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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Latibule pt. ii

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, kinda heavy petting? we still going slow up in this ride, adult language, eventual SMUT, oh & Kiyoomi being a blunt asshole

Words: 12,880

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: me: try to keep it at 7,000 words, also me: what’s a word count?

i owe my life to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions on this monster. i love you both & appreciate you to the moon and back.

Latibule

pt. ii: Four Set

a high set to the strong side/outside hitter

[ pt. i: an opening ] ||

[ You: 4:35pm ]

Hey! It’s me– from the coffee shop. Wanted to see if you were busy this evening? Maybe we can meet up when I get off?

[ Sakusa: 5:02pm ]

I know. Sure.

[ You: 6:21pm ]

Great! I’m off at 9:30. Want to meet at the shop?

[ Sakusa: 7:10pm ]

Read at 7:10pm

“Is he coming?” Kane asks, following you out of the coffee shop and pausing under the shallow awning, twisting his head, watching your back as you turn the key in the door. You tug against the handle, testing the hold, your hands heavy against the cool metal.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes peering into the darkened depths of the cafe lobby. “It says he read the last text, but he didn’t respond. He’s likely busy. I have no idea how long they practice; he’s a professional athlete, and after seeing that game...well, I can only imagine how intense his training schedule is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move like that before it was so fluid, like watching quicksilver.”

“Eh? Quicksilver? What is this, a poetry slam? Who describes people like that? Still, I bet he does, like, 20,000 sit-ups a day. You can tell, even under that baggy jacket, that he’s crazy fit,” Kane ruminates, leaning against one of the stacked sets of metal chairs. “Damn. It’s kinda crazy to think about, you know? You and a hot pro athlete going out on a date.”

You huff out a laugh and give him a playful scowl. “Ugh, shut up, you’re so rude, Kane. And I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘date.’ We just exchanged numbers. That’s all.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. You’re totally right. All those googly eyes must have happened with someone else. Definitely not you and that six-foot monster of a man. I mean, usually the guy just sits at his seat and ignores us, watching those videos on his computer and taking his notes, or he gets his coffee and is on his way, but today he was practically sitting on the hand off plane, and staring at you.

Don’t gimme that face! You know I’m right. And–awe, look at you! So bashful! Oooh, you like him, don’t you? That’s so cute! Come on (Y/N), that’s so––ow!”

“Didn’t you say you had a paper to write?” you grumble, shoving your knuckles against his shoulder again. “There was so much whining from you tonight. Way worse than usual. So many, ‘hurry up, (Y/N)! I need to get home. What if this makes me bomb my paper! What if I fail the class because of this?’ What happened to all that? Huh? Suddenly you’ve got time to suss’ me out on the sidewalk?”

“Yow! So touchy! And this is totally workplace harassment, ya’ know! Jeez, that’s a mean right hook you’ve got. You didn’t even warn me! Eee, I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow!”

“Oh, shut up. You completely deserved that. Now go away and go finish your paper, you soon to be fail––”

“You said 9:30, right?”

The sound of Sakusa’s low voice startles you and you spring away from Kane, head whipping around and eyes wide. He’s standing a few feet behind the two of you, his shoulders curved into their usual hunch, eyes dark behind his fringe of curls. Under his golden jacket, a crisp white shirt is stretched across his broad chest, the bottom tucked carefully into the front of his jeans, and his MSBY bag is hanging against his back. His onyx hair looks heavy and you can see some lingering moisture, no doubt from a recent shower, glistening against the raven waves.

“Hey!” you call, unable to bite back the elated grin that’s suddenly curving the edges of your lips. Kane is right about one thing, you think, stepping closer to Sakusa’s stiff form. This is kinda surreal. “We just finished closing up. Uh, this is Kane,” you wince, gesturing to the smirking face of your coworker.

Shit. Stop it. You sound like an idiot. He knows who Kane is. You’ve seen them talking at the register before, but the rambling introduction keeps tumbling out of you. “He works here. He’s usually at the register, he’s learning, um, the bar and–uh. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you’ve seen him before, uh, probably...definitely...ha, but, er–”

“And that’s my cue,” Kane chuckles, shaking his head at your janky attempts to introduce him properly to a man that he’s known, in passing, for over a year. “Nice seeing you Sakusa-sama,” he bows, tossing you a cheeky wink from his polite curve, “you guys have fun.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you and the impassive Sakusa alone on the empty street.

A hushed quiet falls over the two of you as you adjust the straps of your purse, eyes lowered. Stop freaking out, you chide yourself, taking a deep inhale of air into your lungs, fingers padding aimlessly over the leather slings of your bag. Just talk with him. It’s always easier when you ask the questions first, since he’s not much of a talker. So ask him about something he can answer.

Volleyball. Yeah, ask him about that. It’s not exactly a groundbreaking conversation starter, but it will work.

Strategy set, confidence mounting, you open your mouth.

“So, how did your practice–” “How was your day–”

He speaks when you do, and the two of you clatter directly into each other, words smattering into nothingness as you both fumble into an uneasy silence again.

Hopeless, you’re both hopeless. It’s kinda funny, in a horrifically awkward way.

“Uh,” you grin, eyes finally lifting to his. “You first?”

The gentle thud of his heart echoes against his ears and his breath is hot under the cover of his mask. You’re so close. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch you, could drop his hand from his pocket and let it slip into yours again. That thought makes his palms feel itchy, and he scrapes his nails down the skin, easing the ache.

Not yet.

He watches you as you shake your head, a glowing smile breaking across your lips. You’re not just pretty, he thinks, unconsciously drifting closer, you’re captivating. It’s like you’re some kinda homing beacon.

He’s a cautious guy, always has been. But something about you makes him want to blindly reach, to be nearer to you.

“Practice was fine. Where did you want to go?” he murmurs, fingers lifting, tugging his mask down his face.

He wants to kiss you.

It’s been on his mind all day, through the training, through the practice games, hovering over him, shrouding him with the foggy remembrance of the pressure of your lips. He’d fucked your first one up and he wants to try again, to do better. But it’s different when you’re expecting it, when he can see your gaze following the downward pull of his hand, your eyes hooded and watchful as he reveals the lower portion of his face to you. When you bite your lip into your mouth, teeth pressing before slowly letting the plump flesh spring free again, he nearly groans aloud.

He wonders if you’ll let him do it, let him kiss you, and that thought makes him feel lightheaded. You’re so close––No, he gulps, jaw clenching and shoulders straightening, his back arching upward and right foot jerking a step, pulling away from your tempting openness. It’s too much, it’s too soon.

Just wait, he reminds himself, be patient. Not now, not yet.

You notice his shift and look up at him curiously, popping your weight onto your other leg, one hand braced against your hip, but you still smile up at him, acknowledging his unspoken cues for distance. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink.”

“I don’t like bars,” he blurts.

Your eyes widen and you suck a sharp breath into your lungs, lips falling into a half-formed ‘oh.’

No. He didn’t mean it like––Damn it.

Kiyoomi flinches, nose wrinkling and mouth pulling into a thin line. He’s not good at this.

“Mm, well, this is less of a bar and more like a gastropub. It’s small, laid-back. Plus, it’s a Tuesday night, they’re gonna be slow, and if they’re not, we can leave and try something else...”

“It’s fine,” he rectifies sharply. Again, he sounds too harsh. “I don’t care about any of that. If it’s slow or not. If you want to go, we’ll go. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I didn’t think it was rude.”

Kiyoomi jerks his chin up, his mouth pressing into a pursed frown, peering skeptically at you, eyes narrowed. You let out a laughed exhale and tilt your head, quickly shrugging your shoulders, attempting to mollify his mistrustful stare. “I mean it!” you insist, waving your hand. “I’ll take someone who’s blunt any day of the week. It’s exhausting trying to read people who are good at hiding behind smiles, or false facades. You always know where you stand when someone is straightforward. Seriously,” you continue, grinning up at his abashed expression, “it doesn’t bother me. Be yourself. Besides, I like it. It kinda makes me jealous…”

“Jealous?” Kiyoomi echoes, watching you step past him and down the darkened street. His heart is beating out that uneven tattoo again, and it feels like he can’t catch his breath. What do you mean, ‘you like his bluntness’? No one’s ever told him that. No one’s ever told him to ‘be himself’ either. And, as if that wasn’t enough for him to chew on, now you’re casually saying that you’re jealous of his unapologetic retorts. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Sure,” you nod, slowing your footfalls, letting him catch up with you as you stride down the sidewalk. “I always lean on the polite side of things, likely because I’ve spent too many years in customer service, haha. So it’s refreshing to hear someone just speak their mind. Besides, you don’t strike me as someone who’s careless with what they say to others; you’re candid, but careful, you just don’t mince your words. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, I’m babbling, again. Looks like you kinda have that effect on me, huh?”

His lips quirk at your admission and he steps a little closer, the fabric of his jacket wicking across your clothed arm as he matches your pace. “Is it far?” he asks after a time, watching as the lights of the main street twinkle between the lumbering edges of the buildings.

“Not much farther. But you might wanna put your mask up, we’ll go past the cross street and that area is always a little busy this time of night.”

[ Damn. That’s––The fact that that thought would even cross your mind–– ]

His hand is out of his pocket before he can blink, seeking the soft warmth of your curled fingers, cupping over your knuckles as he heeds your advice with his other, tugging his mask up and pinching it securely over the bridge of his nose. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t look down. He likely should have asked. After all, he doesn’t know you that well. But you ease your digits against his, your thumb curling over the joint of his ring finger, and his lips twitch into a smile.

You greet the girl behind the hostess stand with a hug and a few other members of the staff walk up to the table that you select, big grins and booming voices calling out jovial ‘hello’s’ and ‘good to see you’s’.

“You come here a lot?” Kiyoomi inquires, slouching against the cushions of the booth, obsidian eyes peering around the space. The table is off to the side, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main dining area and bar, and is half covered by a glass wall that provides the two of you with an extra buffer of privacy. It’s an ideal spot, and he’s inwardly grateful that you’d chosen it.

“I used to work here,” you answer, lifting your purse onto your lap before fishing around for something within the depths of the leather. “I–ah! Here it is. I always lose stuff in here, it’s like a black hole, no matter how many times I organize it, it goes right back to being a mess. Price you pay when you have a big bag, I guess.” You lift a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and dollop some onto your palm. He blinks, following the rapid motions of your hands as you clean them off with the solution. That’s...nice. Nice feels like a strange word for this observation, but it’s true. You spy his gwaping expression and hold the bottle out, nodding your head at his coiled fingers. “Want some?”

“Thanks,” he rumbles, mimicking your motions as he eases the cold sanitizer against his chapped hands. “So you worked here?”

“Yeah! I did this and the coffee shop for a while. I was behind the bar, mostly. It was a good job, but when things picked up with my degree plan, I had to drop it.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi hums, pulling his mask off and tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket. “That’s why you knew it wouldn’t be busy.”

“Yup! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are always slow. This is likely the busiest it will get. They have food here too, if you’re hungry. Got some good sushi and the agedashi tofu is one of the best in the city.”

“I already ate.” [ Shit. ]

“Ohh-kay. Well, I’m probably going to get something. They’ve got non-alcoholic drinks as well. Should be at the bottom of the menu.”

“I said I don’t like bars, not that I don’t drink.” [ Fuck. ]

“Fair enough,” you shrug, cocking your head at his clenched jaw and averted eyes. “You see anything you want?”

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi sighs, lifting the paper menu and scanning the side that lists the specials.

“I told you,” your voice is soft, and he glances up at you, glad to see that you’re still smiling happily at him, “I don’t mind. Tell you what, if you go too far I’ll let you know, sound good?” You stretch your hand toward him, bunching your fingers, except for your pinky, which is waiting, outstretched, and reaching toward him.

“What?” he asks, chin dipping and heavy brows furrowing as he eyes your hand suspiciously.

“Whaddya’ mean, ‘what?’ It’s a pinky promise. You’ve never done this before?”

“I’ve never done this before,” he deadpans, blinking slowly.

You guffaw and the burst of joyous sound makes him snicker too, his shoulders easing from that all too familiar hunch, his head ducking, the faint stain of a blush seeping over his cheeks. It’s just a laugh, he reasons, annoyed by his flushed skin and twitching fingers. Why is he getting worked up? He takes a second to refocus, but when he does, you’re still waiting for him, your pinky wiggling, blithely enticing him.

“It’s easy,” you promise. “You just hook your smallest finger with mine and we shake once on it and boom, that’s an unbreakable promise. And, well, if it kills you then I guess you’ll go down in a book of world records or something.”

Kiyoomi scoffs at your jab and lifts his arm onto the table, holding his pinky out, waiting for you to make the last move, rolling his eyes at your dramatically slow approach.

Your touch is gentle, finger ghosting over the middle joint of his pinky, curling slowly, teasingly, before it wraps around the width of his digit. Then you give him a quick squeeze, swiftly bobbing your joined fingers in a mock shake. It’s over in an instant, but you maintain the touch, gradually untwining your crooked digits. “Your fingers are long,” you observe, eyes catching his before traveling back to that lingering connection, distractedly easing your fingertip down the line of his hand and pausing against the base of his wrist.

It feels like his entire arm is electrified and a fine shiver of goose flesh breaks across his warm skin. His mouth is open, lips parted as he sucks in a shallow drag of air and he can’t stop staring, wholly enraptured by your flirtatious strokes. When your eyes rake upwards to playfully find his, that pleased smile soft against your lips, he thinks he might just lurch forward and grab you.

“There,” you beam before pulling away. “Now that that’s done, what are you gonna’ order?”

He lets you place your drink order first, saying he needs to keep looking, that it has been a while since he’s had a drink, and he’s never been all that sure of his preferences, anyway.

It’s an unexpected admission.

If there’s one thing that you’ve been relatively sure of, it’s that Sakusa is a man who doesn’t hesitate. In the two years that you’ve known him, granted from the other side of the counter of a coffee shop, he’s always known what he wants and is confident in his selections. He can rattle them off by rote, by flavor, by taste, by temperature, so seeing him this off balance, a little frazzled and out of his depth, is a bit of a surprise.

He’s not fidgety, his hands are resting placidly in his lap, feet evenly placed on the floor, but you can tell there’s an underlying thrum of agitation behind all those half ducked glances he keeps giving you, his obsidian eyes sharp, gleaming like flints each time they linger against you. He’d laughed once, before you’d squeezed his pinky with yours, and then promptly fallen back into that sullen silence, answering your questions with one word quips or hushed murmurs.

It made you feel guilty.

He said he hated bars, so maybe you should have taken that admission a little more seriously. But out of all the places the two of you could go, this late at night in downtown Osaka, you’d figured that this was likely the quietest, the one where he’d feel the most comfortable.

“So you’ve played with them for two years?” you ask, giving your server a quick thanks as they sit your drink down. “That’s impressive. But you said you went to school for four? That’s different. I bet most players skip college and go right for the pros, so why didn’t you do that?”

“Volleyball isn’t everything,” he answers, tone clipped, matter of fact, as he watches you take a sip of your drink, waiting for the clink of the ice and the gentle clatter of the glass as you set it back down on the table before he continues. “I’m not invincible. Someday I won’t be able to play. And it makes sense to have a backup, something that I can do later.”

You pop your chin into your upturned palm, lips resting against your curled fingers. “True. You’re very thorough, you know?”

Sakusa’s forehead creases, and those two perfectly stacked moles lower over his right eyebrow. “I like to do things properly, that’s all. It just feels right. To take things one step at a time. I do that with everything. I guess most see it as something repetitive, or monotonous, all those basic tasks that you do day in, day out, but I like it. And if you think of them as mindful tasks, rather than mindless, then you can get to that point where those little things become pleasure, instead of drudgery. I know that I’m not guaranteed anything, but, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to go out, to leave volleyball, satisfied. Knowing I did my best.”

It sounds stupid to his ears, pompous, and as soon as he finishes his preamble, he lets out an inaudible sigh, teeth worrying against the soft flesh of the inside of his mouth. Damn it. Why did he say all that? What’s the point? You’d only asked him about college and here he is, rattling off his ideologies and distant thoughts. Why did he–

“That’s...that’s a cool way of looking at it.”

His jaw is gritted, his face covered by a sheen of impassive blankness. But he looks up when you say that. He wants to see you, even if it’s only to take in your bewildered amusement. But you’re not giving him some piteous smirk, no, you’re looking at him like he’s helped you solve a long awaited puzzle, and your face is filled with the softest, haziest glimmer of ardent happiness that he’s ever seen. Your smile broadens, and he looks away, fingers feeling blindly for the pulse in his lowered wrist.

His heart’s pounding.

How do you do that? Then, as he tries to steady his shaking breaths, you lean back, lifting your glass to your parted lips to take a quick sip, a distant look in your eyes.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it that way, but you’re right. I always have so much trouble explaining that mindset to new hires. Like, how do you tell them that, yeah, while this seems like a stupid thing we have you do, to keep busy during the slow period of the day, it matters in the long run. Take our cleaning routines, if you don’t clean something, and clean it diligently, then the gunk and grime builds up, and it’s harder to get out later. Things harden, become set in their ways, and I guess the same thing can happen to the pros too. It seems like most don’t go to school. They just slip right into the sport–after all, if you’re good enough to make it onto a division ranked team right out of high school, then there you go, that’s your end goal, right?

But I like that you took the little steps, the ones that people ignore, or try to bypass. It’s another sort of preparedness, really. Others may not see it that way, might think of it as wasted time, but you did what felt right for you and I know it’ll pay off. It’s–oh! Sorry! I’m babbling again! Ha, God, I’m gonna stop, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Kiyoomi utters, arms lifting from his lap, pressing against the smooth wood of the table, ignoring the racing of his heart. “I liked it. I’m glad that you...I liked it. Keep talking. I like hearing you talk. And, uh, can I try your drink? I know nothing about gin, or whiskey, or whatever that is. I usually just stick to beer and sake.”

You bite your lip, a soft chuckle falling between the two of you, and press two fingers bashfully against your nose, covering your giddy smile and pushing your drink forward, toward his open palms. “It’s kinda nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s flustered. Hmm, but here. If you don’t drink much, then you may not have had this before. Sorry if it’s strong. Also, I go for brown liquor, so it’s got rye for the base.”

“Rye’s a whiskey, right?” he asks, pushing the tiny black straw aside and taking a careful swig from the rim of the glass. It’s got a smooth flavor, almost like the caramel notes of his doppio con panna, but without that cloying sweetness that sometimes sits against the back of his tongue when he’s finished. Instead of the hum of sugar, there is only a shiver of bitterness and then the quick bite of the alcohol is gone, passing over his teeth and down his throat in a single gulp.

It’s good.

Better than he expected. And he passes the glass back, his fingers holding against the cool surface, waiting for yours. “I’ll get that,” he tells you, an impish smirk lifting his lips. “It’s perfect.”

After that-and a second round of drinks-the night went a little smoother. He did his best to not lapse into unsociable silences and you did just as he’d asked of you and kept talking.

You traded the basics, where you were born, talked about your family, your education, degrees, pets, and, slowly, the uncertainty simply faded away.

You were easy to talk with, impossibly so; always ready with another question, a congenial quip, or an antidote about your own life. Soon he was regaling you about his cousin, Motoya, the latest antics of his teammates, his hopes for the upcoming season, for the 2021 Olympics, for anything that he could think of, anything to keep you in that seat, to keep you chatting with him for just a little longer.

[ It’s late, but that doesn’t matter. Keep talking, ask her something else. ]

Is it supposed to feel like this?

He’s never really had a relationship; not when he was in high school or college, and any of his half-formed attractions always fizzled out before they ever really started. He was too busy, too one track minded to notice, [ to care ] to find the time [ to make the time. ]

It’s certainly not love, [ Tch. Love at first sight, who believes in stuff like that anyway, this isn’t some movie, plus he’s known you for years, so it’s not first sight either ] not yet, but there’s another feeling that’s laced within this humming excitement that keeps bubbling to the surface, that has him hanging onto every word that passes from your lips.

It’s want.

He wants more, greedily so, and he hasn’t experienced that feeling, outside of volleyball, in a long time.

“I’m not too far from here. I’ll just hop on the train and then be back in my district. Easy-peasy.”

Sakusa nods at your jovial reassurances, hoisting his track bag higher against his shoulder, following you toward the lights of the street. It’s late, later than he’s used to, and his eyes feel heavy. The lull of the alcohol isn’t helping either, so he shuffles closer, bumping unevenly against you every few steps. You twist your head toward him, a faint smile on your lips, eyeing his lumbering form skeptically. “Sure I don’t need to walk you to your station, Sakusa? You look dead on your feet. Sorry I kept you out so late.”

“You didn’t,” he sighs, his words rasping past a yawn. “I wanted to stay. I’ll regret it tomorrow. For now, I’m fine.”

“Pfft, okay, well, I’ll look forward to receiving your annoyed text about me keeping you out past your bedtime in the morning then.”

Huh? Text? You want him to text you in the morning? Can he do that? Be the first person you think of when your notification lights up your dark screen, the first one that you reply to. Shit. What–what does that mean?

Sakusa slows, his hand reaching for you.

He misses your arm and snags your purse instead, jerking the straps, and by association you, a little harder than he intended. [ Damn it. His coordination’s off. ] You stumble backwards, shoulders bracing against his broad chest, and you blink up at him. You lift your face, looking at him curiously. He’s already peering down, and the glow of the distant street-lamps makes the onyx of his irises morph from jet to a rich blue. For a long breath both of you simply stare, content to watch the other, waiting for some kind of advancement in this stalemate.

You cave first. “Um, you alright?”

“What are we?” he asks pointedly, large palms running up the sides of your arms, his head tilting, dropping raven curls over his brow.

“Friends?” you reply, but it feels more like a question than an answer and you let the word hang, unsure what else you can say, what else he wants to hear. You feel a bated breath leave his lungs. It dips you back as his chest falls, slipping you minutely closer even as his hands droop limply from the curve of your shoulders. His eyes shift from yours and his lips fade into a thin line as he steps away, letting you slip from his grasp. The air between you changes, hardening back into that early uncertainty, and by the time you turn to face him fully, his hands are re-tucked into his pockets and his slouch has returned.

“What’s wrong?”

You know, but you don’t want to assume. You’d warned him after all; you’re not good at being blunt.

He gives you a frank stare, dark brows creasing, furrowing his expression. “Friends means I can’t kiss you.”

For a moment you can’t feel your heart. You know it’s beating, still diligently pumping blood through your body, but as that declaration leaves his lips it’s like your entire world has narrowed. He wants to...how can he just say that? Just blurt out whatever comes into his head and not care what happens after. Where do you find confidence like that?

You flash your gaze upward and he’s still looking at you, his unmasked face open as he stares, dark eyes watchful, half veiled behind his lashes.

He waits. He’s good at that, you think, feeling a smile creep across your face as your tongue passes over the swell of your lower lip. He instantly tracks the movement and takes a shallow step forward. You can hear his fingers coiling and uncoiling inside of the slick lining of his pockets, but that simple, near silent admission of his nervousness makes up your mind.

“Well,” you begin, eyes lowering, easing closer, pressing until you can almost feel the heat of him against you. Your hands lift tentatively, passing over the flat, honed planes of his chest until they come to rest against the top of his stomach. His nostrils flare at the tempered stroke but the rest of him remains stock still, wholly rooted to the spot, listening, observing, a glimmer of distant hope cresting against the back of his mind.

[ Yes. Keep going. Don’t stop. ]

Then, those final, all important words are leaving you, cast into the air.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before you can look up at him, his hands are hovering beside your ears, the ghost of his touch urging you upward as he lowers himself over you.

His lips meet yours with a gentle tap and you can feel his unsteady exhale pass over your mouth as he allows himself to linger against you. It’s more like a press than a proper kiss, but you indulge him, gripping your impatient hands against the thin material of his jacket, giving him time to adjust. He’s featherlight, his lips scratchy, but the lubrication that your swiped tongue has left behind eases the touch and he gasps when you lift to meet him, your lips gliding over his.

Then he’s wavering; like he can’t decide.

He shifts away, only to return moments later, lips never fully leaving yours, caressing until you’re doggedly chasing after him, a poorly concealed groan slipping from your throat. He hums appreciatively at your enthusiasm and steps impossibly closer, his fingertips tapping under your jaw and down your neck.

On one of his shuddering pulls you slip your tongue over his lips, tracing the seam, wordlessly asking for him to deepen the kiss. The sound he makes in return is garbled, caught against his throat and lost in the shuffle of his hands, his breath, his want.

His arms are like steel cables as they twine around your waist, holding you to him as he finally opens, his teeth clattering against yours in his rush. You smile against his eagerness and pop onto the tips of your toes, hands releasing his jacket, sliding up his face before you let your fingers coil into his obsidian curls, your teeth nipping against his dampened lip. He lets out another hushed gasp, the flat of his palm warm against your shoulder blades as he urges you upward.

