#but in its original intent it's clearly doing so affectionately and in a way that assigns a certain degree of dignity and respect to the cat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happyandticklish · 3 years

Text

The Problems with Legilimency

Notes: For the anon request. This is so fucking late because writer’s block is a bitch, but I hope you enjoy it regardless! ^^ I sort of took my own spin on the request, but I think it’s fairly similiar to the original.

Summary: Two times in which Queenie’s Legilimency became a problem, and once when it kind of helped.

“Newt!”

The sound of his name strung along by that familiar voice sent a peculiar thrill through Newt’s person. He never grew tired of hearing it. He spun carefully around, an Occamy curled in his grasp; its tiny head poked curiously out from under his arm. “Yes?”

Tina stood puzzled back in his lab, hands placed upon her hips as she examined one of the shelves. “It’s not here. That herb you were looking for. I swear I saw it when we first came in here…”

That was odd. Newt was usually very meticulous about his placement system. He deposited the Occamy gently back into their nest, though the task provided some difficulty as the creature attempted to weave through his arms to reach him once more. Eventually though, hands free, he made his way over to where Tina stood.

In the space where a small bottle of rare herbs should have been, there was nothing but empty space. “You didn’t move it somewhere?” Newt asked, his tone inquisitive rather than angry. He began rearranging bottles around it, wondering if it had simply gotten misplaced.

Tina shook her head. “I turned my back and it was gone. It’s not…” she hesitated. “…supposed to do that, is it? I mean, it doesn’t have some kind of magical property to it, does it?”

Newt laughed, the quiet chuckle of an inside joke. “No, no need to worry about that. It does contain magical properties, though they are rendered quite harmless in its current form. Aha!” He grinned, his voice filled with soft triumph. “I believe we have found our culprit.”

Pickett stood frozen where Newt had revealed him, a bottle clutched tightly in his arms. His eyes widened, and quickly he tried to scramble away from them. Unfortunately, his efforts to get away from Newt only brought him into Tina’s awaiting hands, who held him up carefully as she lifted him into the air.

“Nice work, Tina,” Newt said, a hint of pride entering his tone. Seeing two of his favorite creatures in the world interact always brought him a strange joy. “Be careful when extracting the bottle from him; he can be difficult when he wants to be.”

“Oh, um, yes, of course.” Tina seemed more doubtful of her abilities, holding the creature out carefully as though one of two of them was going to accidentally hurt each other. She attempted to gently wrestle the bottle out of his hands, but, seeing her intentions, Pickett was quick to intervene. He wrapped his arms tightly around it, and when she attempted to nudge him off with her finger, he only transferred his hold to her as devious inspiration struck him.

Tina yelped, her heart catching a little in her throat. Though she admired Newt for his love for these creatures, she still found herself a bit wary when it came to actually interacting with them. Newt himself seemed unworried by this development, a smile tugging reluctantly at his lips, like a parent attempting to be disappointed with their child but ultimately unable to help their amusement.

“P-Pickett,” she started, her voice wavering a little at the uncertainty of talking to the tiny being. “I’m going to need you to let go now, if that’s alright; we need those ingredients for medicine—your medicine, I might add.”

Pickett was unbothered, clambering onto her finger fully now and beginning to scramble up her arm rapidly. Tina jerked back in surprise, the sensation of his little arms and feet crawling on her skin igniting a long forgotten sensation.

“Newt!” she called anxiously, tossing him a quick glance.

“Don’t worry about him,” he assured her. “He’s completely harmless—it’s only him who likes to think he’s tougher than he is.”

“B-But he’s—ah!” Tina felt a fluttery laugh escape her as Pickett reached her shoulder, poking around and exploring the area curiously, brushing up against her neck. “E-Ehe, w-wait!”

“What’s all the noise down here?”

The two startled at the sudden appearance of Queenie, her curls framing her face in its innocent curiosity as she stepped off the stairs. Evidently, neither of them had noticed her descent in the confusion of the misplaced bottle.

“Tina was just helping me create a new batch of medicine for the Bowtruckles,” Newt explained quickly, an odd nervousness entering his voice at the two of them being caught alone. He felt the unnecessary need to clarify their presence there. “When a bottle, it—well it went missing, but it was fine as Pickett here—”

“Of course it tickles,” Queenie interrupted, her voice directed affectionately in the direction of Tina. Newt started, those words being one of the last things he expected to leave her mouth. “There’s no need to get all worked up about it.”

“What?”

Tina stiffened and flushed as Newt’s gaze swiveled to her, focusing on Pickett who continued his exploration of her neck and shoulders with an unapologetic joy. He narrowed his eyes at the pesky creature, who startled at the sudden attention he was receiving and hid quickly under Tina’s collar.

Newt lurched forward, ready to remove him, but his hands paused inches away from Tina, where they hovered uncertainly over her neck. “Can I—that is, do you mind if I—”

“Yes!” Tina agreed, her voice a little too eager in her embarrassment. Quickly but carefully, Newt managed to remove the critter, allowing him to cling moodily to his finger as he pulled away.

Queenie smiled fondly at them, shaking her head a little at their antics. “Honestly,” she said as Newt tucked the errant Bowtruckle into his pocket. “There’s no need to get so worked up about it; it’s just tickling.”

“How did you—”

“Legilimens,” Queenie replied, arching a brow with a sly grin. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Oh. Right.” Newt fussed needlessly over Pickett, adjusting and re-adjusting him as he continued to avoid their gazes. Pickett himself bucked against the attention, batting in annoyance at his fingers. “Um, if you don’t mind, we were in the middle of something if we could return to that.”

“Oh.” Queenie shook her head at herself. “Of course.” There was something in her eyes that said she knew Newt’s true reason for wanting her gone, but for reasons unknown to Newt but that he was nonetheless grateful for, she declined revealing. “I’ll leave you two alone them.”

She whirled gracefully up the stairs, her silk robe fluttering lightly behind her along with her steps. It was only once she was gone that Newt allowed himself to exhale, turning to face Tina. “Are you alright?”

But Tina had already turned away from him, and was wholly engaged in the process of chopping up the retrieved ingredients as Newt had shown her earlier. The tips of her ears were tinged a dark pink, and her hair fell forward in her face, easily hiding her expression from the other.

Newt would have pursued the issue further, had he not been just as grateful to drop the subject at hand. For some reason, this new piece of knowledge about Tina stuck in his brain, a strange concoction of nerves and excitement lighting up his chest. The sudden feelings were too difficult to parse then and there, however, and Newt turned to the counter as well, making sure to stand a couple feet away as he directed her on the next steps.

“Now you want to grind it, into a fine powder.”

“Oh.”

The word was a startled little gasp, and it drew both Tina and Newt out of the world they had previously been lost in. Newt jerked away from her instantly, releasing her skin as though it were suddenly made of hot iron. Tina’s face was flushed, the remnants of laughter dancing in her smile. Less than a minute before, Newt’s fingers had been engaged in the process of reducing her into a state of flushed laughter. Now, however, he kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets, far removed from where they could have any kind of effect on anyone.

After Queenie had accidentally revealed Tina’s secret a couple weeks ago, Newt had found himself unable to stop finding ways to accidentally tickle her in the hopes to see that unexpected smile light up her face once more. After a while, it became less accidental, though if Tina noticed, she chose not to say anything. There was hardly any excuse for that evening, however. It was only that Tina had chosen to stretch her arms above her head moments before and Newt could hardly be blamed for what happened afterwards.

Both appeared heavily embarrassed to have been caught in such a state, and it wasn’t just Newt this time who was having trouble making eye contact.

Queenie smiled, a gentle, reassuring gesture. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to inform you both that dinner was ready. Although it seems you two are rather… preoccupied, at the moment.”

Newt cleared his throat, coughed awkwardly, and cleared his throat once more, clearly having difficulty coming up with words. “Sorry, we were just—that is to say—I was—”

“Tickling my sister,” Queenie answered for him, appearing unbothered by both the word and the subject. “It’s alright, you don’t have to apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude; it’s just that you were being quite loud.”

Tina’s brow furrowed as she readjusted herself on the bed; she was putting forth a failing attempt to make herself appear anymore dignified than the state in which she’d been interrupted. “How could you possibly have? We were—that is, we were trying to be quiet.”

“Thoughts speak louder than words,” Queenie quoted, though there was a truthful undertone to it that spoke of the embarrassing reality of having a Legilimens as a sister.

“Ah,” Tina said, visibly flustered. “Well.”

“Right,” Newt agreed eagerly, though it was unclear what either of them was agreeing on.

Queenie offered them a knowing look, before finally turning around to head back downstairs. “Alright then, I’ll leave you two alone. But be sure to come down soon; you wouldn’t want dinner to get cold.”

She paused at the doorknob, however, and turned suddenly back around. “Oh, and Newt?”

“Yes?”

“Her worst spot is her knees. Just in case you were wondering. Anyways.” With that, Queenie flounced from the room, her innocent air a betrayal of the words she’d just spoken.

The two of them sat frozen on the bed, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move. There wasn’t exactly protocol for this kind of thing.

After a while Tina groaned, dropping her head into her heads. “Sometimes I truly abhor my sister.”

“She can be quite… blunt,” Newt agreed. He found his gaze drawn now to her legs, swung carelessly over the bed. Queenie’s words played over and over in his mind, and before he knew what he was doing he had reached out and experimentally squeezed her knee.

Tina yelped, her hands flying from her face to shove at his arms quickly. “Don’t,” she warned, but there was a lightness to the warning that implied maybe she didn’t mean it as much as she said. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Newt, please, this isn’t—”

“Fair?” he finished softly, squeezing again to hear that adorable squeal. Her hands flailed uselessly for a moment before fisting in the sheets, keeping herself from fully shoving him off.

“Newt,” she gasped, the words filled with anticipation and a giddy nervousness that prompted Newt to quickly enact a repeat of earlier, his hands flying as he wrecked her once more. Her laughter rung in his ears, wild and carefree, and he found he would do anything to hear that sound, even for a moment longer.

Eventually he relented, as dinner really was getting cold. However, he found an odd disappointment setting in when she merely stood up afterwards and headed over to the door, albeit more out of breath than before. Before he had time to dissect that feeling, the two were called once more for dinner in slightly harsher tones, and they quickly rushed down the stairs in an effort not to induce the other’s wrath at having to wait for them.

“Nehehehewt!” Tina gasped, batting uselessly at his hands as they scribbled mercilessly over her stomach. “Plehehehease!”

The two were curled up on the couch, having retreated there for the night while Queenie and Jacob were out on an evening for two. In the beginning the two had simply watched movies, Tina propped up against the other so that her head rested on his shoulder. Movies had been Newt’s idea, a Muggle concept that he had found fascinating. Moving pictures on a screen without the use of magic…. Tina had scoffed at the idea, but even she had to admit that it was pretty amazing seeing it in person. The TV had been a purchase made by Queenie, who had decided to invest after seeing how drawn in the two had been after returning from the theaters.

After a while, however, Newt had once again found his interests caught by a different form of entertainment, that of Tina’s startled shriek when he accidentally squeezed her side whilst adjusting himself. Moments later, Tina had her back pressed against his chest as she attempted to curl in on herself and evade the ticklish hug Newt was administering.

It was truly a wonder how they kept arriving here.

“Please what?” Newt asked, his lips quirking up into that rare teasing smile that Tina both hated and loved dearly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Plehehehease stahahahap!” she giggled, her legs drawing up to her chest as she attempted to protect herself. “Ihihihi—ahahah, ihihit tihihickles! Nehehewt!”

“Alright, alright.” Newt relented, merely resting his hands on her stomach now and rubbing calming circles. “You know, you’re quite cute laughing like that; you should do it more often.”

“I already do it enough, thanks to you,” she replied with a wry grin, her words coming out in an exhausted huff as she fought to regain her breath back. “I don’t understand why you insist on doing it so often.”

“I believe he wants you to return the favor.”

The two startled, Tina letting out a startled yelp as a dark crimson flooded Newt’s cheeks, and they both turned to see Queenie standing at the doorway. Evidently, the two had just returned.

“Q-Queenie,” Newt stammered, with the intent of replying some kind of denial, but Jacob popped his head around her shoulder before he could, viewing the scene curiously.

“What favor? Oh hey, is that Felix the Cat?” Jacob quickly made his way over to them, taking a seat on the couch besides them.

“He what?” Tina repeated, ignoring Jacob and focusing her attention back on Queenie.

Queenie set her purse down, delicately taking a seat besides them. The couch was growing crowded by this point, but none of them appeared to care in the moment. “He wants you to tickle him back.” She paused after a moment, her eyes widening a little. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

Newt’s face was permanently burned a color as red as his hair. His mouth was open on a theoretical protest, though it was clear it was too late for that. Eventually, he merely averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s, ah, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to, I know.”

Tina glanced between the two, trying to gather what had just happened. Jacob was the first to speak, raising one eyebrow. “You like being tickled, Newt?”

“I—” Newt started, his voice stuttering and stopping in his throat. He coughed, gripping the back of his neck tightly. Three pairs of eyes were suddenly focused on him, and while Newt didn’t prefer eye contact at the best of times, the awkwardness of the situation certainly did not help anything. Against his better judgement, his flicked his gaze up to meet Tina’s, anxiety getting the better of him. Her eyes were wide with surprise, which he had anticipated. What he had not expected was the tiny smile slowly tugging at her lips, a gentleness to the expression that made Newt’s heart clench in his chest. Ultimately, it was what prompted him to finally find the words to speak again.

“I—uh, yes. That is, I do. Like. To be tickled.” He cleared his throat again, staring at his lap. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, rhythmically pulling at a loose string to distract himself from the panic roiling in his brain. In the background, the TV hummed, though it was clear none of them were paying attention to it anymore.

After what felt like an eternity to him, but was in actuality only around thirty seconds, Jacob piped up, “Well why didn’t you just say so?”

Newt’s head snapped up, his heart slamming against his chest. “What?”

“Yeah,” Queenie agreed, a grin rushing quickly across her features. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just another part of you.”

He felt someone grab his hand and he looked over to see Tina, her face filled with such overwhelming tenderness that he couldn’t help but smile slightly in return. “I love you, Newt. Which means I love making you happy. And if this is what makes you happy, than I’m happy to do so.”

Newt glanced around at the three of them, people who he had grown to love and care about more than he had allowed himself to with others in quite a long time. A tiny bubble of happiness rose in his chest, trapping his throat and making words impossible.

“Do you…” Tina started, before trying again, this time with more confidence. “Do you want us to tickle you? Now, that is.”

Newt flushed, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. He stammered, sentences tripping over themselves in his mouth, before he finally managed a quiet, “Yes. Only if you want to, of course.”

Jacob poked him lightly in the ribs and he jumped, a startled yelp escaping him. “Of course, buddy. After all, what kind of friends would we be if we didn’t help you smile every once in a while?”

Newt opened his mouth to respond, but his words were quickly lost to a flood of giggles as all three of them pounced at once, reducing him into a mess of squirming limbs.

Maybe Legilimency wasn’t so bad, after all.

#tickle fic #fantastic beasts and where to find them #tickling #newtina #newt scamander #tina goldstein #queenie goldstein #jacob kowalski #fanfic #fanfiction #fic request #requests #harry potter #hp #fbawtft #jakweenie

59 notes · View notes

prince-of-elsinore · 3 years

Text

Sam and Dean: psychological analysis and headcanons

In response to this anon ask from the 66 SPN Questions:

6. Do you have any psychological headcanons (or canon interpretations) of the characters?

Anon, this is probably not what you asked for. But I started writing, and kept finding more I wanted to say, until I thought--why not just say it all? And by all, I don't actually mean all--this is by no means exhaustive. But it was a wonderful, self-indulgent opportunity to organize my thoughts on Sam and Dean's psychologies, and even find some new ideas as I was writing, and to put them out there so others can read and discuss. (Always happy to discuss any of this! Inbox is open.)

As a disclaimer, I know most of these thoughts are probably not original and may be retreads of many things fandom has been discussing for years. I'm not claiming to be breaking new ground here. Also, I sorta float backwards and forwards chronologically in my discussion--some parts pertain more to them when they're young, some to when they're older, and I don't always clarify which. Also, these are generalizations! I point out patterns I notice; that doesn't make them all hard and fast rules, because Sam and Dean are each human and complex!

Here's what you'll find below:

1. Core motivations 2. Happiness 3. Approval and secrets 4. Approval from authority figures 5. Need and attachment re: others 6. Sympathy and empathy 7. Walls—hiding vs. performing 8. Need and attachment re: each other 9. Ambitions and goals 10. Normality and monstrosity 11. Guilt and self-loathing 12. Autonomy and sacrifice 13. Personal identity 14. Concluding observation

1. Core motivations: Dean’s purpose is to protect Sam, obviously. Sam’s purpose, though a little less clear, is to save Dean. Sometimes it’s explicit, as in s3 and s9-10. But I think Sam also wants to save Dean, in general, from himself and from the life. It’s why he pushes against Dean’s obedience to their father. It’s why he tells him to get out and go to Lisa after he jumps in the Cage. At a certain point, I think Sam accepts he can’t “save” Dean without changing who he is, so he chooses to stick by him—because at least then he can make Dean happy.

2. Happiness: Dean’s happiness—or perhaps contentment is a better word—is knowing that Sam is safe and alive. Sam’s happiness is Dean being happy. In Sam’s world, things are good when Dean’s good. I think that, conversely, Dean wants Sam to be happy, and Sam wants Dean to be safe, but they both know and to an extent accept that those things are not within their control, so they focus on what they feel they can control.

3. Approval and secrets: They are each other’s north stars, guiding principles, in different ways. For Dean it’s “look out for Sammy,” for Sam it’s “what would my big brother think/do.” Dean doesn’t need Sam’s approval. Sure, he loves it when Sam admires him, but if he feels he needs to do something against Sam’s approval, he doubles down because approval from Sam is not the top priority. He’ll do what he thinks is right, especially to keep Sam safe, no matter what Sam thinks about it. Sam, on the other hand, does crave Dean’s approval and cares very much about his opinion. It doesn’t mean he won’t go against Dean (all the conflict of s1-5!), but it affects him differently. This leads to different kinds of secret-keeping: Sam goes behind Dean’s back to avoid his disapproval; Dean goes behind Sam’s back so that Sam doesn’t interfere with what he thinks needs to be done.

4. Approval from authority figures: Dean does crave approval from others—specifically, respected authority figures. The big one is obviously John. I think in a way it’s Mary, too, when she comes back. But it only applies as long as the person has his respect. Sam doesn’t crave approval from other authorities in the same way, perhaps because his primary authority figure growing up was Dean.

5. Need and attachment re: others: Sam is the only person Dean cannot live without, but he also makes outside connections of a friendly nature fairly easily. He’s the more socially outgoing brother who latches onto people like Gordon, gets friendly with Ash, and forges connections with Jo and Charlie, just to name a few (and Castiel at times—though their relationship is so inconsistent and often convenience-based I hesitate to include it in this category). Though Sam is Dean’s core need, I do think Dean thrives with other friendships. I’m not talking about found family, though I’m well aware of Dean’s tendency to call people “family” quite readily. Honestly, I think this is a manifestation of his craving for connection with others. Dean has an affectionate and playful nature, and let’s face it, Sam isn’t always super receptive to that—so naturally, Dean seeks out people who are. (I think this is also, in some cases, related to Dean’s craving for approval from others). Of course, none of those other relationships come close to the depth of his relationship with Sam, and when his relationship with Sam is at its best, I don’t think Dean really needs anything else to sustain him. But in reality, it can’t always be at its best.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t forge outside connections easily—but when he does, they tend to be deeper than Dean’s easy casual associations (even when Dean has real affection for someone, he tends to keep the tone of the relationship light). It’s pretty clear Sam was a loner kid, and I imagine it took him a while to find friends at Stanford, and even though he loved Jessica he still clearly kept many secrets. That’s the thing with Sam—he’s got walls. Dean’s got his own walls, but they’re different. Sam can seem emotionally open, but he protects his innermost self very carefully and rarely puts his emotions out there in a truly open way—even less than Dean does. I think this is a consistent personality trait for Sam, not one born of trauma (though perhaps exacerbated by it at times). In fact, it’s in later seasons that I see Sam finally, in rare moments, let down those walls, with Rowena and Jack. When he’s young, I think this was partially a coping mechanism he developed for hiding his desires/feelings, even from himself, because he was so unhappy with his life. It means that even though he’s an introspective guy, he’s not as self-aware as he thinks he is until he’s older and more mature. He’s very good at self-deception when he’s young, because as a thinker, he can convince himself of just about anything.

To circle back to attachment, what this means to me is that Sam, while he certainly appreciates close friendships and has a lot to offer those he cares about, doesn’t crave friends in the way that Dean does. I think he desires to be understood (this is a natural human need) but he’s much more comfortable with himself than Dean is, and is somewhat of a loner by nature. This means he’s also not (usually) going to be too affected by the status of his relationships with others. Dean is much more volatile and easily hurt by others (this is where Castiel is a great example).

6. Sympathy and empathy: On the surface, Sam appears to be the caring, sensitive brother, while Dean is brash and insensitive. This is a very incomplete picture, however. It mostly comes down to the difference between sympathy and empathy. Empathy is an involuntary response, whereas sympathy is something that a person chooses to express, though that doesn’t make it necessarily superficial—it also comes from an emotional place. Dean tends to be more empathetic, and Sam more sympathetic. Dean, despite his performative walls, is more easily affected on a visceral level by others’ emotions. He is more sensitive, more easily hurt or swayed to anger, and also more easily experiences empathy. This has nothing to do with what Dean thinks is right—it’s another involuntary emotion. He is sometimes moved to express this feeling, but he’s not generally concerned about appearing sympathetic. Sam, with his careful emotional walls, isn’t generally so viscerally affected by others, but he is kind. This is expressed as sympathy, because he cares about others’ feelings, and he wants to be good/morally right. On the one hand, it comes from an intellectual place—“it’s socially acceptable/morally right to express care for this person” (which Dean is less likely to care about)—and on the other, it is an emotional response—“I know what that feels like”—but a more regulated one than empathy, where one almost directly experiences another’s emotions.

7. Walls—hiding vs. performing: It’s interesting that both brothers have their own walls, which they construct as a form of self-preservation, but they have different levels of effectiveness in protecting themselves from outside influence. One difference might lie in what the walls were built in reaction to. Sam built his walls at a young age to separate himself from the outside world because, ironically, it was precisely what he desired, but was not allowed to have. He therefore consciously distanced himself from it, to dull the pain of not having it. The goal of those walls was to have something to hide behind, where he could remain generally unnoticed, so he could conceal his pain from outsiders and even from his family.

Dean took a little longer to build his walls—or at least to consciously do so. He already no doubt fashioned himself after his dad as a kid, and often put on a brave face—for Sam, for his father—when he was not feeling brave. He therefore became accustomed to performing at a young age, and performed many roles for both Sam’s and John’s benefit. He was unconsciously building walls with these performances, concealing his true feelings and desires. Later, I think this started to become more intentional, especially in relations with women/sex partners and especially after the Stanford split, as Dean realized how vulnerable to hurt his sensitive nature made him. It was much safer to perform all the time, and never let his real feelings show. For Dean, even more than Sam, I think he often lost sight of what those real feelings were behind the walls as he tried his best to be the performance he was putting on.

For a visual metaphor, I think of it this way: Sam is a boy at the center of a self-constructed labyrinth. He is almost always able to maintain control over how close people get (except when a few slip past his defenses, at which point he may be susceptible to manipulation). Despite all those elaborate passageways, though, there’s still Sam at the center. It’s lonely there, but he knows himself pretty well at least. Dean is a man in a mask who wants the mask to be his real face. He does everything he can to fuse himself and the mask together. They probably are fused at this point, so it would hurt to take the mask off. His memory of the face under the mask is hazy. He’s afraid, if he looks under the mask, he’ll hate what he sees. He’s lonely because no matter how close others get—and he lets them in close, can surround himself with people—none of them will ever see his true face. But he’s convinced himself it’s better this way, because if anyone saw his face, they’d hate it.

8. Need and attachment re: each other: Clearly, both brothers need each other. Sam’s need for Dean is different than Dean’s need for Sam, though. The way I see it, Dean’s need is one that requires reassurance. Perhaps it traces back to the concern about Sam instilled into him at a young age. I think it was strongly exacerbated by the Stanford split, when Dean realized his and Sam’s desires didn’t align. In Dean’s mind, Sam left once and can do it again—he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sam, on the other hand, has always been able to rely on Dean as a rock, a constant in his life—to the point that, in a way, he takes it for granted when he’s younger. Not in a spoilt, ungrateful way, but in that way that we, as children, might take our parents for granted—they’re always going to be there, right? That’s why, on the few occasions where suddenly, Sam isn’t sure of Dean’s devotion, the rug is ripped out from under him and he’s completely adrift and distraught—seasons 4 and 8 come to mind. Sam needs to be the center of Dean’s universe. When he fears that that’s shifted, that Dean hates him or has chosen someone else over him, it turns Sam’s whole world upside down. For Dean, the fear is that Sam will leave, but it’s a constant, background worry. For Sam, the fear is that Dean will hate him, but since he can usually count on Dean to be obsessed with him, it only comes up now and again. Only Dean can truly hurt Sam, while Dean is vulnerable to hurt from others—though, as always, the deepest hurt can only come from Sam.

