#and promptly got sick after i got home from my parents' house.
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(i am seriously late in posting about this due to The Problems BUT whatever! its here now!!)
somewhere around late november 2022, i asked my dad "hey are there any out of print technical books you'd like a reprint of for christmas?"
he linked me to a dubious black-and-white pdf of Foundations of Mechanical Accuracy. now, i wound up checking out a copy through link+, and the original edition is a really nicely put together book! the chapters are themed around various types of measurements (length, angle, etc), and they all have these cute little diagrams which the endpapers reuse in a lil repeating pattern... the image captions are done in this really lovely dark red that did not scan for SHIT... tons and tons of diagrams and illustrations and images (both color and b&w)... just, all around, a fucking nice book!! (see also @morrak's post about it here.)
and that made me feel kind of bad about the crappiness of the pdf, which is where the Problems began. i used my phone to take pictures of all the photos and color diagrams in the original and went about replacing them in the pdf, using what turned out to be the world's worst pdf editing software (i also got through replacing all the image captions in chapter 1 of 5 before my dad convinced me to give up). i did NOT finish the pdf editing before christmas 2022 (i was going somewhat off the deep end, because both my housemates were away visiting family and i had zero external structure in my life so it was just me and my cat and this stupid FUCKING pdf wrecking my sleep schedule together); i poked away at it for most of the rest of my time off and then got so goddamn sick of it i put the project away for months. "it'll be a birthday gift instead", i said optimistically (my dad's birthday is in april! it should have been enough time!)
gentle readers, i did not finish the pdf editing by april. mostly because it was such a miserable slog that i put it off until the last possible moment and then tried to make up for it with another death march.
hating both myself and the project again, i decided i was Not going to let myself typeset Anything Else before it was done, and then took a break to bind my immortal (using the renegade publishing typeset! i didn't do any typesetting!!). SURELY, i said, i can finish this in time for christmas 2023.
i'm sure you know where this is going.
in my defense i DID finish the pdf editing by christmas, despite first doing every other possible procrastination project (including a second edition of the little second century warlord book), because by this point my dad had managed to convince me to lower my standards. on the evening of the 22nd i kicked off the print job and said to myself "this will finish printing overnight and then tomorrow i can work on sewing the textblock!"
late on the 23rd, after lots of babysitting and using at least one cartridge of every color ink in my printer, the print job was finally done. (my sweet and lovely cat wants SO BADLY to hunt and stalk the printer while it is printing -- more specifically, the printed pages, i think because they tend to make noise and move and then STOP moving. for this reason, the printer is kept in the craft room, because the cat can be shut out of the craft room and thus prevented from chewing on the pages when i have an all-day book printing job going. unfortunately the craft room was also being pressed into service as a guest room at the time so 80% of the floor space was consumed by an air mattress which i had to repeatedly trip over in order to reach the printer and replace the ink cartridges.)
then i went to my parents' house on the 24th and 25th and apologized to my dad (again) for not having the book finished. but this worked out well because we finished putting together my awesome new book clamp:
(the feet still aren't done being painted so they're just dry-fit on for now but you can still clamp books in it and that's what matters!!)
i came home, sewed the textblock (french link stitch over four linen tapes, with sewn endbands made of variegated embroidery floss over linen cord, and kozo paper glued over the spine)
... and promptly realized i SHOULD HAVE PUT IN MORE OF A GUTTER because some of the text was getting reeeeeeal close to the spine. "it's fine!" i said. "i just have to make sure it lays flat!! what better time than to try out K118 binding, a technique i have literally never done before and which people on the bookbinding discord notoriously have a hard time pulling off first try! i even have tyvek tape for it!"
so it turns out that tyvek tape isn't actually tyvek with glue on it, it's tape FOR attaching pieces of tyvek TO EACH OTHER, which maybe i could have guessed if i'd done even the slightest amount of research or planning. at this point i think it was the 27th and i was still angling to get this thing done by new year's, so no time to order Actual Tyvek.
fortunately, i had ALSO received An Package in the mail with yarn for a totally unrelated knitting project... shipped in a tyvek envelope.
i peeled all the shipping labels and stickers off my tyvek envelope, cut that shit up, and glued it on there.
and THEN it was time for gluing on covers, which i thought was going to be easy because i had actually thought ahead and ordered materials (specifically acid-free museum board), except when i cracked open the box of museum board i decided i Didn't Like It because the surface was too soft and easily dented, so i glued onto it the too-thin board material i'd previously been using (so that the cardboard goes on the outside of the book). this worked super well (the cardboard stuff has a tendency to curl up from the glue moisture, but the museum board doesn't!) and i'll probably use it on other stuff in the future.
i thought the blue bookcloth i used was kind of boring but i showed my dad the available cloth options and he really liked it, so... what do you know? i cut the piece i used on the back cover very slightly too short but it wound up being covered by the leather, so you can barely tell.
and the leather... a scrap just baaaaarely big enough from my bag of leather scraps from discount fabrics... and this the first time i'd ever attempted to put leather on a book... AND YET the only complaint i have is that i didn't manage to put an even amount on the front and back. it's reasonably square and straight!! amazing!!
i am super super happy with how this project came out (especially given the number of problems i encountered) and oh my god check out how much the spine bends
AND, AS A NEW YEAR'S PRESENT, I FINALLY MANAGED TO GIVE IT TO MY DAD
#and promptly got sick after i got home from my parents' house.#which is part of why this post was so long delayed#the trashcan speaks#devil venerable also wants to exploit the memoir class for evil purposes#bookbinding
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Things I might turn into fulls fics later Pt. 2 [INCOMPLETE, read: sneak peek]
Pickpocket! Reader x Finnick Odair
So this one's, suuuuuuper short 'cause I just need to get it out of my head.
I might go back and edit it when I get a better picture of it the whole scenario I want.
Also, I was meant to finish this up and the next one, like, 3 or 4 days ago, and post then...but then... I may or may not have gotten addicted to playing Sky: Children of the Light... maybe, just maybe
|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||
So I'm thinking...
Somehow, you've ended up as a maid for one of the Capitol families
You've got siblings back home in District 4 and you are their sole caretaker
Your parents passed away due to some sickness maybe?
"Y/N! We're leaving." You hear from the front of the house.
You scurry from the laundry room, wiping your hands on your apron and meet them at the door
"We won't be back until tomorrow night, I trust that you'll take care of the house."
Feet together, hands on top of one another on your stomach, shoulders back, head down.
Like clockwork.
Frankly, you're sick of it and if you succeed tonight, you'll never have to do it again.
You see their feet, and you can tell just from their shoes they're wearing something outrageous again.
"Farewell," You offer, "I'll see to it that everything is in order before your arrival tomorrow."
They hum and are filing out the door, which you gently shut after them.
❖· ────── · ·
You've been to these kinds of parties before.
You've accompanied the family you work for to be at their beck and call.
but this time, you're by yourself, and you have one objective tonight:
meet Finnick Odair, hopefully, seduce him enough to take whatever valuables you can, and then leave
You know how to act - how to blend in and also how to disappear
Though this dress is making it difficult to do anything
it's a deep blue at the bottom and transitions into a beige colour at the top
It's poking in the wrong places, a little too tight at the ribs. Luckily the skirt is flowy
You fiddle with the long mesh sleeves. From the cuffs, it has leaves embroidered all the way up to your collarbones, down your cleavage and to the middle of your torso
You're regretting coming now because you don't see the bronze-haired, green-eyed adonis everyone has been buzzing about, men and women alike.
You huff and make your way to the bar. You give a wave of your hand to the bartender, "Anything will do." you say and he promptly begins to make you a drink.
You sit on the stool, legs crossed and your nose scrunched at the mismatching perfumes suffused in the air
I need to find someone who knows the president... You look around the room but close your eyes quickly and turn back to the bar with how glaringly they dress
If I get an... appointment with, with Finnick for tomorrow morning, I can take whatever valuables and sell them off before they return...
You've stolen before...Food mostly, but when you're in the capitol you've pinched some wallets here and there, some necklaces and bracelets too.
You've already got a few stashed away in your purse.
You sigh, who the hell in here can I talk to?! I can't just bring it up casually.
You totally could, these Capitol people are crazy
As you stew in your thoughts, you close your eyes and your thoughts shift to your siblings. Most of them weren't your siblings by blood, but they might as well be. Poor things, orphaned so young.
"What's a lovely lady like you doing alone, all the way here?"
Your head whips to the voice so quickly you think you might've heard a crack.
Before you, stands Finnick Odair, himself.
BINGO! JACKPOT! Yahtzee! Whatever! What freakin' luck!
But now, it's time to put on a show.
You give him a quick once over, spotting a necklace and ring on his pointer finger
You put on a small smirk and look at him through half-lidded eyes, "And what's a handsome man like yourself doing? Coming over here to a lonely lady like me." You purr and turn your gaze to the various drinks on the shelves of the bar.
He chuckles, "Well," He starts and takes the seat next to you, "I thought that the dress you have on looks a lot like the beach. It's beautiful."
Your eyes flick up to his, not expecting that reply, but you shake your head, I have other things to worry about. Get in and then get out, you remind yourself
"Have you ever been?" He runs his fingers through his curls, "To the beach, I mean."
"Perhaps," you reply without missing a beat.
"How secretive." He sends you a smug smirk.
"We all have secrets, don't we?" You turn to him, switching your crossed legs and drawing attention to them, "And from what I heard," You reach out and fiddle with the smooth fabric of the lapels on his suit, "You like to keep secrets."
You stand up from your seat and take a few steps so that your shoulders brush against his, "And I've got many to tell." you whisper near his ear
It wasn't entirely wrong. Working as a maid for a Capitol family, you've overheard your fair share of secrets.
You found that the Capitol citizens were quite loose-lipped.
But you didn't have much use for those secrets, nor did you have anyone to share them with.
Now you do... if he followed you out, that is.
❖· ────── · ·
I really don't know if I like this one as much, but it was just something that came up in my head when I was writing my Finnick x OC fanfic
I pretty much wrote my OC's entire hunger games, mate,
so, please look forward to that instead haha ≧◡≦, although I'm still in the more final stages of planning to make sure everything correlates so it'll be a loooong while.
Have an amazing day!
Seven, Signing off :3
|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||
#Finnick#Odair#Finnick Odair#FO#Hunger games#hunger games fanfic#THG#the hunger games#Finnick x reader#Finnick odair x reader#Pickpocket#incomplete#sneak peek#that's a lie#i just couldn't finish it properly#no brain juice#fanfic
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my house is alive. it breathes and creaks and sighs. every day I wish it goodbye as i leave to make sure that it knows it is loved.
when i was a child, we removed the old plastic swing from the backyard and the chicken coop from the front; the debris of someone else's life.
as we settled in, it began to reflect us. cigarette butts began to litter themselves around the chair in the front yard that my father built out of a cable spool we found on the side of the highway.
the new swing he built from wood. long planks that he made sure were firmly rooted in the ground so that i would always be safe, as i loved to go high in the air. i remember it felt like flying.
i think i always knew our house was different from other houses. the way it sighed to me when i was alone left no room for doubt in my young mind. but i know it was when my brother died that it truly began to change, to warp in new and terrifying ways.
that day my mother received a phone call after bringing me home from elementary school. i could tell she was upset. she sat me down. she told me I had to be kind when my father returned home. she told me he had just lost his son.
the cigarettes in the lawn grew in number and blended in with the parched late spring grass. doors and cupboards began to slam on their own. i grew scared and quiet. i didn't want to make the house worse.
over the years, the house continued to change, in perhaps too many ways to name here.
the cigarettes waxed and waned with the moon and at times were replaced with packets of strange-tasting gum that i didnt like, or candy that i did — then promptly stole handfuls of and stowed away in my room.
strange pictures appeared on the walls, people that i didn't recognize or perhaps those i did with slightly twisted features. they scared me deeply. when i found these abnormalities i stored them in the attic, my fear stronger than my aversion to the ladder or the darkness that awaited me up there.
when the pandemic hit, i was in my freshman year of high school. our house grew deeply sick, and i could not leave its walls.
in my old room, before i moved down the hall, i would often be awoken by strange thudding noises in the night. upon waking, i would discover divets in the walls, as if an angry ghost had been trying to punch its way out in frustration.
i didn't tell my parents why i wanted to move my bedroom so badly, but they were amenable to my request. it's only happened once in this room.
it does have its issues, of course. the day after my seventeenth birthday i got out of bed only to step into two inches of water on my floor. we had to rescue lots of books.
my parents still think it was a leaky pipe, although they never could find where it was. they don't believe me that when it dried it left patches of salt behind — i tasted it to be sure. it was seawater.
like i said, too many things to name.
these days, the cigarette butts are a rare sight. they still appear at times when the moon disappears, or when i don't make sure to wish it a good day before i leave.
my house is alive, and it loves. it also hurts. it hurts deeply in ways i do not understand. but i do not need to understand to be able to love it right back.
#first draft so#be nice#also first time putting my poetry on here#i definitely need to cut this one down a lot but it is what it is im tired#zzzz#writeblr#freeform#poetry#poem#original poem
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Part 2
Should I try to come up with a title for this, since it's actually the first part of a two-parter (and the second part will be posted tomorrow)? Perhaps. But I'm sick so I'm not gonna expend the effort to think of a title. And also, no summary. See: I am sick. So here. Shining Armor AU thing. Enjoy.
Oh, and Happy New Year's.
——————————————————————————————
There was a knock on Stan’s bedroom door.
“Your Highness?” a familiar voice called. Stan grinned.
“Come in!” he called back. The door opened. Stan’s personal knight and secret wife, Angie, slipped inside and closed the door behind her. Stan got up from where he’d been sitting at his desk, going over maps of potential new trade routes. He walked over to Angie and embraced her tightly. “What brings my knight here on a day she’s supposed to be training the new squires?” he whispered in her ear.
“Grave news,” Angie said in a shaking voice. Stan stepped back, suddenly worried.
“What is it?” he asked. His eyes widened. “Your family? My family?”
“Um…” Angie anxiously played with the wedding ring Stan had collected from a magical creature for her. As her marriage to Stan was not to be known to other than a select few, she kept it on a chain around her neck, tucked under her tunic. “Both, I s’ppose.”
“Huh?”
“Stan, I…” Angie took a deep breath. “I’m with child.” She met Stan’s eyes. “Your child.”
“I- I would assume,” Stan sputtered, trying to overcome the dread that had promptly filled his every inch. He dragged his hands down his face. “Son of a- we only did it one time! How did this happen?”
“I apologize,” Angie mumbled. “I followed the instructions I knew of to prevent pregnancy. But even those failed in the face of my fam’ly’s fertility. I should have known better. Pa says we were blessed by a fae to have many children see adulthood.”
“We’re gonna talk about that fae thing later,” Stan said. “Right now, we- we’ve got to figure out what to do.”
“Agreed.” Angie shuddered. “My Ma, she’s told me of methods that can be used to halt a pregnancy. I can go to the apothecary to get what I need. Of course, Sir Banjo purchasin’ those herbs would raise questions and perhaps rumors.”
“You want to get rid of the baby?” Stan asked in an undertone.
“I don’t know what other options we have, Stanley! I can’t exactly bear a child without bein’ found out!”
“What if you go back home?”
“And return to my post once I give birth?”
“…Yes?”
“That causes more problems than it solves. Fer one thing, you’d never be able to see yer child! Is that what you want?” Angie demanded. Stan shook his head. “I- I don’t want to lose this child. But I don’t see other options.”
“I mean, I could always fake my own death,” Stan said with a shrug. Angie’s eyes boggled. “Ford’s the heir anyways. You’ll say you want to stop being a knight ‘cause you’re so broken-hearted by my death. We leave and settle down somewhere no one will know who I am.”
“The whole reason I dressed as a man to become a knight was to avoid that sort of life,” Angie said. “I didn’t want to be stuck in a tiny village, keepin’ house and makin’ children.” She covered her face with her hands. “I still don’t want that.”
“Fine, then what are we gonna do?”
“I- I don’t know!” Angie rubbed her eyes. “I wish there were more options than just those few. But those are the only ones we can think of.” She paused. “Though perhaps someone else could help us think of more.”
“Whom? Our brothers?” Stan asked. “They wouldn’t have a clue.”
“No.”
“Well, we definitely can’t tell my parents. You’d be allowed to live long enough to give birth, but beheaded right after. And I’d be banished from the kingdom.”
“I was thinkin’ we could talk to my parents, but thanks fer that lovely prediction,” Angie said. Stan shrugged again.
“I’m just being realistic.”
“Hopefully it ain’t our reality,” Angie said quietly. “My parents, they’re much smarter than you’d expect from commonfolk. My ma, she was actually the one who taught us all how to read. She even taught my pa.”
“Huh. Weird.”
“We’ll need to come up with an excuse to visit my fam’ly.”
“No problem.” Stan went back to his desk and picked up one of the maps, which showed the kingdom’s southern border. The town Angie grew up in was so close to the border, it was practically in the neighboring kingdom of Lirone. “Father’s been wanting to establish trade routes with Lirone for ages. I’ll say we wanna do a scouting expedition, just the two of us, to check out the border.” He looked back at Angie. “Is there a time limit on the herbs?”
“They can be used before the quickening.”
“And how long does that take?”
“About five months.”
“Good. That’s plenty of time.” Stan set the map down and went back to his knight. “I’ll start working on the trip plans right away.” He wrapped his arms around Angie. As he squeezed her, he imagined hugging not just his wife, but his unborn child, too. He kissed the top of Angie’s head. “We’ll figure it out.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m a prince, remember? What I say goes.”
-----
Stan looked at Angie, who was riding her horse Daisy sidesaddle as they entered the small hamlet Angie had grown up in, Gumption. She didn’t often ride sidesaddle, given that she wasn’t often dressed like a woman. But once they had put some distance between themselves and the castle, she and Stan had changed their clothes to ride without attracting attention. For Angie, that meant wearing one of the dresses she kept at the castle in case she needed to drop her disguise of Sir Banjo. For Stan, that meant wearing clothes from one of Angie’s brothers. Stan asked if he should wear a hooded cloak to cover his face; after all, it was almost identical to Ford’s face, which was on currency. Angie, however, said that it would just attract more attention.
She didn’t seem worried about someone realizing I’m related to the royal family. Kinda weird, since she worries about literally everything else. But at least it means she’s wearing the cloak. It was a cold, early morning, and they had already been traveling in poor weather for two days.
“Angie?” said a young woman sweeping the front step of a bakery. Angie forced a weak smile.
“Hello, Leighanne.”
“What brings ya back to Gumption?” asked Leighanne. Her eyes landed on Stan. “Is he yer betrothed?”
“No,” Stan interjected. “I’m her husband.” Leighanne’s jaw dropped. Angie groaned softly. Stan bowed his head. “Sir Stan.”
“Angie!” Leighanne gasped. “I overheard your ma and mine discussin’ that a knight had begun to court you, but I didn’t realize you were already wed!”
“Yes, well, that’s why we’re visitin’,” Angie said in a tremulous voice.
“Please stop by once you’ve talked to yer parents. I’d love to catch up. Maybe hear some stories ‘bout castle life.” Leighanne smiled at Stan. “And meet yer husband, too.”
“Of course, Leighanne,” Angie mumbled. Leighanne went back inside the bakery. Once the door closed, Angie glared at Stan.
“What?” Stan asked. “You said you’ve been sending letters about a knight courting you, so that your parents would stop trying to set you up. I just went with that.”
“No, you didn’t! You didn’t say we were courtin’ or even betrothed! You said we were wed!” Angie groaned again, louder this time. “Word moves fast in small towns. We need to pick up the pace if we want to avoid any confrontations.”
-----
They managed to get to their destination without any further interruptions from curious townsfolk. Stan hurriedly dismounted his horse, Shanklin, then went to help Angie down from Daisy.
“I’m more experienced at horseback than you,” Angie snapped.
“You’ve also been dizzy the entire time we’ve been traveling,” Stan retorted. “Last night, you almost fell on your face dismounting.” Angie glared at him. “I’m not gonna let my pregnant wife get hurt.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Angie took the offered hand. Stan noted silently that she did seem to be a bit off-balance as she set foot on the ground.
But since she’s already pissed at me, it’s probably not a good idea to say “I told you so.” Stan mentally thanked the hard work his tutors had put into teaching him how to keep his mouth shut instead of putting his foot in it.
“Have you quickened yet?” Stan asked softly. He placed a hand on Angie’s stomach, which had a slight swell to it. Thankfully, her armor covered any hint of the pregnancy so far. According to Angie’s estimations, she was a little over four months along; it had taken Stan longer than he wanted to set up the trip and get approval for it. He’d been tempted to just take the trip without getting permission or even letting anyone know. But the whole point of the trip was to avoid being noticed. A prince and his knight disappearing would cause chaos throughout the entire kingdom.
“No,” Angie replied, just as quietly. “But any day now, it should happen.” They had stopped at an apothecary a few towns over, so that Angie could get the herbs in case they decided to end the pregnancy. Stan swallowed nervously.
“Then we better get this over with.” They walked up to the door. Angie knocked. While they waited, Stan took ahold of Angie’s hand. He squeezed comfortingly. Angie squeezed back. The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with Angie’s nose and warm smile.
“Banjey!” the man exclaimed. “It’s such a delight to see my lil girl!” Stan let go of Angie’s hand so she could embrace her father. “Oh, have ya put on some weight?”
“Pa!” Angie protested.
“I ain’t opposed to that. You’ve always been so thin! Ya get it from yer ma’s side, y’know.”
“Yes, you’ve told me ‘fore,” Angie said, rolling her eyes. Mr. McGucket turned his attention to Stan.
“This must be the young man you’ve wed without my blessin’,” he said, his voice still cheerful, but his eyes threatening.
“Wh- how’d you know?” Stan asked.
“I warned you,” Angie said. “Word travels fast in a small town.”
“We told one person.”
“And she was the worst possible person to tell, if’n ya wanted to keep it a secret fer a bit longer,” Mr. McGucket said. “Leighanne’s a nice young lady, but she tells her ma everything, and her ma can’t keep a single word to herself.”
“Great,” Stan muttered.
“Please, come in from the cold,” Mr. McGucket said, gesturing for the two to enter. “Banjey, yer ma is in the kitchen. We can discuss whatever ya wanted to discuss there.” Stan followed Angie into the cozy but cramped house. She led him into a kitchen, where a middle-aged woman was putting a kettle on the stove. The woman turned to see who had entered. It was immediately obvious that she was Angie’s mother.
Angie might have gotten her nose from her father, but she got everything else from her mother, holy shit. They look almost identical.
“Sweetie, what a delightful surprise!” Mrs. McGucket cooed, wrapping her daughter in a warm hug.
“It was a surprise until Leighanne’s ma told ya, at least,” Angie muttered.
“Yes, I think we need to teach yer husband how these things work in small towns.” Mrs. McGucket frowned. “Banjolina, yer not with child, are ya?” she asked pointedly. Stan broke into a cold sweat. Angie, however, didn’t bat an eye.
“Ma!” she exclaimed, sounding scandalized.
“Sorry, my intuition’s just soundin’ off, sweetheart. And I can count the number of times my intuition’s been wrong on one hand.” Mrs. McGucket looked at Stan. “…My intuition’s tellin’ me somethin’ else, too.”
“Can we at least sit down?” Angie asked.
“Oh, of course!” Mrs. McGucket kissed Angie on the cheek. The kettle began to whistle. “I’ll pour some tea.”
“Thank you,” Angie said. She and Stan sat down at the kitchen table. It was sturdy, if visibly old and used. Stan ran his fingers along a name scratched into the wood. “My brother Harper did that.”
“I wish I was allowed to write my name on the table,” Stan muttered. Mrs. McGucket placed a cup of tea in front of him and another in front of Angie.
“Oh, he weren’t allowed. He got in big trouble when we caught him,” she said firmly. She placed two more cups of tea down across from Stan and Angie. She sat down. A few moments later, Mr. McGucket came into the kitchen and sat down next to his wife. “If’n ya don’t mind, darlin’, I’d like to start.” Angie and Mr. McGucket nodded. Mrs. McGucket’s eyes met Stan’s squarely. “Are ya a legitimized child?”
“Oh, great,” Angie muttered, rubbing her forehead.
“It’s an important question! I understand yer husband is a knight already, but if he’s legitimized, then there are a lot of things we need to discuss.”
“Ma, it’s not-”
“What do you mean?” Stan asked. Angie looked at him wearily.
“My ma thinks what everyone we’ve come across has thought.”
“Which is…?”
“That yer a child of the king through an affair,” Angie said. Stan’s jaw dropped. “If yer an affair child, normally ya ain’t allowed to be in line fer the throne, but if the king decided to legitimize ya-”
“I’d be a potential heir, yeah, I know,” Stan said. He looked at the McGucket parents. “I wasn’t legitimized. ‘Cause I didn’t need to be.”
“Elaborate, please, son,” Mr. McGucket said.
“I’m not Sir Stan. I’m Prince Stanley.” Mrs. McGucket gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Mr. McGucket turned pale.
“A prince married a scullery maid?” Mrs. McGucket squeaked.
“No. A prince married a knight,” Angie said. It was Mrs. McGucket’s turn to go pale.
“Banjolina Quinn McGucket, you didn’t,” she scolded.
“I did.”
“You-” Mrs. McGucket stood, her hands resting on the table, fury in her eyes. “I explicitly told ya not to pursue knighthood! A young lady don’t belong anywhere near that nonsense!”
“Like I’ve ever cared where a young lady do or don’t belong!” Angie snapped, standing as well. “It’s over and done with, anyways!”
“Sally, Angie, sit down, please,” Mr. McGucket said. His wife and daughter slowly sat. “We won’t resolve anything like this. And I don’t think we’ll make much headway askin’ more questions, neither. We need to let Angie and her husband tell us the whole story.”
“That’s gonna be the way to go, yeah,” Stan agreed. He looked at Angie. “Should you or I start?”
“Yer the prince,” Angie said cheekily. Stan rolled his eyes.
