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1000roughdrafts · 4 years

Text

Downtime

Square filled: Sex Pollen

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Explicit 18+ / Warnings: language (y/n in this is quite crude and has a mouth on her lol), self-stimulation/masturbation/fingering, smut, vaginal penetration, fluff,

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: incorporating a card from Kink Poker Poker Card: A♠ (Masturbation, “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”) from KinkPoker

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Hunting witches drug you and Dean across eight different states in a matter of three weeks. Three fucking weeks. No hunt had ever taken so long, and it left you feeling incredibly frustrated, drained, and even incompetent. The bitch was leaving bread crumbs that lead absolutely nowhere, and that was no mistake. No, she knew exactly what she was doing.

You affectionately nicknamed the first location ‘Ghost Town Fucking Georgia’. You stormed into an abandoned building, guns loaded with witch killing bullets and ready for a fight, only to find a deserted altar with the candles still burning. This last location, Miserable Motherfucking Missouri, you walked into a greenhouse; no witches, just a shit ton of flowers.

Sam stayed at the bunker with Eileen, with the promise that he’d look further into the case and keep you posted, and you wouldn’t call him after midnight unless it was an emergency. After working non-stop, you needed a break, so Dean and you decided to take two days and one night off; get some drinks, relax, and get right back to it in the morning.

Right now, you couldn’t even fucking think straight. Not with this - out of nowhere - evocative feeling breathing down your neck. And with the exhaustion that plagues you, you can’t bring yourself to give a shit about the mix up with the motel’s front desk about the bed situation.

“Looks like we’re finally gonna sleep together,” jokes Dean, but you find no humor in it. Not when you’re feeling the way you have been since stumbling upon the witch’s science experiment.

“God, I wish Sam were here right now,” you mutter under your breath, kicking off your shoes and leaving them by the door. He would definitely know what to do about this mystery plant.

“What, don’t like me anymore, Y/N?” Dean says, lips curled up to one side in an intoxicating smirk. Wait, you think, intoxicating? What the fuck is wrong with me?

You turn your body away from him, trying to place your attention on anything but Dean’s allure. He drops onto the bed, letting his bag fall to the side as he lay back. When you don’t offer a reply, he sits up, rolling his eyes at seeing you at the desk, papers spread out in front of you.

Even as you’re facing away from him you can somehow still feel his every move as he stands from the bed. From his calloused, yet gentle hands setting down next to him as they lift the rest of his enticing, muscular body , to the way his musk of a long day’s work wafts from him.

“I thought we were gonna take some time off,” he criticizes, setting his hands on your shoulders and squeezing them tenderly.

Your eyes shut involuntarily, and you accidentally let out a soft, and thankfully unnoticed, moan. Clearing your throat, you roll your shoulders back to knock his hands from them.

“Don’t... don’t do that,” you plead. “I’m just trying to figure out what this plant is.”

“Why?” he asks, moving back to sit on the bed, seemingly indifferent to your rejection. Right. Why does that even bother you?

“Why what?” you ask, distracted by his smell.

“Jeeze, Y/N, I know it’s been a while since you’ve had some shut eye, but it’s like your brain is shutting down,” he chuckles, “why are you looking into that plant? There were hundreds,” he says with a shrug. “It was a distraction, another ploy, a wild fucking goose chase.”

Wiping a bead of sweat from your brow, you stutter, “I just... I find this one interesting, that’s all.”

“Come on, it’s one in the morning. I don’t need you wakin’ me up getting into bed at six when you can’t figure it out.”

Without removing your eyes from the picture on your phone, you mutter, “you wouldn’t wake up if the room caught fire, Dean. You’ll survive.”

Coming to stand next to you, his presence feels magnetizing, like you’re full of static electricity, hair standing on end and needy for him to touch you, to release the built up energy.

“Dean, could you not-” you sigh, shoulders dropping as you let out the breath. “Could you please not stand so close? You’re making me feel... uncomfortable,” you squeak, shifting in your seat when you feel that intimate slick of arousal in your underwear. ‘Uncomfortable’ is a good way to put the way you feel, but not for the reasons he might think.

“You’ve never felt that way around me before,” he says, almost insulted. Ugh, I can’t help it! God, why can’t I help it?

“I know, I know, it’s just,” you force yourself to look at him, “I just-”

“Y/N, you’re sweating,” he interrupts, placing a hand on your forehead, “and you’re hot as hell. Are you okay?”

“Can you just go to bed, Dean?” you grumble, jerking your body away from his touch and extending your arm straight to point at the bed. “I’m fine, and you’re kind of annoying me right now.”

“I’m not even doing anything!” he retorts, arms thrown in the air, “fuck. What’s your problem?” he growls. “When was the last time you got some? ‘Cause you’re being a real bitch tonight.”

The two of you had been in many fights over your five years of friendship, but him raising his voice like this has never given you the feeling it does right now. The gruffness in his quiet shouts only makes you crave more, to have him degrade you while you ride his dick for hours.

You shake your head, trying to send the thoughts away. It’s not happening.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Puts you on edge, leaves you keyed up, jumpy,” the gruff has dropped from his voice, and he stands to grab a beer from the small fridge. “Besides, we’ve been glued to the fucking hip since we started this lost cause of a case, so Lord knows I need it, too,” he says, bringing the neck of the bottle to his lips.

You groan, “ugh, can we not talk about sex right now, Dean?” I need to open a window, or take a walk.

Dean grips onto the arms of the chair from behind you, whirling it around to face him. He has you cornered with his arms on either side of you as he stares you down with squinted eyes. You would do anything to avoid this rousing eye contact, but you can’t pull away.

“What’s goin’ on with you? Did something happen back there that you’re not telling me?”

You open your mouth to, yes, feed him a lie, but the sharp bastard catches it before it comes out.

With a tsk and a quick tilt of his head, he brings a finger up, just inches away from your nose. “Ah ah, no ma’am,” he says, dropping to a crouch in front of you. “I want the truth. Now.”

Feeling yourself get even wetter than before, you bring your eyes into your lap. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you throw your hands onto your cheeks in hopes of cooling them down.

“Is it hot in here? It’s pretty hot in here, right?” you say, dropping your hands and quickly standing to rush past him for the window.

You allow the crisp breeze to hit the fire you feel on your face and close your eyes as you revel in the short, but sweet, release from this ravenous and almost uncontrollable desire to fuck your best friend.

At first it’s his finger that you feel, wrapping around your elbow, and then his palm as he closes his grip on your arm, and why is everything seemingly moving in slow motion?

He flips you around and grips onto both of your arms tightly, and you’ll be damned if you didn’t at least try to hold in that moan.

His lips pursed, head tilted curiously. He drops his hands and takes a step back, letting your arms drop to your sides as he lets go.

“Did you just... did you just moan?” Oh God, oh God, he looks disgusted. Or is that intrigue??

Covering your face again, you let out a groan and push your knees together, trying to release some of this tension.

“Yes,” you sheepishly admit, letting out a whine in frustration. “I don’t know what happened! Like, an hour after we left the greenhouse, I started to feel...” you trail off.

“Horny?” he asks with a faint smirk. You can only nod, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Well, there’s ways to take care of that, but I’ll tell you right now, it’s not by doing homework.”

“Yeah, except I’m pretty sure the fucking plant is to blame.” You think for a moment, “you know who would know what to do? Sam. And I know what I promised him, but I think this qualifies as an emergency. Don’t you? Yeah, this is definitely an emergency. I can not be stuck in this room, feeling this way, with you loo-” you throw an arm at him in gesture, accidentally meeting eyes with him as the last word nearly slipped from your lips.

Hoping he wouldn’t press the matter, you grab your phone off of the desk and search for Sam’s contact.

Dean’s presence even more alluring now, he grips onto your arm and runs his hand down to your wrist, grabbing the phone and setting it back on the desk.

“’Loo-’ what?”

“No, nothing, Winchester. We’ve been friends for way too long, I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Well, that’s both of our decision to make, don’t you think?” he says, “how are you feeling right now, anyway?” he asks like he already knows the answer, but is just waiting to hear you say it out loud.

You sigh heavily. Just give it up. “I feel like if I don’t fuck someone soon, I’m gonna die.”

He laughs, softly but heartily. “It’s not funny, asshole,” you say, trying to lighten the mood with a chuckle, but your dripping pussy clenches at the vibration, and you’re right back to square one.

“It’s been a while for both of us, you know,” he says, trailing off.

“I’m listening,” you urge.

“And... obviously you’re a little bit more in need than I am,” he chuckles, “but we both need this, right?” You nod quickly, “and we both... want this, right?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

Ah, there it is, you think, my knight in shining fucking armor, asking for consent.

“I’ve never anted anything more, Dean,” you say in a whisper, taking a slow step towards him.

“For how long?” he questions, face scrunched up in intrigue.

“For about six hours. Clothes off. Now,” you snap your fingers and point to the bed.

“Woah, woah,” he chuckles, “slow your roll baby cakes. I’m not doing anything unless I get your permission. I don’t want you regretting all this in the morni-”

“This isn’t a fucking contract, Dean,” you shout. “It’s sex. You down? Cause I might just go to that bar we passed and-”

“Get on the bed,” he demands.

Smiling, you waste no time in removing all of your clothes and lay on the bed. Running your hands across your breasts and down your stomach, you focus on keeping them above your belly button.

“Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch,” he says, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, drawing back the sleeves.

“Excuse me?” you say, springing up to sit straight, your hands planted behind you on the bed to hold you up.

He casually walks to sit in the chair. Resting his forearms on the arms of the chair, he leans back slightly. “I’m serious, Y/N.” You stay silent, mouth agape at the surprise, “look, you want this? Prove it.”

Scoffing, you scoot down to the edge of the bed. “I won’t lie to you, Dean, I kind of like it when you boss me around,” you say setting your fingertips on his cheek, caressing his face as you bring your hand around to the back of his neck.

He grips onto your wrist, but leaves it. Without moving his head, his darkening eyes turn to yours, “then prove it.”

“Fine,” you chirp. Leaning back and supporting your upper body with one elbow, you pull your feet as close to your ass as you can, exposing all of you to his viewing pleasure.

Eyes glued to his, you place two fingers on top of your clit, walking them back and forth and moving slowly down to your entrance. As you flick that sweet spot just below your clit, you watch as Dean’s eyes trail down from yours. They slowly roll down your naked chest, soaking up every detail of you and stopping to watch your fingers as the thrust inside of you.

The way his eyes widen in lust only intensifies your libido. You throw your head back, arching your back as you continue to fuck yourself, needing for your fingers to go deeper. You feel a stir in your core as you’re slowly climbing towards your orgasm, but as soon as you feel that rise it escapes you.

You growl in frustration bringing your head back to face Dean. Pulling your hand from yourself, you smile when Dean tilts his head.

Without saying a word, you scoot to the edge of the bed and let your legs fall between Dean’s. You work his belt, quickly unbuttoning it before unzipping his pants. He lets out a sigh, moaning as you pad his growing dick over his boxers.

His hands fly on top of you breasts, massaging them gently before bringing his fingers to your nipples. You let out a moan when he pinches them, temporarily stalled in your attempt to undress him.

With his fingers gripping onto the elastic of his pants, he stands and pushes them, along with his boxers, down to his feet. He leans to press his lips against yours in an intense kiss, surprising the both of you at the jolt of it. You stall for a moment, your lips frozen against his as your mind catches up to what you’re doing.

When you feel that stir once again, you drop your thoughts and leave them behind as you fiercely kiss him back. With his palms against your chest, he starts to gently push you back onto the bed, but you pull away.

He looks at you curiously, but before he can question if you want to go further, you place your hands on the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head. Putting your hands on his chest, you push him back into the chair. A smile forms on his lips as it rolls back and hits the desk, causing you both to giggle before you place a knee to one side of him.

You keep your eyes on his as you bring your other leg up. Dropping down onto him, you use your hand to guide his cock inside of you. Both of you let out a voiceless moan as his thickening member fills you. Your eyes shut as you let out another lust filled moan, and your head tilts back as you lift yourself just a bit.

Using the arm chairs to hold yourself up, your back arches as you get him to hit your sweet spot. He puts his hands to the small of your back, pulling your chest against his as you ride him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you grip onto him, using them to add more power to your grind.

Both of you now breathless, the moans come out as croaking pleas for more. His legs straighten out to give you more room to work, so his hands tighten around your shoulder blades to hold you up. He pulls you up and down on top of him, and heat swarms your back where his fingers dig into you, but it only serves to excite you more.

“Fuck,” you groan, and in hearing your voice, he lets out a low growl, letting his head fall back against the desk. “Oh my god,” you cry, dropping your lips onto his neck.

You only mean to leave pleasurable kisses in a trail to his mouth, but the harder he pounds into you, the more vocal he is, the more your teeth dig into his skin. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t ask you to stop. Rather, he lowers his hands to get a better grip of you and starts to pull you down onto him as he pumps inside of you.

His name escapes your lips in multiple syllables as you bounce on him. Your legs begin to shake as the earth shattering orgasm hits you. Your mouth freezes on his neck, open but no longer baring any teeth as you squeak out an airy moan. Thrusting into you a few more times he lets out his own deep moan, filling you with hot cum as you collapse on top of him.

A few silent moments pass, and to you it feels like hours. You keep your face in the crook of his neck as the both of you catch your breath. With wide eyes you stare at the floor, wondering what the hell you’ve just gotten yourself into.

This doesn’t have to change anything, right? You think, trying to convince yourself that things can easily go back to normal. This doesn’t mean things are different, you affirm.

You presume Dean feels a similar confusion, as his hands haven’t moved from your back, nor has he spoken a word. Fear of facing him is overpowered by the numbness that fills your thighs from the position, so you slowly lift your upper body to take a peak at his face.

His eyes are closed, and a slight smile rests on his lips. Before you can think about anything else, you draw your face closer to his, and plant a soft, affectionate kiss on his lips. When you pull away, his eyes open and oscillate between yours.

“What’cha thinking about?” you ask him.

He keeps his eyes on yours, carefully calculating a response. “About how absolutely amazing you are,” he chuckles, lightly blushing.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just saying that cause I fucked you,” you laugh, lifting your body up to stand down from the chair. You suddenly feel embarrassed to be naked around him. A heat fills your cheeks, and you turn your body away from him to walk towards the bathroom.

Grabbing a hand towel you clean yourself up and look into the mirror at your sweaty face, the way your hair frizzed up and flies to and fro. Chuckling at the appearance you straighten your hair out just a bit and walk back into the room.

Dean, still naked, lies on the bed on his chest. His arms rest under the pillow as his head is turned in your direction. Smiling when he sees you, he lifts his head up just a bit.

“Should we-” you start, pausing to clear your throat. “Should we talk about what just happened?” you sheepishly ask.

He pushes himself up with a soft groan, sitting on the edge of the bed as you walk over to him. “What’s there to talk about?” he shrugs with a smile, “you were sick and I cured you,” he jokes, but with the thoughts that circle in your mind, you find no humor in it. The smile drops from his lips when you don’t respond. He grips onto your wrists, causing you to look down at him. “See, this is what I was talking about,” he starts, and you detect a shakiness in his voice that you can’t help but to latch onto.

Is that... hurt?

Your eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head, “no, Dean, it’s not that,” you say, pulling yourself from his hands to sit next to him on the bed. He rotates his body to face you. “I don’t regret it. I just-” you stop, letting your eyes fall onto the floor. “What if we-” you sigh, reminding yourself that this is your best friend. He’s the only person you’ve ever felt comfortable sharing every intimate detail of yourself, even prior to tonight. He’s been there for you through thick and thin, and if you could get through everything you have been, surely you can overcome telling him how you feel.