9. Ambitions and goals: Sam is the one with greater needs and ambitions outside the scope of their relationship. For Dean, if he’s got Sam and he’s got hunting, he’s content. His greatest accomplishments are taking care of Sam and saving people, and that’s all he needs. I see Sam as craving other sources of fulfillment, though—academic/lore study for its own sake (the pursuit of knowledge), and a leadership/mentorship role. I thought it was very fitting that Sam finds these in late seasons, with leading hunters against the BMOL, then leading the apocalypse AU hunters, then mentoring/nurturing Jack. Dean has always had (and needed) a mentor/leadership/nurturing role with Sam, but Sam also thrives when he’s able to step into that role for others.

10. Normality and monstrosity: I’m just going to link to this post rather than repeat myself.

11. Guilt and self-loathing: This is something they both struggle with and at times, are defined by, but it manifests differently. I think their Hell traumas exemplify their different brands of guilt: for Dean, it’s perpetrator’s guilt. He knows he did something terrible and feels he can never atone for his past actions. For Sam, it’s victim’s/survivor’s guilt. He may not have done anything wrong, but there’s a certain amount of self-blame, especially for perceived weakness. This is another theme for Sam; one of the main faults he sees in himself is weakness—too weak to save Dean from Hell for instance—and as a result tries to shoulder things alone (killing Lilith, Hallucifer, etc). Sam has a need to fix things, to prove to others and himself that he is capable. Dean, I think, sees his main fault as neediness, but really, it’s a deeply buried sense of innate worthlessness. He was taught from a young age that his brother’s life—not his own—was of the utmost value. He internalized that his life was only worthwhile if he could save others, and has trouble with the idea that he, himself, has value beyond what he can do for others.

12. Autonomy and sacrifice: The above leads Dean to have a very constrained sense of his own autonomy. In general, he values duty/loyalty to others over autonomy (although when it comes to cosmic beings, he’s all about free will—see this post if you want more thoughts on that, and Sam’s autonomy). Often, his desire to control others comes from a place of frustration when Dean feels they are neglecting duty/being selfish. I think partially duty towards others is really a deeply ingrained value for him, but there may also be some buried jealousy at play, in that Dean wishes he could act with more freedom, put himself first every once in a while, but doesn’t know how to. Sam tends to value autonomy over duty (this doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe in any sort of responsibility—he’s willing to sacrifice for the greater good, after all). This means he also tends to respect others’ autonomy, though we all know he can get plenty unhinged where his brother’s safety is concerned. The theme of Sam and autonomy has been talked to death so I’ll stop there, but you can click the link above if you want more.

13. Personal identity: One of Dean’s biggest struggles is with how much of his personal identity is received rather than self-determined. He is tasked with taking care of Sam and he is trained to be a hunter; these become the foundations of his identity. He says it himself: taking care of Sam is not just what he does but who he is. Then in season 3, his own subconscious mocks him for his lack of originality, styling himself and all he loves after his father, showing that this is a source of deep insecurity. This discomfort with himself contributes to his fear of being abandoned and left alone with himself. He doesn’t know who he is without Sam—or rather, is convinced he is nothing without Sam, which is why he fights so hard to keep him by his side. It also contributes to his general desire for friends, or better, family: people who won’t abandon him.

Later in the series, I think Dean has come to embrace his genuine self more. He’s nerdy and excitable and playful—and I don’t see this is as regression, but rather a healthy embracing of what makes him happy—not tastes inherited from his father. If it seems juvenile, it’s because it’s the first time in his life he’s allowed himself to express and explore these things. I think his relationship with hunting is also healthier; it’s no longer something he does because it’s the only thing that can give him worth. He does it because he believes it’s right and genuinely wants to help people. He has a more complete sense of self, and while it’s still totally tied up in Sam, he has gained some self-worth.

[I should note that basically everything I’ve written about Dean supports the headcanon that Dean has BPD—a headcanon I accepted after I realized this. For some more great writing on Dean and BPD, see this post by @venhedish.]

Sam has always known what he wanted for himself and rejected what was given to/allowed him. Wanting what he couldn’t have, from a young age, helped him develop an individual sense of self, not defined by others. I think it’s this difference in their sense of individual identity that leads some viewers to think that Dean loves Sam more than Sam loves Dean. He doesn’t, and losing Dean is just as huge a loss and a grief for Sam as losing Sam was for Dean. Dean is central to Sam’s life, and he can’t feel complete without him; however, his identity and every desire has never revolved as entirely around Dean as Dean’s has around him, so Sam has a foundational sense of self that even losing Dean can’t completely destroy. It’s what allows him to rebuild in grief and carry on (whereas I have no doubt Jensen’s right and Dean would waste away in the back of a pool hall without Sam). Dean’s central role in Sam’s life never disappears, though, and it is, in fact, what allows Sam to carry on; an effort to honor his brother’s memory, living in a way that would make him proud. There’s continuity in that for Sam; the craving for his brother’s approval and happiness never disappears. Seeking those things is what makes Sam happy, both in their domestic years together before Dean’s death and in the years after. They are both, after all, co-dependent!

14: Concluding observation: Sam and Dean have many similar issues, desires, and insecurities: the desire for a normal life, the fear of their own monstrosity, the desire for love and friendship, their need and love for each other, their desire for approval/to be admired, resentment at their childhood, the feeling of being impure and unworthy, the desire for freedom, issues with bodily autonomy. Sometimes these are seen as the purview of one brother or the other exclusively, but that’s almost never true when you consider canon as a whole. The difference is in how these things are internalized, sublimated, reflected, and expressed for each of them. It makes sense they would struggle with so many of the same things, because their lives are deeply intertwined and they are in the same boat most of the time.

#spn meta #sam meta #dean meta #sam and dean #winchester brothers #my meta #the brodependency #long post #spn

102 notes · View notes

justallamaimaginingthings · 4 years

Text

Angel {Klaus Hargreeves x Reader}

A/n: I SWEAR this started with the pure intention of fluffiness. My hand slipped, I guess *wink*. Btw, even though this is the original version, I’d be more than happy to change it up a little so it can become gender neutral or about a male reader if anyone’s interested, so don’t hesitate to message me about it. Enjoy 💘💘

Warnings: Slight smut

Words: 1990ish II TUA Masterlist

Walking down the street, Y/n couldn’t help leaning closer to Klaus so that their shoulders were touching as he placed and arm around her waist, enjoying the feeling of finally having her by his side. After a whole year without any sign of her or anyone else, he had almost given up all hope of ever seeing her again, unaware that for the first time life was on his side. And here they were, walking together back to the place Klaus had come to call home.

"So is your cult going to be there?" She asked teasingly making him roll his eyes at her.

"For the last time, it's not that much of a cult really, more of a spiritual community" He defended himself but still he was unable to hold back a chuckle upon seeing the incredulous look she was giving him.

"Allison said it's a cult and I believe her" She insisted

"You'd take Allison's word over mine? I'm hurt, love" He replied, making an exaggerated motion of placing a hand over his heart like he was in physical pain. If there was one word she could use to describe Klaus that was extra. However, she had come to love his quirky, overly dramatic reactions just as much as she loved him and she simply adored teasing him. No matter how much he pretended to be annoyed, Klaus wouldn’t change their little fake fights for the world. Every time he made her laugh he could feel his chest swelling with pride and her smile was all the reward he needed, making his heart skip a bit and his heart flood with affection.

To say she had missed her would be an understatement. There hadn’t been a single day during the last three years that he hadn’t thought about her. Mornings were the worst and everyday he'd find himself instinctively reach for her across the bed only to be met by empty sheets as the weight on his chest returned to crush him. Sometimes he would dream of her, dream of holding her and kissing her senseless or making love to her until dawn before they fell asleep in each other's arms. Those mornings it became even more difficult for him to carry on, sobriety only adding to his struggles, but somehow he managed to pull through and it was worth it.

"What if I find a way to make it up to you later?" She asked in a suggestive tone as she turned around so that she stood right in front of him, right before lacing her hands around his shoulders. Her fingers found his curly locks and gently brushed through them, eliciting a satisfied hum from his lips. He wrapped both arms around her waist, pulling her closer as his grip on her tightened, the thought about what was to follow already having an effect on him.

"I'm really offended, I doubt there's any way to get passed that" He played along but the breathlessness of his tone gave him away. She smirked at him right before checking around for other passengers, but luckily the small street was completely empty and the last rays of sunshine left little to no light to reach the alley. She took a step forward causing him to move backwards until he was leaning against the wall and pulling her with him.

The moment her lips made contact with his jaw, he knew he was done for. She started leaving soft kisses that turned more intense as she made her way down the column of his neck, gently nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin. Klaus tried -and failed- to hold back a moan when she gently bit down on his collarbone and she smirked, loving the way his body seemed to respond even to the lightest touch. Leaning back to look at him, her breath caught in her throat. He looked positively wrecked, face flushed, pupils dilated and lips parted in desire.

"I'll think of something" She whispered and he could feel her lips brush against his, sending a shiver down his spine. The loose shirt he was wearing allowed her fingers to roam around his chest while his hands moved from her waist to the small of her back and ended up gripping her hips so tightly it would leave a bruise. He leaned in for another kiss, channeling all his feelings into it and it was her turn to sigh when he licked her bottom lip as if asking for permission which she happily granted. He tangled his hand in her hair as their tongues fought for dominance. Slowly, her hand made its way down to the front of his pants, palming his straining erection.

"Love, if you keep this up we won’t make it back home" He whispered hoarsely wrapping his hand around her wrist. Truth was it would be far from the first time they'd get it on in a public space and both of them clearly enjoyed the thrill of perhaps getting caught, but that time was different. They had gotten back together two days ago, after spending three years apart. Klaus wanted to show her just how much he'd missed her during that time and a quickie in a dark alley was no way to do that, no matter how bad he wanted her. He didn’t have to say another word; she could tell what he was thinking from the look her was giving her.

Instead of replying, she placed a soft kiss on his lips before taking hold of his hand and lacing their fingers together. "Lead the way, then" She told him, an affectionate smile gracing her features and for yet another time Klaus wondered how he had gotten so lucky. He had to put on an effort not to get carried away once again, before he pushed himself off the wall and continued walking. They made their way towards the mansion, exchanging funny stories from the time they spent away from each other and laughing. By the time they reached their destination, the sun had set and night had fallen.

"Welcome home" Klaus declared as they turned down the last corner. Her eyes blew wide in surprise caused by the awe inspiring sight in front of her. The large garden was filled with all types of lanterns and lamps making it look almost magical, while a crowd of people, the cult's members she assumed, was marching around doing this and that. In the centre of the garden laid a huge white building accompanied by what appeared to be an equally huge pool.

"You live here?" She exclaimed turning to look at Klaus who couldn’t hide his amusement at her shocked reaction. "How??"

"Well, you know… Dicks, drugs, debutantes, my holy trinity" He replied casually making her laugh and playfully hit his arm.

"It’s beautiful" She noted in a more serious tone.

"Yeah" He agreed and if she wasn't so preoccupied by her surroundings, she would have noticed him staring at her with an expression of pure admiration. The way the light hit her face made her features pop out and he could easily lose himself in her sparkling eyes. He was about to say something when a group of his followers who were passing right in front of them suddenly stopped having seemingly frozen on their tracks. They looked at her with a shocked expression before falling on their knees and bowing down. It even took Klaus a moment to realize what was happening while the cult members spoke in one voice.

"But what is the use of trying when all you get is pain? When I wanted sunshine, I got rain and then I saw her face. Now I'm a believer without a trace of doubt in my mind" They chanted and she swore she had heard those words before. Realizing they were all looking at her in complete awe and a little bit of fear she turned to him for explanation.

"Klaus, I didn’t expect to say that in my life but why is your cult reciting Smash Mouth at me?" She asked with visible confusion.

"Yeah, well you see…" He tumbled over his words, avoiding looking at her as if he was embarrassed by what was going on "I may have told them you’re an angel send from heaven" He said in one breath, thankful for the fact that the poor lighting helped cover his blushing face.

"They think I'm a what now?" She repeated, thinking she must have heard something wrong, even though with Klaus nothing was too farfetched.

"An angel" He repeated quietly. She didn't have enough time to react to this revelation because a member of the group hesitantly spoke up.

"Prophet does the arrival of heaven's angel mean the apocalypse is prevented?" A bald man around his 30s asked in a small voice, afraid to interrupt the conversation of what he believed were two god blessed celestial beings.

"What?" Both Y/n and Klaus asked at the same time, almost having forgotten they were in the presence of others.

"Will we be brought eternal peace?"

"Is this the end of all wars?"

"Can you give us some advice from heavens?"

Questions kept flowing and soon the voices all blended together in an incomprehensible noise. Klaus took her hand and started running towards his room in a futile attempt to escape the increasingly large crowd only for it to chase them down the garden. When they reached the door, he shot her a helpless look and she couldn’t help rolling her eyes at him and the mess he had created.

"I'm sure you all have many questions, but the Prophet needs to medicate before he can bring you the enlightenment you seek" She said in the best authoritative voice she could muster, surprised by the fact that by the time she was done talking the crowd had already started to disperse seemingly having listened to her.

Turning around, she followed Klaus into the room, closing the door behind her so that the two of them could actually get some much needed privacy. She was about to ask him how he managed to control all those people, but didn’t even have a chance to talk because by the moment the door was shut close he had pushed her against the wall and captured her lips in a sweet passionate kiss. His thumb softly caressed her cheekbone and she melted under his touch. The way his lips moved against hers, drinking her in as if she's air and he's drowning, was enough to drive her crazy and a whine of complaint escaped her when he pulled away much too soon for her liking.

"Now, now love, I believe some making up was promised" He said in a husky tone that made her heart skip a bit. There were no words to describe how much he had missed her or how deep his affections ran but frankly he didn’t have to talk. He could just show her and show her he did. The two lovers spent the rest of the night under the sheets, making up for the lost time while the room filled with the sound of moans and muffled whispers. The morning found them curled up in each other's arms, exchanging loving words and soft caresses and for the first time in a long while everything was okay.

#tua #tua klaus #tua x reader #tua x you #tua imagine #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy x reader #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x you #klaus hargreeves imagine

334 notes · View notes

sirdust · 3 years

Text

more striker analysis/rambling bc i just. won’t shut up

this dude is actually deceptively tough to figure out in some ways. i don’t think he’s going to be as complex as our main characters because, frankly, you don’t hire a voice actor that expensive for a character you plan on spending a whole lot of time with. that doesn’t mean he has no depth though.

i’ve already talked at length about how he’s class-conscious but cruel, which makes him in some ways more threatening than if he was cruel but unaware. i really am starting to think he has a superiority complex with the way he talks about and treats other imps, because while he’s initially friendly, he’s clearly disdainful of them by the end of the episode. see: calling himself and blitz superior, kicking a random audience member in the face, etc. you get it by now

even though the majority of his antagonism is directed at moxxie specifically, his attitude toward blitz is also interesting. even though they tie at the games, his song suggests that he considers himself the only winner, and he calls blitz a rodeo clown behind his back, which makes it seem as if he doesn’t respect him. he also lies to him about why he’s trying to kill stolas and actually manages to pinpoint his exact insecurities after a very brief time of knowing him, which is interesting. and they are similar, they’re both imp assassins who have deals with the goetia family, and my current guess is that stella is the source of striker’s angelic weapons (in parallel to how stolas is the source of the grimoire for blitz). so it’s possible striker understands what blitz is up against and how it’s affecting him in a way nobody else blitz has met before does. the problem is, like i said, he’s using that against him.

i really do think striker is out for himself. he’s aware of the oppression imps face, but he’s internalized the idea that imps are inferior and he needs to distance himself in order to be on the same level as those in the upper echelon of their society. at the same time, by doing that and by working for someone who actively wishes to maintain the status quo, he’s playing into the system, and i wonder if that’s what he doesn’t realize. if he does then he’s really just purely mercenary, but it’s interesting to think about.

but i also want to get back to his relationship with blitz, because even though i don’t think he truly views him as an equal, he does seem to think more highly of him than he does moxxie (or at least recognizes his strength, and recognizes that strength could be useful to him). there is one thing i saw pointed out though that i hadn’t really considered and it does... throw a bit of a wrench in what i was reading into this character before now.

...he has his knife during this entire fight and doesn’t, like, use it. granted, in this particular scene he’s using it as a distraction so he can wrench the barrel of blitz’s pistol towards moxxie, but we don’t see it knocked out of his hand during the subsequent action sequence or anything (unlike with blitz’s pistol) so we can assume he still has it by the time he gets away. arguably there were no opportunities for him to get stabby, but deliberately showing that he has his knife is interesting to do here from a writing perspective, because the fact it doesn’t play a key part in the fight itself seems more noticeable upon revisiting.

maybe the reason he doesn’t stab him is so he can maintain some potential emotional leeway, but he does point his shotgun at him and moxxie during this fight with seeming intent to kill. i don’t think he really had plans to let blitz get away from this encounter, so his seeming restraint here is strange. in the end, the fact he doesn’t use his knife could possibly be an oversight, but it’s too interesting to ignore.

that isn’t even to mention the fact that he mockingly calls him “blitzy” at the end, which is a nickname that stolas has always meant to be affectionate but blitz takes as condescending. its usage in that scene could actually imply many things, but here are my primary takeaways:

1) this was originally pointed out by some lovely person whose account i cannot remember for the life of me, but it contrasts with the usage of “blitzo” by verosika and fizz. whereas “blitzo” encapsulates the ways blitz is dissatisfied with his past, “blitzy” encapsulates that with which he’s dissatisfied in the present.

2) it’s, again, condescending. striker implies that by relying on other “weaker” imps instead of rejecting solidarity with them to pursue his own interests, blitz is equal to “weaker” imps, and any exceptional skill he may possess is rendered moot by his place in society. that’s how the higher-ups in hell already view the situation, anyways, so striker is once again using his insecurity against him.

3) arguably of less importance but still interesting, the overt attraction blitz has to striker throughout the episode serves to place him in the role of pseudo-love interest as well as rival. having striker use the nickname coined by blitz’s main love interest draws the contrast between their attitudes towards blitz to the forefront. stolas is above blitz in terms of class, but he seems to like blitz for who he is (he’s still the only character he’s shown to be attracted to), and his prejudice is born out of ignorance and not malice. striker actually share’s blitz’s class interests, but seems to value him on the basis of how useful he could be as a partner in crime and maliciously exploits his anxieties about life at the bottom.

(i forgot how i was originally going to end this, holy shit this got long)

so yeah. to sum up, while i don’t think we’ll be seeing striker too many times throughout the series, this character is becoming more interesting the more i look back, and his relationship with blitz really does present an interesting question for blitz as a character. at the same time, it may serve to provide striker more depth later, but we really have to wait and see since his behavior has sent contradictory messages to us as the audience. not in a way that feels unintentional, just difficult to parse without further information.

#helluva boss #op #this was supposed to be way shorter i spent way too much time writing this #especially considering how poorly formatted it is lol. oh well #long post //

29 notes · View notes

ahkaahshi · 3 years

Text

1:32 AM [hirugami sachirou x reader]

pairing: hirugami sachirou x fem reader

genre: fluff with sprinkles of angst

warning(s): descriptions of catastrophic thinking/anxiety, brief mentions of death, swearing

word count: 2.5k

overview: when hirugami’s old habits of rumination come back to haunt him, there’s only one person who can bring him peace

By the time it’s 1:32 AM, Hirugami has spent no less than a half hour staring at the digitized numbers of the alarm clock cutting through the darkness, watching the precious seconds and minutes of sleep tick away before his eyes. A strange haze hangs over him, and it’s as if his ears have been stuffed with cotton, amplifying all the thoughts pounding against his skull. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence in his head, during which he can hear the leaves whispering in the breeze outside of his window, and he thinks he’s finally falling asleep, but the quietude is painfully temporary.

With a heavy sigh, he turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling, giving his thoughts a moment to surface individually, like bubbles rising to meet the daylight shining down on a body of water.

When will what I do ever be enough?

Did I really choose the right path in life?

Would I still feel this way if my life had played out differently?

When will these thoughts stop?

Rumination is nothing new to him. Despite being able to keep the habit tucked away for a majority of his high school years with both yours and Hoshiumi’s help, he finds that it often comes back to haunt him at the most unexpected times. His week at work had been as smooth as it could be given he was a busy veterinarian, yet he’d felt a knot of something—uncertainty?—forming within him over the course of the past few days. Where it had originated from he had no clue, but it was proving to be a formidable opponent now, in the late hours of the evening while the rest of the neighborhood slept.

The journal on his bedside table catches his attention, and as much as he knows he should take a moment to pen down his troubles in an attempt to put them to rest, his hands feel too heavy to move. Just making the simple trip from his chest to the table feels like the most effortful task in the universe. He does, however, find the strength and motivation to reach for his phone lying beside him where he’d tossed it in agony after realizing he was using it far too long after bedtime.

His eyelids instinctively narrow at the sudden influx of light that spills onto his face from the screen when he turns it on, even though the brightness is at its lowest setting. Lazy drags of his fingertips find him face to face with your smiling contact photo, and sluggish taps compose a more to-the-point text message than he usually sends asking if you’re still awake. Gray dots appearing, then promptly disappearing along the bottom of his screen proves that you are—and in an instant, he’s answering a call from you.

“What’s up, Sachi?” you ask, voice more chipper than he’d expect at this hour.

“Nothin’ much,” he lies with a yawn. Hearing his voice weighted so heavily with fatigue makes your heart sink in your chest. “What’re you up to?”

He can hear rustling through the phone as you readjust the blankets ensconcing you to pull them up to your shoulders again. Gazing at your glowing computer screen, you respond, “Just watching a movie,” before asking, “Everything okay?”

“Just having trouble getting to sleep, is all,” he explains, the words leaving his mouth in another exasperated groan, “So, I thought I’d talk to my favorite person if she was still awake.”

Jokingly, you comment, “I won’t tell Kourai you said that, yeah?”

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

A comfortable moment of silence passes, during which you shuffle your feet beneath the covers to warm them up and he allows his eyelids to flutter shut so he can focus his full attention on the sound of your voice when you speak again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Don’t you get tired of it, (f/n)?”

“Of what, baby?”

“Of listening to me talk myself in circles when I’m like this and hearing about the same issues over and over again?”

Though there’s a hint of irritation laced in his tone, you know it’s directed at himself rather than at you. “Sachi, you can talk about whatever you want as much as you want. I know how much you keep to yourself, so it’s okay. I just want to help, since I know how exhausting it must be for you to deal with.” There’s a short pause, and you know from experience that his mind is most likely distorting your words, forming them into daggers he sinks into his own heart. “I promise, it’s okay to talk to me about it. Trust me.”

He blinks slowly, takes a deep breath, and agrees, “Okay.”

Pursing your lips, you glance around the darkness of your room until your eyes settle on the bag you’d already packed, ready to take to his house for your scheduled weekend visits. “Would it help if you could see my face?” you wonder, your mouth curling up into a small grin regardless of the fact that he can’t see it.

“Well,” he hums, dragging his long fingers through his chestnut brown hair, “you know I’d never turn down the opportunity to see my gorgeous girlfriend, but you’ll have to give me a minute to touch up my makeup.”

With a snicker, you retort, “You’ll have plenty of time to pull yourself together if I just come over instead.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, sweetheart. Not at this ungodly hour.”

“And you didn’t,” you reaffirm, “but I want to, so, will you let me visit a whole—” you interrupt yourself to check the time before continuing—“eight and a half hours earlier than we’d originally planned?”

“I would love that,” is his answer given without hesitation despite his initial, intrusive thought of being burdensome to you by allowing you to drive over so early in the morning.

And even though he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the spiral of negative ideas swirling around him like the raging waters of a whirlpool, he doesn’t regret accepting your invitation when you arrive about twenty minutes later. Upon opening the door to your car for you, he’s greeted by your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him close for a tight hug that instantly engulfs him in a warm feeling of comfort that he can’t liken to anything else he’s ever felt before from anyone else. He holds your body flush against his—even after he’s felt your grip loosen in a signal to pull away that then tightens once more at realizing he’s not quite finished yet—and acknowledges the guilt that suddenly rises within him.

How could I ever want to know how things could’ve been different when I have her?

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers, craning his neck to press a kiss to yours before finally releasing you and slinging your bag over his shoulder. The wave of cold air that rushes between your bodies at their separation nearly makes you reach for him again, but you settle for latching onto his hand instead while the two of you make your way up to his apartment. “You made it here in record time, speed racer.”

Chuckling, you joke, “Drove like I was answering a booty call.”

“I’m truly flattered.”

The gentle smile across his lips has your heart skipping a beat in your chest but doesn’t hide the fatigue clearly present on his handsome features. His hand on your back gently ushers you inside the familiar warmth of his home when he unlocks the door, and you make a beeline to his bedroom once you’ve kicked off your shoes. A look of amusement glimmers in his eyes at how quickly you settle yourself down in his bed and bury yourself under his comforter and blankets.

As he climbs into bed beside you, your hands move to the sides of his face to pull him towards you for a gentle kiss. “What’s going on, Sachi?” you murmur after your lips part. He sits on the mattress beside you, and the sinking of the bed naturally draws you closer to one another until your arms are wrapped around his torso and his draped over your shoulders.

“Just the usual,” he sighs, fingers absentmindedly grazing the fabric of your sweater, “You know, the whole wondering if I’ve done everything right bit. My mind just loves reminding me of my mistakes and going through how I could’ve handled things differently, even if the thing in question happened, like, five years ago.”

You hum understandingly and nod, focusing on his words to keep yourself awake—which is a challenge when his body feels like a lullaby.

“I’m still hung up over that dog we couldn’t save last month. Every day, I find myself thinking of the moment when his heartbeat just… stopped. And the look in his owner’s eyes when I told her he hadn’t made it. And I just wonder, what could I have done differently to keep him alive?”