“You’re — mmm, you’re too tall, Sakusa,” you complain, finally easing away from his greedy kisses, and grinning when he follows.

“Kiyoomi,” he insists, hands cupping, thumbs tracing the edge of your jaw, dropping another kiss against your upturned lips. “Call me that. I want to hear it.”

You laugh and he huffs impatiently against you, brows folding into that deep crease. “Not joking,” he grumbles, lips and breath hot against yours, “I want to hear you say it.”

When you manage, at long last, to pull away from him again, your eyes bright, lips kiss shined and swollen, he knows this image of you will be etched into his mind for weeks to come. It’s perfect [ you’re perfect ] and all he can think about is that he wants so much more.

“Kiyoomi,” you call, head canted at his staggered expression, eyes glittering with fond amusement. “You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?”

He scowls at your question and tugs you back, kissing you until your laugh fades away and his name comes a little easier.

[ You: 9:18am ]

You sure you want to go there? I don’t care if we do something else instead, your call.

[ Kiyoomi: 10:54am ]

Got the tickets. See you after your shift.

“Bringing your phone onto the court–ballsy move Omi,” Atsumu leers, dropping his bag beside Kiyoomi’s, a troublesome smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi snaps, darkening the screen with a click and placing the device beside his trainers. “At least I know how to keep it hidden. And you’re the reason we’re banned from bringing them out here at all. You and your stupid snapchat stories.”

“Omi! Ya’ big jerk! Be quiet, ya’ know yer’ not supposed to mention that app where the coaches can–”

“Miya!” a booming voice calls from across the gym, “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing! If I catch you on that phone, you can expect to do a hundred serves at the end of this practice match! Got it?”

Kiyoomi scoffs, a lackadaisical grin ghosting over his lips as he neatly dodges Atsumu’s elbowed jab. “See? I’m not the problem here.”

“Such a jackass. It’s a miracle (Y/N) is even giving you the time of day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiyoomi bristles, heavy brows creasing.

“Means I don’t know what she sees in ya,’ you big dummy. Where you taking her this week?”

“Why do you care?”

“Damn it. Why do I bother? I mean really, am I some kinda masochistic or something? Yer’ terrible to talk with, but here I am, attempting some harmless small-talk. Cut a guy some slack, would ya’?”

“What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi stares, onyx eyes narrowing at Atusmu’s haggard expression.

“You! I’m just trying to have a conversation, you know, checking in, seeing how yer’ doing. Making sure you haven’t screwed things up yet. Ya’ know, being polite!” Atsumu glowers, golden hair falling over one umber eye as he flashes Kiyoomi a fixed glare.

“What would I screw up?”

Atsumu lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Tell you what, ask me that question again when you do, how’s that sound?”

“Miya–”

“Bringing your phone to practice, coming in late, or right before things kick off, yeah, you got it bad, don’t cha’? You better watch yer’self Omi.”

“The hell you talking about?” Kiyoomi sneers, chin lowering, steeling himself for one of Atsumu’s long-winded tangents.

“God, yer’ so dense, especially with shit that’s not volleyball. Come on, Omi, use your head. The coaches, the managers, they’re all gonna try and make you pick. That’s what they do. She’s a nice girl, and I’d hate to see her get caught up in all of that bullshit. Stop gaping at me like that! Like I’m not making any sense! I’m trying to look out for ya’! Not that you deserve it, being such a prickly asshole, and all...”

Kiyoomi sighs, lips pursing into a sharp point, his shoulders slumping forward, arms hanging limply against his sides. Fine, he’ll engage. Whatever. If it’ll get Atsumu to explain whatever the hell he’s talking about before the practice match, he reasons, then it’ll be worth it. “We’re going to the museum in Tennoji Park.”

Atsumu stares. “Damn. You agreed to go to a public park? In the daytime? That’s real big, if true.”

“I’ll serve every ball directly at the back of your head, don’t think I won’t.”

“Alright, alright,” the setter laughs, propping his hands against his hips. “Shocked yer’ not just staying close to that one restaurant. You seem like a, ‘this is what I like and I’m sticking to it’ kinda guy. Not one to branch out. You know, boring.”

“How do you know about the restaurant?”

“She told me about it?”

Kiyoomi curls his lip over his teeth. “When did she do that?”

“The other day, went by for a coffee.”

“Ugh,” he huffs, swinging one arm across his chest, stretching out the muscles of his biceps. “What else did she say?”

Atsumu grins, bracing his forearm against Kiyoomi’s shoulder, waggling his brows mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Fine. I’ll just ask her.”

“Ughhh, zero fun. That’s what you are. Tell me, ya’ got a mode that’s not: ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, ‘the world’s most boring man’,” Atsumu groans, head dropping as he lets his body hang limply off of Kiyoomi’s stiffened form.

“Shut up. What we do isn’t your business anyway, so enough with the questions. You’re just poking your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you,” Kiyoomi accuses, shrugging Atsumu’s heavy arm off of his, glaring.

Atsumu straightens, a quiet scoff puffing between his smirked lips. “Fine. So touchy today. And you think this crap ain’t gonna bleed into your playing? Yer’ way–”

“Line up!” the assistant coach booms, silencing Atsumu’s bristled retort. Kiyoomi opts to hold his tongue, letting the setter pace away from him, eyes narrowing while sucking in a steadying breath before he follows.

Damn it. He got so caught up in––Atsumu never told him what he meant.

It’s early afternoon and the broad concrete pathways of the park are mostly empty. The spring flowers are in bloom and the ginkgo trees sway in the crisp breeze that dips in from the sea. It’s a beautiful day, but Kiyoomi can’t shake himself out of his head.

He’d stared dutifully at the portraits in the museum, read the placards that rested below the painted screens and pottery, and listened when you asked him questions, or answered his own. He shouldn’t be like this, he fumes, adjusting the ear straps of his mask as the two of you step out into the bright sunlight once more.

Who cares what Atsumu was trying to imply. It was vague and unhelpful; likely meant to get under his skin, something that–

“You alright?” Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts and he looks down at you, brows unknotting, eyes softening as they rake over your curious face.

“Yeah. Miya said something at practice that I’m having trouble forgetting.”

“Oh? What?”

He tells you, and it feels like some of the tension leaves his shoulders. It’s nice.

Usually he’s guarded, quiet. Sure, he’ll let others know what he’s thinking with little finesse, but that doesn’t mean they know the truth of what’s on his mind. This is different. With you it’s easy to disassemble, unexpectedly so. It’s only been a month since the two of you started seeing each other, but in that time he’s opened up more to you than he has to anyone, outside of his family, and he’s still not sure if he likes that.

[ That’s a lie. He likes it; he does. He’s just not used to it. ]

“Make you pick?” you ask, skimming your hand over the red railing of the bridge, head cocked thoughtfully to the side. “He actually said that?”

“Mentioned it. Like I said, Miya talks in circles. I usually just tune him out, but this felt...different.”

“Hmm,” you ponder, easily keeping up with his long strides, your body close to his. “Well, maybe he means they, the coaches that is, don’t want you to be distracted? I could see that. I mean, you are playing at an extremely high level and next year is the Olympics. Damn, it feels strange to say that. I know someone who’s playing in the Olympics…”

“I know that. And I’m not distracted,” his tone is clipped and his chin ducks, his side swept curls fanning over his left eye.

You look over at his tensed expression and puff out an exhale of air. “Well, maybe he’s just messing with you? You said he likes to do that.”

“Told you, this felt different.” The words are sharp, punctuated by his clenched jaw and the forward roll of his shoulders, and you suck your teeth softly, staring across the shimmering surface of the pond as the two of you cross the last stretch of the bridge. You’re on the back foot here, a little unsure of how to reassure him, but you can tell he wants to shake this off, so you press the issue, hoping it’ll help ease that stiff tension that’s building in his shoulders.

“Okay, it felt different. How so?”

The words come without hesitation. [ This isn’t normal for him, but it’s also so damn nice to know that he can be this comfortable with someone. ] “Miya usually babbles. Goes on and on about the most inane things. But he also loves to chatter about his reasoning, and this time he didn’t. Instead of answering my question, he gave me that shitty smirk and changed the subject to something he knew would distract me––why else would he say he’d gone by the coffee shop?”

“I mean, I don’t know him as well as you do, but he seems like the kinda guy who likes to provoke–to see if he can get a reaction out of you and...I know it’s not much of a reason, but maybe that’s all that it was?”

Kiyoomi gives you a curt nod and picks up his pace, his hands coiling into clenched fists within the confines of his pockets. You follow him, unsure if you should strike up another line of conversation or let him simmer for a bit. You opt for the latter and turn your attention to the scenery of the parklands, quietly studying the picnicking couples and laughing clusters of children that jostle beside a nearby set of monkey bars. No matter his mood, it’s a lovely day and you’re still glad he’d agreed to come with you to the park.

But when the trail reaches the main street, you pause. “Hey, you wanna call it a day?” you ask, a soft smile on your lips. If he needs time, you rationalize, then you can give him that.

Kiyoomi jerks to a stop, his heavy brows furrowing as he stares down at you. “What? No,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of his mask.

You raise your hands in a gesture of supplication, palms facing his looming form. “It’s just...you seem like you’re upset...”

“I am upset,” Kiyoomi answers frankly, his breath heavy.

His honesty never fails to catch you off balance, and you laugh cheerfully at his stoic expression. Kiyoomi promptly fixes you with a perturbed stare, his eyes narrowing. “Kiyoomi, if you’re upset, then we should head back. You don’t have to stick around me if you want space, I totally–– ”

“I don’t want space. I want to be here, with you,” he bites, stepping closer, watching as your grin fades into a perplexed gape.

For a breath you’re flabbergasted, lips parted, eyes wide, but with a shake of head you step forward, your arm twining with his, and dipped forehead pressing against the sleek material of his jacket. “Alright, then stay with me,” you smile, hands squeezing against his coiled muscles, a pleased warmth spreading up your joined arms before flowing downward, into the pit of your stomach.

The contact, as muted as it is by the shell of his track jacket, makes him shiver and he can feel the thump of his heart speed up. It presses against his ribs and makes his chest feel tight and his head light, and when your fingers slip into the warmth of his pocket, your smooth digits tracing the knuckles of his hand, he lets out a contented sigh before lightly brushing his chin over the top of your bent head.

“Come on,” he murmurs, the rich tone of his deep voice dampened by the stretch of his mask, but you can still hear the creep of his smile within the clipped words, “I’ve got an idea.”

You’ve walked past the training facility plenty of times, so many that it’s a blip on your radar now, its jagged silhouette falling into the category of mundane, but never, not in a million years, did you ever see yourself actually passing through those glass doors.

It’s a massive space.

The blazing down-lights scatter brightness over the finely polished elastic flooring. You’d worn comfortable shoes to the park, but they still scuff loudly against the unfamiliar material so you stop gawping and look toward Kiyoomi’s arched shoulders.

“Uh, are you sure we can be in here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice down, but it reverberates around the vast space and you wrinkle your nose at the sharpness of the sound.

“Yes. I work here,” Kiyoomi answers simply, tugging his mask down and stopping just short of one of the white lines, cocking his dark head at your question.

“Okay,” you snicker, rolling your eyes playfully at his static features, “let me rephrase that, are you sure I can be here?”

“Why would you being here be a problem? Practice is done for the day. It’ll be fine. Worst case, Bokuto or Miya might show,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders, a faint smile passing over his lips. “So what do you say, you wanna try to play?”

A full-throated laugh bubbles out of you, and you shake your head frantically. “No way! You’ll either kill me with one of those terrifying spikes, or be bored out of your mind trying to teach me the ropes. Besides, I haven’t played volleyball since middle school, and even then, I’m, uh, not sure a quick rotation in a 40 minute P.E. class counts as playing. It was more like all of us kids screwing around and testing out how many times we could annoy our teacher.”

He snorts at your explanation and strides over to a dark red cart, digging one of his long arms into the depths before straightening and returning with a yellow and blue Mikasa ball that’s perfectly balanced within his broad palm. “Humor me,” he smirks, one brow quirking upward.

“Tch, I’m not wearing the right clothes...or shoes,” you bemoan jovially, but you’re already letting your purse slip from your shoulders.

“So whiny,” Kiyoomi tuts, stepping away from the cart and tossing the ball rapidly between his spread hands. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” you tease, a beguiling smile lifting your lips. He looks so good in here, you think, admiring the flex and bounce of his hands, the lean coil of his powerful neck that peeks from underneath his track jacket, so different from the stoic man who walked beside you in the park.

As soon as he touched the ball, his entire demeanor changed. Within the space of a few seconds he’d gone from hunched and brooding to dauntless and firm, all of his early agitation and uncertainty forgotten as he slipped into the comfort of his element.

“All right, coach,” you sigh with mock dejection, “where do you want me?”

“On the other side of the net. See that line? The first one past the netting? That’s the attack line. Stand there.”

He’s clear-cut in his instruction, telling you where to plant your feet and how to stand with the correct form. You listen intently, nodding or asking one or two clarifying questions, and he’s patient with your queries, answering you swiftly and thoroughly, obsidian eyes keen as they follow your movements across the net.

“Alright, that looks good. We’re going to do a simple drill, the catch and throw. Don’t worry about setting the ball, or receiving it with your arms, see how it feels to position yourself under it, just make sure it never gets behind you, and catch it with both hands and toss it back to me. Try and keep it in an easy arc.”

You blink at him, pulling your lips into an exaggerated frown. “Just catch it? That sounds too easy…”

“It’s meant to be. It teaches you how to see the ball. If you’re wanting something harder, I can always up the speed as you get better at it. Now, you ready?”

You nod and the ball lifts from his fingers in a flash, gliding over the net cleanly, and you shift back, arms outstretched, feet planted firmly against the slick flooring. You catch it neatly and mimic his overhand toss, sending it back to Kiyoomi’s half crouched form. But the arc isn’t controlled and the ball paps against the tape of the net, screwing up the trajectory and sending it shuddering toward the gym floor.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at your clumsy return, but he’s already moving, his form a blur. He slides under it easily, back curved under his well-muscled legs, all ten fingers spread, as he neatly catches the ball, sending it prettily back to your side.

You’re so mesmerized by the fluidity of his supple form that you completely ignore the returning ball and it slaps against the floor with a crack. Always the professional, he’s intently watching the ball’s trajectory and doesn’t notice your open stare at first, but once his dark eyes flash back to yours a faint blush seeps across the well-cut apples of his cheeks and he ducks his head, obscuring his flush with a cascade of onyx curls. “That’s one point for me,” he sighs, his voice low, tone gruffly catching over the words as he studiously avoids your awed expression.

“Points?” you repeat dumbly, snapping your mouth closed before popping your hands on your hips, forcing yourself out of your stupor. “Hey! You didn’t say anything about points.”

“It’s a game,” he counters with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “of course there’s gonna be points.”

“Pfft,” you chortle as you walk toward the discarded volleyball. “What happened to this is just a drill?”

Thirty minutes later your hands are aching and you move sluggishly as your feet squeak over the polished flooring of the court. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, looks perfectly at ease, his eyes hungrily stalking the track of the ball as it flies to his side of the court. When you miss the next lightning quick toss that he sends your way, you drop your head and lift your hands, palms flattened and facing toward him, signaling your defeat as a heaving exhale leaves your straining lungs. “I think that’s it for me. I’m about to collapse onto the floor, like seriously. This is not a joke.”

Kiyoomi huffs out a bemused laugh and ducks under the netting, pausing beside your half crouched figure. He peers down at you through the lazy waves of his hair. You look staggered from the constant shuffling and overhand tosses, but you smile up at him and he can’t help but return it.

“I may be down for the count, but it looks like you wanna keep going,” you say coyly, eyes shining under the brilliance of the lights. [ You’re so pretty ] He [ wants to kiss you again ] sucks in a shallow breath and mutely nods at your assessment. [ Don’t go. ]

“Well,” you begin, lips falling into a thoughtful pout, arms twisting behind your back, “In that case, I’ve got some things that I need to finish up, anyway.”

[ No. Don’t go. Not yet. ]

“I left my laptop at the cafe, so I’ll head that way. Maybe I can see you–”

“Use mine.” The words leave him with a sigh, his voice hushed, but you hear him and your head whips up.

“What–I’m sorry, what?”

“Use my laptop. It’s here, in my locker.” [ Should he have said, please? He’ll say it, if that will get you to stay a little longer. ]

“You don’t...that’s not necessary–– ”

“I know. I want to,” he closes the distance between the two of you, his hand ghosting up the line of your arm. “Stay. If you want to.”

You contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your bottom lip, the flicker of a grin catching at the corners of your mouth. Finally, you nod.

[ Good. ]

He can feel his pulse against his eardrums and he feels jittery now but through that excited haze he tells you he’s going to change into his gym clothes and grab it, that there’s an outlet under the scorer’s table that sits at the edge of the court, and that he’ll be right back. He’s not sure why he feels the need to elaborate, that’s not like him, but he’s doing a lot of things that don’t feel like him these days.

He likes you; he thinks as he steps toward the double doors that will take him into the locker room.

He likes you so much.

When he returns, he’s wearing a dark pair of shorts and a bright yellow shirt emblazoned with the words Itachiyama VBC across his left pectoral. The laptop is propped under his muscled arm and he walks slowly toward you, dark eyes watching you thoughtfully. But you’re not meeting his gaze. No, your regard falls to the curve of his calves and the sharp jut of his ankles before you track back up to his thighs and linger over the ripple and pull of the corded brawn that peeks from under the line of his shorts, and it takes him clearing his throat to lure your eyes back up to his burning face.

You’ve seen him in his MSBY uniform, and you’ve seen him in various outfits over the last month, but the way you’re watching him right now makes his skin prickle and the air around the two of you feels charged, like the smallest push could create some kind of reaction.

He pauses beside the table and waits for you to sit before he leans down, one leg shaking restlessly under him as he clacks his passcode across the black keys. He’s lifting his right hand to click ‘enter,’ when you cup your hand under his jaw.

Kiyoomi quavers under your touch, a low shiver slipping up his spine as he twists to face you, his heavy brows arched and onyx eyes wide. He’s perfectly level with you and so close he can faintly smell your lavender shampoo. It’s a nice scent, lulling and woodsy and he wants to shift closer, but before he can act on his instinct you’re already leaning upwards and using your fingertips to dip his head forward, your lips pressing a chaste kiss against his topmost mole, breath warm against his heated skin.

“Thank you,” you purr, delicately resting the tip of your nose against his curled hair.

It feels like his body is sputtering to a halt, his arms heavy, his head desperately following your touch as you shift back, a half groaned sigh tight against his split lips. His fingers are twitching against the cool surface of the table and he knows he must look like an absolute idiot when he lifts his eyes back to yours, but he doesn’t care.

He’s glad you’re going to stay.

“Question for you,” you ask from your perch on the scorer’s table, your fingers flying over the computer keys as you clatter out another email. “How the hell do your hands do that?”

Kiyoomi smirks at your curious amusement and flips his wrists deftly upwards, easing onto his haunches, flicking his fingers out and rolling his newly stretched wrists as he finishes his final cool down routine. “It’s called joint hyper-mobility. Most lose it when they get older, I’ve been lucky.”

The two of you have been at the training facility for hours. You’d dutifully finished up some last-minute work enquiries and partially outlined the basics for your upcoming grant proposal, while Kiyoomi worked on his spin rotation and spikes.

You’d watched him intermittently, teeth plucking at the swell of your lower lip each time he lept into the air for a jump serve, or dropped low to the ground as he dug another ball up from his hit to the nearby wall, so you’d noticed when he’d finished his first water bottle. He’d set the plastic down, the tap ringing hollowly over the quiet gym, and rose from your folding chair, making your way over, already asking him where a water station was.

When you’d returned, passing the newly filled bottle back to him, your fingers stroked up his arm and swirled faint patterns against his clammy skin as he steadied the plastic in his grasp. And later, when you’d refilled his second water bottle, you’d pushed some of his raven waves back, lifting onto the balls of your feet to tuck the dampened strands behind the shell of his ear.

He was a sweaty mess, but that didn’t bother you.

Usually he didn’t like for others to touch him when he was like this. Something about the sheen and prickle of the salty perspiration bothered him, [ disgusted him ] so he actively shunned his teammates when they sought high fives during a game, but this was different.

The instant your fingers alighted against his skin he’d felt a jolting lurch of electricity, but instead of pulling from it, he’d leaned into it, draping his broad palm over your tracing digits, or resting his warm cheek against your open hand, eyes half lidded as they watched for your reaction.

He liked this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi? Uh, hello, Earth to Kiyoomi! You listening?”

The sound of your voice jerks him from his musings, and he glances at you. “Hmm?”

“I said, how do you feel about a low-key dinner?”

“I’d prefer it,” Kiyoomi replies, easing from his haunches to his feet, rolling his long arms over his head as he stands.

“Yeah, but I mean...low-key, low-key.”

He fixes you with a flat stare, his face falling into that well practiced blankness, obsidian eyes dimmed. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve got some things that I’ve been meaning to cook and, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is...did you want to maybe have dinner at my apartment? I know you’re picky about how your food is prepared, so if you wanna go out instead, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended. I just wanted to– ”

“I’d like that, but...can you cook?” he rumbles, a teasing smile coiling against his lips.

“Oh, I see. No, you got me. Totally can’t. I just wanted to know if you’d suffer through burnt rice, and then lie and tell me you’d liked it, or some shit,” you threaten, sticking your tongue out and scrunching your face at his blatant leer.

“Don’t worry, I’d definitely tell you.”

“Pfft. You’re the worst, you know that? Now go shower. If we wait too long, we’ll hit rush hour at the station and I bet that’s pretty high on your list of things to avoid at all costs.”

Your apartment is small.

Well, compared to his. But his place is an empty shell, brittle, almost sterile in its vacant emptiness. He’s not there often, so why fill it with more than the bare essentials? It’s got what he needs, and he’s never been bothered by the Spartan coldness of the tiles and dark wood, that is, until he steps into your space.

There’s so much color.

The living room is blanketed in a mix of cheery yellows, warm reds, and deep purples. It’s not displeasing, but it makes him pause within the confines of the genkan, onyx eyes wide under his raised brows. It’s a difference. Now there’s an unexpected worry that’s pricking at the front of his mind.

“You coming?” you ask, poking your head around the cut of the wall that divides your living room from your kitchen, peering curiously at his tense expression.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, easing his trainers off of his feet. This place reminds him that there’s still so much about you he doesn’t know.

So, to alleviate himself from his lingering trepidations, he peers curiously around the apartment.

Most of your furniture is Western. And while there is a traditional chabudai beside your kitchen and a familiar kotatsu that rests beneath the glass doors of your balcony, the rest of the room is decorated with cushioned couches, stiff-backed chairs, neatly organized shelving units, a large tv and stand, and several side tables that hold a mixture of lamps, artfully stacked books, picture frames and candles.

He’s still gazing over the plethora of things when you appear beside his elbow. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home. The remote for the tv should be on the kotatsu. You alright with soba stir fry and okonomiyaki for dinner? It’s easy, well, quick...”

“That’s fine,” Kiyoomi breathes, voice muted as his eyes rake over one of your bookshelves. “You could have taken one at the gym, you know...a shower.”

“Oh-ho, sure! Like a shower at your gym doesn’t come with the awful possibility that one of your teammates or, god forbid, coaches could have walked in. Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckle, shaking your head as you pad over to the small hallway that separates your kitchen and living space from the rest of your apartment. “I won’t be long. Please do not rob me, kay’?”

Kiyoomi blatantly scoffs at your remark but doesn’t look up until he hears the click of your bathroom door. Instantly, his feet carry him toward your collection of books and miscellany, one long finger tracing up paper spines. He will not miss this opportunity.

He’s curious, ravenously so.

There are small bowls that are filled with a mismatch of silver and gold jewelry, peeling bound novels with English titles printed down their spines, and asymmetric jars that carry the weight of seashells that gleam translucent and bright against the dimming sunlight.

Beaming smiles radiate from your collection of pictures. Some are snapshots of you and others who look enough like you he assumes they must be your family, while other images are older, with people dressed in vintage clothing, the photos sheened in dull greys and time blown sepia rather than vibrant, modern colors.

Then there are the books. The room is littered with them. Most are organized within the confines of the shelves, but a few are stacked on the kotatsu and he flips open one cover, eyes scanning the orderly lines of Japanese that dart down the pages.

There’s just so much here, so many little pieces of you that are scattered about, and he wants to see...no, he wants to ask you about all of it.

Dazed, he leaves the open space of the living room and steps toward the kitchen. It’s less cluttered in here, and he can smell the faint tang of bleach and lemon as he moves onto the dark tiles. Clearly, the fastidious habits you’ve displayed at the cafe are ingrained into your daily routines.

