#it’ll never be fixed cause y’all don’t give a fuck
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perhaps a very sleepy and chronically ill reader dealing with a bad fatigue few days and Wil's out gone every day until the last day where he notices how bad it is and like maybe a lil bit of caretaking??
but also I see an argument somehow- you do with this how you will!
as always you're a wonderful writer<33
misunderstandings
wilbur soot x gn!reader
word count: 1,337
tw!: arguments, swearing, chronic illness - hurt/comfort tho - not proofread (are y’all noticing a pattern?)
a/n: listen, i tried my best. i don’t have a chronic illness but i tried to be *kinda* broad so if i got it so incredibly wrong, i’m so incredibly sorry. but anything for connor!! whatever connor says, i will do!!
if it were possible to be physically engulfed by your mattress, you think by now you would’ve sunk down to the middle.
rotting away in the same spot you’ve been in for 2 days. your blanket feels heavy, like it’s pinning you down. your limbs feel achy and wobbly, your head has been pounding for hours, and you are so fucking tired.
everytime you move, you feel as if you have to sleep for hours in order to recover from the 10 steps you took.
although this feeling is nothing new, this feeling is still something you’ll never get used to.
wilbur and you have been dating for 6 months. he knows of your chronic illness, but he’s never witnessed your symptoms during bad days. you don’t allow him to see you like this - you’re worried he’ll feel obligated to take care of you.
today wilbur is preforming in a small venue in your town. he’s been talking about it for weeks, excitement and nervousness in his voice each time he tells you about it. he’s been rehearsing everyday for a week for this show, so hiding your flare up from him has been easy. he hasn’t visited you this week, too busy with making sure his show runs perfectly.
you promised him you’d go. you’re determined to show up for him. you want to show him just how much you support his dreams.
so, you decide to take a small nap hoping it’ll give you the energy to get out of bed in time to see his performance.
however, when you wake up, the light outside has faded. you can see the bright streetlights. you check your phone to see if you have time to get yourself together, only to find 6 missed calls and dozens of texts from wil.
you missed the show.
how could you miss the show.
you’re beating yourself up as you lay back down, still so exhausted despite your 5 hour nap.
until you hear keys jingle at your front door. you hold your breath, nervous, knowing it’s an upset, disappointed wil who’s about to step into the door. you try to rehearse what you’re going to say to him, how you’re going to explain your absence, but the words get jumbled and it only exhausts you more.
you hear his footsteps walking towards your bedroom door. he’s dragging his feet and his pace is slow. the door creaks open. you don’t face him, you can’t. how could you look at him right now knowing you’ve broken your promise? you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at him again without feeling guilty.
“this is what you were doing?” he asks, his voice is laced with anger and disappointment, “sleeping? you were sleeping while i was waiting for you to show up?”
he pauses. you don’t move or speak. he scoffs before continuing; “why does everything i say to you seem to just go through your thick fucking skull, y/n?” his voice is louder now, laced with venom. your eyes well up with tears, your head still pounding, you limbs still aching. “i’m sorry” you whisper, you’re not sure how to fix this.
“you’re sorry?” he scoffs as he speaks, “that’s it? you’re fucking sorry? i’ve been talking about this for weeks, i was so excited for you to see this and all you have to say is you’re fucking sorry?” his voice echoes through your room as he speaks, each word he says bouncing off the walls and hitting your head like a boulder causing a sharp pain. you’re exhausted, and the emotions and words are only making you more tired.
“i’m sick. i should’ve texted you but i fell asleep. i didn’t mean to, i had every intention on waking up on time to come but…i’m just exhausted” your face is half squished into your pillow, causing your words to come out muffled.
“this isn’t fucking about you” he yells now, his voice coming out like a boom, you sink further into your bed, “why are you making this about you? i- i trusted you”
exhaustion is hitting you fast. despite the volume of his voice, the pain in his words, the emotions in your body - you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.
“c-can we talk about this when i’m better? please? i-i’m so tired, wil.” your voice is slurred as you speak. there’s silence as your eyes blink slowly. you’re forcing your body to stay awake until you gain his permission.
you hear footsteps approach you, and a body slowly steps into view. wilbur crouches down so he’s within your line of sight. his face is etched with worry now, a much different sight to the one you were expecting.
he searches your face, looking you up and down. you imagine you look terrible. you haven’t had the energy to shower, you ran out of water in your water bottle and you’ve only eaten the emergency snacks in your bedside drawer.
“is this a flare up?” he asks, his voice gentle and soft. you nod your head against the pillow.
“i should’ve told you” you whisper, “but i really did intend on coming. i promise. i would never miss a show on purpose.”
“i know” he whispers back.
“i know you wouldn’t. i’m sorry” he reaches the back of his cold hand to touch your warm forehead. the touch is soothing, causing you to lean further into it.
“what hurts, baby?” he whispers gently.
“i’m okay” you respond quickly. you don’t want him to feel responsible for taking care of you, especially after breaking your promise and hurting him.
“let me take care of you.” his eyes are filled with worry as he speaks. “i’m sorry i yelled. i shouldn’t have yelled at you. i wish you would’ve told me this was happening.”
“didn’t want you to worry” your voice is slurred and slow, the exhaustion is obvious.
“i always worry” he laughs, before immediately switching back into caretaking mode - “let me take care of you. please. tell me what’s hurting you, precious” he says it so gently, so full of love and worry. he’s petting your hair, waiting for you to give him instructions on what to do next. he’s never seen you like this before and it breaks his heart to see you in pain and so exhausted you can barely speak. it hurts him even more when he realizes he yelled at you while you laid alone in this state.
“m’head” you mumble.
he nods, getting up and taking your empty water bottle in his hands. “i’m gonna get you some water and medicine, okay? you can sleep after you take some pain meds” he explains, still whispering, before softly walking out the door to grab what you need.
when he returns, you gratefully take the two pills laid out in his palm and drink the cold water before laying back down.
“can you hold me?” you ask. though it’s muffled and slurred, he understands.
“‘course i can” he responds. he crawls into the opposite side of your bed, inching towards you but trying to keep his movements slow and soft as to not further agitate your pain.
“i’m sorry for missing the show” you say, as he pulls your back into his chest and lays his head behind yours. he kisses your shoulder softly, tracing his thumb over your stomach as he holds you.
“that’s okay, darling” he whispers, kissing the back of your head, “just rest. i’ll be here when you wake up.”
you shut your eyes, and sleep quickly takes you away.
wilbur stays awake, holding you as you sleep and watching as your chest rises and falls. he feels guilty for yelling, for assuming your absence was intentional. he should’ve known you would never do anything to hurt him - at least, not if you could help it.
we’ll talk about it in the morning, he thinks, before he joins you in a deep sleep.
#wilbur soot#wilbur soot x reader#wilbur x reader#wilbur soot fic#dsmp x reader#mcyt x reader#mcyt x y/n#mcyt#wilbur soot x you#mcyt x you
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hi !! for the time stamp event, could i please request prompt 55 and 80 with jeonghan or wonwoo if that’s okay with you ? thank you sm <3
dirtysvthoughts hits 100 followers!
a/n: decided to make this one for wonwoo since i did get a lot of jh requests previously! i hope that’s okay anon! 🤍 also we’re not gonna question kenny on why she always does bratty! reader x wonwoo (which probably stems from a personal desire to have wonwoo blow her back out after testing his patience 🙃)
tags/warnings: hard dom!-ish (?) wonwoo, female! reader, bratty! reader, boyfriend! wonwoo, vibrator usage, petnames (daddy, my dear, sir, baby girl), reader is defiant AF y’all, so bold if you will, oral panty stuffing (?) y’all idk how to explain it lol, but it’ll make sense when you read dsjdjdjdj, i keep writing absolute filth IM SICK 🥹
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
55. “i think i like you better with a gag in your mouth.”
80. “want me to give it back? make me.”
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
you lay sprawled out on your bed, no comforter, blanket, or duvet to cover up what you were doing to yourself.
“mmmm, w-wonwoo..” you moan out your boyfriend’s name, your eyes tightly shut trying to picture him on top of you. you had your vibrator pleasuring you underneath your lace panties with one hand, and the other hand was on your breast, feeling your nipples perking up.
your boyfriend was out and about and wouldn’t be back home for a while, or so you thought. you were so focused on your own pleasure that you didn’t even hear your apartment door open or keys jangling.
“baby, i’m back,” you hear your boyfriend say from outside your room, but before you could toss your vibrator to the other side of the room, wonwoo opens the door revealing your beautifully fucked-out state to his surprised, yet intrigued eyes.
“w-wonwoo! uh, y-you’re back early,” you try and feign a normal voice, but you knew you weren’t fooling him. he really wasn’t supposed to be back for a while, you think to yourself. what could’ve brought him back ahead of schedule?
“i am.. and i see that a certain someone couldn’t wait until i got back to get her pussy filled,” he crosses his arms and smirks at you.
“well, what do you expect me to do when you’re not here? the temptation-“
“i expect you to follow the rules we have established.. so tell me what rule did you just break?”
you roll your eyes and stay quiet, fiddling with the vibrator that was still in your hands.
“i’m waiting,” he says refusing to break eye contact with you. “don’t touch myself unless i have sir’s permission,” you say quietly but enough for him to hear.
“so if that’s the rule, then why do i see a vibrator in your hands?” he slowly approaches you and sits on the edge of the bed, desire and lust in his eyes.
he takes the vibrator from your hands and you daringly try to take it back. “i wasn’t done you know! lemme finish with that and then i’ll get back to you,” you say trying to gain the item back.
he’s amazed at how defiant you were being today. as much as we wanted to change your attitude, this side of you was always a turn on for him. “heh, want me to give it back? make me.”
the second you try to take the vibrator from him again, he pins both your arms to the bed, causing the vibrator to fall to the floor, becoming quickly forgotten.
“oooh, baby girl,” wonwoo chuckles into your ear as he lays on top of you. you might never admit it, but his deep voice when he whispers always affects you to your core. “you’re so in for it now.”
he roughly kisses your neck, feeling his teeth leaving hickeys into the sides. you push his head in deeper, moaning when the lower parts of your bodies begin to make contact with each other.
“f-fuck, w-wonwoo, i-”
“that’s not my name, baby girl,” he cuts you off. he couldn’t be serious right now.
“s-sir,” you fix your wording, barely getting it out now that he’s moved from your chest. he fondles your breasts as he pulls your shirt up, you help him out a little until he gets it off you and tosses it to the other side of the bedroom.
“that’s better,” he says, cockiness laced in his voice. he works on your lower body, taking off your lace panties and tearing them in the process.
“won- sir!” you exclaim, softly hitting his chest. “ugh, those were new!”
“and? you know i’ll buy you several new ones anyway.”
he continues to play with your breast, but a familiar sensation creeps up and you can’t contain the loud moan you let out.
“you can never get enough of my hands, can’t you my dear?” he laughs, clearly enjoying how frazzled you are. two of his fingers were pushing in and out of you at such a delicate, yet somehow fast pace. you continue to call out of him, extremely sensitive even by the slightest touch.
and normally, wonwoo loves hearing you moan for him, but since you were disobedient, he had to punish you. “bad girls never go unpunished,” he told you once when he caught you touching yourself in the shower and he told you to wait for him.
he finds one half of your torn panties in the comforter, and stuffs it in your mouth. you nearly gag at the feeling of the cloth in between your teeth, eyes blown wide open at how rough wonwoo was being with you today.
“hmph, i see that look in your eyes,” he says as he kisses you from your forehead down to your neck. “this is your punishment, baby girl - you’re gonna be so quiet, the only thing i wanna hear my skin slapping against yours. do you understand me?”
you nod furiously, in hopes that if you follow his directions, the quicker you’d get to make noise again.
he takes of his shirt, followed by his pants, and then he takes his dick out of his boxers, his tip hard and oh so delicious. you whine against the panties still stuffed in your mouth. you had to get him inside of you now.
“besides, i think i like you better with a gag in your mouth,” he smirks as he aligns and enters inside of you in what would be a long night and a sore morning.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen smut#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#svt imagines#seventeen imagine#svt smut#jeon wonwoo smut#wonwoo smut#jeon wonwoo imagines#jeon wonwoo imagine#wonwoo imagines#wonwoo imagine#jeon wonwoo#wonwoo#seventeen x female reader#dsvtt: answered asks
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Elysium
god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished
Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader
tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw
The island itself is breathtaking
Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it.
Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child.
He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.
A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well.
As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”
Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.
—
You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call.
And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse.
They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.
‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’
You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.
So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.
And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined.
Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.
“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.
You’d like to hate her.
It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.
“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.
“I always go,” you reply.
She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?”
And your traitorous heart skips a beat.
“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.”
Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”
It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.
“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?”
Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.
“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”
Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression.
“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;
“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”
A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet…
No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–
Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”
—
She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.
Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following.
Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading.
And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.
Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.
For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.
—
You can’t forget the reason you came.
But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home.
And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions.
It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain.
Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.
Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him.
Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–
Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.
‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’
Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.
You can deal with the fallout later.
—
Kiyoshi.
He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.
Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part.
There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours.
From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.
It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”
Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”
A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.
Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.
Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea.
While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.
You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well.
Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for.
As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to.
Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.
Every inch a king and his general.
And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.
Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.
Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight.
Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers.
“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him.
Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”
“Thanks.”
Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.
But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight.
Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.
You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”
He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.
Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion.
So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.
“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”
“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”
Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering.
Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”
He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.
The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms.
An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night.
That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–
Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?”
You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”
“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”
“Oh, um- Ryuji.”
Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”
He looks you right in the eye as he says it.
You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be.
Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–
Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?
“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.
And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”
Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach.
Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.
Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”
You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves.
“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”
But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”
Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”
“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”
Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”
Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.
And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–
“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”
The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.
–But not to lie down.
There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.
You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.
And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.
You and Ryuji.
He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach.
For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head.
Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river.
If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–
“Lost?”
The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.
Slowly, you turn.
Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.
A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.
Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–
You’re tired.
Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.
… Right?
A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”
The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north.
In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night.
And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?
A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.
And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore…
You should have stayed on the beach.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.
Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.”
Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.
If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it?
And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–
A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.”
An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.
“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”
You have no response to that, so you do.
—
The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island.
As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.
The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment.
You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage.
It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.
Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside.
Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.
“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”
Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side.
True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly.
“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.
Swallowing tightly, you shake your head.
Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.
Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?
Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.
Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.
Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.
It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.
The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.
“Come,” a familiar voice calls.
You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.
“Go on.”
And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.
Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.
It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first.
No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.
How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable.
“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.
His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.
“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”
You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.
It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.
“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.
He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.
“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–
His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.
“Aren’t you happy here?”
Yes.
“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out.
Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes.
There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.
A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”
Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise.
When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.
It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.
It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.
None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–
The door opens.
Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually.
Time slows.
Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at.
Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally–
Finally, you’ve found Ryu.
There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.
Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.
“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.
Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–
He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.
It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.
“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”
Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound.
He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.
Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”
His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.
Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips.
It wasn’t him. It was never him.
“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”
The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.
And you’d still come when he’d called.
Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.
“Iwa.”
The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.
Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care.
“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.
He isn’t wrong though.
Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch.
“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.
Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.
Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again.
Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.
“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”
Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”
You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to.
Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?
You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.
“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”
You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.
His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”
Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you.
Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.
Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter.
This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–
A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”
With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.
The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.
It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most.
Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–
Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.
With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood.
Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.
The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.
Death begets life, just as he promised.
And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.
There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.
Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.
Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.
—
“Look, look!”
A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”
The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.
At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”
You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”
#yandere haikyuu#yandere oikawa x reader#yandere oikawa tooru#yandere oikawa#yandere oikawa tooru x reader#cult au#tw: religious themes#tw: dubcon#tw: blood#tw: minor character death#tw: abuse#hades.dark#oikawa x reader#oikawa tooru x reader
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past, present, future → b.chan
synopsis: Your best friend drags you to his high school reunion against your will, and never have you encountered such chaos. Alternatively, you go on the journey of making more friends, and a potential lover.
genre: high school acquaintances to lovers au; fluff, one second of angst
pairing: bang chan x reader
word count: 14.4k
warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, kinda dialogue heavy (oops)
note: i am BACK with this mess of a fic. it took me too long to finish this, and i apologise for any shitty writing :3 thanks to my little babie @curanonemu for making sure i finished this and supporting me as usual muAH. new formatting on posts too weeeee (new year, new me fsdhfgs jk no)!! also, synopsis kinda sucks i’m sorry :P hope y’all enjoy! x
i.
You did not want to go for your high school reunion dinner.
High school is a time for many that is either the best, or worst time of their lives. Forever friends are found there and painstakingly embarrassing memories are made in run down buildings with people you care about. Except, you didn’t have any such attachments.
Those three years were nothing but a filler for you as you studied, helped out in the library, and hung out with one person you called your best friend.
And on top of it all, it wasn’t even a high school reunion dinner meant for you.
The night the bomb is dropped on you, Changbin walks into the living room of the apartment you both share just outside the grounds of your university, and goes straight to the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of cereal because cooking and Changbin did not get along well. The apartment was way cheaper than the dorms your school provided, and it definitely did not have any nosy RAs who were just out there to torture students for their own viewing pleasure.
On top of all that, you could live with your best friend and not some random stranger who might very much as well be a psychotic killer. Perhaps, Changbin could have some questionable habits, like talking to himself in a baby voice while looking in the mirror, but nothing that threatened your life.
You hear Changbin’s phone ringing from the kitchen as you aimlessly flip through the shows available on Netflix, deciding which new show you should watch and commit to, when your best friend’s boisterous laughter fills your ears. Used to the noise, you roll your eyes before increasing the volume of the TV, finally deciding to rewatch Sherlock.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re about to solve the known mystery together with Benedict Cumberbatch when Changbin walks in front of the TV, automatically eliciting a whine from you as you crane your neck left and right to catch a glimpse of the screen.
“What the fuck, Bin?” You finally yell, frowning at the boy in front of you. Realising that he probably wanted something, considering the fact that he wasn’t moving till you asked him, you switch the TV off and settle back into the sofa, throwing him a death glare. “What do you want from me, pest?”
Something’s definitely amiss when you see Changbin shuffling his feet and looking at the ground, a guilty smile ever-present on his face.
“Whatever it is, my answer is no,” you say distantly, leaning back into the sofa with crossed arms. “So give it up.”
“Oh c’mon Y/n! At least hear me out?” Changbin cries out loudly, dropping onto his knees with clasped hands.
Heaving out a sigh, you slowly unfold your arms and lean forward, eyebrows raised as you nod at the poor boy in front of you. “I’ll hear you out. But don’t expect me to say yes.”
“Um...” Changbin starts, eyes darting around the room as he tries to find the right words. “So my high school friends are having a reunion dinner next week and I told them I’d go, but I also said I’d bring you along and they were too happy and so now I think you’ll have to come with me but-”
“Woah woah woah, a high school reunion party? Absolutely not.”
It’s not like you had anything against his friends. You did have brief interactions with a few of them in high school and you knew they were pretty decent lads, but there was no way you were following Changbin to what was meant to be a friends’ gathering.
“But why not!” Changbin whines, waddling over to you on his knees. “It’ll be really fun!”
“Yeah, fun for you,” you deadpan, staring at your pitiful best friend who has now resorted to throwing you puppy eyes. “They’re your friends after all, not mine.”
“That’s right. But they could be. Don’t you think it’s time you start finding more friends who are not me?”
Changbin’s once pitiful eyes held something other than desperation at that moment; they held concern.
It was true that you had no other friend other than Changbin. You knew lots of people, sure, but you wouldn’t call them your friends. With no friends to your name other than that one, it also wasn’t hard to guess that you never dated too. But all that mattered is that you were fine with it, right?
“You know that I don’t need any other friends. You’re more than enough for me. Truthfully, I don’t think I could deal with another Changbin in my life.”
Your words incite chuckles from Changbin, but that doesn’t stray him from his original goal.
“How about this,” he starts, opting to sit cross-legged on the floor because his knees were starting to hurt way too much. “You come to the reunion with me, and the moment you feel uncomfortable, we both can leave no questions asked. Deal?”
As tempting as that sounded, you knew it was not fair to cut Changbin’s precious time with his friends just because you did not want to hang out with new people. “That’s not fair to you.”
Shaking his head, Changbin stares at you, the fire in his eyes clearly visible, and you know that he had made up his mind. “I don’t care. It’s either you follow me and we can leave whenever, or I don’t go at all.”
There was no turning back now. You knew that in the end, what Changbin wants, he gets.
You sigh numbly before nodding your head in defeat, dreading the day that was to come where you had to leave the comfort of your apartment.
With no warning, you’re engulfed in a tight hug by a nuisance chanting “thank you” a million times. You ease into the hug, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a light squeeze, before pulling back to see that he had a smile similar to the one on your face.
“I guess you’re right about me needing more friends. I can’t be annoying you for the rest of my life, right?”
ii.
You’re once again reminded why you don’t go for social gatherings as you take in the various clothes strewn all over your room.
“Hey- Woah, what happened here?” Changbin asks, bewildered at the sight in front of him. “It looks like a hurricane hit your room or something.”
“Yes, it’s called Hurricane Y/n Is Screwed,” you reply sarcastically, before sinking down into your bed in defeat. Looking up at your best friend, you decide to give it a shot and put on your most pitiful face. “Do I really have to go?”
“Yes, you really have to go,” Changbin replies without sparing you another glance, as he sifts through the heap of clothes on your bed. “And get that ugly look off your face, please. It makes me want to barf.”
Flipping your best friend off, you manoeuvre yourself such that you’re facing Changbin, and look upon him in curiosity.
After what felt like forever, pieces of clothing are thrown at you, along with a reminder that you had three hours before you had to leave.
“Three?!” You screech, causing Changbin to wince and cover his ears. “You should’ve told me earlier so that I have more time!”
“What are you so loud for, you damn pterodactyl? And three hours is more than enough. We’re just going to a cheap restaurant a few blocks away because we’re all broke college students.”
Huffing at your insolent best friend, you grab the clothes he threw at you and make your way to the bathroom, not bothering to contemplate his decision because you knew he had pretty good taste in fashion. In fact, half the clothes you had in your wardrobe were bought with him as your advisor, so you’re really in no position to criticise his choices.
You stare at your reflection and let out a nervous breath; you weren’t used to meeting new people, and there was no way you were going to be able to handle a hoard of newly turned adults. The last thing you wanted was to cut Changbin’s time short with his friends, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you make a promise to yourself that you’ll get through the night by whatever means. Even if it meant hours of torture.
Changbin, with absolutely no urgency, is sitting on the couch watching the fourth Harry Potter movie, when you walk into the living room, makeup half done and still dressed in your stay-at-home clothes. Boys, you think.
“I think I need to know who and how many people will be there,” you finalise, watching Changbin pick up the remote and pausing the movie at exactly when Cedric dies; poor chap. “ So that I can, you know, mentally prepare myself.”
“You really don’t, but okay. There’ll be nine of us, including you. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix from the dance team, Jeongin and Seungmin from the baseball team, Chan from the swimming team, soccer team, and honours board, and Jisung who was pretty much useless like me.”
“Wow.”
“In my defense, you’ve seen all of these dudes at least once,” Changbin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, they’re all really nice and fun so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Says you,” you mutter under your breath, before returning to your room to prepare for your doom.
iii.
The sign of the restaurant flickers periodically as you stand in the middle of the street with Changbin by your side. People brush past you as they hurry to meet their friends and families in the various restaurants lining the street, excitement evident in their steps.
Taking a deep breath, you push open the door. Immediately, a gush of warm air welcomes you, causing you to let out a content sigh.
“Hey Changbin!” A loud voice calls out from behind you, and the both of you turn in your place. The sight in front of you gives you equal amounts of anxiety and fear, as you wonder how you were going to handle the table of one, two, three… seven boys, including the embarrassment standing beside you, who was now busy doing some sort of weird wave in favour of a greeting.
“Changbin, please,” you plead, burying your face in your hands as you willed for someone to transport you back to your apartment so that you didn’t have to face reality and stand next to your shameless friend.
Chuckling sheepishly, your best friend finally stops, patting your back before walking towards the table at the back of the restaurant. “Oops sorry. Let’s go meet the rest!”
Here goes nothing.
Reaching the almost-filled table, your eyes dart from face to face, trying to see if you could remember anyone currently seated in front of you.
“Guys! This is Y/n, my best friend,”—at this, a few complaints erupt from around the table—”Gosh, fine. My other best friend.”
Immediately, at least three people shout their greetings your way.
“Hi Y/n! Nice to meet you!”
“Yo~ Changbin’s told us lots about you.”
“Y/n, sit beside me!”
Exasperated, your eyes flit around the table, trying your best to smile at all of them (which honestly turns out to look more like a pained grimace). Luckily, there was one seemingly sane person present.
“Shut up, everyone.” A boy with blue hair and sharp eyes shushes everyone. “Hi Y/n, it’s nice to have you here. I’m Jeongin.”
At this, the once quiet table is back to chaos as complaints are directed towards Jeongin for sneakily introducing himself first. Taking advantage of the mess, Changbin guides you towards the empty seats and finally settles the both of you down. Now all the seats were filled, except for one empty seat left beside you.
You’re about to ask Chanbgin about the empty chair, but before you can, he claps his hands, attracting everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone will take turns introducing themselves. Seungmin, you start.”
The sandy haired boy seated on the right of Changbin waves both his hands while bouncing in his seat, reminding you of a puppy. “I’m Seungmin!”
Next is Jeongin, who just gives you a small smile.
Beside him, you see a blonde haired boy, what is up with the hair colours, who just smiles brightly, eyes shining brightly and freckles visible. “Hello, I’m Felix. It’s great to meet you!”
Taken aback by the deep voice, which was a total contrast to his cute appearance, you’re unable to hide the shock from your face. This triggers a bout of chuckles from the table; it was probably common for people to display similar reactions when meeting Felix.
Before pretty boy (that’s what you decided to remember him as) could introduce himself, the black haired boy resembling a squirrel interrupts him. “I’m Jisung!”
You recognise him as the one who shouted when you and Changbin entered the restaurant, and you’re about to acknowledge him when you’re cut off.
“Oi Han, it was my turn to introduce myself! Who allowed you to skip the line?”
“I do what I want,” was Jisung’s response, and pretty boy looked like he was one push away from murder.
Just as you’re sure that you were about to witness a murder, Changbin chides the two boys and breaks up the petty argument. “Just introduce yourselves without any nonsense, please.”
“I’m Hyunjin,” pretty boy mutters sulkily, giving Jisung a death stare. “And I can dance better than Jisung.”
“You motherf-”
“And I’m Minho,” the last person introduces himself, successfully cutting off Jisung’s profanity mid-word. “Sorry, don’t mind those two. They’re like Tom and Jerry.”
Smiling weakly, you muster up the courage to introduce yourself to the four pairs of eyes staring at you. Hyunjin and Jisung were busy having a staredown, while Changbin was eyeing the meat sizzling on the grill. “Hi, I’m Y/n, Changbin’s friend. It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for having me here.”
And just like that, everyone is back to their own conversations, with Changbin piling the perfectly done meat onto his plate. You take in a deep breath and look around the table at the happy faces.
This isn’t so bad, you thought, a little chaotic, but otherwise entertaining.
“They’re overwhelming huh?”
Any effort to mask your bewilderment vanishes as you catch the knowing look on Minho’s face. A guilty smile blooms on your face and you nod your head. “Just a little.”
“I get that,” he starts, but soon enough, there’s a content smile on his face that shows his love for his friends. “But at the end of the day, I know that these monkeys will be there for me no matter what, so I guess it makes it all worth it.”
Smiling softly at his words, you almost coo at the light blush dusting Minho’s face as reality catches up to him.
“Ahem anyway. How’s living with Changbin?” He clears his throat before changing the topic, instinctively putting some meat on your plate before helping himself, earning a grateful smile from you.
“It’s not too bad,” you start, feeling Changbin’s gaze on you after having overheard Minho’s question. “Except sometimes, he talks to himself in the mirror and it’s pretty scarring.”
“Y/n!” Changbin whines as Minho guffaws beside you, nodding his head to your answer, clearly having witnessed that side of Changbin before. “Wait till Chan comes. At least he’ll support me.”
At the unfamiliar name, you furrow your brows and the name in the form of a question tumbles out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Chan?”
“He’s not here yet,” Minho addresses your confusion, having heard your little slip up. “He had to oversee the training for the upcoming soccer match, being the captain and all, and apparently he had a tutoring session after. He should be here soon though.”
That explains the empty chair beside you.
“Oh, he needs to get tutored after training?” You ask, feeling bad for the unknown boy. Having to absorb information after physical activities is torture. You couldn’t even focus after 40 minutes of gym. “That’s rough.”
At your assumption, a cat-like smirk spreads across Minho’s face. “Oh no, darling. He tutors after his training.”
There’s no way you’re to be blamed for the first thought that pops into your head after discovering that said Chan was responsible and smart. You’ve seen people struggling with just one extracurricular, and begging teachers for extra credits because of poor time management.
So, it’s really not your fault that the first words that enter your head is, that’s hot.
Just then, the bell situated above the door rings, indicating that someone was entering the restaurant. You’re not bothered by it, until Felix’s deep voice fills your ear.
“Chan!”
It’s almost comical how slowly you turn towards the sound, blush threatening to fill your cheeks at your first impression of Chan, without even meeting him. And as Giovanni Torriano has once said:
Talk of the Devil, and he's presently at your elbow.
Your eyes follow the figure of the devilishly breathtaking boy walking towards your table. He’s still dressed in what you assume was his soccer jersey, black hair tousled from the wind and practice. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of that inappropriate thought and opt to stare at the bowl of radish that looked the most interesting to you.
“Hey guys!” Chan smiles widely at the group of friends, as a few of them immediately get up from their seats to greet him with their usual bro hug. He sets his things down beside Minho, and is taking his seat when he spots you. Confusion clear in his eyes, he looks around the table, silently asking for an explanation as to what a stranger was doing at their usual table.
You realise his staring and try to introduce yourself, but you find yourself unable to form sentences as the reality of who Chan was hits you.
The star swimmer of your high school’s swimming team, and the top student of every single year. He was the epitome of popular. Everyone knew his name, and apparently he had never missed one day of lessons or training. On top of that, he used to regularly tutor in the library.
“Oh, this is my friend Y/n!” Changbin pipes up, slinging an arm around you. “Same high school as us, and my roommate now.”
At this, the confusion clouding Chan’s hazel eyes clears up, and he turns to face you, extending a hand. “The one who used to carry thick books everywhere and helped out in the library right? I’m Chan!”
Being the complete opposite of your best friend, you’re sure no one has ever noticed you in the library. You blend in perfectly with the shadows and shelves, and you didn’t usually help the students out, opting to arrange the books in the storeroom—the one small thing you could do to help out the aged librarian who brought you mouth-watering brownies every Thursday.
The thick books, in your defense, was your attempt at trying to finish the Harry Potter series whenever you had the spare time. You never had to explain yourself because you never expected anyone to notice. Especially not the most popular guy in school who had a million other friends.
But there he was, in all his glory, eyes crinkled into crescents as he waits for you to shake his hand, seemingly remembering you when nobody else did.
A small nudge to your side from Changbin breaks you out of your reverie and you grab his hand, silently noting how soft they were. “Nice to meet you.”
Smiling at you, he gently shakes your hand before turning to the other boys, immediately making jokes and laughing along.
“What was that about?” Changbin whispers harshly, eyeing you and Chan suspiciously.
“What was what?”
“Chan remembering you! You’ve never even met before.”
Looking at your best friend, you shrug before reaching out for another piece of meat. “Beats me.”
Changbin opens his mouth to interrogate you more, when he’s successfully cut off by Seungmin.
“Y/n! Tell us more about yourself! I’m bored of hearing about these idiots.”
Jeers sound from around the table as you let out a nervous chuckle, aware of how everyone’s attention was on you. “Me?” You ask, pointing to yourself for extra confirmation.
Yea!” Seungmin replies, nodding vigorously. “What are you doing now, and how was high school for you, and just everything!”
Noting your hesitation, Changbin is about to step in to save you, but your hand on his thigh stops him. Looking at you curiously, he realises from your expression that you’re finally about to do what he had been nagging at you to do since day one of becoming your friend.
iv.
‘Is it possible for a stomach to burst from too much laughing?’ is what runs through your head as tears stream down your face from laughing uncontrollably at another joke Jisung was saying.
“Wait, I remember Changbin telling me that people used to refer to you as Baby Photos when you all played at the school shows,” you ask after you had recovered from your laughing fit, curiosity piquing. “What’s that all about?”
At the mention of the familiar name, the boys let out groans and Hyunjin starts hitting Jisung. “It’s all Jisung’s fault!”
“Basically, he somehow got ahold of all our baby photos and submitted it to the administration on behalf of us,” Changbin explains, rolling his eyes at the memory. “So if you see our yearbook, all eight of us have our baby photos instead of the actual photo we were supposed to submit.”
How is that even possible?!
“We still don’t know how he managed to do that.” Chan answers your unasked question, shaking his head fondly at the ridiculous memory.
At this, Jisung pipes up. “Everything is possible when you’re charming and handsome. You lot won’t be able to relate!”
And you finally agree that the beating Jisung gets after was well deserved.
“Restaurant’s closing in ten!”
The owner of the restaurant, a nice old lady who had a soft spot for the boys, calls out from the back. She had already let all of you stay past her usually closing time, and even gave you some free side dishes, together with a loving chide about how the boys don’t come and visit her anymore.
The screech of the chairs fill the place as everyone gets up, stomach and heart full from the meal and company. You smile to yourself, glad that you let yourself be convinced to follow Changbin because you had one of the best days in your life.
“Did you have fun today?” Your best friend asks with a smug smile, already knowing the answer.
“Shut up,” is all you can say—a clear sign that you were admitting defeat. “It was okay.”
“That wounds me,” someone speaks up from behind you, having heard your conversation with Changbin. You whip around to see Chan clutching his heart and wearing an exaggerated hurt face. “I thought we had a connection.”
“I-you, no, that’s not-what” you splutter, horrified at the thought of Changbin’s, and now apparently your, friends thinking that you didn’t have a good time with them. There was no way you could let them think as such when they had made you feel so comfortable, and have so much fun.
Your stuttering and horrified expression does it, and Chan bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry, it was a joke. But your face!”
The guilt and regret is replaced with relief and irritation, and you smack his arm out of habit, something you always did to Changbin when he was being a pain in the ass. But as soon as you do it, you’re once again filled with regret because Oh my God it’s only been two hours, you’re not supposed to just smack people.
“Stop overthinking it, idiot,” Chan cuts you off, adding in a low tier insult to make you feel a bit better about your reflexes. “We’re friends now; all of us.”
Friend to friends. Now that’s an upgrade.
You’re about to say something, when you’re cut off by Changbin screeching unceremoniously as he glances at the time displayed on his lockscreen (it’s a picture of the two of you making ugly faces—he refused to change it).
“Shit, we’re going to miss the last bus that leaves from here!” He almost shouts, grabbing his and your things. “Adios bitchachos!”
A snicker or two echoes through the empty restaurant at Changbin’s farewell, together with requests of bringing you the next time they meet.
“Make sure Y/n comes for the next dinner! Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not!”
Jisung earns himself a string of vulgarities from Changbin for that, as he guffaws and hi-fives Hyunjin.
You’re barely able to say your farewell to the boys with Changbin dragging you out of the restaurant, but you manage to shout out a few words while waving. “Thank you for today! See you soon!”
The bus arrives just as you reach the bus stop, and Changbin all but collapses on one of the empty seats from the running you both did.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“You’re foul.” You’re staring at your best friend in disgust when he starts questioning you about the dinner, nausea forgotten.
“So…” he starts, pivoting in his seat to face you, cheek leaning against his hand which rested on the seat in front of him. “For someone who was dead set on not coming, you sure looked like you had lots of fun.”
Rolling your eyes at his words, you turn to face Changbin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me making more friends?”
“Of course, of course~” he drawls, smirk ever-present on his face. “And who do we have to thank for that?”
“And you ask me why I don’t listen to you or ask you for favours.” Turning your attention back to your phone, you open up Temple Run in hopes of keeping yourself occupied for the bus ride back; but Changbin had other plans.
Whining, he snatches your phone from your hands and slips it into his pocket. “Y/n! Tell me everything!”
“What do you want to know?!” you ask, exasperated. “You were there literally the whole time.”
“Yes I know, but I want to know what you think of all my friends!” Changbin claps his hands in excitement, leaning forward in anticipation. “Well, our friends now.”
You can’t help but sigh as you prepare for the long bus ride ahead—but somehow, you don’t miss the sudden warmth enveloping you as you recalled the past few hours.
“First of all, Jisung and Hyunjin are hilarious, it’s like…”
v.
Two weeks later, and you’re knee deep in shit. Not literally, of course, but you might as well be.
It’s the infamous hell month in your university, where every student (regardless of major) has a shit ton of assignments and tests to complete, and the library is open 24 hours for poor souls like yourself.
It’s two in the morning when you’re working on your second essay of the day. There are crumpled balls of paper all over your desk and surrounding your bin, courtesy of your pathetic aim.
“You’re cleaning everything up later,” Changbin speaks up from across the dining table you both were sharing to get work done, tapping away on his equipment as he works on some new beat. “I don’t expect every ball to go in, but to miss everything? That’s some serious talent.”
“Shut your mouth, Seo.” Flipping your best friend off, you finally push yourself away from the table, stretching a bit before making your way to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of ramen in hopes of satiating the beast growling in your stomach.
As you open each shelf, you slowly come to the realisation that you were completely out of snacks and food. Even the single frozen bag of peas and empty ice cream tub stares back at you in pity as you scan the fridge.
Taking a breath to calm yourself, you slowly turn around to face your unsuspecting, so-called, best friend. Walking towards him, you knock the table a few times to get his attention.
He notices your presence, and removes his headphones to look at you quizzically, his full attention on your blank face.
“When were you going to tell me that you had consumed every single food item we have?”
It’s almost comical how quickly the blood drains from his face, as his eyes dart all around the room, skillfully avoiding you. If it were any other situation, you would’ve definitely laughed while falling onto the floor. But this wasn’t any other situation.
This was war.
And honestly, it would have been a war that you would’ve definitely won—if not for the loud sound your stomach just produced.
Narrowing your eyes at the accused seated a few feet away from you, you walk over to the countertop with your wallet, eyes not leaving Changbin for a second.
“I will deal with you when I am back from the convenience store.”
And with the sight of Changbin gulping imprinted in your mind, you slam your apartment door behind you and make your way grumpily to the 24-hour convenience store located seven minutes away.
vi.
The electronic chime sounds throughout the store as the part-timer throws you a friendly greeting from the counter. “Welcome!”
Reciprocating with a smile of your own, you take slow steps towards the shelf with the various assorted packets of ramen, and your hand automatically reaches for your favourite one. Just as it comes into contact with the plastic, you can feel yourself salivating and your stomach growls in appreciation. It’s a myth, you think. There’s no way food like carrots and asparagus is what gets students through school. The only saving grace you have during this period is packets of ramen and chocolate milk. Countless numbers of assignments and tests are already torturous enough; healthy, tasteless food on top of that? No, thanks.
Clutching the ramen packet in your hands like it was the treasure of your life, you walk towards the milk section to complete your meal with your favourite carton of chocolate milk. There was something about the combination of milk that combats the spice from the ramen, and you’re about to drop onto your knees right there and then to worship the people who invented ramen and chocolate milk, when you see the last carton being taken away right in front of your eyes.
Without any second thoughts, you rush towards the person and grab their arm, already getting ready to pull out the sob story of how you absolutely need the chocolate milk to survive. Surprised by the sudden contact, the man holding the carton whips his head towards you, eyes wide.
