling sensation of grief caused you to lift your hand to cover your mouth. I can’t be with you.

You felt dizzy, unsure of if you wanted an answer to your question, “Are you…Does that mean just for now?” You bit your bottom lip as you tried your hardest to sniffle back your tears,”Or as in, you don’t want to be with me…anymore?”

Mat’s shoulders expanded in another deep breath as he mustered up the courage to turn around. Part of you wished he didn’t turn around because the heartbreak on his face looked just as bad as you felt. His chin wobbled like yours, lips pressed together in a firm line to keep his emotions to himself. His eyes were bloodshot, wide and scared like a child afraid of thunderstorms. And like yours, his chest heaved with small breaths, failing to keep his breathing under control.

“I don’t…” he shut his eyes tight and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Just for now.” Although his answer relieved only a sliver of anxiety you felt in the middle of your chest, it looked like he was still going to leave, “I need to leave before either of us say anything else we regret.”

Blinking rapidly, you still felt a few tears roll down your cheek as you nodded your head just as fast. You hugged your arms around your stomach and anxiously tapped your foot, “Will you…Are you coming back?”

A flash of pain crossed his face as he sucked in another deep breath, “Don't wait up for me.”

Before you could process his vague answer, his hand pressed down on the door handle and he was gone before he put his jacket back on. The door closed gently, but you would have rather it slammed shut so you would have that sound echoing in your mind instead of your insecurities.

Still hugging your stomach, you bit the inside of your cheek and slowly made your way back to the couch. As if it took all of your energy, you picked the blanket back up, wrapped it around your shoulders, and tucked yourself into the far corner. You sat alone, cold feet tucked in between the cushions, as you leaned your head back on the couch and let out a sob.

You purposefully said words to hurt him, and he had done the same with you. While the two of you had arguments before, they were never this blown out of proportion. There was never any screaming, there were never any tears, and neither of you had ever left the other’s place without reconciling. But with this fight…There was shouting, tears fell from both of you, and Mat left your place without a promise to come back.

You don’t know how many hours had passed as you stared at the wall ahead of you. But it was enough time for your cries to settle down and for the sound of a key to echo your silent home. And just like earlier in the night, Mat stood at the opposite end of the couch as you sat curled up in a blanket.

As the two of you stared at each other in silence, you learned what it felt like to sit in purgatory; not knowing if Mat was to come back that night or if you were to go days without seeing him. You learned what raw heartache truly felt like without his presence when all you wanted was a hug. And when he moved to sit next to you on the couch––finally receiving a hug from him––you also learned that he was just as sorry as you and didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You never wished to learn what a life without Mat truly felt like.

–––

The nerves you felt were worse than your first date with Mat. They had been with you for months, but they were now at an all time high that caused your hands to shake. And just like the nerves you felt before the blind date, they caused you to be twenty minutes early to the venue.

What if there was traffic? What if the piano player you and Mat hired brought the wrong sheet music? What if there weren’t enough seats? While you were twenty minutes earlier than your scheduled time that was designed to make sure you already arrived early to avoid any mishaps, it was the only way to ease your anxiety.

As you fiddled with the dress you always dreamed of wearing on this day, you inhaled a shaky breath as you stood in the private room alone. You needed space to concentrate on the fact that in less than a few hours you would have a different last name.

“Y/N?”

A light knock on the door and the call of your name caused you to whip your head. Hurriedly, you made your way to the door and leaned your shoulder against it as you made sure it was locked.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah?”

“It’s just me,” you saw the locked door handle jiggle as you heard a soft laugh on the other side, “Mat’s not with me.”

“I don’t trust you.”

You heard another laugh, this one more gentle, as Tito reassured you, “He knows about your superstitions, he wouldn’t try and sneak a glance.”

You thought about turning the best man at your wedding away, but the more you thought about it, the more you trusted him when he said Mat wasn’t with him. Mat knew you had certain superstitions you didn’t mess with; like lifting your feet up when you drove over railroad tracks or how you threw salt over your left shoulder if you spilled it.

He had learned all of those things about you.

The click of the lock coming undone caused you to hold your breath. Slowly, you cracked open the door and peered out the tiny slit with one eye. Tito had his face pressed close to the crack and you saw him close up. He didn’t pry the door like you thought, so hesitantly, you opened the door as you looked both ways to make sure your fiancé was nowhere in sight.

With the door fully open, Tito’s smile was brighter than you’d ever seen it before. He let out a low whistle, “Are you sure you I can’t marry you?”

Tito’s teasing had been a constant in the years of your relationship with Mat, and for better or for worse, it was about to extend into a lifetime.

You shoved his shoulder with your left hand, the engagement ring Mat picked out for you sparkling slightly in the light, “Shut up.”

“But really,” Tito slid both of his hands into the front pockets of his pants as he shook his head in disbelief, “You look beautiful. Mat won’t know what to do.”

“Hopefully he’ll say I do.”

Tito chuckled at your comment and then the two of you stood in silence. But when he slightly bowed his head and awkwardly rocked on his feet, you knew there was a purpose for his visit when he looked up at you.

“There is…Mat…” He took a deep breath, preparing himself for your answer, “He wants to talk with you.” Your eyes bulged out of your head as you immediately stepped back into the private room and went to slam the door shut. But Tito stuck his foot out in time to stop the door from slamming shut, “He’s not here––he’s still out there talking with people, but he heard you got here early early started sweating, and he just wants to hear your voice––”

You shook your head behind the door, “No.”

“C’mon,” Tito pleaded with you, “I’m sure it’ll calm you down to hear him––”

“What if he sees me?” You exasperatedly said, “Even if it was an accident. That would––”

“He won’t,” Tito’s voice held just as much firmness to it as he had confidence in his best friend, “He knows you too well to break your superstition.”

He knows you.

Hearing Mat’s voice would calm you down, but the anxiety of him accidentally seeing you before you walked down the aisle was too much. It was almost too much nervousness for you to handle on your own, so with a deep breath and a silent prayer that this wouldn’t blow up in your face, you whispered to Tito that Mat could talk to you.

Tito had spun around to retrieve Mat before you could finish your sentence. He rushed away from you, afraid you would back out on your word. But just as fast as Tito ran away, you slammed the door shut and relocked it.

You turned around and leaned your back against the door. Pinching the bridge of your nose to relieve some of the stress, you let out a deep breath. With only a few moments to yourself, you did a few breathing exercises before a shallow knock sounded from the other side of the door.

“Uh, Y/N?”

You could pick out his voice from anywhere, and you let out an audible sigh of relief, “Mat?”

He also let out a deep breath, and you could picture his shoulders relaxing at confirmation he didn’t walk up to an empty room. You turned around and placed your hand softly on top of the door handle; resting your forehead on the door you whispered, “I’m so nervous.”

“So am I,” Mat let out an airy laugh, “We’re the ones who decided to marry each other, yet we’re both a mess.”

You replicated his laugh and it went back to silence. You had spent years together with Mat, but no silence had ever been more poignant than this. You could hear his love, almost feel it, but you couldn’t see him. Not yet.

It was his trembling voice that broke through the silence, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Mat––”

“I’ll turn around,” he rushed out, knowing how strongly you felt about this superstition, “You can stay behind the door––just with your arm sticking out––We can both turn around so we make sure we don’t chance anything, because I––” he cut himself off, calming himself down with a single breath, “I really need a hug, but we can’t do that.” He let out another deep breath, “Please?”

You loved him more than anyone else in the world, and in turn, you would do anything for him; including holding his hand.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and you were positive he could hear it, “Turn around.”

And with a click of the door unlocking, you opened it just a sliver of a bit open and turned around yourself. You stuck your left hand out for him, and in an instant, his hand found yours. You felt tears well up in your eyes out of happiness, because even though you could feel him now you still couldn’t believe you were going to spend the rest of your life with him.

You filled the silent void with your voice and added a futile point to the non-existent conversation. But you wanted him to know this about you, “I showed up to our first date twenty minutes early.”

Mat chuckled as he repeatedly stroked his thumb on top of your engagement ring, “I know.”

You squeezed his hand, “You know?”

Again, Mat let out another soft laugh, “I was thirty minutes early to our first date.” You felt your wide open mouth transform into a smile, “I was across the street and saw you waiting.” He lowered his voice, “I was so scared.”

You were convinced that was maybe the only thing he didn’t know about you, but he proved you wrong. Time and time again he proved himself to know you better than you knew yourself.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you whispered.

“You know me better than anyone else.”

The way he continued to trace around your engagement ring caused your heart to squeeze; it only made you more excited for when there would be a second ring on your finger, “There has to be something.”

You felt your heart pound against your ribcage as a few beats of silence passed over. From his drawn out silence, you knew he had something, you knew he was debating on whether to tell you or not.

“The picture we took together at the first hockey game you came to,” you could hear the shy smile on his face, “I’ve kept it in my locker since then.”

You felt your heart melt and chin wobble; this was something new you were learning about him.

“And I…” He let out a nervous laugh, and ever since the first time heard the sound of it, it was infectious, “I have it with me now in the inner-pocket of my jacket.”

A lone tear trailed down your cheek as you tried to sniffle the rest of the tears you felt behind your eyes away. It was your wedding day, of course you were going to cry, but you didn’t think it would be this soon.

Mat’s hand briefly dropped yours as you heard a crinkle of photo paper being taken out of Mat’s jacket pocket. You felt the corner of a piece of paper hit the palm of your hand a few times. Gently, and without looking down, you took the picture from Mat’s hand. And when you brought the picture up to your face, you squeezed Mat’s hand hard as an audible gasp left your lips.

The two of you looked so young. Which made sense considering the picture was taken a few years ago. You smiled at the memory as if it happened yesterday; you in your #13 Barzal jersey, tilting your head toward Mat as if you were leaning your head on his shoulder if the plexiglass wasn’t there. Hayden had taken a hundred pictures of the two of you, but this was different than the one you kept framed at your office.

You looked the same, but Mat looked different.

He still had his hockey stick in hand, but instead of looking at the camera like you, his head was faced down toward you. His eyes were locked in on your smile, wide in admiration. His closed-lipped smile was bashful, but you could clearly see the happiness radiating off him. That day, while you looked into the camera, still high off excitement from watching him on the ice; he looked down at you with all the love he held for you in his soft eyes.

“I even take it with me on road games.”

Tracing your fingers down the worn down, slightly torn up, and bent edges of the picture, you felt another tear roll down your cheek.

While you wanted nothing more to look at the well loved photograph of the two of you in love before either of you knew it, you didn’t want to cry too much before walking down the aisle. You handed the picture back to him so he had it for safekeeping, and squeezed his hand again.

“I love you so much,” you breathed out.

“I love you, too.”

As the two of you continued to hold hands until Mat was called away in order for you to start the last of your wedding preparations, you learned that Mat cherished the small moments. Whether he wanted to memorize the first time he fell in love with you by carrying around a photograph from early on in your relationship, or how he wanted to hold your hand before the two of you committed to a lifetime together…You learned more about him in those moments than ever before.

And when Mat would eventually slide a ring onto your finger––and you to his––it felt as if the rings held a promise heavier than til death do us part. From the moment you met Mat until now, the most important thing you learned about him was how good of a friend he was to you.

You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life as his friend.

537 notes · View notes

kenganenjoyer · 3 years

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Yandere Meguro ? Yandere Hayami? Headcanon

Woooooo my first ask! Sorry I took a bit longer than I thought I would. Meguro and Hayami are a few of my favorites from kengan and I wanted to get their characters right. I hope you enjoy! ^_^

Yandere Meguro and Hayami Headcanons

Yandere Meguro

It’s rare for Meguro to develop close relationships with people. Most of the time he ends up either killing them or scaring them off immediately. You however were the one exception. You didn’t run like the others and despite his bloodlust something in him always held him back. “Just a little longer… I’ll probably kill them tomorrow...” he thought to himself day after day until months had passed and he could no longer imagine a life without you by his side.

Being in a relationship with Meguro certainly has its challenges but as a yandere his temperament and behavior can become much worse and often range from difficult to downright deadly depending on the circumstances.

Meguro is definitely not one to hide his emotions. Both in a good and a bad way.

He’ll happily wrap you up in his arms and nuzzle his head against your face or the crook of your neck while giving you a few sloppy licks and kisses at the same time. He doesn’t care if you’re alone or in public. He loves you and wants you to know that.

On the other hand if he feels like someone is getting too friendly around you he won’t hesitate to try and throw them. It doesn’t matter if he’s in public or if he does it in front of you, he won’t let them off unharmed if they dare to come near his beloved. It takes a lot of time, reassurance, and trust for you to be able to talk him down but eventually he’ll calm down and go back to what you two were doing a few moments before as if nothing happened.

He sees nothing wrong with hurting other people especially if he thinks they’re trying to get between you and him. He has never really had the best moral compass, that is if he even had one to begin with. After all, Katsumasa can always help him cover it up anyways.

He won’t tie you up or lock you in a room but he will follow you EVERYWHERE. At first you think it’s cute. The way he’s always just a few steps behind you, trailing you like a lost puppy. It becomes a lot less cute once you realize he practically never lets you out of his sight and it's nearly impossible to out run him.

The longer you stay with him the more protective and clingy he gets. He has a tendency to pull you closer to himself whenever he wants attention, trapping you in his arms. If you try to push him away he’ll just laugh it off and hold you even closer thinking you’re just playing and definitely not being crushed under his overwhelming strength. You’ll have to help him realize his own strength to avoid getting injured from one of his “cuddling sessions”.

I swear he could probably smell if other people have been near you and if he finds out he’ll sulk and wrap you up in his arms refusing to let you go until you reassure him that it was nothing to worry about.

Flat out rejecting him or trying to leave the relationship is probably the worst thing you can do. Meguro may be used to physical pain but complicated emotional pain is new to him; it hurts, it doesn’t feel good at all, and it won’t go away. He would probably end up cornering you with bloody tears streaming down his face questioning why you would do this to him when he loves you so much.

Meguro is more likely to become violent or hurt you in the heat of the moment in response to the heartbreak and emotional pain so it's crucial to choose your words and actions very carefully in that kind of situation.

Yandere Hayami

On the surface dating Hayami seems pretty normal for the majority of your relationship. He’s a kind, polite man who cherishes you and never fails to show you how much you mean to him. Your relationship couldn’t be better! It’s only by chance that you notice one of the little flaws in his facade and from there everything you knew about the man you loved begins to fall apart bit by bit.

Hayami believes that everything he does is simply out of his love for you. All the pictures he takes without you knowing? He just wants to capture the precious moments he spends with you! The tracking program he secretly set up on your phone? What caring boyfriend wouldn’t want to know his partner is safe. It's all for your sake or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Hayami wouldn’t try to kidnap you or drug you, at least not during the beginning of your relationship. No need to ruin a good thing…. and yet the persistent feeling of wanting to truly have you all to himself slowly starts to grow inside of him until it's nearly unbearable.

Despite his intimidating build, Hayami’s smile and calm demeanor would make you none the wiser when it comes to his yandere side. Sure he acts a bit awkward from time to time but you usually brush it off as nothing. Everyone acts a little weird sometimes, right?

Most of the time he plays his obsessive infatuation off as protectiveness instead. When the two of you are out in public he almost always holds your hand or has his arm around you. It's a sweet and innocent gesture but in reality it only feeds his desire to have you closer to him and away from everyone else.

He gets really anxious if you don’t answer his calls. It drives him crazy and he can’t help but think the worst. He’ll go out of his way to find where you are and secretly follow you just for “safety” reasons of course. When you come home he’ll tell you how worried he was, how much he missed you, and how he was nervous something had happened to you even though he was basically stalking you all day after you wouldn’t answer his first few messages and calls.

He doesn’t necessarily enjoy being mean or hurting others but he’ll do what he has to do. Love and relationships come with sacrifice after all and if it’s for you he’d do just about anything. He just wishes they would stop looking at you and leave you alone and if the only way to communicate that to them is through violence then he won’t turn down a fight.

Hayami would never attack someone in front of you. He wouldn’t want you to worry or scare you so he’ll just wait for the right time to get rid of them. If he gets blood on his clothes he’ll usually just crack a joke about how his brother wanted to have a little last minute practice match.

When you finally piece together that something is clearly off with Hayami and go to confront him he’ll go silent before putting on his signature smile and confessing that everything he’s done was simply because he cared about you. He genuinely believes that you would understand why acted the way he did, why he had to dispose of the people that were only going to get in between you two.

Even if you explain how you feel, Hayami would still be in denial, thinking that his actions are in your best interest and that you are probably just confused or scared. Why else would you try to leave your loving boyfriend behind?

Even if you reject him or try to run away Hayami wouldn’t use force or violence against you unless it was a last resort. He’ll patiently and gently pin you down or carry you back making escape rather futile. That still doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt by your attempts to leave him. Each time you resist or try to run his chest tightens and the emotional pain comes flooding back.

#meguro masaki #hayami masaki #kengan ashura #kengan omega #kenganverse

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse; you were the weird girl in the park. Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing. myg x named f!reader. s2l.

genre + rating. college!au. fluff, angst, smut. explicit.

tags / warnings. light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!). there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic. i’m not sorry. lol.

wc. 8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink. You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket. Sometimes, he reads. Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno. Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes. Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.

They’re all interesting in their own ways.

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts. He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine. He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them. He reads a lot, too. You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf. Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool. You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods.

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party. You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her. He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip. It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer. He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be. He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk. You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more. It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class. You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model. He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble. It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person; it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook. They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them. Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears: boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black. You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library. You’re practically best pals by college standards.

And then, of course, there’s him. Your muse. The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to. The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them. The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen. The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible.

Min Yoongi.

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear. You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes. You sometimes add his glasses; you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon. You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day. Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs. You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all.

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense.

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.

No, not getting caught. Not in the traditional sense, at least. He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day. You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment.

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is.

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night. You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots. You were always so careful. You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.” You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream. The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.

“It’s here somewhere.” The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…” Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild. “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers.

Lucky for her; unlucky for you.

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly. You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit! Shit!” Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag. Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens. You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.

“Don’t forget,” she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her. “Thanks, Ji.” You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.” It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall. Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples. You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped. You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!” It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee. You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless. Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly. You can’t deny you’re a little envious.

“Your face is all red. You’re out of breath. Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess. “No, I’m good.” It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.

“You sure?” He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas. He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist. Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail; he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.” There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge. You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter. You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake. Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?”

“Did you say…” You can’t finish the sentence. You feel like you’re about to be sick.

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal. It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips. It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks. At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy. Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.” As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half. “You’re really good at capturing his boredom. That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.” You should make conversation; it’s the polite thing to do.

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook. Better him than someone else, right? Better him than Yoongi himself? That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay. Semi okay. Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse. You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him. There’s nothing to say - not really. You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making. Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention. It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone.

“This is Miru.”

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues.

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.

“Ohf, phey!” With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables. They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion. He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly; you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Do you want to join us?” It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow. “I’m Jimin, by the way.” He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this.

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery. Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. If looks could kill, you think.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you. It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice. “Sometimes, he gets like this.”