“Fine.” He turned back to the McGucket parents. “It all started a few years ago, when I jumped out of my bedroom window to sneak out…”
#I have been avoiding mentioning this particular major plot for the AU#bc I wanted it to be a surprise when I finally got around to writing it#so yeah! surprise! this big thing happens in this AU!#Shining Armor AU#Stangie#Stanley Pines#Angie McGucket#Gravity Falls#ficlet#my writing#my stuff#speecher speaks
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hi yeah holy fuck holy shit y'all
gotdamn this is a story for the ao3 author hall of fame. im still homeless and i promptly realized a couple of days afterwards that uh yeah no can do the whole living independently thing so im looking for a group home. in the meantime i managed to get into a decent shelter, get acchs insurance, and am working on getting a case manager.
holy fuck it's been quite the. week or so? the days have kinda been blurring together so idk. hopefully i'll get into a group home soon. i've got some family that i'm gonna try and contact in case they'd be more understanding than my parents about the whole 'being disabled' thing.
anyways that's the short version. long version under the cut
so basically bc im an exmo i've been incredibly isolated as i've tried and failed to build an entire new support system from the ground up. i had one singular friend who i could reliably talk to (i think i have two now and a few case workers so that's an improvement) and even then it was only over the phone. aside from that, i do have y'all online here, but again, i need a device in order to be able to chat with y'all.
and because my body is an absolute shitshow - in addition to my executive functioning issues - i wasn't able to get much done around the house. now, for some reason, my parents looked at me and decided that this shit is all a lack of responsibility. don't get me wrong, i couldn't exactly be responsible for much. but the key word there is couldn't, not wouldn't.
and for some reason, they look at the situation and decide, time and time again, that the best solution is punishment - by taking away my phone and internet access. not necessarily out of the ordinary for most parents, but given the circumstances, that's absolute dogshit for my mental health.
so, when i literally developed a new fuckin health issue that left me bedbound for a couple of days, my mom told me that we were going to 'have a conversation'. aka my shit was gonna get taken. again.
and that would've been it for me. isolated, in pain, sick, tired, without anybody to lean on. so i said fuck that shit, packed my stuff, and walked out.
i started off at a shelter that used to be a prison, and oh my fucking god i don't think i've ever been more pro-prison-abolition or whatever the fuck it is. like goddamn that shit's inhumane. i ended up having to take a trip to the ER because they didn't stock enough water, resulting in me becoming so dehydrated that my ribs cramped to the point of keeping me from breathing.
not long after that i spiralled a bit so i went to a crisis center where i got people that started working on my case. we determined that i'd be best off in a group home and they transferred me to a transitional facility while they got that figured out.
I get there and discover that my hip, which i thought had just popped weird, felt like it had dislocated. Thankfully, i think i just sprained it, but I was in a lot of pain that first night. Night shift came around to take vitals, I told them what was going on, and they proceeded to not only wave me off, but also one of them looked at me - as i was writhing in pain, crying, trying to keep quiet, and digging my nails into my skin to distract myself - with the look you reserve for dog shit you've just stepped in. So, you know, that was fun. Also nobody there got their medications that night. The shitshow that was nightshift there is gonna be important later.
i had tried to make friends with some of the people there that evening, and, being myself, I spoke very openly and honestly about my queerness and sexual history (or lack thereof), like a dumbass, and obliviously believed them when they said that I was one of the guys.
I later overheard them making plans to correctively rape me. Thankfully, I was on my way out to the hospital for my hip, so I notified day shift before I got into the ambulance.
I spent that night at the hospital, sleeping in a lobby chair (the hospital staff were very sympathetic to my situation, thankfully), and then called the crisis center that was attached to the transitional facility. managed to get taken into the crisis center, where i stayed for a couple of days. one of the guys who'd been making the plans ended up transferring into the same crisis unit, so that was a fuckin' blast to deal with. thankfully, the people at the crisis unit cared and did their jobs well, so i had eyes on me at all times and stayed safe.
eventually, i got sent back to the shelter i started at, then transferred back to the original crisis unit where people had been working on my case. i got some rest, got sick from eating gluten because i was so sleep deprived that i didn't care, then they got me into a much nicer shelter. i have a meeting with someone in about an hour and a half to try and get into a youth shelter, and I'm also going to attempt to contact some family members that might be more understanding and willing to help me while I pursue a group home.
I am very fucking tired, and despite everything that I've been through, I still wouldn't go back to my parents to save my life. Definitely gonna be a lot to unpack with my therapist.
o7
#byrd chirps#byrd's business#tw rape mention#tw sa mention#tw corrective rape mention#tw homelessness#tw ableism#also i have a theory about god that's like. you know i don't necessarily believe in him#but if there is a god i think my theory would be a kind way of looking at it
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i was listening to ivy by taylor swift, and i couldn’t help but reminisce about the life i once had around late 2013-2016; the summers i spent at my dear godmother’s country home, feeding the chickens, running around town with the pets bobby, tiger, and finally yorkie, when bobby and tiger passed. the pictures we had framed and printed at the local printing shop. my afterschool club, where there were wonderfully kind leaders like olive, bridget and ainé who helped us with homework and planned trips, like the time we went surfing at inchydoney beach and the cultural festival we had in town where i got henna for the first time. the weekends when me, my sister, and our friends amira and michelle went to our mutual friend mary’s house (her mother being friends with my mom and she still sends us birthday cards and money every year), her beautiful, big home that was surrounded by forestry, and how we’d crush over her brothers jude, ernie, florrie, and blaise. and we’d spend our time exploring the area. how we joined the local junior orchestra, me and my other friends adiba and osas, and we picked up the violin, our teacher gifting us each a fiddle of our own, and the lessons spent giggling and learning to play nursery rhymes, albeit with a well-known, childish dissonance. and how we’d all, including bradley and russell, flock to the computers in the main room of the lodge we lived at, and play video games like fire boy and water girl, fighting over who’d be water girl because we were all used to using the arrows instead of the standard WASD. and the day me, my sister, and amira went with my mother’s other friends, her name stolen from me by time, to the woodland grove with all the fairy houses and we learned to make our own. and how we’d spend the night at amira’s, watching her mom playing coronation street on the telly, or at michelle’s, where we were frightened of her porcelain doll. how we snickered at bradley having to do his communion with us because he was held back, but promptly apologised after we realised he was upset. the aforementioned communion day, where i was adamant about frowning in all my photos due to my aversion at having my picture taken, and the only picture with me displaying a true smile was when i was surrounded by my dearest, precious childhood friends and we were elated about getting a table all to ourselves with fancy golden-rimmed cups, glass plates and silverware, and we laughed and smiled, because we were children and everything felt infinite. how much fun our school days were; the time i got my first splinter from running my hands too quickly along the wooden fence and cried for the first time at school, my classmates comments on how i was only five and in their class, nationality day, when my teacher told me off for writing on the desk, our school play of the nativity where i was one of the three wise men when i desperately wanted to be an angel, and how the parents clapped when we all joined as one on stage, our frequent visits to ucc and how we congratulated caolin for being our class representative, and when our first teacher retired and we were sad because she was the best. the time it started hailing on our way to school, and we ran back to the lodge, our home, screaming and yelling giddly until we noticed zainab was bleeding, but we got to skip school that day, so all was well. when we’d name the horses, flora, chocolate and brownie, that roamed the field across, and we’d beg the man who was responsible for their keeping to let us ride them and feed them. and our devastation when buttercup (a small gray pony with a golden mane) went missing, was found, and died shortly after from a sickness that i no longer remember. the day when school ended and summer arrived, and we went to a mud camp and spent it sliding into muddy water and playing pranks on each other. how none of the photos taken that day, that i still own, have me in them. and how we all cried and stared in confusion, when zainab’s mother passed, and most of the adults left to attend her funeral. and nothing was really the same.
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MY FELLOW ANON ARE VIOLATING MY EMOTIONS TODAY 😂 god I’m acc crying. Your writing is amazing. I’m gonna combat the sadness with a wholesome thing of them finding a pup in a bin (or something) a few months after the loss of the first pup (Neji is currently shut down entirely) is like “lol gimme”. Proceeds to take the pup home, put it in his nest scent the lil bean (gender is your choice) and just be like “yeah this mine now”. Any nay sayers are ignored bc it’s still his baby (maybe almost like his pup reincarnated 👀👀) regardless of how baby was obtained. Idk I just think my guy needs some positivity after life kicking the ever loving shit out of him
This is beautiful and you’re right, Neji deserves the world, but I’ll settle with a quiet life and some happiness for my boy!
Okay, so things haven’t been…good with Neji since you had to let your pup die to save him.
It has been two months and still he lays in his nest every day, sometimes crying, sometimes whining, but mostly just staring at nothing. He had incorporated a bunch of baby stuff (blankets, toys etc.) into his nest before he went to the hospital, in order to make his pup feel more at home in the nest when he was supposed to bring them back. You had tried to take them out to stop him having to be confronted with what happened in his safe space, but Neji almost attacked you for doing so, so you let him keep them.
But it’s very concerning when he spends hours at a time just stroking the pup's blankets and staring at nothing.
So, you decide to take Neji on a walk to get him out of the house. It would be his first time leaving the house since the funeral.
You go at night time, because Neji is still refusing any contact with anyone he knows and this way he’s less likely to be confronted when he isn’t ready for it. To make extra sure that you can be alone, you decide to walk around the edge of the woods around one of the quieter training grounds.
Neji doesn’t speak much, but he doesn’t whine or cry either, and the night air brings a little colour to his cheeks, and you’re so happy at the small improvements. It doesn’t matter how long it ends up taking him to feel better, you’ll be here with him the whole way.
…
“I was thinking about cooking something special next week,” you make idle conversation, not expecting Neji to reply. “It’s our anniversary after all, do you have any preference?”
Neji stops walking suddenly. His shoulders are tense.
“Neji?”
He hushes you harshly.
“I can hear…”
Without another word of warning, Neji makes his way a little further into the trees. You follow him, confused and worried.
“Byakugan!” he calls, scanning the area. He gasps as he scans over a nearby bush and immediately he drops to his knees beside it.
“Neji?” you ask, now more than a little concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
You watch as Neji pulls something out of the bush. He turns around with a bundle in his arms.
“It’s a pup,” Neji says, obviously shocked. You can’t blame him, you’re feeling more than a little shocked yourself. What on earth was a pup doing out here? “They’re freezing. Give me your jacket.”
Without hesitance, you quickly slip your jacket of and hand it to Neji who promptly bundles up the pup in it and brings them to his chest. The pup is making small whimpering noises that had been almost impossible to hear over the wind. Neji must have hear them, thank goodness.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Neji coos to the pup. “You’re safe now, I'll take you home and make it better, I promise.”
“We need to get them to the hospital asap," you say, shaking your head. "They must be freezing and they look underweight as well. We’re not mednin, Neji.”
“Our home is closer.”
“Neji…”
“We need to make sure they’re warm,” he argues. “We can bring them home and alert a medic to make a home visit.”
You look at the earnest look on his face and know that he won’t back down, and now isn’t a time for arguments anyway.
“Okay,” you swallow nervously. “We’ll bring them home.”
…
You bring the pup back to your home and before you can protest, Neji brings them into his nest with a mumbled ‘they’ll be warm in there’.
Neji bundles himself and the pup up in the corner of the nest, turning on a little heater beside him, and tucking the pup into his shirt to share body warmth.
“We’ll get you nice and warm, it’s okay, you’re safe, I won’t let anyone harm you,” he whispers while stroking their cheek with a finger. The pup wriggles around, already looking more energetic, and starts mouthing at Neji’s chest.
“Are you hungry?” Neji laughs softly before turning to you. “Go and heat up a bottle for the pup, all the supplies are in the… the nursery.”
You nod dumbly and do as you’re asked, astounded at how much life is in Neji’s eyes. It’s the most life you’ve seen from him in months. But you can’t help but worry. What if Neji gets attached and you can’t keep the pup? Of course, you want nothing more than to keep the baby, it almost seems too good to be true that she literally fell into both your lives at this trying time, but what if it is too good to be true? What if they’re sick? Or their parents are looking for them? Or… something else. Neji doesn’t deserve another heartbreak, and you don’t want to destroy the small amount of progress he’s made in the last month.
But for now, all you can do is heat up the bottle.
…
“Here, it’s a good temperature, I already checked,” you pass Neji the bottle. He checks it again anyway and you can’t help but smile at how overprotective and parental he's being. It's so bittersweet to see him like this.
“Here you go sweetheart, just for you,” Neji smiles, cradling the pup as they latch onto the bottle with fervour. “Shh, shh, shh, slow down, it’s not going anywhere.”
Neji feeds the pup and then burps them, and you pretend you can’t see him smiling when he notices that they are starting to smell like him. You need to know you can keep her before you let him get even more attached.
“I’m going to send a clone for a medic, now.”
The room became tense all at once.
“They’re fine, I’m looking after them,” Neji protests.
“I know, and you’re doing a good job, but we still need a medic, Neji.”
Neji holds the pup more tightly to his chest, tucking an extra blanket around them. He's using the special blanket you had got commissioned for your pup. You can feel your heart break at the sight. He's already attached. Now you just have to hope you can keep them. For his sake.
“I don’t want them to take the pup away like last time,” Neji admits softly. "I can look after them, I won't let anything happen like last time, I promise. They'll be safe, we don't need a medic."
“We need to know their primary and secondary gender, omega, and we need to make sure they aren’t sick after being left in the woods…”
Neji hesitates but nods his consent in the end after you explain that your pup could become ill if left untreated. You don’t tell him that you are also sending a clone to the Hokage. Naruto will be able to grant you and Neji the right to keep the pup, and you hope that as Neji’s friend, he’ll be able to see how much he needs this.
…
You have to move Neji and the pup downstairs to wait for the medic, because Neji would not appreciate someone unknown seeing his nest he made for his pup. He’s not expecting Naruto to show up as well so you go to the door to intercept and prep them both.
“Thank you so much for coming, Naruto, I can’t tell you how much this means to me and Neji,” you say, hugging him as he walks through the door.
“I’m going to do everything I can,” he promises. “If the medic finds signs of long-term neglect, I can take the parental rights away from the biological parents straight away, even if I don't know who they are, and transfer you the rights.”
Your face visibly brightens, but Naruto continues.
“But if the only injuries are from laying in the forest for a few hours, I’ll have to try and find the parents first, because the child may have been taken from them by force, when the pup was otherwise a healthy baby being looked after sufficiently. In that circumstance, I’ll have to take the child back with me and put them in foster care until a three-month window has passed. And if the parents are found…”
“I know,” you sigh. “Let’s just get this done as soon as possible.”
The three of you walk into the living to see Neji cradling the pup tightly against his chest.
“Hey Neji,” Naruto greets softly with a sad smile. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”
Neji tenses upon seeing Naruto.
“Naruto? Why are you here?” Neji clearly misinterprets the situation, holding the pup even more tightly and turning accusatory eyes against you. “Why did you bring him here?”
“I’m here to determine whether the pup was abandoned or kidnapped to the best of my abilities, once we have that done, we can decide how things are going to happen, okay?”
“How do you decide that?” Neji asks with distrustful eyes.
“The medic will give them a check-up, completely routine, I promise,” Naruto speaks with a soft voice like he’s talking to a cornered animal. Well, you look at Neji for a moment who is coiled as tightly as spring, he’s not far off.
It takes about five minutes for you to convince Neji to let go of the pup and hand them to the mednin, and then the next fifteen minutes involve you holding him in your arms to stop him wrestling the pup back from the mednin.
And then, rather ominously, the mednin pulls Naruto aside to talk.
Neji is shaking in your arms.
“It’s okay, calm down, Neji,” you try to comfort him.
“I can’t-“ Neji chokes, hands fisting in your shirt. “He has our pup, you let them take our pup.”
You don’t bother to correct him on his use of ‘our’, knowing it would only upset him more.
“I know baby, but they need to see that they’re healthy, nothing’s wrong, just breathe.”
Neji doesn’t take your advice.
"Last time they took them-"
"This isn't like last time, omega. Come one, try and settle down a little, that's it."
...
Naruto eventually walks back in, holding the pup securely, the mednin nowhere to be seen.
“So,” Naruto says seriously. And then his face breaks out into a wide grin. “Am I right in thinking you want to adopt?”
You can almost feel your relief in the air. Thanking every power that be for this stroke of luck. Losing this pup could have easily meant losing your mate, and the gravity of the situation all comes crashing down at once. Neji looks as though he is feeling much the same.
“Give me them,” he orders, arms out.
“Her,” Naruto corrects. “The mednin said she’s a female alpha.”
Tears start welling up in Neji’s eyes as he takes her. Their bio pup was a female alpha, too.
“Thank you,” he whispers to no one, holding his new pup as tightly as he dared. “I’ve got you now, you’re safe and sound with me, I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.”
Naruto slips out of the house without a fuss, dropping the mednin’s recommendations for feeding the underweight pup on the coffee table.
...
You and Neji take your new pup upstairs and bundle her back into the nest. Neji lays down with her, stroking her cheek as he watches her sleep.
“You need to get some rest too, omega,” you suggest, running a hand down Neji’s back.
“Guard?” he asks in response.
“Yes," you smile at his protective instincts. "I’ll guard the nest while you sleep, I promise.”
“Okay, alpha…” Neji settles down, still with one hand resting on the pup. “But if I don’t wake up when she cries, wake me… I want to be the one to feed her.”
You laugh gently, “Of course, now get some sleep. I’ll guard you both.”
#neji x reader#omega!neji#alpha!reader#alpha reader#a/b/o#omegaverse#tw:grief#reader insert#headcanons#naruto#alpha x omega#gn reader#gender neutral reader
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drive-in: tom holland one-shot
a/n | in honor of hitting 700 followers and also getting my real life heart broken and needing my unproblematic fictional boyfriend back, here’s an oldie from the drafts.✌🏻 enjoy kiddos
cw | language, angst, a lil smut, teasing banter, fluff! 1.5k words.
“Mmm, darling, let me at you,” Tom mumbled against your lips as you lightly squeezed his shoulders, his hands fidgeting with the hem of your shorts, trying to wriggle them down. Just as he’d made some progress, you heard a loud snicker on the other side of your door.
You pulled your face away from Tom’s and averted your gaze to the front of the room, where you could see two pairs of socks in the crevice between the floor and the door, standing on the other side. Without letting you dismantle from him, he grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at the wall. “Fuck off, you pervs!” The kid-like chuckles coming from the socks continued.
The sudden interruption had killed the mood, so you just sat in Tom’s lap on his bed and laid your head against his chest, sighing. “Can’t they get a job?”
Tom combed a hand of fingers through your hair. “They do have jobs; they’re professional cockblocks.”
“And they need to work from home?”
“Everybody does, baby. We’re all stuck inside.”
“...right.”
You had to keep shifting around on Tom’s lap, uncomfortable from the sudden lack of pressure of his hands wandering over you. He had just gotten back from a press tour, you’d barely had any alone time with him since—and you were both getting pretty tired of not being able to rip each other’s clothes off like you’d wanted to since the moment he walked through the front door. Finally, you have a couple minutes to sneak away from the roommates you’re stuck quarantining with, and what do they do but follow you to Tom’s bedroom like absolute creeps. Creeps that seem to have a vendetta against you getting off. You’d spent too much time hanging out with them while Tom was gone, and now they were far too comfortable meddling in your personal life.
“How long do you think it’ll be til we’re actually alone again?” you asked, tracing over the freckles on his shoulders.
“I have no idea,” he sighed, falling back onto the pillows. “Who knows how long this will all last.”
“We might have to get pretty creative then, because I’m getting a little-”
“Thirsty?”
You smacked Tom’s arm as he giggled at you.
“I was going to say impatient.”
“So...horny.”
You pouted at him. “Can you blame me for missing you?”
He kissed your cheek and then your nose. “No, love, I missed you too. And if those idiots weren’t within earshot, I would’ve already had you screaming my name three times over by now.”
You kissed him back. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
Long, countless days went by, the two of you stuck inside with Harrison, Tuwaine and Harry, trying to find a balance between friend time and couple time but failing miserably. The boys had made a bet behind your back on how long they could go before hearing you and Tom having sex through the walls, and they took their gambling way too seriously. It had been too long.
Seeing an ad for a distanced drive-in movie night being hosted at a nearby park, you jumped on the opportunity, convincing Tom to come with just so you could get out of the house. The night finally came, and you flicked off the group of boys as they shouted after you for leaving the bubble, more than ready for a good old fashioned date night.
“They really do hate us,” you chuckled as you zoomed away.
“Nah, babe, they love us—they’re just jealous we didn’t invite them.” He placed his hand on your own and squeezed it, playing with your fingers for the extent of the drive to the park, just as excited as you to get some one-on-one time.
You cozied up in the backseat of the car with Tom, wrapped in fuzzy blankets you’d brought with and watching Titanic on the large screen set up in the grass in front of where you parked. You were intently focused on the movie, as it was one of your favorites, but Tom spent half the time looking at you, feeling you breathe, smiling at the top of your head nestled into his arms.
Up on the screen, Jack and Rose were in that carriage car on the boat, finally getting their big sex scene, starting to steam up the windows. You turned to Tom as you felt him laughing and shaking his head at the movie.
“What’s so funny?”
He pointed at the screen like the characters would be able to hear him. “So unrealistic, isn’t it?”
“Not really, people have sex in cars all the time.”
“No, no, I mean the windows. How did they get so foggy so fast? There’s no way that happens in real life.”
You were suddenly very interested in what Tom had to say and raised an eyebrow as you spoke. “Tom, have you never gotten laid in a car?”
You could see him turn pink with embarrassment through the light emanating off of the movie screen. “I have no comment.”
You nudged him and started to giggle. “Oh my god, you totally haven’t.”
He made an overly dramatic defensive expression at you. “And you have?”
“Actually, yes.”
Tom’s eyes widened a little as he saw where the conversation was headed. Maybe he’d brought it all up intentionally because he felt so deprived of your body, maybe not—but if he had, he was a damn genius, because it was working.
“And it does get that steamy, if you’re doing it right.”
“I guess I’d just have to see for myself.”
He’d barely finished his sentence before you climbed onto him and firmly planted your lips on his. It usually didn’t take much for him to get you excited, just his husky voice and the right lighting; you hadn’t realized until now how pent up you were.
“God, take your clothes off,” he huffed out, wasting no time in getting to work nipping over your skin as it was revealed.
“Charming,” you laughed, working your hands up his torso to get his shirt off too, Tom wincing as you did.
“Oooh, y/n, your hands are so cold!”
“Deal with it, Holland, I’ve waited too long to be stopped by cold hands.”
Tom was getting more riled up by the second, pushing you into the back of the driver’s seat behind you and speaking impossibly low in your ear. “I need you bad.”
“Take me then.”
You’d managed to get practically naked after doing some pretzeling in the backseat, Tom pulling you on top of him again. You tried to get into it but it didn’t last long—the seat was too close to your knees for you to get at a good angle, and you had to duck so your head didn’t hit the roof of the car.
“Okay, maybe lying down-?” Tom pushed your back into the seats, hovering on top and immediately sinking himself into you the moment he got the chance. You took a sharp inhale and already felt a dizzying high.
“God, finally...”
Tom took a few slow, heavy thrusts into you. “Missed you so much baby,” he leaned down to kiss you, your bodies already sticky with sweat from the heat in the car.
Tom suddenly stopped his rhythm and made a face, trying to shift himself around. “What’s wrong?” you asked, whining at the loss of him.
“I barely have room to move my legs,” he groaned, your fingernails still claws on his biceps, begging him to come back.
“Make it work? Just don’t stop fucking me, please,” you pulled his neck back down to bite his bottom lip, knowing that always drives him crazy.
“Fuck, I know, let me try something...” he found another sweet spot and was suddenly filling you up again, his flushed breaths and small mews making you smile underneath him. It wasn’t graceful, but you made it happen.
You came together as Jack and Rose professed their love for each other, making the romantic scene all too fitting. Tom moved to give you space to sit up, putting his face in his hands and sounding defeated. “Car sex looks a lot easier in the movies.”
You giggled at him and put your clothes back on before someone peeped into the now-clouded window. “Told you it gets steamy.”
Arriving back home later, Harrison and Harry sat at the kitchen table looking like two angry parents about to lecture their teenager on keeping curfew. They stared as you and Tom came in together with arms wrapped around each other, skin looking happily flushed, faces practically glowing.
“What’s got you two lovebirds so happy?” Harrison asked.
“Oh, it was just a really good movie,” Tom smiled, taking your hand and leading you back to his bedroom. “We’re wiped. Goodnight!” he promptly shut the door and laughed with you at Harrison’s puzzled face.
Harry walked over and peered down the hallway. “Goodnight? But it’s barely past sundown-”
Harrison patted him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid you might owe me a few quid, bud.”
Harry stayed confused. “Why?”
Tuwaine appeared from his room, pulling his gaming headphones aside to yell his reply down the hallway. “They fucked, you div!”
Harry connected the dots and looked like he was going to be sick. “Ugh, gross! That’s my brother!”
~
moots & taglist if y’all still exist:
@peterspideysstuff @duskholland @sinisterspidey @ladykxxx08 @bothlovinglyandhatingly @tinyyoungblood @harrisonsoceaneyes @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @we--are---not--afraid @danicarosaline @bunbun9396 @sad-thinker-over @spideymoe @words-to-accomplish-something @thenoddingbunny-blog @iriaaarb @hellsdragon @cap-marvxl @tomshufflepuff @itstaskeen @writertoo18 @ethereal-beauty-p @sufwubi @quaksonhehe @biebsmylife95 @fermuda2 @dorbiksbitch @jejegu @holyfrickfracks @iconic-hes @parker-hollandx @keithseabrook27 @sovereignparker @mlmarint @bangtanfancamp @quacksonholland @cosagach @hedwigprewett12
#tom holland#tom holland one shot#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland smut#tomholland#tomhollandoneshot#tomhollandfanfic#tomhollandsmut#bye again
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TOTP, Episode Aerith, Scenes 28-35
Final Fantasy VII Remake: Traces of Two Pasts
Episode 2: Aerith
Scenes 28-35
A Light Novel by Kazushige Nojima
Translated by Stanley (@istanleyff7 on twitter)
Scene 28
Aerith intended to find a job on her own, but Elmyra had already promptly sorted it out. It was to help the teachers at the Sector 5 House. Even though it was a job, she didn't feel that she was working because she spent most of her time playing with the children. She wanted to know about the world that she hasn't experienced. Yoko, who was older than her, had already left the house. She rented a house with a group of friends and made jewellery, which she sold in markets around Midgar. Jean and X collected machine parts from the scrapyard, polished them and sold them to people who needed them. Elmyra frowned when she told her this and ordered that she must never leave Sector 5 no matter what.