You turn your body to face him, grabbing onto his hands. “I just need to get something off of my chest, and I’m sure we could talk more about this later. I don’t want to spring anything on you, especially with everything that’s going on, and the fact that with the life we live we don’t get to make these kinds of decisions often. I mean, you’ve said so yourself, we don’t get a happy ending-”

“Y/N, what are you saying?” he interrupts with wide eyes. You haven’t a clue how long he’s been rubbing your finger against your thumb, but you zone into it. Does he even know that he’s doing that? Is it on purpose? Does this just come with sex with a Winchester?

Your mind reels, heart pounding in your chest as you remind yourself that he’s always been a safe space for you, someone you could talk to about anything, so you take a deep breath.

“Dean, I felt something when you kissed me,” you say, letting out a breath of relief as the words finally spill out. “I know we’ve been friends for a long time, and I really truly meant what I said about not wanting to ruin that, and I don’t know if you felt it, too, but what if?” you leave it open to let him decide what should come after the ‘if’.

His hand slips from under yours and he cups your chin, bringing your face to level with his. A smile dances on his lips as if he can’t decide whether he should keep it or not. His opposite hand finds a spot on your cheek and he uses his thumb to rub a soft circle on your face before letting his hand trail to your ear.

He puts a stray hair behind your ear and brings his face closer to yours. Your breath hitches in your throat and you keep your eyes on him, anticipating his every move, but wondering if this is one of his sick, practical jokes. But he doesn’t stop. The hand under your chin cups around your throat as his lips clash against yours. You open your mouth to the kiss, scooting closer as his hand slides down your throat and onto your chest.

When he pulls away, he plants his eyes on yours, smiling brightly.

“Is that a... yes?” you say, holding back your smile until he can say the words aloud.

He nods, and you let out a breath, the smile forming on your lips as you pull him in for another kiss.

“We can talk about it more in the morning,” he says, scooting back to fluff his pillow. Motioning for you to lay next to him, he says, “for now, lets get some sleep.”

Still wearing a smile, you lean over to shut the lamp off before cuddling up next to him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you rest your head against his. As the excitement fades out, sleep fades in, and you find yourself falling asleep in each other’s arms for the first time, wondering what the future holds for the two of you.

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my-soul-sings · 3 years

Note

I had this scenario in mind and I can't stop laughing about it.

Taehee and Yooha: *arguing as usual*

Taehee:*loses his shit and throws an apple at yooha*

MC, reading a book about ancient Greece: Did you know that in ancient Greece, a way of proposing marriage was to toss an apple?

Taehee: .......

It was just business as usual in the house. Biho dozing off on the couch while holding a book, Hansol had gone out to do some busking with his band, and you were scrolling through Wannabe on your phone in the living room, trying to think of a concept for your new post.

The keyword: ‘trying’.

“For the last time! If you’re going to leave your half-empty wine bottles in the cellar, at least seal them properly! Now there are ants in the kitchen cabinets! Happy?” Taehee’s shouting echoed throughout the apartment, and you winced at the tone in his voice. It was loud enough to even make Biho stir in his sleep.

“Calm down, they’re just ants. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of them?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about! This is about you being irresponsible and messy and—” You promptly tuned out the nagging, while you shook your head and sank further into the couch.

It was easy to describe the kind of person Taehee was: nice, gentle and mild-mannered. He rarely wore his emotions on his sleeve, being the type to keep his feelings bottled up inside while plastering a convincingly courteous smile on his face. You couldn’t recall a time when you had ever made him angry, not even when he saw the state of your room on the last Cleaning Day (you had forgotten to clean before his routinely inspection).

But things changed ever since Yooha arrived. It was like the fox knew exactly how to push all of Taehee’s wrong buttons. Every. Single. Day. It was like he was doing it on purpose, and you wouldn’t put it past him; the fox seemed amused by Taehee’s outbursts sometimes... or maybe it was just his default smug expression that made it seem like that.

Their fights were gradually becoming more and more common, and all you, Hansol and Biho could do was tune them out whenever they argued. The thing was, you knew this couldn’t go on forever. It had to end, for the sake of everyone’s sanity in this house. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if one day their fight escalated into a physical brawl—and if goblin fire was thrown into the mix, the entire house just might become collateral damage.

Their argument was escalating in the background, and you bit your lip, racking your brains for some sort of solution. You wanted to plan your concept for the next few Wannabe posts in peace.

Yelling at them might work. Getting angry would guarantee an immediate end to their fighting, but that was only a quick fix. You had gotten angry many times before, forcefully breaking them up and sending them to different corners in the house to be quiet and reflect on their behaviour. And yet they continued their bickering like cat and mouse. Clearly, it wasn’t a long-term solution. You needed something more. Something better.

Your eyes fell on the two, studying them. Taehee’s face was growing red, as was Yooha’s. More insults were traded, their voices escalating still even though you thought they had reached their limits.

The rally ended with Yooha’s sheepish admission that he had left some wine bottles open in their room and that there were probably ants in Taehee’s bed by now.

Even you gasped at that. And it was obvious in Taehee’s darkened eyes that he had reached breaking point.

It all happened in slow motion. The vengeful goblin reached for the basket of apples on the kitchen island, his fingers curling around the red fruit so tightly that its juice might come out. Then with exceptional grace, he drew his hand back and released the fruit from its grasp.

And then the apple was airborne, its trajectory a straight line towards the centre of the fox’s face.

Even Yooha’s reflexes couldn’t save him from this one. The apple pelted him right in the nose, and the smacking sound was audible even from where you were on the couch. Yooha’s groan was quick to follow, along with a string of curses.

You snapped to your senses. Enough was enough, you had to break this up now, before further damage was done. This was the first time their fight had gotten physical, and you weren’t sure if this meant irreparable damage had been dealt to their friendship—if you could even call it that.

In your panic, you racked your brains for a solution. You were already walking towards them, and you only had a few steps before you would be confronting them. There had to be something you could do other than blow up at them.

As your eyes darted back and forth between the apples and the two men who were now just having a death-stare match, your mind somehow directed you to a recent post you saw on Wannabe, something to do with apples...

It was the last thing that lingered on your mind when their attention fell to you, the sheer hatred and fury in their eyes making you nervously blurt out without thinking, “D-Did you know that in ancient Greece, people proposed by throwing an apple at their lovers?”

Silence. All you got was painful, excruciating silence. Mentally, you were kicking yourself for speaking without thinking. It sounded a lot better in your head for sure, but the execution... probably not the best timing considering the predicament they were in.

Well, if anything, at least their anger was now being replaced by confusion as they registered your words. Taehee looked at his hand—the culprit that had committed assault—and as the realisation of what he had just done sank into him, you watched as his features gradually contort into horror.

“Hey, I think you’re misunderstanding our relationship—” Yooha began in an incredulous tone. But you couldn’t bear to hear another word, or stay a second longer.

Irresponsible as it was, you fled the scene, leaving the two to pick up the pieces from their spat.

At the very least, the house was quiet again. Although, you doubted you would be able to focus on concept-planning for a while until the embarrassment wore off.

***

A/N: Sorry i took so long to do this ;-; just had two submissions back to back but i’m done so i finally got to work on this! Tbh i think this sounded funnier in my head but after writing it.... well i did my best HAHA i hope it was still relatively decent? Thx for the ask btw hehe <3 <3

#asks #your-local-fangirl1 #requests

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ohshit-itsyagorl · 4 years

Text

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 6

Y’all I’m getting tired of linking all the chapters every time I post an update, so I’m just going to link the first part and my masterlist.

Part 1, Writing Masterlist

Read the story here on AO3

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Also, I know it’s been a long time since the last update (yikes). I actually update every Sunday night on AO3 and just haven't had the time to catch up, so if I ever go a long time without updating just check there first lol. Alright, here we go...

Michelle woke to the sound of a camera clicking and soft snickering. The sun made her head hurt, eyes blinking rapidly.

“I’m sending this to the group chat,” she heard Ned say from somewhere behind her. She yawned into Peter’s chest. Oh no—this was not happening right now. She turned her head to see Ned standing in the doorway, furiously typing away on his phone, grinning like an idiot.

“Ned,” she whined, “please don’t.”

“Too late. It’s already done.”

“Damn you, Ned. It’s too early for this shit,” Michelle complained, though she kept her voice quiet so as not to wake Peter sleeping behind her.

She carefully tried to shimmy out of his grip, successfully turning around to face the edge of the bed, but when she tried to scoot out of his arms she found she couldn’t.

Peter mumbled something and pulled her closer to his chest, arms banding around her waist—going under her shirt—as he buried his nose in the hair at the base of her neck.

MJ felt her cheeks redden as Ned tried and failed to hold in his laughter, letting out a loud cackle that effectively woke Peter up and simultaneously ruined MJ’s morning.

She turned her head and watched as he blinked the sunlight out of his eyes, then looked to Ned, who pointed at MJ, who wanted to sink into the ground and die just to escape the embarrassment she felt crawling like ants under her skin.

Peter looked down at her. He stared for a second—two; then he seemed to realize what he was doing—one hand wrapped around her waist while the other disappeared under her shirt, scraping across her ribs, dangerously close to the undersides of her breasts. “Oh my—oh my god,” he cried, quickly withdrawing his hands and sitting up. The sheet pooled around his waist, and MJ shivered as her eyes dropped to his chest. To that spider tattoo over his left nipple. Peter covered his face with his hands, tight muscles rippling with the movement. MJ bit her lip.

Click.

“Goddamnit, Ned!” Michelle screeched. She grabbed a pillow, soft sheets scraping against the calluses that covered her hands from drawing, and threw it at his head with all her strength.

Ned squawked in outrage. Then seemed to remember what he was doing. “Man, Betty and Cindy are never going to let you guys live this down,” Ned muttered, looking at his phone. “So embarrassing.”

Michelle stumbled out of the bed, grabbing her phone and bag on the way to the bathroom. She flipped them both off for good measure. She slammed the door and collapsed down onto the toilet. Pulling out her phone, she opened up her text messages.

Four dipshits and a Michelle:

Ned: Check it out!

Ned’s text was followed by a photo of Peter and her. She had her face pressed against his chest, his arms were banded around her sleeping form, and his nose was buried in her hair. The sheet had been kicked down to their waists, and Michelle blushed when she realized her shirt had ridden partway up her back. It did look rather incriminating, though it really wasn’t. She scrolled down.

Betty: WHAT THE FUCK?!?

Cindy: I FUCKING KNEW IT ERIJFNCNDLW

Then there was the other image. The one of Peter’s shirtless chest, abs on full display, hands covering his face. And there she was—obviously looking lower than his face, biting her lip, large t-shirt hanging off her left shoulder, clearly showing she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She opened the other group chat with incoming messages—the one with only Betty and Cindy.

Cindy: Well, this is a morning I will never forget

Betty: The way she was looking at him in that second photo, tho

Cindy: I KNOW! MJ with horny eyes is almost scarier than MJ with angry eyes.

Betty: Someone’s got the hoTS FOR PARKER!!!

Betty: MJ, have you locked yourself in the bathroom yet?

Michelle’s fingers flew furiously across her keyboard.

MJ: Those were NOT horny eyes.

There was a split second where the bubble icon popped up. Then it disappeared. Reappeared.

Cindy: They were definitely horny eyes. Betty?

Betty: I agree. The council has convened. Michelle Jones has a crush on the nerd next door.

Betty: Also, SINCE WHEN HAS PETER BEEN RIPPED???

Cindy: Yeah, when the fuck did that happen?

MJ: He’s had abs for a while.

Cindy: You’ve seen him shirtless before?

Betty: !!!

Cindy: Girl, you are so screwed.

MJ: Stop trying to kill me. I died, like, twenty minutes ago.

Betty: But you LOOOOVE him

Michelle shut off her phone at that. One minute. She would allow one minute of embarrassment, then move on.

She leaned her head back against the wall and groaned, trying to use the cool tile to calm her racing mind. Her eyes fluttered shut, slowly counting down from sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.

The way Peter had reacted, like he was uncomfortable waking up with her. She had been uncomfortable, too, but that was because of Ned. What if Peter was uncomfortable because of her?

Forty-five.

Her skin still felt like it was on fire, mark tingling pleasantly in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She cursed quietly.

Thirty. Twenty-nine.

And maybe the unrequited love was starting to drive her crazy, but she could have sworn he had been breathing her in—he had been asleep, of course, but…

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

Her whole body cried out at her to tell him, to be with him, to make him feel good—body and soul.

Seven.

But she couldn’t.

Three.

Silence. Resignation. Determination.

One. Zero.

MJ stood up and shucked off her t-shirt and Peter’s boxers, nearly tripping in the tight confines of the bathroom. And maybe she was being selfish, but she shoved the boxers into her bag along with her shirt. Peter wouldn’t miss one pair. But wearing his clothes… it just felt so right, and she decided that after this morning, she would allow herself that small satisfaction. She put her hair up into a ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror. Then, before she could think better, she reached out a finger and touched her tattoo. Hissed. It was so sensitive—so sensitive after a night spent curled up with him. She could feel her heart beating quickly in her ears, but she could also feel the pulsing rhythm of a slower heartbeat; Peter, it seemed, had calmed down more than she had.

She put her clothes on and marched out of the bathroom. “Not a word from you,” she snapped at Ned as she stalked past. Peter had already put on a shirt and shorts, thankfully. She didn’t think she would be able to keep her eyes off that spider tattoo and then Peter might start to get suspicious.

Michelle turned to look at them. “So… the park and then lunch at Delmar’s?” She asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Peter replied, running a hand through his hair. Michelle looked away quickly, lest her eyes track the movement.

Ned noticed, though. He smirked. “Shut up,” MJ quipped.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You said nothing very loudly,” MJ grumbled. Ned just grinned at her. She flipped him off.

————————————————————————

By late August, the heat had become pretty much unbearable, the little air-conditioning units used in the cramped New York apartments no match for the sweltering summer.

Which is why Michelle found herself reading on the fire escape with a fold-out chair, trying and failing to cool down, sweating buckets and hating mother earth.

She turned the page. A small breeze swept through the alley and caught her bookmark. She reached out blindly to catch it before it flew out of reach of the fire escape. Just as she caught it, upper body leaning over the railing, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, she felt hands come to steady her waist.

MJ screeched and whipped around, punching her attacker straight in the face.

Spider-man stumbled backward, hand reaching up to cup his masked jaw, and cried, “What the hell was that for?” His voice was clearly being altered by mask. Another way to protect his identity, she guessed.

Michelle shook out her wrist. “You touched me.”

Spider-man’s eyes widened. He reached his hand up as if to run it through his hair, but he was wearing a mask. “I was trying to help!” He said indignantly, bringing his arm back down and crossing them both over his chest. “I thought you were going to fall.”

“I wasn’t even off balance,” MJ quipped. She reached to push some stray curls off her sweaty forehead, then eyed his suit. “Shouldn’t you be dying in that thing? It’s, like, over a hundred degrees out today.”

“Built-in cooling technology,” he said, leaning against the railing. Michelle rolled her eyes; she supposed he thought it looked cool. It did, but that was beside the point.

“Lucky you,” she snarked. “I’d kill for that on a day like today.” She motioned to her sweaty face.

“The sweat suites you, darling,” he said, white eyes shifting down her body.

Michelle’s face reddened. “Oh my god, that’s disgusting. You could be forty—and if you touch me again, I swear—”

Spider-man’s eyes widened in shock. “No—I’m not forty! I’m a boy—I mean—young man!”