You want to believe it. Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face. Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top. It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears.

“I’m so sorry.” It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.” Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare. He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words. It’s not the Yoongi he knows. It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.” It’s thinner, but just as reproachful. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth. “Mean what? Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.” Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such. Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce. “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.” Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises. “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days. Well, not really.

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory. You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries. You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.” You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up. From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate. It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault. And she had to pick up the pieces! It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.” She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green. She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can try,” you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.

Try - and fail, it seemed. You’d already run into him twice. Twice! Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize. You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up. Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency. You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face. Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,” Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness. She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs. It’s a bit dramatic, you think.

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person. Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump. You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious. “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.”

It all falls into place then. Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy. It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her. You’ve always had an unspoken agreement; you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days.

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things. You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!” She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice. It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp. You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh. Dammit.

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.

Your heart stutters at the sight of him. It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.

“What?” You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You have nothing to be ashamed of. At least, not right now. You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.

“I said—” His words are glacial and biting. It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be. You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t be cold when you’re dead. “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression. It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth. He says nothing.

“Really. I’m not.” You’re insistent, apologetic. Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red. The tips of your fingers are tingling. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wonder if he’s baiting you now.

“For…” Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care. “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,” he returns, completely deadpan. He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful. “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often. So I couldn’t let it go.” You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices. “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears. A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment.

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately. Fair.

“I’m sorry.” Again. More. Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare. “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face. There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize. You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more.

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time. It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle. You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face. “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame. “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action. He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days. You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.

“Then… can I sketch you?” You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it. You can’t help it.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity. He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that).

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied. He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully. His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced. He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot.

Over time, though, it comes - comfort.

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you. It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun. You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.

You know he gets it, though. He always does. It’s a Yoongi thing.

“You can relax.”

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks. The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree.

“I am relaxed,” he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up. He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon. Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class. You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No. You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.”

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning. It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side. It makes your heart skip a beat.

“Go ahead then,” he continues. The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow. You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”

You always offer. He never says yes.

A part of you thinks he likes the attention. It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful. You think he might like the quiet, too. The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more. “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue. It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.

“What?” You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with. “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour. It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me? Why not someone else?” He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him? Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,” you answer, perhaps too honestly. “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.” How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel. “I didn’t expect it to be you. I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject. But I just… couldn’t?”

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?” It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you. He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning. You’re not used to it and certainly not from him. You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.

You’re not weird. You don’t want this to be weird. But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time. One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months. “What if I told you I was glad?”

“Glad?” It feels like an echo chamber. Repetition. As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard. “I’d say the same thing. I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon. He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you. His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad. You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”

It’s not a surprise, really. It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore. Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…” You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?” The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope.

“I’d say you’re welcome. For choosing you.” The confidence isn’t your own. It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys. Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness. Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face. It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade. It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him. Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same. In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important.

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point. “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once. There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to. It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun. All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours. It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard. It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing. “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,” he states, solemnly. You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind. Not if it gets you another kiss.

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust. You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks. You’d like to find out.

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide.

You don’t know how you ended up here.

Actually, that’s a lie. You do. All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,” he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.” Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.” To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said. It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation. Yoongi was only painting you. This was a bonding exercise. Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician. Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow. So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat.

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.” He levels you with a look. You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful. “I wanted to make something beautiful but…” Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea. “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands. The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.

“You’re silly.”

“ You’re silly,” he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

The roll of your eyes is undeniable. “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right? Not your best choice, making fun of me.” He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers. Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist. A line here, a circle there. Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint. Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside. He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs. A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.

“Can I take this off?” It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours. There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders. He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him. He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice. It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine. You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you. You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside. You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now. Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?” Mellifluous and adoring. Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?” He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs. The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive. He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses. Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing. He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin.

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts. It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder. “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest. You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.

“I think I love you.” It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.

“I think I love you, too.”

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away. It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it. He’d been your inspiration and now you were his. The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.

“You don’t have to say it back.” It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight. Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks. “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness. His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone. He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins. It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath. “Please touch me.”

“Where?” He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own. He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect.

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again.

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him. A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips. He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs.

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering. The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw. “Then it’ll be a good death.”

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body. He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop. A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit.

“Do that again.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds. Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience. Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.” Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence. “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,” you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact. He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins.

“Just tell me.”

“I want this. I need this.” You hope he believes you. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t. “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this. He loves it. “I need to stretch you out. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks. It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything. He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.

You’re a dream come true. He never wants to wake up.

“More. Please.” You’re so polite, he almost laughs. You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now. He can’t deny how proud he is. It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other. You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot. He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”

Your nod is enough of an answer.

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot. In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning. You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—” Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles. He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy.

“Please, please, please.” There are tears in your eyes. You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping. “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs. You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin. The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones.

“Are you tired?” Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips.

You are, but it doesn't matter. You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring. A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes. “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager. He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless. It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.” So pretty, so ready. He can’t resist.

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand. The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye. It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.

“I love you,” you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too. You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips. “I know.”

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.

“Holy shit,” he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue. “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him. It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.” It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind. He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust. It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.

“Yoongi - please.” You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him. His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high. The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice.

“One more, love. Once more for me, okay? I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over. You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place; it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.

“I love you,” he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow. It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly. Yoongi doesn’t mind though; he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste. He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair. “So, thanks, Taehyung?”

“Can you not?” It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.

“Sorry.” A beat. He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly. “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note. this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer and i kind of just... ran with it. oops.

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one-piece-but-smitten · 3 years

Text

Midnight Baking Lesson

Sanji × Reader

Tags/TWs: Minor injury mention

~~~~~~~

It all started with the wrong decision on how to hold the knife. Your index finger had been perched atop the back of the blade as you roughly sliced the vanilla bean pods. You didn't know why, but it was somewhat impossible to get under control. You had tried to reposition the bean pod, and that was when your finger and the knife slipped.

You quietly nursed your cut finger with a damp washcloth, glaring at the herb in frustration. It was the middle of the night, you couldn't risk waking up your friends, especially Sanji. He was the one you were trying to make this for, after all.

A month ago, he had mentioned his birthday, and despite offers from the crew of having a party, he declined for some reason. It had only been about a year since you had been traveling with the band of wild pirates, but you had gotten to know them all pretty well, and you knew Sanji wouldn't pass up a celebration. You looked at the clock through the dim lighting of the moon, frowning. It was about 12:14 A.M., Sanji would be awake by sunrise. You had time, but if you kept slipping up like this that wouldn't count for much. You sighed, picking up a small bandage and tying it around your finger before going back to the cutting board. Initially, you had planned to make him a pie, but you thought it would just be easier to make him a little cake instead. The rough handling of the bean pods had made little noise, but it was enough to stir Sanji and put him on high alert. He crept out of bed, convinced Luffy was attempting to break into the refrigerator again. He snuck down the stairs stealthily, his sock-padded feet silent on the wood as he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the door, blowing his sneaky cover out of the surprise of seeing you.

"[Name]?? What the hell are you doing in here?" He asked, startling you. You hadn't heard him come in, so it was a bit of a cold shock to see him out of the blue. You set down the knife quickly, making a futile attempt to hide the sloppy slicing job behind you.

"S-Sanji!! I could ask you the same thing, why are you up so late?"

You asked, internally twinging at the nervous edge of your voice. He frowned at you, his eyes wandering to the mess behind your back in curiosity.

"I thought I heard Luffy gorging himself in here, so I was going to surprise attack the shithead.. But instead I found you."

He explained, raising one twirling eyebrow at the cutting board.

"What were you trying to do in here...?"

Damn, you were caught. You sigh, looking down at the ground.

"Well, when we were all talking a month ago, you mentioned your birthday. I know you said you didn't want a party, but I thought I should.. Well.. Let you kick your feet up for the day, and bake you something special.."

The last few sentences were mumbled, your face growing flustered as you revealed your birthday plans to him. You look down at the floor, feeling dumb and expecting no less of an insult from the ship's cook. You heard nothing, and looked up to see the cook with a rather surprised look on his face. Not only that, his cheeks were tinted a rosy hue.

"You.. You wanted to do that... For me??"

He asked in confirmation. You nodded, looking up at him sheepishly. You watched as he took a moment to process, looking a little red in the face as he faced you again. He let out a huff, your face burning as he came up behind you and started to correct your mishandling of the pods.

"W-Well, let's start by showing you how to actually deal with these."

He picked up his own paring knife from the block and took a piece of the butchered pod, focusing on his cutting as he explained your mistakes.

"First, you gently make a slit through the center like so,"

his knife gracefully glided through the vanilla, and he spread the newly-cut wings of the bean pod. You clumsily followed, your large chef's knife feeling a little clunky for this job. He nodded in approval, looking around at the assortment of ingredients in mild confusion.

"Before we go further... What exactly was your game plan here?"

He inquired. You blushed slightly, feeling dumb with the gradual realization that you forgot to plan ahead of that.

"I.. Was going to wing it. I would have flipped through some of your cookbooks to see for a recipe."

You admitted. He sighed, but it wasn't out of exasperation. You were surprised to hear a small chuckle follow as he lit a cigarette, opening a few windows to let the cool night air in. His laugh is kind of cute, you realized, blushing more. He took a drag from the lit cigarette, chuckling again.

"What am I gonna do with you?"

He asked rhetorically. You were left to sit for a bit as he put away and pulled out new ingredients, but you let it go as soon as he brought out the buttermilk from the fridge. You frowned, you may not be an expert in the kitchen, but you knew buttermilk wasn't something you'd usually use in cakes.

"Buttermilk?"

You asked aloud, wondering what the blonde was up to. He looked back at you, grinning as he pulled the griddle from it's hanging hook on the wall.

"I figured we make something quick and easy, and breakfast is a pretty easy start to a day, so why not some old-fashioned pancakes?"

Well.. It was technically morning. That, and pancakes were fun too. You nod, getting out some whisks and mixing bowls from the cabinets. With that, Sanji started instruction.

"First order of business, Mise en Place."

He stated. You cocked your head to the side, unfamiliar with the phrase. He took a drag from his cigarette before elaborating.

"It's a phrase that helps with organization while cooking. Getting out equipment and measuring everything beforehand to make the process easier."

He explained. Ah, so getting everything ready. You nod, looking around you to see the equipment was mostly there. The only thing needed was measuring cups and bowls for the measured ingredients. You got to work, being stopped almost immediately by the blonde.

"[Name], you need to sift the flour first. If you mix it in like that, there will be clumps."

He instructed gently, coming from behind you with the sifter to do it. It was only about a few seconds, but the warmth from his proximity almost made you want to scream. However, you let none of this show as you continued to work under his supervision, listening diligently as he showed you small tricks on how to make your food better. You got to the point of mixing everything, and he once again came up from behind to guide your hand as you whisked the wet and dry ingredients together.

"See, you need to watch how much you mix it, because it's super easy to let all of that air out of the egg whites we fluffed."

He explained. You nodded, letting him lead the way as your hand relaxed into his. The blonde's cheeks were dusted a light pink, but he dared not comment on it. He cleared his throat, separating before gesturing to the skillet. On the counter beside it lay a butter try with about half a stick settled on top of it. Sanji took out a butter knife from the drawer, cutting off a bit before flicking it onto the hot surface. A soft hiss sounded, letting you know it was ready to go. Before starting on cooking the pancakes, he glanced over at you.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

He asked. You chuckled nervously, feeling a little inexperienced compared to him. Even so, it was his birthday. You needed to at least do something to lighten the load. You grabbed a flipper, giving him a determined look.

"Yeah I do!"

He laughed, stunning you for a second. It was still so pretty, even if you'd heard it so many times before. You snap out of the daze as he goes over to the batter bowl, taking up a ladle and dropping small amounts of pancake batter into the skillet. The butter and mix hissed dully, letting you know that it was cooking. You shuffled over to the stovetop, monitoring the pancakes carefully.

"Make sure you don't flip them prematurely, then it's going to take longer. You'll know it's done when the bubbles rise up from the backside."

Sanji said, peeking over your shoulder. You stiffened a bit, something Sanji managed to notice. He frowned with mild concern, looking at you.

"Are you okay? You're acting a little weird, [Name]. Have you had any water lately?"

He asked. You shake your head vigorously, anything to get him from being so damn close. You see bubbles rising to the top of the batter, but you wait. You watch as more bubbles come up, and you decide to flip. To your surprise, the pancakes are a beautiful golden color, the outside browning crisp thanks to the butter. You look back at Sanji eagerly, and he returns the smile you give him twofold.

"Look at that! Not bad for the first batch. They usually turn out pretty iffy when I flip the first few."

He said. You rolled your eyes, knowing it to be a lie. You punched his shoulder gently, chuckling.

"Don't pull an Usopp on me, blondie. I know everything you make in here comes out perfect."

You retort lightly, surprised to see Sanji's blush of a reaction. You turn back to the pancakes quickly, feeling a blush creep up in your cheeks as well. A small silence settled on the both of you as he poured batter and you flipped. As it progressed, your thoughts ate at you. Looking at the situation clearly, your plan was backfiring. Sanji was being forced to cook on his birthday, all because you were too ditzy to handle baking him something. These intrusive words shifted your attention, causing you to use more strength than necessary to try and flip a pancake. Alas, the spatula slipped, and so followed your hand. There came a yelp, a clatter, and small shouts of concern from Sanji. Your hand had made contact with the sizzling skillet only for a moment, but your pinky and palm still hurt like hell.

"[Name]!!"

In an instant, he snatched up your arm, taking you over and plopping you down in a chair before moving the skillet off of the burner and grabbing a clean washcloth off of the counter. He ran it under the tap, squeezing out the excess before gently setting it against the burn. You winced, feeling horrible. He squatted down next to you, emotions in turmoil within those blue eyes of his. You avoid his gaze, feeling ashamed.

"[Name], please look at me."

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling, your good hand curled into a fist as it sat in your lap.

"I'm sorry, Sanji, I really am.."

You whimper shakily.

"Why are you apologizing? It was just an accide-"

"That's not what I'm talking about... I mean I'm sorry you had to cook on your birthday because of me."

There was a small silence before Sanji finally chuckled, taking your good hand into one of his. You blushed, it was rough and somewhat calloused from cooking over the years. You look into his eyes, unable to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. He was so sweet, even on the day he should be treated like a king he was there, tending to you. His eyes softened as he wiped your tears away, a smile on his lips.

"You're too kind, [Name], but you don't realize.."

He softly squeezed your hand in his, turning red as he gave you his best grin.

"Being able to cook with you makes this one of my best birthdays."

You burned a bright scarlet, registering his words. You can almost see the steam pouring out of your ears from the heat in your cheeks, uttering out incomprehensible babble. He laughed, letting out a little sigh before kissing your forehead. You jumped at the affection, looking up at him in silent bewilderment

"Alright, now no more tears from you. Hang tight over there, you can't cook with your hand seared like that. I'll be done shortly."

He stated, standing up to his full height before going back to the flapjacks. All you could manage was a dumb nod, watching him intently as he focused. You let out a little sigh, unable to help the rush of affection you felt for him. Despite being a weirdo sometimes, he was one of the most polite, gentle people you had ever met. Soon, he had finished the work the both of you had started in a timely manner, even managing to wash the dishes as well. He went to plating, breaking out some fresh fruits for additional garnishes before setting down two beautiful plates of food on the table. One was topped with raspberries and lightly drizzled with honey, and the other happened to be topped with your favorite fruit along with honey garnish. He slid the latter plate towards you, handing you a small bundle of silverware tucked neatly with a napkin. You chuckled, taking it.

"You can't go without being a little fancy, can you?"

"You're acting like it's a bad thing."

You smiled at each other before digging in.

Without fail, both plates were without a speck of food. You let out a contented sigh, looking over at Sanji. He had lit another cigarette, the stick sitting delicately in between his fingers as he looked out at the sea through the window. He was so pretty, you had always known that, but you had never bothered to acknowledge it. You were pulled out of your thoughts as he got up from his seat, letting out a sigh.

"Well, I'm gonna go."

Sanji said, giving you a smile before turning to leave. You got up from your own seat, getting in front of him before giving him a hug. Surprised, he took a moment before reciprocating, his arms holding you close. If you couldn't manage to express it through his field, maybe you could do it in a way you both understood.

"Happy birthday, Sanji."

You whispered. He chuckled, resting his nose in the crook of your neck.

"Thank you for making it happy, [Name]."

~~~~~~~

This is a repost from a book I have on my Wattpad, a friend suggested I put it here so you all know how I write (although this is very, VERY old)

#sanjionepiece #reader insert #one piece #one piece oneshot #vinsmoke sanji #straw hat pirates #writing #strawhatscribe

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fbfh · 4 years

Text

hey, sailor - leo x daughter of poseidon

genre: a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, a lot of mermaids lol

word count: 2.4k

au: none really, you have mermaid powers as a daughter of poseidon if that counts lmao

pairing: Leo x Daughter of Poseidon

requested: yeeyee !! hope u enjoy xoxo

warnings: uh brief mention of your step dad leaving when you were younger, an interaction with your best friend doesn’t go as planned, percy’s grappling with rlly complicated feelings towards his dad and new sister

summary: Percy, Annabeth, and Leo all get a little more than they bargained for when they bring Percy’s half sister back to camp Halfblood, and Leo remembers why he had such a huge crush on Ariel growing up.

reccomended songs: hurricane drunk - florence + the machine, sinkin’ in - cody simpson, deep sea ambiance

a/n: as soon as i got this request my dormant mermaid phase woke up from a sound sleep

requests r open uwu

"...And you know what he said to me? He says, 'kid, I think it's time you met your sister'. I have a freaking sister, and that two timing piece harpy sh-"

"Okay, Percy, why don't you cool off a little before we leave. Come on, we'll grab a drink or something while Leo finishes getting ready."

Annabeth takes her boyfriend's hand, and leads him to the nearest drink cooler. Leo turns back to the car they're going to take, and continues loading in the rest of the supplies. He, for one, is excited to meet Percy’s sister. His first thought was ‘hope she’s hot’, which he blurted out before he could stop himself, and was met with a killer glare from both of them. He’s not trying to be insensitive, finding out you have siblings you didn’t know about is kind of traumatic. I mean, hey, Leo’s family went from zero to sixty in one day - literally. Okay, not quite sixty, but only child to one of eight is still a pretty big jump.

A little while later, they’re ready to go. Leo offers to drive, so Percy and Annabeth can sit in back and try to sort out Percy’s feelings. After a couple hours of driving and emotional conversations, most of which Leo just listened to - Annabeth seemed to have a good hold on this, and Leo didn’t want to overstep his bounds again - they arrived in Cape Cod. At this point, the gist seems to be that Percy knows if he should be mad at anyone, it’s his dad. They park in the driveway of the address Chiron gave them. They get out of the car, and look up at the house. It’s gray with white trimming, two or three stories, with a balcony porch on the upper floor - a normal, small town New England house, as far as they could tell. They seemed to take a collective breath, and approached the door.