Cleanliness and routine. You’ll always have that in common.

His roving observations falter at your fridge. It’s covered in a scattered array of playful magnets, pinning down lists and newer Polaroids and he steps closer, index finger extended once more as he glides the digit down the faded ink and shine of the photos. Resting atop one of the larger check-lists is a crisp slip of cardstock. It’s clearly been given pride of place and Kiyoomi curves himself downward, somber brows wrinkling as he reads the print.

The departments of Anthropology, History, Languages, and Education invite you to attend:

The Deans Meeting

10th Annual Conference & New Faculty Welcome Event

Thursday, April 23rd

6:30 - 9:30 p.m.

Graduate School of Human Sciences, Osaka University

(Number Attending: ____ *limit of one guest per invitee)

Kiyoomi straightens, raking a hand up through his loose curls. The 23rd? That’s a month...no...almost five weeks away. He slips his cellphone out of his jacket, thumb tapping over to his calendar. It’s a Friday...but good, there’s no game that day–however there is a team meeting. If he asks now, he should be able to be excused from the meeting and maybe the mid-day practice as well. You haven’t mentioned this event to him, he muses, fingers rapidly tapping the date into his reminders, but it looks important and he wants to go with you, if you’ll let him.

He hears the telltale shudder of your shower’s cut-off valve and he turns, ready to walk back to the neutral safety of your living room when he spies a haphazardly cracked doorway that clearly leads into your bedroom. His feet are carrying him around the low base of the chabudai, and before he can justify his impulsive [ curious, hungry ] reasoning he’s already leaning in, unabashedly looking over the space.

The room is dark; the dusky light of the sunset is muffled by the curtains that drape over the large window, but Kiyoomi marvels, obsidian eyes whisking over the small space, greedily taking in the neat folds of your downy comforter, the soft pillows that nestle under the headboard, and the fan that sits atop the tatami mats. It smells like you in here; the chilled air holds the gentle scent of rich florals and spice and he wants to step closer, but then his hand is catching against the doorframe and he jerks back, hurriedly gulping down a sharp breath as his black hair slumps over his hooded eyes.

It’s...it’s not...he shouldn’t have looked. It’s not polite, but damn, he almost doesn’t care.

What would it be like to step past that threshold? To walk into something that’s so saturated with you? He feels like his skin is too close, too heavy, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out on the cool sheets of your bed to ease that simmer that’s thrumming under his heated flesh.

Wait. A bed. You have a bed.

Shit.

Kiyoomi’s always been content with his futon, satisfied with the simplicity of it. He’s always considered beds to be a waste of space, unnecessary, after all, he’s just sleeping on it. Why did it matter?

Unanswered questions whir around his half cocked head. What if you don’t like futons? If you think they’re uncomfortable, or inconvenient? Besides, now he’s picturing laying with you on a bed, [ this bed ] not a futon. Kiyoomi wants to see you stretched out beside him, comfortable and happy, with that tantalizing smile and those playful eyes watching him, waiting for him. What side do you prefer? Right? Left? And then? What happens when you’ve picked your spot and settled in?

Would you want him to shift closer? Could he run his palms past your arms and down the sloping curves of your hips? Would you do the same for him? What would your nails feel like as they scratched faint lines along his sides, over the muscles of his abdomen, or down his back? You’d be so close. So close that every sigh that passed between your lips would be shared with him and he’d inhale every sound, his lips rough against yours. And if you arched into him, your hands urging him to straddle himself over your intoxicating softness, your thighs spreading as he lowers his hips––

The bathroom door clicks and the fevered daydream fades, his feet cumbersome and tangled as he lumbers back to the living room, his heart pounding in his ears. He doesn’t like this breathlessness, doesn’t like that his hands are trembling as he stuffs them into his pockets. Any second now you’ll be in front of him and he wants to hold you, to let the pull of your hands and the sleek drag of your lips satiate the feel [ throb ] of his unexpected [ visceral ] arousal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that long, I just–– ”

The distance between the two of you is closed within a heartbeat, and his outstretched fingertips glide down the smooth line of your neck. You suck in a sharp breath, your body rigid under his hold, [ damn it, too fast ] and he drops his hands, easing you into the suddenness of his movement with lazy kisses against your warm cheek and neck, grinning when you lean into him at last.

[ Yes. Perfect. ]

You want him to kiss you properly, and you do your best to chase his lips, your arms folding around his bowed neck as you tap a few impatient kisses against his lowered forehead. But he ignores your temptations, not ready to move away from the intoxicating fragrance of your freshly cleaned skin. That soothing smell of peppermint and fresh lavender is near ambrosial, and he greedily digs his nose against you as his muscular arms drape over your sides, and his broad hands pause against the small of your back.

His sharp exhales against your shower dampened neck make you shiver but he maneuvers you closer, rubbing his lower lip against the dip of your shoulder before lifting to catch his teeth on your pulse. He knows just what you like now; he thinks smugly, tracing the flat of his tongue over a line of gooseflesh that bursts over your slicked skin.

In the last month he’s gained a steady mastery of your preferences when it came to his kisses. You preferred to start things slowly, to have him cup your face and stoke you up steadily, but once he eases down the intricate line of your neck, well, all that softness and coy sweetness would bleed into something else entirely.

You liked it rougher then; liked for these caresses to be charged with lightning fast pushes and pulls, your fingers alternating between the sides of his jaw or the coiled thickness of his hair as you swayed him closer, and that shift never failed to set his heart racing and often sent his tightly reigned control spiraling. But that’s not what he wants, not right now, so he’s careful to keep you at bay, distracting your breathless twists with a fresh set of nips and unhurried pecks against your throat.

He wants to lose himself in you; to blank out all the other worries. The differences don’t matter, not when he can hold you like this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi,” you gasp and only then does he stop his incessant assault, arms tensing as they clutch you to the broad slope of his chest, his dark waves falling heavily against your kiss glistened shoulder.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice reverberating against your wet skin.

“What...what’s gotten into you?” you falter, distracted by the hum of his low tone and the soothing pass of his hands as they curve along your spine.

“Dunno, just felt like kissing you,” he lies impassively, lifting his head from you, obsidian eyes shielded by his mussed curls, the tops of his cheeks aglow.

You exhale a tight laugh at his serious, but utterly flushed expression. “Okay–so why did you stop?”

“Liked it that much, huh? I’m hungry,” he clarifies, a smirk curling his erubescent lips and you laugh, melting that jaunty grin into his usual straightlaced frown. “Tch,” he tries again, sliding his dark eyes away from your open bemusement, a pink blush staining the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that I...hmph, come on, don’t act like you’re not hungry, too...”

You were an excellent cook. Not that he’d fully meant his droll quip at the gym; after all, why offer to do something if you’re not good at it? But he’s glad he agreed to a home cooked meal.

Besides, there is something soothing about the whole thing.It was nice, watching you deftly maneuver around your tiny kitchen, turning on burners, setting timers, and arranging the ingredients in simple bowls and plates; it reminded him of the coffee shop. And he’s always liked watching you work. Your movements were always smooth [ elegant ]. You kept your hands close and your elbows in, so confident in the motions of your ingrained routines and the tidiness of your space, that you could easily carry on a conversation with him, your eyes careful to meet his over the top of the espresso machine.

But this is better than watching you in the coffee shop. There’s no divider now. There’s just you and him. It’s comforting and he wants to experience it again and again.

You let him set the plates out, chop the vegetables, prep the soba, and asked him to pick out some beer from your fridge, saying you trusted his choice and chuckling good-naturedly when he padded back to your side, four cans sticking icily to his palms as he asked a few [ five or six ] clarifying questions about the brews.He enjoys your cheerful teasing; he thinks as the two of you sit at the low chabudai; it makes him feel like he fits in, like he can be part of this side of you. You tuck your legs to one side as you sit, your shoulder gently bumping against his as you ease into a comfortable position on the tatami mats and Kiyoomi leans closer, indulging himself in the press long after you’ve picked up your chopsticks–a shared meal of of cabbage and onion okonomiyaki and salmon stir fry resting between the two of you.

It’s a simple thing, all of this touch, but Kiyoomi can’t get enough of it. Every time your arm brushes against his, or you ask him to pass you something from his side of the table, he wants to prolong the contact, to keep his fingers beside yours, or feel the warmth of your thigh and the jut of your hip as he shifts nearer.

He didn’t think he enjoyed being touched.

He always did his utmost to avoid it, shunning the clapped backs and constant high fives that always seemed to be prepackaged and expected in the contact heavy sport of volleyball. Not because he didn’t like his teammates [ sure, sometimes– eh, most of the time ] they were too much, but he genuinely liked playing with them. But he didn’t enjoy the balmy heat of skin on skin contact, or the worry of shared germs. Touching meant weakness. It allowed things to spread from person to person; it created variables, and more variables always meant things could slip out of his control. No, Kiyoomi valued the predictable, the known, the cleanliness and routine, and touch threw most of that out of the equation.

He doesn’t like touch.

Yet he’s craving yours.

It’s another thing that isn’t like him, he contemplates, passing his empty bowl to you, already missing that pleasing closeness you’d shared with him as you walk back into your kitchen and that stark absence makes him stand. It’s an urge, a compulsion, and it’s not something he wants to question so he listens to his instincts, feet planted firmly beneath him as he follows you, his hands lifted, reaching for you. When he tugs you against his chest, his dark head dropping beside yours, jet curls fanning beside your cheek and along your neck, he feels the ache within him settle and he lets himself wallow in the familiarity of crisp peppermint that sits against your skin. [ There. He can worry about the rest later, right now this is all he wants. ]

“I should go,” he whispers, the tip of his nose cool against you. He locks his forearms around your waist and sighs when you rest your temple against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

“Yeah,” you echo, cupping your fingers over his crossed arms and stroking them over his goose-fleshed skin. “I work in the morning. So I need to be up early.”

His steady breaths match yours and he pulls you closer, humming contentedly as the curve of your back falls into the hollow of his chest. “I’ll go,” Kiyoomi stalls, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of your neck. He really should. There are only a few more trains tonight, but he can’t let go.

So he lingers, his heavy body leaning against yours, full lips dragging along your pulse as his arms loop tightly around you. You twist your head and he lets you return his caresses, groaning against the sweet pressure of your lips. You’re gentle with him, your kisses filled with restrained desire, and the gossamer touch makes him reach for more. When you pull away, your eyes shining in the gleam of your kitchen lights, he brings you back, his broad palms turning you to him as his chapped fingers tilt your chin, his arms cupping you so close he can feel the thud of your heart against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

notes: @kugutsuu made me these lovely lines. aren’t they pretty! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

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violettelueur · 4 years

Text

GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU || NEVER MEANT TO BE

| featuring : gojo satoru and geto suguru from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : mentions of murder, manga spoilers and grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1704

| published : 15 November

| request : hellloooo i hope this doesnt sound confusing but tbh im just requesting this since no one requested sum from the manga. how about something like reader arriving at the train station as gojo gets trapped in the prison realm in around chapter 90-91? like shes a shaman and she see geto and has a flashback cuz gojo her and geto were like past buddies? and to think someone could bind gojo?

| barista’s notes : for the people that haven’t read the manga, I would recommend you reading it first before reading this imagine because it has some MAJOR spoilers and I dont think you’ll understand it either way ʅʕ•ᴥ•ʔʃ but defo read it if you haven't, it’s amazing! but moving on from that i hope that you love your order of a cup of black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request)!

Rushing down the stairs of Tokyo Metro, you were trying to get to floor B5F where Gojo was last noted before you heard about the information that he was somehow sealed. With the help of the three other groups that were around the area, you were able to get through the shields that surrounded Shibuya to get to where you needed to be.

You were exhausted. Not physically but mentally as you didn’t know what to expect at all. The second you heard of Gojo’s report on curses forming alliances with each other, you thought he was just bluffing at first and to be honest, his ridiculous drawing wasn't helping with his case either. However, he was someone that you knew you could trust extremely, it had always been like that since both of you became students at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.

With your katana hanging from the side of your hip, you quickly jumped to the bottom on the stairs to save precious time before quickly turning the right corner to see what was the whole situation. However, once your hand was on the handle of your sword, your eyes widened in shock from what was right in front of you.

‘Isn’t he supposed to be dead? That's not him is it?’

What was in your sights now was something that was technically impossible. He was supposed to be dead, there was no way he was alive sitting on the station floor. There were no such possibilities for him to be sitting with his back turned to you right now.

Geto Suguru.

ꕥ

You, Gojo, Geto and Ieiri were standing in front of the now-destroyed house due to Gojo using his technique to free both Utahime and Mei Mei from the house that they have been investigating for the two past days.

“Don’t you think that was a little too much Gojo,” you commented with an awkward giggle as you saw tiny to large pieces falling to the ground, leading to your second-year friend saying, “I don’t think it was too much Y/N-chan, besides how could I have impressed you if I didn't take the opportunity to?”

“I shouldn’t have asked part one...” you quickly muttered, before Gojo started to tease Utahime, who was in the middle of the rubble that was created by your flirtatious friend himself.

“Satoru, it’s not nice to pick on the weak,” Geto suddenly commented, before using one of his spirits to devour the curse that suddenly appeared behind Utahime, only for Gojo to state, “who the heck’s gonna pick on someone strong? You’re the one teasing her without even knowing it Geto,” causing your other friend to now to realise what he had said.

No longer being able to handle both of them, you quickly turned your attention to Utahime and asked, “Utahime, are you okay?”. This small but kind gesture of yours caused the grade-two jujutsu sorcerer, to say your name with such glee before you continued with, “we were worried about you since you didn't call for two days” to which only led the woman to pull you into a tight hug.

‘I shouldn’t have asked part two….I’m legit getting no air’

“Y/N don’t you dare become trash like those two, okay?”

“I’ll try my best”

However, this happy and hilarious moment had to sudden halt when Mei Mei suddenly asked, “where’s the curtain?” causing you, Gojo, Geto and Ieiri to look at her with dumbfounded expressions on your faces.

‘Ahhhhhh shi-’

ꕥ

“There’s someone here who said they put up a curtain and then up and left the auxiliary manager behind and forgot about the curtain too”

At this moment and time, all four of you were on your knees in front of your sensei Masamichi Yaga, as he found out from the news that was shown on the TV above that someone *cough*Gojo*cough* forgot to put up a curtain up like him and Mei Mei stated.

“Fess up”

“Sensei! We’re better than pointing fingers at each other,” Gojo randomly commented, as he raised his hand up to emphasise his point. On the other hand, you, Geto and Ieiri had other plans and all pointed at Gojo for this mishap that had occurred without him realising.

“So it’s you!” your teacher shouted, before landing a strong punch on top of your friend’s head, causing you to know to never mess with your teacher anytime soon.

Even though it wasn’t the best time, you and Geto let out a sly giggle before looking at each other, which only led to both of you laughing, even more, the second you stepped out of the room. As chaotic all four of you were, you wouldn’t change it for the world.

However, it was never meant to be.

ꕥ

“Hey!”

Turning to your right, you saw your friend Geto wave at you with a bright smile on his face. To the outsider, it just seemed like two friends meeting with each other or friends that just casually bumped into each other in the crowded streets. On the other hand, it wasn’t that.

Geto was a criminal on the run. You were just informed by your teacher that your friend massacred a whole village as well as the possibilities of his parents. You didn’t want to believe it. Of course, you couldn’t believe it. Geto wasn’t that type of person, he wasn’t like that at all during your time at Jujutsu high together, were the three years a facade?

“Yo, it’s the criminal” you teasingly greeted him, trying to hide your dejection from his view, “you need something from me?”

“I guess I’m just testing my luck” Geto replied back before taking a stand next to you. From your side perspective, you could see what Gojo was talking about a while back. Your longtime friend looks thinner than he did a year ago, you could clearly see the bags in his eyes indicating that he hadn’t had any sleep the past few days. It was like that ever since the killing of the Star Plasma Vessel, a mission that you, Gojo and Geto failed at.

“I’m gonna ask just to be sure, but are those false charges?” you quietly asked, hoping that all this was a lie, a stupid cruel prank that was set up by someone. However, you knew somewhere in your heart that this was the reality that you were in, there was no escaping from this one.

“Nah, unfortunately not”

“Again to be sure, why?” you quietly questioned him, trying to conceal the tears that were threatening to flow down your face.

“I’ll create a world where only shamans exist,” Geto calmly answered, causing you to snap your head in his direction. A world where only shamans exist? What more stupid of a reason he could give you?

“That’s hilarious,” you stated, before you slowly carried on with, “if humans were eliminated, we shamans wouldn’t even have a purpose at all, your reasoning is the most stupid thing I ever heard in my life Geto,”

Geto turned to look at you, only to find you casually open your phone to call Gojo on your sightings on your friend.

“However, I hope that you’re happy now that you're choosing this path. I really hope you get what I’m saying and you don’t live to regret,” you stated, as you place your device next to your ear. “I hope you're happy in the end my friend, that’s all I’m asking for,” you ended your statement before Gojo was on the other side of the line.

“Thank you Y/N”

“Gojo, I met Geto in Shinjuku”

“Did you question him? Did you kill him?”

“I didn’t…...have the heart to Gojo, I’m sorry”

There was nothing but silence between the both of you which gave you the chance to look to your right, only to see that your friend had disappeared from your side. As if he wasn’t there in the first place.

“Hey Gojo...it was never meant to be ha?” you rhetorically asked, as a single tear slowly slid down your face.

ꕥ

Geto Suguru was right there in front of you. Sitting on the ground on the train station with his back turned to you.

However, as much as you wanted to believe that it was true, you knew that it wasn’t really him.

It was just impossible.

Taking your katana out of its black wooden sheath, you were preparing for any attacks that could happen around you right now before you could begin to question who the person in front of you was.

“Who are you?”

The man turned around, slowly showing the face of a man that was someone that was close to both you and Gojo all those years back causing you to look at the person that was in front of you with sorrowful eyes. You wished it was him. But as you said, it was never meant to be.

“Y/N! I'm not surprised that you were able to get through all those shields, you are powerful like Satoru after all,” the man happily commented with the same smile that you missed so dearly.

“I said who are you?!” you repeated in a firmer tone, telling the person that you weren’t playing around anymore as you raised your katana, making the sharp pointed tip to be in level with his face - even if he was far in distance.

“Come on, is that how you greet an old friend?”

“How the hell did you get the Prison Realm within your possession?” you asked, as you looked down at the small cube that Gojo was supposedly in. How such a small thing was able to seal such a powerful shaman like Gojo? You would never know.

“Y/N, we were in the same team for three years, I would assume you know I’m able to get what I need, I am Geto after all,”

“Shut up!” you shouted, surprising the person from your sudden outburst. “I’m not stupid, so don’t you dare play with me for even a second”

“I know you’re not Geto”

“Me and Gojo knew that from the start”

“It wasn’t meant to be”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru imagines #geto suguru imagine #geto suguru imagines

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

Text

Curiosity pt.6

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

A month passes. You don’t talk in class, just keep your head bowed low, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. You ignore Tom in the hallways and in the lessons you share. You suppose that you should probably revert to calling him Riddle, but referring to a man you’ve had sex with by their last name, even in the comfort of your own head, makes you feel dirty.

He tries to talk to you twice. He doesn’t try a third time.

You don’t tell Marie or Stephanie what’s transpired between you and Tom and eventually, they stop asking. You’re content to let them believe that whatever courtship or relationship they thought had been budding between the two of you had died. It’s easier to pretend that you’re just sad that you’ve missed your chance with Hogwarts’ most sought after bachelor. The truth is so much more complicated.

The last of the bitter Scottish winter gives way into Spring and with it comes blue skies, crisp winds, and luscious greenery. Stephanie’s attention is fixed firmly on the final quidditch matches of the school year and Marie begins her yearly fretting over exams. You’re left in blessed peace to ruminate on and stew in your own misery.

It’s far too early on a Saturday for you to be up, but the Great Hall is always empty until at least nine on the weekends and you’ve taken to avoiding large crowds lest you accidentally run into him. As expected, you’re alone save for the ghosts this morning. You’re stirring honey into your tea when a shadow falls over you. You don’t look up. The shadow coughs politely. You glower at your tea. The shadow sighs and there are footsteps and the sound of someone taking a seat opposite you. When you finally look up, Tom is watching you intently. Merlin, it’s so frustratingly easy to get distracted looking at him. The first thing you notice (and you hate that you do) is that he looks somewhat tense. His expression is a mask of polite indifference and his hands rest casually on the table in front of him but there is a tautness to his posture, as though he’s steeling himself for a fight.

You think that that should please you. At one point, it definitely would have done, but right now you’re still too raw from the events of a month ago to feel anything other than resigned fatigue at his appearance. “You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, and though his tone is placid you can detect a hint of something hard lacing his consonants.

“What good observational skills you have. Though that’s hardly a surprise, seeing as I’ve been on the receiving end of your interest for months at this point.” The anger at your own stupidity and his manipulation rears its head once more and you’re somewhat taken aback by how much venom has crept into your voice.

“Perhaps, if you’d let me explain-”

“No.” You cut him off, gathering your things and shoving them into your bag with more force than is strictly necessary. “No, I will not let you explain. I think you made yourself perfectly clear the last time. You have what you want, your curiosity is sated. You have your own blackmail material on me, should you ever feel the need to use it, and all it took was-” You can’t finish the sentence. All it took was a little flattery and his clever tongue touching and playing with you until you’d… Really, it had taken nothing at all. “I don’t know what else you could possibly need to explain to me. I understand what I am to you and what this entire thing was about. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you just leave me alone.” You don’t hang around to see understanding dawn on Tom’s face, nor do you hang around to see resolve settle firmly on his shoulders.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat with your arms wrapped tightly around your knees underneath a yew tree by the lake, your bag thrown haphazardly a few feet away. You stare at the lake and determinedly blink back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks. A horrible mix of embarrassment and anger is bubbling in your stomach and your hands shake as you reach down and tug blindly at strands of grass as if they are what your ire is directed at. Merlin, you’ve been stupid. Incredibly, horrendously stupid. You’d known that Riddle was bad news. You hadn’t trusted him from the moment he’d smiled down at you that evening in the dining hall. Almost every meeting between the both of you since had been a constant push and pull, neither of you willing to back down or give way… And now…

Now he has the information that he wanted and the game is up. You’ve lost. And all because somewhere along the line you had forgotten exactly why it was that he’d been interested in you in the first place. You’d let your imagination get the best of you and for a moment you’d let yourself believe that it wasn’t about Mr Larkins anymore. That he was there because of you. Just you and not the secrets that you had tried so hard to keep.

Merlin, what was he going to do with you now that he knew. Blackmailing a teacher (and you have to admit to yourself now that that was exactly what you had been doing) was a serious offence. Enough to get you expelled for sure. Muggles went to prison for blackmail, didn’t they? Would you be sent the Wizengamot? Or would Tom just hold it over your head for eternity? Surely not. He had no use for you now, after all; you can’t keep kidding yourself that he liked or wanted you. You can’t keep kidding yourself that that was part of why this was so painful.

Beyond the fear you feel for your future, rejection is a bitter pill lodged in the back of your throat.

“You might appreciate it if I left you alone, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped running away from me.” Tom’s voice is conversational, cheerful almost. You let out a strangled scream of annoyance. He hums a soft little laugh in response. He settles himself down beside you, long legs stretching out in from him, crossed over at the ankle. You notice he’s holding the folder. “You honestly think I’d blackmail you?” He asks, still in that conversational toned and you feel your hackles rise.

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

“You seem intent on misunderstanding everything I have to say, I see.” He says and, at last, something approaching annoyance enters his voice. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s frowning slightly. As in the Great Hall, his posture suggests he’s at ease, he’s taken his tie off and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. But something is lurking beneath his relaxed exterior that suggests he’s nervous. “I have no intention of blackmailing you. At first, perhaps, but not any longer. And…” You drop the pretence of not looking at him entirely and turn full to face him. He doesn’t look at you and you get the impression that whatever he’s trying to say does not come easily. “I apologise if that’s the impression I gave you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at the apology, which whilst stilted, appears genuine. Then, almost immediately after narrow in suspicion and indignation. “What other impression could you possibly have given me? Apart from, maybe, toying with me for your own amusement.” You ask acidly.

His jaw clenches and you notice dimly that he’s making hardly any effort to hide his emotions. He’s almost an open book. Which is… strange. You’re reminded of all the times that Tom’s treatment of you has left you feeling confused. Confused because he doesn’t act the same way around you as he does with the rest of your peers. He’ll put on a facade of politeness, sometimes, but it usually unravels within minutes. You’ve watched him charm and flatter the worst of your professors, that small careful smile never faltering until they’re putty in his hands.

