#like u just look stupid putting your ear next to a ringing tune with no response
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every sasaeng who kept calling san and cutting off his live and messing with his wifi can choke!
#skits speaks 🐈#like why do u guys think he would pick up and go yes baby i’m madly in love with you#like u just look stupid putting your ear next to a ringing tune with no response#goofy asf
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Boom - p.jm
monkey brain said make a banner on your own u hussy
~ Pairing : Park Jimin x Reader (entrepreneur x software company intern, dance partners au)
ft. Best Friend/Roommate! Jungkook and Brother! Yoongi
~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, a very very very tiny smidgen of Angst
~ Rating : R (some suggestive descriptions, a fair amount of swearing and scary adult themes like money)
~ Summary : When Jimin leaves your little trio at the age of ten when his family moves away, you and Jungkook think that's the end of it, and you're never going to see your best friend again. But cut to twelve years later and suddenly your dance class is home to the prettiest man you've ever seen (again), who happens to be your friend's business partner and also...your new dance partner? Your friends think you're dumb, but you can confirm you're dumber.
Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers
~ Wordcount : 29.3k (🤡)
~ Warnings : swearing, some suggestive descriptions, mild alcohol consumption, excruciatingly slow burn, inaccurate depictions of internships and company establishment, emotional constipation, badly dealt with feelings, i-like-attention-but-i-don’t-like-people y/n, people who say please and thank you and excuse me and sorry are really fucking attractive, dissociation as a coping mechanism, overthinking as an instinct
~ A/N : no a/n this time ladies i'm all out of words. this has been two months in the making. muchos gracias to @ghostiemakingposties and @thedorkyfork for helping me figure out the timelines/logistics and making the plot make a semblance of sense :D thank you, that is all, i am ti r e d.
i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!
masterlist in my description.
~~~
2008
“My mom says we’re moving.”
He says it with all the innocence of somebody who’s completely clueless about how permanent a shift like that is, blissfully ignorant in his ten-year-old self. Over the buzzing of a bee somewhere nearby, you can hear a door shut as Jungkook runs into the house, screaming for food.
Squinting against the sunlight that filters in through the rustling canopy overhead, hitting your eyes abruptly every time that one particular leaf moves in the summer breeze, you ask, “Where are we going?”
There’s a quizzical tone in his voice when he replies slowly. “I don’t think you’re coming. Mom didn’t say anything about you coming.”
You turn your head towards him, facing his body that’s mirroring your own, laid out on the grass that smells like summer, hands and legs spread languidly because time is forever and you have nothing to do but breathe and laugh and live. Your messy pigtail pushes into the side of your head painfully, but you ignore the uncomfortable sensation, eyes widening as you fix him with a stare.
“What do you mean, I’m not coming?”
Chewing his lip worriedly, he says, “I think she means we’re moving moving.”
“It’s a scam.”
“It’s a what?”
“A scam,” you repeat decisively, turning back to face the sky, closing your eyes again and feeling powerful as you explain your new found knowledge to an eager crowd of one. “Yoongi taught me. He said that when dad tells him he won’t get dinner unless he washes up after basketball, he’s being scammed and that adults tell lies sometimes to make us do what they want us to do. He said it’s progapanda.” You, Jimin and Jungkook know that your four-years-older-than-you brother knows everything.
“Panda?” Jimin asks doubtfully.
Sagely, you nod. “Yeah. We’re being raised to be brainless machines and slaves to the catapultists.”
“What are catapultists?”
Shrugging, you reply, “No idea. But Yoongi says they’re really bad. Anyway, your mom is probably scamming you. You’re not really moving.”
“No?” he asks, hopeful tilt in his voice.
“Nope,” you blithely respond.
You hear the grass underneath his head faintly rustle as he nods in relieved affirmation, and he goes back to closing his eyes towards the bright sky.
Jimin moving. It’s laughable. Adults, you think ruefully, shifting so you can feel the warm sun on your face. Some things are permanent. Like Mr. Kibum, your dance teacher who’s taught you your entire life, and the flowers that your mom keeps in the vase on top of the shoe rack that look shockingly real for plastic. Like Yoongi's basketball that he got when he was selected for the school team and is too big for you to hold, but with which he taught you how to dribble anyway, and like the large tree in Jungkook’s backyard that you’re lying underneath right now, waiting for him to come back from the house with lemonade.
And like Jimin, who’s just always there. Even when you don’t particularly want him to be, like that one time he had come over when you were crying four years ago because Yoongi was going to middle school and you both wouldn’t be in the same bus anymore. You had been so embarrassed because Yoongi was just standing there and laughing at you, but Jimin had said that he wouldn’t tell anybody and you had believed him, because it’s Jimin.
“And anyway, Kook and I won't let you leave.”
He snickers next to you. “How are you going to stop my mom?”
“We'll cry,” you reply simply, shrugging as much as you can in your laid down position. “I do it all the time to get stuff at home. Yoongi hates it, he calls it my younger sibling privilege, whatever that means.”
He doesn’t sound very convinced when he asks, “Will it work?”
Behind you, you hear the repeated thud of Jungkook running and his mother shouting, “Slow down! You’ll end up spilling it all and I’m not going to make another bottle.”
With a grin at Jimin, you say, “Watch,” as you sit up and turn towards an excitedly jogging Jungkook and as he approaches the tree.
“I have lemonade!” he shouts loudly, lifting the glass bottle up.
But you’re more focused on Mrs. Jeon and the platter full of mini sandwiches she’s holding. The yellow, sunflower shaped digital watch on your wrist reads 12:37 PM, roughly the time at which your mother usually calls whichever house you’ve spent the morning in and asks you to come home for lunch. The plan forms in your brain. Time to show Jimin the power of tears.
“Y/N, dear, your mother just called. She wants you back home after eating this, alright?”
Remembering Mr. Kibum's pre-performance advice (‘Deep breaths. You can’t put on a good show if your head isn’t fastened on tight.’), you summon all your strength and screw up your face, shutting your eyes and squeezing as hard as you can.
“What is she doing with her face?” you hear Jungkook ask. But it doesn’t distract you. You’ve just felt water behind your eyelids.
Opening your eyes wide again, you let your lower lip wobble with practiced precision, chin trembling.
“Oh, Mrs. Jeon, is there no way I could stay for a bit longer? Just ten extra minutes, I promise.”
To your delight, she immediately looks unsure, eyes slightly widening in surprise and concern.
“Oh! – oh, but of course you can. I’ll call your mother right now and let her know. And why don’t you take some of those sandwiches for the road too? There’s no need to cry, sweetheart, you can spend as long as you want here.”
You continue with your act until she’s back in the house and the door swings shut behind her, after which you immediately right your expression, grinning smugly. Grabbing a sandwich, you sit back down and look at a bemused Jungkook and an awed Jimin.
“And that’s how you do it,” you say, satisfied with their reactions and tuning them out as Jimin fills Jungkook in.
For people who have money, adults really are terribly stupid. Jimin moving, you think again, taking a big gulp of lemonade. The thought almost makes you laugh. As if.
2020
“Y/N, could you debug my code real quick?”
“Y/N, I need ten copies of this immediately.”
“Y/N, you’ll need to stay back for a bit today to finish the patch testing.”
You rush from cubicle to cubicle, sharing harried smiles with the other interns that you meet in the hallway, running around like you with equally stressed expressions on their faces. They may have been here a few weeks longer than you, but you doubt they’re having it any easier.
You’re about to slip back into your desk after submitting the copies to Hoseok so you can get started on debugging the code you’ve just been sent, when a ringing voice calls out from the room you’re jogging past.
“Y/N! Come in here for a second, please.”
Immediately, everybody around you freezes. Slowly, they inch away from the door that you’re standing outside. Wide eyed, you meet Hyejin's gaze worriedly from across the room. She looks just about ready to drop the tray of paper coffee cups she’s holding, but tries for an encouraging smile. It comes out more as a grimace. You see pitying stares around you and foolishly wait for a few seconds for some sort of divine intervention, for somebody else who shares your name to get up and enter the room instead.
“Y/N, I don’t have all day!”
From the cubicle on your left, Namjoon hisses, “Go! Before she gets mad.”
Pulling yourself together and squaring your shoulders, you turn and look at the half open door in front of you. A plaque on the wood reads ‘Kim Jennie – Head of Product Development'.
You place your fingers on the handle and hear a fervently muttered prayer from an intern standing behind you. With a deep breath, you plaster a polite smile on your face and push the door open.
“You had called for me?”
“Repeatedly.”
Off to a lovely start, then. You walk over to her desk, stopping when you’re a couple of feet from it. She doesn’t immediately look up from her laptop, choosing to let you stew, no doubt.
You’ve just started subconsciously picking at your nails when she deigns to look at you, slowly removing her glasses and placing them on the desk.
Twice before you’ve been called to her office. The first time was because you were subbing for her sick assistant and had messed up her coffee order. The second was when they needed an intern to sit in at a high profile meeting to shorthand the minutes and you were the nearest one they could find. Both times you had received an earful – the former got you a stern admonishment and the latter an equally strict warning to ‘make it legible, at the very least, if you can manage that’.
You wonder what you’ve done wrong this time. Wracking your brains, you come up empty. You’ve been much too busy with the subjects to fuck up for the queen.
“How has your time here been so far?”
“I'm sorry?” you ask in befuddlement, certain that you’ve misheard her.
There’s a flash of a tiny smile before her mask comes back on.
“I may be firm, but I’m not heartless. Being an intern at this company isn’t easy. I just want to know how you’ve been settling in for the last month.”
Realising that you’re gaping, you hurriedly shut your mouth before clearing your throat and replying, “I’ve been learning a lot and I’m glad to have the exposure.”
“Okay, now give me the non-textbook answer.”
“I’m sorry?” you ask again, simultaneously feeling thrown off and like a damn fool.
“This isn’t college anymore, Y/N. I’m not your professor. I’m your boss, and maybe, some day, your colleague. You’re our newest intern and I know it can get a little intense, so I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable.”
You look at her suspiciously. Is this some kind of sick, twisted test? But you take in her serious but kind eyes and decide that she’s being honest enough. Now or never.
“Can you allow interns to use the fancier copiers? They’re quicker than the ones on the second floor that we use now.”
You get a raised eyebrow and for one, terrifying second, you think she’s going to throw you out of her room, out of the building, out of the company and write an email to all the other software companies in the world telling them not to hire you.
“There is no rule stating that interns can’t use the copiers here. Have you been climbing floors every time you need to copy something?”
Before you can stop yourself, you ask, feeling like a broken record, “I’m sorry?”
She rolls her eyes and you feel like a chastised child. That’ll teach you a lesson about listening to your brother’s best friend.
“Will that be all? Any other...legitimate grievances?”
“Oh no, that’s all. I’ll be – er, going then.”
You get a lazily waving hand in response and consider yourself dismissed as Jennie puts her glasses back on and turns her attention to her laptop screen. About to pull open the door, you stop short as you hear from behind you, “Maybe actually read the company policy instead of talking to Hoseok, yes? Ask my assistant for a pamphlet. I dare say Yeonjun should be able to give you more reliable information.” You can swear you detect an amused smile in her voice.
A few hours later sees you as the centre of attention in a crowd around the coffee machine in the break room, regaling the interns around you with the latest.
“She did that for me too,” Hyejin says once you’ve finished your story, taking another sip of her coffee. “She does it for all the interns but it’s usually batch wise. You probably had to go it alone since you joined late.”
Shrugging, you reply, “Either way, it was terrifying.”
Soobin gives you a soothing pat on your shoulder. “At least that’s done with. Now you’ll only have to talk to her again if you fuck up spectacularly or if you’re really, really good.”
You nod mindlessly, biting off a piece of the canteen sandwich and chewing thoughtfully.
“Hey, Y/N! Managed to get fired before even getting hired?”
You spin around and see Hoseok and Namjoon cackling like a bunch of stupid hyenas along with some other employees. Pushing past a giggling Hyejin, you storm over, seeing red.
“Jung Hoseok. How dare you make me run around the damn building just to get some copies whenI didn’t even have to?”
You’re glaring at him now, looking up at his gleeful face.
“Oh my god, did you ask her about it? What did she say? Fuck, I wish I was there.”
Huffing, you reply with your arms crossed, embarrassed. “She told me to ask Yeonjun for the company policy pamphlet.”
He howls in delight, slapping a grinning Namjoon's back. “Ah, I can’t wait to tell Yoongi about this. He’s gonna have a field day.”
Unamused, you continue glowering at him. To your increasing annoyance, he looks completely unaffected, bringing a hand up to ruffle your hair, giving you flashbacks to when he used to come over to your house to hang out with Yoongi all those years ago. You have to admit, he was a great deal nicer then than he is now, snickering at your fuming expression. You aren’t ten years old anymore.
Narrowing your eyes one last time, you turn around on your heel and begin to walk away.
“Meet at the entrance at six today?”
You don’t verbally reply, still walking and flipping him off over your shoulder.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then?”
“Yes,” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear before you leave the room in the crowd of interns you had entered with. Lunch breaks are only so short and those codes aren’t going to debug themselves.
“You alright?”
“Peachy,” you sigh, rubbing a finger on your temple as you let your head rest on the window next to you.
“It’s intense, isn’t it?” Hoseok asks, eyes focused on the road in front of the car.
“Yeah. I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.”
Attempting for a cheery tone, he replies, “But, hey! A month! That’s great! Most interns usually burn out by then, but you’ve managed to stick around.”
It’s a small consolation and you tell him as much, mindlessly watching the darkening sky as you get closer to home and to dinner and to bed.
“You’re doing well,” he says comfortingly. “Just give it some time. If you got through college, you can get through this.”
“When did you get so wise?” you chuckle, turning your head to see his lips quirk up in a teasing smile.
“When you were off gallivanting on the other side of the country and I was a lowly intern, just like you are now.”
Sputtering, you reply, offended, “I was in college.”
“Yes, that’s what they all say,” he sighs in a mock-patronising tone. “What’s up with your friend, though, Hyejin? She seems cool.”
“She isn’t into you, don’t bother,” you reply shortly, knowing exactly what Hoseok is asking.
“Not what I meant.”
“Hmm, I’m sure. Purest of intentions, yeah?”
Pulling up next to the curb outside your apartment, he crosses his index finger over his heart and replies haughtily, “Now that I know I don’t have a chance, yes, actually.”
You snort, unbuckling your seat belt and twisting around so you can get your bag from the back seat.
“Thanks for the ride,” you say, pushing the door open.
He smiles kindly in return as he waves off your gratitude and says instead, “Don’t do any work this weekend. Product rolling week starts on Monday and you’re gonna need all your energy.”
“Is it more intense than usual?”
“Unfortunately so,” he replies through the open door to your standing frame with a grimace. “It's fun work, though. Just tiring.”
Nodding with a sigh, you shut the passenger seat and give Hoseok a wave as he smiles at you and drives away.
You trudge up the stairs, thanking all the higher powers for Jungkook and the fact that he had reached home earlier than you. You don’t think you can handle cooking right now.
“Kook! I’m home!”
You hear an unintelligible, muffled grunt from somewhere inside the house in response as you kick your flats off in the foyer and shut the front door behind you.
Moving inside, you drop your bag on the table and make your way to the utility room from where you had heard Jungkook's voice. You’re greeted by the sight of his sweatpants-clad butt as he ruffles around the open washing machine in front of him, dumping clothes into it from a basket in his arms.
“Is it laundry day already?”
You get an impatient huff in response and a muffled sound emerges. “Every day should be laundry day.”
Snorting, you reply to his face once he’s stood up and cracked his back with a grimace. “We get like three outfits a day at most. What are you going to put in there, your Halloween shrimp costume?”
“I thought we agreed to not mention that!”
He deposits the empty clothes hamper in your tired but accepting arms, gesturing you to place them on the counter behind and you do so, as you laugh, “Now why would I agree to something so stupid?”
“Because you’re stupid.”
“And you’re 22, but you still can’t figure out something more devastating than a middle school comeback, stupid.”
You watch, satisfied, as he sputters for a bit before glaring at you and turning on his heel, walking out of the room.
Grinning, you follow, feeling loads lighter after that interaction. Nothing like winning some good old-fashioned verbal sparring to get the sinews stiffened again.
He leads the way to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath as you walk behind him, your stomach rumbling something awful.
“Oh, bless your soul, it’s food!” you moan, rushing towards the box full of rice sitting on the counter.
“Lovely, so now my soul is blessed, but any other time, I’m stupid. You might want to heat – alright, then.”
You don’t pause as you rapidly continue shuffling the contents into your mouth like you haven’t eaten in days. Climbing up onto the counter, you chew and swallow, only pausing for a second in the middle to ask, “How was work?”
He brings down two tea bags from the overhead shelf. “Fine, I guess. Managed to get assigned a good story, so that’s something.”
Swallowing, you say, “That’s great! And the novel?”
With a shrug as he pours boiling water into the cups, he replies, “Haven’t made any headway. I’m still stuck at the same place.”
“Well, you have the weekend to focus on it. That’s bound to help, yeah?”
You set aside your empty box, feeling satiated, and accept the mug from Jungkook with a smile, nursing the warmth in between your palms and letting it steep as he takes a sip of his own tea while nodding.
“Hopefully. And class tomorrow should be fun, might get something there.”
You hum in response, pleased. The thought of your weekly dance class perks you up a bit as you feel your eyelids drooping at the soothing smell and steam of chamomile under your nostrils.
When you and Jungkook had found out that you’d both be coming back to your hometown for work after spending four years at different colleges, the first thing you two had done after finding an apartment to share had been re-enrolling at your old dance studio. Now Saturday mornings are exclusively reserved for listening to Taemin, Mr. Kibum's protégé, shout at you and roughly ten other young adults to ‘Dance, you lazy fools,’ like he’s an old man who’s angry at teenagers about stepping on his lawn instead of the 25 year old, recent fine arts graduate that he is. Most of the class, including Taemin, are people you’ve grown up with in the city, gone to school with, performed at recitals with when you all were teenagers.
Sliding off the counter, you take Jungkook’s cup from him and wash it along with your own. Now that you’ve been fed, you want nothing more than to go to bed so you can wake up in time in the morning. Once, you and Jungkook had made the mistake of being five minutes late, and now Taemin’s put a black asterisk next to both your names in the database, like he’s running a bloody pre school.
“Oh, and I almost forgot, Tae finally found a business partner!”
Stacking the cups on the side of the sink, you dry your hands as you reply, “I always knew he would. Is it somebody you know, from college?”
“No, he said they went to high school together and met again at a reunion party. “
You’re having trouble keeping up with the conversation at this point, feeling your eyelids becoming more insistent in their bid to shut, so you just pat an amused Jungkook on the shoulder in acknowledgement before you manage to say through a yawn, “I’m excited to meet him. ‘Night.”
“Remind me again why I didn’t dance more in college,” you groan from your sprawled out position on the wooden floor of the room.
Taemin walks up and down the three rows of tired, panting dancers, looking infuriatingly fresh and straight off the ramp despite having just run through a terrifyingly complex and intense routine. Your only consolation is the fact that he seems to be the only one.
“Because you’re a nerd,” comes the reply to your rhetoric.
You try to move your leg hard enough to connect with Jungkook's, but all you can manage is a pitifully weak love tap on his shin. He lets out a wheezy sort of laugh from his straight legged, sat down position on your right, body tiredly leaning on his palms behind him. On your other side, Hyejin is faring marginally better than the both of you. She looks a little tired, but eager to, god forbid, go another round. She always was more active in college. It used to annoy you, when she used to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go do something awful, like exercise, but now you wish you had joined her occasionally, if for nothing else but to have a stamina greater than a sedentary brick.
“On your way out, make sure you check the notice board in the reception for information about the competition.”
“Boom? It still happens?”
Taemin fixes you with a dry look as you slowly sit up and copy Jungkook’s position. “Shockingly enough, this institute runs perfectly normally even without you around, Y/N.”
Mr. Kibum taught him a bit too much, you think, as chuckles erupt around you.
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Oh, please, we both know I’m only asking because a maximum of four teams used to participate when we were in school. Third place just meant second last.”
“We made it a solo and duet competition three years ago. More teams, easier to coordinate for participants. We’re doing much better than we used to.”
It makes sense. BigHit, as a studio, used to have a small but dedicated group of patrons. Everybody knew everybody, and there were only two rooms. But looking at how much bigger this new building is, and the number of students in this contemporary batch that you’re a part of, not to mention the multiple rooms that you pass by every weekend filled with screaming children learning how to pirouette and b-boy, it’s clear that there’s been an increase in customers.
The lot of you trudge outside the room, making your way to the entrance in a babble of ‘Goodbye!’s and ‘See you next week!’s. You can feel the familiar soreness setting into your legs and back, but it seems less intense than it used to be. You’re rifling through your bag for your water bottle as Jungkook reads the poster on the notice board.
“See you at work!” Hyejin calls out as she walks towards the doors, letting you give a distracted wave to her retreating back.
“Ah, shit, I think I left my bottle inside. Give me five minutes?”
Jungkook nods, not really paying attention to what you’re saying, too engrossed in the pamphlet.
With an internal groan, you turn around and walk back the way you just came until you reach the room you’re looking for. Pushing the door open, you stop to a sudden halt, feeling like the SpongeBob with headphones meme.
The sight you’re met with leaves you gaping. The man dancing inside is gliding through the music, elegance pouring out of every fingertip. His back is facing you, and you can make out the strength and control he has over his movements, shoulders fluidly firm and back flexing with each lift of his arms, slow twist of his hips through his plain white t-shirt. It seems, for a single, permanently ephemeral moment like the music is radiating from his very being, and not from the speakers on the side. You hardly realise that you’re still standing, that you’re still breathing, but watching his limbs flow with such commanding grace somehow makes you feel so, so alive.
Abruptly, the music stops, and you feel like you’ve been woken up from a year-long slumber, suddenly conscious of your body, of your existence. He still hasn’t noticed you, frozen as you are at the doorway, and he walks towards the speakers away from the door. You don’t look away, slightly out of breath, and with a start, you notice your blue water bottle on the floor next to his shoes on the side.
Gingerly, you step into the room and softly clear your throat, feeling like you’ve just desecrated someplace holy. The man turns around, speaker in one hand and phone in the other, slightly panting, and the moment comes to a standstill yet again, suspended with wild surmise.
“Y/N?”
The floppy brown hair, those twinkling eyes and pouty lips. Suddenly, you’re ten years old again, sitting with your best friend under a tree and discussing excuses to get out of doing homework.
“Jimin?”
You’re meeting each other in the middle of the room now in a tight hug, and you step away with a million questions running through your brain.
What’s Jimin doing back in this city? Why is he practicing in the studio alone? Is he staying? When did he get so pretty?
The last thought hits you like a bullet train and you impatiently shoo it away. It’s been twelve years, of course he looks different.
“You look great!” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles, tiny dimple popping, in the I haven’t seen you in a really long time and this is how the script for such situations reads voice.
“So do you! How come you’re here?” you enthuse, referring to the same play, still reeling.
“I moved back a week ago! Do you still live here?”
“Moved out for college, came back for work-"
“Hey, Y/N, what’s taking you so lo – Jimin?”
“Kook! You’re here too?”
You watch Jungkook’s face morph through shock, surprise, confusion before mirroring your own expression of bemused joy as he meets Jimin in the middle for a hug. Seeing them like this makes your heart ache with the memory of the last time the three of you were together, that final evening under Jungkook’s tree, as the sun was setting on the horizon and you were all promising each other that you would write thrice a week. Even you and Jungkook, despite the fact that you both weren’t moving anywhere. Of course, not a single email was sent. Not unless you count that one week in college where you were avoiding your texts like the plague and used exclusively email to contact a very exasperated Jungkook (“Y/N, you literally do not even have to reply to my messages, but every time I get an email notification, I keep thinking it’s from the university and I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried when I see that it isn’t.”).
Before you know what’s happening, leave alone protest, Jungkook’s pulling you into the hug so your head is smushed into his chest, face a hair's breadth away from the side of Jimin's. He’s still giggling with Jungkook as the latter says, “Hey, this is so great! The three of us, just like old times, yeah?”
You take in the crinkles around Jimin’s eyes as he smiles, the sweet, high pitched, deliciously familiar sound of his laugh, his playful voice as he says, “It’s wild that you used to be the shortest of us,” to a faux offended Jungkook, and with the memory of him dancing like that still etched in your mind, you know that this is nothing like old times.
You push yourself out of the hug and plaster on a smile to cover how unsettled you feel on the inside. You’ve never been good with change, and this is a huge fucking change.
Laughing along for a bit, you let out an internal sigh of relief as Jimin winces and says, “Taemin and I are gonna be dancing together at the competition and he'll be here any minute, so I really should get back to practicing. He channels Mr. Kibum’s spirit even more when he has a vested interest in the outcome, and he really wants to win.”
“Oh, yeah, sure! No worries, we'll let you get back to it, then,” you utter, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything, just giving you one of his wide smiles before the three of you exchange numbers.
Jungkook finishes entering his contact on Jimin’s phone and hands it over to him. “We should totally catch up sometime, though!”
Jimin agrees enthusiastically with a swift grin and says, “Yeah, definitely! We'll make plans soon,” and the next thing you know, and not nearly quick enough, you’re out on the pavement, absentmindedly counting the tiles as you and Jungkook walk back home.
“Are you overthinking this?”
You’re pulled out of your thoughts by his question. He’s got an infuriatingly knowing look on his face that you want to smack right off.
“What’s there to overthink?”
“It really isn’t a big deal, you know. I mean, yeah, it’s been a million years since we saw him and it kinda sucks that we couldn’t keep in touch and obviously, puberty hit him like a glorious, gorgeous truck, but he’s still Jimin.”
Side eyeing him, you wonder if it’s a good thing that it sounds like he’s just read your mind.
Sighing, you reply, kicking at a pebble in front of you in half-hearted annoyance, “He’s just so...grown up. And old.”
“You're three months older than him, if I remember correct.”
Debating on whether you should direct your next kick at him instead and deciding to spare him, you say, “You know what I mean. I know he’s still Jimin, but I feel like I don’t know him at all. You should have seen him dancing, Kook, it was beautiful. So poised and graceful and wonderful and skilled. I’ve never seen anybody dance like that apart from Mr. Kibum, maybe. Who is he?”
“There, there,” Jungkook replies after your sudden, passionate outburst, patronisingly patting your head as you huff and shake off his hand. “We literally just spoke to him for the first time in twelve years. I feel weird about it too, but I’m sure we'll be more comfortable once we spend more time together. We’ve grown as well, yeah?”
First Hoseok, now Jungkook. The amount of wisdom that’s been shoved on you from unexpected quarters recently is quite astonishing.
You tell him as much, swerving his swatting hand and narrowly missing bumping into an annoyed couple walking next to you. Giggling as you simultaneously apologise and teeter precariously on your heel, trying to regain your balance, Jungkook lets you suffer for a while until he finally takes pity and grabs your hand just in the nick of time, standing you upright.
“Tae wants us to meet his partner tonight over dinner,” he says, ignoring your scowl of annoyance as you hoist your bag higher on your shoulder from its displaced position.
“I’m meeting Yoongi for dinner today, though.”
“Tell Tae that. He’s annoyed you aren’t replying to his messages anyway.”
In a mumble, you reply, “He shouldn’t take it personally.”
Jungkook just hums in response as you both climb up the stairs to the apartment, more than used to your delayed replies. “Can you get Yoongi to bake that chocolate cake again? I’ve been craving it.”
Pushing the door open, you say, already dreaming about dessert tonight and Yoongi’s cooking skills, “Me and you both, my dude, me and you both.”
Yoongi : How long will you take to reach?
Depends. How long will the cake take to get ready?
Yoongi : If you aren’t here in fifteen minutes, I’m eating it and only leaving enough for Jungkook.
Open the door.
“Took you long enough,” Yoongi huffs as you close the door behind you and step into the foyer, slipping off your shoes in the doorway.
“Hey, I was only listening to what Hoseok said. I am to, and I quote, completely relax this weekend because next week's gonna be hell apparently.”
He flicks you on the forehead, easily dodging your half-hearted counter attack before leading you into the house. The smell of food wafts out of the kitchen, nearly making you salivate. If there’s one good thing that’s come out of moving back to this city, it’s that Yoongi never moved out and where Yoongi lives, good cooking thrives. He always did pay more attention to your mother’s lessons.
You’re preoccupied with trying to guess what the smells are, eyes closed and nose sticking up, when you suddenly bump into your brother’s back.
“Move over, then. What are we waiting for? It doesn’t taste as good reheated,” you say, eagerly trying to move past his frame so you can enter the kitchen slash dining room.
But something in his manner seems shifty. Slowly, you bring the balls of your feet back to the floor and stop fidgeting as you take in his evasive expression.
Sighing, you ask, casting one last doleful expression to the doorway that’s so close yet so far, “What did you do?”
“Who says I did anything?”
At your unimpressed look, he huffs before taking a deep breath, as if to summon up some courage.