"You said that if you restrained me, you'd be the same as Shinra. Have you forgotten?"
"I can’t believe you said that kind of stuff to your mother."
Elmyra looked very tired. Her work probably took a toll on her. If she had continued her "business" with Carlo and the others, she would not have had to work this hard. No matter how Aerith thought about it, she felt Elmyra let go of the business because of her. They were not a real parent and child, and she didn't have to care for her in the first place. Aerith wondered if she really had those inner thoughts, and she sure did. Was the given circumstances the reason why she tried to hold herself back with unnecessary words? Now, she was retaliating as a way to get back at Elmyra for tying her down.
Scene 29
"That's really sick."
"Yup, I admit it. My rebellious phase made things worse. I didn't have things to pour my heart and soul into, unlike you, Tifa."
"I really recommend exercising."
"Yeah, I’ll do that eventually."
"Yeah right… I’m sure.... You’ll do that eventually…."
"So, even though all these happened, I continued to help out at the house. The kids were so cute. They loved me. By the time I was fourteen, I didn't have much to complain about. But..."
Scene 30
After finishing work at the Sector 5 House, Aerith headed down the alley back home and saw people within the Gainsborough property standing by the entrance, unintentionally blocking it. There were two men and two women, and they seemed to be looking at the garden and the house. She recognised one of the men. His long, beautiful golden hair had not changed.
"Rodin!" Aerith called out to him instinctively.
The face she saw when he looked back was unmistakably Rodin's.
"Yo, Aerith!" Rodin called back to her cheerfully, but for some reason, still looking about his surroundings.
"You've grown taller, haven't you? How long has it been?"
"It's been two years? Maybe slightly more than that?"
"Ahhh, yeah around that long."
She also looked at the other three to see if she knew them.
"Cheers."
Their eyes met. The young man with a large body and a boy's face raised his hand bashfully.
"Eh? Is that you, Marcellus?"
"Ah, you recognise me?"
"Of course."
Although Aerith replied that, she did not think that he was the same as back then. His physique became like his father's.
"I brought Marcellus here because, for some reason, he insisted on seeing you, Aerith."
Rodin took a step back, seeming like he made an excuse. There was a sense of discomfort. Marcellus darted his eyes from place to place and Aerith could sense his nervousness. He scratched his cheeks two or three times and started to speak in an awkward manner.
"Aerith. Firstly, I want to apologise for calling you a thief. Please forgive me. I was really a stupid kid. I hated anything and everything about the world at that time. I didn't even control myself."
"I had already forgiven you. I'm glad you seem to be doing fine."
Marcellus's face lit up.
"Yea, I've been doing fine, thanks to you. Some thugs were chasing after me, then I ran away before a monster attacked me, and I was dying. Then I had a dream that you came to save me. For the longest time, I thought that it was a dream. Even if you were close by to me, you had no reason to save me, and you definitely couldn't be close by. But I had heard it from Carlo the other day that you knew where I was. Carlo didn't believe your reason. That's why he didn't tell anyone about it for a long time."
Aerith gave a faint smile, thinking that it was best not to deny or confirm anything. Damn you, Carlo.
"So I did a lot of research, and I've been wondering if it was the influence of the Lifestream. It's the flow of Spirit Energy. Do you know about it?"
"Nope."
She pretended not to know anything.
"Mako Energy sucks away the Lifestream..."
"Marcellus!" the young lady had been quiet the whole time, rebuked at him. "You're not allowed to talk badly about Mako Energy. I'll tell Papa if you do."
She then looked over at Aerith—
"My brother can talk about this for a super long time. Hey, have you been well?"
It was Rona.
"Yup. It looks like you're doing well too, Rona. How's Mr Meguro?"
"I can't say he's fine, but he's doing better now than when we left the slums. The air is better on the plate. You see, it's polluted and cloudy here, isn't it? I didn't know that until we left."
Rona was the same as before. She hurts people without meaning to.
"What's Carlo doing now?"
"He's working hard and is managing the business well. But I do wonder how he was during The Sector 5 Clash..."
"The Sector 5.... Clash?"
"You don't know about it?" Rona was shocked. "After Papa retired and Carlo became head of the household, the Corneo's, and some other ambitious, unknown people, came into Sector 5. Carlo and the others tried to get rid of them, and there was a bloody clash. Marvin, Roger and Bowman died, unfortunately."
"Eh...."
Aerith wondered how she could not have known about that.
"Well, things have already settled down, so there isn't an issue. And everyone has settled down where they should be," Rodin said, looking around again.
"Well then, Marcellus, Rona, are you both done? You both still can send letters in the future."
"Elmyra will be back soon. Do you all want tea?"
"I'm afraid we can't have tea either. We're actually not allowed in the Special District."
"Special District?"
"It spans from the station until here," Marcellus said. "It was established by Shinra around the time the Clash began. We weren't allowed to fight in the Special District. Anyone who breaks this rule would be executed. It was the only rule that everyone obeyed."
"I wonder what made this district special."
"Eh? Of course, it's because you're here, Aerith!" Rona could not hide her shock as she said it out loud.
"Okay! That's enough!" Rodin panicked.
"You both talked too much. Well then, let's go." Rodin urged them.
Marcellus hurriedly tried to arrange another meeting with Aerith. It seemed that he wanted to talk about the "mysterious incident". Aerith gave him a faint nod and dodged his attempt to do so. Rona invited her to come up to the plate to play, and Aerith replied that she would ask Elmyra. The four of them began leaving the alley. But Rodin turns around and points to a woman beside him. She was the one who was not introduced until the end.
"This woman is Amber, and we'll be getting married soon. Would you please pass the news to Elmyra? It's unfortunate that I couldn’t introduce Amber to her."
Amber looked at Aerith with an angry look on her face.
↞↠
When Aerith got home, she looked at a stand, which had a vase placed on it. There used to be a television on that stand. She wondered when the television disappeared from the house.
"Ah..."
She remembered. It was a month after Elmyra severed ties with Carlo and the household. While Elmyra was cleaning the stand, the television fell over, and it broke. There was no television in the house after that. Aerith wondered if it was a coincidence or was it just to keep unnecessary information out of the house.
Elmyra returned home late at night, and Aerith talked to Elmyra about Rodin and the others.
"Oh my, it's been a while, hasn't it? Are they alright?"
However, Aerith could tell on Elmyra's face that she was on guard.
"Hey, Mum. Do you know about the Sector 5 Clash? And about the Special District too?"
"What have you heard? We are living in a different world from those guys. It's better if you don’t worry about every little detail."
It seems that she would leave things in the dark again.
"The Special District is right here, isn't it? It's because I'm here. That's why Mum, you wouldn't let me go far away. That's the promise you made to Shinra. A promise to shut me in the Special District."
Elmyra shut her eyes and shook her head.
"That's not it. But let's stop talking about this now. I'm tired, and whew, work was rough. The water tank in the café had broken down."
"Why don't you quit your job if it’s that tough? If you want money, why don't you get it from Shinra? You've been living on their money all your life. Nothing would change, wouldn’t it?"
Aerith knew she should not have said that, but she did. She could not see the look on Elmyra's face, and she then heard footsteps. Elmyra went up to the second floor and went into her own room.
Scene 31
"At that point, I thought that would be the end of my time in the house."
"But it had a happy ending, didn't it? I mean, you both went back on good terms."
Scene 32
Aerith thought that she could not stay in the house any longer and she was filled with emotions. Aerith firstly went back to her room, pulled out a suitcase she had never used from under the bed and stuffed a few sets of clothes, along with a few valuables, into it. Lastly, she put all the money she had earned from the Sector 5 House into her pocket and left the house. She walked down a familiar alleyway into a brightly lit street. A familiar face called out to her.
"Hey, Aerith. Are you going out at this hour?"
"I'm heading towards Sector 6."
She instinctively told a lie.
"Wait, what, no!"
"Don't worry. I'm not going to the Wall Market."
"Be careful, okay? Elmyra will cry if that happens."
As she walked along the street, she remembered her adventure with Ifalna.
『I wonder which direction is Sector 3 in?』
『Which direction is Sector 3 in?』
『I've heard that there's a church in the Sector 5 Slums. In the past, people gathered here and prayed to God, but nobody comes here anymore. I've been thinking that we should hide there a little...』
Aerith's steps became lighter. She still really liked this idea that Ifalna brought up in the middle of that adventure. The church should be far and beyond the station, outside the 'Special District'. It was the perfect place for Aerith's mood. The depressing feeling she had when she left home unbelievably cleared away.
『Never forget that feeling, okay?』
『The feeling that you’ll enjoy anything.』
The memories of Ifalna came flooding back one by one.
Scene 33
"When you fight with a parent, adrenaline builds up in you, doesn't it?" Tifa uttered and seemed to be reminded of something.
"Yeah. That's why I couldn't stop and think about it."
"Yup. I understand."
"I've regrettably hurt people."
Tifa swallowed her breath after hearing Aerith's confession.
Scene 34
A train just pulled in at the platform of the station. That was probably the last train from the plate. Aerith glanced at it sideways and went ahead to try walking past it. This place was where she left her birth mother, and because of that, she still could not look at it directly. She felt as though the scene was still there. Suddenly, thoughts that she would be making a wrong move flashed through Aerith's mind. Was she about to make a grave mistake? The adrenaline she had felt earlier had unbelievably disappeared. The "Special District" was to protect her. Once she crosses the station, she would no longer have the protection. She stood rock still, as though there was an invisible wall ahead of her. Only the surrounding areas of the station were lit up. If she went forth, the road ahead would be dark. She could not see the future.
"Aerith?" a deep voice called out to her.
She turned around to see a large man standing with his back to the station. He had big eyes, a big nose and a big mouth.
"Ahhh!"
"You've totally grown up, haven't you? You look like your mother."
It was Fuzz, and he was wearing the same white coat as that day.
"You've got the wrong person," Aerith lied at the spur of the moment.
Trying to get away from him, she turned her back towards the station and darted towards the darkness. She noticed that Fuzz was following her. She could not stop.
"Aerith, wait up. It's not what you're thinking."
Aerith wondered what other reasons could he try to stop her. She felt that she should not believe him and stop for him. He must have been angry and detest us. She wondered what would happen if he caught her. Aerith no longer knew where she was headed to. She was running along a narrow road, and the surroundings were a mountain of trash. By any chance...
"Jean! X!"
There was no response. Even if this were their scrapyard, they wouldn't be there at this hour. But she could not help calling out to them.
"Ahh!"
Aerith stumbled into something big and soft and fell. The suitcase she held dropped to the ground with a thud, signalling that it broke.
"Ouch..."
She did not know what was in the middle of the road at first, but it was the carcass of a dead monster. There was an unidentifiable sound coming out from it. It died not long ago. Its bodily fluids reached Aerith's feet and hands, and she felt a stinging sensation.
"You don't have to worry. That's harmless."
It was Fuzz. She looked up at him on her bottom. He was as big as she remembered him when she was seven. She noticed that the hem of her skirt was very crumpled, and she hurriedly fixed it. She looked for an opportunity to stand up and back away.
"Aerith, how could you do this to me? I've been worrying about you since then. Ever since you ran away from Shinra, I've been wondering if you've been living in terrible conditions. I heard about this from Amber, whom you met today."
"Amber!?"
Amber. Aerith met her in the evening, and she was introduced as Rodin's lover, and they were to be married. She had an angry face. Aerith then connected Amber to Fuzz.
"Looks like you don't remember her. She was the friend who unloaded you both from the cargo train at the Sector 4 Slums Station."
"Ahh!"
So Amber was the grumpy-looking woman in the dirty work clothes that day.
"I heard from her about where you were, and I hurriedly came over to find you. But what a close call. We almost didn't cross paths. I'm sure it was Ifalna who brought us together."
Aerith slowly stood up. Fuzz took two steps back, perhaps to assure her that he was not a threat.
"Are you going to church, by any chance?"
"What?"
"I've talked to Ifalna about it before. She seemed to be very interested in it. When I told her I'd take her there someday, she said she definitely did not want to go. After you both disappeared, I went to look for both of you several times at the church, just in case you were both there. I prayed, but in the end, it seemed to me that there was no God."
A roar of a beast could be heard somewhere.
"That's from a monster. Here's the danger zone, especially at night. Shall we go to the church? Since we came all the way here anyway. It's not too far off from here, and it's nearer than the station."
It seemed that Aerith ran away further than she thought.
"But..."
"I see. Are you more afraid of me than the monster?"
She nodded honestly. He should already know how she was behaving towards him, and there was no point in pretending.
"Well, I'll just walk ahead then, and you can keep a distance and follow me. If a monster comes up behind you, run away on your own. We can’t expect the vigilante corps to be here at this hour. And I must warn you, don't expect me to put up a good fight too. Just because I'm huge doesn't mean I'm strong."
With a thin smile, Fuzz walked away. His big white back disappeared into the darkness. Fuzz was right. She did not dare to go back alone on the monster-infested road. Just because they didn't appear on the way here doesn't mean they won't appear on the way back.
"Watch out!" Fuzz's voice came from a long way in front. "The monster is dead, but it's still fresh. Don't step on it."
↞↠
The "soon" was somewhat a lie, wasn't it? They had walked so far that she was doubtful of Fuzz, and after passing the carcass of the third monster, which was still fresh, they finally came to the front of the church.
"I wonder who brought them down?" Fuzz wondered as he walked up the stone steps and approached the door of the church. It was a big door. The style of the building was unlike anything Aerith had ever seen before. She could not see the entire structure even if she was looking up. She wondered what it would look like in daylight. The door opened with a squeak. Fuzz beckoned to her, and he went in. Aerith then went up the stone steps. A light, sweet scent wafted over from the church. It was a smell that Aerith knew. The inside was pitch black, but the floor at the back was slightly white.
"Look, the flowers bloom here. Regardless of whether there is a God or not, this is a special place," Fuzz said.
Aerith thought the same. Flowers bloom in special places. The same scent from the Gainsborough garden surrounded her, and she was soon faced with feelings of regret. She wondered what Elmyra was doing—wondering if she was looking for her daughter, who ran away from home. She wondered if she was going in the direction of Wall Market, taking the word of her acquaintance and believing him blindly.
"You can sleep on the bench near the flowers. I'll be near the exit.
"Thank you."
Aerith was not sleepy at all, but she did as he suggested and sat down on a bench near the flowers. She let out a big, quiet breath and felt every stiffness in the muscles of her body relax. She must have been tenser than she had realised. She felt like she was about to really fall asleep. She had to think of something. She wondered what would have happened if she had come to this church that day with her mother, Ifalna. What if the adventure had continued until the end? What would she have worked as? With little knowledge about the world, what would she have done? Would they have been able to live together on good terms? No matter how close they were, would they have disagreements? Since they were a real parent and child, would no problems arise?
"Aerith."
A voice came from a distance.
"Yes?”
"The house at Sector 3, it's still there. I've continued paying the rent since then."
"I see."
"Would you like to live together?"
She wondered what he just said to her. What did he mean?
"You'd like me to live together with you?"
There was no response.
"Fuzz?"
As she stood up fearfully, she saw that Fuzz was right next to her.
"Yeah. Let's live together, ‘I..fal...na…’"
Fuzz smiled. The pupil in his eyes seemed like it was not looking anywhere. A big hand reached out slowly towards her.
"Come here."
He was going to grab her! Aerith tried to take the suitcase and run. However, he caught her by the arm.
"Let go of me!"
She slammed the suitcase into Fuzz's face as hard as she could. Fuzz flinched. The handle broke, the suitcase came off and flew off somewhere.
"You're heartless, Aerith."
She did not care and ran away. Weaving her way between the benches, she ran for the door. Fuzz jumped over the benches and gave chase.
"Wait!"
There was no way she was waiting. The door was already nearby. She had to exit and run away. And what should she do after escaping? Fuzz knows where she stays. Amber, without a doubt, told him about Elmyra's house. Even if she ran away now, Fuzz would show up eventually. What should she do? Would she always have to live in fear? As long as Fuzz was around...
And Aerith eventually darted out of the door.
"Eh?"
Elmyra was there in front of her, dressed in her usual clothes as though nothing was wrong. Her face changed from surprised to relieved, and her facial expression changed a few more times. Finally, she turned serious.
"Aerith, move aside."
"Huh?" Fuzz sluggishly came out of the building, "Who’s out there?"
Elmyra hammered his throat with her weapon with all of her might. Fuzz let out a shriek of pain, collapsed and laid down motionlessly. Aerith was shocked to see what weapon Elmyra was using. It was a broom, and it seems that she had brought it here.
"Shall we go home?"
"Okay."
"You didn't leave anything behind?"
"Ah..."
She forgot her suitcase. There was something important inside of it.
"Quickly go get it."
"Okay."
She went back into the darkness of the church and went over to the flowers. She looked around and immediately saw a suitcase. The lid was open, and its contents were scattered outside. She gathered up the scattered clothes and put them back in the case, but she could not find her "treasure"—the pouch containing the materia.
"What are you doing?" Elmyra called out to Aerith, her voice audibly contained irritation.
"I can't find that materia."
Elmyra mumbled in annoyance and crouched down to join Aerith in finding it.
"It's in a little pouch made out of cloth."
"I know."
It's true. Elmyra knows everything about her.
"But, how did you know I was here?" Aerith asked while searching for the pouch.
"That's what I'd like to know too."
"Eh?"
"I knew that you ran away, and I soon went out of the house too. I thought about where you'd have gone as I ran. And then, while I was in the garden, I knew that you would have gone to the church on the outskirts of the slums."
"Why?"
"It just somehow came to my mind. Ever since you came to the house, I've had several strange experiences. I thought that it was this sort of experience again. So I went back home again and did some preparations before coming over."
"And what you prepared was a broom?"
"I wasn't exactly calm, you know. But it was useful, wasn't it? Look, Aerith, over there."
Elmyra pointed towards the densely grown flowers. In the middle laid the pouch that they were searching for. She parted the flowers away to not step on them, picked up the pouch and looked inside. The materia seemed to be glowing brighter than usual.
Aerith turned around to look at Elmyra and was about to ask her shall they go back.
Elmyra was seated on the bench, and she was praying. She had her hands clasped at her chest, and her eyes were closed. The sight of her took Aerith's breath away.
"I used to give thanks like this when I was a child," Elmyra said, opening her eyes as she stood up.
She seemed embarrassed by it.
"Is it different from a prayer?"
"It's different today."
"Who did you thank?”
"Whoever told me about this place. Well, let's head out of here."
Elmyra started to walk, and Aerith followed her behind.
"Mum."
"Yes?"
"I'm hungry."
"Aerith, you’ve been talking to me normally since just now, but I'm angry with you. When I get home, you will face the music and hear everything I want to say."
"Okay～"
Both of them were completely distracted.
Fuzz had regained consciousness and was hiding behind the door. Firstly, he kicked Elmyra and sent her flying.
"Mum!"
Fuzz tried to rush over to Elmyra and was drawing near her. She dodged his grasp, picked up the broom that she had dropped, turned around and struck the big man. However, the handle snapped right in half.
"Aerith! Come over here!" Elmyra called out to her.
Aerith ran towards her in panic. She saw Elmyra holding a gun with both hands and pointing it at Fuzz. That was the gun that Carlo had left behind. Fuzz stopped in his tracks and stared at the muzzle of the weapon.
"You take one more step, and I'll shoot you."
"Why don't you understand me!?" Fuzz yelled as he came towards them.
A shot rang. Elmyra had fired the gun. The dry sounds of gunshots echoed in the air. How many shots did she fire? Finally, they only heard the metallic click of the trigger.
"Ifalna..."
Fuzz approached them as if nothing had happened. His lab coat was terribly stained, but there was no sign that a bullet had hit him.
"I can't believe this gun didn’t do shit!" Elmyra swore and threw her gun at Fuzz, but it flew well over the big man's head.
"Mum, let's run already..."
A bang was heard, and it was a sharp sound that cut through the air. Aerith did not know what it was until she looked at Fuzz. He was holding his left shoulder with his right hand and moaning. His blood was running on his white coat as he had been shot in the shoulder. Who had shot him? From where? Aerith looked around, but there was no shooter in sight.
"Let's go," Elmyra uttered in an awfully calm manner.
Fuzz collapsed and was writhing in pain. Aerith was not fearful anymore. He just looked so pathetic now.
"I'm sorry."
"Aerith, let's hurry."
Without delay, Elmyra started walking, holding the broken broom with both her hands. At last, Aerith apologised to Fuzz once more. She then proceeded to hug her handleless suitcase and chased after Elmyra.
"Hey, Mum. I wonder who shot him."
"I'm guessing this, but the 'Special District' probably expanded."
Ah. That makes sense. As they walked on, Aerith looked around her surroundings, searching for a black suit. Just for tonight, she felt that she could give them her thanks.
Scene 35
"What happened to Fuzz after that?" Tifa asked with a concerned look on her face.
"I never saw him again. Though, till now, I still get nervous when I see someone big."
"I see."
Whenever Aerith thought about Fuzz, she would still have mixed feelings about him. She did not want to see him again. However, she also carried guilt. Fuzz became like that because of what Ifalna and her did to him. If she never pondered about this, these feelings of guilt would continue for a long time. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to atone.
"You can talk to me about everything, okay?" Tifa assured her.
Aerith was delighted by her compassion. She wanted to tell her more.
"Well then, next up is a big one!"
"You gotta be kidding me. There's something bigger than whatever you said?"
"For that, you're right. It's about my first love."
"Oh, that's definitely something big!"
―It sounded like someone walked into the cargo hold. Tifa seemed to notice it too. They put their index finger to their lips and looked at each other. The sound of footsteps was coming closer, coming from the other side of the cargo wall. Tifa moved noiselessly to the gap in the cargo. It looked like she was waiting for the owner of those footsteps.
The time passed slowly but surely, and the footsteps came to a stop.
"It's me."
It was the voice of Cloud Strife. Tifa's expression softened.
"I'll tell you next time. About the story of my first love," Aerith whispered to her.
Cloud walked in front of them and looked at both of them with a dubious look. He made a face as though he was investigating them, and he looked ridiculous. Aerith and Tifa burst into laughter, trying to keep their silence.
-fin-
↞↠
You’re on page 142/142 of Aerith’s segment of the Light Novel
Word Count: 29322
The End. Thanks for the reading!
Translator’s Note
Previous Scenes: Scenes 22-27
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Acts of Love (Yandere!Josuke Higashikata x Reader)
Word count: 4,078
Warnings: YANDERE CONTENT. GORE WARNING.
"Please, no! Don't leave me, [Y/N], I'll make everything right! Just give me a chance!" Josuke's voice was scratched raw from the crying and pleading he did. His knees hurt. His heart hurt. "I'm sorry, Josuke," you spoke softly to him while you helped him off his knees, "but I can't keep going on."
You were moving away from Morioh. As good of a town as it was, there were bigger opportunities for you if you moved to Tokyo. It was heartbreaking. You didn't have the heart to tell him- all you said was that you were leaving him. A long-distance relationship couldn't work between you two. You didn't want him to break away from school to focus on being with you, either, so this was the only way you could actively get him to stay away from you once you broke up. It was horrible, yes, and it hurt you to do it, but you had no other choice.
As you pulled him in for one last hug, you felt his arms tighten around you to the point that he acted more like a snake rather than a human being. "Josuke!" You cried out his name while you squirmed within his grip, "let me go!"
"No... I don't want to!" Josuke yelled back. When he lifted his head from your chest, you could see the tears in his eyes that threatened to spill over again, the warm streaks of tears on his cheeks. The raw pleading that left his lips echoed the desperation in his purple orbs. It was tearing you apart... but you couldn't admit the truth to him. "If you leave me, I'll--"
He never got to finish his sentence.
Your hand collided with his cheek. "That's enough!" You yelled at him. For some reason, you were angrier more than you were upset. Maybe it was the fact that he was behaving so irrationally.
His grip loosened on you, and you took this opportunity to remove yourself from him. He collapsed onto his knees again - the cycle began anew - but you couldn't bear witness to what he was doing again. You hated to see someone you knew as the confident one to begin breaking down. For good reason, but you didn't want to think that you alone were enough to make everything shatter.
You felt your hand be pulled into his. His other hand collapsed on top of it as he weakly tried to pull you down into his arms, but to no avail. You tugged away from him just enough to make sure that you wouldn't fall into him. "Please... will you let me write to you at least? Please??"
"..." if you were only breaking up with him, then why did he want to write to you? Did he not understand that you didn't want to see him anymore? But you couldn't bring yourself to say no to him. "Yes... you can send me letters... Josuke. Please, I have to go now." You began to pull yourself away from him completely. You couldn't bring yourself to say that you wouldn't be receiving any of his letters past tomorrow... the way that he looked already described how he felt about being able to stay in contact with you. There was a smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear, which created an eerie sight when you saw the tears still streaming down his face.
"Thank you, [Y/N]... thank you."
Over the next couple of days, there was a surge of letters sent to your home while you packed to leave. Each letter was stacked neatly on your desk until your desk was packed up, then moved to your seat in the moving truck. You followed your parents into the truck and sat down in your seat, then pulled the slow-developing stacks of letters to your attention. You carefully opened up the first one and took the time to read what it said. Your eyes scanned over the beautiful handwriting carefully...
'Hi! This is the first time I've ever actually written a letter that was going to be sent to anyone. You know about when they make you write to Santa or the Prime Minister about dumb stuff. Well... I'm thinking about what I should put in these kinds of letters, but for now, I'm saying hi! And Okuyasu says hi too. Maybe I'll talk about stuff like my day and how everything went... maybe you'd be interested in reading that?'
The second letter.
'I haven't seen you around school lately, and I've been wanting to go to your house to see if everything's alright.' You furrowed your brows. This one didn't quite make sense. If this was on the second day after you gave him your address, then this meant you were only out of school for a day. 'But I respect your privacy... we aren't together anymore, after all. I'm still worried about you. Just let me know that you're alright when you read this letter, okay?'
The third letter.