Michelle raised her eyebrows. “How old are you, exactly?” She asked. She waited a moment. “If you don’t answer I’m going to assume you’re older than thirty, which is still creepy, by the way.”

“I’m not, okay?” He said. She waited. “…I’m seventeen.”

MJ furrowed her brows at that. She was seventeen. She could know him. “Okay,” she said.

“You believe me?”

“Do I have a reason not to?” She arched a brow at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

He shook his head furiously. “All I’m trying to say is you’re still really pretty, even with all the…perspiration.”

She looked at him more closely; something about him seemed familiar, the way he talked, or the way he held himself—maybe she really did know him from school. “Thanks, I guess. You’re not too bad yourself for a teenager wearing a spandex unitard.”

His hand slipped from the railing, and he stumbled to keep his footing. MJ’s shoulders shook with repressed laughter as she watched him, forgetting for a moment how hot out it was. “It’s not spandex!”

Michelle reached out and touched his arm. He froze. She chuckled. “It sure feels like spandex.”

“Well, it’s not,” he said a bit defensively. He nodded to her book. “What are you reading?”

“A Secret History by,” she checked the cover, “Donna Tartt.”

He nodded. “Is it any good?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, I’ve actually read it before, though. I ran out of new books and I’m too lazy to go to the library so I just picked up an old one.” She shrugged.

“Maybe I’ll go get it after the superhero gig tonight,” he said. She held out the book to him. He just looked at her, then at the book. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was offering for you to borrow it, dipshit.”

His eyes widened again—it was actually a little creepy how they dilated; like, how did they know when to dilate? “Really?” He squeaked, reaching out to grab the book.

She pulled her hand back. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“What? No, I’m a superhero,” he said, still holding his hand out. “Why is that part of the vetting process for borrowing one of your books?” He made little grabby motions with his fingers.

“I feel like being a serial killer goes hand-in-hand with ruining borrowed books,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She handed him the book. “But if you damage it, I’ll kill you—friendly neighborhood Spider-man my ass.”

“Who’s the killer now?” He joked. Then he tilted his head to the side. “Well, I’ve got to go. Duty calls!” He reached his arm out and shot a web, swinging off the balcony with the book in his other hand.

“Don’t you dare drop it!” She called after his retreating form. She shook her head, not sure why she was smiling.

———————————————————

Michelle saw Spider-man again two days later. She was out reading on the fire escape again when he landed with a soft thud. She didn’t look up right away, determined to finish one last page.

He cleared his throat.

“I know you’re there,” she said.

“Oh.”

MJ let out a hum, reaching blindly for her bookmark and slipping it between the pages of her book. She looked up at him. “What do you want, Spider-pig?” She smiled to herself at her inside joke, remembering that day in biology with Peter.

He held her copy of A Secret History out to her. “I finished. It was really good—I can see why you enjoyed it.” She took the book from his hands, peering at him from her chair. His eyes narrowed at her.

“What do you want? I can tell you want something,” she deadpanned.

“What should I call you?” He hopped up onto the railing. Her eyes widened a fraction watching him. He chuckled, “I’m not going to fall. Spider-man, remember?” He mimed shooting webs out of his wrists in rapid succession.

“You can call me Michelle.”

“Really? Your friends call you Michelle?” He swung his feet back and forth, leaning back over the railing so his body hung precariously over the alleyway below to grab a piece of garbage floating in the breeze.

“No. I have a nickname, but you can call me Michelle.” She didn’t just let anybody call her M or MJ, and just because he could swing around the city on wisps of silk didn’t mean he deserved special treatment from her.

He huffed a breath. “Fair enough. You look nice today. How have you been?”

Wow, that was a lot to unpack. She looked nice? She was wearing a ratty old painting shirt that hung below her knees and her hair was up in a topknot. How had she been? Well—

She decided to ignore the first comment. “I’ve been fine. I painted today so now my back hurts, but beauty is pain, right?” She said, gesturing to her paint-stained t-shirt.

“You have paint on your face,” was his only reply. He leaned forward, reaching his hand out toward her cheek, “Here, let me.” He brushed his finger over where she assumed the paint was, but then his eyes narrowed and he ran a finger over the spot again.

“It won’t come off, Idiot. It’s dry.” She smirked at him as he withdrew his hand.

“You didn’t punch me,” he breathed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t. Don’t get too comfortable, though—I might be in a bad mood next time you try to pull shit like that.” She mimed a quick sucker punch, then blew on her fist as if to cool it off.

Spider-man laughed at her antics. “You could give most common criminals a run for their money, you know.”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands. The paint under her fingernails seemed way more interesting than it had earlier that day when she had opted not to spend twenty minutes cleaning it out. “I learned from experience. My dad—” She stopped herself before she could say anything more. That was too much information; information she hadn’t even told her best friends, that she definitely did not want to tell an almost-stranger.

She was saved by a ding coming from next to her on the chair. She picked up her phone.

Four dipshits and a Michelle:

Ned: Has anyone seen Peter? We were supposed to meet to build the millennium falcon.

MJ snorted. She quickly typed out a reply.

MJ: Nope. He probably stayed late at the stupid Stark internship.

MJ: Also, you’re both total dweebs.

She looked up to see that Spider-man wasn’t sitting on the railing anymore. She almost had a heart-attack when she heard a voice right next to her ear. “Peter… Peter Parker?”

She squawked, turning around to see him upside down in an army-crawl position on the wall behind her. “Never,” she panted, “do that again.” Then his words registered. “Wait, you really know him?”

Spider-man propped his head up on his elbows. “Yeah, I know him—from the, uh, the Stark internship—which, by the way, is not stupid.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s rude to read someone else’s messages.”

“Well, I got to go,” he said suddenly. “I have somewhere I need to be.” He shot a web to the roof of the building next to hers and launched himself off the fire escape, disappearing as quickly as he’d come. Michelle looked down at the book in her lap. “Hey!” She looked up to see a red and white mask peering at her from above. “What book are you reading?!”

“The Assistant by Bernard Malamud!” She called back.

He gave her a thumbs up and disappeared again.

She waited, but he didn’t come back a second time.

Part 7

#peter parker #Peter Parker fanfiction #peter x michelle #Peter Parker soulmate #michelle jones #soulmate #soulmarks #Smut #eventual smut #fluff #angst #spideychelle #best friends #spiderman

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

Warbirds

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Summary: Ships and planes and weapons of war named after women and dubbed she, her. Powerful, deadly. Yet, the real thing, the real body is demeaned and made less than man. When you and Carol are up in the sky and screaming through the air in your metal birds, they will see just how fragile you are.

Following Carol and Reader throughout their training in the Air Force.

Word count: 4.6k+

Warnings: smut, mild violence

A/N: It feels so good to post again! I’m so sorry I haven’t written anything in a bit, my finals this semester have been c r a z y, I’ve written 20 pages worth of papers and I still have one more left before I’m fully on winter break :’) but almost there!

I’ve had this idea for a while and....I honestly had too much fun with this. I did a lot of research and watched some documentaries on what trainees experience through basic training and I find military uniforms more attractive than I should so I didn’t hold back on this one.

Please enjoy my girl Carol!!!

“Wake up! Wake up! Open that day room door! Lights on! PT uniform of the day, PT shorts and shirt!”

The piercing voice of Dorm Chief Williams shatters the air. Fluorescent white blinds you, pulse thundering as you’re jerked from sleep, kicking off your covers. Your muscles scream, vision blurred and swimming and you stagger to your feet.

Cadets around you are already making their beds and changing into their gear. You reach for your own combat uniform, pull on the deep navy tracksuit with the reflective insignia of the U.S. Air Force glowing over your left breast.

You turn and see your bunkmate starting to stir. You feel your heart hammer in your throat and push at her shoulder.

“Carol. Get up. Hey, let’s go, Warbird.”

Williams, a tall and intimidating woman personifying dread itself, marches over to your bunk.

“Danvers, am I keeping you from your beauty sleep?” Williams barks with the most intensity you’ve ever heard from her at 0600. “Should I call the canteen and have them bring you breakfast since you’re so busy slowing down my whole squadron?”

Carol jolts to attention. “No, ma’am!”

“Then get the hell away from me and into gear. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Williams scowls, watching Carol fly to her post to dress before she turns on her heel and makes her rounds through the rest of the dorm. Finished with your own tasks, you help with Carol’s bed, smooth out her uniform, secure her hair in a tight bun. She gives you a tired smile.

“Fall out!” Williams calls.

You’re out the door in a minute flat. The short, sharp blasts of Reveille drive motion around you as you fall in line with the male recruits.

The morning is brisk, stimulating, turning your breath into puffs of steam as sweeps of indigo crack open the sky like the pearly, iridescent insides of seashells. It’s pretty, the color reminding you of waves and ocean.

Maybe you should have joined the Navy instead, Carol would say, a quick quip about how you would make such a charming sailor girl bobbing away on a ship. She always likes to tease you for your love of beautiful, superficial things.

From the moment you shed your civilian status, the Academy taught you to appreciate the little things in life; the glow of morning that tints the clouds with amber and cream as you watch the world from your cockpit. Chirping birdsong, a sort of secret you like to think that exists only between birds and Airmen, the few humans capable of sharing the sky.

You loathe how much Carol affects you, since day zero, the very start of BMT. How you can hear her voice in your mind this goddamn early.

Your MTI picks up a cadence and you match your step to the young men and women beside you, your wingmen. You feel unity, harmony beating through your bloodstream as you jog in time with your sergeant’s calls, the crisp air making you feel well rested and energized despite getting your usual four hours of sleep.

Moments like these that give you purpose, the indescribable excitement of being a part of something bigger than yourself. Of belonging.

“Lookin’ good and feelin’ good! Who are we?” Your drill instructor booms.

“USAF! Aim high! Fly, fight, win!” The squadron sounds off in unison.

You’re three weeks into BMT. Twenty-one days of primal shock, verbal abuse, blood, sweat, tears. Four weeks, twenty-eight more days until you graduate from the ranks of cadet, four weeks until your MTI awards you your dog tags and the title of Airman. The start of your career as a fighter pilot.

But until then, you’ll have to survive the next twenty-eight days.

You’ve learned more about yourself in these three weeks than you have in your entire life, your mind and body hardened with discipline. Broken down psychologically and physically and molded into the young woman your squadron needs you to be.

You and Carol are reminded of your womanhood every day. You and the others have to push yourselves harder, faster just to prove you can keep up. O’Neill, a petite little firecracker of a girl and fresh out of school, had gotten her period last week. You’d watched her wretch up bile after morning drill, the exertion and stress and cramps too much for her body to handle. The MTI had screamed at her, blue in the face, ordered her to drop on her stomach right there and crank fifteen pushups.

You cannot separate your femininity from your body, even in a military unit that declares that all are treated equal as soldiers. You are not an equal by default.

It’s belittling. Exhausting.

But you’ve shown that you can hold your own against the boys. You’ve learned how to shoot clean and fight with your bare hands, how to assemble, disassemble, and repair your M-16. You could do it in your sleep, the sharp click-click of a reloading magazine heard in your dreams.

This week, along with your usual physical conditioning, you have CBRNE training, MOPP training. You’ll be exposed to CS gas and simulations of biological warfare, your leadership skills put to the test.

You can do this. With Carol by your side, you feel like you can do anything. Little fledglings earning your wings, pushed from the nest, learning to fly when the ground is rushing up to meet you. Make or break.

Twenty-eight more days.

The gas is meant to simulate suffocation, they tell you.

“Masks off! Break the seal! Break, break, break!”

You’re already dizzy, head spinning from the chamber exercises when you stick your fingers in between the small space of your mask and pull hard.

The seal breaks with a sharp hiss.

Fire floods your eyes, your sinuses, down your throat, constricting tight like smoke and flames and hellfire. You taste fireworks, poison. Your eyes instinctively shut, blurry with tears and you cough hard, sputter, hear the echoes of other cadets hacking and gasping.

The simulation is meant to put trust in your equipment, to make you vividly remember that your mask and gear will save your life. And as you stand there with your lungs struggling to expand and the MTIs rounding on each of you in the hazy, cloying smoke, you believe it.

“Airman Recruit Danvers, Division 164!” You hear Carol pant somewhere in the fumes, along the walls of the chamber where you’re all lined up. You keep your mask raised above your head as instructed, waiting, suffocating in silence until it is your turn to state your name and division number. The MTIs move down the line with their masks still fixed. Haunting, weaving through the gas and toxins like plague doctors. The image of death. Vultures tearing fledglings apart with pointed beaks and white bone as you watch cadets choke on their own breath.

The primal impulse of fear trickles from your hypothalamus as the minutes tick on, until your lips and tongue buzz like fire ants, until you can no longer feel the tips of your fingers. You’re sweat-slicked and gasping when an MTI turns to you, screams for your identification.

You sound off. Your entire body is shaking, fevered. You are the last in your row.

You burst through the doors and out into the afternoon air with a stream of cadets behind you, taking flight as you thunder on the asphalt to the open courtyard.

You all cough, spit, clear out your lungs with curses and muted laughter as your squadron stands together beneath cotton clouds and blue sky.

Carol finds you in the mix, the few precious seconds where you’re not forced to fall in line. Seconds to catch your breath. Her skin is flushed and wisps of hair fall to frame her face, her bun messy. She grins and the two of you bump fists, playful.

Your cheeks redden, lungs tight with something other than CS gas. It’s strange seeing Carol disheveled when you’ve been so hardwired with self-control, down to how you’re expected to wear your hair, present yourself.

You like seeing her like this.

“Do we have confidence in that gear?” MTI Galloway emerges from the chambers and asks of you all.

“Yes, Chief!” You roar.

Carol calls you Phoenix after that, running so fast out the chamber and looking like a fire had been lit up your ass.

The nickname is fitting for a duo like you. Raptors, birds of prey, fierce and skilled and yet simultaneously embracing and shielding your femininity with unfurled wings.

Have women not been compared to birds in art and literature throughout history as a means to show fragility? Fleeting beauty?

Why not strength? Why ever not for sleeker attributes, or as hunters?

It’s curious. Ships and planes and weapons of war named after women and dubbed she, her. Powerful, deadly. Yet, the real thing, the real body is demeaned and made less than man.

When you and Carol are up in the sky and screaming through the air in your metal birds, they will see just how fragile you are.

You hit the ground so hard that the air rushes out your lungs in a loud wheeze. You can’t breathe. Your face burns, ears ringing. You can hear the screams of your MTI. You’d rather die of embarrassment right here.

The rope dangles in front of you, fifteen feet straight up, still swaying from where you’d fallen, taunting. Physical conditioning for your Basic Expeditionary Airman Skills Training examination next week, fittingly dubbed the BEAST. Rope climbing and complicated field obstacle courses after you’ve crawled through miles of sand and dirt, navigated through tactical drills with your full pack of gear.

Your arms tremble, your entire upper body drained of all strength, skin biting from the sand. Weak, exhausted. Your palms raw from the rope. Tears of frustration sting at your eyes as your MTI screams out your surname in another bloodcurdling roar to get your ass up out of that dirt.

Yet, the low scoff of a nearby cadet is what piques your attention.

Dalquist. A boy a few years older than yourself with an ugly, crooked grin and sandy hair. A show-off, a boy who thinks himself a man. He smirks again with crossed arms, tuts his tongue as his eyes flicker over you.

“They’ll never let you fly.” He snickers.

Then, Carol is there beside you. She grips your waist strongly, shifting your weight and the two of you slowly rise together amidst the swirling dust. You draw in a shuddering breath.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe you don’t belong here.

You feel Carol’s muscles tense and manage to squeeze her arm in a silent warning. The entire squadron watches the three of you. The last thing you need is falling to Dalquist’s level and getting punished for it.