There’s a fleeting sense of familiarity that passes through you when you see the hazel peeking out from above the mask that covered the rest of his face, but you’re too preoccupied to dwell on the thought. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg, you’re cut off by an all too familiar voice.
“Y/n?”
Huh?
You stare at each other for a few seconds before the realisation of who you were holding, no, clinging onto dawns on you.
“C-Chan?”
In a lively city that thrived at night, there were a thousand other 24-hour convenience stores scattered all around in every corner. It also wasn’t everyday that you decided to go to the convenience store for food, opting to go to the grocery stores instead. So, if you calculated correctly, the chance of you bumping into Chan at 2:30 a.m. at that very particular store should be close to never.
Yet, there he was standing right in front of you, chocolate milk clutched in one hand.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh I came here to water my plants.”
Plants?
You’re more than confused, till you hear the soft snicker that escapes his mouth. Narrowing your eyes at his antics, you decide to bite back with a “Ha ha, very funny.”
“So… Are you planning to hold onto me forever?” Chan teases you, eyes gesturing to your hand that was still clutching onto him, before looking back at you with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”
With the whole bumping-into-Chan thing that happened, it had completely slipped your mind that you were still holding onto him. You snatch your hand away in horror, eyes widening as you feel the heat creep up your neck. “S-sorry.” And before you could stop yourself, you also continue to spill why you had grabbed his arm in the first place. “I was just craving for chocolate milk, and the one you took was the last carton left.”
Looking back and forth at you and the carton, you start to feel like an absolute idiot, until he reaches out and pushes the carton into your hands. “You can have it then,” he says, and walks away. “Stay right there, let me grab some ramen and we can have supper together!”
You stare at the carton for a few seconds, the droplets of water that formed on the outside cool against your fingers. On a normal day, you would have refused the milk vehemently, telling the other person not to worry and to have the last carton. But today wasn’t any other day.
And Chan wasn’t any other person.
We’re friends, after all, is what echoes in your mind as you look up at the boy walking towards you, two packets of ramen in his hand and a carton of strawberry milk. Smiling at him, you finally express your gratitude for his kind sacrifice.
“Thanks for this,” you say, waving the carton in front of him. “I don’t think I would have made it through the night without it.”
Nodding with a smile, he tears his two packets of ramen open and pours in the hot water that was situated at the back of the store, grabbing yours from you in the process. “What brings you here at this hour? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be craving ramen and chocolate milk in the middle of the night on any other day.”
“You’re right about that,” you reply dejectedly, recalling the big pile of assignments waiting for you back at the apartment. “It’s hell month in school, and I’m drowning in work. On top of that, Changbin exhausted every single food source we have at home!”
Chan does his very best to hold back his laughter at your expression; he knew you were angry, but you looked as threatening as a kitten. And thankfully he succeeds, because he really did not want to be on the receiving end of your wrath. Although, he thinks, you really are not going to be able to do much damage.
“How dare he,” Chan agrees, finally taking a seat beside you, the steam from the ramen warming his face up. “Hey but, if he hadn’t done that we wouldn’t have bumped into each other here.”
You nod your head in agreement, thinking about how to start a casual conversation, when you are suddenly hit with the realisation that you knew essentially nothing about Chan. You didn’t know what university he went to, what he majored in, and what he was doing in the convenience store that late at night too.
One question at a time, you decide.
“What are you doing out this late anyway?” you ask, slurping the noodles and breathing out in relief at the taste of the ramen against your tongue.
“I come here often,” is what he replies, before taking a sip of his milk. “My uni’s about fifteen minutes from here, and I usually work the best at this time. Being a music production major, there aren’t very strict deadlines, but I’ve still got to get my shit done.”
Oh. That’s all your questions answered.
You know the trouble of trying to get questions out, especially for you, who has never really made the effort in going the extra mile in interacting with people. It’s annoying and nerve-wrecking, and probably the biggest reason why you refused making new friends. The whole process was just painful. So, when Chan answers your unasked questions, you feel the hypothetical weight lifting off your shoulder, and you open your mouth to express your gratitude. At least, that’s what you had planned to do.
“Are you a mind reader?” you blurt out, before immediately clamping your mouth shut and facepalming. “Ugh, sorry. I have a really bad habit of blurting out whatever comes to my mind.” You groan at your inconvenient habit, and Chan pats the top of your hand in hopes of comforting you.
“I just meant to say that I was thinking of asking you those questions and you answered them even before I asked.” Chan looks at you with a smile, intrigued by your personality. You clearly didn’t have any other friends other than Changbin—but you never looked as if you were upset about it. It was also clear that you were content with not interacting with people, but when you did, you were never rude about it and you really did try your best. Never in a million years would he have thought that the student scurrying around the library with tons of books would turn out to be someone like you.
“At least that means you’re an honest person!” Chan says, beaming at you. “C’mon, learn to look at the brighter side of things.”
Shrugging your shoulders with a tired smile on your face, you turn back to your ramen, which has now gone soggy due to your little chit-chat with the boy beside you.
There’s a comfortable silence that hangs between the two of you, until Chan speaks up again. “What’s your major? I realised I never asked.”
At the mention of school, you pull an automatic stank face before replying. “English Lit with a minor in Philosophy. The worst decision of my life.”
“And why’s that?”
“I never knew there’d be this much essay writing!” you cry out, throwing your head against the table. The rest of your words come out muffled, but somehow Chan manages to catch it. “I mean, I knew there was going to be lots of essays. But not this much.”
“In the major’s defense, that’s kind of a dumb move on your part, Y/n.”
“Yes, I know. Please don’t remind me of my idiocy.” You finally sit up, before sadly chewing on your noodles. “At least I have ramen and chocolate milk to keep me going.”
And as the night went on, both of you continued the conversation back and forth, you learning more about him and him about you. You talk about your assignments, how annoying some of your professors were, and how living with Changbin was. All the times you had to chase him to clean up after himself, or all the times he stayed up with you until ungodly hours just because you had procrastinated too much and was rushing an assignment in the last hour. You also learnt more about Chan; how he was studying music production because that was his dream since he was young, and how he actually roomed with Jisung, who was equally as messy as Changbin. The only difference was that Chan couldn’t be bothered about the mess.
“Changbin, Jisung, and I actually used to make tracks and post them on Soundcloud,” Chan says, smiling as he recalls the three high schoolers cooped up in his room with the bare minimum equipment that wiped out half their savings. “We even had rapper names.”
“Ooooo~” you tease, nudging his shoulder as his ears start to turn a bright red. “What was yours?”
“What’s in the past should stay in the past, Y/n. Let bygones be bygones. No point talking about it now.”
“Awww, c’mon!” You plead, fidgeting in your seat. “Was it something embarrassing like Cheminem, or something?”
“I can’t help but feel more relaxed when your standards are that low,” Chan says, with some form of relief in his voice. “Uh, mine was CB97.”
“Don’t tell me…” you mutter, eyes wide as the laughter threatens to escape your lips. “Did you really just use your initials and your birth year? Talk about bare minimum!”
“Hey! It’s better than Meminen, or Cheminem, or whatever you said earlier.”
Sticking your tongue out at him, you decide to probe further. “What were Jisung’s and Changbin’s?”
Chan stares at you with wide eyes, your mischievous eyes giving away your evil plans. “No. Changbin will kill me.”
“Don’t be a party pooper! I’ll treat you to ramen next time if you tell me.” You try tempting Chan with food, with no hopes that it would work. But somehow, you see his resolve crumbling, and realise that you just needed one final push.
“I’ll get you chocolate milk and two packets of ramen.”
At that point, Chan regrets telling you his habit of eating two packets of ramen with chocolate milk almost every night when he stays up. “You shouldn’t have given me the milk then!” is what you said while chiding him, and he just claimed that “you looked like you needed it more than me” while saying that he really wasn’t picky about the flavour of milk.
So when you tempt him with his cravings, he has no choice but to give in.
Twenty minutes later, you walk into your shared apartment, a mysterious smile playing on your lips as you drop the keys into the little holder by the door. It was made by yours truly during a random pottery workshop you signed up for. The shape was slightly off, and the colour wasn’t bright or vibrant—but it worked and that’s what mattered.
At the sound of the keys clinking in the holder, Changbin’s head shoots up to gauge your mood from your expression. Surely you would be at least a little less angry after your little run to the convenience store, he thought.
But instead of seeing a blank expression, or even an angry one, he sees the smile on your face and his heart drops. Why were you smiling? The fact that you were smiling made him feel a hundred times worse, and he had already started saying his prayers.
“So, Changbin…” you start, leaning against one of the chairs at the dining table. You weren’t even angry about the empty shelves anymore, but you just could not pass on the opportunity of teasing your best friend. “Or should I say, SpearB?”
And you’re more than content with the way his face morphs into that of horror, as he grips the edges of the table. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice strained and barely above a whisper; one would think that the whole world had found out about his darkest secret from the way he was reacting.
Shrugging playfully, you go back to your seat and sort out the papers scattered around the table, grabbing your laptop to start working on your assignment again with a full and happy stomach. “Who knows~”
“Y/n, tell me,” he starts to whine, making his way to you on his roller chair. “No one knows other than the boys-”
And the realisation of who the culprit was hits him.
“It was Chan, right?” he asks, already reaching for his phone to scold the older boy. “You must have met him when you went to the store—he’s always getting ramen there.” Typing furiously on his phone, he pauses to look up and whine again. “I can’t believe you two gossiped about me! And it was me who made you both become friends. The disrespect!”
Finally the laughter you had been holding in breaks out and floods the living room, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I can’t believe,” you start, trying to catch your breath as you continue laughing. “SpearB! What do you do? Impale people with your sharp flow and rhyme?”
“Just shut up, please,” Changbin pleads, plugging his ears with his fingers. “La la la, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He rolls back to his side of the table and grabs the headphones, shoving it over his head to drown out your laughter.
Your laugh fest is cut off by your phone vibrating, signalling that you had a new text message. Grabbing it, you tap your phone a few times to open up the messages page.
chan: can’t believe you outed me to changbin
chan: traitor
y/n: drama queen
y/n: i said nth, he figured it out on his own
chan: ఠ_ಠ
Giggling at the emoticon Chan used, you unconsciously lean back in your seat as you search your gallery for an emoticon to reply with, assignments forgotten.
“Who’re you texting?” Changbin asks, having heard you giggle at your phone. He’s eyeing you suspiciously, and you knew it was better to answer him, because a curious Changbin is a dangerous Changbin, and he’ll probably stomp over and snatch your phone to see who you were texting anyway. “It’s Chan.”
“When did you two exchange numbers?!”
“Earlier, when we met at the convenience store.”
It was right before the both of you parted ways; when Chan had proposed something that was pretty much impossible to turn down.
“I had fun today,” he said, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other swung the plastic bag containing some chocolates to add to his secret sweet stash. “You said you’re having hell month, right? Hit me up whenever you need an emergency ramen run.” And with that, he pushed his phone into your hands, signalling for you to do the same.
Smiling to yourself, you keyed in your number into the phone clutched in your hand, saving yourself as “Y/n”, and before you could regret your decision, you quickly added a smiley after your name and tossed the phone back to Chan. “Here you go.”
The cool metal is being pressed into your hands, and before you know it, you’ve said your farewell to Chan and were on your way back home.
“Look at you socialising out of your own will,” Changbin states proudly, wiping an imaginary tear as he gives you a fatherly (or what he thinks is fatherly) smile. “Albeit, at the expense of my shame, but if it means my little Y/n making more friends then why not!”
“Please stop, you’re an embarrassment to me, yourself, and literally everyone around us,” you deadpan, clearing your side of the table up. It was time to call it a night, because God knows you’re not going to be able to do anymore work. “Besides, it’s really not that big of a deal. I doubt we’ll continue talking after tonight. It’s probably a one-off thing.”
“Hmmm I wouldn’t be too sure,” Changbin muses. “I feel like there’s something that’ll come out of this.”
vii.
Seo Changbin isn’t a lot of things.
He isn’t tidy, opting to throw his clothes all around his room instead of folding it; he isn’t patient, always screaming at you to “Hurry your ass!” when he had been waiting barely three minutes; and last but not least, he definitely isn’t punctual. “Changbin is my name, and being late is my game” is something you’ve heard way too often from him that it was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him yet.
Changbin isn’t a lot of things—but what he somehow is, is intuitive when it comes to you.
So when you find yourself back at the convenience store at 12:30 a.m., ramen and chocolate milk in front of you as you laugh over some stupid story Chan was saying, you can’t help but curse at how right your best friend was.
You were reaching the end of your hell month, which also indicated it being four weeks since you and Chan had developed the routine of pigging out at the convenience store at terrible hours.
“... and he just fell off the tree!” Chan concludes his story of how Hyunjin fell off a tree in high school, words coming out breathless due to how much the both of you were laughing. “Ah, that brings back memories.”
“I can’t believe I never talked to you guys more then,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It would’ve been hilarious.”
“Someone was too busy with Voldemort,” Chan teases, pushing his nose down flat in what you could only describe as a Voldemort impression. Laughing, you swat his hand away while rolling your eyes at the boy you’ve grown so fond of in a span of four weeks. “Why’d you never talk to us?”
Thinking back to high school, you ask yourself. Why didn’t you ever bother talking to them?
“I guess it’s just cause I already had Changbin,” you start, pausing to think back to the past few years. “As much as I complain about him, he’s really one of the greatest best friends anyone could ask for.”
It was true; Changbin was there for you during high school like no one else had been, and for that you were eternally grateful for him.
“So you were scared to take any other chances since you already got the best?”
People always asked you why you didn’t make more friends in high school. Hell, even your mother kept asking, when other parents struggled to keep their children at home just because they were spending too much time out with friends. But the answer to that question was something you never thought about, and you can’t stop the feeling of shock spreading through your body at what the boy in front of you had just so casually uttered.
You were scared.
“I-I…” you stutter, eyes wide as you stare at the boy in front of you. Chan can’t help the worry that seeps into his face at his words, and he’s starting to wonder if he said anything wrong. “I’ve never ever thought about it. But, oh my God, that makes so much sense.”
After years of waving everyone who asked you why you never made any other friends away just because you yourself didn’t have the answer to the question, you’re hit with a huge realisation of just why you didn’t want to find more friends. And it wasn’t even you who figured it out.
This boy sitting leisurely in front of you, skin pale and soft, with messy black hair framing his face that he never bothered brushing away. This boy, who was as kind as he was hardworking, always willing to help out anyone, even with his own responsibilities. This boy who had been readily there for you at the devil hours for almost every day in the past four weeks, always checking up on you to make sure that you were surviving.
Never in a million years would you have expected someone to figure out something that was locked away so deep inside of your heart, and for it to be Chan, out of everyone. The thought makes your heart race a little, but you decide to blame it on the conversation the both of you were having. It was definitely not because of the boy seated beside you.
“Shocking, huh,” Chan starts, laughing slightly as the worry he had felt earlier replaced with something he could only describe as fondness. “It’s a pity though.”
You look at him questioningly, and what he says next makes you realise a few things that maybe you were better off not realising.
“We would’ve been much happier in high school with you there. I would’ve been much happier.”
As much as you regretted not befriending the other seven boys in high school, you were starting to regret bumping into Chan that very first night even more. If you hadn’t bumped into him, you would’ve never spent so much time with him, never realised how great of a person he was, and lastly, you would’ve never started falling for Bang Chan.
viii.
It’s like déjà vu.
With your exams and assignments completed, you find yourself watching the latest season of Haikyuu when Changbin enters the room, waltzing towards your reclined figure.
“Y/n~” Changbin starts, poking your shoulder to get your attention. “Whatever your annoying ass needs now, it’s a no,” you say without even turning to look at the boy beside you.
“Oh? Even if it was an invitation to dinner with the boys later tonight?”
And when your head whips to the side to look at your best friend, you’re so tempted to just wipe that smirk clean off his face, because the bitch knew you would have said yes.
“I fucking hate you,” is what you can mutter, before switching the television and throwing the remote to the side, choosing to ignore Changbin as you walk towards your room to pick an outfit. But you’re forced to stop in your tracks when Changbin casually utters the next few words.
“Chan’s especially excited to see you.”
You’re not sure what Changbin means by that, but there’s no denying the increase in your heart rate at the mention of the dimpled boy.
“What?” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as you could, hoping that your best friend wouldn’t pick up the slight quiver in your voice. But, of course, he wasn’t your best friend for nothing.
“I said, your little boyfriend’s excited to see you.” Changbin smirks at your expression, stretching his legs out to rest it on the coffee table in front of your sofa. “And it looks like you’re just as excited.”
Red travels up your neck and spreads across your face, as you sputter at your best friend’s preposterous words. “W-what are you- I- Huh-”
Realising that your little breakdown wasn’t helping your case at all, you take a deep breath to calm yourself, before speaking to the insolent brat in front of you. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you like him, don’t you?”
You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, and the first instinct you have is to play dumb. “O-of course I like him. He’s my friend.”
“I will pretend like I did not hear that pathetic attempt of you trying to act dumb,” Changbin states robotically, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Y/n. It’s obvious. So stop pretending and just fess up. It’ll be easier for the both of us.”
You had two choices now: Either fess up and prepare yourself for at least a thousand years of teasing, or just completely deny it till your deathbed.
Clearly, the second option was much more appealing.
“No, Changbin,” you snap with as much conviction as you could. “I do not have a crush on Chan. He’s just a really good friend.”
The knowing look on his face wavers, and you know that you’re seconds away from success. It’s not that you did not trust your best friend with the information of you having a crush on one of his friends. You just did not want to say it out loud—saying it out loud would mean that you were confirming it, and there will be no going back. And that scared you.
You were scared of liking someone who was way too perfect, and who probably would never like you back.
So the best solution was to keep your little crush hidden away in the depths of your heart, and slowly get over it as soon as you could. It was as easy as it could get.
ix.
Apparently, you realise, it wasn’t at all easy to get over a simple crush.
The smell of meat fills your nostrils as the eight boys chatter loudly over the sound of the sizzling of the food. You’re back at the same restaurant, with the same boys, except it wasn’t exactly the same as the last time.
This time, you had a raging crush on the boy who insisted on sitting beside you, leg brushing against yours every few seconds as he piles the food on your plate instead of his.
It definitely didn’t help that every time your hands brushed while reaching out for the side dishes around the table, you pulled your hand back as if you had just been burned, ears immediately heating up.
“Did you know Chan told Y/n about 3RACHA?” Changbin whines to Jisung, making him stop his actions mid-way, meat hanging from the chopsticks just a few inches away from his mouth. “All I heard the past few weeks was ‘SpearB, help me’, ‘SpearB, go there’. It was torture.”
The table goes silent at the new information Changbin had revealed, and all you can do is smile sheepishly as your friends stare at the both of you.
“These two have been meeting almost everyday the past few weeks to get ramen at weird timings, and I’m pretty sure Y/n has lots of quality dirt on us now,” Changbin says pointedly, completely ignoring the way your eyes widened because why would he just say that?
It already wasn’t easy keeping Changbin in check with his little fantasies every time you went out to meet Chan, and now it was going to be worse because you just knew that the six other boys were going to question you from their expressions.
You turn to look at Chan, expecting to see the same ‘busted’ expression on his face, but all you see is a guilty smile, before he opens his mouth to speak. “In my defense, I was bribed.”
“Yes but, you never told us your 3RACHA names even after we kept begging you for weeks,” Hyunjin speaks up, eyes wide in disbelief. “We had to bribe you with a new game for your console, but you just told Y/n after two packets of ramen and chocolate milk?”
Your heart rate picks up speed just a fraction after hearing Hyunjin’s words, and you can’t help but feel a little special that Chan was comfortable enough to tell you things he refused to tell others. There’s a small smile playing at your lips as you look at the boy beside you, who was now rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he tried his best to defend himself from the accusations that were now pouring out from all his friends.
Unbeknownst to you, your own best friend was watching the both of you since the night started, a glint in his eye as he catches the way you threw small glances at his friend, blushing every time your hands brushed or when Chan purposely picked out the meat that was grilled best to put on your plate.
He also didn’t miss the soft smile playing at Chan’s lips every time you laughed at another stupid joke Jisung cracked, head thrown back slightly as you clutched your stomach, or the way his eyes widened every time you leaned a little too close to him to reach for a side dish.
Fools, is what he thinks when he eyes his two best friends. Fools in love.
The night goes on, and it’s Changbin who proposes a game of who can finish a bottle of soju the fastest to make things more exciting. You already know how it was going to end when you see the soju bottles crowding the table, all screaming the obvious outcome of the night.
“Rule’s simple. We’ll have two people against each other, and the one that loses has to pay their opponent’s share for tonight’s dinner.”
You notice Changbin avoiding your eyes as he speaks and distributes the bottle, which could be attributed to the very scary death glare you were throwing right at him.
Here’s the thing—your alcohol tolerance was shit. And Changbin knew that, making you wonder what he had planned up his sleeve.
“Right, here’s the lineup,” he announces, making it seem as if the lot of you were in some world championship of sorts. “Hyunjin and Jisung”—there’s a loud ‘Die, bitch!’ that resounds from Jisung as they both get ready to win against each other—“Seungmin and Felix, Minho and Jeongin, and Chan and Y/n!”
You were going to kill that idiot.
Changbin starts off the game with a recap of the rules, and makes sure that everyone has their own bottle of alcohol. Disaster is the only word flashing in your mind, and you’re on the verge of ditching your friends to return to the comfort of your room.
“Jisung and Hyunjin first!” Changbin instructs, to which the two boys grab their bottles and have a stare-down with each other.
“I’m gonna win so hard, your ancestors are gonna feel it.”
“Let’s see you try, pretty boy.”
On Changbin’s cue, the two boys start gulping down the alcohol, and you visibly cringe at the ghost feeling of the taste on your tongue.
“Are you okay?” Chan whispers from beside you, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a stupid game. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
There’s a grateful smile on your face as you shake your head, letting the boy know you were okay. “I’m fine. Just worried because my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good, and I don’t want to inconvenience all of you.”
“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Chan mutters softly, staring right into your eyes. The smile slowly drops from your face as your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words and the way he was looking at you. You so badly wanted to look away, not being used to such eye contact, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes it almost impossible for you to tear your gaze away from his twinkling eyes.
The sound of a bottle being slammed onto the table snaps you out of your little moment with Chan, and you immediately turn away to look at what was happening at the table, taking deep, cleansing breaths to calm yourself.
On the other side of the table, you realise that Hyunjin was the one who finished his bottle first, now having the time of his life teasing Jisung, who had about one quarter of the bottle left.
All the boys, except Chan and Felix, were laughing their asses off—Felix was the only one comforting Jisung, while Chan was staring at the table, an unreadable expression on his face.
“There, there. It’s okay, Sung,” Felix coos, patting Jisung’s hair, as the latter sulks at his loss.
The next two rounds proceed quickly, with Seungmin and Jeongin emerging as the winners. Everyone stares shell shocked, as Jeongin gulps down the liquid with vigour and speed, and slams his bottle down onto the table with a grin.
“There’s no way! I can’t believe Minho lost to a baby!”
“Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he’s a baby, Changbin.” Seungmin deadpans, swiftly moving the empty bottles to the side of the table. “And how come you’re not participating?”
“Someone needs to bring Y/n back,” Changbin shrugs, passing the bottles to Chan and you with a guilty smile in return to your scowl. “And I’d rather stay sober when taking care of drunk children.”
You turn to pass the bottle to Chan, quickly avoiding his gaze when he looks at you. You’re not confident in your abilities to keep the blush down if he was going to look at you the way he did before.
“Okay,” Changbin cues, making sure both of you were ready with the bottle caps off. “Ready, set… Go!”
You didn’t mind paying for Chan’s share for dinner, you really didn’t. But if there was something about you that was both your downfall and pride, it was your competitiveness. You were competitive to the point where you tended to disregard the consequences of your actions.
So, your brain doesn’t register the painful consequences of your actions as you gulp down the bottle of alcohol like your life depended on it. You weren’t the best drinker out there, but you were going to try your very damn best because it was a competition.
With no expectation of winning, you swallow the last drop of soju and slam the bottle back onto the table, when you realise that everyone was staring at the two of you with their mouths open—specifically at Chan.
Following their gaze, your eyes widen in surprise as you see the boy holding an almost half-full bottle of soju, clearly indicating that you were the winner of your little game.
It’s like a dam breaks, and suddenly everyone’s shouting at the unexpected outcome. Hyunjin and Jisung scream while looking back and forth the bottle and Chan, while Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin sit with wide eyes and open mouths, unable to process that Chan just lost to you.
On the other hand, Changbin watches Chan with a smirk, which slowly drops when he realises that Minho, who was sitting beside him, was staring at him with raised eyebrows, clearly asking the question ‘What the fuck just happened?’.
Just as he’s about to pull Changbin to the side to question him, you shoot up from your seat, stumbling around almost immediately because of the sudden bout of dizziness that hit you. You fall back onto your seat as fast you had gotten up, and Chan wraps an arm around you almost instinctively, making sure you didn’t fall off your seat.
The table is back to having their own conversations a few minutes later, as if they weren't just screaming over your victory, with Hyunjin and Jisung having a rock-paper-scissors tournament between themselves, proposed by Jisung who was still sore about losing to Hyunjin.
Alcohol clouds your mind as your head lols back and forth, with soft giggles spilling from your lips. In your drunken state, you register the arm wrapped around you, and you turn your head to look for the owner of said arm.
Chan looks at you with the fondest smile as he tries to hold back his own chuckles at how cute your giggles were, at the same time being extremely conscious of the way you fit perfectly around his arms. He thanks his lucky stars that you were drunk as he held you, assuring him that there was no way you were going to hear how fast his heart was beating.
“Oh?” you drawl, squinting at the boy beside you. “Who might you be?”
And at that very moment, Chan hopes with all his heart that there is no one else who will get to witness what he was seeing right in front of him.
There are strands of hair covering your face, cheeks red from the alcohol (and from the close proximity to him, but he doesn’t need to know that) and eyes drooping from the oncoming sleepiness. Yet, to him, you were still the most beautiful in that moment.
“I’m Chan,” he replies sweetly, hesitating for a moment before adding more to the sentence. “Your friend.”
An exaggerated gasp escapes you as your eyes widen comically. Words tumble from your mouth, with hiccups disrupting your sentences every now and then. “Chan? Bang Chan? From high school? The really, um-" hiccup "-cute boy who tutored in the library? The super popular dude? You’re my-" hiccup "friend?”
There’s a light pink flush dusting his cheeks at your words, but he laughs nonetheless while nodding, finger reaching out to tap your nose. “Yes, I am.”
Scrunching your nose at the contact, you continue giggling when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the little exchange you and Chan were having. Chan turns to face his friends, and immediately starts coughing when he realises that they had been watching the whole scene with amused expressions. He awkwardly retracts his arm from around your waist, only for you to get up and stumble over to where Changbin was sitting, arms reaching out towards him while making grabby hands. “Changbinnnn~”
You plop yourself onto his lap, arms encircling his neck as you pull his ear closer to your mouth. Used to your drunk antics, he concedes, knowing that he’ll end up with more damage if he didn’t listen to you when you were drunk.
When he is close enough, you cup your hands around your mouth and whisper into his ears. At least, you thought you were whispering.
“You have really cute friends, Changbin.”
The whole table erupts into cheers at your words, and you immediately cover your mouth with a horrified expression. “Did everyone hear that?”
“You weren’t very quiet, darling,” Changbin snorts, pulling you up with him as he stands. “How are all of you getting back?”
“We’re all crashing at Felix’s place,” Seungmin speaks up, tapping away on his phone. “The uber’s about to arrive… right now.”
Grabbing their things, everyone except Minho, Chan, Changbin, and you, make their way out of the restaurant, shouting out hurried farewells and promises of ‘I’ll wire the money to you when I get back!’ to Changbin.
“Okay, Minho and I will go settle the bill,” Changbin says, readjusting his grip on you. “Chan, can you look after Y/n for a bit?”
“Sure,” Chan replies, looping your arm around his neck as his snakes around your waist. “We’ll be out at the front.”
The moment Chan leaves their sight with you by his side, Minho turns to bombard Changbin with all the questions that had been bothering him the whole night.
“What was that?” Minho asks in bewilderment, pointing to the door that Chan and you had exited from. “How on earth did Chan lose that game when he’s the best drinker amongst all of us?!”
“It’s called being in love,” Changbin scoffs, shaking his head at his two friends. “Disgusting.”
The distressed look on Minho’s face dissolves, and is replaced by what one could describe as enlightenment. “No fucking way. I was wondering why he kept smiling at them like an idiot. That explains so much! Have they confessed?”
“You think?” Changbin rolls his eyes, knowing that there was no way either of you had the courage to confess first. “The only way either of them will confess is if they are drunk.”
“But Y/n is dru-” Minho starts in confusion, when he stops mid-sentence, realising what Changbin had just done. “You evil genius.”
“What can I say,” Changbin states proudly, brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “I wonder what’s going on outside,” he mutters under his breath, staring at the door.
On the other side of the door, Chan finally succeeds in getting you to sit down with him on a curb, his jacket folded neatly under your bottom to make sure that you were not sitting on the hard cement. “I’m tired,” you whine, head dropping onto the warm shoulder beside you.
Chan tenses up at the sudden contact, staring at the top of your head, when you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. At the feeling of your cheek against his shoulder, he relaxes, and positions himself such that you didn’t have to strain your neck.
There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you, until you decide to break it by asking Chan a very obvious question.
“We’re close friends right?”
You lift your head from Chan’s shoulder, almost whining out loud at the loss of comfort, but you decide that asking him that question was more important. Clearly, drunk you had very different priorities.
Chan just nods and replies with a soft “Of course”, wondering why you were suddenly asking that question. “Why?”
“Since we’re close friends, can I tell you a secret?” The last few words are spoken in a hushed whisper, as you reach out and grasp Chan’s soft and warm hands. His larger hands clasps yours, as he chuckles at your question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/n. You’re drunk, and you might regret telling me when you sober up.”
“No!” You almost shout, alarming Chan who looks around to make sure no one heard your exclamation. You continue in a softer tone, to Chan’s relief. “You’re my close friend! So I won’t regret it.”
And the wide smile you show Chan almost makes him want to kiss you right there and then. Almost.
“Alright then,” Chan agrees, rubbing circles into the skin on your hand. “Go ahead, tell me your secret.”
Giggling, you use your free hand to beckon him closer, your face moving closer to his at the same time. Just as his ear is close enough to you, you whisper out the words that make his heart stop.
“I think I like you.”
He freezes in place, eyes staring at the black tar road ahead of him as his heart hammers against his ribcage because of your nonchalant words. He gulps before slowly turning to face you, the person he had grown to like more than he could ever imagine coming into his view. He takes quick, shallow breaths as he continues to stare at you, unsure of what to say.
Luckily (or unluckily, for Chan), you decide to continue talking, baring your heart and soul to him.
“It’s like...” you start, trailing off after your first two words, before finding the right words to continue. “It’s like I was always happy in life, but you made me realise that it was possible for me to be happier when you are there with me.”
And the smile you give Chan, accompanied with the words you had just uttered, makes him want to protect you from the rest of the world. He’s not sure if he loves you, but what he’s sure about is that all he wants to do is hug you and never let go, to be there for you every minute, every second. And he thinks that’s enough.
That’s enough reason to hold onto you and never let go.
Opening his mouth, Chan is about to reply to your drunk confession, when the sound of soft snores fill his ears.
Leaning against the light pole that was situated very conveniently behind you, you had fallen asleep in the split second Chan had taken to make his move. Your chest rises and falls with every breath you take, and Chan can’t help but breath out a laugh at your timing.
There’s always tomorrow, he thinks.
x.
There’s white noise playing in your ear as you stare up at your ceiling.
Changbin is seated at the edge of your bed saying something important, you assume. You aren’t listening; your brain cells have decided to go on a strike and replay the scene from yesterday on loop.
I think I like you.
You want to scream. You want to scream and murder the boy sitting beside you so bad. After all, it was his fault that you ingested that goddamn devil liquid that made you spill more than your guts.
It was a wonder that you were able to find a friend as precious as Chan, and there you lay in despair, all thoughts of facing Chan again slowly slipping away from your fingertips. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to see him after the stunt you pulled yesterday.
“Y/n, are you listening?!”
“No.”
A hand wraps around your arm and you feel yourself being pulled up, coming face-to-face with your distressed best friend. “Stop being stubborn. Calm down and listen to what I have to say.”
And that’s when you snap.
“Stubborn!?” you shriek, clutching the ends of your hair. “I just confessed to your friend, Seo Changbin. I was drunk, and I confessed my very large and real crush to the person I am crushing on. I have ruined any chance at friendship with him, so don’t tell me to stop being stubborn and to calm down!”
Taking a deep breath, Changbin pulls you towards him, both his hands resting against your cheeks. “Listen here. Stop being a wuss. Yes, you confessed when you were drunk. Yes, it’s embarrassing as fuck. But get over it. You know Chan. Is he the kind of asshole who drops friendship over small things like rejection?”
There’s a pout playing at your lips as you shake your head, partly due to the way Changbin was squishing your cheeks, and the other half because you knew he was right.
“But I still don’t want to face him yet,” you whine, pushing his hands away from your face and diving back into your covers. “I just want to wallow in self pity, and hopefully waste away on this bed so that I’ll never have to face anyone ever again.”
Changbin knows that there was no convincing you otherwise, so he settles for sighing and getting up from your bed.
“Don’t stay in bed for too long. I’ll order us food for later.”
Muttering something under your breath, you roll over and bury your face into your pillow, sighing as you think about the boy whose smile gave you more warmth than the sun could ever provide.
You’re in the midst of imagining how different today would’ve been if you hadn’t opened your dumb mouth when your phone rings and cuts off your thoughts. Reaching out for it, your mouth runs dry when you see the name displayed on your screen.
“Chan :)”
Your finger presses the decline button and your phone clatters against your bedside table as you decide that you are not ready to talk to Chan yet. And you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready to talk to him, let alone face him.
A minute after declining the call, there’s a series of knocks on your door, and you shout out a “Go away!”, not wanting to hear anything related to Chan and how you need to stop being a coward. But as the knocking continues, getting louder as time passes, you start getting annoying and realise you have no choice but to open the door.
“What the fuck do you want, Chang-”
You cut yourself off as you take in the person standing in front of you with wide eyes, looking as handsome as ever even with the furious look painted on his face.
The silence is thick with tension, and you can’t help but avert your eyes, choosing to look at anything but the boy in front of you.
“Why are you ignoring me?” Chan asks, voice quiet and flat. “I’ve been calling and texting you all morning.”
“Um, I-” you start, not knowing how to answer his question. You imagined your day going various ways, but this definitely wasn’t in your plans. “Did Changbin call you?”
“I asked,” he starts, walking towards you. You take a few steps a back, and continue walking backwards until your hands come into contact with your dresser. You were trapped. “Why are you ignoring me, Y/n?”
You blink rapidly, not used to this closed-off version of Chan. The usual warmth and softness in his eyes were missing, and instead all you saw was disappointment and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but it wasn’t easy to get the words out.
“Was it funny messing with me?” Chan continues, not breaking eye contact with you once. “To just get my hopes up and disappear like it all meant nothing?”
“W-what?”
“How was it so easy for you to just start ignoring me?”
“No I-”
“Is that all I mean to you?” And instead of the disappointment and anger, you see pure, unfiltered hurt, and that was enough for your walls to come crashing down. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the boy in front of you, and it’s like a dam breaks.
“I’m sorry.” Sobs wreck your body as you wipe the tears that don’t seem to stop. “I-I’m so fucking sorry, Chan. I was scared.”
“Scared because you just said that in the spur of moment and you don’t actually mean it?”
“No, I was scared because I like you too fucking much!”
There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you, and you continue staring at the floor, vision blur with stubborn tears that refuse to fall. And that’s when you hear it.
A chuckle.
It’s soft, and you would’ve missed it if not for the pin drop silence in the room.
You slowly lift your head up to confirm if you actually heard what you heard, or if you were hallucinating, when you see it.
Chan was smiling.
“Can’t believe it worked.”
What on earth did that mean?
“W-what do you mean?” you ask, sniffing softly.
“This was Changbin’s idea. For the record, I was against it.” Chan’s hands come up to rest on your cheeks, his thumb wiping away the tears on your cheeks as he smiles softly at you. “I mean, of course I was hurt and worried. But I just wanted to come over and talk it over like a normal person.”
His smile widens as one hand continues cupping your face, while the other reaches to tuck the one stray strand of hair behind your ear. “He said you’ll never admit things unless I, uh, scared you a little.
You stare at Chan as the gears work in your head, putting the pieces of information. The moment the last piece clicks in place, you stare in shock at the boy standing in front of you with a sheepish smile.
“What the fuck?!” you yell, equal parts of relief and anger taking over your mind. “I fucking hate you!”
And with that you storm off towards your door, Chan chasing after you with apologies spilling from his mouth. But the both of you knew that you weren’t actually upset, which can be seen by the giggles accompanying every apology.
Just as you’re about to leave your room, you’re pulled back into warm arms, and you fight every urge to melt right into his embrace. His arms wrap around your frame tightly, but gently. You feel his strong heartbeat against your back, and it’s enough to make you shiver, goosebumps erupting all over your skin.
“Do you hate me?” Chan asks, chin resting on your shoulder as you feel his breath tickle your neck.
“Yes.”
“Really?” Chan asks in amusement, lips against your ears and voice just above a whisper. “That’s a pity then. Because I like you too fucking much too.”
He whispers the last part of the sentence, making your knees go weak and your heartbeat pick up its pace as it usually does whenever the boy who stole your heart was involved.
You turn around in his arms to face him, sighing contentedly at how things ended up turning out. “I’m really sorry about the ghosting.”
“It’s okay, love,” Chan assures you, the pet name inducing butterflies in your stomach. “I would’ve been embarrassed too, if I had confessed to you when I was drunk.”
“I would’ve loved to see that.” You whine at the unfortunate circumstance of you confessing instead of Chan. “I probably looked like an idiot while confessing.”
“Since I’m your boyfriend, can I tell you a secret?” Chan teases, repeating what you said the night before with a little twist. Smacking his arm lightly for the jab, you nod with a laugh, ignoring the way your face heats up when he refers to himself as your boyfriend.
“I really wanted to kiss you when you were confessing.” There’s mirth in Chan’s eyes as he gazes at you the same way he did back at the restaurant. The only difference was that you knew he liked you back. And you had never been happier.
“Go for it.”
And that’s all the confirmation that Chan needs to lean down and press his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss, as your hands rest on his chest, appreciating the strong beat his heart was playing.
You part a few seconds later, eyes still closed as a smile plays on both your lips, before you’re pulled for another kiss, this one more forceful than the one before. His lips press against yours harder, and his arms pull you closer—as close as you could be. You respond with equal fervor, pouring every emotion you have into the kiss, when you’re interrupted by a loud cough.
“I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to bleach my eyes every time I see the two of you.”
Oh.
It completely slipped your mind that Changbin was just a few steps away from your room, and you want to crawl under your bed and befriend the monster there when you see the haughty smile on your best friend’s face.
“I think a thanks is in order.”
Removing yourself from Chan’s arms, you walk over to Changbin, who smiles wider when he realises you are walking towards him. Opening his arms to welcome you in for a hug, he can’t help but shriek when you start punching him everywhere possible.
“Dude, what is wrong with you?!”
“That’s what you get for coming up with stupid ideas to get me to talk!” you snap at your best friend with words that carry no real bite. “Were you that desperate?”
“Clearly!” Changbin replies, exasperated. “It was getting depressing. He wouldn’t stop calling me because he was worried, and you were being a stubborn bitch!”
At his words, there’s a tinge of guilt that pinches at you when you realise the trouble you had put your best friend through.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say with a pout, burying your face into Changbin’s shoulder. “And thank you.”