'I waited for a really long time this time in hopes that I would see you. I waited until the night. It's 2 AM, I'm growing nervous. Are you sick? I want to check on you but I know I can't. If you get this letter, please write me back and let me know you're ok.'
A deep sigh left your lips as you read the words before gently folding the letter and putting it back in its envelope. You stared at your name printed in beautiful letters on the front while you tried to think about how much time had passed since this letter was given in to you. Guilt began to set in. You were so busy with packing that you never bothered to pick up a pen and write back to him. How did he feel about this?
You glanced back down to your lap. There were two more letters to go. One dated from yesterday, and one dated for today.
'I decided to stop by your house when no one was home. I looked through the window and saw that there were boxes everywhere.
You're moving.
Is it because of me? Is this why you're not writing back to me? Why are you leaving me? Is there someone else??'
You could sense the desperation in his words. His emotions must've gotten the better of him, as his writing appeared to be jumbled. Ink smudged at the end of the sentence and made the last question hard to read. He found out. You promptly lifted your head up to see if you would see Josuke anywhere, in the event that he was casually waiting around to greet you before you went to move. However, you didn't see anything. So ... you turned your attention to the last letter in the stack. Like in the last letter, your name and address were written as if he was in a hurry to get elsewhere. You reached into the envelope and swallowed thickly, hanging your head and gathering your bearings before reading this last letter. You were afraid of what was going to be written.
"Do you have everything, [Y/N]?"
You looked up from the envelopes on your lap and nodded your head. "Yeah, and if I don't, the moving company should be able to give me what I've forgotten." You affirmed them with a smile on your face. "I'm good to go."
Saying those words made you feel uneasy. Everything about reading these letters now happened to make you feel incredibly uneasy. But you needed to read the last letter... so you pulled it up to your eye line.
'I'll find you'
The words were so simple. So frightening. So sobering. You regretted to notice that you were witnessing the detailing of someone spiraling into an obsession, and that signs of it dated as early as when the two of you broke up. How could you imagine that someone who seemed like a regular, devoted boyfriend, turned out to be ripped apart by obsession?
You closed the letter and folded it back up, then placed it back into the envelope. Even with it out of sight though, the words haunted you. I'll find you. He meant it, didn't he? He was going to look for you. He was going to go out of his way to find your whereabouts and where you lived...
...but the more you thought about it, the more you realized that it seemed impossible. There wasn't a way he could reach you - you were going far away from Morioh. As much as it pained you to admit that, you just knew there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to reach you anymore. At least he might've found some solace in writing these letters out to you... as troubled as they sounded, you would cherish these final letters. You could rest, even if it was only a small bit.
Months passed since the incident. Morioh was a town that was far behind you now. You were attending a new school, surrounded by new people and new friends. Though new life was great and easier to get accustomed to in a bigger town as there were people that were more like you, nothing about them spoke volumes to you like Josuke did.
Josuke...
You wondered how he was doing.
"I'll see you later, [Y/N]!" Your best friend's hand went high in the air with excitement as she waved goodbye to you. You waved in turn and headed off the bus. You headed inside and let out a hefty sigh. "[Y/N], love, were you expecting any mail?" Your mom asked as she held up an envelope. You stared up at it in half-shock before you walked over and nearly snatched it from your mother's clutches. You stared at the name and address on the front of the envelope... this handwriting was eerily similar to Josuke's.
But how?
"Is everything alright?" Your mother asked worriedly. You swallowed some of your anxiety to be able to speak to her and put a smile on your face. "Yep!" You grinned, before you hurried away from her to reach your upstairs bedroom. You locked yourself into your room and ripped the envelope apart to see what the letter inside would entail.
'I FOUND YOU'
Your eyes immediately trailed to the window as if you would see him out there, standing and staring at you once you read those words. But to your half-expectant surprise, no one was there. Still, you were anxious. This ominous letter was real. You remembered the letters because you read them on his birthday in remembrance of the memories you shared with him - and if his past words were anything to go by, then these words were real.
You tried not to let the words get the best of you, though. So what if he found you? Was he truly bold enough to act upon his findings, or was he going to stay behind and continue to send you letters, now that he knew where you were at? The latter sounded more plausible in your opinion. Josuke was a level-headed individual who had a grip on reality, at least, that was what you thought. You couldn't let your paranoia impede the date you were going on with your best friend. It was the first one! You couldn't have been more excited. It was going to be a nice day on the town to go to the mall, things that you couldn't do in Morioh, like walk through a park or shop at multiple outlets - basically, you were going to do what you could in the weekend before you had to go back to school.
Your phone rang.
"[Y/N], it's for you!" Your mother yelled from downstairs. Who could it be, you wondered to yourself as you walked over to the phone on the wall. You picked up the phone and held it to your ear. "Hello?"
"This is [Y/N], right?" Their voice was unfamiliar and distorted. It sounded like they were speaking in a room full of people. "Umm, yes?" You responded, "who is this?"
There was no response.
"Hello?" No response.
Your stomach began to flip. Over, and over. The longer they took to respond, the more your stomach began to hurt. "J-Josuke?" You tried his name, and the person on the other end hung up immediately. Dread filled your entire being. "What..." you were baffled. He even knew your phone number, but how? Who did he get this from? You were so far away from Morioh now, how was he able to do anything that he was doing?
"Who was it?" Your mom asked. You couldn't tell her. "No one," you responded, "must have been a secret admirer or something."
You couldn't sleep that night. What happened weighed heavily on your conscience. Paranoia made you close all of your windows, shut the blinds and close the curtains, so your room was disgustingly hot. Compiled on top of losing sleep to fear, you were left feeling clammy and restless when your alarm went off. Maybe a shower will do. You were going to meet your new best friend in two hours, so you had plenty of enough time to take a shower and maybe get in a quick nap.
The phone rang, startling your otherwise eerily quiet bedroom. You turned your attention to the phone on your wall. Who could be calling at seven in the morning??
"Hello?" You asked into the phone. "[L/N] residence."
"You're going out today, aren't you?"
"How??" You asked, "how did you know where I was at??"
"I searched for someone, or anyone who could overhear you talking about your plans to move. I asked everyone at school, even the people who didn't know you, the teachers, the janitors. I must've looked like an idiot, but I don't care, because I finally got into contact with you."
"Who told you??" You couldn't remember talking to anyone about it... someone must've overheard you, but then again, who would you be speaking about it with in earshot of students in the school? No one should've known but the principal... did Josuke really have the gall to ask the principal? "You don't need to worry~. Can you answer my question, please?"
"...I'm going to hang up." You furrowed your brows. "Please leave me alone."
"You wouldn't make me force my hand just to come and see you, would you?" Josuke asked. "I know you're going out ... I just needed a confirmation. And it's with that girl, isn't it?"
"H-how do you know all these things?" Why haven't you hung up yet? The power of his threat couldn't be verified. But... you just found yourself being glued to the phone. You wanted to know what was going to come next. "Does she make you feel safe? I see how close you are with her. You're mimicking the same feelings you felt when you were with me. She can't replace me, [Y/N]. No one can replace me,"
You immediately pulled the phone from your ear and slammed it on the ringer. You began to pace, as you were far too antsy to stay in one place. There were so many things wrong with what he said... what he knew. You needed to cancel the date... you worried for her, but it was far too early to call her, and you didn't want to show up just to cancel the date, because then you'd be wasting everyone's time. What did you do? You walked over to your bed and sat down on it, putting your face in your hands. This wasn't happening, was it? You hoped it wasn't. You wanted everything to be a dream.
"-?!"
You threw your body up in a moment of panic, forcing yourself awake. For a moment you felt dizzy, but you didn't care enough to stop yourself from rushing to get out the door. You threw on whatever could be appropriate for a hot day and headed out to go meet your best friend. You were late - no shit, you were horribly late. The time read 13:21 by the time you looked at the clock on the way out. There wasn't exactly a way to reach her, so the only way you could find her was by meandering the streets in hopes that you'd find her.
You ran down the street as quickly as your tired body could permit. Panic filled your being. What if he caught wind of what time you were supposed to meet her?! What if he did something to her?!
"No!" You shouted aloud. People that were walking nearby were already drawn to you because you were running down the street, but the fact that you were talking to yourself seemed to add extra icing on the cake. You tried to ignore their stares and focused on trying to get to the nearest telephone booth. Maybe you could call her house and see if there was any way of finding out where she could be right now.
You spotted a telephone booth, thankfully, and headed into it. You reached into your bag to retrieve some yen to be inserted into the payphone, then crudely shoved whatever excess you had back into it. You dialed the number to her house and waited with bated breath as you heard it ring multiple times. Her mother picked up the phone. "Hello??"
"Hey!" You blurted, "is [best friend] around? I know I kind of bailed on her, but I wasn't having a good night." You explain and rub the back of your neck.
"Oh! No, she's still out on the town! I hope you're feeling better, [Y/N]. If she comes home, I'll call your home and let you know, alright?"
"Alright. Thank you, ma'am." You hung up. Your heart felt like it was going to implode. This wasn't a good thing - Josuke was still out there, and so was your best friend. He probably already reached her and now he was doing all sorts of despicable things to her ... no. No, you couldn't think that way, not yet. There was still hope... you just needed to find her, and the first place you should check is most definitely the mall. So, you removed yourself from the telephone booth. You exited the claustrophobic space and began your anxious trek to the mall as quickly as traffic could permit it.
Coming face to face with the mall was enough to make you collapse onto your knees and vomit up what you (didn't) eat. Your palms were clammy from the night before, and you must've reeked of sweat and anxiety. You paled before the mall's imposing stature, and swallowed thickly, before you pushed your way inside. She had to be in here, right? But the question would be where, and then who was she with, and if he was there with her...
You began your search. The mall was filled with people, young and old, weak and strong, men, women, and nonbinary people alike. The walkways were cluttered on both sides, which made you increasingly nervous. Even though people recognized you for the mess you currently were as the new student [L/N] [Y/N], you couldn't recognize them. They were nothing more but passing faces that would occasionally stop you and say that they would see you at school. You didn't care about them, you cared about your best friend. She was around here somewhere.
But so was he.
Seeing him in the corner of your eye made you feel increasingly paranoid, but every time you took a double, then triple, then quadruple take, he was there. Your eyes didn't fail you... no, he was right there. You'd recognize that pompadour-donning young man anywhere Leaning on the corner, head bowed, but you could tell those fiery purple eyes were staring at you, following your every move. He wanted you to go to him. No... you wouldn't.
However, he caught up with you before you could walk away from him. Your heart reached into your throat and threatened to choke you as your gaze went over to him.
His hand grabbed your arm and wrenched it tight, making your body flinch in place. "You're looking for her, aren't you?" He asked, "come with me. I'll take you to her."
"..." You narrowed your eyes, "how can I trust you?"
"You want to find her, don't you?" His purple eyes looked... different. They no longer held the spark of life in them, even though his voice sounded no different from what you remembered of him. You tried not to look into them for too long. "...yes."
He began to pull you along. This part of the mall wasn't isolated by any means... so you wondered... how they couldn't hear this girl gargling on her own blood. In the janitor's closet, you stumbled upon the horrendous sight. Your stomach caved in and you lost it, doubling over on her poor shoes and letting loose while Josuke's hand rested "lovingly" on your shoulder, holding it with a grip that would make abusive lovers envious. She was unrecognizable. The only way you could even tell that it was her was because of her hair, and even then, had there not been a familiar pattern you'd noticed from being around her so much in the earlier weeks of your friendship, you wouldn't have recognized her.
"Yes... I know, this looks incredibly bad on me. But I can fix things... and I will, if you just come back. All of this can disappear. She can going back to being a normal girl, you can go back to Morioh, and I can go back to being your loving boyfriend." He squeezed your shoulder. "Do we have a deal?"
"Y-you... you're a monster! Y-you can't fix this!!" You yelled at him. His eyes widened for a moment, and his brows furrowed. He lost his cool for a split second before he calmed down and sought to reason with you again. "But I can, my love. Just watch."
You didn't bother to look... merely turning your head away from this gruesome scene. Your heart was heavy, your throat was scratched, and your knees felt like they would give in at any moment now, but his grip on your shoulder kept you grounded, if that did anything to help at all. "Look at her, she's all brand new. Why don't you look at her, [Y/N]?"
You reluctantly turned your head to see what he did - and he was right. Her face looked... normal. She was no longer this amalgamation of destroyed flesh. She was your best friend, just as you'd last seen her. "And she can stay this way," his hand reached up to cup your chin, using his hand to gently pull your head to his. You were forced to stare into his eyes as he spoke again. "As long as you come back. If not, she will just have the same thing happen to her - and she'll lay in this closet until someone finds her, and then you will be painted as the killer for vomiting all over this poor girl's shoes. You don't want that, do you?"
You didn't respond. You tried to - but you just didn't know what to say in response to the atrocities he'd committed in the act of obsession.
"You don't want to watch her be subjected to relentless torture for trying to be my replacement, do you?? You don't want to hear her crying out for help while you can't do anything but watch, do you? Answer me, [Y/N]!!"
His other hand cupped your face and squeezed it tight, pulling you closer to his body. Your noses were mere inches away from each other. You could smell his cologne... and in that moment of pure lunacy, you had to wonder if you even smelled good.
"N-no..." you squeezed your eyes shut. "Please just leave her alone..."
"Hey, hey, don't cry," he pulled your face into his chest and stroked down your back lovingly, "I'm not a bad person, baby, you know that. You just have to come back to me... all you have to do is let me be your boyfriend again, and all of this will disappear. We'll go back to being together like we rightfully should be, okay?"
"...okay." You squeezed him, "okay."
#jojo x reader#josuke x reader#yandere josuke#josuke higashitaka#diamond is unbreakable#jojo's bizarre adventure#reader insert#gender neutral insert
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Night out
Benny watts x reader
I'm so so so sorry this to so long to come out. I had planned it to be out for new year and then I kept changing my mind so it may not seem like it makes sense apologizes, I'm also promptly moving tomorrow. I literally was told my parents couldn't handle me and my mental health anymore and am not getting kicked out just ( space for everyone ) so yea I'm feeling very low and just so no one wonders why the next one will probably take so long. I'll be living with my real mum who has her own issues too so we will see
Trigger warning - slight alcohol miss use. Slight drunken abuse (not from benny he would never.)
Some cuddles and fluff
Prompt - ”Can you please come and get me ”
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It had been a less than successful night. Your sure others wouldn't agree but you sat next to a gutter at the side of a very quiet road in front of a building of which merely hours ago you had been drinking aside friends in had drunk adults spilling from the door as everyone came and went.
Your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you glanced around and spotted a payphone a little down the street. Pulling yourself off the ground and reaching for your bag you stumble your way away from the slow rumbling music that clung around the door from inside. It got distant and you fell into the booth.
You thought about how the night had started. The party had been on everyones mind for days. You were going with cleo and the boys. Beth was even gonna meet you guys there. Who was in New York for a few days, staying in a hotel a few blocks from the party. Although she didn't stay long, trying to keep sober.
You guys had got there around 11. In time for the beginning of shots being pasted around. Which you off course accepted. Kick starting the night with some vodka.
All went well for a few hours, by about 2 you'd put back your fair share of drink. And that's when it started to hit you. You weren't a stranger to the results of alcohol tho and kept going like it was nothing.
But apparently your uneven walking had caught the attention of some...less than pleasant individuals. They had tried talking to you before and you just ignored them. They had a look in their eyes that you weren't comfortable with so you didn't dwell on them.
But they had dwelled on you it seemed. They noticed as your balance had started to wobble. Quite possibly noticing when your words all slurred together. And definitely when you stumbled in front of them as you had unsuccessfully attempted to step past one of them. But there was no call for the man to grab you. And not in a way to help you balance. You told him to let go. But his hands had other ideas. You tried to pull his hands off of you and your not sure what happened next but he slapped you.
You probably did something wrong you thought. You always screw things up.
Some words were exchanged and you rushed out. Not after kneeling him in a not so nice place. he tried to grab you. Ripping the shoulder of your one straps. It was a cheap dress but now you had to make sure you help up the strap just in case.
You felt humiliated and your face hurt.
You found some money in your bag, next to some mint gum that you decided was a higher priority.
Benny hadn't come to the party. He thought it sounded stupid. And when you had stepped out of your room into the middle of the apartment he looked at you and snorted.
” what do you expect to get in that get up?” he asked suggestively.
You didn't think anything of it and giggled at him. But now you thought maybe it truly was your fault an that you seemed like you were asking for it.
Shaking your head to clear it of such thoughts. Which made the small booth spin a little but you stuck with it. Putting in the coins and trying to remember the right numbers for the house. You felt sick as you listened for the click of the phone being a answered and a harsh voice on the other end speaking.
”hello?”
It was Benny. Hopefully you hadn't woke him.
” Benny?” you whispered out. Realising you had to speak
” Y/N?” he questioned. Voice softening a little.
You twirled the cable as you stared at your shaking hand.
Your throat seemed to close up as you looked for the words. To explain how drunk you had got. To explain what the men tried to do to you. Why you hadn't come home yet even though it was now 3.
” Y/N what's the matter” he asked sternly.
Your eyes pricked with sudden tears and with a slight choke you sobbed out.
”Can you please come and get me ”
”what happened where are the others?” he seemed startled
” I don't know. I'm sorry. Please Benny.”
There was a split second of silence and then
” I'm coming to get you stay right where you are. ” and then another click.
You waited. Felt like a life time. You thought about a lot of things. Part of you was worried Benny wouldn't come. That he would leave you here. You struggled to keep your self balanced so you went over to a step and sat down. Put your head in your hands with your elbows resting on your thighs.
You sighed. Maybe you should find your own way. You sat up and ran your fingers through your hair.
It wasn't to long before a taxi pulled up in front of you and outstepped a slightly frustrated looking Benny.
His hair askew and a loose black shirt, he took a few long strides to reach you.
Looking up you giggled at how tall he looked. Sighing at your antics he held out a hand and began to pull you too your feet.
Wobbling considerably you made it to an upright position and with a long arm around your waist you stumbled your way to the taxi.
You some how got in. A testament to what a person would do to get away from a party.
You could tell he hadn't noticed your strap or face yet, you had concealed it well. Somehow.
Time didn’t work for you so you’ve no idea how long it took to get home. But when you did benny got out first to open the door for you and pay the driver.
Thanking the man. He shut the car door and watched for a second as it pulled away before turning his attention to the more presssing matter of the drunking idiot before him. Giggling at a joke he obviously missed.
He noticed your face. You saw the moment he did and he stepped closer. Enough to see the outline of a hand.
This was when Benny realised there was a little more to this story of you just getting blitzed as he, for the first time took in your appearance, clocking the strap you were holding up with your arms folded.
A hint of rage passed through him before he calmed and took your hand to get you inside. You were barely three steps into the building befor you asked
“How am I supposed to get down the stairs”
Slurring lightly.
He sighed. Not for the last time and leaned down to hoist you into his arms and proceeded with caution as he walked with you. You giggled some more as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging into him.
You were drained. And you wanted to sleep. Leaning your face into his neck you've never felt safer.
When he reached the bottom he placed you down gently and unlocked the door to let you both in. This time just holding you round the waist as you wobbled down the small set of stairs. He then pulled you to the sofa and sat you down.
After doing the usually after drinks things like water and getting you a jumper and some shorts of his he then sat next to you and spoke for the first time since you's had got in.
”are you going to tell me what happened?” he gently pushed. Not wanting to push you over the limit but he was concerned.
Your face fell and you nodded a little and told him very roughly but enough that he understood what had happened. He was angry, to say the least, but knew there was nothing he could do about the disrespectful toad roaming the streets. So he settled to offer you an open arm for you to cuddle into him. You of course jumped at the offer and snuggled into the warm man.
You didn't want to go to bed and Benny knew that. Knowing you'd not have the effort to get up and both being quite comfortable where you both remained.
You spotted a book on the coffee table and looked up at Benny with puppy dog eye that you knew he couldn't refuse.
” will you read to me?” you pleaded.
He chuckled and lent forward to retrieve the book. It happened to be the hobbit. ( I know it's not for everyone but I know it's written before Benny time so apologies please roll with it)
As he started to read chapter one an unexpected party and began describing the hobbit hole. You felt yourself begin to doze off to the soothing tones and his other hand rubbing soft circles on your upper arm.
It wasn't how the night had supposed to go but you were with him now and you felt protected. Knowing he came to your aid.
(with regards to the slap Yes I know this is a little unrealistic it lasting that long but I once got one that lasted a few hours ( I’m not being hit just to clarify it was a joke with some pals who one of them was telling me about a slap match to see how much he could take and the other we were with friend had really went for it and it was actually shockingly sore and my drunk ass went I can take it and he was reluctant at first and then went to go and did it before stating that was hadn’t been hard enough and went again even harder and it left quite a mark and we all laughed so ya. ) but just pretend if you don’t think it would )
#benny watts oneshot#benny watts x oc#benny watts fanfiction#benny watts imagine#benny#benny watts x reader#benny watts#queens gambit#thomas brodie sangster
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Hi if it's ok to ask how do you think walter would react to gabriel getting sick? Btw I love your writing
(Thank you so much Anon! <3 I have been kicked in the inspiration yet again! Today was supposed to be trashpost day... Forgive me, my friends, for I have failed.)
CW: ill whumpee, conditioned, force fed medicine, *inhales* parental, overprotective, possessive, intimate creepy whumper.
masterlist
That morning, Gabriel shuffled in dragging his entire blanket behind him across the floor sprawling yards behind him.
“Gooood morning litt-...!” Walter was cut off when he twirled around to see Gabriel, pale as snow with red cheeks.
“G- morninhg.” Gabriel slurred, his voice sounding warped. Walter watched him with a wide alerted expression as he struggled to produce the strength to overpower the massive heavy obstacle of: the freezer door.
He popped an ice cube out of the tray and casually nibbled on it. When he closed the door, Walter was right, slapping the back of his hand to his forehead. Gabriel violently flinched as he staggered back a few inches.
“Oooww! Wh-what are you doing?” He whined, as Walter kept his hand pinned to his forehead.
“You have a fever...” He muttered, moving his hand from his forehead to feel his cheek.
“N-no I don’t... It’s just warm under here.” He pulled his blanket further to hide half his face.
“You’re sick, son.” He sighed, his hand retreating as he swung open multiple cabinets, digging through countless rattling bottles.
“It’s allergies! You kidnapped someone with horrific allergies and locked them away in the middle of a blooming forest! Regret your decision yet?” Gabriel slurred.
Walter ignored him as he stacked bottles and boxes of medicine in a line on the counter.
“Come here.” Walter motioned with a finger while grabbing a spoon. Gabriel promptly planted his feet as he turned his nose away.
“Gabriel, walk your feet over here, let's go.” His tone quickly grew impatient. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. You can bring your blanket if that makes you more comfortable.” He said, turning around with his arms crossed expectantly.
Gabriel let out an annoyed groan. As slow as can be, he eventually made it to his side at the counter.
“Open.” He instructed, holding up a spoon filled with deep red medicine that reeked of cherry sugar.
“Wh- I-.. I can take it myself! You don’t have to spoon feed it to me, I’m not a child!” He hissed.
“Don’t talk to me like that, young man. Now open.” He said again.
He normally would never speak to Walter with that tone, but his brain was fuzzy and he had no concept of conscience. He was already suffering, what was he going to do, belt him while he was already down?
As soon as he opened his lips to protest, the spoon was promptly stuffed into his mouth. His eyes shot wide as he instantly retracted, coughing as he choked down the strong foul tasting medicine.
Why did it have to be cherry flavored, who thought that was a good idea?
“You’re so dramatic... Just don’t spit it out.” Walter sighed, shaking his head as he cleaned off the spoon.
“Yo-you’re so mean...” Gabriel whimpered, quickly hiding his face when he caught his voice cracking. Walter’s head shot in his direction when he heard his distressed tone, his brow lowering with guilt as he set the spoon down.
“I-.. I’m not mean, son. I’m just doing what’s best for you!” He lightened his tone a little, taking a step closer. Gabriel stayed hidden in the blanket as he desperately tried to get his emotions under control.
Walter let off a sad sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off that way, I’m just worried about you! I think this is a bit more than some allergies, son. Please don’t think I’m trying to hurt you.” He pulled the blankets down just enough he could see his glossy eyes staring back up at him.
“Come on, why don’t we make a nest for you somewhere so you can rest, we need to get your fever brought down. I can make you some ice cream, okay?” He tried to give him a warm smile.
Gabriel's eyes flickered with curiosity. “You... Can make ice cream?” He muffled into the blanket.
“Yep! Hand made, any kind you would like.” He grinned.
<><>
Walter gathered every blanket in the house to make an entire bed on the couch. He got some slow soothing music playing gently in the background as he went back to coaxed Gabriel over.
He knew something was wrong the second he saw Gabriel. His expression was wide and fearful, his eyes unfocused as they mindlessly darted all around the room. He didn’t even seem to hear him enter the kitchen.
“Gabriel?” Walter asked, instantly running over, taking his shoulders to turn him.
“Wha-..?” Gabriel asked, his head falling as he still didn’t even seem to see him.
“Wh-where.. Where am I?” He asked, his body violently trembling.
“Gabe?.. You-... You’re home, sweetheart. You’re home safe and sound.” He scooped his cheeks with both the palms of his hands as he tilted his head up.
“Just come lay down. You’ll feel better once you’ve gotten some rest.” He took Gabriel’s hand as he led him over to the nest waiting for him. Walter walked backwards so he could keep an eye on him and go his pace as Gabriel walked wherever he was being pulled.
Halfway there, his legs gave away underneath. His knees buckling as he fell forward as Walter dove to the floor to catch him.
“Easy! Easy son, I got you.” He whispered, carefully pulling him into his arms as Gabriel’s chin found his shoulder. Walter bound him in the blanked as he carried him the rest of the way, being mindful not to move too quickly to disorientate him further in this state.
“Dad?” Gabriel murmured, quite confused by all the nicknames he was being dubbed.
Walter instantly froze.
He froze for a moment too long as Gabriel slowly began to slide off his shoulder. He gasped as he quickly gathered him back in his arms, slowly leaning him back into a pillow waiting for him.
He took a deep breath after holding it in as he brushed Gabriel’s wavy hair from his eyes.
“I’m right here.” He murmured with a smile.