“Y/N,” he starts, his uncharacteristically sweet tone making you wary.
“Yes?” you slowly ask, simultaneously suspicious and curious.
He places his palms on your shoulders and your younger sibling instincts kick in, ready to punch him in the stomach if he tries to flip you. But there’s no trace of mischief in his unsure, slightly scared eyes. Pleased as you are that Yoongi feels the need to be cautiously terrified around you, you wonder what you’re about to hear that’s making him anticipate a negative reaction.
In a soothing voice, he says, tilting his head like how he used to talk to you when you were seven, “You know that you’re my favourite sister, don’t you?”
Okay, that’s it. With an impatient click of your tongue, you wrench his hands off and swiftly sidestep him to the kitchen doorway as you mutter, “I’m your only sister, fool.”
But the insult never leaves your mouth, stuck as it is on the tip of your tongue. You’re left halted at the doorway, gaping like a fish at the figure sat on the table, Yoongi’s voice urgently, uselessly hissing, “No, wait, don’t go in yet!” behind you and trailing off like a deflating balloon.
“Hello, Y/N,” Kim fucking Jennie says, pleasantly smiling up at you, looking completely unfazed.
“Hi- Hel- Hey, Jennie.”
Your embarrassing stutter ends in a growl as Yoongi behind you chuckles, his laughter morphing into a deeply satisfying grunt of pain as you elbow him in the stomach as discreetly as possible.
Jennie's slightly widening grin shows that maybe the motion wasn’t as discreet as you had hoped. Oh, well. As long as it hurt like a bitch.
For a moment, you just stand there, looking at her with your mind blank. Twice in the same day, you’ve been left at a loss for words, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem to be too affected, sitting calmly and steadily looking at you through her black, full-rimmed, cat-eye glasses, like a drastically younger and more female version of an Asian Dumbledore. In fact, if anything else, she seems like she’s having quite a good time. Her smile doesn’t waver, and you’re still thrown by how young and non-terrifying she looks when you aren’t in front of her in a boss-intern capacity, but all that will come later. For now, you need answers.
Thankfully, at that moment, from behind you, in a voice that sounds disgustingly like a male turtle dove cooing to his romantic counterpart, Yoongi breaks the deafening silence. “Could you give us a moment, Jennie?” he asks, and with an amicable nod from your boss, he guides you back out to the living room with his hands on your shoulders.
The moment you’re out of earshot, you whip around to face him, mustering as much anger and irritation into your gaze as you can. “What the fuck?” you hiss, distantly glad to see him a great deal more scared than he had been when he laughed at you back in the kitchen.
Not giving him a chance to reply, you rapidly continue, “What is my boss doing in your bloody kitchen?”
He holds up his palms in a placating gesture as he says, “Now, I know this is a bit of a shock-"
“Figured that out all on your own, did you?”
“-but Jennie and I are...seeing each other.”
“Oh my god. Oh god. Holy fuck. I need to sit down.”
You drop onto the couch behind you, Yoongi tentatively following your lead, gingerly perching himself out of punching range.
As you try to wrap your head around this lovely surprise, he continues, “I know she’s your mentor and stuff, but it isn’t going to be any different at work or anything. You weren’t even technically supposed to meet her today. Her car's gone for servicing and her Uber’s running a little late.”
“Okay, wait, wait. How do you even know her?”
Looking slightly less wary, now that he can tell that you aren’t going to attack him, he says, “I met her at one of those company parties last year, when Hobi made me go as his plus one.”
You straighten up so fast, it’s a wonder your spine doesn’t crack. “Last year? You guys have been dating for an entire year?”
Trying to subtly shift slightly away once again, realising that the jury’s still out on physical violence, he slowly replies, “No, no, we’ve only been together for, like, two months, promise.”
You slump again, but shoot a venomous glare at Yoongi so he won’t lower his guard. “How old is she, even? And also, does Hoseok know about this?”
“28, and yes.”
“No fucking way,” you say, now in awe for a completely different reason. “She’s a division head before thirty?”
You regret it immediately, though, as Yoongi’s visage takes on a moony eyed expression. “Yeah, she’s really smart. Did her internship and online classes at the same time and skipped a grade in school.”
“Oh, ew, ew, okay fine, I understand. Stop doing that with your face, please,” you rattle off, completely disgusted by this ghastly display.
He’s about to say something, probably flattering because that always serves to soften you right up, when you hear the soft clearing of a throat. Both of you whip your heads in the direction of the sound comically fast to see Jennie at the end of the room near the foyer, phone in one hand and bag in the other. Immediately, the two of you stand up, although for different reasons.
It looks like she’s trying not to laugh as she says, “My ride's here, so I’ll let you guys get to dinner, yeah?”
“I’ll walk you out,” Yoongi immediately replies, taking on that tone that you’re quickly getting incredibly tired of.
Jennie nods with a wide smile, eyes crinkling on the sides as Yoongi gently places a hand on the small of her back once he reaches her. You try your best not to gag. You might be 22 years old with some reasonable amount of experience in the romantic field, but there are some things that you just do not need to see.
“See you at work, Y/N!” Jennie says. All you can manage is a half nod half bow, and ridiculously, you have to actively fight the urge to salute. You narrow your eyes as Yoongi lets out a snort at your actions that he quickly and not very convincingly tries to cover up with a cough, quickly ushering an amused Jennie towards the door.
An amused Jennie, you think, hardly daring to believe it, as you make your way back to the kitchen, determined to hold the chocolate cake ransom until he tells you more about Jennie. Only Jennie, mind you. Not Jennie and Yoongi. You wouldn’t want to touch that with a five-foot pole, not anytime soon, at least. But your mentor slash potential future boss alone, on the other hand, seems really fucking cool right about now.
“I’m telling you nothing. If I have to wait for a week to get a reply, you can wait a couple more minutes to see him for yourself.”
You scowl at Tae, holding your tongue from reminding him that replying to a stupid cat video ranks much lower on the urgency scale than being armed with some semblance of information about his new business partner that you and Jungkook are going to be meeting in five minutes.
Next to you, Jungkook snickers and says in a sing-song voice, “I told you so.”
Tae continues fixing you with that obstinate glare, lips wrapped around the bright, red straw jutting out of his plastic cup filled with something that’s probably too edgy and expensive to taste good. Like everything else on this menu.
When he had sent the address to the two of you, you had exchanged one of those looks, one of those only half-joking Can he pay our rent? looks and immediately started planning lunch at home before going for lunch at this...cafe? Restaurant? Bistro? Either way, the hard, wooden table in front of you looks more comfortable than the tall stool you’re sat on and the drink you’re nursing that was advertised as coffee tastes more like mud water mixed with cheap fertiliser.
The stool opposite you, next to Tae, remains empty as you all wait for this dude that you have absolutely zero information about. It'd be nice to be prepared, is all.
“While we’re waiting,” Jungkook starts, voice pleased at the stand off that’s happening in front of him. Always a slut for drama, that one. “Did Y/N tell you that Yoongi’s dating her boss?”
Tae's eyebrow lifts higher as he lets the straw go with a pop before saying, “No, she didn’t. But I’m not surprised.”
“About her not telling you or about Yoongi dating her boss?”
“Both,” Tae replies to Jungkook’s question, fixing you with a stern glare.
Before you can defend yourself, and it'd be a mighty solid defence seeing as how you yourself found out less than twenty-four hours ago, Tae continues, “Yoongi's always had a thing for powerful women.”
Sputtering, eyes wide, you say, “But you don’t even know my brother!”
Next to you, Jungkook roars in laughter, coughing as he swallows his weird, green concoction. You don’t bother helping him. Let him choke.
“Jungkook’s told me enough about him. He seems cool. I don’t know how you’re both from the same family.”
As you huff and flip him off, Jungkook, who’s just managed to calm himself down, sets off again. You’re about to chide him for laughing at your misery when the bell atop the door you’re facing gives a happy little trill, admitting the fifth patron in as many minutes, and decidedly the most unexpected, terrifying and beautiful entrant so far.
You can’t explain what you do next. You can’t even say that Jungkook has the whole apartment brain cell because he’s hiccupping into his drink and looking incredibly stupid while doing it. But your first instinct when you see Jimin enter is to hiss, “Oh, fuck no,” under your breath, panic in your gaze as Tae looks at you in concern, before slipping off the stool and ducking under the table, hitting your head in the process.
Pain blooms across your temple, but you have no time to attend to it, as the next thing you know, you’re belatedly realising that Jimin knows Jungkook too, and however well concealed you are, the other man is doing nothing to seem inconspicuous. Summoning all your strength, you’re about to give a good, strong tug to Jungkook’s pant leg, hoping that that should be enough to get him down here too, when from above you, you hear Tae loudly saying, “Jimin! Over here!” and Jungkook giving a tiny ‘Hey, it’s Jimin!’
What the fuck?
From your vantage point, you can see a pair of white shoed feet turning and walking closer, the tall table giving you a lovely view right up to Jimin's black jean clad thighs. Your mind is running a mile a minute, wondering whether you can manage to crawl out towards the door without anybody noticing and maybe sneak back in once Jimin’s left.
Before you can make up your mind, eyes glued onto Jimin’s approaching feet, Jungkook’s head pops down next to yours, floppy hair blocking your line of sight. “You good down there? Comfy?”
With a sinking feeling, you realise there’s no escape now, Tae’s voice already giving a small whoop of welcome. You shove Jungkook’s head a bit, nudging at him to straighten so you have enough space to clamber out, plastering a smile on your face.
You pop up just as Jimin reaches the table fully, he and Tae with wide grins on their faces as they both turn towards you and Jungkook after their ‘Hey!’s.
He looks even prettier than he had yesterday at the badly lit studio, floppy hair being held back by a pair of shades perched atop his head and eyes crinkled in what you now think is a permanent smile. You feel your fake grin morphing into something softer, more genuine as he tells Tae, “You didn’t tell me your friends were Y/N and Kook!”
Tae's befuddled expression is a sight to behold as you, Jungkook and Jimin continue beaming at each other in pleasant surprise. Vaguely, you think this should worry you more, your sudden, absolute lack of panic obviously a sign of insanity. But, honestly, you think you’re fine. Apart from the whole first reaction is to hide under the table thing.
Your heart might be beating a little faster than its resting rate, and your palms may be a bit clammy, but emotionally, it suddenly feels quite easy to be around him once you’ve seen how comfortingly familiar his dimples are.
“So, you’re Tae's business partner?”
“Yup,” Jimin nods as he pushes his stool closer to the table to get comfortable. “Small world, huh?”
Jungkook nods, knee bouncing excitedly next to yours as he takes a sip of his drink, grimacing after. “Definitely,” he replies through a wince.
Your own coffee sits in front of you, untouched after that first sip. Your gaze moves a little forward and gets momentarily caught on the silver bracelet on Jimin’s wrist.
“Where are you staying?” you ask, more to prove to yourself that you can say something without embarrassing yourself, because you know that Jimin saw your little escapade and he’s just too nice to bring it up, but Jungkook and Tae won’t be quite so forgiving when they interrogate you later.
“I’ve rented a studio apartment for now,” he replies, scanning the drinks menu in front of him. You wish him luck finding something good.
“How’s Yoongi? Still plays basketball?” Jimin asks, once he’s wisely decided to not order anything.
“He's dating Y/N's boss,” Jungkook says before you can respond, still, for some unfathomable reason, drinking his sludge-in-a-cup.
“Is that...is that a problem?”
“No, Y/N's just really scared of her. Like super wimpy when she’s around.”
Your whiny protest is halted by Jimin replying thoughtfully, “I’m kinda not surprised. I vaguely remember Yoongi dating that really intense emo girl once all those years ago. I see his type hasn’t changed.”
Huffing as Jungkook snickers and Jimin gives you a teasing grin that makes your stomach give a weak flop (which will be analysed later), you decisively say, “Yoongi’s fine. He lives here too and runs a tattoo place with Jin, the super tall dude who used to be over at my house all the time. And I’m not that scared of my boss.”
“Oh! Jennie, let me get that for you. Oh, of course, Jennie, I’ll do anything you ask, I’m so far up your ass – Ouch!”
Your foot makes contact with Jungkook’s shin, effectively stopping his disgustingly high pitched, incredibly inaccurate imitation of you, but does nothing to prevent your breath from slightly catching as Jimin giggles at his antics.
The perfectly pleasant, three-way tête-à-tête is interrupted by the loud sound of palms hitting the wooden table as Tae, whom you’re amused to say you had forgotten about, whips his head between all three of you, looking completely bewildered.
“Why are you all talking like you know each other?”
“I don’t know if I feel like telling you,” you reply, feeling vindictive at his betrayed expression. Now he knows.
Jungkook’s tight lipped next to you, sulking like the child he is and periodically bending down to rub his leg entirely too times to be warranted.
Jimin, on the other hand, looks curious as well as he asks, “I actually wanted to find out, too. How do you guys know Tae?”
Of course, you’ll answer him.
“He and Kook went to the same college. I, unfortunately, know him by association. How do you know Tae?”
“High school. We ran in the same circles.”
On noticing his business partner's annoyed expression next to him, Jimin continues with a faux-curious voice, bending forward on the table, leaning on his elbows so he can pretend to be interested, “How do you know Kook?”
You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at the intensity of his eye contact, however playful it may be, in favour of aiding and abetting this mission of How Annoyed Can We Make Taehyung Today by replying, “Oh, twelve years of schooling together. What about you, how do you know Kook?”
Thoughtfully humming, he’s about to respond, but he’s interrupted by Tae saying in an annoyed voice, “Jungkook, if you answer my question, I’ll pay for your lunch.”
The response comes almost too quickly, but you can hardly blame him. Shit's expensive. “We all used to be best friends here until Jimin moved away right before middle school.”
“Oh, that’s wild,” Tae says thoughtfully, shooting you a smug look at having procured the information that you were withholding.
You all order food and conversation pauses as you, Jungkook and Jimin poke around in your meals, looking for something that appears edible, contrary to Tae, who seems perfectly content chewing mouthful after mouthful of bland celery and olives.
“Do you guys have a location for the store yet?” you ask, trying to spear a half-cooked pasta piece on your fork.
“We settled on a building yesterday! It’s pretty, lots of light and air, some good backroom space too.”
“And our first shipment's arriving in a few weeks,” Jimin adds, eyeing his plate suspiciously, as if the burger's going to eat him.
“We just need models now,” Tae nods, satisfied and leaning back on his chair, squeaky clean plate in front of him.
Jungkook seems to be trying very, very hard to not look at his salad as he eats it, and after what appears to be a very painful swallow, he asks, “Aren't you guys doing the modelling?”
And suddenly, the thought of Jimin smouldering in front of a camera rushes into your mind. You really wish this place had some normal fucking water instead of the herbed shit that’s there in the glass bottle at the centre of the table, because you really could do with some cooling down.
Once Tae's clarified that yes, they will be modelling their products but they also need a female model for that clientele, you clear your throat and ask, nonchalantly enough, toying with your fork, “Have – uh, do you have modelling experience, Jimin? Did you do some stuff in college, like Tae?”
“Oh, nothing big or official. Just a couple of shoots for a few showcases and helping out a friend who majored in photography.”
“He’s being modest,” Tae grins, all Cheshire like. “I’ve seen his photos, they’re really fucking good. If our products weren’t already so great, he would’ve been able to save them.”
Half of you wants so, so bad to see these pictures, to see him looking into the camera like he’s staring into your soul, but you think you’re maybe better off watching his blushing face and crinkling eyes, covering his flush with two hands, peeking through the gaps between short fingers.
You don’t realise you’re staring until you feel Jungkook giving you a tiny pinch on your arm, unseen by the others. Hurriedly busying yourself with the food in front of you once again, edibleness be damned, you push those thoughts away, grounding yourself with the solemn reminder that you have work the next day, Hoseok's warning glaring in your mind.
The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly enough, Jungkook letting out a crow of victory on seeing how expensive his dish was (because this is one of those places that’s too edgy for prices on the menu) and that he wouldn’t have to pay for it. There’s a momentary panic that sets in when you’re leaving, as Jimin goes in for a hug when your hand is still up in a wave, but you get out of it unscathed enough, only slightly embarrassed.
Tae : please?
No.
Tae : i'll pay for your petrol
As much as I love your money, no. Now stop bothering me, I’m almost at work.
Tae : ugh fine. but is there anybody you know instead? that girl who came for yours and kook's housewarming? hyerin something
...Hyejin.
Tae : yes her! could you ask her, please please please?
Will you pay for my meal the next time we go out?
Tae : only if you don’t pull a kook on me and order the most expensive thing on the menu
I can work with that. I’ll talk to her today.
Tae : okay thanks lylyly, let me know by the end of the day!
Snorting, you switch off your phone just as Hoseok pulls into the car park. Surreptitiously, you look around, searching for a familiar sleek black sedan.
“She won't be here yet. Always a little late on Mondays.”
You ignore his knowing look in favour of twisting around to get your bag as you huff and reply, “You don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
“Oh, Yoongi told me everything. I don’t know why I keep missing all these moments between you and Jennie, they sound like such fun.”
Feeling partly relieved that you won’t have be having a super awkward interaction with your boss slash brother’s girlfriend first thing in the morning and partly resentful that Hoseok was able to read you so easily, you half heartedly scowl up at him as the two of you walk towards the glass doors.
“How was your weekend?” he asks, pushing the elevator buttons. The lobby is mostly empty right now, nobody else waiting with you for the lift that’s currently on the topmost floor.
Dryly, you reply, “Oh, has Yoongi not told you everything about it yet?”
At his exasperated look, you respond again. “It was whatever. Dance class, dinner with Yoongi, the shocking, life altering revelation that he's dating my boss, the usual. Oh, and you remember Jimin?”
“The kid you used to hang out with all the time in elementary school?”
“Yup. He’s moved back. Opening that clothing store with Tae.”
He hums in distracted interest as the both of you watch the elevator come closer to the ground floor, stepping on as it dings.
The doors are about to shut close when you hear a hassled ‘Just a moment, please!’ from outside, and on instinct, you press the button to keep the elevator open. Not a moment later, Kim Jennie slips into view, and enters the lift with a polite ‘Thank you,’ the very picture of professionalism.
The universe has started its meddling early today.
You and Hoseok shuffle backwards, making space for her as you catch his gleeful eyes. As the doors shut and she presses the button to the seventh floor, you can feel the familiar stifling awkwardness that always seems to appear when she’s around, only now it’s ten times worse.
You’re certain the lift has never moved this slowly before, but Jennie makes no sign of saying anything to you and you sure as hell aren’t going to bring shit up. But the same can’t be said of Hoseok, apparently.
He clears his throat, absently looking at the numbers moving on the display on the top of the elevator doors, and you shoot him a suspicious glance, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Conversationally, he asks, “How’s your brother doing, Y/N?”
You could murder him, you really could.
Eyes darting between Jennie's straight back and Hoseok's slightly shaking shoulders, you shortly grit out, “Fine.”
And then, just when the door finally opens and you’re determining whether he’s an important enough employee to be missed very terribly, you catch sight of a tiny, amused smile of Jennie's face as she walks out of the lift first.
It throws you off enough to let Hoseok go without any lasting damage, only breaking out of your shock when you notice Hyejin walking towards you, annoyed look on her face. In a flash, you remember your promise to Tae. Hyejin must be kept happy and agreeable and susceptible. If not, you’re doomed to be the newest face of the VMin Experience (because it isn’t something as basic as a store). Tae just has to offer to pay for a couple more things and you’re a goner.
“Four fucking emails. The office isn’t even fully open yet and I have four codes to debug before lunch already. Fuck product rolling week.”
This is for Tae. This is so I don’t make a fool of myself on camera.
With as sweet a grin as you can muster, you reply, “Why don’t you send me half of them? I can finish it up for you.”
It doesn’t have quite the effect that you’re hoping for. Instead of simpering and agreeing and giving you one of her trademark million-watt smiles, full of gratitude and good cheer, all she does is narrow her eyes suspiciously.
“Why do I feel like you have some ulterior motive to this?”
“No! No ulterior motive, I promise. Just wanted to make things a bit simpler for you. Can I not want my closest friend to be relaxed?”
She regards you for a moment, beady eyed. Apparently deciding that you sound legitimate enough, she slowly takes out her phone and forwards two emails to you.
“Fine, but only because I’ve just been sent on a coffee run and Namjoon’s drink always takes too long to make.”
“Of course,” you reply, nodding genially as you hear a ping from your pocket. And then for good measure, you summon the lift for her, holding the door open as she steps in, smile plastered on until the doors shut on her sceptical eyes.
Tae : have u asked her yet
It’s been two minutes since we made this agreement.
Tae : so that’s a yes?
It’s an I’m-working-on-it. If you keep asking me every two minutes, I’m blocking you.
Tae : hope you aren’t planning on convincing hyejin with that sunny attitude
Fuck off.
You thank your cab driver as you exit the vehicle, watching with slight regret as he drives away. Might have been useful to have a getaway car.
Product rolling week is not, in fact, an entire week. It apparently runs only until Friday morning, after which all of you get a let-off, leading to a fake, watered down excuse of a three-day weekend.
And if it were up to you, right now on said Friday evening, you’d be curled up under covers after an early dinner (like 6 PM early), with a cup of tea and a good book, doing your damnedest to forget the just completed week from hell and mentally preparing for two, glorious, work-free days.
But no. You have no book with you. No blankets and pillows and no warm tea. All you have is Uber surge pricing and the building that you’re standing in front of that reads The VMin Experience on a small, wooden, obviously work-in-progress board.
You opt to watch from the outside for a bit, looking into the store through the glass. They’ve got two mannequins up already, one dressed in street fashion with a backwards snapback and the other in a whole ball gown, pearl string necklace included. It’s an experience, alright. Squinting, you can make out a wall that still has plastic wrap up and a ladder with a few stools, paint cartons on the floor. The store seems empty, but the message from Hyejin on your phone reads ‘COME TO THE BACK ROOM!!!’.
Casting one last, rueful look at the street, you sigh and push the door open, immediately hit by the smell of turpentine and varnish and general construction work. There are golden track lights fixed on beams from the ceiling illuminating a few naked mannequins on the floor and you pick your way through the newspapers to reach the door behind the payment counter.
The first thing you see is Jungkook speaking into his phone held in one hand and holding up an umbrella stand with the other. Then you notice Tae crouching, camera held up to his eyes, shutter clicking as he focuses away from you. You observe as Hyejin does her smoulder-smile-pout routine that fills her Instagram feed and shoot a quick thank you to the universe that she had agreed so easily to doing this shoot. There’s no way you could have done what she’s doing now without spontaneously combusting.
In the corner of the room, there’s a clothes rack pushed right up to the wall, filled with hangers and sample clothing that they’re modelling right now. You see it jiggle a bit and realise with a start that there’s somebody changing on the other side. And it doesn’t take a genius to realise who the somebody is.
At the sound of your shoes scuffing the floor, there’s a temporary halt in the proceedings as Tae turns around and says, “Oh, finally. Move that light a bit closer. This is a bitch to do alone and Jimin’s taking too long to change.”
You'd linger a bit longer on the offense that you’re feeling at being ordered about like this, but Jimin’s head pops up from behind the stands at that moment as he replies with a grunt, “This outfit has too many fucking layers, I’m stuck,” and suddenly, as you’re assaulted by a hint of his clavicle, the annoyed pout on his face and the disgruntlement in his eyes that morphs into happiness as he notices you, any and all displeasure you feel at Tae's tone flies right out the window.
You wave shakily in response, watching with a tinge of sadness as he disappears back down, only for Tae to huff and say, “Okay, Y/N, new plan. Go help Jimin with that outfit. I’m finished, Hyejin’s almost done. Just Jimin’s last shot and we can wrap up.”
You wonder what kind of expression you’re sporting at Tae's demand. Something between shock, fear and a weird, perverted, refusing-to-be-tamped-down sense of glee. Either way, you have no choice as he just goes back to photographing Hyejin, who slips right back in to model mode after giving you a big, cheery wave. Jungkook only fixes you with an apologetic sort of look as he continues to talk into his phone and move the umbrella the way he’s asked to.
He’s recently taken to dictating his novel instead of typing it out, and it’s led to you waking up at ungodly hours in the middle of the night on hearing Jungkook curse after stubbing his toe while pacing, talking into either his phone or his laptop. As a software professional, you’re glad. As somebody who quite enjoys sleeping, not so much.
When you hear another grunt from behind the clothes hanger, you’re forced into action, dropping your bag next to Jungkook’s work sling on the floor before calming your nerves with a deep breath and making your way towards the corner.
You stop right in front of the rack, gaze firmly fixed on an invisible point on the recently painted, smooth, grey wall, a few inches above your eye level. Teetering on the balls of your feet, you slowly ask, “Uh, Jimin? Do you need any help?”
Please say no, please say no, please say no. Don’t do this to me.
“Ugh, yes, please. That’d be great. You’ll have to come in through the clothes though, just move some hangers around.”
Thanks a fucking lot.
With another deep breath, you hesitantly pluck at the hanger right in front of you that’s holding a black, sequined jumpsuit that you’d probably think of buying if you hadn’t known that The VMin Experience has luxury brand pricing. Maybe if you take long enough, Jimin will be able to figure it out himself.
“Uh, Y/N? I can’t move my hands.”
No point in holding out for a hope then.
Internally sighing in acceptance of your fate, you push the hanger to the side so you can step in through the ensuing gap.
You’re greeted by the sight of your ex-best friend's naked, taut back, his arms stuck upright in a weird angle above his head, pale blue shirt stretched across his elbows and multiple white silk straps trailing out from it towards the floor.
You can’t look away from it, from the back of his neck to his shoulders, eyes trailing down until they reach the small of his back, centre of his tapering waist, and the moment you notice that he’s wearing tight, black, leather pants, you suddenly feel very warm. It’s a cramped space, and you’re covered on all sides by two walls and a tall, diagonally placed clothes rack, and the awareness that you’re so close to him, and that he’s hardly decently clothed, and that he has the prettiest fucking neck hits you like a truck loaded with arrow wielding baby cupids.
“Were you able to get in? I can’t tell, I’m afraid I’ll fall if I try turning around.”
His voice echoes in the closed space, making the privacy and proximity even more prominent, and it’s an effort to keep your voice from shaking with nerves and breathlessness as you reply, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m here. How do you want me to help?”
“Let me just turn around, give me a second. I think a thread's caught on my finger, if you could just – Oh, fuck.”
It’s instinctive, how your arms shoot out in alarm as he nearly topples over in his attempt to shuffle around, your hands landing on his waist as you straighten him, helping him regain his balance. The moment he seems stable and not a second later, you tug your burning limbs back, memory of his soft, warm skin seemingly permanently embedded in your fingertips.
He can’t see you, a random flap on the front of the shirt hanging over his eyes, and it’s probably for the best given your wide eyed, terrified expression. There’s a flush beginning at the base of your neck and rapidly climbing up, and it distantly annoys you. It’s not like you’re the one who’s half-nude and momentarily blinded.
“Okay, so if you could just untangle that strap near my finger, I think it should be fine. I just need to be able to move my elbows.”
You stop staring at the tiny litter of moles on the right side of his waist with a start, rushing into action, belatedly and furiously realising that your mouth is open and likely has been ever since you entered this holy sanctum of inadvertent porn.
Taking a tiny step closer to his frame, you lightly stand on the balls of your feet so you can begin extracting him from the fabric. He stands silently, but this close, you can feel his steady breath on the side of your head as you deliberately concentrate on getting the shirt across his elbows. You try your hardest to not touch his skin, but it’s difficult when the cloth is this tangled, and at one point, your pinkie finger ends up twisted around his, and in a flash, you’re transported to a decade ago, when the two of you had linked fingers in his backyard and solemnly promised each other that neither of you would ever, ever kiss somebody, because kissing is disgusting and gives disease.
You feel a squeeze around your finger and you flinch. From behind his makeshift veil, you hear Jimin chuckle before softly saying, “I remember it too.”
Trembling, you give a tiny quirk of your lips that is, in theory, a grin, but probably more of a grimace in execution, before you hurriedly move on. You ignore his small hands, the bracelets on his wrist, his breathy giggle as your fingers accidentally brush against the inside of his elbow, the bumpy patch of mosquito bites on his shoulder as you undo the messy loops that the straps have managed to wind themselves into.
Before you can step away, the fabric falls, revealing his face and a relieved grin, teasingly, nerve-wrackingly close to your own.
You clear your throat, rapidly stepping away, looking anywhere but at him.
“Thanks, Y/N!” he says cheerily, tying the straps at the wrist together, as you obstinately refuse to drink in the perfect way the problematic outfit fits his body that you’ve seen entirely too much of.
“No problem,” you mumble, and you’re surprised yourself at how steady your voice comes out. “Anything else I can do for you here?”
A cheeky grin followed by, “Nothing, unless you want to watch me take my pants off.”
You chuckle along with him, blocking out any and all images that your mind is conjuring as you hurriedly step away from him, ducking out from under the hangers and reappearing on the much cooler, much larger and much more oxygen-rich other side.