“Yes yes, you’re welcome,” Changbin says with a soft smile. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but seeing his best friend who meant the world to him end up with someone who just as much deserved nothing but the best made him eternally grateful. “Now go smooch your boyfriend. We don’t want him becoming too jealous of the attention you’re giving me.”
“Oh, shut up,” is what Changbin gets in return, as Chan intertwines his hand with yours. Just as Changbin walks out of sight back to his room, Chan turns to you with the biggest smile.
“Now then, shall we go on a date to celebrate our first day?”
“Absolutely.”
And as you and Chan sit on the beach that evening, surrounded by sand and accompanied by the sound of the waves and the soft breeze with a orange hue enveloping you, you think:
Life had never been sweeter.
#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#bang chan x reader#stray kids#bang chan#stray kids fluff#stray kids oneshot#stray kids scenarios#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz oneshot#skz x reader#skz fluff#chan x reader#bang chan imagines#bang chan scenarios#bang chan oneshot#dee scribbles
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Can you write the prompt "you’ve went and done something that upset your lover, and as you try to apologize, they back away, refusing to let you touch them" for Peter, but instead of the reader messing up, can Peter be the one that upset the reader? (Also I think it's awesome that you don't want to write for Tom anymore out of respect of him and Z's relationship. I think that's very admirable <3)
(omg thank you for understanding ! i feel a lot better knowing people get where i’m coming from <3)
and y’all THESE ARE KILLING MEEEEE
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“y/n, please. please just hear me out-“ “no!” you all but scream, hot tears threatening to spill. “don’t even try to defend it, peter! you’re fucking gross!” your fingers twist in your hair and pull roughly. shaking his head, peter takes a step towards you.
“no, no, no. whatever you heard was out of context! i don’t talk about people like that,” he rushes to get his words out. “especially not you! c’mon, baby. you know me.”
when peter’s hand comes to cup your cheek, you hit it away. he freezes up at your rejection.
“clearly, i don’t. i thought you were different from other guys, but you’re exactly the same,” you laugh out bitterly. “i can explain!” peter swears in a final attempt to redeem himself. you scoff and start to walk away, but he catches your wrist before you can. “i’m begging you to listen to me. you… you don’t understand.”
“oh, am i being too difficult?” you wonder, pulling out of peter’s grasp. “i thought i was easy.”
that comment is what caused this whole fight.
you overheard a conversation at lunch between peter and some friends earlier. they were sharing about their mostly unremarkable dating lives. only peter out of everyone is in a relationship, so they asked him for tips and tricks. he said he didn’t need to use any because you were easy.
he made it sound like you were falling at his feet, and the guys just ate it up.
“that’s not fair,” peter seethes, his bottom lip quivering. “i don’t give a fuck!” you spit back. “what happened to the boy who could barely speak a sentence to me without going red? who used to ask for permission just to hold my hand?”
peter blinks his watery eyes and inhales a breath. his voice stays quiet the next time he speaks.
“i- i know i messed up, y/n. and, you’re right. that was a nasty thing to say.” he nervously licks across his lips, gaze fixed on the ground. “i’m sorry, angel. i really am. it’ll never happen again.”
you want to accept his apology, but your gut says you shouldn’t. if peter said that behind your back, who knows what else he’s shared?
mistaking your silence for forgiveness, peter opens his arms in an invitation to hug him. you instead wrap your own arms around yourself and move even farther away.
“you, um… you should go, pete.”
#peter parker#peter parker fluff#peter parker angst#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#tom holland#tom holland fluff
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Deep End - Two
Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader
Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.
Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Smut (DubCon,) Manipulation, Anxiety
Word Count: 3.4K
A/n: Boom part two! I wanna hear what y’all think’s gonna happen with this series
Madness Masterlist
Bad Dream Masterlist
THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!
~*~
“Good morning, Darling.” Chapped lips press a kiss to your cheek, strong arms winding around your figure and a sharp chin digging into your shoulder.
“Breakfast smells delicious.” You only hum, trying to get your hands to stop shaking.
“Is it eggs?!” Sarah bounds down the stairs excitedly, running straight for your legs.
Steve intercepts her, tossing her up in the air then catching her in his arms again.
She erupts in a fit of giggles and squeals as he starts tickling her, and you find yourself biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything to him.
“Eggs and bacon and pancakes only for you, Princess!” He exclaims, kissing her cheek then setting her back on her feet.
“Do I still go to school?” Sarah asks, climbing up onto one of the barstools and kicking her legs.
“Yes, sweetie, you still have to go to school. We’re gonna get you back to school soon, there’s just some things that... your dad... and I need to discuss first, okay? But today, you can relax at home, eat your breakfast and explore the house if you want.” She nods her head eagerly, little hands holding her fork as you slide a plate of food over to her.
You portion some out for Steve too, grinding your teeth together in distaste.
You scoured the house for anything that could be used against him but came up completely empty-handed. Rat poison, bleach, Lysol. Nothing.
He takes his plate with a smile, his free hand gripping your waist and turning you to him slightly.
He leans down, lips pressed against yours for a brief gentle moment before pulling away and sticking his tongue out at a snickering Sarah.
He sits down beside Sarah and starts eating, his eyes boring holes into your back as you gather some food for yourself. As you’re getting ready to sit down, he stands up, unlocking a drawer by the sink and grabbing a bottle of something.
Your heart races in your chest and you hold your fork just the tiniest bit tighter, prepared to use it as a weapon if you need to.
He turns back to you with a smile, setting two small pills on your napkin, away from Sarah’s curious gaze.
“Take them with your food,” he instructs, kissing your forehead then sitting back down between you and your daughter.
"Morgan’s gonna get dropped off for a little while, Sarah. She’s around your age and I think you two will get along great. You guys can play while your mother and I talk, okay?” She bobs her head up and down, shovelling the eggs into her mouth.
“Good.”
~*~
“They’re really hitting it off,” Steve says with a smile, watching as his daughter and her new friend play in the backyard.
You hesitantly come up beside him, a small smile spreading on your lips.
“I-I’m always nervous about her making friends. She’s never really had problems with it but...” You trail off, taking a step back as he turns around to face you.
“Tony’s got Morgan enrolled in a private school, says it’s really good. I was thinking we could send Sarah there too.” You bite your bottom lip and shrug. “I-I don’t know how I feel about private schools. What are the reviews like? And are they strict? I don’t want her... all I want is for her to have a normal childhood. That’s all I want.” Steve’s face softens and he nods, taking your hand and ushering you to the living room.
“It’s all gonna be okay. I know it’s gonna take some getting used to, but it’ll all work out in the end, you’ll see.”
You take a couple of deep breaths, wanting so desperately to believe him but you know better.
“Tony says the school’s really good, and it’s not super strict. The kids still get to have fun and make friends while learning. I think we should give it a shot and if she doesn’t like it we’ll find another school for her to go to.” You nod, eyes fluttering over to the window looking over the backyard.
“Now, I think you and I need to set down some ground rules, okay?” You turn to him, your guard up in an instant.
His face is calm, but you still don’t trust him.
“Sarah’s going to be at school all day, I’ve gotta go to work, which means you’re going to be here to look after the house. My beautiful housewife.” You furrow your brows, “What am I supposed to do here all day?” He looks around with pursed lips.
“Cook and clean? Keep the house looking nice, maybe you could start a garden if you want. But soon you’ll have less time for moving around and more time for...” he trails off, his hand coming to rest on your stomach.
“You’re gonna give me another baby, gonna carry it in that beautiful body of yours. And when the baby gets here you’ll have your hands full so you may want to start planning for that now.”
You’ve got no choice in this.
“D-did you keep any of Sarah’s old baby furniture?” You ask softly, fighting back tears.
“No, I gave it to Nat and Bucky cause they were talking about adopting. But you can buy more. I’ll give you my card and that can be your task. When Sarah’s at school and you’re done with cleaning, you can start setting up the new baby’s room.” He says it like it’s the most prestigious task he could give and you should be thanking him for the opportunity.
“Now, one last thing...” He eyes you for a moment then shakes his head.
“Your old wardrobe is going to be gotten rid of. I don’t want to see you in these leggings or jeans. I’ll have Nat bring over some clothes that are more acceptable, but until then, there should be a few decent dresses still in the closet from... before.” His eyes dark the tiniest bit at the mention of how things were.
“I want you to go change, then gather up all your old clothes. Once that’s done, you can start making lunch. I’m going to run out to grab a few things for dinner, we’re having guests over tonight, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour, okay?”
You say nothing, eyes focused on the floor.
He grabs your chin roughly and forces you to look at him, his eyes blazing.
“I asked you a fucking question, dear. You’d better answer me before I get angry.”
You swallow hard then nod, “o-okay. I will.”
He nods and lets go of your face with a smile, rising to his feet and fixing the sleeves of his shirt.
“Good. I’m thinking pasta for dinner.”
~*~
You’re wearing a yellow sundress that comes just past your knees. It flows with every step you take and you’ve gotta admit that it’s quite pretty. You hate that he chose it, though.
You set the dining room table silently, mind racing. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice you’re not alone until a hand is grabbing the bottom of your dress.
“Mommy, did you hear me?” You gasp, jumping in surprise then shaking your head.
“No, Sarah, I didn’t. Mommy was just thinking. Sorry, what did you say?” She huffs a breath.
“Daddy said that Aunty Nat is coming over for dinner! Do you think she’ll bring ice cream?” Your heart clenches and you sigh.
“I uh... I don’t know. You’ll have to go ask... your father.”
“Ask me what?” Sarah turns to him and lifts her arms, giggling happily when he scoops her up in his arms.
“When Aunty Nat comes is she gonna bring ice cream?”
“Well, I don’t know if she’ll bring ice cream, but maybe after dinner we can all go out and get an ice cream cone. How does that sound?” She claps her hands together in excitement, squealing when she hears the front door open.
“Knock knock!” A female voice calls.
You swallow hard, trying not to let your anger get the better of you as Sarah shimmies out of her father’s grip and rushes to the door.
“Aunty Nat!” The redhead picks her up and spins her around.
“Hey, pumpkin! How’s my favourite girl doing?”
You walk back to the stove, stirring the noodles and imagining how satisfying it would be to dump the boiling water on the traitorous redhead.
“How’s dinner coming along?” Steve asks, his hands finding your hips.
“Just about done. Everyone can sit down, it’ll only be a minute more.” He nods, kissing your temple and opening the fridge to grab drinks.
“Hey, pal.” You stiffen, too many memories filling you at the voice.
“Hey, Buck. Glad you could make it.” You keep your back to the brunet, not wanting to see him, to remember what happened any more than you already have to.
“Aren’t you going to greet our guests, dear?” Steve asks, one hand grabbing the waistline of your dress and tugging. You reluctantly turn around to face the brunet just as the redhead walks into the room.
“Well?” Steve asks, looking at you expectantly. You say nothing, glaring daggers at Natasha. She meets your gaze for a moment then looks away, knowing full well what she’s done.
“Dinner’s ready.” Is all you say, yanking out of Steve’s grip and turning back to the stove.
“It’s nice to see you again too, (Y/n),” Bucky says, walking past you and into the dining room.
Natasha brings Sarah after him, leaving you and Steve alone.
“You and I will need to have a long conversation once they leave,” he hisses. “If your attitude doesn’t improve, then you’re going to need to be punished for it.”
You turn and look up at him with defiant eyes.
“I’m wearing your stupid dress and I’m playing your stupid game. What more do you want from me? You’ve got me and my daughter held hostage in your goddamn dollhouse and-” He grabs you by the throat, shaking his head at you.
“Fine. I’ll fucking teach you now then.”
He shoves you aside and walks into the dining room, a smile on his face.
“She’s just gonna bring dinner out. Then she and I need to have a little chat before we join you.” You reluctantly bring the food out, if only so Sarah can eat. You’ve hardly set the steaming dishes down before Steve’s grabbing your hand and yanking you through the house and up the stairs.
Your heart races in your chest, fear coursing through your veins at what he may have planned for you.
Flashes of different ways he’s punished you run through your mind and you feel your eyes fill with tears as he shoves you onto his bed.
His chest is heaving, with anger or exertion, you can’t tell.
“S-Steve I’m sorry. P-please don’t hurt me.” He watches you for a moment then shakes his head.
“You know I can’t tolerate that kind of behaviour.” You crawl back, tears dripping down your cheeks.
“I-I’m just, please! I’m scared and tired a-and I don’t have any friends and m-my dad is-is...” You shake your head, hoping he has a shred of decency left inside of himself.
“Please!” He stares at you long and hard then sighs. “You know I love you, and I love Sarah with my entire heart. But I can’t tolerate this rude behaviour. I know it’s a big transition for you, and I’m willing to be patient, but you can’t treat our guests that way. Rudeness directed at me is different, but you have no right to treat Bucky and Natasha the way you did. That’s why you’re being punished. I’ll forgive the snappy behaviour towards me, but not them.”
You shake your head and shove your face in your hands, sobs bubbling free from your chest.
“Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry.” He nods, turning to the dresser and pulling out a familiar box.
It’s the box he keeps his torture toys in, you realize.
“Lay down on your stomach. If you listen, your punishment won’t be nearly as severe.” You sniffle and nod, rolling over and laying down on your tummy.
He flips your dress up and yanks your panties down your legs, eyeing your ass for a moment.
“Bucky and Nat are important members of this family, and you will treat them as such, do you understand?” You nod, crying out in pain and thrashing away from him as a leather paddle comes down hard on your ass.
“Am I going to have to tie you to the bed?” You can’t answer, you’re too busy trying not to choke on your own snot.
He grabs your wrists roughly and ties them to a hoop on the headboard, successfully leaving you at his mercy.
He smacks you again, and again, then a fourth time, and you squirm away as much as you can.
“When you’re good, you don’t get punished.”
He delivers sixteen more impossibly hard hits, then tosses the paddle onto the ground and climbs onto the bed, cock raging in his pants.
His knees push your legs apart and you shake your head, tugging against your restraints desperately as he lines himself up with your entrance.
“Huh, would ya look at that?” You press your face into the mattress, humiliation filling you as he rubs his cock through your wet folds.
“Feels like somebody enjoyed that a bit more than they were letting on, huh?” You shake your head, crying out as he sheaths himself fully with only one thrust.
Your walls burn at the intrusion, body instinctively creating more moisture to lubricate the violation, but that’s not how Steve sees it.
“Fuck, your body misses me, huh? Hates it when my cock isn’t fucking you.” He grabs your hips and hoists them up, then starts a punishing pace, forcing you to take every painful inch of him.
“Fuck, feel how tight you are... squeezin’ me so nice...” Every hit of his hips against your ass makes you cry out in pain, your entire lower half on fire.
“M’gonna fill you with my cum then lock it in. You’re gonna give me another fucking baby. Gonna grow nice and big.” He picks up the pace, eyebrows furrowed and face screwed up with pleasure.
His hips still, warmth exploding within you as he reaches his climax.
He stays inside you for a long while, catching his breath while his cock softens, then he slowly pulls out.
“You know,” he begins, rooting around in the box for something, “it’s much more effective if you orgasm too. Really sucks it all up in you and improves the chances of fertilization.” A switch flips and then there’s a constant buzzing noise filling your ears.
Right as you realize what it is, he’s got the vibrator pressed against your clit.
You jolt away from it, hips wiggling at the stimulation.
“N-no,” you whisper uselessly, inhaling sharply when he grabs your waist with one hand to keep you steady, forcing the vibrator against you.
“Look at that... feels good, huh?” You don’t reply, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as the coil in your belly tightens, your toes curling and your back arching, forcing the device against you even more.
Your mouth drops open and your eyes roll back as your body starts to convulse, a powerful orgasm tearing through your entire being.
“There it is,” Steve whispers, watching with dark eyes as he forces an orgasm out of you.
Your pussy flutters and clenches, clit swollen and aching when he finally removes the vibrator.
You’re still recovering from the intensity of your climax when he presses something cool to your entrance.
He forces the plug inside of you, despite your protests, then yanks your underwear back up your legs.
“Now c’mon. We’ve got guests to entertain.” He unties your wrists then helps you to your feet, watching in satisfaction as you struggle to walk down the stairs.
You rub your raw wrists, heart racing in your chest as you slowly walk into the dining room.
Bucky and Nat each look up at you, the redhead turning away while the brunet eyes you, a dark look in his eyes.
Steve’s hand remains possessively on the small of your back, and you carefully sit down, wincing at the burn in your backside and the throbbing of your core.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Steve says, a smile on his face as you portion out some food for him and yourself.
“It’s alright. Things happen,” Bucky replies, eyes stuck on your face.
“It’s been a while since we... since I last saw you, (Y/n). How have you been?” You swallow hard, eyes focused on your plate as you answer Bucky’s question.
“I’ve been fine. How have you been?” He takes a moment to answer, and in the thick silence of the room you can hear the metal plates in his arm whirring.
“I’ve been good. Happy that Steve has you back now.” You nod, forcing yourself to chew and swallow a mouthful of pasta.
“Mommy I’m full! Can we go for ice cream now? Aunty Nat and Uncle Bucky said we could!” You nod, pushing your almost untouched food away and standing up quickly.
“J-just let me clean up, then we can go for ice cream.” You start gathering the dishes, eager to leave the room and put some distance between yourself and the people at the table.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Nat says, rising to her feet and gathering the other half of the dishes.
You ignore her, grabbing the remainder of the food and starting to pack it up in containers in the kitchen.
“(Y/n), I’m sorry.” You shove the food into the fridge and turn to face her, tears welling up in your eyes.
“You’re sorry? That’s it? You’re fucking sorry?! I’m right back where I fought tooth and fucking nail to escape because of you! You’re the reason I’m back here with him, why Sarah’s back here and why he’s hurting me all over again and all you have to say for yourself is ‘I’m sorry’?!” Your voice is whispered, but the words may as well be shouted.
She shakes her head, hating the truth behind your words.
“Y-you don’t understand, (Y/n). I had to.” You sniffle and scrub a fallen tear off of your cheek.
“Or what? Would he kill that rapist boyfriend of yours? You swore you’d keep it a secret and now, because of you, my father’s dead and I’m stuck with a man who’s going to torture me and possibly my daughter as well. So don’t you fucking dare tell me you had to or that you’re sorry because those are both lies.”
You take a few deep breaths, walking to the sink and starting to wash the dishes.
“I trusted you. And you led him straight to us. I don’t care what you say or what you do, I’ll never fucking forgive you. If it were up to me, you’d be left at that cabin to bleed out. It’s what you fucking deserve after what you’ve done.”
She’s silent, standing there behind you for a long moment before turning and leaving the kitchen.
Your hands shake with the intensity of your outburst and you have to stop yourself from crying, chest rising and falling rapidly as your emotions get the better of you.
Your vision starts to blur, soapy hands gripping the edge of the counter tight enough to hurt. You lean over slightly, trying desperately to suck in more air as anxiety fills and overwhelms you.
“(Y/n)?” You don’t notice his hands on you until he’s pulling your hands off of the counter.
“I-I can’t.”
His hands find your waist, trying to usher you away from the sink, and your ears begin to ring.
Your knees give out and you crumble in his arms, him easily supporting your weight as you lose consciousness.
“Buck, take Sarah out for ice cream now.” His voice holds the same type of authority as it does when they go on missions, and the brunet pops his head into the kitchen to investigate for a moment before nodding.
“C’mon Sarah. Do you know what you want?” Bucky asks, taking Sarah’s hand and leading her to the front door.
“Do you?” She sasses.
“Well missy, I’m gonna get two scoops of chocolate, and Aunty Nat's getting mint chocolate chip.”
“I want cookie dough!”
The front door closes with a soft click and Steve sighs, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom.
#Steve Rogers x reader#dark!Steve Rogers x reader#dark!bucky x reader x dark!steve#dark!steve x reader#dark!steve rogers#dark!au#dark!fic#dark!steve#dark!bucky barnes#dark!bucky x reader#tw: dubcon#TW: Dubious Consent#tw: noncon#tw dark themes#tw dark fic#tw dubcon#Steve Rogers smut#Steve Rogers fanfic
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we can never be friends
Requested?: Big mash up again... Oopsies. Someone wanted angsty luke smut, someone wanted the phrase ‘well i fucked your girlfriend and there’s nothing you can do about it’ implimented, someone else wanted a lil fake dating to get back at an ex, bad boy luke, the sex scene from charmed, y/n is a witch... also decided to make y/n a child genius to sweeten the pot.
Word Count: 10.2K+
Author’s Note: this story is brought to you by machine gun kelly, and the songs ‘bloody valentine’ and ‘why are you here’. i stumbled across the songs by mistake, and can’t get them out of my head, so now you get luke smut based on them.
also, everyone is aged up by like six-seven years, this takes place over a period of like a year and a half ish? yeah, read the nonsense and take from what you wish my doods. and a part two might come along if y’all want it, so like, lemme know.
song featured is ‘bloody valentine’ by machine gun kelly.
Warning: smut, drug and alcohol misuse, infidelity. and when i say smut i do mean smut. like oof smut. enjoy...
masterlist, i write more stuff like this sin.
--
It was always a mistake, whenever they got together.
Of course, it never felt like it in the moment: when his body was pressed up against hers, his lips on her neck and marking what was his, her fingernails clawing into his back and doing the same, it didn’t feel like a bad idea. It felt like euphoria, it was sweat and teeth and passion and sex. And for the first few moments after, as they came down from their highs and his arms pulled her close as they both caught their breath, there was a moment when they both wondered if they could actually work, they could actually be together.
“You’re thinking it again.” She muttered softly, pressing her lips to his once more before slipping out from under the satin sheets, making a beeline for the hotel bathroom. It was just chance they had run into one another in New York, what with them both calling Los Angeles, California home. But she had been called to Columbia University, and he had a habit of appearing where she least expected him to be.
For all the years Y/N had known Luke Patterson, he had never failed to surprise her.
“Is it so bad to think it? It’s not like we’re ever going to act on it.” He responded, biting his lip as his eyes scanned over her figure. He threw off the covers, recovering his boxers and slipping them on before walking after her, his thoughts giving him away, though he knew that already. “You sure you can’t stay for another hour?” He asked, leaning against the bathroom’s doorway as she freshened up. ‘Maybe this time I could fuck you against the window…’ her eyes shot up, a scowl upon her pretty face as she walked past him and back into the bedroom, quickly collecting her clothes.
“You really ought to control those thoughts of yours, Patterson. One day they might get you in trouble. Besides, I have an early lecture in the morning.” She muttered, pulling on her underwear, pausing to look for her second stocking. Luke walked over towards the door, lifting the hosiery from atop a lampshade.
They had been in a rush to get into bed.
“Crazier things have happened than you missing a lecture, Y/N.” He reminded when she came over to collect her second stocking, sitting on the bed and slipping it on quickly, the pair sharing glances.
“Not when I’m the one giving the lecture, you asshat.” She reminded, and Luke grinned. He forgot sometimes how unbelievably clever the girl before him was, and as she pulled on her dress, Luke took a step forward to zip up the back for her. One of his hands came to hold her waist as his lips pressed down on the exposed skin of her collarbone, his cold breath fanning over her skin and causing the girl to shiver and goosebumps to form. “This can’t happen again, understood?” She breathed out, the last of her words turning to a moan as Luke nipped at the crook of her neck, his free hand coming down from her shoulder, his fingers brushing faintly against her skin as their hands finally met.
He spun her around, bringing the hand he held to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, his eyes locking with hers, his lips quirking to a smirk when she blushed at his actions.
Luke loved the effect he had on her. Y/N hated it.
“It’s cute how sure you are about it.” He remarked, moving away and breaking their touch, Y/N trying not to frown at the loss of his cold hands against her warm skin. “I mean, we’ve been saying the same thing since high school.” He swung open the hotel room’s door for her, and she quickly rid herself of any feelings of affection for the man before her: he always knew how to annoy her.
“And this time it’ll stick.” She snapped back, locating her purse with haste and slipping on her heels before marching for the door.
‘I like when you scream my name, Princess, don’t you?’ The intrusive thought belonged to the boy leant against the door, and Y/N scoffed as she walked out into the hallway, the carpet underneath a crimson red, something she hadn’t bothered to notice on her way up to his place.
“Get out of my head, Ghost Boy.” She ordered, not looking back as she made her way down the hallway, though she heard Luke laugh behind her, one of his smug chuckles that made her blood boil.
“I think it’s the other way round, your Highness. Rude to listen to what other people are thinking.” He called back down the hallway, earning a rather offensive hand gesture before Y/N stepped into the golden-door lift at the corridor’s end, the girl refusing to turn around until the doors had closed behind her, sparing her from his haunting gaze, those green eyes that managed to steal into her soul every time.
Luke watched the doors close at the end of the hall, letting out a soft sigh at the loss of the girl from his sight, though his moping was shortly interrupted by the sound of another room along the hallway opening its door, a scowling face looking back at him.
“You’re looking at me like I did something wrong.” He commented, walking back into his room and grabbing his jeans, that had landed on the back of the dining chair in the suite some five metres from the rumpled sheets of the bed. He pulled them as a set of footsteps approached, Luke again met with the disapproving expression of his band mate.
“Luke…” The concern dripping from Alex’s tongue with just his name had the guitarist shaking his head, walking across the room to grab his shirt, pulling it on quickly. “Luke, you know this is going to end badly.” He continued, taking a step further in the room while Luke grabbed his jacket. “Just like it did last time, and the time before that.”
“Alex, it’s fine, alright?” He said quickly. “What we have is good, it works.”
“It’s stopping you from finding someone you’d actually get along with.” The blonde disagreed, following Luke out into the hallway as the brown-haired boy started for the elevator. “Where do you plan on disappearing to? You remember we are meant to be on a plane in four hours?” He reminded, the other boy slowing to a stop, halfway between the golden doors and his friend.
“Is it really that late?” Luke asked, a smug look on his face, his iconic smirk and raised eyebrow causing Alex to roll his eyes.
“If you want a drink, order something up. Preferably, don’t order anything at all. Last thing you’ll want to be on an eight hour flight over the ocean is hungover, Luke.” He had always been the one with common sense, and Luke wavered on the spot for a moment, eyes fixed on the door. A part of him was sure he could catch up to her, that the pair could get a drink at the bar downstairs together. A part of him was sure she was waiting just beyond a press of a button, that she too was hoping he would join her.
“We’re bad for each other, aren’t we?” Luke found himself sighing happily, turning on his heels to face Alex once more. “God, she’s an asshole.”
“Most geniuses are.” Alex remarked with a smile, Luke taking one last glance back at the elevator before he headed towards the drummer’s room. Alex followed him in, walking to the drinks cabinet and pouring them both a drink: vodka, good stuff from what Luke could see, having taken a seat by the balcony windows. “You know, Julie’s got a friend you might like…”
“I don’t date, Alex. We’ve established this… Last thing I need is to break another one of Julie’s friend’s hearts. She’s only just forgiven for the last one…” Luke paused and nodded in thanks as Alex came over and took a seat across from him, handing over a drink. “Fuck, what was her name? It was something like Ruby or Pearl or Opal…”
“Crystal.” Alex corrected with a grimace and cold chuckle, finding the humour in his superior knowledge of Luke’s exes compared to the man across from him. “So, what? You’re going to spend the rest of your life like this, your closest encounter with romance being a girl you screw twice a year?”
“I mean, I see her twice a year… There are multiple rounds of sex involved each time.” Luke corrected with a strained laugh, downing the liquor in his glass. “I’ve really fucked myself over, haven’t I?” He asked, and Alex’s expression softened a little.
“Luke, don’t tell me you’re in love with her…”
“No, no… But it wouldn’t be the wildest thing, would it?” He asked, looking up at his friend for some sort of guidance: Alex was, after all, the one of their friendship group who had been dating his boyfriend since, God, since Julie’s senior year of high school. How far they had come since then…
“Everyone knows that you wouldn’t work out… For the obvious reason you’ve both been avoiding.” Alex sat straighter, picking up Luke’s empty glass and walking back to the cabinet to refill it, bringing the bottle back with him that time. “You may be alive again Luke, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re not actually alive, and that we don’t mix with…” He trailed off, and Luke nodded, accepting the second glass and downing it in one, the alcohol in his veins the warmest thing about him.
He knew all too well what Alex was inferring, though in the guitarist’s defence, he hadn’t been privy to the rather large secret Y/N had until about a year into their… relationship. She had figured out his backstory rather quickly of course, but she had the advantage of reading his mind. Yes, Luke may have been a ghost, and that should have been complication enough.
But Y/N also happened to hold the title of supernatural being. It was just Luke’s luck, wasn’t it?
Just his luck to end up screwing a witch.
--
If there was anything to know about the intricacies of supernatural species, it would be that some of them didn’t get along very well: vampire and werewolves, mer-people and sirens, angels and demons. Amongst the long list of rivalries one might find in their research, one of the oldest and most conflicting pairings was that of witches and ghosts.
Witches, in practice, have one job: banishing spirits from the mortal realm. Alongside all the candle lighting and chatting with deities, witches like Y/N spent their lifetimes on earth getting rid of lingering souls. And with her family lineage and standing amongst the American covens, Y/N was rather good at what she did. Alongside her shocking intellect and undeniable beauty, she took on the part-time role of vanquishing ghosts to purgatory before they did anything stupid like come back to life.
Y/N hadn’t expected to find out her classmate Julie Molina was a medium halfway through their sophomore year, nor had she anticipated the arrival of three ghost musicians who could be seen by mortals when they all sang together in a band. Of course, her seeing them too didn’t help things, and her conflicted feelings over banishing the very attractive guitarist had led to a delay in her actions, and before she knew it, Julie was bringing them all back to life, or as alive as ghosts can be.
Noticing a resurrected ghost was nearly impossible: they age, they appear human, and if they avoid utilising their previous ghost powers, the only thing that would ever raise suspicions of a mortal, or any species for that matter, was how cold ghosts stayed.
It was a common misconception that vampires were ‘cold as ice’, popularised by teen movies that suggested the bloodsuckers sparkled in the sunlight, when it was ghosts who in fact held that trait (vampires were actually constantly warm from the excess of blood in their system). To touch a ghost was like shoving the body part into a freezer, there was an element of pain to it if the feeling was continuous, and it worked the other way around. A ghost touching the living could hurt, something that could perhaps be compared to the nipping on skin just a little too close to an open flame.
Y/N and Luke had found a loophole to that, of course: the heat of sex tended to offset the cold, mixing the inklings of pain with waves of pleasure.
Their relationship had been a complicated one from its beginning: there’s a certain level of tension that comes with the possibility that Julie’s pretty friend could destroy you and your friends with the same magic Caleb had threatened them with all those years ago, but when a year passed of the boys being present on earth, both invisible and visible to the human eye, and Y/N having done nothing to report them to her coven, the boys were sure they were in the clear.
And they were almost right…
--
“I need your help, Ghost Boy.” The words had Luke spinning on the spot as he stood under the early autumn sunshine. He had been waiting for Julie, tasked with picking her and Flynn up from school that day. Ever since the boys had stopped being dead, they had taken on chores in the house to help out Ray as a thank you for him letting them stay in the garage. Luke had expected to find Julie or Flynn, or anyone for a matter of fact: just not Y/N. The pair rarely spoke, most likely to do with the fact she should have reported him to some magical authorities over a year before.
“What do I owe this pleasure, Miss Magic?” He asked, his chipper tone and easy smirk causing Y/N to frown further. She disliked that she found him attractive, though it was exactly why she was approaching him that warm September day of her senior year. “Aren’t you meant to be at college?” He asked with a raised brow, and she sighed, folding her eyes.
“My academic schedule is none of your business.” She was, in fact, meant to be at college that day: Y/N had simultaneously attending high school and working towards her first degree, her parents insistent on her growing up amongst peers despite her summer having been spent working on her final dissertation for her first bachelor’s degree. “I am going to make this quick, Patterson, simply because talking with you makes me nauseous and I worry I’ll catch a cold if I stay close to you for too long.”
“You always had a way with your words, Princess.” Luke grinned, leaning back against the car’s bonnet and folding his own arms, his eyes quite blatant in their racking over her body: the sundress she wore leaving just enough to the imagination to leave the boy intrigued. “What can I do for you?” He asked, and Y/N snapped her fingers in front of his face, frowning.
“I can hear what you’re thinking, asshole… But you’re not far off.” She muttered, and Luke’s eyes widened. His thoughts had been far from pure. “I need you to come with me to Carrie’s party on Saturday, alright?” She exclaimed, clearly upset that she had resorted to asking assistance from the ghost. “My ex is going to be there, he’s an asshole, and if you say no I do have the means to banish you to purgatory.”
“I don’t get much of a say then, do I?”
“No, you don’t…”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
--
There was one thing certain about the relationship Luke Patterson shared with Y/N Y/L/N: they could never be friends.
After six years of casual sex in high-end hotel rooms and bathroom stalls; six years of cheating on ‘significant others’ with one-night stands; after Julie and the guys signed their multi-record deal and began touring and Y/N found her own level of moderate celebrity thanks to her genius brain; after all of it, they knew each other too well to like one another, and saw each other too little to develop anything beyond their physical encounters.
Because even though Luke annoyed Y/N with every smirk and his scoffing chuckle, and Y/N drove Luke to the edge with her superiority complex and constant need to prove her intelligence, it couldn’t be helped that whenever the pair found themselves faced with the other, all sanity went out the window. They became different people, and for the few hours they were in one another’s arms, who they really were didn’t matter.
Luke hated her a little bit for it, the effect she had on him, the same way Y/N hated him. There was no love lost between the two, there was no love to begin with. It was just convenience and desperation that had transformed into a primal hunger for one another. Neither had had better sex with someone else, no matter how hard they both searched. It wasn’t a secret that twenty-five year old Luke Patterson of Julie and the Phantoms, the four-time Grammy winner, was a ladies’ man and the free spirit of the band: it was plastered over every tabloid magazine across the globe. And while her fame was lesser than that of the rock star, the sophisticated twenty-three year old Y/N, the scholar who seemed to be headed straight for becoming a household name, was notorious in academic circles for her love affairs: at least two tenured ivy-league professors had slept with and left their wives for the young woman.
In recent years, concern had grown amongst their shared friends, mainly being Alex, who witnessed the rather undesirable parts of their relationship play out to their fullest. It wasn’t just that the pair used one another for sex, they were fine with that: but there was suddenly this need to impress the other, a competitiveness between the two. There was enough heat on Luke’s love life, but whenever Y/N came around, that seemed to escalate to excessive drinking: and one time, Alex and Reggie had to haul Luke into his apartment after he decided to get high on some sort of pill with the witch.
Despite disagreeing with one another on everything but sex, it was almost comical how quickly they could give in to one another. Constantly, even when they weren’t in the same country. It was too common of an occurrence that Y/N would be on the TV as the younger generation’s voice of science, sat on some couch in a studio in LA or New York or Paris or London, or she would be another key note speaker at an event: she had even managed to get herself on the cover of Vogue, an exclusive interview with Anna Wintour herself titled ‘The Sex of Science’. Luke saw all of it, of course, and like clockwork, he would then, for some reason, make it his mission to get another scandal on the front page of tabloids, like he was trying to one-up her.
And he was, and in a way, it was a form of foreplay for the pair. Luke’s insufferable gloating transcended physical presence, he was in every shop Y/N walked into, with a new girl on his arm. Y/N retaliated with success, building the brand she had been working on since high school as the country’s new scientific mind, acting like she was too above the rest of the world to even care to know who Luke Patterson was…
One year.
One whole year since that night in New York, and the band were back by personal invitation. With their third world tour finally finished, and their fourth album in the works for release later that year, the guys and Julie had been riding a high, not quite sure if they’d ever fall down.
Their half decade of commercial success had handed them their third invitation to the Met Gala, a PR opportunity to promote themselves, according to Flynn. Their manager was flown out from LA with Willie, Reggie’s girlfriend Kayla and Julie’s girlfriend, the group opting to share a plane with Trevor and Carrie Wilson, almost a reunion for them all. It wasn’t often they all got to see one another, with the band constantly on tour the past years, but it felt like there was no better place to catch up: over $1,000 champagne as they all talked about the clothes they wore.
“And stepping out onto the carpet now we have the Phan-tastic Four themselves, Julie and her Phantoms!” It was the first voice Luke heard as he stepped out of the limousine and onto the red carpet, suddenly joined by a barrage of questions and flashes of cameras, hundreds of reporters and fans calling out his name. He gave his signature smirk and a wave, opening the car door wide and holding out a hand to Julie, helping her onto the carpet and smiling as gasps sounded around them.
She was a vision, dressed in a tulle ballgown, a mixture of blues and greens and yellows layered on one another, decorated with butterflies like she was some type of goddess. The theme for the year was Sense and Sustainability: Fashion of the Planet, and she had hit the nail on the head with the help of their designer that year. The boys too, had gone for the blue and green tones to match their lead singer: Luke was in a dark blue suit, Reggie in an emerald three-piece and Alex in a topaz shirt, all of them looking like they were straight out of some utopian alter-reality.
“You know, Luke, I think it’s my job to help Julie out of the car.” A voice spoke, Julie’s girlfriend emerging in a white tailored piece, she too decorated with butterflies, a flower the same colours as Julie’s dress proudly displayed on her lapel.
“He has a habit of coming to these things alone, he just likes having something to do.” Julie teased her friend, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go, turning her attention to the girl by her side, the pair sharing a soft kiss, the camera surging into another frenzy.
“Honestly, it’s like we’re famous or something.” The next car pulled up, the voice this time being Reggie’s as he jumped from the still rolling car, assisting his girlfriend Kayla out the vehicle, she a beauty in purple. The pair were quickly followed by Alex and Willie, who both looked like they belonged on one of the Vogue runways instead of the red carpet.
“Divide and conquer, meet back at the steps?” Alex suggested, taking in the extravagance of it all, the constant flashing lights and the noise of it all. “Flynn and Carrie texted, they’re already inside.” He alerted on top of his question, the group sharing glances and nodding in agreement.
“Don’t say anything stupid.” Julie warned them all, the group breaking apart to make their ways down the carpet, towards the Met, respective partners in tow.
The next forty minutes were a slow crawl down the carpet amongst the world’s superstars, and Luke did his very best to answer the questions posed to him by prying reporters: he stuck to talking music, and the band and touring, and whenever questions about his love and sex life came up, he quickly laughed them off and changed the subject, a tactic that seemed to work quite well. He wasn’t the only person the journalists were looking to interview, and with each evaded question he felt the weight in his chest get lighter and lighter.
He had promised Julie and the guys, after all, that the night was about what really mattered: they had been asked to play a few songs for the event’s official after party, as well, their popularity shared amongst celebrities alongside the general public. Despite it being a fashion event, that night was about the music for the four.
“So, Luke, correct me if I’m wrong, but tonight is almost a school reunion, no?” The reporter asked, Luke stood to her left as the camera rolled, live feed of the night going straight onto TVs across the country.
“Well, yeah! I guess it is. It’s the first time we’ve had the chance to all be together since before the tour, and you can-” Luke was interrupted by a squeal, he and the reporter turning around to catch Julie and Flynn hugging in the centre of the walkway, coos coming from nearby celebrities who watched on as the girls embraced around the volumes of Julie’s dress fabric. “You can tell we’ve missed each other, can’t you?” He said, turning back to the reporter, who’s eyes flicked down to his arms and back up. He had forgone his suit jacket about twenty minutes before, the shirt underneath sporting sheer sleeves that showed off his biceps quite nicely.
“It’s uh.” The reporter cleared her throat. “From what I gather, the Los Feliz alumni make up over 1% of attendants tonight, and considering we have guests here from across the world, seems like there’s magic over at that school.” She suggested with a raise of the eyebrow, and Luke found himself chuckling. If only she knew…
“I should say hello to Miss Harrison actually, best music teacher in the world.” Luke waved at the camera quickly, and his eyes quickly surveyed the space. His friends had found themselves nearing the steps, and he was quite set on joining them.