He’s tried to intimidate, taunt, and seduce you but he’s never tried to charm you. The realisation hits you harder than you’d like. But so what that Tom doesn’t seem to think you’re worth the effort? Does it matter that he drops his perfect little persona around you? Yes, the quiet, treacherously hopeful voice in your mind whispers, yes it matters. Of course, it matters.

“That we were having fun, perhaps?” He says at last and he looks pained just saying it. As though telling you that some part of him had enjoyed your company and had assumed that you enjoyed his is physically uncomfortable to admit. Maybe it is. “That I believed you and I had some level of understanding regarding our relationship?”

You ask incredulously, “Has this been your way of flirting with me, Tom?” At the sound of his name on your lips, he turns to face you and you can practically see him come undone. His throat constricts around a swallow and you can’t stop yourself from tracing the column of his neck to where his collarbones, surprisingly delicate and sharp protrude from the collar of his open shirt with your eyes. He follows your gaze intently. “You never tried to charm me.” You murmur, finally bring your gaze to meet his.

“I’ve only ever been honest with you,” He replies, his voice equally soft. An admission that his persona is mostly a lie, used to trick and manipulate everyone else. Maybe that should put you off, make you turn away from him for good. It doesn’t. “You can’t blame me for wanting to know you when the few things I did know were so interesting. You can’t blame me for liking you more when I found out the rest.” It’s strange, knowing that the parts of you that usually stop people from liking or trusting you are what draws him to you. Then again, maybe it isn’t strange at all. You’re remarkably similar in so many ways, after all. “I thought, perhaps, that you regretted it.” Regretted me, is what he means. Is what he won’t say. Is what you hear nonetheless.

You’ll need to talk more later; you need to know what he intends to do with the knowledge of your blackmailing schemes but later. Right now… You lick your lower lip and you don’t miss the way he tracks the movement. “I don’t. Regret it.” He nods once, a short decisive shake of his head. You’ve made up your mind. “You should kiss me now.” And he does. He shifts and suddenly you’re being dragged to his side, one large hand curving around your waist and another cupping your jaw, his fingers tangling in your hair.

You feel like maybe, you’ve just won the best kind of game there is.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #minific

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thekidultlife · 3 years

Text

Plot: After an unexpected encounter with Yoon Jeonghan during a baby shower, more memories unfold from your mind, and his.

Genre: slice of life, angst

Pairing: Jeonghan + fem!reader + Mingyu

Warnings: a bit of explicit language

A/N: Many thanks to my incredibly amazing beta reader, @secndlife, for helping me make this beautiful! Also, I would like to express my gratitude to @xuseokgyu for taking the time to make lovely banners and even a teaser for this series! You are both a joy to work with and I am so blessed to have you both help me. 🧡 Lastly, to our followers and readers who are continually supporting this blog despite its inactivity, thank you! More details about my future works will be addressed after this fic.

Taglist: @haotheheckk, @jeonjungkaka, @soonhoonsol, @fluffyhyeju, @minkwans

“If you love me like you tell me, please be careful with my heart. you can take it, just don’t break it — or my world will fall apart.”

🍁🎧🧡

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley you were walking on were damp from the rain that had recently poured. It was chipped and uneven in some places, and your thin-strapped sandals would sometimes slip and get stuck between the cobblestones. Despite the imperfections of this street, you had come to love it, just like every other self-respecting college student living around the vicinity. Behind you, the signage of restaurants and thrift stores flashed in bright neon blues and violets, blending with the honey-golden glow of the lights coming from the shops and apartment buildings that rose around you.

This alley was the most beautiful place to go to in the city.

It was a beautiful Saturday night, too, and in your opinion, you had spent it well.

You were walking back to the dorms with your friends and a couple of seniors. You were in the back of the group, where it was quieter. Clutching your arm was Jung Mirae, one of your roommates, who was struggling to walk straight after too many beers.

In the process of half-dragging Mirae, an alarm from your phone rang. You hasted to get it switched off.

Bright laughter pierced the stillness as the ones just a few steps ahead of you, Park Hyewon and Lee Joonyoung, your best friends besides Mirae, kept on cracking jokes that would make the whole group roar with laughter. You giggled at their ridiculousness occasionally while trying to keep Mirae on her feet.

Hangout nights are incomplete without these two, you thought to yourself, as you studied long-legged, pink-haired Hyewon and the tall, broad-shouldered Joonyoung. You watched as they made mean comments at each other and then made up for the teasing by giving each other kisses.

“Gross!” someone called out from behind you, and you could not help but smile.

Joonyoung turned around and playfully gave the finger to the person who had shouted out. "Go get yourself a girlfriend, Sunwoo! It's clear to me that you’re in need of love.”

The group snickered at Joonyoung's words.

As you listened to everyone talk about how good the night was and how hellish the next week would be with final exams coming up, you felt cold fingers touch your cheek.

You turned to Mirae, who was looking up at you with quizzical—albeit drunken—eyes.

“Hey, Y/N." Mirae’s voice was loud and clear in the narrow alley. You brushed her hand away gently. "Why are you crying?”

“What do you mean?” You put a hand over her mouth and tried to tell her to stop spouting off nonsense, but it was then that you felt it—the wet trickle of tears on your face. Surprised, you wiped them away with your hand.

It was true.

You were crying.

The walking paused. Footsteps ceased over the cobbled pavement as everyone halted to look over at you. Your cheeks reddened at the unwanted attention.

“Y/N, is something wrong? Here, let me have Mirae.” One of your classmates reached out to take Mirae.

“Thank you.” I think I drank too much, you despaired, as you kept wiping at your face and waving people away. You made attempts to control your emotions, but nothing could stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you kept saying over and over with a hoarse voice that almost didn’t sound like you. “Keep walking, please! Don’t mind me. I think I just drank too much.” You gave a shaky laugh and rubbed your eyes. “I get like this sometimes. Sorry.”

“You did not drink too much tonight, though,” someone commented dubiously. The others agreed and continued to look at you with confused expressions. "You never do."

“Jin-ah is right. And you don’t ‘get like this sometimes,’ babe.” Just a few feet away from you and leaning against Joonyoung, Hyewon crossed her arms. Her face, full of concern over your sudden outburst of emotions, made her look as though she hadn’t spent the night drinking as much as the guys did. “What's wrong?”

“I really don’t know, to be honest.” You pushed a strand of hair away from your face and made a poor attempt to smile at Hyewon. "I think it’s just the beer. Really."

Hyewon looked like she didn’t want to stop questioning you.

Please don’t ask me anything more, you begged with your eyes.

Joonyoung nudged Hyewon casually.

"Okay." Hyewon shrugged as she reluctantly conceded to your lame answers. She walked up to you, linked her arm with yours, and turned to grin at the others placatingly. “Let’s go home for real, gang! I think my girlfriend here just needs to sleep.”

Everyone nodded, put on happy faces, and eagerly put the awkward scene behind them. They once again started with the jokes and laughter and even managed to loop you into their silly conversations. However, their eyes avoided you most of the time, and their jokes were careful. You sensed that nobody wanted to have any part in pulling any triggers you might have. Tonight was no time to be sad. With finals coming up, no one needed any sort of emotional baggage. You felt bad for making them cautious, but you were also grateful for their thoughtfulness about your feelings.

The happy atmosphere became short-lived, though, as five minutes later, a sound cut through the alley and through the facades that everyone was putting up for your sake. It made all of them stop in their tracks once more. Even Hyewon stiffened beside you.

The sound perfectly explained everything that was going on with you, and there was no hiding it now.

Your alarm was playing again.

“Oh, fuck.” Hyewon let out a huge breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked as though she was trying to block out the sound. “Y/N, for goodness’ sake, don’t be an idiot. Don’t listen to it. Turn it off—”

But of course, like an idiot, you listened.

“Hey there. If you find yourself listening to this, then it means we have made it to Year 3. Please meet me at the same place where we are tonight: the art pier, one hour before the day ends. I'll be the stupid-looking guy standing by the yacht statue while holding too many roses. I love you. Happy Anniversary!"

This alarm shouldn’t be ringing—because you didn’t make it to Year 3.

“Please turn it off.”

Joonyoung, who was right behind you, reached for your bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out your phone. Glaring at the screen, he shut it off and dropped the phone in the bag again.

The alleyway was silent for a while.

Hyewon sighed. And then she leaned against you and said softly, “Let’s go home.”

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley you were still walking on were damp from the rain that had recently poured. Hands would steady you from behind when your thin-strapped sandals would slip and get stuck between the loose cobblestones. No one drunk should walk on this alley with its imperfect pavements, but you had come to love it, just like every other self-respecting college student living around the vicinity. As you passed, the signage of restaurants and thrift stores flashed in bright neon blues and violets before melting into the ever-constant amber colors of the street lights.

This alley was the most beautiful place to go to in this city.

It was a beautiful Saturday night, too, and in your opinion, you had spent it well. But you weren’t supposed to spend this night here. Not in this place, despite its beauty, no.

You were supposed to be somewhere else.

You were supposed to be with someone else.

“I know that everybody here is trying to be nice, but let me say it for all of you here, so you don’t have to wonder how it sounds.” Joonyoung kicked a crumpled beer can out of his way as he walked. “Fuck Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Oh, please, Lee Joonyoung.” Hyewon sounded tired. “Thank you for making Y/N more miserable.”

“What do you mean? Bubs, I’m not the douchebag who—ah, whatever.” Joonyoung shrugged and flung middle fingers up the sky. “Wherever you are, Yoon Jeonghan, fuck you!”

“He’s completely drunk,” Hyewon said apologetically, looking around her; some of the campus seniors with you were friends of Jeonghan’s. “Sorry.” And then, looking at Joonyoung exasperatedly, she hissed, “Joonyoung. Cut it out.”

“Let him be,” you said in a drained voice, “let him be.”

You were supposed to be with Yoon Jeonghan tonight, but you weren’t. He was long gone, and all you have left of him was something that you had somehow forgotten to remove, something you wished so desperately to forget.

All you have left of him was his voice—frozen in time through that alarm.

The rest was memories and history.

🍁🎧🧡

Mingyu sips from a coffee mug and nods in understanding as you finish speaking. He leans back on one of the steps of the townhouse, where you both sit. Cars drive down your neighborhood street, their headlights coloring the concrete road with hazy white and yellow lights. You watch their signals blink as they find spaces to park. Leaves continue to fall, and some end up in your hair. You feel Mingyu brush them away. You smile and do the same for him.

It is way past midnight, and here you both sit, snuggling to keep warm against the cold night air and talking about a love long gone.

“So,” Mingyu traces the rim of his coffee cup as he puts the pieces together, “you and Jeonghan-hyung dated during uni days?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm. We dated for two years. And then we broke up during my junior year, which was when that alley story happened.” You look at your boyfriend in mock suspicion. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you sure you want to listen to this story? Because we don’t need to talk about this if you aren’t comfortable—”

“—No, no, baby, I’m okay!” Mingyu chuckles a little bit as he turns to you. “I’m perfectly fine. I really want to know. If you’re not comfortable talking about it, though, we could just put it behind us.” He smiles at you. “I’m okay either way.”

He had stepped onto a minefield of your past without warning. He’s not supposed to be okay either way. You keep staring at him, not believing what he said.

“But, babe…” You sigh as you look at him. “Instead of talking about how Jeonghan and I ended up dating years ago, why don’t we talk about other things first?” You keep searching his face for any sign of uneasiness, any sign of hurt or confusion. “Like, how you felt when you found out. Or, how to avoid getting ambushed by stuff like this in the future.” You lean against him. “I don’t want something like this to happen again, no matter how great we both are at handling surprises. I think this is a good time to talk about things we haven’t talked about yet. Exes, our most embarrassing moments—” you giggle as Mingyu laughs at your last words. “Hey, I’m serious here!”

Your mind recalls the events of the night. You remember twirling in front of your full-length mirror to admire your new dress. You remember how perfect Mingyu had looked when he stepped out of his car and walked up to you. You remember the car ride, the conversation that you had about meeting his family and kissing underneath the porchlight of Aera’s house. You remember the baby shower: meeting Mingyu’s parents, Kim Aera, and Mingyu’s other friends. You remember how happy and secure you felt with Mingyu beside you as he introduced you to his family and some high-profile friends. You remember the crib and the games.

You remember Choi Seungcheol’s surprised expression and shaking Yoon Jeonghan’s hand for the first time in years. You remember Kwon Soonyoung’s drunken announcement.

“So, the former flames have finally met!”

“Well, I guess I got surprised when I found out that you guys used to date,” Mingyu clarifies, “but if we will talk about whether I had strong, negative feelings about the whole thing...” his voice trails off as he looks at you.

“...Uh-huh?” you prod.

Mingyu shakes his head. “I didn’t have any.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry about me. To be honest, what surprised me the most was the fact that I handled the situation pretty well. Back when we were still at Aera’s house, I really did my best to be careful with how I took in the whole thing. I took care not to show how surprised I was with my expressions, my words...”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod along with him as his voice trails off. “Yes. I agree. You handled it pretty well. But I am still so sorry for dropping that bomb on you that way.” You look up at him with an apologetic expression. “We haven’t really talked about past relationships that much yet, so...”

“Y/N, please don’t overthink.” His face hovers inches away from yours as he looks deep into your eyes. “See?” He makes all sorts of cute expressions, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m okay.”

You become willing to believe him, but then you catch him looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Although,” Mingyu adds, “I did feel a bit self-conscious.” He sighs dramatically, and he pouts—adorably. “I mean, he’s the Yoon Jeonghan. You dated the Yoon Jeonghan that most girls nowadays are swooning over. Who am I compared to that?”

As he continues to make such cute faces while saying the most outrageous things, you stare at him, open-mouthed. “What the hell.” You had seen through his joke, of course, but you could not help but look at him incredulously. “Is my boyfriend actually saying this to me right now while looking so drop-dead gorgeous beside me? Is he really comparing himself right now to someone else?”

Mingyu ignores your words and continues. “Yoon Jeonghan, actor extraordinaire, ranking twentieth at this year’s Asia’s Sexiest 100. Hmm. Yes.” He considers his words and nods. “I did feel intimidated. He’s good-looking and is amazing at acting and—”

“—Whoa, whoa, whoa.” You put your mug down beside you, and you giggle as you take Mingyu’s face in your hands. “You are one gorgeous person, too, and I am so, so in love with you. Stop comparing yourself to him.” You nuzzle his face, smiling. “I know you’re just joking about this, but please. Stop.”

He continues to look at you with a playful pout, but his eyes turn darker voice drops a notch lower. “Make me.”

You feel him grin against your lips as you make him stop speaking.

At the back of your head, you remember Kim Aera’s words when she talked about her husband.

“Not all women are as fortunate as I am, you know? Some of us meet such crappy guys that it’s a miracle I ended up finding someone worth the wedding vows.”

You aren’t one to believe in fortunes, so you try to think about all the things you must have done right to deserve a man such as Kim Mingyu. More importantly, you wonder if you would be able to keep him by your side.

Too much thinking, too much thinking, you chastise yourself as you kiss Mingyu harder, wanting to erase everything from your mind.

“I love you,” you say after a while.

“I love you, too. But where were we with your story?” Mingyu lets go of you and takes his mug once more. Leaves still fall from the trees. The streetlights glow brighter as midnight darkens. A green sedan stops directly across you both, and you watch as a man staggers out of the driver’s side.

“Well, if you really want to hear all about it, it would take us all night.” You look up at him with an enticing, hopeful smile. “Do you want to stay the night here? Hyewon and Joonyoung would be thrilled to have you. We can do storytime together with them.” You shake your head. “I still haven’t said a word to them about meeting Jeonghan again because we only went upstairs to get coffee. Hyewon will get a kick out of this.”

Mingyu laughs softly. “I can imagine.” He kisses your forehead before taking your hand. “Let’s head back inside.”

No more cars drive down your neighborhood street. No more hazy yellow and white headlights color the dark concrete road. Mingyu takes your hand and pulls you up from the steps. You feel him brush away some leaves from your hair once more. You look up at him appreciatively, and you do the same for him. Across the street, a glaring woman opens the front door for the drunken man from the green sedan.

You retreat indoors for the night. You think about how to tell Mingyu everything. And when Hyewon opens the door to greet you both, you wonder if she and Joonyoung would help you get the facts right about how you and Jeonghan started and how you and Jeonghan eventually ended.

With all these thoughts in your head, you faintly hear your phone ring in your purse. Getting a sense of déjà vu from the story that you had told Mingyu earlier, you feel chills run up and down your spine as you pull your phone out.

“Who’s your midnight caller, girlfriend?” Hyewon goodnaturedly teases as she takes your empty mug from your hand. Her face looks flushed, and you remember that she and Joonyoung had been drinking when you left them earlier. “Joonyoung! Mingyu’s here!”

“I have a confession to make,” you say as you look at the caller ID. “Mingyu and I ran into Jeonghan and Seungcheol at his cousin’s baby shower.”

Hyewon’s face pales at your words. “You what?”

“We did,” Mingyu says softly, scratching his head while smiling at Hyewon. “He’s a good hyung of mine and Aera’s in the industry. We’ve been friends for a long time, but I didn’t know that he and Y/N used to date.”

“Huh,” Hyewon breathes out. “All these years, the only way we could see him was on TV. We never ran across him, ever. And now we find out that he’s good friends with your boyfriend’s family.” Hyewon raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Imagine that.”

“You met Jeonghan?” Joonyoung bounds into the foyer, which suddenly becomes crowded with the four of you there. “Was he with anyone else?”

“Just him and Seungcheol-hyung,” Mingyu answers.

“Let’s not talk about this here. Come on in, you two. We still have some pizza, chicken, and beer.” Hyewon manages to push the two guys into the living room. She turns to you, clearly wanting to talk to you in private, but you put up a hand.

“Hold on.” Your phone is vibrating in your hand, and you hastily answer the call. “Hello?”

🍁🎧🧡

He leans on the railings of the rooftop bar, a drink in one hand and a phone in the other. As he gazes at the city below, he knows that he has had too much to drink. The lights have started to pulse too much. The numbness inside him has finally reached his fingertips. He considers stopping to drink this last glass, but his call finally goes through.

At the sound of the voice on the other line, he decides that he needs this one last shot of bourbon.

“I know that it’s too late to call you now,” he whispers almost inaudibly, “but if I don’t say this tonight, I probably never will.”

He lets go of the empty glass in his hand, and he watches as it shatters on the ground.

“I miss you,” he says, oblivious of the curses and complaints from the people around him. “And I know that you’re in a happy place now, but I—” A painful pause ensues as he stands there, lost for words. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he tries to ignore the ache in his throat and the burning in his eyes. “—I just wanted you to know that. Everything about this call feels wrong because I know that I am not supposed to and that I have no right to call you anymore, but I will never stop wondering how these words sound like if I don’t say it right now.” A tortured grin spreads across his lips. “I miss you.”

The phone falls out of his hands, and he blindly falls to the ground to pick it up. Sharp fragments from the broken glass cut through his skin and the material of his pants, but he doesn’t feel the pain. He is too numb right now. He couldn’t even feel his legs. As he futilely tries to smoothen the cracked screen on his phone, he hears a loud voice coming from a megaphone.

“And cut!” The director’s voice rings loud and clear throughout the rooftop bar. He walks over to Jeonghan, who is still trying to bring his phone back to life. “Okay, did I suddenly step into some shitty romance movie after the break? What was all that?” The director impatiently turns around and gestures to the crew behind him. “I need a medical kit here; and another phone, please. Geez. What has gotten into you tonight?”

“Sorry,” Jeonghan says apologetically. “I just got too immersed with my role.” He shakily stands up. “And I can’t feel my legs.”

The director shakes his head. “Look, Jeonghan, I know that you love ad-libs. I love your ad-libs, too. You know that. But your last lines threw me off.” He squints his eyes suspiciously at Jeonghan. “Where did you go tonight? You were fine the whole day, and then you suddenly get picked up by your friend. The minute you come back to work, you’re a different person.” He shakes his head again and walks away. “Read the script and pull yourself together. We’ll be taking a short break. And apologize to your co-star for spouting out all that mushy stuff!”

“What was that about?” Seungcheol has appeared from out of nowhere, arms crossed. “Why were you telling Jihoon that you missed him?”

Jeonghan laughs. He gestures weakly with his hand as he answers, “It’s the bourbon.”

“Who on earth actually drinks half a dozen shots while filming?” Seungcheol pauses as he studies Jeonghan’s face. “And why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” Jeonghan wipes away something wet from his face. “Stop bitching, Cheol, and just help me sit down somewhere.”

“Oh, Yoon Jeonghan.” Seungcheol sighs as guides Jeonghan to the nearest steel chair. “You said you would be able to come back to work after the baby shower! God, I was an idiot for believing you.”

“This is not about the baby shower,” Jeonghan protests weakly as he leans back against the chair. “Leave me alone and let me rest. Please.” He closes his eyes.

“So," Seungcheol fishes around for words, "what was that about?"

Jeonghan doesn’t answer.

Seungcheol sighs again. “Was she the one you were ‘talking to’ in that phone call?”

Silence.

“Jeonghan—”

“—She looked happy.” Jeonghan’s voice is calm, but tears still escape his closed eyes. He leans to the side as though he wanted to sleep. “They looked happy. And when I saw them kiss by the front porch when we got to Aera’s, I felt funny." He grins. "I felt funny because a part of me got hurt—” He pounds his chest. “—Right here.” His grin widens. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just like this because I haven't seen her for a long time."

The rooftop bar is buzzing with activity: the director is making changes with the camera angles, someone is adjusting the brightness of the floodlights, and the extras are practicing the not-so-easy art of blending in with the scene. Jeonghan hears someone sweep the broken glass from the tiled floor.

“Mingyu is a good guy,” Seungcheol offers sympathetically. “At least we can both be sure that she will be alright.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jeonghan continues pounding his chest with his bandaged hand. “I know.”

“You are my first romance, and I’m willing to take a chance that till life is through, I’d still be loving you.”

🍁🎧🧡

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley that he is walking on are still the same. It feels damp, even though no rain had poured that night. It is still chipped and uneven in some places, and he remembers how your thin-strapped sandals would sometimes slip and get stuck between the cobblestones. Despite the imperfections of this street, he knows that you loved it. But while you had loved this place for its bright lights and broken cobblestones, he had loved it for what it contained: the restaurants and thrift stores, all of which still had signs that flash in bright neon blues and violets.

And he loved them because of the memories he had created inside them—memories that he had made with you.

He vividly remembers the first plate of spaghetti that you shared at Georgie’s, a quaint restaurant that would have been considered Italian but for the sweet spaghetti sauce that it serves. He has not forgotten the taste because he still goes there on Thursdays. And he has never forgotten the way you had laughed while eating spaghetti as he confessed that he wanted to date you.

“You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds coming out of your mouth,” you had said while pushing away your plate. Your eyes had been gleaming with humor then, but your voice had been guarded and careful. “To put it simply, sunbae, I am not going to date you.” You had shrugged, and locks of your hair had tumbled across that denim jacket that he had loved seeing on you. “You know why.”

He had known then.

You had never fallen in love before. That knowledge should have made him cautious, but he admits to himself now that it had made him all the more desperate to snag that spot in your heart marked, “First Love.”

It was at Georgie’s that you had first rejected him, but it was there that you also said yes to him a few months later. Twirling pasta in your plate, you had murmured, “Okay. Let’s date. But Yoon Jeonghan—” Your voice had shaken. And then you had looked at him.

“Please be careful with my heart.”

He had answered that with your first kiss.

At signless thrift stores that are scattered a few stalls away from each other, Jeonghan remembers patiently waiting for you as you picked clothes for him and art supplies for yourself. He remembers how you would stand to the side to let Hyewon and Mirae haggle with the storekeeper. He remembers your apologetic expression when you felt like Hyewon or Mirae had taken the bargaining too far. He smiles as he remembers how embarrassed you would be during those times.

And then he smiles wider as he remembers Hyewon’s sharp fingernails that had dug on his shoulder when she pulled him aside during the first time he tagged along for the shopping. He chuckles as he remembers how menacing she had looked.

“If dating my goody-two-shoes Y/N is payback because I broke your best friend’s heart a few years ago,” Hyewon warns darkly, “then you’d better know that I’ll be coming for you. And I have no qualms whatsoever about tearing you to shreds. You got that?” She had dug her nails deeper at that point.

“I don’t care what history you had with my best friend,” he had answered calmly. “I am dating Y/N because I love her. That’s all there is. You’re reading way too much into this, Park Hyewon.”

“Am I?” Hyewon had scoffed, clearly unconvinced. “Yoon Jeonghan, why are you dating Y/N? The real reason, please."

"I love her," he repeated. "That's all."