As you move the light around the way Tae asks you to, absently looking at Hyejin finishing up and Jungkook closing his phone with a satisfied expression, you force yourself to relax, to slow your breathing, to ignore the rustle behind you as Jimin comes through and steps in front of the camera.
You can hardly hold a decent conversation with Jungkook and Hyejin as the three of you eat dinner together at a café nearby once the shoot is over, only supplying miscellaneous hmm's and haw's as they discuss the dance competition at BigHit. It’s a small, saving grace that ensures that Jimin and Tae stayed behind to do some decorating instead of joining you. You can’t imagine just how much more you can take of these annoying, bodily reactions every time Jimin even breathes in your general direction, and you refuse to analyse them now.
“Are you alright? You’ve been sort of quiet today,” Jungkook softly asks later as the two are walking home, streetlamps casting shadows in front of you.
“Fine,” you reply, waving away his concern. “Tired, that’s all.”
He doesn’t let up. “Hyejin said you were a bit jaded while leaving the office today morning. You’re sure you’re okay?”
You run with it. It’s easier than explaining that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the half-naked form of the third best friend of your little group from elementary school. “Yeah, I had a bit of a headache. Long week.”
“Well, it’s over now!” he says cheerily, ever the optimist. “And there's dance class tomorrow, that should be fun.”
Not if it goes anything like last week’s class, when you met Jimin for the first time in more than a decade.
You manage a small smile and he takes it, probably thinking you’re still exhausted from work, turning back to face the pavement.
“Y/N.”
“Kook.”
“Y/N.”
With an annoyed huff, you let yourself fall onto the couch behind you as Jungkook promptly does the same. His phone is open in his hands, email from BigHit open on his screen. You hadn’t bothered to read the body after seeing the subject, but apparently, Jungkook wasn’t so dismissive.
“Come on, there’s prize money. Prize money. How is this not enticing you further?”
“I haven’t danced properly in four years, Kook. And that money’s only if you win.”
“So we'll practice! Remember how well we used to dance together in those high school showcases? And how much fun you used to have? Do you remember, Y/N? Do you remember what fun is?”
He gets a little intense by the end of it and you respond with a flick to his forehead, the most you can manage in your still sleepy, exhausted haze. Both of you are tired, him from class and you from the long, sleepless night you had spent tossing and turning and willing away flashing images of bare backs and white straps and stupid giggles and tiny fingers.
And Jungkook thinks he can convince you to participate in Boom along with him when you’re in this condition.
“Why can’t you ask Hyejin?”
Absently rubbing the tender spot on his forehead that your finger had satisfyingly connected with, he doesn’t let up, only fixing you with a pleading look that you’d be more susceptible to if you haven’t been on the receiving end of it a million times before.
“Hyejin’s going solo.”
“Oh, so I’m a last resort?”
He sputters and you watch, satisfied, thinking he'll give up now, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, only scrambling momentarily before he shoves his phone insistently in your face.
“How are you so sure we'll lose?” he demands. “And even if we do – don’t look at me like that, – it isn’t that big of a deal! It’ll be fun, please? Now that you have some free time and I’ve at least got a vague sense of where I want my book to go? The competition’s three weeks away, that’s a lot of time.”
You know you have no choice but to agree once he’s given his little speech. You’re teetering at the edge of a decision when he opens his mouth again, excited look on his face.
“And we'd probably end up bumping into Jimin more!”
Shields up, defensively, you ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Confused, he replies, “We haven’t spoken to him properly yet, yeah? And we’re all so busy during the week that we haven’t had a chance to catch up since we found out he’s back.”
Relaxing a bit, you say, “Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”
But Jungkook doesn’t seem entirely convinced. A shrewd look overtakes his face, eyes narrowing in a suspicious expression that you’re not entirely fond of. Slowly, he asks, “Why? What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing! Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. We can start practice tomorrow and all my evenings are free next week!”
You ramble it all out in a rush, some unknown energy appearing as you jump off the couch and leave the room rapidly. Behind you, you can hear Jungkook mumbling in confusion, but pleased nonetheless as he registers both your names for the competition.
You wonder if you’ll be able to get through a single conversation ever about Jimin without your stomach erupting in dread and awkwardness and terrifying fear. And more importantly, you wonder how long you’ll be able to avoid it and how long you’ll be able to hide it from your shockingly perceptive roommate. When his head isn’t stuck inside the washing machine or under restaurant tables.
“Oh, it’s been too long since we did this last,” Hyejin says as she tops up your glass with some dollar store wine, setting the bottle on the centre table before she leans back on the couch, her own glass held precariously as she folds her pyjama clad legs under her, head propped up by an arm resting on the back as she faces you eagerly.
You respond with an agreeing nod as you take a sip of your second glass, cross-legged on the other end of her sofa.
“Now,” she begins, all business-like, and it immediately puts you on edge. “Are you going to tell me why you didn’t come for class today morning?”
Shrugging as nonchalantly as you can, you reply, “I over slept. Recovering from the week, I think.”
And from Jimin, a traitorous voice in your head adds. You impatiently shoo it away. You aren’t going to tell her that you woke up with your alarm, came as far as taking a shower and wearing your leggings, even began to pack your bag, before being faced by the possibility of meeting Jimin today. You can’t tell her that you chickened out at the last minute and when Jungkook knocked on your door, asking if you were ready to leave, you had faked a headache and decided to stay in. You can’t tell her that you’re avoiding your childhood best friend because he’s too fucking pretty and too fucking sweet and invokes too many bloody emotions in you that you prefer to circumvent, still not having registered them yourself.
She nods shortly, but her voice remains uncertain as she asks, “Are you sure? You did seem a bit shaken yesterday after the shoot yesterday.”
You wave away her questions dismissively. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, promise.”
She drops it, taking another slow sip. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
The two of you drink in silence for a bit, only sounds being the occasional slurp and the knocking of glass against teeth.
“Are you participating in Boom?”
Scowling, you reply, “I have been strong armed into doing so, yes.”
She grins at you over her glass as she takes a sip, “Jungkook asked me if I wanted to be his partner today. When I told him to just ask you, he got kinda squinty eyed. I think he knew you were going to put up a fight.”
Flattered about your reputation, you give a short, satisfied nod before you ask, “Is BigHit letting participants use their rooms for practice?”
“Oh, Taemin told us about all that today. All rooms are full on weekday evenings and weekend mornings. Every other time is free.”
You feel your stomach sink. You’ll be the first to admit that this wasn’t your preferred choice of activity for the next three relatively easy, work wise, weeks, but now that you’ve committed, you want to win, godammit.
She gives you a sympathetic grin, patting your knee. “I know, those are the only free slots we’ve got. But what're you gonna do?” she shrugs.
“We'll have to find a place. Maybe we'll just move around some furniture in the living room.”
Again, you both relapse into silence, thinking about how to make it work. Slowly, a tiny frown appears on Hyejin's face, the kind that she gets when she’s just thought of a possible way to get rid of an error in a code but isn’t sure if it'll work without fucking up some other section of the program.
“You could ask Tae and Jimin if you can use their shop,” she slowly says, looking at you unsurely.
Even as your heartbeat picks up, you fight to keep your face placid as she continues, “Like, I know it’s new and shit, and it’s their baby and all that, but it’s roomy enough. It isn’t like you’re both gonna go wreck the room by dancing. And that back room that we used last night for the shoot, that could work!”
She looks at you, waiting for an answer. You buy some time, contorting your expression in one of contemplation as you lean forward to refill your glass, but inside, you feel like you’re warring with yourself.
It’s a pretty good idea!
But Jimin.
They aren’t opening the shop for two more weeks!
But Jimin.
It’s not like they’re gonna say no!
But Jimin.
“I’ll talk to Jungkook about it,” you say, keeping your voice level, settling for the most diplomatic and inconspicuously evasive answer you can manage.
She nods, content with your reply as she leans back. You mindlessly make your way through your glass, once again, annoyingly, caught up with thoughts that don’t bear thinking about, when her downturned phone on the coffee table in front of the couch pings with an alert.
It’s always shocked you that you know somebody who doesn’t permanently keep their phone on silent or vibrate, but you can’t dwell on it for too long.
“Taehyung just sent me the photos from yesterday!”
Fuck.
Her excitement is infectious, though, as she clambers closer to you, grinning eagerly, phone tilted so you can see the screen loading. You place your glass on the table before leaning back comfortably, cushion on your lap and heart in your mouth. Best not to be holding delicate items when you see this.
Distantly, you wonder whether you can make a quick getaway, or come up with a believable excuse in such short notice. You had sort of envisioned yourself being alone when you saw Jimin's pictures. Last night, after the...emotional debacle, you had studiously not looked at him for the remainder of the shoot, only moving around the light when you were asked to, gaze stuck on the ground or trading funny expressions with Jungkook across the room. Your goodbye had been perfunctorily cordial, steps consciously measured as you walked out, skin burning at the memory of the hug he had left you with.
Are you excited to see Hyejin’s and Tae's photos? Yes.
Can the same be said of Jimin’s? Not out loud.
You shoot a quick prayer up, although you’re beginning to quickly lose whatever meagre amount of faith you once had, just as the screen finishes loading, tiny thumbnails appearing.
You squeeze your hand in a fist, preparing for the worst as Hyejin opens the top image. Irrational as it is, you curse Tae for putting Jimin’s photos first as you’re assaulted (blessed?) by the dancer looking somewhere to the left of the camera, body languidly, precisely positioned with all the elegance and strength that comes when he’s on stage, deliberately supercilious pout playing on his lips, eyebrow cocked in a challenge to whoever’s in the background.
Nothing big or official, my ass.
Photo after photo flashes in front of you as you take in his smug smirk in one, his hip jutting out sideways in another, his fingers partway through running them through his hair, him in the middle of a giggle that you can hear, eyes shining, dimple popping. Distantly, as you greedily drink in the white straps dripping from his outfit as he smoulders, looking like an ethereal dream, you realise that you don’t want the pictures to stop.
You don’t pay attention to how obvious you’re being until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, pulling you out of the map you’re tracing with your eyes along Jimin’s neck, and with a start, you notice that you’ve been looking at the same image for nearly half a minute.
You shut your mouth abruptly at the expression on Hyejin’s face as she looks at you, head tilted. The silence is heavy, pregnant as you try to find some way to get out of this mess.
“Y/N,” she slowly starts, caution in her voice as she lowers the phone before you can say anything.
Not meeting her eyes, you squeak out, “Yes?”
She doesn’t say anything at first, only surveying you with that same, scrutinising, unsettling expression as you carefully retrieve your half-full glass, everything on edge.
“Something you’d like to say?”
“No, not really.”
She just hums in response, bringing the phone back up to go to the next lot of photos, these of Tae. She drops the conversation there, but you’re under no allusions as to what she’s figured out and what she hasn’t. The faint blush on your cheeks should be indication enough, if your blatant ogling wasn’t. All she does is give you a gleeful, knowing look, one that’s full of significance and that reads ‘I know what this is about, but I won’t make you talk about it now because you look like you’re about to shit a brick,’ before she clears her throat and continues scrolling through the photos.
You’re apprehensive as you do the same, leaning back to your previous position and casting a dubious sideways glance at her, but all she does is roll her eyes and say, “You think too much.”
Real genius, that one.
Either way, you’re grateful she doesn’t bring it up then. Or later, when you’re both eating ramen out of the pot as Seinfeld plays on the television. Or even in the dark, when you’re both about to fall asleep, because the older you’ve gotten, the more you’ve begun to truly appreciate the sleep part of sleepovers. The next morning, as she’s waving you away at the door, the only indication she gives that she even remembers the conversation is a wink and a ‘Don’t worry.’
She should become a therapist, what with all her golden wisdom.
“Come again?”
Exasperated, you sigh before you obediently repeat, kicking your feet up on the counter and leaning back languidly on the rolling chair, “Jungkook’s late.”
Yoongi looks at you suspiciously as he repeatedly pokes your shin to get you to remove your shoes from his precious work station. “But Jungkook’s never late. That’s your thing.”
Scowling, you impatiently swat his hand away as you reply, “Yes, I know. But he got held up at work.”
He gives up, resigning himself to moving the needles away to keep them safe from your pivoting feet. “I keep telling him he should quit. What kind of company makes their employees stay this late on a Friday evening?”
“Luxury magazines for affluent readers,” you respond, your fingers up in air quotes. “Either way, if his novel does well, he’s out.”
Infuriatingly predictably, you had chickened out of asking Tae and Jimin about using their store for practice. And Jungkook hadn’t even thought about it, which was great. In fact, you hadn’t spoken to Jimin the entire week. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you had been avoiding him, but twice, when Jungkook had tried getting the three of you together ‘like the old times', you had lied about having office work, despite the fact that this had been the most relaxing week in your intern life so far.
The past four weeknights were spent in your new practice studio: the backroom in Yoongi’s tattoo parlour. You wouldn’t say it's the most ideal of spots for multiple reasons.
One of them being that every time you’re late (read: every evening so far), Jungkook and Yoongi have a jolly good time talking shit about you. You’d think your roommate and your brother would hold some amount of love and respect, but when you had entered the room on Monday evening at 7:15 PM, they were compiling a lovely list of Top Ten Times Y/N Has Embarrassed Herself In Public. And they didn’t even have the gall to seem sheepish. Jungkook had just looked at your scowl with an amused grin and Yoongi had said, “If you’re late tomorrow, we're going to make one for the number of times you’ve whined about something stupid.”
And then on Tuesday evening, when you had dawdled for too long around the corner, trying to decide between having dinner before or after practice (and eventually settling on skipping the meal entirely), you had entered the shop at 7:21 PM, only to see Jennie and Jungkook engaged in a wonderful conversation about God knows what, all smiles and ‘Nice to meet you!’s. You were stuttering through your customary, “Oh! Hel – hi!” with Jungkook snickering in the background when Yoongi came out from the back, tossed you the keys and told you to lock up, and then swept a very bemused Jennie out the front door.
Wednesday was fun, in that Yoongi was busy with a late appointment and you and Jungkook made some headway, but on Thursday, Hobi decided to sit in, so it ended up being two hours of ‘What are you doing with your hands?’ and ‘Make it look natural, guys,’ as he and Yoongi traded sips from the emergency whiskey flask that your brother keeps in the shop.
And now, 7:30 PM, Friday evening. Two weeks left for the competition and you and Jungkook have been getting on fairly well, better than you had anticipated. If only he'd show up.
You send him a message, deciding to call him if he doesn’t reply in the next ten minutes, when you hear a polite knock on the door. Confused, you look at Yoongi with a tilt of your head. Jin’s out of town, Hobi doesn’t knock and Jungkook sure as hell doesn’t knock. He looks just as bewildered as you, letting go of the tattoo pen he was in the process of arranging and slowly walking towards the door. A louder, more urgent knock comes and you let your feet fall on the floor with a thud as Yoongi hastens to open it.
You hear the voice before you see the owner, nearly falling off your chair as you make a clear path to the sofa at the end of the room as Jimin and Yoongi carry a clearly unconscious Jungkook to it, laying him down as you rush behind them, worriedly asking the newcomer, feelings be damned, “What happened?”
“I was passing by when I saw him walk into a pole and fall down,” Jimin replies.
You don’t want to laugh, you really don’t, but as Yoongi sprinkles some water on your dance partner’s face and he slowly begins to stir, you can’t stop a simultaneously relieved and disbelieving giggle from erupting.
“He what?” you ask, calming down enough to kneel down on the floor, next to Yoongi, and look in awe at your roommate, marveling at his stupidity.
Jimin shrugs as he explains, “He was looking at his phone and just sort of walked into the pole. I didn’t know where to take him, but I remembered you saying something about your brother having a tattoo parlour somewhere here and figured I’d try my luck.”
“He weighs a ton. How did you carry him?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts Jungkook so he isn’t in danger of falling off.
“It wasn’t easy,” he replies. “What does he eat?”
“Protein mostly,” you respond, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes. You imagine it must be quite an experience for somebody to come back to consciousness and see three half-amused half-concerned faces swimming above them, but Jungkook handles it admirably.
“Wazza?” he blearily asks, drool slipping out the side of his mouth as he struggles to sit up.
The three of you back away, Yoongi handing him a bottle of water.
“You’re in my place. You fell outside. Jimin got you here.”
Jungkook gulps some water as he tenderly presses at the faintly purpling bruise right at the centre of his forehead. “Oh, thanks. Did I look cool?”
Jimin winces before replying. “You walked into a metal pole, so I’d say no.”
If your roommate were a normal, sane man, he’d be upset on receiving this news. At least slightly embarrassed. Not that his line of questioning had indicated anything even remotely resembling intelligence, but you’d think that at this point, he’d make up. But on the contrary, his glazed eyes clear up and a gleeful look overtakes his face.
“Do you think he has a concussion,” you mutter out of the side of your mouth to Jimin, as Jungkook opens his mouth to say something.
The giggle you get in response should not make you feel like prancing around in a field of roses and calling all humans your best friends.
“I remember why I was distracted! I got it!”
“Got what, a disease?”
For somebody who was recently unconscious, he’s capable of a great stink eye. You’re vaguely impressed.
“I got the next scene. Where’s my phone?”
Jimin moves towards the couch, pulling Jungkook’s mobile out of his back pocket and handing it to him. “Maybe don’t type while walking on the road next time,” he grins as he takes a seat next to him.
You hadn’t noticed Yoongi leaving the room, but he walks back in now with a bottle of fruit juice, speaking as he makes his way to the couch that the three of you are now sitting on, Jungkook feverishly going through a word document in the middle.
“This reminds me of when you all would come over and sit for hours on the couch in front of the television at home. Mom would give you all the snacks and then send me to do a grocery run at that corner shop the moment you left,” he says, fond smile on his lips as he gives Jungkook the bottle.
In a trice, that’s where you are, ten years old, Jungkook sitting wide eyed as you quickly got bored and kept changing channels because ‘This is my house, so I get to decide what we’re watching,’ and Jimin giggling ever so often at the miscellaneous cartoons you skimmed through.
“Shit, that couch was the best,” present Jimin sighs as he leans back on the seat, you and Jungkook nodding in agreement.
It’s easier to think of him that way. As your best friend of eight years that you shared all the drama and excitement and blown-out-of-proportion, self obsessed sadness that came with infancy, adolescence and preteen years, who left right before middle school, cutting your trio down to two. Maybe if he had left later, it wouldn’t be so hard to navigate him now, but you were all too young to keep in touch, and school and extra curriculars took over and now, seeing him after all these years, he’s just lying in that sweet spot between achingly familiar and unsettlingly different.
You don’t realise you’ve zoned out until Yoongi asks, “Do you guys still need the place for practice tonight or can I lock up?”
“Oh, I saw that you two were paired together in the sign-up form! Is this where you’re practicing?”
“Yup,” Jungkook replies, making sure his juice bottle is out of your reach. He’s probably noticed you eyeing it like a cat about to pounce for the last few seconds. “Where are you and Taemin practicing? Do you get extra BigHit room privileges?”
Jimin sighs a little, disappointed frown on his face that you realise, with a start, you want to kiss away. And then, belatedly, you wonder why you’re even surprised any more. “We had to drop out. Taemin got too busy with organising the competition and by the time he told me, it was too late to sign up as a solo performer.”
You can tell he’s upset, but he does an admirable job covering it up, pouted lips morphing in a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he continues, “But I’m super excited to watch you guys on stage, though!”
All intentions of grabbing Jungkook’s bottle when he’s distracted fly out the window at the sympathy you feel. If that day, when you saw him dance in that practice room, is any indication, it can’t be easy for him to sit back and watch others on a stage participating in a competition he can win with his eyes closed.
“Oh, that sucks, man,” Jungkook says as you wrack your brain for something that sounds a little less hollow and a little more comforting. You come up empty and offer a sympathetic grimace, but somehow, you think he understands what you’re trying to convey. Like that secret code the three of you had, where vowels were consonants and consonants were vowels and everything had to be written upside down except every fifth letter, italics optional but preferred. You had a lot of time on your hands.
“You can watch us practice, though, maybe. And help out? You used to be the best at choreography,” Jungkook says with a grin, blindsiding you with his request.
“I’d love that!” Jimin responds, and you feel a thrill at how he doesn’t fake modesty, at the hint of cockiness that comes through in his voice.
Perhaps it’s the fact that Jungkook's just woken and the bruise on his forehead is only slightly lessening, or maybe that Yoongi’s right there, still waiting to find out if he should close up shop now or not and that he’s always been perceptive, but you force yourself to calm down. So what if Jimin watches you dance? You both went for class together for years. No biggie. Not worth giving your roommate another bruise.
“Can you dance now? Or do you want to just go home and continue tomorrow?” you ask, clutching at straws.
“I think I can dance, I feel fine. Fruit juice was great,” Jungkook says, making to get up.
“Yeah, Jennie got it from one of those organic stores she shops in,” Yoongi replies, nasty turtle dove making a reappearance.
You’re about to gag, or very pointedly look away, but before you can so much as decide on your method of conveying disgust, Jungkook, in the process of standing up, folds in on himself, knees buckling as he lets out a pained grunt. You, Jimin and Yoongi act on impulse, arms jerking out and catching him before he can fall, eyes wide with surprise and concern.
He settles back in his previous position and gingerly bends down, experimentally twisting his right ankle and hissing out a pained ‘Fuck.’
“I think it’s a sprain,” he winces, slowly moving it forward until another distressed flinch casts a shadow over his face.
Jimin bites his lip worriedly on Jungkook’s other side and you watch Yoongi help him slowly take off his shoes with a grimace.
“Y/N, there’s an ice pack in the mini fridge in my office.”
You don’t let him continue, only nodding as you swiftly rise after casting another anxious look at Jungkook, who’s looking everywhere but at his leg.
On your return, you see him lying face down on the couch, right foot propped over one arm rest as Yoongi says, “He must have fallen at a weird angle. It only seems like a sprain, but I don’t think he should dance.”
Jimin looks impressed as he watches Yoongi expertly place the ice pack in position and Jungkook huffs in simultaneous relief and disappointment.
“A million basketball injuries will do that to you,” you reply in answer to Jimin’s unasked question.
“What about the competition?” Jungkook whines.
You’re surprised to find the tinge of disappointment when you shrug and say, “We'll have to drop out. I’ll let Taemin know in class tomorrow and tell him to take us off the list.”
“But the choreography!”
Jimin steadies him as Jungkook slowly sits up, adjusting so he’s holding the ice pack, scandalised expression on his face as he looks at your drooped shoulders.
“Nothing we can do about it. Maybe we’ll try again next year.”
And then he gets that look. That expression that indicates that he’s thinking of an idea that’s good for him but sucky for you. Slowly, he swivels his head towards a confused Jimin sitting next to him before moving towards you, eyebrows scrunched, deep in thought. You can practically see the gears shifting in his head.
Warily, you ask, “Kook?”
His eyes are still narrowed and moving, but the frown slowly morphs into a small smile as he distractedly, instinctively replies to your question. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Is there...is there something on my face?” Jimin enquires, slowly backing away on the couch.
Only the cutest fucking pout I’ve ever seen in my life, your brain unhelpfully supplies.
Jungkook doesn’t directly answer, but finally begins to explain why he looks like an automated form of The Thinker, his grin slowly growing. “You guys could do it together.”
“Do what?” Jimin asks.
It, your permanently horny inner voice replies.
Out loud, you ask, “Kook, what are you talking about?”
“You guys can go for the competition together! Jimin can be your partner instead of me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I don’t mind.”
You turn your determined, closed off face to Jimin’s calmly curious expression in astonishment.
“What?” you demand.
“I don’t mind,” he repeats, shrugging but cautious at your unexpected vehemence. “If you still want to perform and need a partner, I’d love to step in.”
Jungkook claps in glee as you continue staring, mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no sound coming out.
“Then it's settled!” he says before a shrewd expression overtakes his face, single eyebrow cocked as he looks at you with challenge in his eyes. “Unless...Y/N has objections?”
You’re caught facing the barrel of a loaded gun, Yoongi behind you, obviously already intrigued by your uncharacteristically passionate reaction, Jimin on the couch, pleasant smile playing on his face, eager with the thought of being given a chance to perform but not wanting to guilt you into anything and Jungkook, big brain Jungkook, disaster child Jungkook, waiting for you to make your decision. As soon as you see the small glint in his eyes, a niggling doubt emerges in your head about whether he’s managed to figure out your feelings before you’ve even accepted them yourself.
With an internal sigh, you plaster on a smile and reply, “Nope. No objections.”
Jungkook’s face clears, a brief flash of victory in his eyes before he beckons you closer, holding his right arm out for you to sling over your shoulder as he stands up.
Jimin gives you a satisfied grin, chuckling and taking your stupid roommate’s other arm as you nearly buckle under the weight.
“Thanks for taking care of me, Yoongi! How you and Y/N share the same blood, I’ll never know.”
Yoongi snickers, “You and me both, dude. Try not to put too much weight on your foot!”
And if you give a small pinch to the side of Jungkook’s waist where your hand is resting, that’s your business (and your satisfaction when you feel him flinch).
“Do you need any help getting him home?” Jimin asks as the three of you wait outside the building under the dark sky waiting for the cab to arrive.
You’re still reeling from the developments of the last few minutes, head terrified but heart perversely gleeful, and you don’t look directly at him when you reply, opting instead to direct your gaze at the little black dot on the map on your phone that indicates where the car is. “No, I can manage, thank you.”
Once Jungkook’s safely inside the car, Jimin doesn’t let you immediately follow suit, stopping you with a smile outside your roommate’s closed door before you can round the vehicle.
His body isn’t too close, but in your head, you run through the choreography that the two of you will be doing, and you know that that’s going to be far from true over the next two weeks.
“Hey, are you alright? You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. You seemed a bit uncomfortable back there, when Kook suggested it.” He looks sheepish almost, but understanding, palm coming up to rub nervously at the back of his neck and other hand inside the pocket of his black jeans.
As he slightly rocks forward and back, you want to grab his face, bring them down to your level, look him the eye and tell him, equally stern and emotional, that he has occupied so much of your mind for the last week and that if there’s anybody here who should be unsure about this, it’s him.
You clear your throat under his light gaze before you reply, confidently as you can, “I was just thrown by the change of plans. I’d love to dance with you, honestly. I still think about that day we first met- well, met again- when you were practicing and how I’ve never seen anybody dance like that before.”
You’re as surprised by he is at the confession, immediately wanting to backtrack, but you don’t have the opportunity. A faint blush emerges on his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, eyes crinkling in an embarrassed grin.
“Ah, Y/N,” he honest to God whines before taking a few deep calming breaths. You watch in fascination as all this unravels, drinking in this new Jimin. Fondly, before you can intercept it, the thought enters- you want to see just how many sides he has, want to experience them and revel in them.
“Thank you,” he mumbles with a small smile.
You can’t help but smile back, and the two of you are left grinning softly like a pair of fools at each other until a smart rap sounds on the window right next to you, making you startle into awareness.
Both of you turn to the car and see Jungkook peering through the glass with an expectant look on his face. ‘Are you coming?’ he mouths.
Flustered, you nod and give Jimin a small wave before going around him and entering the vehicle from the other side.
You’re too preoccupied to notice Jungkook staring at you, same shrewd look as last Saturday on his face, but when he lets out a soft ‘Ahem,’ you turn your head to look at him.
His expression is closed, and hardly clear as his face only gets illuminated passingly by the occasional streetlight, but his tone leaves no room for doubt when he says, lips quirking upwards in a small, teasing grin, “If you keep smiling like that when you’re talking to him, somebody could get the wrong idea.”
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the week and you’re too tired for confrontation, or that your roommate has a sprained ankle and you don’t want to cause him any more grief, or that you’ve finally accepted the state of affairs, but you don’t resort to your knee-jerk reaction of denial.
With a small sigh, you softly reply, not making much sense when taken in context of the conversation but conveying everything that needs to be conveyed either way, “Yeah.”
He looks surprised at your response, probably expecting a huff and an ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ but says nothing, just smiling at you kindly as you let your head fall on his shoulder.
“We can go to the doctor tomorrow morning and get your ankle checked, skip dance class,” you mumble as you watch the street ahead of you sideways, fingers absently fiddling with the strap of Jungkook’s bag in your lap.
He hums in reply, and you appreciate the silence, grateful that he knows you well enough to not bombard you right now.
Jimin (Do Not Interact) : Hey, this is Jimin! Park Jimin. Uhhh Chimmy Jimin. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that the shipments to the shop are a little delayed so we can practice in the backroom. It’ll be a bigger space than Yoongi's studio. I’m always here so let me know when we can start :D
You read and reread the message that was sent an hour ago, absently chewing your thumb nail.
“You do that a lot.”
“Do what?” you mumble, running through all the possibilities in your head.
Chuckling, Hoseok replies while shifting gears, “Look at your phone all worried. You’ve started a bit early today, though. And it’s still Monday. Bad weekend?”
Sighing, you reply, “Not particularly. Just...worried.”
“Anything I can help with?” he asks, patiently curious.