Gabriel was already half asleep with his eyes shut as soon as his head touched the pillow.
@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump @five-fictions-5-9 @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @thelazywitchphotographer @sophierose002
ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!
#whump#whumpee#whumper#possessive whumper#parental whumper#overprotective whumper#conditioned whumpee#sick whumpee#creepy caretaker#emotional whumpee
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A Letter from Grace
—
My life, as most people’s do, began at an ungodly hour on October 31st, 1918. Father admitted once that it was the longest witching hour of his life, and that he hadn’t slept at all the days prior due to worry over the birth. I was born three months earlier then expected, and mother liked to say that I was the smallest, most fragile little baby she’d ever laid eyes on. Just the size of a decent eggplant from the market; perfectly suited to sit in the palm of your hand.
Tension was high that night, as Influenza had already taken many infants in the local Hospital. So I was born in the dark privacy of my Grandfathers New York Estate, passed down for three generations already. Father was excited to have a fourth Generation to which he could pass his legacy, or so I was told. Swaddled expertly by a matron of almost sixty years who Mother claimed to trust with her life, for a single moment everything was perfect; just my parents and their little baby girl who they named Grace.
But my weakness would not be chased away so easily.
Though I don’t remember much of the early years, I recall father once telling me that I had broken two fingers, and cracked my head open before I could even walk. Doctors who came to the house claimed my bones simply weren’t strong enough yet; that I needed more calcium which my mothers milk couldn’t seem to provide. But by the time I was on my own two feet, tottering about the manor as most young children do, bruises, breaks, and scratches had the staff and my poor parents on edge. It was around this time as well my own heart decided to betray me. It wasn’t normal for such a young child to be fatigued as quickly as I was, nor was it normal for her breathing to sound like the hard start of an automobile.
Up until the age of six, when I begin to remember some (if only a little) of my childhood, no one - no local physician nor expert - could figure out what was wrong with me. Everything, yet nothing, was the matter. Mother - who was a journalist for National Geographic - traveled and was away for long periods during this time. And though I can recall day dreaming of the many fantastic and wondrous locales she must’ve seen, it left my worrying father to…well, worry about me. It seemed falling down the stairs face first at my local day school and not only cracking my head open again, but also breaking two ribs and promptly becoming unconscious, was enough to send him reeling over the edge of hysteria for my well-being.
During my long and tedious recovery from that single incident, I caught a devilish sickness. No one knows where it had come from; another student in my school perhaps, or from a simple passing stranger. But Father claimed he had paid a fortune in phone calls to Africa in order to speak with mother who was (at the time) photographing Elephants. She came straight home of course, only to find her little girl pale and as close to death as one could be.
It’s all a bit hazy, as my brain was still young; feverish and half-delusional. But I can remember the lingering smell of tobacco on fathers hands and ground into his silk lapels as he cradled me, rubbing my back as I coughed and struggled to catch a breath. And I can still hear mother’s voice as she sat by the bedside, telling me of the many animals she had seen while in Africa. I dreamed of lions and elephants in those hours, blearily staring at nothing as lamplight flickered across damp windowpanes from an evening rainfall. I recovered slowly but surely, but that first flu had taken something out of me. Something I wasn’t ever able to get back, even as I grew older.
I was just about to turn seven, finally healthy again, when I was no longer permitted to leave the grounds. Mother and Father had a very long, loud conversation about it in the library, to which I listened in through the mahogany door. There was to be no more school; just private tutors who I would soon come to spite. No more Summer games in the park, or long nights under strings of electric lights at the carnival. No possibility of family trips, or late night escapades to the Ice Cream parlor for frozen cherries and whipped cream. There was to be no world for me beyond the fence of the Estate.
To keep me safe, Father claimed.
It was only a day after that the wheelchair made its first appearance in my life. Father insisted it would help with my heart; protect it from beating to fast from running, or walking about to quickly. Mother disagreed with the notion, I could see it on her face as I was settled into the wicker seat for the first time, but she said nothing. I hated it instantly. I wanted to run and play, and roll about in the grass like the kids at my school could. I used to envy their ability to get high, high up into the branches above the schoolyard, perched at the top with the world at their feet. I never dared try for myself, lest Father decide to cut all the trees down if he ever saw me in one.
It wasn’t bad at first; Mother stayed with me those beginning months, occupying my mind with stories of her travels and long games of chess. She began me in piano lessons, and helped with my cursive. But it wasn’t long before she once again had to leave; India this time, to photograph wild tigers. The day she left it felt like some huge part of me went with her. Father tried his best of course, and I remember riding on his shoulders or in his arms with fondness. But he was a busy man, often called away to the city for one thing or another.
The staff of course did their best, but babysitting a squirmy young girl certainly wasn’t in their daily agenda. My nursemaid - the same woman who birthed me (nasty old crone) - was a harsh matron who allowed for little beyond what was deemed safe and allowable by my Father. It was always lessons in the morning; the usual subjects of maths, geography, history, natural sciences and the like. This clockwork schedule was followed by etiquette and tea time, piano lessons, art, literature and penmanship.
I did get some exercise, but I was always well watched by Matron and at least two other members of staff. Some days it was a casual swim, no longer then half an hour, and on Saturday it was a light waltzing lesson (privately taught of course). And - on the rare occasion I could bully the other staff into it - a game of croquet or darts on the lawn. But there was little time for fun, despite my Fathers pleasure at my supposed ‘safety’, and I each day I felt some small part of me die.
I was 13 when the next incident occurred. Some local boys who I’d never seen before wandered close to our garden fence. Matron had left me to my afternoon reading as to fetch coffee (which I had come to prefer over tea). Mother - according to her letters - was someplace in China, hunting down Rhinoceros. Father had left earlier that morning to meet with investors at his office in the city. It was a rare moment I was truly alone. The boy, who’s name I can’t recall now, smiled at me. It was a cute, boyish grin and I can still remember how startled I was by it. After all I hadn’t seen anyone in what felt like years (at least six, to be exact). He urged me close to the fence.
At that point I was desperate to be out of my wheelchair, so I walked to him. He nodded to the lovely apple tree which I had been sitting under, and asked if I could climb it to fetch him one of the fruit. Of course I said no, as climbing was strictly prohibited, but he was quite a smooth talker for a boy so young. He called me pretty, and dove, and all the sweet things one calls a girl to make her waver in her convictions. And so - stupidly, might I say - I climbed the tree against my better judgement.
Three shiny red apples were tossed easily over the fence, one for each boy. They gave me a wave goodbye and ran off to do whatever they pleased. And then there was me, a fragile, tiny girl stuck up in a tree with no way down. Of course I didn’t mind at first, I was actually elated I had made the climb at all. I finally was able to see what my schoolmates had all those years ago. I could view the entire estate and beyond; I could stare at the horizon; seemingly endless in its reach. But as much as I yearned to stay above and away from my tiny world forever, Matron would soon return.
Getting out of the tree was much more complicated then climbing into it.
I remember the horrible feeling of miscalculation; falling and hitting the soft earth with a terrible grunt. Something inside me cracked, and my lungs exploded with fire as I wheezed out a cry of pain. I don’t remember now who had seen me first; one of the yard staff perhaps, but Matron was furious. Once again I was bedridden, pretending to sleep as Father puffed on his favorite ivory pipe just outside my bedroom door. He mentioned to Matron the idea of adding straps to the wheelchair, as to keep me from falling. I remember whimpering under the blankets at the thought of being tied to the thing, and sobbing myself to sleep that night.
The years came and went, and I felt more and more heavy with each passing hour. I didn’t leave the wheelchair again until I was 16, and simply couldn’t stand the bloody thing anymore. I would sit in chairs, or on window sills. I’d spend time in the woven hammock in the garden, or lounge across the evening sofas. Any place I could sit, I would, simply to avoid being stuck in the contraption I loathed. I got sick more often during these middle years; on again off again fevers and dizzy spells that left me dazed and began the chain of worrying my father and caretakers all over again.
There were endless nights alone where I’d stare at my naked form in the mirror in golden lamplight, using a finger to count the ribs poking from under my paper-like skin. It’s true my body was changing into that of a woman, but it hardly mattered when the lightest of touches could leave a mark on me the size of a continent.
Mother was traveling again, to and from as she always seemed to do. Letters and phone calls were exchanged often, and I often studied the places she traveled when she was away in my geography lessons. But it often felt like it was just Father and I against the world. He was dear of course, moving his work to the home office as illness became more common. He’d bring me gifts from the city; strings of diamonds and beautiful mink furs. A brand new motorcar, just for my use (not like I could ever go anywhere). But there really wasn’t much that could bring a smile to my face.
Burning the wheelchair and the Matron in a fire the size of Connecticut might have done it. But I didn’t have the heart to ask.
Father even hosted a large ball for my Birthday that year, with dancing and music and people. But even that couldn’t seem to bring my heart from its dark and lonely place. Only when Father allowed the wheelchair to be folded up and hidden away in the closet after almost ten years did I finally feel whole again. I was more careful after that; I did little to aggravate my condition. The fevers and fainting spells were still present, but the bruises and breaks healed. I took a fondness for the writings of Edgar Allen Poe, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice. I read the articles in National Geographic which Mother had sent in her letters over the years, and sketched the animals which she herself had photographed. For a while, everything finally seemed ok.
Until Mother returned home from her second trip to Africa deeply ill.
For the first time in my life, I finally felt what father must have for me every time I lay bedridden. I was only allowed to see her from the doorway, out of fear of me catching the disease as well. I wasn’t allowed to speak with anyone who entered or left the room, and Father had to bathe and keep his distance whenever he came to see me. I was 18 when she finally died in the night. This year. Though it feels like just yesterday.
Yellow Fever they said, from a mosquito bite in Africa.
Nothing - not the breaks, bruises, fevers or constant illness - prepared me to see my own mother dead. I wasn’t even allowed to see her; to say goodbye. I could only watch, held back by three of the staff, as she was carried out under a sheet. The Doctor had to sedate me for my own health after I managed to break loose and nearly fell down the stairs after her corpse. I woke up numb, and couldn’t convince myself to move for days after that. I knew I should’ve been grieving with father, but I couldn’t manage it. There was so much pain. The wheelchair came out of the closet again, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
The funeral was attended, and the casket buried. Father and I didn’t speak much in those long weeks after; in fact I wondered if I even could. It felt like I hadn’t spoken in years. There was just a horrible, overwhelming chill in me, and I grew weaker with grief. After a few months, Father became worried for me, as did the house staff. They opened the windows, and trimmed the gardens. The rooms were dusted, and filled with light. I was taken outside the fence for the first time since I was a girl, in the automobile which I hadn’t ever used. But there was still only emptiness.
After four months, Father left the house to attend a meeting in the city. He returned with a man whom I didn’t recognize; a fancy man who bowed and kissed my hand and smiled from under his white mustache. He said his specialty was in dealing with those lost in grieving, and that perhaps it would be best if we (my father and I) left New York and all it’s memories behind. Naturally I was appalled at the idea, but couldn’t seem to match my face to my feelings.
Before I knew it the house was emptied out, packed into boxes and taken away by trucks and wagons. Anything not moved was sold at auction, and the house was passed on to the highest bidder.
“New Orleans, my little Bluebird,” Father told me as we settled in for the long journey by car across the country, leaving New York behind, “truly a city of culture. I’ve bought us a beautiful new home just outside town; you’ll love how big it is.”
And big it was. The old Hatchaway Estate was an ivory mansion in a traditional New England style. Surrounded by the most beautiful trees and well kept fields, it was a far cry from the fenced in world back home. The staff, pre-hired, were a gloomy looking bunch dressed in green and black stripes. But father liked their quiet (somewhat somber) fortitude, and so I said nothing as they helped us settle in. There was something…unusual about the new house. I could feel it the minute I walked through the door. A heaviness; like someone was watching me. It was just enough unease for me to forget my quiet grief for a moment.
I learned quickly that the house itself was seemingly unnerved. The first week I had seen at least two items move on their own, and heard giddy singing from the back garden only to find no one there. The staff was practically ghostly, saying very little to us, let alone one another. And I spent a lot of time exploring the grounds on my own. It was a few weeks after moving in, about a month before my 19th Birthday, that father hired two new drivers; a Mr. Harrod Fairchild, and Mr. Rudolph Martin to tend to the cars.
And this, my friends, is where I find myself now. Writing this overview of where I’ve been so far, and now disclosing with utmost discretion my newfound interest in the man father has hired in my name. Mr. Martin is…how to describe him is a puzzle. Handsome? Certainly. Charming? Quite so. I find myself endeared to his presence despite myself, and I grow weary of this…this little tickle of something other then emptiness that has suddenly flared up inside me. Have I once again caught ill? How to explain to father (or anyone really) this fever in me whenever he’s nearby. I’ve barely spoken to him, but have watched him tend to the car and grounds from the windows. I know he’s gentle, but still quite strong. I can sometimes hear him singing down there, leaning against the porch as he plays the banjo for the staff keeping the porch.
Every time I do get close, or think about approaching him myself, I feel that fever begin to rise and I wonder if something is truly very wrong with me. It feels like I’m dying, and I can hardly stand it. I’m bewitched. Perhaps it’s this terrible heat? What’s wrong with me?
I wish mother were here, she’d know what to do.
Eternally yours, dear reader
Grace
#original character#oc#fanfiction#character literature#character development#haunted mansion#haunted mansion oc#disney
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heyyyy coming in a few days early with the “expression” prompt for @aspecarchivesweek! just a lil something about jon wearing a shirt he doesn’t like. enjoy!
(also on ao3)
_______________
All of Jon’s clothes are in greyscale.
Well, this isn’t entirely true—some are a very light tan, or a dingy brown. One mothbitten vest is a glaring 70’s orange that Jon deeply dislikes, so it stays at the back of his closet. These are the clothes he inherited from his parents and possibly also his grandparents, which he can’t bring himself to throw away. The rest, however, strictly range from white to black, practical to a fault.
Jon has a working theory that he may be the first person in history with an allergy to clothing stores. Entering one instantly stresses him out, and all he wants is to get what he came for and get out as quickly as possible. Figuring out how to match colors, as he eventually learns by the time he’s in uni, is a waste of time and consideration. Much easier and simpler to only buy clothes in shades that match no matter how you swap them out.
Of course, there are exceptions, and as life goes on in its chaotic and unaccountable way, he acquires items of clothing he wouldn’t otherwise have picked for himself. A colorful sweater from Georgie as a birthday gift. A free T-shirt from a uni event. He keeps these things for their sentimental value, but rarely wears them out of the house.
However, sometimes life is not only chaotic but also utterly unmanageable. And sometimes Jon finds himself with a promotion he doesn’t really know what to do with, an entire archive to organize, and less time than he’s ever had to do laundry.
And, well. One has to wear something to work, doesn’t one.
This is what Jon keeps telling himself as he miserably pulls on the last clean shirt left in his flat. He should know; he’s checked four times, and if he checks a fifth he’ll be late for work. He gives himself a glance in the small, dirty mirror stuck to the inside of his closet door, and looks away almost immediately, strangely embarrassed.
It’s just a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt, which is maybe a bit unprofessional for the workplace, but it’s not as though anybody minds how the people who work in the basement dress. The problem comes from its colors. Well, one of its colors. Three of them—black, grey, white—are perfectly suitable for Jon. But following those, at the bottom of the shirt, is a glaring, bright violet.
The shirt is a casualty of the aforementioned chaos of life. A friend of an acquaintance had given it to Jon to wear to a pride parade several years back, which he had ended up skipping out on anyway. Since then the shirt had been kept out of sight and mind, packed into the back of Jon’s closet for a rainy day that he’d never really expected to arrive.
There’s a first time for everything, Jon thinks, almost reflexively. The words don’t mean much to him, philosophically speaking, but they are a steadying mantra nonetheless. He goes to pull on his coat; by some measure of luck, it’s a cold day out. He plans not to take it off again until he’s safely back in his flat that night.
The trouble is, of course, that wearing one’s coat while making tea in the break room in an adequately-heated basement looks rather conspicuous to one’s coworkers, and leads to questions.
“You feeling alright, boss?” Tim asks, as he retrieves his bagged lunch from the fridge.
“Yes,” Jon says, stiffly. “Perfectly fine. I’m just cold.”
Sasha, who has followed Tim in, says, “Not sick, I hope.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jon says again, though he is beginning to feel a bit overheated. “It’s just cold in here. You don’t feel cold?”
Tim and Sasha shake their heads, looking concerned.
“I’m fine,” Jon says for the third time in thirty seconds, and promptly flees the break room.
By late afternoon, Jon is sweltering, and has no choice but to take off the coat. He’s careful to close his office door before he does so, resolving to put it back on if he needs to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.
Though the garish violet stripe in his periphery is distracting at first, he loses himself in his work soon enough, spending an hour or two tearing through a stack of statements that are, by and large, utter nonsense.
He loses himself in his work so much, in fact, that when there’s a knock at his office door, he says “Come in,” without thinking.
“Hey, Jon,” says Tim as he enters, “d’you have a copy of statement zero-one-three-two . . .”
Tim’s voice drifts off, and Jon looks up, irritated. “Zero-one-three-two-what?”
Tim’s staring at him, an eager expression on his face, and Jon’s stomach goes cold. He looks down at the shirt, remembering, and stops himself from groaning. If he doesn’t react, maybe Tim will leave it alone. “What number were you looking for, Tim?” he says instead, very calmly and professionally.
But of course it doesn’t work. Tim’s face breaks into a smile, and he gives Jon a big, showy once-over. Jon rolls his eyes even before the words are out of Tim’s mouth. “Looking good, boss.”
“Tim, I have even less patience for sarcasm than usual, so if you could please—”
“Who said anything about sarcasm? You look good! Casual, ah, Tuesday suits you, Jon.”
Jon puts his elbows up on his desk and massages his temples. “I ran out of laundry.”
“Ah, been there.” Tim seems to have taken Jon’s resignation as an invitation, because he helps himself to the chair opposite Jon’s desk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the pride flag type, though. Don’t even think I’ve seen you with laptop stickers.”
“No,” Jon says, “I’m not. Not usually. This is just the only thing I had lying around. It’s from years ago, I never wear it.”
“Aw.” Tim genuinely looks disappointed. Jon wonders if perhaps he’s losing what remains of his tenuous ability to read people. “That’s a shame. You look good in purple.”
Jon has reached a point in his life, he’s fairly certain, where he ought to have heard such a comment before, or at least know the proper response. In actuality, he cannot recall a single instance of someone in his adult life complimenting his choice of fashion. He looks down at the shirt again. It’s the same as it was before: too-bright and obvious. He highly doubts it could look good on him in any shape or form. “Um. Thank you?” he says, sounding more bewildered than grateful.
“Really! It, like, brings out your eyes, or something. I dunno, but I think it’s nice on you. Not sure why you went through all the trouble to hide it all day.”
Jon shifts in his chair. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s very loud, isn’t it. And obvious. It’ll just attract attention.”
Tim looks at him for a moment or two. “Jon,” he says, “is this just about the shirt? Or is it also about the shirt?”
“That makes no sense, Tim.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jon, admittedly, does. One of the things he appreciates most about Tim is that they can be honest with one another, if only after some customary back-and-forth. He sighs deeply. “It’s—it’s just . . . a lot. I know it isn’t, really, in the grand scheme, it’s just you and Sasha, a-and Martin, too, I suppose. And it’s London, no one’s going to—it’s safe. I know that. B-But it’s a lot, being seen with everything—out in the open. By strangers. To know that they know. And even if they don’t know, they’ll . . . they’ll probably be able to guess.” He stares down at the scratched, cheap wood of his desk. Long ago, someone had carved a tiny pentagram on the lip of it. If Jon’s sense of humor weren’t buried under three layers of anxiety at the moment, he’d probably find it funny. “And I know it’s childish, to care what a bunch of strangers would think. But I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t just let it go.”
There’s a painfully long pause before Tim speaks up again.
“Well, I’ve got good news for you, Jon.”
Jon looks up at him warily, and finds that Tim is smiling at him. “What?”
He points at Jon’s coat where it hangs off the back of his chair. “You can put that back on.”
Jon blinks at him.
“At five,” Tim goes on, “you can put your coat back on, button it up, and walk out of here, and when you get back to your flat, Jon, you can do your bloody laundry. And you never have to wear that shirt ever again. Problem solved.”
“But . . .” Jon’s voice peters out before he can come up with a real protest.
“If wearing pride colors makes you feel like that,” Tim says, his voice gentler, “then don’t wear them. Simple as that. Not everybody’s got to carry a flag twenty-four-seven. Or ever. Doesn’t make you any less queer. Hell, even I take the pins off my bag sometimes.” Tim squints into the middle distance, muttering, “I can never seem to get the laptop stickers off, though.”
“But—what about what you said about me wearing purple?” He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but Tim’s argument is quite good. And the thought of never wearing this particular shirt again does sound rather appealing.
“So wear an aubergine button-down every once in a while!” Tim shrugs. “Or don’t! It’s none of my business.” He tilts his head to the side. “Actually, please do wear an aubergine button-down sometime. You’d turn some heads down here.” He pauses. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m sure everyone would be very respectful.”
Jon lets out a startled laugh. “Alright,” he says, feeling lighter. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll . . . I’ll try it.”
“I know you like your blacks and whites, Jon,” Tim says, “and I’m not here to tell you how to dress. But if you ever need advice, or want to borrow a colorful, strictly nondenominational shirt . . .” He points both thumbs at himself. “I’m your guy.”
“Okay,” Jon says, and is surprised to find that, in this one, specific case, he is.
“And,” Tim adds, pointing a professorial finger in the air, “it’s not childish to care about what other people think of you. Pretty sure it’s the most universal thing there is. Welcome to the human race, Jon. You’re among us peons, now.”
Jon raises an eyebrow. “How unfortunate,” he says, drily, and Tim cackles.
Jon wears his coat home, keeping it carefully buttoned, and when he gets back to his flat he tosses the shirt into the back of his closet from whence it came. He’s not going to throw it away altogether, of course. It has sentimental value. Someday, maybe, he’ll dig it back up, if only just to look at.
For now, Jon does his bloody laundry.
#tma#the magnus archives#AspecArchives#aspecarchivesweek#gwyneth writes#it's ok jon i'm allergic to clothing stores too
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bakery 1995.
—wordcount: 14.7k+
—genre: angst, fluff, romance, baker!jimin, bakery cafe au, childhood friends-to-lovers au
—pairing: park jimin x f reader ft. bestfriend!jungkook
—rating: pg-15
—warnings: age gap (jimin is 4-5 years older), brief mention of physical assault, memory loss, overprotective parents, some intended grammatical mistakes, swearings, y/n is dragged into jungkook’s shenanigans
—summary: After returning from college for summer break, you got yourself a part time job to keep yourself busy. However, things go way too unexpectedly and you find yourself unraveling your forgotten past.
author’s note: this is for @btswritingcafe promptly yours event !! i tweaked the prompt a bit, so hopefully no one would get confused! happy reading ♡
Prompt: “Person A once had a major childhood crush on Person B. Fast forward to college where Person A is convinced it was nothing but temporary, that is until they return home for summer break to find Person B back after being gone for several years. Turns out, they weren’t such temporary feelings.”
© artaefact/eunoiabliss 2020. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.
It’s nice to know that no matter how judgemental the world can be, pigeons would never judge you. Despite the clear contrast between yourself and the asphalt pathway, they would not hesitate to excrete waste on either of them and can’t even be bothered by the possible consequences.
Staring at the dropping on your jacket sleeve, you exhale loudly while rummaging your pocket for a kleenex.
‘Out of all the places where their shit could have landed on, it had to be MY jacket,’ you grumble to yourself.
Reaching towards the bakery in the area, you hope they still have some cinnamon rolls you have been craving for. You can already imagine yourself humming in delight as the sweetness spreads across your taste buds and—
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The cashier attendee bows apologetically at you. “We’re so sorry, all the cinnamon rolls are sold out for today.”
Today must be the worst day to date in your entire years of existence. How on earth can a bakery run out of cinnamon rolls?
Groaning internally, you trudge out of the, now, third bakery that has sold out their cinnamon rolls.
Bad luck seems to follow you throughout the day. Is it because you went out of the house while your parents were in the middle of nagging you? For the last few days after you came back home for summer break, they have been constantly nagging you and you would kill to have an hour of peace and quiet.
Mindlessly, you whip up your phone and search up on Google while you walk to the nearby bus station, typing in the search bar — is it bad luck if a bird pooped on you?
Biting your lower lip, you press on the first link that appears on the screen.
Bird poop may be a sign of hope in disguise, you read. Snorting in incredulity, you scroll through the webpage.
It can’t be good luck.
You are not the type to believe in superstitions, however, besides getting pooped on, you dropped your phone on the pavement of the sidewalk just before you reached the first bakery, an hour ago. This resulted in the annoying crack of the screen right in the middle of it. Not only that, the sole of your right tennis shoes came off halfway which hindered you from walking properly and made you look like someone who hurt their leg.
Having had enough for today, you decide to go back home. Until a pastel pink store, right across the street, catches your attention with its aesthetic-looking door.
What’s this? A new—
A dramatic gasp escapes your lips after reading the name of the store, earning confused stares from nearby people. But you couldn’t care less.
Maybe Lady Luck does still care about you.
As soon as the pedestrian light turns green, you excitedly run, no, shuffle through the zebra-cross, reaching the newly-opened bakery.
My last hope is here. Please, let there be—
The interior of the bakery exudes a welcoming vibe, with the color of pale pink being the dominant over the whole place. Basically, it's a place where those Instagram models would kill to take their pictures at. However, it’s not the interior itself that your focus locks on. When the smell of freshly baked goods wafts into your nose, your eyes zero themselves on the various types of pastries that line the display counter, covered in glass domes. And there it is.
“Yes!” You squeal, grabbing the bakery tray to fill it as much as you’d like.
When you place the filled tray in the cash register counter, the cashier comments, “Woah, that’s a lot.”
If it is a normal day, you would have waved it off. However, unfortunately for the guy, it isn’t a normal day for you, after the constant annoying incidents that happened to you earlier. The comment snaps the last thread of patience you have for the day and sadly, targets the person in front of you. “I think you should mind your own—”
You take your thoughts back. Lady Luck is not on your side nor is the universe. They must be having fun, playing pranks on you so much today.