So she hits him with a reply quite enough only for the three of you to hear.

“You better hope not.” She rasps.

Your time in the classroom is a welcome break from the stresses of field training. You meet Dr. Wendy Lawson, an incredibly gifted and terrifying brilliant quantum physics scientist when she’s brought in to give you post-deployment training. She teaches you flight mechanics, squadron resources and financial management. You learn about her research on quantum energy.

Lawson is especially kind to you and Carol upon hearing your aspirations to take to the skies as fighter flyers. Her standards are higher for you and she encourages you to speak out when you’ve been too timid to respond to the whole class, the twinkle in her eye giving you courage, a voice for the first time in your life.

Together, Lawson and Carol work to coax you out of your shell.

The days trudge on. You throw Dalquist’s remark behind every new simulation you’re given, every mile, every pushup of your physical conditioning.

And it shows.

Your endurance and stamina have nearly doubled, bringing out new muscles in your back, your arms. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been, strong enough to grapple an unsuspecting Dalquist to the ground during field training. He stares up at you in humiliation and horror and you push him harder into the dirt, until your MTI snorts and tells you to let him up.

The mile and a half lap you take known as the Airman’s Run the week of your graduation is a breeze. Your body is familiar with the motion and exertion, the rest of the cadets who’ve made it through BMT with you dressed in new uniforms of pressed blue shirts and the trademark navy garrison cap.

Family and friends watch as your squadron marches in a parade of waving flag and timed step. Your heart swells with pride, with unparalleled accomplishment.

You’re finally presented with the Airman’s Coin and your dog tags. You’ve completed Basic Training. You are no longer a cadet, a trainee, but an oath-sworn member of the Air Force. Next weekend, you’ll be moved into dorms and officially begin your pilot training.

And then you’re free. For the first time in seven weeks, you are dismissed after the ceremony and to spend the rest of the weekend however you please.

Free time. Privacy. Privileges you took for granted as a civilian. You feel giddy, excited.

“We did it, birdie.” Carol’s voice sounds from behind you. You turn, her smile radiant as ever and mirroring yours.

She looks like she was born to wear the uniform, her shirt crisp and cap perfectly straightened atop her pinned back hair. Your pulse stutters, you find it difficult to swallow.

“We did it.” You laugh, a little too breathless with the way she’s looking down at you with that mischievous glint in her eyes. Her gaze catches your lips, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

God, so self-assured. So confident.

Honestly, you could use a little of that confidence.

“What do you say we get out of here? Go see what this city has to offer aside from base?” She says.

Your knees nearly buckle. You have a feeling that you know what will happen off base, at least, what you hope will happen.

Technically, you wouldn’t be breaking protocol.

And with the two of you buzzing with adrenaline and boosted egos, how can you even think of saying no? You deserve to celebrate.

You leave Lackland Base and head to downtown San Antonio for the rest of the weekend, for two whole days all to yourselves.

You visit the River Walk and explore as much of the fifteen-mile long city park as you can, strolling along the banks and gorging yourselves on street food and local cuisine. No curfew, no officers screaming orders, just the two of you leisurely enjoying a Friday night beneath a soft sunset and twinkling fairy lights.

You have dinner and drinks at a quaint little steakhouse with a live band and music, the musicians donning cowboy hats, boots, chaps and all. It’s corny. It’s absolutely perfect.

The lime juice is sharp and bitter on your tongue as you throw back your third shot of tequila, lap up the salt you’ve sprinkled over your knuckles. Carol isn’t far behind you. Pretty soon, the tavern lanterns swim pleasantly before you and you sway gently to the music in your seat, blissed out, flushed, content.

Carol’s fingers fondly brush your cheek and she laughs, her eyes crinkling and you think it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You grin back, a bit too eager and lopsided, lean across the wooden table to grasp her hand.

You drag her to the attached karaoke bar next door and slide a few quarters into the jukebox before she can stop you. The two of you belt out your renditions of Nirvana, Heart, Elastica. Your blood is warm and Carol dances beside you with wired microphone in hand, laughing so hard you’re both crying, pulse pounding behind your temples until finally the jukebox clicks with the last of your change and the next requested song is queued up.

The hotel you check into is just down the street and you practically fall through the doorway trying to get each other out of your uniforms. It’s jumbled and chaotic as you slip out of your combat gear, tripping over boots and pants as you finally touch overheated skin, giggling like children.

Disorderly when your lips meet, her hands coming to cradle your face, holding you still with a low groan, a grip that surprises you. It heightens the flush of alcohol sitting in the pool of your lower belly as you kiss her back, wind your arms around her.

You gasp when she tightens a hand in your hair and pulls, mouth ravaging the skin of your neck with tongue and teeth. She walks you blindly until you’re flush against the wall, turns you around with her frame pressing hard against your back.

Her fingers are sure and true when they cup, caress your heated flesh, not an ounce of hesitation in her. You keen, circle your hips hard into her as she works at unraveling you, forearm circling your neck, leaning to put her lips at your ear, breath hot.

“So pretty. My birdie is so pretty.”

It’s been so long since you’ve last been intimate. The military discipline over your physique has made you forget what it’s like to treat your body with love, to feel pleasure, to be touched by a young woman you’d do anything for.

“Let’s see you fly high, hmm?” She breathes. “You want it faster? I wanna see my little birdie soar. Can you do that for me?”

It’s so easy to let go.

Your flesh clenches around her and you sigh, your entire being quivering. Carol braces you, holds you close as you tremble with aftershocks, burning and burning.

Your world is hazy, melting when Carol leads you to the bed and hoists you on top of her, thighs straddling her lap. The liquid courage returns, coy when you grasp the cool metal of the dogtags between her breasts and yank her forward for another breathless kiss.

Her arms are strong, hard with muscle and hands splayed against the naked skin of your back as she coaxes you to earth shattering heights again and again. Until the grey light of day.

Sunday morning, you sleep in until ten o’clock, roused by streaming sunlight and birdsong. Peaceful quiet, a treat in itself with Carol’s arms lazily draped around you.

Your stomach drops when the sergeant cracks open the C-17 door and the atmosphere shrieks into the aircraft. Your gear is heavy, you’re sweating hard, and your Airborne Division is about to jump. You find it hard to breathe and try not to lock your knees, try not to faint. Gut wrenching, everything inside you screaming that this is suicide. Leaping from a roaring aircraft with nothing but a kevlar sac to break your fall.

You see the Airman in front of you subtly cross himself, pretending to scratch his chin.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Fingers grip your waist. Carol stands beside you.

It’s too loud for conversation, the air and engine pressing down on your eardrums with tight pressure, but she gives you a nod, another squeeze of your hip. Her lips mouth a single word.

Fly.

Then, the men in front of you are rushing towards the yawning mouth of the plane and you and Carol are running together, side by side, fearless. And then you jump, spreading your arms, dive like hawks.

The sky is a dome of robin’s egg blue, sun shining and tipping the edge of your gloved fingers with liquid gold. You fall fast, hard. Wind rips through and around you, weightless as gravity pulls you to earth.

Pulse ramming, pure adrenaline, ten agonizing seconds of freefall. You pull the pin and your parachute deploys, rocking you backwards as the fabric unfurls and catches the air. You grip your harness tight, float through the heavens and watch as dozens of parachutes dot the horizon around you.

You whoop, shoot Carol a “hang loose”, smiling wide, goofy and vibrating with excitement.

Her laughter carries across the sky.

You’re there beside her when the two of you are promoted to officer rank. First in your class, looking out over a sea of grim, bored looking faces that stare back at you with quiet hostility.

Your officer uniforms are sharp, handsome. Crisp navy suits decorated with shining medals and visible proof that you have fought tooth and nail to be on the stage where you stand now. You wouldn’t want anyone else here with you but Carol. Your wingman. Your everything.

Your names are called and you rise together in unison as Senior Airman Dalquist pins your new patches to your uniforms.

Weeks later, you learn that Dr. Lawson’s plane has gone down. It punches a hole straight through your chest, wrenches up your insides when the news is broken to you.

After BMT, you’d lost contact with her. You wish you could have told Lawson that you’ve done it, that you and Carol are dominating the skies.

And now she’s missing.

You’re in the hangar and up in the air before anyone can stop you.

The crash site is still smoldering when you touch down at a hidden lake surrounded by a halo of pine and sand. You and Carol rip off your helmets, jump out of the cockpit as soon as your wheels are on solid ground, racing towards the wreckage of an eerily familiar F-16 Fighting Falcon.

Lawson lies slumped forward, still strapped into her seat. The glass of the cockpit has exploded all around her, leaving her open and exposed. It looks grim.

“Doc?” You say. Your voice shakes a bit, but you quickly will all fear out of your mind, take a deep breath and allow your body, your muscle memory to take over. Let your training come back to you.

You push back at her helmet visor, sit her upright. Press three fingers against the artery of her neck.

Cold. No pulse.

Then, you see the smoking hole in her chest, where plasma energy has burned through her jacket and blood drips bold and blue onto her lap.

You exhale hard, ignore the strangeness of the latter to check Lawson’s dashboard for any working electrical machinery. No luck. All fried, all scrambled from the crash.

“Carol, we need pararescue stat. Get them here.” You order.

Carol nods wordlessly, composed, turns on her heel to radio them from your own plane.

You brace yourself against the frame of the cockpit, hang your head in shock. You can’t bear to look at Lawson like this. You don’t want to remember her like this.

In those tense moments of silence, a soft, strange humming reaches your ears, seeming to emulate from the F-16 itself. You take a step back to fully survey the wreckage.

The crash has exposed most of the plane’s wiring and paneling, including the engine. Though, this is no engine like you’ve ever seen.

Monstrous, pulsing with blue light and an aura that draws you closer, pulling at your curiosity. It distracts you long enough for you to almost miss the approaching silhouette of a man from behind the suffocating smoke.

He’s dressed in a bizarre emerald jumpsuit with a blazing yellow star in the center of his chest. His step is charismatic, unfaltering.

And what scares you most is the unholstered gun in his hand.

Carol calls your name in a frantic shout.

You put two and two together. Lawson’s killer.

“We have no interest in hurting you.” He tells you, finally pausing at the crest of the crash site. His voice is surprisingly charming and it sends a chill straight down your spine.

We?

You’re afraid. Your old commanding officer, one of the strongest women you’ve ever known, lies shot and killed with blood the color of toxic waste. Her engine looks foreign, otherworldly. Your mind begins to race.

“The energy core. Where is it?” The man asks and brandishes his gun. You force your breathing to steady, to find a sense of calm. You have to focus. Questioning will make him irritable, panicking will get you killed.

Intuition is enough to tell you that the core is not to leave in this man’s hands by any means.

You catch sight of the glinting handle of a pistol resting between Lawson’s knees. You flicker your gaze away and to the proximity of the engine. Then, you look to Carol.

Her eyes shine with tears in the shimmering heat. Her body is tense, drawn tight like a bow, fight-or-flight. You fear she’ll run to you, that she’ll get herself killed trying to protect you. If the roles were switched, you know you would do just that.

So you act before she has the chance to. In one fluid motion, you draw Lawson’s gun and fire a single shot at the exposed engine.

It explodes like heat and magma. Azure energy engulfs you in a millisecond. Like lightning striking your bones, fire that scorches through your entire being and condemning a blazing death of unbearable, burning power, collapsing like a supernova reborn.

Your nerve-endings detonate, a fusion of flesh and skin and pyro that incinerates you to your very core, destroys you from the inside.

You scream, high and horrible. You’ve never felt such pain.

Your eyes ignite in crimson, red hot, flaring with light. Everything inside you rushing upwards and expanding until your mortal frame can no longer contain this threshold and you burst, combust with starfire.

The blast hits Carol next, lifting her up and dissipating, coiling like mist through her skin in synergy. She glows like an iridescent comet, blue light rolling off of her like water and waves, her own eyes flaring turquoise, then white.

When the two of you hit the ground, trees and sand bend and blow around you, knocking the man unconscious as the inertia from your combined energy throws him backwards.

You cry out as you try and hold yourself, crumpled. You are charred, your body humming with poison, radiation and flame, eager to crackle out of you at your slightest impulse, eyes still flaring powerfully.

“I-It hurts..” you gasp weakly.

A true phoenix. Broken and born from ashes.

Carol is there cradling you as tears leak down your face. Wisps of magenta and teal ripple around her with every movement, glittering with cosmic potential, like she contains her very own galaxy. Achingly beautiful.

“I know, birdie.” Carol murmurs as you choke, sputter from the pain. “Fight it. Give it to me.” She says and reaches for your hands.

Carol yelps softly when you push a bit of your glowing gold into her, as she trades starpower for fire and you watch the cage of her chest bloom like a lantern, veins and eyes rimming with ember. She does the same, giving you the moon and stars and the gleaming, lavender milky way.

You let go and Carol gasps as she absorbs a new piece of you. Your mind clears, the pain nothing more than a dull ache.

Exhaustion and shot nerves finally set in as the two of you lie there, quiet enough to hear the wind whistling through pine. You throw your arms around her, your kiss tasting like tears and sand and flushed sunlight.

Carol braces you against her, hoists your arm around her shoulders and lifts you upright. Side by side until the very end.

Then, you take to the skies, blazing like comet streaks and crimson hawks.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x female reader #captain marvel x you #carol danvers fanfiction #captain marvel fanfictio #carol danvers fanfic #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel drabble #captain marvel fic #carol danvers #captain marvel #marvel fanfic #reader insert

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jungxk · 6 years

Text

just one (iv)

notes: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

warnings: eventual smut, swearing, bad habits (mentions of drinking, smoking etc). trigger warnings: non-consensual touching/ sexual harrassment, verbal harrassment

genre: humour, drama, romance, college!au

wordcount: 10.3k

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

jisoo blows a raspberry into your pillow. "do we have to invite taehyung?"

"yes," you say definitively while she pouts. "he's our friend, babe!"

"he's your friend! for me he's just the guy i'm playing chicken with and seulgi doesn't even like him!"

"that's not true," the older girl weighs in. "he's nice to look at. i can appreciate that," she pokes jisoo in the side. "besides, we need him. jimin plus one of his friends have to be part time bouncers, and if he doesn't bring taehyung he might bring jaebum again," her face twists in annoyance just from saying his name. "and i won't allow that. not at my birthday party."

"jaebum," jisoo's face scrunches up thoughtfully. "who's he again? the name rings a bell..."

you're already rubbing the ache in your head at the memory. "my birthday from two years ago. he put his hand up my dress and seulgi kicked his balls up into his throat," you pat jisoo's back reassuringly because she still looks confused. "you don't remember because you were throwing up in the kitchen sink."

"and if i see his face in my house again i won't hold back," seulgi finishes, flipping some hair. "the nerve of that prick. i only stopped there because you asked me to, you know!"

"well yeah because with the size of those heels you were wearing you might have killed the guy! do you know how hard it would be to get blood out the carpet?" you explain. everything had happened so quickly you felt like you could barely recall the memory; jaebum had been sweet talking you all night and you'd only ever thrown him a polite smile. then the next thing you know your skirt went flying up but then suddenly he was on the floor crying, right under seulgi's pointy heel. "now that i think about it, i don't know why i didn't see him coming..."

"because you never do," seulgi says, laying her legs over your lap while she decorates the guest list with glitter penmanship. "you don't know how many times i've sent a guy hightailing before he could get to you, ____. there's just something about you, i don't know what it is! like ants all over sugar, i've never seen anything like it!”

jisoo coos, smushing your cheeks. "our pretty flower all the bees want a piece of!"

"you're both ridiculous," you giggle, letting her pinch your face anyway.