He swallows thickly and breathes out a somewhat frustrated sigh. “And I replay the arguments I’ve had with people—and with you—in my head, wondering what I could’ve done to prevent them. But I know that hindsight’s twenty-twenty and that if I’d have known the answer or what was to come beforehand then it never would’ve happened to begin with. It’s so frustrating because I know this, I’ve been able to accept mistakes and let them go, yet I still beat myself up really badly over things every now and then.”

Moving away from him slightly so you can look up at him, into his weary but kind and welcoming gaze, you place your hands on his shoulders and give him a small smile. “Baby,” you say with an affectionate squeeze to his muscles, “these shoulders of yours are so strong, but they’re meant for carrying backpacks, me when I want a piggyback ride, or any kids we may or may not have in the future; not the weight of the world.”

He tilts his head to the side so he can lower his cheek onto one of your hands, spreading heat across your skin. With the way he’s watching you so intently, you can tell how much he values your words as well as the fact that you’re here, sitting in front of him instead of gazing at him through a screen.

Slowly, speaking as the thoughts enter your mind, you assure him, “It’s okay to fuck up. How would we learn if we didn’t?” You stroke his cheek with your thumb before your fingers move to his head of waves tousled haphazardly from whatever restless sleep he’d been able to get.

“Just remind yourself of the way you usually deal with mistakes. Acknowledge them, say yeah, that happened, and it sucked ass, but I’ll do better next time, and let go of them. I mean, I know it’s way, way easier said than done, but you’re really good at it. Remember all those times in high school I came to you, freaking out over the smallest things that I’d done? Who am I kidding? I still do that; but, anyway, it’s always been you who’s helped me. Give yourself the same permission to mess up.”

Your boyfriend of many years heaves a deep sigh as he lets the truth of your statements pass through his internal filter that does a fine job, unfortunately, in this case, of sifting through only the ideas he wants to believe. Though they’re met with initial resistance that only manifests as a defense mechanism, all your words manage to remain after the process like the smallest pieces of gold hidden amongst layers and layers of sediment.

Taking your hand in his, you tell him, “There aren’t really any right or wrong decisions, and I know you know that. They’re just choices you make. Mistakes are gonna happen no matter what, but you’re gonna be okay. I know you, Hirugami Sachirou, and I know how strong and determined you are. You can do what you set your mind to and with that smile on your face some people find annoying—” the grin in question appears on his lips, making you laugh—“Yeah, that one. So, get it into that big brain of yours that you’re doing your best or I’ll have to rough you up a bit.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“As you should be.”

In an instant, the heavy layers of worry that had restricted him before unravel at your definitive statement, and he’s laughing while he pulls you into his arms once more. As always, his laughter is contagious, and it’s not long before you’re doing the same, body shaking against his. “Don’t unleash your wrath on me, baby; I’ll listen, I promise. And I’ll make your favorite for breakfast tomorrow,” he concedes with a teasing tone, a yawn whisking some of his words away.

“We have a deal,” you chirp, “Now, let’s go to sleep. It’s way past your bedtime, gramps.”

He complains, “You callin’ me old?” as your bodies sink down onto the soft mattress, his head pausing in its natural course towards your chest so it can hover above yours. “’Cause I found more gray hairs than I’d like to admit when I was doing my hair yesterday, so I’m actually really self-conscious about it.”

Sticking out your lower lip in a sympathetic pout, you comment, “I said you were old, but I didn’t say that you weren’t hot.”

“So, I’ve still got it, huh?”

“You’re basically a silver fox.”

A soft hum of contentment rumbles against your lips when he presses his to them to shower you with a few, affectionate kisses. Eventually, he pulls away and pecks your chin on his way to your neck, where he nestles his head as your arms readjust to accommodate his body coming to rest against yours. “Thanks, (f/n),” he mumbles, voice suddenly heavy and lethargic compared to how it had been moments earlier, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Your fingers card through his hair softly as he takes a deep breath and slides his palm along the back of your thigh to coax it around his waist so he can move his body even closer to yours. While the two of you lie together, surrounded in warmth, feeling the gentle beating of each other’s hearts against your bodies, Hirugami finds he has nothing left to worry about—no thoughts left to disturb him. And, because his mind is finally quiet and still, the ruminating beast within him quelled by your honest words and gentle touch, sleep finally comes just as easily to him as loving you does.

when night falls masterlist

when night falls taglist (send an ask to be added!)

@why-aminot-dead, @yamagucji, @toutorii, @shibayamasbae, @tsukkisbean, @devlovesiwa-channn, @captain-shittykawa, @ghblh, @postsfromthe6, @omibaby, @deerixiie, @oikawoahh, @stormlights

#haikyuu x reader #hirugami x reader #x reader #reader insert #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hirugami sachirou x reader #fran writes hq!!#ahkaahshi//wnf

93 notes · View notes

alirhi · 3 years

Text

chapter 21

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 21/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. Notes: I don't speak German. Bucky's line came from Google translate, so if it's wrong, take it up with Google lol

Rogers had been frowning in silent confusion for nearly ten minutes. Loki was beginning to suspect that he'd become frozen that way and needed to be rebooted like a computer when he finally shifted position slightly and spoke. "You're sure it was Peggy?"

It would have been better if he'd stayed silent.

Bucky, clearly possessing far more patience than his lover had, nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Are you really sure, though? I mean, with what HYDRA did to-"

Though his face remained passively, almost serenely blank, Loki noticed immediately when his beloved flinched, and he immediately snapped at Rogers, "Don't you dare."

"Loki, it's fine."

"It fucking isn't."

"It's a valid question," Romanov had the audacity to say. She cast an apologetic look in Bucky's direction, but Loki wasn't about to let her off the hook that easily.

"Kindly do mind your own business, Agent Romanov." Squaring his shoulders and forcing himself to remain calm, he turned back to Rogers. "I will not stand idly by while you attempt to use his trauma to invalidate him simply because you don't like what he's saying."

Bucky blushed, glaring sharply at him over his shoulder. "Do I need to ask you to leave? You rescued me from HYDRA; that doesn't mean you need to rescue me from the whole world. I can fight my own battles."

Heart splintering, Loki reached out to brush back that beautiful, ridiculous mop of hair. He secretly hoped Bucky would never cut it. "You shouldn't have to. This man is supposed to be your friend, not another adversary."

"It's fine, Doll." His smile was still so sad, but Loki had to give him credit for trying. "I can handle it."

"No, he's right." They both glanced at Rogers, who looked mildly sick to his stomach, and much more apologetic than Romanov had. "I should trust you-I do trust you, Buck. You've always looked out for me. I'm sorry."

Well. It seemed miracles could happen, after all. Nodding his curt approval, the Trickster sank down into one of the empty chairs beside Bucky. He'd noticed that everyone was giving the Sergeant a wide berth, as if afraid he might snap at any moment. Just to prove to them all what an absolute Teddy bear of a man James Barnes truly was, he scooted closer and dropped his head onto Bucky's shoulder, hand resting on his back; he heard the other man chuckle, felt some of the tension ooze out of his taut muscles, and smiled.

Thor was looking at him as though he'd lost his mind. Suppressing a laugh as he remembered that his brother hadn't seen him be openly affectionate with anyone since they were small, he shrugged and closed his eyes. It wasn't comfortable; he'd sat on Bucky's left and his metal arm hardly made for a good pillow, but he didn't care. He'd chosen that side on purpose. Bucky hated the prosthetic arm HYDRA had given him and Loki had noticed quickly that he used it as little as possible, as if afraid it would develop a mind of its own and hurt someone. Loki saw it as simply a part of the other man's body and was determined to show him that it was perfectly safe.

"So, Peggy and Howard hired Zola." Loki opened his eyes again just in time to see Rogers shaking his head in dismay. "After everything we went through to bring him and HYDRA down? I just..."

Stark scoffed. "I can absolutely see my old man doing something like that. He always cared more about the science than the people. If this Zola guy was even slightly useful, dad would find a use for him."

"He was HYDRA's top scientist," Bucky reminded him softly. "So, yeah, he was useful. He was a weapons developer and he made the serum."

"The second version," Rogers cut in, unnecessarily, Loki thought. "Doctor Erskine created the original."

"Question!" Watching him as he snacked his way through this meeting, Loki wished Stark would have at least swallowed before calling attention to himself, but he remained quiet and waited. "This serum Mark Two that Zola created and my parents died for HYDRA to get their hands on... Where is it now?"

The snarky bluntness of Bucky's answer made it nearly impossible to hide his grin. "In five extra crispy corpses in Siberia."

"What the hell happened there?"

The two cuddling lovers turned in unison to look at Thor, who smiled like a puppy who'd just successfully completed his first trick. "They were struck by lightning. A lot of lightning."

Stark and Rogers seemed somewhat less amused than the rest of the softly chuckling group. While Rogers face-palmed, Stark gaped at Thor. "You killed them?! Is there anything left? Notes, tissue samples, anything?"

"You're starting to sound like your father," Bucky pointed out. To his credit, that made Stark's constantly flapping mouth snap shut. "The world is better off if that serum is gone forever, trust me. The last thing anyone needs is more super soldiers."

"An interesting sentiment coming from the mouth of a super soldier."

Loki tensed, but before he could even decide if he should intervene again or not, Bucky proved that he could indeed fight his own battles. Voice still quiet but with a steely edge to it that made the Avengers tense and his lover smile, he told Stark, "Steve volunteered. I didn't. I was tortured, strapped to a table, and shot up with that shit without even being told what it was, much less asked if I wanted it."

"And if you had been asked?" Stark challenged, looking oddly more sympathetic and curious than defiant. "What would you have said?"

Shrugging his ancient love off his shoulder, Bucky leaned forward, forearms on the table and hands folded in front of him, and growled, "Schieb es dir in den arsch."

It became instantly clear who in the room spoke German – or, in two notable cases, Allspeak. While the others stared at them in utter confusion, Loki, Thor, Romanov, and Rogers all laughed so hard they quickly had tears in their eyes. Oh, how he'd missed this man's indomitable sass!

"I'd have paid to see the look on Zola's face if you actually said that, Buck!"

"What?" Apparently the only one who didn't have too much pride to admit how left out of the joke he felt, Banner looked from one grinning face to the next. "What did he say?"

Bucky's impish grin stated clearly that he had no intention of translating. Pride bubbled up through Loki's amusement; it appeared he was rubbing off on his mild-mannered companion.

Sadly, Romanov decided to take pity on Banner – and, by extention, Barton and Stark – and told him, "He said 'shove it up your ass.'"

"Huh." Reminding Loki why he liked him so much, Stark grinned. "It kinda sounds better in German. I'm gonna have to remember that one."

___________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

8 notes · View notes

ditttiii · 4 years

Text

Finding Me Through You. || jjk ||

(Angst // comfort // romance // strangers to friends to lovers // a hybrid AU)

Summary: You lose yourself to the feeling of having the man you love, kiss you and it feels like a homecoming. It feels like having the stars align perfectly, it feels like having your world tilt back on its axis. It feels like magic, joy—love.

Jeon Jungkook. The campus heartthrob. Captain of the football team. High School Prom King. Teacher’s favourite. Student body favourite. Anyone, and everyone's favourite. This is the story of how you went from strangers to best friends to finally lovers and if in the way you somehow found yourself? well that was just a bonus.

Part One

Jeon Jungkook. The campus heartthrob. Captain of the football team. High School Prom King. Teacher’s favourite. Student boy favourite. Anyone, and everyone's favourite.

Also your best friend. A shocker to many.

To an outsider, who hasn't seen you two together, it would be hard to believe that you were his best friend. You–the resident nerd, the geek, the shy white hybrid. But you were. You were the best of friends.

You were both panther hybrids, but that didn't mean that you both had the same personalities. Far from it really, while you were painfully shy and non-confrontational, Jungkook was fierce and loud, the one who always stood up for what was right. The golden maknae–as he was affectionately referred to as, in his circle of friends. While your fur was white and spotless, your voice soft and mellow, his was a soft gold with bold black stripes running along the course of it, his voice loud and clear–unafraid of being heard. Wanting to be heard–demanding to be heard.

The dichotomy between the two of you was as obvious to you as it was to everyone else.

You remember the first time you noticed Jeon Jungkook. You really noticed him. Of course, you knew who he was before, he wasn't exactly subtle with him and his group of friends being the most popular guys in your college. But that was the first time you really saw him for who he actually was.

You were working at the small cafe on your campus. It was a cosy little thing with students spending hours pouring all their energy into last-minute assignment submissions and consuming ridiculous amounts of caffeine. So, you were certainly surprised when the door to the cafe opened–the chime above it ringing softly and letting you know about the arrival of new customers, and you looked up only to lock eyes with Jeon freaking Jungkook.

Your breath got caught as he gave you a soft polite smile before one of his friends–Taehyung you think–pushed him forward and they moved further to the back of the cafe.

You were soon away from the counter, walking towards his table to get his order. You knew any other girl in your shoes would have been jumping for joy–ecstatic to be talking to him and his friends. But you weren't any other girl because despite being a predator hybrid, your persona was mostly soft. Shy. You didn't want to come under anyone's radar just because you took his order. But your bills weren't going to pay themselves and you had student loans too, so you sucked it up and marched forward.

Let's get this over and done with already. You thought and blew a raspberry, your overgrown bangs fluttering away before settling back on your cheek and tickling your skin softly.

There weren't many things that could surprise you anymore–the hands that fate had dealt you with already having taken their toll on you. But today you were surprised. You don't know why, but for some reason, you hadn't been expecting Jungkook and his posse of friends to be nice. But they were nice–beyond nice. They were friendly and polite–unflinchingly courteous. Hell, they even bowed to you, simply for serving them coffee. A mundane job on your part that you weren't doing out of any goodness of your heart, but solely because you were getting paid for doing it.

—CRASH—

You turn, as the sound of glass shattering reached your ears and almost as if on autopilot you moved towards it, praying that nobody had been hurt.

You get there and see a fox hybrid from one of your classes cursing and furiously trying to get the water off of his shirt with a tissue in his hand.

You look him over to see if he has any injuries and release a relieved sigh when you don't see any. You then rush back and grab one of your coworkers, asking them to look after the cash register as you go to the back to get a broom.

You come back with your cleaning supplies and scoop the shattered glass away, mopping the floor dry after. Just as you were about to head back you hear someone holler, "WAITRESS!"

You turn with furrowed brows and see the fox hybrid from earlier snapping his fingers in the air.

Yes, you were a hybrid and part animal but you were also part human, and that sort of behaviour was demeaning to you. However, being the peace-keeper that you are, you say nothing and just silently walk towards him, voicing out a polite 'Yes?' once you reach beside his table.

"I don't know what kind of shit you are trying to pull here but I am not falling for it. Why the fuck was I charged for the glass? That shit shattered and it could have hurt me!? And YOU are trying to make me pay for that shit?! Fuck you! I ain't paying for this shit." He yells as he stands up and takes a threatening step towards you, his hybrid instincts taking hold of him.

You stumble back, at once terrified of the man in front of you. You wish your hybrid instincts would come through, hoping that the predator in you would somehow protect you. But your meekness wins and you stumble back even further, apologies pouring out of your mouth as you try to distance yourself from the fox hybrid. You were ready to pay the money out of–your own pocket if it meant not having to face his wrath.

"Dude, Back OFF" you hear someone threaten, and suddenly your vision is filled with black—the black of Jeon Jungkooks back to be precise. His leather jacket shone softly under the warm lights of the cafe and you fix your eyes on it.

You try to distract yourself from the fact that the air around you was growing heavier by the second. Killing intent pouring out of their bodies, making it harder for you to breathe.

You are the lamest panther hybrid ever, You tell yourself. You couldn't even stand up for your own damn self!

You are a disgrace to predators. Always the fucking damsel in distress, The mean voice inside your head continues, and you feel yourself shrink further into your shell. Tears pool into your eyes, as your cheeks colour with shame and embarrassment.

"Y/N!" your eyes snap ahead, the tears slip down your cheeks and leave warm, wet trails behind. You hiccup and try to step away, to get away, to run.

It's not like you are good for much else anyway, whispers the voice again. Watering the overgrown tree that has fertilised itself on your insecurities and fears— and you shudder. Your breaths start coming faster—shorter, and you start to feel light-headed.

You feel a panic attack coming, but before you can think about it too much, you feel as someone wraps their arms around you. The arms thick, strong and warm, pull you closer to a chest. The chest is even warmer and firmer under your cheek as you lay your head on it and try to get your breathing under control. You know who the chest belonged to, you know your tears were ruining the white tee under Jeon Jungkooks leather jacket.

You can't even afford to dry clean it for him, your brain rationalises and you pull away because even amid an almost breakdown, you can't forget, just how tight on cash you were. But before you can pull back completely, the arms that were around you tighten and cage you in. Pulling you closer, and your nose hits his neck, before one of the arms snakes around to your head and starts patting your hair—softly, as if you were a child.

It's only then that you realise that you were still trembling like a leaf in a storm. Your breaths were still coming out more as shudders and the ache in your heart only worsens, as you realise how nice it feels to have someone hug you.

He was still holding you, softly rocking you from side to side. Whispering reassurances softly, but ones that you could clearly hear with your hybrid hearing. You think you should, want to pull back, run away from him after all, he was a predator—a strong and extremely dangerous one at that. If he wanted to, he could snap your spine in half like a twig.

But even with the warnings ringing inside your head, you don't make a move to leave his embrace and just silently accept the affection—even if he was doing it only because he pitied you. You don’t care, you couldn't remember the last time someone had held you so tenderly, with so much care, as if you were a porcelain doll that could shatter with one wrong move.

So you stop thinking, stop moving and just feel. Silently let Jeon Jungkook embrace you in his iron-clad strong arms. You close your eyes and pull yourself closer to him, barely a hair's breadth closer, too afraid to shatter the moment and assure yourself that he won't notice.

However Jungkook does, he holds his breath as he feels you move closer before a small smile slips onto his lips and he softly nuzzles your hair. Breathing your scent in, he tightens his arms and pulls you even closer.

Next: Part 2

Soo this was originally going to be a drabble in response to this ask, but then I got carried away with building this imaginary world in my head and it turned into a Two-shot — which is honestly just SO me. I can never pace myself *smh*

I hope you enjoyed this, the next part is gonna be less angst-y and more warm and cuddly—so YAY! to that.

If you liked this please drop a like and give me your feedback in the comments or well the ask box as always, is also open for anyone that would like to share their feedback in detail or just anonymously. I would be VERY happy if you re-blog too.

I LOVE you so much for reading till the very end. If I could meet you and give you cookies-I would. But till then here’s a *virtual hug*

#btswritingcafe #jungkook fanfiction #hybrid!jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts fanfiction #btsfanfic #bts x reader #hybrid bts #hybrid au #hybrid!au #bts fluff #bts angst au #ditttiii #ditttiii writes #ditttiii request #finding me through you #bts fic

472 notes · View notes

yeontanismypresident · 3 years

Text

truth untold | jikook

a/n: uh hey guys i know this isn't what i normally post, but i did a roleplay with a friend (they're so talented holy fuck i'm in love bro) and decided to post it on here since it's already on ao3! they wrote for jimin and i wrote for jungkook. so, come cry with us and watch jikook be all lovey dovey after their rainy day fight hehe <33 thanks for being an amazing rp partner @eglantinian and s/o to my baby @minloop for making this awesome header love you bb <3

pairing: park jimin x jeon jungkook

word count: 11.1k (yikes good luck)

genre: angst, fluff, smut, idolverse

warning(s): unprotected sex (pls be safe babies), finger sucking/fucking (yes, it's a warning bc fuck i love it 🥵), oral sex, fingering, the authors falling in love, Feelings™, okay i think that’s it ghfjd

summary: I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin.

But that's it.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

Pretty ridiculous, given how much he loves being affirmed by it, but there's such a thing as "loving compliments'' but not allowing yourself to be deceived by it. There's also the fact that he's got a vendetta... against some words and how someone says it. Not to mention, words are highly fluid, able to empower or destroy when choreographed into perfection. Just like the twists and turns of chaînés or the smooth glide of a moonwalk. An emotion in motion rehearsed a-plenty with the intent to electrify.

To dazzle, to revive, to thunder people's spiritless lives.

Words.

That's it.

That's why he remains a stoic sceptic, pining and fawning over words, but never also completely trusting them until he's sure that the person speaking them does not intend to deceive him. It's very exhausting, but it's a struggle he puts up with in order to protect himself from getting hurt.

Honey, it is one of the sweetest things in the world, but only because they were a product of the labour of a thousand bees. Because while others may think he just readily wears his heart on his sleeve when he's acting like a mochi, they don't realise that it took years to get to the level of confidence he has today. Persistent and consistent labour, that's what it took to make himself appear effortless, not birth lottery.

Not ever.

Which was why he kept rewinding Jungkook's speech, nay, confession, in his head over and over again when they argued in the practice studio. He's practically memorised every word, the heartache and the love in the maknae's voice ringing clearly through the space between them. Jimin's stupid mind even etched in his memories the way Jungkook's brows furrowed in frustration when he shouted at him to "do what you want."

Or the way the tears fell from Jungkook's eyes when he slammed the door to his face, intent on leaving him there in the studio. Jimin wanted some time to himself while walking to their dorm — it was only 20 minutes away, anyway — because he doesn't trust himself alone with Jungkook. He'll end up ruffling Jungkook's dark hair before tugging it back so that he could tilt his head to face him and lose himself in the depths of his dark, dark gaze.

The sweetest eyes in the world, he'd once thought to himself when he first met the maknae. It was just. Just looking at him then, he already knew it was over for him. Jeon Jungkook wasn't just some band member of BTS to him. Neither was he just some cute boy that he can't help feeling fond of. Nor a younger brother he'd dote on endlessly. No, not at all. Once he looked at Jungkook and got to know him throughout the years, Jimin just knew.

One way or another, their lives will always be intertwined.

Serendipity.

He didn't expect it. And yet here he was, falling in love with him. Can't get him out of his head. Can't get him to be affectionate with him even as a joke. Can't get him to stop pushing him away in front of the camera. But still. Still, he kept trying because Jungkook....

Just now, his eyes, his voice... none of it ever held any intent to deceive him.

Not at all.

It's just that today, Jungkook really had to tell him everything he's wanted to hear from him. And while Jimin knew that Jungkook's words carried weight, he just couldn't help doubting it.

Especially when Jungkook's hands kept fidgeting.

And that's the thing — Jimin suddenly felt that he might be uncertain. That maybe he said those words sincerely, but why was he still being unsure? Like damn it, it's not like he was never afraid every time he made himself look like a fool whenever Jungkook kept dismissing him or denying his affection.

It drove him a little crazy.

But still, even now as he's walking outside and ignoring his phone — it's been vibrating ever since he left the studio, and truthfully, his legs feel a little numb already, but he left that place with his head held high, so if anyone's going to do the chasing, it won't be him, not again — Jungkook's words were a chorus he can't help himself from repeating over and over again.

It's just that I've never felt this much for anyone before.

I don't know how to take it. One day, you were there, and I felt like nothing made sense until I met you. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin. Why does it have to be, just because people are uncomfortable? Why does it have to be, just because you're a man and I'm a man? Why does it have to be, just because I got afraid? I just kept overthinking everything, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you.

But I've been in love with you. Still do.

Fuck. I just said it all. But that's it. I love you, Jimin.

In spite of everything.

And then he just had to look afraid. It's not as if he's the only one.

He sighed, closing his eyes only to blink them open when a drop of rain fell on his cheeks.

His lips curled bitterly. He didn't need to cry at all.

The skies will do it for him.

How lucky.

Jungkook stands in the middle of the practice room, all alone with only cold silence surrounding him. There are silent tears falling from his eyes and gliding down his blushing cheeks. Where did everything go wrong? He was sure he saw the signs right. Sure, he had pushed Jimin away when he was just trying to show his affection, but what else was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do when they had thousands of eyes on them, just waiting for one of them to make a mistake? It could have cost them their career. No matter how much he loves Jimin, he can’t won’t ruin the rest of the group’s careers.

He can’t help but feel embarrassed and hurt. How was he ever going to face Jimin after this? Would his Hyung make fun of him? Would he hate him? Avoid him? Jungkook really put his heart out there, did the one thing that has terrified him for years and he’s...shut down? Rejected? Was he wrong to assume Jimin had feelings for him too? Is this what heartbreak feels like? Like his heart was ripped out of his chest and stomped on a hundred times? Like someone tore it into a million pieces all the while laughing at him for being so idiotic? How long will he have to deal with this aching, sharp pain in his chest? Until he can get over Jimin? Will he ever get over him?

His head snaps to the opening door so fast there’s a loud pop throughout the room. Wincing, Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, praying that behind it is Jimin coming back to clear things up, to confess it was all just some sick joke he was playing on him. But it’s not him, and Jungkook doesn’t know how he should feel when he comes face to face with the confused one of Taehyung. He probably looks like a right mess with tears leaving a wet trail on his blotchy cheeks and falling off his chin, eyes bloodshot from how hard he’s crying.

“Jungkook-ah?” Taehyung hesitantly asked, slowly making his way towards the maknae, “Are you okay? What happened?” He places a comforting hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the warm and kind gesture causing him to break even more.

Jungkook gasps for air. He can’t breathe and everything fucking hurts. What does he do? Should he call Jimin? Make sure he got home safe, or should he give him some space? The sound of thunder shakes him from his panicking, and he walks to the window to see dark clouds rolling in. Fuck. It’s about to rain and Jimin is walking back to the dorm. He’s going to get soaking wet and then he’s going to get sick. Jungkook is sure he’ll hate him even more if he does end up ill.