Your words cease immediately at his sheepish yet attractive smile.
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Just having a really bad day and I—”
“No! That’s okay.” The guy grins at you, eyes turning into crescent moons. “I’m the one who should be sorry, I just said the first thing that came up in my mind.”
“Ah...”
“I suck at starting conversations,” he says, sheepishly. “It’s a skill I’m planning to improve.”
Blinking twice, you manage to smile back at him, most probably just a cringed expression. “Well, um, good luck with that.”
As soon as he hands you the paper bag, you dash out of the bakery, not once looking back.
Your cheeks feel hot during the whole trip back home, every time you remember what happened, you would mentally kick yourself.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
Eating the warm cinnamon rolls is a blessing and a curse.
You have never tasted such heavenly flavour before, all your worries and exhaustion seem to fade away. This brings you to freeze in the realisation that you’ll want, no, need to go back to that bakery to buy those delicious rolls again. Meaning, you’ll see that cute guy whom you snapped at earlier, again.
His friendly eye-smile burns deep in your mind. But you can’t shrug off the sense of familiarity of his face and his voice…
Have I met him before?
Once you reach home, body aching and tired, you take a quick shower before digging into the rolls. Clicking your tongue, you continue to munch on the rolls in your room while your thoughts pull you in deep.
The sudden knock on your door, however, brings you back to the present. Groaning loudly, you stand up from your padded window seat.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Jungkook.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Your mouth agape at the sudden visit from your best friend. “Didn’t you say you won’t see me at all until break is over?”
“I might have changed my mind. I was very bored at home.” He enters your room, plopping on your beanbag. “So, now I am bored as hell and— Did you buy food without telling me?”
You met him during freshman year and you both hit it off quite quickly, you might add. After constantly pairing up together in projects, college project meetups gradually turned into hangouts.
“Says the one who claims to see my face every day makes him sick.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic ass, you go back to the window seat, crossing your legs. “It wasn’t planned, okay? I just got back home like thirty minutes ago.”
“But still you nearly finished everything without leaving me much!” He bit your last half-finished roll, letting out a noise of approval. “Which bakery did you buy it from?”
“It’s a new one. I never saw it before we went to college.”
“You should bring me there soon.”
“Nu-uh,” you refuse. “You can go yourself. I am not stepping a foot inside that place any longer.”
“What? Why not?”
“I may have embarrassed myself in front of the worker there.” Then you tell him what happened earlier.
Jungkook shakes his head in pity. “My poor Y/N, how do you always embarrass yourself when I’m not around? How would you survive in this world without me?”
Snorting at his words, you lean against the pillows on your back. “You’re the lucky one to have someone like me as his best friend. Anyways, how about that job I’m looking for?”
“Oh!” Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Right, I was about to tell you! My friend is looking for a part-timer for his cafe.”
“Hmm, that sounds…”
Jungkook answers, “Boring? I know you’re looking for something much more exciting and—”
Narrowing your stare at Jungkook’s obvious judgmental face, you cut him off. “It sounds perfect, actually.”
Sighing, Jungkook whips up his phone. “You better bring me leftovers every time you get off work. I’ll bring you to his cafe tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“What? Why?”
“You little shit—” You smack his arm.
“Ow! Stop that, woman! I thought you said—”
“This is a fucking bakery, dumbass!” You hiss at him.
Jungkook gapes at you. “It’s a bakery cafe, what’s the difference?”
“It’s different! I can’t go back in there!” You whine in embarrassment.
“Wait— So this is the bakery where you embarrassed yourself?”
Nodding wordlessly, you exhale before catching Jungkook failing to stifle his laughter. “Shouldn’t be too big of a problem. He’s nice, Y/N.”
“But—”
“And I told him you were coming…” Jungkook scratches the back of his head.
After contemplating for a while, you decided to gather your courage and enter the sweet-smelling bakery with Jungkook.
Too late to go back now. It was either this or staying bored at home for the rest of the summer break, facing your parents’ look of disapproval at your lack of daily activities, or to be more exact productivity.
The cute guy just finished placing cakes inside the glass displays on the counter, then his gaze shifts to where you and Jungkook are standing.
“Jungkook!” The cute guy’s brown hair is slicked back as he takes off his baker’s hat, approaching your best friend.
“It’s been so long, Hyung!” Jungkook greets back with a hug, smiling from ear to ear. “And wow—” His eyes skim through the pastel-themed cafe. “You finally opened your own cafe.”
Watching them interacting is a foreign sight to you. It’s a rare right to see Jungkook, the usually shy one, so friendly and comfortable around the cute guy.
If you’re lucky enough, maybe the cute guy won’t remember you and—
“Ah! Miss Cinnamon Rolls!”
Scratch that. Of course, he still remembers you.
“I didn’t know you were looking for a job.” His eye smile lands on you finally and your throat dries up.
Jungkook fails to hold back his laughter. “Miss Cinnamon Rolls? Just how much did you buy last time?”
After sending a brief glare at your best friend, you introduce yourself to the cute guy, “Y/N.”
As soon as your name slips past your lips, the cute guy freezes momentarily, eyes widening a fraction. “Y/N?”
You nod slowly.
“Uh,” He fumbles. “Jimin. Park Jimin.”
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
“So, this is the kitchen area. We need to get the place ready by 8:30. Can you come by at 6 the latest?”
You nod at his question.
“We have a different menu each day. It will take some time for you to learn everything. But don’t worry I’ll teach everything you need to know.” He shoots you a smile, sending your heart to slightly flutter as you fiddle with your fingers.
Thank goodness Jungkook has left. Or else you’d never hear the end of his teasing or knowing smirk.
“I’m starting with bread and cakes these past few days before I open up the cafe section.”
For the rest of the day, Jimin spends his time letting you know everything about how the bakery runs whenever there are no customers. Even gracing you with two pieces of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls which made your cheeks burn in embarrassment at the memory of your first encounter.
“Go ahead, enjoy it,” Jimin shoots you a knowing grin.
Muttering a quiet ‘okay’, you take the first bite — holding a delighted groan at the sweetness that bursts through your tastebuds.
Propping his chin on his hand, he stares at you in amusement. “You must really like cinnamon rolls, huh?”
“They’re my comfort food,” you admit after swallowing down a piece. “My late grandmother used to make a lot of rolls at home.”
“I see… Well, have you ever baked before, Y/N?”
“The basic stuff like chocolate chip cookies…”
“Oh, that’s great—”
You added quickly, “But I nearly burned down Jungkook’s kitchen, though. He banned me from the kitchen ever since.”
A surprised laugh escapes the man’s lips which you don’t mind hearing more often, especially if you are the one behind it.
“At least the cookies still turned out great. It was a bit on the burnt side but still good… Crispy and crunchy.” You nervously chuckle. “But I swear, I’m not that bad if you provide a clear recipe!”
Still giggling, Jimin leans forward on his seat. “I can teach you everything you need to know. The basic stuff on baking and then there would be clear recipes I can provide you.”
Your eyes lighten up at that. “Yes! I’ll try my best.”
Arriving at the bakery at 6 am sharp, the next day — your official first day at work — Jimin can be seen moving back and forth from the small window opening connecting the kitchen and the bakery itself, already busy in the kitchen.
The smell of his work wafts through the entire bakery, indicating that he has been there for quite some time. Once you enter the kitchen, your mouth waters instinctively at the smell and sight of freshly-baked breads on the counter.
“How can I help?” From observing the finished baked goods, your eyes shift curiously at some ingredients — eggs, chocolate chips, sugar, flour — on the kitchen counter while you tighten the knot of your apron.
“You’re going to bake some chocolate chip cookies.” Jimin places a tray full of another different set of bread near the first one through the window. “So, go ahead, preheat the oven first.”
Following his instruction, you move towards one of the ovens. “Um…”
The corner of his lips quirks up at your obvious confusion before he chimes on how hot the oven should be set on.
With a brief nod, you turn on the oven. “Is this a test to see how far my baking skills go?” When you take a glimpse of the honey-haired man, he returns it with an amused grin of his own.
“Bingo.” Jimin’s smile is boyish and carefree and his eyes become crescent moons.
In other words, it made your heart race. However, you dismiss such unprofessional thoughts quickly before blood rises to your cheeks.
Clearing your throat, you move to the counter and start mixing the necessary ingredients altogether and set the dough on the baking tray. When the oven is preheated, you bring the tray towards it only to realise your mistake too late: not opening the oven first.
“Let me help,” Jimin says softly, opening the oven deftly.
“T-Thanks...” you mumble, concentrating on the task at hand.
Time passes quickly, before you know it, the oven makes a soft ‘ting’ sound. Opening it, the sweet smell wafts through the kitchen.
“I did it!” you say, excitedly placing the hot tray on the marble counter.
“But the final test is how the cookies taste.”
You watch in nervous anticipation as Jimin pops one of the cookies into his mouth. Not a moment later, he lets out a surprised sound.
“This is really good, Y/N. You do have the talent to bake.”
You beam at his words.
“Since that’s all set, I believe we still have other kinds of pastries to prepare for the day. I have all the recipes prepared for you here.” He motions to the notebook on the counter — you flip through it, astonished at all the recipes.
“Are these your own personalised recipes?”
Nodding, Jimin shoots you a grin. “I’ve always loved baking and there are some ways to make things with their own unique taste.”
The rest of the upcoming hour, you and Jimin were busy baking with Jimin instructing and giving you pointers. At some point, you even talked about anything and everything, as if you both have known each other all your life while you both work.
You have to admit, you find it really enjoyable. When the bakery closes, you sit quietly on one of the empty tables near the cashier after Jimin tells you to wait.
Mindlessly flipping through his recipe notebook, your attention soon shifts to Jimin himself with a steaming cup in his hold.
“Here.” He sets the cup in front of you.
You look at him quizzically before he motions for you to try.
“I’m opening the cafe part next week,” Jimin says. “Thought you can be the first to judge my caramel macchiato.”
“That’s a lot of caramel in one drink…” For a few moments, you observe the steaming coffee, froth decorates the top of it with drizzles of caramel in patterns of criss-cross nearly covering most of the foam itself. “Why caramel macchiato, though?”
“I thought you’d—” He clears his throat. “So many people really love caramel macchiato. So, I thought I’d go with this one for you to try first.”
Bringing the cup carefully to your lips, you take a sip of the beverage. The texture of the coffee is so smooth and the slight bitterness spreads through your taste buds and down your throat. Then you taste the caramel, letting out a delighted surprise when you find caramel bits inside the beverage.
Jimin keeps his stare on you, one hand supporting his chin and his eyes unreadable.
“What is it?” You ask, after downing the drink.
He blinks as if he was lost in his own thoughts. “Uh, how is it?”
“It’s very good.”
“Do you like coffee?” He asks.
Nodding, you tell him you loved to steal your mom’s coffee when you were younger. “There used to be a cafe near my place. I used to go there frequently during my high school years.”
Jimin briefly stills at yours words. “Do you... Still go there?”
You shake your head. “It was closed two years ago unfortunately.”
“Hmm, that’s a shame. I would’ve wanted to try the coffee there.”
Chuckling at his words, your mind takes you back to your high school days. “It was really good.”
Humming to yourself, you continue to flip through the pages of Jimin’s recipe notebook. “What’s this?” You stop at one page, pointing at a child’s drawing on his recipe notebook. “Did you draw it when you were younger?”
“It’s a shooting star.” Jimin answers. “And, no. I didn’t.”
“Oh? Sister? Brother?”
“I don’t have a sister and my brother just does not have the artistic skill to draw that,” he laughs. “It was someone from my past. Someone who is precious to me.”
“Oh…” Noticing his faraway gaze on the notebook, you sense it is a sensitive topic. “Why a shooting star though?”
“It represents hopes and wishes, according to her.” His smile turns nostalgic. “I was having a hard time back then. But this girl,” he chuckles as if in disbelief. “— just straight up grabbed my notebook and drew a shooting star on it, saying I should wish on this star since seeing a shooting star is not that common here.”
There’s something sad but warm in Jimin’s tone as he talks about this girl. You can only assume that this girl is not in his life anymore. Or even in this world.
“I see…”
“As ridiculous as it sounds, I actually did it. Very frequently in all honesty. Whenever I’m having a hard time, I’d wish upon that star.”
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
A week passes quickly and just like a normal day, you arrive back home just a quarter past eight. Tugging off your shoes near the doorway, you hear your dad calling from the living room.
“Yes?” Mindlessly, you step into the living room only to meet the stern glare from him.
“Where were you?” Your dad asks. “Do you have any idea what time it is now?”
“It’s around eight...”
“And your curfew?”
Furrowing your brows, you gape, “I thought that was back in high school.”
“That still applies until now. I expect you to come back before seven.” Then he repeats his question, “Where were you?”
“From my new part-time place.” You answer. “I thought I told you about it.”
“If you want a job, you can intern in the company for the summer,” your dad sighs. “There’s no need for part-time jobs.”
You should have known it would last just three days before you are missing your university life, or to be more specific living alone. With the constant nagging from your parents, you crave for silence for a period of time. One thing you have been missing quite badly you have to admit, which is why you took the job in the bakery. Away from the scrutinising stares of your parents.
Here it goes again.
“I don’t think I’m ready to start there, Dad,” you exhale. “I want to do other things while I can.”
The same topic, the same debate you’d try to avoid as much as possible ever since you arrived back home for the summer. That was why you’d try to find something else to do. You always wanted to try a new hobby over the holidays. Now, with the excess amount of time in your hands, you are able to try.
That is why you opt for the part time job Jungkook found — working in the bakery.
“This isn’t going to work if you get home after your curfew, Y/N. You know how dangerous it is if you come home late.”
“I’m an adult now,” you reply, exasperatedly. “I can take care—”
“Things can get unpredictable, Y/N. It’s better that you’re safe than sorry.”
“Dad, when will you stop reminding me of that?” You groan in annoyance. “I don’t even remember how the accident happened.”
“The more reason for you to be cautious!”
Exasperated, you storm up to your room and carelessly throw your bag on the side of your bed. Laying on your back, you stare at the ceiling as your thoughts muddle when you try to think of what happened.
All you remember back then is that you woke up in the hospital, met with the worried gaze of your parents as soon as you got your consciousness back. However, they never tell or fill you in on what happened.
Gradually, your eyelids grow heavier — exhausted from the day and the burst of negative emotions over the argument you had earlier. Thus, you succumb to sleep. However, your mind takes you elsewhere.
Everything is dark.
With your own ragged breathing, you struggle to keep yourself as quiet as possible, biting down a hiss from the sting of your scraped knees. Tears pool in your eyes as you wait, hidden behind one of the playground’s slides and out of sight of any possible passerby.
There are no memories of what happened beforehand. All you know is to stay there and wait.
“Y/N?”
Peeking out of your hiding place, the figure draws closer calling your name in another hushed whisper.
But you knew this voice. So, you whispered back, “Here...” As soon as you get out of your hiding place, a warm embrace envelops your small frame.
“We’re okay, everything’s okay. I’ve lost them. We’re safe now,” he whispers, stroking your head softly while your fists clench on his shirt.
Not a moment later, your tears start to fall and you sob into his shirt. He tightens his hold on you, one hand on the back of your head as he repeatedly whispers, “It’s okay, I’m here.”
“I’m here...” His voice then seems to echo and your surrounding becomes a blur.
When you open your eyes, you realise you’re back in your room yet there are stray tears in your eyes. Sitting up on your bed, you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.
Was that a memory…?
“Have a good day.” You bid the last customer of the day farewell and once they leave, your cheeks droop into a frown. With a sigh, you walk out of the cashier register place towards the front door, turning the ‘Open’ plate to ‘Close’.
The dream you had last night still felt so vivid that you considered it was a flashback of your memory loss. You wanted to ask your parents about it. However, yesterday’s conflict was still fresh. You were sure they would dismiss it.
After cleaning up the counters of the bakery café and mopping the floors, you trudge into the break room, sitting down on one of its chairs as you wait for Jimin’s return from his “errand”.
Your mind takes you back to the dream where someone was hugging you tight.
Who was it? you wonder. In the back of your mind, somehow you never felt his warmth among your high school friends. The guy who was holding you is just different.
You are so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t realise Jimin entering until he brings something right in front of your face. “What—”
“Hot chocolate,” he answers, softly. “You seem distracted today, I thought this might cheer you up.”
Taking the steaming cup from him, you mutter your thanks before breathing in the sweet smell, blowing softly on the beverage. “That was fast.”
“Hmm?”
“Wait, did you go out to buy this?” You lift the warm cup of hot chocolate.
Jimin lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “I wanted to make you one. Until I realised that the ingredients are finished. So, I had to run out.”
“You didn’t have to, you know…”
“I know. But I wanted to anyway.”
Your eyes look down, can’t help feeling touched by his sweet gesture as you fight back to keep yourself from blushing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He must have noticed the change of your expression before he says quickly, “Only if you’re comfortable, of course! I just thought talking about what’s on your mind can ease you. At least a bit.”
Blinking your eyes twice, a chuckle escapes your lips. “I guess so.”
“That’s your first smile today.”
You raise a brow at him.
“Your first real smile, I mean. Your cheekbones do not have much tension if you’re genuinely happy whereas if you fake a smile, it seems more like you’re cringing. Like our first encounter.” He chuckles, meaningfully.
“I’m sorry...” you mumble, eyes glancing down at the steaming hot chocolate on your lap.
“That’s fine,” he says easily. “Everyone has their bad days.”
You smile slightly at his words. “Had a fight with my parents last night.”
Jimin stays quiet, still listening to you.
“They are always so protective when it comes to me. Maybe a bit too much at times. I’m a grown adult for fuck’s sake.” Another sigh escapes your lips before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “My dad especially. He made it sound like a big deal when I came home around eight. I’m just frustrated at this.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
You nod in response.
“Was there something that made your dad feel that way?”
“I...” You blink. “I guess it’s because that one time I ended up in the hospital?”
“You did?”
You nod. “A few years ago, I had an accident.”
Jimin stiffens at your words. “Oh?”
“But it was nothing. I didn’t even remember what happened in all honesty.”
He stutters, “W-What?”
“I lost my memories. I had no recall of the accident at all.” Eyes training blankly on your front, focusing on nothing as you dive back into your memories. “My parents told me there is nothing to worry about and my memories would come back gradually. They never filled me in on what happened too.”
The corner of his lips soon quirks up slightly, his expression wistful. “Maybe they wouldn’t want you to be traumatised by what happened. It’s already fortunate enough for you to be able to recover from your head injury.”
“Yeah... I guess so,” you mumble.
However, since that incident you can’t deny the feeling of something missing since a chunk of your life has been cut off. No memories of the accident have returned even after years. Recovering from the head injury—
“Wait—” Head snapping to face Jimin. “How did you know I had a head injury?”
Jimin blinks repeatedly, as if your words just sink in. “Ah! I mean isn’t it a head injury? You lost your memories after all.” An awkward laugh escapes his lips. “Usually, people who lost their memories have head injuries, right?”
“Well, yeah...”
“Anyways, finish the hot chocolate and you should head home before your parents—”
Suddenly, a wave of deja vu washes over you. Snapping your gaze from the hot chocolate in your hands, you look at Jimin as your brain starts to grow fuzzy at the familiarity of Jimin’s words.
“Jimin...” you begin.
“Huh?”
“Have we ever met before I started working here?”
“You mean the first time you came into this bakery?”
You shake your head. “No, even before that. Did we know each other?”
A surprised glint appears in his eyes before it dissipates as quick as it appears. “I don’t think so…?”
Oh.
“Maybe we’ve just ran into each other at some point in town. But I don’t think we ever knew each other.”
“I see...” Disappointment floods through you at his words.
Right, you thought to yourself. If he was a close friend he would have recognised you instantly when you came to his bakery.
“Oh, look at the time.” Jimin stands up. “You need to be home before dark, right?”
“It’s not a big deal—”
He shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’ve finished cleaning today. I just need to close up and check the supplies.”
“But—” Your words die in your throat when Jimin pats your head.
“You’ve worked hard today,” he grins at you.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
“I’m home,” you call out to no one in particular before you hear your mother from the kitchen.
Once you reach the kitchen, your mother turns her head to see you. “Help me set the table, dinner’s almost ready.”
Nodding, you follow suit. “Where’s Dad?”
“Your father is still caught in a meeting. He’ll be home late.”
“I see,” you mutter, placing the silverwares on the table.
“How’s work?” your mother asks. “You’re home earlier than usual.”
“It’s great,” you answer. “The boss lets me off early.”
And you continue to talk about your day. From helping Jimin bake cakes and bread early in the morning, serving customers coffee and desserts, cleaning up the whole place, and enjoying the hot chocolate Jimin bought you earlier.
“He sounds like a nice guy,” your mom muses when you both sit at the dinner table.
“He is.” A smile appears on your face, remembering his sweet gesture and warm presence. Then your mind shifts to the conversation you had earlier, and what has been bothering you lately. “Mom?”
“Hmm…?”
“Five years ago, how did I end up in the hospital?”
Your mother noticeably stiffens at your question, ceases digging through her plate of food.
“You and Dad never filled me in. You both kept on saying that my memories will return eventually… Until now actually.” You let out a breath. “I think I’m old enough to know what really happened.”
Letting out a deep breath herself, your mother puts down her fork. “What do you remember?”
“I was at a playground and hiding… Then there’s someone who came to find me.” Met with silence from your mother, you continue, “Was it one of my friends?”
Shaking her head, your mother answers, “It wasn’t any of your high school friends.”
“Then who…?”
“You never mentioned his name. But you’d always talk about him back then.” Your mother sighs. “Go through the attic when you’re having a day off. You’ll find some of your old stuff I hid there. Make sure your father is not home.”
Standing up, you want to go there at once. However, your mother stops you. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever you find there, if you… If anything hurts or feels just too much, I want you to stop, alright? You’re a grown adult and I trust you’ll prioritise your own health.”
Nodding wordlessly, you finish the remaining food on your plate.
[ when you were fifteen years old: after the incident ]
When the dismissal bell rings, some students instantly scramble from their desks, some stretch lazily on their seats and have conversations with others.
“Hey, Y/N.” One of your classmates calls you, a smile etched on her face. “So glad to have you back.”
“Yeah! This sem has been a pain in the ass. You’ll get through it in a breeze!” Another classmate adds.
You respond with a grateful smile of your own before packing up your things.
It hasn’t been that long since you were released from the hospital. You have persistently insisted your parents to let you go back to school and they finally relented after you promised them that you’ll go straight back home and to not strain yourself after dismissing your parents’ idea of hiring a driver.
Today is your first day back. Your friends greeted you excitedly when you stepped into the classroom. Even those who you recall never talked much with you greeted you with a ‘Hi’.
Walking mindlessly through the streets of your neighbourhood, your legs take you to a cafe as you recognise the familiar scent of coffee.
Tilting your head in confusion, you stare at the cafe building in shades of black and brown.
What exactly are you doing here?
There were no planned meetups with your friends, yet, your body seems to find its way here. Fishing out your phone, you scan through the past messages to double check any planned hangouts.
It’s a Wednesday.
But…
With the curiosity nagging inside you, you search for Beomgyu’s contact.
[ 4:05 PM ] You: beomie, do you know the cafe near my place?
[ 4:05 PM ] Beomgyu: i guess?? Every wednesday you'd always go there for no apparent reason at all. When i wanted to tag along you’d always give me the devil eye :(
[ 4:05 PM ] You: oh… that’s… well, sorry lol. Do u wanna come here?
[ 4:06 PM ] Beomgyu: wait, r u srs ???
[ 4:06 PM ] You: i mean if u’re not busy and i think getting coffee and hanging in the cafe would be good.
[ 4:07 PM ] Beomgyu: i'd never thought this day would come :’) i’ll be there in 10.
Chuckling at your friend’s response, you place your phone back into your pocket. Exhaling, you enter the cafe and make your way towards the cashier register.
“Welcome, what would you like for today?” The person smiles at you.
“Caramel macchiato, please.”
She nods, typing in your order. “That will be four dollars.”
After exchanging your payment with a receipt, you wait at an empty table for two near the window. Something about this familiar place, however, feels off. Like there is something missing that you can’t seem to put your finger on.
Your thoughts are cut off when someone takes the seat across from you. “Why are you so deep in thought?”
Beomgyu stares at you quizzically as you blink in realisation. “Uh…”
He narrows his stare at you suspiciously before shifting his gaze around the cafe. “So, what is it that kept you going here?”
You shake your head in response. “I have no idea either. Honestly, I have this gut feeling to come here when I passed by earlier.”
“Hmm, maybe the coffee?” Beomgyu watches one of the waitresses bringing your orders, placing it on your table.
Sighing, you stare at the steaming cup with caramel drizzles on the foam for a few moments. Then you bring the cup to your lips to take a sip.
“Argh, why is this bitter?” Scrunching your nose, you motion towards the waitress for extra caramel.
“Did… Your taste buds change too? You said the caramel macchiato here is perfect.”
A snort escapes you as you drizzle more caramel into the coffee. “I got hit in the damn head, Beomie. It doesn’t change my taste buds.”
He shrugs. “Well, who knows. I never knew you like caramel that much.”
You freeze momentarily.
“Y/N? You okay?” Beomgyu waves a hand in front of your face.
“Y-yeah, I just…”
“You just…?”
Shaking your head once more, you whisper, “It’s nothing…” But your eyes scan through the busy workers in the cafe.
Deep inside, you had an inkling that the coffee here isn’t your sole reason for coming here.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
Turns out you were right.
Once when you came into the cafe on another Wednesday, you sat at your usual place after ordering your usual drink.
“Oh, my dear, you’re finally back,” someone says.
Blinking, your gaze snaps to the elder woman — maybe around her mid fifties — and you give her a small smile before asking, “Do I know you...?”
It was her turn to look confused at your words.
“I’m really sorry for not recognising!” You grow flustered at your words. “I lost my memory in an accident a few months ago...”
“Oh, that’s awful!” The lady — a regular customer, you assume — gasps. “So that’s why you don’t frequent this cafe anymore. The young man looked so heartbroken before he quit his job—”
“Young man?”
“The barista, dear,” the lady replies. “You used to come here and meet him. I had to shush the both of you every time to not disturb the other customers.”