"we should send her to every party with some garlic and a vial of holy water," seulgi laughs, joining in to tickle you.

"well maybe we won't have to," jisoo says slyly. "now that you've got hoseok."

"hoseok," you repeat, blinking thoughtfully. "right, hoseok...! should i invite him?"

"are you crazy? of course!" jisoo exclaims. "why wouldn't you?"

"because it's a big step," seulgi says. "showing up to a party together is like, a statement. an implicit one, but still. have you guys talked about becoming official yet?"

"not really?" you shuffle nervously. "hobi always just sort of...got the message that i wanted to go slow. he hasn't pushed it and neither have i."

"talk to him," jisoo urges with a smile. "come on, this is hobi. even if you explain you're not ready to go exclusive yet, you think that'll be a dealbreaker for him? the guy would probably wait for the rest of the century if you asked him too!"

"she's right," seulgi nods. "we say it like it's a big deal, but it really is just a party. a good guy like him wouldn't get insecure over something like that, especially if you felt strongly about it."

"you're right," you nod to yourself more than the girls.

"so is that everyone?" jisoo flicks through seulgi's lilac planner after taking it from her hands.

"pretty much," seulgi leans back with a snort. "but you just know all this planning is for shits and giggles. jimin's gonna bring like, a thousand other people anyway and the next thing you know one of our bedrooms will be on fire."

"then why did we use your pretty paper?"

"because these are new gel pens! we should have just given him tae as a plus one and left it at that, you know. remember last year, when he brought that guy wonho and then all his gym friends showed up? jesus, i thought i'd have an aneurysm that night."

"i know, wasn't it great?" jisoo's eyes are already lighting up at the memory. "i'm still convinced me and minhyuk are in love even though we haven't spoken in like. eight months," she sighs dreamily. "maybe he'll turn up on some off chance and make me forget all about taehyung."

seulgi makes a sly face. "if forgetting a guy is what you're looking for then why don't we invite jungkook?"

"god, can you imagine?" jisoo laughs. "jeon jungkook eating the snacks in our kitchen, fucking some girl on the coffee table?"

"then giving her friend a turn once he gets bored," seulgi snorts.

"yeah," you laugh nervously. you try your best to look inconspicuous even though your palms suddenly go clammy, wiggling into the bed to shove them under your koala plushie. you haven't heard from jungkook since the post office incident, but to be fair even you were shocked by that peck on the cheek you gave him. you just assumed he was busy or too crippled with second hand embarrassment to talk to you again, and you don't blame him. maybe it was best that the whole jungkook phase came to a close now that things with you and hoseok were about to move forward.

but that doesn't stop you checking your phone every now and again, hopeful to see his name light up your screen.

"are you kidding?! i mean, all of that's true but you're crazy if you think jaebum would willingly step within ten miles of seulgi," jimin laughs loudly, making you laugh with him. "i still remember my balls clenched in sympathy just looking at the bastard. you know he texted me the day after and said he really thought his future was childless? i kept the screenshot."

you hold up your hands defensively. "look, these are seulgi's words not mine. just make sure you bring taehyung, because even if him and jisoo kick off it'd be better than eye contact between seulgi and that asshole," you check your phone for the time. "where is tae, anyway? you told him drinks were tonight, right?"

"duh. he's just always late to everything," jimin says, gulping his beer. "aren't you glad we didn't order for him now?"

"no, because now people are gonna think we're here together. like together together."

jimin rolls his eyes. "stop looking so surprised. it wouldn't be the first time."

"exactly," you huff. "aren't you sick of it?"

"you should consider yourself lucky," he shrugs. "so are you bringing hobi hyung?"

"i'm seeing him tomorrow to ask him about it. to be honest i don't really know how that conversation's gonna go..."

"what do you mean?" jimin queries, getting up from his chair to squeeze into the booth with you. he tries to keep his attention on you and your pretty lips while you talk, but he can't help letting his gaze swerve off to that creep by the bar who's making googlies at you. not that you'd notice, because you're far too busy rambling about hoseok, hands gesturing comically and hair sticking to your lipstick.

"...and i dunno, something just feels off about the whole thing and i'm not sure if it's because i'm not ready or if hobi really just isn't the guy for me, which i seriously doubt given that if i met him a few years ago - are you kidding me? artsy fartsy looking prince in balenciaga? i would have been all over him! but now?" you laugh dryly. "well, we both know how much of an abandonment-fearing mess i can be, so-"

"that's not true," jimin says gently. a pause. "okay maybe it's a little true. but hoseok obviously doesn't care," he says, face splitting into a cheery grin when you squint at him. "well, none of it's been enough to deter him so far, has it? so maybe he has a thing for girls with a tragic past and a cocktail of defence mechanisms," he consoles you, although it certainly doesn't feel consoling. "you have told him, right? about those assholes that used to be your family?"

"no..." you say sheepishly. "i don't know, i just...! how do you break something like that to a guy you've been dating? like, he's talking about bringing me to meet his mother and her vegetable patch this summer, the fuck am i supposed to do? casually mention that i was disowned next to her avacado tree? it's a lot of baggage, jimin."

"i get that," he says, opening his mouth say something further when he notices the creep at the bar stare even more explicitly when you cross your legs. "you finished your drink? let's meet tae in the bar next door."

"oh, alright," you say, gulping down your glass. "any reason why?"

"yeah," he huffs, standing in front of you while you shrug on your coat. "that weirdo over there keeps making eyes at you. he's giving me jaebum vibes."

"what weirdo?" you perk up curiously, craning your neck to look over jimin's shoulder but he's already spinning you around by the waist and pushing you in the direction of the door. your playful giggle dies in your throat when his hands remain planted on your hips, leading you through the busy bar with his chest against your back. he's so warm, his grip around you so wonderfully firm it excites you. "you're not gonna let me take a look at my potential captor?"

he chuckles, right behind your ear so that your goosebumps go wild. "shut up. why would you want to look at him," you don't remember how many drinks jimin has had but it must be more than you thought, because you can feel him smirking against your neck. the heat of his lips lay right over the pressure point so you positively melt back into his chest. "you're with me, aren't you?"

"yeah," you shudder, the cold from outside hitting you harshly. you're still gulping for breath while he stares from under the moon like that, utterly gorgeous. the pine of jimin's scent gets you going even though he's a good step away from you again. there's a serenity about his face while he looks at you, hooded eyes intense and hair covering his forehead so you can’t see the way his brow softens. earnest. "what? why are you-why are you looking at me like that? do i have lipstick on my teeth-?"

"you have no idea, do you?" he whispers, like it's a secret. like he meant to ask himself instead of say it out loud, but all the beer's gone to his head and fucked up the thought pathway. "how lovely you are. how many men want you for it."

suddenly in the autumn night winds you're sweltering hot. flushed. jimin's all but not referred to you with gender neutral pronouns since you met him, plunked you into a sexless box you had grown comfortable in. so what on earth do you say to that? especially when it's coming from park jimin? "is-is this your way of saying you like this shirt on me?" you laugh nervously, doing anything you can to diffuse this heavy air. "it's actually jisoo's so i'll pass on the compliment if you wa-"

"its a nice colour," he's looking to the side so you can't gage his expression. "but that's not what i mean."

you blink up at him, totally and utterly lost in this uncharted territory, the butterflies in your stomach climbing up your spine with its intensity, because apparently they seem to know where to go better than you do. thankfully taehyung chooses this moment to make his grand entrance, yelling your names from across the street so you can watch him jog towards you instead of deal with...whatever this is.

"sorry i'm late," he pants, but he doesn't look sorry at all, instead darts his eyes between you and jimin suspiciously, misplacing the tension. "if you're really that mad i'll get the first round."

"are you kidding? first round was an hour ago," jimin laughs, teeth shining. he's so annoyingly model worthy, hair tickling his lashes and hands sliding neatly into his jeans pockets. he glances at you like he didn't just call you beautiful under the moonlight two minutes ago and nudges taehyung in the direction of the bar just a short walk down. “rounds three and onward has your name all over it, though.”

[taehyung 10:52pm] you going to seulgi's birthday thing this weekend?

jungkook is so bewildered by the message even the blonde is lap starts to knock on his head to ask if anyone's home. she gets up and leaves him alone with namjoon and yoongi outside once he fails to reply, but in jungkook's defence he didn't think he'd have to deal with his thoughts going a mile a minute at this time of night: seulgi, seulgi as in the wasted girl he carted around in his truck for you seulgi, your friend, your flatmate. aka, seulgi's having a party in the house that you shared and so you were going to be there. you, with your big eyes and cute cheeks. you with your tinkling laughter and addictive aura, probably clad in a little dress for the occasion that was flattering and girly with the perfect touch of slutty that you'll coyly pretend isn't slutty.

fuck.

"kookie?" namjoon cranes his neck to see what jungkook is agonising over. the kid was young and confident, so it wasn't often that namjoon saw the boy with a knitted brow and dry lips. it could only mean two things: beer flu or a girl. and since the night had barely started at this shitty friend-of-a-friend's party it was safe to rule out the former, but namjoon has enough tact to start off with, "have you seen a ghost, or?"

yoongi, however, isn't one to dance around. "more likely just a girl he's ghosted," he leans back in the rusty deck chair. "wouldn't expect anything less from the highest body count on campus."

"i'm pretty sure that's jimin-ah," namjoon muses.

he takes another drag before answering. "maybe last year, but he's been slacking ever since he became a senior."

jungkook ignores them, thumbs dancing over the keyboard of taehyung's chat as he rakes his brain for a reply that sounds just the right amount of apathetic even though he aggressively needs some answers. right. now.

[jungkook 10:58pm] birthday thing?

[taehyung 11:03pm] ____ didn't invite you already??

[jungkook 11:05pm] she hasn't said anything to me

because i've been avoiding her he says internally. taehyung seems to see right through it because-

[taehyung 11:06pm] well have you talked to her?

[jungkook 11:07pm] typing...

[jungkook 11:07pm]

[jungkook 11:08pm] typing...

[jungkook 11:09pm]

[jungkook 11:10pm] typing...

[jungkook 11:12pm]

"fuck," he hisses aloud, unable to think of a reply that didn’t make him seem like a total asshole.

[taehyung 11:13pm] lol thought so. it starts at 9 bring your own beer

jungkook doesn't know what to say to that, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at the message. his mouth blooms bright pink under his thoughtful gnawing: he knows it's wrong. he knew from the second you kissed his cheek weeks ago that this wasn't a good idea, that this was something he just wasn't ready for, something he may never be ready for. it's too comfortable, too easy, too real. and jungkook doesn't do real. this was destined for disaster written in red, red, red all over his hands that are just itching to have you.

but that feeling in his gut, sitting right below his rib cage, the selfish feeling that knows his weak points and feeds his impulsive nature - it's telling him to go. it's telling him just one more drink with you, one conversation...one dance. after that he'll quit you. after that, after that, after that he's done for good.

"earth to kookie?" yoongi leans over to wave a hand in front of his face. "geez, did this girl send you a nude or something? what's got you so spaced out tonight?"

"nothing," he says quickly, sitting up in his seat. "i was just wondering...do you guys wanna come to a party this weekend?"

hoseok gives you a long kiss when you finally arrive back at his flat, fingers grazing at the nape of your neck to pull you that much closer to him. you can't help but fall into him. everything about him is just so kind, so soft around the edges. even more so today; hobi was extra doting during lunch, holding hands the whole walk home, kissing you slowly and often. maybe that should've been your first indicator that something was wrong.

"we're having a party this weekend," you say absently when you finally plop down onto his couch, playing with the end of his shirt when he joins you. he smiles as you do, because you're just so cute and breathy after he kisses you for while. everything about you was just so endearing, so his type. "for seulgi's birthday. and i was thinking..."

"we should go together?" he finishes lightly, your doe eyes fluttering up to him before you nod nervously. his shoulders practically deflate with affection for you, how vulnerable you look. he leans in, giving you a long peck that leaves you content. but then his next words follow, "i can't."

"oh," you cannot hide your disappointment. "that's too bad...are you busy or something?”

hoseok watches you for a second, really watches you like he's savouring this specific moment before answering. "we need to talk. i think," he takes your hands, hesitant. "i think this is it for us."

your brain short circuits, the city of your body screeching to a stop: the people stand still, the cars stop moving, the power goes out. hoseok's words hang in the air before your face because you're unable to compute them, unable to do anything but look at him dumbly. "what?"

"i know the first thing you're gonna think is that it's because of you," he says evenly, shaking his head. "but it really isn't. it's me, it's all on me. i didn't want to do this at the restaurant, rob your chance of getting to react how you're entitled to, so..."

"you're," you're still rushing to catch up. "you're breaking up with me?"

he sighs, and you can feel how heavy it is. the hollowness in your chest, surprisingly, isn't caused by what he's said or what this means for your budding relationship. instead, it's the absence of hoseok's smile that makes your eyes well up for some reason. he doesn't look right without it. "yeah."

one more time. "you're breaking up with me..."

"you can yell if you want," he assures. "go on, honestly."

instead, you laugh. soft and quiet, very breathy and broken before you cover your face with your hands. of course even when he's breaking up with you, he's the most noble man on the planet. it's not like you're used to people not wanting you, but it still makes the static ring louder in your head because you just didn't see it coming this time. you and hoseok got along so well, your affection for him growing by the day. what were you supposed to do with it all now? "there's nothing to yell for hobi, this isn't a contract. i-i'm not mad, i just..."

"there's something else," he says gently before you can finish, running a hand through his red hair. you miss his dimples suddenly. he licks his lips, chest heaving with how he tries to word it. "i'm also doing this because i think it's for the best. because i don't know how much longer i can go wondering if i'll ever hold a candle to him."

"please," your heart sinks. "please don't say jimin."

"not jimin. jungkook."

a beat. "what?"

"you think i didn't notice how he blew up your phone a few weeks ago? texting you every hour?" he laughs quietly, looking down at your hand that's still in his. "how quiet you've gotten ever since he stopped?"

"hobi," you swallow hard, shaking your head. "there was never...i was never involved with him like that. you know that right?" you squeeze his fingers. "you know i'd never do that to you, don't you?"

"of course i do," he says gently. "i'm just saying that he got more of a reaction out of you from a few texts than i have in two months. doesn't that tell you something?"

you swallow. "that you should send me more memes?"

"you like him," hobi corrects with a sympathetic look. "you really like him, ____. whether you want to accept it or not. so this," he gestures between you. "really isn't doing anything but slowing us both down."

you sigh, covering your eyes in embarrassment. "so what you're saying is you're breaking up with me to save me the misery of doing it in the long run?"

he chuckles softly. "you make me sound so gallant!"

"because you are," you say, so quietly he barely catches it. you see it then, the almost of it all. if things were different, if the timing wasn't like this, how if you had just spoken to hoseok at that party before jungkook you'd probably be history now. it's the strangest thing you've ever felt, looking at hobi in that moment and seeing everything your life could've been together flash past in front of you like a supercut. a cassette movie on fast-forward.

why does no one ever talk about the feeling of knowing that you could've loved someone?

hobi feels it too. he doesn't say it but you know he does, because even though he's smiling again his aura has lost all its orange. like he's only ever been living on the blue side this whole time. it would've been easier if you took his advice and yelled, anything to fill up the gaping hole that is this silence. there are no hard feelings, only soft ones even while hoseok drives you home. you chat over the radio like always, even laugh about that same song you heard at the cafe last week together. except this time he doesn't kiss you when you get out the car.

only when your bedroom door closes do you start to cry, for a reason you can't pinpoint.

the house is already crammed full of people by the time jisoo teeters over to you with two drinks in hand, doing awfully well for herself given how many malibu and cokes she's been sipping all night. of course, none of you had half a clue who most of these people are, since jimin did that thing where he accidentally invited the entire campus again. people filled the halls, spilling out the doorways. the house wasn't big so it was almost like it was falling apart at the seams with drunk college kids and then some, but jisoo still wedges herself onto the staircase with you like it's any old saturday night.