With his mind made up, he frantically grabs his phone. Opening up Jimin’s contact, he hits the call button, silently begging the other to answer. When he’s met with Jimin’s voicemail, he leaves a desperate message, telling him to call him back. He does this multiple times, each time feeling more and more hopeless.

Please pick up, Hyung.

Everywhere was grey.

The sky, previously golden touched with lilac at dawn, is ashen. The streets, once dazzling silver pavements in the moonlight, have returned to its original shape, a dull concrete in the day unlike the vision in his daydreams — mocking his stony reflection in the muddy puddles that have formed beneath his shoes as rain continued to fall quickly, wetting his cheeks. Jimin wanted to laugh, but the sound is trapped in his throat as his phone kept ringing in the background. It was supposed to be quiet. Yet even in this grey afternoon, his fingers couldn't help inching towards the source of the sound — a half-hearted wish to silence the chaos that was his heart.

Jimin took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. Well, more of trying to remember why he exploded in disbelief despite knowing the truth in Jungkook's words. It's just that after he made the decision to not be as affectionate to the maknae, that's when he suddenly tried to get close to him. It's like someone dropped a bucket of cold water on him, paralysing him. It made him feel like an afterthought — Jungkook's warmth towards him had come too late, the abrupt 180 of his efforts giving him a whiplash that when Jungkook finally said those words, he just saw red.

He ran a hand through his hair. He had overreacted.

Jimin is usually able to separate his emotions from his thoughts easily, enabling him to focus and see things clearly for what they were. It just so happened that everything about Jungkook affected him greatly, his control slipping every time their eyes met. Almost every time, that is. The thing is, Jimin had always prided himself with his willpower and resolve, but in that argument... he didn't care. He just lost it.

It's just that... when he saw Jungkook hesitate, he also got uncertain. Afraid. And Jimin hated being unsure, hated losing control, hated the bitter after-taste of regret.

And yet, leaving Jungkook in the studio, it was all he felt.

Regret.

He bit his lip, no longer stopping the tears from falling.

I was wrong, he thought, averting his gaze from the puddle beneath his shoes once he realised he had halted on his way to the apartment — the pause feeling like a thread was trying to pull him back, stopping him.

I was wrong, he repeated, breaking down as he took the phone from his pocket, the ringing never stopping.

Never hesitating.

Never afraid.

Not anymore.

Jimin wiped his cheeks, resting a hand on his face as he answered the call with a quiver in his voice.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to sound firm, but all he heard was the way he sounded so broken.

And all it took to keep him afloat was Jungkook's voice.

Jungkook is still muttering helplessly to himself, feet pounding against the wet pavement as he tries to find Jimin. He doesn’t know where the other is and there’s panic clutching at his heart and everything is just a gigantic mess. Did Jimin head towards the dorm? Or did he decide to go on a walk somewhere else? Somewhere Jungkook wouldn’t know about? Turning towards the opposite direction of their dorm, Jungkook sets a brisk pace, phone still to his ear as he waits for Jimin to answer his phone.

The rain is pouring now and Jungkook can hardly see what’s in front of him. There’s hardly anyone out, so no one can see the way he’s breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk. So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice that the constant ringing has stopped. Only when he hears Jimin’s broken voice coming through the phone does he react.

“Jimin, I am so sorry,” Jungkook sobs, feet frozen as he tries to stay standing. He refuses to break down even more when he's out in public.

All he wants to do is fall, fall into the older’s arms. To feel his comforting arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace. But would Jimin still want to hug him after this? Did he freak his Hyung out too much by confessing? Hurt him too much? Did he push him away for good? Jimin’s voice breaks his disheartening thoughts.

His throat tightened.

Jungkook was crying. Because of him. Fuck. Jimin's tears suddenly halted, his frustration towards himself rising — not realising that he was squeezing the phone unconsciously until his nails dug red half moons on his skin. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he listened to the maknae's shaky breaths through the phone.

“I told you not to call me,” Jimin still tried to resist, his control slipping away yet again. Except… except he’s starting not to mind it once again.

Only for Jungkook. Only him.

Because loving you is not a sin, Jungkook's words filled his thoughts once again, breaking through every wall, every monument of fear he thought he built perfectly in spite of his trembling hands — afraid of anyone discovering his deepest fears, afraid of letting anyone in, afraid of no one trying at all.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

He raised his eyes to the sky.

The rain ceased, and once again, the horizon burst with colours.

His lips trembled.

"W-where...," Jimin spoke more softly this time, hoping it would soothe Jungkook a little, hoping he'd understand, hoping he'd keep trying, "where are you?"

I want to see you.

“I told you not to call me.”

Jungkook feels as if the breath was stolen right from his lungs. He thought the older wouldn’t want him to call, but he was hoping he was wrong. He has no clue how he should respond to that. I’m so sorry, Hyung. Please, just tell me where you are. I promise to leave you alone, just let me know you’re safe.

“Hyung…” Jungkook whispers and he’s not sure whether or not Jimin can hear him. He’s afraid to speak up. He’s afraid his voice will crack and that he’ll appear even more pathetic than he already does.

He wants to give up.

If Jimin’s made it clear that he doesn’t feel the same, then why should he continue fighting for it? Why fight for something that isn't even there?

Jungkook glances up when he doesn’t feel the harsh, cold rain pelting on his skin anymore. It’s stopped raining and the clouds are slowly dispersing, leaving behind a blue sky with a vibrant rainbow. The sun is shining down on him, warming his shaking body, and his body releases its tension.

"Where are you?”

Where is he?

Jungkook looks around at the scenery surrounding him. He’s… where is he? He can feel the panic returning, tightening his chest and lungs until it feels like someone is stomping on his chest. His eyes are frantically moving around, trying to find something familiar, something that will tell him where he is. Where is he?

“I don’t know where I am!” Jungkook sobs, fingers shaking as he clutches his phone to his ear. Jimin’s voice slowly calming him down, grounding him to reality once again.

"Jungkook-ssi," he murmurs over and over again, hearing the panic in the maknae's voice. He almost burst into laughter, the shock of Jungkook's bewildered reply making his heart flutter despite his concern. But that would just set Jungkook off to even more panic, so he swallowed it, willing his mien to follow so that he wouldn’t laugh.

Fuck, he loves this boy so much.

"Jungkook-ssi, take a deep breath," Jimin said more firmly, trying to capture Jungkook's attention. He needed to focus, and as much as Jimin wanted to see him, they won't be able to do that if Jungkook can't calm down.

He looked around him — he's just a few blocks away from the dorm now, and it should be easy to pinpoint his location, but given the maknae's tendency to lose himself in the height of panic, he might as well be the one to go to where he was.

"Just — don't move. Stay where you are. I'll come get you," Jimin offered, trying to get a hold on the situation. When someone is panicking, you can't ground them with softness. You need to be assertive — turn off their impulsive urge to jump off the cliff with cool, solid, and sound facts.

Basically, logic the fear away.

It's just that Jungkook disagreed, his voice breaking, trying to fight against himself, anyway. A taxi, he said, tumbling over his words, the desperation making Jimin curl his lips in fondness, I'll take a taxi. Or I don't know. Run. I'll run to you. But no, a taxi. A taxi would be best, I guess, I really don't know where I am.

At last, Jimin lets out a chuckle.

"Jungkook," he whispers, his tone the softest it’s ever been, dropping the honorific, knowing that the maknae will realise what he meant.

He heard the shudder in Jungkook’s voice, the sound of his name from his lips stilling the maknae.

“Jungkook,” he repeated, his tone firmer, but nonetheless just as soft as he uttered it a few moments ago, “I’ll stay.”

He looked at the sky again, lips curling at the rainbow.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, voice low and husky — a sound he only uses for Jungkook.

I miss you.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Jungkook’s mind is reeling.

Jimin will wait for him?

Does that mean….

He doesn’t waste any time trying to figure out what that means. He needs to get to Jimin as soon as possible.

As much as he wants to run to Jimin, run to him until he’s in his arms, he decides to take a taxi. If he ran then it would take him at most 20, maybe 30 minutes depending on if he got lost again. A taxi would get him to Jimin in around ten minutes. But would it be more meaningful if he ran to him? After all, who doesn’t want someone to run after them? Show them how much you’re willing to do for them?

“Don’t hang up,” Jungkook whispers, “Please don’t hang up, Jimin-Hyung.”

He wants Jimin to stay on the phone with him. Stay on the line and just talk to him, help him not have a panic attack again. He just wants to hear the voice of the man he’s in love with. Always wants to hear his sweet, warm voice. With Jimin’s reassurance, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and he waves a taxi down. Throughout the drive Jungkook holds his cell phone tightly, breathing gently as Jimin’s voice echoes through the speaker. The ride goes by quickly and before he knows it he’s rushing out of the taxi, throwing some money to the driver, and finally running towards Jimin.

He stops just a few feet away from Jimin, admiring the way the sun shines on him, casting a soft glow and making him look like a beautiful angel. Jungkook wants Jimin to be his angel.

His voice is timid, quiet among the growing crowd of people, “Hyung… ”

"Hyung...," Jungkook breathed, his lips trembling before him as they stared at each other across the street.

Jimin could only eye him with his heart in his throat, his cheeks flaming, his mind pensive and out of control all at once. He curled his fingers, restraining himself from simply bolting towards Jungkook — much like what the maknae was doing when he halted — their dark gazes holding onto each other's — everything missing from their previous conversation spilling in the silent moment between them, the truth untold about to break free.

He shivered — not in a bad way, but an uncomfortable sort of shiver tinged with the pleasure and bashfulness that emanated from having your feelings reciprocated way — at the twinkle in Jungkook's eyes, shining with the hint of previous tears. Jimin mentally cursed at himself for making Jungkook cry earlier, but he pushed it down for the meantime because his heart won't stop pounding as the maknae's lips started to curl the longer they stared at each other.

Ah, Jimin is so far gone in the world of Jungkook land, and he doesn't even feel one whit of guilt, just plain pleasure — pure, unadulterated happiness filling his every being, making him feel like he's floating as he returned the maknae's tender smile.

Slowly, Jimin pressed forward, step by step — feeling calmer as the thunder of his heart calmed down each step he got nearer to Jungkook. And once they were face to face, almost a breath away from each other, Jimin couldn't help it anymore. He just broke down, tears falling from his cheeks — he rubbed them away with the pads of his hands, shaking his head at Jungkook who tried to do it himself, but he can't let him do that — Jimin had to do it for himself so that Jungkook would know that he wasn't alone and that he wasn't the only one who cried.

Once he calmed down, he eyed Jungkook once more, just taking in the way his dark eyes softened towards him.

That's it, Jimin thought, biting his lips in total surrender — he engulfed the maknae in his arms tightly, like a slam dunk hug, the kind that he wanted to shout at the rooftops, screaming, this is the man I'm in love with, and he loves me, oh my god, he loves me back!

Jimin sniffed as Jungkook's hands encircled his waist, so he leaned back just in time to catch the wide, bright, completely enamoured grin that the maknae was giving him. It was enough to weaken Jimin's legs a little, but thankfully, the maknae was holding him tightly. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead on Jungkook's before holding his face in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over Jungkook's cheeks, feeling the slight wetness from his previous tears.

Oh, my love, Jimin could only think, caressing Jungkook's face slowly, just feeling him and soothing him. Then he wrapped his arms around Jungkook's neck, pressing himself closer as much as possible — a silent way of asking forgiveness for how much he hurt Jungkook earlier.

He took a deep breath, resting his chin on top of Jungkook's shoulder before he lowered his head to the maknae's ear. Jimin bit his lower lip to stop himself from crying all over again just before he murmured, "Just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook nodded against him, he hid his face in the crook of Jungkook's neck, letting the tears fall anyway.

After a while, Jimin let go of Jungkook, wiping his face as he gripped the bottom of the maknae's shirt.

"Let's go home, then?" Jimin asked, hiding his face for the meantime, willing his mien to cool while he searched for a taxi. They need to be alone now, but given how a crowd was forming around them, here isn't the best place to be — no matter how much they wore black hoodies to help hide their identities — two men hugging each other while crying is still an oddity in South Korea, no matter how much the country claimed they were progressive.

Jungkook understood quickly, though, only humming in agreement as his eyes scanned the streets before ducking his face a little when he saw some girls staring too intently.

"Let's go," Jimin repeated with a slight grin, and when Jungkook's hands travelled to his wrist so that they don't get separated in the street, his lips curled even more.

Once they get home, he's so going to kiss Jungkook until he's breathless.

Until Jungkook can only utter and remember one thing: him.

Jungkook’s grip on Jimin’s wrist is tight, his other hand clutching at the back of Jimin’s shirt, trying not to lose him in the crowd surrounding them. He can feel the eyes of many people on him, probably wondering why he’s so close to another man. But, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting back to their dorm so he can cuddle with Jimin. He just wants to be held by the older man, feel his arms embracing him. He’s always said that Jimin was the best person in BTS to give hugs (he promises he’s not being biased).

Once they’re in the taxi, Jungkook glances at the driver, making sure he’s not looking before he grabs Jimin’s hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. He’s staring out the window, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across his face. His heart pounds frantically in his chest as Jimin squeezes his hand back. That has to be a good sign. There’s a rosy blush going from his cheeks down to his neck. God, he’s so in love with Jimin it hurts.

Does this mean Jimin loves him as well?

Jungkook hopes and wishes on every shooting star out there that he returns his feelings.

Why else would he tell you he’d wait for you?

Maybe because he’s your Hyung and would be responsible if something happened to you.

The maknae shakes his head, getting rid of those self-deprecating thoughts. He wouldn’t think like that. Refused to.

He’s just about to fall asleep, exhausted from the events that happened earlier. His head is resting against the window, but Jimin’s soft voice fills his ears, causing him to sluggishly lift it. With tired, half-lidded eyes, Jungkook watches Jimin pay the taxi driver. Before he knows it, his Hyung is gently helping him out of the car and leading him into the building. Inside the elevator, safe from any prying stares, Jungkook leans on Jimin and wraps his arms around his smaller body.

“Hyungie, I love you,” he mutters, half-awake and unaware of the words he’s uttering, or the reactions from the older. He’s still filled with so much guilt for hurting the man he’s in love with, “‘m so sorry for making you uncomfortable. I didn’ mean to.”

The rest of the ride up to their dorm is full of Jungkook spewing apology after apology with a few “I love you’s” added into the mix.

Warm.

Jungkook was so warm.

Jimin was trying to control himself, ignoring how his reflection on the elevator betrayed him with his flushed cheeks when the maknae's hands wrapped around his waist. If that wasn't enough, Jungkook just had to rest his cheek on top of his shoulder, basically embracing Jimin everywhere, though he guessed that the maknae was clueless over how much it greatly affected him.

If only that was all.

If only.

But no, Jungkook had to murmur "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's" near his ear. His ear. Was it possible to be this jealous of an organ that was attached to his body? Seriously, Jungkook's lips kept brushing against it every time he whispered, voice a little shaky from tears, but hot damn was it so low enough to make Park Jimin's eyes flutter close and moan a little.

He bit his lip, cursing how slow this damn elevator was, delaying his chance to thoroughly kiss Jeon Jungkook he'd stop crying — so he pressed on the number of their floor with an impatient grunt while his other hand traced comforting half-moons on Jungkook's arms. He wasn't about to be cock-blocked by a fucking levitating metal box, thank you.

Finally, they reached their floor with a ping that Jimin felt was mocking, but that was just his anxiety talking because he really, really wants to hold the maknae in his arms — surrounded by fluffy padding and soft blankets to park their bums to. Like, c'mon, they deserve it after that gruelling dance rehearsal for No More Dream, all right?

Once the doors opened, he ruffled Jungkook’s hair to wake him, but the maknae groaned his disagreement, so Jimin laughed before kissing his cheek.

That snapped Jungkook to attention, his form straightening against Jimin’s back before allowing himself to be pulled towards their apartment. Jimin bit his lip again — Jungkook’s response to him amused and turned him on at the same time, BUT they needed to sort things out in a safe space, so he casually scanned the apartment for any open cameras. Unfortunately, there were a lot, so Jimin kept walking towards their room, gripping the bottom of Jungkook’s shirt so he wouldn’t lose him.

He mentally sighed in relief when he found that the staff were merciful enough to leave the cameras in the bedroom off for the meantime. They must have turned it off since the rest of the members were out, but that was damn more than enough. Shit was exhausting.

Once he locked the door, he pivoted to check on the maknae, who already plopped himself on the bed with pillows while waiting for him. The sight made his lips curl fondly — Jungkook’s wavy hair was all messy from the practice and hysteria earlier, so it made the weary gaze he gave Jimin looked cuter.

He bit his lip again, his cheeks heating for the nth time when his eyes met Jungkook’s — a silent plea he interpreted as please, come be warm with me again.

Ah hell, he’s gone off to Jungkook land once again when there’s a whole Jungkook that was begging to be kissed in front of him.

He shook his head, willing himself away from the trance as he laid down beside Jungkook on the bed and laid his forehead on top of the maknae’s before closing his eyes for a bit — just taking him in, feeling the tenderness seep in between them.

When it felt right — Jimin didn't know how he knew, but he just knew when Jungkook reached out for his hand and laced their fingers between them — fine, he bloody knew because he was waiting for a sign that it was okay from the maknae, okay? — Jimin opened his eyes and held Jungkook’s gaze in place, eyes never straying anywhere else when he pressed his lips on top of Jungkook’s fingers.

The gesture drew a shaky breath from the maknae, and it curled his lips. If this was how Jungkook reacted with a simple peck on his hands, what more glorious sounds would he hear when he kisses him on the mouth?

Jimin drew closer to the maknae, rubbing his nose on Jungkook’s cheeks affectionately before lowering his voice when his lips were just a brush away from Jungkook’s lips.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered even when there was no one else in the room besides them.

The question made the maknae’s brows furrow, as if to say, Why do you still need to ask, Hyungie?

Jimin smirked, cupping Jungkook’s face in his hands. “If we’re gonna do this,” he explained, caressing the maknae’s brow, “I want to know you’re okay with it. I don’t want it to be like before when it wasn’t clear, so I’m asking.”

When Jungkook nodded and looked at him expectantly, Jimin laughed a little, shaking his head. “No, I’m not asking just to kiss you. I’m asking because in case you didn’t hear what I said earlier properly, what I’m asking your permission for is…”

Jimin took a deep breath, playing with the ends of Jungkook’s dark hair on his forehead. He looked down for a bit, gathering the courage to repeat what he said earlier. Ah, why was something so precious and previously hidden in his heart that he managed to blurt out earlier so hard to say again? Was it because he felt braver in front of other people? That’s not fair to the both of them — not when it mattered more to let the truth be heard when it was just the two of them.

He almost couldn’t say it again, but Jungkook breathed his name without honorifics, and that was it. That was it. Jimin raised his eyes and held onto Jungkook’s warm gaze.

“Just let me…,” Jimin said shakily, tearing up a little, the words making him feel like he’s handing his heart to Jungkook — which he was, okay, it’s just. Ugh. Feelings. He took another deep breath. “Let me love you, Jungkook. I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated, posing his mouth over Jungkook’s.

“In spite of everything,” he repeated the maknae’s words, lips crashing over Jungkook’s as his eyes closed with a flutter, his heart singing, the truth finally free.

He heard Jungkook gasp against his mouth when he deepened the kiss, his fingers carding through the waves of his dark hair.

Oh, my love, Jimin can only think again, breathing Jungkook in, lips yearning and burning, their hands slowly, tenderly reaching to pull each other close because space didn’t belong in the dictionary if it meant that all the years of pining wasn’t all for nothing.

Because right here, right now, with Jungkook’s lips tenderly caressing his in return, Jimin is finally free.

Jungkook’s breathing is shaky with each loving action Jimin performs. His fingers tingle where plump lips brush, and his cheeks heat up as Jimin’s button nose lightly rubs against it. He listens intently, wanting to hear everything the other has to say. He had the chance to pour out his heart earlier and now it’s Jimin’s turn. There’s a slight pang in his chest, his heart hurting at the insecure expression on the older man’s face. He knows it’s not easy to discuss feelings, god, does he know. So, he’s going to give his Hyung all the time he needs. This time, he’ll be patient, he’ll bite his tongue and refrain from interrupting.

His eyes flutter as Jimin’s fingers run through his hair. It’s calming and he can feel his tense muscles relaxing with each passing second. He wishes he could pause time. All he wants is to stay here in Jimin’s arms, being held in such a comforting way, away from the public eye, and away from everyone that will try and keep them apart. Opening his eyes, he notices his frustrated expression. Lifting a hand, he caresses Jimin’s cheek, thumb rubbing against the soft flesh.

“Jimin.”

It’s all Jungkook can whisper before Jimin’s lips are being planted on his own and his eyes are slipping shut. He shakily gasps into the kiss, lips moving rhythmically against the older’s.

It’s soft. So soft.

It has Jungkook feeling dizzy.

Has him feeling light. Like he’s floating on cloud nine.

It’s all he’s wanted, more than anything he’s wanted in his life, but he still wants more. He wants to feel Jimin’s body flush against his. He has the strong desire to tangle his fingers in Jimin’s hair. Tangle his legs with his best friend’s. So he does just that. He slides closer, one hand coming to rest on the back of Jimin’s neck, the other carding through his hair, fingers gently grabbing a fistful of locks. He angles his head to the right, following Jimin’s lead. His heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it’s going to jump right out of his chest, and when Jimin curls his hand against his chest, he hopes he can’t feel the fast pace. Hopes he can’t hear how hard it’s pounding.

Jungkook sighs, leaning forward to press Jimin against the bed, arms caging him in, both hands now running through his tresses. He rests between his best friend’s open legs, unconsciously grinding down when his thighs wrap around his waist and moaning at the sweet, delicious friction. Jungkook teasingly bites at Jimin’s bottom lip, tongue slipping inside when Jimin gasps. Breaking the kiss, Jungkook’s gaze zeros in on the thin string of spit connecting their kiss-swollen lips. His eyes trail all over the older man’s flushed face before gazing into Jimin’s eyes.

“I love you so much, Jimin.”

"I love you so much, Jimin," Jungkook's voice was full of tenderness that it made him choke up again, tearing up a little.

Such a sweet sound from an angel.

Ah..., he fell in love all over again. He doesn't even need to worry whether Jungkook will misinterpret his silence since he knew for sure that the way he was staring at the maknae was enough — he couldn't even look at anything else except him.

Jimin took a deep breath, appreciating the way Jungkook's lips were parted a little, his lower lip shining from the kiss they just shared. He could feel his cheeks heating up again, especially when Jungkook pressed himself between his legs, his weight sending a delicious shiver throughout his body. He bit his lip, raising his hips a little, just to see how the maknae would react.

A loud moan fell from Jungkook's lips, and it made him feel emboldened, tugging at the maknae's hair near his nape before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Jungkook's. The maknae shuddered, his fingers curling on the bottom of Jimin's shirt. Jimin bit on the maknae's bottom lip, making Jungkook roll his hips against him again.

The gesture made Jimin smirk, a mischievous plan forming in his mind when he saw how much Jungkook's eyes kept saying, I want more, Hyungie.

Jimin flipped them over, not losing one moment to sit just before the tip of Jungkook's bulge.

Slowly, he unzipped Jungkook's hoodie with his teeth, making sure to maintain eye contact until he reached the bottom with a loud smack of his lips. The gesture made Jungkook gasp audibly, the tent of his arousal swelling further as Jimin lifted the bottom of his shirt and caressed his abdominal muscles, dragging his nails a little before drawing little half-moons all over the maknae's stomach. Jimin smirked every time Jungkook could only utter his name with soft and frustrated sighs, his desire all too apparent for Jimin to see that he can't help leaving open-mouthed kisses too.

When he reached Jungkook's neck, he made sure to press his full lips on the spot — the soft pressure causing the maknae to cant below him with an alluring shiver, another moan falling from his lips as he stared at Jimin with half-lidded eyes, the swirls of his pupils growing darker when their eyes met.

"I love you, Jungkook," Jimin said softly, pressing a chaste kiss on the maknae's lips before dragging his lips on the younger's collar bones — punctuating every kiss with a small bite, another silent way he hoped Jungkook would understand to be —

I want to be with you for a long time, if you'll let me, so please, please, please be with me. Be with me, my angel, and I will give you all the best of me. I love you so much my heart glows when I'm with you, so please, let me love you.

Fuck, he's tearing up again, so he blinked the tears away, caressing Jungkook's face once he finished worshipping the maknae's sculpted body just so he remembers that heaven is not a place, that home is not place, that love is not a place — that nothing matters, that everything is useless, that life is pointless if he can't be with him.

So please, let this be right.

Let him make things right.

Just for once.

Just for him.

"I love you," he swears it's the only refrain he can utter with his heart feeling like it'll unfurl wings anytime it's directed towards Jungkook. So he repeats it again, kissing Jungkook deeply once more, feeling their hearts pound at the same time as he laid on top of the maknae.

He could keep kissing Jungkook's soft lips forever, but he needs to breathe too, plus there was the really pressing situation down there — their arousal swelling against each other's, so he tugged at the maknae's waves when they paused their kisses, not yet opening his eyes as he rested his forehead on Jungkook's.

He just. Fuck.

It's, like, his mind has gone off to Jungkook land and wants to stay there forever with him because he kept falling in love with the maknae the more they kissed and pressed their bodies against each other. Just... just how much would he fall even more once their bodies united in one sweet rhapsody?

He took a deep breath.

Slowly, Jimin opened his eyes, gazing directly at Jungkook. He rubbed his nose against the maknae's cheeks again as he lowered his voice with a request.

"May I touch you now?" he murmured, his hands poised over the buckle of Jungkook's belt.