You’re breathing fast, trying to hold back the floodgates of emotion, when your bare feet hit the sand. You drop your bag, taking in the familiar, secluded stretch of the Cape. A big wall of jagged rocks to your left separates this part of the beach from the others. The old wooden stairs and their faded white paint that connected the low cliff to the sand below are hidden by plant life, so most people don’t even know this area existes. You’ve been coming here regularly since you were nine or ten. So many important parts of your life happened on these shores. You could just tell your mom ‘I’m going to my beach’, and she’d know right where you are. You finish pulling off your shorts and rush towards the water in your swimsuit. You’re met with immediate relief as soon as the water touches your skin. If it was possible to have an emotional support location, you did.

You feel it happen as soon as you’re waist deep. Bubbles and sea foam collect around you from the hips down and your legs get tingly and numb. A moment later, it dissipates, leaving behind a life sized mermaid tail. It changes slightly with most transformations, usually based on your mood and desired appearance, and you’ve noticed over the years you can change how it looks more easily. You don’t care today, you just need to be in the water. This time it’s a big tropical fish tail, its purple, blue, and shimmery gray tones reflecting both your mood and the impending storm clouds rolling in. You dip below the surface, and let the tide carry you a little ways. You don’t worry about getting lost, you somehow always know where you are at sea. You don’t have gills that you can find, but you can definitely breathe underwater.

You finally sink to the bottom, and stare up at the surface of the water. The patterns of light remind you of the night light you had as a child.

Your mom had ensured you were comfortable with water and ocean life for as long as you could remember. She must know other people like you, because sometimes she would have long phone conversations with someone called the Director. You were pretty sure he had a weird name that started with a K or C, but you could never remember. He’s apparently sending someone to bring you to a ‘safe place’ today. It sounds like bullshit to you, but you trust your mom, and your mom trusts the Director. Since you might not be back for a while, she said you could finally tell your best friend Wes the truth.

‘Oh god,’ you think, wishing the salt water would erase your memories of what happened today, but you can’t stop the onslaught of memories. Wes has been your best friend for years. You helped him when he realized he’s bi, he helped you when your step dad left, you could trust him with anything. Or so you thought. ‘It’s not his fault,’ you remind yourself, trying futilely to stop reliving what happened hours earlier.

You brought him to your part of the beach to go swimming so you could show him. You can still hear his voice, asking if you’re sure you want to go in the ocean, you’ve always been afraid of water. Once you’d worked up the nerves to get in the water and transform, you showed him your tail. Your heart broke again every time you remembered what he had said.

“That is... incredible,” your heart had soared, there was hope, “I can’t believe you got one of those silicone swimming tails just to prank me!” Ah, there it was. The other shoe. You tried to tell him it was real, but he said he could see the mold lines, and there the scales don’t quite line up, and there’s the edge of the zipper. You wanted to cry.

“I’m not gonna lie, you almost had me for a second. I can’t believe you learned to swim just to prank me, but whatever works, dude,” he laughed like you were having a good time together. It was too much.

You let out a huge underwater scream, and thunder rumbles in the distance. You sink further down, wishing once again that the salt and algae would erode your memories from today.

Annabeth knocks on the door for the third time. Thankfully, it opens to a middle aged woman in a shirt that said Brooklyn Nine Nine.

“Hello, what can I help you with?” she asks. She has a strong presence, and none of them want to be on her bad side. Percy is still too nervous, and Leo seems to be analyzing wires poking out of the doorbell, so Annabeth introduces themselves, and asks where you are.

“Who wants to know?” she asks.

“We’re her internet friends, we’re surprising her by visiting a day early.” Annabeth replies. The woman doesn’t seem convinced. She smiles, seeming to see right through them.

“Are you from camp?” The shock on their faces gives her all the answer she needs. She smiles, and continues, “She’s down at the Cape, the quiet part past the rocks.” They thank her, but before they can leave she says, “Hey.” She looks at each of them intensely.

“Make sure she gets there safely. Take care of her.” They agree solemnly, and head down the sidewalk.

“And tell Chiron I say hi.” she says with a smile. They smile back, agreeing again.

They get to the Cape, and it’s full of people.

“Shouldn’t be any harder than a Where’s Waldo,” Leo says. Percy’s head snaps to the right, and thunder rumbles.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

“The thunder? Yeah,” Annabeth says.

“No, no.. someone screaming.”

“I don’t-”

“This way,” he takes off towards a pile of jagged rocks. They manage to get over with only a few scrapes and Percy surveys the empty beach.

“She’s here… She’s here somewhere,” he mutters to himself. The dark clouds part for a moment, and Annabeth points out to the water. Someone was there, pretty far out to sea. She could just make out their shoulders and head above the water.

“Gods, Percy, can you get her to shore?”

“Ah ah ah, uncle Leo’s got this one,” Leo pulls something out of his backpack. It’s bronze, and the size and shape of a deflated soccer ball. He throws it into the water. It starts to sink, then expands into a small bronze and wood speed boat. Percy and Annabeth’s jaws drop. He hops in, revving the engine to life. They sail out over the water, Percy directing them around currents and waves. They can see the figure clearly now, and they’re sure it’s you. You’re looking away from them, out towards the darkening sky. The boat starts to slow down, and makes a whining noise. Their eyes dart to Leo.

“It’s probably just a sticky piston,” white smoke leaks from the engine, “... and I should check the coolant, too.” He opens up a panel, and starts to tweak a couple things. He sits on the edge of the boat to get a better angle, and reaches into his tool belt. He pulls out a wrench, and almost in slow motion, feels it slip between his finger tips, and into the water with a light plip.

“Shit!” He covers his mouth, worried he scared you off. Three heads turn to where you were a moment ago. Gone. He feels that familiar shameful heat creep into his stomach and cheeks.

“Sorry guys, I-”

“You dropped this,” He looks into the water, and you’re right next to the boat, handing him the wrench.

“...Thanks,” he says, his heart speeding up. Your hair is wet and beads of water glisten on your skin. Your red bikini top sure isn’t doing anything to slow his racing pulse, either. Your hands brush as he takes the tool from you. You smile, and the clouds part - literally. A beam of golden sun shines behind you, making you glow. His heart is in his throat, and he knows he’s probably grinning and blushing like an idiot.

Percy stares at your head, poking up over the side of the boat. Your hair is dyed shades of blue and teal and seafoam that blend right in with the water, but your roots are dark. He takes in your freckles, your tan lines, and your eyes… they look like part of the sea - shells, or waves, or something. He watches as Leo takes the tool, and a smile appears at the side of your mouth - the same smile he’s seen in the mirror, the same smile he’s seen on his dad. He sees all these familiar traits and knows it’s true, you’re his sister. The realization hits him like a truck, and he’s suddenly choked up. Annabeth sees this, and places a hand on his shoulder. She looks between Percy and an infatuated Leo, and takes the reins for the whole ‘the gods are real’ speech.

“Hi,” she says, giving Percy’s hand a squeeze, “I’m Annabeth, this is Percy, and Leo. We were sent here to take you to a safe place for kids like us-”

“Ohmygod, finally,” the tension leaves your shoulders and you sigh in relief, “you have no idea how hard it’s been keeping all of this a secret, trying to be normal…” You push yourself up the side of the boat Ariel style, and pull yourself in, the edge of your tail draped slightly off the boat as you continue, “I seriously thought I was losing it for a while…” you trail off, watching them stare at your tail.

“You’re not… you’re not merfolk, are you?” The confusion on their faces says it all. Panic rises in your chest as you start to dive off the boat. Before you can, Leo grabs your hand.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We all have weird powers, it’s part of being a demigod.” He shows you his free hand, and flames suddenly dance across his palm. Part of your fear is replaced with confusion.

“A what?” you ask.

“A demigod.” you look over at Percy, who’s speaking since the first time since you’ve met him, “Our dad is Poseidon, god of the sea.” You scrunch your eyebrows, processing what he said. Annabeth smiles at the gesture, having seen her boyfriend do it a thousand times.

“Wait… our?” He takes in a breath.

“I’m Percy, your brother.”

The ride back to shore is a little awkward, to say the least. They had finished explaining about camp and the gods and monsters a few minutes ago, and it’s been pretty much silent since. Annabeth sits next to you, and hands you a water bottle.

“He just needs some time,” she tells you quietly, “Poseidon’s not really supposed to have children, and Percy got a hard time for it when he was younger. He also… he thought his dad was really in love with his mom, so finding out he has a sister so close in age…” You nod in understanding. She pats you on the shoulder, and sits next to Percy at the back of the boat. You scooch up a little closer to Leo as gracefully as you can, which isn’t much, considering you have to drag along an almost 60 pound fish tail. Leo looks over at you from the controls.

“Weird day, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah…”

“So how long does it take to, uh,” he nods down and you flick your tail, “de-fishify?”

You laugh.

“Once I’m dry,” you look up at the summer sun reemerging, a little surprised that it hadn’t stormed. Then again, if children of Poseidon really could make sea storms, it made sense that it had died down now that you and Percy were feeling better.

“which shouldn’t take long.” you finish. You look over at Percy, who’s having a quiet intense conversation with Annabeth.

“He knows I didn’t ask for this, right?” Leo looks back at them.

“He does,” he replies.

“It’s so surreal finding out I have a sibling I knew nothing about,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Try finding out you have seven,” he laughs, shaking his head at the memory.

“Seven?!” your head snaps up to him.

“Oh yeah,” he tells you the story of when he first came to camp, and you feel so much better already. Leo has such a comforting presence, the pain from all your problems softens a little just hearing him talk. You have a feeling you’re going to get a lot closer.

Little did you know, the feeling was mutual - and correct.

#leo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #Heroes of Olympus #Leo Valdez #percy jackson #leo valdez x reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon

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yougainedlove · 3 years

Note

Your Ask Blog is really cool! Since your last one was on the subject of roommates, what would Undyne, Papyrus, and Mettaton be like as roommates if you don't mind me asking?

ey, thank you!!

these roommate ones are always so thought-provoking, I love ‘em

honestly I think I would love to be roommates with Paps or Undyne <3

METTATON

Ahem, heritage aside, he really is more of a ghost than anybody else. It comes with the territory of being a celebrity in that he’s often away, either on tour or film sets/music studios for long stretches or just frequently out during the day. He does his best to keep himself ‘at home’ as much as possible, but a lot of the time it just… isn’t possible. When he’s filming, unless it’s local, he stays in hotels. Ditto for tours, as well as having a genuine tour bus. So his roommate isn’t actually likely to see him all that often unless they try to keep up via calls, texts, video chats, etc. Which, of course, he’s very much open to!

When he is at home, expect him to probably be sleeping/charging. Being humanity’s star is exhausting, darling! The house is a place to relax, mostly, somewhere he can decompress without worrying about rehearsals or a busy schedule. Even someone like Mettaton who enjoys the attention and the fast-paced lifestyle needs a break every now and then. He does like that when he comes back to the house, his roommate is still there and happy to see him. It’s a little bit of normalcy and the kind of constancy he needs when he has his downtime.

Roommate probably gets a bunch of MTT merch? Particularly the ‘older’ stuff that’s sitting around so he can make room for new inventory. They’ll get shirts or plushies, things of that nature, half as an apology for not being around much and half because he’s trying to get rid of it. If he sees them wearing one of the T-shirts or displaying any of it, it… sort of warms his heart a bit. They’re outdated designs, but his roommate still treasures them? That’s… very sweet.

All in all he’s not a bad roommate even though he’s not around much. He’s neat and tidy when he is at the house, he always pays his portion of the rent/mortgage early (and has no issues covering his roommate’s portion a few times if they need him to), and is more than happy to make friends with his roommate as well. There are definitely worse roommates to have!

PAPYRUS

WOWIE, he is just so excited to share a living space with someone other than his messy, lazybones brother!!! Papyrus is out of the house more often than one might expect, between tries at different jobs and also taking his cool car out for everyone to gawk at. That said, he’s often out during the day and home in the evening and at night, so it’s certainly not as if he’s never home. At the very least, it means his roommate worrying about him not being home when it’s dark out will be a very rare occurrence. Coupled with this is the fact that he answers calls and texts religiously. His roommate will probably know where he is at any given time, because Papyrus almost never leaves without informing them in some way or another.

Sans hangs around a lot when he’s able, especially if Papyrus is out working and Sans is free! He enjoys spending time with his little bro’s roomie… and Papyrus, for his part, likes it if his big brother and his roommate get along. It’s almost like the two of them have another member of the family. Even though they and Papyrus are ‘just’ roommates, (Name) really should be prepared to be basically adopted as a sibling. Papyrus physically cannot not get emotionally attached to someone he shares a house with, and Sans is only too happy to treat his baby bro’s friend as part of the family. It’s… nice, really, how quickly these two default to treating Papyrus’ roommate like they’ve known (Name) all their lives.

Oh!! He most definitely does a lot of the cooking! As to how edible it is, eh… the results vary, since he’s attempting to get better at the culinary arts, but one thing is true: (Name) will have more pasta in a week than they could possibly eat in a month. It’ll be a wonder if they’re not sick of pasta in a few weeks, and yet, well… Papyrus is surprisingly effective at figuring out different combinations so that they never have the exact same meal twice. Unless his roommate happens to be a spaghetti aficionado like himself…? Ah, well. Either way, he’s more than delighted to handle meals, especially if his roommate isn’t much of a cook themselves. If they are, however, it’s just one more way the two of them can bond!!!

Overall he can be a bit ‘much’ simply because he’s an excitable, enthusiastic fellow who never seems to run out of energy. He might be a handful for people who prefer things quieter, but largely he’s the type who can get along with most people. He’s clean and organized, usually pays his part of the rent/mortgage on time, and is a very personable guy. Even someone who isn’t crazy about him at first will be hard-pressed to call him a bad roommate!

UNDYNE

NGAH, it’ll be nice to share a place with someone since she’s been so used to being on her own!! Well… she’s pretty sure it will be, anyway. She’s accustomed to being independent, so it takes a little bit of adjustment when it comes to the cohabitation thing. She’s been living in her own house by herself for so long, it’s… weird… to remember that there’s also another person in her house. That it’s not just her house. She does spend a lot of time out since, even on the surface, she works with the Royal Guard to keep the monster community safe, watch out for humans in danger too, etc., make sure everyone’s holding hands and singing Kum Ba Yah and all that good shit. She prefers to be home after dark, though, so her roommate will definitely be seeing a lot of her.

Alphys is over a lot, as is Papyrus! And also sometimes Napstablook if they’re not on tour with Mettaton. Undyne is the kind of person who has a lot of good friends, and Papyrus especially is used to coming over to hang out at her house with her. As long as there are clear boundaries and her roommate doesn’t mind having guests over frequently, it shouldn’t be a problem. Although… sometimes Undyne will drag (Name) into anime movie nights! Resistance is futile, abandon all hope, but the flip side is that she’ll also let them drag her into pretty much anything as well. Despite the fact that roommates don’t have to be besties, she… thinks it’s a lot! More! Tolerable! When two people living together are friends! That makes sense, right?

… Man, she’s intense, though, as is her job. Sometimes she gets called away at odd hours if something is happening crime-wise, particularly if the human police find that they need help from the Royal Guard. There are times she’s technically off her shift, that she has to suddenly disappear from the house for a while. Hopefully her roommate won’t worry too much… it’s kind of hard not to, though, isn’t it? Once they’ve gotten to know her and enjoy her company, occasionally anxiety happens when Undyne has to go off at weird times. It means a lot if (Name) talks to her after she gets back, or the next morning or whenever, to let her vent about crap!

She’s very intimidating, especially to shyer people, but after a little while, it hopefully won’t be a huge problem. Although she tends to forget when the rent/mortgage is due, and she can potentially make a lot of messes, she’s also super willing to fix her mistakes and try to be better in the future. If she screws something up in any way, you bet your ass she’ll also clean it up. She’s a surprisingly good roommate, with both a great heart and head on her shoulders, who cares about whoever she’s living with. It’s not so bad after all!!

#dragonsrule18 #Undertale #Mettaton #Papyrus #Undyne #headcanons #platonic #domestic #fluff #so much fun!!! :D

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xxxrubytuesdayxxx · 4 years

Text

If you stay and wait for Jeongguk...

Word Count: 4,731

Disclaimers: This is part (45) of a Choose Your Own Ending!

Check at the end for glossary of Korean terms*

**So behold my wish-fulfilment/mystically putting ideas in JK’s head xD Wrote this early 2019 before he’d actually got himself tatted up. What I love is that not only did he do it (after I had proposed him getting a tattoo in the fic and my friends had gone “he wouldn’t - he’s Korean and that’s frowned on there” making me change it to a fake. Maybe my “get a real one next time, baby” somehow whispered through the dream-world) but he went beyond my wildest dreams and got his fingers done ^.^ Either way enjoy! :)**

Start here:

“Jeong-ssi, listen!” Hoseok tells him, taking both his hands in his own to drive his point home. “As the youngest, do you think you’re being polite?!” he reprimands him, his tone incredulous. “You need to be more respectful – we all know each other well now, and things are more relaxed, but Namjoon is still your hyung.”

Jeongguk looks repentant and a little shy. He nods in recognition of Hobi’s words and bows his head to Namjoon.

Jwesonghamnida,” he speaks softly and deferentially. He’s obviously sincere, and Namjoon acknowledges the apology graciously. Jeongguk looks so soft and pretty that you feel guilty for wanting to rip his clothes off so badly. That is until you catch his provocative wink, as he follows Namjoon out to meet Bang PD Nim. Hoseok watches your eye-line, amused.

“Wow. Someone’s a smitten kitten,” he teases you with one of his trademark giggles, back in a buoyant mood now that he’s defused the situation.

“Come on Hobi, don’t,” you mutter, trying not to wince at the thought of your little minx using those charms of his on some k-pop starlet for the game show. Hoseok must catch something in your mood as he changes the subject quickly, asking if you want to come to noraebang with him over lunch. Laughing and acknowledging that the man knows your weakness, you agree and follow him out to his car with only one last wistful glance in the direction Jeongguk left with Namjoon.

You make it through a few songs and some starter dishes before Hoseok grills you about the whole Bangtan situation he slept through last night.

“So what was that all about this morning anyway?” he starts.

“What do you mean?” you hedge. He gives you a look.

“Come on Noona. Jimin and Yoongi are both in a mood. Jeongguk is acting like he’s suddenly in a frat house. Namjoon has clearly had it up to his eyeballs. What’s with all the attitude?” You avoid his eyes.

“Also Mai is conspicuously absent. Wait… “he adds, pulling out his phone. “She’s texting me…” That gets your attention. He reads off his phone: ‘Yoongi and I are over. He wants to see other people. We need to talk.’ Wow. I mean that kind of explains Yoongi’s mood I guess. But what about the others?” Even though you kind of gathered something was wrong last night, you’re stunned.

“Fine,” you relent. “I don’t have any idea what’s got into Jimin, but Tae seems to know. And Jeongguk’s mad because Namjoon banned him from my room last night cos Bang PD Nim wants him to be in the new series of We Got Married. Satisfied?”