"here," she hands you the drink. "you're looking way too sober for someone who just got dumped and it's upsetting me."

you take a tentative sip, the sour-sweet taste leaving your mouth upturned though it wasn't unpleasant. just strong. "jesus, who made this?" you take another sip before clocking on. "oh no, this is one of jimin's cocktails isn't it? my liver's starting to panic already," jisoo throws her head back in a laugh when you take her hand to press against you. "can you feel that? she's pissed! the last time i had one of these i almost died, 'soo!"

"tonight's an exception," she grins, fixing your hair at the back. "seriously though, are you okay? you should be shit faced by now, singing love ballads and crying on my lap!" she watches you shrug behind the rim of your cup. "you really didn't like hoseok that much, did you?" she looks a bit sad, playing with the end of your dress guiltily. "and there was us, forcing him on you for weeks..."

"it's not that," you assure her quickly with a hand over hers, trying to make your thoughts cohesive through the fog of chatter and alcohol. "it’s just that, i've had a few days to chew on what he said now, and...he was right."

"right about what?" she prods.

"girls!" you both look up to seulgi who's peeking at you through the banister railings before teetering her way over as fast as her slight tipsiness can allow. you and jisoo instinctively grab a wrist each and pull her to squish between you, all clambering knees and party shoes knocking together. "did you see who just walked in? smell my drink, i swear i've been spiked-"

"what?" jisoo takes the cup before she can spill it. "who is it?"

"it's not hoseok is it?" you crane your neck, scanning the people in the hall. "there's no way-"

"no," seulgi shakes her head. "it's jungkook!"

jisoo throws her head back in a laugh while the blood runs icy in your veins. out of all the names you were prepared to hear, that certainly wasn't one of them. "jeon jungkook? alright, maybe you have been spiked-"

"see for your fucking self!" seulgi practically shrieks before hauling their pair of you up with her impressive strength. they both link up arms with you in the middle, weaving through the crowd in a secure chain before reaching the kitchen doorway. it's like some sort of warped stakeout mission from a kids show, the comical way the three of you squish into the door pane and you spy from a distance. sure enough, jungkook is there just outside the open back doors, lighting up a cigarette with two of his friends that you haven't seen before. you can practically feel your stomach flipping through the thin fabric of your dress. seulgi hiccups above you. "now is that him or am i really just off on one?"

"that's," you can hear jisoo gulp. "that's jungkook alright," another pause of disbelief. "god, has he always been that hot?"

"yeah," seulgi huffs. "but it's those friends of his that're making me nervous. see the tall one? god, i'd climb up him like curious fucking george-"

"i gotta pee," you say breathlessly before darting off.

you search through the sea of people for jimin, hands sweating and teeth chattering because you never thought you'd see jungkook here. now. looking like that; brown hair pushed back so his ridiculously handsome face is on display, his leather jacket back with a vengeance tonight. you feel on edge by the time you desperately circle the house a second time to finally see jimin and tae, grabby hands reaching out to clutch their elbows like you need them to hold you up.

"someone having fun?" jimin steadies you with a strong hand.

"um," you swallow back all the babbling you want to do, doing your best to appear collected. "yeah. yeah, you?"

"as good as jisoo ignoring me can feel," taehyung mutters into his cup.

"god, don't you think you're getting a little ridiculous now?" jimin rolls his eyes. "and that's coming from me, taehyung. it's been months! if you really liked her you would have done something by now-"

"it's not about that, it's about my principles!"

"which are?"

"i want attention," taehyung huffs like a child. "all the time, no exceptions."

jimin rubs his head. "do you hear how much of a brat you sound right now?"

"of course i do. i'm a self proclaimed brat, jisoo knows this," taehyung's mouth stretches into a mischievous smirk. "and she got with me anyway."

"actually, can i ask you guys something?" you butt in a little too loud, unable to watch their back and forth in silence anymore. "uh, did one of you...did you invite jungkook? not that i care or anything, i just...didn't expect to see him here...is all..."

"jungkook?" jimin's brow immediately creases. "no, i didn't. he never shows up to parties anyway, are you sure it's even him?"

"it's him," you confirm. "definitely him."

"he probably just heard from a friend of a friend of a friend. you know how it goes with these things," jimin appeases, totally missing the way you lock eyes with taehyung who's rather keen to avoid your gaze all of a sudden. you know in an instant that it has something to do with him, but for now you just nod up into jimin's flawless face. his lips extra plush tonight, candy pink and inviting. "but it doesn't matter though, right? since hobi hyung's gonna turn up any minute now."

"yeah about that, jiminie...he's not coming," your chew your bottom lip. "we broke up."

jimin's brows snap together. "what?"

"aw, sorry princess," taehyung rubs your arm affectionately. "you okay?"

"what do you mean you broke up?" jimin splutters, looking far more upset than you would've anticipated. he wets his lips when you peer at him curiously, reigning in his volume a little to card a hand through his hair coolly. he only pulls it off because he is a master of composure. "did you, um, meet someone else or something?"

"nothing like that. hobi just thought we had run our course, you know?" you give taehyung's fingers a reassuring squeeze. "i'm okay, really. we had fun and we're still friends, so-"

"i gotta pee," jimin mumbles, taking out his phone to tap frantically before stalking off.

you blink after him. "uh, is he okay?"

taehyung just rolls his eyes, finishing the rest of his beer. "how much time do you have for me to answer that question?"

"probably not long enough," you sigh, sagging against taehyung only to shoot up straight again when you see the unmistakably large silhouette of jungkook making his way up the corridor. it was too late to try and scurry out of his line of vision now, all you could do was turn to face taehyung with wild eyes and your hands locking around his thick arm. "now do you mind telling me why you decided to invite jungkook into my house?"

"what's the big deal?" he counters, already waving the younger boy over with his signature big smile. he peers down at you with an expression that is way too cheeky for your liking. "you're friends, right? you invited all your other friends, didn't you?"

"i mean," you huff, exasperated. "yeah i guess, but-"

"hey hyung," jungkook's voice is behind you, forcing you to turn and face him. his jawline alone has your throat going dry alone, round eyes full of stars as they swivel down to take you in. you watch jungkook wet his lips, small and pink. the mole dotted underneath holds your gaze for longer than you'd like to admit, your hands squeezing the life out of taehyung's arm just to keep yourself upright. "how are you, noona?"

"me?" you blink up at him, your fluttering lashes making you look that much more irresistible. thankfully jungkook is great at saving face, flicking some hair from his eyes so you can see his brows hop up at you. god, you can barely breathe. "i'm good, really good. you? are you...are you having fun?"

"yeah," he flashes his big smile at you and your knees practically quake. "you know how to throw a party."

"oh, it's not me! seulgi and jisoo did all the work. jimin's guest list might've had something to do with it, too..."

"did you come here with namjoonie and yoongi hyung?" tae perks up. "i haven't seen them in ages!"

"yeah, they're outside. you should say hi tae, they missed you," he points a thumb over his shoulder. his eyes fall back to you, looking impossibly gorgeous even in the shitty lighting. "i'll see you guys around, yeah?"

"yeah," you mumble, the disappointment causing a sinking feeling in your stomach when you watch jungkook walk off to chat up some girl who's with her friends on the sofa. you don't even realise you haven't said anything until taehyung pokes you in the ribs, dragging you back to earth.

"you good?" he asks, his tone casual but the look in his eye serious.

"yeah," you say quickly, finally releasing him. "yeah, i'm good."

jungkook doesn't talk to you for the rest of the night. not that you expected or even waited around for him to, but it still rubs you the wrong way, like something isn't quite fitting and you're not sure what. within the span of a few hours you've seen him entertaining more girls than you can count on one hand, and you don't know what it is about that that makes you reach for the spirits jisoo hid behind the microwave for emergencies, but it does.

even at the height of your passion with hoseok, you had never felt so jittery. jungkook wasn't even in the same room as you and you felt like a ball of nerves. he clearly wasn't interested in you anymore, on any level; clearly came all the way here to show you that. and yet here you were, giddy and excited simply because he was near you for the first time in weeks. it felt a bit humiliating. you mutter to yourself, trying to shake all thoughts of him out of your head and at least try to enjoy yourself tonight. "the fuck is wrong with me..."

"absolutely nothing by the looks of it, beautiful," a guy says beside you. he must be one of jimin's friends because he's pretty, tall with dark hair and a shit-eating grin. the friends around him have the same kind of vibe too. "i'm jinyoung. miss...?"

"____," you answer with a forced smile, though you're really not in the mood to talk.

"a pretty name for the prettiest girl here..."

you try your best to play the polite co-hostess. it's not your birthday party to mouth off on, after all. "thanks. have we met before?"

"maybe," he shrugs, quickly invading your personal space. "i'm friends with jaebum. you know him?"

you visibly wince. "the name...definitely rings a bell," you scan his friend group cautiously. "he's not here is he?"

"not tonight. something about a crazy chick in stilettos," he leans in close, leaving you barely any breathing room. you take a hearty step back to which jinyoung only follows. given how overwhelmed you are tonight, you quickly become irritated. "but thankfully i'm here to show you a good time tonight."

"thanks, but no thanks," you finish, until his hand encloses around your arm. firm, demanding.

"come on doll, don't i deserve a chance?" he smiles sweetly, totally contrasting with his grip on you.

"do i look like i'm gonna give you a fucking chance? take a hint," your eyes narrow dangerously. "and let go of me."

"or what?" he teases, clearly not taking you seriously even though steam is practically erupting from your ears.

"there you are, baby!" a voice jumps in, a nimble arm snaking around you to effectively tug you away from jinyoung and the situation in general. a guy with near-white hair has planted himself between you and the asshole, and even though he's shorter than him and wearing a sickly sweet fake smile, there's something about him that makes you play along. "thanks for keeping my girlfriend company. you can go now."

jinyoung scoffs. "whatever. your bird's too stuck up for a lay anyway."

"the fuck did you just say?" you spit over the short guy's shoulder but he's got an arm out to stop you, letting jinyoung walk away in one piece. he takes your wrist when you open your mouth to shout something at his retreating back, dragging you out to the tiny patio with the other smokers the night air sobers you up a little but you still tingle with anger. "what are you doing? that prick does not get the last word, not in my house-"

"take it easy tinkerbell," he drawls, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, clearly amused by your temper. he's rather striking, what with his pale hair and delicate features contrasting with his camo jacket. he looks tough, but the way he drops your wrist is tender. "pick your battles. not saying the dirt bag doesn't have it coming, but he's a tree. and you're shorter than i am, for starters."

you pout miserably. "i could take him...!"

"with what?" his friend laughs next to him, a tall boy with silver hair and beautiful dimples to boot. the same one seulgi was lusting after earlier. "those pretty eyes of yours? isn't that how you got into this mess?"

your cheeks heat at the inadvertent compliment. "a-are you advising me or hitting on me?"

"do i have to pick one?" the guy smiles, perfect teeth shining at you in the night. he looks like he's been plucked straight out of an eighties movie leaning against the brick wall in his ripped jeans like that, him and his friend. "i'm namjoon, by the way."

"yoongi," the other boy grins around his cigarette. "your fake boyfriend."

you sigh at his reminder. "i guess i should thank you," you shift from one foot to another begrudgingly. "for helping me. i don't know why guys like that always end up finding me, but..."

"i think i know why," yoongi chimes, eyeing you up and down.

"people fight my battles for me a lot," you say quickly, your determined stare making yoongi smile to himself again. you're cute. "at this rate i'm starting to think i should hand out complimentary mints or something."

"i don't think people are after your mints baby," namjoon smiles. "but sure."

"my approval, then?" you test, letting him tug you gently between him and yoongi so you're out of the way while people walk past to get through the door. even through the fog of smoke and party musk, their presence is comforting and resolute. nothing like jinyoung’s. "or my undying gratitude, maybe?"

"is that what they're calling pussy these days?" yoongi flicks his brows up. "well fuck me, i'm getting old."

"hyung, you're twenty-five!"

"positively ancient," he grins at you. "don't you agree, tinkerbell?"

you laugh with namjoon into his arm. "actually, my ex-boyfriend from like, years ago, back when i was a science major...he'd be twenty-six right now. so i guess i can't vouch for you, yoongi-ssi."

"so you're saying i have a chance?"

you pinch his chin. "i'm saying you're not old. and as my fake boyfriend, aren't you first in line anyway?"

"he is old," namjoon jumps in. "he's super, super old. pre-historic. look, even his hair's white."

"i told you, this shade’s called platinum," yoongi warns, tousling it for emphasis. "and you think you have room to talk shit with silver fucking hair? what are you, a vampire cosplay? a broody anime kid? pick one, joon-ah, the rest of us are getting confused."

"excuse me, i can be both. haven't you watched vampire knight?"

"no, because i'm not a fourteen year old girl."

"now i understand how you're friends with jungkook," you hum, to which the boys both snap their heads to you. they take a long look at you before exchanging one between themselves, the sudden pair of eyes on you at once making you feel exposed.

"you know kookie?" namjoon blinks. "like know kookie?"

you squint. "uh. is there a difference between those, or..?"

"i'm certain it's the second one," yoongi says confidently while regarding you. "i've known that kid a while and i've never seen him so desperate to come to one of these house parties before. you must've really done a number on him."

something in your chest flutters, making you shake your head dismissively. there was no way. "i really don't know what you're talking about. me and jungkook are just friends, it's not like he even...it's not like that at all."

"you sure about that?" namjoon challenges, so gently you can't help but entertain the idea. he watches you stare off thoughtfully, the way you ring out the end of your dress in your hands and hold your breath. your feelings were written all over your soft features, and namjoon now sees exactly what jungkook was losing his wits over. you’re so...tempting. "look, i've seen kookie involved with a lot of girls. not one of them has made him as antsy as you have."

"now you're just buttering me up," you pat his chest teasingly. "i'm not exactly his type. go and ask the girl he's probably fucking in the bathroom right now, she'll tell you if you don't believe me."

namjoon tries not to enjoy the contact so much, but its hard not to when it’s so chilly outside. "jungkookie's dumb, i'll give you that. him and his dick fight over the one brain cell he's got left all the time, but don't write me off on this one. trust me."

you smile. "i just met you, namjoon."

"trust your fake boyfriend then," yoongi chirps. "kid's got a perpetual hard-on for you, tinkerbell. do with that information what you will."

"no wonder he's always getting so many girls," you laugh between them. "you two might just be the best wingmen on the planet."

"you really don't believe us, do you?"

"____!" taehyung calls from the kitchen, poking his head out of the open back doors. he gives his hyungs a friendly wave before remembering why he was sent to fetch you. "am i interrupting? sorry, but seulgi wants you. someone threw up behind the coffee table and she stepped in it."

"ugh, fuck. tell her i'm coming," you call back, throwing the boys an apologetic look. "i'll see you guys later, yeah?"