I really want to hold you.

Jungkook can’t stop gazing at Jimin with wide eyes as he pulls the zipper down with just his teeth. It was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen and he knows it’s going to be ingrained in the back of his mind forever. A gasp slips past his trembling lips, feeling his dick twitch as Jimin’s warm palms slide against his taut stomach. Nails dig into his tan skin and he hopes, god, he hopes they leave marks for him to stare at later when he’s all alone. So he can gently trace over them and feel the slight sting reminding him of who left them there.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook moans, eyes growing dark as Jimin places a soft, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. He wants him to leave pretty, red marks. He wants to have Jimin’s claim all over him. He needs everyone to know that they’re in love and don’t care about the opinions of others.

His heart skips a beat at Jimin’s words. I love you, Jungkook. This doesn’t feel real. How is it that there is a literal angel above him, peppering fond pecks on every visible inch of his skin? How is it that this man, this wonderful man, loves him? It all feels like a dream to him. A dream he never wants to wake up from. He wants to live in this moment for all of eternity.

”May I touch you now?”

Well, if Jungkook wasn’t fucked before, then he definitely is now. Who knew Jimin asking for his consent would be this sexy? He can feel his cock throbbing at the idea of finally being touched by Jimin. He’s dreamed of this ever since he discovered he was in love with the man and finally being able to experience it has him feeling so many emotions. Love. Excitement. Arousal. This was really happening, he was really going to be able to show Jimin how much he’s wanted this.

Licking his lips, he whispers against Jimin’s lips, “Please. Please touch me, Hyung.”

"Oh, is that so?" Jimin can't help tease, fiddling with the buckle of Jungkook's belt, flicking it open and close, casually dragging his nails over the bulge of the maknae's arousal, his smirk widening when Jungkook bit his lips in frustration — his pretty cheeks visibly flushed from all the foreplay.

He draws closer to the maknae, leaving soft pecks over Jungkook's cheeks until his lips met the maknae's ear. Breath hot and swirling with desire, Jimin licked his ear and bit it gently. "Tell me, then, my love," he murmured against Jungkook's lips, biting the maknae's lower lip when he said my love. "Tell me. I need words."

Jungkook let out a cry, suddenly placing his hands on Jimin's hips, grinding against him. Jimin chuckled a little before swatting it away, taking Jungkook's hands gently and holding it on top of the maknae's head. Jimin clucked his tongue, shaking his head at the maknae playfully. "You have to listen to your hyung, Jungkookie."

The maknae grunted, grinding against him again, but when Jimin didn't budge, Jungkook tried to caress Jimin's hands on top of him, thinking maybe being gentle was the way to go about it, but no, no, no. The moment Jungkook pressed himself between Jimin's legs, gentle was for kisses and their belated love confessions, not making love.

Tender was it.

Tender can be the red and the blue blossoms that mark their bodies when their nails and their teeth roughly drag over each other's skin, when their bodies cant towards each other's as they scream their names to oblivion, when their bodies shiver in the aftermath of the previously undelivered truth finally kissing the sun.

At least, this is what Jimin thinks, tracing Jungkook's lips with a finger, whispering, "Your mouth, my love, open it for me, please."

Jungkook's lips fell apart, eliciting a low growl from within Jimin's abdomen, the maknae's compliance turning him on so fucking much. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jungkook's dark eyes were so, so dark that Jimin can't help biting his lower lip again.

Takes two to tango, after all, he thinks with a smirk, sinking a finger into Jungkook's open mouth, pressing the pad of his finger on the maknae's tongue before inserting another and pumping it rhythmically — his mind so gone that only the sensation of Jungkook receiving his fingers into his mouth without question kept him moving — that it was his idea to do this, that it was the taste of Jungkook's spit wrapping around his fingers, that it was all real, not a daydream he concocted each time he and Jungkook danced way too close for comfort on stage because every moment with Jungkook was just that electric.

Fuck, he thinks again, taking a deep breath as Jungkook stared at him like he wanted to eat him.

Jimin shivered as he drew his fingers away from the maknae's mouth — the moment all too real and too hot to the touch.

Fuck, he thinks again, his hold on Jungkook's hands above his head loosening, his pulse rising, his mind falling into another dimension of oblivion as the maknae growled and flipped their positions again, leaving Jimin to fall on the bed with a soft plop as Jungkook aggressively kissed him over and over again as they rolled their hips against each other in unison.

He bit Jungkook's lower lip, tugging the maknae's zipper open and dragging the maknae's cock out, pumping it quickly between them as their lips crashed on each other's, never letting go. When Jungkook gasped against his mouth, Jimin squeezed his cock again, enjoying it swell in his hands as they kissed each other again and again — the concept of time and space confining and expanding to several infinities with every caress.

Oh my love, Jimin could only think, tearing up again, even as he can't help smiling against Jungkook's lips when he laced their free hands together.

The universe has moved for us, and I'm so happy that you love me too.

My love.

The pet name has Jungkook tearing up. That’s the only thing he wants in this cruel, twisted world. To be Jimin’s love. The thought of being the only one for Jimin makes him want to cry, to sob out how much he loves him and how much he would do for him. How he would go to the ends of the Earth for him. How he would run a thousand miles just to reach his hyung whenever he needed him. He doesn’t want to cry because of this. Only when Jimin finally breaks him down in the most pleasurable ways does he want to cry. So instead he grips his hyung’s hips and grinds up against him, his dick getting the much needed friction he’s been craving. He can’t stop the gasp that falls from his trembling lips. Who knew he would have a hyung kink?

Jungkook whines, lips parting and tongue sticking out. The need to please his hyung makes the action come easily to him. He needs to be a good boy for his Jimin-Hyung. The strong desire to make Jimin proud builds inside him. He doesn’t want to make him regret this. Jungkook gazes into Jimin’s eyes, his eyes pleading with him, pleading him to do something.

Hyungie.

The moment Jimin adds another finger and thrusts them in and out of his mouth he’s a goner. His lips wrap around the digits, tongue licking in between them, and his eyes flutter shut as he suckles on them. There’s drool leaking from the corners of his mouth and Jungkook’s body is feeling hot, hot, hot. Everything about this moment was perfect to him. The way Jimin held his wrists in a bruising grip to prevent him from breaking free. The way Jimin felt on top of him, controlling the situation and playing Jungkook like a puppet. Jungkook opens his eyes, staring at Jimin with half-lidded eyes when the fingers are removed. He focuses on the string of saliva connecting his kiss-swollen lips and Jimin’s wet digits. Everything was perfect.

Jungkook notices Jimin’s hold on his wrists slowly loosening and starts to count, eyes still locked with Jimin’s, unadulterated lust in his gaze.

One…

Two…

Three…!

Once he hits three, Jungkook is flipping them over with a low growl. His lips smash against Jimin’s, passionately placing kiss after kiss on his mouth, hips grinding down to give them both friction. Jungkook breathlessly gasps, cock throbbing in Jimin’s hand. He cants his hips up, moaning as his cock slides in and out of Jimin’s grasp. Eyes shut, mouth parting, he frantically reaches for Jimin’s unoccupied hand and locks their fingers together.

Don’t let go, hyung, please don’t let go. Just hold me.

Love me.

Oh my love, I am made anew with you.

This is what Jimin thinks, removing Jungkook's clothes with trembling fingers as the maknae pressed his naked arousal against the tent in his pants. Fuck, he's just so damn good, he shivers with so much want and need, and everything else could just fade away, he is utterly, completely, irrevocably a goner for one Jeon Jungkook.

He holds onto Jungkook's shoulder before reversing their positions once again, his every being filled with just one intent — loving every inch of Jeon Jungkook for all the universe.

And so he does, taking his top off, reveling in the way Jungkook seemingly marked his skin like a painting, his dark gaze tracing through every inch of his body as he wet his lips like he desperately wanted to dazzle his abdomen and his chest with every languid roll of his tongue.

Just like that, Jimin feels every dream of his come true.

His mind is gone, gone, gone, it's all just Jungkook — his euphoria.

"My love," he breathes again, eyeing the maknae through the curl of his lashes as they slowly removed each other's pants, their fingers caressing each other's all throughout, never wanting to be apart even for a second, never wanting to be uncertain once again, never wanting to lose each other again.

Once they were fully bare in front of each other, Jimin took a deep breath, taking in the sight of Jungkook laid out before him.

Could he still sleep again? Could he still dream again? Could he still close his eyes again?

Would all that still matter when right here, right now were beyond his wildest dreams?

He's tearing up again, his heart so full yet so light with the way Jungkook stared at him with so much love.

"I love you so much," Jimin falls, resting his forehead on Jungkook's, before kissing the maknae's brows. "So much," he kissed Jungkook's eyelids when it closed, "my heart glows," another kiss on his nose before caressing the maknae's face just so he could kiss him fully and deeply on the mouth, "when I'm with you."

His tears fell freely when Jungkook's hands found its way on his back, tracing comforting swirls, every shape a reciprocation of Jimin's love for him. So he kisses the maknae's tears away when he tasted the salt of his tears afterwards. And just. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The stars are in the sky, and they are flying, their hearts soaring to the vibrant horizon.

This isn't a dream, Jimin breathes, kissing the maknae's taut stomach until he reaches Jungkook's cock. So he grinds his bare arousal against it, the delicious shiver in their bodies just syncing as they both moaned aloud. Jungkook reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together, not wanting to let go.

Jimin drew another shaky breath before sliding down a little, only a little at least just before the swell of Jungkook's dick, so that he could prepare to take all of it in his aching mouth. He wants it all — the bad and the good, the worst and the best, everything that is just Jungkook.

Just him. That would be enough.

And so he takes Jungkook's cock in his mouth, running his tongue along the length inside his mouth just to hear the maknae growl in pent up desire — let it all out, my love, Jimin thinks, eyes closing as he savours the feeling of Jungkook's alluring shivers with his ministrations. He dragged his teeth a little, testing to see whether Jungkook liked it or not, and was rewarded with a chorus of fuck, I'm so in love with you's, so he smirked and bobbed his head on his cock again and again until Jungkook tugged at his hair in frustration just to say I want you, Jimin, I want you, I want you, I want you.

His eyes darkened with pleasure when he opened his eyes and met Jungkook's gaze, the desire so fucking contagious he could just swim in the depths of those eyes forever, no kidding. So when Jungkook rolled his hips, grinding against his mouth, Jimin let him fuck his throat raw to oblivion.

Jimin let out a loud gasp once Jungkook came in his mouth, swallowing all his cum before fingering and licking all the salty remnants on his full lips. Jungkook was still trembling beneath him, so Jimin caressed his face and his hair, soothing him as much as he could.

"We did the annual physical just last month," Jimin muttered, languidly caressing Jungkook's parted legs before him, "and we're both clean, right?"

Jungkook could only nod, his eyes still closed from the aftermath. Unconsciously, he opened his legs more when Jimin's hands drew nearer his cock again. Jimin bit his lips when he saw how Jungkook's cock swelled up again, his arousal just so big and so full and begging to be loved again.

"Perfect," Jimin murmurs with a low growl, posturing his fingers right before the entrance of Jungkook's perfect ass. He took a deep breath, and eyed Jungkook so he'd do the same before he slid one finger in to let the maknae get used to his touch. When a moan fell from Jungkook's lips, he slid his finger further before inserting another, widening the opening a little more and pumping it, trying to loosen the tightness in Jungkook's ass.

When he slid the third finger in, Jungkook grabbed his shoulder, his voice shaky as he drew a breath and bit his lips. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, was all the maknae could utter so Jimin pumped all three fingers further, settling within the maknae's ass deliciously.

"I want to hold you now," Jimin whispers, his forehead resting on Jungkook's as he posed his own cock in front of the maknae's ass. "So just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook replied with, Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too —

Jimin forgot to breathe.

He slid his cock slowly, deeply within Jungkook's ass, his mind empty, his heart full.

The world is so different from yesterday, and now we're becoming a we.

Jimin tears up again, their bodies colliding in that sweet, sweet rhapsody.

We love each other, oh my god, we love each other.

I'm so happy.

Jungkook's hips jump, his dick twitching. Fuck. The feeling of Jimin's teeth lightly scraping his cock followed by his hot tongue has him wanting more, more, more. He wants Jimin to hurt him in just the right way until he's begging him to stop. He throws his head back against the pillow, hands reaching down to pull Jimin's hair, mouthing falling open only to repeat a mantra of Jimin's name over and over.

The maknae lets out a cry, grinding into Jimin's mouth as his best friend swallows around his thick length. His hands are tugging and tugging at Jimin's hair, tears blurring his vision before slowly cascading down his flushed cheeks. He fucks Jimin's face in deep, steady thrusts, and when he glances down, he can see Jimin's throat bulge where his cock is repeatedly sliding in and out. It pushes him over the edge fast. His back arches and he screams as his orgasm hits him hard. Jimin, Jimin, hyungie.

Jungkook's mind goes blank and he's letting out a loud moan at the feeling of Jimin pushing one finger inside of him. It feels amazing. It feels so much better than when he does it. Especially when he adds two more fingers inside him, scissoring them to prepare him for Jimin's cock. It's such an addicting feeling that he never wants this to end.

Before he knows it, Jimin is leaning over him, sweaty forehead against sweaty forehead.

So just... just let me love you, Jungkook.

Jungkook frantically nods, hands wrapping around the older's neck, holding onto him tightly, “Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too—”

He cuts himself off with a loud, breathless gasp because Jimin is finally, finally, pushing into him. He's connecting them in the most intimate way and it has him tearing up because goddamnit he's so in love and they're finally one. He lays there with his eyes closed and sighs over and over, just taking in the sensation of Jimin making him feel so full.

"Okay," Jungkook whispers as he opens his eyes to gaze lovingly at the other, "I'm ready. You can move."

Jimin could scarcely breathe when Jungkook gazed at him with those dark, dark eyes, the swirls of it clouded with pleasure and love — his eyes seemingly repeating his earlier words, ...I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin... I love you, Jimin. I love you, in spite of everything.

Angel eyes.

Eyes I'd fall in love with over and over again , Jimin catches himself thinking as his lips fell apart with emotions he can't even — didn't even — need to have words anymore, the assurance from Jungkook's words — Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you too — breaking him apart and making him feel whole at the same time.

You can move, the words fell so softly from the maknae's lips that Jimin almost came from just that, but he controlled himself, willing his mien to cool and adjusting his cock deep within Jungkook before pressing a kiss on his forehead.

Their hands intertwined, Jimin began to move, thrusting and pumping as deeply as he could, letting Jungkook feel every inch of his love within him. A shaky moan fell from his lips when Jungkook panted against him, pressing a kiss on his throat as they held onto each other's hands tightly — a gesture he felt was one of Jungkook's ways of assuring him that it was all right, that they wanted it both, that they don't have to be alone ever again.

He didn't even realise that his eyes have closed as they thrusted against each other, their bodies uniting so sweetly, so feverishly, so lovingly that Jimin could only see an explosion of colours when his lids fell and Jungkook cried against him. The sound made Jimin blink his eyes open, worry suddenly filling his heart when he saw that tears were falling from the maknae's eyes.

Jimin paused, caressing Jungkook's face, pressing his full lips everywhere — his eyelids, his brows, his cheeks — to take the maknae's tears away. "Don't cry, Jungkook," he murmured against the maknae's lips, "don't cry, my love."

When Jungkook only cupped his face in return, Jimin couldn't help crying too — the maknae pressed his lips against his, wiping all his fears away. The gesture caught him off guard, making him laugh as their tears mingled with each other's when they bumped on each other's noses afterwards.

Oh, my love, Jimin can't help thinking again when Jungkook laughed with him — the sound of it making him laugh and cry harder just like the maknae as they moved again within each other's depths, making love in the darkness of the room.

Ah, even the darkness was so beautiful — the shadows of their bodies moving and pressing against each other in a united rhythm, spreading their warmth all over the bed beneath the glow of dusk falling, sun and moon filling the skies in a chiaroscuro of colours — their love for each other silent, but loud, loud, loud in spite of everything.

"Hey, stay by my side and laugh," Jimin murmurs once they came together, his voice hoarse as they moaned and screamed together, the high from the unity of their fall filling them both with warmth.

"Live happily with me," he continues, kissing Jungkook's eyelids, not yet parting from the maknae's depths. "We'll make it work."

He just doesn't want to let go anymore.

"So stay with me," he whispers, kissing Jungkook's forehead. "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

Because a future without you is a world without colour.

"So will you still be with me, my love?"

Tears gather in his eyes as they tangle their fingers together. As one. His head is thrown back, messy hair fanned out on the pillow. Dreamy sighs slipping past his kiss-bitten lips at the feeling of Jimin’s mouth barely grazing his neck. He tightens his hold on Jimin’s hands, praying he understands what holding onto each other means. I’m never leaving you, hyung. Not again. Never. You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours. Forever.

Jungkook gazes at Jimin through blurry vision, taking in how beautiful and angelic he is in their moment of love. His eyes are closed, mouth parted with small sighs and moans being released in the air, cheeks flushed with the exertion of their activities. Of them making love. A lone tear trickles down his cheek at the thought of them making love. It’s what they’re doing, and Jungkook still can’t fathom how lucky he is to be able to love and be loved by Jimin.

Love. It’s such a crazy thing, but he’s so grateful he has the chance to experience it. With his best friend at that. What more could he ask for? It’s such an overwhelming thought, and he’s hit with so many feelings that he can’t help but to finally let the tears fall from his eyes and make their way down his cheeks.

He opens his eyes, gaze connecting with Jimin’s, and he leans into the comforting touch as he repeatedly whispers I’m okay. Jungkook just cries harder at the soft gesture and the feeling of pecks being lightly placed all over his face. God, he’s so, so, so in love and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he returns the gesture and swipes his thumb under Jimin’s eyes, wiping away the droplets of liquid before placing a chaste kiss on his chin, giggling when their noses bump against each other.

And he’s so happy, so happy, that they can still find humor and laugh in this moment. With each pump of Jimin’s hips, Jungkook could feel himself climb higher and higher to his orgasm. With each thrust, he could feel his head getting fuzzy and his body rising in temperature. With each laugh and kiss they shared, he could feel himself falling even more in love with his hyung.

Jungkook’s release hits him hard, and he clutches onto Jimin, pulling him even closer as he cries out Jimin’s name over and over again, their hearts beating in sync. His breathing slows down, but he keeps his eyes closed. He’s so tired and all he wants now is to sleep in Jimin’s arms. It’s one of the only places where he feels completely safe and protected. He sighs once again when Jimin kisses his eyelids. He feels so tranquil lying here in his lover’s embrace and hearing his sweet, sweet promises.

So will you still be with me, my love?

The maknae slowly opens his eyes to stare at Jimin with unadulterated love and adoration, tenderly kissing him and whispering against his lips, “Always.”

Always, Jungkook breathed against his lips —

And oh, oh, Jimin was crying again — how wonderful was it to love and be loved in return. His Jungkook, his sweet, sweet Jungkook. He... he really said that — the one answer he previously never thought of having when he earlier thought —

Always — it is now the only refrain that exists in his heart.

Always — it is now the only word that his soul wants to know, wants to share with Jungkook.

Always — it is now the only light he seeks in this previously monochrome world.

A word filled with so much radiance, so much promise, so much euphoria.

"Ah, my love," Jimin murmurs against the maknae's lips, cupping his face, kissing him over and over again.

"You are me," his breath staggers as Jungkook kisses him back and whispers, his voice in the same quiet and tender tone, "I am you."

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

But when it came to him, Jungkook never lied.

His eyes, his voice, his touch.

And if it's with him — if it's with him — Jimin will never fear anything ever again.

Because that's what they'll be. That's what they'll do. And that's who they’ve always been.

Never hesitating.

Never stopping.

Never afraid.

No longer.

Because one way or another, their lives were always meant to be intertwined.

Fate. Destiny. Serendipity.

Always.

22 notes · View notes

navyhyuck · 3 years

Text

week two | previous | masterlist | next

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃, 𝐉𝐀𝐘.

↳ a love letter a week, and it has you wondering who’s your secret admirer. you have nine weeks, eight candidates, and one story to live. will you find out who your ‘jay’ is?

a/n :: here’s part two my sexy friends, i’ll be starting to add a little warnings tag from now on because parts will start to get longer and may include some triggering topics!!

wc :: 2.9k (i’m sorry it’s getting longer and longer i know)

warnings: mentions of sex (kinda, not explicit), a singular mention of death, someone’s borderline a bully but not quite (they’re just mean)

taglist: @childofthecycle @the8luvr @staywrites @chocolattees @cloudzume @babytoadz @cherrystay @sandaigdigan-reads @hoes4hoseok @ctrlaltfangirl @kodzu-ken @xazucaradictax @qtieskz @blueprint-han

couldn’t tag: @x-dawna-x

let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

You’re listening to Ryujin go on and on about Han Jisung at practically 6 a.m. (okay, it was around halfway to 8 o’clock, but her words were making you lose track of time), your head resting against the cool metal of the locker, almost wishing you were banging your head against it instead. As much as you knew your friend had a thing for the boy, you never thought you’d be stuck in the middle listening to her over analyzing everything that happened in English the day before. Sure, the precarious boy could be outstanding at pipetting in chemistry, but his social skills weren’t the best. Or at least, they weren’t the best with you.

“Anyway, I’ll shut up now, you look like you just watched The Conjuring and threw up on yourself.” She exclaims rather dryly, and you raise your head, glimpsing at the questioning look on her face. “By the way, that movie was shit. I’ll get to the point, then. I was gonna ask who you’re going to homecoming with.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes at both the comment on one of your favorite horror movies ever (that you’ve watched four times already, each time with the same girl who insists it’s not scary but ends up peeking past her fingers anyway) and homecoming. “Myself,” you reply, returning your head to its original position. “Do I look like the kind of person that would go to homecoming with a date? Really?”

“You went last year,” she points out, and you realize it’s true with a groan. It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t refuse the captain of the basketball team when he proposed the idea in the middle of the cafeteria, halfway through the sixth period. Honestly, San wasn’t too bad anyway, he just wanted to have some fun with a girl that wasn’t following after him in the general sheep crowd; after the night was over, however, you swore to yourself that you would never come to a dance voluntarily wearing stilettos without one of your go-to friends. “And you liked it. Plus, I was thinking, we should all get dates this year! You know, since it’s our senior year and all. You won’t have another hoco to miss after this one.”

“Get dates? You’re acting like it’s buying takeout.”

“It basically is,” she shrugs. “You go out, ask for something from someone, and they either give it to you or not. Though I’m not really sure if restaurants are allowed to refuse service.”

“We could just all go as friends,” you suggest, finally opening up your locker. “As great as having some random dude as my date, no thanks. Like you said, it’s our last year. And hoco’s been fun since freshman year for us anyway, what’s the point of setting us up with dudes when we’re just gonna ditch them?”

“Who said I’m gonna ditch my date?”

“Me, I just did,” you deadpan, shuffling through your books to grab onto your chemistry lab book and stuffing it into your bag. “Remember sophomore year? Yeah, you might not want to remember it, but I do. Lee Daehwi?” She groans at the sound of the familiar name, making you chuckle.

“Okay, fair enough, but I’m not gonna ditch my date this time. Not if I get the one I want.” Ryujin smacks your arm to grab your attention, making you hiss before you see the knowing look on her face as she wiggles her eyebrows. You cross your arms in confusion, trying to scan and rescan her face for hints to what she was getting at, but when your mind finally clicks, you freeze. And then, your jaw drops. “Shut up.”

“I-I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you’re gonna say!” She points at you, shaking her finger before bringing it back down. “Look, like you said, it’s senior year. I don’t have a chance, really, not after this one. Either I ask him out for homecoming in the next week or I mope around for the rest of my life regretting not going to a high school dance with the hottest guy in school. Yeah, okay, I guess that kinda does sound a little pathetic.”

You consider it for a moment, imagining how awkward the interaction between Ryujin’s infamous crush and her would be; there would be a whole lot of tripping at the feet and ten times the amount of stuttering. Plus, you’re sure that the boy didn’t have the heart capacity to receive a request without passing out cold. He’s a little fragile after all. “You think Jisung’s the hottest guy in school?”

“Duh, who else do you think? That Hyunjin dude? Yeah, maybe, I saw him a few times in the past few days, but so what? People just get hyped over some guy whenever they come to the school and like four days later he’s no longer a cool transfer student and just ‘the guy next to me in calculus.’” You give her a look, one that you hope resembles something that conveyed the message of ‘you just brought up Hyunjin completely unprovoked’ but she doesn’t budge, her eyes trailed on her nails as she continues. “...and I’ll ask Jisung. Chaeryoung said she’s going with that other guy from your chem, whatever his name was, him. So then, it’s just you.”

You’re reminded suddenly of the letter that you pulled from your locker a few days earlier, the one that followed after the previous introduction and pleaded for you to attend the dance. Even if the letter had never arrived, you were planning on it anyway, but now, you had a purpose. “I don’t really want a date,” you say carefully, your eyes darting across the busy hallway before focusing on the blue of your best friend’s hair. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe, whatever. I don’t feel like stressing out about asking someone, so maybe if someone asks me, I'll be their date. But don’t count on it, alright?”

Ryujin narrows her eyes at you, as if searching for something underneath (something that wasn’t there, you’d like to point out, but she’s still looking intently) before humming. “Alright, sure.” She finishes abruptly, clearly wanting to add onto her sentence but refraining from doing so, making you raise an eyebrow at her shenanigans.

“Spit it out, c’mon, I know you have more to say.”

Your best friend gives you a deadly look but considers it, resting her back against the lockers before turning back to you. “Okay, this is just a thought, got it? Just something running through my head right now that I want to share.”