Hobi looks taken aback. He chooses his words carefully.

“Are you in love with him?” he tries.

“Who? Jeongguk?” you ask. Hoseok rolls his eyes but smiles gently.

“No, Namjoon. Of course Jeongguk!” he clarifies.

“Yes,” you confess, sulking.

“Since when?” he prompts, after pausing to let the waitress bring in more of the dishes you’ve ordered.

You shrug. “Maybe a year?” you tell the polished floorboards. “Since he started acting like a little hussy,” you admit with a wry smile to acknowledge you know it’s futile. He grimaces apologetically.

“So why did you wait til last night?” he wants to know.

“He came onto me and I couldn’t resist him,” you mutter.

“That’s kind of cute. Stupid. But cute,” Hoseok evaluates the situation.

“I know it was stupid,” you agree, begrudgingly. “But what about Mai?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Maybe we should text her to meet us. I’ll ask if she minds if we’re both there,” he tells you.

“She won’t come to noraebang,” you point out.

“I know,” he acknowledges. “So we’ll meet her at the coffee shop.” By the time you get there Mai is already nursing a coffee at one of the back corner tables. She watches you and Hobi impassively over the top of her oversized dark glasses as you both order and join her.

“So,” Hoseok starts, “you and Yoongi?”

“Right to it, then,” she almost chokes.

Hoseok stays silent, but puts on an expectant look. You both wait as she tries to sort out her thoughts.

“He wants to see other people,” she shrugs. “So I guess that’s over.”

“You guess...that’s…over?” Hoseok slowly trails, confused.

A small part of you is still worried about yourself and Jeongguk’s situation, but a bigger part is now worrying about her. Yet denial is a strong thing, and Mai’s is as concentrated as they come. Maybe she’ll handle it, as she so frequently insists she will.

“It was all good,” she shrugs again, “and then he was talking about distance. And how hard it is. And…yep.” She takes another sip of coffee.

“So he ended things?” Hoseok asks, now genuinely confused. You can understand his confusion - she says ‘we need to talk’, and then that’s everything she offers.

“He wants me to go on tour with you guys more often. I said…‘Well, I have a life.’ But like, nicely. I said it nicely,” she assures Hoseok with a pointed look. “Then he got kind of weird about it…he kept saying it was hard on him. And I was like, yeah, get in line. I mean, welcome to the club, right?” She pauses. Hoseok nods, his eyebrows furrowed from attempting to understand how she finds humour in the situation. “I was nice about it, really. And then he sort of escalated it, and we kind of got to talking about… potential? Or boundaries? ‘Artistic space’ or something? And…yep.”

“Then he ended things,” you state, to clarify.

“Can’t be a ‘rap star’ with a steady girlfriend, I guess,” she rolls her eyes, clearly mocking something Yoongi’s said to her in that conversation. “I don’t know if I did the right thing,” she almost whispers. Her posture slouches a little - she’s somewhat caving into herself, suddenly vulnerable. “Maybe I should’ve protested against breaking up with a little more enthusiasm, but I didn’t see the point if he’s halfway out.” She catches herself for a second and looks at you. “But don’t worry about your situation with Jeongguk.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a good kid. Kind of. And you’re great. And the situation is different, you know? Yoongi’s a mess. You’ve got shit sorted for the both of you. So don’t worry.” You’re not so sure, but you don’t want to shift the focus. Nor do you want to think about it all right now or your imagination will run away with you. Mai watches you, reading your mind as usual. She smiles faintly.

“You’ll be okay,” she reiterates.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks Mai, growing impatient.

“Lived without him before. Will live without him now,” she jokes.

“I guess…that makes sense…” Hoseok nods, the look of concern not leaving his kind features. You and Hobi exchange looks, but leave it at that. She’ll handle it, she insists. She moves the conversation to other topics by sheer force of willpower and Hoseok lets her, on the surface, even more used to her ways than you are. They’ve known each other since they were just kids after all. You’ve all managed to finally reach some level of normalcy when everything goes haywire.

First Yoongi, just straight out of nowhere, materialises in the doorway, immediately catches sight of you all and then just as immediately pretends he hasn’t seen you. Mai has her back to the doorway, so you and Hoseok avoid eye-contact as he orders his coffee and walks to a back table. Mai gives you both a bland look and calmly takes another sip of her own coffee.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” she asks you. You look at her, realise lying is futile, then both nod sheepishly. She breathes deeply, without bothering to turn around, then raises her coffee to blow on it unnecessarily, knowing Yoongi will realise the implications of her choice of beverage. Next, and before you can even deal with the intruder situation, you get an irate text from Namjoon, demanding to know where you’ve ‘spirited Jeongguk away to’ this time. You refrain from texting back in the same tone and calmly inform Namjoon that you’re out to coffee with Hobi and Mai and have zero idea where Jeongguk is. But the news does make you uneasy and, despite his current hostility towards you, you do feel bad for Namjoon who is, after all, just trying to keep things together.

“Should we leave?” Hoseok whispers, snapping you out of your train of thought.

“I don’t mind,” you say. You both turn to Mai. “No,” she says decisively, “he can leave. I got here first.”

“Slightly childish, but I’ll take it,” Hoseok nods, smiling despite himself. You hang around for a while, to lend weight to Mai’s protest, but you eventually have to tell them that in all fairness, you’d really better go and help Namjoon with things.

By the time you arrive home, Namjoon is frantic. You assure him that Yoongi and Hoseok are both fine so his hypothetical body count is down to one. He gives you a wry look and smiles, despite himself. “Okay, so I might be overreacting a bit,” he allows. “But I really don’t know where Jeongguk has fucked off to or how to handle Jimin and Tae both being so moody lately. At least Yoongi has a reason to be, I guess. He said he broke it off with Mai last night?” he looks at you questioningly and you nod shortly, indicating you don’t want to go into detail, for Mai’s sake.

“I’ll go talk to Jimin and Tae and see if I can squeeze them for info,” you tease. “Glean what afflicts them and all that.” Namjoon half-laughs.

“What about your boy toy?” he prompts. You shrug. “He’s probably just acting out,” you hazard a guess, even though you’re at least as concerned as Namjoon. “He’ll come home when he’s ready.”

Sure enough, you and Namjoon have barely finished speculating when the back door slams open and the object of your speculation tramps into the kitchen, exclaiming about the downpour he’s just been caught in. Jeongguk looks up, shaking raindrops from his bangs and his jacket and you melt at the look in his eyes when he sees you. He darts a look at Namjoon, who clears his throat pointedly, and ducks into the other room.

“Did you...I mean are you…?” you start, drawing instinctively closer to him. He shakes his head, scattering water drops everywhere and puts his hand to your cheek.

“I couldn’t do it,” he whispers, pleading with his eyes for you to understand without him spelling it out. He places his other hand on your back and pulls you towards him, pressing his mouth against yours and slipping his tongue between your lips. You open your mouth and clasp him to your chest, as though he’ll disappear again, if you don’t possess him with your entire being. You kiss for a bit and then he stops, looking at you intensely. You can’t quite place his expression, but there’s a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Hagoshipeo…” he begins, then switches to English, nervously hesitant. “I want to…” his pronunciation is halting, but he’s getting more fluent daily. Yet you’re still not prepared for his next words… “fuck…you…so [he tries again, checking your eyes for signs of validation that he’s doing okay] so? [you nod to encourage him, though you’re a little scandalised]…bad,” he finishes, awaiting your approval, with that smile still dancing around the curve of his lips.

“Close enough,” you tease him, capturing those lovely lips with yours.

“Badly! It’s ‘badly’,” calls Namjoon from next door, unable to resist correcting him. “Also TMI Jeong-ssi. I can speak English too, remember?” he adds, rolling his eyes as he comes back into the room, arms crossed. You step back from Jeongguk, not wanting to irritate Namjoon further.

“You know, to be fair, he probably doesn’t want to fuck me badly cos that’s a whole other thing,” you correct Namjoon. He grins at you wryly.

“So anyway what…?” You clear your throat, embarrassed. “...what exactly happened while I was out with Hobi and Mai?”

“Give us a minute?” Namjoon directs at Jeongguk, who picks up on the sudden serious tone and shift in the air and decides to go quietly. As he leaves, he gives your hand a quick squeeze and sends you a little wink, ducking out the door.

“Jimin’s in a mood,” Namjoon starts the list, sighing, “Yoongi’s in a mood, and Bang PD-nim’s breathing down my neck about everything.” It hits you how much Namjoon actually has to deal with. He’s the middle man; he has to watch out for the boys and for the company simultaneously. It doesn’t help that the boys hardly ever make things easy for him. They forget, he’s as young and new to this as the rest of them are. Genius IQ and leadership role aside, he’s still only 24.

“I notice it, too. Jimin’s been… sour about a lot,” you say delicately, your mind going straight to his last outburst.

“I mean, I know why. He was seeing this girl for a while, secretly,” Namjoon explains, “and it didn’t work out. Something about her wanting it to be more public, wanting to announce it like Hyuna-noona and Hyo-jong did.”

“And Jimin can’t,” you nod, understanding immediately.

“Jimin can’t,” he confirms. “He tried, though. He asked Bang PD-nim about the likelihood of being able to announce a relationship, hypothetically. Bang PD-nim kindly said it isn’t possible, at least not in the immediate future. So Jimin’s… sore.” Before you can say anything, Namjoon groans in frustration, “...and now Bang PD-nim is giving me a hard time about all these ‘ideas’ these boys are having. They’re asking these questions, poking around, being moody when we’re supposed to work. I don’t get it, we knew what we were signing up for. Why push it?”

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know. I spoke to Jimin earlier and he told me they’ve broken up,” Namjoon replied. “She couldn’t take no for an answer. The fact that Hyuna-noona and Hyo-jong were fired for it escaped her completely. And not all of us can get a contract at P Nation.”

You both stand in silence for a minute.

“I think I have an idea,” you finally say, hesitating for a second. Namjoon looks over curiously, so you continue, “You know how Jeongguk said no to the show?”

Namjoon’s head drops, even more exasperated now, and he blinks at the floor as if he’s searching it for answers. “Of course he did,” he mumbles. You can almost see the invisible extra weight that’s just been added onto his shoulders. “Put Jimin on the show instead,” you suggest as casually as you can, “He’ll get to meet new people, you guys don’t default on the contract, and at the very least, it’ll take his mind off the break-up.”

You can see Namjoon thinking about it, mulling over the idea in his mind. “It could work,” he says after a while.

“It’ll be Jimin’s stepping stone, into television. Not in the same way Tae’s serious period dramas did, but it’s still television. A good starting point,” you think out loud, rationalizing it and almost convincing the both of you.

“He might actually agree to it,” Namjoon nods. “And it’ll address half of Bang PD-nim’s concerns. But what do we do about Yoongi?”

“I don’t think that’s something we can fix,” you tell him gently, “But from what I know, the issue is superficial. It’ll blow over. Might want to give Yoongi a head’s up if it starts to really affect his work, but otherwise, leave it be.”

“Okay,” Namjoon nods. “Thank you, Noona” he says to you, with enough genuine appreciation in his voice for you to make a mental note to watch out for him as much as he watches out for the rest of you. You gesture into the other room.

“Do you want to go watch something and leave the kitchen to Jin?” you suggest. Namjoon raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“What about…?” he hesitates.

“Well I’m pretty sure I can hear the shower running, and you know how long Jeongguk takes with that,” you answer his unfinished question. “Guess I’ll just have to hope he doesn’t jack off in there or he’ll lose all his momentum.”

“Oh gross! Please stop,” Namjoon cringes at the mental picture. You laugh and lead the way into the living room, calling out to Jin that the kitchen is free. Namjoon picks some action film and you settle yourselves on the two couches, deliberately leaving space for any of the guys to wander in and join you both if they want to. Tae meanders out of his room at some point and flops down on the other end of Namjoon’s couch, toasting you lazily with his pop bottle in greeting. An hour or so passes, then Jeongguk drifts out of the bathroom, with still-damp hair and a towel clinging to his slender hips.

“Oh no Jeonkookie. You didn’t,” Tae objects, staring at his exposed ribs with a mixture of horror and admiration. Namjoon shuts his eyes, probably hoping you’ll all evaporate and he’ll wake up in his bed as a teenage rapper with no responsibilities again. You shoot Tae a warning look, then hop up to examine the inked hangul running the length of Jeongguk’s side more closely. You look up at him in amusement. His eyes widen in affected innocence.

“Mwoh?” he asks you, fake-innocent and clearly trying not to laugh. You shake your head at him, equally exasperated and distracted by wishing it was real.

“Don’t worry Namjoon. Before you even ask. It’s fake,” you assure Bangtan’s beleaguered leader. Jeongguk sulks a little at having his prank exposed but shrugs in defeat as Namjoon relaxes and returns to his film.

“Does it look hot though?” Jeongguk checks with you, quietly anxious.

“Well it might if it didn’t appear to say…” you double-check “Made in Korea,” you point out. He pouts, but then laughs, embarrassed.

“They didn’t have many options for the fake ones,” he explains, sheepishly.

“Yes it looks hot,” you whisper in his ear. “Get a real one next time, baby,” you tease him, biting his ear lobe gently. “But wait til Namjoon is less stressed.”

“Where?” he prompts, dropping his head to tickle your jawline with his kisses. You play with his hair as he teases a lovebite at the side of your neck.

“I don’t know...maybe…” [you let your finger glide along his iliac crest] here?” you suggest, making him draw in his breath sharply. You raise his head with your hands, so you can take sips from his cherry-flavoured lips.

“Mmm…” you exhale longingly, licking your own lips to chase the flavour.

“Do you like it?” he asks you, all shy. “I got it when I was out before.”

“Mm-hm,” you reassure him, kissing him over and over. “I love it.”

“Guess what else I got,” he provokes you.

“I’ve no clue,” you admit.

“Bubblegum-flavoured lube,” he murmurs right in your ear.

“Let me taste it,” you smile, nipping his full bottom lip.

“Come in my room then,” he invites you.

It’s at this point that Jimin finally decides to emerge from his self-imposed exile to encounter you and Jeongguk embracing right in the middle of his trajectory from his room to the kitchen. He glares at the two of you in utter disgust.

“Why are you two still acting like cats in heat?” he demands crossly. He transfers his glare across to Namjoon, “and why are you letting them, Namjoon-hyung?” Namjoon’s jaw sets as he controls his temper at Jimin’s disrespectful tone but Jin, who has stepped in to ask whether you’re all out of sesame oil, hisses at him angrily: “Jimin-ssi! Show some respect. What is the matter with you kids lately?” he tuts, retreating back into the kitchen.

“Sorry Namjoon-hyung,” Jimin mutters sullenly. Namjoon sighs deeply and pauses his film.

“Jimin-ssi come in here for a minute,” he instructs him. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to get scolded. At least not right now. I just want to ask you how you might feel about this idea we’ve had.” Jimin goes over to Namjoon, casting a resentful look back over his shoulder as Jeongguk takes your hand in his and pulls you insistently towards his room.

“Hold up horangi,” you caution him softly. “I’ll come in a bit, okay? I have to help Namjoon with this first.” He looks so petulant you have to laugh. “Hey you got Namjoon into this situation in the first place with your messing about,” you point out. He cocks his head in acknowledgement of the truth of this statement, tangles his fingers with yours briefly, then pads over to his room alone, leaving you to join Jimin and Namjoon’s little ad hoc meeting. It doesn’t really take very long and Jimin seems excited at the prospect of the show, so you and Namjoon congratulate yourselves on a job well done and you go check on Jeongguk in his room. “Whatcha doin’ pretty aegi?” you address him, stirring him on purpose. He’s stretched at full-length on his bed, still wearing only a towel, as he plays with his hand-held gaming device. He flips onto his back when he hears your voice, dropping the game onto the bed with a wicked little smirk.

“I’m not a baby,” he objects. “I see,” you say. “But you’re alright with ‘pretty’ I assume?” “Handsome,” he corrects you. “Okay,” you smile, grabbing his ankle to pull him towards you. He pulls his leg out of your grip and reaches up to tumble you onto the bed with him.

“Aniyo! I get to be in charge this time, Noona” he reprimands you sassily.

“Oooh - you gonna be nae oppa Jeonkookie?” you tease him. He smacks you playfully.

“Hey! Behave!” he tells you, obviously a little needled by ‘that word’ and your teasing tone. “...jebal Noona,” he sulks.

“Okay, no. Mianhae,” you tell him, contrite. “Go ahead. I will listen.” He looks pleased, but shy.

“Please lie on the bed properly,” he requests, politely. “I will get changed.” You do as you’re told, deliberately making yourself look feminine and submissive for him and glad you’re still wearing suitably girly clothing from your outing earlier. Of course he takes ages to choose his clothes, so you close your eyes and relax against his pillows. Eventually you feel him sit on the edge of the bed next to you and take your hand.

“Are you sleeping, Noona?” he asks you, softly. You open your eyes and smile at him, shaking your head.

“Aniyo, cheonsa,” you assure him. “Just resting...Wow!” You gratify his efforts with your eyes wide. He looks stunning: dressed to the nines in a crimson-red silk shirt, black tie and black satin formal clothes to which he’s added his silver chain bracelet, a few silver rings and his dangling silver earring shimmering in one ear, leaving just a plain ring and studs in the other holes. He’s even gone to the trouble of styling his hair and applying his eye make-up, which is sweet, but you want to tell him he looks beautiful without even a lick of make-up on. You don’t though, as you don’t want to ruin his thing he’s trying to do. “You look like a king,” you tell him and he looks at the floor, shy. But he seems flattered.

“Should I go dress up properly as well?” you check with him, deferential, still letting him play the leader.

“Ani, you look pretty,” he tells you. Little witch. He obviously knows not to say “okay” or “fine” and you smile to yourself at his diplomacy. You don’t have time to think it over too much though, as he starts to kiss you, removing his jacket and draping it carefully over the back of a chair. He loosens his tie with one finger and gives you a crooked smile.

“Do you want me?” he asks.

“Badly…” you tell him, trying to pull him closer. He winks, wrenches his tie off, and starts to unbutton his dress shirt. You reach your hand out to stroke his exposed chest and he closes his eyes, exhaling with a little sigh when your fingers brush one of his nipples.

“Uh...geugos-eun ppara,” he groans. You come over to him on your hands and knees and do as he asks, tickling him with your tongue first, before clasping his nipple between your lips and sucking for all you’re worth. He whimpers a little, then giggles and waves you back.

“Okay, okay,” he protests. “Enough. My turn now…” He crawls across the bed to you, bringing to your mind the contained power of a panther, rather than the soft, playful kitten you were expecting to deal with earlier.

“Oh, Jeongguk-ah,” you breathe, startling both of you with your suddenly-renewed intense desire for him. You reach out for him again, beseeching him with your eyes, and he smiles wickedly. He strips you, tantalizingly slowly, then strips himself while you watch him with your longing painted all over your face. When he’s done he flings himself down next to you again and sprinkles kisses all over your body, teasing you into a frenzy with his perfect lips. Just as you’re about to admit defeat and beg for mercy, he brings those lips close to your ear and whispers; “Still want my jaji to taste like bubblegum for a bit?” then reaches across to his bed-side table drawer.