"and you'll think about what i said, yeah?" namjoon teases, dimples showing in an amused smile when you poke your tongue out at him.

and jungkook...jungkook really didn't think shit like this would ever happen to him. maybe he'd finally hit rock bottom, and rock bottom looked like your greasy house party because that's certainly what it felt like. how else could he describe coming all this way with the intention of getting over you, only to be so blown away by how beautiful you look that he chickens out? even trying to score some pussy to help himself feel better wasn't working, because every time he has a girl right where he wants her, he leans down and sees you: your eyes, your smile, your lashes fluttering up at him, how breathless you'd sound if you were the one who he was kissing. it just wasn't fair.

so jungkook thinks, maybe this is how he gets you out of his system. fuck a girl in your bathroom, against the door maybe. while you're in the next room with your wonderful laugh and amazing tits, probably getting comfortable under some other guy's arm. maybe this is how he moves on, by parading around on your terf doing what he does best right under your nose. maybe this is how he forgets your sparkling eyes and alluring waist, wrapped up in a nice little dress that makes you look even lovelier than jungkook could've ever anticipated. maybe this is how he swallows this pill. maybe this-

"what is wrong with you?" your voice shoots straight into his earshot, jungkook's head snapping up from some girl's neck to see you through the doorway down the hall. you're distressed, eyes wild, teeth bared in anger - and then he sees it. some guy towering over you, dragging you by your little waist right into his hold with the help of his drunk friends. "would you get off, jinyoung? i told you i'm not-"

"where's your little boyfriend now?" he jeers, far bolder than he was a few hours ago. his grip on you is bruising and his friends surround you, keeping you nicely shrouded in the corner of the room while he locks you against him. "too busy to save you this time? or did you think you were so smart, trying to pull the wool over my eyes? min yoongi and his lot never go exclusive with anyone."

you shove him dangerously, turning your heel before you act irrationally. "you're a delusional motherfucker. you and your asshole friends better leave before i-"

a resounding slap echoes above the bass music. you register the sting on your ass a second later, whirling round to him utterly shocked and positively bubbling with rage. jinyoung sneers at you with his friends, already pulling you back by your skirt. "that's better. nice and quiet, how it should be."

"don't fucking touch me," you warn. but jinyoung doesn't care.

jungkook was already moving by the time jinyoung raised his hand. there's not a thought in his head so it all happens in a blur; one minute you're being manhandled next to the rice cooker and the next thing you know you're pushed back by the fridge, jinyoung suddenly knocked clean onto the ground with a heavy thud. you gasp in shock with everyone else in the room, eyes darting up to watch a fuming jungkook grab him up by the collar, slamming him so hard into the wall the kitchen clock smashes to the floor.

"what part of don't fucking touch her doesn't compute with you?" he slams him again for good measure, jinyoung's head smacking the concrete with an audible thump. "huh? ya deaf or somethin'?"

as horrified as you are to watch the scene unfold before you, nothing compares to the horror of watching jinyoung's friend land a solid punch on jungkook's cheek, throwing his weight to the side so he staggers to the opposite counter. it's like a pit of dread opens up in your stomach, swallows you whole as they loom over him while you watch helplessly, paralysed with fear, a murmuring crowd gathering quickly.

but this isn't jungkook's first rodeo. a duck here and a step there and he's got one guy knocked on the floor within a minute and the other with a bloody nose the next. it all becomes too much when jungkook beats jinyoung's face into the tiles, people gathering round to watch the fight so the sound of bone splitting is covered by shouts and jeers.

"stop...please stop..." you whisper when he raises his fist again. your voice finally finds you, feet racing to plant yourself before him. "jungkook, stop!" he freezes when he registers your hand on his chest, gripping his shirt. "please, please don’t jungkook," all evidence of fury dies when he sees the tears in your eyes, terrified. "please don’t..!"

his hand falls limp at his side. disarmed. jungkook doesn't know what this feeling is but it's the same one he felt when you were in his truck after the post office, and it's the worst feeling ever: seeing you cry. he doesn't know what to do, jinyoung barely conscious on the floor under him. he groans loudly in pain, face swollen and covered in blood so you can hardly look at him without feeling sick.

the lights turn on, music now off. "what the fuck happened?" you hear seulgi above you, the sound of jisoo dissipating the crowd as well. she crouches down to you when she sees you crying, smoothing your hair to get a look at your face for any harm done. "____, are you okay? are you hurt?"

you shake your head, trembling. jungkook can only watch you guiltily, the adrenaline pumping through his body evapourating into nothing under your touch. he doesn’t even notice namjoon and yoongi enter the room with jimin and taehyung once they get most of the people out of the house, the party effectively over.

"we'll get them," namjoon assures jisoo quietly, already hoisting up jinyoung's friends with yoongi's help. they seem to know what they're doing as if it's routine, kicking the other guys out easily before dragging jinyoung out as well.

you've stopped crying now but you're still clutching jungkook's shirt through his jacket, peppered with blood. you sniff and he flinches, the sound alone more painful than any beating. he still doesn't know what to do or say, gulping nervously when you take his hand. it's hot and sticky from jinyoung's blood but still you grip it, tugging him out of the kitchen. "come on."

you're not sure which one of you interlaces your fingers together as you pull him up the stairs and into your room, but you guess it doesn't matter when you let go of him to sit on the bed while you dampen some towels. jungkook waits silently, eyes swivelling around the small room.

it's small and cosy, lots of blankets and pictures of jimin, jisoo, seulgi and taehyung stuck on a cheap corkboard. a lot of pictures of you and jimin. little painted figurines in the corner of your desk, an oil painting leaning against the far wall you haven't hung up yet. hoseok's flowers, wilted in their vase. a sketchbook open before it from where you've half drawn them. the faint smell of vanilla, coconut and you. you didn't have a lot, but what you did have what so obviously precious and it makes him feel even worse for some reason.

when you return from the bathroom, you tear up again when you take a proper look at jungkook's face. his cheekbone is bruised and already swelling, another bruise blooming on his jaw along with a split lip. you look to his hands that rest obediently on his knees, knuckles split and cracked, weeping blood and colouring shades of purple and red around the edges. even the silver rings he wears are bloodied. jungkook can't bear to look at your face as you take him in, turning his head to the side. "it's fine."

you don't reply, just dab his face with the cool towel, sniffling and blinking like mad to cover up your glassy eyes. "it's fine," he insists, but he lets you tend to him anyway. he winces, not sure if the grazes are burning him or if it's just your touch. "geez, if-ow! if you think this is bad you should see me after a real fight."

the pain twisting your voice blindsides him. "is that supposed to make me feel better?"

he doesn't know what to say to that, watching you take his hands to clean the blood away there too. yours are so small compared to his, so gentle and dedicated. he spends so much time staring it's a good minute before he talks. "look, i-"

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" you cut off, your big eyes suddenly alive once again. you huff, shaking your head in disbelief while you focus on his grazes. "hardly say a word to me all night but you still felt the need to pull hero shit like this? are you fucking kidding me, jungkook?"

it's hard not to feel embarrassed because you're right, but jungkook still forces himself to sit up straighter in defiance. it's like the reappearance of your fire has caused his own to resurface, filled with the same anger he had when he marched up to jinyoung. "am i just supposed to sit and watch, then? that cunt had it coming and you know it, noona."

"that doesn't mean you have to beat him to a pulp in my kitchen!"

"yes it does!”

"are you insane? like, do you think before you do literally anything?" you retaliate furiously. "if jinyoung wants to charge you for what you did he can, jungkook! jesus, the guy could barely see out of both eyes by the time namjoon threw him out-!"

"if you're asking me to say sorry or regret it, it's not happening," he stares at you, jaw clenching firmly. some hair falls into his twinkling eyes briefly, and you think it's absolutely unjust that he'd look so handsome even with a busted face, even while you're arguing with him.

"you're ridiculous," you laugh breathlessly in disbelief, head shaking. "you're absolutely fucking ridiculous...!"

"because i taught them a lesson? because i gave them what they deserved? something that should rightfully make them think twice next time?" jungkook bites back. "they don't get to do things like that and think they're hot shit, guys like them are scum and if it takes me getting a mark on my record just to shut them up then-"

"i don't want you getting into fights!" you snap, eyes welling up again so jungkook clamps his mouth shut immediately. "for me or for anyone, jungkook. the idea of something happening to you, of someone doing to you what you did to jinyoung...i can't stand it. especially if it's over something this stupid."

jungkook has always known you're an inherently good person, but this is the first time it's made him feel like shit. he peers at you, your bowed head and wet cheeks. "it's not stupid."

"yes it is."

he shakes his head firmly. "no it isn't."

"don't you want to even try to agree with me?"

"but i don't agree with you! you want me to lie?"

you give up, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "yes!"

"okay," jungkook looks you square in the face. "if another perv lays a finger on you i won't beat his ass into the fucking dirt. happy?"

already, you're fuming again. something about him gets you juggling emotions so fast, faster than you can keep up, nails dragging through your hair as you momentarily turn your back to take a breather. "i hate violence, jungkook. i fucking hate it, okay? talk big if you want, measure dicks if you have to! i don't care what, but nothing is worth getting hurt over-"

"some things are," he says vehemently. you are, is what he doesn't say.

"this isn't one of them!"

"you're wrong."

"look at yourself!" you retort, all patience lost. "look at your face, jungkook! even that asshole jinyoung's! how can that be something that you stand for?" he doesn't answer because he knows it's futile. jungkook wasn't going to change his opinion and neither were you, his raw hands gripping his knees hard in whatever composure he can still manage around you. it only makes you that much angrier, chest heaving from it. "you understand that what you did was absurd, right? that it's exactly the kind of thing that's gonna bite you in the ass one day if you're not careful?"

jungkook's gritting his teeth so hard the words barely form. "yeah, got that loud and clear."

"good," you snap, before stepping between his parted knees and taking his bruised face in your hands. he got bruised...for you. bloody, for you. so for the first time you act without thinking, only with emotion as you brush your lips over jungkook's chapped ones. it's short and warm, but the contact is electric, jolting. jungkook's lungs seize up in his chest upon the feather-lightness of it, but you're already stepping out of his space before he can process what you just did. you kissed him. your cheeks burn as you fight to maintain eye contact with him defiantly. "then don't ever do that again or i'll kill you. okay?"

jungkook stares at you. he's thought about this a few times now, and every scenario in his head did not play out like this. he never thought his bad behaviour or an argument in your bedroom would lead to this but fuck if he isn't buzzing about it. he really can't help himself after that, taking your waist in his battered hands like a compass to north and pulling you back between his thighs snugly, parted lips searching for yours. "got it..."

jungkook's kisses are slow and breathless, everything you expected and more. hotter, wetter. in an instant his tongue is in your mouth like neither of you can stand to wait a second longer. you'd be toppling over if his hands didn't bracket your middle like that. you feel him rubbing the pads of his fingers into where you cinch in, your mouth falling open at the sensation to sigh softly. jungkook drags you closer upon the sound, laying a sweet open mouthed kiss over your top lip before diving in again. he feels relieved with your round hips finally in his hands, his low hum resonating against you when you drag your nails through his undercut and let him trace your tongue with his. he's so thorough, so greedy and practised - so perfectly jungkook.

his hands slip under your thighs expertly, lifting you up with ease to slide you onto his lap faster than you can squeak. you clutch jungkook's big shoulders and he smiles at your surprise, so blindingly charming your face burns. "j-jungkook, your lip is half busted, we shouldn't-"

he kisses you harder just because you said that, your weight in his lap making his shoulders relax and jaw go slack, tongue bolder, finally feeling the pressure in his chest release. your brain is still clouded from the arguing and lingering alcohol so you don't know how long he spends kissing you senseless in your room - grabby hands mapping you out like fucking terrain - but by the time taehyung barges in your brain has effectively turned to fuzzy static, your body a pile of mush in jungkook's lap that only his hands hold together, warm torso meshed into yours, arms locked around his neck with his tongue down your throat when the door slams open.

"princess, ya know where jungkookie is? yoongi’s got his car, they're outside and-" he stops dead in his tracks, takes in the image. you screech and scurry out of jungkook's grip, mortified. "well! can't say i didn't see this coming!"

jungkook lets you climb out of his lap but grabs your wrists before you can put any more space between you, turning to hurl a pillow into taehyung's face with his free hand. then he tugs you between his legs again, your face on fire, but jungkook doesn't care. "get out, hyung."

"or what?" he challenges with a naughty smile. "ya gonna pretend you'd stop?"

"tae, get out!" you hiss, your hips wriggling insistently in jungkook's hands.

taehyung shows a palm defensively. "fine, fine! but your lover boy's ride is here."

"he's not my-!" you start indignantly, but he slams the door shut before you can finish.

there's a pause, your eyes sliding reluctantly to jungkook, who wears a pleased smile on his wet, kiss-swollen lips (that are little bloodier from it all). you drum your fingers on his wide shoulders, watch him look down your dress at your cleavage without a lick of shame. "i really didn't think this'd happen," he squeezes your ass affectionately so you gasp. "like this."

his eyes twinkle, smug. "you thought about this happening?"

you wince, realising the hole you've dug yourself into. you take a minute to reply, distracted by jungkook's hand venturing up your back again to trace your bra clasp absently. "that's not what i mean." he hums in response, brown bambi eyes now on your bitten neck, and you fight the urge to kiss him again, instead have another go at shimmying out of his strong hold. "come on. it's past dawn, you should go home and-"

"i'm busy," he retorts, leaning his face so close against yours his eyelashes just miss your skin, round nose nestling into your face. his warm breath fans over your lips which part upon reflex, and jungkook quickly realises how much he loves making you squirm, all hot cheeks and fluttering eyes.

"don't think i won't throw you out," you say albeit breathlessly, finally peeling his hands off your ass. he lets you drag him up, compliant for once, managing to keep his hands to himself the whole trip downstairs and to the porch. yoongi beeps again just as you open the door, namjoon’s arm sticking out of the passenger’s window, ushering jungkook to the car.

"hey," you say, holding back. jungkook turns, watches your arms fold over your soft breasts, cute pout making him suddenly eager to touch you again. "i’m serious. you promise you won't do anything stupid like that again, right?"

he smiles, somehow even more attractive with a swollen cheek and sore jaw. "no."

you glare at him, opening your mouth to start another row but jungkook reaches out before you can, takes you by the waist and pulls you flush against him so that everyone can see when he dips his head down and catches your lips in a passionate kiss. the boys catcall from the car but you can't hear, helpless against jungkook's big chest, tender lips parting yours to taste your tongue one more time, leaving you reeling when he finally pulls away. he tucks your soft hair behind your ears, the sweet action unfamiliar but somehow not out of character for him. his eyes skirt over your face, gratified.

he really does love making you squirm.

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myaekingheart · 5 years

Text

20. Carrots

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

The Academy called out to Rei from the middle of Konoha, drawing her nearer with the promise of fulfilling her dreams. She knew she wouldn’t see Kakashi there but the thought of sitting where he sat not too long ago excited her. She hugged her lunchbox to her chest as she peered into a classroom brimming with unruly students, all of them older than he by two or three years. She wondered which ones she would put into a squad with when she finally made genin, and hoped they were friendly. She claimed a seat at the back of the room, right by a window, assuming that if she sat up higher then perhaps she would appear bigger and more important. She tucked her lunchbox under her desk and swung her legs back and forth as she peered out at the training grounds outside.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” a voice then called. Rei turned to find a tall, blue-haired girl staring down at her. She appeared older than the rest, way too older for a first year class. Her eyes were full of fire and something else that Rei, at the time, couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“What do you mean? I’m just waiting for class to start” Rei replied.

“I mean what do you think you’re doing in my seat?” the girl elaborated.

Rei blinked a few times, trying to comprehend what she had just said. Were there already assigned seats? It was only the first day. “Well, I got here first” she argued.

“Tough shit” the girl replied. “I saw it and I want it so it’s mine, understand?”

“Oh yeah, because that makes a lot of sense” Rei replied, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Are you looking to fight?” the blue-haired girl replied, leaning in close with gritted teeth.