You flash back to ten years ago when Hoseok used to give you snacks whenever you accidentally (read: not) entered whichever room your brother and his friends were holed up in, kind, cheerful smile on his face as you shyly took whatever sweet treat you were being given that day before sprinting out of the room.
Taking a deep breath, already in awe at what you’re about to do, you tilt your phone towards him as he slows down at a signal.
He peers at the screen, looks up at you with a confused expression, and reads the message again.
“Is there something I’m missing?” he asks, as the light turns green and he starts the car again.
“First of all, why is he texting sense at 8 o' clock in the morning?”
“Y/N, have you ever considered the existence of people who enjoy waking up early?”
“Bet you’re one of them,” you huff.
He snorts before waving his hand in ‘Go on' gesture.
“Why is he sending smileys? What’s he so happy about?”
“Jesus Christ, he's just being nice, dude. How are you overthinking an emoticon? It isn’t even an emoji – are you blushing?”
“No, I’m not,” you say loudly, fighting through the unplanned flush on your face. Stupid smiley.
Your companion laughs as he sputters, “Okay, but I have a few questions myself.”
At your haughty nod after you’ve taken a few calming breaths, he continues, “Did he really think you wouldn’t remember him when you, very obviously, have a big, fat crush on him? Chimmy Jimin?”
“Stop,” you whine. In an undertone, you add, “That’s what I used to call him when we were kids. And it isn’t a crush.”
You’ve never been happier to see the office park.
“Are you going to reply?” Hobi asks, pulling into the mostly empty car park. “You know, because you’ve saved his name with ‘Do Not Interact'?”
You roll your eyes even as you know that your thumbs have been hovering over the keypad for the greater part of the last hour. “I will. Soon.”
“You literally just have to say yes or no. I’ll dictate it for you if you want. Yes Chimmy, I love you so much or No Chimmy, I love you so much.”
“Shut up,” you say, glaring at him as he laughs, thoroughly amused by himself. You both get your bags from the back, making your way into the building, text still open in your hand.
You’ve been staring at it for so long, that at first, you think you’ve imagined the green dot next to his name.
“Fuck, he's online,” you mutter in front of the lifts as Hobi giggles at your worried expression.
“Dude, just say yes or no, it isn’t a big deal.”
With a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, you slowly begin to type.
Sure, that’s a great idea! How does 6 PM today evening work for you?
“Perfect,” Hobi says, holding up three fingers in an OK sign when you tilt your screen towards him for approval.
“Smiley face?” you tentatively ask.
“It'd be accurate, you’re definitely happy."
You settle for a :) so it’s low-key before hitting send and immediately shoving your phone into your pocket, shaking your head to clear it for work.
“At the rate you’re going, you’ll have no nail left.”
“I am not entirely opposed to the idea.”
From the back of the car, Jungkook lets out a disgusted ‘Ew' even as he continues scrolling through his phone, absently biting his own index nail.
“Are you excited?”
“To get this over with? Yeah.”
Jungkook scoffs from the back. “There’s that charming Y/N optimism.”
“Don’t fight, children,” Hyejin says pacifyingly from her place behind the wheel. “We can tease her when she’s being a mess around Jimin.”
You scowl but have no comeback, because you can’t find the lie. In the backseat, Jungkook rubs his hands together like an evil fly.
“If I didn’t know that you’re perfectly capable of doing something as stupid as walking into a pole, I would’ve thought you set this up on purpose.”
He looks wounded at your comment, holding up a dramatic hand to place over his heart.
“We're here!” Hyejin calls out before any more confrontation happens, pulling up next to the curb.
“Thanks for coming along,” you sigh as you unbuckle your seatbelt, opting to leave your office bag in the car and only carrying your phone and water bottle.
Before Hyejin can reply, because obviously, the gratitude was aimed at her, Jungkook says, “No problem!”
You’re sure to gently jostle him a little as you loop his arm over your shoulder, helping him out of the car as you deadpan, “I was talking about Hyejin, fool. You practically begged to come along.”
He clicks his tongue in admonishment. “Is that any way to treat your injured best friend? After everything I’ve done for you?”
The eye roll is instinctive, but the banter serves to loosen you up a bit, weirdly calming down the butterflies in your stomach. Jungkook staying at home the entire day and not being allowed to work out means a lot of unspent energy, and you have no doubt that he’s going to be in full exuberance for the rest of the evening, at least until the painkillers kick in. You? You’d rather be anywhere but here, waiting for Hyejin to lock the car outside The VMin Experience at 5:55 PM, straight from work for dance practice with your...friend.
And if you’d prefer to spend your utopian free time scrolling through said friend's Instagram feed, that’s between you and God and your phone battery percentage.
“No thanks needed, I’m very excited to observe your reactions now that I have some background information,” Hyejin says gaily, sharing a beaming grin with Jungkook.
She pushes open the door as you let out a long, drawn out sigh and resist the urge to drop your roommate’s ass then and there when he theatrically whispers, “Happy face, Y/N. Happy face.”
________________________________
“You good?” Jimin asks, only faintly panting, a single drop of sweat running down the side of his neck as he watches you, your hands clutching at the slowly forming stitch on your hip.
“Pe- Peachy,” you reply with a weak smile, gulping for air. Your legs feel like they’re gonna give out at any moment and even with the central cooling in the room, you could really go for an ice bath.
You bend at the waist, bracing your palms on your slightly bent knees. A bottle of water appears in your line of vision and you look up to see a kindly grinning Jimin.
“Let’s take a break, yeah? Five minutes,” he says, giving you a short, and what is probably meant to be comforting, pat on your back, but only serves to drag out the ongoing process of your heart calming down.
You’d think, after nearly an hour and a half of having his hands on your waist, fingers tracing your neck, palms closing around yours and the both of you moving together, you wouldn’t continue having all these physical reactions to a mere skim of skin over your clothed spine, but when has your body ever had a logical response to Jimin’s presence in the last few weeks?
Your breath slows down as you walk slowly around the room, looking at Jimin perfecting a step out of the corner of your eye. In the corner, Hyejin's subconsciously mirroring the dance as she shoots you a grin and a thumbs up. Your eyes sluggishly move to Jungkook, who looks like his painkillers have just kicked in, his eyes fighting to stay open even as he has an amused smile on his face.
The first thirty minutes had consisted of Jungkook teaching Jimin his steps with you as a prop, which basically meant you were passed back and forth as Jungkook explained as well as he could on one leg and Jimin caught on incredibly fast. It had been shockingly simple to dance with him, to let your body move with his and dip and soar step after step as he flawlessly executed the movements after watching Jungkook just once or twice.
You had nearly gotten caught staring at the furrow in his eyebrow as he concentrated, a similar pout on your lips as you yearned to lean up and smooth it out, but Jungkook had been too preoccupied to comment and you gave yourself a good, strong pep talk to focus.
And now it’s nearing 8 PM and you’ve just completed the first proper run-through, your body burning and your nerves hyper aware but so satisfied at the completion of a smooth rehearsal. In some weird, twisted way, it’s easy to not pay attention to the nervous, frazzled, constantly overthinking voices about Jimin in your head when you’re dancing with him.
Feeling a little calmer, you turn back around while gulping some water and see Jimin gathering his hair off his forehead and tying it up in a small ponytail, shorter strands falling out and hanging as wisps.
“Ready?” he asks with a grin, hand held out in your direction when he sees that you’re looking at him.
You swallow with difficulty and try not to be too transparent about the effect this new hairstyle is having on you as you muster a smile and nod, placing your palm in his, fingers only twitching slightly.
Hyejin stifles a short giggle, morphing it into a cough as you shoot her a sharp look before she restarts the track on the phone.
The piano intro begins, build up in the song already evident as Jimin pulls you close for the start position. You let the music wash over you, anchoring yourself in the sound and running through the steps in your head. Steeling your nerves, you meet Jimin’s eyes as you straighten your back, finding them twinkling in anticipation and unwavering concentration, gaze boring deep into yours as you both begin the routine again.
The rain is starting to come down heavier as you huddle close to the wall of the security cabin, trying to fit as much of your body as you can under the awning. Your laptop bag is secure in your arms as you use it to cover your chest, trying to receive some kind of warmth against the wind that’s picking up pace.
With a sigh, you unlock your phone for the fifth time in two minutes, checking if Tae’s given you his ETA. On seeing no new messages or missed calls, you close it again and let out a low groan.
A particularly strong gust of wind makes you shiver as you idly curse at your own stupidity for not checking the time while debugging the latest code you had been assigned and ending up leaving this late. If Hobi had come to the office today, he would have made sure you left on time, probably annoyed you into it as he played his stupid, TikTok songs playlist next to your desk until you agreed.
But he’s sick and you had spent twenty minutes sitting through awfully cheery morning radio in your Uber in the morning, too scared to request the driver to change it. And now, you’re standing outside the office building in the dark, waiting for Tae to come pick you up because no cabs are available.
The last message on your phone from him reads leaving in five! and that was sent fifteen minutes ago. You’re too caught up in trying to calculate what that means, time and math-wise, that you only realise that your boss’s car has drawn to a stop in front of you when the passenger seat window is rolled down and her concerned face appears, leaning over from behind the wheel.
You immediately straighten up from the wall, absently shivering against the droplets that hit your face and arms as you politely smile. Apparently, you weren’t the last one to leave.
“Get in!” she shouts to be heard over the sound of the rain, and at this point, you’re too cold and miserable to disobey. You transfer your bag and phone to one hand, pulling the door open and sliding in as gracefully as you can when your eyes are shut and your head is ducked to avoid the rain you’re momentarily exposed to. Which isn’t very graceful at all.
You nearly moan at the warmth inside the car, immediately feeling yourself getting less cranky.
“How come you’re leaving so late?” Jennie asks, moving the car so she can stop it against the curb before turning up the heat a little more when she notices you slightly shivering still.
“I was debugging something and lost track of time,” you say with a wince.
She nods in understanding, the light of the streetlamp casting a shine on her long, straight black hair as she pushes her glasses up.
“You have a ride back home? I noticed that you and Hoseok carpool but he didn’t come in to work today.”
“Yeah, my friend’s coming to pick me up. He should be here…sometime soon, hopefully.”
“I’ll wait with you,” she says. “I don’t want you falling sick, too.”
You accept with a grateful nod, more than willing to spend the next few minutes inside here rather than out in the rain.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a Thursday evening (night) and you’re going through the crushing, midweek existential crisis you’re prey to; or that the rain outside is getting heavier, small flashes of lightning indicating a larger incoming storm and you’re glad to have some kind of shelter; or maybe even that there’s a satisfying sort of soreness to your limbs from the now regular dancing, not painful but just present enough for you to feel content that you’ve done something, but the regular awkwardness seems practically non-existent.
Jennie doesn’t say anything, just quietly observes the rain from her seat, placid smile on her face like she’s been sheltering cold, helpless interns since she was four years old, and you feel no inclination to break the comforting silence, preferring to rub your palms in front of the heater vents, letting them warm up.
Until your phone begins to vibrate on your lap, caller ID reading Tae.
Eagerly, you accept the call, putting the phone to your ear. As fun as hiding out in your boss's car is, nothing sounds better than your bed and some pillows and a warm blanket.
“Talk to me,” you say immediately, anticipating good news.
There’s static for a while and you hear some talking in the background, something about boxes and back rooms before Tae's voice comes clear.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he starts, and you note with slight concern that there’s no sound of a running engine or rain on his end.
Warily, you ask, “What do you mean?”
A door closes in the background and now you can hear him easier, like he’s gone to a quiet place.
“A shipment got delivered early and since it was in my name, I couldn’t leave the shop.”
You feel your heart sink at his words, knowing from prior experience that it could take up to an hour for him to make it. In the suddenly deafening quiet of the car, his tinny voice through your phone rings clearly and you have no doubt Jennie heard. To her credit, she pretends to have not been paying attention, only continuing to look out of the window.
“Can you still make it?” you ask, cursing the day you and Jungkook decided to buy that washing machine that ate into your savings so much that you haven’t been able to purchase your own car.
He makes a soothing hum before replying, slowly and then all at once, “No, but Jimin is coming to get you and he should be there in five minutes tops.”
And now, in a rush, you’re seized up, unable to say anything except a tiny ‘Okay,’ in a voice that suggests that it isn’t really okay at all, if Tae's low chuckle is anything to go by.
It’s all fun and games having that rose-tinted feeling of liking somebody and being able to spend time with them and really embracing those giddy butterflies in your stomach every time you’re both in the same room, but when push comes to shove and you have to spend an extended period of time alone together without the buffer of music and the purpose of dance, you can think of few things more intimidating.
At your small tone, Tae replies, putting you more on edge, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to engage, he's pretty tired too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t mind engaging with him,” you respond, probably too defensive to seem convincing and too rushed to mask your knee-jerk panicked reaction.
He doesn’t give you a straight answer, and even though you can’t see him, you know his palm is held up in a pacifying gesture. “I’m just saying, when you like somebody, you tend to avoid one-on-one interaction with them which isn’t exactly conducive for fostering romance.”
“Fucking hell, does everybody know?” you groan as your head hits the back of the seat with a dull thud, momentarily forgetting about where you are and whom you’re with.
“Everybody except Jimin!” Tae replies cheerfully. In the background, you hear somebody asking for him.
You have no valid reply, only uttering a soft ‘Okay, bye,’ when Tae signs off by saying, “Okay, I have to go now. He’s coming in my car and should be there soon. Text me when you get home!”
Hanging up, you sigh, turning around to face Jennie who’s looking at you with a concerned expression.
“All good?”
Resisting the urge to bite your fingernails as you’re wont to do in high pressure, nervously anticipatory situations like this, you muster a weak smile and reply, “Yeah, everything’s fine. He should be here in a bit.”
She nods, accepting your half-baked response without question.
At that moment, through the sheets of rain, you see a familiar silver sedan pulling up on the opposite side of the road. Squinting, you read the number plate, and once you’ve deduced that it is, in fact, Tae's, you turn to Jennie and say, “That’s him. Thank you for waiting with me.”
She waves away your gratitude with a small smile, but stops you when you’re about to push open the door with a clearing of her throat.
Gentle but insistently, she slowly says, “From one woman to another, if you want something, you should go for it. Don’t hang around being scared or waiting for something to happen.”
So she did hear after all.
You don’t know what to make of it, don’t have any reply to her statement that won’t sound silly, can’t figure out a way to convey that yes, you agree with her one hundred percent, but this situation is different.
Your phone vibrates and you see the caller ID.
Jimin (Interact Only For Practice)
The headlights in the car opposite are blinking on and off, probably to signal to you that he’s arrived in case you don’t pick up your phone and you’re saved the bother of a reply by Jennie smiling kindly at your half-pleading half-flabbergasted expression and saying, “He's waiting for you."
With a gulp, you can do nothing but nod and stutter out another ‘Th-Thanks,’ before you push the door open and jog to the other side of the road towards your ride.
_____________________________
“Here, I thought you might need this.”
There’s a sweatshirt placed on your lap, something soft, warm and as far as you can make out in the dim lighting of the car, black.
He does look tired, faint bags under his eyes that are missing their regular sparkle. He gives you a small smile, though, as he jerks his head in the direction of the fabric he’s set down on your thighs.
“You look cold. Do you want me to turn up the heat?” he asks, slightly husky voice, all kindness. You might not be particularly fond of water at the moment, given that it’s dripping from your hair and making your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin, but given the chance, you’d drown in his voice right now.
“No, it’s perfect. Thanks for coming,” you reply, looking away under the pretense of tugging the hoodie over your head, unable to stare at him without needing to combust any longer.
It isn’t too big for you, just hanging a little bit off of your frame, but it engulfs you perfectly, immediately making you feel cozy and warm.
He starts the car, the bracelets on his arm jiggling lightly as he pushes it into gear. “No problem, really. I don’t mind helping out. Especially if it means you don’t end up staying in the rain and catching a cold.”
An easy smile accompanies his words, and you can only mumble something unintelligible in response, simultaneously flattered, shy and annoyed that you’re feeling.
A comfortable silence settles for an indeterminate period of time. It can’t be more than five minutes, but it feels like much longer before you muster up enough courage to ask, “How are things going at the shop? Everything running on schedule?”
“Yeah, more or less. Hectic, though. Nobody told us it would be this much work.”
There’s no bite in his words, just a mix of passive regret and satisfaction at taking up such a large project and seeing it go through.
“I can tell,” you reply, trying to be supportive. “Tae doesn’t send me as many cat videos as he used to anymore.”
The laugh that you get in response puts angels to shame, and you’re not sure you quite manage to keep the sappy fondness out of your expression when you take in the more relaxed droop in his shoulders and the smoothening of his face, at least a fraction of his regular happiness making a return.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” he starts, the atmosphere in the car a little lighter and easier now, thanks to your stellar comedic timing.
“About Tae's cat videos?”
He shoots you a grin as he replies teasingly, “Maybe later. I was talking about the store opening.”
“Has there been a change of date? Last I checked, it was scheduled for Friday, the 17th.”
“It still is. But Boom is on the 18th, so any last minute run-throughs we'll have to get done in the next six days.”
You nod, thoughtfully. “I think we can make that work. We’re in a pretty good position.”
“We work well together,” he says, agreeing, probably not realising that his statement has just sent every nerve ending you have on high alert, shocking you out of that false sense of security you’ve been cocooned in for most of the conversation so far.
You mumble a slow ‘Yeah,’ as he absentmindedly pulls into your road, slowing down as he reaches the apartment.
Whatever ease you were feeling earlier has flown out the window, and now you want nothing more than to leave.
“Thanks for the ride! Oh, let me give you your hoodie bac-"
“Keep it.”
You look up from his hand atop yours, stilling your fingers in their momentarily abandoned mission at the side of your hip, his palm settling atop your fisted knuckles that have fabric twisted in them.
It’s like time’s paused as you see his kind smile, feel the warmth of his hand and the chill of the tips of his fingers that are almost cupping yours.
Swallowing when he makes no attempt to move them, just looking at you half-warning and half-gentle, like he’s daring you to return his sweatshirt when you’re still cold and wet and obviously need it for the walk up to the front door, you softly ask, partly whispering, though you’re not sure why, “Are you sure?”
He doesn’t break eye contact, just gently giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, fingers curling around the wheel once more as he replies, “Yeah, you can return it at our next practice session.”
“Okay,” you mumble, nodding unconsciously and lifting your bag from the floor of the car as if in a dream, waving goodbye hazily until you’re taking the stairs up to your floor.
You unlock the door, and the moment it shuts behind you, you’re turning around and letting your body sag against it, slumped with your bag in one hand and the keys limp in the other.
You distantly hear Jungkook calling out from the living room, his voice getting louder as he limps towards you.
“Y/N, is that you?”
You don’t have it in you to reply, only grunting as you face his approaching form absently.
“Whose jacket is that?”
Fuck.
“Wow.”
You nod, mouth open as you stop next to a similarly gaping Jungkook, frozen in front of the newly unveiled storefront.
The sound of your cab driving away goes unnoticed as you both take in the transformation from the last time you had been here, nearly a week ago.
Since the shop had finally gotten too crowded with items and display pieces, and the storeroom actually had things to be stored, you and Jimin had moved your practices back to your living room with all the furniture (a grand total of one couch and a coffee table) pushed right up to the wall. Consequentially, you haven’t seen the shop in little more than a week.
The cheap plastic board that had been there earlier is now a sleek black and silver plaque with The VMin Experience written on it in that clean, classy, elongated font. From the outside, the freshly wiped glass windows give a direct view into lit up display mannequins clothed in designs. Even at ten in the morning, everything looks sophisticated and chic. There’s a small signboard hanging from the door handle that reads ‘OPENING TODAY!’ right above the PULL sticker.
“Do you think Tae will give us a discount?” you ask, as you take in the pastel pink blazer that the mannequin on the right is wearing.
You aren’t even remotely surprised when your roommate slash the devil incarnate nudges you in the ribs with his elbow and says, grin evident in his voice even if you aren’t looking at him, “I think you’ll have better luck with Jimin.”
After Jimin had dropped you off that night and you had stumbled up to the apartment all in a tizzy, Jungkook had questioned you extensively and didn’t even have the gall to hide his amusement at your retelling. Since then, he’s taken to dropping some very unsubtle hints like leaving post-its around the house with winky faces, which is very unsettling, and always making his SIMS characters kiss whenever you happen to be around.
Mercifully, he hadn’t been too unsufferable whenever Jimin came over for practice, probably realising that it was in his best interests to not antagonise you that much.
And you? You’ve been avoiding everything that even vaguely resembles romantic emotion as staunchly and stubbornly as a mule. God and your phone battery and your browser history (that includes but is not limited to Google searches like crush songs and how to stop thinking, and multiple BuzzFeed articles about zodiac compatibility and quizzes along the general lines of Tell Us Your Favourite Disney Movies And We’ll Tell You If Your Crush Likes You Back, combined with excessive usage of your notes app) might disagree, but that’s nobody’s business.
Especially not Jungkook’s, even if he did hear you singing bubble pop in the shower once.
“After you,” he says, completely ignoring your eye roll and letting you go in front of him, more to avoid the barrage of instructions that you’re both going to be on the receiving end of the moment you step into the store, than any real goodness of his heart.
You flick him half-heartedly on the arm before pulling the door open, immediately assaulted by the smell of fresh items and air conditioning. And something like lavender?
“Oh, good, you’re both here. Could you move that rack a bit to the left?”
You and Jungkook just exchange a short, amused look before obediently moving to opposite sides of the indicated shelf with hangers of clothes and moving it, as directed, a bit to the left.
Taehyung looks uncharacteristically nervous, his usually impeccably trim nails bitten at the edges and a frazzled look on his regularly smooth, bored face, and when the two of you turn to him, ready to receive more directions, he’s in the middle of trying to shift a stand that’s very clearly bolted to the floor.
“Uh, Tae? All good there, buddy?”
You know Jungkook’s talking in that corny voice, calling his friend the superior term of platonic endearment to get him to crack a grin, and it’s worked in the past, but all Tae does now is grunt as he tries harder to push the stubborn stand.
He’s dressed casually in a loose, black and gold button-up shirt tucked into tight, black pants, looking for all he’s worth like a rich patron of a modern art museum or a front row invitee to a global fashion week, but under the lights and with the fancy clothes all around and the sheer aura of expensiveness radiating from every surface of the shop, he fits right in. Apart from the annoyed curl of his lips as he continues his attempt to move a non-budging, nailed down shelf.
An irresistible force against an immovable object, if you will.
Slowly, you and Jungkook approach him, like you’re about to pacify a tantrum throwing toddler.
Hesitantly, you place a palm on his tense shoulder, right as he realises that the stand is attached and lets out an anguished groan.
“Is something wrong?” you ask slowly, when he makes no move to shake your hand off.
He exhales harshly, jaw clenched as he gathers himself before taking a deep breath in.
The verbal reply to your question comes from behind all of you, as Jimin enters the main shop floor from the back room, partway through rolling up the full-length sleeves of his shirt. Your throat goes dry as you take in his formal pants, distantly aware that Taehyung is wearing literally the same thing but had hardly evoked more than a vague sense of appreciation from you.
“He’s been like this all morning,” Jimin says, continuing to make his way closer, looking up for just a second to shoot an amused smile before he goes back to concentrating on rolling his sleeve neatly with one hand.
You don’t know what possesses you to do it, but as you’re looking at his arms twist in his struggle to make it look artfully messy, you blurt out, “Do you need help?”
He gratefully nods, giving up and extending his right arm out to you as he continues, “He wants, and I quote, everything to be so perfect that it puts Hallmark films to shame.”
Behind you, you hear Jungkook snort and reply, “There’s nothing perfect about Hallmark films.”
The sounds of Tae and Kook arguing behind you fade into background noise as you focus on undoing what Jimin’s done so far. You’ve just about finished, tugging out a flap from the fold so it doesn’t look quite so formal and pulling away, when your wrist is caught in a gentle grip.
As studiously as you’ve avoided looking at him directly so far, you can’t stop your gaze from shooting up to his in surprise, breath catching as he smiles at you, a curious mixture of nervousness and anticipation in his eyes.
Dancing together is different from...whatever this is, intense and charged as neither of you look away. The other two have moved towards the back of the shop to prematurely open a champagne bottle for Tae's nerves, but you’re not sure you would have noticed them even if they were still bickering in the vicinity.
He loosens his grip on your hand but doesn’t let go, slightly bending as he says, “Thank you.”
You nod, not trusting your voice and just giving a smile before you gently detach yourself from him, immediately moving towards Jungkook who’s holding out a champagne glass toward you, beckoning you both to participate in the entrepreneurially sanctioned daytime drinking.
As you’re lifting your glass, letting it clink against the others and resolutely not making eye contact with Jimin who’s standing directly opposite you, his cheerful voice joining in the chorus of ‘To paying off student loans!’, your heart and head race a mile a minute.
What does it all mean?
_____________________________
“So he thanked you.”
Huffing, you impatiently repeat to Hyejin's simultaneously confused and unimpressed face, “No, he thanked me.”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
You groan in frustration, letting your arms flop against your sides in abandon as you lean against the side of the closed back room that the two of you have been conversing in for the last ten minutes, ever since you caught sight of her entering the shop and dragged her back right after she congratulated the new business owners.
She had whined a bit about not getting the fancy champagne flute, but once the word ‘Jimin’ had left your mouth, she became mighty compliant.
“I think I’m missing something here. You’re losing your mind in the store room on the opening day of your friends’ shop at 12 PM because...” she trails off, looking at you expectantly with an arched eyebrow.
Something breaks inside you and the next thing you know, you’re venting out in a single breath, nearly tripping over your words, “Because I like Jimin and I think he likes me too, but I’m too scared to say anything or bring it up in case I’m wrong and also, I sort of really want it to be true but I don’t know and I’m scared and I would very much like everything to go back to when this stupid dance competition didn’t exist, because now I keep thinking about ways to spend time with him after tomorrow and I’m embarrassed and feelings suck.”
You’re gasping by the end of it, like you’ve just run a marathon with a cash prize for first place. If you weren’t somehow feeling simultaneously lighter and more exposed, you’d be amused at Hyejin’s expression, but all you can muster is a weak sort of shrug to mask any awkwardness you might be feeling.
She looks like she’s just been slapped across the face with a wet fish, eyes wide and mouth open, but before she can say anything, the door to the left opens and Jungkook walks in, a half-full champagne glass in his hand.
He takes in Hyejin’s expression and your defensive stance that’s combined with the worried furrow of your eyebrows before he slowly says, “I just came here to escape from Yoongi who keeps asking me where his Tupperware is and I’m too scared to tell him I lost it, but there’s a really weird energy in here right now.”
“Jimin thanked Y/N,” Hyejin unhelpfully supplies, looking like she’s slowly regaining her bearings after your emotional outburst.
Jungkook's eyes narrow in confusion as his head tilts, lips pursed. “I feel like there’s more to that story, but I’m not gonna hear any of it.”
You sigh, weight of everything crashing into you as you sit down on the floor cross-legged, staring unseeing at the opposite wall.
At your actions, Jungkook’s eyebrows crease in concern, but his confusion is abundantly evident when he says, “I’m, uh, sure you can tell Jimin not to thank you again if it makes you this sad. Will some champagne make you feel better?”
“Yes, please,” you say, nodding despondently as you accept the glass from him, after which he sits down next to you, twiddling his thumbs, probably wondering why he offered.
For about a minute, the two of you sit there, you completely zoned out, dissociating to cope with the reality of the situation as you take little sips and Jungkook humming something vague, his legs now stretched out in front of him.
You nearly forget that Hyejin’s even in the room until your glass is snatched from your affronted grip and you’re looking up accusingly at her exasperated face.
“Up,” she says shortly, taking one of your hands in hers and pulling you. You have no choice but to follow through, landing shakily and ruefully watching her finish off what’s left of the champagne before she hands the glass to an entertained Jungkook and places both her palms firmly on your shoulders.
Oh no.
“I’m going to tell you something, and you might not like it, but you have to hear it anyway, okay?”
You resist the urge to salute, nodding as you agree. Not that you have an option. You’ve seen Hyejin in intervention mode before, and resisting is like trying to stop a fire from burning.
“You. Are. Incredibly. Stupid.”
Your mouth drops in offense, and you make to defend yourself, but before you can say anything, from the floor, Jungkook cheers, “I knew there was something I missed. What happened?”
Not taking her eyes off of you, Hyejin replies, “Y/N likes Jimin and she thinks he likes her and she’s having a crisis.”
You have hope for a moment, when your trusty roommate scoffs behind you, and you vow to get him something good for his birthday this year, but just as you’re grinning all satisfied at Hyejin, he says, “Of course he likes her. Pfft. That was never the question.”
Coal. He’s getting coal and it won’t even be gift wrapped.
At your shocked expression, he slowly stands up, looking confused as he asks, “Did you...did you not realise?”
Near-hysterical, you reply, turning to face him fully, “No? How was I supposed to realise?”
Jungkook’s looking at you like you’ve grown a third head, like you’re the one who’s just said something completely bizarre, which is absolutely untrue.