He shakes the lube up like it’s a can of whipped cream, then applies it liberally to his erection, wincing slightly at the cold. At his gesture, you start to lick him carefully clean, using the longest, most lingering strokes you can manage, under the guise of just wanting to taste all that bubblegum-flavoured deliciousness. But it doesn’t take long for you to abandon any attempt at pretence, take his cock in your hand and suck him off with a relish unrelated to any artificial flavouring. He lets you get him pretty excited, then indicates, somewhat urgently, that he needs you to stop. Changing your positions, so that he’s now on top, he presses your legs apart and climbs between them.

You feel the hard length of him slide up inside you with no resistance as he pulls you upright into a sitting position and thrusts his hips like a jackhammer. His eyes are shut and his face betrays the physical effort of his exertions as he pants and gasps his lust out loud: “Uh...oh...baby...ne...oh sshibal…!” You try to restrain your own moans, not wanting to annoy the hell out of the others if they overhear you guys, but he’s swiftly bringing you to the brink of ecstasy with his ministrations. You’re not fucking much longer before he sends you straight over the edge, compelling you to scream his name, just before you feel his semen spill into you and onto his sheets. He collapses onto his back and flings his arm around you, cuddling you close as you both drift off.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some weeks later, it’s dinner time and slowly everyone gathers at the table. Jin places the final dish at the centre and stands back to admire his hard work. Jimin is happily spooning rice onto everyone’s plate as you all settle in, Jeongguk dropping into the seat next to yours.

He discreetly places a hand on your thigh and gives it an innocent squeeze, sending you an adorable little smile. He’s dialled down the public displays of sexual energy since your initial hook-ups, and you’ve arrived at a comfortable understanding - you’re in a real relationship, with actual commitment, and Jimin no longer has to be put off his breakfast on a regular basis.

“Yoongi!” Jin calls out. “Dinner!”

With perfect timing, Yoongi comes around the corner. “I’m not joining you guys tonight, but thank you.”

Jin instinctively puts a hand on his hip, in a very motherly fashion, “Where are you going?” he demands.

“Out,” Yoongi retorts.

The whole table waits for an elaboration. After a beat, he finally rolls his eyes and mumbles, “with Mai.” As soon as Yoongi has left the room, you ask Hoseok, “So we’re… letting this happen then?”

“I guess,” he shrugs.

THE END

Glossary: (feel free to submit corrections for these ^.^)

Jwesonghamnida (저성함니다) Sorry (polite, honorific form)

Noraebang (노래방) Karaoke (Korean style - lit. singing room

Horangi (호랑이) Tiger

Aegi (애기) Baby

Aniyo! (아니요) No!

Nae oppa (내 오빠) My ‘oppa’

Jebal (제발) Please

Mianhae (미안해) I’m sorry (informal)

Geugos-eun ppara (그것은 빨아) Suck it...

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop fan fiction #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction #BTS suga #bts imagines #bts scenarios #BTS jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook smut

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sam-roulette · 4 years

Note

For the character thing: the wonderful Sasha James? As for who answers it, I would like to spin the roulette wheel and have whoever sees this first answer.

Ooooh we love Sasha!!! And I specifically adore Sasha and am determined to write her into as many fics as possible because lowkey writing her character voice is All Hells of fun

Favorite Thing About Them: Her perceptiveness, 100%. It’s one thing to be booksmart or have common sense; it’s an entirely separate thing to be so in tune with your own surroundings that you can tell when something’s off, like how she found out Michael through noticing the differences in his reflection and the like even though on the surface, at first, he’d seemed like a normal dude. Sasha James is Always Looking and analyzing and it’s all wrapped up in an amicable personality and a cute cardigan and I adore that for her!

Least favorite thing about them: Because she dies so early, if you want to read or write anything Sasha related, you have to kind of treat her as an OC. She has an extremely clear character in s1, don’t get me wrong, but at the same time, there are some pretty significant gaps in her characterization that I feel would have been addressed if Tim had been the one to die. Because there are so many ways for people to fill in the blanks that Jonny left, it means that her characterization itself can be inconsistent- I’ve seen takes that expand beautifully upon Sasha’s character and play up her ambitious spirit, sometimes to her detriment, or I’ve even seen takes that don’t expand on her at all and just regard her as an empty filler slot with no presence.

Favorite Line: “A real you. I don’t think so, at least. It’s all just masks.” The poise! The eloquence! It’s a single line from s5 of all places but it tells you so much about Sasha! Her inner world is a rich one, and as someone who struggles with expressing a “true self”, among other identity issues, it’s highly relatable

brOTP: Sasha and Jon. I hadn’t really thought about it until me and my Eye-Eater co-writer were talking about Double Archivists Taking Road Trips and Coaching New Monsters On How To Be Monsters but these two have a fantastic dynamic going on. She’s the darling of the Archives and she and Jon have some cute banter in canon, but it can go Beyond that. They both have a need to know things. They both consider themselves a little cowardly. And it seems like they’d have similar senses of humor! It’s a win-win

OTP: TimSasha, Sasha/Melanie, Sasha/What the Girlfriends, Sasha/Helen, Sasha/Annabelle Cane and of course, Sasha/Julia Montauk. I just think Sasha should be the star of her own romcom

nOTP: I saw Sasha/Elias once and I had such a visceral reaction that I had to lie down for a bit

Random headcanon: She has the most morbid sense of humor in the Archives, which jives really well with Jon. Once she and Jon jokingly made a blood pact in the break room about putting each other in their wills in case Michael picks one of them off so Jon can have her ceramic cat collection and she can have all his couch blankets. Tim is trying to take walking in on it lightheartedly but this is the 3rd time they’ve done it this week and he’s beginning to have Doubts about the insincerity of the pact.

Unpopular Opinion: Sasha was likely equivalent to Jon in most ways, including her penchant to getting herself into danger and getting marked by other entities- and is equally likely to make terrible decisions. Just Because Gertrude Chose Sasha As Her Pick For Head Archivist and Just Because She Was Passed Over Instead Of Jon Does Not Mean She Would Have Ended TMA Early Or Not Fallen Into The Same Traps Jon Had. For one thing, Gertrude wasn’t exactly as competent as she came off (and there was an entire episode about that). For another, it carries the implication that somehow Sasha is immune to being fallible and human and is immune to falling into trauma or despair or struggling futilely, and that just makes me feel weird.

Song I Associate with her: When the Chips Are Down from Hadestown. It’s a funky song even in and of itself but the lyrics just Kill me for Sasha.

(“Life ain’t easy / Life ain’t fair / a girl’s gotta fight for her rightful share”)

This song also goes well for any Archivist Sasha aus you have on hand! Single or double archivist flavor

Favorite picture of them:

@tolbyccian does the absolute cutest Sasha art and genuinely, whenever I see it it’s like a shot of serotonin Directly to the acumbens- I especially like this one!!

#sasha james #meta #hi wanna talk about sasha? im always down to talk about sasha #sam tag

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nellied-reviews · 4 years

Text

The Sound and the Fury Re-listen

Well, I've reached episode 7 in my Wolf 359 re-listen, which means it's time for:

The Sound and the Fury

In which Hera and Minkowski are fighting, Eiffel gets caught in the middle, and Hilbert just wants them all to submit to the biologically superior will of the Blessed Eternal.

Straight up, I should probably admit that I forgot about this episode, or rather I didn't link the episode title to the episode's events until I was listening to it. And then I was like "oh, yeah, this is that episode" all the way through. For whatever reason, I thought, in particular, that the plant monster didn't come back until Season 2, with The Paranoia Game. That said, I love the plant monster to a possibly unreasonable degree, so its return here was more than welcome, and the rest of the episode was also fun!

We open in the middle of an argument - and for once, it's not Eiffel's fault. In fact, Eiffel isn't even involved, except insofar as he's trapped in the middle between Hera and Minkowski, and is forced to be the voice of reason as the two of them have it out.

And look, that is always going to be a funny set-up. Hera and Minkowski are both incredibly stubborn personalities, and not at all shy about asserting their opinions, so there's definitely potential for a comically drawn-out, petty argument there. And casting Eiffel as the reasonable, level-headed peacekeeper, in contrast to the two of them, is perfect. It's in character - Eiffel always has been the most pacifist crew member - but it's also a role he's just totally unsuited to, because faced with the combined stubbornness of Hera and Minkowski, he's outmatched, and he knows it.

In an effort not to get involved, then, Eiffel briefly runs through the week's schedule, in a section that isn't really linked to the rest of the episode, but is full of little oddities that remind us just how weird the Hephaestus is. They have a compulsory chess tournament that Hilbert always wins. They have movie night, but only a VHS of Home Alone 2. "On Friday we'll have mustard." It's so weird, and I love it.

We're interrupted, at this point, by Hilbert, who sounds very strange, even for him. And naturally, Eiffel ignores it completely at first, focussed as he is on the unfolding Hera-Minkowski conflict. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, for such a pop culture-savvy guy, Eiffel falls into literally every horror movie cliché. He's so oblivious!

For the rest of us, it's obvious that something's wrong, and our suspicions are confirmed when we learn over the course of his conversation with Eiffel that Hilbert went looking for the plant monster, which now seems to be mind-controlling him, to the point where he's convinced that it's "the most evolutionarily competitive lifeform on this station, the most deserving of life."

And okay, I love the plant monster, but that's very alarming, and is made even more so by the fact that it's something that Hilbert might conceivably have said anyway? I mean, it's cold and Darwinistic and smacks of eugenics, yes, but it also has a callous ruthlessness to it that's totally Hilbert's style, as well as that trademark lack of concern for human life. It's like the plant monster just exaggerated what was already there, turned the mad scientist dial up to eleven. In other words, it made Hilbert even more Hilbert-y.

Luckily, Eiffel realises soon enough that something's wrong, and goes to warn Minkowski. Minkowski, being a mature, rational individual, immediately drops her argument with Hera and goes to - oh, wait, no, she does basically the opposite of that, ignoring Eiffel in favour of continuing her argument with Hera. Great. Good job, Commander.

It's at this point, of course, that we finally learn exactly what Minkowski and Hera are arguing about. And is it petty. Turns out, Minkowski wants Hera to submit reports on the various systems she runs around the station in case there's an emergency, but also just because Minkowski wants to know what's going on behind the scenes. We don't get to hear Hera's side of things just yet, but already, we can see the irony in Minkowski's arguments. Sure, she wants to be better appraised of everything going on onboard the Hephaestus in case of an emergency - but her stubbornness here means she's missing the emergency that's unfolding right under her nose!

Eiffel's attempts to make her see sense don't really help either, at this juncture. Instead, they just get him dragged into Minkowski and Hera's argument. Which I'm sure is that last thing he wants, because those two play dirty. First Minkowski pressures him into saying, to Hera's face, that he doesn't think AIs should be trusted. And then Hera, angry, plays Eiffel's words from earlier back to Minkowski, twisting what he said around so that both parties are angry at him. As a result, Eiffel ends up walking an impossibly thin line, trying to appease both of his friends, while keeping himself out of their argument as best he can and while getting increasingly frustrated with the both of them. It's a painfully awkward situation, and I genuinely feel sorry for him.

That said, the argument that then plays out is fascinating to me, because I think it shines a really interesting light on the power dynamics onboard the Hephaestus, putting the focus on Hera and Minkowski's relationship in a way that we haven't really seen before. Up until now, after all, they seem to have worked in tandem pretty well, with Minkowski giving orders and Hera carrying them out. Here, for the first time, we see a tension between them, stemming from the fact that Minkowski, as the commanding officer, nominally has the most power onboard the Hephaestus, while Hera, as the ship's AI, probably actually has the most power, between her vast sensory array, her huge databanks, and her literally running the entire Hephaestus. Yes, Minkowski is technically in charge, purely by virtue of her being a human. But Hera, on a day-to-day basis, is actually more crucial to their ongoing mission - even though, as an AI, she doesn't get to hold an official ranking position.

That's possibly why Hera takes Eiffel's well-meaning dismissal ("It's just her programming") so personally. It's a reminder of her different, subordinate status, and it reeks of a double standard - she's right that nobody would think to blame a human's erratic behaviours on their biology. That would be patronising, right? As much as Eiffel means well, writing Hera's reactions off as mere programming strips her of her agency - something that comes up again and again in her character arc. How much is Hera responsible for her actions, if she can also be programmed to act a certain way? In what ways has she been "made" a certain way, against her will? And how can she best deal with that while still retaining a sense of agency and control over her life and identity? They're big, complicated questions, and we're only really scratching the surface here, but I do think it's a solid foundation for later developments. At the very least, we get the impression that Hera doesn't like to be reduced to her programming - and rightly so, I suspect. To some extent, at least, she is more than just the code that she is made of, just like humans are more than the sum of their biology. And that's a good thing to be establishing now, buried in the middle of a relatively low-stakes argument, before the more plotty stuff kicks off later on in the show.

And of course, it also bleeds into Hera and Minkowski's argument, which really picks up steam at this point, after an impassioned but ultimately futile speech from Eiffel about how it's a stupid fight to begin with and how making him pick sides is dumb and unfair. Hera, ignoring this, accuses Minkowski of feeling threatened by the big, powerful AI. That, for Hera, is why Minkowski is micromanaging her. It's because she's a typical human, insecure about an AI having more power than her.

Hera's point is almost immediately complicated by Minkowski, who rightly points out that the issue, for her, isn't that Hera's an AI. It's that Hera' unreliable. She keeps breaking down and glitching, and so the crew keep experiencing emergencies that could maybe be avoided if Hera would just give Minkowski the reports she wants. We've seen Hera break down as recently as last episode, and so this does kind of ring true, even if the way that Minkowski brings up Hera' vocal glitching feels like a bit of a low blow.

Both of them, then, have a point, and I think it's also worth noting that it's also, as Minkowski points out to Eiffel, a question of protocol. Whether Hera likes it or not, Minkowski is, technically, her commanding officer, and should be able to just give her commands and demand reports from her. Refusing to do so undermines Minkowski's authority. That said, Hera didn't exactly have a choice when it came to joining whatever weird sort-of military thing Goddard has going on. She never signed up for the whole "commanding officer" thing, so why should she obey Minkowski? Because she's programmed to?

It's messy, grey situation, with no clear answers, and it's worth noting that the argument doesn't really get resolved. Neither Minkowski nor Hera back down at any point. Instead, a combination of Eiffel calling them out for being childish and Hilbert attempting a coup snaps them out of it, reminding them that they have bigger problems right now. There is a time and a place for the discussion they were having. But that time is not now, and so they decide, without really discussing it, to set aside their grievances. It's not that their respective opinions aren't valid. But keeping each other (and the rest of the crew) safe comes first, and so they bond over being annoyed at Eiffel, and they set off to save Hilbert. It's sweet, in a way, and I like how quickly they both just get on with it. And Eiffel's dejected resignation at the end is the cherry on top. Bless him.

And so we get to the end of an episode that, while it's reliably funny, also gives us an outline of the main points in an argument that we probably should have seen coming. It's yet another example of how stress and tension can easily build up in the contained, isolated atmosphere of the Hephaestus - only this time, we don't get Eiffel cracking and hoarding toothpaste, we get Hera and Minkowski cracking and unleashing the titular sound and fury. The points raised get us thinking, in particular, about Hera's status, as an AI, but also just as a member of the Hephaestus' crew. Eiffel, meanwhile, is forced into a responsible, mediating role that he is neither comfortable in nor particularly good at. And at the end of the day, we're reassured that Minkowski and Hera do, at least, have their priorities straight. Arguing over reports is fine and dandy, but it's not worth getting killed over.

And of course, perhaps most excitingly, the plant monster returns. Surrender your flesh, and feed your new master :)

Miscellaneous thoughts:

It doesn't escape my attention that this is the second title that's a Shakespeare reference. Keeping it classy there, Doug

"Umm... that's all it says for Friday."

The schedule bit is basically the Night Vale Community Calendar segment, but in space

Hilbert's voice in this is sooo weird and dull and creepy ugh

I know the science of it isn't really the focus here, and I'm 100% down with that, but also how does a plant mind control people?!? I want to know!

"Our operating system is a tin-headed, insubordinate, feckless fool!"

"Sit your Swiss ass down, and take a side, Doug."

Aww, Eiffel just sounds so confused and stressed-out by the whole situation :(

And finally we get the obvious Little Shop of Horrors plant monster joke :)

I didn't go into much detail about Eiffel in this, but his speech where he finally gets them to shut up and work together again is also great and I love it jsyk

"Shut up, Plant-Hilbert." Bwahahahaha.

#wolf 359 #wolf359 #w359 #wolf 359 relisten #the sound and the fury #nellied reviews #time to overanalyse Minkowski and Hera's argument #also #plant monster!#my not-so-small herbaceous child is back #gotta love it

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maximumsnow · 4 years

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware, HLVRAI - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta, Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Bubby (Half-Life), Benrey (Half-Life) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Basically an au exploring what if HLVRAI followed Half Life a little more closely, Au where there isn't a betrayal in that one spot, Mainly was wondering what would happen to the others if they hadn't been in on it., Some things change some don't, Title is subject to change because I got nothing, Oh also this is sort of intended as a not a game au Summary: Anyone who knows original Half-Life knows that the ambush happens in that spot no matter what. What would have happened if the ambush was as rough for the others?

"Yo, where are we?" Gordon asked when they exited the hallway into yet another room full of vats with radioactive green goop. "Never really went to this part of the facility before."

"I think it's called- People call it Residue Processing. Black Mesa handles its own waste disposal since there's so- we use so many dangerous things." Tommy kept the lead as they traveled, but looked back every now and then to make sure Gordon was keeping up.

"Given all the radioactive shit, yeah, I can believe it... Wait, is it safe to be in here?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Freeman, it's all OSHA compliant. As long as we don't go... in..." Tommy trailed off and stopped in the entrance to the next room.

"Tommy? You alright?" When Gordon caught up to him, he saw what the hold up was.

The catwalk that would have taken them directly to the next door had been ripped from the wall and had turned a large portion of the floor into a haphazard mess of jagged metal and wires.

"This-This is not OSHA compliant," Tommy said after they both had a moment to take it in.

Gordon couldn't help but laugh incredulously. "You're not wrong there, buddy.” Even though connecting two thoughts together was like trying to force two magnets with the same charge to meet, even Gordon could tell that the usual ways out of this room were fucked.

Tommy took a few steps forward before backtracking and nearly tripping over Gordon. “S-sorry, I’m trying to see- I’m figuring another way out. Just hold on...” He scanned the room over several times, but Gordon could tell he kept going back to the same thing on the far wall. Gordon tried squinting at the black shape, but he couldn’t figure out what it was other than a black hole in the wall right over one of the vats.

“Mr. Freeman, uh, I think the only way to go is through that pipe-” Tommy pointed, “-The door is- we can’t reach the door, and I think it’s- I think it’s blocked, anyway.”