“Of course, not all of the reunion class are in the music industry though, are they?” The reporter posed, and Luke frowned a little in confusion.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me there…” He admitted, though his wonders were quickly answered as another car pulled up at the end of the carpet, yells and cameras flashing making it hard for Luke to focus on the person stepping out of the car, though it soon became rather clear with reporters crying out her name.
Plus, Luke knew Y/N’s body like the back of his hand.
There had to be something said for showing up to the biggest fashion event of the year in black, and more so for showing up in the iconic Coco Chanel fashion of a little black dress. There weren’t many people who could pull it off, but as she walked down the carpet, passing reporters begging for her attention, adorned in the form fitting dress that just passed her knees, the boatline neck putting focus on the gold chain necklace she wore, her stilettos red bottoms to match the crimson lipstick she wore, her hair in its natural waves and framing her face beautifully: no-one could have garnered more attention.
“Will you excuse me?” Luke asked, but before the reporter could speak up he was already making his way across to the centre of the carpet, a lazy smirk on his face as he looked her over, and she came to stand before him, the pair staring one another down. ‘You should’ve told me you’d be here, Princess’, he thought, a smile quirking on her lips as she held out a hand, Luke taking it in his own and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, his cold lips giving her goosebumps.
“I think your friends might be waiting for you.” She said softly, the pair breaking their hold on one another and beginning a walk for the steps, Y/N gasping softly at the sight of Julie in her dress. “My goodness, she looks stunning.”
“Yes, you do.” Luke responded, the pair sharing a glance before Y/N started up the stairs, Julie descending to meet her halfway as the pair held onto one another, Luke watching as they seemed to communicate telepathically: they had learned rather a lot from Y/N about Julie’s gifts, ones she had inherited from her mother, and Julie’s ability to see and speak to the dead also seemed to have the added bonus of receiving messages from witches. Y/N could read minds, Julie could mirror the effect.
“Oh, you haven’t met Hannah!” Julie exclaimed suddenly, the girl in black shaking hands with Julie’s girlfriend in white. “Why, how are you here?” The question seemed to perk more than Luke’s interest, microphones held out across the barricade by reports to try and catch a snippet of the words soon to leave Y/N’s mouth.
“Who do you think suggested the theme? The fashion industry is one of the biggest pollutants in America, and where better to flagship the reusable movement than at the biggest fashion event of the year.” Y/N giggled, Julie’s arm linking with hers as they began to walk again, a vision of colours against black. They complimented one another, strolling along the ways old friends do, Flynn coming across to greet them as Hannah and Luke followed behind, the four making their way for their waiting friends. “Besides, Anna owed me a favour.” Y/N added with a smirk, Luke catching the words and raising an eyebrow.
“Are you here on business, Y/L/N?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and coming to a stop beside Alex and Willie, the former of whom glanced over at Luke with warning: the last thing they needed was Luke on another front page, this time with the brightest young mind in America.
“Wintour has… Bouts of lycanthropy, and a problem with the undead hanging around museums.” Y/N explained in a low voice, glancing over and spotting the iconic magazine editor, sending her a polite wave from across the way. “I promised to do some banishings if she would kindly assist in the environmental progress movement. An endorsement from Anna Wintour goes a long way.” She shrugged. “It seemed like a fair exchange.”
“I’m sorry, can we backtrack for a moment? Banishings and lycanthropy?” Hannah asked, the group turning to look at her, Julie taking her hand as they decided who might explain. She was the newest addition to the friendship circle, her and Julie having been dating for just over a year and a half. She had joined the band for a leg of the tour, met Flynn.
Y/N was not a person Hannah knew very well, and the sudden talk of magical things, quite understandably, made the girl uneasy.
“So, you know how we told you about us being the g word? And Julie’s a medium?” Reggie said, throwing an arm over Kayla’s shoulder and pulling his girlfriend closer. When Hannah nodded, he continued. “And you know how there was the dead magician who tried to kill us again when the band first formed?” He stopped again, making sure the girl was keeping up with him. “Well, Caleb was a witch when he was alive, and Y/N over there, the one in black, you two have met. Well, Y/N was the alive witch who was meant to banish us and didn’t, thank you for that.” He nodded to the girl, and she smiled slightly, her eyes more focused on Luke across the circle from her. “And now she’s the science girl that everyone talks to on TV since Bill Nye is too old.”
“So… Potions and spells and candles and stuff?” Hannah asked, the group joining in a light chuckle as Y/N nodded.
“Indeed, though it’s a lot more logical than myth has people believing.” Y/N said, her attention diverting from Luke as their host approached, the young men and women all finding themselves straightening up at the sight of her.
“Dr Y/L/N, it’s lovely to see you again. Might we have a word?” Wintour asked, removing Y/N from the group with the words and a quick wave goodbye, the young woman sending a wink Luke’s way before disappearing with the chief editor of Vogue, the pair stopping for an interview further down the stairway.
The title was one that made Y/N smile every time she heard it, the hard work of her youth paying off with respect from elders. It was important for her public persona too, people tended to believe you more if you had the suffix, and for someone so young, it helped her appear mature. There weren’t a lot of perks to getting your first of two doctorates at nineteen, the whole process of being a wunderkind leading up to it had been stressful to say the least, not to mention the added pressures of being groomed to lead the coven one day, but she made it work.
“So, Dr Y/L/N, perhaps we should talk about why you’re here?” The reporter’s question brought Y/N back to reality, stood beside Wintour with a practiced smile to the camera.
“Well, Monica.” Y/N was sure to use the reporter’s first name with a smile. “When Vogue made the move to promote sustainable fashion and opened the bid to make the top designer brands carbon neutral by 2030, I simply couldn’t refuse.” She had rehearsed what to say, she always did. Her appearances were important, her time on screen needed to mean something to viewers. “We are saving our planet, our economy, our livelihoods one step at a time here, this move to recycled materials is predicted to create thousands of new jobs globally within the fashion industry. And as someone who studies these things for a living, probability and the effects of pollutants, the political climate on these issues, I know that I’m here representing the entire scientific community tonight, approving of the incredible work done by our designers, our celebrities who help spread awareness, and by the people at home.”
“You know, I still can’t get over how young you are, I apologise.” The reporter responded with a light laugh, Y/N offering a soft smile back.
“Young, but wise beyond her years. She’s the one we need to listen to.” Anna interrupted with a nod to Y/N. “Two doctorates and five degrees under her belt, not to mention the sense of style.” She complimented, and the reporter rounded off the interview as the pair walked away. “How long until the banishing is over?” She whispered, the pair ascending the staircase to enter the hall, celebrities by the dozen milling around, finding their tables, sitting themselves down for the dinner soon to be served.
“Surely you can trust me to get the job done in a timely fashion, Anna.” Y/N remarked, hands clasped behind her back.
“You’re a witch, of course I don’t trust you.” She muttered, the pair sharing masquerade smiles as they quickly separated, the rather cruel thoughts wandering around the fashion icon’s head causing Y/N to smirk. Her night was just beginning, of course, and as she made her way towards the security corridors on the far side of the hall, her eyes scanned over the room to find Luke looking right back at her, that smug look her hated on his face, arms folded as he rather blatantly checked her out.
’12.05?’ Luke asked as they shared the gaze, the time meaning something to them both. When she nodded, Luke’s gaze focused back on his table of friends, leaving Y/N to disappear in peace, though her mind was once again at war.
She just couldn’t say no to him.
--
It was a fairly desperate call for Luke to have to rope Y/N into something, but she owed him a few favours from the year before, and he was not going to be the only person at the Halloween record label party without a date: especially not when his ex-girlfriend was going to be there.
As much as he disliked it, Luke was quite certain he needed the hottest person he knew, and it was, rather unfortunately, the witch. It helped that Julie, Flynn and Carrie had banded together that summer to reimagine their friend’s wardrobe: they had fitted Y/N with a style somewhere between ‘if looks could kill’ and ‘you wish you could’, outfits that all looked like they belonged on the cover of a couture magazine, with elements of the witch theme laced in. And while Luke and the band hadn’t seen Y/N in months, what with them recording in LA and her studying at Stanford, just outside of San Francisco, he was hopeful that he could salvage some shred of dignity if he had a pretty girl on his arm.
His breakup with Alice had been front page news for weeks, a mess of lies and cheating and constant scandal that had worked in everyone’s favour, even if it left Luke feeling worse for wear. It was the same as his relationship before Alice, and then his relationship before Alice and Rita… He was quite committed to swearing off romance until he hit forty, at least then he’d be avoiding the front page if things went south.
He arrived at the Fall Down Records HQ coming close on eleven o’clock, a slam of his car door echoing around the street as cameras flashed and caught him on his way in. He blocked out the bright lights and noise, the questions of how he was coping with the breakup, of how he was feeling about Alice’s new boyfriend: by the time the new month started, he had no doubt his tragic affair with the country singer would be overshadowed by the mysterious girl who had arrived at the party earlier that night.
“Luke, you made it!” As the boy entered into the lobby of the building, decorated from top to two in Halloween décor, Trevor welcomed his friend with a smile and quick hug. It was weird, Bobby now being Trevor and Trevor being the same age as Julie’s dad, perhaps weirder that he helped run the label JATP was signed to, but apologies had been handed out and late statements made by Trevor to credit the guys on his first album, so he had sort of just become an uncle now. He was older, wiser, changed from the kid Luke had known, but he still cared about him and Alex and Reggie, just instead of getting them fake IDs and letting them crash in his old garage, now Trevor read the fine prints of the band’s contracts and offered free use of his helicopter.
“Did a pretty girl dressed as an angel show up?” He asked, getting straight to the point. He himself was dressed in an all-black number, sleeveless of course, and had managed to put in some red contacts, a modern take on the Devil.
“She’s with Julie, doing a rather good job at outshining your ex-girlfriend…” Trevor muttered, gesturing to the left of them, Luke’s head turning to locate the girl he had effectively hired to date him for the night.
And she took his breath away.
Y/N stood at Julie’s side by a karaoke machine, the two singing to one another as crowds cheered them on, his ‘girlfriend’ looking like she could’ve quite literally come down from heaven: she had flat out refused to dress up as a witch, and when Luke suggested that their dressing as angel and demon could also be construed as cultural appropriation, Y/N had laughed until she cried. He had asked what was so funny, and she had asked if he had ever seen an angel in person.
It was safe to say that the fluffy white wings and halo mortals had commercialised was a far cry from the true essence of angelic powers: they more resembled blobs that floated, one large eyes in the middle, usually surrounded by rings of heaven fire and something one might describe as spinning wheels of death. All spikes meant to destroy anything impure that came close.
Safe to say, Luke didn’t plan on going to heaven any time soon.
As the song ended, the girls turning to the crowd to bow, Y/N’s eyes fell on Luke at the far side of the room, and she took the opportunity to pay him back.
“You’re here!” She squealed, sending a quick wink Julie’s way, their friend aware of the favour, before putting on her best performance: rushing through the breaking crowd to jump into Luke’s arms, his own instinctively wrapping around her waist to hold her up as he spun around to gain his balance again.
‘Happy to see me, Princess?’ he raised an eyebrow as she read his thoughts, Luke’s eyes drifting over to land on Alice, who watched from the corner of the room rather intently. ‘She’s looking at me…´he thought, Y/N glanced back as Luke placed her back on the ground, a thought coming to her head.
“Let’s give her something to gossip about, yeah?” She suggested, pulling Luke close to her by his collar, planting her lips on his in front of the entire room, making quite sure to embarrass the girl who decided to cheat on Luke Patterson.
--
“How’s everyone doing tonight?!” Julie called out, the crowd filling the Bowery Ballroom cheering back as she took the stage, microphone in hand. Julie had opted to change dress, her ballgown replaced with a white strapless number, keeping to the theme of butterflies that night and now matching her girlfriend, who stood in the front row of the crowd encouraging her on with a thumbs up.
The evening had been more than a success, with the crowd of celebrities migrating from the Met to the music venue she stood on the stage of as the formalities quickly came to a close. JATP had been begged to play a show, many of the celebrities that night major fans of the young rock stars, and after a DJ set from a mix of the Billboard 100’s top producers, Julie found herself taking the stage with the promise of a song.
“I just want to say thank you, on behalf of myself and the guys, for letting us play. And… Well, we’ve decided that for such a special occasion, we ought to give you something new.” Another chorus of cheers echoed in the space, Julie walking round to place her microphone on the stand by the keyboard waiting for her. “The guys and I have been working on album number four, and this song was one Luke wrote last year just after we left for the World Tour.” Julie paused, looking out into the crowd, her eyes finding Y/N’s as she watched from beside Flynn. “It’s called Bloody Valentine, and we hope you like it.” She finished, the cheers and applause dying down when a sudden guitar riff came from out of nowhere, Julie joining in with piano chords alongside a bassline and a drum beat from Alex, the sounds filling the air despite three of the four musicians being absent.
“The simulation just went bad, but you're the best I ever had. Like hand prints in wet cement, she touched me it's permanent.” Julie sang out, another swell of cheers as the crowd began dancing to the fast paced drum beat and guitar riffs of the song. A flash of light, and Reggie appeared on stage, no longer in his emerald suit from the event, but changed into a silk shirt of the same hue, a pop of colour under his trusty leather jacket and tucked into his ripped skinny jeans.
“In my head, in my head, I couldn’t hear anything you said but in my head.” Reggie took the melody line, Julie harmonising on top, moving away from the piano and crossing the stage to sing with her friend, the two beginning to dance along to the music they made. “In my head, I’m calling you girlfriend what the-” the curse word meant to finish the phrase was overshadowed by a drum fill as Alex appeared on stage behind the pair, his topaz shirt now half open, his hair a mess and his sticks hot from the sheer speed of his hands.
“I don't do fake love, but I'll take some from you tonight. I know I've got to go but I might just miss the flight.” The three sang the first half of the chorus together, Julie jumping up onto the drum stand with Alex to rock out as he played an sang, leaving room on stage as their final member flashed onto the stage, his suits pants switched for a pair of jeans and sneakers, his shirt now without it’s sheer sleeves, showing off Luke’s arms as they flexed, the guitarist taking lead on the song with a complicated guitar riff.
“I can't stay forever, let's play pretend, and treat this night like it'll happen again. You'll be my bloody valentine.” Luke sang to the screams of the crowd, a smile on his face as he sang, his eyes roaming the crowd for the girl dressed in black, stood a row or two from the front, sending her a wink as he performed. “Tonight.”
“I'm overstimulated and I'm sad. I don't expect you to understand. It's nothing less than true romance or am I just making a mess?” Luke and Julie found themselves singing together, his friend dancing across the stage and leading him along with her microphone as they played for the hundreds before them, Julie switching to the harmony line as the second pre-chorus came back around. “In my head, in my head, I'm laying naked with you, yeah. In my head, in my head, I'm ready to die holding your hand.”
“I don't do fake love, but I'll take some from you tonight. I know I've got to go but I might just miss the flight. I can't stay forever, let's play pretend and treat this night like it'll happen again. You'll be my bloody valentine tonight.” Luke took the second chorus by himself, while Julie hyped up the crowd, Alex and Reggie going hard on drums and bass behind him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting over to Y/N as he sang, the girl stood there with a smirk on her lips. He wondered if she was reading his mind, if she knew what he was thinking, if she knew the song was about her, about them: about the chaotic and borderline toxic relationship they had developed over the years. He wondered if she remembered the year before, the night they shared in New York before he vanished off for a World Tour, before she had fully accepted her role as America’s Greatest Scientific Mind.
The instrumental break had the crowd going wild, Luke, Reggie and Julie harmonising on their separate instruments while Alex improvised on the drums, quickly bringing the tempo down and starting a roll on the snare, Luke coming back to his mic to sing.
“I can't hide how I feel about you. Inside, I'd give everything up tonight, if I could just have you be mine. Be mine, baby.” Luke’s voice had a gravel in it, something raw and powerful that took people’s breath away. He glanced over to Reggie and Julie as he sang, the three sharing smiles until Reggie glanced out at the crowd, his grin dropping to a frown, Julie’s soon following. Luke tracked their gazes as he held onto the microphone for balance, every piece of joy in him suddenly filled with rage.
There, in the third row back, was some guy, dressed like he’d just come from a giving a university lecture, with his arms around Y/N’s waist, his chin resting against her shoulder as he pressed kisses to her neck.
“I can't hide how I feel about you. Inside, I'd give everything up tonight, if I could just have you be mine. Be mine.” Luke continued, dropping back from the mic once he had sung the last of the bridge, leaving Alex to another drum fill, a chance to show off that Luke had before been so excited to hear. Now? He just felt numbing anger, it was clear on his face: he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Y/N, who seemed to be refusing to return his gaze, her eyes anywhere but on him.
“I don’t do fake love but I’ll take some from you tonight. I know I’ve got to go but I just might miss the flight.” Reggie and Julie took over singing the last chorus, trying not to show concern as they performed, trying to remain professional. They both wondered exactly what Luke would do once they got off stage, wondered if Reggie and Alex would need to hold their friend back while Julie attempted to talk him down, but it seemed like Luke’s frustrations were coming out on his guitar and the song. He stepped up to the microphone again, green eyes piercing into Y/N’s very soul as he played like he wouldn’t get another chance.
“I can't stay forever, let's play pretend and treat this night like it'll happen again. You'll be my bloody valentine tonight.” Her eyes finally looked up, her face one of blank expression, and it almost gave him hope. She almost look annoyed, though he couldn’t tell if it was at him or the man who’s hands had begun travelling across her body.
“No not enough, no not enough, no not enough, no not enough no just tonight.” The four sang, repeating the line over again as the song came to a close, Luke swinging his guitar behind him as Alex drummed them out, heavy breathing in a mix of adrenaline and wrath.
The moment the song ended, the crowd bursting into applause, with significant others quickly rushing to the stage to congratulate Julie, Reggie and Alex, Luke watched Y/N slip her way out of the mystery man’s arms, making a beeline to a door by the stage side. It took Luke a second, setting his guitar on the stand and following after her, ignoring a call of ‘Luke wait!’ from his bandmates as he slammed open the door walking down the backstage corridors.
He was hunting, following the scent of perfume, that sweet mix of apple and lemon that made him lightheaded, the echoes of stilettos on concrete. It wasn’t often that he used his ghostly gifts, more because he had gotten used to being human again, but it a moment of frustration at the endless hallways and rooms that seemed to filled that backstage of the Bowery, he poofed with Y/N in mind.
She had expected him to follow of course, they had agreed it earlier that evening. While Luke hadn’t been paying attention to the time, he appeared in one of the Bowery’s backstage bathrooms just as the clock hit 12.05, finding Y/N perched on the sink with a window cracked open and a cigarette between her blood red lips. She blew the smoke out the window, turning back to look at him, reaching out a hand from him to grip onto as he steadied himself. He hadn’t jumped like that in years, the feeling foreign to him.
“Luke…” She said softly, sincerity in her voice that was rare: she wasn’t a woman prone to expressive emotion.
“You could have fucking told me you were with someone before I got on stage.” He hissed, cutting off any type of apology she might have tried to give, not that she was known for them. “I mean, I knew you were a total bitch, Princess, but do I not get any warning?!”
“We don’t do feelings Patterson, you know that.” She whispered softly, taking another drag of the cigarette before stubbing it out and tossing it through the window, the smoke she blew out hanging in the air.
“Are you really going to sit there and act like we don’t have something?! Really?” Luke exclaimed with an angry laugh, running a hand through his hair in disbelief at the girl before him, who sat stoic, straight backed with her legs crossed one over the other, like she was being interviewed on one of those stupid news shows.
“It doesn’t matter what we have if it would never work, Luke!” She finally let her temper break, yelling the response back at him despite her perfect posture. “We aren’t friends! We can never be friends! We’re two different people leading two very different lives. And to be quite honest with you, Jackson fits into mine.” She admitted, trying to stop her bottom lip from quivering. The last thing she was going to be was weak.
“Jackson, so that’s his name.” Luke scoffed, taking a step closer to Y/N, and another. “Tell me something, Princess.” He muttered, his hand lifting her legs apart for him to get closer, his cold demeanour matching the chill that exuded from his body, causing goosebumps to form on Y/N’s arms and legs. “Does he have the same effect on you that I have?”
“No.” She confessed, her head hanging low as she let out the word. Luke’s thumb and forefinger caught her chin, raising her face to look him in the eyes, the smirk on his lips prompting Y/N to add to her confession. “But I suppose that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Can you tell me honestly that you can give this up?” Luke posed the question, and for a moment Y/N had to pause, to gulp, the closeness of their bodies all too tempting. “You know, you may be the smarty pants young doctor out to save the world around everyone else, Princess, but I’ve heard you scream my name before.” He whispered, his lips centimetres from making contact with skin. “You like this, you love this. Us…Late nights in hotel rooms and sneaking out before morning.” A hand finally placed down against her thigh, the cold skin against her flushed body almost shocking had it not been a feeling Y/N had craved. “You like the adrenaline that comes with going back to what ever pencil neck you’ve wrapped around your little finger while my cum is still on your thighs, marks I left still on your neck.”
All of it was true, but of course Y/N had no intention of admitting it, of boosting that asshole’s ego anymore than she already had. She shouldn’t have agreed to even meeting him, no matter how badly she craved the feeling of Luke’s body against hers, of his hand around her neck as he fucked her senseless.
“Let go of me and I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.” She promised, to which Luke laughed, the hand he had on her thigh pushing her skirt higher and higher, coming down towards the inside of her thigh, brushing the lace of her panties. Her breathing hitched, her body betraying her.
“Face it, Y/N…” He said softly, moving back to look her in the eyes as a finger hooked under her panties and pull them down her thighs, Luke biding his time, waiting for the fabric to fall to his feet before continuing. “You need me as much as I need you.” He assured her, his eyes flicking between hers and her mouth. He silently asked permission, Y/N giving it to him when her hands moved to the belt buckle on his jeans, quickly undoing it and letting Luke’s pants fall slack.
Luke didn’t hesitate any longer, taking her face in his hands and pressing their lips together, his tongue fast into her mouth and dominant. He often took control like this, something Y/N could never quite bring herself to resist, and she was almost immediate in her reciprocation of the kiss, her hands coming to the hem of Luke’s shirt, unbuttoning it quickly and pushing it off his shoulders as their lips collided.
Kissing him was like jumping from a cliff into waters one would assume were warm, only to land and hit the freezing sea below. It was the taste of salt on his tongue, the tug of his hands in her hair, the way she panted for breath between kisses like she might drown in him.
Y/N was always the one to make the second move, it was how they worked. Luke always initiated, she always responded, it was a back and forth. They didn’t speak, they knew each other so well they didn’t need it. Her hands coming to his boxers briefs and palming at his stiff member through the clothes, asking for him to take his turn, prompted Luke to do so, moving aside the last piece of clothing separating them from the thing they both begged for.
Luke lined himself up with her entrance, breaking the kiss to pull Y/N to the very edge of the counter, pushing her skirt completely past her ass. His body between her thighs spread her legs, Luke smiling as she whimpered.
“You asshole, don’t make me wait.” She moaned out, giving up on trying to feign resentment, her hand coming to his locks and pulling him in for another kiss, Luke pushing himself into her as they lips collided once again.
A year without one another, Luke had missed the feeling of her walls clenching around his cock. He had missed the way she whimpered curse words under her breath as he set a hard and fast pace. She clung to the counter top for some sense of stability, letting her head fall back as a moan racked her body.
“Fuck Princess, so good for me.” Luke groaned, his lips coming to her exposed neck and pressing down on her sweet spot, making sure to leave a mark, to tell whoever saw her next that she belonged to someone else. His eyes trailed over her in the vulnerable state, taking his cock like the good girl she always was once he had her panties on the floor. He admired the site: her tight cunt spread around his girth as he pounded into her, evidence of her arousal catching the dim lighting overhead.
“Luke… F-fuck…” Y/N whimpered, one hand coming round the back of his neck, pulling him deeper as she began chasing her high, the knots in her stomach slowly beginning to form, his body against hers beginning to burn with each touch. They weren’t meant to be compatible, and yet sex never felt better than with one another. “Baby, don’t stop.” She gasped out, her eyes widening as he bit into her skin, a guttural moan leaving her body, unable to fight back against the smug look on his face.
She had forgotten just how good he was, just how much she wanted him. As the knots in her stomach tightened, the tension in Luke’s abdomen increased, both chasing towards euphoria, Luke’s breathing grew shaky, his pace turning sloppy, his thrusts deeper and deeper.
“Cum for me sweetheart.” Luke muttered, a hand coming down to rub circles against her clit, the action throwing Y/N over the edge, into the waves of ecstasy as the knots in her stomach unfurled, her eyes squeezing shut and her head falling onto Luke’s should as he too spent himself inside her.
They stayed like that for a moment, ragged breathing and Y/N’s rapid heartbeat seeming to pound hard and loud enough for someone two rooms over to hear. She found herself holding onto him, letting herself relax for a moment, even enjoy it, as Luke’s hand came up and petted her head, only moving back when her cheek burned too much from his icy skin.
‘I think she’s in love with me…’ Luke’s intrusive thought wasn’t one he meant to think, but it seemed to be the one Y/N heard. She pushed him back to the other side of the small bathroom, Luke unable to rid himself of the smug expression he wore as he tucked himself back into his boxers and pulled up his jeans.
"He doesn't make you happy." Luke’s voice almost sang in victory, leaning back against the wall as Y/N cleaned herself of their scandal, their affair. Once she had finished, flushing the secret they shared down the toilet with the toilet paper, he reached out and pulled her close to him. His hand came up to her mouth, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip, ego inflating when her felt her tremble slightly in his grasp. "You know he doesn't…"
"Yeah, well at least he doesn't make me sad, Luke." Y/N snapped back in response, interrupting him from finishing his sentence, a stray tear rolling down her cheek as he held her in his arms, catching Luke off-guard and forcing his hands to drop away, his mind to go blank. He didn't think he had ever seen her cry before, but then again, Y/N never had cause to feel shame. She didn't have cause to feel it until then, storming out of that bathroom, knowing for a fact she would do everything in her power to stop herself from loving Luke Patterson.
--
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#luke patterson#luke patterson x reader#luke patterson smut#luke patterson x y/n#jatp luke x reader#jatp luke#jatp au#jatp#julie and the phantoms#angsty smut#smut#luke patterson imagine#luke patterson fanfiction#julie and the himbos
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Cuddle Buddies
Pairing: Roommate! Rafael Casal x Reader
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: Minors DNI, RPF, angst, cursing, pining, jealousy, suggestive language, butt slapping, fluff! No smut! All errors my own. I apologize if you like the smell of patchouli, lol.
A/N: This is an answer to the following ask from @teatro-dira :
Okay so I don't know if this is kinda weird but like an Rafael x reader were they are like really cuddly(like a lot of hugs, cuddling and stuff) friends and roommates and everyone teases them asking them if they're dating. Then Rafael gets a girlfriend which makes y/n lowkey feel betrayed and jealous, but he doesn't realize that. Y/n accidentally ruins their relationship(you chose how). They get into a fight, but it ends in fluff. Hope you understand what I mean:)
Here it goes! I hope you like it!
———-
A series of unfortunate events led you to this situation six months ago.
You were subletting Rafael’s apartment in Santa Monica when production wrapped a month early on his project in Vancouver. He had nowhere to go, and neither did you, so you agreed to share the space.
You vibed, almost as much as he and Daveed did. Folks began to call you the fourth Muskateer, for as much as you, Rafa, Daveed and his girl were always together.
You all talked, smoked, and created together. You and Rafa especially were always all over each other, keeping each other warm under blankets on the couch, watching movies while you ran your fingers through his hair, in one or another’s bed watching videos, or writing in tandem.
It was all good, cause Rafa was being a man-whore at the moment with several ladies, and you were just chilling. It was dope.
Almost.
It would have been all the way dope, except...
Except for the fact that you were in love with Rafa.
You loved sharing the same space with him, because you could smell him when he just got out of the shower, play in his silky hair, and feel his strong arms around you. And when he wore grey sweats…. Damn. You and your little bullet celebrated every time that happened.
Everyone could tell, except for Rafael. People ragged on you two so hard, that you vehemently denied it every time, to the point of getting heated.
One night, you side eyed the teaser through a cloud of smoke after catching Rafa’s grimace when they said you two should get together. Your mood sank at what you perceived was rejection.
“I would NEVER get with Rafa, that’s the homie. He’s like a brother to me. Ugh. Getting with my brother? No way. We’re just Cuddle Buddies.”
Rafa blinked and then took a toke.
“Exactly, we the homies. Platonic Ride or Dies. It’ll never happen.” He passed what he was holding and then stood up. “Cuddle Buddies till the end.” He sounded disgusted.
“I’m going to go get some food. I’m hungry. What does everyone want?” After everyone yelled out their orders, you offered to come with.
“Nah, sis. I’m good. Gonna clear my head. I’ll be back soon. Rafa peaced out and you sat back down with the crew.
-------
Ever since that night, Rafa seemed a little distant. He was always busy, and never had time to sit and kick it with you the last couple of weeks. You all never seemed to link.
One night, he was home when you came in with groceries.
“Oh shit, I didn’t know that you’d be here!” You put the groceries down on the counter while Rafa was at the stove, cooking up some pasta with marina.
“Mmmmmm. Smells good!” You went and stood very close to him, expecting him to give you a side hug, at least.
He just turned and glanced at you, a smirk lifting one side of his face.
“Will you never learn to keep an umbrella in the car? You always come in soaking wet from the rain.”
Here he was, shaking his head that you didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. How could this talented genius ever want to be with you?
You just played it off, as usual. “I’m starving. I didn’t think I would make it through cooking, but you’re always clutch, Rafa!”
Rafa stood there and gaped at you.
“Uhhhhh… I thought you said you were driving down to the Vista to see your mom… I have someone coming over for dinner....”
“No. She’s decided to go on a cruise to Cabo with her bestie… she just called and told me as she was boarding the ship this afternoon. The hussy. Tryna be fast with her little friends.” You laughed.
“So, who’s coming over? UTK? Wayne? Jimmy?”
You jumped up on the counter and watched as Rafa put some french bread with butter and garlic in the oven. Smelled like heaven. Those guys would definitely invite you to stay.
Rafa wiped his hands on the towel that was hanging on the stove. And turned around to face you.
“Her name is Aurora.”
It was like he’d punched you in the gut. He’d NEVER brought one of his heauxes around. You fought the urge to double over, even though you felt nauseous. When you looked at him, he looked concerned.
“Hey, you okay?”
You jumped down from the counter and quickly nodded your head, laughing weakly.
“I...uh.. Yeah. Like I said, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, expecting to be at dinner with my moms by now.”
You grabbed your groceries, putting them up quickly and grabbed an apple, taking it to your room.
“I’m going to get out of your way in a minute, I’ll go over to Carla’s and hang with her tonight. We’ll probably go out and do what we do, you know?”
Rafa still looked worried.
“Are you sure you’re ok? You need more than an apple. Look, stay…”
“NO!” Your voice was raised and it startled you. “I mean, I’m not one to be a cock blocker. I’ll just get my stuff and get ready to go.”
Rafa just watched as you scurried into your room. Why did you feel like crying? Why did you feel as if you would never breathe properly again? You got out your phone and called Carla.
20 minutes later, you exited your room dressed for the club with your overnight bag. There was a strange smell in the room, and it wasn’t pasta. It was patchouli. You HATED patchouli.
You didn’t realize you were giving the gas face until Rafa came out of the kitchen followed by a short, but cute woman, with a body like, whoa.
Of course.
Rafa glared at you and you fixed your face. That bestie telepathy was on point. Then he looked up and down, as if he were judging your freakum dress. Well, fuck him.
“Oh, hey! Y/N, this is Aurora. Aurora, Y/N.”
Aurora ignored your outstretched hand and went in for a hug.
“Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you that I feel like I know you intimately, just like Rafael.”
You tried to keep your face straight in reaction to her scent, then gave her a sideye.
Was it the inept way she rolled the ‘R’ in Rafael, or the thinly veiled shot at your relationship? Either way, you felt like slapping the shit out of her. You looked at Rafa, but then just cleared your throat.
“And I’ve heard so much about you as well. You’re all Rafa talks about.” He shook his head behind her. “Nice to meet you, but I’m headed out for the night.”
It was then that Aurora saw your bag and brightened up.
“Oh! You do look nice. Are you leaving, you sure you don’t want to stay?”
You could smell insincerity a mile away. Even patchouli couldn’t cover that up. You just smiled at her.
“No ma’am. I’ve got places to see and people to do.” You winked at them as you walked out of the door, holding up your umbrella. “Stay dry y’all.”
You made it out the door without crying of jack slapping that little bitch or Rafa. You were winning.
But why did it feel like you’d lost everything?
-----
You and Rafa successfully avoided one another for days. He was either over Aurora’s or you were with Carla, your mom, or just stayed in your room.
One time you passed Rafa and Aurora on the couch watching a movie on your way to the kitchen to get something to eat. Rafa’s head was in her lap.
You stopped dead in your tracks when you heard Rafa’s slightly raised voice say: “Don't’ mess with the swoop, Babe.”
‘Babe.’ He called her Babe. That’s it. It was time for you to go.
You were cramping Rafa’s style. You just tiptoed back in your room, making little to no noise so that they could watch the movie in peace. You didn’t see Rafa looking at your door after you went in.
----
A week later, you let Rafa know your move out date.
“Wait. What?”
Rafa’s mouth was open. You repeated yourself.
“Well, I’m going to move in with Carla. She’s going to let me ride her couch until this other place comes open in three weeks. It’s a sweet deal, near the studio….”
Rafa’s mind was racing, you could see the gears turning.
“Well… why don’t you just stay here until then, we got a good thing going.” He looked upset. What was up with him?
“Rafa… I’m just in the way. You’ve got Aurora…”
“Hold up, wait. We aren’t even that serious. I mean, I just stopped seeing Bev and Chrissy. He looked at his watch. Last week.”
You laughed at Rafa’s fuckboi ways. “Well, what about me? I might want to date someone and bring them over…”
Rafa’s face changed.
“Bring someone over here…”
But it didn’t sound like an invitation, it sounded like a threat.
It was your turn to stare at Rafa. “What the hell…?”
He straightened up. “I mean, any of your guests are welcome here.”
You sighed and shook your head.
“See what I mean? Things are getting tense, I want us to stay friends, not be tight with each other all the time.”
Rafa grinned. “You said ‘tight.’” He dodged a couch pillow thrown at his head.
“What are you, a 12 year old?” You were rolling. He really was one of your best friends. But you needed space to get over yourself. And him.
“Okay. You grown. But just know that you don’t have to go. And know that I will miss the hell out of you.”
Rafa came over to hug you, and he held you longer than normal, and then kissed the top of your head. You looked up at him, still in his arms and it was like…
You cleared your throat. “Well, I guess I better go start to pack.”
Rafa stepped back. “Ok.”
Both of you hurried to your perspective rooms.
-----
One night, a couple of days later, Rafael came into your room without knocking.
“What did you say to Aurora?”
You were laying on your stomach on your phone, in just your t-shirt an panties. You rolled over and looked at him.
“What are you talking about?”
Rafa wasn’t yelling, but he was keyed up.
“What did you tell her the last time you talked?”
You put your head down to think, then brought it back up.
“I just said that I was going to miss playing in your hair when we watched movies, that I knew it was your favorite thing.”
Rafa nodded, then shook his head.
“Y/N, you’re the only one I let touch my hair. Aurora has barely been allowed near it.”
“That’s…. New.” You were perplexed.
“No it isn’t. Everyone knows I don’t like people messing with my hair. Aurora accused me of having feelings for you.”
You were sitting up now, crossing your arms and standing before Rafa.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Rafa looked like he was about to explode. He threw his hands up in the air and walked out of your room.
“OF COURSE IT IS! RIDICULOUS!” He was really agitated.
“Yeah, I know all too well that you think it's ridiculous for me to want to be with you. I don’t know what makes you think I’m not good enough for you?”
“Good enough for ME? You’re the one running around with all the model/actress types, you’re the one who thinks I’m beneath you. You said so that one night when you said we were ‘Platonic Ride or Dies.’”
“Here we go! Total distortion! Did you hear what you said before I said that? You said I was like your brother. Your brother. You think it’s that disgusting to be with me.”
“I just said that because you made a face when what’s her face said we should be together.”
“I made that face because I was imagining fucking your brains out. It was probably my cum face.”
You stopped and stared at him, mouth hinged open.
“The fuck?” You burst out laughing. “You are mad outta pocket Rafa.” Rafa was rolling too. “But you ain’t gotta lie.”
Rafa stopped laughing.
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
He was moving closer to you. This felt… dangerous. He looked up and down your body, and it was the first time you felt uncomfortable being comfortable around Rafa.
“Because you told me that you wanted to just be Cuddle Buddies a month after you came back from Canada. You drew a line in the sand.”
Rafa shook his head at you and smiled, green-blue eyes twinkling.
“I knew you were too zooted. I shouldn’t have tried to shoot my shot.”
“Run that back for me?” You couldn’t believe what he was saying right now.
“What I said was..I wanted to be Cuddie buddies. Cuddie is… you know…”
He pointed to your crotch.
You looked down, and then up at him again. “I can’t with you Rafa….”
Rafa tilted his head in that sexy way at you.
“Can you really not?”
You were stunned. Rafa continued.
“But I’m serious. When you came back with ‘Cuddle Buddies,’ I thought you were blowing me off and just wanted to be friends. So, I just settled into the friend zone.”
“Do you mean you’re attracted to me? Rafa, that’s funny as hell. You want me for my body?”
Rafa raised his eyebrows at you. “Hell yeah. C’mon girl. You know you’re fine.”
Your cheeks heated up. You stared at him for what must have been a solid minute. The possibilities of this alternate reality where Rafa liked you like you liked him opened up.
“But, Rafa... I don’t wanna be just cuddie buddies.”
“Oh. Ok, Cool….” Rafa cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at you.
“I want your heart.”
Rafa paused when he heard that and his face fell as he moved toward you. He took your arms in his hands.
“Y/N I'm sorry, I can't give you my heart.”
It was your turn to pick up your face.
“’Cause you already have it.”
His mischievous grin made your stomach flip. But you were mad.
“Fuck you, Rafa.” You were laughing with happiness, despite him playing too much.
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me twice.” Rafa swooped down and threw you over his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting six months for that invitation.”
You were trying to kick and scream.
Raa swatted you on the ass, then smoothed his hand over the cheek that stung.
“The more you struggle, the more you’ll be begging me to stop in a few.”
You struggled some more, but he made it to your bedroom and deposited you on the bed. He glared down at you, all sexy green-eyed god.
“Try me, Y/N.”
You reached for the drawstring on his sweats.
“If you insist, Rafael.”
-----
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omg I am so sorry I completely forgot to put the alphabet 😅 E C J M T for Shanks for the angst alphabet! thank you and sorry for the mistake! ❤️
Angst Alphabet - Shanks
a/n: hiii! Thank y’all for requesting! To the second anon, I went with Shanks (I hope that’s ok!!!) 💗💗💗
LOLOL THIS MY HUSBANDDDDD 💍😍
A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)
It would depend on how much he felt he could have prevented it. However, Shanks understands all to well just how cruel the world can be. He can’t constantly be in control of everything, so although it would be devastating, he would have to realize that this is reality.
B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)
Shanks would use the excuse that he is a Yonko. He’s no good for you, and you deserve so much better than an infamous pirate who only brings danger. While these are just excuses - ways to make breaking up with you easier - he really would be speaking from the heart. Shanks has always felt this way but never voiced it, but now it’s finally time to let you go.