“Wait, what did you think her crisis was about?” Hyejin asks, infuriatingly calm at this revelation and completely ignoring the fact that your roommate is spouting enough shit to fill a truck.
“Feelings? In general? I thought she knew about Jimin liking her. I thought you knew about Jimin liking you!”
You throw your arms up in a gesture of annoyance as you hiss, half-frustrated and half-panicking, “How was I supposed to know? Nobody tells me these things!”
“Dude, he's been flirting with you for weeks.”
“No, he has not. You’re wrong. Hyejin, tell him he’s wrong.”
But to your great betrayal, Hyejin doesn’t immediately contest the sheer stupidity of the statement. She gets that look you’re constantly wary of. A ‘hmm, you might have a point there,’ look.
“Actually,” she slowly begins. “Now I think about it, he might be right.”
You groan in frustration as Jungkook continues in the same voice, like he’s still bewildered that you haven’t picked up on any flirty, non-existent signs.
“He gave you his jacket and let you keep it for, like, a week? And he wouldn’t stop looking at you during the photoshoot? And he agreed to dance with you immediately, no questions asked. And don’t even get me started on that evening with the super intense eye contact outside Yoongi's studio. And he agreed to come pick you up in the rain at ass o' clock even when his shop was opening in a week and he was neck deep in work with no complaint, from what I heard. What part of this isn’t registering as ‘I want to hold your hand non-platonically' to you?”
You open and close your mouth, speechless. More out of formality, to put up a fight because weary fear and wary hope makes one do and say stupid things, you softly mutter, “He was just being nice,” but you’ll be the first to admit that there’s more than a tinge of doubt in your voice now.
Hyejin sighs, looking at you kindly as she says, all too knowingly, “I know you’re going to overthink this. But it really, really isn’t a big deal.”
“But what do I do?” you ask, desperation thinly veiled in your voice.
“Nothing, if that’s what you want. Or you could ask him out. Or you could wait for him to ask you out.”
Jungkook nods insistently next to her. “It’s all good, dude.”
Stellar contributor, that one.
Taking a deep breath in and letting it out with a whoosh, you look back at their expectant faces, trepidation in your eyes.
“First, I’d like a glass of champagne.”
The light that enters through the crack in your curtains annoys you, but not enough to make you get up and block it. Your phone is on silent, and for once, you don’t feel the constant, compulsive need to check it.
You don’t feel the need to do anything, really. Here, starfished on your bed, staring blank at the white ceiling is a good place to be. Optimum zoning out position. You’ve gotten so tuned to the sound of the clock on the wall, that you’re certain your heart is now beating in the same rhythm, and the numbness in your foot has been there for so long, you don’t remember who you were before it.
After the...talk in the storeroom yesterday, you wish you could say that your first order of business (after some liquid courage) was to walk right up to Jimin and give it to him straight, but nothing could be farther from the truth.
You had avoided him like the plague, preferring to catch up with Yoongi and hide out in the dressing room armed with clothes you can only afford in your dreams. To top it all, you also had to deal with all this new information and suddenly, you were noticing a lot of interesting things. You’d catch Jimin looking at you at odd moments, and he’d look away after shooting you a small smile that you physically couldn’t not return. He had come over all the way from the other end of the shop to ask you if you wanted another glass of champagne (you had declined), and there were fingers brushing against your shoulder, winks thrown across the room whenever eye contact was made and all of a sudden, you were consumed by this overwhelming feeling of stupidity, all of Jungkook’s points becoming more and more valid with every passing moment.
So, you did what any sane person would do. After congratulating them, and having an incredibly brief conversation with him about the final plan for the competition, you had left (after counting and comparing the amount of time he spent on his hugs with different people, and coming to the conclusion that you got two seconds extra).
You had refused to speak to Jungkook about anything even in the vicinity of the ballpark of whatever you were thinking about on the cab ride back, shovelled in an early dinner, gone straight up to your room and begun to create a definitive flowchart about possible outcomes.
It had been of no help whatsoever, and had only led to you thinking even more until you finally gave up on the project, paper landing on your bed with a comically sad finality, probably still there, lying crumpled under all the pillows.
You had flopped onto your bed, stared at the ceiling until your eyes could stay open no longer, only to wake up to your alarm at 7 AM with the same train of thought in your head continuing where it had left off.
Cut to now, two hours later. You can see your packed bag near the closed door. Jungkook’s knocked twice already, asking if you want breakfast before your big show and you’ve declined both times. You’re already showered and dressed, and both activities were a sort of background noise to the insofar ceaseless thinking in your head.
But now, you’re all thought out. You’re tired godammit, and you know that you’ve spiralled enough for a thousand exam seasons for there to still be some hope that rationality will prevail and a conclusion based on facts can be hit upon. No, you’re done thinking.
It’s time to listen to Kim Jennie, 28, Head of Product Development. No time for being scared. And maybe some advice that’s less daunting and closer to the kind of thing you can vibe without wanting to puke at the thought of, Hyejin’s ‘It isn’t such a big deal.’
Despite the sudden clarity and at least half-way confidence in your constitution, your body’s still playing catch up, and your movements are sluggish as you sit up, coming face to face with your reflection in the mirror. There’s that trepidation that you’re all too aware of in your eyes, but you brush it aside. You’ve got the power of your boss and your friend on your side. And once you tell Jungkook your plan, the moment you figure it out yourself, you’ll have anime too.
You give your reflection one final, determined nod before standing up and collecting your phone and bag. You decide to hold off on opening the curtains just yet. No need to get ahead of yourself. Maybe when you get back. After your fate’s been decided.
Your notifications range from well wishes (Yoongi: Don’t trip like you did during that performance in fifth grade.) to a compilation of cat videos (Tae: to make up for the lack over the last few weeks :D), but the message that your eyes are drawn to is from the man himself.
Jimin (Maybe Interact Sometimes): I’m excited! Let’s kill it!
Unbidden, a smile grows on your face, small at first before slowly growing until you’re beaming at your phone. The familiar pre-performance anticipation settles deep in your bones, and combined with your recently acquired confidence and the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach over the last month or so, it’s a deadly mix.
Feeling heady, you reply with some exclamation points and lock your phone, toning down the grin on your face so your roommate doesn’t think you’ve finally crossed the bend before pushing the door open.
Jungkook’s in the kitchen, sitting over a bowl of cereal, eyes skimming through the newspaper that he’s holding up with one hand. It’s a common enough occurrence, one you see nearly every morning, but it feels different today. You’ve got the enterprise of mission in you.
He notices you entering and opens his mouth to say something, but stops short. You catch sight of your reflection in the glass window behind him, and see that the grin, if not entirely blinding, is still a drastic change from your usual morning grumpiness that Jungkook has the pleasure of poking at every day.
Tentatively, he asks, rather than says, “Good morning?”
Dropping your bag, you make your way to the fridge to get some milk to fix up your own cereal as you reply, cheeriness coming through in your voice even as you try to keep it neutral, “Morning!”
You can feel his quizzical gaze on your back, and he makes no pretense of hiding it when you sit down opposite him, bowl set in front of you.
“Are you done with the newspaper?” you ask, pretending to not notice his staring, absently tapping your spoon against the side of the table as you swallow a mouthful.
He looks confused as he replies, “Am I done with – uh, yeah, here.”
You accept it with a smile and a ‘Thank you!’ before spreading it out on the table in front of you, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other as you hunch over to read.
It only takes a few seconds for Jungkook to break the silence. “Are you alright?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, peachy. Excited about the competition!”
You look up at the fag end of your sentence, just in time to catch his deeply mistrusting gaze.
“Nervous?” he asks, like a detective looking for a lead.
You direct your gaze back to the editorial page as you shake your head and respond simply, “Nope.”
That’s a blatant lie, and you’re sure that as soon as ten minutes from now, you’re going to start realising the gravity of the situation (prize money is a powerful incentive), but that bridge hasn’t even been built yet, leave alone reached.
There’s silence for a while, you reading the paper while eating your cereal and Jungkook looking at you shrewdly, like he’s trying to read your mind and figure out how you’ve made a complete 180 from yesterday.
When you deem the time right, you say matter-of-factly, “Might ask Jimin out today.”
It’s quite unfortunate that you aren’t looking up when you utter those words. Jungkook’s in the middle of a sip of coffee, and it takes a minute for him to stop choking and sputtering.
“You what?”
“Might ask Jimin out today,” you repeat with a shrug, folding the paper after finishing the comics section and directing your gaze at his startled face.
He narrows his eyes, scepticism in his voice as he asks, “What do you mean you might ask Jimin out today?”
“For somebody who’s a journalist and about to be a published author, you’re having an awfully hard time comprehending words, aren’t you?”
He groans in annoyance as you smile pleasantly, enjoying the overall effect of this conversation.
Gathering himself, he slowly enquires, “So you just woke up today morning and decided that you’re going to do this?”
“Yep,” you reply, popping the p.
He scrutinises you carefully, looking for traces of bullshit. Finding none, he slowly begins to smile. And then you’re smiling. And then he’s smiling wider, and now you’re both grinning at each other like a pair of fools. If anybody were to walk into the kitchen now, they’d take one look before turning around and marching right back out.
Jungkook lets out a small giggle, partly in residual disbelief and partly in excitement, and your nervousness and anticipation manifests in the same way.
“When are you going to do it?” he asks, eyes twinkling as he stifles his laughter.
“No idea,” you reply, standing up with your bowl and making your way to the sink with him in tow.
“You mean you haven’t thought this to death and made a timeline down to the millisecond about how your plan’s going to unfold? I’m shocked.”
There’s no bite in his words, though, and you merely bump him on the side as you wash your bowl, him drying his next to you. “I’m tired of thinking. Time to get shit done.”
A pause as Jungkook whoops in support, and then you’re asking, “Is this a terrible idea? Should I not do this today? What if I screw up while dancing?”
You don’t know where the sudden uncertainty is coming from. Maybe everything’s finally catching up to you, but abruptly, you need some reassurance that you aren’t in over your head, that you aren’t going to fuck up.
“None of that now,” Jungkook says bossily, drying his hands and placing his palms on your shoulders, turning you so you’re facing him. “You’ve got a cash prize to win and a crush to ask out. No time for being scared and mopey. You know why? ‘Cause you’re a lean, mean singing machine.”
“I’m not lean.”
“Mean singing machine.”
“I’m actually quite nice, I think.”
“Singing machine.”
“This is a dance competition.”
He huffs in annoyance, but there’s a glint of relief in his eyes at your return to admittedly uncharacteristic optimism.
“Phineas and Ferb quotes shouldn’t be adapted,” he staunchly says, nose teasingly up in the air as he lets you go so you can pick up your bag.
“Not by you, they shouldn’t.”
“Okay, why don’t you book the cab, yeah?” he says, marching your giggling frame out the door.
The large board next to the main, high school auditorium entrance reads ‘PARTICIPANTS HERE' followed by a red arrow pointing to a small door that presumably leads to the green room.
You and Jungkook stop a few paces away, moving closer to the wall so you aren’t blocking the hallway that’s teeming with audience members trying to enter. Some of them take in your outfit and wish you luck, to which you reply with a grateful nod.
The confidence you were feeling earlier has been replaced by the shaky excitement that accompanies a performance. You wonder what you were thinking, deciding to launch your amoratic venture on the same day as the competition. Like you don’t have enough to be nervous about. But a plan is a plan, and you’re sure you’ll chicken out and/or rip all your hair out in frustration if you go another day without dealing with it.
But prize money first. Boys after.
“Y/N.”
“Yes,” you reply, trying to mimic Jungkook’s firm voice, even as your eyes take in the large crowd of people who are going to be watching.
“Let's get this bread,” he says.
You nod, taking strength in the knowledge that Mr. Kibum is judging, that you’re dancing with your childhood best friend, that Hyejin’s going to be in the green room as well, that Jungkook, Yoongi and Tae are all going to be cheering you on from the crowd, that this is dance.
The wink he offers you leaves no doubt of the fact that he means other breads as well and not just the show, but you ignore it. Focus is key.
“Break a leg!” he cheers, ironically enough seeing as how his ankle is still in a cast, despite the fact that he can walk now with a barely noticeable limp.
You shakily smile in response before waving and ducking into the room you’re supposed to go into.
Immediately, the loud noise and chatter from the corridor becomes muffled as you’re wrapped in a quiet air of anticipation and nerves that hangs heavy. A few people look up when you enter, the ones you know offer you a weak smile that you return. In the corner of the room, you spot Hyejin and Jimin doing their stretches, much like majority of the other participants strewn around.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve effectively temporarily suppressed your feelings in favour of focusing on the competition, or maybe that you’ve finally accepted them and decided to do something about them, but all you feel is a sort of calm glow when you see him. Your stomach does give a weak, little flop, but you don’t experience that urge to escape as a first instinct, like you’ve become so accustomed to recently.
You scuttle over, taking care not to hit anybody with the swinging bag dangling from your side.
“Hey,” you mumble, easily accepting Jimin’s hug as he smiles at you and grinning at a mid-split Hyejin.
You begin jogging in place to warm up to stretch as Taemin enters the room, fedora full of chits in his hand.
“It’s time to decide the order of performing! Everybody gather around.”
Hyejin smoothly gets up with her freakish core strength as you and Jimin look at each other. There’s a dash of glitter on his eyelashes, subtly sparkling in the light, and you can swear, at that moment, that he’s easily the most beautiful person in this room. Hell, in this building.
“You wanna pick?” he asks, quirking his head to the side.
Ordinarily, you’d decline. But with the clouds you’re walking on, maybe you should try your luck.
“Sure,” you reply, making your way to the slowly gathering crowd that’s surrounding a hassled looking Taemin.
You huff in preparation before sticking you forearm into the hat blindly and snatching the first chit your fingers close around. Somebody’s nails scratch you, but you’re too distracted, fighting your way out of the group of people, eager to reach Jimin on the outskirts so you can open the tightly clutched paper in your hand and see your fate.
“Ready?” you ask, once you’re standing in front of him.
He nods eagerly. There’s a flush on his cheeks, a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and the memory of watching him dance in that practice room for the first time all those weeks ago, with all that love and passion and elegant control enters your head unbidden. You feel a little sickened by the amount your heart warms when you think of Jimin getting this opportunity to do what he loves on stage.
You slowly open the paper, only for your heart to veritably pause for a second when you read what’s written.
No fucking way.
You look up, unable to keep the apologetic grimace from your face as you see him half-amused, half-disbelieving.
From the other end of the room, Taemin calls out “Team number 1!”
You and Jimin look at each other briefly before making your way towards him. Around you, you can hear small whoops. You think the muted laughter is from Hyejin.
“Pendrive?” he asks all business-like, hand stuck out, palm up, giving no indication that he knows the two of you, that he sees you every Saturday, that he was going to be Jimin’s partner first.
But the small ‘Good luck,’ and smile he gives as you’re both making to go away after handing over your music more than makes up for it.
Jimin leads the way to the corner of the room as the other teams go up in order and give their tracks. There’s silence for a second as you survey each other, trying to figure out just how surreal of a possibility this is.
You break it by mumbling, “Oops.”
All it takes is that stellar wit and ill-placed asinine humour for the tension in his shoulders to drop just a tad and his lips to quirk up, as he nods and says, amused, “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“We were going to go up anyway,” you reason, trying to make light of the universe screwing you over.
Agreeing, he replies, “Yeah, and now we can watch the other performers without being too distracted.”
You nod, humming, taking courage in these sad attempts at positivity.
You’re running through the choreography in your head, when you notice Jimin moving next to you, turning to face your body from his previous arms out, wrists rotating position.
“Hey,” he starts softly to get your attention, like you aren’t hyper aware of his presence and that the plan to act on your...romantic feelings is still very much present, even if it isn’t at the forefront of your brain.
You hum in reply, signalling him to continue.
“Regardless of what happens, I’m really glad I got to do this with you.”
You don’t know why you’re caught off guard, but you hide it best as you can when you reply with a smile, the most genuine one you have, “Same here.”
If anybody were to look at you, they’d see that :D emoticon that Tae's so fond of.
You think he’s going to stop there, but even as he turns back and continues stretching, feet shoulder width apart and hands on his hips, he says, “It was a lot of fun and I like dancing with you.”
You feel a warm glow at the comment, a soft shiver running down your spine as you take in the slightly reddish hue of the side of his neck and everything it indicates.
He likes likes you.
You’re not sure what possesses you to say it then, what stupid prank-pulling higher power decides that now would be a good time to do this, less than ten minutes before dancing together so you can’t even escape if things go sideways, but the next thing you know, the words are spilling out from your mouth of their own accord, tumbling over one other in a mad rush of adrenaline and bashfulness and nerves.
“Doyouwannagooutwithmesometime?”
You’re as startled as he is, maybe even more at this betrayal by your own lips, and you wish you could take it back the moment you say it, because now is not the time.
But thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he understood your stupid babble, and at the confused tilt of his head and his soft ‘Excuse me?’, you just shake your head and slowly say, avoiding his eyes, stuttering as your brain works in overtime, “I just said that...we both had a good time. Doing this, I mean. The, er – dancing.”
He accepts the explanation easily, bless his soul, but it’s still a relief when Taemin calls out that the competition is about to start and the two of you are up.
With one last nod and smile, as you force your head and heart to refocus, and manage to do so admirably well considering how close to fucking up you were, you and Jimin exit the room from the side door that leads to the auditorium, softly padding onto the dark stage behind the closed curtains and getting into the start position.
You meet his gaze as they announce your names, and the fabric of his t-shirt feels comfortably warm against your palm as they slowly open the curtains, and hundreds of eyes land on you.
The surrounding lights are bright and the attention nearly deafening, but nothing is quite as blinding and arresting as the look in his eyes as they bore into yours. The subtle pressure of his arm around your waist feels thrillingly familiar, but as you’re both waiting for the cheers to die down and the track to start, he goes off script.
Bending his head slightly, he begins to whisper, so subtly that nobody in the audience can notice unless they’re focusing very intently on his lips. Which...you wouldn’t blame them.
“You have horrible timing, but yes.”
And just like that, before you can even think about pulling away to look at him in shock, the demand for a less cryptic sentence, despite there being absolutely no doubt as to what he’s referring to, hot on your lips accompanied by the tingling certainty you feel when you look at his twinkling eyes that are partly mischievous but more noticeably excited, performance adrenaline taking strong hold, the music begins. With a small squeeze on your waist, he reverts to serious dancer mode from his previous Little Shit setting, taking a deep breath and twirling you away with a wink as you let the relief and joy and excitement flow through your body as you begin the routine.
“What’s this?”
“What’s wha – oh, fuck.”
You practically vault across the bed to get to the other side of your room so you can wrench the paper out of Jimin’s grip. He lets it go easily enough, a little startled at your sudden vehemence but amused nonetheless.
As you furiously rip it apart, not meeting his eyes, he teasingly says, “I’m pretty sure I read my name. Have you been making lists about me?”
“I have not,” you reply hotly, dropping the pieces of paper into your dustbin and gathering yourself so you can face him defiantly.
“It was a...to-do list.”
His eyebrow arches, eyes twinkling as he remarks, “At least take me out first.”
You huff, cheeks burning. “Not like that.”
He takes his shoes off, grin firm on his face as he sits cross-legged on the bed, facing your still shut laptop at the foot. “Well, you’ve got me in your room now, so I’ll let you have your way with me.”
You roll your eyes as you pick up the pizza box and place it on the centre of the bed, getting comfortable next to it.
“Second place isn’t so bad,” Jimin says thoughtfully a few minutes later, as you’re both watching the video buffer as you chew on dinner.
Nodding, feeling a warm glow at the current state of affairs and probably the most calm you’ve been in the last three weeks, not to mention an immeasurable sense of relief at not having to overthink yourself to sleep, you reply, unable to keep the shy smile off of your face, “Yeah, this is nice.”
Not that you've spoken about what this is. After the show, there had been a celebratory hug, which may have been just a tad tighter and a smidge longer than previous hugs, before the two of you were whisked away by the organisers for photos and caught up in a flurry of congratulations. As you had both stood at the back of the auditorium, blending into the shadows like the other participants that came to join you after their shows, watching the dancers on stage, there had been a kind of tension that comes with unresolved conversation. But for once, you were perfectly content just existing. There’s only so much emotional upheaval that you can manage in a day.
There had been brushing hands and awkward eye contact that was diffused by timid giggling and grins, but not much talking. Turns out, you’re both wimps.
And after you two had received second place and, along with Jungkook and Tae, eaten lunch at a nearby restaurant, right before everybody had parted ways, you had given yourself a pep talk, practiced in front of the bathroom mirror around ten times, and then gently tugged Jimin to the side and said, voice carefully controlled and tone slightly less rushed than the last time you had done this, “Hey, do you wanna come over for pizza tonight? And maybe a movie, or something?”
The smile accompanying the ‘Sure, that sounds great!’ you received was blinding, and a little relieved. Jungkook’s reaction when you told him on the way back, after letting him stew in silence for a bit, just for the fun of it, had been offensively surprised, like he hadn’t believed you’d go through with it.
(“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I had utmost faith in your plan.”
“Liar.”)
And now Jimin’s in your room (Jungkook’s probably right outside, ear pressed to the door), food in hand, The Office playing on the laptop screen (you had both agreed that a movie would require an unavailable amount of attention after such a long day), his knee comfortably resting against yours like a constant reminder that he’s there, as if you can forget.
And it’s easy.
Like an upgraded version of the old days, that comes with blushing and giggling and a nosy roommate who's given up trying to be subtle.
~
#bts#ficswithluv#ultkpop#btswritingcafe#kwritersworldnet#btsbookclub#btsguild#thekpopnetwork#park jimin#kpop#fluff#kpop imagine#bts imagine#jimin imagine#jimin fluff#kpop fanfic#bts fanfic#jimin fanfic#yoongi#taehyung#hyejin#hoseok#namjoon#jin#bangtan#kpop fluff#bts fluff#jennie#taemin#key
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"i run the night slot on campus radio and some jackass keeps calling in to insult my music taste and request high school musical songs instead” with BluePulse please!
“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes. Y’all just listened to ‘Today is the Day’ by Yo La Tengo. Next up we have ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes.” Jaime pressed a button on the console in front of him, starting the next song before adding on to his commentary. “If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to call in!”
Jaime switched off his microphone and let the song play, flopping back in his chair. Running the night segment of the Houston University campus radio was a pretty chill gig. It paid him above minimum wage for every hour he worked, he only had to work six hour shifts, and it was only five days a week. Besides that, it was a solo job, and no one was there to tell him what to do. Obviously there had been some ground rules when he’d been hired— no cursing on air, and he had to take call-ins from students— but other than that, he had free rein of the radio frequency and he could play whatever music he wanted from 6 pm to Midnight, Monday through Friday. All he had to do was press buttons on a control console, sit back, relax, and occasionally answer the phone.
Speaking of which... Jaime checked the time. 10:28 pm. Great, that meant it was almost time.
With a groan, he raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, eyes squeezing shut. Every night for the past two weeks at exactly 10:30 pm, without fail, the same jackass student had been calling in to insult his music taste and request High School Musical songs instead. The first time it had happened, Jaime had been shocked at the audacity of the student, but had granted the song request anyway. (He had to. It was part of his contract. If a person called in with a song request, Jaime had to grant it. The only exception was if someone requested a song that was inappropriate to air. As long as it had clean/sensored language, and was free from overly explicit themes, Jaime queued up the song).
He mentally prepared himself. ‘Seven Nation Army’ was just about over, and Jaime already had his next song selected. If he timed things right, he could take the annoying student’s call during the next song, and wouldn’t have to subject himself to humiliation where everyone who was listening to his station could hear. It had only taken Jaime three nights to catch onto the trend.
As the guitar faded out, Jaime switched back on his microphone and addressed his audience, “That one’s a classic. ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Hope y’all enjoyed that one. I’ve got a few more songs in store for y’all with the time we have left-”
The tell-tale ring of the phone interrupted him. Jaime had to bite his tongue to prevent the string of Spanish curses that wanted to fall from his lips from actually coming out. He had spent too long talking, and now he had to take the dreaded call on-air.
He took a deep breath, and had to layer on the enthusiasm thick as he ‘cheerily’ exclaimed, “It looks like we have our first caller of the night!” Jaime picked up the phone and gave the scripted greeting, “Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”
Like all the nights previous when Jaime had asked this question, he got the same response. “Nah. I think I’ll stay anonymous. Keep things interesting. Though if you want a clue, I’ll tell you; I’m on the track team.”
Jaime scrambled for his notebook. That was the biggest clue he’d gotten yet about this mysterious student caller. It was almost like some kind of game. So far, every night when this student had called in, they’d said they wanted to remain anonymous, yet would give a clue about their identity. So far, Jaime had a bulleted list of eight items, with ‘track team’ being number nine. The other clues he’d received were ‘hates Indie Rock’ (which was Jaime’s favorite genre of music, thank you very much), ‘favorite movie is High School Musical 2’ (which was blatantly obvious, based on the songs this jackass student always requested), ‘favorite color is red’ (which told Jaime squat about who this kid was), ‘favorite food is chicken whizzes’ (once again, jack shit), ‘red hair’ (which was the first major clue Jaime had gotten), ‘green eyes’ (now it was obvious the kid wanted Jaime to figure out who he was), ‘5’9”’ (somewhat helpful), ‘Freshman’ (which eliminated 3/4 of the students on campus this caller could be), ‘mechanical engineering major’ (another somewhat helpful clue), and ‘gay’ (which, wow, Jaime would never out himself live on the air. This guy had some balls...).
After the mad scramble for a pencil, Jaime flipped the notebook open and single-handedly jotted down the new piece of information, balancing the phone against his ear with the other hand. When he was finished, he leaned back in the big leather chair, kicking his feet up against the edge of the desk in front of himself, feeling satisfied. Jaime knew he had enough information now to track down this annoying student and put an end to these stupid calls interrupting his radio show every night. Tonight would be the last time ‘We’re All in This Together’, ‘Bop to the Top’, or ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ would play during his segment, and Jaime was RELIEVED.
“Is that why you feel the need to call into my show every night?” Jaime fired back at the student. “So you can rope all of your track mates into singing ‘We’re All in This Together’ while you run in circles?”
An airy laugh was the response. And there a slight second where Jaime thought to himself, ‘Wow. That’s actually kinda cute,’ before his brain rebooted and he realized how counterintuitive that was. This guy was an annoyance that had to be dealt with. So what if he had an attractive laugh? It didn’t erase all of the other judgements Jaime had already formed of this student. And they were that this guy had terrible music taste and needed to find another hobby besides calling in every night to bug the shit out of Jaime.
“What better song to commemorate mutual suffering?” The other man laughed again.
Jaime scowled. ‘Mutual suffering’? Sure, Jaime knew the vexing student was talking about his track mates, but he couldn’t help catching the irony in the choice of words. As far as Jaime was concerned, the only one doing any suffering was him.
“So is that your request for tonight?” Jaime just wanted to get this over with already.
A contemplative “hmmm” made its way down the line, before being followed with, “Well, I was originally gonna ask for ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ but ‘All in this Together’ works nicely, too.”
“Por Díos,” Jaime mumbled under his breath. “¿No puede este idiota tomar una decisión?”
“Woah, hey, is that Spanish?!” Apparently Jaime’s mumblings hadn’t been quiet enough. “Yo hablo español!”
Jaime cringed. The pronounciation was terrible, but the enthusiasm was endearing. And dammit! He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. His train of thought was off the tracks again.
Without saying anything else, Jaime turned to his computer, quickly punched ‘We’re All in this Together’ into the song search bar, and hit play. He switched over the audio connection so that the only thing his audience could hear was the music, took a deep breath, and then made his rebuttal to the annoying student.
“You might want to work on that pronounciation, ese.”
The response was whiny. “Aww, it’s not that bad!”
Jaime cringed. “It’s not great, either.”
The student on the other line sighed. “Fine. But at least I have good taste in music!”
“That’s debatable.” Jaime didn’t know why he was dragging out the conversation. Usually after he granted this annoying caller’s request each night, the student rattled off a final jab at Jaime, before just hanging up. Why was he staying on the line tonight? Maybe Jaime just had to direct the conversation in that direction?
“My music is better than what you play every night. I’m doing you and your radio station a favor!” And yep, there it was.
“I don’t think people are tuning into my station to listen to the one High School Musical song you insist I play every night.”
Jaime could practically hear the smirk through the line when the other student responded. “Even if people are tuning in to listen to your crappy music, my song is still the highlight.”
Jaime groaned. He was growing weary of this conversation. “Do you listen to anything besides terrible High School Musical songs?”
That cute laugh caught in Jaime’s ears again. “Doi. A guy needs to have a little variety in his music. I’ve also got ‘Can’t Stop Singing’, ‘Turn Up the Music’, ‘Determinate’-”
Jaime’s eyes rolled skyward. “I’m gonna stop you there. Does your playlist contain any songs that aren’t from Disney Channel movies?”