“Pipe? The one that basically feeds into these dumps? Are you- That’s the only way?” Gordon couldn’t help but ask. The only way to get to it would involve some very creative uses of the vats that were definitely not covered in any life insurance policies he had.

“Yeah. I’ll help you across, okay?” Tommy promised while holding out a hand.

Gordon seriously thought through his options, but as far as he could tell, they were well and truly stuck. He would have to trust Tommy’s instincts.

He took the offered hand. “Okay, man. Show me how to get through.”

The grace with which Tommy was able to guide Gordon over the vats was surprising given how Gordon’s sense of equilibrium was being thrown by the HEV suit. Tommy first lead him to the edges of the vat, and he could see that there was barely enough room for him to creep along.

They managed to get to the far side of the first vat with few issues before Gordon had to ask, “Uh, how are we getting to the next one. It’s further away than I thought.”

The pause before Tommy responded was longer than Gordon had hoped. “We’re gonna have to jump. If you aim for the middle part, that’ll give you more room.”

“Jump?! There’s no way I can make that! Not like this-” His head chose that moment to start swimming, and he was pretty sure the only reason he didn’t tip over was thanks to Tommy’s now iron grip on his arm.

“You can do it, just. Just aim like a cat trying to pounce.”

That comparison immediately brought to mind several cat videos he had seen. “… I’m not going to do that weird butt wiggle cats do.”

Tommy laughed. “Th-that’s fine.” After waiting for a few more seconds, he asked, “I’m going to let go, okay? I need- We have to jump separately.”

After nodding, Gordon felt the hold loosen and then completely vanish. Tommy then jumped onto whatever mechanical thing was in the middle of the next vat, and he turned to beckon Gordon forward.

He wouldn’t admit it, but Gordon’s fear began building the very second Tommy had let go of him, and the gap between where he was and his goal felt like it had gotten bigger when Tommy had crossed it. But he knew that if he stayed here, he would lose his balance again, and falling into a vat of radioactive junk or landing headfirst onto concrete were both unappealing options.

He jumped.

He managed to land on the target, but he felt his weight shift backwards when his heels couldn’t find solid ground. Panicking, he flailed his arms in a futile attempt to swing himself forward, but gravity was winning and would pull him straight into the radioactive waste.

Time stopped along with his heart when his terror filled gaze met with Tommy’s.

In a flash, Tommy was reaching over and yanking him upright, and then he pulled Gordon close to him in a near hug. “Y-you okay, Mr. Freeman?”

Gordon needed a few seconds to regain his composure and nearly collapsed into Tommy. Once he could, he stammered out, “Yeah, thanks man, you saved me.”

Once Gordon felt like he could breathe again, Tommy all but pulled Gordon over to the pipe and helped him get in. Gordon wasn’t entirely comfortable going first, but he would have had to pull himself in otherwise, and that wasn’t an option.

The next few rooms were similarly wrecked and needing creative solutions to get through, but between Tommy keeping an eye on him and the HEV suit, he was relatively unscathed.

When they finally dropped into an area full of water, Gordon enjoyed being away from ominous glowing waste, but then remembered where they were and that the water was definitely not clean.

Thanks to the doors being jammed, Tommy jumped in to see if there was another way forward. He was only gone for a few seconds, but it was enough time for Gordon to feel the oppressive loneliness of his situation creep up.

Without Tommy, he was dead meat.

As if summoned, Tommy resurfaced and called out, “There’s-You’re-We’re gonna have to swim under something that’s like a Beyblade but big.”

The mental image that inspired wasn’t very helpful, but it made a lot more sense when he jumped in. He could feel the water gently tugging on him through the suit, and what little he could see when he ducked under told him what he needed to know. They had to time how they went through so that they wouldn’t get crushed.

Tommy waved him forward, and Gordon swam forward and let the current carry him through. Thankfully the water kind of guided him right to a divot in the wheel-like crusher, and he immediately gunned for the first place he could surface for air.

And immediately regretted it.

Tommy popped up right beside him, and even he couldn’t keep off the look of horror that flashed across his face.

Savage screams filled the air as a bunch of scientists who looked like Bubby snapped their heads around at the intruders. Many of them were on the ground, but the army crawl the nearest one did showed that they were not hindered by their position. The movement was unnatural and jerky despite its speed, and it made everything inside Gordon freak out at how wrong it was.

He felt Tommy climb out of the water with alarming speed, but before he could join him, a swarm of Bubby look-a-likes had already flocked around the water entrance. Their hands all reached towards him in a feral frenzy, and with nowhere else to go, he dropped back into the water.

Even underwater, he could hear gunshots and explosions as Tommy fought whatever those were, and while Gordon felt guilty over his cowardice, he had no idea what he could do. He didn’t have any weapons on him, and even if he did, those things moved really quickly.

His lungs, however, would not let him hide here until it was over, and when his head broke the surface, far too many hands were ready to yank him out. Despite looking like the same frail old man, the creatures had no trouble pulling him and his waterlogged HEV suit out of the water.

Given what he had seen Bubby do, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but his thoughts were a bit preoccupied. Currently trying to swat off anything that got close to his head, he screamed, “Tommy! They’ve got me pinned!”

Even through the suit, he could feel failed attempts at clawing and biting, and there was at least one pinning his legs down. Another one had scrambled on top of his torso and originally had tried clawing his chest piece off. Then, as if it finally noticed the weakness, it lunged for his face with teeth that looked far too sharp for a human.

“SHIT!”

Out of reflex, Gordon shut his eyes and swung his free arm at the assailant, and while the blow did not remove the problem, it did at least knock the attack off course. He grabbed at the creature’s head, and he was never more grateful for the HEV suit gloves than he was right then. The teeth couldn’t pierce the thick material, and his hand provided a nice distraction.

A spray of red marked the end of that squabble when Tommy got a clear shot, and Gordon couldn’t help flinching. Not right now not right now.

Tommy had made his way back over to Gordon and systematically took out the ones still holding him down after chucking a grenade back towards the crowd still trying to get through the hallway on the far side.

Once his limbs were free, Gordon brought his hands to his ears as if that would make the sounds stop. It took more than a few repeats of his name before he could finally look up at Tommy and hear what he was saying.

“We shouldn’t- we can rest a little further ahead. Here’s… not a good spot.” Tommy’s encouraging tone was free from the terror he had expected, and that prompted him to look around.

The room was full of corpses. That all looked like Bubby. Yeah, that wasn’t ominous or anxiety inducing in any way, shape, or form with the extra viscera hanging around. “What the fuck was that?” His voice cracked. “Are they tied to Bubby? Fuck, was one of them Bubby?” He started to ramble as he tried to piece together what the hell just happened. His breathing sped up. “Oh god, we’re fucked. We are so fucked.”

Despite his earlier insistence, Tommy decided to sit down next to Gordon and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Mr. Freeman,” he gently instructed. “Uh, Yes. And no? He mentioned the prototypes, right? When we found a dead one?”

The reminder made him take a deep breath before he continued. “… Prototypes. Right.” He vaguely remembered the mention when they had found one dead scientist that bore a striking resemblence to Bubby before. He hadn’t had time to parse out the implications then, but after seeing them… “What the hell happened to them? Did they just-”

“I don’t- I don’t know. I wasn’t assigned to that project. Mr. Bubby didn’t really want to talk about it either...” Tommy trailed off.

Though that did raise another question. “Yeah I bet… Wait, why the hell were they here?”

“Well, maybe it was-Maybe it was the military? Get rid of all the failed ones and save bullets?”

Given how they had chosen to dispose of him, that sounded like a very plausible explanation.

Now that Gordon wasn’t on the verge of panicking again, Tommy helped pull him back up to his feet. “You-You sure you don’t want a weapon?”

While the reasons he refused earlier were still true, he really did not want a repeat of what just happened. “… Maybe I can borrow the crowbar for now?”

“That’s-That’s fine.” Tommy handed it to him, and Gordon gripped it in both hands like it was a lifeline.

Which it probably was in this case.

The rest of the journey through Residue Processing passed in a blur of conveyor belts, fire, more water, and even more radioactive waste. All throughout, he and Tommy would talk about… stuff. Sometimes related to what was going on, but often veering into other topics.

If Gordon was to be pressed later, the exact details of what was said had been lost in his hazy mind, but he got the impression the chatter was more for easing nerves and keeping him awake than anything else.

The only good thing he could recall about their trip was that there was a shocking lack of enemies other than the mob of Bubby prototypes.

Well. Living enemies. They found plenty of dead aliens. Most of them looked like they had literally been torn to pieces. Or in the case of that one headcrab, half-eaten.

After yet another ladder, they finally found a door they had enough clearance to enter. Tommy opened it with caution, but his efforts were for naught as the door squealed on its hinges.

They were lucky that all the peeper puppies on the other side had already been savaged by something else. One could make an educated guess as to what thanks to several corpses that were caught in the electrical fence and filling the air with the smell of burnt flesh.

Gordon nearly retched, which caused Tommy to back straight out of the room and tug Gordon away. Once they were a distance away from the door, Tommy instructed, “Stay-stay here, Mr. Freeman. I’ll be right back.”

He waited until Gordon finally nodded his head in understanding before leaving. Even with space, Gordon could still hear the electricity popping through the fence, and it took a lot of resolve to not just curl up on the floor and cry. The world felt like it was ending, everything hurt, and he didn’t know where the rest of his friends were.

Friends. Yeah, by now he probably could call them that. Going through hell together generally meant something. Even if he felt like he was going to die from a heart attack half of the time.

He didn’t have long to muse on that before Tommy returned and beckoned him through the door again. The electricity that had been visibly surging through the fence was gone, and the gate was already opened.

“How’d you get over there?”

“Extra carefully.”

“… I don’t know what I expected.”

The door that had been blocked by the fence was unassuming, and it did not indicate what they were going to next. Given the crates that looked like they once held the peeper puppies, they had to be close to the Biology section…

On the other side of the door was a hallway straight from a horror movie with electrical wires hanging loose from the cieling and sparking and even a flashlight on the ground that occasionally flickered. As they went in, Gordon finally shifted the crowbar into a position where he could actually use it instead of holding it like a comfort toy.

There was a groaning sound from around the corner, and Tommy threw an arm out to keep Gordon from going around him. The other hand kept his gun pointed towards the potential threat’s entrance.

Gordon’s breath caught in his throat as they waited for the monster to show itself, and if his heartbeat wasn’t giving them away, then his fidgeting with the crowbar probably was. The creaks in his gloves sounded so fucking loud, but he wanted to be ready if the thing picked up speed.

A humanoid shape stumbled around the corner with a hand clinging to the wall. At a glance, all Gordon could see was that it was wearing a hospital gown, and the other hand was clutching its middle.

Tommy didn’t pause to look and immediately fired a warning shot.

“Don’t shoot at me, asshole!” A cranky and extremely drunk voice slurred.

Wait a minute.

“Bubby?”

#My writing #Hlvrai #Gordon hlvrai #Tommy Coolatta #Bubby #He doesn't get there until like the very end though so don't get too excited for him.

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rosethesongbird · 4 years

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Untitled Tales from the Borderlands Fic

Hi friends-- I wrote this about a year ago, right after I played Tales for the first time. I hope you can enjoy it, it is very short and a simple excuse for me to stretch my writing muscles.

Rhys lay on the ground in the wreckage of Helios.

No friends, no family, nothing. Life as he knew it might as well be over. Vaughn was probably dead. He betrayed Loader Bot. Fiona ditched him and left him for dead on a crashing space station. He just yanked the final remnant of Handsome Jack out of his damn head. He had one arm like some kind of circus freak. The space where his lovely Hyperion issue cybernetic arm connected to his body was now a bloody hole, key word bloody. In fact, the feeling of being face down on the floor was probably due to that. The overwhelming wave of dizziness and nausea would not stop, despite being completely still. Rhys closed his eyes and blacked out, giving up the fight to rest.

The newly-appointed Bandit King Vaughn climbed over the flaming wreckage of the space station Helios. His life, his work, his friends, realistically everything he had done since he had begun his career was now up in flames. He felt like this might be a futile exercise, searching for survivors of the crash, seeing as they watched all the escape pods crash to Pandora’s surface one by one--some with living people inside, crawling out like baby birds out of eggs. Some they didn’t dare open, knowing that if the person inside didn’t open it… well, they didn’t want to start burying bodies just yet. “At least make sure you found all the living people first,” he thought to himself.

“Damn,” he muttered, rounding a corner into what most assuredly was once a grand testament to Hyperion’s riches. Jack’s office. Now that he’s gone, and Helios is gone, and Hyperion is sort of gone by proxy, that must be the last remnant of Handsome Jack snuffed out. Well, except maybe Rhys’ cybernetics, but, well… as much as it broke his heart it didn’t seem like his childhood friend had made it safely down to the planet. He could be floating around in space in pieces for all Vaughn knew. Walking to what used to be where Jack’s desk was, he saw a body on the floor. Sad, he thought. That guy’s dead for sure. Totally limp and blood everywhere. Although what would you expect from falling out of space? But a familiar shine of yellow made his stomach sour. Is that a cybernetic arm? Rhys’ cybernetic arm? He picked up the pace and ran over to the beaten body.

The locks of brown hair, matted with blood and sweat, were all too familiar to Vaughn. His best friend for so many years. His partner in crime. Laying there, flat on his face, completely still. What a way to go. He found tears rolling down his cheeks as he thought of his friend--who had survived so much over the past weeks with him--dead on the ground with no dignity. He knelt down next to his friend’s body only to perceive the smallest bit of movement, rhythmic, up and down, almost like breathing...Is he alive?

The next several minutes were a blur. Vaughn called out for his friend. (In hindsight, Vaughn thought, it’s not like he would answer if he was out bad enough to not notice I was there.) He frantically opened his ECHO and called for someone to help him carry his friend out. After a few grueling seconds two other bandits appeared with a blanket to carry Rhys back to the camp. Vaughn couldn’t take his eyes off him the entire time they gingerly lifted him up. They didn’t know what was wrong, what was broken, if anything, where he had been, what had happened… and what were they going to do with him? He was an accountant, not a doctor--and he could guarantee that the medical treatment given by a ragtag team of bandits and former Hyperion employees was not exactly up to snuff for injuries this severe.

“I know,” said Vaughn, his bandit friends looking at him in confusion (he had been mostly thinking to himself at this point). “River."

Miles away, in a tiny hut in the middle of the desert, an ECHO starts going off.

A woman rolls over in bed, her hair starting to fall out of the braid on the top of her head.

“Vaughn? What’s up? Don’t you realize it’s like 4 in the morning?...A friend of yours? Helios crashed?! What do you mean crashed? Like, crashed crashed? I thought I heard a noise but I didn’t get up to check what it was. Yeah, where are you? Right, right, whatever. Just send me the coordinates and I’ll be there ASAP. In the meantime, is your friend conscious?” The woman climbs out of bed, pulling on her shoes. She looks outside. The wind is blowing, and hard. She pulls on her cloak and opens the door. “Well, keep a close eye on him. I’ll be there soon. Call me again if his condition changes, okay? You’re doing fine. Just don’t freak out.” The door closes behind her as she begins to walk across the desert.

“Okay, don’t freak out any more, then.”

Vaughn looked nervously out the window. They had finally gotten Rhys back to camp and really didn’t know what to do so he was just laying there on the most comfortable bed they could find. He was still breathing, at least, so that was good--and they had wiped off most of the blood from his face so at least when River came she wouldn’t think they were totally useless. He looked back at his friend, usually the masculine, confident, good-with-the-ladies one, and it still felt weird to see him so… vulnerable. He used to… well… detest him for it, always feeling like he was second fiddle--but that was a long time ago. Rhys never intended to make him feel like that. Plus, now he had found his niche. Rhys’ whole identity was the smarmy Hyperion suit, and that seemed like it was pretty much dead in the water, seeing as the entire headquarters and most of its employees were dead. Vaughn really hoped he was less vulnerable than he looked, because it kind of looked like he was dead too. He hadn’t made a single sound or moved a single muscle since they found him except the very, very slight motion of his chest, up and down.

His ECHO suddenly crackled to life, making him jump.

“I think I’m here,” said the female voice on the other end. “Is your camp the big pile of old burnt and broken stuff?”

“Yep! That’s us! We worked really hard on it, by the way, so thanks for that comment.”

“Hey,” she said, “isn’t that how a bandit camp is supposed to look? It’s nice, Vaughn. You know I’m just kidding around with you.”

Vaughn looked out the window and saw a tiny, cloaked silhouette walking towards the camp, her clothing whipped around by the intense desert wind. “Will somebody go out there and meet her? I’m not gonna lie, I feel kind of bad making her come on her own, like I should have sent someone, anyway--someone go get her and bring her up here, and quick!” he called out to his camp.

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” said River. “Your guys aren’t too bandit-y yet so I almost didn’t feel like I was going to get stabbed!”

“My pleasure,” said Vaughn sarcastically, walking up to the door of what was apparently now the medical bay. “Ladies first!”

“Always the gentleman,” said River, entering the small, yet cozy room. “Shit, you weren’t kidding. He really doesn’t look good. What happened to the cybernetics?”

“I have no clue,” said Vaughn. “We found him like this and he hasn’t woken up since. All I’ve been able to do is wipe some blood off of him.”

“Well, that’s alright. You did fine. Wanna stick around while I get started?” She removed her hood and cape to reveal a plain black long sleeved shirt and grey pants. Vaughn hadn’t noticed that she was carrying a large bag under her cloak, full of her supplies. Her hair was long on the top, shaved on the sides, yet the top was in a sensible, practical braid. Vaughn noticed for the first time how short she was. He was used to looking up to make eye contact with people, but she was even smaller than him. She seemed like such a kid, but she knew her stuff, that’s for sure.

“Yeah, I’ll stick around just in case you need any help. Plus, I could learn a bit from you, at least basic first aid and stuff. Anshin's kinda hard to come by here.”

“So I’ve noticed,” she said. “Although stuff like this usually needs a little bit more finesse.”

Vaughn watched as she sprung into a small flurry of action. Testing, scanning, writing things down on her pad, and muttering softly to herself. Vaughn twiddled his thumbs nervously. Somehow she always seemed like she had eyes on the back of her head, like she was judging him silently. He knew she wasn’t--or she would tell him she wasn’t, anyway--but she just had that kind of personality.

“Oh,” she said, after a few minutes of not speaking. Vaughn almost sighed in relief at the break in the silence. “Any remaining active bleeding in either of the cybernetic sites?”

“Uh, no, maybe some oozing but no like, puddles.”

“What’s your friend’s name, by the way?”

“It’s Rhys,” he said. “He’s the one I told you about-”

“Ohhh, your friend since you were little! Yeah, you’ve told me about him!” she interrupted. "Oh, um, I found this in his pocket." She handed Vaughn a small folded piece of paper.

"This deed hereby grants the owner control over the entire Atlas corporation..." Vaughn read aloud. "Huh. I'll have to ask him about that."

“Well, here’s what I’ve got so far on Rhys, and what I need from you.” River’s demeanor shifted jarringly from that of a warm, caring friend to something more clinical.