C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)
He leaves for long periods of time and refuses to you along. You know he’s only doing it for your safety, but it hurts that he doesn’t think you’re strong or responsible enough to join his crew on their voyages (note: he doesn’t actually think you’re not strong or responsible – his pirate life is just extremely dangerous, even as a yonko).
D-Death (how would they react to your death?)
He’s seen and experienced a lot of death in his life so he’d be a able to cope with it a little better than others would. Even so, your death would still be heart-breaking (he would mourn privately though). Now, if he literally saw you get killed in front of him then RIP to the person who killed you because they will be the one/s to die next.
E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)
Shanks is quite an open book. If he’s angry everyone knows. If he’s happy everyone knows (etc.). But, if I really had to pick one… I suppose it would be sadness or grief. He feels obligated to put on a front for his crew (although they can see right through it). He tends to let out his sadness and grief when he’s alone.
F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)
He tends to crack jokes before your fights can escalate into anything too serious. Sometimes it’s intentional, but other times it’s just his personality shining through. And rather than serious fights there’s just a lot of teasing and taunts between the two of you.
If you were to have a serious fight, it would be about both of your safety (As would most fights with any of the One Piece characters).
G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)
More often than not, Shanks finds himself able let go of a LOT of shit. But the one thing he can’t seem to stop feeling guilty about is his failure to show up to Marineford on time. He knows he’s not directly responsible for Ace’s death, but that doesn’t stop the overwhelming guilt. If only he had gotten there a few minutes earlier.
H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)
Coming back to you after each voyage is something he always looks forward to. However, that happiness is short-lived when he realizes he has to leave again in a few weeks. It’s always so painful having to say goodbye again.
I don’t think he would be too different during a break-up. Perhaps he may crack a few less jokes, but other than that, his personality and demeanour when around others remains the same. It isn’t until he’s alone that he lets his smile fall.
I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)
Undoubtedly, he’d be concerned, but he knows you’ll pull through (you have to pull through). So, after that initial concern has passed, he’ll be feeling all types of pissed off. Whoever, or whatever, injured you will pay – and honestly, he may not even deal the perpetrator himself (his crew is already on it - you are like family to them).
J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)
I honestly think Shanks is just the type of person to just tell you if he’s jealous. But he wouldn’t say “uhh I’m feeling a little jealous” or anything along those lines – no. Instead, Shanks puts on a little pout and does a massive fake sigh until you finally ask him what’s wrong. That’s when he hits you with the “I guess my attention just isn’t enough for you”, and you’re like “HUH?? MF WHAT?” He’s literally such a child HAHA.
But, if there’s one particular person he really does not like you being around and they won’t leave you alone, then he is not at all opposed to just shoving his tongue down your throat right in front of them. That’ll definitely get the message across.
K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)
Shanks may be a goofy and laid-back individual, but he will resort to violence if the situation calls for it. So, it is very likely that Shanks would kill for revenge. Maybe he wouldn’t necessarily do it himself. But, if he orders it, it’ll definitely happen.
L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)
Gol D. Roger’s death was probably one of the greatest losses in Shanks’ life. Roger is the reason Shanks is a pirate today, and young shanks was absolutely broken by his death.
(hard to write much for this one seeing as shanks’ character is still quite a mystery to us!)
M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)
One time he completely forgot a date night that you spent SO LONG planning. It wasn’t just any date night either. It was a date you planned on his final night before him and his crew had to leave again for a while. You spent hours waiting for to show up, but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally, he showed up at your place, breath reeking of booze. You just looked at him and it hit him (he was like “OH SHIT”). He started apologizing profusely. He didn’t try to make any excuses, he completely owned up to being a shitty boyfriend. But, the moment he knew he had well and truly fucked up was when you just nodded and waved good night to him, wishing him safe travels – you didn’t cry, get visibly angry you just left alone. Shanks knew that was far worse than any yelling.
N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?)
I literally am not joking when I say this but I think Shanks practically drinks till he passes out so even if he were to get nightmares he wouldn’t wake up LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO (ok maybe I am joking with this one but also kind of not).
In all seriousness though, I don’t think Shanks has nightmares very frequently. It’s gotten to the point where any fear or things of that matter that could be nightmares for him, have become so common in his life that he almost finds it not frightening to think about.
O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)
He would get mad at you for placing yourself in unnecessary danger. He’d call you stupid and irresponsible, even though he doesn’t really mean any of those things – it’s just the image of him potentially losing you forever is replaying in his mind and it absolutely terrifies him.
P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)
You saw him get serious serious once before. Like the kind of serious where he uses his conquerors haki and everything. It definitely caused a bit of a change in your relationship as it was terrifying to witness. You’ve always known Shanks was strong and intimidating when needed, but that moment really showed you what it meant when people called him an “emperor of the sea”.
Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)
Not wanting to openly express his sadness and grief in front of others can be a very unhealthy quality. Shanks doesn’t allow himself good enough opportunities to express him emotions in a safe and healthy manner.
R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around))
(First of all WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO REJECT SHANKS ANYWAY LIKE HUBBA HUBBA I LOVE HIM ANYWHOOOOOOOOO…..) Shanks is the type to just shrug it off. He’d be a little disappointed, bc c’mon the hottest most amazing person he’s ever known just turned him down! But he knows not everything in life goes how you want it to. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and this just happens to be one of the things he’s lost. So ultimately, he’ll just shrug it off. (he will definitely get teased by his crew though).
S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)
Shanks has no self-inflicted wounds. But he does have a scar across his left eye given to him by Blackbeard. He also has a missing arm which he (heroically) sacrificed as he saved lil Luffys life (does a missing arm even count as a scar?)
T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)
He’s never given you any reason to not trust him. He’s always open and honest with you. Well, as honest as he can be without placing you in any danger. Trust was something needed from the get-go of your relationship because he would be gone for long periods of time. The two of you wouldn’t be able to last without trust.
Oh, also if shanks ever did do anything to break your trust you best believe his crew will beat his ass (especially Benn). You’re family to them.
U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)
My god does he want to see you. He would give his other arm just to be right by your side in an instant. He’s gone for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. Shanks loves his crew, they’re a lively bunch and he trusts them with his life, and vice versa. But they’re not you. They don’t provide him with that same feeling of home that you do. Sure, this could be fixed if he let you join the crew on their journeys, but he absolutely cannot place you in that kind of danger. You’re already in enough danger as it is simply being in a relationship with him.
V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)
Rather than lashing out at you, Shanks tends to give you the silent treatment. He looks at you without a word and just turns away. He does this in an attempt to make you feel guilty and as if everything is your fault.
W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)
There isn’t much that makes Shanks feel weak. But, being unable to be near his s/o is one of the few things that does make him feel weak. It’s a constant struggle between wanting to have them around him constantly, but also not wanting to place them in any danger. Ultimately, he decides that not placing them in danger is the better choice, despite how much it pains him.
X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)
Shanks can handle being picked on and ridiculed himself, but he will not tolerate that sort of behaviour towards his friends. The second someone goes after a friend (or someone else he cares about) they are done for.
Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)
LMFAOOOOOO WHY DID MY BRAIN AUTOMATICALLY THINK “his arm back” OOP-
I’M SORRY BUT I LITERALLY CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN HIS ARM HAHAHAHAHAH
Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)
He’d try to crack a few jokes to at least help you feel better. Other than that, he just tries to make the most of your final moments together.
#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece headcanons#one piece imagines#red haired shanks#shanks#shanks x reader#angst alphabet#one piece alphabet
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CHAPTER 3: BAD B*TCHES
table of contents
👩🏽💻: lol did y’all miss me? im still on hiatus for maybe a good two weeks until summer srry<\3. but to make up for it I made this chapter hella long.
“Damn their water pressure is good.” You mumbled softly, turning off the faucet. The boy had a cleaner bathroom than you had expected, in comparison to the ones in America - he was almost cleaner than yourself. You wiped the fog from the glass admiring your damp face for a moment, fully indulging in the fact that you were really in Japan.
You slipped on your pajamas, the bottoms hugged at the figure well and unfortunately so did the tank top Mitsuki put out for you. You had no problem wearing it around by yourself, but you had to take into account there was a boy you had never met before living there as well. It didn’t help that Midnight never gave you any descriptions about the boy as well, so it was obvious how high alert you were.
You grabbed your belongings, turning the music down to a soft hum in volume before turning off the bathroom light. The cold air hit your damp warm one before clearing your vision to see the teenage boy you had been wondering about the day you got your acceptance email. You both stared in awe, you took in his muscular arms due to training, the light ruffle of his blonde hair, his mouth fixated in a frown, and his piercing red eyes.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t looking at you either, your skin glistening under harsh light, your hair lightly tied back with a hair tie, the familiar smell he smelt minutes before now more concentrated and easier to name. He dared not to look at your figure-hugging the waistband of the pajamas, trying to rip his glare away fast enough. He grunts, beginning the doorknob, “You better have had left my bathroom the way you saw it.”
You frowned furring your brows, “Duh I did. And hello to you too.” you scoffed looking down at your phone in an attempt to make the situation less awkward. The blonde boy let out a groaned out “hey” before opening his door, and closing it in the same breath. “Rude ass,” you mumbled under your breath before heading downstairs back to your room.
“You met him?? TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED” Imani squealed putting her elbows on her crisscrossed legs looking in awe behind the screen. You smiled at her eagerness to know the boy, though you didn’t think he was all that. “Well he’s pretty muscular, um tall, he’s blonde and rude as fuck.” You rolled your eyes at your last sentence as you simultaneously put your belongings in your new backpack for tomorrow.
“Okayyy he could work! You gotta fierce Lil attitude too so it’ll work out fine.” Imani flashed you a smirk - knowing you couldn’t hit her from Japan. “Oh shut up Mani! you know if I was there I’d slap your ass right now.” you pointed your middle finger towards the camera, giving her a nice view of your white acrylic nails. “Exactly why ima act out now rather than next year.” She huffed, turning off her led lights looking back at her best friend. “I’m gonna miss you tomorrow, school’s gonna be so boring.” You whined thinking about the worst scenario known to come. If they were anything like Bakugo, well you were going to be entirely fucked. “I will too. But stop making me sad about it! We gone see each other soon.” Mani kissed the phone foreshadowing a kiss to your cheek, you smiled doing the same motions as her before ending the call and rolling over to fall asleep.
“I better like these people, Nah they better like me....” you shut your eyes, anxious for your first day to start.
The next day came, as Mitsuki dropped you and Bakugou off. You expected him to at the least show you to where you needed to be - but instead he slung his backpack to the side , not giving you a glimpse of attention your way. “One day im gone beat his ass up.” you took a breathe trying to find the dorm rooms, only to be met with a man right in front of you.
“Hi, [L/N] nice to finally meet you.” The tired-looking man shook your hand motioning you into the dorms. “As you know we enroll all students into the dorms for their safety because of accidents that have happened in previous years.” you nodded looking at the huge building with high ceilings and pillars inside. The man showed you around to the necessities like the gym, commons room, the classrooms, and finally to your dorm room. “I forgot to mention, but you probably know me. I’m Aizawa, and I’ll be teaching you along with class 1A. Today we just want you to prepare your dorm room so you can sleep easy tomorrow - I won’t lie to you, it won’t be easy.” he shrugged giving you the keys to your dorm.
You thanked the man before opening the room, as said in the description - the rest of your belongings were stacked to the side of your room along with your mattress to the right of it and a desk to the left. “Might as well put on music.” you thought to yourself, scrolling through the millions of playlists before finally reaching the one you wanted.
“Yeah, this will take a while.”
Putting on the comforter of the bed, and adding the last of your pictures on the wall; you flopped onto your bed feeling a slight headache arrive. You groaned wiping your forehead, looking out the window to see the sun almost come to a set. “How long do these children work? Seems like their school hours are a whole part-time job.” before you could laugh at your inner joke, you heard the loud door creak open before the kids voiced roamed the hallways.
You shifted uncomfortably on your bed, knowing that they knew you arrived. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to meet them. You just didn’t want to do the same cycle of meeting new friends again - it was a hassle and you were fine with the ones you had in America. You took a deep breath trying to regain your thoughts, “They won’t even know I’m here. It’s alright.” you repeated to yourself trying to make the anxiety slowly creep up disappear.
“Yeah she’s here now stop asking me about her, you wanna talk to her go right there.” you heard the familiar huffed voice described as Bakugous. You could tell he pointed towards your dorm the way a teenage girl laughed, hearing the footsteps come closer and closer towards your room. “Shit.” you jumped off the bed, fixing your hair making sure to make a good impression no matter who it may be. That’s when the footsteps stopped, and a light knock was met at your door.
you opened the door to a girl squealing, “Hi!” a curly haired girl engulfed you into a hug making you step back giggling at her eagerness, “Hey! your hair smells nice.” you hugged her back, finally stepping back to get a look of her. Her hair was the same color as her skin - pink, that you could only assume was the cause of her quirk. However, she did have black features that made you believe she was Blasian.
“Mina stop harassing the new girl! it’s only her first day. Hello I’m Momo!” A black haired girl came waving her hand at you, she looked beautiful - you were almost intimidated by her stunning features feeling a tad insecure once side by side.
“Oh no worries!” you giggled sitting on the edge of your bed motioning for them to come in more. “How’s your first day been?” Mina sat at the other edge of your bed looking at you with huge eyes, “Honestly, kind of boring. also confusing since this place is huge. Way bigger than the schools in America” you motioned towards out your door foreshadowing the commons room.
“America? that’s where you’re from?” Momo chimed in walking towards your desk chair to sit down. You nodded, “Mhm, California.” Mina gasped - “California! You’re so lucky!” you laughed at her bubbly attitude that was a bit similar to your bestfriends at home. “Trust me you wouldn’t want to be there, I’m here for a reason aren’t I” you smirked nudging her shoulder slightly.
“ Wow, How long will you be staying?” “One year.” you shrugged looking off in your dorm window. “Well I hope you love it here, hopefully become a pro.” Momo smiled at you genuinely, and you couldn’t help but fall in love with her persona. Before you could speak again you heard a knock on your door and small murmurs behind your door, Momo opened the door slightly, only hearing a faint “Yall better not embarrass me. I’m serious” before she opened the door all the way to the boys.
“Shut the hell up Momo.” one yellow haired boy lightheartedly says before leaning on your wall and catching your eyes. “Hey! I’m sero and this is Denki. Nice to meet you.” Sero extended his hand to yours to shake, “Wassup Sero, Hi Denki.” you smiled at the other boy.
“Damn, so this is why Bakugo didn’t want to show you off huh.” Denki came closer to you, taking in your features. “Or he just don’t like me” you scoffed thinking about his arrogant characteristics from Sunday. “Well that’s good, less people to compete against.” Denki sat next to you on the edge of your bed fully focused onto you. You smiled taking observations to his flirtatious personality.
No matter Denki giving you his full and undivided attention, Sero caught your eye the moment he walked in the door. You looked Sero up and down, his outfit caught your full attention. He wore the UA uniform required yet paired with grey Jordans and a silver chain dangling from his neck, it was no understatement that he was a very attractive boy. “Why you standing there all quiet, Sero? you obviously came up here for something.” you jokingly stated - trying to start some conversation with the boy.
“Tried to see if you were really what all the hype was about.” He shrugged coming up near you to overpower your figure, your heart raced as he looked down upon you smirking, he knows he fine chile. “They were definitely right.” He smirked looking at you with low eyes.
“Y’all are the most flirtatious boys I know. Swear I can’t take yall no where.” Momo grabbed the two boys by their collard shirts making them groan in displeasure earning a laugh from you - only to make them groan in embarrassement.
“Bye boys.” you wave them off as Momo literally kicked them out your dorm, before closing it in front of them. “I like you” you pointed to her, making her eyes widen, while her cheeks grew into a blush before smiling. “Now how did you make a better impression than me and I came here first.” Mina flopped onto your bed frowning. “Don’t worry girl I like you too.” you slapped her thigh in a friendly manner.
“Alright you two enough talking, get back to your dorms. You all have a long day tomorrow.” Aizawa yelled through the door with his usual tired voice before shuffling off to his room closing the door. “Guess I’ll see you tommorow [Y/N]!” Mina skipped off towards your door “Yes! see you tomorrow” Momo opened the door looking back once more “Bye boo’s!” you called out before the closed your door.
You turned on your led lights in substitute for the harsh lighting in your dorm, shuffling off into your bed. you looked off onto your wall looking at the pictures you stuck to them, “Damn, I miss you Imani” your hand grazed upon the picture of you and Imani sticking up the middle finger to a flashing camera with your phones in one hand and a red cup in the other - a party you both went to knowing damn well you weren’t supposed to be there.
You turned towards the other way of your bed shutting your eyes - anticipating for the long day ahead of you, and meeting the rest of your class tomorrow morning.
👩🏽💻: y’all fw y/n being bisexual orrr? or do y’all want scandals? tell me now😁
Tag list(send me an ask to be apart of it)
@quincywrites, @fandomsgotmefucked , @lokis-teseract , @racistareversa,@ladybakugouu, @melanin-baddie , @oookore , @bnhathotty, @bleach-your-panties , @shikamaruhairline, @dilfhwa ,@winxme
#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x poc!reader#kirishima x poc!reader#sero x poc!reader#bnha x poc!reader#mha x poc!reader#mha fanfiction#bakugo x black reader#katsuki x black reader#bakugou fanfiction#bnha fanfiction#midoriya#izuku midoriya#black reader stories#kirishima#fanfiction#poc#my hero academia#katsuki fanficton
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〚 💜 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕡 💜 〛| [Chapter 1]
this chapter pairing; idol!Taehyung x makeupartist!reader x idol!Joshua
genre&warnings; softdom!joshua, dom!taehyung, threesome, blowjobs, reverse cowgirl baybeee, dirty talk, quickies, cum eating/sharing, hair pulling, mentions of sexting/pictures, a little praise kink, there is like one joshua x tae moment 🥰💕 HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABES!! 😭 Y’all know I had to male the first chapter of Double Dip for the birthday twins!! Here’s hoping they had a great day 💕💕 Hehe~ and also looking forward to the next chapter~! If it’s NYE for you, have a safe night! See yall on Friday for Cherry Bomb~! 💜
word count; ~3000
chapters; 1 - ?
“Taehyung, will you just sit still? Ten more minutes and you’ll be done, I promise!”
You try to get the pouting male to stand still as you apply more lip balm; eyes rolling when he only whines harder. “I wanna go see Joshua and give him our gift already though…”
“I know you do, but we have time and he can’t do anything with it right now anyway.”
Taehyung’s lips fall into a knowing frown as he nods back softly. “I guess so… It just sucks, y’know? We always spend our birthday like this and I wanna do something fun!” You laugh airily as you put your brush and lip balm away before pushing Taehyung back into the chair in front of the vanity.
“I know, I know. And we’ll get to that after you get your hair fixed.”
“But you said ten minutes!”
“If you sit still it’ll be ten minutes but if you keep moving around it’ll be twenty so you better behave!”
“‘Shua-hyung, have you seen my belt?”
Chan lets out a frustrated noise as he trips over another pair of shoes; lips pursed at how small the room was for all of the members and staff combined. “I can’t find it and I’ve been looking for the last 15 minutes and there’s just so much stuff in here!”
Joshua shoots the younger male a small smile as he gets up from his seat to help him search for the item. “I’ll check one of the other rooms. Maybe it got misplaced or put into a luggage by accident by someone.”
“Thanks hyung, you’re the best!”
He leaves the loud and bustling room, a sigh of contentment on his lips when he finally has even just a little peace and quiet in the hallway. He leans up against the wall for a moment before he pushes off and starts walking to the other changing room where they kept all of the luggages with their clothes and accessories.
“Joshua!”
Taehyung comes barreling into his back quicker than a blink of an eye and the wind gets knocked out of him as he lets out a sound of surprise as you laugh in the background. “I told him not to do it but…” Shrugging, you catch up to the two males that laugh and walk down the hallway in each other's arms.
Taehyung makes it a point to not mess up Joshua’s hair or clothes when he swings an arm around the male’s neck. “Where are you headed? Aren’t you guys supposed to be getting ready?” Joshua nods, sighing softly in return. “Chan can’t find his belt so I offered to go help. It’s crazy in there, nobody can find anything!”
“We’ll help you!” You add; smirking as you skip in front of the two. “We should check in here!”
Opening the door to the otherwise empty room, you and Taehyung share a knowing look before he’s turning on Joshua and tugging him in by his necktie.
“Hey--whoa--”
“You can take Taehyung’s belt, I can just find him another one later~ We just wanted a little time with you, is all!” Joshua blushes a bright red, eyes focused on you as you shut and lock the door.
That could mean anything, he thinks.
“But I--I have to be ready soon, our stage is almost up…” He watches as Taehyung already strips himself of the Gucci belt around his waist; handing the leather to Joshua before he makes his way towards you.
“Oh, fuck–”
Joshua’s eyes go wide, watching as you and Taehyung get comfortable in the empty changing room. The male helps you up onto the table; soft giggles spilling from his lips and yours when he starts to pepper soft kisses on your exposed neck.
‘Seventeen, you’re on in 30 minutes, please prepare for your allotted time!’
The speaker backstage booms throughout the halls and Joshua panics momentarily. “You guys, I don’t think we have enough time for this…” Joshua mumbles, cheeks burning red hot when he sees Taehyung’s hand disappear up your skirt.
“30 minutes? That’s plenty of time. We just have to move fast, is all.” Taehyung’s words are muffled against your skin but it’s just audible enough for Joshua to hear.
“C’mon, Josh~ This is one of the few times we’re all together… and it’s your birthday today. Tae, too!”
“Fine, fine, fine. Make room for me!”
“Yknow, this wasn’t really what we were gonna bring you in here for.” Taehyung comments.
Joshua throws his head back when you sink your lips down onto his cock, already too worked up when he threads a hand through your hair. “Yeah? What exactly was the original plan then? ‘Cause it doesn’t seem like cake and balloons were on the original timetable.” You moan around his cock; using your tongue to tease the head as you dig it into the leaking slit.
“Mmh, well, we were just gonna give you your gift, which really, seems so lackluster now, right, doll?” Taehyung grins at your back, hands on your waist as you sit on his cock. The three of you had moved to the vacant sofa inside of the changing room; two pairs of hands roaming your body when they’d sandwiched you in between them.
“But she got a little too handsy in the changing room. Got her pussy all soaking before we even stumbled out into the hallway, didn’t you?” Taehyung slaps the side of your thigh just as you pull off of Joshua’s cock; a thread of spit and precum connecting your lips to the head as you whine and pout up at Joshua.
“It wasn’t my fault… I saw Tae going through the nudes you sent him of us from last week…”
Joshua smirks, tugging on your hair a little harder as you mewl and clench around Taehyung’s cock. “Ah, yeah, those… Wasn’t she so pretty in them? Sat nice and still while I took them too.” He guides you back, using his other hand to wrap around his cock as he taps your lips with the head and smears precum all over your swollen lips. “Which one was your favorite, Tae?”
The other male hums, eyes meeting Joshua’s right before he cants his hips up into you and makes you yelp and brace your hands on his thighs in return.
“Mmm… probably the one where she had her legs spread, fingertips holding her tight ‘lil hole open while your cum dripped out. She looked so pretty fucked out, lips swollen and eyes teary too. I came twice that night just looking at that picture, doll. And I know you were well behaved for Joshua, right?”
Your body feels warm and tingly at their words of praise and all you can do is open your mouth wide for Joshua again as he smiles down at you. “Such a fuckin’ good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart? Take both of our cocks at the same time even though we’re in a rush. Always so good for us.” You sink your mouth back down onto him as you swallow around his cock while simultaneously swiveling your hips atop Taehyung’s lap.
“Oh, by the way, your birthday gift from me and her was a roomkey. Not a huge gift but… Round two is gonna be at the hotel across the venue and I even got a suite with a view so we can fuck her in front of the windows.” Taehyung pauses, licking his lips as you start to bounce in his lap. “Got us some nice wine too. Think we deserve a little relaxation before the year ends.”
“Who says anything about relaxing? We have a lot to catch up on, don’t we, sweetheart? Those pictures Tae sent me of you taking his cock and the pretty ‘lil plug in your cute ‘lil ass had me up all night when he sent them.” Taehyung guides your hips, groaning softly when you raise your hips, only to slam back down onto his lap.
“Fuck she’d look so fucking good with both our cocks in her tight ‘lil cunt.”
You whine around Joshua’s cock; taking more and more of him as you start to gag when he hits the back of your throat.
You really missed being with them both at the same time. Even when they were rare moments.
Both Joshua and Taehyung were always busy at this time of the year and while you mostly worked with Taehyung, you had more opportunities with them when the stylists and makeup artists were switched around for different events; even though you had to sneak around to see them.
Most often than not, it was you seeing one of them and never all three of you together due to lack of time and similar events, which was why they shared photos whenever they could. The three of you shared one chat where you made plans to meet up and also where you all shared various pictures and videos of them both fucking you.
And on a lot of occasions, pictures and videos of them jerking off, abdomens covered in cum when you sent them videos of you with your pussy stuffed full of toys and their names rolling off of your tongue when you’d cum.
“Ngh, sweetheart, you gonna let me cum in your pretty mouth? I wanna cum in your fuckin’ pussy but we’ll save that for later when we have more time. For now, I want you to be good for me though. I’ll reward you later, I promise.”
You hum back in response, eyelashes wet with tears when he starts fucking your throat. Joshua’s grip in your hair tightens almost painfully as he chases his high and starts thrusting into your mouth; curses and praises spilling from his lips when he feels his cock throbbing.
“Cum in her pretty mouth.” Taehyung sits up, his chest almost at your back as he brings a hand between your legs and starts playing with your clit as you whine around Joshua’s cock and squirm on Taehyung’s lap at the sensations. “And don’t swallow it, doll.”
The vibrations of your whines and moans around his cock are enough to push Joshua over the edge as he cums and fills your mouth with the salty substance. He continues to thrust shallowly into your mouth as you tease the head of his cock with your tongue and swallow around him to work him through his orgasm.
“Bet her mouth feels so good around your cock, huh, Joshua? Almost as tight as her ‘lil cunt.” Taehyung pinches your clit between his fingertips and all you can do is clench around his cock as Joshua tugs on your hair when you can’t stop moaning around him.
“F--fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fuckin’ good to us. So obedient.” Joshua’s entire body tingles with warmth when he starts to pull out of your mouth; his eyes darting down to your chapped lips when you purse them to keep all the cum inside.
Taehyung uses his free hand to tilt your head to the side, leaning over as he kisses you hard; moaning into it when he tastes Joshua’s cum on your lips.
Joshua watches as you part your lips, tongue covered in cum when it meets Taehyung’s own. “Fuck…” He bites his bottom lip before he’s leaning in too, darting his tongue out as he laps at his own cum that you push out of your mouth and into theirs. The action has you mewling loudly while your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of both of their tongues clashing against yours as they both clean the salty substance off.
Taehyung pulls away first, chuckling under his breath as he licks his lips. “Hmm, we should do that more often. Oh, maybe we should eat her out at the same time later. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Two tongues eating your cunt out while you beg us to let you cum.”
“Y-yeah…”
Joshua sits on the table across from the sofa; cheeks hot as he watches you and Taehyung.
‘Seventeen, seven minutes to call!’
Joshua shoots you and Taehyung a look of panic, already moving to stand when Taehyung growls. “Ah, ah, ah, Joshua is gonna see your pretty face when you fuckin’ cum on my cock. Over the table. Now.” He barks, not waiting a second before he’s pushing you off his lap gently.
You scramble to get into position, looking sideways up to Joshua who holds your stare when Taehyung all but drapes his body over yours from behind. He wastes no time before he’s bottoming out in a single thrust and fucking you hard and fast against the table Joshua sits on.
“C’mon, get my cock wet, doll. Your pussy is getting so fuckin’ tight around me, I know you wanna cum. Sucking off Joshua and letting him use your throat was enough for you, huh?” Taehyung reaches a hand around to play with your clit again, fingertips rubbing harsh, quick circles on the nub as you cry out their names.
“Ah, might wanna be a ‘lil quieter, doll. Do you want them to know you had both our cocks filling you up in here?” Joshua shoots you an angelic smile, hands smoothing down your messy hair. “Mm, he’s right, sweetheart. You wouldn’t wanna get in trouble, would you?”
“Ngh, n-no… I’ll b-be, ah, g-good…”
Taehyung slams his hips into you, cock tapping your cervix and making you whine as you thrust your hips back to meet his quick movements.
“Please, mmh, wanna---wanna c-cum…”
“Go ahead, sweetheart. I want you to look at me when you cum. Let me see your pretty face while Taehyung fucks you good.” You nod feverishly, teary eyes looking up at Joshua when you feel the tension in your body snapping.
“Fuh--fuck! J--Joshua! T--Taehyung!” You scream-whisper; body tensing up just as Taehyung starts fucking you harder as he feels his own orgasm spurred on by yours. His cock twitches inside of your fluttering walls and you can’t help the mental images in your head of both of them fucking your pussy at the same time and filling you up with their cum until it’s spilling out of you.
Tiny cries of their names fall from your lips as you continue to cum and you reach out a shaky hand towards Joshua’s as he pouts and leans down; kissing you on the forehead and squeezing your hand once before he starts to stand from the table to readjust his clothes.
“Shit, I’m really sorry but I have to go, they’d probably already pissed I’m missing for so long.”
Taehyung nods tiredly, already feeling his orgasm ebbing off just as you start to squirm underneath him from the overstimulation of his fingers still playing with your clit.
“S’fine. I’ll get her cleaned up and have her fix my makeup and we’ll leave the roomkey in your changing room. Get going before you get hell and don’t forget the belt!”
Joshua nods, checking himself in the mirror before grabbing the leather material left forgotten by the door. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees not a single hair out of place before turns to face the two of you; chuckling under his breath at the way Taehyung squishes you underneath his tired body.
“Sweetheart?”
You lift your head from the table, eyes slightly unfocused as you peer up at Joshua tiredly. “Mm?”
“Thank you for making our birthday less boring. I’ll see you two later!”
Joshua makes it back to the changing room with 2 minutes to spare; already sweating when he all but throws the door open.
“I found it!”
Several pairs of eyes are on him in an instant as he blushes a bright cherry red, awkwardly standing in the doorframe with a belt in hand.
Uh oh.
Chan trapezes over the mess of shoes as he makes his way towards his hyung; nervous laughter spilling from his lips as he shoots the older male a panicked look.
“Thanks, hyung!”
The younger male pushes him out of the room gently as he shuts the door behind them and all but shakes Joshua once they’re alone. “Hyung, are you insane?!” Joshua looks at him flabbergasted, head shaking furiously as he grips the strip of leather tightly.
“What the fuck are you on about? I got you your belt! See!?”
Chan lets out an exasperated noise, taking the leather belt from Joshua’s hold as he shakes it about in front of the older male’s line of vision. “The coordis have us wearing Saint Laurent tonight and this is Gucci! What are you doing with a BTS members’ belt!? That’s what they’re wearing! Did you steal this?!”
“Wh---no! I--I didn’t steal it!” If Joshua could blush harder, he would; lips suddenly feeling tingly at the way he doesn’t have an explanation for this one and the way he can’t seem to formulate one either. “J--just don’t wear it then! We’ll… leave it in the room and return it later, say we found it on the floor!”
“But how did you get it?”
Chan can’t help but raise a concerned brow at Joshua’s odd silence and crimson cheeks; nodding slowly as the older male continues to fidget and open and close his mouth like a fish out of water.
“We have to get going... But I hope you know you’re gonna have to explain this eventually.”
#Joshua smut#taehyung smut#seventeen smut#bts smut#svt smut#v smut#Joshua scenarios#Joshua imagines#taehyung imagines#taehyung scenarios#v scenarios#v imagines#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt scenarios#svt imagines#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bangtan smut#bangtan scenarios#bangtan imagines#Joshua hong#Kim taehyung#doubledip_meltwonu
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Stuck with Me
George Weasley x Reader
Fandom: Harry Potter
Note: As always, Fuck J.K. Rowling. Trans rights are human rights.
This fic is kinda based on the abilities I’ve scripted for my DR. I still haven’t shifted yet, but I know I’m getting close. I’ll keep y’all posted…
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR DEATHLY HALLOWS!! George’s injury from Deathly Hallows…
Word Count: 3k
“Where is he?” You asked, eyes wide as you rushed into the Burrow. You could feel it. George was hurt. “Where’s George?”
You walked further inside and spotted him laying on the couch, blood dripping from the wound on his face. Fred was kneeling in front of him, Molly stroking his hair. When he spotted you, his gaze softened.
Tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a choked sob.
“I’m alright, love.” He protested softly.
Fred moved over the tiniest bit, giving you room, but also wanting to stay close to his brother.
You leaned in so your face was close to his and whispered. “I think you’re forgetting that I can feel your pain.”
He chuckled bitterly. “Right. I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be.” You shook your head. “I’m here to fix it.”
***
George had found out about your powers during third year. He’d fallen off of his broom during Quidditch, and as a result, he’d broken his arm. You weren’t sure why, but you were…tied to him, in a way. It wasn’t like that with anyone else, not even Fred. But whenever George Weasley felt pain, you did too. It had been that way since you first locked eyes at the train station first year.
So, in the middle of the night, you snuck down to the infirmary, where he was sleeping for the next few days. He wasn’t asleep. The pain was keeping him up. When he saw you walking towards his cot, he raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing here?”
“I, uh…I have something that can help. But you have to keep it a secret.”
“A secret?”
You nodded seriously and approached him slowly. “You can’t even tell Fred.”
“Wow, that’s serious.” George thought. “But if it’ll make the pain go away, then…I promise I’ll keep it a secret.”
You knew it was a big promise. He told Fred everything. But you knew, looking into his eyes, that he meant it.
So, you sat on the edge of the cot and raised your hand. George watched in awe as your palm glowed yellow. You held it above his broken arm, and even inside his cast, he could feel the bone mending itself even faster than Madame Pomfrey’s magic could ever work. His pain dissipated, and a few seconds later, he felt completely normal again.
Relief rushed through you as the pain left you, too.
“H-how did you—?"
You waved your wand and the cast popped off of his arm. He stretched it out, wiggling his fingers and moving it around.
“It’s a family thing.” You shrugged. “It skips a few generations, usually.”
He grinned at you, stars in his eyes, and whispered, “Wicked.”
***
It was your fifth year now. You were good friends with the twins, you had been since first year, so it wasn’t all that uncommon for you to go to Hogsmeade with them over the weekends. They let you in on their pranks, and every once in a while, they’d pull one on you, but it was all in good fun.
George never really knew why you always seemed to know when he was hurt. Whether it was a bruise or a papercut, you’d always make a beeline to him and ask to “talk” privately. Fred was convinced the two of you were hooking up, but really, you’d just hold your hands over his injuries for a few seconds until the cuts closed up or the bruises faded to nothing.
And so, because he was so curious about exactly why you were so attached to his injuries, aside from being a healer, of course, he decided to…well, to ask you.
“Hey, (Y/N)?”
“Yes, Georgie?” You turned the page of the book you were reading.
His face lit up. He was always pleasantly surprised when you were able to tell them apart without even looking at them. Almost anyone else couldn’t tell them apart after staring at them for five minutes, but you didn’t even have to look up from your book to know he was George.
His eyebrow raised and he smirked mischievously. “How do you know I’m not Fred?”
“Because you’re not.” You laughed. “Next question.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckled and sat on the couch next to you. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade this weekend.”
“With you and Fred? Sure.”
“Oh…well, no, I just meant…you and I?”
You closed your book and looked up at him, a smirk pulled across your features. “Like a date?”
He thought on it for a second before nodding, “Yeah, as a date.” He smiled softly and then added, “I didn’t think it was any secret I fancy you.”
“Well that’s good.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek, causing his face to flush adorably red. “I fancy you too, Weasley.”
***
When the weekend finally hit, George met you in the common room, all bundled up for Hogsmeade. You went over together, and at some point, George wrapped a large gloved hand around yours. You gave it a reassuring squeeze and he squeezed back.
The two of you got some butterbeer and settled into the Three Broomsticks. It was quiet enough that George felt he could ask what he wanted to in privacy, so he did.
“Why is it always me?” He asked.
You raised an eyebrow and asked, “What do you mean?”
“It’s always me you heal. Why?”
Your cheeks burned. “I honestly…” You sighed. “George, when you’re hurt, I feel your pain. I don’t mean that figuratively, like, I literally feel your pain. When you get hurt in Quidditch, I feel it. When you get burns from fireworks, I feel it…It’s just easier for me to find you and fix it as soon as I can.”
“That makes sense.” He nodded. “Is it like that with Fred, too?”
“No.” You replied. You smiled softly at him. “Just you, Georgie.”
He smiled back. “How long has it been like this?”
“Since we met on the train platform first year. Fred stepped on your foot on accident. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but the evidence kept piling up, and when you broke your arm third year, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” You took a sip of your butterbeer. “When my parents found out I’d gotten the family gift, they told me I couldn’t tell anyone because…well, people would use me because of it, but I don’t think they expected me to get attached to someone like this.”
“So what you’re saying is, you’re stuck with me, then.” He smirked.
You gave him a playful little shove, laughing. “Real shame that is.”
He stared at you for a while, his eyes drifting down from yours, and then, very gently, he leaned in and captured your lips with his. You reciprocated immediately, a hand rising to caress his cheek. You got lost in his careful touches, the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breaths ghosting across your cheeks.
“About damn time!” You were interrupted by none other than George’s twin.
The two of you pulled apart guiltily and looked up at him. Lee was standing next to him and handed Fred a few sickles, cursing under his breath.
You waved shyly. “Hi, Fred.”
“Oh don’t mind us. Just here to get butterbeer. Carry on with your snogging.”
“Will do, mate.” George saluted him, watching as they walked out the front door, leaving you in peace once again. He turned to you, mischief written all over his handsome features. “Well, (Y/N), would you like to carry on with our snogging?”
You pressed your lips to his boldly. His hands gripped your waist and tugged you closer. Between kisses, you murmured, “Hell yes.”
***
Your sixth year was quite an adventure to say the very least. With the Triwizard tournament going on, everyone was buzzing with excitement. All of the visiting students were really nice, and the tournament itself was really exciting.
When the Yule ball was announced, you already had the perfect dress in mind, and while you and George were dating and had been since the previous year, he hadn’t officially asked you yet. Well, until breakfast one seemingly uneventful morning. You were sitting in your usual spot, beside George and across from Hermione when all of a sudden, George stood up. You looked at him, confused.
And then he started shouting, “Attention all Hogwarts and Durmstrang students, I’ve caught you looking at my lovely girlfriend, (Y/N) (L/N) since the ball was announced! This is an official announcement that she will be attending the ball with me, her boyfriend! That is all!” He promptly sat back down.
“Oh I will, will I?” You chuckled, looping your arm through one of his.
“Well, you…you will, won’t you?” His confident expression softened.
You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Yes, George, I will.”
“Brilliant.” He replied, taking his arm from yours and wrapping it around your shoulders instead. “So what color is your dress, love? I want us to match.”
George met you at the ball, a pink tie wrapped around his neck to match the gorgeous pink silk of the skirt of your ballgown. When he spotted you coming down the stairs with the other girls you’d gotten ready with, his breath hitched and he swore there was something caught in his throat.
“You look so beautiful…” He whispered as soon as you were standing in front of him.
“You clean up nice yourself, Weasley.” You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You ready for this?”
“Oh love, I already spiked the punch.” He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you deeply. “It’s gonna be a great night.”
And it was. You danced the night away in the arms of the man you loved, blissfully unaware that things were soon going to take a change for the worse.