"No. That's not it. I refuse to believe that’s your reason. And we both know here that you can’t fool me with that crap.” She had let go of him then, but not before throwing out a few more words that sounded like a prophecy. Throwing up her hands in the air and rolling her eyes, she had said, “I’m calling it: you’ll only break Y/N's heart.”

Funny how Hyewon turned out to be right.

“This alley is the most beautiful place to go to in the city, isn’t it?”

At that moment, Jeonghan stops in his tracks. He stops reminiscing.

He whirls around, his eyes wide and almost sober, searching for the owner of that voice. His heartbeats quicken. He clenches his jaw as another knife of pain stabs through him at those words.

You used to say the same thing to him. You used to say those words while holding his hand or whenever he would kiss you unannounced while you walked this street. You used to say those words while looking up at him. He would never get lost anywhere in the world, but he used to get lost in your eyes when you did so.

He squints his eyes, certain that it had been you who had spoken. But as his vision focuses on the owner of the voice, he feels his heart sink inside him.

Of course, it wasn’t you. Jeonghan laughs at himself and his stupidity.

It wasn’t you. It was some stupid co-ed echoing the words that any college student would say about this street. It wasn’t you because you were long gone from him now, and he had nothing left of you but all these memories that still plague him in this fucking alleyway.

It wasn’t you because Jeonghan had done what Hyewon had said that he would do.

A hand grabs his arm. “Let’s go, Yoon Jeonghan. You shouldn’t be here.”

Jeonghan recognizes Seungcheol’s voice. He grins at his friend’s frustrated face as he trips on a stupid loose cobblestone. “Hello, there. Why do you keep appearing out of nowhere? And did you also think of Hyewon while following me along this legendary street? You only loved this street because of Hyewon, but you still feel it, right?” Jeonghan helps himself up and absently studies his dirtied pants. “The nostalgia this place evokes?”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol snaps, “just shut up. You know, I expected you to act more maturely than this, Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan laughs. “Can’t a guy walk in peace?”

Seungcheol stops walking. He lets go of Jeonghan’s arm, and he faces Jeonghan with a furious expression. “You have no right to get hung up over Y/N,” he says with a poisonous tone. “You have no right at all.”

Seungcheol’s words slice through Jeonghan like a blade he didn’t see coming. He wasn't able to brace for it. He didn’t expect those words to come, especially from Seungcheol.

“You broke her heart.” Seungcheol’s tone is more fit for a eulogy than for a conversation with his best friend. “You made a choice years ago. What did you expect the ending to be? You can’t cry now.” His face softens. “Be a man. Accept that she’s moved on. Did you see her face earlier at the baby shower? She didn’t even look at you with any hurt or anger.” He presses a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “She looks happy. Was she surprised to have seen you? Yes. But she has clearly moved on, and so should you.”

There is silence for a while until Seungcheol hands him a face mask.

"Spare yourself the hell you'd experience from gossip rags and wear the fucking mask. You look terrible and stupid, coming here without any disguise at all. These aren’t uni days anymore, dumbass."

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley that Jeonghan and Seungcheol are walking on are still the same. It feels damp, even though no rain had poured that night. It is chipped and uneven in some places, and both men could still remember how easily one could trip and fall on the slippery cobblestones. But despite the imperfections of this street, they both know someone who had loved it for what it was.

Yes, you had loved this alleyway for its bright lights and broken cobblestones. Seungcheol had loved it because of your friend Hyewon, but Jeonghan had loved it for what it contained: the restaurants and thrift stores, all of which still had signs that flash in bright neon blues and violets.

And he loved them because of the memories he had created inside them—memories that he had made with you.

But now he realizes that this alleyway is a literal Memory Lane, bringing him back to the past and clouding his judgment of the present.

As he walks past Georgie’s, He remembers your words again.

“Please be careful with my heart.”

Friday has barely ended, and Saturday is just about to begin, but when Georgie’s fades behind him, he laughs. He laughs like the idiot that he is, and tears pour out of his eyes as he does so.

“I will be true to you—just a promise from you will do: from the very start, please be careful with my heart.”

🍁🎧🧡

The truth has finally hit him.

Everything that he had with you—all of it—is now just memories and history.

And his conviction that he should stop riding this rollercoaster of emotions about you becomes even more pronounced when his phone vibrates, and he picks up a call.

“Where are you?” a woman’s voice asks, worried. “I’ve been up all night waiting at your apartment.”

Seungcheol mouths, Who is it?

Jeonghan flashes the phone at Seungcheol.

It was Jung Mirae.

“I love you and you know I do—there’ll be no one else for me. I promise I’ll be always true, for the world and all to see. Love has heard some lies softly spoken, and I have had my heart badly broken; I’ve been burned and I’ve been hurt before.”

🍁🎧🧡

Mingyu stops staring at the ceiling and turns to look at you. You are sleeping beside him, tucked under his arm, and he is happy. He had spent the night with you, going through your memories and learning from them. He had spent the whole night immersed in the past that you had inside you.

Yes, indeed, he had learned a lot about you tonight. And as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispers something that you did not hear. He whispers words that he just wants to prove to you with actions.

“I’ll be careful with your heart,” Mingyu whispers as he kisses your hair, your neck, your bare shoulder, “because I know how it feels to get hurt, too.” If you had been awake at that point, you would have seen the pensive, faraway look in his eyes as he walks down his own cobblestoned path—his own Memory Lane. If you had been awake, you would have worried about his expression like he knows you would. So he quickly smiles at your peaceful, sleeping face.

“I have a story, too,” he adds softly, “but I’ll save it for later.” He hugs you close to him. “For now, I’ll just be content with taking care of you.” He kisses your lips, and you stir. “Of us.”

When your eyes open, he shyly ducks under the covers, his twinkling eyes peeking at you. And as you protest that it was late and that he should sleep, he laughs softly, and he nods. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of you.”

“What?” you ask, uncomprehending. “Say again, baby?”

“Nothing.” He hugs you close again. “Just that I love you.”

You fall back into sleep at his words, and he keeps watching you until his eyes close on their own.

“I love you,” he whispers again.

“So I know just how you feel: trust that my love is real for you. I’ll be gentle with your heart—I’ll caress it like the morning dew. I’ll be right beside you forever, I won’t let our world fall apart. From the very start, I’ll be careful with your heart.”

Author’s Note: Thank you very much for reading! I know that I have been very slow and inconsistent with my updates, but as long as there are unfinished WIPs on this list, please expect me to keep posting, no matter how sporadic. Tell me what you think about this part on the askbox, comments/reblogs! Thank you! - Leanne.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #svtcreations #seventeen angst #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan #jeonghan angst #svt scenarios #svt angst

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Prince

Spot’s surprised to find that Brooklyn has a new newsie joining its ranks, a boy he calls Prince who came to his turf from Queens. The only problem is that there may be more to Prince than meets the eye, like the fact that he isn’t a boy but instead Jack Kelly’s sister who ran away from Manhattan.

masterlist

Spot stands at the outskirts of the main room of the lodging house, leaning idly against a wall. It’s been a long, hard day, and he wants nothing more than to go to bed and forget everything that happened. Despite his whole ‘King of Brooklyn’ reputation as a ruthless leader, people tend to forget that Spot’s still a teenager. His unfazed glare is just a facade; behind it, someone still struggles to grow up too fast in a world that needs him to do the work of five just to survive.

A voice shouts out from behind him. “Hey, Spot! Got someone new here. They think they want to sell papes with us.” Spot waves a hand at the approaching figure without looking. “We already got enough mouths to feed.” The voice shouts back. “This one can pay! They was a newsie from Queens, and they got the pennies to prove it.” This piques Spot’s interest, and he turns around to see Snaps, one of the many Brooklyn newsies, approaching. There’s another boy not far behind him.

Spot fixes the newcomer with a piercing gaze. To be honest, he’s not sure how he feels about this guy. He’s already got a newsie cap, but it’s pulled low over their forehead to hide their face. They don’t look Spot in the eyes, as if they’re afraid of something. Fear isn’t something Brooklyn newsies should even know about.

“Who are you, and why did you leave Queens to come to Brooklyn? Don’t you know we’re tougher than any of youse?” The boy just shrugs. “Queens got boring. Figured I wouldn’t have that problem here.” Spot stares for a moment longer, then breaks into a short laugh. “Okay, I like this kid. Welcome to Brooklyn.”

Spot gestures for the newcomer to follow him. “Come on. Bunks is in here. This one’s empty, that’ll work for you. You used to be a newsie in Queens, so I assume you know the rules. Get up and ready by the circulation bell. Sell your papes and don’t take no for an answer. You already eaten tonight?” The new boy nods, and Spot raps his knuckles distractedly against the bunk before starting to head out. “Stay up however late you want. The rest of us will head out in an hour or so.”

You’ve done it. You really just did it. You’re now a Brooklyn newsie. It had taken everything you had to go through with your plan, even though you’d been thinking it through for weeks. Get up with the other Manhattan newsies like usual, pretend you were just going through a normal day. When the other boys leave, you pack your bag, dress up like a boy, and head over to Brooklyn, making sure you’re not seen on the way there. You say you’re from Queens, they let you in. End of story.

Only, that’s not really the truth. Yes, you’d been a newsie before, but only barely. You were great at selling papes, that wasn’t the problem. No, the real obstacle standing between you and surviving on the streets of Manhattan was your brother. Jack Kelly.

See, Jack seemed to have some sort of old-fashioned idea that girls couldn’t- or shouldn’t- sell papes. Every time you tried to head out with the other newsies, he’d stretch out an arm in front of you with that same skeptical look on his face. You can almost hear his voice now. “And where do you think you’re going?” You always said the same thing. “Out to sell papes like anyone else.” You had tried to argue that you had to support yourself in some way, that it wasn’t fair that the other Manhattan boys had to slave away on the streets while you just sat around all day, but Jack wouldn’t hear a word. He’d make you stay at the lodging house, off the streets and out of trouble, or at least according to him.

You knew that he didn’t mean anything by it, that he was just trying to protect you. Jack felt guilty that his own sister would have to be selling papes right beside him, and he figured that as long as you didn’t have to do the same exhausting work you would be fine. However, you were sick of it. You could sell papes just as well as him, and you were tired of being nothing more than an afterthought. That’s why you decided to run away to Brooklyn. It was the last place Jack would look for you, and it would finally give you a chance to sell papes and really earn your spot alongside the other newsies.

You think your disguise had worked, but you still stay up late until you’re sure all of the other Brooklyn newsies are asleep before slipping out of bed and out of the window to stand on one of the fire escapes. You pull off your newsboy cap, reaching up to remove every last pin tying your hair in place and carefully slipping them into your pocket. You run your hands through your hair, sighing in relief. There’s a bandage wrapping around your chest to make your figure seem like more of a boy’s, but you’re able to take that off from underneath your shirt, wrapping it idly around your hands.

You stare out at the Brooklyn skyline before you. It’s funny- it’s the same city as Manhattan, same area of land. Yet it looks so different. It seems to promise possibilities, a future where you’re finally able to step out of Jack’s ever looming shadow. It’s your turn now, your turn to live and dream just as fervently as you wish. You sigh quietly, peaceful at last, then tear your gaze away from the city and head back inside. You pull the threadbare blankets close around you, curling up for a night’s rest.

You get up early the next morning before everyone else, taking care to rewrap your chest and repin your hair before people can see you. You’re not sure how long your disguise will hold out, but hopefully long enough that people will trust you and look the other way if they see something odd about you.

Across the city, the circulation bell starts ringing. The other boys have woken up at this point, and you all confidently head towards the Brooklyn Newsies Square. You form a line with the rest of the newsies. As you reach the front of the line, though, your heart starts to pound with panic. Handing out the papes are none other than Oscar and Morris, the Delancey brothers! There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll recognize you. They knew the newsies, and they’ll know you. This is it- you haven’t even been here a day and your plan is already over.

You slap your quarter down in the box, asking for a set of 50 papers. Oscar starts to reach for the papes, then he turns and squints at you suspiciously. “Wait, you look familiar. You’re not from Brooklyn, but I’ve seen you before.” You find you can’t say anything, just look at him like a deer in headlights. What do you do now?

You’re saved when the newsie who’d introduced you last night, Snaps, comes up behind you, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders. “That’s ‘cause this newbie came from Queens. You probably saw them there.” You nod, grateful when Oscar shrugs and turns away, handing you your papes with an expression that makes it clear that he could not care less about you.

You wait for Snaps to get his papes, that flash him an appreciative smile. “Thanks for that. Gotta say, the one thing I was hoping to leave behind in Queens was the Delanceys. Looks like I’m not that lucky.” Snaps just grins. “No one’s lucky enough to avoid the Delanceys. They’re like the flu- show up everywhere.”

Snaps turns to you with a sudden frown. “You know, I just realized that you don’t have a nickname.” You look at him, confused. “Do I need one?” Snaps throws his hands in the air. “Of course you do! Every newsie needs a nickname, even if they’re the King of Queens.” There’s a voice from behind you, and Spot walks up casually next to you.

“Trying to name another newbie? Was the last failure not enough for you?” Snaps groans. “Listen, I’m great at naming people. What about- Kingsy? You know, King of Queens. Like I said.” You can’t help but laugh. “That’s awful. I’d rather just go back to Queens.” Spot nods. “I like the idea, though. What about Prince? It’s still related to Queens, but it’s a level down because there’s only one King in Brooklyn, and that’s me.”

You shrug. “I don’t think I’m going to get anything better, so that sounds alright with me.” You’ve started heading away from Newsies Square, and you realize you don’t have a street assignment. You glance over at Spot. “I thought you said I was going to be following someone so I knew where to sell.” He nods, unconcerned. “Yeah. You’se following me.” You must seem surprised, because he looks over at you and laughs. “Don’t get overwhelmed. I want to see how they’re teaching newsies to sell over in Queens.” You shrug. “Alright, but don’t expect to do that well yourself. I might just steal all your customers.” Snaps laughs at Spot’s mock glare. “I like Prince. We need somebody new to make fun of Spot.”

The newbie actually isn't that bad at selling papes. Sure, Prince might have come from Queens, but to be honest, Spot wasn’t expecting a whole lot. Yet there they are, shouting out embellished headlines like they’ve done it their whole lives. He hates to say it, but Spot might actually be impressed. Before he knows it, it’s the end of the day, and they’ve both sold all of their papes.

That day soon ends, and then the next day, and the next. Spot finds himself actually appreciating Prince. He’s a nice guy, someone who knows when to joke around and when to sell papes and be serious. Before long, Spot realizes he trusts the guy like a second in command, asking him questions about how to make sure Brooklyn sells the most papes and how to keep his boys out of trouble. Prince opens up too, but only gradually. There’s something about that boy that makes Spot think he’s hiding something, maybe the real reason about why he left Queens.

It’s odd- every night, Prince stays up late until he thinks everyone’s fallen asleep, and then he silently gets up and heads out to stand on the balcony. He stays there for a while, maybe ten minutes, and then goes back inside and falls asleep. He gets up early in the mornings, too, repeating the same routine before anyone’s awake enough to see him. Spot doesn’t pay attention to what he does, making sure his eyes are always shut when Prince passes. Spot knows enough about bad memories of the past to know that sometimes boys needing solitude should be left alone and not watched.

About two months after Prince comes to Brooklyn, Spot finds himself standing frustratedly in the little closet of a room he likes to call his office. Jack Kelly, of all people, has come over to pay him a visit. To be honest, he doesn’t really want to have to deal with Kelly. Not today. Yet there the guy is, pacing back and forth in front of him. Spot shakes his head slightly, trying to focus back on the conversation again.

“Look, all I’m asking is if you’ve seen her at all.” Spot holds up a hand, trying to figure out what Kelly’s talking about. “Sorry, who is this? Your sister? You lost your sister?” Jack sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Yeah, my sister. She’s a few months younger than you. I don’t know where she went or why she left, all I know is that she isn’t in ‘Hattan.” Spot raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “I can’t blame her. If I had to deal with you as a brother I’d probably leave too.”

At Jack’s glare, Spot rolls his eyes. “No, I haven’t seen your sister.” Jack frowns, pursing his lips. “I’ve checked all the other turfs. You’re sure she isn’t here?” Spot fixes Jack with a glare. “Yes, I’m sure. No goils in Brooklyn, least of all Kelly goils.” Spot sees movement in the hall outside, and, desperate for an interruption from this boring conversation, starts to move towards the door. “Here, I’ll ask Prince, just in case. If I don’t know, Prince might.” Spot raises his voice. “Hey, Prince? Get in here.”

Prince, who had been just passing by the door, pops his head in. “Yeah? What’s up?” He casually strides in the room, talking with a relaxed attitude that, for some reason, disappears the second he sees Jack’s turned back. In fact, he seems to freeze in place, some strange fear suddenly appearing in his eyes. The panic’s only there for a moment, though, and it flickers and disappears from his face just as quickly as it came.

Spot gestures towards Jack. “Kelly lost his sister. Have you seen her anywhere?” Prince shakes his head. “No, haven’t seen any sisters. That all?” Spot waves him away, and Prince practically runs out of the room. Spot watches him go with a questioning look, but shakes it away and turns back to Jack. “Look, we don’t have your sister. Can you go back to ‘Hattan now?” Jack nods and leaves, but not before asking Spot to tell him if he sees his sister, Y/N, at all.

Now that Kelly’s left, Spot turns to more pressing issues, mainly the sudden fear in Prince. When Spot leaves the room, he can’t see Prince anywhere, not in the main room or even in his bunk. There’s only one place he would be, the one place he seems to frequent when he’s worried- the roof.

You can’t believe it. Jack was here- really here. And he was looking for you! Of all the times to walk past Spot’s office, why’d you have to choose the one moment when your brother was there? Luckily enough, he seemed not to recognize you. Then, the ugly truth of that matter really hits you. He didn’t recognize you. The brother you’d spent your entire life with didn’t realize that you were standing before him if you were wearing a cap with your hair tucked up underneath it? Ridiculous.

You hear footsteps behind you and whirl around in a panic, your shoulders sinking with relief when you realize it’s only Spot. Spot, however, looks even more worried than he did back in that room with Jack. “You want to tell me what’s got you so nervous? I know it’s something with Jack, you might as well just say it.” Your head jerks up at that, but you try to play it off as if nothing happened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing with Jack.”

Spot folds his arms across his chest. “There is very much something with Jack. You practically passed out the second you saw him. What’s wrong?” You remain silent, and he takes a step towards you. “You can trust me, you know. You can tell me anything.” You look at him through nervous eyes. “Anything?” He nods. “Anything.”

Before you know it, your hands are fumbling for your cap at the top of your head, pulling it off and taking out the pins in one mad rush. You comb your fingers through your hair, then turn back to him, cap clutched in your hands. Spot looks stunned, but then he speaks. “He said he was looking for his-” You cut him off. “His sister. Yeah.” Spot seems shocked. “I thought you said you came from Queens?” You laugh awkwardly. “I, uh, lied about that. Figured it would be easier to pretend I was a nobody from some other turf than have to explain about everything.”

Spot furrows his brow, confused. “What is everything? I mean, Manhattan’s not an awful place. Why would you leave?” You sigh, raking a hand through your hair. “Manhattan was great. The problem was the people. Jack wouldn’t let me sell papes because he didn’t think a girl could do it as well, and he didn’t want me selling with the other boys. I left because I wanted a life of my own.” You let out a broken chuckle, one that seems to echo around the rooftop with the sadness of a thousand lifetimes. “He didn’t come here until two months later. He didn’t even recognize me. At the beginning, I wondered whether or not I was right in coming here, in leaving him, but I can see now that I was.” You look back up at Spot with eyes slightly darting towards frenzy. “He doesn’t care about me. I don’t think he does at all.”

Spot steps closer to you, taking your hands in his. “He’d be wrong to do that. You’re an amazing goil, and amazing at selling papes. If he doesn’t want you, then you’ve got a home with us.” You look back up at him, finally letting a soft smile spread across your face. “You mean it? You’re not going to make me go back?” Spot raises an eyebrow. “And let go of one of our best sellers? No way. I might tell him I saw you somewhere in a week or so, just to make him stop worrying, but I won’t say a word about where you are. You’re with us now.”

He glances at you, donning a slight smirk. “Does this mean we have to call you Princess instead of Prince?” You laugh at him, swatting him with your cap. “Absolutely not. I’ll go back to my disguise and everything. Life like normal, right?” He smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Life like normal. Only this time, you know I’ve got you.”

#newsies #spot conlon #spot conlon imagine #spot conlon x reader #spot conlon imagines #newsies spot conlon #newsies spot #newsies spot imagine #newsies spot x reader #newsies spot imagines #newsies imagine #newsies x reader #newsies imagines

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inthestars011 · 4 years

Text

what it’s like falling in love with her🦋🥺❤️

(Venus !!)❤️❤️ I did this fast so I apologize for grammar spelling mistakes xox

(I’m doing this by thinking of my friends and their methods or way of acting in romantic relationships however I will make another one doing in love with him and will touch on men with all the venuses that I’ve personally been in love with to add an even more personal touch xox)

Aries- Kisses that are short but kill you in the 5 seconds they last. Gives you forever in a minute. Always leaves you wanting more and that breaks you but fills you simultaneously. She knows that. She’s aware of her presence and that it feels like burning in all the right places. She seems naive and pure at soul, but shes well aware of the danger she holds in her hands and she uses it to her advantage. She loves the wanting, the chasing. She lives for the thrill, the game. She will run away before you can dispose of her heart and she might not let you see those broken parts but might just show a side that’s much funner, when it gets serious she may just become a runner. Sometimes, she is nothing but a machine running on fumes of lust expelling and leaving without a trace whenever she must. Some day she may realize that love might just be worth it, and that she really deserves it. But it still must consist of passion, fireworks, and all, if you plan on keeping her for the long haul.

Taurus Venus- she doesn’t want you to know she is soft, as she’s shown that side before, to many people she has lost. She’s not ready for change so her walls are built high, not even broken open by heavy ocean tides. Deep down she is melting, she is all love at the core. Filled with romance and god, so much more. She wants someone to truly share this with, but forever is all she ever asked for. If you cannot give her that she’ll retreat, become stubborn unable to make two ends meet. she might be slow at first to show her passion, she may show it through a touch that inhibits so much love. there’s nothing better than the comfort of her hug. She will heal all of you through a softness that you didnt think exists. She’s the definition of wife material, someone you’ll forever miss.

Gemini Venus- they describe her as flakey and that’s not always the case. There’s so many sides to her like differing tulips in a vase. I think she likes love but can find it in so many places, I think she can find love amongst so many faces. Maybe it’ll take a while for her to find her forever, but I do think deep down she does want forever. She won’t show all this meaning right off the jump. She’ll show something more innocent, naive and young. She is cute and pure, that, we are sure. She hides such greatness behind that coy smile, and the right person has to detect that, to truly find that. Maybe that’ll take a while. but that person will come that realizes shes more than just fun, she is the moon, just as much as she is the sun. She is eccentric and wildly funny. Her love feels like flying which is freeing but, a little terrifying, honey! It sometimes feels like, at any moment, she might let go, leaving one freezing in the December snow. Once it is true love, she is just as comforting as she is adventurous, she’ll give the whole world and expect nothing in return. Her love comes in teachings and there’s something we all can learn, from the glimmer in her eyes to her childlike hope. if she is truly in love, you will know.

Cancer Venus- her love feels just like home. The mom or dad you never had, and to play that role, she’s probably glad. every touch is enveloped with so much care. You can still smell the sea within her hair. She might be the mother or the baby or maybe even both, she always did help you unfold. When you think of her, you think of making out in your childhood bedroom, you think of the clinginess she exuded, maybe the eternal doom. The moods were never your favourite but you learned to savour it. You accepted every side of her maybe even the annoying parts too. She was your special seashell in the deep ocean blue, her love was nothing but true.

Leo Venus- Golden shimmers from above, a dramatic flair when it came to love. It was always, all show, all beauty, nothing below. Sometimes that was beautiful, sometimes you hated it. There was no in between, she served melodrama for breakfast lunch and dinner and you ate it up, there was no room for desert. Her love was like light shows and the strips of Las Vegas, entrancing but maybe too much at times. there was some innate programming she had that made her feel like she was never enough, but that she was, that she was. She was the big romantic gesture, love was extravagant and so was she. She wanted a love as she saw on the screens, the one that filled her childhood dreams. It was hard to live up to her firey passions, but it was worth it because she’d give you so much in return. She would love you till her flicker would burn out and she was all just heavy smoke and she’d continue loving you in the darkness. They called her the lion for a reason, her loyalty was fierce but her wrath was even fiercer. Her love was so lush, yet, the anger would defeat her.