“I... Was he from my school?”
The lady shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He never wore a uniform like yours.”
���Do you know his name?”
The lady shakes her head once more. “His name was Park. Probably that’s his last name. At least that’s what is written on his name tag.”
And you internally groan. There are thousands of people with that last name.
“Do you know where he’s gone?”
“I’m afraid no, my dear. I heard he quit the job suddenly.”
Sighing, you thanked the lady before heading out of the cafe with your shoulders dropping in defeat.
The trapdoor makes a loud creaking sound when you lift it up, indicating that it hasn’t been used for a very long time. Slipping the key back to your back pocket, you step up further on the ladder with the trap door laying on another side as you go through it while the floorboards creak underneath your weight.
It didn’t take you long to locate your old things. Scanning through the boxes, you find one doodled in various flowers and rainbows with your name written on it as well.
With a grunt, you lift up the dusty box, bringing it down to the floor with a thud which causes you to cough at the flying dust. In an attempt to swat the dust away, you wave your hand in front of you. Still coughing uncontrollably with your eyes watering. After your cough ceases, you crouch and open the box. A few notebooks can be found inside along with some old dolls from your childhood.
You vaguely remember the locked diary you liked to write in about your day and its pale pink cover which was covered in sparkling stickers you used to be obsessed with.
Digging further through the books, you finally found it — the possible answer to your lost memories — with a small key dangling on the lock.
Climbing down from the attic, you made your way to your room while fumbling with the lock and key of your old diary. After successfully unlocking it, you take a seat on your padded window sill, flipping through the yellowing pages.
The first page was clearly written by you. Your old handwriting and your name. The first entry you wrote dates back to a decade ago.
Your fingers twitch at how cringe-y most of the entries are. Yet, at the same time you find it endearing how you used to write about your day. The good, the bad, and the normal things — appreciating just to be able to experience and get through them.
The last of your entries date back to months before the incident when you were fifteen. Probably because you decided that you were too old to write diaries any longer.
Recalling how you’d always visit the cafe every Wednesday, you skim through Wednesday entries. However one particular name seems to stand out in those entries.
“Mochi?” You flip from one entry to another. Who the hell is that?
Deciding to get to the bottom of this, you search for the earliest entry that you can find — nine years ago.
I met the hot choco guy again, today. I’m feeling so happy!!! He is so nice. why can’t any of the boys in my school be like him????
Hot... Choco? Furrowing your brows, you skip to the next Wednesday entry.
i am feeling so happy that mama brought me to the cafe last last week!!! she do not let me drink the coffee drink, so Mochi give me hot choco! i think it’s the best BEST drink EVER!!!
“How the hell did hot choco guy turn into Mochi?” you mumble to yourself, flipping through your diary to the next Wednesday entry.
Mochi teached me how to do math!!! It was so fun! But when Teacher Lee teaches me, it’s always boring. How did Mochi make math fun??? I wish he go to my school instead and teach me math :(
You internally cringe at your younger self. Exhaling, you press your temple in disbelief.
This whole diary of your younger self is basically gushing over this hot-choco-turned-Mochi guy as you flip through other pages. However, you stop at a certain entry.
Today… Is a very bad day. But Mochi suddenly makes it better.
Glancing at the date — it was the day your grandmother passed away.
He promises to make me cinnamon rolls whenever i tell him to! Just like Grannie… I’m sorry, Diary. I don’t think i can write more today. I just hope tomorrow will be a better day.
“Mochi…” you mumble repeatedly with furrowing brows and the name seems to trigger your brain to relive some memories.
“I’m calling you Mochi!” You hear your own twelve-year old voice. Yelping, your diary lands on the floor with a small thud.
“No!” Another voice rings in your head — familiar and warm. “That’s a really uncool nickname.”
“But you look like a mochi! And it’s not uncool! I think it’s really cute!”
Blinking, your mind brings you back to reality. Reaching down for your diary, you freeze momentarily before clutching your head. For a moment, your heart stops when your gaze lands on your diary’s open page — a drawing of a familiar shooting star.
Mochi is… Jimin?
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
[ when you were twelve ]
When another sigh escaped his lips, you glanced up from your math workbook — his face can only be described as perturbed. With no hesitance, you quietly pushed the last cookie on your plate to him, earning his glassy stare as it shifted from his notebook that’s lying open on the table.
He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you finish that? Do you want to bring it home?”
You shook your head, heat tinging your cheeks. “It’s for you. You look like you need it.”
“It’s caramel cookies.”
Nodding, you mumbled, “You said eating it can comfort people.”
The boy stared at you for a moment longer — recalling the time when you had a bad day and he gave you that, then he chuckled. “I guess I did.”
Pursing your lips, you nodded again. “I can order hot chocolate for you too.”
He reached for the last cookie, finally a small smile you have awaited appearing on his face. “This is enough, Y/N. I really appreciate it. Thanks.”
You beamed at his words, then you extended one hand to take his notebook and draw a shooting star on the page it was opened on.
“We can’t really see shooting stars in here,” you explain, pushing his notebook back to him. “So, whenever you’re having a hard time, wish on this shooting star! It represents hopes and wishes!”
“What that’s—” He stopped himself. Letting out a sigh, he found himself nodding despite how ridiculously endearing the idea was. “Alright. I will.”
The blare of your alarm jolts you awake. Groaning, you grab your phone, turning off the alarm when you realise you have to go to work. You can’t find it in yourself to see Jimin today. Not after finding out that he was, is, part of your missing childhood memories.
Your gaze lands on the diary, laying open on your window sill. As you read more and more of your diary entries, Mochi being Jimin just makes sense. You remember how he went out of his way just to buy you hot chocolate when you were having a bad day — just like in the past.
After all this time, Jimin is actually part of, no, in most of your childhood life.
And he denied it.
Why?
You continuously drift back to that one question. Why did he deny it when you asked him? Don’t people usually love to get reacquainted with their childhood friends?
Sighing, you message Jimin listlessly, telling him you aren’t feeling well before you turn off your phone completely. You don’t think you can handle interacting more with him.
Hours passed, when someone barges in your room. “Y/N!”
Peeking out from your blanket, you glare at your best friend. “What the fuck, Kook?”
“Jimin told me you aren’t feeling well. So, I came to check up on you.”
“Okay, you did. Now, go back home.”
Without responding, he opens the curtain in your room, letting in the piercing sunlight and you let out an annoyed ‘tsk’.
Should have known your best friend isn’t going to let this go easily.
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been off the whole weekend. You may be able to trick Jimin but you can’t trick me.”
Still burying yourself under your blanket, the bed dips on your friend’s weight as he waits for your response. But you keep your silence, trying your best to even your breathing. You’ve cried enough after all.
“Hmm?” Jungkook stands up. “What’s this? Your diary?”
Abruptly, you fling yourself off the bed and grab your diary from his clutches.
“Go home, Jungkook. I’m not in the mood to deal with this.”
“You know I won’t until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m just...” Your shoulders droop in defeat. “Why?”
“Why what?”
You hate crying in front of anyone. But it’s as if a dam broke, your tears do not stop falling while you babble, “Why did he pretend to not know me? Why did he deny? Why—”
Jungkook blinks repeatedly at your sudden change. “W-wait! Why are you crying? I don’t under—”
“Park Jimin!” Your sudden outburst flusters him further. “The guy who you’re friends with and who you recommended for me to work with! That’s who!”
“But—”
“He‘s Mochi.”
Jungkook looks dumbfounded for a moment before your words register inside his head. “M-Mochi?”
Like a petulant child, you climb on your bed once more and hide your diary beneath your pillow. “Leave me alone, Kook.”
With a defeated sigh, Jungkook trudges out of your room, leaving you once again drowning in your thoughts.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
Jimin has always loved mornings, especially when he is able to quietly bake on what most people would call ungodly hours. There is something enjoyable about being fully awake during this time when no sounds of passing vehicles can distract him, making him feel at ease.
He had started appreciating the little things in life when you — who once stared up at him with curious eyes, expression lightening up when he made a cup of hot chocolate for you — taught him to.
Chuckling to himself, his mind drifts back to the time you first entered his bakery. Gods, he should have known it was you. But you were so different, he could hardly comprehend how much you had grown.
Gone was your happy-go-lucky self. He was stunned when you suddenly snapped at him. Your younger self would probably respond with a smile and drone on about how much you love cinnamon rolls. For a second, his heart had hoped. Maybe you remembered him after all these years?
Yet that hope dissipated in an instant when you merely apologised and ran out. Moreover, you didn’t return to his bakery after buying the cinnamon rolls, he thought he had screwed things up by attempting to start a conversation with you. Or maybe that person wasn’t really you. Just someone who looks a lot like you. He still had his suspicions after all.
However, his suspicions were gone the moment you introduced yourself, leaving him speechless. Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t hope — at least for a bit — that you would remember him when he mentioned his name.
That was why the moment you appeared once more to work as a part-timer, he was ecstatic. No words can explain it.
He started to look forward to work every day — coming to his own bakery to see you even when you didn’t remember him, but he would still gladly take whatever he can to be around you.
Once he sets the tray of unbaked cinnamon rolls into the oven, his phone buzzes. As soon as he reads the text, his heart drops a little.
[ 7:08 AM ] You: Sorry, I cant come to work today. Not feeling well.
He types, ‘That’s okay. get well soon, y/n :)’
But it left undelivered. Did your phone die? He wonders.
Jimin can’t help shake the weird feeling bubbling inside. So, he messages Jungkook.
[ 7:15 AM ] Jimin: y/n isn’t feeling well today. do u mind checking up on her ???
But of course, Jungkook didn’t read the message until a few hours later. That boy enjoys gaming all night.
[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: what?
[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: for real ?? since when does she get sick? that girl has a fucking high immunity. she never even once got a cold during the semester
Jimin furrowed his brows at that.
[ 12:04 PM ] Jimin: still, go check up on her pls. she’s ur friend too
[ 12:04 PM ] Jungkook: yeah, omw
It hasn’t even been an hour later when Jungkook rushes into the bakery — earning surprised and curious glances from the customers who were chattering among themselves. “Hyung—“ he catches his breath as he stands in front of the counter. “I think you need to fix—“ Huff. “—I mean go to Y/N’s house yourself.
Jimin blinks in confusion.
“You... You’re Mochi, aren’t you?”
At the mention of that name, blood drains from Jimin’s face instantly.
She remembers...?
“How did you—”
“What matters is, you need to fix it, hyung. You’re the only one who can. She’s not herself, right now. I've known her for a few years and it takes a lot for her to react like this. So, please, you should talk about it.”
“Okay,” Jimin breathes out. “Do you mind closing the cafe once the customers are all done?”
Jungkook nods. “Yeah, just go to her, hyung. I’ll handle everything here.”
[ when you were fifteen: before the accident ]
“I wish you can teach me math all the time, Mochi,” you giggle, leaning back on the cafe chair. “Everything is easier when you explain it.”
Jimin chuckles at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one not paying attention in class.”
Shaking your head rapidly, you deny, “Of course I paid attention! It’s just... I don’t know… It was really boring when my teacher was teaching. He just drones on and on without stopping.”
With an amused hum, Jimin stands up. “I’ll get ready to leave. I’ll walk you home.”
After a few minutes, you head out of the cafe with Jimin behind you. Shivering against the cool night air, you draw closer to the boy. Instinctively, Jimin offers you his open hand which you accepted with no hesitance.
Little did he know, every time he does this, it makes your heart beat a little faster at the way your hand fits well in his. And you savour it.
The build up of feelings has been going on for a while now. Maybe a few months. You’ve developed a crush on him. Like, how can you not? Jimin possesses charming qualities that no one else has. Not to mention how kind and warm of a person he is.
Meetings in the cafe had you wishing they were dates instead. And you had to let him know.
And tell him you did.
He blinks at first, words sinking into him. Mochi, I think I like you. Like, really, really like you.
His cheeks are pink, you weren’t sure if it's from the cold or his embarrassment.
“I’m sorry.”
Of course. What were you expecting? He only sees you as a little sister.
“No, that’s okay,” you reply quickly, but your heart drops. “It’s just… You know, I wanted to tell you know because you’re really cool, Mochi.”
“Y/N… Listen, this is not a good time—” Abruptly, he stops, catching your wrist on his. “I want you to hide in the playground.”
“What?”
“Hide, please. I will explain everything later.”
You want to run away from him. But the pleading look on his face makes you listen.
“There he is!” You hear an unfamiliar shout.
Cursing under his breath, Jimin quickly pushes you under the slide. “Wait here.”
With your own ragged breathing, you struggle to keep yourself as quiet as possible, biting down a hiss from the sting of your scraped knees. Tears pool in your eyes as you wait, hidden behind one of the playground’s slides and out of sight of any possible passerby.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
[ Present time ]
Jimin reaches your house, his heart beating fast against his chest with a box of cinnamon rolls in hand.
You are home alone and Jungkook has left the door unlocked.
Letting himself in, Jimin glances around. Everything still looks the same as back then. He went to your house once to tutor you. And he still can remember that day clearly.
Climbing up the stairs, he reaches your room. With shaking hands, he knocks on the door.
Silence.
A moment or two passes then your door opens. Jimin braces for the anger you’d throw at him.
But nothing comes.
You merely stand there, eyes glassy as they lock on his.
“Y/N...” He mutters, torn between to reach out or not. But you leave the door open as you sit on your bed. Jimin enters your familiar room, still surprised at how it still looks the same. And his eyes fall on a notebook — the notebook you never let him read — on the table.
“Why are you here?” you ask, voice trembling.
“I wanted to check up on you—”
“Why?”
Jimin knows at once what you are asking.
He approaches you sitting on the edge of the bed. He kneels down, peering up with those chocolate eyes of his to meet your downcast stare — like those times when he wants to talk to you and you refuse to look at him.
“Do… Do you still remember me?” Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.
“Y/N…” The lack of surprise in his voice answers it. He still remembers you as you recall the once shocked expression on his face when you first introduce yourself. Now, it all made sense.
“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” A sob escapes your lips. “Do you not want me to remember—”
He shakes his head, denying it quickly. “No! Of course not. I just… I was ecstatic actually when it was you who came to work for me.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” Voice cracking. “You knew me—”
Clearly in conflict, he sighs, “I don’t want you to remember your traumatic memories… Remembering me might cause you more pain.”
“But it didn’t. Those memories, from what I can remember there’s nothing—”
“That’s what your parents told me, Y/N.”
Eyes widening, you gape at him as tears cascade down your face.
“You were seriously injured back then. The doctor said it will be best for you to let your own memories come to you in their own time. And I had to leave this place... I came by after your operation and... I wanted to say goodbye but I was told it was best to not see you any longer to prevent anymore distress—”
“But you are important to me!” You cut him off. Then turning quieter, “You are important to me…” You say between sobs.
Covering your eyes with your hand, you whimper when Jimin engulfs you in a hug. “I’m sorry…” He murmurs, caressing your head. “I’m so sorry…”
His heart breaks at your current state, tightening his hold on you, who’s crying into his chest. Years of buried regret and longing resurface. He had envisioned many times on how you would remember him. But he fails to realise how much it can hurt you when your memories return. If only he can turn back time, he will take that chance to save you from the misery of your memory loss.
Yet, all he can do now is to hold you close, begging you for forgiveness and hope that you’d let him stay by your side.
“So, let me get this straight, you—” Jungkook points his straw at you. “—and Jimin hyung were childhood friends—” He pierces the plastic cover of his milk tea. “—and he used to tutor you in a cafe.”
Nodding, you purse your lips and enjoy your own drink.
You had taken a few days off after the reconciliation to collect your thoughts and confront your parents about what had happened. They have come into terms with their protectiveness of you staying out very late. And you have managed to convince them to let you stay out late as long as you let them know.
You were planning to stay in bed all day if it wasn’t for Jungkook who barged into your room like he owns the place, after he claimed that Jimin lets him off from work early — which you doubt honestly, it’s more of Jungkook escaping from work — and decided to drag you to the nearest milk tea shop.
“Is something weird?” you blurt out.
“Did you by any chance, I don’t know...” Jungkook mutters. “Have feelings for each other?”
You nearly choke on your tapioca pearl and rapidly you shake your head. “No! That’s—”
Jungkook narrows his stare at you, sipping his drink as you continue to blabber, “I mean, I knew him since I was like, what? Twelve? He never sees me that way.”
“Maybe he didn’t back then.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean both of you are adults now. Aren’t things different?”
You snort at his words. “He always sees the little girl in me, Jungkook. So, please, don’t make things weird, alright? I can literally see your head gearing.”
Jungkook lets out a sigh. “Alright, if you say so. But how about you?”
Sipping your drink, you lift a brow at him.
“Do you like him?”
“Of course, I do.”
“I meant like, like him.”
“Kookie, what are you? Five?”
He snorts at your response. “Five heads taller than you—” Your glare shuts him up. “Okay, but do you see him as someone special?”
An exasperated sigh escapes your lips. “Why are we discussing this? We’re just friends. Who coincidentally are childhood friends as well.”
“You sure?”
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh once more. “What are you expecting me to say?”
“What do you think of him?”
Almost at once, the words flow easily out of your mouth. “He’s a caring person and he knows how to comfort someone when they’re having a bad day.”
“You mean, he knows how to comfort you when you’re having a bad day yourself,” Jungkook chuckles.
You blink at that.
“Look, I’m not implying anything but he was worried as hell when I told him about you the other day. Even nearly left his bakery without supervision. That’s when yours truly—” He points at himself. “—came in.”
And the question that swims in the back of your mind disappears. “So, it is you, you overgrown rabbit. You told him about me—”
“Well, you can’t blame me. You should be thanking me instead. It’s because of me you both finally reconciled. Admit it, you’re happy — happier, in fact.”
And you can’t deny it. Jungkook has been one of those people who’d look out for you. Yes, even when he can be a pain in the ass sometimes, or just loves to hear the “piping hot” tea of what’s happening in your life.
Sighing in defeat, you murmur, “Even if I do like him...” You shake your head. “No, it shouldn’t even matter in the first place.”
Noticing your shuttering expression, Jungkook thankfully does not press the subject further. Nor does he question why. And you are grateful for him.
“Interesting. So, you do like him.”
Scratch that, your best friend is still a pain in the ass.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
Standing in front of the bakery cafe, you released a deep breath.
Through the glass door, Jungkook is helping out at the cashier counter, serving beverages and desserts to dine-in customers. However, Jimin is nowhere in sight.
Releasing a deep breath, the bell of the door rings which signals your entrance. Jungkook notices you at once before he points to the kitchen.
You rush inside — stopping abruptly a few steps away from him — now, regarding the man differently. He was the boy who has been your comfort for so many occasions after all.
Jimin is icing cupcakes, his eyes focusing on his task and you can’t help but smile at the sight.
With your memories — of kindness, warmth, and friendship — now fully returned, you remember how you were always enamoured watching Jimin work. You’d watch him make drinks in the cafe when you had no homework to do. You’d sit at the bar, munching on cookies-of-the-day as your eyes followed Jimin’s movements.
A few moments pass, Jimin’s gaze shifts to you briefly and double-takes. He curses under his breath, cupcake slipping from his grip — icing spilling on the marble counter. “Hey, you’re back—” He quickly grabs a cloth and wipes off the cream before he turns to face you properly, grinning from ear-to-ear. “—you didn’t tell me you’re coming in today.”
He opens his arms and your legs move of its own accord, following your instinct as you close the distance between you and him — wrapping your arms around his waist.
You weren’t surprised at how your younger self used to have a big fat crush on him. He was and always will still be your Mochi. The guy who treated you to your favourite sweets, who knows how you like your caramel macchiato the best, and who never fails to put butterflies in your stomach.
Breathing his sweet scent, you remember the time you’d ask him for hugs whenever you were down and your younger self had even claimed once that his hugs were magical as it was written in your diary. To quote it, “Mochi gives the BEST BEST hugs in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD”.
“Your hugs…” you mumble, eyes closed. “They’re still the best…”
Jimin merely tightens his hold on you. That is until a force — appearing in the form of Jeon Jungkook — shatters the serene atmosphere, bringing you back to reality. “Hyung! Oh—”
Abruptly, you both pull away from each other. Jungkook stands awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to another.
“What is it?” Jimin breaks the silence, composed as ever.
“Uh, need more cupcakes. The ones on the display are finished…”
“Right,” Jimin turns to you. “Y/N, can you help me ice the rest of the cupcakes?”
Nodding, you turn to the employee’s room, putting your things in the locker and grabbing an apron.
Hugging Jimin seems so natural that you fail to consider how weird it looks to the people around you. Jungkook’s awkward silence proves that.
Your thoughts are swimming in confusion. And once again those butterflies appear in your stomach. Fanning your heated cheeks with your hands, you take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your racing heart.
Your childhood crush is gone. You’re just happy to have Mochi back in your life. That’s all. That should be all.
One afternoon, you mindlessly clean up the kitchen. Due to the public holiday, the bakery is closing earlier, and your thoughts have drifted back to the past.
You remember the night of the incident when Jimin walked you home after he had lost those men who chased after him. He stopped you for a moment, breaking the silence. “You okay?” Warm concern lacing his tone.
Jaw clenching, you mumbled. “Just a scratch.” Reluctant to give him any longer response.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have shoved you harshly before.” He crouched, inspecting your knees before he peered up to meet your stare.
“It’s fine.”
When you were just a few blocks away from home, Jimin broke the silence. “Listen Y/N—” His footsteps faltered as he reached to touch your shoulder. “—about earlier, I think you shouldn’t have feelings for me, I—”
Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his, hurt consuming you. “I shouldn’t have feelings for you?”
You wished Jimin had forgotten your spontaneous confession as he nodded, hesitantly.
“Well, I can’t control my feelings. So, just let it be. It’ll be fine.” You glanced at him before walking faster.
The rest of the trip home was tense, full of unanswered questions. Who were those men? Why did they chase after Jimin? Is it really that bad to have feelings for him? Who gave him the right to dictate your feelings?
You felt so childish back then. Recalling the memories makes you cringe at your younger self for overreacting. But you suppose it’s normal for a fifteen year-old girl. And you were able to sense that Jimin wanted to ease the tense atmosphere. But you were too hurt to even give him a chance. You needed time to process what happened that day.
However, one minute Jimin had stopped you again, desperate to appease you. And the next minute, someone ran towards him with a bat in hand. It’s as if time slowed down, you moved before a harsh impact landed on you.
Your mind brings you back to reality, and instinctively you touch the part where your head was struck with your free hand.
“Y/N? Are you done cleaning up?”
Jimin’s voice startles you and you nearly drop the mop’s handle from your grasp.
“Yes,” you manage to say. And somehow you can’t look at him in the eye.
“What’s wrong?” Out of instinct, he cups your face to look at you in the eye. And hell, your heartbeat gradually increases as you can smell the sweet scent of bread from him along with a tinge of his cinnamon scent.
Mind blanking out at the close proximity, the only intelligible response you can say is, uhhh. Your grip on the mop handle tightens as your palm grows clammy.
He’s gorgeous. That’s one thing for sure.
“Hey, why are you blushing?”
Blinking rapidly, you watch his eyes turn into those crescent moons and a giggle escapes his lips as he pulls away, grabbing the mop from your hold.
“I’ll put this back. You nearly snapped it in half, you know.”
“Yeah,” you nod, mind whirling and you blabber the first thing in your mind. “I have a pet fish.”
“Huh?”
Realising how random you sounded, you clear your throat. “I just remember I had to come home early today, since Mr. Goldy is waiting for me.”
“Ooh, that’s—”
But you’ve run for the lockers, quickly changing out of your work attire.
“Thanks for today, Mochi. See you tomorrow!” You say and run out of the bakery without sparing him another glance.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
“What are you exactly doing here?”
Unflinching, you answer your best friend monotonously, “Buying a fish.”
“You don’t have a tank at home.”
“Exactly, that’s why I’m looking for one now.”
“But why?”
“Why not?”
Jungkook lets out a sigh. “You’ve been acting weird all week, Y/N.”
You ignore his words, eyes scanning through the fishes of different colours and kinds.
“Oh! These ones are pretty.” Jungkook comments, earning your attention.
“Excuse me?” You call one of the workers there. “I was wondering if this fish is suitable for beginners.”
The worker nods, smiling. “Yes, these are what we call the Betta fish. Their scales are beautiful and they are also easy to take care of. Would you like to purchase them?”
You respond with a brief ‘yes’.
“Now, all you need is a tank,” Jungkook says.
“We provide delivery services for the tank. I’d recommend buying this one.” The worker points at one of the tanks. “In the meantime, you can purchase the fishbowl for now.”
And with that you have a new pet fish and a brand new fish bowl in hand — specifically Jungkook’s, because you gotta put those muscles into good use — and you head back home. On the way back, Jungkook suddenly clears his throat. “So… What’s up with you?”
“What?”
“Let me summarise what just happened,” he says. “I had the day off today, and suddenly you called me to meet you in a fish store, and you have been acting all weird and somehow out of all the nice shades of blue fishes in the tank, you chose the ugly yellow—”
You kick his shin in retaliation. “It’s not yellow, it’s gold, dumbass. How dare you say that in front of Lady Goldilocks.”
“Oh, wow, now it even has a name.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I seriously can’t believe you chose this one out of all the other colours. It reminds me of Jimin hyung—” And he gapes at you. “No way. Is it because he likes this colour?”
You blink in realisation. Jimin does like this colour.
“Okay, ‘fess up. What’s up with you?”
You let out a defeated sigh. “I like him.”
Jungkook looks unamused.
“I mean like, like him. And I need to get over him.”
Jungkook furrows his brows. “Why would Hyung want that?””
“I shouldn’t like him, Kook. He told me once and, I don’t know, I just can’t control my feelings. I don’t want to lose him again and I’m scared that he’ll be gone if he knows—”
“Wait, wait, wait—” Jungkook grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “—I can understand what you’re feeling, Y/N. How about let me prove to you that Jimin won’t be gone even when you have feelings for him?”
“I swear, Jeon Jungkook, if you utter a single word about this conversation—”
“No!” He denies repeatedly. “I won’t. Promise. I can prove it to you another way. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, then. How?”
“I have a plan. To take the title as your number one best friend once and for all—”
“Who says you are even at the top?”