“Rhys has a bit of an infection in the site where the cybernetic arm used to be. The cranial implant and the, uh, remains of the ECHO-Eye seem to be okay, but we’ll keep a close eye on them, I can’t imagine they were removed with any sort of precision or cleanliness. Due to that infection he’s running a fever of 104 degrees, which I want to bring down ASAP. I’m gonna send for a blood pack, he’ll probably end up needing a transfusion, especially if I need to do some clean-up work in those cybernetic sites. So I’ve got all the stuff I need for IV fluids and antibiotics with me, but I’m going to need a bunch of rags soaked in cool, clean water. I also don’t want to freak you out but I’m definitely going to change his clothes, so if you’ve got a spare pair of pajamas laying around, that would be good too.”

Vaughn stood there for a minute, processing everything he was told. “So, what you’re saying is, he’s gonna live!”

River smiled, back to her usual self. “I certainly think so.”

“Then I’ll get to work!” Vaughn ran out of the room, eagerly gathering everything she needed to get his friend feeling better--excitedly telling a small crowd of onlookers outside the room “He’s going to be okay!”

River sat down by the man’s sick bed, carefully examining every fold of his face, counting respirations, admiring a surprisingly still well-coiffed hairstyle (all things considered). She began to remove his bloodied, torn clothing, first one shoe then the other, to see some charmingly gaudy striped socks.

“Cute,” she said. “I like your crazy socks, Rhys.” She often spoke to patients that were unconscious. Sometimes they could hear, and were listening more than people thought, so it was a good way to introduce yourself before introducing yourself.

“Sorry about this next part, I know it’s awkward,” she said while removing his belt and pants. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I figure I wouldn’t want a stranger silently removing my pants, so it’s only fair.” She cringed while she peeled what used to be his shirt and vest, now torn and bloodied, off of his pale skin--to reveal a multitude of scrapes and bruises in every color of the rainbow.

“Yeesh, what happened to you, sweetheart? Your friend is worried about you.” She noted the fascinating tattoos on his left shoulder going up to his neck. Definitely a better artist than the bandit stick-and-poke work she was used to.

Vaughn walked in, carrying a bucket of water and a pile of fabric, speaking more frantically with every word: “River? Is he awake? Rhys?”

“No, not just yet. He probably won’t wake up until we get that temperature down a bit. I just enjoy talking to myself, apparently,” she said, with a small, soft laugh. “Let’s get started getting you feeling better, Rhys. Do you mind if I start an audio log, Vaughn? It’s a little easier to keep a record that way than it is to write it all out.”

“Whatever’s better for you. You’re the expert, after all. Bandits don’t have a lot of classified information laying around anyway.”

The dated ECHO recorder crackled to life. Vaughn made a mental note to try to acquire a newer one for her.

“Audio log, patient: Rhys Strongfork. Chief complaint: Unclear. Observation has revealed 104 degree fever, mildly infected cybernetic port of what is assumed to be Hyperion make, scattered mild to moderate contusions, and mild blood loss. Heart rate and blood pressure on the low end, but both present. Patient is also unconscious, etiology unclear. Assumed to be febrile. Notably, patient has cranial implant for ECHO-Eye, but eye and implant are both absent, appearing wounded, but not infected. Patient’s right arm is absent, shoulder site shows remains of additional cybernetics. History provided by friend of patient indicates recent removal of in-shoulder site. No major arteries appear to be severed but moderate to severe blood loss can be assumed with possible damage to the axillary artery; of course, this depends on the type of cybernetic that had been applied which is still unclear pending further inspection. Removal of aforementioned implants appears non-surgical, whether self-inflicted or otherwise. First course of action is to place IV line, push fluids, NSAID to bring down fever, and antibiotics. Following, we will proceed to manually cool the patient with cool, damp rags at major circulation points--forehead, left armpit, and both sides groin area. Expected outcome is patient regaining consciousness, at which time we will re-evaluate needs. If patient remains catatonic we will proceed with extended trauma eval. Please send for universal blood pack and transfusion gear, arrival ASAP, any courier. Pause log.”

River sighed. “Alright, Vaughn, let’s get started. Don’t worry, I won’t expect you to place an IV line, but you should probably watch just in case.” She gently touched Rhys’ forehead. “Rhys, sweetheart, I’m going to place an intravenous line in your left arm. If you can hear me right now, don’t pull it out when you wake up, okay?”

Vaughn peeked around her as she chose a small needle from her bag, hung up a bag of saline--pierced the bag with tubing with one hand, searched for a vein in Rhys’ arm with the other--then, in one fluid, almost dancelike motion, the needle was in and out, and the tubing in place. A small flowback of blood appeared when the needle went in, which River explained was the way you knew you hit the vein.

“It’s actually a good thing,” she said. “It’s pretty much the only time that you’re happy to make your patient bleed.” There was the soft laugh again.

Vaughn was happy she felt comfortable in the camp. She wasn’t the biggest fan of bandits in general, but had become a good friend to their motley crew in recent weeks. He just hoped Rhys liked her. “The reason for the fluids is twofold--we want to make sure he’s hydrated, of course, and it’s pretty apparent even a sippy cup is too dangerous for someone completely unconscious. The other reason is even more important--we also want to increase his blood volume however possible before we receive the blood pack. He doesn’t look like any sort of severe damage is being caused by the blood loss, but you don’t want to chance it, and recovery is a lot quicker when you’re not struggling to get enough nutrition to bring yourself back to a normal blood volume.” Vaughn nodded. She was really good at saying things that seemed complicated but in easy words. He was smart, but not medical smart. Just number smart. The only experience he had with medicine was when he was 16 and got his wisdom teeth removed...so he wasn’t exactly a qualified surgeon.

“Okay, Vaughn, here’s the next step. Now that’s been placed, we’ve got to start bringing that fever down, and the quickest way is manually, like with something cool and wet, which is why I asked you for some cool water and rags. Of course, part of that is just comfort. You might hear people call it 'supportive care,' as well. After that’s gone down a little, we won’t let your buddy be naked. Although, I have to admit, I’m not complaining about the view--I just wish he wasn’t so beat up, poor thing.”

Yep, Rhys would like her just fine.

“I’m gonna have you go ahead and get all those little cloths you brought wet, but not too wet. Like, wring them out so they aren’t dripping. I’m going to apply them to major pulse points, so his armpit and the area where his legs meet his body, like by the groin. I’m also going to gently wipe down his body to make sure he’s clean of sweat and dried blood, and give him a little wet towel on his forehead as well.”

Vaughn nodded and soaked everything in the water. River gently placed the cool, soothing towels on Rhys’ motionless body to a sudden response. A soft groan escaped Rhys’ lips. Vaughn immediately jumped to action, calling out his friend’s name, not realizing he was yelling. River gently pushed him to sit down in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, near Rhys’ head. She motioned him to be quiet, slowly bringing her left index finger to her lips. Rhys started to stir, moaning again, opening his mouth, eyelids twitching, life returning to his lifeless body, although his pallid skin betrayed his poor state.

River looked up to Vaughn with a smile and whispered “He’ll want to see you first. Better to wake up to a friend than a stranger. It can be really disorienting. Don’t forget when he went out he was laying on the ground in Jack’s office, and that he’s still pretty feverish, so we might have to repeat ourselves or he might say stuff that seems weird.” Vaughn nodded. He had been worrying about what would happen when Rhys woke up. I guess they’d just have to wait and see.

Rhys started to feel… present. His body felt hot, yet somehow cold. He ached all over. He could hear someone speaking softly, a familiar voice and an unfamiliar one. He tried to move and couldn’t. He strained to hear what was going on. It was pretty quiet. He could tell he was laying on his back, so he had to have been moved since he passed out after the crash. Was that a pillow under his head? He hadn’t laid on a real pillow since before his “promotion.” He suddenly felt someone removing his shoes. “This is it,” he thought. “Some crazy psycho cult is going to eat my extremities and harvest my organs. I lived through a space station crashing and I’m going to die because of some bandit.” His heart skipped a beat when whoever was touching him started speaking, it was the unfamiliar voice, clearer this time, clearly a woman... She likes his socks! He wanted so badly to respond. It seemed so ridiculous now, after his whole life had been uprooted, but a fun pair of socks were one of the last pieces of his individuality left after the demands of his job formed him into the kind of employee Hyperion wanted. He tried to say something. No words came out. He tried to move and still couldn’t. The female voice kept speaking, softly. He could feel her fingers touching his body, sweet and gentle but expertly firm where it mattered. She was strong, she could pick up the dead weight of his motionless body without much effort. Shit, did she just take his pants off? Well, at least it was a girl. Hopefully she was cute.

He laid there for a few minutes, wondering if the lady noticed his heart rate spike when she placed the IV, despite the fact that she didn’t really hurt him at all. She was honestly good at what she did. He still hadn’t caught her name, though. He was still kind of...drifting in a way, barely hearing the conversation going on between the unfamiliar woman and the familiar voice, which he could tell was a man. Who was it? Not like he had a lot of friends, but he knows a lot of people, and isn’t really sure who’s dead and who’s alive at this point. The woman started talking again, something about bringing a fever down--is she talking about him? Then a feeling of cool towels on his body. He tried to talk again, only resulting in a sound like “Mmhh..” but the male voice then yelled his name. He knew who it was now.

Vaughn. Vaughn saved him? Of course he did. Vaughn is his best friend. Vaughn is alive? Vaughn’s here? With this girl?What the hell is going on? He tried to speak again, tried to move, tried to do anything to let Vaughn know he was still there. Another groan and he felt some motion in his body but not near what he wanted to do. He tried desperately to open his eyes, as someone gently wiped his face with another damp cloth. He took a shuddering breath, and focused all of his energy on his eyes, his lips, his voice, his hand, anything he could move to say “I’m here! I want to wake up!”

River watched as Rhys took a deep breath. The clinical side of her noted to check his lungs for fluid later. That breath seemed a little rattle-y. She kicked herself for not checking that sooner. It was hard when your patient wasn’t conscious; usually they’re whining--er, complaining--about whatever is going on so much that you can’t miss it. His eyes opened slightly, and a small, masculine voice--raspy and atrophied from recent overuse followed by complete disuse--croaked “V-Vaughn?”

Vaughn sprung to life. “Rhys! I’m here! Are you okay? How are you feeling? What happened? Is there anything I can bring you? Do you need another pillow? Are you cold?”

“Geez, Vaughn, give him some time to wake up before all the questions! And maybe leave it to one question at once!” said River with a soft laugh. “Nice to meet you, Rhys. I’m River. Your friend here called me when he found you in the wreckage. I’m just about the only doctor this side of Pandora, and I’m the one who’s been taking care of you. Could you hear me earlier?”

“I-I think so,” said Rhys. “Please tell me you were the one that took my pants off.”

Vaughn frowned.

“Lucky for you, that was me,” she said, smiling warmly. She turned the opposite direction, looking at her watch, and said “ECHO, resume log. Patient regained consciousness approximately 3:15pm. Pause log.”

“Yeah, I definitely could hear you,” said Rhys. “I couldn’t really tell what you sounded like but now that you’re talking it was you for sure. I could hear Vaughn, too, and I knew that I knew him but I couldn’t tell who he was. Thanks for the compliment on my socks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome! I wear some of my own,” said River, taking off her boot to reveal a plain black sock with a separate compartment for each toe.

“Whoa,” said Vaughn. “That’s kind of cool and gross at the same time.”

“It’s so I can wear sandals with my socks if I want to!”

“Okay, it officially went to gross. Sorry River.”

“Yeah, that’s what people usually say. No one gets the practicality of toed socks!” she said, shaking her head.

“Okay, sorry to you guys get off on a weird sock tangent, but can I put some clothes on?” said Rhys, pushing himself up on the bed. He started coughing almost immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart, let me help you.” The tiny woman deftly pulled him up into a reclining position.

Vaughn frowned again. That cough was pretty deep, it sounded like it hurt. And for Rhys to need help… sitting? That’s not a good sign.

“Would you rather do your pants yourself or do you want my help?”

“Well, usually pretty girls end up taking my pants off, not putting them on, not that I’m trying to be gross about it or anything, just a joke--” Rhys immediately started coughing again. River sat gently rubbing his back in circles. She looked up at Vaughn with a look that said “Seriously?” Vaughn just shrugged. Sounded like he was going to be fine.

“Uh, anyway, w-what I meant was… yes-I-do-need-help-with-my-pants.” The latter half of the sentence came out all in one breath. Rhys looked down at the floor. River couldn’t tell if he was flushed because of the fever and coughing or if it was because he was one of those patients who act like every time they ask you for help, they’re inconveniencing you somehow.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” she said, starting to lift the blanket before flicking her head at Vaughn in a “it’s time for you to leave the room” motion.

Vaughn blushed. “Uh… oh! Got it. See ya in a bit, Rhys.” Vaughn swiftly left the doctor and her patient alone.

“So I’ve done my observations, as you might have heard,” said River, swiveling her chair to pick up the pajamas Vaughn had supplied. “How would you say you’re doing? Anything I should know about?”

“Well, uh…” Rhys looked at the ceiling, blushing. This was humiliating. She might not be showing any indication of this but he knew it was. Usually around women he was the one commandeering the conversation, making the jokes, making the passes, making the girls blush. Instead, this time, he’s laying in a bed half clothed while she’s just having her way with him, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

River cleared her throat. “Well?” She was finished helping him change, and had been waiting for his response for who knows how long.

“Oh, sorry, I was kind of… lost in thought there.” She smiled silently. “Well, um, geez, where do I start?” he laughed nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” she said, seemingly reading his mind. “I’m here to help, and trust me, I’ve seen and heard much worse.”

She was oddly disarming, and before he knew it he was spilling his guts, desperate to tell someone--anyone--about what happened with Jack. He told her about him being in his head. He told her about being threatened by Jack. It felt like Jack owned him. He told her about pulling off his mechanical arm. He told her about tearing out both pieces of the ECHO eye implant. Suddenly he was back to reality. She was sitting next to him, instead of across from him like she was before, and she was holding a small handkerchief. Was he crying? He made eye contact with her, reluctantly, expecting disgust, expecting pity, expecting an incredulous laugh, expecting shock and horror. What he found was kindness, concern, and empathy. That just made him cry more.

River reached out to gently stroke the man's arm. "That's okay, let it all out. Sounds like you've got a lot of pent up feelings in that pretty little head."

He chuckled humorlessly. "You could say that."

#rhys #rhys the company man #rhys the ceo #vaughn the money man #vaughn the bandit king #rhys strongfork #borderlands #tales from the borderlands #tftbl #rhys whump #hurt/comfort?#medicine #field medicine #whump #my writing

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today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

Our Infinite Summer

made by me

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. OT6)

Genre: summer romance, fluff, some angst

Warnings: none

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: @dimpled-gukkie asked for a summer “cuddling with JK” fic and...well...it turned into this. Also, I listened to Jungkook’s 2U, Nothing Like Us, Paper Hearts, Purpose and We Don’t Talk Anymore covers while I wrote this fic.

Spending the summer months at your family’s lake-house has been something you’ve looked forward to ever since you could remember. It’s always the highlight of the year, leaving everything that’s so familiar to you, everything so mundane, and getting away to the small house with its old, kind of rickety dock that juts out into the dark greenish colored water. You’ve spent many summer days sitting on the edge of that dock, earbuds filling your ears with whatever artist you were currently into, scribbling in your notebook, feet dangling in the chilly water while the sun kept you warm. This lake has always been a popular vacation spot so even when you were the sole occupant of the dock, there were people swimming and splashing, riding on jet skis and inner tubes, zipping past in speedboats, cups of beer raised to anyone that would wave back. You aren’t usually alone though.

You met Jungkook the summer after you turned twelve. You were sitting on your dock on your first day there, listening to music and writing—surprise, surprise—when a jet ski flew by a little too close to the shore carrying a swell rapidly toward you and causing the water to rise significantly enough to seep up through the cracks between the boards and dampen your shorts. You’d jumped up in surprise, notebook slipping off your lap and dumping into the lake in front of you. You’d stared at it as it floated just barely below the surface and watched the ink of your written words begin to bleed. Retrieving the soggy notebook was futile, even as you held onto the edge of one of the boards and stretched your foot out as far as you could, you only managed to nudge it with your toe, causing it to drift further and sink a little lower. Your stomach dropped, feeling heavy and cold like a wet rock as you sat and watched it float away from you.

You were too wrapped up in your misery, you didn’t even hear the soft sputtering of the jet ski motor until it came into your line of sight, a lanky arm reaching down into the water to scoop up your waterlogged notebook. Only then did you lift your eyes to look at the boy responsible for making you drop it, then saving it again. His dark hair stuck out every which way in wet spikes and his nose was a bit too big for his boyish face but he was cute and you would have even felt a little shy if you weren’t so annoyed with him. As he handed the notebook back to you, you didn’t know whether to thank him for retrieving it, or chew him out for being so careless in the first place.

You decided to act coldly toward him, snatching it out of his hand and clutching it to your chest as you glared at him, trying to ignore the fact that the front of your shirt was currently acting like a sponge and soaking up more cold water with every second, causing goosebumps to break out across your skin. You held your glare though, locked onto this boy’s wide doe eyes.

“Uh…sorry about your notebook,” he said awkwardly diverting his attention when you jutted your chin out. “I’ll just…go then.”

You still didn’t say anything even when he used his foot to push himself away from your dock and then started the motor back up, keeping it low until he was far enough away from you to keep from getting you wet. Finally, when he was several feet away, he twisted the throttle and the jet ski kicked forward in a spray of water. Only when he was far away, did you pull the notebook from your chest and look down in dismay at the giant wet spot that had been growing beneath it.

That was your first encounter with Jeon Jungkook. Your second was later that evening when your parents decided to be buddy buddy with the neighbors and invite them over for a BBQ. Low and behold, when you stepped out onto the deck, a plate of sliced tomatoes, pickles and onions balanced on your palms, your eyes fell on the familiar boy as he trailed behind a set of adults decked out in some pretty outdated summer clothing that could really only be rivaled by the outlandish garb your parents always drag out of the attic once the temperature begins to soar and were now wearing.

“You’re kidding me,” you’d uttered when his eyes landed on yours and immediately went wide.

The rest of the night, the two of you didn’t say much to each other, and not without both sets of parents trying to get you to interact and play nice. As if you could become friends with a boy that had such a huge disregard for another person and their personal belongings.

Your parents seemed to hit it off though, already planning outings together and who was going to host dinners on what nights. It was obvious to you that Jungkook was going to become a regular part of at least that summer. Little did you know, he would become a familiarity in your life every summer after that since his family just happened to own the house next to yours. Even though the friendship didn’t start out the smoothest, over the years, he became another thing you looked forward to every year. He became your best friend, if only for a couple months, and then you had to leave him behind again. As if the lake house weren’t already a different enough world from your own, now there was an inhabitant in this different world that made it all the richer.