You cross your arms. “A thought? You? Thinking? Well, that’s no good.”

“Shut up and listen to me first,” she waves you off, shuffling closer until you can see the glimmer of her eyeshadow smudged on the side of her winged eyeliner. “Think about this. You, Y/N, a beautiful girl with absolutely no intention on going to homecoming with a date because of the lack of attraction towards snotty teenage boys, asking the Hwang Hyunjin, a transfer student that’s extremely good-looking and apparently affectionately kind who has no intention on going to homecoming with a date because of the lack of connection with beautiful girls, to homecoming.”

You blink twice, looking up at the ceiling as you quietly process her words. It’s a bit jumbled in your head, but once you think it’s clear enough, you look at her. “Ryujin. May I express my feelings about this ‘thought?’”

She scans you up and down, and then nods.

“It’s absolute bullshit.”

“Hey!”

“I hate my life,” you say to yourself as you swing open the door of your car, stepping out rather impatiently onto the asphalt. Having forgotten to grab your psychology notebook at the end of the day, you found yourself taking an unwanted U-turn back to the school to pick it up; in your defense, you would rather maintain your A in the class even if you had to stop by the gas station on your way back. Like you were told, a class requires commitment.

You march your way into the school once again, wondering why the school officials never thought to add any precautionary measures to the buildings. It makes you wonder if someone had ever snuck onto campus since you were a freshman. From the very deep memories of your sophomore year, you remember a junior at that time sneaking in one of his friends during finals week thinking he’d get away with it. Honestly, Juyeon was something else.

Just as you make your way to your locker, you quietly scroll through your phone distractedly before seeing a text pop up in your infamous group chat.

[3:05 p.m.] chaechaer: guess what guys!! :D

[3:05 p.m.] praying mantis: don’t wanna guess

[3:05 p.m.] hwangji: she’s finally getting dick

[3:05 p.m.] chaechaer: i’ll fucking bite you yeji.

[3:06 p.m.] hwangji: bite me baby i wanna see you try

[3:06 p.m.] you: spill c’mon

[3:07 p.m.] praying mantis: y/n.

[3:07 p.m.] praying mantis: why are you at school right now

[3:07 p.m.] chaechaer: gasp

[3:07 p.m.] chaechaer: looks like i’m not the only one getting dick

[3:08 p.m.] you: oh fuck off, i came back bc i forgot something

[3:08 p.m.] you: wait did you just say ‘not the only one’

[3:09 p.m.] hwangji: so you ARE getting dick???

[3:09 p.m.] hwangji: spill mf, right now

[3:09 p.m.] you: ryujin, are you checking my snap location rn??? hello??

[3:10 p.m.] praying mantis: ofc i am, i’m your guardian angel :)

[3:10 p.m.] you: you’re a stalker

[3:10 p.m.] praying mantis: but whose dick are you getting? that’s the real question

You roll your eyes as hard as you can, hoping that your best friend would know even from a distance. Just as you continue to tap furiously into the glass of your phone, you’re suddenly hit by your left shoulder, sending you flying down to the ground in an instant. “Shit,” you whisper under your breath, brushing your hair out of your eyes well enough to look up and see that the hard object you just ran into wasn’t a wall. In fact, it was a human.

“Watch where you’re going,” the boy snaps at you, rather loudly in fact, making you flinch as you slowly stand up, gathering your phone. “This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t on your phone. Who walks in a hallway with their head down like that? Do you want to die?”

It takes you a minute to realize who’s actually standing in front of you, and it’s only when you’ve managed to gulp down his harsh words. Seo Changbin. He looks at you from head to toe, the scowl still evident on his face when your eyes widen. Suddenly, you’re a little more aware of yourself, shifting uncomfortably in his gaze as he doesn’t move.

“Well?” He crosses his arms across his chest, now approaching you. “I don’t hear an apology.”

You instinctively back away, avoiding the boy’s eyes before you’re looking right back into them. If you weren’t mistaken, there was no one in front of you until there was, and there was no way that you could’ve ran into someone without noticing their presence earlier. Scoffing, you mimic his posture, looking behind him to see if you’re right about your assumption. In fact, you are, seeing the door of the locker room staring right back at you. “Me? Shouldn’t you be watching where you’re going?”

Changbin looks taken aback by your retaliation, somehow making his forehead lines fall into a straight line. “Don’t talk back to me, bitch.”

“Bitch?” You want to laugh, but instead, you press a smile down. “Seriously? Who do you think you are?”

You’re honestly appalled at the way the admired swimmer is acting towards you, but you’re not surprised. You would be lying if you didn’t say you weren’t in the faintest surprised. The entire team could act like a handful of bullies that didn’t have any other free time on their hands, if you looked into it more. Changbin seems to be dissatisfied with your answer, closing in on you as your back presses against the wall.

“What did you say to me?”

You’re about to respond with an equally harsh answer but there’s a sudden call of Changbin’s name from the end of the hallway, making the both of you turn your heads. Yet another swimming team member comes jogging your way, sporting a school branded shirt that tells you exactly what he’s part of. The boy stops a few feet away from the two of you, a large smile spreading across his face as he looks from Changbin to you. You scratch your head. Is Bang Chan currently standing in front of you? Or was it just a figment of your imagination?

“Hi! What’s your name?” He asks, coming closer before glancing over at Changbin and stopping. “W-What? Wait, what? What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Changbin defends immediately, making you raise an eyebrow as he holds up his palms. “I didn’t! Nothing happened, Chan. It’s all good. Let’s just go now.”

Chan doesn’t budge when he grabs onto his arm, tugging to pull him away, but he instead focuses his attention on you. His smile persists. “Hi sweetheart, judging from the look on your face, he did do something, right?”

You’re taken aback at his soft voice, a complete contrast from what you just heard from the other boy. Pursing your lips, you try not to let your cheeks flame up. Sweetheart? “It’s nothing—he just ran into me and tried to pin the whole thing on me—it’s all good, really. I’m fine, I didn’t get hurt. So…”

“You didn’t get hurt? But he ran into you?” Chan shoots Changbin a sharp look, one that looks much darker than the gaze he returns to you. “Are you okay? It might’ve been a hard fall. I can take you to the nurse’s office, if you’d like?”

“N-No, it’s fine!” You shake your hands in refusal, an awkward chuckle leaving your lips. Chan only laughs brightly in response, his entire face somehow appearing ten times more charming than before. You notice with another fleeting glimpse that there are dimples that crease into his skin as he smiles, now making your heart do an unidentifiable leap inside your chest. “Um, okay, I actually have to go now! I’ll, uh, yeah! Bye!”

You turn in your heel, trying to walk at a casual but extremely quick pace at the same time, which proves to be difficult. Just as you’re about to turn at the corner, there’s a shout from down the hall.

“Hey!” Peaking your head back, you see Chan waving his hand at you. “What’s your name?!”

“Y/N!”

“Nice to meet you Y/N! I hope to see you around!”

Gulping, you lean back against one of the lockers near yours, placing a hand over your chest as you finally notice the thumping. You take a deep breath, shaking your head a few times to get the entire situation out of your head; it doesn’t work, not with your brain taking you back to that exact moment once again. You just spoke to one, no, scratch that, two extremely talented swimming players with your own two eyes. And perhaps the rapid beating of your heart wasn’t just because one of them was being nice to you. But you wouldn’t admit that now, would you?

dear y/n love,

hi hi! i’ve missed talking to you (yes, i know, there’s no way you can respond to me, but anyway), but this letter will be unfortunately short today. please don’t think too much of it! my class is about to end, haha.

i saw you at one of the swimming meets a few days ago, and oh my god, i really couldn’t take my eyes off of you. i don’t know if anyone has ever told you, y/n, but you are so beautiful. i remember what you were wearing; was it...a black shirt? and jeans, oh yes. your sense of style is so simple yet somehow so perfect. i couldn’t even take my eyes off of you, oh god, i remember all my friends yelling at me to pay attention but all i was doing was staring at you. sounds like a problem, huh? but i enjoy it. shit, this sounds kinda creepy again, doesn’t it? i’m so sorry, love, that’s not what i was going for. i just...really admire you. a lot.

also, the homecoming game is this weekend! i hope you end up going, you can even go with your friend! the blue-haired one, yeah, ryujin, i think. that’s her name, right? oh god, you probably think i’m even weirder now that i just told you that i know your friend. fuck. anyway.

once again, i hope to see you there! there’s something waiting for you there and i want to be able to surprise you, even if i don’t want to reveal my identity just yet. see you soon, love.

signed, jay

#inkidz #stayhavennet #kpopscape #skz fluff #skz series #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #skz x reader #skz au #stray kids series #stray kids writing #skz angst #stray kids angst #stray kids au #stray kids x reader

42 notes · View notes

swanface · 3 years

Note

If you had to pick new leaders and deputies for each clan and the tribe, instead of who would you personally pick- who would make for the most interesting picks?

oooh, trying to select “interesting” choices per each clan without inherently trying to think okay, who would make for a good leader or deputy, is...considerably hard. i tried to think through each clan and the current attitudes of each leader and see if i could “flip” those in order to make things interesting or essentially just different, so...here we go!

NETTLECLAN

Mottlestar + Featherflight or Mottlestar + Flintheart

though i don’t think it shows often, crowstar is a fierce cat. he’s not incredibly strict, as a leader — he’s warm towards his clan as a whole, and understands just how chaotic life can be — but he is incredibly willing to become stern and essentially strong arm any enemies that arise. he’s the sort to use his strength to his advantage, and, i think, the most likely of the current leaders to kill in order to solve a conflict. i wanted to give nettleclan a less certain presence as its leader and first thought about more anxious cats like twigpaw or pansypaw, but they feel too extreme, so i instead opted for mottlepelt becoming mottlestar. as a leader, i feel like he’d have a very flimsy sort of approach, and might tend to get stepped on by particularly stubborn clanmates or the fellow leaders of the other clans. he’s been shown in the roleplay to be a bit impulsive, and most of his actions are done with the intention of making others happy before considering consequences (see: his family), which i think would make for a very interesting nettleclan leader.

mottlestar as a leader feels to me like the kind of cat who would immediately gravitate towards choosing a deputy he knows well rather than a cat who might be a more steady or wise choice, and his options therefore are limited to featherflight or flintheart. both of them are actually pretty similar cats, when it comes down to it, colored by cynicism and very much unconcerned with anyone who happens to be outside of their own familial circles or social bubbles. they wouldn’t be making any friends with the other clans, and with mottlestar in charge, i think nettleclan would shift to being seen as “weak” or at least pushovers. featherflight might be a bit rash as a deputy due to her younger age, while flintheart would likely be very prone to snapping, too, as he’s clearly not a cat who works under the pressure of having the clan depend on him.

CREEKCLAN

Milkstar + Willowpaw

currently, creekclan has a very traditional sort of structure with currentstar in charge. outsiders are still allowed in, but the way he chooses to apprentice them and integrate them into the clan speaks of structure and of valuing the ways of clan life rather than bending them like mantisstar or even crowstar might. because of this, the clear opposite of currentstar’s leadership would be a less traditional kind of leader, as well as one who would bring about chaos. milkstar would be my first choice as leader with this duo set up, because honestly, willowpaw doesn’t seem like the type who would even want to be in charge, but it would also keep creekclan from...well. completely crumbling, i think.

but still, with milkstar as a leader and willowpaw his ever faithful sidekick, creekclan would have a much more hostile vibe, i think. they’d probably be known as troublemakers — both milkpaw and willowpaw have been known to rush into things without thinking, and i can see that getting them into problems with the other clans — and i imagine they’d have a pretty harsh way of interacting with enemies if it came down to it. willowpaw’s more lighthearted, but milkpaw has a lot of untapped anger at his center. as a leader, i don’t think he’d be strict, exactly, but i do imagine that if you managed to piss him off, there would be hell to pay for it. as his deputy, willowpaw would essentially support him in all that he chose to do. they’re already a pretty unbreakable team, and i think that if it came down to a conflict arising for creekclan, willowpaw would probably egg on milkpaw’s already volatile temper.

JAGGEDCLAN

Leopardstar + Eaglepaw

i honestly contemplated the idea of leopardpaw being leopardstar and appointing starlingstep as her deputy simply because i find the “young leader, old deputy” dynamic to be pretty intriguing in most cases, but another option i think that would be equally as interesting and viable is eaglepaw. leopardpaw as leopardstar would be the stark opposite of mantisstar, who is exceedingly trusting to the point of fault. jaggedclan would transform from being perhaps the most “open” clan, willing to help outsiders and fellow rival clans alike, to something a lot more isolated and closed off. jaggedclan is currently the only clan to have a leader / deputy pair consisting of cats formerly from outside of the clans (mantisstar and oakjaw being former loners / rogues), and because of that, i feel like their reputation shifted from being the most hostile toward outside culture to the most welcoming.

with leopardstar, though, they would again be far more closed off. i thought that maybe a good deputy choice for her would be someone that could balance her distrustful nature, but an interesting choice might be eaglepaw instead. he’s close enough to leopardpaw that i think she trusts him, and though he doesn’t have quite the same suspicion levels, he’s also very closed off personally. really, i think he’d have a similar feeling to oakjaw now — basically just the right hand man of the leader, there to back her up, but in this case he would be backing up leopardpaw who is...very much not the same sort of cat mantisstar is. leopardpaw, in my opinion, definitely has the right sort of personality to be a leader — firm, certain, able to make decisions — and eaglepaw, though not particularly confident on his own, would function well in a supporting role. of the leader / deputy duos i’ve proposed so far, i feel like these two would be objectively the most functional. undeniably different from current jaggedclan leadership, sure, but they’d have way more stability to them than the nettleclan or creekclan duos might.

FOGCLAN

Foxstar + Hemlockpaw

fogclan, as of right now, is a clan on the outskirts. lilystar’s callousness does them no favors when it comes to being accepted into the general community of the original three clans. she’s far from personable, quick to act rashly, and really does not confide in anyone but herself. because of this, to flip the dynamic, fogclan would need a leader eager to reach out and forge the bonds that lilystar hasn’t — perhaps not for lack of wanting those bonds, but because she simply does not have the personality that would lend itself well towards...well. making friends.

foxflame as foxstar is exactly the sort of amicable, friendly cat who might finally be able to sway the general opinion of fogclan from negative to...at least slightly positive. he’s affectionate, respectful, and tends not to tread on any toes. he might be a bit ill suited towards leadership when it comes to needing to stand firm, but honestly, i think fogclan might benefit from a leader who is more flexible or even more willing to take a few hits for the sake of general peace. to compliment foxstar, i’d also think a really bubbly sort of deputy would suit him, and the first cheerful cat i thought of was hemlockpaw. he has a bit of that competitiveness to him that i think could make fogclan not seem exceedingly like pushovers (like i mentioned nettleclan might), but he’s not aggressive. he’d be able to let things run off his shoulders without taking them too seriously while still providing enthusiasm and general support.

TRIBE OF TWISTED TUNNELS

Twilight Sun, Crow Breeze, Tumbling Leaf, Elk Frost

the tribe is considerably more complex when it comes to how leadership works, and so to keep in line with the idea of heirs being selected...what if an entire litter of four had been crowned heirs? in normal litters of more than one kit where heir status is declared, like vixen and rose, it is clear that only one of them can go forth to be the actual leader of spring, buuut...in litters of four, the siblings are given a unique season each. this means that if a litter of four was deemed heirs, they would all be set up to lead their respective seasons some day.

honestly, i began with twilight sun and crow breeze as concepts meant to subvert the more frigid leaders that proceeded them. summer’s due for a cat who is warm like twilight, and crow is pretty much the perfect example of a spring born (unlike tiger breeze herself). once i realized that i’d put two of the four siblings into place, i also came to realize that tumble and elk are pretty contrasting figures against willow leaf and honey frost. willow leaf has some sternness to him, but he’s also more of a traditionalist. tumble...is not, clearly. it’d be really interesting if she’d not only been born with the expectation of adhering to fall and its duties but also been assigned to one day lead the season. she’d be a chaotic leader, that’s for sure, but she might be able to settle into the role eventually. elk as elk frost is similar enough to honey frost that it wouldn’t be a total shake up, but elk has the backbone that honey frost often lacks, and therefore i think he’d be a solid option as a genuinely good, passionate winter leader.

#nettleclan #creekclan #jaggedclan #fogclan #tott #threeclans #not gonna tag all the ocs but!

7 notes · View notes

7team7 · 4 years

Text

Sharp edges

Mai notices. Zutara from an outsider POV // eventual Zutara, eventual Mailee

A/N: ok hi i love sasusaku fics told from an outsider pov, there are a few really good ones from karin’s perspective so i was like ok sorry mai i will do this LOL (if you’re unfamiliar, karin had feelings for sasuke but he didn’t return them and he married and had a baby with sakura) this is not at all supposed to be The Other Woman type of thing, there’s no cheating, it’s really observations and another way to look at zutara yup!

Mai stood by Zuko because she knew he was a good man. She knew he cared about her. Her childhood crush on him wasn’t misplaced.

When she first sensed the distance growing between them, she chalked it up to Fire Lord duties demanding all of his time. But despite his good intentions and traits, he was not in love with her the way he was in love with someone else.

She first really noticed when he was running around the palace like a komodo chicken with its head cut off while preparing for visitors. Not just any visitors — his old friends from across the nations used the one year anniversary of his coronation as an excuse to get together. She had sensed his loneliness in the way he constantly gazed at the sky, lost in his own thoughts, in the way he sent off pages and pages of letters. But she assumed he yearned for friendship and not romance. She was only one person, she could only give him so much.

The palace was ablaze with activity in the days before the highly anticipated celebration. “Aren’t you excited?” he asked her, looking like a kid on the morning of his birthday.

His face drooped when he realized, no, of course she wasn’t. They weren’t really her friends, they weren’t here to see her.

She verbalized her feelings anyway, “Why would I be?”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you that Ty Lee is coming too. And my sister got cleared by her doctors to join us for a while. That’s something, right?”

She sighed. He was trying. He always tried his best and that was one of the things that was so endearing about him. “Should be an interesting mix,” she remarked. She excused herself to go lay down and left him to finish hanging the flags of the other nations in the hallway. Even with all his servants doing their best, no one could work fast enough to keep up with his boundless energy. He really was excited, wasn’t he?

Before she rounded the corner to her room, she could’ve sworn she noticed the way he seemed to hold onto the blue Water Tribe fabric just a bit longer. She shook her head. She must have been tired, imagining him run his thumb over the fabric before hanging it.

The Gaang arrived noisily as usual. The way they all arrived on time (at noon, peak Zuko energy time) was a little freaky. It seemed no amount of time would mess with their sync.

A seemingly endless round of hugs was exchanged, everyone chattering excitedly as they caught up with each other and made plenty of nostalgic jokes that you really had to be there for to understand.

Aang had arrived first, flying in and bowing with exaggerated politeness to “Sifu Hotman” that only served to send both Zuko and himself into a fit of giggles. Two of the world’s most powerful benders were really still kids.

Toph came stomping in next, wondering aloud if Zuko would change her life today. He gave her an affectionate noogie, and asked, “Haven’t I already?”

She shoved him, “Don’t go thinking you’re Iroh.” She was happy.

Sokka would’ve been next had he not been intercepted by Suki. They had their own little reunion on the docks before joining the group.

So that left Katara to skip up to the palace, leaving her brother behind. Mai could’ve sworn Katara was an airbender when she all but flew through the air when she launched herself at Zuko, arms outstretched for an embrace.

And Zuko caught her.

He captured her in a tight hug and spun her around, looking like they hopped straight out of an Ember Island Players romance.

When her feet met the ground again, the waterbender seemed to grow embarrassed as she quickly turned away from Zuko to greet her other friends. Zuko seemed to reach for her again, but dropped his hands and squeezed them into fists. The smile on his face was just a bit less dazzling than it had been a moment before, even when Sokka came barreling through the scene with a witty comment.

Mai tilted her head, surveying the situation. To Sokka, he was a fellow swordsman; to Aang, he was a firebending master; to Toph, he was the sibling she never had; he was their friend. To everyone — Suki, Ty Lee, Momo, Appa — he was a friend.

But who was he to Katara? The question grated on her nerves. It was too loud. She left to check on Azula.

Maybe she was reading into it too much. It wasn’t like Katara had no options: Aang’s feelings for her were obvious. She watched closely to determine if those feelings were reciprocated. Maybe time and distance had changed things.

Katara had suggested going into town to explore the marketplace and Aang jumped up to join her. But then Zuko started droning on and on about the economy and instead of being bored to death like any normal person, she started offering her own suggestions for improving revenue streams and diversifying product offerings. Yawn.

Aang trailed after then, looking forlorn. Katara had the Avatar hanging on her every word, yet she chose to pay attention to Zuko, her former enemy. That was really something.

And Zuko, he was listening to her more intently than he ever listened to his aging advisors.

Mai stayed back. She wasn’t interested in inserting herself. Time and distance only seemed to make Zuko more sure of his feelings, even if he didn’t realize it yet. She would need to reevaluate the situation herself.

Mai never felt left out as a nonbender. She had seen the way fire had destroyed her own nation.

But she had always wished they could spar together. It wasn’t about meeting halfway, she could have easily requested that he use his swords to level the playing field.

But his identity would always be tied to that of a firebender. He was the Fire Lord, for one thing. He could put down the swords whenever he wanted, but the fire would always be inside him, licking at his insides, smoking its way out in every exhale.

Fire and water were opposites, but they worked together surprisingly well. Balance, she thought as she lazily twirled a dagger in her hands while watching Zuko and Katara’s sparring session.

“You’ve improved,” he praised her, clearly impressed. Zuko wore his heart on his sleeve, something he apparently thought Mai should try. Her face pinched in for a split second when Katara’s shining eyes met his. For a waterbender, Katara’s eyes had so much warmth. Like the changing tide, they held a special sort of softness when she looked at Zuko.

“You have too. But what else would I expect? You’re the Fire Lord now,” she teased. Fighting alongside Zuko had always felt natural, but it was a joy to be able to practice against him now that they weren’t sworn enemies.

“A Fire Lord who will get rusty if he has to do anymore paperwork,” he grumbled, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Well come on. I’m sure paperwork can wait for a little while longer. Can you show me that new move you did at the end?”

Mai remembered Zuko promising the other benders that they’d get a chance to spar with him too, but that seemed to slip his mind. He eagerly started showing her the forms. Katara picked it up quickly: it was clearly a fusion of water and firebending styles.

An understanding started developing at the back of her mind: there were things Zuko and Katara had that Zuko and herself could not have.

The session only ended when Azula came waltzing in, asking if anyone was up for a little fun.

Breakfast the next day was held outside to take advantage of the favorable weather. The pleasant breeze coupled with sunshine put everyone in a merry mood. Instead of Zuko sitting at the head of the table in his fancy throne-like chair like he would inside, everyone squished together on two long benches at one table. Mai sat to Zuko’s immediate left, at the edge of the table.

People like Aang, Sokka, and Toph were driven by hunger and started digging in quickly. Suki had clearly taken a moment to actually get ready because when she took her place next to Sokka, her hair was neater than almost everyone else’s.

Katara came in last, yawning and rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. Zuko brightened when he saw her, “Katara! I saved you a seat.” He scooted closer to Mai, brushing her side with his, but only so he could make room for Katara. Mai sighed. Why was he so clueless sometimes?

As soon as Katara was settled next to him, Zuko poured her a steaming cup of tea. She gave him a sweet smile in thanks. He pushed a plate towards her, “Here, this one shouldn’t have any fire flakes.” She dug in eagerly, nudging his shoulder with hers in silent happiness while she chewed. Zuko’s body jostled up against Mai’s as a result of being nudged, but he had never felt so far away.

“Anyone else want some tea?” he asked the table. Of course everyone wanted a sip of Iroh’s delicious breakfast brew, so they all said yes. But instead of serving everyone the way he had served Katara only a moment ago, Zuko just passed the teapot across the table so everyone could pour their own cup.

Clueless, truly clueless.

“Guess what my silly brother told me when I arrived yesterday? He said, ‘Be nice.’ Ha! As if I would ever imagine being anything but,” Azula cackled. He had pulled her aside when he noticed the way everyone (or really, Katara) hesitated around her. Her unpredictable energy still put everyone on edge.

“I can hardly believe little ZuZu is the great big Fire Lord now,” she continued. The original trio — Azula, Mai, Ty Lee — were strolling around the city. There wasn’t much to do at the palace until dinner time seeing as Zuko was tied up with his daily meetings. Bureaucracy didn’t stop, even for visitors.

“I know right. Things are so different now.” She knew what Azula left unsaid: Zuko was Fire Lord and she wasn’t. Mai still wasn’t sure exactly how to go about tending to Azula’s feelings. She was still her friend, but everything had changed so much, there was a much needed distance between them. No matter how bored she was, she would never follow the princess’s every whim again.

“I’ve been told to work on being happy for others. Even if they have what I want, even if I can’t get it. He’s still a dumb dumb, but you know. I’m working on it.” Azula examined her nails as if the conversation was completely casual, but her words held great significance.

Oh.

It would take time, but maybe she could work up to being happy for them.

She waited a day, mulling it over on her own. But she didn’t wait until everyone else went home to end it. Really, why bother?

“What are you talking about? Why would you leave? Does this mean we’re breaking up?”

She closed her eyes. The pain and confusion written all over his face were making this difficult. “Yes. I’m not the one for you and you’re not the one for me. There’s no reason for me to stay here anymore.” She wasn’t sure where she’d go, but it might be nice to see the world when she wasn’t on a manhunt.

He spluttered, “But if it’s not us, then who is it?!”