Virgo Venus- Pure and awkward. The angel that was too good for you, the one that made you dream of laying and praying beside her feet. Not because her flirting skills were smooth and effortless, not because of lusty bedroom eyes, but because of the sweetness that filled her tired sighs. You could see that she wanted something real and that, pursuing maybe wasn’t her strong point, but you would do that for her. Once you got to know her, you unpeeled every layer and found more and more gold underneath, it scared her to show it, but her love grew fonder and she did it more confidently as time went on. Time is what grew our love and our passion, and it was as real as it could ever be. It was divination, it was serving a higher purpose. It was husband and wife, Adam and Eve, something so religious, something so prestiged. It may have seemed regular classic or boring. But to us it felt like our own little story. You got to know a bit more everyday and the excitement of that never did go away. I thank you for fixing all my brokenness even if it was slowly and surely, I thank you for helping me change. You are the only god to which I would pray to, the only holy ness that made the sadness go away.

Libra Venus- She’ll scare the hell out of you with her words. They’ll fall out of her mouth effortlessly, soft flower buds, blooming. She knows just what to say and she holds so much power in that. Her charm and her brilliance got you down on your knees, just a sentence, is all that it takes. Kisses sweet like strawberry shakes. But before you know it she doesn’t love you anymore, it was just a fantasy she had, merely a mirage. It wasn’t real but to you it was and it’s confusing and it’s making you insane. She didn’t mean to cause any pain, she is a fairy in the garden bouncing from tree to tree ever so lightly, taking what she can get and moving on to what’s meant for her. And maybe that wasn’t you. Maybe that’s ok. Because she’ll find someone who makes her heart beat from their touch and their words, someone that doesn’t make her want to create an imaginary world. Someone who just is pure beauty to her, someone who is nothing but real true love. Something more down to earth and better than the heavens up above. She will find it. And she will never let go.

Scorpio Venus- the tension that she holds. “Are we angry at eachother or are we so in love we can’t breathe?”She always made you feel both. Sometimes you thrived off of it, sometimes it made you seasick. She bit your lip and made it bleed as she pulled you in for your final kiss. She cried a little as she left. There was softness in her dark facade there was something light and airy. You only could touch it for a second before it slipped back underneath the oily meSs. The chaos was exciting and her loyalty was meaningful. Her jealously could kill and that you’ve seen. You smelled danger from a mile away on her shirt and you gravitated towards it for some reason. She’ll make her scar and the slice will hurt your skin, but you’ll forever want to bleed. She is what you need.

Sagittarius Venus- with her, love wasn’t hard. No, she made you think it was easy. It was giggles and being best friends. It was passionate make outs and spontaneous adventures. Love is all well and fun. Love is the horizon, a new dawn, abeautiful beginning. But sometimes it had to end. Sometimes she would run free and realize “this isn’t for me.” And sometimes she would come back as if nothing happened. It seemed like dissapearjng but to her it was just living out her honest truth. She wouldn’t wanna stay if what you felt for her wasn’t the same as what she felt for you. when it’s good it’s all passion, it’s perhaps not romantic but casual and fun. it’s two love birds on the run. Don’t know where they are going but they’re together and isn’t that what matters? They don’t know that eventually both their hearts might shatter. She loves the unpredictable and will revel in it with you, images of soaking your hands in waterfalls and late night rendezvous.

Capricorn- Her love is timid and perhaps bitter, but once she falls in love she’ll be unsure what hit her. She may laugh at romance till she is in the dream herself, she’ll then learn to fall in love with love itself. It takes a lot to serenade this girl, and she wants nothing less than what is perfect and no one can deny that she deserves it. She showed true commitment and loyalty and someone treated her like a joke and left her broken without a glint of hope. She is now careful in love and can you really blame her? But once you tear those walls down it’s impossible to tame her. She’ll want kisses in public and cuddles by the fire, she’ll believe that you are more than worthwhile. Yes it may take a while to break down the stones that she’s pilled in front of her heart, she will be more like concrete, but a soft touch and a smile that means well might just turn her into fragile glass, into running water. If you bash those walls down with steely swords and fight the dragons that protect her pretty soul than she might just believe in you, you might just help her believe in love again, and ultimately, she might believe in herself.

Aquarius- She will confuse you as she shape shifts into whatever he pleases. Sometimes, she is one full of romance and love and she gives you summer heat and sweet icecream. But sometimes the sunshine is fleeting, she is cold and detached and wants to be nothing more than friends. She is full of surprises and contradictions. She loves in a way that is strange but captivates you, you always want to know more. She is a good and loyal friend, funny and filled with adventures and a good wit. She is awkward and unsure of how to pursue true love though she does want it. deep inside she’ll never admit it, no, those feelings she hides. She’ll pull you in, and there you are falling in her wishing well, unable to climb back out and sometimes you can surround yourself in her water and drown in feelings but sometimes it’s empty and vacant, depressing, sometimes she is an endless drought. She’ll make you love her so much it terrifies you but she’s like electricity in your veins, absolutely addicting.

Pisces- She is the girl with eyes full of stars staring at you across the crowded room with a shy smile. She will not approach you but instead let herself escape to a dream in which you are the main role, she will be able to taste your lips, to smell your cologne even as she is not near you, even when she’s lying in bed at home. She will wish for you to come and save her from herself and she wishes you are as good as her heart makes you up to be, she wishes when you finally come and love her that you will never leave, because when she is abandoned, she is still left with those empty dreams. And the fantasies do haunt her, the memory of your soft kiss will taunt her. I hope for your sake you live up to what she dreamt you to be, otherwise she may be surprised, heartbroken, and she will not hesitate to leave. To chase some perfect crystallized image that dances in her head, she’ll cry and scream when people tell her Prince Charming simply does not exist, but she still believes all her past lovers were simply frogs she had to kiss and that she still awaits her soulmate. All this love and lust is only fictious for she is just the girl with eyes full of stars staring at you across the crowded room with a shy smile. Do approach her.

#astro #astrology #venus #venus signs #aries venus #taurus venus #gemini venus #leo venus #cancer venus #virgo venus #libra venus #sagittarius venus #capricorn venus #scorpio venus #aquarius venus #pisces venus

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waveypedia · 3 years

Text

Leaving the Nest

Companion piece to The Family We Make (can be read in any order)

Ao3

Granny’s posture is as immaculate as always, but her knuckles grip the pan just a little too tight. To an outsider, she would seem the perfect picture of serenity, but Webby knows the tells that give her away too well.

Of course she does. Granny is Webby’s favorite person in the entire world.

Webby’s family has grown and grown over the last few years, and she wouldn’t trade that for the world. But if it came down to it, Granny is more her family than anyone else. Even the boys. Even Dad.

“Dear, I think we should talk about… the other day,” Granny trails off, awkward and lame. It would be disorienting to see Granny, normally so put-together and articulate, struggling with words. But a couple days ago, Webby saw her chained and captured, crying and beaten, forced to spill her darkest secrets and then knocked out. Manipulated. Nothing Granny does can faze her in quite the same way.

Webby takes a deep breath. “I… I think so too,” she says. “But, honestly, I don’t have anything to say. You’re my Granny.”

Granny’s shoulders slump in relief before she catches herself, her decades of SHUSH training snapping in, and she reorients herself to her ever-present poker face.

“I’m not, you know,” Granny says quietly, her voice full of shame. Webby stiffens, and glances away before Granny can see the tears pooling in her eyes. “I- I stole you from a SHUSH compound. The photos you have of your parents were a lie. Just another lie among many.”

“I don’t care,” Webby snaps, with more anger in her voice than she intended. But as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realizes that she truly does feel that anger. Not towards Granny herself, but towards the notion that Granny isn’t her grandmother.

“You’re my grandmother,” Webby declares passionately. “I don’t care if you’re not related to me. I don’t care if I’m a clone of Dad. You stole me from a FOWL compound because you cared about me from the moment we met. You gave up your entire life and a career you’d been working towards for decades for me. You raised me. You locked yourself in the mansion to keep me safe. You’re my grandmother.”

“I’m happy to hear that, dear,” Granny says in the softest of whispers. “More than you could ever know.” Webby thinks she hears Granny’s voice catch, but she can’t be certain.

“But I lied to you, even after I promised I wouldn’t,” Granny continues, her tone more subdued. She crosses her hands in her lap, making a controlled effort to smooth them out. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

Webby reaches forward and takes her grandmother’s hand in both of hers. “I do,” she agrees. Granny’s head snaps up and she stares at Webby, eyes wide. Webby shrugs nonchalantly, shoulders loose, emulating Louie’s calculated facade of easy calm without realizing it. “But that’s not the kind of person I am, Granny.”

Webby glances away, pursuing her lips. She can’t bear to watch Granny’s face twist in pain. “I… I am frustrated that you lied to me and broke your promise,” she says slowly, haltingly, choosing her words carefully. She’s walking a thin line, basically a tightrope with no net, of expressing her feelings and not upsetting her Granny. “Just don’t do it again, please.”

Granny’s face softens. “Of course, Webby dear. No more secrets.”

She reaches out to hug Webby, and Webby obliges, but she says stiff. “That’s what you said last time,” Webby mutters into Granny’s shoulder. Her words are almost too soft to be heard, but judging by the way Granny stiffens, she does.

Granny pulls back, her hands still on Webby’s shoulders. She opens her mouth a few times, frantically searching for words, some kind of placating promise that she didn’t already break.

“You’re right. Of course,” Granny acquiesces at last, hanging her head. Strands of grey hair drip out of her bun by the pull of gravity. Webby swallows thickly, bile pooling in her throat. Granny is reacting perfectly, yet all she does is remind Webby of when they were stuck together in a dark FOWL interrogation room, a wall of pain and deception painfully thick between them.

Webby reaches out a small hand to touch Granny’s shoulder. “Granny, please,” she whispers. She’s not sure if Granny understands the true meaning behind her plea in its entirety, but she pulls herself back together nonetheless. For a few minutes, silence hangs between them. It’s not a comfortable silence, but it’s not stifling, either. It’s just… anticipatory.

“I can’t simply promise that I won’t lie to you anymore,” Granny says at last. Her voice is quiet and subdued, but honest and vulnerable. It’s open in a way Granny rarely is. “But I will do better from now on. I’ll prove my sentiments through actions, not empty promises.”

Webby smiles gratefully. It’s not her usual wide, face-splitting grin, but it’s soft and vulnerable, with layers and meaning behind it. “Thanks. I… I want to know things. About SHUSH. Classified things. The parts of my past you could never tell me, and new information, too.”

Granny’s gaze shoots away. “I-I can’t,” she replies immediately, and Webby’s heart drops. It must show in her face, because Granny’s own twists with guilt.

“I- Well- I suppose I did just promise to, didn’t I,” Granny says, half to herself, with a small chuckle. There’s little humor behind it, but it’s fond. “I will do my best, Webbigail. But please understand that there is some SHUSH information that is simply beyond my classification to give you.”

“I understand,” Webby says simply. “But the information you can give me… I want to know, Granny.”

Granny’s fists clench and unclench in her lap. Webby knows how uncomfortable and out of her depth she must feel. She protected Webby with her life for years by hiding these secrets, and it takes time to undo such habits. But she’s trying, and that’s all that Webby cares about.

“Do you remember the day I met the boys?” Webby asks, her voice lighter and more casual than she feels. There’s a pit of fear steadily growing in her stomach, but her voice is blessedly steady.

Granny’s smile is small but fond. “You snuck out,” she replies, a hint of reproach in her voice, but no malice. It’s a wound long since healed, leaving only a soft scar as a reminder that it existed at all. “You ignored my number one rule and left the mansion for the very first time.”

“Yeah, and it was new and scary,” Webby replies lightly, ignoring the jab. “But you let me go, because you knew it was for the best. Because I was growing up.”

“Because Mr. McDuck could keep you safe,” Granny adds pointedly, but she’s smiling, if a bit pained.

“Yeah, and he did! I’m fine, Granny. Besides, I can keep myself safe.”

“Tell that to the you that landed yourself in FOWL headquarters with all your allies captured and no real clue what was in store for you,” Granny quips. “My worst nightmare, come alive right in front of my eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Webby mutters, dropping her gaze to her feet. “But hey, if you’d told me the truth, maybe I wouldn’t have been so misinformed.”

Granny dips her head. “You make a good point. I concede that one.”

“Anyway, that’s just what this is like,” Webby continues. “It’s a big change. But it’s a necessary one. I’m ready for this, Granny. You are too. And in time, this’ll feel completely normal, and we’ll have forgotten what it was like to live like we are.”

Granny is silent for a few moments. Webby glances up, nervous, only to find Granny smiling proudly, and wiping a small tear away under her glasses.

“Webby, dear, you are so wise,” she says, her voice thick. Webby’s heart clenches. “Aren’t I the one supposed to give you the deep, heartfelt talks and inspire you, and not the other way around?”

Webby gives her a small smile. “You’ve done it before, Granny. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Granny sniffles rather uncharacteristically. Without warning, she lunges forward and scoops Webby up in a tight hug. “Oh, my dear,” Granny says, her voice choked with tears. “You are just lovely, you know that? How did I ever get so lucky to have you for a granddaughter?”

“Well, it’s partly because of you,” Webby says, smiling into her grandmother’s back. “You raised me.”

Granny nods into Webby’s shoulder. “And it was lovely.”

When Granny finally pulls back, she tugs Webby back to face her, her hands on Webby’s shoulders. “You’re growing up,” she says thickly. “Oh, Webbigail, I am so proud of you.”

Webby beams at her grandmother. “I’m proud of you, too.”

“Oh,” Granny says thickly, and hugs her again.

HEY REMEMBER WHEN I SAID I WOULD WRITE THE CONVERSATION WITH WEBBY AND BEAKLEY WELL HERE IT IS :D (rip my poor math homework i’ll be up all night finishing that ugh)

i wrote this in like,, 45 minutes because i had to get the few sentences i was thinking about down before i forgot them and just,, kept going lmao. rip the webby & lena convo story i’ve been chipping away at that is going absolutely nowhere rn. i’ll get to it

webby and beakley’s relationship is SO important to me. beakley literally gave up everything for webby. it’s so obvious how much beakley cares about her, but also,,, they had this entire episode about trusting each other and then beakley promises not to keep any more secrets from webby and she has absolutely zero intention of keeping it. that always gets me. especially since webby is one of the most trusting characters of all time and would never doubt her grandmother of all people after they made up. i’m not salting on beakley or anything, but it’s very interesting to think about going forward since beakley will obviously try to do better, especially once the major factor keeping her quiet is gone, but she really doesn’t have a leg to stand on since she broke her promise. definitely an interesting concept we should talk about more

we talk a lot about how scrooge never apologized to webby after telling her she wasn’t family in last crash of the sunchaser and she immediately forgave him. scrooge def should’ve apologized but it’s interesting to note that webby basically can’t and won’t hold a grudge for the life of her, at least when it comes to the people she cares about (she definitely can with goldie DJDFKLSLDF). it’s sweet. i imagine beakley feels incredibly guilty after the finale but webby’s just ready to move on and to enter a new chapter of their lives where they’re completely honest and open with each other. i don’t imagine she’s not upset at the deception, but she’s not mad.

also man that interrogation scene? that probably traumatized webby. man. what a shitty situation to be in i can’t even imagine.

beakley and webby’s relationship will always mean the world to me, especially with the added context of their backstory. beakley literally saw one (1) baby and was like i’m about to end this man’s (me) whole career LMAO. it’s incredible.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #webby vanderquack #bentina beakley #mrs beakley #dt spoilers #ducktales spoilers #the last adventure

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valdomarx · 4 years

Note

For a Geraskier prompt whenever you feel like it: They're FWB and one of them's pining and the other one's oblivious but it's fun!! It's chill!!! Until one night the sex turns into lovemaking for some reason, and suddenly there are FEELINGS and TENDERNESS and EYE CONTACT, and the oblivious one gets an epiphany like a punch to the face. Thank you for your time (love your writing so very very much!

Geralt and Jaskier have an arrangement.

It’s casual, a way to blow off some steam when they’re antsy or lonely. A hand in the dark, a willing mouth, a spark of pleasure on the long cold nights.

It’s convenient, especially when they’re out on the road, far from decent company. When there are no comely locals for Jaskier for either of them to indulge in. It’s a bit of fun. A way to meet their needs.

It’s enough. It’s fine.

It’s not.

Geralt almost wishes he didn’t know Jaskier so well, because then he might not notice how very carefully choreographed Jaskier is when they sleep together. How much of a performance it is. Geralt will reach for him, or whisper a suggestion in his ear, and it’s like a curtain will fall over his face. Jaskier, his friend, the one with the big heart and the bigger mouth and the goofy sense of humour, he disappears, and he’s replaced by Jaskier, the performer. The confident, wicked flirt who’s the best lover on the continent.

And that’s… well, look, Geralt enjoys Jaskier’s attentions under any circumstance, and he’s undeniably skilled with both his fingers and his tongue. It’s fully pleasurable for both of them, no doubt there. It’s just… Geralt wishes he could see less of the act, and more of his friend.

But it’s fine. Of course it’s fine. Who wouldn’t want to bed the famous lover Jaskier?

And if, when they’re both spent and sweaty, breath panting in the cool night air, if in those moments Geralt feels a twisting pain in his heart every time Jaskier rolls off him and dresses without a word, that‘s not very well something that Jaskier needs to know. Geralt doesn’t even know what he’s hoping for. Cuddling? Intimacy? Confessions of love?

It’s pathetic, frankly, that he can’t even enjoy the occasional casual tryst with a friend without needing something more, something that he knows he can’t have. He always did want too much.

He picks up a contract for a griffin, and it goes less well than he’d hoped. He takes the beast down with his crossbow and an oiled silver blade, but not before it dives at him and rips through a weak point in his armor. As the blow lands, Geralt’s only thought is, ridiculously enough, that he‘s glad he insisted Jaskier stay at the camp so he doesn’t have to see this.

The wound looks worse than it is. There’s a torrent of blood pouring from a dramatically deep gash in his side, but the talons missed his major organs and it’s nothing he can’t handle.

He pushes a linen pad to the wound, throws back a couple of doses of Swallow, and drops to his knees. If he mediates for an hour or two, the healing will be easier.

He’s roused from his meditation by frantic shaking at his shoulders and a wailing noise that sounds like… crying? He blinks, woozy, his brain taking a moment to snap into focus.

In front of him is Jaskier, distraught, tears pouring down his face. Geralt pulls himself forceably back to full consciousness and leaps to his feet, ready to defend Jaskier from whatever is threatening him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasps. “You’re not dead, thank the gods, you’d been gone for hours so I came to look for you and I found you here all covered in blood, I thought, I really thought -” He bursts into tears again and throws his arms around Geralt.

It pulls at the gash in his side, but Geralt puts his arms around Jaskier anyway, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “It’s okay, Jaskier, I was just meditating, I’m fine.”

Jaskier snorts and pulls back to look at Geralt, face still wobbly. “Are you sure? Because that is a lot of blood.”

Geralt grunts. He is standing in an admittedly large pool of red, but the potions and the meditation have helped. The gash will close itself in a few hours. “Don’t worry,” he says, rubbing the tears from Jaskier’s face with his thumb. “A hot meal and a warm fire and I’ll be good as new.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembles, but he nods and walks Geralt back to the camp.

Some food and warmth do indeed help, and by the time night falls his wound has closed to an itchy scab which is little more than an annoyance and another scar to add to his collection.

Jaskier fusses over him, piling the fire high and pushing extra portions of food into his hands before rearranging their packs on the ground so Geralt can sit comfortably propped up against them.

“Enough, Jaskier,” Geralt huffs when he comes over to check his wound for the third time in an hour, though even to him it sounds less annoyed and more fond. Jaskier’s lips purse like he’s about to argue, so Geralt deploys a cunning distraction, lifting his arm on his non-injured side. “Come here.”

A blur of emotions pass over Jaskier’s face before settling on what Geralt assumes to be amused tolerance, and he sits down beside Geralt and nestles under his arm. He’s warm against Geralt’s side and he smells like campfire smoke and cool linen. Geralt lets himself indulge for a moment, breathing in the scent of Jaskier’s hair and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“Earlier,” Jaskier begins, voice a little shaky, “when I thought… well. Earlier. It made me think.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to not do this, at least once,” he says, shifting until he’s looking up at Geralt and their mouths are inches apart.

Jaskier kisses him, and it’s not like the times before. They’ve kissed occasionally, mouths meeting as they pant for air while fucking, but this is not like that.

This time, Jaskier kisses him like he’s drowning and Geralt is his last source of air, like they have awoken something vast and all-encompassing between then, and when Geralt lays him out on the bedroll his hands don’t leave Geralt’s body for a second. Every touch feels like a revelation, the slide of their bodies creating something larger than themselves.

Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes, really looks, like he’s always wanted to, and Jaskier is crying again but it’s real and it’s genuine and it makes Geralt feel like he might be going under himself.

Because this is no performance. This is messy and desperate and heartfelt, without artifice or facade.

Afterwards, they stay twined around each other, Geralt gently brushing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “That was…” Geralt trails off. He’s not sure he has the words to explain. No, that’s not true. He does know the word, but he’s terrified to use it.

“Loving,” Jaskier supplies, not meeting his eyes. He sounds very sad about it. “Not much point in hiding from it now, is there?”

Geralt supposes not. He doesn’t just want Jaskier’s body or his company. He wants his heart, and that’s too much to ask for.

Jaskier seems to take his silence as reproach. “I’ve tried to stop it, but I can’t. I love you, Geralt, and that’s how it is.”

Geralt stares, because he is sure, so sure, that he must have misheard. “You what?”

“I didn’t mean…” Jaskier trails off. “No, actually, I did mean it. But you don’t have to say anything, I know that’s not what this is. I’m know I’m not… enough… for you, not like that. We can keep it casual. It’ll be fun.” He looks like he might cry again.

Geralt’s heart soars, like there’s a fountain of warmth and life overflowing in his chest. “You’re an idiot,” he says, and Jaskier’s face falls like he’s been punched as he turns away. Geralt takes his chin and turns his head back so Jaskier can look him in the eye. “You’re an idiot, and so am I. I don’t want casual, Jaskier, I never have.”

Jaskier peers at him like he’s not sure he believes what’s happening. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you.” There it is, in its brutal simplicity. “In every way and in any way you’ll have me.”

The tears start again, and Geralt would feel bad about that but Jaskier is smiling bright as the sun. “You have me. Always have and always will.”

#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #anonymous #thank you for the prompt and the kind words anon <3 #george replies

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ladyofmaidensandwine · 3 years

Text

Just One Dance

Requested by @rileynicole1967

Request: “so maybe you could do a one shot for deanxreader based off the song “can I have this dance” from High School Musical. so basically dean doesn’t do the whole dancing thing and the reader finally gets him to dance with her and she helps him and it’s so fluffy”

Absolutely, luv! Side bar, I’ve never seen these movies, but I gave the song a listen. Hopefully this is just as fluffy as you were wanting!

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Excessive fluff, implied smut without detail.

Wordcount: 2,852

There are some things a hunter doesn’t get, and a normal, carefree night on the town is one of them. At least, it usually is. This particular Saturday you have no monsters to kill, no wounds to mend, and no research demanding to be done, and you practically beg Sam and Dean to come with you to a local pub promising good music, food, and beer.

Maybe it’s slightly overdone, but you rarely have any occasion to dress so nicely, and as you look at your reflection, you have to smile. You admit to yourself you look beautiful, outfit the perfect color to compliment your complexion and your eyes, and comfortable so you have no qualms about dancing the night away, which you have every intention to do.

You open the door to your room in the bunker, right across from Dean’s, and hear a low whistle that causes your cheeks to heat slightly. “I feel underdressed, sweetheart. You look gorgeous.” Dean says with that easy, charming smile. The bastard has you positively whipped, and he doesn’t even know it. “Well, one of us has to look good.” You tease, brushing off the compliment in favour of poking fun at your best friend. He chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, whatever. C’mon, let’s get Sammy’s ugly mug and hit the road before all the good parking is gone.” Dean beckons. The casual way he rests his hand on your back has your heart doing acrobatics, and you thank whatever God is listening for the years spent mastering your perfect poker face when you show no outward reaction.

You’re not a bird that hangs off the arm of the first handsome man she sees. In fact, you have a sense of pride in the way you don’t fall for charm or suave lines and you’ve never been the type to go for a one-night-stand just because someone buys you a drink and throws you a smirk. Dean Winchester is the only exception to your impervious shield- a simple smile from him has you feeling faint, and it’s not just his looks that have made you fall for him. Dean has been your friend and confidante. He knows things about you not another soul is privy to, and the same applies to you. He protects you, but doesn’t underestimate your skill and ability as a hunter. He’s your hero, and if you had a bit more gall, maybe you’d finally tell him that.