***
Voldemort had returned, and as a result, Dumbridge was ruling the school with her iron fist. Worst of all was the punishments she inflicted. The first time you were made aware of it was when George and Fred had gotten detention for one of their pranks. You were somewhat used to your boyfriend and his brother winding up in detention for their schemes. What you were not used to was a searing pain across the back of your hand, like something was being carved into it with a blade.
As soon as his detention was over, you found George and rushed up to him, grabbing his left hand and staring at the letters carved into it. They read: I will not pull pranks.
“What did she do to you?”
“I’m so sorry, love.” He took you into his arms, stroking through your hair. He was shaking, and when you pulled apart, there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t know…”
“It’s not your fault.” You shook your head and held your palm over the back of his hand, the gentle glow of your magic quickly erasing the marks, not even leaving a scar in their place. “See? All better.” You kissed the back of his hand. Then, you sobered up, realizing George hadn’t gone through it alone. “Where’s Fred?”
“Right here.” He replied, walking into the common room next. It was empty aside from the three of you.
You looked up towards the stairs, but when you didn’t hear anyone coming, you walked up to Fred. “Give me your hand.”
“You’re dating my brother.” He looked at you, confused.
You rolled your eyes. “Not like that.”
“Give her your hand, Freddie.” George encouraged, holding up his now-healed hand, free of the marks that had been there less than a minute before. He was surprised you were showing Fred your secret after all of the time you’d been holding it in, but George wouldn’t have had an explanation as to why his marks had faded so fast.
Fred’s eyes widened in realization and he held out his injured hand.
You lit your palm with magic and held it above his cuts, watching as they shrank into nonexistence.
“And how long have you been able to do that?”
“A while?” You shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets.
“Did you know?” He looked at George, who nodded, a guilty look on his face. “For how long?”
“Third year…” George murmured.
“THIRD YEAR?! Bloody hell…” Fred shook his head, chuckling. “Well, actually, that makes a lot of sense. Explains a lot, for sure. And here, I thought you two had just been hooking up this whole time.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” You laughed, walking back to George, who pulled you to his chest as soon as you were close enough.
His long fingers stroked through your hair and you exhaled a long sigh, glad to be in his arms. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead before whispering, “Thank you, love.”
“Of course. We’re in this together.”
***
A few weeks later, you were walking the saddened halls of Hogwarts when you found the twins sitting on a bench beside a crying Nigel. They were talking to him softly, trying to soothe his tears. When George looked up and spotted you, relief flooded his features.
As soon as Umbridge stepped back out of the hallway, you made your way over and knelt down in front of him.
“Nigel, this is my girlfriend. Her name is (Y/N).”
“Hi Nigel,” you spoke softly, smiling up at the crying child. “I know it hurts, but I can make it stop hurting. Can you keep a secret for me?”
He nodded, sniffling.
“Here, give me your hand.” You held out your left hand, and Nigel put the injured one in it. You knew Harry was standing just behind you, but you didn’t care. It was your seventh year, there was about to be another wizarding war. In times like these, people needed people like you, and you were glad to help in any way you could. You lit your palm with magic and gently soothed away the angry marks littering Nigel’s little hand. “See? All better. If this happens again, you can come find me. I’m usually in the common room reading. Alright?”
“Thank you.” He sniffled.
George stared at you, a lovesick look on his handsome face. “Thank you.” He repeated, beyond grateful you’d found him when you did. “Thank you so much for doing that, love.”
“Of course.” You nodded. “Us Gryffindors have gotta stick together.”
“Speaking of that, actually…” Fred trailed off, giving George a nudge.
Nigel started walking back to the common room, and so the rest of you all headed off in that direction. George and Fred explained their plan to you, and you listened, nodding. When you finally got back to the common room, it was empty. So, George turned to you and took both of your hands in his.
“You’re welcome to come with us, love.” He spoke softly, a million stars in his eyes. “We’d love to have you at the shop with us.” Then, he added softly. “And I’ll miss you loads…”
“I do want to come, but…” you glanced up the stairs after Nigel. There were so many other kids like him who didn’t deserve Umbridge’s torture, and you could make it better.
“But you need to be here.” George finished, nodding. “I understand.” He cupped your cheeks and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll see you at the end of the school year, then.”
“You better be at the train station to pick me up.” You told him, tears welling in your eyes at the thought of being separated from him, even if it was only for a little while.
“I will be.” He promised. Then, he chuckled and added, “I’ll try not to get too hurt in your absence.” Then, even softer, he added, “And I’ll write you every day until you’re in my arms again.”
***
It had been a long road, but eventually, it led you to kneeling down in front of the couch at the Burrow, George’s head bleeding badly. You raised your hand to heal him, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you with a pained look in his eye.
“But love, your secret…”
“I don’t care.” You shook your head, tears in your eyes. “I care about you more than any stupid secret.” You lit your palm and held it above his head, watching as the gash closed and the blood dissipated. The stinging pain in your head faded, too, leaving you feeling normal again. “I love you, George. More than anything in this world.”
The rest of the Burrow watched in awe, all of them but Fred unaware that you’d been patching up their boy since you were thirteen.
Instead of responding to you, he sat up and pressed his lips to yours, his large hands framing your face. When you finally parted, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Marry me.”
Molly squeaked, a giant smile on her face.
“W-what?” You asked, breath hitching. You stared at him, waiting for him to say it again.
“I-I don’t have a ring or anything, but…” He locked his eyes on yours. “Marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
A tear slipped down your cheek and you nodded, pulling him in for a wet, emotional kiss. “Yes, George. Yes, of course I will marry you.”
He gasped and pulled you to his chest, tears of joy fogging up his vision. Then, he whispered into your hair, “You’re stuck with me, (L/N).”
You chuckled and replied softly, “Gee, real shame that is.”
#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley imagine#george#george x reader#george imagine#harry potter#harry potter imagine#hp#hp imagine
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How I would rewrite Violetta
TL;DR: Less lies, still a lot of drama. Also everyone is bisexual, because I say so.
~Season 1~
Okay the biggest thing here is that Germán knows she goes to the studio already from the beginning
He also knows Angie is her aunt - however, Violetta doesn’t know.
When Angie appears, Germán recognizes her. Of course he does, he should’ve known his dead wife’s family?
Angie BEGS him not to take Vilu away from her again. Germán agrees, but tells her not to tell Vilu about it. Instead, she should just be her governess until Violetta “is ready” (or, really when Germán is ready)
Angie says she still works at the studio and so when Vilu hears about it, she really wants to apply. Germán is hesitant, but he also wants her to be happy. His one condition though, is for her to not participate in any large events (oop)
Not much changes for Jade and Matias - except that they desperately try to find out whatever Angie is hiding (Ramallo and Olga tries to find out, too)
Okay, now for the love!!
Honestly? The love triangle with Leon and Tomas stays mostly the same. I’ll deal a bit more with the love stuff in further seasons
Also, it’s the first season, too. If they are acting a little immature and don’t trust each other, they’ll just grow and learn.
Ok I recently rewatched the episode where Violetta like... writes “amiga” in her diary as she looks dreamingly at Francesca? Like girl did you get a crush on her?? I know you wrote “friend” but your look says more.
Ok probably not but IT’S MY REWRITE and now I decide Vilu and Fran have a small crush on each other. It doesn’t lead to anything (yet), but it’s there and the only one who really seems to notice is Camila
Or, well. She knows her friends have crushes on others but she’s also like “Heh, i’m gonna go, you two can continue to talk if you like”
The big DRAMA is of course, when Violetta joins the youmix competition
Her dad already had a grudge for her singing in the theatre, but now she just has to really hide this
Which is harder when she like. Shares a house with Federico, who’s getting a lot of fans that wants to follow him home. So when they see her, they be like “OH MY GOD THEY ARE ROOMATES” and so Vilu’s fans are there too and she panicks because her dad cannot know
Vilu’s biggest comfort object is her diary, she carries it everywhere in canon (like, even in later seasons when she’s famous she always has it around). In my rewrite, not much changes, except for the fact that Ludmila constantly tries to steal it to destroy her. So anyway, Violetta decides to get a lock with a number combination to open it (as she figures if she has a key she can lose it). Her combination changes a lot. It’s most often two or three letters of a person she likes. Examples are 12-22 (LV, Leon Vargas), or 6-18-1 (FRA, Francesca). One time she even put 12-21 (LU, Ludmila) just to trick Ludmila, as Ludmi never would think Vilu would put her name there.
Violetta finds out Angie is her aunt by overhearing a conversation between her and Pablo. Though, they solve it rather quickly and then get even closer, just like in canon.
In the end, they don’t move away, but Germán does not let her participate in the final show as she’s kind of grounded after he found out she was in youmix and all that
But then he lets her. All is good. Tomas goes to Spain, Violetta is like “I don’t wanna date anyone”
BUT as Tomas goes to Spain she gives Leon a little smirk as if to say “we’ll see what I say about that though, after the break ;)”
The last thing I wanna say about season 1 is that we all know Andrés is canonically a disaster bisexual (come on, think about it) and I just want to embrace that more
~Season 2~
PEOPLE RIGHT AWAY COMMENT ABOUT VILU’S HAIR BECAUSE WE JUST CAN’T LET IT GO UNNOTICED
I know how it’s gonna go for Fran and Diego, so i’ll let them have some little nice scenes in a buildup for s3 (as most of their scenes this season was just “I don’t trust you, Diego”, “Francesca, let me explain”, “No fuck you”)
Honestly I want Ludmila to be a LITTLE nicer this season so she has no pact with Diego
Instead, Ludmila just talks shit about Violetta to him and he’s like “but she’s cute?”
So Diego literally flirts with Vilu to show Ludmila she’s not bad and Ludmila is like “wtf why are you embarrasing yourself”
There’s not a lot of that “Leon you have to trust me” bullshit that Leonetta has. They DO trust each other and honestly they just bond over their shared annoyance with Diego
(But secretly, BOTH of them kinda feel attracted to him)
(Very fun fact one of the first edits I ever saw was one where they shipped Diego and Leon and 12yo me was like “oh wow this kinda makes sense??” and rewatching the show I realised the TENSION™ they had)
Ok. 2x20. The scene I think y’all know i’m reffering to actually caused a series of events to happen later in the season in canon. If Diego had not kissed Violetta, she and Leon wouldn’t have broken up (atleast not that time), German wouldn’t have started to spy on Violetta after feeling like he had to protect her, which would’ve caused Angie to find out and feeling like she couldn’t take it any longer and move to Paris and Violetta and German to start arguing for like 15 episodes because of lies. ALL THAT HAPPENED, originally because of Diego kissing Violetta. I’m not saying it was entirely his fault, but. I’m just- hdsoksyhufshua okay I think it’s just my inner 11yo still bitter about what happened
BUT THIS IS MY REWRITE AND WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS IF DIEGO DIDN’T KISS HER AGAINST HER WILL IN 2x20
The show goes as planned. They fake kiss as they planned to. Everyone is happy for a while. Though, on cameras it looks like a real kiss, so the fans are like. Asking if Violetta and Diego are dating. Diego does not deny this.
Leon and Violetta do break up, because we need drama. Though, it’s more like a mutual agreement rather than an argument. It just became too much for them to handle when Violetta got a contract with youmix, Leon and his motorcross and Diego hovering over them all the time. They needed a break.
Diego and Violetta do get together, but they kinda do like in canon: She is annoyed with him until she finally just gives up and accepts his love.
Germán does not spy on Violetta, but he does consider reading her diary (he doesn’t)
Jade and Matias are no longer relevant. They do make cameos sometimes, but Esmeralda doesn’t know them. Even the viewer believes she’s nice. We only get some small hints of something being off - like Ambar saying “be nice to them” and Esmeralda sometimes giving people strange looks. But then comes the wedding day - that’s when SUDDENLY, the cops arrive! They explain everything - they have been after her for a long time and they recently found out she was gonna marry German for his money and then take it all and flee the country. Drama on top and it’ll be a real classic soap opera betrayal
Angie leaves to France as she just... got an opportunity to work there and she says yes
Camila spends this season dating a bunch of different boys, right? I think this is the perfect place to be a little inclusive and let her be the bi flower queen she is and let her date some girls too. Like switch Seba’s gender or something, not much will change.
THE MADRID STORYLINE. I LOVED THE DYNAMICS IN CANON BUT IN THIS IT WOULD BE EVEN BETTER AND MORE DRAMATIC.
Fran and Vilu already had something going on after the whole ”Francesca almost going back to Italy” storyline and they get even closer as they get lost in Madrid. They were already close, but as they argue for being lost, something just... happens.
Actually the same thing happens with Leon and Diego.
What exactly happens? They almost kiss. They do not kiss, but it’s like it almost happens. They just... get very close and stare at each other before realising. They react differently to this
Francesca and Violetta at first get awkward. They are like “oh- okay.” and then become silent for the rest of the day. It’s not until they are alone in their hotel room that Vilu is like “...what happened today?” and Francesca is like “What are you talking about? I don’t know? Goodnight!!”
Leon and Diego refuse to mention it. They are annoyed as it is. But they do think about it
Yes, I did get this idea after I rewatched ep75 and Leon was like “we were late because this dude didn’t stop fixing his hair” and I was like “DRHSKEHJYU I’M-”
The most heartfelt scene in canon is when Violetta finds out about Diego and Ludmila’s pact, goes out on stage crying and Leon saves her. Like, Leonetta wasn’t the most stable couple but him saving her when she was so distressed... that’s love, dammit!! And I would love to include it somehow.
But: I can’t really find a reason for her to be so upset she can’t sing. So she does sing, that goes well. But as she does, Diego, Fran and Leon argue. Leon is convinced Diego isn’t actually in love with Vilu, Diego is just out for fights and Francesca is like “i’m on Leons side but stop arguing also I think I like Vilu too but that’s beside the point right now I guess?”
She sings “Te Creo” as she was going to, and they like. Do the opposite of what she sings. Or, the complete right thing to what she sings. It’s unclear.
Anyways as she finishes, all of them has to go out on stage to thank the audience and Violetta is like “dafuq is wrong with all of you”
As she tries to help them, Diego says something out of anger that hurts her. Maybe a “I don’t think I really love you” or something maybe a little more hurtful than that. She gets teared up, breaks up with him and run away
Francesca says “You know, I was actually beginning to like you, and now this”, which makes him feel oddly hurt. He doesn’t really know why, yet.
Fran and Leon run after Vilu. There’s the leonetta comfort hug scene ™ there, but also a comfort scene with Fran when they are in their room and she just takes Vilu’s hand while they stare at each other.
Marco is here. Uh. Tbh I don’t know what to do with him?? Because he like. Vanishes to London in s3 canon so Fran can be with Diego so idk man.
He doesn’t send her like a million flowers in Madrid or visits, but he does call and miss her. Marco was a sweet boyfriend for her, really. Though, he kinda was just. Nice. Nothing more. Their relationship didn’t evolve a lot?
Though after the random almost-kissing Vilu incident that Francesca doesn’t want to talk about, she kinda grows closer to Marco again.
Back in Buenos Aires, Violetta doesn’t really have an argument with German as he didn’t spy on her in this, so she simply has trouble writing Soy mi mejor momento until German is like “Violetta that’s your mothers poem-” and they have a little father-daughter bonding over finishing it
She is however not really ready to just go back to Leon after recently breaking up with Diego and so she has that “why does no one ask me what I want” scene like she did in ep76.
But then Leon sings Nuestro Camino and she’s like “I DREAMED THAT WE SANG THAT TOGETHER WTF” and he’s like “OMG SAME??” and they bond over the fact that they are soulmates who share dreams or smth, and so they get back together
Diego and Leon do not speak of Madrid, but they do this very manly but also tension filled handshake as if they “accept” each other.
Francesca and Vilu also doesn’t really speak of the fact that they had a little moment in Madrid either, but they do share some smiles and Camila is like “did something happen??”
Leonetta is a couple again. The New Years show is a hit and that means youmix will let them do a world tour (I literally realised NOW, that the reason they are on tour in season 3 is because of the last show in s2, they mentioned in some passing scene some episodes before about it being a world tour)
Oh also Ludmila and Federico have basically the same kind of romance they had in canon, same with Naty and Maxi (Naty and Maxi’s kiss where Maxi had to switch his cap around was so cute uWu)
Oh and also Gregorio and Diego? Same as canon. That shit was emotional.
Lara, I forgot about Lara... uuuh. She’s just a mechanic. She disappears after s2 anyway so
~Season 3~
Honestly s3 was kind of a fanfiction already when you think about it??? So in this rewrite I guess I could just GO OFF with everything :D
Hmmm yeah Priscilla is still a fucking psychopath but she will suffer even more god I hate that woman HOW CAN YOU PUSH A CHILD DOWN SOME STAIRS AND FORCE YOUR DAUGHTER TO HURT PEOPLE-
Everything is well with all couples but being on tour and hanging out so much all the time, they get a little... cramped. So they easily get grumpy and yell at each other
Leon and Violetta knows this, and so they don’t get mad at each other when the other one is upset. They understand. So as Violetta gets her birthday wish, she doesn’t really complain at all. Sure, she does get a little scared when they fly off, but she’s honestly just happy to spend some ✨alone time ✨with her soulmate and lowkey wishes no one would find them
All the couples break up and Leonetta is like “nah it will not happen to us UwU” and then it just. Gets to them too. They just simply have to be apart before they hate each other. Their breakup happens around the same time as canon.
It felt kind of ooc for Violetta to dress up as another person to spy on Leon but it was still kinda funny. So Roxy will stay, we’ll just change it a bit
She doesn’t create Roxy to spy on Leon, but because of Francesca. Fran is getting confused with Marco leaving and now she’s starting to get feelings for Diego... a part of her just wants to disappear and think about something else. So Violetta is like “What if we dress up and go out” and they do, and fool everyone
And so... when boys they know start to flirt with them, they just panic and say they’re not single. But they can’t make up fake boyfriends so they say they are dating each other.
Which makes Andrés interested - he’s like “wow two girls can date that’s cool”. Camila is also interested, she’s like “WOW ALL MY FRIENDS ARE STRAIGHT I CAN BOND WITH YOU OVER BEING NOT STRAIGHT”
Anyway it’s hard to keep it together when Camila is talking about Vilu and Fran - to Vilu and Fran, in disguise.
Hmmmm ok I literally almost forgot about Gery and Clement lol?? Tbh, of all the “lover rivals” they are the weakest this far. Leon and Vilu didn’t even feel that attracted to them anyway.
Gery is not straight in the slightest? Like girl that haircut and the HALF SHAVED EYEBROW like please. She’s pansexual, i’ve decided. She has a crush on both Leon and Violetta, but she does not really know how to handle that. So she never does. She talks about it with Clement, though and the two of them bond over being nervous messes who can’t talk to their crushes
There’s no Alex, tbh. Clement is just Clement. His dad lets him attend the studio but he’s also like “ugh I wanna support your dreams but you could take economy classes on the side??”
They are not out for breaking Leonetta apart because I for once just want ONE season when there’s no one else Leonetta wants to be with. They just want to be with each other and the whole season is them just kinda... figuring stuff out before getting back together.
Also Fran and Vilu have this thing going on now when they pretend to be a couple as they are dressed up as other people and they have to handle that
The plan was for them to only really dress up once but now their friends wants to get to know Roxy and Fausta and they just have to continue it
Camila is the first one to find out and her reaction is “I always knew you two had a thing for each other but this is just strange, why can’t you date as yourselves?”
To which Vilu and Fran as a response just shut down, not knowing at all how they feel about anything anymore.
Camila notices they seem to not wanting to talk about it, so she decides to make up a plan to make them talk. Though, it solves itself when Vilu and Fran get locked inside a closet at the studio (because of course they do)
In there they talk about what happened in Madrid last year, when they almost kissed. They are unsure what that meant. They admit that it was thrilling to pretend to be a couple, when they were Roxy and Fausta. But the thought of dating as Vilu and Fran... it feels strange. Especially because of all the stuff with Diego and Leon.
But they do decide to try to kiss, just to see - and as soon as their lips touch, someone opens the closet. It’s Diego and Leon. They are kinda shocked.
The girls explain the situation and Leon is like “You know what we almost kissed in Madrid too wtf”
They also reveal they are Roxy and Fausta and Leon is kinda embarrased because he got a crush on Roxy
The girls discussed how it was kissing - they liked it, but... they don’t know. Because they also feel kind of a strong connection to Diego and Leon respectively
So they like... make a promise. If it doesn’t work out with the boys, they’ll date each other.
But they end up with the boys... atleast for now, heh.
The whole “Leonetta will only be friends” plot is still here just because I love it so damn much they are such dorks they literally think they can stay friends lol
So yeah Gery and Clement start dating and they are basically as cute as Naxi. Honestly since I removed the whole “ruin leonetta” plot they have little purpose - so that’s why I made them crush on Leonetta on a distance and never do anything. We need some people to relate to, some people just never confesses and just go around crushing on people without telling lol
German proposes to Angie and Leon kinda plans to propose to Violetta. Not yet, since they’re like 19 (they aren’t finchel lol), but he has plans.
“Ok thanks future father in law” was a top 10 iconic Leon moment and I just wanted to include it
It ends kind of like canon.
Ok! I just wrote most of this spontaneously. Maybe it wouldn’t be that good, really i’m just brainstorming. This show was everything to me when I was a preteen even though I realise it was probably not good (I lost a bit of interest in season 3, idk that season was a little more off to me)
I probably forgot a lot, since there were like a million plots, but this was just for fun so yeah don’t take it super seriously. Also thank you if you made it this far.
#did I write a post about how I would rewrite a show that hasn't been relevant for like 5 years?#and also only really popular in latin america and europe so less people talk about it since the internet is so america centric?#yes#yes I did#violetta#violetta 2#violetta 3#violetta castillo#diesca#leonetta#leon vargas#Francesca caviglia#diego hernandez
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To The Beat; P.SH
Word count; 12.1k (i have absolutely no self control)
Genre; Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Seonghwa x Reader, Marching Band! AU
Additional; Featured Ateez, Entirely Self Indulgent, Flute Player! Reader
Warnings; Mentioned Sex, Swearing, Suggestive
A/N; so this is one of the more embarrassing things i’ve written,,, we’re just not gonna talk about the fact that i’m both a band kid and a kpop stan!! i’d also like to say that it is based entirely off of my experience with band! yes, we are poor, yes the kids are actually this mean, and yes they are this horny! the bus incident actually happened at my school y’all! band kids r a mess bye- also if u want to know more about marching band please ask me! i love to talk about it!
There were few things that you wanted more than this. Maybe a boyfriend in middle school, or first chair, but looking back even those pale in comparison. The want of those is pathetic compared to how badly you wanted to be woodwind captain your senior year. After being section leader for the flutes you were sure that it would end up how it was meant to, but sometimes even things that aren’t supposed to happen do. Like freshman year when the pit captain got his mallets stuck in the bell of a tuba, or when your newly appointed drum major (Kim Hongjoong, best friend since freshman year and previous woodwind captain/saxophone section leader,) cried on the field after stepping on a moth. Some things just end up wrong.
But here you are, sitting in the cafeteria of your school surrounded by the people you decided to spend all of high school with and feeling as full as ever. Your director's voice boomed, “(Y/n) (L/n,) woodwind captain,’ and you thought that no four words had ever sounded so perfect together. You stood quickly, legs carrying you to the front of the crowded space. People were clapping, as they do every year, but this time it was for you. For your hard work, and dedication, and everything that you’ve put into this program for the past three years. You cast a smile to your band director, heart soaring incredibly high that you don’t think it’ll ever come down.
“Congratulations.” She whispers while giving you a firm handshake. You murmur thank you before taking your place beside Hongjoong.
“We made it.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, using his free hand to pinch your bicep. You smile even wider, something that probably shouldn’t be possible, and open your mouth to respond.
“Park Seonghwa, brass captain.” The words coming from your band directors mouth erases any thoughts from your head. He stands from his seat in the back of the cafeteria, face taking on a smug smile. You want to kick him. Instead you stand taller, spine pulled so straight that it could crack.
People clap still, but instead of responding gratefully he smirks (Seonghwa is always smirking or grimacing. You’re not sure which you hate more.) Hongjoong turns to you wearing an expression of annoyance. Normally, you would comfort the boy and tell him that it’s whatever. Tell him ‘Who cares about Seonghwa? We’re going to be so good at our jobs that he won’t even exist.’ But he will exist. He will exist, and you care.
“Looking forward you working with you.” He says lowly while extending a hand to you. If it weren’t for your band director watching you would’ve spit on him.
“Likewise.” You respond coldly, taking his hand into yours. The skin is obnoxiously soft, no doubt from his habit of never doing anything.
After a long winded speech from your director, you and Hongjoong return to the table where your friends are. Everyone wears a grimace.
“Does he have to be brass captain?” San complains before pouting his lower lip. If he weren’t obnoxiously drumming his fingers on the table you’d find it cute.
“Why does it matter to you? You're the drumline captain, you don't have to interact with him!” He pouts even more, shoulders shrugging into his ears.
“I’m just like... Sorry for you and Hongjoong.” You sigh at the words while relaxing against your chair. It’s easier said than done, seeing as the chair is far too small and made of cheap plastic.
“Me too, but I’m trying to not count him out. No one succeeds when everyone thinks that they’ll fail, even self righteous assholes.” San snorts, then returns to exchanging banter with Yeosang. You, however, are not as lucky.
Brass and woodwind captains are the people in band who have to work together the most, everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that you and Seonghwa do not get along, a fact that was solidified when he made you take four props to the field by yourself during a competition. He dropped your flute on the way to the field, and caused you to arrive on the field almost two minutes late by refusing to help. You earned a nice time penalty and got yelled at by the director, ever since you and the boy have fought like it was a war.
But maybe this season would be okay. He said he was looking forward to working with you, and he’s not a liar. He might be rude, arrogant, and full of himself. But he’s not a liar, if Seonghwa says something he means it. And sticks to it.
So maybe this won’t be so terrible.
*
Being wrong was hands down your least favorite thing. It was something so rare that you didn’t really have to worry about, but this marching band season seemed to be all about being wrong. Well all about being wrong, and Seonghwa.
The first day of band camp he scolded Jongho, your only flute freshman, for not bringing water. The poor boy looked like he was about to pass out and all Seonghwa could do was tell him to bring some tomorrow. You took him out during lunch break and apologized for your fellow leaders tone deaf behavior.
But the second week of band camp was when he really started to get under your skin. It was the groups first time marching while playing, and fifth time running a lap for the night. As everyone settled back into place and brought up their instruments Seonghwa mumbled under his breath ‘Maybe if the woodwinds knew their damn music,’ then cut you a painfully pointed glare. No matter how much your brain tried to write the comment off as tired frustration, there was no denying that you wanted to punch him in the jaw. It would probably break him, you’re not sure that you cared..
And of course, there’s now. Band camp is over, and now you’re two weeks out from the first competition. Around this time last year was when Hongjoong started up woodwinds sectionals, so you figured you’d do the same. Why try to fix something that isn’t broken and all of that. Unfortunately Seonghwa had the same idea, seeing as he’s standing in front of you and clapping his hands harshly while the block messily executes a visual from your opener.
“Reset,” He barks, hands wiping sweat away from his forehead, “that was messy. We don’t do messy. Let’s go again.” It’s almost scary how regimented he is. Like for a minute you forget that he’s Park Seonghwa of your graduating class, and instead he’s the person that decides whether or not you’re allowed to breathe.
“Seonghwa!” You chirp, trying desperately to keep annoyance from seeping into the lines of your voice, “When will you guys be done? Just wondering, it’ our first sectional today so-”
“First? This is our fourth.” His voice is painstakingly polite, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face and you want to hit him until it hurts. Your teeth bite on the inside of your cheek, which is still pushed up into a smile.
“Yea, first. I just wanted to gauge everyone’s skill set-” you don’t owe him an explanation, you don’t owe him an explanation, “When will you be done?” One of his perfectly shaped brows raises, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. His eyes quickly flick to his block, who are standing still as statues, then back to you.
“We’re staying until rehearsal tonight, you guys can have the gym.” The tone of his voice is back to normal, more commonly known as cold and infuriating. Hatred boils in your gut as you uphold a smile.
“But the gym doesn’t have yard lines. We need yard lines to practice marching, and since you guys seem to be just doing visuals you don’t really need them. I’m sure it would make everyone else happy too.” If looks could kill you’d be dead. Or whatever’s worse than dead, because he’s looking at you as though you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to strangle him.
“Let me get one thing clear, I do not fucking care what would make everyone else happy. I care about doing my job properly, as you should. If you wanted the field then you should’ve started sectionals earlier, so go to the gym or cancel your sectional. I don’t care, just get off.” You’re left fuming and ready to burst at the seams as he returns the block of brass.
Later that day you talk to your band director about implementing a sectionals schedule. Something that would be made at the beginning of every week by captains and section leaders then posted in the instrument room. Something that would prevent today from ever happening again, but of course you don’t tell her that.
“That’s a wonderful idea, (y/n!) No one has ever suggested something like that before, nice job!” She smiles approvingly over her desk, hands typing fervently on her keyboard. You thank her, then duck out of the room. It feels wrong to accept her praise when the only reason for it is to piss off Seonghwa.
*
He’s here. It’s your scheduled time to have the field, 3:00 pm on Tuesday, and Seonghwa is here. Seonghwa is here, standing on the front sideline and looking at your group as though you interrupted him.
“What are you doing?” You demand while stomping up to where he’s leading stretches, “You know I scheduled my sectional for today, you’re in the group chat.” He pulls his right arm across his chest, definitely flexing on purpose.
“We’ve been having sectionals at this time for three weeks now, I’m not planning on changing it.” If it weren’t for four years of constant arguing you’d think he’s being polite. Everything from the relaxed facial features to his calm voice, but you know that this is always how it starts. A polite tone, quickly turned into sneers and words that taste like poison.
“Well plan on it.” You spit, stepping closer to the boy. He’s surprised by your boldness, so much so that he drops the stretch, “You’re not above the rules, adhere to the schedule and stop being an ass.” His shocked eyes morph into slants, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.
“I may not be above the rules, but that doesn’t mean that you are the rules.” And there it is, the devilish quirk of his lips. It’s so blood boiling that you think he could be struck down by lightning and you would celebrate
“Oh you piece of-”
“Hey!” He shouts towards the bleachers, where the entire winds section is gathered. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice them leaving, “Did I say that you could leave block?” A bead of sweat rolls down the hollow of his throat, which is definitely not what you focus on as the brass scramble back into place.
“Seonghwa, I’m using the entire field. I’m the person scheduled, so you either have to stay on the front sideline or you have to leave.” He chuckles lowly, then turns to face you. His tongue smooths over the corner of his mouth again, you want to scream.
“I don’t take orders from you-”
“How about we just do the sectional together?” The low brass section leader, Mingi, offers quietly from his corner spot at the back of the block. He’s leaning one elbow on his contra, which is on the ground bell first, and trying desperately to hide his face behind his own hand. All that he manages to hide is his right eye, but it’s certainly an a for effort.
“No.” Seonghwa answers as soon as you sigh, ‘fine.’ His eyes shoot up to meet yours, finally filled with something other than anger or disgust, “Really?” An eyebrow quirks up so hard that it might as well grow into his hairline.
“Well if you’re not going to leave! I have things to get done and you’ve now cut into my sectionals time twice! So if sharing the field is what I have to do to get shit done then fine.” He stares at you in a way that makes you feel small, then shrugs.
“Fine, get into a block on the back hash.” You’re about to tell the woodwinds to stretch, but when you face the dented bleachers they’re all sitting in a circle with outstretched legs, exchanging laughter and smiles. Whatever Seonghwa took hold of in your stomach releases as your heart swells with pride.
“Woodies!” You call, smile spreading as everyone's eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Join the block!”
They shout back, “Yes mam!” Which makes you feel painfully old, and painfully happy.
*
The sectional went fine. Well, as fine as it could seeing as two people who nearly killed each other twenty minutes prior lead it.
“You were bad ass, (y/n!)” Resident bari sax, Yeosang laughs, “I really thought that fire was about to shoot out of your eyes.”
“I thought fire was about to shoot out of his eyes!” Yunho, the clarinet section leader, adds, “And you just stood there like ‘yea asshole, set me on fire! I can take it!’ No guys, I’m being serious-” All of the previous laughter from your boys halts as Seonghwa enters the room, steely eyes settling on your cluster of woodwinds. His eyes stay there, though you can’t blame him. If two sweaty teenage boys were staring at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong, you would stare back too.
“What?” He asks, the word so sharp that it could cut. Yeosang shakes his head while Yunho finishes putting his instrument away. The latter mumbles something about waiting for you in his car, to which you nod curtly.
“Okay, well... I’m gonna go.” Yeosang drawls, leaving the instrument room with the bari sax around his neck. You laugh to yourself at the sight of him waddling away, then return to what you’re supposed to be doing.
“You know, whoever holds a sectional is supposed to sweep the instrument room afterwards.” You exhale while moving to retrieve the broom from it’s corner.
“Oh, like you were just now?” He quips, hands moving deftly against his metal padlock. He doesn’t even need a padlock, the band director locks the instrument room door after everyone leaves. It’s just something else that he has to be annoying.
“Maybe it would go faster if you would help me, seeing as you held a sectional too.” They’re normal words, but your throat physically chokes on each syllable. The boy drops his lock, eyes narrowing as they come in contact with you.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders from you?” He takes a step closer, until his crossed arms are brushing against your knuckles. His skin is soft, almost like he waxes. It makes your head pound.
“I guess until I stop asking you to do your job, and not just the part of it that gets you praised.” You continue sweeping, trying desperately to get away from the boy. But of course he picks up on it and follows you.
“I do my job perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You scoff loudly, chin tilting up so that you’re eye to eye with the boy. He smirks.
“Clearly, you don’t.” The tip of his nose brushes yours, then his lips are crashing into you. His lips are crashing into you, and you kind of like it.
It’s an aggressive motion, filled with him gripping onto the collar of your workout shirt and you dropping the broom. The part of you with a brain thinks that you shouldn’t kiss him back, seeing as you hate him and what not, but then he bites your bottom lip and there’s no hope. Anyone would melt at that sensation.
And melt you do, body going limp as he pushes you against the closest wall. You bring up a hand to trace the hollow of his throat, copying the trail of his sweat from earlier. His moan vibrates against your palm and it’s all that you can do to not die right then and there. Pressed against the instrument room wall, in the arms of the boy that you hate.
“What were you saying?” He growls into your ear while pulling you in by the waist. If you were anyone else you’d moan something incoherent and let him keep kissing you with lips that feel like pillows. But you are not anyone else, you are (Y/n.) (Y/n) who is stubborn to a fault.
“That you’re an asshole, who sucks at your job.” He smiles down at you, eyes filled with a certain kind of thunder. A hand wraps around the back of your neck, then slams your mouth onto his. Hot breath hits your cheek as kisses you senseless. As you let him kiss you senseless. He tastes like coconut lip balm.
“Wrong answer.” The boy exhales before attaching his lips to your jaw. You’re about to argue with him, because you just don’t know what’s good for you, but then your phone starts ringing. Probably Yunho telling you that he needs to get home. You need to as well, but it’s impossible to think about that when Seonghwa is devouring every part of you as if he’s been paid to do so.
“Seonghwa,” You start, but it sounds far too much like a moan so you have to clear your throat before continuing, “Seonghwa! I have to go.” He doesn’t let up, tongue running against the spot where your jaw pokes out.
“I’ll take you home.” His voice comes out rough, like if your hands ran over it they’d come back scraped. It’s almost enough to make you stay, but then there’s the idea of having to tell Yunho that Park Seonghwa is taking you home. That you were making out with Park Seonghwa, and it was so good that you didn’t want to leave so he offered to take you home. The thought of your friends reaction is enough to turn you off.
“No, Seonghwa, I have to go.” You pull his head off of your neck, running one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell bad which is just infuriating, “Um... Do this again?” He smiles, but this time is a little different. His lips are still in a wicked curve, but his dark eyes have sparkles now. You almost think that he’s going to say something nice.
“You wish.” You want to tell him that he’s right, you do wish. Instead you sigh, push his body away, collect your bag, and leave with his gaze hot on your trail.
*
Seonghwa is still the thought that keeps you up at night with boiling blood. Everything from his evil smirk to the way his eyes always look unbelievably disapproving of everything. He’s infuriating in a way that evades words.
But there’s also other things to keep you up. Like the thought of his soft honey skin touching yours, or the way his throat feels vibrating against your palm. There’s him pushing you against the instrument room wall, but there’s also him yelling at you in front of the entire winds section. The line is slowly starting to blur and you’re not sure whether or not you like it. You are sure of two things, though. You’re sure that when you fall asleep all you can dream about is Seonghwas coconut flavored lips on your skin, softly whispering affirmations of hatred.
And that sometimes, things that aren’t supposed to happen do.
*
Before this season there were few things that you loved more than marching band. Maybe cookie dough ice cream, or speeding through downtown in the passenger seat of Yunhos mom van while Hongjoong and San yelled song lyrics from the backseat. Those were both good things, and the only things that even came close.
But then there’s now. There’s you and Seonghwa getting drunk off of each other while crammed into your school's equipment closet. There’s his soft hands pushing you onto the counter, his sweet lips growling crude words into your ear. There’s him kissing you, and then there’s something else that comes close to marching band.
*
Ever since freshman year your favorite feeling has been the one that you get after rehearsal. The feeling when your instrument comes off your face and pride swells all the way up to your cheeks. When San breaks from his final set next to you and offers up a childish grin, always accompanied by a high five and the words ‘Nice run, captain.’
Tonight doesn’t feel like that, tonight feels like your stomach is in the throat. Like the world is tilting and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“Nice run captain!” San shouts, yet the words sound so far away. You nod slowly, high-fiving his outstretched hand while your free hand wraps around your own waist, “(Y/n?) Are you okay.” It’s all you can do to flash a thumbs up before falling to the pavement. Everything goes black for three minutes, but when yours eyes slowly open you can hear San curse. That, and also the entire band crowding around you.
You can still hear snippets of what they’re saying, but the thought of responding or comprehending is so exhausting that it could make you pass out all over again. Someone yells to give you space, a small part of you hopes that it’s Seonghwa.
For the record, it is Seonghwa. Seonghwa with furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips. His next words are to San, “Why didn’t you catch her?”
“I have a drum strapped to my body!” The taller boy shakes his head, setting down his freshly polished instrument and crouching next to your limp body. If you were more coherent you would’ve moved away. Or loved it. You would’ve moved away or loved it.
“(Y/n,) can you hear-”
“Hongjoong, (Y/n) died!” Wooyoung shrieks from across the field, causing actually everyone to flock to you.
“She didn’t die idiot, just passed out.” Yeosang responds while rushing to help Hongjoong off of his podium. The boy tries to jump the last three steps, which ends just as well as one could imagine. Everyone’s too busy staring at you to even notice.
“I told her that she should’ve eaten lunch!” Your drum major chides, “(Y/n!) (Y/n,) can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to you, sandy blonde hair tickling the tip of Seonghwas nose. You don’t even know why Seonghwa is still here, but a small part of you likes that he is. Almost like you two are more than boiling hatred and stolen kisses.
You hold a thumbs up to your friend, it takes every single ounce of your strength. Of all the reactions that you get, Seonghwa sighing in relief is the most satisfying.
“Told you she’s not dead.” Yeosang mutters from where he’s standing over you. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out to the boy, you almost want to laugh at their antics.
“Okay, Yunho is taking care of your field mics and prop. Do you think that you can walk by yourself?” You frown while turning your thumbs up into a hard thumbs down, eliciting a chuckle from your sweet friend. Seonghwa doesn’t laugh though, eyebrows still harshly furrowed while he stares down at your frail body.