A horrified gasp marked the beginning of the indignant response. “What’s wrong with Disney movies? High School Musical is the crashest movie series in existence.”
Jaime didn’t have enough time to think over the choice of the word ‘crashest’ before the other student continued rambling on.
“What other kind of music do you need?! Disney movies have great numbers, teach you about life and friendship, and growing up, and you gotta be kidding me if you don’t think Zac Efron is hot playing Troy.”
Jaime snorted a laugh for the last amendment to the other student’s statement. He’d only watched High School Musical once, and that was enough for him. And despite occasionally finding other men attractive (being bisexual himself), Zac Efron had never really done it for Jaime.
“I wouldn’t exactly call those ‘musical numbers’ as you put it, any type of masterpiece, however, I suppose you earn a pass for the friendship and growing up part.” Jaime smartly decided to skip the Zac Efron comment altogether, “I would say I’m more of a fan of the Disney animated movies. At least I can tolerate the Lion King and Aladdin sound tracks.”
A little puff of a chuckle, and then, “You should really get a better hobby than bashing on Disney movies.”
Jaime scoffed and immediately fired back, “You’re the one who calls me every night to bash on my music.”
“Oooh.” The other student made a hissing sound, as if a flame were being extinguished. “Caught red handed. But—” And here, Jaime could sense something dangerous was about to be said— “how about we settle this once and for all. You obviously don’t get out of the radio studio enough. What say you come to the next Houston U track meeting? We can settle this music debate once and for all.” Yep. That was a challenge.
Jaime took a few seconds to deliberate. He was curious to see who this mysterious caller was. Besides, what harm could it do? Jaime was not the type to back down when he was challenged. He had his pride and dignity. He would not be bested by this asshole. He was going to go to that track meeting.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, ese.” If the other student were there in person, Jaime could imagine shaking his hand to seal the contract.
“Alright,” the other student said, and if Jaime wasn’t mistaken, he sounded rather gleeful that Jaime had taken the bait, “I’ll see you there.” And then the line went dead.
Jaime ran a hand through his hair as he hung up the phone with the other. What had he gotten himself into?
The next Houston U track meeting was a week and two days since the fated phone call. Since that night, the mysterious student caller hadn’t rung Jaime’s radio station. It was a power move, and a good one at that. He had put the ball in Jaime’s court (or passed him the baton? That was a track thing, right?), meaning all responsibility was on him. In all honesty, Jaime was tempted to skip out on their ‘deal’. Sure, he’d agreed, but only because Jaime’d thought it was the key to get the student to stop calling. Now that the calls had stopped, Jaime saw no reason to get involved and draw attention back to himself. Maybe if he didn’t go, the annoying student would just leave him alone.
On the other hand, if he didn’t go, wouldn’t that just give the other student more incentive to start calling him again? Not only would Jaime continue to get bashed for his music taste, but then the other student would also be able to expose him as a liar. That was definitely NOT the reputation Jaime wanted to have. He had no choice. He HAD to go to that stupid track meeting.
It didn’t mean he didn’t drag his feet the whole way to the field though. Even with his ticket and getting there five minutes early, it was near impossible to find a seat. Jaime had no idea a sporting event like track would be so popular. What was so special about a bunch of guys running around in a circle?
It took a little shoving and some mumbled “sorry”s and “excuse me”s before Jaime was finally able to plunk down next to a young couple, in one of the only empty seats left. They seemed like nice enough people; the man even tried making small talk with him once Jaime sat down; but Jaime’s shy demeanor prevented the conversation from launching into something deeper.
Once the couple was no longer paying him much attention, Jaime surreptitiously slipped his little pocket notebook out of his jeans and flipped it open to the page where he had noted all of the little clues his mystery caller had given him.
Unfortunately, only some of them were usable in this context. Clues about the other student’s personality and preferences wouldn’t help Jaime identify anyone. Only the clues the track star had given Jaime about his physical appearance would be of use. He was looking for a redheaded, green-eyed, 5’9” Freshman. Should be simple enough.
When Jaime glanced down to where the runners were stretching by the starting blocks, he immediately noticed three boys with red hair. Luckily, this track meet was only a Houston U event and other schools weren’t participating. That meant one of the three was his mysterious caller.
From this distance, Jaime couldn’t judge eye color, and height was difficult to gage. He supposed he would have to wait for the announcers to give the names and grades of the competitors. Hopefully only one of the redheads would be a Freshman, and Jaime could find his culprit.
Within a few minutes, a runner was at the blocks for every lane. The first event was the 100m sprint. Everyone on the team would be participating. Only six could go at a time, and the announcer said that there would be three heats. Unfortunately for Jaime, the announcer didn’t bother with the names of the competitors since everyone was running, but he hoped that at least the winners would be announced, in case his redhead happened to be one of them.
In the first heat, two of the three red-haired boys were lined up at the blocks. Jaime trained his eyes on them. The first boy was in the second lane, and the other in the sixth lane. Hopefully one of the two would win so that Jaime could narrow down his suspects.
When the starting gun fired, all six runners took off like rockets. The pure speed was quite a shock for Jaime to witness. Within fifteen seconds, all six runners crossed the finish line.
“Winner!” The announcer shouted, once first place for the heat had been determined. He held up the arm of one of the redheads Jaime had been watching. “Senior Wally West with a time of 10.8 seconds!”
An elderly couple three seats over from where Jaime was sitting sprang out of their seats cheering. “Yeah, Wally!” shouted the man. His wife was enthusiastically clapping.
When they sat down again, the couple next to Jaime (conveniently sandwiched between him and the cheering couple) turned to face them.
“Wow!” the blond man next to Jaime exclaimed. “That’s his fastest time yet!”
The other blond man laughed (and it was then that Jaime noticed the striking resemblance). “He’s been working hard. Of course, he’s no match for Bart, but just maybe Wally might have a shot at beating him in the 3200m.”
The brunette woman of the younger couple hummed, a smirk resting on her lips. “I don’t know about that one. Our Bart’s got Thawne blood, too. He’s got runners from both sides. Wests... not so much.”
“Mel!” the man next to Jaime gasped, scandalized. “I thought we said no family rivalry at track meets?”
Immediately the brunette woman, Mel, appologized. “Sorry, sorry.”
“That’s right,” the man from the elderly couple interjected. “You have to remember Donny’s got some West blood himself. Iris was a West before she married me.” He slung an arm around the graying red-haired woman sitting beside him.
It was then that Jaime was able to piece it together. The young blond man— Donny— sitting next to him, was the son of the elderly couple— Iris and her husband (unfortunately Jaime didn’t have his name yet). The younger brunette woman— Mel— was Donny’s wife, and one of the runners— Bart— was their son, and the grandson of the elderly couple. Wally— the runner who had just won the first heat was a relative (?) of the two couples.
By the time Jaime was done puzzling out the relations, the next heat of runners was already at the starting blocks. Unfortunately, the other redhead, whom Jaime guessed was Bart, was not in this heat.
The starting gun fired, and the race was over within fifteen seconds again. The winner was announced, and the runners of the third heat took their places.
Jaime’s gaze zeroed in on the redhead in the first lane. That must be Bart. Mel and Donny were balanced on the edges of their seats next to Jaime.
As soon as the gun fired, Bart was nearly a quarter of the way down the lane. He was insanely fast. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if he hit an Olympic time. His teammates stood no chance.
When he was announced the winner, Jaime had to do a double take at the 9.63 second time blinking on the screen behind him. That was more than a second faster than Wally, who had won the first heat.
“‘Attaboy, Bart!” Donny yelled.
The exclamation caused Bart’s attention to be drawn towards them. He waved proudly at his parents, and then his gaze caught on Jaime. Even from this distance Jaime could see the electric green eyes trained on him. There was no mistaking it now. Even with the other redhead to consider (since Jaime hadn’t heard his name or grade announced yet), he was certain Bart was his mystery caller. There was something in his eyes— a knowing glint— that made Jaime nervous. Could Bart know who he was?
It wasn’t completely impossible. Because he ran the campus radio at night, Jaime had a page on the school website. His name and picture were plastered right along side Cassie and Gar’s. Cassie had the morning shift from 6 am to noon, and Gar’s comedy segment ran from noon to 6 pm, when Jaime started. All Bart had to do was look him up and he would know exactly who Jaime was.
In retrospect, Jaime easily could have done the same to figure out who his annoying caller was. Once he’d received the track team clue, he could have pulled up the roster and narrowed his suspects down. He could have ruled out Wally because he was a Senior, and possibly even the other redhead based on his year. The announcer had said that Bart was a Freshman when he’d announced him as a winner, so Jaime figured he was the most likely of the three to be the caller. He matched all of the physical descriptors.
There were two more sprinting events that followed, each doubling the distance of the previous. After witnessing the 100m event, Jaime wasn’t surprised when Bart came in first for the 200m and 400m. It was honestly impressive. Bart was talented both in the art of running and annoying Jaime over phone calls. Truly difficult feats.
Once the sprinting events were finished, the competitors moved onto the field. Unlike the sprinting events, some members of the team sat out. Jaime noticed only six members of the team were participating. Two for discus, two for shot put and two for javelin. Neither Bart nor Wally was one of the six. The other redhead on the other hand, was lined up at the javelin throwing line.
Jaime paid him little mind. As soon as the announcer introduced him as a Senior, Jaime tuned out completely. Now there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever. Bart was his mystery caller.
While the field events took place, Jaime watched Bart stretching out on the side of the track. He was surprisingly limber. And Jaime had nothing to blame but the part of his mind attracted to men when he watched Bart bend over in his running shorts to stretch out his hamstrings. He had really nice legs, among... other things.
Jaime shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. He’d come here to put Bart in his place because of the annoying phone calls. Not admire his amazing calves.
When the field events were over, some members of the team moved back onto the track for the hurdle events. Again, Bart was not amongst them.
“He doesn’t do hurdles either?” Jaime accidentally mused aloud.
Donny turned to look at him. “First track meeting?” he asked, kindly.
Jaime felt a blush crop up on his cheeks. He hadn’t meant for his comment to be out loud.
“Yeah,” he admitted, despite his embarrassment.
Donny gave him a smile. “They each only do one event plus the sprints. You’ve got the three field events, hurdles, and long distance.”
“Oh.” Jaime nodded to show he understood.
Donny outstretched his hand. “I’m Don.”
Jaime shook Bart’s father’s hand. “Jaime,” he returned.
When Don took his hand back, he used it to point to his wife. “This is my wife, Meloni.”
The brunette woman waved at him.
“And my parents, Barry and Iris.” He gestured at each member of the older couple as well.
Jaime ducked his head shyly. “Nice to meet you all.”
The pop of the starting gun drew their attention back to the track where the hurdlers had just taken off from the blocks. Jaime watched on in interest, amazed at the skill that had been displayed today. He’d never imagined a track meet being this entertaining.
After a few moments, Don turned back to him. “Who’re you here for?” He pointed down at the track members surrounding the edge of the rubberized circle, cheering on their participating teammates.
Jaime felt that blush bloom on his cheeks again. Should he be honest? He was sitting right next to Bart’s parents. What if they started asking questions he didn’t have the answers to?
“Uh, I-I’m here for Bart.” He didn’t really have any other options. He didn’t know the names of any of the other track members.
Donny’s green eyes suddenly lit up. “Bart didn’t tell us his boyfriend was coming! It’s quite a coincidence we ended up sitting next to one another!”
Jaime gave a hard blink, processing the sentences that had just exited the blond man’s mouth. “Uh, we’re not-”
Meloni cut him off. “Oh! You’re the one who runs the campus radio! I knew your name sounded familiar. Bart talks about you all the time!”
The first thought that went through Jaime’s mind was, ‘Does he now?’. There was no mistaking it. Bart was 100 percent the annoying student who called into his radio segment each night. And Bart knew who he was. As soon as this track meeting was over, Jaime was definitely going to have some words with him.
“It’s so nice to finally get to meet you!”
Jaime didn’t know whether he should burst their bubble. Don and Meloni seemed like genuinely good people, and they were happy for their son having seemingly found a relationship. Although their assumptions weren’t true, Jaime knew he would feel extremely bad telling them otherwise.
Luckily, there wasn’t much time for him to dwell on the subject. As soon as the winners for the hurdling events were determined, the obstacles were cleared off the track and the next set of runners were lining up at the starting blocks. Two heads of red hair immediately caught Jaime’s attention. Bart and Wally were lining up in lanes one and two, while a few more of their track mates joined them in the other lanes.
“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” Barry posed the question aloud.
“I think Bart’s got a running shot.”
Everyone groaned at Don’s poor-quality joke.
“I apologize on my husband’s behalf,” Meloni mostly addressed Jaime, “What he meant was that Bart’s been working on his pacing. He’s the fastest on the team, and has always taken first in all of the sprinting events, but Wally always gives him some good competition for the long distance stuff.”
Jaime nodded thoughtfully. Bart had definitely been fast; no doubt about that. But he was curious to see how he would do in an event that required more endurance. Apparently he would actually have some competition this time, unlike in the sprinting events where Bart had left all of his teammates in the dust.
When the starting gun fired, Jaime found himself actually holding his breath. This first distance was 1500m, just shy of a mile. Jaime could remember having to do the one mile run in P.E. back in high school and how much of a pain it had been. The best time Jaime had ever gotten was just over six minutes.
For the first lap or so, Wally and Bart were neck and neck. The rest of their teammates were about half a lap behind. Then, when they went into the second lap, Bart kicked it up a notch, pulling ahead. Wally kept his own even pace, a schooled look of determination set over his features, while Bart’s lips transformed into a confident smirk.
By the final lap, Bart and Wally were shoulder to shoulder again. It was clear that Wally had the superior skill when it came to pacing, as he had been able to keep the same speed the whole time, whereas Bart’s speed had varied in spurts, depending on his level of endurance. It was unclear which one of them was going to win.
When Jaime looked around at the stands, he could see fans eagerly debating which one of the redheads they thought was going to win. The general consensus seemed to be Wally, but Jaime had a feeling his High School Musical-song-loving caller had a trick up his sleeve.
When they reached the last 100m or so of the race, the stadium burst into cheering, each person of the audience shouting encouragement to their respective runner. Against all odds, and to the surprise of many, Bart burst into a full out sprint, easily overtaking Wally, and crossing the finish line with an enthusiastic whoop.
Jaime was absolutely shocked to say the least. After running three laps, how had Bart found the energy for that last burst of speed?
A time of 4.02 minutes flashed on the screen behind them as the announcer proclaimed Bart the winner. Meloni and Don broke into cheers beside Jaime, and Barry and Iris clapped as well to show their support. Even Jaime found a small smile working it’s way onto his lips as he clapped, in awe of the impressive speed Bart had just displayed.
There was a few minutes between events while the results of the race were recorded and the next set of runners lined up at the starting blocks. Again, both Bart and Wally were among the competitors. This time, the distance was more than double what they had just run at 3200m. Jaime was curious to see how Bart would hold up against the longer distance.
When the starting gun fired, all of the runners took off as a group, rather than Bart and Wally distinguishing themselves from the pack right away. With eight laps to go, Jaime supposed it made sense. No point in going all out during the first half of the race, only to burn out when it really mattered. Bart and Wally would probably wait until the final few laps to burst ahead of their teammates.
Around and around the track they went, keeping pace with one another until the sixth lap. As soon as they passed the starting line, all of the runners kicked it up a notch, and gaps between the competitors became more noticeable. As expected, Wally and Bart pulled ahead of everyone else, and chatter broke out amongst the crowd about which redhead it would be this time.
Barry and Iris seemed to have their money on their nephew (Jaime had finally pieced it together when Barry made the comment about Iris being a West before marriage), whereas Don and Meloni, being the proud parents they were, were betting on their son to come out on top. Jaime couldn’t help being biased, and was also rooting for Bart. After all, he was the whole reason Jaime was at this track meet to begin with.
Bart was giving his all. Halfway into the last lap, he was ahead of Wally by a few steps. It seemed like he had the win in the bag. Then out of nowhere, Wally pulled the same stunt Bart had last time.
Jaime could see Bart do a double take when his cousin passed him, but there was nothing he could do. Bart’s strength was his speed; not endurance. He was only able to give about 80 percent, whereas Wally had paced himself better, and could pour 100 percent of his speed into the last leg of the race.
While Jaime was disappointed to see Bart take second, he was still impressed overall. Wally had beat Bart by two seconds, but Bart had beat the rest of his team by nearly ten seconds, meaning he and Wally had had quite an impressive lead.
Barry, Iris, Don and Meloni were engaged in a chat about the outcome of the latest race, but Jaime found his eyes glued to his not-so-mysterious (anymore) caller. Despite losing the last event, Bart seemed to be a good sport. He and Wally were standing on the sidelines, getting a quick drink and catching their breaths before the final event was set to start. Between gulps of water, Jaime could see the cousins teasing one another, egging each other on, and hyping one another up for the competition of the next race.
When they were called over to the track for the last event, Bart elbowed Wally in the ribs with a cocky smirk on his face, and Wally retaliated by pulling the smaller man into a headlock to ruffle his hair. Jaime didn’t quite know what to make of it, other than that Bart seemed to have a cocky, playful personality. It explained why he had been so adamant about playing the stupid identity game he had roped Jaime into over the phone during his radio segments each night.
The last distance was 5000m, or approximately 12 laps. Just thinking about that much running made Jaime want to cry. Needless to say, he wasn’t a huge fan of running. Other sports, sure, but running was not something Jaime enjoyed for himself. He would have to give massive kudos to Bart for having enough dedication to running to put himself through the 12 lap race.
Again, all of the runners stayed in a pack for the majority of the race. By about lap eight, it was clear who the real endurance runners were. The six competitors had spread out, a few feet behind one another, with Wally leading. There was a black-haired guy on his heels, and following behind him were Bart and another black-haired runner, a little shorter than the man in front of him. Two more runners were taking up the rear.
Laps nine, ten and eleven passed without much change. It wasn’t until they got into the final lap that Bart mustered the energy to pull ahead of his two black-haired teammates and take up the trail behind his cousin.
Wally’s winning time of fourteen minutes and two seconds flashed up on the scoreboard, followed by Bart’s time of 14.08. Jaime almost had to do a double take. When he calculated the math, it meant Bart had averaged a time of approximately a minute and eleven seconds per lap, and Wally had been faster still!
While the judges and officials were confirming the results of all of the events that had taken place, the stadium around Jaime burst to life as audience members began to make their exit down to the track to meet with and congratulate the athletes they had come to support. Beside him, Don, Meloni, Barry and Iris stood from their seats and gathered up their belongings, preparing to go congratulate Bart and Wally on their wins in today’s events.
“You should come with us, Jaime,” Meloni suggested when Jaime didn’t stand up with the rest of them.
Immediately, a stone sank in the college student’s stomach. What would Bart think if he saw Jaime with his parents? He and Bart hadn’t even met yet. How would Jaime be able to explain if Bart’s parents brought up the boyfriend issue?
Reluctantly, Jaime got up to follow the two couples down to the track. He was sweat-dropping. He really hoped Bart’s parents wouldn’t make things awkward.
As soon as he was in range, Don slung an arm around his son’s shoulders, congratulating him on his multiple wins. Meloni also smothered Bart in a hug when she got her opportunity, cooing over how well he had done. Beside them, Barry and Iris were doing much of the same to their nephew, expressing their awe of Wally’s endurance in the long-distance events. Meanwhile, Jaime stood awkwardly by, waiting for a chance to hopefully have a chat with his not-so-mysterious caller.
When the Allens finally separated from their son, Jaime locked eyes with Bart. There was a glint in those green irises that Jaime couldn’t place. It wasn’t good or bad per say; Jaime could only describe it as making him feel on edge, ready to tip one way or the other.
As soon as Meloni noticed the stare between the two boys, she immediately turned on Bart, much to Jaime’s horror.
“Bart! Why haven’t you introduced us to your boyfriend? He’s such a handsome young man.” She used an insistant hand to push Jaime forward, so much so that he almost stumbled and fell into the chest of his supposed “boyfriend”. Luckily, Bart’s hands came up and caught him by the biceps before that could happen.
Both his and Bart’s eyes widened. Pink burned hot on each of their cheeks. Jaime took a quick step back. He felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Well?” Don goaded. “Don’t be shy! I’m glad to see my son’s finally been able to put the Allen-family charm to use! How long have you two been together?”
Jaime could feel the color in his cheeks getting darker by the second. Bart was still giving him this weird look, as if it weren’t his parents who had instigated this whole conversation in the first place. The prolonged awkward eye contact was making Jaime uneasy, and he was tempted to just speak up and shut down Bart’s parent’s idea about him and their son being in a relationship, but before he had the chance, Bart was clearing his throat to speak.
The track star raised a hand to the back of his neck, and Jaime had to do a double-take at the innocent “embarrassed” façade he was now putting on. “Well,” he said, playing bashful, “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, Babe.”
Jaime’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates upon hearing the pet name. Bart was just going to go along with this?!
Without preamble, the redhead slung his arm around Jaime’s shoulders, crushing him into his side in a display of “affection” for his parents’ benefit. “Jaime’s a little shy,” Bart said, when Jaime failed to fill in the silence. “He wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I’m actually a little surprised he came to the track meet today.”
Bart subtly bumped Jaime’s hip with his own, which was a cue for him to talk. It took a moment for the raven-haired boy to scramble for a response. He would play along... for now.
“I had to see if you were as good as you were making yourself out to be,” Jaime had noticed Bart’s encoded message; he hadn’t expected Jaime to take his phone call seriously and show up. Jaime was giving his own back in return (I had to discover who the annoying caller was).
Bart chuckled. “Would I ever lie to you?”
Jaime had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Now the guy was just laying it on thick.
“Of course not, Chiquito.” The pet name came out from behind clenched teeth.
Luckily, Mel and Donny seemed to buy their act. When it was clear they were in the clear, Bart asked, “Mom, Dad, is it okay if I have a few minutes alone with my boyfriend?”
Meloni and Don shared a look before Don said, “Okay. But no hankey-pankey behind the bleachers!” He waved a finger at them, teasing smile in place over his lips.
Jaime felt himself going pink. “Of course not, Sir,” he managed to get out, in spite of how mixed up this situation had gotten.
Bart grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him a little ways down the track so that they were out of Meloni and Don’s hearing range. As soon as he had the opportunity, Jaime whirled on him.
“What the hell was that back there, ese?” Jaime hissed.
Bart shrugged. “They bought it, didn’t they?”
Jaime felt his eyes narrow into a glare. “Why didn’t you correct them?”
Bart did another shrug, this time with a knowing expression on his face. “It’s not like you said anything either.”
Jaime’s glare fell apart under the truthful accusation. It was his fault for not immediately shutting down the idea when Don had first brought it up to him in the stands.
Bart placed his hands on his hips and began rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. “In all honesty, I’m actually surprised you showed up.”
Jaime emulated Bart’s pose, resting a fist against his hip and gesturing with the other. “Well, I couldn’t risk you calling back during my segment tonight and accusing me of being a liar in front of my entire audience, now could I?”
Bart tilted his head in such a way that Jaime had to repress the thought of ‘Oh, that’s cute,’ before it accidentally slipped out of his mouth.
A faint pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks. “I guess I did kind of back you into a corner, didn’t I?” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, and it was the moment that Jaime realized Bart was genuinely sorry for having done so. While he may have wanted Jaime to show up today, it was clear now that he wouldn’t have used Jaime’s absence as blackmail against him if he had decided not to show.
Not wanting Bart to feel guilty, Jaime shrugged it off. “No es gran cosa.”
A smile worked its way onto Bart’s mouth. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m guessing by the look on your face, you’re not actually all that bothered by it.”
Jaime sighed. “Well, besides inviting me here so I can tell you how much I hate granting your High School Musical requests every night, what exactly is the reason?”
Bart scoffed. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to say that to my face!” He was trying to deliver the line seriously, but the smile on his lips told Jaime that he wasn’t actually offended.
Jaime shrugged, a small smirk working its way onto his own lips. “What can I say? Disney Channel movies are cheesy, and their sound tracks are even worse.”
Bart chuckled. “Your music is too depressing. You need something more upbeat. Less lyrics about death, sad childhoods, and oppression. ‘We’re All in this Together’, right ah-me-go?”
Jaime cringed, both at Bart’s pronunciation and at the stereotypes. His music was more complex than what Bart was making it out to be. Besides, Jaime wasn’t here to argue anyway. Bart had invited him to this track meeting with ulterior motives, and Jaime was determined to figure out what they were.
“Not all of my music is depressing,” Jaime countered. “Besides, you ignored my question. Surely you had some kind of motive in inviting me here besides to just discuss your terrible music taste. I want to know what it is.” Jaime raised both eyebrows.
An unexpected pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks, covering up the freckles sprayed like paint across his Caucasian skin. “I wanted you to notice me.” Jaime nearly missed the words, for they came out of Bart’s mouth in a whisper.
“You wanted me to notice you?” He repeated the statement, hoping for a bit of an explanation.
Bart’s blush deepened, skin in competition with his hair for reddest feature. His green eyes were piercing the ground, seemingly in an effort to burn a hole big enough to burry himself in to avoid such embarrassment. His fingers twisted harshly against one another. His whole aura had changed from the confident runner he had been on the track to nervous schoolboy.
“We’re in the same physics class.” Bart’s sneaker kicked up a puff of dirt as he ground his toe into the sand.
Jaime blinked. He’d never seen anyone like Bart in his physics class. Was he that non-observant that he had missed him?
“I-I usually sit behind you.” It sounded like Bart was struggling to admit something difficult. Usually Jaime was the shyer one in conversations, so he completely understood what it felt like having to lead a difficult conversation. But he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Bart was on the edge of a confession, and Jaime had to know what it was.
“I noticed how a-attractive—” Bart’s blush deepened yet again— “you were pretty much as soon as I laid eyes on you. I-I wanted to get to know you better, so I asked around a little. Turns out Cassie’s a mutual friend of ours. She told me a little bit about you, from working with you at the radio station, and I did a little bit of research on my own. I looked you up on the school website. I started calling in to your station. I kept asking Cassie if she could find out more about you for me. Your favorite color, food, movie... Any hobbies, or things you like. I started piecing together this picture of you in my mind, using our conversations on the phone to confirm or deny my theories about you. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate for you to notice me, so I started dropping hints on the phone, hoping you would take an interest. But you didn’t. And I-I can understand if-if you don’t feel the same way but IthinkIaccidentlyfellinlovewithyou.”
Jaime blinked hard. “¿Qué?” That last bit had left Bart’s mouth in an unintelligible jumble of sounds. Had Bart just admitted he was in love with him?
When Jaime snapped out of his confusion and looked back at Bart, he saw that the track star was struggling to hold back tears. A salty droplet fell from his chin and landed on the ground between them, creating a dark spot in the dirt. His shoulders were trembling with the effort to not let out a cry.
Guilt settled hard in Jaime’s stomach, like a boulder being dropped into a lake. The aftershocks were still rippling through his system. The pieces were slowly coming together.
Bart was in love with him, and wanted the feeling to be mutual. He had called in to Jaime’s radio station, hoping that he could get Jaime to take an interest in him. He wanted Jaime to pursue him, that way he would know for sure that Jaime felt the same way. And Jaime had taken an interest; he’d just done a poor job at showing it.
Hesitantly, Jaime reached a hand forward in an effort to get Bart to look up at him. “Por favor, no llores. Lo siento, I-”
Bart took a step back, angrily wiping his tears away with his fists. “No. I-it’s stupid. I built this idea of you up in my head, and it’s probably not who you are at all. I was just desperate and wanted you to like me back. And I know that me calling you every night was probably annoying and that you probably aren’t even into guys-”
Jaime surged forward, grabbing onto the other boy’s bicep with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other, and did something that surprised himself probably even more than it surprised Bart.
Bart froze, teary eyes wide in shock as Jaime’s lips smashed against his own. He was too surprised to react.
As soon as Jaime realized what he had done, he pulled back, blushing madly. Despite his embarrassment however, he couldn’t help the truth that fell from his lips.
“I am.” When Bart still looked confused, Jaime rushed to clarify. “Into guys. Into... you. I’m bisexual.” He raised a hand to nervously rub at the short raven hairs along the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly.
Bart seemed to snap out of his stupor. “You’re into me? I didn’t think you were interested. I thought you only came today because I was blackmailing you.”
Jaime’s awkward laugh turned amused. “If you think I showed up today because of your so-called ‘blackmail’, you need a new definition for the word.” He moved his hand from his neck, slipping it into his pocket to pull out his notebook. Jaime flipped it to the page where he had taken down all of the little clues Bart had given to him over the phone and turned the book around to show it to the track star. Bart’s green eyes widened slowly as he read over all of Jaime’s scrupulously written notes.
“I wrote down everything you told me about yourself.”
Bart’s gaze slowly ascended from the page, an awed look in his eyes. Hastily, Jaime closed the notebook and placed it back in his pocket. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in consideration before finally saying, “I’d like a chance to get to know you. I want to give us—” Jaime used a finger to gesture between himself and Bart— “a chance. If that’s... crash?” He tested out the word he’d heard Bart use during a few of their phone calls.