It’s a perfect night at the pub- not too crowded, but with enough background chatter to make an ambience like home. The first round is on you, as you’ve promised, and Dean watches you carefully as you head to the counter to order your drinks. Sam sits across from him, a smug and knowing smile on his face. “What?” Dean finally grumbles, raising a brow. Sam shrugs, but that grin only gets wider, Dean’s green eyes narrowing in annoyance. “It’s just funny,” Sam begins, fighting to maintain a nonchalant front while wanting to laugh at Dean, “you sitting here, watching her, Y/N standing there, looking back at you. Cute.” “Sam.” Dean says, tone sharp with a warning Sam promptly ignores. “Hey, if you have any plausible reasoning for me to believe you’re not smitten with her, now’s your chance to convince me.” Sam invites. Dean glowers at him from across the table, wishing you’d hurry up with those beers already, and Sam smirks, knowing he’s won. “That’s what I thought. Want my advice?” “Not really.” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. God, where are you with the drinks, somebody save him. “Well, I’m gonna give it to you anyways. Stop being such a dumbass and go get your girl. At this point I won’t even complain if you snog her in front of me. Point is, Dean, you’ve got no rationale to not go after her.” Sam says pointedly. “I think you oughta just-”

“Hey, sorry I took so bloody long!” You call, hurrying over with four longnecks in your hands, and Dean shoots Sam a smirk. Perfect timing as usual, thank God. “S’alright. Didn’t miss much.” Dean shrugs, sliding over so you can sit next to him in the booth. “Oh, good. I put in some song requests- DJ says this place is great for dancing.” You inform, smiling brightly. Dean instantly shoots upright, cutting you a narrow-eyed look full of suspicion. “Dancing?” He repeats, already smelling a scheme as you give him an innocent smile. “Wouldn’t you know it, this pub happens to be known ‘round here for the music? Coincidence, of course.” You say slyly. Dean shakes his head, unable to maintain his glare so he hides the smile pulling at his lips by taking a swig of his cold beer. “Coincidence. Yeah, ok. Y/N, for someone who lies for a living, you’re pretty shit at it.” Dean smirks, and you laugh, knowing he’s teasing. “Alright, so maybe I had a slight ulterior motive when I said we should come here tonight, but I promise it’ll be fun!” You say pleadingly, turning to Sam for back up.

“Don’t look at me! You’re on your own.” Sam proclaims, holding up his hands in surrender as you huff. “Fine! But you’re both dancing with me. I’m not settling for a ‘no’.” You assert. Dean chuckles, giving you an amused smile. “You can think that if you want, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” He says firmly. “What do you mean? You dance with me to your bloody cassettes in the garage all the time!” You demand, raising your brows. Sam laughs, nearly snorting beer out of his nose, and Dean flushes up to his ears. “Dean dances with you?” “Sam!” Dean growls, thoroughly embarrassed. “Oh, come off it, it’s not a big deal, you baby.” You scowl playfully. “No, Y/N, Dean doesn’t dance, ever. Makes you awfully special, huh, Dean?” “Shut your mouth, Sam.” Dean snaps, glaring at his brother indignantly. You’re at a loss, looking between the two in confusion. “Look, Y/N, you’ll have to settle for the less good-looking Winchester tonight. I don’t dance, ‘specially not here.” Dean says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. You smile, a mischievous look in your eyes, and he knows you’re nowhere near dropping the subject.

Three beers later, you’re out on the dancefloor, laughing at Sam’s awkward moves. Dean’s smiling, eyes glued to you. It’s rare he see’s you this happy and carefree, and you look so beautiful in the low light of the bar. The power could go out and your smile would light up the whole place. He hates admitting it, but Sam makes a valid point. There’s nothing stopping Dean from telling you how he feels about you besides his own paranoia, and even that is n shaky grounds. He’s not entirely oblivious. Dean knows there’s some unspoken thing between the two of you, and knows you feel it, too. But letting it lie as is and pursuing something more are two totally opposing ideas, and he’s getting tired of his head and his heart pulling him in different directions over you.

You catch Dean’s eye, and leave Sam, grinning at Dean. “Come dance.” You say. He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Told you, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” Dean claims, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the booth. He’s content where he is, just watching you, but you’re the most stubborn woman he’s ever met, and honestly, he should’ve known better because when do you ever take no for an answer? “Just one dance. Come on, even Sam is having fun.” You try to persuade him, Dean’s eyes flicking to his brother and back to you. “Y/N.” “Dean.” You mimic. You stare him down, eyes narrowed slightly. Dean almost laughs- he’s seen this face before, your shoulders back and spine tall. It’s the posture of a hunter, the determined face you make when you’re dealing with police giving you a hard time or a monster making threats. Now you’re using against your best friend to try and convince him to dance with you. “Please.” You pout, and he sighs. God, why are you so hard to say no to?

It’s a silly question because he knows exactly why you could ask for the moon wrapped in a bow and by God, he’d figure out how to give it to you because you have Dean Winchester completely at your mercy. “Dean, please, just one dance! That’s all I’m asking.” You practically beg, and he can feel himself breaking. “Sweetheart, I really don’t dance, not for anybody.” Dean tries. “Not even for me?” You ask him. Damn it. Damn you to hell, you’re good. That’s his weakness, you’re his weakness, and you’re using it to play him like a fiddle. Dean closes his eyes and his shoulders slump, and when he looks at you again, you’re beaming like you won the grand prize because you know you’ve got him. “One dance. Got it? Just one. And- and don’t expect no fancy shit, or nothin’.” He huffs, trying to maintain his grumpy facade. He doesn’t last a second because your mile-wide smile is even bigger as you take him by the hands and half-lead half-drag Dean onto the dancefloor.

Dean’s nervous as all-get-out. When was the last time he’s ever really danced, much less in front of people? “Just take my hand, Dean. C’mon, you killed three vampires just the other day and you’re telling me you’re nervous now?” You say, teasing him gently. “Yeah, well, vamps I can behead.” Dean mutters, earning a snort of laughter from you that makes his lips twitch up into a smile. “Just look at me, yeah? Just like in the garage.” You tell him. He nods, swallowing, and keeps his eyes locked on you, which really isn’t hard to do. Just as he eases into it, the faster-paced song transitions to a slow-dance, and he freezes, instantly panicking.

You squeeze Dean’s hand comfortingly. “Dean, we can sit down, I’m only kidding, I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.” You explain with a guilty frown. Here you are, trying to get the boys to relax, and instead poor Dean is looking at you like someone told him his impala is being towed. Dean stops you, shaking his head. “No. No, just, uh, don’t laugh at me. I haven’t done this in... well, ever.” He says gruffly. You smile fondly. Your knight in shining plaid is nervous you’ll tease him for being a clumsy dancer. “Promise I won’t laugh. Well, maybe a little.” You say, and Dean shoots you a glare that vanishes when you give him a cheesy grin. “You’re a dork.” He smirks. “Takes one to know one, Winchester.” You wink.

“Dean, you’re stepping on me.” You tell him, biting your lip to stifle a laugh at the instant mortification on Dean’s face. “Shit, sorry!” “S’okay. You’re doing great. You are one in a million, Dean. Big, bad hunter, scared to dance with me.” You laugh softly. Dean huffs, and you smile. He’s slowly getting the hang of it, with your help, of course.

“Hey, what was Sam talking about earlier?” You ask. Dean falters, and you nearly trip, stumbling into his chest. You don’t know if you’re really standing still or if it only feels like time has halted, Dean’s green eyes staring into you.

His eyes drop to your lips. You’re not sure you’re breathing.

“Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Dean says after a long moment. His eyes dart away, and you frown slightly. “That’s not what I asked you.” “Y/N.” He says intently, hoping you’ll drop the subject, because the direction the conversation is going, Dean is going to be forced to make the decision he’s been putting off for so many years. “Dean.” You echo, just as firmly, not letting him escape your gaze. Dean steps back slightly, and you realize the song is over. You let go of Dean’s hands, disappointment and embarrassment washing over you. “Thanks for the dance.” You say, trying to hide your sadness.

You make it all of three steps before Dean reaches out for you. “Hey, Y/N, wait.” He says quickly, hand grabbing yours. “What?” “Can I have this dance?” “You don’t dance.” You say, confused. He looks at you for a long moment, a smile slowly forming on his face. “No,” Dean agrees, holding your gaze with his, “but you do. So?” “So what?” “So, can I have this dance?” Dean repeats. You nod, and he leads you back out. It’s another slow song, and Dean pulls you a little closer than before, staring at you intensely.

“What?” You ask, quirking a brow. “Can I ask you something?” “Ok?” You agree hesitantly. “Why do you always sit next to me in the booths?” Dean asks. You swear you can your heart plummet like a lead weight. “What?” “Yeah. How come you always share with me when we have to bunk up because there’s only two beds in motels? And how come you wanted to dance with me so bad?” He presses. “I- well, I-” You stammer, absolutely thrown for a loop, and he smiles briefly. “See, ‘cause, I’ve got this theory that the answer to that is sorta like the answer to the question you asked me earlier.” He continues, confusion and dread creeping up on you. “Dean, listen, we don’t have to talk about it-” “I think we do. I want to. Here’s the thing, Y/N. I don’t dance.” “Then why are you-?” You trail off. “Because you asked me to. And I can’t say no to you. What Sam said, earlier- you are.” He says, ducking his head. “I am what?” You frown. “Awfully special. To- to me.” Dean says quietly, blushing, and suddenly it makes sense. “Oh.” “Oh? That’s all you’re gonna say? I tell you I have feelings for you, and all I get is ‘oh’?” Dean asks, blinking in disbelief. He looks like he’s about to bolt, so you lean up and before he can make another smartass comment, you press your lips softly to his.

“Oh.” Dean breathes, staring at you. You smile, and he grins, and both of you laugh, not caring if anyone is looking. “Man, we’re a couple’a real idiots, huh?” Dean chuckles. “If I knew this is how it would end up, I would’ve asked you to dance with me a long time ago.” You tease, earning yourself another brief kiss. “I’ll dance with you all you want, sweetheart.” Dean says with a warmth in his eyes you’ve seen a thousand times before but never knew the reasoning for. You laugh as Dean twirls you, ducking under his arm with a bright smile he can’t help but return.

At some point you vaguely recall Dean promising to show you the rest of his dance moves in private, and you stealing the keys to Baby from his back pocket. You’re not sure how you managed to make it safely back to the bunker, and you definitely forgot to bring Sam, but you and Dean had spent years pining after one another and weren’t about to waste another night.

You smile, looking over your shoulder to find a familiar freckled and scruffy face pressed against your pillow. Dean’s still asleep, his arm a solid and warm weight over your bare waist, his chest firm against your back. His dark blond hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, and you don’t want to know how your own hair looks, but you really don’t even care. You scramble for the sheets as the door knob turns. Sam gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen, and the urge to fling a shoe at him is strong. “Y’know, when I told you to do something about your puppy love for Dean, I didn’t exactly mean ditch me at the pub to go sleep with him.” Sam says with a wiggle of his brows. Your face feels hot. “Sam.” You whisper warningly. “I told you he liked you.” Sam says. “Go. Away.” You whisper, glaring. Sam snickers. “You owe me, Y/N, we shook on it.” “As I recall, you said he wouldn’t dance with me, so you pay up, Sam.” You retort. Sam scoffs, and you glare even harder. “Sammy, shut up and leave us alone.” Dean’s sleepy voice grumbles, his eyes not even open as he blindly flips his brother off. Dean waits for the door to close and Sam’s footsteps to retreat down the hall before he finally looks at you.

“Jesus, thought he’d never leave.” Dean mutters. You grin, and Dean gives you a devious smirk, planting a kiss on your neck. “Dean!” You laugh. “Who says I was done with you? Sam can handle a few hours without us, and I’ve got you all to myself.” Dean says, and you don’t bother pretending to be mad when his lips meet yours, feeling him smile.

Who knew all it would take to finally get you and Dean together was one dance?

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birdiefw · 4 years

Text

JJ MAYBANK | NOT MY CHOICE PT. 2

Part One

Requested by: @maybebanks

Summary: You’ve always been a Pogue despite your wealth and had been friends with John B. and his crew for as long as you could remember. However, you were also dating Rafe Cameron but your friend didn’t know, and worst of all, it wasn’t your decision. But one day Rafe sees you and JJ together and decides to show you and JJ who you belong to. However, JJ isn’t all that fooled and wants to know the truth.

Warnings: swearing, slut-shaming, fighting, ANGST & fluff

A/N: Here is part two!!! Thank you so much for all of your lovely feedback on part one, as well as my other imsgines!! I hope you like this part as much as the first one!

[not my gif!!]

The party had gone surprisingly. . . okay. You were miserable the entire time and just wanted to be with your real friends, but once Rafe took a hit of coke, you knew he wouldn’t bother you much throughout the night if at all — drugs were more important.

The music was blaring throughout the entire house, but somehow it eased your buzzing nerves, unable to hear anything but the cheerful hoots and giggles that broke through music every few minutes. You eased your way through the rowdy crowds, only taking small sips from your cup as you passed by familiar faces. No one paid too much attention to you, only a few smiling to you or making small talk.

Rafe found his way back to you not long after you made it outside by the pool after a few hours had ticked by slowly, visibly surprising you. You were sat on the edge, your feet dipped in while some party goers swam around and splashed one another, but keeping a good distance away from you. There were empty beer cans and cups littered around the patio and backyard, but that wasn’t your problem to worry about. You’d focused your attention on Rafe as he sat beside you, rolling up his pants to put his legs in as well.

You gave him a hesitant smile. “Hey,” you greeted him.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. You let out a sigh and momentarily closed your eyes. His weight was resting on you more than usual, the effects of the alcohol and coke taking its toll on his mind. He seemed relaxed though, which you found odd, but you weren’t complaining, and you certainly weren’t going to question it. “Why. . . why were you with that Pogue today?”

You pursed your lips, glancing to your hands. “It was nothing, Rafe,” you answered softly. “I promise. He’s just a friend.”

“But he’s a Pogue,” Rafe frowned distsstefully. When you looked it to his eyes, you saw they were reddened and glossy, his hair drooping in his face but he didn’t seem to care. “They’re-they’re nothing. They’re wastes’ of space. This island’s better off without them.”

You faintly shook your head. You wanted to defend your friends, to tell him everybody was the same despite where they came from, but he wouldn’t listen to you. He wasn’t in the right head space, nor would he have even if he was. So, you just shrugged. “He’s just a friend, that’s all, Rafe.”

Rafe nodded at your answer and stood up, peering down at you with a small smirk. “No, that-you can’t be friends with him — with any of them. And know what? If he even looks at you — I’ll-I’ll kill him. You hear me, Y/N? He’s dead.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Rafe, you can’t be serious.”

Rafe crouched down, his face inches away from yours with his jaw tight and eyes narrowed darkly. His hand gently touched your jaw, stroking your skin. You had to fight the urge to flinch away. “Babe, do I look like I’m joking?”

Your eyes pleadingly searched his for any sign that he was, but there was none. There was no light in his eyes — only pure darkness. You gulped, unable to do anything but shake your head. “N-no.”

Rafe smiled and leaned forward, kissing the tip of your nose like he didn’t just threaten the life of your friend forehead. “Exactly. I’ll see you later, babe,” he said, beginning to make his way back into the party with only one thing on his mind. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Then he left, leaving you by the pool. Tears brewed in your eyes, your mind going straight to JJ. You shook your head and stood up, hurrying out of the party before anyone could stop you or ask what was wrong. You furiously wiped at your eyes, but the tears continued to fall as you made your way home. You weren’t too far away from your house, but you wished you lived closer so you didn’t have so much time and silence that allowed your thoughts to dangerously wander.

You couldn’t stand to lose JJ, but you didn’t want him to get hurt because of you.

What could you do?

———

You had every intention of ignoring JJ and the Pogues for as long as possible while you figured a way out of the mess your parents had unintentionally put you in. You didn’t think Rafe would really kill JJ, but he’d fought the boy and his friends more times than what was necessary. It always ended with someone getting slammed into the ground, and on a few occasions, it’d been JJ. Rafe didn’t always win and had to be pulled away by his friends, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again if he thought he was losing control of you.

However, JJ had other plans.

Both of your parents were at work, leaving only you in your big house. You were casually lounging on the couch while one of your favorite movies played on the TV across from you. A bowl of popcorn was placed in your lap, your hand grabbing a handful of the snack every few moments. You’d spent most the night overthinking and wondering how you’d let yourself get involved with Rafe, but with your favorite movie going to keep your mind occupied for the time being, you were content as your thoughts simmered and remained focused on the film.

Your phone was on the coffee table, chiming every once in a while. You had a few texts from the Pogues, but you’d yet to answer them. There was one from Rafe, and you’d answered that as soon as you saw it was him. He was asking where you were and how you got home last night, to which you replied honestly; somehow you thought he’d know if you were lying. He accepted your answer and asked if you wanted to hangout later, and you muttered an annoyed no, but you didn’t say that. You told him yes with a sweet smiley emoji tacked on at the end of it. He replied with a time and told you to dress nice.

You had a few hours until then and you did your best just to relax.

DING!

You frowned in confusion, pausing your movie. You waited a moment, hoping they wouldn’t do it again, but they did.

You heavily sighed, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie so you didn’t miss your favorite part. You sat the bowl aside and stood up, readjusting your shirt as you made your way to the front door.

You quietly stood in front of it, leaning in close to look out of the peephole before swinging it open. You gasped, seeing JJ standing there.

“I know you’re home, Y/N,” JJ said, knocking on it again. “You can’t hide from me.”

“Who says I’m hiding?” You retorted.

JJ sighed, looking to the peephole. “You’re not answering John B., me — anyone, and you’re not even opening the door. Why?”

“We?” You repeated, peering at your driveway to see if you’d spot John B.’s familiar Volkswagen nearby, but it wasn’t there. It was only him. “Or do you just mean you?”

JJ huffed, throwing his hands out at his sides. “We, but also me, okay? Now can you open the door, please? I just wanna talk.”

You anxiously bit your lip. What if Rafe came by early? What if one of his friends saw you hanging out with JJ at your house? But when you looked back into his face, you saw something in his eyes.

Unlike with Rafe who hadn’t held any light, all you saw was the light in JJ’s.

You cautiously opened the door, taking a step back to allow him to enter. He hurried inside, taking off his hat with a huff. You led him down the hall and towards the kitchen, nervously leaning against the counter as he lingered a few paces away from you. “JJ—”

“Why Rafe?” You closed your eyes. At least he wasn’t beating around the bush. “He’s a terrible person, Y/N. Have you forgotten that he almost killed me and Pope last summer?”

“Of course not,” you replied defensively.

“Then why? Why Rafe?” JJ harshly demanded to know, his anger seeping into his words and hitting you like bullets. He dared to step closer, eyes sharpened.

You frowned, moving away. “It’s-it’s not that simple, JJ.”

“Are you going full Kook?”

You scoffed at the insinuation. He knew you better than that. “Of course not.”

“Then why? Why, Y/N?” JJ wanted to know, his voice raising. It wasn’t full on yelling, but he was making his point very clear as his eyes burned into your back. “Tell me why picked him over me. . .and I’ll leave you alone just like you want—”

“Don’t you see that I didn’t? That I don’t want you to leave?” You shouted, finally facing him. His brows raised in surprise at your sudden outburst, never having heard you raise your voice at anyone. Tears were threatening to spill over as you faced JJ. “I didn’t pick him, JJ! It wasn’t my choice!”

JJ titled his head in confusion. ”What the hell does that mean?”

You heavily sighed, resting your elbows on the counter and letting your head fall into your hands. “It means it wasn’t my choice,” you admitted, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you began to finally tell JJ. “My parents �� they love the Cameron’s. And Rafe — he’s the golden boy, or so they think. They-they filled his head with the idea that I liked him, and they put so much pressure on me to go out with him, and I couldn’t tell him no, but believe me, I fucking wish I did.”

“Can’t you break it off with him? Tell him you don’t like him because he’s — you know — fucking nuts?”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve seen him. I-I can’t get out of this, JJ. I want to, god, I want to, but I-I—”

Your tears finally began to fall and your facade crumbled. You sobbed into your clammy hands, trying to muffle it. JJ came up beside you, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting manner. You faced him, burying your face into his firm chest, clinging to his shirt.

“Hey, wait, don’t cry,” JJ murmured, cradling the back of your head. “Rafe is not worth your tears.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” you cried.

“We’ll figure it out,” JJ assured you, holding you tight to let you know he wasn’t going anywhere. He finally understood why you didn’t tell him or the others about you and Rafe, and he could finally see the toll it was taking on you.

You pulled away a few moments later, looking to JJ. You offered him a weak smile, softly laughing while you wiped at your reddened eyes. “Sorry, I probably look like a mess.”

JJ chuckled. “You look beautiful as always.”

You blushed, playfully rolling your eyes at his attempt to cheer you up. “Seriously? You’re gonna compliment me even though I look like a mess?”

“I always compliment you, Y/N, but you just think I’m joking.”

“Aren’t you?”

JJ cautiously came closer, trapping you by the counter with your back pressed against it. He placed his hands on both sides of you, locking you between his firm arms. Your eyes widened, a shaky breath passing your lips. “You serious? You think I’d come all the way here if I didn’t like you?”

You shrugged, lopsidedly smiling. “I-I don’t know. Maybe?”

JJ scoffed and leaned in close, his lips just barely touching yours. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You don’t know what came over you, but you closed the gap between you with such confidence that it even surprised you. JJ’s lips firmly pressed against yours instantly, closing the gap between you two by pulling you flush against his chest. Your eyes fluttered closed, a warm feeling flooding your body.

That was what you were meant to feel when you kissed someone you liked.

When you kissed Rafe, you didn’t feel anything but hatred — not for him, but for the whole situation.

You pulled away after a few seconds, a smile adorning your lips. JJ’s lips were tweaked upwards as well, his eyes with a newfound sparkle lighting them up like the sky on a perfect day.

“What the fuck is this?”

Your body jolted, spotting Rafe standing in the doorway of the kitchen. His eyes were tripled in size and fists balled at his sides so tight his knuckles were turning white. His chest was moving up and down quickly as his eyes went from JJ and then to you, unsure as to who he was more pissed at.

You carefully stepped away from JJ, shrugging his hand off you when he tried to keep you close to him so you stayed a good distance away from Rafe. “Rafe—”

“Don’t, Y/N, just don’t,” Rafe snapped darkly, holding his hand out towards you to prevent you from getting close. He shook his head in disgust, such hatred in his look directed towards you that it sent a jolt of fear through your bones. “You’re just friends, huh? That’s all? Bullshit, Y/N! You promised me it was nothing! And I decided to come surprise you and come to find you’re cheating on me with a fucking Pogue?”

“Don’t you raise your voice at her!” JJ hollered, trying to step past you. You instinctively got in his way, giving him a nudge to stay back.

“This is all your fault, bitch!” Rafe shouted back. “Now Y/N, get out of my way and let me deal with him before you—”

Rafe grabbed you amidst his shouting when you didn’t move, making you whimper when he grabbed you too tightly. JJ leapt to your defensive and punched Rafe in the face in order to make him release you. Rafe let go of you and you staggered back into the counter in surprise, holding your wrist to your chest, rubbing the sore skin.

“JJ!” You gasped fearfully, seeing the boy climb on top of Rafe and continue his assault. “Stop! JJ, please—!”

You winced when Rafe grabbed one of your mothers cookbooks from the bookshelf that was right by the counter he was near and slammed it against JJ’s head. You yelped, your mind and body unsure of what to do. You wanted to help, but how? You weren’t as strong as either of the boys. You’d seen plenty of movies, but that was all it was — a movie that couldn’t teach you how to properly punch. You didn’t have any experience with fighting.

“Don’t you get it?” JJ shouted, grunting when Rafe slammed his fist JJ’s jaw. JJ spit out blood, coughing but not backing down despite your pleas. “She doesn’t want you, Kook!”

“Yes she does!” Rafe screamed, his voice sounding more broken than angry as he punched JJ again and again. “She-she loves me!”

You couldn’t watch any longer. Seeing JJ under Rafe and his face getting pounded into repeatedly — you wouldn’t stand by and do nothing.

“No I don’t!”

Another surge of confidence washed over you and you rushed forward, grunting as you lifted your foot and kicked Rafe in the side of the head. His body tumbled aside, and you took that time to yank JJ up off the ground and pull him away from Rafe. Your heart was racing quickly, feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest any second. “We’re over, Rafe! And-and don’t you ever show your face around here again! I’m done with you!”

Rafe grunted in agony, stammering as he wobbled to his feet. Blood was dribbling down from his nose and lip, dripping onto his striped polo shirt. There were droplets of blood from both Rafe and JJ decorating the kitchen floor with some smeared from them rolling around admist the fighting, but that was the least of your worries right now.