“I’ll help her down to the band room.” He offers, causing Honjoongs eyes to go as wide as quarters. Along with Yeosangs, Wooyoungs, Junghos- pretty much anyone who knows anything about either of you, “I-I just don’t have a field job, and I can get Mingi to take my stuff down for me. She needs to get off the field soon, it’s slowing down the clean up.” Hongjoongs eyebrows clench slightly, but he eventually shrugs. You don't know whether to be grateful or to fight him.
But none of those thoughts are in your head as the tall boy scoops you up in his arms bridal style. His usually soft skin is tacky with sweat, yet he smells like fresh pine and spices. You think that it’s not fair that he smells good after a three hour rehearsal.
The last thing that you hear before dozing off against his chest is “You’re an idiot.” It’s whispered into your ear in a tone that almost makes you think that he’s being sweet.
The next time that your eyes open Seonghwa is propping your body up on the counter in the equipment closet. Something in your chest burns bright red at the memory of what the two of you were doing here after last rehearsal. It consisted of your hair in between his fingers, and bright purple hickeys blossoming on his neck. Now he’s forcing a huge water bottle into your face while trying desperately to hold you up by your shoulder. Considerably less sexy, to say the least.
“Drink.” He says curtly while handing the see through bottle to you. You accept with a shaky nod, then drink the water like you’ve been in the desert for the past fifteen years. It takes a minute before he manages to pry it away, “Hey! Not too fast you’ll get sick, and stop chewing on my straw!” A dry laugh escapes your lips, head tilting back ever so slightly. You don’t see the way that Seonghwas eyes trail on the hollow of your throat with a gaze so intense that it threatens to burn.
“Why’d you offer to bring me up?” You croak while reaching for his water bottle once again. He relents with a sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head.
“No reason, just didn’t want you blocking up the clean up. Everyone was so focused on you that nothing was getting done.” His voice is flat, holding no traces of emotion, but you know that there’s something more. There was a reason that he was the first person to fall to his knees next to you. A reason that he scolded San for not catching you, “Don’t overthink things, (Y/n.) And stop chewing on my straw!” He snatched the water bottle away from you once again, causing both of you to laugh softly.
“Sorry.” You sigh, body relaxing as his soft hand comes to rest against your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, something so foreign in this relationship that you’ve created with your fellow captain, “About your straw, not the overthinking. Not that I was overthinking.” He exhales a short laugh at your witty remark, a signature smirk tugging gently at his lips, “Come on Hwa, just admit that you like me.” He leans in closely to you, hot breath fanning against the place where your neck and jaw meet.
“Okay,” He exhales, mouth dangerously wet and sweet, “I like you.” The words ricochet against the shell of your ear, teeth tugging against the skin where they’ve imprinted. It feels so good that you could collapse. He pulls away slightly and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You think that while you like when he throws you against a wall and kisses your lips numb, he’s good like this too, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still hate you.”
And then he leaves you in the musty equipment closet, with nothing except for his water bottle and your burning hot cheeks for company.
*
It happens like this; forty minutes after everyone’s finished clearing off the field. You were putting your flute away into your assigned locker when Seonghwa barged in grumbling about something that you couldn’t understand, then pushed you harshly against the lockers.
“Hwa, wait! I still have my flute, I can’t drop it!” He bounced back at your exclamation, head hanging cutely as he let you finish.
“My bad.” He muttered while reaching into his pants pocket to apply coconut chapstick. The part of you that hated him wanted to gag, but the part of you that kind-of-sort-of-maybe liked him was excited to kiss the taste off. You shut the locker door with a loud slam, then turned on your heel once again to face the tall boy, “Okay?” He questioned with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, hands screwing into the collar of his cotton t-shirt.
“Okay.” Then his lips were crashing harshly into yours, hands touching your body with a fever that can’t be measured. You all but collapsed beneath the sensations, “Your diagonal at the end is shit.” He whispers against your needy lips. Instead of responding, you tightly pull on his hair. It’s as if to say ‘Fuck you just follow the form.’ His low groan is a simple answer, ‘Absolutely not.’
He’s just starting to do that thing that you really like, the thing where he pulls you as close as humanly possible by your waist and the nape of your neck, when a high pitched scream erupts from the instrument room door. Even though it sounds like one of the freshman girls, you both know that it’s Wooyoung without even having to look.
“Shit!” Seonghwa curses, hands detaching from you so fast that your back collides with the lockers, “Oh gosh, (Y/n) are you-”
“Can’t talk, gotta run see you tomorrow!” You rush in one breath, dashing out of the door and into the band room. Wooyoung is about to walk out of the exit and into the parking lot, the parking lot where Yunho and Yeosang are waiting for you, “Woo, wait up!” You pant, stopping him right at the exit ramp.
“Do you guys do that after every rehearsal?” He questions, eyes blown wide as saucers, “Oh no, is that why we all leave so late? Ew, gosh, gross, gross, gross! That was so gross, like actually the grossest making out I’ve ever seen! It was so weird and hateful, a-and... And weird! I would’ve rather walked in on you guys fucking- nope take that back, I would not have liked to walk in on that. Wait, have you guys-”
“No!” You shout, hands coming to clamp on the frantic boys shoulders. Your eyes check the room while you lower your voice before continuing, “We’ve never done that, it’s just kissing. Weird, hateful, kissing.” He nods, face still twisted up in disgust.
“Why would you do that to yourself? Like, he’s kind of a dick to you.” You sigh heavily and bring up a hand to wipe the lines off of your forehead.
“Yea, but he’s also sweet sometimes. Not to mention like, really good at kissing-” Wooyoung gags dramatically at your answer, you think that if you weren’t so panicked that it would be funny, “Look, just please don’t tell anyone. Especially not my friends, I think that this is supposed to be like... A secret thing? I just want it to stay a thing, and I just know that they’d lose their shit...” You trail off, words turning into nothing but indecipherable noises and flailing hands.
“Why does he want to keep it secret?” Wooyoung asks with an uncharacteristically soft voice. It’s a question that’s been nagging in the back of your mind since last week in the equipment closet, when he softly whispered the affirmation against your sweaty skin, “You’re obviously into each other, so why?” You don’t answer, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it might start to bleed, “Maybe ask him about that before you worry about your friends.”
*
It’s late after your thursday rehearsal. You’re pressed flush against the door to the equipment closet, Seonghwas plush lips hot on your throat, when silent tears start to fall down your cheeks. For a moment they remain silent, mixing in perfectly with the whimpers you were letting out just moments ago. But then it hurts too bad to hold in, and you let out a loud sob.
“Jeez, it can’t feel that good.” The boy teases, face falling harshly when he sees tears mixing with your post-rehearsal sweat, “Oh no, oh gosh, was I too mean? I didn’t mean it, you’re really good at marching! Like-” You wave him away, not wanting to be doted on. While you and Seonghwa have definitely gotten... Closer over the past two weeks, this is certainly overstepping. More than that, it’s like barreling past the line and leaving everything around it crushed.
“It’s not that,” You respond, hands releasing from the fabric of his shirt (a black tank top that perfectly highlights his toned arms.) He wants to tell you that they could stay there, that they could stay wherever you want. So long as it makes you stop crying, “It’s... I don’t know what it is.” The words are flat, clearly a lie. You don’t want to tell him why you’re actually crying, that you think some part of you has actually started to like him. But not just like him as a friend, as someone that you wouldn’t mind spending a day with. More like, someone that you fall asleep to. Someone that could kiss you for days and it would never bore you.
“I, uh, I don’t know-” He doesn’t know what to do, which is painfully clear. You don’t particularly mind that he doesn’t know, just that he’s here. Here for you to hold if you need to. Until he also starts crying, that is, “why are you-”
“Shut up. I just, I cry whenever other people cry!” You cast him a questioning gaze, mind jumping to all the cases where he did not do that.
“That’s so not true, Mingi literally cried two days ago and you laughed at him!” You wipe at your cheeks fervently, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything about the red that was definitely painting your face.
“He cried over DCI! That doesn’t count, I cry for things that matter...” You want to ask what he’s about to say, to tell him that there’s no real reason for you to be crying either. But you don’t, because he’s crying. Sad, crystal tears that paint his sun kissed cheeks, and his arms are open for you, “Can I hug you? I feel weird not doing anything.”
You don’t say anything, just fall into the open space and inhale sharply. He smells sweet, and feels warm. Not the gross kind of warm that touches every part of you, but the comforting kind. The kind that feels like wearing fuzzy socks and sipping on hot chocolate.
“Don’t feel weird.” You mumble, lips moving softly against the fabric of his tank top, “I-I have to go soon.” He shushes you, hands softly rubbing the line of your shoulder blade.
“Just five more minutes.” It’s almost like a plea, like he needs it too, “You can’t go out crying, they’re gonna think that I did something.” He didn’t... But in a way he did. In a way, he made you fall for him by having lips that taste painfully like coconut. He made you fall for him by kissing like he’s made of fire. He made you fall for him by always smelling like a fall candle.
“You didn’t do anything.” You whisper, but it’s a lie. Because he did do something, something that he doesn’t even know about.
He made you fall for him, which is something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.
*
In your freshman year there was an... Incident on the bus (one that consisted of a girl, her boyfriend, and very loud sex) which unfortunately resulted in separate boy-girl buses. Which meant no more sitting with Yunho, no more sharing snacks back and forth with Yeosang, no more geeking out over music with Hongjoong and San, and no more ignoring Seonghwa for hours at a time (a task that you found very satisfying as a meek little freshman. It was clearly before you learned how to argue.)
But then Junior year rolled around, and there were too many girls and not enough boys. Your director said that it would be fine for some girls to switch over, which equated to being back with your friends. The first time that you climbed onto the bus all of your friends cheered, to which you responded with bowing down jokingly.
Seonghwa rolled his eyes harshly, then muttered something that you couldn’t hear. What you could hear, however, was Wooyoung laughing and telling his friend to lighten up. He’d always been so sweet, up until two weeks ago you didn’t understand why he’d be friends with someone like Park Seonghwa. You’re starting to get it now.
“(Y/n!)” San cheers from the back, eyes crinkling into an excited smile. Someone starts clapping, the same way that they always do, and you laugh. Seonghwa claps as well, to which Yeosang shoots him a look that reads ‘what the fuck.’
“I’m sorry, the only seat left is next to-” Seonghwa. The only seat left is the aisle chair next to Seonghwa. Yunho’s eyes look apologetic as he tells you, but then there’s Mingi curled up next to him with hot cheetos and a gallon jug of water and you can’t even be mad at him. Even if you still despised Seonghwa, you wouldn’t be mad.
“It’s fine.” You respond quickly, one hand coming up to pinch the boys cheek. He smiles brightly, “Since when have you been friends with Mingi?”
“I guess as long as you’ve been friends with Seonghwa.” The comment is quick, painless. Almost like you could tell him everything and he wouldn’t mind.
“Fair.” You slide down comfortably into the seat with Seonghwa, pulling a pack of dried apple slices and sour gummy worms from the stuffed book bag around your shoulders, “Hey.” The word is tiny, almost a whisper.
“Hi, love the snack selection...” He opens up the bag of apple slices, popping one into his mouth before offering them back to you, “Good to see you.” It feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but instead of pushing you giggle and accept an apple.
“You saw me two days ago, dummy!” He smiles softly, heart going limp at the (now friendly) teasing. You turn away before he can keep talking, jumping immediately into banter with your friends, “Hey, Wooyoung! Can you call Jongho back?” The boy in question glances at the empty seat beside him then moves things for a second before cupping his mouth to shout to the front.
“Jongho!” Your freshman looks up with wide eyes, “Sit with me!” He grins widely, throwing back a thumbs up before gathering all of his things. You mouth ‘thank you’ to Wooyoung before turning back to Seonghwa.
“Do you know who has the speaker?” Seonghwas eyebrows furrow, making it painfully clear that he was not paying attention when the boys decided this.
“Yeosang, I think. Him or Hongjoong, somewhere in that seat.” You know immediately that it’s Joong, Yeosang never takes his speaker out of the house, “You better not play that shitty playlist-”
“My playlist is fire, thank you very much!” You slap his bicep with one hand while the other clutches your chest.
“No it is not, half of it is Hannah Montana!” His laugh is sweet, with a slight edge seeping through. Like there’s a dash of liquor in your coffee, “Joong, I have the playlist!” Your friend smiles affectionately and cheers, accepting your phone with a radiant smile.
“Everyone say thank you, (Y/n)” He teases, which unfortunately results in the entire back half of the bus chorusing back ‘Thank you, (Y/n.)’ You giggle softly, a sound that ricochets through Seonghwas head.
“Thank you, (Y/n.)” He whispers into your ear. If you two were alone in the instrument room he would’ve nipped at the skin there, the loss of that touch makes your body shudder. Seonghwa smiles at the way you roll your neck back, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
“You’re welcome!” You respond to everyone else. Right as you turn back to Seonghwa, Britney Spears floods the entire bus, “You’re welcome, Seonghwa.” He smiles, you almost think that he’s going to kiss you.
But then the bus starts moving, and everyone is cheering ‘First comp! First comp!’ You join in with a smile, Seonghwa rolling his eyes at everyones antics. Like he’s much too cool to have fun. Two weeks ago it would’ve been obnoxious, but now you think that it’s painfully endearing.
That seems to be the nature of things with Seonghwa. Everything that used to be the worst part of your day now brightens up any situation. You think that you hate it. Yet it’s also painfully okay.
*
Right as the band is done warming up for the competition your band director tells everyone to find a buddy to zip their jackets. You’ve always been able to do it by yourself, but before you can maneuver your hands to the space in between your shoulders Seonghwa is there.
“You’re gonna rip the jacket,” He grumbles, fingers making quick work of the zipper (there are definitely not sparks flying down your spine as his fingertips brush against your show shirt.) He pats it once after finishing, “good luck out there.” You turn around, hands dusting off the orange and black jacket. It hasn’t been worn in months, yet it’s like putting on your favorite dress. Comforting, empowering... Almost normal, yet if you were to wear this to a school or a grocery store you’d feel entirely insane.
“Let me get your-” He waves the question away right as you notice that Wooyoung is already taking care of it while chattering excitedly, “Oh... Good luck to you too!” Something about the lights of the warm up lot on his tan skin mixed with his uniform that elongates his legs and broadens his shoulders makes your stomach fill with butterflies, “You look good.” He grins in a way that’s shy.
“Thanks, you too.” In that moment you know that he must like you, because there’s sweat on your brow and a light slump to your shoulders. Every ounce of hair is plopped to the top of your head so it’ll fit in the shako, but Seonghwa said that you look good. He said that you look good, and he never lies. Not even to you.
*
“Mingi!” Wooyoung screeches, barreling towards the taller boy (who’s conversing excitedly with the drumline captain,) “Can I have an Oreo pleaseeee-” Mingi’s face twists a little bit, but eventually shifts with a wide smile.
“I don’t know, they’re Yunho’s so-” The boy in question shifts ever so slightly in his spot next to you. He flashes an apologetic smile to you before running up to take his boat of fried Oreos. He pinches one between his fingers and drops it into Wooyoungs mouth, who catches of the air like an excited puppy, and then offers one to Mingi, “Okay I guess it’s fine.” The contra player answers through a full smile.
“They’re so cute.” Yeosang coos while slinging his arm around your shoulders, taking Yunho’s spot. You smile and grab onto the boy's hand where it hangs down, “Before you ask, Joong is getting food with Jongho. Now, how was your run?”
“Fine, good. Always room to improve, y’know?” You both nod, knowing the exact feeling that you’re talking about, “But it was good.”
“And Seonghwa?” The question comes out so calmly that you almost miss it, but when the words finally settle in you’re left sputtering and confused.
“W-what?!” He looks confused, but you feel panicked. Down to the core of your body, you are panicked.
“Well you guys are friends, right? Like you seem to be friends now and... It’s okay to be friends with him. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not your friend, and it seems good too. For him, he’s nicer lately.” Warmth blossoms in your chest, rising all the way up into your ears as your eyes involuntarily move over to where the boy sits on the bleachers. Where he sits alone, “Go ask him to join us.”
“Really?” Yeosang nods, hand releasing from yours as hope rises along with your blush. A small giggle slips past your lips, “Okay. Yea, okay! I-I’ll be back, um... Yea.”
When you settle down next to Seonghwa he greets you with nothing more than a curt nod. It’s strange, to say the least, but you brush it off. He’s probably just pissed about something, because he’s Seonghwa and always pissed.
“Hey,” You exhale, “h-how was your run?” He shrugs, shoulders tensing violently.
“It was good.” He’s supposed to ask how you did, and you’re supposed to say what you always do. But he doesn’t ask, so you don’t answer.
“U-um... So I was just wondering if... L-like if you wanted to have- not have, if you wanted to-” He looks you square in the face with a glare that could cut, “I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with us.” One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek.
“If you want to make out you can just say so.” Something clenches around your vocal chords, throat closing up so hard that you think you could choke, “You don’t have to make up some bullshit excuse about wanting to be friends.” It’s not quite clear what tips you over the edge, maybe the biting tone of what he says. The hatred in his eyes that you were so sure you had moved past. The flicker of excitement that dies in your chest, but prickly tears start to gather in your eyes.
“What?” You squeak, swallowing hard, “I-I just wanted to-”
“To make out like we always do.” Those are certainly the words that come out, but they can’t be right. He can’t be actually saying that, because it’s not what you always do. Just two days ago this boy held you so tenderly that you could’ve broken, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know your name.
“Oh, um...” There’s a part of you that could cry. But then there’s also the part that could bite back, the same way that you would at the start of this season, “Just, fuck off.”
You barrel out of the stadium like a train that’s on fire, mind focused on nothing other than sinking down into your seat and crying. Or screaming. Or doing anything to get something out of your body. You’re halfway there too, weaving in and out of the rival schools buses with ease, until somebody's hand grips your wrist tightly.
“(Y/n) stop!” Seonghwa. His pink lips are parted and panting. You pull your hand away and cradle it into your chest, fire forming on the tip of your tongue.
“Do not touch me.” The words are spat out like venom, causing him to physically recoil. It’s strange honestly, how less than a month ago this was your normal form of communication and now it’s something that hurts, “Don’t touch me, or talk to me, or even fucking look at me.” His eyebrows crinkle, the soft skin there folding ever so softly.
“I-I just thought that-”
“Thought what? That you could make out with me, and comfort me while I’m crying, and fucking carry me to the band room, and that I wouldn’t care about you? That’s what you thought?!” Earlier this season, back at the second woodwind sectional, Yeosang said that he thought fire was going to shoot out of your eyes. You didn’t get at the time, but now you do. Now, with anger pulsing through every last vein in your body, you understand. Because you want to slap that stupid confused expression off of his face, you want to make him cry the way that you’re going to cry, “Fucking answer me, Seonghwa!”
“I... I definitely didn’t think that you would care about me?” He knows it’s the absolute wrong thing to say as soon as your jaw solidifies into a harsh line. It’s one of your tell tale signs, along with steely eyes that pierce straight through his chest. It seems that pissing you off for three years had some benefits, “Nope, no. Definitely not that, I-”
“Fuck off.” You bite harshly before turning on your heels and storming off towards the bus. He’s about to follow you, but something about your clenched fists and shoulders that are raised so high that they could mold into your ears tells him to stay behind. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or pissed. Maybe both.
When your back finally slides against the cheap leather of your seat, it’s clear. Definitely both. Grateful because there are fat, snotty tears falling down your cheeks with reckless abandon. Because your sobs are so loud that the people on the next bus can probably hear you. Because you’re crying in a way that you never have before.
But pissed, because no one has ever held you as tightly Seonghwa did just two days ago. Pissed, because the person who you were supposed to hate more than anything just broke your heart. Pissed because something that wasn’t supposed to happen did.
After hours (or minutes. Maybe seconds, you don’t really know) of crying you sit up and assume the natural post competitions pose. Knees hugged to your chest, fingers touching knuckle to knuckle, and head resting softly on the sweating window pane. When your eyes close Seonghwa is the first thing that you see, followed by dark sleep.
An hour later all of the boys crowd onto the bus, filling the space immediately with loud dialogue and banter. Hongjoong leads the group, holding a trophy nearly as tall as his torso and wearing a smile brighter than the sun. You quickly scan down the line for Seonghwa but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Hey! Where were you, we got fir-” Hongjoong halts at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wrecked appearance, “What happened?” Seonghwa ducks onto the crowded bus just as your mouth opens. You don’t know whether you should let it all out or pretend like everything is fine and go back to sleep.
“It’s nothing, just tired.” You don’t believe yourself, and the drum major's tight lipped smile let’s you know that he doesn’t either. With an exhale and a soft ruffle of your hair, he moves back to his shared seat with Yeosang. Making just enough room for Seonghwa to slide in next to you.
“(Y/n,) I-” You twist to the seat behind you and drop the half eaten bag of gummy worms into the drumline captains lap. San looks up with a thank you already on his lips.
“Wake me up when we’re twenty minutes from the school?” He nods with a smile, hands already ripping into the bag of candy as if he’s starving. You poke the tip of his nose softly before falling back into the seat, where Seonghwas legs are touching nearly every part of you (really only your thighs, but it feels like he could sit farther away. Like he should sit farther away,) “I’m going to sleep, San’s going to wake me up so don’t bother with it.” His eyes look sad in a way that makes you want to scream.
“(Y/n-)”
“Goodnight, Seonghwa.” You manage through the fresh lump forming in your throat.
Though your head hits the glass immediately, you can’t fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Chattering boys and Mingis terrible playlist isn’t exactly the best backdrop for sweet dreams. But they settle down, cheers turning into yawns and a bluetooth speaker into Mingi and Yunho sharing earbuds. You do fall asleep eventually, but it’s not the booming bass of Mingis meme rap.
When you fall asleep, it’s to the beat of a rattling windowpane that won’t fully close and Park Seonghwa breathing deeply next to you.
*
There’s always a trend of depleting motivation after the first win of marching band season. Like freshman year after the regional competition, the following rehearsal was absolute torture. Color guard flags colliding with brow bones, entire passages of music forgotten, and too many dropped drumsticks to count. Then there was junior year (which painfully mirrored the season prior,) in which everyone was sentenced to laps until the sun went down. Each year you’d huff dramatically while complaining about the lazy members, to which Hongjoong would listen with a heaving chest.
Needless to say, that’s changed for the worst (just like everything else this season.) You spent the first lunchtime rehearsal moping drastically while refusing to make eye contact with Seonghwa. All of your friends asked you what was wrong, to which you made up a lie about having an empty stomach. Yeosang saw right through the lie, seeing as he watched you wolf down a chicken biscuit, but he didn’t say anything. In all honesty he probably knew what was wrong but was too conscious to bring it up, an act of kindness that you couldn’t thank him enough for.
Then there’s now, Tuesday after school. Four hours before rehearsal, more commonly known as sectional time. Even more commonly known as designated argue with Seonghwa time, which you don’t want to do today. A small part of you wants to make Yeosang fight him, but the other part knows that it has to be you. It’s not as though you have any other way to get out your anger with Seonghwa (there’s messy makeouts in the instrument room, of course, but you’d rather cut off your own lips than kiss him. Or you’d give the world to kiss him again. Somewhere in between the two.)
You take the final step onto your practice field, fully prepared to see a block of brass being run ragged by Park Seonghwa. But he’s not there. No one is except for your group and Wooyoung, who’s at the front of the field busying himself with tangled field mic cables. You glance around wildly before bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s genuinely infuriating how upset you are that Seonghwa isn't here, but there’s no time to think about that now.
“Um... Yunho and Yeosang, can you guys lead stretches over by the trailer?” The trailer which is parked on the exact opposite side of the field from where Wooyoung is, “Jongho too, just... Go through the basics, please.” They nod dutifully before leading the group away, Jongho doing so with an earth shattering smile. You wait until they’re all seated and chattering before moving over to Wooyoung, who’s adorning sad eyes and hair that’s too long tied back into a ponytail.
“Hey, (y/n.)” He greets quietly while placing the mic cable into its case. Your stomach churns tightly at the conversation that’s about to happen.
“Hey... Where’s Seonghwa?” The words feel like slow acting poison, the kind that’s threatening to eat you from the inside out and leave you for dead.
“He’s having sectional in the gym, said that you’d probably need the field.” That’s when it kicks in, burning a gaping hole into the center of your chest. You want to scream, or cry, or for Seonghwa to hold you so tightly that it hurts. Instead you stare blankly at the space next to Wooyoungs head, eyes glazing over and body going numb.
“... Oh, h-he was right.” Wooyoung nods before moving on to the next mic cable. It’s so silent and awkward that you almost think that you should leave, even with poison burning in your chest. Even with sadness eating at your skin.
“He told me what happened, and like... The stuff that he said. He doesn’t want to miss you.” Your band director always says that silence is the most impactful thing in music. You never got it until now, because there’s Wooyoung saying these things. Saying all of the right things that you want to hear, a call that waits for your response. Then there’s your response, that leaves a gaping hole in the score of this conversation, “He seems sorry.” You mull it over, words ringing sweet in your skull like an isolated harmony.
With a soft nod you respond, “Me too” before rushing away to where the woodwinds are assembled already in a block. The poison leaves you as sectional bleeds into rehearsal, but for a brief moment your eyes meet Seonghwas and you’re made painfully aware of the hole that it’s left where your heart should be.
*
The last moments in the warm up lot are spent with you trying to zip up your own jacket, and then Seonghwa swooping in to do it for you. His fingers brush the space between your shoulder blades, sending a shock through the core of your being. Goosebumps raise on your neck as his warm breath hits the skin there.
“You’re gonna rip it.” The words come out so much softer than the last time he said them, completely void of any teasing. If anything there’s tenderness, akin to the night that he had to carry you into the equipment room. Caring, gentle, loving. Everything that you’ve learned about Seonghwa in the past two weeks shining through in four words.
“Yea.” You swallow harshly, gloved hands moving to adjust the front of your jacket. It’s already pristine, but you need to do something with your hands or else your body will explode, “Good luck.”
The director calls everyone into show lines before he gets a chance to say “You too.”
*
It’s always a struggle to get dressed on the bus after a performance. For starters, your band has to get the cheapest buses possible so there are a grand total of three lights which flicker in and out of commission. You’re also one of the only girls, which just makes things weird, but your seatmates are usually pretty good at helping you hide..
Like now, with San holding up your oversized cardigan while you rumble through your book bag in search for clothes. The space is filled with rambunctious chatter, including Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung arguing over who’s going to buy the fried oreos (Yunho suggests three way rock paper scissors, which ends just as poorly as anticipated.) For a brief moment Seonghwa is speaking too, laughing with Jongho about a field judge that they accidentally knocked over, which is the only thing that your brain hears for the next five minutes.
“(Y/n,) are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” Even without seeing the drumline captain you just know that he’s pouting. It’s basically laced into his voice, causing guilt to pang in your chest.
“Yea,” You exhale while pulling out the more comfortable clothing (a dark green crew neck sweatshirt with fuzzy black sweatpants. You’ve been dreaming of the moment that you get to change since waking up,) “I just can’t see!” The boy chuckles with a nod that shakes the cardigan barrier.
“Hongjoong and Yeosang want me to tell you that they’re leaving and they hate you-”
“San that’s not what I said!”
“Hongjoong is saying to never speak to him or his family ever again.” The drum major sighs dramatically before slapping the side of Sans head, causing the boy to cry out like a child. A laugh bubbles out of your throat as the sweatpants come to a halt on the curve of your waist.
“I’ll text you where we’re sitting!” Yeosang calls from the front of the bus, which is now entirely void of people, “Joong I’m leaving you!”
“They’re a mess.” You grumble while pulling the sweatshirt over your head, “You can go San, I have to repack my bag and stuff.” He drapes the sweater over your head and tosses a packet of fruit snacks into your bag.
“Alright, I’ll probably be with the three amigos.” He’s already halfway out of the bus before you fully process the words, resulting in a giggle.
“Is that what we’re calling Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung?” He smiles the smile that makes his eyes crinkle and flashes a thumbs up before ducking out of the bus, leaving you to hum quietly to yourself. There’s something special about seeing an empty space when it was bursting with energy less than two minutes ago. Clothes are thrown around everywhere, uniforms hanging from cracked windows that let in an autumn breeze, bags thrown haphazardly into seats. Like a mist of peace has been pumped into this broken down bus, and you’re the only person lucky enough to see.
The only person until Seonghwa walks onto the bus, that is. You scramble to hide underneath your seat, praying to every being above that you managed to remain unseen. That you wouldn’t have to endure the painfully awkward conversation that’s about to come.
“(Y/n?)” He calls. While it sounds sweet, he’s biting back a laugh from the loud ‘thud’ that you made by rolling out of your seat, “Can you get off of the floor?” There’s a small bite in his tone. Where it should make you angry, it just makes you want to cry.
“No.” You answer, body curling in on itself. A small part of you is genuinely considering staying on the floor, but there’s something sticky about two feet from your hand Seonghwa moving back to where you sit. While the thought of facing him is embarrassing, the thought of him seeing you sitting on this disgusting floor is much worse, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.” His nose is almost touching yours when you stand up, sparking a flame in your stomach (you so badly want it to be anger. Red, hot anger. But he’s looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows, warm light flickering against the plane of his face, and you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.)
“I’m sorry.” He swallows heavily, pink tongue smoothing over puffy lips. You try to shove past him, but you’re halted by a hand on your shoulder, “Can we just talk? Please?” Sparkles form in his eyes, twinkling at you like stars. It hurts your stomach.
“No.” The word is hoarse, definite as you harshly push past the boy and storm towards the front of the bus. He’s trailing behind, hands still trying to grab at your own.
“(Y/n!)” The boy pleads, which does nothing to help your growing frustration. If anything it makes the tight coil of anger in your stomach snap, covering your body in nothing but fire.
“Seonghwa!” You bite harshly, turning around so quickly that your foreheads nearly bump together, “Leave. Me. Alone! It’s insanely rude to make someone like you, to kiss someone like the world is ending, to convince them that you care all for some weird sense of validations and then demand that they hear you out. I don’t owe that to you, so stop acting like I do!” Despite the firm words, your feet stay planted in place. As if leaving means that this is over forever.
“I know you don’t owe me that, I just... I want to explain myself, please just let me do that.” The light starts to flicker again, allowing you to see the sharp lines that compose his face. You’re supposed to say no, to leave and sit down in between your favorite people and make fun of other bands horn angles. Every part of you is screaming to go do that.
“You have ten minutes.” Clearly, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to.
“Okay, well um... I’m a dick? Like, just a huge dick and it’s just now setting in that I can change. S-some part of you showed me that.” When the light flashes across your bodies you can see that his eyes are brimming with tears. They’re different tears from last time; more timid and less silly. You want to dab at the one that spills down his soft cheek, “And I’m sorry. For tripping you in rehearsal freshman year, when your elbow got scraped?” You nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. There’s still scar tissue travelling up your shoulder from that night, “And for telling you that your solo at regional auditions sounded bad. It actually sounded really really good, which you probably already knew... Oh, a-and um for blaming the woodwinds for not knowing their parts, because honestly we didn’t either I was just being... A dick.” You inhale deeply, trying to push down the hope bubbling in your chest. While the words are promising, you know all too well that apologies are meaningless without action.
“Why?” The hope is quickly replaced with tension that’s definitely trying to make you cry.
“Why am I sorry, or why am I a dick?” In any other context it would sound funny, but now it’s just a question. A genuine, innocent question that Seonghwa is asking you with a face twisted into sweet confusion. You shrug with a deep exhale, trying desperately to stall your erratic breathing.
“Either... Both. I just want to know why.” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, then runs his hands through his ink black hair before releasing the air. It’s embarrassing how you follow his movements as if they’re the tip of a conductor's baton.
“Um... Well, I think I was a dick because I thought that having people didn’t matter if you were good. That if I worked hard enough that it wouldn’t even matter that I was lonely, but you have both. Good and loved, not to mention kind. Always so kind.” The light has stopped flickering, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. It doesn’t matter, because his voice wavers slightly at unspoken memories and you know that he’s smiling, “Which is why I’m sorry too, I guess. Because you never did anything to me other than show me that I didn’t have to be like... This.” The next words are so quiet that you barely hear them, “And for making you think that I don’t care about you.”
“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them.” Your eyes find his through the darkness, locking together like it’s the only thing happening in all of the world.
“I mean it.” It’s a deceleration scribbled into the space between his body and yours, signed by the weight of his hands cupping your jaw, “I care about you.” Goosebumps rise on your forearms as they wrap around the boys slim waist.
“Seonghwa-” There’s probably a right way to do this. A right way to fall for the bane of your existence turned friend. It’s out there somewhere, written up in perfect cookie cutter steps that are easier to follow than words on a page. They definitely don’t include him whispering the affirmation, ‘I care about you,’ against the skin beneath your ear while covering the space in wet kisses.
The boy wraps a hand around the back of your neck before pulling back. You can see him clearer now, all pleading eyes and taunting lips, “Can I kiss you?” It sounds like the climax point of a piece, the part where a chord rings out as the tempo slows just enough to make it itch. You nod while snaking a hand around his jaw.
Seonghwa moves in as if you’ve never kissed before, noses bumping softly. There’s a soft giggle, the rattling of uniform hangers against window panes, and then Seonghwas lips touching yours as if you’re going to break. So much is the same, like how his lips taste like coconut or the spicy scent that floods your nostrils, but it’s different too. Different in the way that he moves against you, in the way that his teeth don’t bite at your lower lip, in the way that his hands cradle every part of you that they touch. He feels like a caricature and more like a person, like a person who’s kissing you softer than you’ve ever been kissed.
“I like you a lot.” He whispers while moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. Old Seonghwa would tease you for the whine growing in the base of your throat while trying desperately to hide the way that you’re affecting him, “Cute.” He exhales, becoming putty in your hands.
“Please stop talking and kiss me.” It’s clear that he tries to smirk, but the moment is too soft for it. Too gentle for the fire that his quirked lips elicits in you; instead he gives off a perfectly soft smile. Gentle and caring, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.
“Okay,” His thumb runs across your cheekbone, then to the crease of your nose, and finally all the way down to the set of your jaw. It feels like he’s setting you on fire, “Okay.” His lips brush yours softly with the movement, followed by him leaning in so terribly slowly. You think to yourself that you’re going to love him.
In the moment before his lips touch yours there are two things; two hearts beating faster than is safe, and his phone ringing loudly. Your eyes shoot open right as the boy mouths ‘fuck!’ with a dramatic eye roll. You offer him a quiet laugh along with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, answer it.”
“No, I don’t need to. Just Wooyoung telling me to bring him his wallet.” You nod silently, nearly crying at the way that his hands untangle from you, “I’m really sorry, I wish i could stay but-” You silence him with a quick peck to the lips, he thinks that he’s going to love you back.
“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We can pick this up later.” He really does smirk now, the familiar look tempting you to stay and kiss him until your lips fall off, “Go get his stuff, I want to see the bands!”
After ten minutes of Seonghwa fumbling through Wooyoung's bag in the dark, the two of you finally leave hand in hand. It feels strange, yet at the same time like what’s meant to be.
*
“Seonghwa, wait!” you call as your boyfriend pulls you into the shared bus seat by your book bag straps. He was only trying to be sweet, but unfortunately failed to think about how pulling you would probably result in falling. There’s a yelp, and you tumbling into him, then of course a loud groan as your palm collides with his collarbone.
“Oh my, oh gosh, I’m an idiot. Ow.” Mingi is laughing at you two, and it’s only a matter of seconds before your so called friends start throwing things, “Let me help you up, also did I mention ow?!” You laugh brightly and press a kiss to his temple before pushing yourself up into a sitting position.
“I think so.” You swat his hand away from your arms and pull out a box of tissues (packed in preparation for the last competition tears that were almost a guarantee,) “I need to check on Joong, okay?” He smiles gently with a nod.
Hongjoong is in the very back seat laughing his ass off while crying violently. It would be weird if he hadn’t done it three times before, each time at the last competition of the season. Sophomore year you asked why he was crying, to which he responded that it makes the crying less awkward. And that it makes everyone else laugh.
“Has anyone told him a joke yet?” You ask while ducking into the huddle of your friends. San is sitting next to the drum major and passing him candy, Yeosang dabbing at his cheeks with tissues that are quickly depleting. He accepts your fresh box with a silent nod.
“Not yet.” Yunho answers while throwing a sealed water bottle to Mingi, who also has tears rolling down his face.
“Okay um... What do you call a cow with no legs?” The boy looks at you with wide puppy dog eyes and a gummy worm hanging from his mouth, “Pork chop! Oh no, that’s not right wait-” The boy starts to laugh even harder as you shout ‘Ground beef! Stop laughing I meant ground beef please-’
“Did she just say pork chop?” Wooyoung asks through a screeching laugh while breaking his way into the circle. You nod as your sides clench, stinging tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa eventually comes back too with Jongho, taking purchase in the seat across from the slowly dispersing huddle. Somehow you fall to the floor of the aisle and settle between your boyfriends legs. He plays with your hair in a manner so relaxing that Mingi’s meme rap is barely audible (still audible though, sadly.)
Similarly to the first competition, you fall asleep. Only this time it’s to the drum of your friends shouting excitedly and Seonghwas heart beating in perfect time with yours.
#ateez seonghwa#seonghwa x reader#ateez#seonghwa ff#writekpop#admin reid#if u enjoy pls like or leave something nice!#sorry if it's hard to understand
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Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 2 (Multi) - Joley
Chapter Summary: Jackie embraces her truth, Crystal and Gigi are deeply in the ‘idiots’ stage of ‘idiots to lovers’, Brooke Lynn and Vanessa take new steps in their relationship, and Priyanka continues her affair with Lemon.
ao3 link
When Lemon entered the dressing room, the other girls looked up, but looked a bit confused. “Jan didn’t come in with you?” Gigi asked.
“Jan didn’t even come home with me last night. She told me and Pri to go on without her. My guess is she pulled a Vanjie and went home with the hot business woman,” Lemon shrugged as she took her seat.
“Hey, don’t drag my name into it,” Vanessa huffed, though she supposed she couldn’t be that mad with that being her claim to fame. She was the first of the girls to date a client, and up until now, she had assumed she would be the only one.
Jan arrived a bit later, only about five minutes late, but took her seat as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Hey y’all, did I miss anything good?”
The girls giggled. “I don’t think anything here is as good as what you been getting,” Vanessa teased. “You have Brooke’s friend speaking French between your legs all night or what?”
A broad grin spread across Jan’s lips. “Oh, that’s only the start,” she replied. “God, you guys, I couldn’t even walk right this morning. She ruined me – I don’t think I can have sex with anyone else after her.”
“You bottoms are so dramatic,” Gigi remarked, looking at Jan through her reflection in the mirror.
“You’re just jealous you don’t have a bottom to ruin,” Jan retorted as she took her seat.
“One in particular,” Jaida chimed in.
Gigi rolled her eyes, wondering why she bothered saying anything in the first place. It’s not like Jaida or the other girls were wrong – her crush on Crystal was common knowledge among the dancers. She couldn’t help herself – when she had started working there, Crystal was the first to see through her stoic, standoffish front, something that took the average person weeks. The two of them bonded right away.
But To her dismay, Crystal had a girlfriend when her crush first developed. Though even when that relationship ended, she still did her best to use that as an excuse for not saying anything.
“I don’t see why you can’t talk to her. It’s been two months, it wouldn’t be a rebound,” Lemon offered.
“You’re technically correct,” Gigi conceded, “but it’s complicated, we’ve developed such a friendship in that time…”
“Bitch, that is the oldest excuse in the fucking book,” Vanessa retorted as she coated her brunette locks in a layer of hairspray. “Oh, we can’t date, it’ll ruin our friendship,” she mocked in a ‘white’ voice, “such a cop-out.”