She waved her hand vaguely, “You’ll figure it out.” Even if he wasn’t in love with her the way he was with Katara, he was still emotionally attached. Since he had yet to confront his own feelings, she realized this break up came as quite the shock. But he’d get over it. There was someone who would help him. She was almost positive that he’d go running into her arms momentarily.

Mai was truthful when she told Azula she loved Zuko more than she feared her.

Zuko had done a lot of growing up, had gotten so much stronger; she was proud of him for it. But Mai had to come to terms with the fact that Zuko still feared Azula because of her capacity to hurt Katara. He still feared Azula because he loved Katara.

Katara was so precious to him, he would put his life on the line to save her — he already had.

That pained Mai to think about, it cut her to the core, it stung so, so badly to be the second choice. But there was nothing she could do.

How could she compete? The difficulties of a Water Tribe girl being with a Fire Nation boy obviously didn’t matter. They would make it work.

Conceding defeat to someone like Katara should not be so hard. Bowing out was the graceful thing to do. She wasn’t the type to make a dramatic scene anyway.

But when she finally walked away, she dug her fingernails deep into her own palms despite it all. Loving Zuko was not so easy to let go of.

She returned months later with a slew of Kyoshi Warriors to celebrate Zuko’s birthday and found that Katara had never left. She squeezed Ty Lee’s hand to say I told you so.

The girl in pink gazed up at her in wonder, “You’re so good at predicting!”

Mai muttered, “Not that hard when it’s right in front of you.” They were clearly not shy with the displays of affection now that they were officially a couple.

Ty Lee sighed in contentment when they walked into the palace, “The auras in here are so much happier than they were a few years ago, it feels great!” She turned to poke her girlfriend’s side, “Yours too.”

“Don’t make me blush,” she murmured.

“That’s why you like wearing the Kyoshi Warrior makeup, huh? But I know, I always know.” Her tone was light, but it was true. Out of everyone, it was Ty Lee who knew her best, who always stood by her. It was Ty Lee who dealt with her dreariness after breaking up with Zuko, and it was Ty Lee who gave her time and space when she hesitated to step into a new relationship. And Ty Lee was the one who made it worthwhile.

“How are you feeling though?” Ty Lee regarded the other girl carefully. Zuko had been part of her life for so long, it was no simple feat to move on from him.

“The usual, I’m fine.” Her emotions had always been low key and thankfully, no jealous beast reared its ugly head upon seeing Zuko and Katara together. Really, she was fine.

Ty Lee nodded in satisfaction. She tilted her head thoughtfully, “They look happy, too. I’m happy for them!” Ty Lee might’ve felt it more acutely, but Mai agreed. It was a good feeling, light and sweet and satisfactory. She hoped Azula could feel even a fraction of this relief in her own life.

It had taken a while for all of them to get to this point, but it was worth it and they were all good. If that wasn’t something to celebrate, she didn’t know what was.

She finally walked up to him. “Happy birthday, Zuko.”

“Thank you, Mai. It’s good to see you.”

She nodded at him. It really was good to see him so happy. It didn’t hurt anymore. Letting go of each other didn’t necessarily mean that they had lost.

A/N: I chose Mai over aang bc I feel like her quiet nature is just more observant and aang is babie. Also I don’t hate Maiko lol I just. Ship zutara :P I don’t really ship aang with anyone, so he’s j chillin, he has his own happy ending everything is fine

Please let me know what you think about this one >_< I have a few other zutara things in my wips, plus of course I need to keep updating my sasusaku arranged marriage story, so some of those will come out eventually. Couldn’t keep up with zutara week or ss month but its ok!

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #yeah we italicized the oh so what #mailee #atla #fan fic #my writing

52 notes · View notes

thegoodgayshit · 3 years

Link

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Four: My Shocking First Game of Capture the Flag

Cabin Eleven was the quietest she had ever seen it the next morning. They still had time before the game started at noon, but the Hermes kids seemed to be sucked deep into concentration, which was so unlike them Luz didn’t know what to make of it.

Viney was muttering strategy to herself all morning, then was stuck deep into conversation with the counselors of the Athena cabin and the Hecate cabin. Luz figured it was a good idea to stay out of it and not stress out Viney more than she already was, so she took a walk to go find Willow and Gus.

Despite her overall nervousness for the game, she was also excited to be on the same team as Willow and Gus. The three had decided they would play together, and take on whatever role their counselors gave them as a unit. They practiced together in the morning and helped one another put on their armor. They had each been given a bronze chest plate and a helmet with a blue horse plume. It weighed on Luz like a pound of bricks, and after practicing stabbing with the knife form of Aletheia for a few minutes, her muscles already felt exhausted.

Willow realized she’d forgotten her sword on her bunkbed, so she went back to her cabin to get it while Gus and Luz sat on the grass. He showed Luz his spear, which extended from half a foot long to seven feet when he swung. Luz joked that it reminded her of those toy lightsabers she had seen in Walmart with her Mami. Gus grinned at the joke, launching into a story of getting one of those from his dad for Christmas a few years ago and breaking a vase with it. The two compared some Greek stories Luz had heard before. He would pipe in now and again when she talked, telling her the truth rather than what the original story said had happened.

“So Perseus saved the princess and killed Medusa-“

“Well, some myths question Medusa’s intention. She was kind of… Poseidon’s girlfriend. A lot of demigod scholars think she just wanted to be left alone,” Gus adds, and Luz hums thoughtfully.

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” she says with a frown.

Willow walks back over to them with the sword Luz had seen when she first got showed around camp. Now that she gets a closer look at it, she realizes why Willow can’t just grab a different one from the armory. She realized it was a lot shorter than her own blade, and most of the others she had seen. It was a bronze Spartan kopis, about a foot and a half long. Waving to her as she approached, Willow’s eyes locked in on the leather strap around her hand.

“What’s that on your hand, Luz?”

Remembering her dilemma from the day before, Luz explained everything that had happened yesterday with Lilith and Amity and the magic hand buzzer.

Willow frowned, “that doesn’t sound good. Amity is a mean girl, but she’s also the best in combat, better than anybody else at camp. Even some of the Ares campers don’t hold weight to her.”

“But this is so cool!” Gus said enthusiastically at the buzzer, holding out his wrist. “Can you shock me?”

Willow slapped his hand away. “For someone in Cabin Six, you really have no brain cells.”

Luz laughed, breaking some of the tension. But she worried her lip at Willow’s words. “After I saw her tear apart that dummy I knew I was done for. If Amity meets me on the field like she promised I’m going to be slashed to pieces.”

“Well, she’s not allowed to kill you even if she wanted to,” Gus said offhandedly, still looking at the hand buzzer. “But this could definitely make your job easier.” He reached over to touch it again and Luz pulled it away quickly.

“I know Eda gave it to me, but I don’t want to use it unless I have to.” Luz murmured, still uncomfortable. “I don’t know what’ll happen to Amity, and Eda seemed to be sugarcoating it.”

“Eda would never give something to you that would seriously hurt another camper,” Willow promised, reaching over to pat Luz’s shoulder. “At most, it’ll probably give you an advantage since she has it out for you so badly.”

Gus blinked as if an idea had struck him, but before they could question it any further, Viney was making her way over to them and telling them to head over to the forest entrance. Willow and Luz started walking, but when they realized Gus was standing there still deep in thought they hesitated.

“Go ahead, I’ll meet you there,” he said with a smile. “I just need to talk to Viney for a second.”

Willow and Luz shared a look before shrugging. “Alright, well see you there,” Willow said with a smile.

By the edge of the forest, the campers had been divided into red and blue teams. Eda had announced at dinner last night the finalized divide between the different cabins. The Hermes cabin would be the blue team, hence the blue horse plume helmet, and they would be joined by Athena, Demeter, Hecate, Nemesis, Tyche, Hebe, Dionysus, and Iris. That left Aphrodite’s cabin, the red team, with Ares, Apollo, Hephaestus, Nike, and Hypnos. Luz could tell by the gathering crowds that they had numbers on their side, but Luz was pretty certain the red team had some of the camp's best fighters. Some of the Ares kids and Nike kids looked like they would be a force to be reckoned with.

Willow was shuffling through some of the weapons and other items that campers were allowed to take from. She turned around and offered Luz a bronze shield.

“Do you want it?”

Luz looked at it uncertainly. “I’ve never practiced with one. I don’t know how to use it.”

Willow nodded, tucking it over her own arm instead. “It’s smart to stick with what you know. I’m not a shield person either. I’ll give it to Gus when he gets here.”

As they waited with the other members of the blue team, Luz started fidgeting. She was getting really anxious about this whole game now. Her armor was feeling heavier and heavier, and she struggled not to let her head tilt to one side under her helmet. She ran her hands up and down her arms nervously when she saw Boscha and Amity standing together on the red team's side. Amity was already in her armor with her sword in its hilt at her side, leaning against a tree with her arms crossed, looking bored, but Boscha was busy polishing a wicked-looking four-foot bronze falcata. She caught Luz staring and paused, shooting her an evil looking grin from under her red plume helmet. Luz swallowed thickly.

“Luz, are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

She turned her head quickly to give Willow an encouraging smile. “I’m fine. Just pre-game nerves.”

Willow gave Luz a look and she knew she wasn’t buying it. Peering over Luz’s shoulder at what she was staring at, Willow makes a noise of understanding.

“Don’t worry about them, Luz,” Willow said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Gus and I will be with you the whole time in case they try and team up on you. We’ll do this together.”

Luz did her best to smile confidently, even if her stomach was flipping. In truth, that did make her feel a lot better. She had been happier at camp with Willow and Gus than she’d ever had back in Manhattan, or Amherst, or Syracuse, or anywhere else she’d lived before. With them helping her, she was sure everything would be just fine.

Finally, Viney, Gus, and the other councilors from the blue team made their way to the blue side, ready to assign positions. Gus trotted up to them with an excited smile, and Luz had a feeling whatever he’d wanted to talk to Viney about was all sorted. As he approached them in his armor (that was still way too big) and his spear in hand, Willow pulled the three of them together and out of earshot from the others. Willow handed Gus the shield, which he took gratefully.

“What did you want to talk to Viney about?” She asked him, and Gus looked around nervously before shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it. It won’t matter anyway if everything goes according to plan.”

Luz’s curiosity got the better of her and she cooed in excitement tapping her fingers together. “Ouuu… a mystery.”

Willow narrowed her eyes, clearly not in the mood for secrets. “Gus…”

“Viney asked me not to tell,” he pleaded, and Willow sighed at his expression before crossing her arms.

“Fine.”

Willow was clearly still grumpy about Gus keeping a secret, but Luz was too busy watching Viney walk around to the other Hermes campers and assigning them their position. By the time she approached Luz, she was practically vibrating from nervousness.

Viney patted Luz on the shoulder. “How are you feeling, newbie?”

Luz decided on being honest. “I’ve been better.”

Thankfully Viney just chuckled, gesturing Willow and Gus closer. “I’m positioning you three as the second set of defense on the other side of the creek. Watch for anybody crossing that might be coming from Zeus’ Fist. Gus, you have the traps?”

Gus grinned and gestured to the little pouches strapped to his armor. “Yep.”

Viney nodded turning back to Willow and Luz. “Willow, see if you can barricade the forest walls. Luz, be ready for a forward assault. Gus has the flare if you need backup.”

Luz didn’t understand any of that, but she wasn’t going to ask questions right now when Willow and Gus were nodding in serious understanding. So she just nodded along with them. Viney seemed to sense her hesitancy, and she pushed her affectionately with her fist.

“Try not to worry. We’ve got this.”

She said it with such certainty, it seemed to fill Luz with a confidence she didn’t know she had. Even Willow and Gus straightened. As she walked away, Willow exhaled with a smile.

“Those Hermes pep talks always work.”

Luz blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Hermes is the god of merchants, thieves, and travelers, but also the god of orators. His kids can sometimes give speeches that feel magical. That’s why Viney is their counselor, she has that gift.” Gus said with a grin, and Luz noticed just how drastically Viney’s speech had changed them. He was standing so straight that his armor almost looked like it fit him. His spear didn’t seem too clunky in his hand. Willow’s expression looked like it had hardened in preparation for the game, and even Luz’s anxiety seemed to have been replaced with solid determination.

“That’s so cool,” Luz grinned in enthusiasm. She wondered if her dad had passed along any magical abilities like that to her. So far, she was just regular Luz.

Before she knew it, everybody on her team had been given their role. A horn blew in the distance, and Luz turned towards the entrance of the forest to see Eda and Lilith standing there with King at their feet. Eda had blown the horn and was watching the gathering campers with a grin on her face.

“Welcome to our weekly game of Capture the Flag!” She said, holding up her fist, and the campers erupted into cheering. Lilith rolled her eyes from next to her sister, and Luz wondered if they’d fought at all since the incident at the arena yesterday.

“You all know the rules!” Lilith said, loud enough for all the campers to hear and quiet down. That was an exaggeration. Luz certainly didn’t know the rules, so she peered closer to absorb every word. “The creek is the boundary line. The whole forest is fair game. The flag must be prominently displayed with no more than two guards. Guards must stand at least ten years from the flag. Prisoners may be disarmed, but not bound or gagged. All magic items are allowed. Eda and I will be acting as in-game referees! There is to be absolutely no killing or maiming. Am I understood?”

There was a chorus of muffled agreement, though Luz snickered as she watched Eda roll her eyes at the long list of rules.

“Alright heroes! The game will now begin!” Eda called, blowing her horn again, causing Lilith to wince at the sound. There was a chorus of cheering as both teams began to flood into the woods, and Luz followed Willow and Gus quickly, not wanting to get lost.

As the teams approached the creek, the blue side cut north while the red headed south. Willow dragged Luz about half a mile past the creek with Gus on her heels, and the three of them ended up in a small clearing surrounded by wild plants.

“This is where Viney wants us to patrol,” she said, reaching down and drawing her sword from her belt. “I’ll work some magic on these plants and make a barricade. Luz, help Gus with the traps.”

Luz nodded, turning to help Gus unpack the small objects he had concealed in pouches on his belt. He handed one to her, and when she scooped it up rather ungracefully, he hissed in alarm.

“Be careful! These are sticky bombs I got from the Hecate campers. Too much motion will cause them to explode.”

“Oh shoot, sorry.”

Luz was considerably more careful after that. She was helping Gus stick one in the undergrowth when she glanced over in the direction of the creek where Willow was working. What she saw made her mouth drop. Willow was moving her sword and the thorny underbrush seemed to move with her. It climbed and weaved around itself, creating a barricade to their side of the creek at least a hundred feet wide. No camper on the red team was running through that.

“How is she doing that?” Luz gasped in wonder. “It that a Demeter kid thing?”

Gus looked over at Luz, a little uncomfortably. “Yes, and no. Demeter kids do have a lot of sway with plants and wild magic… but a lot of Willow’s abilities are just a Willow thing.”

Luz remembered the conversation she’d had with them when they were giving Luz the tour of camp. She wondered if this Willow magic was a part of that “technicality” Gus had mentioned.

“Well she is one powerful demigod,” Luz decided with finality.

Gus nodded in agreement. After a couple more minutes, the traps had all been set, and somewhere in the distance, Luz could hear Eda’s horn sound.

“The game’s started,” Willow said seriously, tightening her grip on her kopis. Gus straightens up and pulls his shield to his chest, gripping his spear so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Luz suddenly felt very empty-handed, and touched her hand to her ring, calling out Alethia. She gripped the leather hilt of the sword tightly, with not a moment to spare. Just as the games started, she heard yelling from the other side of the barricades as a handful of campers started slashing through the thorns to get through.

“Get ready!” Willow yelled just as they slashed through the last of the thorns and tumbled through the fresh opening. There were four enemy campers, and Luz’s heartbeat spiked at being outnumbered. Thankfully, Willow flicked her sword so roots and thorns wrapped around their ankle, tripping them to the ground. She met the next campers' sword with her own, and Gus raced forward to slam his shield against a camper wielding a spear like him.

Luz raised her sword out of instinct, and at just the right time. The sword of the last camper collided with hers immediately, and she grunted with effort to push it away. Swinging at them, the camper deflected, so Luz tried that new trick she’d learned from Eda last night and pushed forward, feeling satisfied when they stumbled backward, crying out in shock.

They looked up at her and Luz had a moment of panic when her eyes met gold ones. She thought for a second it might be Amity, but then she was hit with a wave of recognition. It was one of the twins who had been teasing Amity at the Aphrodite table her first night.

The girl seemed to recognize her too as she regained her balance and gripped her sword tightly. She gave Luz a crooked smile that Luz knew right away was trouble. “Oh, no way! You’re that new girl who keeps getting under Mitten’s skin.” Then she completely turned away from Luz to look at the camper who’d been tripped by Willow’s plant magic.

“Edric! Check it out, it’s the new girl,” she said gleefully. The camper on the floor had managed to get to their knees and cut the thorns with their sword. Luz recognized him as the other green haired twin. He stood up and brushed the dirt marks from his armor with his free hand, his mouth split into an eager grin at his twins' words.

“Seriously? What kind of awesome timing is that?” He said excitedly as Willow, Gus, and the two other red campers battled around them.

“What’s happening right now?” Luz said in confusion, lowering her sword. “Are we not fighting anymore?”

“What, us? Fight you?” The girl said, turning back to Luz. “Why would we do that when you’ve thrown our sister off her game for us?”

Luz realized they must be talking about Amity, and she didn’t really know how to react to this news. She felt her cheeks heat up awkwardly. “Well, it’s not like I’m trying to do that on purpose!”

“Same difference,” the boy said, waving his own sword lazily. “Emira and I have been trying to knock her down a couple of pegs all year. Your challenge at the arena last night really messed with her head.”

Now Luz was really confused. She found herself just opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

Around them, Willow had finally managed to disarm the other camper she’d been fighting, and Gus had knocked off the shield of his. Edric and Emira glanced at this, then at Luz, and they both split into a smile.

“What did you say your name was?” Emira asked, and Luz finally had an answer to their questions.

“Luz Noceda.”

“Well Luz, we have to bounce,” Edric said with a charming smile. “But hopefully we’ll talk soon.”

“See you around, cutie,” Emira added with a wink.

Luz felt her cheeks warm uncontrollably as the two older campers turned heel and darted off through the forest, somehow managing to weave around Gus’ traps. As they vanished, Luz realized with a jolt of shock that she’d been played, and the twins had just broken through to her team's side of the forest.

While she stood there feeling like an idiot, the other two campers had been fended off by Willow and Gus, sprinting back through the entrance they’d carved to get it.

“Luz!” Willow exclaimed, running up to her. She looked winded but unharmed. “What happened? How’d they get through?”

Gus made his way over too, but he looked a little worse for wear. A spot near his eyebrow was turning red like he’d been smacked by the other campers' shield. “I turned around and it was two against one! Are you okay?”

“They played me!” Luz said angrily, gesturing with her sword to where the twins had vanished. “They kept me talking and then escaped around the traps.”

Willow and Gus winced.

“Yeah, we should have warned you about the Blight twins,” Willow said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Their mom is Aphrodite, so they really have a way with words. Unlike Amity, they can be super charming, but they’re also troublemakers.”

Gus nodded slowly. “They could have been Hermes kids with some of the pranks they pull around camp.”

Luz was still frustrated that they’d escaped, but there was nothing she could really do. At least Willow and Gus had fended off the other two. Willow turned back to reseal the wall of thorns that had been hacked through, while Luz and Gus checked the traps. Gus said the twins hadn’t activated them, like Luz had thought, but agreed that it was weird they knew the traps were there.

The three had heard a large banging sound in the forest on their side of the forest, as well as some shouts. But they didn’t see one of the Hecate cabins magic flares, so instead of running in that direction, they patrolled their side of the creek carefully, watching for any red campers racing back with the flag.

Just as Luz started to relax, thinking that maybe most of the fight was on the other side of the creek, she heard the sound of footsteps, and a loud voice yelling “there she is!”

Both Luz, Willow, and Gus spun around at the sound, standing shoulder to shoulders with their weapons raised. Three campers came to a running stop a few feet away from them. Boscha was on the left, swinging her sword experimentally in her hand with a downright sadistic grin. On the right was a girl with dyed silver hair and grey eyes, a bow in her hand notched with an arrow pointed right at her. Luz recognized her as one of the campers from Apollo’s cabin.

Then there was Amity standing in the middle with her xiphos already drawn, eyeing Luz with the same glint in her eye that she’d had in the arena right before her demonstration. Luz clenched Aletheia tightly in her hands, and felt Willow and Gus tense text to her, offering whatever nonverbal encouragement they could.

Boscha had been the one to speak, and she glanced quickly at Willow and Gus, sizing them up before breaking into a laugh. “So these are the friends you’ve decided to make? The dork and half a half-blood Willow?”

She heard Gus and Willow cry out at the insults next to her, and Luz felt anger bubble up in her stomach.

“Leave her alone,” Amity said dryly, and Luz turned to her in surprise. It faded to annoyance when she just lifted her sword and ran her finger along the side of the blade. “It’s not her fault she was born without talent.”

Willow flinched like she’d been slapped, and Luz took a protective step in front of her. While she had been afraid of facing Amity and Boscha before, now all she felt was determination. She had to be the Azura of Capture the Flag, and face down her new rival and defend her friends, who had already done so much for her.

“I’ll tell you what Amity,” she said angrily, pointing an accusing finger at her. “It’s one thing for Lilith to say I can’t beat you in a fight-

“Uh, because you can’t,” Amity interrupted with a scowl.

Luz didn’t humor her, and just kept talking like she hadn’t said anything,“-but it’s another thing to bully my friends.” She lifted Aletheia and pointed it at her menacingly. “So I challenge you!”

Amity stepped forward slowly, unwavering at the sight of Luz’s blade. Her face split into a grin, and she raised her own sword.

“I accept.”

The clearing split into movement. Skara released her arrow and let it fly right at Luz’s chest, and thank the gods Gus was paying attention because he threw out his shield and it bounced off with a clatter. Charging with his spear at Skara, she was forced to pull out her knife and face him.

Willow on the other hand was forced to face Boscha in a head-on assault. She charged at her and their swords clashed ringing across the clearing. Luz desperately wanted to turn and defend her friend, but she had her own problems.

Amity swung her sword, and out of pure reflex Luz was able to deflect it, but Amity was not going easy on her. She swung, and parried, and swung again, and Luz had to get creative in her dodging and rolling, but she was quickly getting outmatched. After one swing, Luz barely managed to leap out of the way, but the tip of Amity’s xiphos slid across her bicep. She winced at the sting, knowing without looking it drew blood.

Amity glared at Luz furiously, swinging again. Luz clashed her sword against her, and the two began to push against the other. Desperate to figure out how to get some kind of edge, Luz struggled to hold her own turning to Amity with wide eyes.

“Why are you being so mean, Amity?”

Amity grit her teeth, “because you and your friends are giving half-blood’s everywhere a bad name.” She jerked herself forward, and Luz lost her balance and stumbled back. Luz watched a flicker of satisfaction flash across her face before she stepped forward again. “So show me what you’ve got, newbie.”

Luz started to panic, knowing that this was likely not going to go well for her. “I’m not good under pressure!”

Amity lunged, and Luz managed to flick away the blade with her own. She ducked under her blade the next time she swung and heard the sound of horse plume hitting the grass behind her. Putting a few feet of distance between her and Amity, despair washed over her as she scanned her surroundings. Gus had his back to a tree, deflecting arrows from Skara who had somehow been able to put more distance between them. Willow and Boscha were still clashing, but Luz knew Willow was getting tired whereas Boscha seemed to just be getting angrier and angrier. There was no way they were going to win this fight.

But she had to try. Luz had gotten her friends into this mess, and she needed to do everything she could to get them out of it.

“Come on guys!” She called to them desperately, and Gus and Willow both turned to look at Luz. “I may not know much about this half-blood stuff, but I know how this is supposed to go. We’re a ragtag trio of loveable misfits joined together to defeat our rivals. With a little faith and a final push, we can win!”

She doesn’t know where that came from, but she just prays it’s enough to motivate her friends. And then the strangest thing happens.

It works. Willow lets out a grunt of effort and pushes back Boscha, slamming the butt of her sword against her helmet. The girl screams (it’s surprisingly feminine coming from Boscha) and drops on her side. Gus loosens his shield from his arm and throws it with all his might, and it smacks into Skara’s bow and knocks it to the floor. He swings around his spear and charges, slamming into Skara with the butt of it and she collapses.

Luz can’t believe that worked. Even Amity is looking shocked now, blinking at her friends in amazement. She looks back at Luz and narrows her eyes.

“How did you do that?” She asks darkly, and Luz doesn’t really know what to say.

“I… uh…. Magic?” She tries feebly.

She narrows her eyes and charges, and Luz feels a strength she didn’t know she had enter her body. She slides Aletheia down Amity’s blade and shoves, pushing her backward and away from her. She tries shouting to her friends again, hoping for the same effect.

“I believe in you guys! You’re the stronger half-bloods!”

It seems to work again. When Boscha tried to get to her feet, Willow swings her sword and the barricade of plants reaches out and wraps around her arms and legs, sealing her in place. Gus spins his spear back around as Skara gets up and stabbed at the top of her helmet, knocking it clean off Skara’s head and sending it spinning into the dirt.

Around them, a crowd has begun to form. Eda and Lilith had appeared from the trees, refereeing the whole battle with watchful eyes. Luz didn’t have a lot of time to look, but she thought she saw Eda give her a thumbs up. The campers on the red team that was inside blue’s territory must have heard that they could exit the thorn wall here, but they’ve now stumbled to a halt around the fight between the six half-bloods. The blue team who was chasing them had also skidded to a stop, including Viney and Jerbo who were watching the whole thing with wide eyes.