All three of you failed to hear the front door open, your parents softly talking to each other, excited to see Rafe as they’d seen his bike parked in the driveway.

“You-you don’t?” Rafe whispered.

You frantically shook your head, feeling JJ slide his hand into your own. “No, and I never did,” you said sternly. “We weren’t meant to be, Rafe. You need to understand that!”

“But you belong with me! To me, Y/N!”

“No, I don’t!” You defended, finally able to raise your voice at the boy who did his best to make you silent and obedient. He might’ve put the fire in you out, but you reignited it, and it wouldn’t be put out so easily again. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself. Now get the fuck out of here, Rafe!”

“Whatever, slut!” Rafe bit back, scoffing. “Have fun making your way through—”

“Rafe Cameron.” Your grip on JJ’s hand instinctively tightened when your eyes laid on your shocked parents. Rafe nervously gulped, JJ’s expression similar to his own. Your father titled his head, his glare sending daggers at the younger boy who’d just insulted his child. “Don’t you ever speak to Y/N like that again. Do you understand me?”

“But—”

“Do you understand me?”

Rafe clenched his jaw, nodding his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of my house.”

“And don’t you ever come back,” your mother added firmly. She and your father stepped aside, shaking their heads in disapproval as Rafe stormed past them anfbout of your house for good. You let out a shaky breath and glanced to JJ, giving him a hesitant smile.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, finally free of Rafe Cameron.

Your father cleared his throat, recapturing your attention. You moved aside, releasing JJ’s hand. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly smiling towards your parents. They’d seen him around a few times and knew you two were friends, but they didn’t know you were that close.

“Mom, Dad,” you started, but you closed your mouth when nothing else came out. You didn’t know how to explain what just happened. You were grateful they’d made Rafe leave, but you were still a Kook and JJ was a Pogue. What would they think, or even say?

You decided to let them speak first still.

“So,” your mom slowly began, eyeing you and JJ carefully. “Your father and I got off early and were going to see if you and Rafe wanted to join us for lunch, but it seems that’s off the table now.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, this was all—”

“You don’t need to explain, JJ,” your mother said with a soft smile. You smiled in approval at the fact she remembered his name. “We’re just glad you’re both alright. What happened?”

You sighed, stealing a look at JJ. You didn’t want to give them all the details, but you had to give them something. “JJ and I — Rafe isn’t the one for me, I’m sorry. I know you liked him, but we just weren’t meant to be. When I told him, he didn’t like that very much. JJ was just coming to check on me, and Rafe saw and thought it was something else, and well, you can tell what else happened, and you heard the end of it. . .”

“We certainly did,” your father huffed. He couldn’t believe he’d put so much trust in Rafe. Your father caught your mothers gaze, subtly nodding. He gave you and JJ a small smile, maneuvering towards the counter. “You might wanna clean and ice that, kiddo,” he stated, motioning to JJ’s bloody and beaten face.

“I’ll help,” you offered kindly.

“We’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes,” your mother said. “Then, perhaps, you two would like to join us for lunch instead?”

Your face softened, glancing to JJ with a gleam of hope. He didn’t seem so certain, but when he noticed your expression, he softly smiled and nodded in agreement. Your grin widened and you headed to the fridge to get some ice.

“Wonderful,” your mother beamed. “We’ll leave once you’re cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” JJ said, not even sure what he was thanking them for, but he felt it was needed. With that, your parents left the room and headed to the living room. Your mother called out she would get the first aid kit and advised you to wrap the ice up with a towel while she did so.

You returned to JJ and helped take a seat at the kitchen table. He went to take the ice pack from your hand, but you lightly whacked his hand away and pressed it to his wound. “No, let me,” you said, faintly smiling towards the boy. “It’s the least I could do for you after what you just did for me.”

“I’d do it all over again if it‘d keep you safe,” JJ said softly.

You giggled, standing up and placing a kiss on his head. You sank back down in the chair in front of him, and for the first time in a while, you finally felt in control of your life. It hadn’t been your choice to date Rafe, but it was your life, and it was time for you to take back charge of your life. You wanted to be with JJ, and no one was going to get in the way of that ever again and make your choices for you.

———

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this! I didn’t intend for it to exactly this way, but I actually like it! Feel free to send some other requests!!

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betasuppe · 3 years

Text

I sat on the ledge of the building, dangling my feet over the precipice, entertaining some rather dangerous thoughts while looking far down at the pile of trash below that would surely catch my fall.

... if I survived the fall, that is.

I felt some part of me urging myself to slide myself closer to the edge, some building sense of eagerness & excitement, gladly pushing me closer & closer to doing something really dangerous. I don't know why, but I began to slowly inch myself forward. My heart was thudding in my ears & that voice inside my head was getting faster & more excited as I got closer & closer to losing my grip - but I froze at once as I heard someone clear their throat somewhere behind me.

I wasn't alone.

"What the hell are you doing?" The heavy weight of being caught in the act of doing something so wrong sank deep in my gut. "Dear god, Parasite, were you actually about to jump?"

Guilt was weighing heavily on my mind, I didn't want to look back at Obake & see what sort of disapproving glare he would surely be passing my way. Instead, I sank backwards, slowly anchoring myself to my spot on the roof's edge & away from doing something disastrous.

"Uhh, would you believe me if I said no? Cuz, I absolutely was NOT gonna jump - that's just silly!" I heard my own voice, it sounded so jarring playful & energetic considering the grim circumstances. "Why would I do that anyways? That's so stupid! I was just out here getting some fresh air is all & -"

My chest ached as the last syllable left my lips.

"I'm good," I finished, flashing him a huge grin, sticking my tongue out at the end just to make it more like my usual self. "I'm just playing with ya! I knew you were there the whole time!"

Damn, though, it always happened like this!

On my worst nights, I was always too afraid to ask for help & instead pushed everyone away from me, as I was doing yet again tonight. I would cover up my bad mood with some stupid bubbly attitude, which no one had ever been able to see through for what it was- a distraction, that is.

Hopefully, like everyone else, Obake would just accept my words at face value & go away to leave me up to decide my own demise...

I heard him sigh in annoyance & I half expected him to walk away. I closed my eyes & counted slowly, wishing I'd hear his footsteps retreat & he'd just take his leave, so I'd be miserable & alone once again.

Instead, I jolted upright as I heard him approach me & sit down besides me. His shoulder bumped into mine as he leaned over & looked down into the alleyway below. My face flared red as he glanced my way, his classically uninterested expression doing me no good to figure out his true motives.

"That's quite a fall. You'd most certainly die from jumping all the way up here," he said conversationally, casually rolling up his sleeves as he spoke. "Not the most painless way to go, but it could work just the same."

I passed him a confused look. I was honestly surprised. There was no malice, no anger, no accusations or emotion at all as he spoke. He was simply stating facts.

"Yeah? And?" I grumbled, considering taking off one of my shoes & lobbing it at his head as anger took me in the heat of the moment, realizing he might have been mocking me. "Are you trying to accuse me of something, boss?"

"No, no accusations," he replied, still staring over into the dark alleyway below with an entirely too blank expression on his face. "It's just that... I don't think I'd like if you did that," he continued, slowly scrunching up his expression as if he even trying to figure out what he even meant by saying that. "Dying & all that nonsense, I mean."

A weak bit of hope fluttered in my chest. It was barely there, but I could feel it just the same. There was a tightness in my throat & a sudden burning at my eyes as I watched him, trying to figure the madman out.

Was it possible that I had actually found someone who cared even a little bit about me? Someone who would actually miss me when I was gone?

No, honestly, it was just crazy to even imagine! He didn't care. He was just playing some game with me, as per the usual. This was just another chance for him to try to confuse me or lure me into passivity so that he could have me in his clutches & -

"I don't want to see you like this," he stated rather matter of factly as he locked his gaze with me, his hand gently taking ahold of mine while he spoke. "I don't like when you're in pain. How... how can I help you?"

I felt my eyes welling up & I took a shakey breath to steady myself before I would burst out crying besides him.

But instead, my god damn need to cover up my weakness came smashing through my true emotions as I laughed obnoxiously & snatched my hand from out of his grip.

"Oh, that's good! You really got me there, boss! Thought you actually cared - too funny!" I made it look like I was wiping away a fake tear as I rubbed away at my burning eye. "Nice one, Obake! That was really -"

"Stop it, Parasite!" I winced at his stern voice cut me off, easily killing my happy facade in a second. "Stop doing that - that fake laughing thing! I can't stand when you do that - as if I can't see straight through you when you're like that..."

I shrunk back from him, suddenly feeling as though all of my emotional walls & boundaries that had been keeping me safe since I was a kid were broken down at once. Could... could he always see through my lies? I fidgeted with my fingers as my worries pelted me. At once, he collected himself & sighed deeply, rubbing at his temple as if he had a headache coming in.

"Sorry, I... I meant to say that you don't have to lie to me. Just... please tell me the truth or how I can help you." He exchanged a tired look with me, his eyes piecing through my own as I attempted to formulate a response. "I can't help you if you keep lying."

"Well... to start, I don't really like being called Parasite. It's not the nicest thing to call someone," I joked, quickly looking anywhere but at Obake's face. "But, you know..."

"Well, what may I call you?" He asked gently. "What works for you?"

"How about my name? My real name?" I gulped harshly before continuing. "Kei, that is. My name is Kei."

He suddenly smiled at me in a way that he could have easily convinced me that he hadn't already pulled my personal records ages ago. "Alright, Kei. I can do that," he insisted, his hand folding over mine again.

We sat there for a few moments without saying anything, our hands just gripping tightly onto the other like we had become each other's tether to the real world.

"Soooooo..." he cleared his throat before glancing back over at me, his expression was something devious at best. "Unless your dating profile is no longer up to date, you enjoy hot chocolate & walking around the city at night, if that is correct?"

I felt my cheeks flushing as I covered my face with my free hand. Of course he had done his research & found the one & only dating profile I had ever made from back before I started my whole mind controlling leech gig & when I was still trying to do the normal lifestyle thing. I winced as I looked at him through the gaps in my fingers, a harmless crooked smile was pulling across his features as the cringe factor weighed heavily down on me. I hated that he could look so effortlessly handsome, even while I sat here as a suicidal & rather dumpy mess besides him.

"Ugh, you actually found that?" I groaned in earnest. "God, what a nightmare!! I could've sworn I deleted that account like a year or two ago & -"

"You did," he cut me off, his eyes giving off a dangerously playful gleam. "But once it's out there in the web, it's ALWAYS out there. Easy enough to track down, for those who know how..."

"That's good, I thought that maybe you'd..." I chuckled nervously as he gave me an inquisitive stare. "Oh, it's nothing."

"Nothing? Really? As a matter of fact I think it is something, after all... What, Kei? Could you be considering the possibility that you & I had matched on some dreadful little dating app some time ago? & that, what? Perhaps I had memorized your entire profile? In case we ever met one day? Because that's just silliness, of course." He grinned wolfishly at me as I tried to figure him out. Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to tell if he was being serious or just trying to mess with me again.

"You... you didn't though... right?" I laughed weakly as he stepped away from the ledge & pulled himself upright, dragging me along with him. "Cuz that makes you sound really, really crazy, in the not good way, boss."

"Come along, Kei. Let's go get something to warm our weary bones," he said with a hum, completely ignoring my last comment.

"This conversation isn't over," I playfully punched him in the arm and he smirked knowingly at me. "You've still got some 'splainin' to do."

"Sure, sure, sure. But, let's get some chocolate first." He began leading me far away from the ledge, some odd sense of safety falling over me as his hand held onto mine.

"And I believe you once recommended a little place on Vinton Street some time ago, saying it was one of your favorite little hole in the wall shops unless I'm mistaken?" He looked over to me expectantly, obviously waiting for a reaction on my side.

"Ha, ha, I get it! You did your research on me & now you're just showing off, Mr Tech Superstar," I stuck out my tongue at him as we started making our way downstairs, heading towards the street. "Now shut up & let's get some drinks."

I jolted at once as his hand shifted in mine, & he slowly interlaced his fingers with mine. I sighed - feeling a bit defeated, quite hopeful & a whole lot exhausted - & rest my head against his arm, desperate to hide the growing blush on my face as I felt unbelievably more & more comfortable in the hands of a madman. "I think we both could use a break."

He shrugged easily, a small smile still lit up over his face. "I'm not about to argue with that, my dear. Just glad we're finally getting in one together."

#obakei #obake #dj parasite #kei tanaka #nok talks #nok writes #suicide tw #but nothing serious #just the idea of suicide #& intrusive thoughts #but mostly fluff #& stuff #idk #i just needed something soft & fuzzy rn #depression tw #intrusive thoughts tw

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Note

would it be ok to ask for hcs of the main 6 + vaderwood and how they would react to their normally energetic and funny mc being a little off and making some self-deprecating jokes (like a little too dark to be funny) as a way of coping and hiding their anxiety/depression? if not thats ok im just in a similar mood today.

self-deprecating jokes are my thing too, tbh. hope you’re feeling better! Also, I couldn’t picture Vandy for this particular hc, I’m sorry :c

Yoosung

This boy honestly loves how fun you are. He will always laugh with you and you don’t tease him that much (Saeyoung does that for you)

One day, when he comes home from his job at the vet, he finds you calling for pizza. He lets you finish the call and then you look up.

“Hey, welcome back! I accidentally left the stove on for too long and messed up dinner” you casually said, with a small giggle. “So I called Pizza Hut, hope it’s okay”.

“It’s okay!” he says. “I love pizza”

“I know, me too” you smile. You stand up and stretch your arms. “Okay, so I’ll take a shower before it gets here. How the fuck did I forget the stove on, I don’t know” you laugh. “I swear to God I would totally leave me at this point”.

Yoosung says nothing, shocked. He watches you walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower. He knows you like to joke around, but that joke had been pretty specific. Leave you? Why would he leave you? Over some burnt food?!

He waits until you come out, wrapped in a towel and hands you a cup of your favourite tea. You smile weakly.

“An award for my awful cooking?” you tease him.

“Hey! It’s just food! And you solved it. I don’t really care, MC, please let it go”. He sees your lips tremble a little bit. “Are you okay?”

You had a really rough day at work. You tell him all about it while sipping on the tea and he silently listens to you, nodding at the right times. The pizza finally arrives and he puts on your favourite show so you both can watch it. When you go to bed, he makes sure to give you extra cuddles, so you never have to feel any more pressure on yourself.

Zen

Honestly, he’s not the best at comedy. But he really likes how much you can make yourself laugh with your own jokes.

He comes home and hands you his tablet. You arch an eyebrow and look at him from the couch. He sits beside you and asks you to press play. You nod and comply his request.

It’s a video from rehearsal. He’s singing at he’s actually hitting all the notes just right. You smile softly, watching the video in silence. When it’s over, you turn and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re amazing, babe. You did the song soooo good! How can you be so talented?”

“Thank you, babe. And I don’t know, can’t help it. I’m just talented.” he shrugs, with a confident smile.

“Well, someone has to be” you responded quickly. His smiled faltered and he looked at you, confused.

“What are you talking about? You are talented too. I’ve seen your drawings, those building projects you have been working on. They’re masterpieces, MC, I love them and–”

“I didn’t get the job, Zen” you quickly answer, not looking at him. “They didn’t like those ‘masterpieces’” you added, making the colons signs with his fingers.

Oh. So they had already sent you the email.

Zen would put the tablet aside and hold you on the couch. Whisper over and over again how talented you truly are and how they were in the wrong for not noticing it.

“If they can’t see how brilliant you are, why would you want to work for them?” he asked. “I’ve been rejected more times that I can count. I know how you feel. And you know what makes me feel better?”

You look at him and shake your head.

Ten minutes later, you’re both riding on his motorcycle, feeling the air against your face. you hug him tighter and smile.

Jaehee

Jaehee’s not one for jokes. But she does enjoy the occasional laugh she has with you. You make tons of jokes, but, unlike Saeyoung, you know when to stop

“Babyyyyyyyy, I’m a mess!” you complained, stretching on your bed. Both of you were working on your laptops, when suddenly you put yours aside.

“C’mon. Help me, Excel Goddess! Can’t seem to make this thing to work and I need to show it to my boss tomorrow” you asked. Jaehee smiled softly, put her laptop aside and grabbed yours. She started typing formulas, fixing your work.

“You’re so good to me, baby. Thank youuuu. That’s why you’re the smart one here”. Jaehee just smiled, continuing her work.

“They should have taught me Excel in school instead of sports. Did anyone of my class turn out to be an athlete? No one. Are we struggling to get a job because we don’t know shit about Excel? We are”.

“Maybe that’s why I’m failing. Maybe that’s why I had to settle with this shitty job, because I can’t comprehend the monster that in Microsoft Excel. Maybe that’s also why my Computer Science teacher hated me at school” you said dramatically. Jaehee chuckled softly.

“Maybe that’s why my whole life is a mess right now. Maybe that’s why I can’t find joy in the things I do anymore, maybe that’s why my father left us. Because I’m a shitty person who can’t do Excel and can’t get a decent job”.

She stopped typing and looked over at you.

“MC. What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m tired. Don’t think about it too much”

“I-… Do you want me to talk to Mr. Han? Maybe there’s a position and… I know C&R takes most of my time but an entry level job may be good– at least for your resumé and–”

“I’m fine. Don’t think about it, baby” you dismissed, but Jaehee grabbed your hand.

“Can’t you really find joy anymore?” she asked. You sighed.

“Happens to me when the cold weather beggins. Will go away in a couple of weeks” you shrugged. Jaehee squeezed your hand.

“Let me know if I can do anything to help you… well, find joy again”.

“You do help!” you assured her. “I can find bits of joy here” you smiled and gave her a small kiss. She smiled and kissed you back.

Jumin

Jumin doesn’t understand most of your jokes. Most of the times, you have to explain them to him. He doesn’t mind, but it’s only because he really enjoys watching you laugh at your own jokes. The sight of you giggling it’s enough to light up any day.

That day, you decided to visit him during lunch. Which wasn’t a rare occurrence, you tried to visit him at least once a week, making sure with Jaehee you wouldn’t be interrupting.

“Good afternoon, my love. Didn’t expect you here” he greeted you, giving your cheek a tender kiss when you approached him. You gave him the bento you had prepared and sat in front of him, on the other side of his desk.

“I know. I just thought your darling, loving wife might make an appearence. I do have to keep those heiresses away from you” you laughed. He smiled softly and opened his bento. “Don’t want them making you change your mind about marrying some poor girl who couldn’t even afford university by herself”.

Jumin arched his eyebrow while eating his lunch. “Is there a problem with your classes? I thought you were excited about finally attending university, even if most of the classes are online for security reasons. Are the professors not competent enough? Are they not grading you fairly?”

You laughed. “No, Jumin, classes are fine. I just… Don’t really fit with your social class, you know. I mean, I knew I wouldn’t fit, but someday’s it really… just… I don’t know. You can put a working class girl in a Channel, but you can’t really change who she really is inside, right?” you smiled weakly.

Jumin furrowed his eyebrows, visibly upset. “What are you talking about?”

Your facade disappear and you sighed. You reached out for his hand and held it tighly.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me. I love you, I really do. Nothing can change that. But I can’t– I can’t pretend I don’t hear the whispers when I come here to have lunch with you. How I listen to them mocking these nice clothes you bought for me” you said, pointing at your light blue dress he had given you. “I don’t… I didn’t grow up with these things. I must look really dumb pretending to be part of a class I’m not”.

“Who made that comment?” he asks, angrily.

You try to cover it up, but after some pushing, you tell him it’s the secretary that works two offices away. She has a desk beside Jaehee’s. Jumin stands up, not stopping when you ask him to. He takes one step outside his office and spots the secretary you must be talking about.

“You’re fired. Assistant Kang, take care of that paperwork”.

Jumin returned to his office and locked the door. You can’t believe what just happened. He walks over to you and lifts up your chin with his hand, gently.

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you you don’t belong here. Or that you don’t deserve elegant clothes or anything I want to give to you. I know you didn’t grow up the same as me, but that’s why I love you. Because you didn’t look at me and saw my money or C&R, you looked at me. At who I was. Who I could be. I want to be the best man I can be, just for you. And I want to please you, giving you anything I can so you can enjoy life at its fullest. Also, look at you” he said, taking a look at your whole outfit. “You look breathtaking. You look classy, and it’s not just the dress” he smirked, kissing your cheek and making his way to your neck, leaving you a mess of giggles.

Saeyoung

Ok, so we all agree he’s the king of dark humour and self-deprecating jokes.

And he’s used to be like that around you and sometimes you make the same jokes and you both just laugh it out.

So that day, he doesn’t notice something’s off from the start.

He’s fixing the robot cat, since it had been malfunctioning. You’re reading a magazine on the couch while he’s sitting on the floor, both of you talking on and off.

“One day you should teach me who to do that. You know, fixing stuff and such”

“I wil! But you’ll need to call me sensei during our lessons.”

“Sensei? Isn’t that japanese?”

“It is! I’ll be your sensei if you wish. But what do you want to learn to fix?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to be the dumb one of the relationship”

“Awww. But we make such a good pair~”

“Just because you haven’t got tired of me yet” you chuckle.

“How could I get tired of your cooking? Never!~ I swear my mouth waters just thinking about your waffles.”

You laugh. “That’s all I am? My cooking?”

“Well, also how clean you keep this, Ms. Vanderwood hasn’t been complaining as much as before” he teases you.

“Well, you know I have to keep this apartment clean and your stomach full. That’s why I’m here, right? Until you get tired of my stupidness” you chuckle.

Saeyoung looks back at you, stopping on his fixing of robo-cat. He’s not longer smiling.

“… You really think that? That I think you’re stupid?”

“Well… I’m no genius. I’m just one more secretary, I’m… c’mon. You’d have more fun with someone who’s just as smart as you. I’m just here… until my time’s done. I’ve accepted it long ago.”

Suddenly he’s over you, making you lay on the couch, pinning both your arms over your head.

“Stop! What? Stop, just stop, what are you even saying?! You are kind, compassionate, generous and the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen. You stayed by my side when I was at my worst. You saw all parts of me and still loved me. I’m the one who isn’t worthy of someone as loving and forgiving as you. I– I could never. I could have never rescued Saeran without you. I could have never been happy or even think about real happiness if it weren’t for you. So honestly, what if you don’t know anything about computers or hacking? That doesn’t matter to me. It’s you and your heart. It’s always been about your loving heart, MC. Please, please don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ve loved you my whole life. Even before I met you. I just didn’t realize it.”

Your eyes water

damn, saeyoung i almost cried as well, you fucker

You both stay on the couch, holding each other until you fall asleep. He keeps whispering soft and warm words to your ear every now and then, making sure you never doubt yourself again.

Saeran

“i want to die” “same”

It’s so usual for you both to make dark jokes, he doesn’t really notice when it stops being a joke to you.

You’re both laying on the couch. You’re on top of him, resting your head on his chest. You can’t remember how it started, but you start joking around.

“Your girlfriend’s a mess, you know”

“She is. Have you seen her hair?” he teased.

“What the hell does she think she’s doing? Have you seen the way she dresses?”

“Total mishap. It’s like a match made in hell”

“And her voice? More like a screech” you laugh, making fun of your own voice.

“Will she ever shut up?” he sighed dramatically, smirking softly.

“Why does she think she actually make someone happy?” you chuckle. His smile disappears.

Saeran stays silent for a minute. “You’re not happy?”

are you not happy with him? has he already bored you out of your mind? are you having second thoughts about your relationship? because he’s been trying, he’s been seeing a psychologist and even though there still isn’t a big change, he— is it because there hasn’t been a big change?

“Well, you’re not” you replied in a small voice. “And I can’t– And I don’t how– Maybe it’s me?”

So, Saeran decides to try something he’s been talking about with his psychologist. Better now than ever, he thought.

“I love you”

You raise your head, looking at him in disbelief. He’s never said that before. When you started dating, he had kissed you and you had understood how it was hard for him to express feelings due to the severe trauma he had gone through, so you hadn’t pushed him but… Saeran was still looking at you, a tense expression on his face. You suddenly realized you hadn’t said anything back.

“I love you too”. You had said it before. You had told him that a million times, but it was the first time you said it back.

“I know it seems I’m not making progress– But I think I am? I mean, I just told you that, right?” he said, scratching his head, a little nervous. “He said we were going to work on expressing feelings, and it was easier to express the most intense ones.”

“Your most intense feeling– one of your most intense feelings is loving me?” you asked, still surprised.

“Shut up” he said, making you laugh for real this time.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger headcanon #mysme hc #mystic messenger hc #mm hc #mm jumin #mm zen #mm jaehee #mm yoosung #mm saeyoung #i've lost my ability to make small hcs #this turned out to be seven pages on a google doc #SEVEN #will i ever make small hcs again #idk

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