It was always a bit surreal returning to the lake house every summer, the beginning of the season punctuated by the slamming of the car door and then the crunch of the gravel under your sneakers as you make your way up the driveway, backpack slung over one shoulder. The lake was always shining, water rippling in the breeze, kids already swimming and goofing off. It was always the same.

The first evening of the start of your summer at the lake house was always the same too. You’d wait until sunset, having spent all day helping your parents unpack groceries, stock the fridge and the cupboards, put your clothes away, everything that had to be done before you could start vacationing, and then you’d make your way across your backyard that gradually sloped down to the dock, and there at the end, feet dangling over the edge, you’d wait. It was never a long wait, but during that time you’d look out at the water and try to imagine how much he’d changed in the last year.

It’s always weird seeing him initially. A year can do a lot to a person. Especially a teenage boy. You’d seen him grow taller, broader, witnessed his voice change, his style, his laugh, his jokes. Every year you were always startled by how different he looked, but then he’d smile and you’d see glimpses of the twelve year old you met so many summers ago.

At the end of last year, he’d broken the news to you that his parents, now retired, had bought an RV and were going to spend the rest of their days traveling around the country, which meant they wouldn’t be returning the following summer to their lake house. You’d felt your heart sink into your stomach, your shoulders sagging, your teeth raking over your bottom lip as you tried to keep your tears back.

“What about you?” you’d asked him, meeting his eyes through blurred vision, his face a shimmering gold in the glow of the setting sun.

Jungkook had shuffled closer to you on the dock, his hands digging holes into his pockets as he looked down at his feet. Your friendship had definitely changed over the years. Each summer bringing you two a little closer. “I don’t know,” he’d said. “I’m heading off to college next week and my parents are selling the house and—”

“And the lake house?” you’d interrupted.

“They’re gonna start renting it out.”

“Oh.” Then you’d looked out at the water and brought your arms up to wrap around your torso. “Why’d you wait until now to tell me?” you asked. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that this would probably be the last summer I’d get to spend with you?”

Jungkook had sucked in a sharp breath. Neither of you had ever outright expressed your feelings for each other, but they were pretty obvious. You’d noticed the way his hugs would linger, when his fingers would brush yours as the two of you would walk together to the small minute mart a mile away, or how his eyes would sometimes dart down to your lips when you were talking. You never said anything, afraid that things would become awkward between the two of you. Besides, you liked the way everything was seeming to progress naturally, unhurried by any sort of slip of the tongue. You thought you had more summers with him. But apparently not.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said and you’d finally turned back to look at him again, your heart sinking further when you saw the regret reflected in his dark brown eyes. “I didn’t want you to be sad all summer. Especially not if it was going to be the last one I got with you,” he said and stepped closer.

“But Jungkook, if I’d known,” you said then hesitated. If you’d known, then what? You would have told him how you felt? Would that have just made things worse?

He looked down at you intently his thick brows knitting together. “What?” he asked. “What would have happened if you’d known?”

You looked down at your feet, tightening your grip on your middle in hopes of containing your heart that was currently ramming itself against your ribs like a wild animal trying to bust out of its cage. “I would’ve…” you took a deep breath, “never mind.”

Then you felt a finger under your chin and you sighed as Jungkook guided your head back up with his hand. His eyes moved back and forth between your own, as if your feelings were written across your irises. You didn’t need to tell him, and he didn’t need to tell you. You both knew.

You’d watched with a racing heart as he’d leaned in, keeping your chin held between his thumb and finger, until his mouth sealed against yours, the warm weight of his lips such a new and different sensation that heat bloomed under your skin, your thoughts dissolved and nothing else mattered in the world except for this boy and kissing him. And then, like the summer, it was over too soon and he was walking back up the dock, leaving you to watch the back of him and wishing it wasn’t for the last time.

This year the sound of the car door shutting, the sound of your feet crunching on the gravel, the sound of people already out enjoying the water doesn’t fill you with the same excitement. Instead of bounding toward the house with a spring in your step, you turn, looking over your shoulder at the house next door, a heavy feeling settling in your stomach at the knowledge that it’s empty, and even if it weren’t, he wouldn’t be there.

You’ve gone through the familiar motions of putting things away and getting your room set up. Now you’re on the end of the dock, though this time without the headphones and notebook. You’re just laying there with your eyes closed, trying to figure out what the heck you’re going to do all summer without Jungkook to keep you company.

You feel rather than hear the rumble of a jet ski, the vibrations growing stronger as it draws closer. Even as it does, you don’t open your eyes, letting the warmth from the sun seep into your skin and keep you distracted from the fact that you feel so lonely. But then the rumble cuts out abruptly and you gasp when you feel the lake water climb up your legs and soak the rolled up hem of your jeans. You jerk up ready to chew out the person but the bitter words fall to the ground unsaid as you gape open-mouthed at the boy sitting atop the jet ski smirking back at you.

His hair sticks out in dark, wet spikes and his eyes glitter with mischief and he’s sucked in a breath, surely to make some teasing quip but before he can, you leap from the edge of the dock, clearing the couple of feet between the two of you and nearly knocking him off the jet ski when you crash into him. Your bodies connect in a tight hug just a moment before your lips meet.

His large hands squeeze your waist, his big arms pulling you tighter against him where you’re sandwiched between him and the handlebars. This would feel like a dream if not for the cold, wet reality of his skin against your own. You haven’t said a word to each other but you feel like you don’t need to. Still, when the two of you finally pull away, you feel like it’s going to take forever to breathe normally again. There’s still so much you feel you need to say to him.

“Are you really here?” you whisper as you touch your forehead to his and trace the faint scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. The scar you accidentally gave him the summer after you turned fourteen.

Jungkook lets out a small laugh. “I think so. Or else this is a really vivid dream. And that would suck.”

“Yeah it would,” you laugh. It all just feels surreal. Especially since you thought you’d never see him again. This summer was going to be a lonely one. One where you’d spend your time writing and missing Jungkook. But now, here he is under your fingertips, skin golden and glistening, cold with the underlying warmth of his blood pumping through his veins with every thrumming heartbeat, arms stronger, thicker than they were even last year.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” you say.

Jungkook reaches up to tuck a strand of your hair back behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “Well, I told you my parents were renting the lake house out, right?”

You nod.

“I’m kind of gonna be the renter.”

“Just you by yourself?” you ask.

“Well, not exac—”

He’s cut off by the sounds of whoops and hollers and the growling of several more jet skis and you twist around in front of Jungkook to see three more coming around the bend, each with two guys sitting atop them.

“Who are they?” you ask curiously.

“Guys from my frat.”

Now you turn back around again and smile. “Jeon Jungkook is a frat boy? Who would have thought the lanky little twelve year old would turn into this?”

“Have I changed too much?” he asks scrunching up his nose.

You let a hand trail down his neck, across the broad planes of his bare chest and then over to curl around one bicep. “You’re still the same brat,” you say. “You just look a little different.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot.”

“Good different?”

“Definitely.”

With a smile, he leans back in, his hands cupping your face. Your eyelids flutter shut just as you feel his lips brush yours and then you’re jerking away with a gasp when a spray of cold water hits your back.

“JK! What’s up with just leaving us all behind like that? Namjoon couldn’t get his jet ski to start and you’re—”

You’ve twisted around again, stare settling on the boy responsible for interrupting you and when he sees you, his eyes widen.

“Oh hi,” he chokes out.

The one sitting behind him swats his arm playfully. “Way to ruin the moment, hyung,” he scolds shaking his honey brown head. “Jungkookie, when were you planning on introducing us all to your friend?”

You feel Jungkook’s arms wrap around you possessively and you can’t help the way your chest swells with pride. “Uh, well, that’s Taehyung and Hobi-hyung,” he says to you then tells them your name and you give them a shy wave.

Just then the other two jet skis reach you, carrying the other four boys and Jungkook introduces the rest of them to you as well, each beautiful and built like him, causing heat to flood your cheeks. It’s all a little overwhelming actually. So much has happened in just the past ten minutes and your head is swimming and it’s all too much. You find yourself beginning to have a bit of trouble breathing and you swat at Jungkook’s arms to get him to release you before you get to your feet and climb back up onto the dock.

You hear him say your name and ask if you’re alright and you can only nod as you make your way back down the worn wood planks toward the house. Behind you, the purring of his jet ski cuts out, and he asks the others to give him a minute. You don’t look back but you hear the others leave, the sounds of their own jet skis growing fainter the farther away they get.

“Hey,” Jungkook says from just behind you and you feel his hand wrap around your wrist. You let him spin you back around to face him, and when you do, your heart skips a beat.

You don’t even know what to say, really. Just the sight of him renders you speechless. This boy that you’ve spent every summer with since you were twelve, the boy you developed feelings for, told secrets to, spent so many warm nights laying with on the dock and looking up at the stars. Went swimming and jet skiing and walking with. Had bonfires and BBQs with. The boy you looked forward to seeing every year and felt heartbroken over when you had to say goodbye, the one that you thought you’d never see again. He’s standing here in front of you, hair mussed and damp, eyes starry and filled with concern for you. He’s here. And you were prepared for him to not be.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I just…this is all a lot to take in.”

Jungkook nods and steps closer, his hand reaching for yours so he can bring them up to hold between you. “I know. I should’ve texted you or something. I should’ve let you know I was coming and that I was bringing the guys too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jungkook?” you ask. “I came here fully expecting to spend the summer alone. I haven’t heard from you in a year.”

“I wasn’t really planning on coming back,” he says bringing the hand that isn’t entangled in yours up to rub at the back of his neck.

“What changed your mind?”

“I went on a date last week.”

The confession makes the air rush out of your lungs too quickly and your fingers loosen from his. He squeezes tighter though, not wanting to let you go. You’ve gone on a couple dates since last summer as well but not in a while. You’d never really been able to get him or his goodbye kiss out of your head.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with me,” you mutter shaking your head.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he says. “I’ve dated a few girls but like I’d go and hang out and I just didn’t want to be with any of them. And I know that sounds stupid, especially since things ended so...weird last year and, I mean, it’s been a year, and I feel stupid that I was having such a hard time moving on,” he’s rambling by this point. “And all I wanted to do was text you but I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. And then summer started getting closer and I don’t know, it just made everything worse cuz I knew I wasn’t going to be able to see you and then I went on this date last week and the whole time I just wanted her to be you and I needed to see you and…” his voice finally trails off when he notices you just staring at him. “What?”

How can you tell him that you’ve been feeling the exact same way all year? That you’ve tried moving on but you just couldn’t? Not when you knew the person you wanted most was out there.

“Why would you think I didn’t want to talk to you?” you finally ask him.

Jungkook shrugs sadly. “I don’t know. I thought you were mad after what I did last year.”

“You mean when you waited till the last day to tell me you weren’t coming back and then kissed me and just left without ever actually saying goodbye?”

“Yeah that,” he utters. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know this doesn’t make up for what I did but, in the moment, I couldn’t think of doing anything else. If that was going to be the last time I ever saw you, I guess I just needed to know what it would be like.”

“Well, was it worth it?” you ask him.

Jungkook bites his lip and lets out a heavy sigh. “It was all I could think about for weeks,” he finally says. “And I felt so guilty knowing that was the last time I’d get to see you.” Then he looks at you again. “And then I got busy and the guilt kinda went away but never really completely. And then in the last few weeks it came back stronger.”

“So you showed up because you were feeling guilty?”

“No, no,” Jungkook says quickly. “I had to see you again. And I don’t want to spend the whole summer with you and then leave again.”

Your heart starts to race now. “What do you mean?” you ask him.

The breeze has picked up, sending tendrils of your hair whispering across your skin and you watch Jungkook reach up to brush it away from your face.

“I can’t do that, Y/N,” he says. “I want what we have to continue past summer. I know we go to different colleges but they really aren’t that far apart and…I mean, I want this if you do.”

“I don’t know, Jungkook,” you say. “Maybe I should just kiss you and leave and see how that makes you feel.”

The boy looks down at his feet. “Yeah, I deserve that.”

“No you don’t,” you say and he lifts his head again. “A kick in the shin maybe, but I won’t do that either.”

Now Jungkook’s mouth spreads into the shy bunny grin you fell in love with years ago and his arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer. Your own hands clasp around his neck and you pull him down to you. You can’t help getting lost in him. Your kiss earlier was so fevered, your thoughts such a mess you couldn’t really savor it, but now you notice that he smells like lake water and sunscreen and tastes like strawberry lip balm and you find that you never want the moment to end. But of course, it has to and at last you pull away.

“Alright, so should I just walk away now, or…?”

Jungkook pinches your side eliciting a squeal and he burrows his nose into your neck. “You brat,” he growls before looking at you again. “For real, though, do you forgive me? For everything that happened?”

You reach up to cup his face in your hands and you can’t help but smile at the way his doe eyes and pouty mouth turns down in the corners. “Yeah,” you say and he smiles back at you, nuzzling his cheek against your palm. “And uh…you should probably get back to your friends. Don’t want them to think you abandoned them for some girl.”

Jungkook wraps his arms around you tighter, lifting you into the air and spinning you around until your laughter echoes across the lake. Then he puts you down again and presses a kiss to your nose. “You’re not just some girl. I’ll be back later, I promise.”

“I believe you,” you say with a giggle and then watch him jog back down the dock and get onto his jet ski. He looks at you one more time, flashing that bright smile and causing your heart to soar before starting the motor back up and speeding in the direction his friends went. You watch until he disappears around the bend, your fingers touching your lips as if you can still feel his there.

It’s been so hot today, the sun beating down on you, reflecting off the rippling water and tinging your skin pink as you found relief in it’s cool depths. The air here always smells like the trees surrounding the lake, campfire smoke and the scent of old, wet wood and algae. It’s a smell you’ve come to miss during the rest of the year when you aren’t here.

You’ve spent the last day at the lake house swimming with Jungkook and his friends and now you sprawl out on the dock, the old, worn wood, smooth against your bare back as you lay with your face to the sun, letting it dry your hair and evaporate the droplets on your skin. Laughter fills the air around you, the underlying sound of speedboats and faint music from houses across the lake a constant in a place like this.

Just then you feel an icy hand wrap around your ankle where it dangles over the edge of the dock and you immediately sit up and lock eyes with a mischievous Jungkook.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask narrowing your eyes at him.

He quirks his brows. “Oh nothing,” he says innocently. “Just thought you looked a little too dry up there.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Not if you ever want me to kiss you again.”

Immediately his fingers loosen from around your ankle. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Just then Seokjin seems to materialize beside him and he grabs your foot. “Nothing I can’t live without,” he yells and you have barely enough time to let out a squeal before you plunge back into the lake. When you emerge again, the other boys have dissolved into fits of laughter, including Jungkook. The laughter is infectious and you can’t help but join them, but only after sending a wall of water right in Seokjin’s face.

You’ve grown so close to these boys over the summer, spending every day with them, swimming, riding jet skis, listening to music and just chilling on the dock. It’s sad you have to leave them tomorrow but you know you’ll see them again. Especially now that you and Jungkook have promised to see each other as often as you can. This summer has gone so differently than you expected it to. Instead of spending it wallowing by yourself, you’ve gained a new group of friends that you could never imagine going the rest of your life without. Not only them, but more importantly, you have Jungkook back in your life where he belongs.

The day drags into the night until it’s so late that no one else is out and all the windows of the houses surrounding the lake have gone dark. Your parents went to bed hours ago and now the eight of you lay on the dock, you sandwiched between Namjoon and Jungkook as you all just stare up at the stars. Whispered conversations start up every so often but you’re all exhausted so they always die down again into silence. You’ve almost drifted off a few times now, the closeness of both Namjoon’s and Jungkook’s bodies keeping you warm even though the air has grown chilly with the setting of the sun. The sounds of the water lapping against the dock and the low voices of the others have caused your eyelids to grow heavy, yet any time you feel yourself slipping, you give your head a sharp shake to bring yourself back. You don’t want the summer to end. Sure, you’ll see the guys every so often when you go to visit Jungkook at his school, but you’ve loved being able to hang out every day. You love how goofy they are and how quickly they welcomed you into their circle—even with their first encounter with you being a bit dramatic. You love how sweet Jimin and Taehyung are. How playful Seokjin is. How calm and laid back Yoongi and Hoseok are and how they all seem to look up to Namjoon as the big brother even though he isn’t the oldest.

In fact, seeing these guys interact just makes you feel proud. Sure, you haven’t known them for long, but to know that these boys are out there in the world, proving that frat boys aren’t all just selfish horn dogs that seem to only ever want to get drunk or get laid gives you hope. And it makes you that much more excited to see them again.

The exhaustion has seemed to finally win out when Yoongi, having already been caught snoring several times, sits up and stretches with a loud groan.

“Alright,” he utters, his voice deep with tiredness. “I don’t really feel like sleeping all night on a dock, so I’m heading back to the house. Anyone else coming with me?”

You hear a chorus of groggy “yeahs” and then your chest floods with disappointment as the others’ shadowed forms start making their way down the dock. Namjoon utters a goodnight to you and Jungkook before stumbling after the rest of them and you sit up too just so you can see them go. When the six have disappeared over the crest of the hill in your backyard, you let out a huff and slump onto your back again beside Jungkook.

“What time is it?” he asks rubbing his eyes sleepily.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to know how little time I have left of this.”

You hear Jungkook rustle beside you and then his darkened face enters your line of sight. “We’re not leaving till tomorrow afternoon,” he assures you. “We still have time.”

“Not much,” you mutter.

Jungkook looks down at you for a while longer and you stare back. Without his and Namjoon’s body heat soaking into either side of you, goosebumps have formed on your skin and you’re beginning to shiver. After another beat, Jungkook gets to his feet and holds out a hand. “Come on,” he says. “You’re cold.”

“Don’t care,” you say crossing your arms stubbornly.

Jungkook chuckles. “Come on, Y/N. I have an idea.”

Too curious to help yourself, you reach out and let him pull you up. Then he doesn’t let go as he leads you down the dock and up toward your house.

“What, you gonna tuck me in before going back?” you ask teasingly.

“Not quite,” he says then pushes the slider open and pulls you inside. Even in the darkness, you can see perfectly as he navigates the two of you to the couch and then falls down on it. “Come here,” he says.

With a sleepy smile, you sink down onto the soft cushions and lay down, letting Jungkook envelope you in his strong arms and pull you against his chest. He’s warm through the thin material of his t-shirt and you press your nose to his chest and breathe him in. Still the faint smell of lake water and sunscreen lingers but besides that is an underlying scent, something musky and comforting and very much him. A scent you could get used to.

His chin rests on top of your head and his throat vibrates against your cheek as his soft humming fills the silence. Your eyelids are already heavy and the way his fingers trace designs on your back just makes them slide closed.

“I love you,” you utter, your words so quiet that you think maybe he didn’t hear them. But then the humming ceases and the tracing on your back stops, his palm now laying flat against your spine. Then he’s hugging you tighter as if he’s afraid if he lets go, everything will vanish like waking from a dream.

“I love you too,” he says at last.

You feel your mouth curl into a smile against his skin and then you nuzzle further into his arms and with the comfort of knowing that he feels the same way you do and that he isn’t going anywhere, let sleep finally take you under.

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