Gigi frowned, strumming her nails against the vanity table. “Doesn’t make it untrue…”
Before Vanessa could reply, Jackie was at the door. She led Crystal, Priyanka, and Kameron in, then took a deep breath. “Ladies, I wanted you all in here because I have something to tell you.”
The girls looked at each other, murmuring with confusion and concern. Was something happening to the club? Were they in trouble? But they quickly quieted down and redirected their attention redirected to Jackie, urging her to continue.
Jackie took a deep breath. “Alright, I suspect this might not be the biggest surprise to you, but this is still difficult for me to say because, you know, it’s something I haven’t really said in my whole thirty-five years.” She pressed her lips into a line and swallowed thickly, doing her best to keep it together. “I’ve always felt a strong kinship with you guys, and deep down, I’ve always known it’s… it’s because I’m gay.”
The girls didn’t give Jackie time to brace herself for their reaction. Within seconds they surrounded her, hugging her tight. Sure, they had suspected it for a long time. Some of them had assumed Jackie was out but simply never mentioned it. But regardless of what they’d previously thought, all that mattered now was giving Jackie their complete, unbridled support.
And Jackie couldn’t do anything but sob. It was a sob of relief, of joy, but also of exhaustion – she had carried that weight on her chest for far too long and her lungs were desperate for the air of freedom. She knew this would only be the first time she came out, and she didn’t know when the next would be, but at least she knew she had a group of girls she could be safe with.
“That’s okay, sweetie. Let it out,” Jan soothed as she rubbed her back. “We’re all so proud of you.”
“The first time is always the hardest,” Jaida agreed. “You don’t gotta go tell everyone, just embracing it for yourself is enough.”
Jackie looked up at Jaida, opening her mouth to speak, only for her throat to run dry. Instead, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Thanks, you guys. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
When the group hug ended, everyone relaxed into their usual spots. “Alright, ladies,” Jackie prompted, “let’s have a great shift.”
As Crystal and Priyanka returned to the bar, they were still processing their bosses’ confession. “I’m fucking proud of Jackie,” Priyanka was saying. “I almost peed myself when I came out to y’all.”
“Weren’t you already sleeping with Lemon when you came out to us?” Crystal asked as she continued getting her station ready.
Despite a tinge of embarrassment, Priyanka laughed. “Only like, three times,” she defended. Even though she hadn’t been out when she started working there, she had quickly found out that Lemon had no idea how not to be out, nor did she know how to be subtle. Priyanka had realized she had to choose between staying closeted at work and pursuing her budding affair, and the choice was obvious to her.
“Three more than some of us,” Crystal murmured under her breath.
Priyanka scoffed. “Bitch, if you’re still carrying a torch for Gigi, why don’t you fucking tell her already? It’s not the world’s biggest secret, you know. We all figured it out,” she said, then paused for a moment, “well, except her.”
“Therein lies the problem,” she lamented. “It’d be easier if I knew that she only saw us as friends, then I could let it go. But there’s always this… underlying sexual tension between us. I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“Underlying sexual tension?” Priyanka’s brows rose. “She’s the only one of the girls that doesn’t put her bra back on when she comes to get a drink from you… well, neither does Vanjie, sometimes, but the bitch is just forgetful.”
Crystal chuckled softly. “Either that or she’s swinging by the security booth. Did you hear her tell Jaida she was gonna broach the ‘open relationship’ subject with Brooke, like, soon?”
“No, but I think it’s a good idea. Nip it in the bud before things get messy, huh?”
“Why, because it’s too late for you?”
Priyanka opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together. “I… yeah, pretty much. I’ve accepted my life’s chaos, though.”
——
When Brooke Lynn wasn’t visiting the club as a client, she was often there as both a supportive girlfriend and pseudo-manager for Vanessa. She held herself in a confident, professional way that allowed her to walk right through the front door and into the back where the dressing room was without anyone looking twice, let alone question it.
Vanessa looked up when Brooke walked in and smiled, ignoring the way her chest tightened. “Hey, boo,” she greeted, getting up to give her a quick hug and kiss. “I’m glad you’re here, I been meaning to talk to you.”
“Oh, good,” Brooke nodded as she sat in one of the empty chairs. “I wanted to talk to you too. Do you want to go first?”
Normally, Vanessa would’ve automatically jumped on the opportunity to go first. But her nerves were still twisting up her insides and she figured she could calm herself down while her girlfriend spoke. “No, it’s fine, go ahead.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and all things considered…” she took a deep breath, “I think it would be a good idea for you to move in with me.”
“Yeah!” Vanessa’s nerves were instantly replaced with excitement – she loved the idea of getting to move in with Brooke, they had gotten so close despite their relatively short relationship. She was there most of the time anyway, and it made her own apartment look like a prison cell in comparison. And it didn’t hurt that she wouldn’t have to deal with rent or a landlord anymore. “I love you, B, I think that’s a great idea.”
Brooke brightened up. “Really? Awesome, we can get started on that whenever, really. Most of your stuff is at my place or here anyway. What did you want to tell me?”
Vanessa deflated a bit, reconsidering the whole idea. Of course she was still attracted to Kameron and didn’t plan on throwing out the ‘open relationship’ idea entirely. The timing, however, felt off. Inappropriate. Cold, even. “You know what? It ain’t nothing important, it can wait.”
“Are you sure? If something’s wrong, you can tell me, I want to know.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Vanessa looked her in the eye so Brooke could tell she was being honest. “It just isn’t worth bringing up right now, I’d rather focus on this moving gig.”
Although Brooke wasn’t entirely convinced, she decided to let it go for the time being. “Alright. I’m gonna go grab a drink and let you finish getting ready,” she got up and kissed her cheek before heading back into the main room.
Vanessa ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled deeply. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. “Well, that got fucked up,” she muttered.
“You good, girl?” Lemon asked as she took her usual seat. “Usually you have a smug grin on when Brooke leaves the dressing room. The open relationship thing didn’t go over well?”
“It didn’t go at all,” she answered. “I was gonna, but then she asked me to move in with her… and I fucking love her, of course I wanna take that next step. But I couldn’t just jump from there to that just ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about getting fucked by Kameron.”
Lemon nodded and listened, fixing her hair and makeup in the mirror as well. “I mean, I can’t exactly be a moral compass here, but I get your concern. You guys haven’t done anything yet, have you?”
“Nothin’, just some flirting and shit. All hands-free. And mouths-free,” she confirmed. “You know I’d never wanna do something to hurt Brooke. Been on the other side of it before, shit sucks.”
“You guys love each other,” Lemon reassured. “I’m sure you’ve built up the trust to have that sort of honest conversation.” Under her breath, she added “must be nice.”
Vanessa didn’t catch it. “Guess you’re right, it’ll work out eventually,” she decided.
“Atta girl,” Lemon patted her shoulder as she got up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got my nightly home wrecking to do.”
Vanessa looked up as Lemon left, only to make eye contact with Brooke, who was standing in the doorway with a glass in each hand. “How long you been standing there?” she asked hesitantly.
Brooke walked in and sat in the same chair she’d been in before, setting one glass on the counter and holding onto the other one. “So… Kameron, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised. She’s beautiful and you do have a type.”
She furrowed her brows, unsure of how to process Brooke’s reaction. “You’re not mad? You don’t even look pissed or nothing.”
“Well, no offense babe, but with your line of work, I’ve already wrapped my head around the idea of having to share you. Sure, it’s a little different comparing clients to someone you’re actually interested in, but I can’t fathom it being that bad,” she explained. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll pick up a cute little side piece while you two are going at it.”
Even with the explanation, Vanessa was still perplexed. But she was getting her way, so she supposed she couldn’t really complain. “You still want me to move in though, right?”
“Of course I do,” Brooke answered without hesitation. “This doesn’t change how I feel about you or about us. We’ll try the open thing out, see how we feel, and take it from there.”
Vanessa finally allowed herself to relax. “Alright, yeah, sounds good to me.”
“Good,” Brooke hummed and finished her drink off. “I’ll see you later,” she said, giving Vanessa a kiss before she left again. But this time, instead of going back into the main room, she went out the back door. She fished a cigarette and lighter out of her purse and lit it, then leaned against the wall as she took a drag.
“Thought you were trying to quit,” Gigi remarked. She had been outside for a few minutes, wrapped in a long, black robe with a lit joint held between two fingers.
Brooke exhaled, smoke blowing through her mouth. “Well, I just gave my girlfriend permission to fuck the security guard, so I’m having a cheat day.”
Gigi furrowed her brows as she took another drag. “Kameron? Why’d you do that then?”
“Because I love her and trust her but at the same time, I’d rather know what she’s up to instead of her lusting after another woman behind my back. Also we’re moving in together. It’s been an eventful night. So… open relationship it is.”
“Look at it this way, you’ll probably be fucking more once you live together, maybe it’ll wear her out,” Gigi offered.
Brooke laughed softly. “That isn’t as reassuring as you think it is, Geege.”
“At least you’re getting some.”
“No progress with Crystal, I take it?” Brooke asked, then dropped her spent cigarette on the ground and put it out with her shoe.
Gigi shook her head. “And with this gig plus school, I haven’t had time to find some distraction sex. You know how it is, right? When your brain gets stuck on something and the only way to dislodge it is by railing a pretty girl?”
“Yes, I remember being twenty-two. First time I got my heart broken by a straight girl,” she recalled. She looked at Gigi with a fond smile. She saw a lot of herself in the dancer, felt something of a kindred spirit. “Let me get a hit of that, wanna see why Vanjie loves that shit so much.”
Gigi covered her mouth with her free hand to giggle. “Sure, go nuts,” she said and passed the joint to her. She lingered close to Brooke, watching her curiously.
Brooke took a drag the same way she would off a cigarette. While it felt the same physically, she did prefer the way the weed made her feel. “Hm, yeah, I get it,” she said as she passed it back to Gigi. But as she did, there was a moment where their eyes met, where their shared loneliness, with sex on their minds. They started to lean closer, their lips parting…
“Nope,” they said in unison, pulling back and laughing.
——
Once the club had closed for the night, Lemon was sitting up on the bar while Priyanka was cleaning up. “You coming home with me tonight, Pri?” she asked, batting her lashes and swinging her legs.
“Can’t,” Priyanka sighed. “I promised Mark I’d watch some stupid fucking documentary with him when I got home,” she rolled her eyes.
“Who cares about him?” Lemon whined. “We haven’t had sex in like, almost two whole days. I’m literally dying.”
Priyanka finished her task then came around the bar, trapping Lemon between her arms as she held onto the bar. “You are the neediest bitch I have ever met. You know that, right?” Despite her ‘scolding’, she started kissing Lemon’s neck.
And of course, Lemon was happy with any small victory. “I think you like it, though. I think you get off on being needed, on knowing that I’m thinking of you when I need to be sexy on stage.”
“Do you really?” Priyanka asked. “Do you think about how good I fuck you while your shaking your ass for a crowd?” she asked, moving one of her hands between Lemon’s thighs. “Let it get you all worked up and let them think you’re just really into your job?”
Lemon’s legs instantly spread when Priyanka’s hand slipped between her thighs. Even though she didn’t like feeding Priyanka’s ego, she couldn’t pretend the dirty talk didn’t affect her. “Mm, of course I do, easy when no one makes me come like you do.”
“Good girl,” Priyanka praised, then rewarded her by slipping two fingers inside of Lemon’s panties, then slowly easing them into her pussy one after the other. “Look at you, already wet. You really were just thinking about getting fucked, weren’t you?”
“Fuck…” Lemon breathed out, bucking against Priyanka’s fingers, trying to writhe in time with her thrusts. “I was, couldn’t help it.”
Priyanka smirked, kissing up Lemon’s neck, then along her jaw and the shell of her ear. “My needy little whore,” she cooed as she fucked her harder and faster.
Considering most of their coworkers hadn’t left either, Lemon did make an attempt to stay quiet. She bit down on her lip, just whimpering as she rocked against her fingers.
But Priyanka didn’t make it easy on her. He curled and twisted her fingers, knowing every which way to make Lemon squirm and whine. She kept it up, fucking Lemon through her orgasm and even a bit after that. She then eased her fingers out and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Think you’ll make it through the night now, you insufferable baby?”
Lemon rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll survive,” she giggled as she hopped down from the bar. “I’m gonna go get changed, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She wrapped her arms around Priyanka’s waist, gazing up at her and stealing another kiss before leaving.
“You better wipe that bar down thoroughly,” Crystal remarked when she returned from the kitchen.
Priyanka groaned. “Ah, fuck, forgot you were here.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t wanna interrupt. But seriously, clean that shit up.”
#rpdr fanfiction#joley#taste of poison paradise#crygi#branjie#kamjie#jan x nicky#jackie x jaida#lemon x priyanka#drcan#can1#s12#lesbian au#smut#jan sport#nicky doll#lemon#priyanka#crystal methyd#gigi goode#jackie cox#jaida essence hall#brooke lynn hytes#kameron michaels#vanessa vanjie mateo
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Down the Rabbit Hole part 22
“You come…here again?”
“I know we said we wouldn’t,” the Sergeant says slowly, putting great care into his enunciation, “but it’s important.”
“Im…por…tant?”
“Yes. We have –“
“This…many more,” the copepod says, waggling three massive fingers at him. The Sergeant is silent for a moment.
“I don’t understand,” he says finally.
“You kill…this many…more,” the copepod grunts. I can hear it breathing, vast wheezing noises like the space in between notes on a bagpipe. “This many more…since you said…you would leave.”
The Sergeant sighs. “They attacked us outside of the barrows. The ones they attacked had no choice but to defend themselves.”
“This…the…end, four-arms?”
I frown, glance over at Elena. “Four-arms?” I mutter. She leans in closer to me.
“Their word for us. They haven’t got any legs so they don’t really grasp the distinction between a leg and an arm.”
I nod, staring down at the screen on my camera. The copepod looks far too glossy but with the gloves on the suit I don’t really have the dexterity to fiddle with it and I don’t want to take them off presently, so it’ll just have to be glossy. I look over at the two copepods that had come in earlier, still lurking behind the Big Guy like statues, clinging to the wall in positions that look as though they could push off and dart at us with absolutely minimal effort.
The rest of the team seems very relaxed, though; nobody, not even Crookshank, has their rifles up to cover the copepods. “Do y’all come down here often?” I ask.
Elena shakes her head. “I’ve only been down here once before, and that was about a year ago.” Her eyes flick over to Peter. “Investigating a missing person.”
I think of several possible responses to that but bite them all back. None of them would be helpful, and at any rate my impulse to defend Peter has withered a little over the last few days. Probably just the hormones talking. Maybe if I didn’t get such a big damn case of the warm fuzzies whenever I so much as look at Elena –
“The end of what?” the Sergeant asks. The copepod gestures, a vague, open-handed, sweeping motion. It’s a terrifically human gesture and for a moment I stare, wondering, then its segmented mouthparts judder to life again and that horrible, inhuman voice issues forth from them again and some poor pattern-recognizing part of my brain gets whiplash from the disjointedness of it.
“How we…end. Many…spawnings since we…meet, four-arms, and now…there is not…enough…to eat. If we…leave…to hunt, you…kill us.”
The Sergeant starts to say something, but the copepod slams a fist into the ground. Next to me I feel Elena flinch, and on the far wall of the chamber one of the other copepods cocks its head.
“We are hungry,” it tells the Sergeant, and something about the way it says those three simple words strikes me like a lightning bolt, passing all the way through my stomach and out my tailbone. My hands are shaking lightly and part of me wants to panic, wants to be out of here right now, but I close my eyes and swallow hard and force myself to be calm.
The Sergeant, to his credit, doesn’t even blink. “We’re here to talk about that.”
The copepod is silent. It reaches up with its hand and rubs at its face lightly, in a motion that reminds me of a fly cleaning its compound eyes. “Don’t…believe you,” it wheezes eventually.
“We are. We’re planning to start bringing food down for – for your people. But we need something in return.”
I glance over at the crystal again. It’s a good thing we brought Joker; I don’t know how we would have gotten it out of here if he weren’t here to carry it.
The copepod rolls its head back and makes a strange, scratchy, rhythmic noise, that I recognize after a moment as laughter.
“You make…us starve, then…come with…solution…to problem…you made? And…you want…trade…for it?”
I hear the Sergeant sigh, watch him look up at the ceiling. I’m impressed at how well he’s doing so far, especially considering (unless I have egregiously misread him) that he’s a soldier, not a diplomat. But now the copepod has handed him a real zinger.
“We never meant to hurt you,” he says. The copepod shifts lightly, the spongy floor creaking under its ponderous bulk. “There has been a long and bloody history between us and I wish it weren’t that way. I wish that things had been different, so many years ago when the first one of us had met the first one of you. I wish we had known to leave you alone and not interfere with your way of life. But the past can’t be changed, all we can do is try to right what wrongs we can.”
“What…you want?”
The Sergeant points to the crystal. “That,” he says. The copepod looks over at it and then reaches out and drags it, one handed, using what seems to be practically no effort, out from behind the pile.
“Not…for trade.”
“Not even for regular supplies of food?”
“Not…for anything.”
“Nothing at all?”
The copepod stops and looks at us. Its eyes seem to fix on something.
“Give me…that,” it says, pointing, and we all turn and stare at Crookshank, who the Sergeant had given his rifle to and who is now carrying both of them, somewhat awkwardly, beneath his armpits. He looks perturbed for a moment before he realizes and unlimbers one of them and sets the stock of it into the floor. I can see the muscles in the great knotty bulge of the Sergeant’s jaw working before he turns back around.
“Absolutely not,” he says.
“Too…bad.”
The Sergeant very clearly doesn’t know what to say, and then after a moment throws in the towel. “Alright,” he says. “Give me a minute, I have to ask.”
Then he turns around and takes a couple of respectful steps away before reaching down to his radio and calling Makado.
“They want what?” she groans, after he’s told her the news. The rest of us, listening in over the squad link, cast glances at each other but remain silent.
“One of the slug rifles,” he repeats. “I told him that we’d bring them regular shipments of food instead but he didn’t go for it.”
I hear Makado curse under her breath.
“You told them we’d bring them food? Goddam it,” she mutters. “You didn’t have any authority to –“
“Veret,” the Sergeant snaps, his voice barely edging on civil. “We don’t have time for this –“
“You expect me,” she hisses, her voice mingling with the static, “to give you the go-ahead to give them a fucking slug rifle? Why don’t we also turn off the sonic traps and leave the seal unlocked on the way out?”
“What do you want me to do, then?”
The copepod is watching this one-sided conversation with interest. The Sergeant’s voice is low and sharp but I’m sure the copepod can still hear some of what he’s saying. Its vocabulary seems fairly good but as for how much it understands…
“You said there’s only three of them in there right now, right?” Makado asks. I see the Sergeant shake his head.
“Absolutely not,” he says. “No way.”
“Sergeant,” Makado starts. I can hear a note of steel buried somewhere deep in her voice. “We need that crystal.”
“I’m going to give him the damn gun,” he tells her. Somewhere miles above us Makado slams her hand on her desk.
“Do not –“
“I am not,” the Sergeant says, very quietly, “letting any more of my people die down here today. There are three copepods in here, and fifty within two hundred yards, and a hundred within a mile, and they all are going to come running the instant we fire one of these guns.”
Makado is silent for a moment. “Fine,” she says. Her voice is hard enough to cut glass. “One rifle, no mags.”
“Fine.”
The channel cuts out with a resounding click. Elena and I trade glances; I can tell from her face that she’s never heard Makado that angry before.
The Sergeant reaches out for Crookshank’s rifle wordlessly and Crookshank hurries forward and hands it to him. The copepods on the walls draw in a little closer. I can see them practically twitching with anticipation, waiting for one of us to make the wrong move. The Sergeant turns, the slug rifle held in one hand, the barrel toward the ceiling. The copepod reaches out for it and the Sergeant places it gently in the thing’s hand.
Next to me I feel Elena shift her grip on her own rifle. The copepod looks down at the rifle in its hand for a long while.
“You should have taken the food,” the Sergeant tells it. The copepod in turn makes a snorting, chuffing noise. Then it closes its fist over the gun and with a sound like a groan of relief it bends and breaks. The bolt pops out and whizzes off somewhere in the darkness and the slugs pour from the ruined breach of the rifle like marbles, five of them clunking dully to the fleshy floor and rolling someplace out of sight. It tosses the bent frame of the rifle aside, and it clatters into the pile of junk and detritus and causes a small avalanche. The Sergeant steps back, eyes wary.
Then the copepod reaches over and shoves the crystal towards him. Its sharp spikes stick in the floor a little and leave bloody gouges in their wake. Whatever is inside it casting that green glow shifts lightly, with a kind of exaggerated slowness to it like it were floating in oil, and I glance down at the camera, make sure it’s in focus.
“Take…it,” the Big Guy tells us, and I can see by the look on the Sergeant’s face that he has a lot of questions he wants to ask, but instead of asking them he turns and gestures to Euler and after a little bit of prodding Euler manages to walk Joker forwards and find a decent place to grasp the crystal firmly, and then it picks it up.
One of the robot’s joints groans under the strain and Euler quickly prods at the joystick and it freezes, but after a few moments for he shrugs and continues twiddling, and Joker hefts the crystal like it were nothing and marches, a little unsteadily, back to us.
The copepod, meanwhile, has turned, rolling its enormous bulk delicately past us, and, with the assistance of one of the other copepods, which puts its arms on the Big Guy’s sides and is helping push, slithers out of the room. The audience, apparently, is over.
We all look around at each other but nobody feels any need to speak. There’s nothing to say. Crookshank is looking wistfully at the rifle on the ground, the barrel twisted like a piece of straw, but as we all begin to file out of the organelle and back into the snaking outer vent that got us there, Elena squeezes my hand firmly and I believe for a moment, just a moment, that everything might work out alright.
* * *
Elena twists around sharply and stares back into the darkness, her rifle low and ready. I peer backwards anxiously, then glance at her.
“What is it?”
She shakes her head, holds a hand up to me. “Shh,” she tells me.
Behind us the rest of the group marches onwards. There’s a distinct sense of relief in the air. Many of them, I realized belatedly, had expected that we were going to our deaths, that we were going to have to try to take the crystal by force. Ellis thought so for sure; his smile is unbearably bright and the Sergeant has had to tell him to shut up multiple times on the journey out, but his enthusiasm is so overflowing that he can’t shut up, he just keeps babbling on about whatever is in his head, what he’s going to do when he gets back to the surface, how nice it’ll be to have fresh air, so on and so on.
Elena is standing there quite still, her head cocked to one side. I listen but I can’t hear anything, and I start to tug at her sleeve, thinking that –
Wait.
I thought for a moment that I might have heard something, something very far away, but it was the sort of quiet, subtle noise that is hard to notice even in dead silence, and our current environment is very far from that. Everything down here seems to make noise; it’s a little like being in a forest in the middle of a windstorm. Instead of trees creaking and groaning and leaves scattering and wind rushing, you have the tramp tramp tramp of metal-plated feet, and the corresponding squelches of cleat sticking into the floor and the equally horrible meaty slurping sound with each step as they come unstuck. Then on top of that there’s groans and moans and straining noises. If you put your ear to someone’s stomach after they’ve just eaten you might get a sense of what it’s like, except fifty times louder and without anything in the way. The hallways shift around you, little wriggles of convulsive muscle movement going through them, and the noise is concurrent with the size and force of the muscles doing the moving. But there is a difference between the shrieking of a taut muscle and the shrieking of something in pain, far off in the distance, perhaps…
Elena leans in very sharply and reaches out with a balled fist and smacks the quick-release on the side of my helmet. The visor jets up and instantly the fetid smell of the Pit assaults me. My eyes start to water. “What the fuck,” I start to blurt, but Elena puts a gloved hand over my mouth. Her eyes are very clear and very bright; she’s already popped her own helmet so she can talk to me clearly.
“Listen to me, Roan,” she says, her eyes glancing over to the side and back the way we came before flicking over to me again. “If something happens down here, you stick to me like glue. Got it?”
I start to say something but she gives me a dangerous look and I swallow hard. “Got it,” I say.
“Okay, good,” she says. She flashes me a quick grin but I can tell she’s just giving me lip service, just from the way her eyes jump like roulette balls, scanning the surroundings even as she reaches over and flips my visor back into place. I had started to ask – well, I don’t know what I was going to ask. Probably something useless, some infantile plea for assurance that we were going to be okay. Clearly we aren’t if Elena is spooked like this. I look ahead of her at the rest of the team; they’re wary but not as wary as she is.
“Elena, what’s wrong?” I ask her, taking a hold of her arm, and she looks over at me and starts to answer, and then everything goes to hell.
Behind us I hear the sound I thought I had heard before, except much louder and clearer – a chittering shriek of either pain or rage, or perhaps some of both. Something about the tone makes me think it’s a copepod. The scream is cut off halfway through, and then we hear other screams, loud gurgling ululations, echoing through the vents. Everyone is yelling, everyone’s rifles are coming up very quickly, heads are whipping around and scattering the broad angry cones of headlamp light across the wet, glistening walls. The shrieks and cries are reaching a crescendo and it seems impossible that we can’t see any copepods at the present moment.
The side of the vent bulges inward suddenly and I see a long tapered mass move by, like a throat swallowing, and I realize that it must have been a copepod, sliding past as quickly as its resin-coated carapace will allow.
Elena has her hand under my arm and is tugging me along as quickly as we can go. I am deathly afraid I’m going to trip and fall and splatter face-first into the wet, bloody floor; I’m not digging in the cleats all the way, there isn’t time to with the way she’s rushing me. I want to reach down and pull out my sidearm but I don’t trust myself to keep ahold of it if I were to.
I can see a flickering glance of Euler’s face, bringing up the rear behind us, feverishly punching buttons on the controller and working the joystick. He looks frightened and I feel suddenly and incongruously bad for Euler, because he clearly has hated this place from the second he came down here, and it’s only his job that’s making him do it, and now he, and probably all of us, are going to die because of it.
I remember Makado very seriously considering us just opening up on the Big Guy, on the king of the copepods or whatever the hell the hierarchy is down here, just because he wanted a gun instead of just giving us the crystal. The wan green light is still pressing tightly against my back from where Joker has the damn thing clenched tight in his metal hands, and I feel my lip curling and realize that maybe Elena is right, maybe Makado is out of line, maybe she’s let her – her obsession with making sure that the Pit doesn’t hurt anything and anyone else lead her to some bad decisions. Or maybe –
There’s a shriek behind us, sounding terribly close now. Elena and I look back, as does Euler, but we still can’t see anything.
I have never felt so helpless in my life. If a copepod comes out of nowhere and snatches me right now, that would be it, I’d be done for. I don’t want to even pretend that Elena would turn everyone around and get them to come charging back into certain doom to save my skinny ass. I can imagine the conversation now: “Oh yeah, El, sure we know you were getting your pussy eaten by that frail little skeleton girl from admin but no way in hell we’re risking our neck for her, capisce?”
All it would take, I figure, is for one of them to dart up from behind, where our visibility is the worst, grab my leg, and then reverse and zoom out of sight. They can move so quickly down here it doesn’t seem real. It’s like the way seals move, fluttering around on the ice on their bellies, tucked down and torpedo-shaped, their arms slicked back against their sides unless they’re reaching forward to dig in with their blunt, ichor-caked fingertips, adding momentum, whipping around hairpin turns.
A crazy thought strikes me as I stumble again and Elena wrenches me back to my feet – being a copepod must be like living in a funhouse where everything is a slide. I almost start to laugh but I shove it back down, deep down.
It happens very quickly. There is a loud chittering screech from ahead of us and we both whip around. There in front, clinging to the ceiling of the vent, is a slender copepod, slithering towards us hand over hand. When someone’s headlamp – I think it’s Fumi – strikes it in the face it shrieks and falls on him and one of the guns roars and even though my earplugs are in it is louder than loud, the flash from the muzzle is like the sun, and I think I shriek in terror and surprise and then I really do fall, but Elena, angel that she is, is there to pull me back to my feet.
While I’ve been face-down on the floor someone has shot the copepod a little off-center, and a hole as big around as my fist is half-heartedly gushing a chunky, glutinous white ichor. The copepod’s arms and fins are fluttering and we all give it a wide berth, hustling towards the exit.
It is such a long way off, though, and that copepod was only the first of many. Once we shot the first one there was no going back, and the air quickly turned smoky and foul with the cordite stench of gunfire. It’s impossible to hear anything besides rage-filled animal screeches and the great pounding thud every time someone fires off one of the guns. The pounding and the sharp crackling report melds together in my head and it sounds as though there is an idiot child pounding on a giant drum, having a temper tantrum, right next to me.
Elena tugs me onward. A copepod breaks into the center of our formation and brings its titan fist down in an arc, and though it is pinioned by rifle fire and dies twitching its fist still hurtles downwards and impacts square on Ellis’ head. He falls like a tree and there is cursing over the radio link and someone very close is screaming Ellis’ name and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me, that I’m the one heaving out his name like it were vomit and staring back at his body, splayed spread-eagle on the ground, his visor shattered, part of his spine jutting through the thick fabric at the back of the neck of the suit. The copepod had hit him so hard that some part of him broke, and his head was forced downward, crushing his neck.
After that I consciously observe very little. It’s like my mind retreats into some dark corner of the inside of my skull and sits there in a huddle weeping while whatever animal, lizard part of me takes the reins is utterly unfazed by everything. I remember little flashes here and there, lit by gunfire; I remember copepods like enamel-white cruise missiles, darting in from barely-seen slits in the walls, their hands reaching for me, Elena slashing at them desperately with her knife; I remember Fumi’s bearded face, drawn and ashen, down on one knee slamming another magazine into his rifle and the sound it made when he pulled the bolt back was like glass shattering; I remember vast white fingers wrapping around Crookshank’s thick waist and jerking him off of his feet and whisking him away into the darkness while everyone twisted and shot haphazardly, trying not to hit him. His face I remember particularly, for it was wide and frightened and for a moment I thought I could see the little boy he’d once been, peering out at me from inside the man’s body and wordlessly begging me to save him, but of course I couldn’t. I had joined in, snatching the pistol from my waist and squeezing off every shot in the magazine back into the darkness behind us. I don’t think I hit anything, other than the walls of the vent, leaving bleeding puncture-marks and a haze of smoke. Then Elena yanked me off of my feet again in her hurry to get us out of there and I had dropped the gun. I cried out for it but there was no helping it, we were long gone.
Our numbers dwindle one by one, first Ellis then Crookshank. I don’t see Klaus get taken; he just disappears in the frantic haze of gunsmoke and flashlight blur, and everyone is calling out for him. I remember the Sergeant barking, his voice like sandpaper, that Klaus is gone, his vitals aren’t registering, just go, and us all going.
I remember seeing Joker, seeing snippets of Joker, rather, caught strobelike in the lights, battering aside a copepod, flashing a gunmetal-grey arm out to block one from reaching for Euler, the crystal set aside on the ground for a moment to give the machine a greater range of motion. I see its fingers fix around the wrist of the copepod and then twist and with a piercing cry of rage the thing draws its hand back, clutching at the bloody, spurting stump where its hand had been, the shock of it giving Joker the moment of hesitation it needed in order to bound towards the copepod and slam its metal fist through the tough but brittle exoskeleton and submerge up to its elbow in the copepod’s guts. It pulls out a handful of slime and then closes its mechanical fist and pounds the copepod in the head and silences its screeching. Then –
“Roan, we have to go!” Elena screams from next to me, but I don’t hear her, I’ve stopped, or almost stopped, turned half around, walking precariously backwards.
There is something looming in the darkness behind Joker, something decidedly not a copepod. Joker’s head whips around, some sort of sensor or scanner detecting the movement, and the floodlights built into the machine’s face illuminate the writhing, terrible bulk of the Leechman, standing there in a slump on two wormy, leech-filled feet, shiny and slick and horrible. I let out a wordless cry and Elena looks back at me and sees it too and stops, I can hear her words die in her throat.
The Leechman is enormous, its height and bulk so immense that it seems to fill the entire breadth of the vent with a solid wall of squirming leeches. Joker cocks its arm back as Euler goggles up at the monstrosity lurking, head cocked at an inquisitive angle, staring down at the metal toy in front of it.
Then before Joker can throw the punch the Leechman reaches down and envelops the machine in one massive appendage. I can see metal cracking, rivulets of rust and slime trickling down Joker’s armored legs. It manages to grab one of the leeches and crush it in its fist but then the Leechman tightens its grasp and one of Joker’s arms pops off, sparking all the way down until it thuds on the corridor floor. Elena is tugging at me but I can’t move, I can’t think, I can only watch, mute, praying the camera is getting all of this, as it scoops up Euler as well in the other arm. He tries to run but doesn’t get anywhere, the arm stretching out after him and nabbing him, tendrils of leeches knotted or grown together slipping over him. I can see them biting into him, forcing themselves into him, and when he opens his mouth to scream they pour inside and he chokes and sputters and then they close over him and he is gone.
The Leechman tosses Joker to the side and he clatters to the ground like a mannequin, the roll-bars on his ribcage bent and shattered, his head dented and compressed. He rolls once then lies still.
Then, with barely a glance in our direction – if it even has eyes, if it even has anything to sense with as I understand the word – the Leechman reaches down and picks up the crystal, and stomps off down the vent. It is such a banal, normal motion that I almost burst out laughing, but I get the feeling that if I let myself laugh I will keep laughing and laughing until everything falls out of me and I’m left empty and echoing.
Ahead of us someone shoots again and a copepod screeches. I turn to see it, darting in, fins streamlined and tucked against its body, spewing ichor from one double-fisted hole in its carapace, a grazing wound, apparently, as it tugs Peter off his feet and down beneath it. I scream his name and start to rush forward but Elena blocks me, then steadies her rifle, but before she can fire the copepod pushes off and bears him struggling into the darkness.
“Goddam it!” I shriek and start after him, but Elena tugs me back and pushes me forward so hard that I go sprawling onto my knees. I cast her a furious glance and scramble to my feet but before I can say something cutting and hurtful that I’ll probably regret, even if Peter’s just been fucking snapped up by a copepod, the Sergeant calls from ahead of us to hurry the fuck up, it’s time to leave, ladies, and I look ahead and see something that makes my jaw drop and my heart do flips in my chest – there ahead of us is the vast metal retaining wall that blocks off the barrows from the rest of the Pit, and there in the center of it is the great reinforced door, standing open and letting a flood of light pour in.
I look at Elena and take her offered hand and she has tears in her eyes but she isn’t faltering, not even for a moment, and in that instant whatever anger I could have felt at her is gone, utterly gone.
Behind us a copepod shrieks and then Fumi – oh, thank god, at least Fumi made it – fires at it, and the slug passes so close to me that I can feel the wind even through the suit, and then we, Elena and I, her arm around me urging me forward and keeping me upright, make it to the door in what feels like an instant, and once we’re through the Sergeant slams it closed and spins the wheel to lock it.
And then, having nothing else sensible to do, I fall to the ground and start to cry.
* * *
I’ve got my helmet off and my sleeves rolled up. My gloves are lying on my stomach. Elena is running her hand softly through my hair and my eyes are a little puffy and sore but I’ve stopped crying. My nose, also, is becoming a little less stuffed, but that means I can smell the Pit again, so it’s a mixed blessing.
Elena’s been crying too but somehow I think she’s pulled it off more gracefully than I have. Instead of bawling and letting it all out in one go she’s managed to keep it down to a mute trickle. Every now and then she wipes at her eyes again and I squeeze her hand tighter for a moment and she squeezes mine back.
Ten minutes ago she’d leant in and held me very tight, even at the awkward angle she could manage, there on the ground, and I could feel in her a shuddering relief, an ease of tension. The copepods had stopped banging on the door ten minutes before that, and we had heard soft slithering sounds as they had retreated, and then we were alone in the silence.
I don’t feel like I’m alive. I don’t feel like I really made it out of there, I feel like a ghost, like I’m looking down from a great height at this slim, dark-haired girl in an ugly orange suit laying on the fleshy floor, looking beat-up and tired and done with this shit but not in a determined way, more like a resigned, given-up, “okay just keep rolling over me, fucking whatever” kind of way.
The Sergeant is quietly arguing with Makado about ten feet away. I’ve turned off my radio so I can’t hear her, just him, one-sided and quietly serious, his face like an Easter Island statue. Moa? Moai? Maui? I should look up the word. I should know something like that.
“Klaus, Crookshank. Ellis is dead for sure, we saw it. Euler. Fumi is okay, Roan’s okay, Elena is okay.”
A pause, then he closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I can hear a tinny scream from all the way over here, of terrible rage that turns to grief partway through, and I know from the sound of it that she’s asked about Peter. I look at Elena and she looks at me.
“Are you okay?” she mouths at me, which is a question so incredibly dumb given the situation that my immediate instinct is to roll my eyes at her. Then it strikes me how incredibly understated just rolling my eyes would be and I nearly start crying again, and she sees it on my face and immediately her whole face shifts. She leans in and the sheer amount of care there does a strange thing to me and I bite my lip hard and reach out for her and put my hand to her cheek, and she kisses my palm despite how sweaty and gross it must be and I allow myself the indulgence of one brief moment to feel utterly, stupendously, selfishly relieved that her and I both are okay.
I again want to tell her something I know I shouldn’t but I stop myself. “No,” the Sergeant is saying, meanwhile. “No, we didn’t get the crystal.”
I hear another, quieter outburst from the other end, and the Sergeant holds the radio a little further away from his ear. “Joker’s fucked,” he says patiently. “As is Euler.”
“The Leechman got the crystal,” I call. My voice is scratchy. I cough, clear my throat and then repeat myself. “I saw it,” I add.
“Me too,” Elena nods, glancing at me. “Roan’s right, it was the Leechman.”
The Sergeant glances at us for a moment, probably wondering if our judgment can be trusted at the present moment, then nods and repeats what we’ve just told him to Makado. I hear a tiny sound of something shattering as if thrown and then the radio clicks off with a screech. The Sergeant sticks it back into his belt holster with a sigh and looks over at us. Fumi hasn’t said a word since we made it through the barrier; he’s slumped against the wall with his head in his hands. He looks up and when I can see his face it’s as though he’s a different person – that aura of impenetrable cool he’d maintained so elegantly up until now is utterly shattered.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” the Sergeant tells us, and after a moment Elena nods and gets to her feet and helps me up and then we get the fuck out of there.
We make our way through Oyster’s Shame and up the Cord. It is, insanely, four in the afternoon, which seems so banal and impossible to me that I nearly start laughing when Elena tells me the time. It feels like it’s about 13 in the evening or so.
We take frequent breaks, rest our legs and our hearts. There is less of a sense of urgency now, and the Sergeant doesn’t care as much what we do as long as we all stay together. Even so we don’t talk much. There’s nothing to say, or maybe there’s too much.
When we get to the top of the Cord the Sergeant looks back at us, pausing before he opens the door. It looks like he’s going to say something, but he stops, shakes his head minutely, and throws it open. The light from the harsh fluorescents pours down on him and for a moment all I can see is a silhouette.
Then a gunshot rings out from the vent behind him and the Sergeant takes one step forward, totters and falls. He lands hard on the metal grating of the floor and doesn’t move. A red pinprick brightens in the middle of his back, just on the other side of where his heart would have been.
I hear rattling from the staircase below as Fumi somehow manages to spur himself into action and sprint down it, taking the stairs two at a time. Before Elena or I can force ourselves to move, a figure steps into view. It holds a very big revolver and it’s aimed straight at me. Elena and I glance at each other and then raise our hands shakily into the air, and the figure cocks its head lightly, and as my eyes adjust to the light I can see it grin. Then I can see more of its face and I feel my mouth drop open as I start to say its name.
“Surprise,” Erica Walken says.
Continue with Part 23
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#mystery flesh pit#writing#writeblr#original writing#horror#novel#Michael Crichton#caving#disaster#thriller
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