The redhead’s face lit up like a child’s after receiving a piece of candy. “Yeah! That’s totally crash! When are you free?”
“Uh-” Jaime pulled out his phone to check his calendar, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.
“Time to get this show on the road, Kiddos.” When Jaime looked up to see who the hand belonged to, he saw Bart’s father standing between them, his other hand grasping onto his son’s shoulder. “Who knows what you two would get up to if Mel and I left you alone any longer.” Don playfully shook his head, before turning the eyes Bart had inherited from him on his son. “Your mother and I were college sweethearts, too. We know what kind of things kids your age get up to.”
Both Bart and Jaime blushed at the implications.
“Dad!” Bart groaned in embarrassment.
Don chuckled, as if it were all in a day’s work embarrassing his son. He turned to Jaime. “We usually go out as a family after track meets to celebrate. Everyone’ll be there. It’s a good opportunity for Bart to introduce you to the family. If you’re up for going, Jaime?”
The raven-haired student shared a look with his boyfriend? friend? person-he-thought-was-very-attractive-but-wanted-to-get-to-know-a-little-better-before-dating? Bart shrugged.
Jaime felt put on the spot. He and Bart had just discussed the possibility of beginning a relationship, and now he was supposed to meet the ‘rents? Not that he hadn’t already, but that was beside the point. Going out for a meal with Bart’s parents, grandparents, cousin and who-knows-who-else, and having to pretend that he’s madly in love with someone he was just meeting for the first time today? This had the potential to kill any chances he and Bart had at actually beginning a real relationship.
“I’m sorry, I already have plans,” was what Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Sure. I’d love to get to meet your family, Cariño.”
“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes-”
“-and his amazing boyfriend, Bart Allen-”
Jaime had to stifle an ‘oomph!’ as his boyfriend of three glorious months slung an arm around his neck and plopped down on his lap, leaning in close to the microphone so that he could be heard, too.
“-Next up we have ‘Flourescent Adolescence’ by Arctic Monkeys-”
“-And after that, ‘I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’ from High School Musical!” Bart slammed a finger into the ‘play’ button, starting the next song in the queue, before swinging his leg around so he could straddle Jaime’s lap and drag him into a kiss.
When they pulled apart, Jaime had a pout on his lips. “Who let you in here?” Bart wasn’t supposed to be in the studio, especially when Jaime was live on the air.
The younger smirked deviously. “Cassie might have loned me her key so that I could pay my boyfriend a visit while he was working...”
Jaime shook his head. “Of course she did.”
Bart booped his nose with a fingertip. “Don’t act so put out. You know you looooove me.”
Jaime shook his head, trying to keep a poker face. “Nope. You just tainted my reputation by saying that we’re gonna play High School Musical songs voluntarily. How could I love someone who would pull such a slanderous act against me?”
Bart poked his nose again. “You looooove me.”
Jaime shook his head. His lips threatened to quirk up into a smile. His poker face was cracking. “Nope.”
Bart hovered his lips dangerously close to Jaime’s own. “Admit it, Babe. You love me more than anyone in the world.”
Jaime’s mask crumbled. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Te amo con todo mi corazón.” He pulled Bart that little inch forward to kiss him again.
Unfortunately the phone cut their loving moment shorter than either boy wanted. Jaime picked it up.
“Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”
“Yeah, Jaime, it’s Gar. I’m glad to hear that you finally found yourself a good partner, but next time you might want to make sure your mic is off before making any declarations of love while you’re live.”
Crimson bloomed to life across the entirety of his face while Gar hung up on the other end of the line. Immediately, the radio host leaned forward and flicked off the switch to his microphone. Jaime buried his face in his hands.
“I hate you!” He directed at Bart in an embarrassed moan.
Bart chuckled. “Nah. You looooove me.”
Here it finally is @purple--waffles! I’m so sorry it took me so long! I’ve been slowly working on it since the day your request arrived in my asks. Life is crazy, and I haven’t had a whole lot of time to write recently, but I really wanted to finish this for you. My mind ran with the prompt, and even though it took me awhile, hopefully the length makes up for it??? Maybe? Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!
#young justice#yj#bart allen#jaime reyes#kid flash#impulse#blue beetle#bluepulse#asks#answers#writing requests#sorry this took me a little while to finish
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Friends With Torment
AO3
Masterpost
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Camilia knew that going to Hexside would be far different than any regular school, boarding or not.
However, she had a sneaking suspicion that it would be a lot easier if she didn’t have Eda to constantly deal with.
,
It was nine o’ clock in the morning. As in, way too early for any shenanigans to happen.
And right on the dot, the bells screamed awake.
Normally, that would be the signal for students to move onto their next class.
Until the bells started belting out song lyrics.
“BUT SINCE YOU’VE BEEN CONNED,” The bells shrieked. “I CAN BREATHE FOR THE FIRST TIME!”
“Oh no,” Camilia groaned, standing up from her desk as the other students started looking around in confusion.
Still, she gathered up her things and grudgingly made her way to the door.
The hallway was swarmed with perplexed students. Camilia had only just stepped out of class before a familiar figure oh-so-casually slid up beside her.
“Huh, funny for the bells to ring like this,” Eda said innocently. “I wonder what could’ve happened to them?” She said, giving a smug smile.
“I EVEN FELL FOR THAT STUPID LOVE SONG,” The bells continued, far past what they’re usual screaming time was. “YEAH, YEAH, SINCE YOU BEEN CONNED,”
“Eda,” Camilia inhaled before turning to face the girl. “Why? Of all the things, why this?”
“Because I thought it would be funny and I’m currently obsessed with this song,” Eda replied with a shrug. “This is my way of getting out of that phase.”
“By torturing everyone else?” Camilia looked back up to the bells.
“GUESS YOU NEVER FELT THAT WAY. BUT SINCE YOU BEEN CONNED,”
“Yeah,” Eda said, her smile growing.
“Are they supposed to go on this long?” Camilia asked, walking through the hallways and noticing students beginning to cover their ears.
“I thought I hexed them to only play it during normal ring times,” Eda admitted, inspecting a bell they passed. “I guess I forgot to specify how long they should be ringing for.”
“Are you telling me they’re going to do this all day?” Camilia gaped. “Eda!”
“YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, YOU BLEW IT. OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND. SHUT YOUR MOUTH, I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT,”
“Oops,” Eda shrugged, completely unbothered. “Hey, if you want something else, I’d be happy to hex ‘em to play something different.” She offered.
“I’d rather you hex them to stop,” Camilia growled. “I’m never going to be able to work with this blaring all day.”
“Then today’s gonna suck for you,” Eda giggled. “If you want we could ditch and--”
“I’m not doing that, Eda.” Camilia said sharply.
“Eh, your choice, Cammy.” Eda said simply.
“At this point, I’m genuinely wondering why I put up with you.” Camilia growled.
“So am I, but I appreciate it.” Eda grinned. “How long do you think the school will put up with this until they start doing something?”
“Knowing Hexside? Five minutes to five hours.” Camilia answered honestly.
“I’m going five hours.”
,
It had been three hours.
Camilia, used to the noise at home, could usually somewhat tune out the music when she was in class.
Usually.
Now, Camilia was getting ready to snap. Nobody was allowed to go home early, and the hallways were unbearable. The constant shouting and complaining from the other students weren’t helping, either.
Eda noticed her discomfort during lunch.
“Song getting to you, too?” Eda teased, slipping into the seat beside Camilia.
“How can you stand this?” Camilia hissed, holding her head in her hands, barely able to eat.
“You know what I’m like. Is this really that surprising?” Eda raised a brow, taking a bit of something that looked like a blue carrot.
“I’m honestly just glad Lilith is too busy being a teacher's pet to bother me about it.”
“This even isn’t that good of a song!” Camilia huffed. “I can name plenty of songs from my world that would be better than this.”
“SINCE YOU BEEN CONNED, SINCE YOU BEEN CONNED, SINCE YOU BEEN CONNED.”
Eda looked over Camilia, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
“Tell me one, then.” She said. “The offer still stands, I could put one on.”
Camilia wanted to argue, she really did. Tell Eda to knock it off and find a way to get the bells to stop. It was hard to concentrate in her healing glasses with the poorly-sung witches version of Since U Been Gone blaring.
Then an idea came to her.
“HERE’S THE THING, WE STARTED OUT AS FRIENDS,”
It was ridiculous, nonsensical, and far from her typical ‘keep your head down and do your work’ reputation Camilia had gotten for herself.
It was something Eda could never refuse.
“Well,” Camilia said slowly, pointedly refusing to look at Eda. “There is this one song…”
“I’m all ears,” Eda said, leaning closer with her ears pricking up, intrigued.
“YEAH, YEAH, SINCE YOU BEEN CONNED,”
“It’s a sort of joke in the human realm,” Camilia continued, noticing Eda's closeness and still not moving, inspecting her nails. “I don’t think anyone here would get it.”
“Aw, come on, Cam!” Eda whined, laying her head dramatically on the table, giving the human puppy-dog eyes. “I wanna know! What’s the harm in trying?”
Camila finally looked down at Eda over the rim of her glasses. She held the young witches gaze for a moment, feigning uncertainty.
“AND ALL YOU’D EVER HEAR ME SAY, IS HOW I PICTURED ME STEALING FROM YOU!”
Even if there was any, she knew she couldn’t say no to Eda when she looked so excited.
“Ever heard of the song Never Gonna Give You Up?”
,
And that’s how Camila found herself listening to the entire school be filled with Rick Astley’s voice, slumped against the locker doors, trying desperately not to attract attention with her laughing.
Eda was leaning on the lockers beside her, looking very proud of herself.
“Man, this guy has a lot of voice cracks,” She commented.
“I--” Camilia wheezed and covered her mouth to try and smother it, as kids were walking through the hallway and probably wondered what she found so funny about this situation.
“NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN, NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND DESERT YOU!”
“You hanging in there, Cam?” Eda teased.
“There, there was--” Camila snorted. “There was this kid who-who said he wanted to do this,” She said, gesturing to the bells. “But I never-” She choked back another laugh. “Imagined it happening.”
“Congratulations, it's a reality.” Eda smiled. “You’re right, I don’t get what this is, but you certainly seem to be enjoying it.”
“WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR SO LONG, YOUR HEART’S BEEN ACHING BUT YOU’RE TOO SHY TO SAY IT,”
“Way more than I should be,” Camila agreed, leaning sideways on the lockers so she was facing Eda, wiping at tears forming in her eyes from her laughing.
“I wonder if I could pin this on that human club,” Eda wondered aloud. “Considering this song doesn’t exist in the Isles.”
“INSIDE WE BOTH KNOW WHAT’S BEEN GOING ON,”
“Eda, Principal Bump could see a kid smash a window with his own chair and still find a way to blame you.” Camilia deadpanned, having to take a few brief pauses to stop from bursting out laughing again.
“Fair,” Eda shrugged. “But this was worth it.”
“WE KNOW THE GAME AND WE’RE GONNA PLAY IT,”
“For satisfaction?” Camila taunted.
“Yeah,” Eda nodded, her eyes looking over Camila for a second longer before turning away. “Something like that.”
“I JUST WANNA TELL YOU HOW I’M FEELING, GOTTA MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND!”
Camila chuckled and shook her head, watching the poor suffering students struggle on by.
“Don’t think I’ll be into all your schemes now, Clawthorne,” Camila warned. “This was a one time thing.”
“You said that the last three times,” Eda said, giving her a smirk.
“Yes, but I also rejected at least ten.” Camilia reminded her. “Someone has to be responsible here,”
“You're not responsible, that's Lilith.” Eda corrected. “You're just tired.”
“Is there really a difference?”
“Ms. Clawthorne.”
Both girls jumped and whirled around, facing the kitsune teacher, Mrs. Aka.
She did not look pleased.
“NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN,”
“I take it you have something to do with this?” She demanded, gesturing to the singing bells in the hallway.
“Pfft, you have no proof.” Eda crossed her arms and turned away.
Mrs. Aka only rolled her eyes before turning her head to Camilia, who was trying to quickly slip away from whatever trouble Eda was about to get into.
“Would you happen to be involved with this, as well?” Mrs. Aka asked the human. “You seemed to be having a fun time earlier.”
“O-oh, I was just,” Camilia frantically thought of an excuse. “See, I was just talking and--”
“NEVER GONNA TELL A LIE AND HURT YOU,”
“What, Cammy?” Eda pointed a disbelieving thumb at the girl. “Little miss perfect here couldn’t do a bad thing in her life.” She snarked.
Camilia was used to this. Used to Eda taking the falls. It happened between her and practically everyone, for some reason. She’d cause trouble, get other people roped in, and then take the blame for both of them.
Unless they were someone like the rich kids, then she wouldn’t even try.
“Um, well,” Camilia said. “I--”
“Well then, Ms. Clawthorne, I do hope you will come with me to Principal Bump’s office.” Mrs. Aka said sharply. “You have a lot of explaining to do!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Eda mumbled, getting off the lockers.
“NEVER GONNA SAY GOODBYE, NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND DESERT YOU!”
“Wait,” Camilia spoke up, hurrying in front of the teacher as she began to leave. “I...I asked for this song,” Camilia said, looking down and rubbing her arm. “This new one. I asked for Eda to change it.”
“Did you now?” Mrs. Aka growled, not noticing the shocked face Eda was giving the human behind her. “Did you ask for that first song?”
“No, ma’am.” Camilia shook her head.
“I see,” Mrs. Aka said slowly. “Both of you, come with me.” She said sternly, turning and leading the two down the hallway.
Camilia looked up only to fall in behind the teacher, before going back to the walk of shame, already feeling worse and worse by the second.
Why, of all the things, would she admit to that? She’s the first human in Hexside, and she just admitted to aiding in a school-wide prank with the most notorious troublemaker! What did she gain from this, really? She’d never done it before.
Distantly, she was aware of the song starting over again.
“Hey,” Eda nudged her shoulder, snapping Camilia out of her thoughts. “You didn’t have to admit to that, you know.” She said quietly.
“Y-yeah, I know,” Camilia nodded. “I...I guess I felt bad.” She murmured.
“Aw, that’s lame,” Eda snorted, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need pity, I’ve done this plenty of times before.” She said, waving her hand.
“WE’RE NO STRANGERS TO LOVE, YOU KNOW THE RULES AND SO DO I!”
“But,” She added a moment after, giving Camilia a shy glance. “Thanks,”
Oh.
That was why.
Camilia smiled back, softly chuckling.
“Don’t mention it. Or expect this to be a regular thing.” She teased.
“Wouldn’t expect any less from ya, Cam.”
#switched au#drabble post#the owl house#toh#camilia noceda#camilia#eda clawthorne#eda#lilith#mentioned#my writing#rickroll
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Intent At Tuning In On You
Find it on Ao3 here!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191749
Tobin wasn’t trying to snoop. That should be cleared up right away- it was a real, actual accident that he found Leif’s personal laptop still open on his desk, signed into YouTube and everything.
Yeah, he hadn’t knocked before he came in like he was supposed to. Leif had a weird policy about ‘personal privacy’ and ‘I respect your space, please respect mine’. Probably because of that one time in college when Tobin had walked in on him- anyway, Tobin thought it was a stupid policy, but it was Leif’s stupid policy, so he didn’t argue.
And sure, when Leif hadn’t answered Tobin had come in, but that wasn’t unreasonable! Leif could have slipped on his immaculate and regularly mopped floors and he could be bleeding out from his head. Really, Tobin was being responsible by checking on him.
Maybe when Tobin saw that Leif wasn’t in the room, he hadn’t left immediately. Sue him, he was hardly ever in here- he and Leif usually chilled in the living room together, and between Leif’s ‘privacy, seriously Tobin, do I need to use it in a sentence?’ and the fact that they had the same work hours, Tobin didn’t usually have a reason to be in there.
Once Tobin was in the room, he happened to remember that Leif was out for groceries. Whoops? Well, if he was in there anyway he may as well look around, just to tidy up. It’d be a welcome surprise for Leif, coming back to a clean room.
Of course, the room was already spotless. Whatever.
Leif’s room was exactly what one might guess- white walls with one blue accent wall, dark wood furniture. Fucking- Tobin blinked. Three bookshelves somehow wedged in the tiny room, all bursting with a weird assortment of classic literature and graphic novels and no less than four dictionaries. The two of them had moved in at the same time, but they were both so busy trying to get all their stuff up the stairs before having to pay for an extra hour with the U-Haul that Tobin hadn’t really had the time to see what Leif’s room looked like.
There was one lone cactus sitting precariously on the window sill. Tobin looked at it and smiled.
More interestingly, Leif’s personal laptop was sitting, open, on the desk. Tobin felt himself glide over before he could even pretend to stop himself.
On the screen was a little loading bar, 98% complete, with little text that said uploading… please do not log out at this time…
The computer pinged, and set back to a YouTube homepage. Oh holy shit. This was Leif’s password-protected, ridiculously-private, undoubtedly-personal video diary.
And Tobin had access to the whole thing, right that second.
He backed away from the desk very quickly, not trusting himself not to click through and watch them all. His foot snagged on something, probably the dangerously clean hardwood floors, and Tobin fell, gracelessly, onto Leif’s perfectly-made bed with a whoomp.
<>
By the time Leif got back from the store, Tobin was sitting on the couch watching Star Trek and acting, if he said so himself, totally casual.
Leif dropped his reusable tote bag (his favorite one, with the whale decal that was made from 100% recycled materials, because he was just that kind of guy) on the kitchen counter and immediately turned around to look at Tobin, hands on his hips and ice cream left to melt rapidly outside of the freezer.
“Need any help, bro?” Tobin asked nervously.
Leif squinted. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Dude.”
“Nothing! You know, Leif, in a friendship you need to trust the other person.”
Leif sighed and turned to open the freezer. “For the record, you’re so full of shit I can literally smell it, but rocky road is more valuable to me than this conversation.”
“Ouch. Leif that was… ice cold.” Tobin tried to pay attention to Spock, and failed, like the snoopy monster he was.
“Stop,” Leif said quietly, in that strangely-fond tone of voice he only ever used when Tobin made a joke that he was trying not to laugh at.
Netflix asked Tobin if he was still there. He wasn’t sure if he was, actually, but he clicked for the next episode to start anyway.
Leif always refused to ask for Tobin’s help putting the groceries away, another weird independence thing he had, and Tobin had learned by now that if he argued with Leif on adulting-things he’d just get pissy for a few hours. As it was, Tobin paid more attention to the sound of cupboards opening and closing a few yards away from him than he did the title sequence.
Tobin couldn’t really believe he was listening to Leif doing chores instead of Captain Kirk doing… something.
Leif sat down on the couch next to him. “What episode, dude?”
“Uh…” Tobin fumbled with the remote before dropping it on the floor, batteries scattering. Leif stared. “I don’t… know?”
Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by an urgent “beam me up, Scotty!” spoken from the screen. Slowly, Leif slid from the couch to kneel on the floor, fixing the remote and turning off the tv.
Leif sat back down next to Tobin.
“Okay, for real, what’s up with you right now?”
Tobin panicked. “I went into your room!”
Leif froze. Then, slowly and purposefully, asked “is that all?”
“I know you don’t like it when I invade your privacy and shit. Seriously, I’m sorry man…” Tobin looked at his hands fidgeting with his ring before laying his hands flat on his knees, forcing himself to look up at Leif.
“Right,” he said, still sounding cautious. “Well, thank you for telling me-“
“Your laptop was open.”
Jesus Christ, Tobin needed to learn how to shut his mouth.
Leif sat up straight, stiff, like he wasn’t sure if he should run away or something, which was- which was not good, definitely.
“As in, my laptop was open and you saw what was on the screen?”
“As in, your laptop was open and I saw that it was still on and that a video was uploading and I was really curious but-“
Leif cut him off this time, voice high as he rushed out “I am so sorry, Tobin. I didn’t want you to find out this way.” He sounded out of breath, like he just got back from jogging or was about to hyperventilate, or… well, probably he was about to hyperventilate.
Shit, he was about to hyperventilate.
“Hey, woah, Leif.” Tobin quickly scooched over, lifting his arm and laying it around Leif’s shaking shoulders, letting gravity pull him down so he was slumping against Leif.
When Leif got like this, buzzing and anxious and flighty, he needed something to keep him feeling grounded. Tobin first found out about it in sixth grade, right before their Greek mythology debate, when Leif wouldn’t stop pacing until Tobin snapped and tugged him into a tight hug.
Just like when they were eleven, Leif immediately melted into Tobin, ducking his head under Tobin’s chin and exhaling warmly against his collarbone.
They sat there quietly for a while, Tobin breathing as slowly as possible in the hopes that Leif would match it. He rubbed Leif’s back absentmindedly.
Eventually Leif spoke again, still pressed against Tobin’s chest, but words clear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin everything, and I’ll get over you, I swear, I just need more time. I’m sorry, Tobin. I’m so sorry.”
Tobin blinked. His hand froze on Leif’s back. What.
“What?”
Leif pulled back haltingly, like he didn’t want to at all. “I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s okay, because you’re my best friend first. I just don’t want to lose you, man.” Leif scratched at his neck.
Tobin blue screened
“No, wait, what? Back up, please. I have no idea what’s going on.”
Leif’s eyebrows furrowed. “You saw what was on my laptop, right?”
Tobin leaned forward slightly. “Yeah. You had your YouTube thing up, and I really wanted to look at it but I knew you’d never forgive me, so I didn’t look, but I shouldn’t have been there in the first place and I invaded your privacy and so I wanted to apologize.”
Tobin watched as Leif’s face contorted rapidly. He tried to count out all the emotions he saw there- confusion, panic, realization- before giving up. Eventually he settled on something trying to be casual but looking more horrified than anything else.
“Oh. Right. Okay, then.” Leif’s ears were bright red. He tried to stand, but Tobins hand was still half on his shoulder, so Tobin pulled him back down again.
“No. No, not okay. What were you saying, Leif?” Tobin could feel his heart, not quite stuck in his throat but up in his shoulders, tense and beating fast and too hard.
“I think you know,” he said quietly.
Tobin dragged his hand down Leif’s arm, folding around his hand. “I think I need you to tell me.”
Leif stared at their intertwined hands before looking up and meeting Tobin’s eyes. “I’m in love with you, Tobin Batra.”
It wasn’t a surprise, in hindsight. But it was different to know something, intrinsically and unquestionably, in the back of his head, than it was to hear it out loud and in the open.
Leif Donnelly was in love with him. He tried the words out in his head, curled his mouth around it silently. It felt… nice.
Leif was still staring at him, hopeful, but Tobin wasn’t done thinking yet. He held his hand tighter. “Give me a minute?”
Leif’s face fell. “Yeah, of course, dude.” He half-stood again, but Tobin didn’t let go.
“No.” Leif looked confused, torn, a little hurt. “No, stay. I just- stay for a minute while I think?”
Tobin watched as something unfolded in Leifs eyes. He sat down again, calm and soft, and held Tobin’s hand back just as tight.
Leif Donnelly was in love with him. Was he in love with Leif Donnelly? He stared at Leif’s eyes, blue and bright and shining even in the light of their shitty IKEA lamp that they bought together for Leif’s college dorm. He stared at the curve of his nose, at his lips and his floppy hair and his ears that were still a little red.
Tobin felt the weight of Leif’s hand in his hand. Tobin didn’t really want that to go away, ever. He couldn’t think of a single time he wanted that to go away, honestly, which meant that whatever he was feeling wasn’t new.
So, he was in love with Leif, and had been since before he knew what it was. Good to know.
“I’m in love with you too,” Tobin finally said. Leif’s hand went slack and his head jolted slightly, as if this was any surprise at all. “I kind of only realized right this second, but yeah, I’ve definitely been in love with you for a while.”
Leif swayed slightly, backwards and then forwards again. And then forwards more, so their noses were almost touching but not quite, and it was a little weird to try to meet his eyes, so Tobin just closed his eyes and brought his other hand up to Leif’s jaw, holding him there.
It felt nice to hold him. To just be this close to him. He wondered how he hadn’t figured this out sooner.
Well, he was glad he figured it out now, at least. No point lingering over lost time when the two of them had so much ahead of them.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Tobin said quietly, “and then I’m going to explain to you that if I’d wanted to watch your vlogs I would’ve just hacked into the YouTube servers again, and that I didn’t because I care about you . Is that okay?”
Leif leaned forward the rest of the way, and that was answer enough.
Title from Video Killed The Radio Star by The Buggles
#coder boyfriends#leif donnelly#leif x tobin#tobin batra#zep#zep fanfic#zep fanfiction#fanfic#fic#fanfiction#fluff#confession#get together#i love these boys#leifs canonical video diary#legend#my posts#my fanfic
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Shattered Reflections {20}
[Helsa RP- Fanfic]
Fandom: Frozen
Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence
- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance
Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna
Previous Chapter: 19.Girls’ Night
A/N:
Prepare for Puns xD
20. Boys’ Night
While the sisters had a lovely tea party inside their pillow fort, the boys’ night out was continuing to be unsurprisingly uneventful. Kristoff had finished brushing Sven a while ago, and now the boys were stuck roaming around the courtyard, encircling it for what seemed like the millionth time. Olaf got bored fairly easily, so of course he tried to nullify his boredom himself the only way he knew how, by talking, practically non-stop, barely letting Kristoff get a word in edgewise. Olaf's virtually self-supporting conversation consisted of him rambling stories, spontaneously jumping into song, and (the part that actually required Kristoff to be present to answer them) curious questions.
"...magic, so I guess Elsa's like my mom, but kids seem to have both a mom and a dad, and they don't have magic --at least I don't think they do-- so it's got me thinking, how do people make babies without magic?" Olaf wondered curiously, it one of the countless questions he had asked that night.
Kristoff had always been a good listener, so he didn't mind the rambling. They could possibly have done other things, but Kristoff was at least vaguely aware of Hans' whereabouts and wanted to be sure he was nearby in case he was needed. He wasn't oblivious to boredom per se-- just too focused on everything else to process it.
He just about choked when he tuned in to Olaf's question. He certainly made a sound like it, but he cleared his throat.
"Why is this not the first time I've been asked that?" He asked, more to himself and his gods than anything. "It involves complex biology and is way more gross than you'd want it to be..." He started.
"Oh look, we have company!" He changed the subject quickly and pointed out Hans and the Captain wandering home. In spite of the drinking, Hans seemed little more wobbly than he already had been with his injury.
"Ahoy Admiral!" Kristoff called, just to draw attention and avoid the question from Olaf.
"View Hallou!" Hans replied, curious what he was being hailed for. "The night is young and we are getting older." Hans joked dryly to the Captain, wandering to meet Kristoff and the party. "Well if it isn't the little snow-prince and the Arendelle royal cavalry. Good evening gentlemen. And I am counting the reindeer." He gave a respectful greeting gesture to all of them, perhaps especially the reindeer.
"I'm Sven," he introduced. He should at least be known by his name instead of just being 'the reindeer'.
"Oh! Hans the Fool!" Olaf greeted, now completely sidetracked from the question he'd asked earlier. "Are you having a night out, as well?"
Hans raised an eyebrow at Kristoff, more amused than perplexed, though there was plenty of that.
"I am, little prince. Getting to know the Captain. It appears I'll be helping the Royal Guard with my sword. I'm a little more than a fool, I must admit. Shall we have the remains of a night out together? Telling stories and whatnot?" Hans' tone was always lighter and sweeter with Olaf, as anyone might be while working with children. Especially a fool.
Olaf's face brightened with glee at the notion of having Hans join them.
"Yes! Let's do that!" Olaf exclaimed with excitement. He really did appreciate Hans' company, no offense to Kristoff and Sven, but having someone else that shared his enthusiasm, overjoyed Olaf.
"If that's what you wish to do."
"Good Evening," saluted the Captain, as he approached the group. "I see Westergaard's already inviting himself to join your party," he chuckled, already accustomed to his antics. "Is it alright to leave him in your hands?" He attentively asked Kristoff, almost as if he was watching over a puppy or a small child, instead of a grown man, a slightly drunken man, sure, but still. The Captain thought he should ask, Hans felt like he was his responsibility and he didn't impose anyone with that duty without their consent.
"Not going to join us, Captain? Just handing over Gaoler duty?" Hans joked dryly. He honestly meant it as a joke, but perhaps it did speak to his self-image.
"We'll be fine, Captain. In spite of Anna's wariness, I'm pretty sure I can handle this driftwood log, and if he gives me trouble, I can always pitch him back out to sea." Kristoff joked, nudging Hans with his foot.
"Oho, the Reindeer Lord has jokes. One of us is the Queen's fool, be careful who you challenge." Hans joked in return. He truly wore that stupid made-up title with pride. But then, Kristoff had his own made-up title, perhaps it was only fair.