“Aren’t I? You told me once.” Jungkook fishes his phone out of his jacket, taps a few times on his screen before he shows you a video of your drunk self a few months ago after exam week.
“Kookieee, I think you’re my number one best friend! So proud to have someone like you in my life—”
You try to reach for his phone, cheeks burning in embarrassment, as you shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster. However, Jungkook being Jungkook merely cackles at that. Your voice from the video still continues, “—you’re like Mochi—” Your present self tenses at that.
“Who’s Mochi?” Jungkook asked curiously in the video.
“Shhhhh… We don’t speak of that name here, m’kay? Mochi is gone. So you are best friend number one!”
Jungkook stops the video, tucking his phone back to his pocket. “I asked you once who Mochi was when you were sober. But you didn’t remember back then. So I never asked again until you mentioned the name ‘Mochi’ once more a few days ago.”
Gaping, you stop walking as the stunned silence falls over you.
“I think your subconscious had always known about him. And it shows how special he is to you.” When you’re about to deny that, Jungkook shushes you. “Don’t try to deny, Y/N. Even before you knew he was Mochi you already liked him.”
“I hate that you’re starting to look like a rooster. Were you always this cocky?”
Your best friend merely shrugs. “So, here’s the plan. As I was saying, with my ‘number one best friend’ title under threat, we’re going to demote Jimin as your boyfriend! It’s a win-win situation!”
“What? I never even asked for him to be my boyfriend but wait— Don’t you mean promote?”
“Y/N, as much as I love your dumb ass, you tend to be quite demanding with people. Hopefully, he knows how to handle your present self.”
“Jeon Jungkook, please don’t make me regret this.”
A few days after the conversation with Jungkook, the boy gets to work as fast as possible, and by work, it means work to get on Jimin’s nerves instead of actually being helpful in the cafe.
Jungkook has become noticeably clingy, or overall, just more touchy with you. It’s not like it’s anything new in all honesty. Throughout college, the relationship between the both of you is purely platonic. Your other college friends knew this and seeing the both of you cuddle wouldn’t be a strange sight. Jimin, however, isn’t one of your college friends and Jungkook seems to have taken advantage of this. Thus, he begins to work in the bakery almost every day, claiming just to see you.
At first Jimin showed no reaction since Jungkook is a good friend of his. But he has grown visibly irritated lately while Jungkook revels in pressing the older one’s buttons further.
“Jungkook…”
“Hmm?”
“Can you please stop invading my personal space?”
“But it’s not going to work if I don’t— Oof!” You shove him away before going back to your task — placing the cupcakes on the display tray — annoyance building up at Jungkook’s disruptions.
“I’m going to file a restraining order on you at this rate.”
He huffs, moving towards you once more. “Don’t you want to prove that Jimin is going to be pissed if he sees me being affectionate to you?”
You shake your head. “I just want to work in peace.”
“Hmph. You’re no fun.”
“Cuz you’re the one not working.”
“Hey, I’m helping here voluntarily.”
You ignore his words, focusing on your task while Jungkook starts whining for you to give him attention. “Kook, I fucking swear if you don’t get your hands off—”
Jimin’s voice rings “Y/N, are the cupcakes...” He trails as soon as he enters the kitchen, freezing at the sight of Jungkook wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his dumb head on the crook of your neck.
“He’s going to rage,” Jungkook whispers, laughing softly.
“Uh, Jungkook can I talk to you?” Jimin asks, eyes noticeably narrowing as his tone tenses.
“Finally,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, before he lets go of you and faces Jimin. “Sure, Hyung.”
You take that cue to leave, bringing the freshly iced cupcakes to the display counter, leaving Jungkook and Jimin alone in the kitchen.
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
“What’s been going on with you lately? You come here to work everyday but all I can see is you busy flirting with Y/N.” Jimin throws the younger one an unamused glare.
Jungkook answers easily, “I do my job, Hyung. And so what if I do flirt with Y/N?”
“You can’t,” Jimin blurts out, earning a questioning look from Jungkook. “You just can’t.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Do you like Y/N?”
“Of course, she’s my best friend.”
Jimin shoots Jungkook another unamused look at his answer.
“I’m going to tell her how I feel in three days,” Jungkook continues.
Jimin’s stomach drops at that statement. However, at the same time the urge to let you know how he truly feels increases. But the thought of the impending rejection after hurting you and causing your memory loss makes him think twice.
Maybe Jungkook deserves you more than him — he can protect and support you while Jimin has failed.
With a shaky breath, Jimin mutters, “Take care of her, alright?”
Obviously, his response catches Jungkook off guard. “What?”
“Take good care of Y/N, JK. I’m seriously counting on you.”
“Wait—“ Jungkook looks downright flustered at the unexpected response. “Hyung, wait.”
“What?” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be confused.
Jungkook clears his throat. “Just give me an honest answer, hyung. No lies.”
A pause.
“Do you like Y/N? As in more than friends?”
Jimin nods without hesitance.
Jungkook mumbles something under his breath that Jimin is sure it sounds like, freaking idiots.
“Go tell her how you feel, Hyung. And tell her as soon as possible.”
“But you—”
“It’s to push you to confess to her. I don’t see Y/N that way.” Jungkook sighs. “Honestly, what would the both of you be without me?”
Jimin stands in the kitchen, speechless, as Jungkook continues to ramble how significant his role is in between your relationship and how you and Jimin owe him so much.
“So, yes, go tell her how you feel, hyung. She’ll listen to whatever you’ll say.”
With a newfound resolve, hope sparks in Jimin’s heart. “I will.”
To say that Jimin is nervous would be an understatement. He had barely slept a wink last night, thinking of all the words and how he would explain why he had left so suddenly and confess his feelings to you. Jungkook has been a supportive friend, even if he does push Jimin’s buttons along the way. However, Jimin knows that it was his own way of showing encouragement.
You are cleaning the rest of the tables of the cafe and Jimin can’t take his eyes off you, staring at you through the small window opening between the kitchen and the counter area.
“Are we done for today, Mochi?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydream.
“Yeah!” Jimin continues to wipe the kitchen counter quickly, replying almost too enthusiastically before he clears his throat. “Do you have plans tonight, Y/N?”
You enter the kitchen and once again Jimin’s heartbeat rises. “Nope. I’m going straight back home after this. Lady Goldilocks is waiting for me.”
Lady Goldilocks. Jimin chuckles at the mention of your fish’s name. He wonders if one day he’s able to see the pet fish for himself. He had asked what happened to Mr Goldy and you had become flustered at that since you didn’t know the fish was female. So, now, you have changed the fish’s name. Yet, somehow Jimin got an inkling that there is more to the story. He had asked Jungkook — to which the boy had valiantly refused to utter a word about it and had babbled, “Huh? Fish? What fish? Is that for dinner?”
Once the both of you finished closing up the bakery cafe, Jimin taps on your shoulder before you had the chance to go back home.
“May I walk you home?”
You blink, processing his words then nodding rapidly. “S-Sure.”
Jimin smiles warmly at you. It’s easy in fact. Just being in your presence always brings happiness into his heart. You had grown into an amazing person and even more attractive.
Something about you had always captivated Jimin since the first time you met him in the cafe where he used to do his part time work. Your curious eyes were always following him as he took the customers’ orders and honestly, it was very endearing.
Comfortable silence falls upon you both, walking through the asphalt pathway and naturally, Jimin opens his palms, extending it towards you.
You stare at that for a moment and clasp his hand with yours. Jimin weaves your fingers together, bringing you closer to him as you continue to walk back home.
“Do you mind if we take a little detour?”
You nod at his words.
Once Jimin reaches the destination, he can sense your eyes glance curiously at the empty hill. He pulls you up onto the top of the hill, sitting down on the grass while he pats the space next to him and you follow suit.
“Look up,” Jimin whispers, and you did.
A quiet gasp escapes your lips at the sight of twinkling stars that scatters across the dark sky.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jimin voices out. “Someone made me realise how beautiful the stars are…” He falters. “A-And she had never left my mind all those years. One of my deepest regrets is that I wasn’t able to say goodbye when I had to leave.”
You hear his words, yet you stay silent — an encouragement for him to continue to speak what’s on his mind.
“My family was in a difficult financial position back then and my dad had done things I wasn’t proud of…” Jimin’s eyes turn glassy and faraway, even when he sets his gaze up. “And one of them is that he had made a deal with loan sharks without the guarantee of paying them back… And of course, they were angry.”
He pauses, taking a deep breath.
“I once thought that probably I could still stay here back then. Even more so when I met you. But I was wrong. Those men started to chase after me and because of that, you—” He shudders. “—got injured. And that night my parents had made plans to leave without me and my brother knowing.”
He turns to look at you. “I never got to apologise to you for causing that. I should be the one to protect you but… I failed. For that, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“Jimin…” You say softly. “It’s not your fault. I was the one who jumped in front of you when the man came after you. It’s my own choice because you are special to me.”
“But I could have—”
You shush him with a pointer finger in front of his lips for a few moments. “You don’t have to be sorry anymore, Mochi. It’s not your fault. And what matters now is to focus on the present and look to the future, right?”
He nods, emotions swimming inside his chocolate eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought—”
“For telling you that you shouldn’t have feelings for me.”
And you lapse into silence. He remembers…?
“I hate that that has hurt you. I shouldn’t have said that. But I was happy but desperate too since my family—”
“Jimin.”
“Y-Yeah?”
“What do you see me as, now?”
He blinks. All the practiced words on how he would tell you his feelings dissipate from his mind as he blankly stares at you. “I… I like you.” His voice grows quieter. “More than friends…”
“And if I said you shouldn’t have feelings for me?”
A flash of hurt crosses his eyes briefly. But he answers, nonetheless, “I would do what you want.”
“So, you reciprocate my feelings now?”
“H-huh?”
“I like you too. More than friends. In fact, I think my feelings have grown for you ever since I found out you’re Mochi.”
It takes a few moments for Jimin to process your words. He gapes, mouth opening and closing.
“You are resembling Lady Goldilocks right now.”
“What?”
Your cheeks flush. “Lady Goldilocks is a Betta fish. She was the golden one in a tank full of her blue siblings. Jungkook tried persuading me to choose the blue ones since they were more attractive to look at. But all I could see is the gold one since it reminded me of you.”
“I like golden colours…” Jimin mumbles in realisation.
“Exactly,” you let out a sheepish laugh, eyes turning to look back up into the sky. Before Jimin can respond, your eyes brighten up. “Look! A shooting star!”
Jimin snaps his gaze up as well.
“Hurry, make a wish!” You then close your eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear. Jimin follows suit, making his own wish.
As soon as you both finish making your wishes, you turn to face him once more.
“Are you still sorry for saying that to me?”
Jimin nods, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. Hell, he thinks he would always regret hurting you that time.
“I know how you can make it up to me then.”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
“W-What?” He splutters.
“Unless you don’t want—“ Yet, your words die on your throat as Jimin moves closer to you, eliminating the distance between you both as he cups your face just like that time in the bakery.
Without another word, he leans down, pressing his lips on yours softly while you place your hands on top of his before he presses further, brows furrowing as he kisses you fervently. For the time being, all that matters is just you and him. He caresses your cheeks and you run your hands down to wrap around his waist until you can feel his heart beating against his chest.
After pulling away — both of you catching your breaths — Jimin presses his forehead against yours, running his thumb over your lips while you were unable to open your eyes for a few moments at the burst of emotions that is coursing through you.
“I’ve imagined this moment so many times,” he admits. “My wish finally came true.” And you smile at that.
“My wish also came true because of you, Mochi...”
✧༺♡༻∞ ∞༺♡༻✧
Sitting on one of the tables, your eyes can’t take themselves off Jimin as he serves customers. Today is your day off and you decided to pay him a visit in the bakery.
“You’re drooling.”
Your gaze snaps up to your best friend who sits across you after placing a cinnamon roll on the table for you. Jungkook continues, “I swear I’m going to vomit one of these days if I see you or Jimin hyung throwing each other— what was that called? It’s an old term— Oh! Goo-goo eyes one more time.”
“Shut up, Jeon. I’m not.” You reach for the roll, taking a bite.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right, you basically either stare at him like he placed stars in the sky or like you want to tear off his clothes—”
You choke on the roll, quickly reaching for your glass of water before you throw your napkin at his face. Jungkook cackles at that before he resumes his act, sighing. “This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have intervened. I didn’t know you’d be like this. My best friend is so uncool now.”
“Y/N is what?” You perk up at Jimin’s voice.
“Whipped,” Jungkook mutters before he takes his cue to leave. He stands up, passing by Jimin after shooting the older one a teasing glance.
Jimin sits across from you, and he instinctively reaches for your hand on the table. “How was your day?” And you swear you can hear Jungkook making a gagging sound amidst the chatter of the customers.
“Good. I finished my chores at home earlier today. So, I thought I would come visit.”
Minutes pass by quickly as you chatter with Jimin. He had almost forgotten to go back to work until Jungkook reminded him. When it is time to close up the bakery, you watch him wash the remaining mixing bowls while perching on one of the cleaned counters of the kitchen.
“You know, I could use some help,” Jimin teases, drying his hands on his apron.
A smile curls up on the corner of your lips, eyes following his movements — drawing closer to where you are. “Well, I think you got it all handled, Mochi.”
Once he reaches you, he pulls you to wrap your legs around his waist while your arms rest on his shoulders — encircling around his neck. You both stare at each other and he pushes a strand of stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind an ear while his other hand settles on your waist.
“Sometimes, I still can’t believe that you’re really here with me,” You admit. “Just like a sweet dream.”
Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not, Y/N...” He leans to give you a chaste kiss. “... we’ll make up for the lost time we didn’t spend together.”
“Promise?”
He softly smiles at you. “Promise.”
author’s note: this was originally intended to be posted on jimin’s birthday but well i decided to add more stuff in it. thus, i am late alskflsdda so yes, i hope you guys enjoy this fic and feedbacks are always appreciated !! thank you for reading ♡
#btswritingcafe#bangtanarmynet#magicshopnet#bangtanidx#bangtanuniversity#btsghostie#jimin fanfic#jimin fluff#jimin angst#jimin x reader#jimin x you#bts fluff#bts fanfic#bts x reader#jimin scenarios#park jimin#bangtan scenarios#promptlyyourscafe#amourville series
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A Day at the Fair
My submission for the ironstrange fanfic challenge!
Prompt:
Tony drags Stephen out on a date to the fair, despite Stephen insisting he doesn’t want to go. Tony spends the whole day trying to show Stephen how much fun it is until finally, Stephen breaks down and confesses the real reason he didn’t want to come today.
Tags:
Omega Stephen Strange, Alpha Tony Stark, high school au
Tony grinned, practically vibrating with excitement as he rolled out of bed. Every year he and Stephen went to the fair, the closest thing their tiny town had to offer for fun. He grabbed his phone from his nightstand.
T: Heeeeeey Steph~
S: Tony? What is it?
T: Well I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the fair this fine day, as per our usual tradition
Stephen took a few minutes to reply. Tony set down his phone, brushed his teeth, dressed, and sat down for breakfast. Stephen still hadn’t replied. Then, as he was pouring cereal, his phone dinged.
S: Idk. I’m not feeling up to it rn
T: Okay… do you wanna come over and hang out then? My parents are out of town… I could even sneak a bottle of wine for us
S: Eh… let’s just go to the fair.
Tony smiled.
T: Great! I’ll pick you up in an hour?
S: Sure
The fair was loud and hot and crowded. It reminded Tony of every fantastic summer with Stephen he could think of. Tony squeezed Stephen’s hand, but Stephen didn’t squeeze back.
“Hey, Steph, are you okay? You seem a little off-color.”
Stephen bit his lip.
“Just tired I guess. I have a bit of a headache.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tony leaned up and kissed Stephen’s cheek, then down to his unmarked scent gland. “Maybe we can sit down near the back? Have some lunch? I have Asperin too if you need it. We can even go back home if you’d like. Anything for you,” Tony said.
Stephen smiled softly.
“Lunch sounds good.”
He finally squeezed Tony’s hand back.
“Ugh, don’t they have anything remotely healthy?” Stephen bitched, scrunching up his face at the third deep-fried Oreo stand they passed.
“Oh? Are you doing another vegan kick or something?”
Stephen shook his head, cheeks pink.
“Uh- no. No, just trying to eat a little healthier, that’s all.”
“Can you take a break for today?” Tony asked. God knew he wasn’t planning on eating well today.
“Well… I mean…” Stephen worried his lip between his teeth. “I’d just feel better if I ate healthily, that’s it.” He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes.
They finally found something reasonably healthy- chicken tenders and lemonade- and sat down at a table under a large tree. Somewhere in the background, a band was playing. Stephen picked at his food while Tony happily munched away.
“After this do you want to go on a ride?” tony asked.
Stephen shook his head.
“No rides.”
“Why? Are you still not feeling well?”
Stephen didn’t meet Tony’s eyes, electing instead to look off into the never-ending distance, hazy with the feeling of the fair, a haziness that stayed in Stephen’s mind and mulled like a roiling, humid cloud of every problem that had ever graced him. The heat clung to his skin. His stomach turned and he looked down, his arms folded over his abdomen. Tony could smell the scent of unhappy omega from across the table.
“Yeah. Not feeling great,” he lied.
Tony’s eyes were so warm and comforting that Stephen’s stomach couldn’t help but crawling higher into his throat and nestling there like some sort of weak and defenseless baby bird. Stephen’s cheeks were hot with shame.
“Are you sure that’s everything? Please tell me if something’s bothering you, Stephen. I love you. I want to help.”
Stephen’s stomach churned and he ran to the nearest trashcan and threw up. Tony leaped to his feet and rushed over but Stephen waved him away.
“Oh God- oh God Stephen!” Tony cried.
“I’m- I’m fine,” Stephen coughed. He wiped his mouth and downed his lemonade, popping a few breath mints into his mouth. He let out a low groan and took a deep breath.
“Jesus Stephen, let’s go home. You’re sick. You need to rest.”
“No. You brought me here on a date. We’re staying.” The resolution in Stephen’s voice felt strong and clear and hard and unwavering, the same way a freshly poured asphalt highway stretches on and on and on until it dissolves into a dazzling mirage. Endless and resolute in a way that made Tony feel tiny in comparison.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Stephen ate his last chicken tender and tossed the tray.
“Maybe we can try at one of those fair games,” Stephen offered.
“Aren’t they all rigged?”
“Well that makes winning more impressive,” Stephen said with a grin.
Stephen took Tony’s hand and they walked through the fair before stopping at a booth: balloons and darts. Stephen bent over, looking at the booth. Then there was a loud whistle and a squeak from Stephen that had Tony’s alpha growling in his chest. Tony turned and snapped at the fuck boy alpha that currently had his hand on his omega’s ass. Stephen turned and slapped the guy’s hand away, face red and furious. His blue-green eyes burned like two twin stars hovering above the ocean horizon.
“Hey sweet-cheeks, what’s a pretty little omega like you doing with a boring alpha like him?” the guy said with a thousand-watt smile.
“Not interested.”
“Aw, come on baby, don’t be like that.”
“He said he’s not interested,” Tony growled.
The guy rolled his eyes.
“Fine, tightass.”
He stalked away and Stephen’s resolve broke. His entire body drooped and he sank into his seat, the smell of pure displeasure and unhappiness radiating from him like a morning fog over a valley. Tony sighed and pulled Stephen to his chest, holding him tight.
“Fuck Stephen- I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Stephen mumbled.
But there was a flat sort of grey hanging in his eyes and Tony knew it wasn’t okay, but he also knew there was nothing he could ever do. Tony held him close, whispering gentle things into Stephen’s ears.
“Hey, I saw what happened.” Tony looked up to see the carnival stand girl looking apologetic at the two of them. “I don’t know if this would make you feel better, but would you like to play a few rounds for free? It’s on the house.”
Tony smiled and looked to Stephen.
“Does that sound fun?”
Stephen shrugged, laying his chin on the counter.
“You play. I’ll watch.”
Tony nodded, a plan in mind. He missed the first shot but nailed the next four. Then he aimed for the bright yellow balloon titled ‘10,000 points.’ It was tiny, underinflated, and unlikely to pop from elasticity tension. Tony ran a few trajectory equations through his head, nibbling at his lip. He had two darts left. Gravity was his best bet, if he could arc the dart so it landed into the balloon, he might stand a chance. All the other balloons were one point, and by now, he could maybe get Stephen one of those cute little teddy bears, but he wanted to get Stephen something bigger. Like that giant fluffy round hamster plushy the size of Tony’s body.
The first dart missed, bouncing off the board and falling to the ground. Tony took a deep breath and tossed the last dart in a high arc, watching as it fell and fell and fell and gained velocity until it popped the yellow balloon with a loud snap.
Stephen grinned and clapped and Tony did a little dance. The girl grinned.
“Congratulations! What prize would you like?”
Tony grinned and pointed up at the massive hamster. The girl pulled down the hamster and passed it to Tony who promptly passed it to Stephen.
“Hey, I know today hasn’t been great, but I’m really glad I got to spend time with you today. You never fail to make me happy, even when the whole world feels bad, and I want you to know I want to be there for you, on all the good days and bad.”
Stephen looked at the hamster, then back at Tony. He sniffled and broke down in tears.
“Oh God- Stephen? Was it something I said? Are you okay? Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Tony stammered.
Stephen whimpered, tears pouring down his face. Then he turned and ran, the hamster in his arms as he wove through the crowd and through carnival stands. Tony stared after him, heart sinking. He stood there for a second before taking off after Stephen.
It took him twenty minutes to find Stephen in one of the animal shows, surrounded by cages of fluffy baby bunnies. He was crying silently into the hamster, squeezed tight in his arms. Tony knelt beside him.
“Stephen?” His voice was soft. Something was very wrong. “Please… please just tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you.”
Stephen looked away. His chest was so full of lead he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He felt heavy and dense, like an ancient tree rooted to the ground, bark worn by the elements but still there. Unmoving. Unable to move.
“Please.”
Stephen let out a choked whimper.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you.” His voice was cracking and frail. So weak. But it was the truth.
“That’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re safe… are you safe?” Tony asked, taking Stephen’s hands in his.
Stephen nodded.
“It’s just… I don’t know.” Stephen hung his head.
“It’s okay not to know,” Tony whispered. “Do you want to go home now?”
Stephen shook his head.
“I want to ride the Ferris Wheel. Like we do every year.”
Tony smiled softly and hugged Stephen, staying there for a second, the way a curling vine of ivy finds comfort in cracked bark, grey with exhaustion. They stayed there for a bit, nestled amongst the animal cages and beneath the flair of the crowded festival like the world was fog and they were the grass, rooted in place.
Stephen moved first, reaching up and pulling himself to his feet and then reaching for Tony to help him up.
“You know, you’re the best alpha I could have ever wished for,” Stephen said with a small, bittersweet smile.
“Well… I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to fall in love with,” Tony responded.
“Do you promise you’ll always be with me? Through everything?” Stephen asked, squeezing Tony’s hand.
“Of course. I love you, Stephen. And nothing can ever make me stop.”
Tony leaned up and kissed Stephen softly, sweetly. Stephen let his eyes drift closed and he savored every single saccharine second.
They found the Ferris Wheel easily. It was the center of the fair, after all. And one long line later they were sitting in a car going up and up and up. Stephen fidgeted quietly. It was funny how the second all you needed was time it seemed to twist and turn and go faster and faster so blindingly fast you can barely even remembered what you prepared to say. When the carriage got halfway up its arc Stephen bit his lip, letting out a little, tightly-wound sigh.
“Tony… I need to tell you what’s wrong. I’ve been avoiding it all day, but… I just wanted one last good day with you before it all changed.” Stephen looked over the edge of the carriage and let out a dry chuckle. “Although I suppose I ruined my chance at that, too.”
“What- what are you talking about?” Tony’s voice was on edge.
“I-I’m pregnant.”
Stephen stared at Tony full-on. He kept searching for something other than shock but it was like combing a beach for something that just wasn’t there. Stephen’s hands started to shake.
“T-Tony? Please say something.”
Stephen’s voice sounded so small. He felt so small.
“Am I- Am I the dad?” Tony finally asked.
Anger flared deep in Stephen’s gut and for a moment he wanted to slap Tony off of the stupid Ferris Wheel.
“Of course you’re the father!” Stephen snapped. “You fucking idiot- you really think I’m screwing a dozen alphas behind your back?”
His scent soured and he turned away, glaring. Tony stayed quiet.
“Whatever. You probably want to break up with me now anyways. Just do it. I don’t want to have you pretend to care about this. I’ll just… forget about my full-ride to Columbia. I doubt my parents will even let me go. They want me to stay on the farm and become a good obedient little housespouse omega.” Stephen let out an involuntary whimper. Tears were pouring down his cheeks and he hugged himself. “I thought I was going to be happy… I thought I was going to have a future, but I- I don’t know anymore!”
The whole world felt like it was collapsing, folding in an compressing into one invincible singularity stuck in Stephen’s windpipe. Everything was spinning and hot and his head hurt so so much… Stephen closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, sobbing.
Then, Tony gently wrapped his arms around Stephen, pulling the crying omega to his chest.
“Shh… it’s okay. I’m sorry, I just… I’m a father…” A small smile appeared on Tony’s face. “I couldn’t believe it. But Stephen, whatever you choose to do, this is your choice, and I will back you up 1,000%. I love you, and I meant it when I said I would stay with you no matter what. I know how much medical school means to you, and I swear that I can help you take care of our child so you can study if you choose to keep it. You don’t need to give up your dream, your dream can always stay. If you choose not to keep it, then I’ll be there for you too. No matter what you choose, we’re in this together.”
Stephen let his hands fall away from his face and his head plop on Tony’s shoulder. He was still crying and shaking, but this time from happiness. Tony wasn’t leaving him. He wasn’t going to be stuck alone on a farm his whole life. He would be okay. They would be okay.
He turned and tackled Tony in a hug, enough to rattle their cart. Tony laughed and held them as they reached the top of the Ferris Wheel, watching as the sun set over the fair and the town and everything surrounding it and turned it all to gold.
#ironstrange fanfic challenge#ironstrange fanfiction#ironstrange#tony stark#stephen strange#omega stephen strange#alpha tony stark#iron man#doctor strange#avengers#supremefamily#marvel#mcu
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