“Do you?” Rei replied back, matching the intensity in her stare. A few other students had noticed the commotion and were now enraptured in the promise of a fight. They were banking on seeing Rei get the lights knocked out of her, convinced that someone so tiny and weak couldn’t possibly hold her own. Especially when her opponent was so much bigger than her.

“You’d be smart not to take me on” the blue-haired girl said. “I eat kids like you for breakfast.”

“That’s cannibalism” Rei countered.

Just then, their instructor entered the room and slammed the eraser against the blackboard. He eyed Rei suspiciously, threatening to kick her out of the classroom if she didn’t stop causing such a commotion. Rei tried to explain that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t start anything, but the man wouldn’t hear of it. While she was distracted, the blue-haired girl shoved her out of her seat and stole it for herself.

The trend continued through the follow weeks. Soon, the blue-haired girl, whose name Rei learned was Sekkachi Fumeiyo, had amassed an entire army of students pitted against the young girl. They all hated her and thought she didn’t belong there, teasing her tirelessly between lessons and at recess and during lunch.

“Hey!” one of the boys called to her one afternoon, catching her by the trash can as she threw away the rest of her lunch. Their daily cruelty never failed to extinguish her appetite. Rei looked up at him, blinking, as he edged nearer. “You know, I bet you’d be prettier you smiled more.”

For a moment, Rei mistook this for a genuine interest. Was he telling her she deserved to be happy? That she deserved to smile regardless of what the others said about her? The corners of her mouth tugged upward, a slight giggle rising in her throat, and then she grinned wide, her eyes squinting as she bared all of her teeth.

“I guess not, then!” the kid then gasped amidst laughter. Then, slapping his friend’s shoulder, he drew their attention to her and proclaimed “Carrots!”

“Wait, w-what?” Rei asked, her smile quickly fading.

“That’s what we’re gonna call you from now on! Carrots!” the one explained.

“What does that even mean?” she asked.

“Have you seen your hair? And those teeth!” the first boy shouted. A few other children had gathered around then and began chanting Carrots! Carrots! in mocking sing-song until Rei grew red in the face. She slammed her entire lunch box into the trash can and ran off behind a nearby tree, her only safe space. Her foot landed right in an ant hill and a bunch of tiny, insufferable fire ants ran up her legs.

“I knew I had a bad feeling about this” Hana murmured as she rubbed ointment on her daughter’s legs. Rei wiped her nose with the back of her hand and tried not to cry. It wasn’t the ant bites that bothered her so much as everything else that had happened. She looked out across the lawn to Kakashi’s house next door and wondered if he was inside. She had hardly seen him since his father died.

“I just want to be a strong ninja like Kakashi” Rei murmured under her breath, turning her gaze to the floor.

“Rei, sweetheart, sometimes no matter how much we may want something, it’s just not meant to be” Hana said in a loving tone. “So far your time at the academy has been nothing but disastrous. This was a good try, but perhaps you’d be better off just following in your father’s footsteps and working at the bookstore instead?”

Pursing her lips together, Rei shook her head and shoved past her mother. “You don’t understand at all!” She swung around the corner and ran all the way to the other end of the house, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face now. She ran and ran until she bumped headfirst into none other than Grandma Teiko, who gazed down at her with kindly suspicion.

“Well, what’s all this about?” she asked. Rei could scarcely bring herself to speak.

There were many things that Rei found she was able to force herself to tolerate. Starvation, tugged pigtails, the names and insults the others flung at her. However, there was one thing she could not stand for. As she sat behind her tree picking apart her lunch, she overhead Sekkachi near the monkey bars preaching to a smattering of other students.

“…said he broke the rules just to save his comrades. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! If I were in that position, I would’ve just let everyone else die. They’re not my responsibility, anyway. If they weren’t good enough to hold their own in a fight, then they don’t deserve to live. I think the White Fang had it coming.”

The boys surrounding her nodded and chattered in agreement, staring up at her as if she was a goddess preaching the gospel truth. Perhaps it was because she was older and taller, or maybe because she wore crop tops and had three piercings on each ear, but they idolized her.

Rei squeezed her chopsticks until they broke in half, clenching her teeth in an attempt to keep her mouth shut. She only lasted for another forty five seconds.

“You filthy--!” she shrieked, leaping out from behind her tree and pouncing onto Sekkachi’s back. The girl shrieked and tumbled face-first into the ground, calling Rei a psychopath and shouting at her to get off. Rei didn’t care. She pummeled her fists into Sekkachi’s back and then, when the blue-haired kunoichi rolled over, into her face. Her punches weren’t very strong, but they were backed by a force hard to compete with: passion. “Sakumo Hatake was a great man! You have no right to talk about him like that! You don’t know anything about him!”

A whistle blared across the yard and three instructors surged forward, peeling Rei off her opponent kicking and screaming. It wasn’t until they were separated that Rei noticed the blood dripping down Sekkachi’s chin, the dark circles beneath her eyes and pallor of her skin. She gripped one of the instructor’s arms tightly, as if her entire mobility depended on it. Rei watched them escort her away, hearing them mumble something about getting her to the hospital. She glanced down at her tiny, scratched up fists in disbelief. How could she really have done so much damage? One of the other instructors gripped her by the arm and tugged her inside the building. “Come on, you. You’re suspended.”

Dinner was a silent affair that night. Yuruganai clutched his chopsticks hard as if he was struggling not to snap. Rei was not in the room when Hana told him the news, but from the volume of his shouts, he was not happy. Rei didn’t blame him. She had begged and pleaded to enroll in the academy for so long, and now she had screwed everything up. There was no one to blame but herself. After a few more minutes, she pushed her food away from her, asked to be excused, and before receiving an answer, scurried off to her bedroom.

She peered out across the lawn to Kakashi’s house, his bedroom window in line with her own. If only things were like the old days, when they would play peek-a-boo across the stretch of land separating their houses when they were meant to be asleep. Rei would laugh hysterically and her parents would hear and come scolding her for staying up so late. Now all that faced her was darkness.

The more she laid there in the silence, the more her thoughts consumed her until she couldn’t take it anymore. A fierce rage bubbled up inside of her, something so strong she had no idea how to handle it. Punching her pillow wasn’t enough, kicking her bed post wasn’t enough. She rummaged through her desk drawer. The blades of her safety scissors glimmered in the moonlight.

Tears streamed down Rei’s face as she stared at the damage she had done. Grandma Teiko’s words rang in her ears. I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, and no matter what anyone may say to you, I don’t want you to ever, ever do to yourself what Mr. Hatake did. No matter how beaten down and broken you feel, no matter how much you feel like nobody believes in you, I don’t want you to ever think that killing yourself is the answer. There is always another way out.

It wasn’t like she had tried to kill herself, though. She didn’t want to die. Or at least she didn’t think she did. As she looked at the blood on her sleeves and her pants, she began to reevaluate everything. Did she even want to still be alive? She threw the scissors across the room with a cry. No, she was not going to let herself fall down this rabbit hole. She had already broken her promise, and now she had to wear that shame on her body for everyone to see.

The next morning, she woke up early to scrub the dried blood off her arms and wrap them in bandages so that her parents wouldn’t suspect anything. The last thing they needed was to think their daughter was not only a failure but suicidal, as well.

She scarcely said a word as she helped unpack boxes of fresh shipments at the bookstore. She ran her fingers along the edges, letting the pages flutter against her fingertips. Sometimes she would even flip them open to random pages, close her eyes and point somewhere on the page, and read the sentence that she found. Many of them were stupid—“And then he died”, “She hung the key back up on the door”, “And they lived happily ever after”—while very few were actually of some interest. Her favorite was “She licked it and it tasted like dango.” She couldn’t quite comprehend why. It just made no sense.

As she worked, a flash of white through the window captured her attention and for a moment, she thought perhaps it was Kakashi. When she looked up, no one was there. A gentle hand rested upon her shoulder. “Let’s take a break. I think we should have a little talk.”

Rei walked through Konoha alongside Grandma Teiko, watching the passerby and trying not to look suspicious. Not that anyone cared. She had no reputation here. The old woman hadn’t spoken since they left the bookstore.

“Grandma Teiko?” Rei asked. “What is this all about?”

“I want to know why you were suspended from the academy” the old woman replied. “And I mean why you were really suspended, not why the instructors said you were.”

A sigh broke past the little girl’s lips. “I really don’t want to talk about this, Grandma.”

“Why not? I think I deserve to know the truth.” Rei shook her head. They walked in silence for a few moments more. It wasn’t until they passed Ichiraku that someone finally spoke again.

“Grandma Teiko, I’m not sure f I want to be a ninja anymore” Rei murmured. The old woman looked at her with brow raised.

“Is that so?” she asked. “What a shame. After fighting so hard to get here, too.”

Another beat of silence.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this” Rei elaborated.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I make a mess everywhere I go. I’m not strong enough, and nobody likes me” she explained.

“Who said that?”

“Everyone.”

“Well, everyone is wrong.”

“You’re just saying that because you have to.”

“Do you think my blood relation obligates me to lie?”

“Well…”

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Rei: you have a fiery temper, one of your ears is bigger than the other, and you are not a bad shinobi. Do you think I’m lying to you now?”

“Is my one ear really bigger than the other?”

“Yes, it is. Your right ear is slightly larger.”

Rei ran to the nearest shop window to investigate, measuring each with her hands. Her right one was, in fact, a few millimeters longer. So Grandma Teiko wasn’t lying.

“Great, now that’s just another thing for everyone to pick on me about!” Rei shouted.

“I doubt they care that much” Grandma Teiko replied.

“You don’t hear the things they say to me every day.”

“Like what?”

“They call me Carrots because my hair is orange and my teeth are wonky. They say I’m tiny and weak and will never amount to anything” Rei explained.

“Well did you show them that that is not, in fact, true?” Grandma Teiko explained. “Not everyone is going to believe in you, Rei. You can’t help that. It’s thew ay you react that proves your worth. If you let what they say about you get to you and knock you down, you’ll never become a great shinobi. Remember the conversation we had about Mr. Hatake? I need you to believe in yourself.”

“That’s the other thing, though” Rei replied. “All the mean stuff they said about me, I could put up with. But then the one girl started saying some really awful things about Kakashi’s father and I just…I couldn’t take it!”

“And what did you do about it?”

“…I beat her up.” Rei’s cheeks burned bright red. She wasn’t proud of what she had done, but she had no other choice. After a few moments of silence, she shouted, “I didn’t mean it, though! Well, I mean, I was nagry but I didn’t mean to hurt her so much. And now I’m suspended and they may never let me go back and I ruin everything and I shouldn’t be allowed to be a shinobi anymore, Grandma.”

“So that’s why you were suspended, then. You were defending someone who can no longer defend himself” the old woman surmised. Rei was too deep into her anxiety to even comprehend what she had said.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her so much, though! They had to take her to the hospital. She was coughing up blood and everything. I don’t know if she’s going to be alright. What if I killed her? I can’t believe I’ve done something so bad to someone. I’m a terrible person and I deserve to—” she rambled, hands shaking at her sides. Before she could finish her sentence, however, Grandma Teiko cupped a hand over her daughter’s mouth.

“Stop right there. I have a feeling I know exactly what you were going to say and I don’t want to hear it” she said. Her eyes darted down to the bandages lacing up her daughter’s arms. “Something tells me you broke a promise, and I am very disappointed in you, Rei.”

Rei was able to return to school after the following weekend. She mustered her strength before entering the classroom, terrified of what the others would say about her. She searched for Sekkachi’s face, hoping to find her sitting in the front row with her feet propped up against the desk, chewing bubblegum with an evil glare on her face. She fully expected Sekkachi to seek revenge. She almost wanted her to. After all, she deserved it.

“So that’s her, huh?” a gravely voice asked. A pair of dark eyes stared down at the training grounds from the academy’s teacher’s lounge. A dark braid fell down to her waist.

“Yes” one of the instructors replied, standing beside her. “She was suspended for a full school week on account of beating another student, Sekkachi Fumeiyo, to a violent degree. She’s caused quite the uproar.”

“Has she now?” the woman replied. “I would expect nothing less from Teiko’s granddaughter.” The instructor huffed in discomfort. “She’s quite the interesting character. It’s not every day we get a student as young as her.”

“You’re very right, Chikara. Last student we had at this age was Kakashi Hatake, graduated to genin at age six, same age as she is now” he explained.

“I want you to keep me updated on this girl” the woman, Chikara, replied. “She has something special. I’m very interested to see how she progresses.”

After the incident, the cruel comments shifted from Rei to Sekkachi. The kids called her weak and said she was a failure for getting beat up by a tiny kid. As if getting knocked down by someone as puny and insignificant as Rei Natsuki meant you couldn’t hold your own and were a disgrace. It wasn’t until the third day that Sekkachi finally returned.

She looked washed out and tired, still walking with a slight limp. In spite of that, she portrayed an air of confidence as if she didn’t want anyone to think she was affected in the slightest. Her first order of business? Approaching her attacker. She shot death stares at the kids who whispered about her as she struggled up the stairs, Rei watching her in horror the entire time. She hyperventilated with fists clenched beneath her desk, preparing for what atrocity was about to transpire.

“I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done” Sekkachi growled, planning her palms squarely on the desk. The way she leaned her weight onto them made Rei wonder if it wasn’t so much an intimidation tactic as a desperation for balance. “Listen, Carrots, if you ever try to pull something like this again, I swear to you, your blood will be smeared against that wall.” And with that, she shoved herself off of the desk and limped away.

A lump rose in Rei’s throat and she couldn’t breathe. Her palms were wet and tingling and her entire body began trembling. Black splotches dotted her vision. Her seat teetered against the edge of a big, black void. Oh my god, she’s going to kill me.

In that moment, it was clear that Rei had made a terrible mistake. She had made a horrible enemy of someone far bigger and no doubt stronger than her, someone who would obviously kill her without remorse if given the chance. She was in serious danger and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. After all, she brought this all on herself.

“Hey, you” a voice then called, snapping Rei from her panic. She locked her eyes on the blackboard, clenching her fists and breathing deeply. There was a vacant, existential gaze on her face. “Hello? Earth to Carrot Top?!” they called again. Finally, Rei turned slowly to look upon her new opponent. A bright-eyed blonde leaned close to her, resting her chin in her hands. A soft smile touched her lips.

“W-what?” Rei croaked.

“Don’t let her get to you” the girl said cheerfully.

“Wait, what…?”

“Don’t let her get to you!” she repeated. “Sekkachi is all talk. She may look and sound scary but her bark is definitely worse than her bite! And if she ever does give you problems again, I’m sure you can handle it. After all, they wouldn’t have let you into the academy at such a young age if you weren’t any good!”

Rei stared at her dumbfounded. No one had ever put it like that before. Not even her own mother. “Y-you think so?”

“Pfft, I know so!” the blonde laughed. “The people here can be really mean but don’t let what they say get the best of you, alright? You shouldn’t feel like you’re any less worthy of being here. You’ve got something special, Carrots, so don’t give up just because they want you to!”

Before Rei could even formulate a response, the young girl stood and bounded off back to her seat. With wide eyes, she stared back at her textbook trying to decipher whether that really just happened or if she just hallucinated the entire thing. Either way, all Rei knew for sure was that her words left in her a soft, happy warmth that she hadn’t felt since the day Kakashi convinced her to join the academy. She peered across the room to the girl chatting and laughing with a few other students and for a moment, things weren’t so bad anymore. For a moment, the torment of the past few weeks had faded away and Rei began to wonder if perhaps she had somehow finally made a friend.

#kakashi hatake #rei natsuki #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

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