Luz was feeling pretty proud of herself until with a single swing Amity had leaped forward and disarmed her, Aletheia spinning into the dirt. It hit the ground a few feet away, and now Luz was weaponless in front of Amity, who didn’t look very pleased.

“How are you doing that?” Amity hissed, losing patience and beginning to step closer.

Luz didn’t know what to do. She didn’t have her sword, so if Amity swung she couldn’t do anything to get away. Her friends were too busy with their own battle, so she had nothing to protect herself with. But she did have something else… something she hadn’t been sure about using before. But now she might not have a choice.

“No, Amity! Don’t step any closer!” Luz warned, holding out her now-empty sword hand pleadingly. She really didn’t want to do this.

Amity hesitated suspiciously. “Why, Luz?” She asked, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “What happens if I step closer?”

Luz opened her mouth to respond, but she didn’t even know what she would say. It didn’t matter, because Amity wasn’t giving her a choice. She lunged with her sword, and Luz sidestepped and threw out her hand, clamping the hand buzzer around the inside of Amity’s wrist.

Luz felt the zap against her own hand just from the recoil and yelped. But it was nothing compared to how hard it hit Amity. She watched as Amity cried out in pain when the current shocked right through her, and Luz quickly let go. Amity dropped to one knee and started shaking her wrist violently, and Luz the opportunity to scoop up her sword from off the ground, disarming Amity and pointing the blade towards Amity’s chin.

The second she did that, there was chaos. Luz heard shouting from the other side of the creek, and Willow swung her sword and dropped the wall of thorns like it was nothing. A flurry of blue helmets broke across the creek, carrying a huge red banner. Cheers erupted from the blue team, signaling that they had officially won the game. Willow and Gus relaxed their weapons and a grin broke out onto their faces, so Luz followed suit and lowered her own blade.

She wanted to celebrate, but she was feeling extremely guilty. Leaning down, she offered her hand to Amity.

“I’m sorry I shocked you, I was really trying to avoid doing that,” she said genuinely.

Amity was wincing, and when she opened her eyes, Luz watched her look around the clearing. Her cheeks pinked when she realized that the crowd had formed and seen her fall to her knee.

Looking up at Luz, her eyes filled with anger, and she slapped her hand away and got to her feet. “Put that away. You didn’t really beat me, I had you disarmed.”

Luz’s eyebrows pinched together in frustration. “Well, to be fair-”

Her words died in her throat as Amity just picked up her sword and walked away from her, over to Skara and Boscha who were shakily getting to their feet.

The second she walked away, everybody’s attention fell on her. The gathering campers who had watched the fight were calling out their encouragements to Luz for her performance. Jerbo was nodding in approval, and Viney gave her a thumbs up. Edric and Emira had appeared from near the side of the red team and were watching her with those smug smiles on their faces. Luz thought it was weird they weren’t upset they lost.

Willow and Gus raced over, their eyes wide in wonder.

“Luz, that was awesome! How did you do that?” Gus exclaimed, and Luz felt the guilt rise up in her chest again.

“What do you mean? You know I had the hand buzzer-"

“No, not that!” Willow said, equally as excited. “The way you gave us that pep talk! It was amazing!”

Luz didn’t know what to say, but thankfully Eda’s voice drowned out any kind of answer she could have given them.

“You did great, kid!” Eda exclaimed excitedly, running over and ruffling Luz’s hair with her hand. Lilith was standing back a little, looking a little flustered that Luz’s team had won, but when she met Luz’s gaze she nodding encouragingly. “You were out there like Leonida’s rallying his warriors! How’d you do that?”

Luz was getting overwhelmed now, her eyes widening in panic as she backed away. “I don’t know! I didn’t think it was anything I was doing in particular-”

Loud gasping around the clearing shut Luz right up. Everybody was staring at her in awe, pointing and whispering. Eda, for the first time Luz had seen her, looked at a loss for words.

“What?” Luz asked in alarm, her voice cracking as it increased in pitch. Willow and Gus just pointed above her head, and when Luz looked up she squeaked in alarm.

It was a bronze glowing symbol, glaring blazingly above her head. It was some kind of staff, with two snakes wrapped around it. The symbol was spinning wildly. Luz recognized it immediately. It was the symbol above the door to her cabin.

“My… my dad…” Luz said, also at a loss for words.

“The Herald of the Gods,” Eda said. When Luz looked back, all the campers in the clearing had gotten quiet and were kneeling around Luz. Even Amity and her friends did it, though it was clear by the look on their faces they weren’t too happy about it. Eda was kneeling too, but she also looked smug, shooting Luz a cheeky smile.

“The Protector of Travelers, Merchants, Thieves, and Orators. All hail, Luz Noceda. Daughter of Hermes.”

#the owl house #luz noceda #amity blight #luz x amity #lumity #percy jackson au #shelby speaks

22 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Everybody Knows You're High, 2/4 (Rajila) - Dartmouth420

“And on the deck while I waited for her to get dressed, I sparked up another one and I was such a mess that I confess that my professor wouldn’t look me in the eye…”

Summary: Raja has a great time at her philosophy class this week, Manila strategically turns the whole situation into a joke, but their attempts to one-up each other go a little too far…

A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the term ‘making out,’ and how vague and ridiculous it is lmao. thank you V&albatross for the shoutout!

tw: weed

Raja forgot that it was a Tuesday and smoked a huge blunt just after noon, before remembering that she had to leave for class in fifteen minutes. Uh oh.

But luckily Professor A. O’Hara’s philosophy class was a lecture and that meant Raja didn’t need to participate, she could just sit in the low-lit room, stare at the slides and let the words wash over her. Which was totally doable while high. Also, Manila was in that class, so Raja didn’t want to skip it.

Pleasantly hazy, Raja threw an open button-up shirt over her tank top, wandered over to Manila’s house a few doors down and knocked on the door.

Manila answered, her face pink and sweaty, her fantastic legs clad in neon green leggings.

“I just got back from the gym,” said Manila, “I still need to change, just give me a sec-“

“Sure,” said Raja, leaning casually against the porch railing. Manila looked pretty cute, all warm and sweaty like that. Raja reached into her front pocket and found a tiny little joint she must have forgotten in there the last time she’d worn this shirt.

Well, she was already high, so why the hell not? Raja sighed happily, thanking whatever deities had decided to smile upon her today as she fished her lighter out of her shorts, and lit up.

Manila came back out a few minutes later, in a neat little corduroy skirt that hugged her hips, shirt tucked in, and said, “Oh my god, are you getting high right now?”

“Yeah,” replied Raja, happy and content, “I forgot it was Tuesday and started earlier, figured I may as well lean in, right?”

Manila rolled her eyes and shook her head, then locked the door.

They walked together to campus in the warm sun, and Raja began to feel soft, even a little loopy, like she needed to slow down…

“Hurry up, we’re going to be late,” urged Manila, walking ahead of her.

“Nah, just slow down a bit,” murmured Raja in response. The sun was catching in Manila’s hair again, the black curls shining with an almost reddish-orange highlight.

“Are you related to any gingers?” asked Raja, blithely.

“Uh, my uncle on my mom’s side,” replied Manila, “And so is one of my cousins. Why?”

“Your hair has this kinda red highlight in the sun…”

Manila laughed and it was a happy sound that Raja quite liked. But then Manila went behind Raja and pushed her, her hands on Raja’s back as she hustled her rapidly down the sidewalk, which Raja liked a little less. They finally got into the building and managed to make it to class with only seconds to spare.

Raja entered the dark room, supremely comfortable and chill, and took her usual seat. Manila sat next to her, taking out her neat little notebook and pen to take notes. She was so organized, Raja admired that about her.

Professor O’Hara greeted the class and hit the lights to begin the lecture. Raja smiled and nodded and basked in the weird glow of the PowerPoint while Manila diligently took notes next to her. The words washed over them both.

After the lecture was done and the lights turned back on, Professor O’Hara took questions from the class. Raja found she had a question too, and raised her hand.

“Don’t draw attention to yourself-“ hissed Manila next to her, trying to grab Raja’s hand and force it back down.

But Professor O’Hara has already addressed her, so Raja batted Manila off and opened her mouth.

“Uh, so…” began Raja, leaning forward and putting her chin in her hand, pausing for what she was sure was only a couple seconds. An amused murmur rippled through the crowd. “So, when Plato talks about you know, duality, what if-“

Raja wasn’t sure where she was going with her question, but she was confident it was going somewhere, and kept talking. Professor O’Hara had an amused expression on her face, and pressed her lips together, not quite making eye contact. Next to Raja, Manila slid lower in her seat and shielded her eyes with her hand.

“…so like, isn’t that connected to Aristotle’s original idea about being?” finished Raja.

Muffled laughter sounded throughout the class. What was so funny?

Professor O’Hara blinked, and cocked her head to the side, then said, “Well, to everyone’s surprise that’s actually an excellent question, Raja-“ and proceeded to answer it.

Raja glowed with the praise, nodding her head slowly as Professor O’Hara answered her question, and further elaborated on the content of the lecture, which inspired more questions from the class. Raja remained pleasantly blazed. Coming to class like this had been a great idea after all-

Soon enough it was over, and Raja yawned, sleepy, and stretched as Manila put her things back in her bag.

“Raja,” said Manila with resignation, hoisting her backpack to her shoulder, while the rest of the class filed out around them, throwing amused glances in Raja’s direction, “Everybody knows you’re high.”

“Mmm…” replied Raja, content, getting up from her seat and tripping a little on the edge of the chair, “Yeah, this time I don’t care.”

The problem with Raja, considered Manila as they walked back down the street together after class and Raja prattled away, happy and stoned, was that from the day they’d met Manila wanted throw her against the wall, furiously make out with her, have insanely hot sex in every imaginable way, move in together, start their lives, be completely and utterly in love, have like four kids and three dogs, raise them, retire, get old, and die together.

Obviously that was a little much.

Manila had quickly learned that her desperate fantasy seemed to be the exact opposite of what Raja was looking for. Raja’s priorities seemed to consist of getting stoned, getting laid, playing video games and going to class. Apparently in that order. So, they became good friends instead, along with Delta and Carmen, and had an excellent friendship that involved terrible humour, petty competition, and affectionately roasting one another to death. Given that Raja had never shown any romantic interest in her, Manila did her best to shove her feelings to the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to ruin a great friendship with her idiotic feelings, god forbid!

So, not that Raja randomly asking her to make out the other day had thrown Manila’s world off its axis anything, just… ugh.

They kept walking, and Raja kept talking to herself. Admittedly, she was making some great points about Plato.

“Carmen’s kinda mad at you, by the way,” said Raja, turning to her. Her deep brown eyes were a little bloodshot, but still shockingly intense and beautiful.

“Why?” asked Manila, glancing at the blue, open sky instead. It was a lovely day.

“‘Cause you unlocked metallic Peach the other day. She wanted to unlock metallic Peach.”

“Tell her the day she beats me at literally one round of Smash Bros is the day I’ll stop unlocking stuff for her,” said Manila.

“This is just as bad as the Mario Kart Incident last April,” said Raja, who was still looking at her, and then added, in an apparent non-sequitur, “Hey, has anyone ever told you you’re like really pretty?”

“Yeah, my mom,” replied Manila sarcastically, but her heart beat a little faster with the compliment.

“No, come on!” replied Raja, with a blissed-out expression and a goofy smile, “You are, though. Your hair is like so nice-“

Manila didn’t know what to say. Getting this kind of attention from Raja wasn’t something she’d anticipated happening, it was making her feel vulnerable and a little turned on, and she wanted to believe that it meant something… but doubt congealed in her stomach. It didn’t mean anything beyond a casual, well-intentioned, platonic expression of attraction. This was just how Raja was.

“Shut up!” laughed Manila semi-hysterically, impulsively pushing Raja in response. Raja was stoned and off-balance enough that she tripped and fell into the neighbour’s garden with an indignant squawk. Manila felt bad for a split second, then laughed out loud.

“Hey!” protested Raja, picking herself up from the enormous hosta plant she’d fallen into, her long black hair in her face, “I thought you liked me!”

“I do like you, you don’t need to worry about that!” said Manila over her shoulder, maintaining a joking attitude and walking up the steps to her house.

“You’re the worst,” whined Raja, making a face, then flipping her off in a friendly goodbye. Manila returned the gesture.

Manila went inside and got a snack from the kitchen, said hi to her roommate Shangela who’d just gotten out of the shower, and went into her room. Manila dropped her backpack to the ground and flopped down on her bed.

It was simple: Raja was blazed as usual and messing with her, that was all. But if there was anything Manila was good at, it was messing with people in return.

Raja wasn’t used to being rejected. She was, after all, very cool, extremely sexy, highly intelligent and always had weed. Clearly a catch! But apparently not to Manila. Raja knew Manila liked her, Manila had specifically said so the other day! They were already friends, they understood each other’s humour, and they hung out regularly, which was half the battle when it came to getting involved with somebody, even casually.

So, at Morgan’s Hallowe’en party, Raja found herself on the enormous, crumby couch, passing a blunt back and forth with Manila and several others. Some mid-2000s hip hop music played in the background, and way too many people were packed into the space in ridiculous costumes. Manila was pressed in next to her on the crowded couch. Earlier Raja had noted Raven somewhere at the other end of the house, pointedly ignoring her, which was ideal.

Manila somehow managed to look incredibly cute while dressed as Weird Al Yankovic, fake moustache and all, which was a feat in and of itself. Raja was dressed as Raoul Duke from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, because she related to him on a spiritual level, and already had the sunglasses for it. Their dumb costumes even matched, both featuring ugly Hawaiian shirts. Manila was cracking a joke with Carmen on her other side, and Raja figured this was as good an opportunity as any. Raja slung a casual arm around Manila, passed the blunt back to her and whispered in her ear, “Do you wanna make out?”

Manila put the blunt to her lips and inhaled deeply, the end glowing orange as Raja waited with anticipation for her answer, excitement mounting in her stomach.

With a smirk, Manila blew a lungful of smoke into Raja’s face, then she rested her hand on Raja’s thigh, and leaned in. Raja’s heartbeat accelerated.

Manila shut her eyes and Raja shut hers too, barely able to believe it was happening. Manila’s lips brushed against hers, soft, thrilling, just the barest hint of contact-

Manila pulled back abruptly, and Raja opened her eyes, confused.

Manila gave her an absolutely shit-eating grin and declared, “Nope!”

Raja’s jaw, along with her mood, dropped with disappointment. An odd moment passed between them. Through her haze Raja realized, with Manila’s shit-eating grin and her hand on still suggestively on her thigh, that Manila was mocking her. Raja, totally stoned, asking her to make out with for a second time with the exact same line had inevitably, painfully, become a joke.

Raja huffed, insulted, and turned away. Manila cackled.

On Raja’s other side someone new sat down, a pretty, athletic and tanned girl with dirty blonde hair, her amazing body in clad in what was basically red lingerie and devil horns. Raja recognized her, she was that girl a year or two below them who went running with Manila sometimes. She was laughing, her head thrown back, at something another blonde beside her was saying.

Raja tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Hey, you’re cute, do you wanna make out?”

The girl blinked at her in shock, and then grinned, and said, “Uh, oh my god, yeah.”

“Great.”

“Damn, you’re so direct, I’ve had a crush on you like forev-”

Raja ignored her, took her face in her hands and leaned in. Their lips met and the girl let out an excited gasp. She tasted like Jack Daniels and smelled like tropical perfume. Nice. And she was a great kisser, with an enthusiastic and knowing tongue. The girl’s warm hands immediately went to Raja’s shoulders. Around them a few people oohed and laughed, and Raja caressed the girl’s lower back and practically pulled her into her lap. Raja’s bucket hat fell off the back of her head.

Manila was still laughing at something on Raja’s other side, but her laughter stopped abruptly, and Raja felt the couch shift as Manila stood up. Raja broke the kiss for a moment and glanced over her shoulder in time to see Manila stomp away, furious jealousy in every line of her body, throwing her fake glasses to the floor.

That’s right, burn.

Smug, Raja went back to making out with the blonde chick in her lap, their hands wandering all over each other until someone yelled at them to get a room. May as well. Raja got up and led the girl into Morgan’s messy bedroom and shut the door.

“You know you’re like a legend around here, right?” chuckled the blonde girl, grasping the edge of Raja’s shirt and pulling her down onto the bed with her, “By the way, my name’s Willam-”

“That’s nice,” replied Raja, crawling on top of her, kissing her neck and getting down to business.

It became an inside joke.

Manila had barely managed to pull it off, because coming so close to kissing Raja had been horribly thrilling, (electric, overwhelming, transcendent), and she’d wanted so badly for it to be real, to be anything other than just a stoned-and-low-key-horny suggestion on Raja’s part-

So, despite Manila’s burst of jealousy over Raja’s makeout session at the Hallowe’en party with Willam, her gym buddy of all people, their friendship remained strong and uninterrupted. Manila didn’t hold it against Willam either, who’d been all too happy to talk about it at their next cardio and gossip session, because Raja was generally irresistible. Manila sure as hell wasn’t going to let it get to her. After all, this kind of thing was in the nature of a friendship that largely consisted of roasting each other to death over a high-octane flame.

As the week passed the joke got even funnier. Raja got over sulking about it, and started purposefully asking Manila to make out at the most hilarious, awkward, and inopportune times.

For example:

Playing Smash Bros at Raja’s house late on a Saturday night with Delta and Carmen, everybody squashed on the couch: “Can we make out if I win?” “As if you’d ever beat me, bitch.” “It’s true Raja, you kind of suck at Nintendo-” “Shut up!”

Hollered across the quad, much to Manila’s embarrassment and Raja’s enjoyment, in front of a crowd of freshman, “Hey Manila, you wanna come over here and make out!?” “Go shove your tongue down somebody else’s throat!” “Aw, rude!”

In the hallway after class, just as Professor O’Hara walked by, loudly: “Wanna come back to my place and make out?” “Oh my god, Raja!” “Ladies.” “Sorry, professor!”

Whispered in the library, “Do you wanna go into the stacks and make out?” “Write your essay.” “I’m done, though-“ “What, already!?”

Even Delta and Carmen got in on it, and Manila had to dodge the question from them too. Teasing, sexy requests of, Hey, wanna make out, Manila? followed her around, as Manila clapped back hilarious retorts to gales of laughter. It was fun and Manila rode the wave of attention with aplomb.

Manila figured that this particular’s joke’s shelf life would only last as long as any other and would soon fade into oblivion, replaced by whatever came next, and Manila would never have to address or bring to light her feelings for Raja.

In her opinion, she’d handled the situation perfectly. And Manila praised herself for it as she ran her usual route, glancing up at Raja’s house as she ran by.

But every night before she fell asleep, a little voice tugged at the back of her brain and said, maybe you shouldn’t mock people when they express attraction to you, that’s kind of fucked up, and she’s your friend, maybe she actually does like you back- Manila aggressively quashed it.

“Hey, so,” said Raja, on the way to the library with Manila to buckle down and write their philosophy papers together as the end of term approached, “Why don’t you want to make out with me? Like, I’m a total catch.”

It hadn’t previously occurred to her to ask, but maybe this would help her get a leg up on the situation. Ideally Manila’s leg. Ideally up on her shoulder while Raja ate her out, and Manila blushed pink like she sometimes did, and tangled her hands in Raja’s hair, and gasped and arched her back and- that was neither here nor there. As hilarious as it was, the joke had been driving Raja a little insane. If Manila had said, in any seriousness, that she wanted Raja to stop asking, Raja would have. But she hadn’t, Manila had leaned in to the silly, flirtatious back and forth.

Instead of forgetting about it, the endless teasing and parody of the matter had only reinforced what Raja wanted in the first place.

“Well,” said Manila after a pause, adjusting her heavy bag and glancing at the cloudy sky, “You don’t take school very seriously.”

“What?” laughed Raja, who’d been expecting something more along the lines of I’m genuinely not attracted to you or I think I want to date guys again, “Is that really it? I totally do!”

“No you don’t, you’re a huge stoner.”

“Yeah but thats just for fun, I’m like really smart,” replied Raja, grinning, “You should see my GPA.”

“Mmm no, you’re real dumb,” sassed Manila. She shook her head and her curly hair, up in a high ponytail again today, bounced with the motion and Raja wanted to run her fingers through it. “You’re a total goofball and everyone knows it. You show up to class high! I have like a 3.82, and I want to keep it there.”

“How would making out with me affect your grades?”

“They say you are what you eat…”

They both exploded into laughter, causing the other students walking down the busy campus path to throw irritated glances their way.

“Bitch,” replied Raja, elbowing her, “A 3.82 is nothing-”

“Hey, no,” protested Manila, stopping and turning to her, “It’s like really good, don’t talk down my accomplishments just because you’re jealous-“

“I have a 3.91.”

Manila opened and shut her mouth in shock, before responding, “No you don’t, you’re lying.”

“No I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

“Sure,” chuckled Raja, taking out her phone and going to the school website, launching the grading centre, pulling up her current transcript and grade point average, “Look.”

Raja handed Manila her phone, gloating. The screen read 3.91847. Manila took it and her eyes narrowed, and she scrolled up to check that it was actually Raja’s name at the top, then back down again.

“Guess I do take school seriously,” taunted Raja, unable to suppress the urge to tease her.

With unexpected force, Manila shoved the phone back into Raja’s hands.

“Whatever!” snapped Manila, rushing ahead furiously.

“Hey, where are you going?” called Raja after her, laughing, “Don’t be mad just ‘cause I get better grades than you-“

“I’ll see you at the library!” snarled Manila over her shoulder, power walking down the street.

Raja watched Manila walk away, pleased that she’d proven her wrong her but confused as to why she was so mad. Raja wandered into the little smoking area with a couple of scraggly trees and fished in her bag for a tiny joint she’d hidden there earlier. She found it and lit up, inhaling the comforting smoke. Just a little something to help get those creative and intellectual juices flowing…

After a few hours of work in the library while Raja pumped dreamwave tunes through her headphones directly into her skull and wrote her philosophy paper, she looked up and noticed Manila sighing deeply for like the fourth time.

“What’s up?” whispered Raja, taking her headphones off.

“Nothing,” whispered Manila back. Her eyebrows were scrunched together.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

Raja put her headphones back on, without music, and wrote a few more sentences, pausing to check her references. She was going to get a hundred percent on this paper, she already knew it. Raja had been a bit of a child prodigy in terms of reading and writing comprehension, and her memory, her research skills, her grasp of history, literature, sociology and philosophy were outstanding. Her two dads were loving and supportive hippies who let her do whatever she wanted, so her sense of freedom and confidence had soared throughout her college career along with her grades.

“I can’t believe you have a higher GPA than me,” complained Manila, under her breath.

Raja took her headphones off again and gloated, “Yep, this huge stoner right here is better at school than you.”

Manila glared at her, then sighed again. Raja smirked, but her face fell, because Manila actually looked sad. And tired. There were lines under her eyes. Sympathy tugged at Raja’s stomach.

“Well, a 3.82 is really good,” began Raja, shutting her laptop and leaning forward, “Like, it’s above average-”

“Don’t be patronizing,” said Manila, shaking her head, closing her laptop and gathering up her books, “I can’t work on this anymore, let’s head out.”

“Okay, sure,” said Raja, getting up. A few people at other tables were glaring at them anyway, angry about the interruption of the silence. Raja wanted to make Manila feel better, and wondered how.

They left the library, walking together through the dark evening in the direction of home. It was a clear night, and the stars were just visible. Raja dug around in her bag for a joint but couldn’t find one.

“I have that good spicy instant ramen and Cheetos at home,” suggested Raja after a few minutes, “It’s not that late if you want to come over.“

“So we can make out?” added Manila sarcastically.

“No,” replied Raja, “Just to like decompress, I dunno, I’m hungry, I thought you might be too…”

“Do you ever eat vegetables?”

“Weed is a plant.”

Manila laughed and shook her head.

“What’s bothering you?” pressed Raja.

“I try like, really hard,” said Manila, after a pause, “I take college seriously, and my parents have such high expectations of me, I just- I put so much work into it and you-” Manila gestured at her, “You fucking coast, Raja. Look at yourself. You get stoned all the time, you party and play Nintendo. And honestly, you treat the girls you date like they’re disposable, Raven’s reaction wasn’t that unreasonable… but everyone still likes you, you somehow have a perfect GPA and you look amazing-”

“Yeah, I do look amazing,” agreed Raja, with a smile. She decided to ignore the middle part of what Manila had said.

“-and you have the self-awareness of a fruit bat.”

Raja looked carefully at Manila. Her expression was tired and frustrated, the orange glow of the streetlight catching in her hair. Despite the way they constantly roasted one another, Raja cared about her, and it saddened her to hear that Manila was feeling the pressure of… well, everything.

Self-awareness. Hmm. Raja could work on that. Maybe that was the key to getting Manila to see that she wasn’t joking, that Raja genuinely, unexpectedly, to her own surprise, really liked her.

“So,” said Raja, as they approached her house, the living room light shining like a beacon, indicating that Delta or Carmen was still up, “Instant ramen and Cheetos? You can kick my ass at Smash Bros, that always makes you feel better.”

“You know what, sure,” replied Manila, rolling her eyes, a smile at the edge of her mouth, “I’m gonna hand you your ass on a silver platter, bitch. Especially since you always insist on playing as Yoshi for some reason…”

Raja smiled to herself as they went up the front steps to her door.

#rpdr fanfiction #everybody knows you're high #rajila #raja gemini #manila luzon #lesbian au #college au #dartmouth420 #tw weed #submission

12 notes · View notes