"Hate to be an old fogey, but I'm afraid I've had enough excitement for one night, all I want to do now is get as much rest as I can to try to avoid having a headache in the morning," he said as he yawned. "I think my ears are still ringing from all that singing," the Captain twisted his pinky in his ear as if trying to dislodge something. "Keeping up with you isn't easy, you've completely drained me, boy. I need to hand over the reins and have someone else keep a watchful eye on you, just because of your capriciousness, and for your own well-being. Wouldn't want to find you floating in the fountain in the morning. I lost track of everything that happened tonight at the tavern, but if I recall correctly, I'm sure at one point you suggested doing a balancing act on a chair."
"Oh, I've seen him do that once," Olaf interposed.
"Of course, you've done it before, why am I not surprised?" The captain said with a disapproving head shake as he brought a hand up to his face. He let out a sigh. "Anyway, thank you for keeping tabs on him Lord Kristoff," he gave a nod in appreciation. "Fair warning though, his mood seems to be as fickle as the sea."
Hans laughed. "You flatter me, captain. And you need more practice at drinking if you plan to keep up with me. I was still sober at that suggestion." Hans grinned wryly. "And at the singing. I just like singing." He hummed. "Sleep, old man. See you in the morning, we'll try to keep tomorrow quiet then, hm?" Hans thumped the Captain on the shoulder, as good mates do.
"What else would we expect? Fickle moods seem to be all we know of him for sure." Kristoff pointed out. But he smiled and shook his head a little. "Tag me in next time, we'll see how I do at holding my drinks against a sea captain."
"I'd say bragging about your sobriety when acting like you were isn't something you should be proud of boy, but you already dub yourself a fool," he chuckled. "Indeed. Next time you're welcome to put him in his place," the Captain affirmed with a nod. "Goodnight gentleman, hope you enjoy the rest of your night-- and you don't cause too much trouble," he nudged Hans back.
"I'm off to bed. I bid you all adieu." After one more reverence, the Captain took his leave.
"Can I go to the drinking party next time too?" Olaf childishly asked. He wasn't aware of the alcohol involved, instead he was envisioning some sort of manly tea party. "It sounds like fun!"
Hans laughed a little. "Maybe when you're much older, little prince." He teased. "The men say things we oughtn't say around younger folks, and act more like fools than we ever should." He observed. "But what the captain doesn't know is, a fool is wiser than he seems, and a wise man more foolish than wise men ever think. The wisest man is the one who takes himself for a fool, even around fools." Hans smiled a little, playing wordplay games. He always liked puns and wordplay.
"This is like that riddle, 'the wisest man is he who understands that he understands nothing'." Kristoff hummed. "Hans likes to say silly things, and worse, sometimes I imagine he says things that get him into trouble." Kristoff observed.
"Aye, and out of it. More often out than in, but when in, then in big." He observed. It was a statement one really had to track to understand, but that seemed like the theme. Drunken philosophy night with the strangest assortment of characters around. "So, what are we all wandering about for?" Hans hummed.
"The ladies are having a girls’ night, so I was on patrol to keep an eye out that you weren't up to trouble." Kristoff answered honestly.
"What a good guard you are. You've certainly done that job." Hans hummed.
"Out drinking with the Captain of the Guard? I bet that was a wild night."
"Cards, drinks, and encouraging positive feelings toward myself. It's so easy, as if my last visit to Arendelle never happened. Anna is thus far the most sensible person I've seen." Hans admitted, a bit more soberly.
"You're not upset?"
"Oh, deeply. But that's sort of the point, isn't it." Hans didn't seem too bothered, just logical.
"Aw," Olaf groaned when he was denied his request to partake in the future fun only because he was deemed 'too young'. People kept telling him, 'when you're older Olaf', but when was that going to happen? He was a walking talking snowman, not an actual child though he was very much one in essence. Olaf tried to follow Hans and Kristoff's conversation, but got a bit lost in their philosophical talk.
Hans smiled a little at Olaf. "Just as well, I don't think it would appeal as much to you, yet. Not really. In much the same way that politics only makes sense and isn't boring when you get older, it likely wouldn't be quite the same for you as for us." He assured him. He almost instinctively patted Olaf's head, perhaps forgetting that he was made of ice and snow.
"You two seem chummy." Kristoff remarked, amused.
"Of course. He's kept me company while I've been unable to walk around and chatter quite so much. I don't talk very much at home, it's good to be here and be able to say the things I think. Oh, Olaf, did you ever figure out what the meaning of my story was, that day of the raid? I suppose I never finished it. Predictable, but the best stories are the ones that take what you know and turn it upside-down. Like an hourglass, it renews the story." He may not have been drunk, but Hans certainly wasn't sober either. He was prone enough to meander (both in words and walk) while sober, and drinking only exacerbated it as he wandered off toward grass, just to walk on something more natural than cobble. Hans loved adventure, even if it was only venturing off the cobblestones.
Olaf laughed a little at being patted on the head. "Hmm...the meaning of the story?" he pondered. "I think it means that even the Mirror Prince had his own side to the story," answered the little snowman. It was obvious even to him what story Hans had been trying to tell him that day. "You know, I have my own retelling of that story too and so does Sven, don't you Sven?"
"Oh, I would wager you do." Hans agreed, sounding intrigued. "So you've figured out that I'm not just Hans the Fool, then?" He hummed, with a little smile. "I keep picking up titles these days, sooner or later I won't know what to do with them all. I wonder if they can be recycled. Someone else can be a prince, I'll keep Fool and Admiral and let the others slide." He joked, all lighthearted for the moment-- perhaps purely because Olaf was there.
"Do pray tell, tell your version of the story? You can be quite a storyteller all your own." Hans remarked, his tone light and sweet. Kristoff wondered if that was what he was always like with children-- as Hans seemed under the firm delusion that Olaf was more of a strange child than a 'snowman given life through strange ice magic'. Kristoff supposed that was the better way to view things. Would he be like that with his own children? If Hans ever chose to have any, anyway. That would be its own pot of problems when they got there. Kristoff was glad that wasn't his problem-- but lately he had been thinking a lot more about families and family life. One could hardly blame him for thinking about the way Hans thought. Especially since he seemed to show a different face for every combination of company he might keep. Sometimes it seemed to change by the moment.
"Oh, yeah, everybody wouldn't be making such a fuss about you if you were just a fool, but I do prefer Hans the Fool," he giggled. The young snowman's face lit up at the invitation to share his account of the day he was created and the events that followed.
"Okay, be prepared, I'm going to start from the beginning, well, my beginning since I wasn't there for the rest of it. This story starts up on the North Mountain where Elsa created me using her magic..." Olaf was very thorough in the retelling of his story. He told Hans how Anna, Kristoff and Sven freaked out similarly (or even more so) than he did when they first met him as well. He went into detail about everything (even the unimportant stuff) from how he got his nose, his love for warm hugs, mistaking Kristoff for Sven and of course his love for summer. Olaf continued his explanation about how he led his new friends up the North Mountain to find Elsa to bring back summer. Of course he couldn't gloss over he got impaled. And trivial facts like how he waited for exactly one minute before he joined Anna to talk to Elsa at the Ice Palace. How Elsa herself was also a bit shocked that she'd brought him to life. He described the sisters' interaction after Elsa stuck Anna and how they got kicked out by Marshmallow, only to have Anna aggravate him shortly after. He couldn't leave out how he bravely volunteered to distract and hold Marshmallow back to no avail and that they all ultimately fell off the cliff. Olaf didn't skip out on any of the awkwardness. He went on to talk about how they all ventured to Kristoff's 'Love Experts', and how he thought Kristoff was totally crazy talking to rocks he called his family until they revealed themselves to be trolls. Also that he figured out his name was Kristoff not Sven. Olaf relayed the full extent of their visit with the trolls, attempted wedding and all and how they went to go find Hans (for a kiss) after they were told that 'only true love thaw a frozen heart'.
He explained how he ended up getting separated from the group and that he was the one that had found Anna locked up after Hans abandoned her. Olaf recounted how he almost melted trying to warm Anna up. He was quite proud of his 'Love Expert' advice that made Anna realize that Kristoff really cared for her. Then it was on to how the two of them managed to escape a freezing castle through a window and make it to the fjord. Olaf had gotten blown away by the storm and so the next thing he witnessed was Elsa embracing a frozen Anna on the fjord. Olaf expressed how devastating it was to think they lost Anna forever, but was happy when he was first to notice that Anna had in fact been saved, her frozen heart thawed by an act of true love different than the one they all had envisioned and that none of them had expected. He conveyed how delighted he was at the return of the summer once Elsa was able to control her powers, even though the sun had promptly begun to melt him, but thankfully Elsa kept him from melting. That was practically the end of his story about the events he'd observed, because after that he had been too distracted and overjoyed, by his own personal flurry that allowed him to enjoy summer, to pay attention to everything else that was going around him, like Hans getting punched in the face by Anna. The little snowman was very animated with his explanation, transforming himself and acting out the parts as he went along, he was a very theatrical storyteller even more so than Hans.
"...and that's the story of how I spent my first day of life."
Hans laughed through much of it, amused by Olaf's transformations and animated behavior, and all of his excitement.
"You lived quite an adventurous life, and all in one day! Many people would be jealous, and I would venture to say you have lived the most adventurous life of any snowman. I wonder if Marshmallow would say the same? I very much remember Marshmallow, nearly killed me on the ice bridge, but what an adventure that was!" Hans hummed. He seemed quite fond of Olaf, and only more so with time.
"You remind me of someone, somehow, but I'm not quite sure..."
"Yourself." Kristoff proposed.
"How, exactly? We're not exactly alike." Hans pointed out.
"You both laugh in the face of death, love jokes and stories, change to adapt to your environment, and everyone underestimates what you're thinking." Kristoff gestured to both of them.
"...Well perhaps, but there's no need to insult him." Hans scoffed, tone a little flatter.
"Oh shut up, I bet he's what you would have been like if you were raised in a happy family, without whatever screwed you up." Kristoff wouldn't let Hans deflect this one. And granted, perhaps Hans would have been a little annoying. Most children were. Olaf truly was just a child.
"Hm. That may be so, but for once I don't find much merit in exploring hypotheticals. I can't imagine that alternative history. I'll have to just enjoy the one we're in, instead." His tone was perhaps a little less pleasant. If anything, he seemed a little more protective of Olaf, after that. He didn't want anyone to think they were like him. He was one of the disappointments, a prince turned treasoner and fool. He was not an example to follow.
"Ah, yes, an adventure of a lifetime, those were the days. My, how time flies." Olaf said in an almost reminiscent tone. "I don't know if Marshmallow would say the same, he's not much of a talker. But what I can say for him is that sure mellowed out since the last time," Olaf laughed at his own joke.
"You both love wordplay..." Kristoff added, amused, as Hans laughed at Olaf's joke. Hans was probably the only one who would laugh at that joke.
"Your lifetime is only just beginning! You also lived through the assault on the castle, remember, there's plenty of adventuring time left." Hans assured, then he brightened up more. "Ah! I'm out of the castle, I can visit my horse in the stables! Would you all mind if we went? I haven't seen him in... probably a month? I'm not sure how long, now. Two?" He turned to go that way without waiting. Whether Kristoff wanted him to go or not, Hans wanted to see his horse. Kristoff shrugged and moved to follow. He was planning to end the night there anyway, and may as well let the man see his buddy.
"Oh! You have a horse? Is it a boy or a girl? What's it's name? Do you talk to them like Kristoff does to Sven," Olaf asked an abundant amount of questions as they headed back towards the stables.
Hans chuckled. "It's a boy, his name is Sitron. I talk to him, but he doesn't talk back." Hans assured with a little laugh. When he made it there, he jogged toward the horse, ignoring the pain in his side. Sitron seemed happy to see him, too, making happy sounds and tossing his mane. Hans threw his arms around his horse's neck and petted him. He was deeply fond of his horse, and they clearly missed each-other. Once again, it was easy to forget he was a prince, once. Now he was a man who had little but a mixed reputation, and a horse. A horse he was very glad to see again.
"Hello you, I'll have to go riding again soon, they haven't been giving you enough exercise, hm?" He cooed to the horse, petting its nose. "I never thought I was going to see you again." While he kept his tone relatively neutral, it was just because there were people around. He had deeply missed his horse. He had few other friends.
Sitron was indeed ecstatic to see Hans again, it had been far too long that they were about. He gently trotted with excitement at the notion of being ridden again. His tail was raised in excitement and his ears were facing forward in full attention. Of course he had to sniff and nuzzle Hans with his nose. There was no doubt Fjord Horse had deeply missed his friend as well.
"Oh, so that's Sitron, handsome horse, I was wondering where he'd come from, looks like he really missed you," smiled the little snowman. "Maybe you should groom him," he suggested, seeing that Kristoff had brushed Sven to start off the night and the reindeer seemed to enjoy it, so. "I know Sven likes it a lot when Kristoff does that to him."
"You know, I was thinking that myself." Hans agreed, immediately rolling up his sleeves and looking for the supplies to groom. Kristoff handed some over so Hans wouldn't have to think about it, and Hans happily took to tending to the horse as if he did that all the time. Maybe he had been a prince, but he had been a prince who wanted to be useful. "Ah, the lemon's turning into a lemon cake. You need to exercise." Hans teased, patting his horse's side to indicate that the horse was getting a little chubby. Still, he was glad his horse was being overfed, rather than underfed. He was the horse of a treasonist, after all. "Are they taking good care of you? You look well-groomed at least. No parade horse, but there's no neglect in Her Majesty's stables." Hans observed, more muttering at the horse than really talking to him as he groomed.
Sitron whinnied to show he was content. He was being treated well of course but he sure did miss going out for rides instead of being cooped up in his stall most the day.
"Did you name him yourself or was he named that when you got him?" Wondered the curious snowman. "He doesn't look like a sour horse to me," he commented since he didn't understand why he was named after a lemon.
Hans chuckled. "I did, I was a boy and boys do silly things. He's got a slightly yellow-y tint and it reminded me of lemon meringue, especially with his mane." He hummed. "Certainly not a sourpuss, Sitron has been my friend for years. Sometimes the only one I felt like I could talk to, since he can't talk about whatever I tell him. Secrets are a resource in my homeland, they're hard to keep and valuable for it. No matter how mild, it seems it can be a danger. So if I only told my horse, I never had to fear it getting to anyone else. And what does a horse care what I have to say? He's a horse. He cares that I feed him, groom him, ride him, and make sure his shoes are on right." Of course, the stable hands handled the shoes in Arendelle. Not that he would usually shoe a horse, but he liked to at least make sure they were taken care of.
"Your homeland sounds like an awful place if you can't talk to anyone but your horse," remarked Olaf. "No offense to you lemon meringue, I'm sure you're a great listener."
"It is." Hans assured, nonchalantly. "Our family and staff have a lot of petty squabbles and teasing that tends to go... overboard. I'm the youngest, I get a lot more trouble than the rest. That's why I left for anywhere else. The sea is a great big 'anywhere else' to me. When I couldn't sail, I rode. As far as possible, somewhere as wild as possible. Often to a beach or a shore, sometimes to explore some forest. A horse makes for a fine friend, but it does lead to much less conversation." Hans admitted, focusing on his grooming. Sitron didn't seem offended, it was the truth.
"You and Kristoff are a lot alike when it comes to finding fine friends in animals, yet Sven does seem to converse more than Sitron. But then again Kristoff isn't much of a conversationalist when it comes to people, I've heard him sing that he thinks 'reindeer are better than people' when playing his lute," mentioned the childish snowman. "I think it's because he was raised by rock trolls," he tried whispering the last part.
"Aye, you could say that." Kristoff admitted, amused as he folded his arms and looked down at Olaf with a raised eyebrow.
Hans laughed a little.
"Maybe he's not wrong. A reindeer never committed a coup." He pointed out lightly. "Everything's a matter of perspective, I think. Perhaps the rock trolls have a better perspective." He paused a bit. "Did I know about the rock trolls? I think I didn't. That's weird. But not the weirdest thing I've seen, I hope one day to meet them, then. If only to say I've done it." He hummed a little bit at that. He liked experiences for the sake of them. Who needed reasons to see or do something new?
"You should definitely meet them, the rock trolls are fun, very nice, wise and they really like telling embarrassing stories about Kristoff," Olaf said, completely ignoring the look Kristoff gave him.
"Maybe they'll do the fixer upper thing with you and Elsa, it looked like a lot of fun," he said, not really aware that it had resulted in the trolls attempting to wed Kristoff and Anna last time or was he? It was hard to tell will Olaf sometimes.
Hans looked curious, and chuckled a little.
"Afraid I'm not a big fan of embarrassing stories from family." He admitted. "Too familiar with that bitter pill, myself. I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, but, it's probably for the best if we don't. I'm the Queen's fool, but I won't flatter myself to think we'll be spending much time together." He waved the thought aside, with a horse brush in-hand. Kristoff gave Olaf a curious look, wondering if Olaf was thinking the same thing he was about that. Olaf could be dim sometimes, but he -like Anna- had a habit of hitting upon the important things without knowing it.
For the first time in forever Olaf was uncharacteristically taciturn.
"Oh," he voiced in a slightly dispirited tone. He looked up at Kristoff a bit bemused.
Kristoff held the silence for a moment, a slow smirk showing up, identical to the one he wore when he wanted to tell Olaf all about how snow melts in the heat, but Anna stopped him.
"Flatter yourself, idiot." Kristoff shifted over to swat Hans playfully on the back of the head. Hans ducked, perhaps a little more than he needed to, receiving some small amount of the swat anyway.
"Excuse me?" He seemed uncertain whether he should be offended, or amused, but he looked a little more defensive either way.
"You think she visits just to make sure your wounds don't rot? That's what doctors are for. Anna may not like you, but Elsa does, at least as a friend. You might hate yourself, but you're the only one. And maybe Anna, but she'll forgive in time, if I know her at all. I won't tell you to get over it, but at least get the picture; you're staying in the castle, you're going to see the Queen plenty. Still, probably best you don't see my folks and her at the same time, they're likely to marry you both." Kristoff joked dryly.
Hans laughed, a somewhat nervous laugh. But he didn't know how to respond, so he focused on brushing Sitron, instead.
"Let's talk about something else." He was quick to press the conversation away. Even if it was awkward, he would sooner hold an awkward silence than think about what Anna thought of him, or acknowledge that the Queen might like him. Somehow, both were painful.
Maybe the awkwardness now was karma for what happened earlier at the tavern. Kristoff had brought a wide smile back to the young snowman's face.
"You sure are a strange fellow," Olaf commented. Countless people would love to be in Elsa's good graces (especially since she still wasn't the most open person), but Hans seemed to think it was a bad thing, maybe he thought he didn't deserve that kind of attention, Olaf didn't quite understand and thought the former Prince was being silly, the title of Fool suit him quite well. He wasn't going to press him any further he saw Hans didn't seem too happy about the topic and Olaf preferred smiles to scowls. Of course Olaf couldn't bear the silence for too long, so he tried breaking it. He was an expert on changing the subject and going on random tangents. He didn't wish for Hans to stay silent, it just didn't feel right to him.
"Hey, Sven," he began "What do you call a reindeer with no eyes?" Olaf paused for a moment and Sven grunted. "What? You really don't know? I was only asking you cause you're a reindeer and I have no eye deer." He resorted to telling jokes, it was second nature to him. He’d much rather hear laughter than nothing at all.
Hans laughed quite suddenly at that joke, and rested his free hand on his face while he recovered from that one.
"Oh! That was a genuinely good one! it has layers." He did so love wordplay and puns.
"Honestly, he has snow idea how to tell a good joke." Kristoff proposed. He liked Olaf's tactic. It worked a lot better.
"Snow thanks, Ice see what you're doing here." Hans retorted. They were probably going to be doing that a while.
And that they did. Once you start wordplay especially with people that are willing to continue it's a bit hard to stop. There were lots of snow and ice puns, of course, those were the easiest to make, as well as horse and reindeer ones, but the best kind of wordplay was undeniably the one that used their names.
"I gotta Hans it to you, Sitron is looking more Hansome now that you brushed him," Olaf declared with a giggle.
--
The puns continued for a long while, certainly long enough for Hans to finish tending to his horse and spending time with it. When it was finally time to leave, he gave his horse a fond farewell with reassurances that he would be back. Kristoff escorted him back to his room, just feeling as if that was now his duty, since the Captain of the Guard was gone-- and also he was the most sober one there (both of mind and body).
By the time Elsa would have come to check on Hans, much later in the evening than she probably intended (because Girl Talk and catching up was simply too riveting), Hans had already decided to sleep, with an arm over his eyes and a leg hanging off the bed. Some people when they slept looked as if they had been laid to rest. Hans looked as if he had been thrown to rest, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with that fact. His hair was mussed and his collar rumpled, but only from the day's activity. And of course, he smelled a bit like rum and horse. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was an admiral. But not at that moment.
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The Riots, a Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Fanfic. Chapter 2.
I hope you like my piece for the @bokunovillainbang!
My amazing artist is @pinalinet! Please check them out, they’re incredibly talented as well as being an awesome person! They listened to my weird ideas and helped me come up with a decent outline for this fic.
I’ll try to have an update every two weeks!! Please look forward to it!
Summary: Bakugou’s a villain who is forced to double as a vigilante to get info on this new group of vigilantes called The Riots. Surprisingly enough, he ends up making friends with them and Bakugou finds himself falling for the leader of The Riots, a redhead with a sunshine smile.
Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Jirou Kyouka/Kaminari Denki, sort of Ashido Mina/Sero Hanta
Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Sero Hanta, Mina Ashido, Kaminari Denki, Jirou Kyouka.
Rating: Explicit
CW: NSFW, violence, drug use/abuse/addiction, alcohol use/abuse/addiction, strong language, mentions of vomit/vomiting.
First chapter // Next chapter (coming soon)
Read on AO3
Or read below the cut
Bakugou wakes up to his phone ringing. Annoyed, he picks up and grumbles into the device.
“I was bored.” Dabi says as a way of wishing him a good morning.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me? You just had to wake me up for that?”
“You do sound like you just woke up! Must be my lucky day.”
“What do you want, Dabi?”
“Just checking in on my best friend. Wanted to know how it went last night with those vigilante cunts. I’m hoping they didn’t turn you into one of them, but by the sound of it you’re your usual unbearable self.”
“Everything went smoothly.” He answers coolly. There’s no way he’s going to tell him that he threw up, or the conversation he had with Red Riot that sent shivers down his spine, or how it took him forever to go to sleep.
“Care to elaborate?” The man on the other line sounds more bored than interested but Bakugou sighs and goes for it.
“I met them, I chatted with them a little, and they took me to their base. Not much else happened.”
“Wooow. You know where their base is.”
“Yeah. And it’s pretty ugly.”
Dabi barely manages to stifle a snort.
“So anyway, what about you lot? Did you do anything fun last night?” The blond asks, stretching as he repositions himself on the bed.
“Apart from the attack, nothing much happened. Himiko is just as insane as always. If anything, she’s even more wild than normal. She’s feral, I swear. You better watch out: I think she’s after your job.”
“I’m so scared.” Bakugou says sarcastically, the corners of his mouth twisting into a little grin.
“You should be. She’s scary. Anyway, anything else you’d like to report?”
“Not really. I barely got to meet them last night.”
Dabi pauses slightly, his voice lower when he speaks again. “Any hot chicks?”
Bakugou’s mind already goes to the redhead he found so attractive last night. He also thinks of Jirou, and how amazing she is. “Maybe.”
“That’s definitely a yes!” Dabi snickers, before pausing. “So, what are you supposed to do when you’re a vigilante?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m so fucking lucky it’s you that got that stupid job. And you have to like… befriend them or something? Gain their trust?”
“And you know I’m not good at that.”
“I’m well aware of your lack of social skills.”
“Got any pointers?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Fuck Dabi, that’s amazing, I hadn’t thought of that before.”
“Being a sarcastic cunt won’t do anything to help you out.”
“Got anything that will actually be useful?”
“Fuck all the girls and get them to tell you everything.”
Bakugou inhales deeply, trying to suppress the need to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Why’d you call me?”
“I told you already. I was bored.” Dabi mutters, sounding exactly like he’d described he is. His voice suddenly changes, like he’s remembered something. “Oh, oh yeah! We’re setting off a bunch of explosions in a bank today. We can’t have them think our mastermind bomber is on holiday, now, can we? Anyway, it’ll be at about four thirty this afternoon. You better impress those chumps.”
“Okay, will do.”
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Wow, you? Thanking someone? It must be my birthday.”
“It was sarcasm, you ass wipe.”
Dabi snorts into the phone, humming an odd tune afterwards. “It really isn’t the same without you.”
“Don’t get sappy with me. Oh, and stop calling me. Bye.”
“As always, it’s a pleasure to talk to you!” The other screams sarcastically so that Bakugou can hear him as he pulls the phone away from his ear to end the call.
Slumping against the wall, he drops the device onto his lap over the sheets and sinks his face into his hands, sighing.
“I’m so fucked.” He says out loud, feeling a bit sorry for himself.
A small bomb sound makes him look back down to his mobile again and he clicks on the displayed text from Dabi: ‘I take it back, I dont miss u one bit’
Snorting but feeling a little better about himself and the morning, the blond gets up and starts getting ready for the day.
Bakugou’s ready for the explosion. He sits on a bench in his civilian clothes, listening to some music, waiting for the magic to happen. His heart is beating in his chest, and he’s excited. He doesn’t even know why he is; the previous night he was horrified, and kind of scared. Now he wants to go back out there, wants to save people and wants to see them. Okay, not them, maybe only just him.
Blushing, the blond kicks a random pebble. He does not want to think that. It’s stupid and it’s ridiculous. This isn’t who he really is; this job has fucked with him. Maybe he should call his boss and tell him he doesn’t want to do it. But he knows he’d be punished for deserting a task, and… to be honest, he’s grown to like it.
What an idiot he is, he thinks. It’s only been a day and he’s already expecting to be with them every day or something? He’s looking forward to meeting them. He’s stupid for thinking all of this.
He was better off as a villain.
He was better off not having met them.
Clenching his teeth, tears threaten to fall down his cheeks, so he turns the volume up and tries to concentrate on the music.
A loud boom in the distance and the earth shaking under his feet snap him back into attention.
He’s got a mission to fulfil.
He runs to the bank where he knows they attacked. He takes his clothes off since he’s got his costume on underneath. He’s been painfully aware of it ever since he put it on due to the perspiration sticking it to his skin.
Bakugou’s happy to see they’re there before him. He spots Black Riot running, so the blond looks around to see if he can find the others. His heart does a little leap when his eyes fall on the redhead.
He’s huge. Fuck, he’s buff. He’s got a wide back and big shoulders and Bakugou thinks he looks hot even from behind. He gawks at him for a few seconds, watching how stern he seems as he’s saving people and helping the injured. He still smiles at them, but the blond can tell he’s worried and working hard to keep himself composed for them.
“Hey.” A female voice from behind him forces him to turn his attention away from him. Jirou’s looking at him with a knowing grin on her face, her eyebrows raised. “You come here to save people or what?”
“Shut up!” He snarls, turning away from her and running off.
“It’s good to see you here though!” She calls back. He shrugs his shoulders at her but he’s not sure she saw.
Bakugou tries to stay away from The Riots as he runs around saving people. Pink Riot does hug him when she spots him, but he pulls back, annoyed. She laughs and tells him to work hard.
The blond especially avoids Red Riot. He’s not sure why but looking at the man makes his chest feel funny. He needs to keep himself composed so he can think, and for some reason it’s hard for him to do it when the other’s around.
“I’m so happy to see you again!” Red Riot nearly screams, pulling Bakugou into a tight hug he thoroughly enjoys.
“Get off of me!” He mutters, pulling back but not using all of his strength to do so.
The redhead chuckles warmly but lets him go, taking a step back to admire him.
“I didn’t get to see your outfit last night, with it being so dark and all. I like it. Is it meant to mean something?”
“Fuck if I know.” Bakugou mutters, turning his gaze downwards.
Another laugh erupts from Red Riot and the blond blushes uncontrollably. When he looks up he finds Pink Riot staring at him quizzically, a small smile on her face.
“Anyway, let’s get going!” The redhead smiles warmly at them. “The police will be here any moment now and you know they don’t like us very much.”
Bakugou mutters something under his breath, frowning. He turns and starts walking away when Red Riot calls for him. “Hey, Ground Zero!” He’s smiling when the blond looks up at him. “Wanna come back to our base again? It must be lonely being all by yourself.”
He closes his eyes and inhales, slowly readying himself. “I ain’t fucking lonely.” He snarls in a hushed voice, only raising it so they can hear the rest of his sentence. “But fine, yeah, I’ll go with you or whatever.”
“Great!” The redhead beams at him, shooting another one of those pain-inducing smiles of his.
Why does his heart feel like this whenever he looks at him?
“Hey, wait a minute.” Yellow Riot mutters, his eyes narrowing. “Can we talk, please?” He turns to give Bakugou a quick dissatisfied glance before gesturing for the others to huddle together. He stresses this last word as he eyes the other blond. “Privately.”
Red Riot looks at his friend with a worried expression on his face before addressing him, looking apologetic. “Would you excuse us for a moment, please?” He asks Bakugou, who shrugs his shoulders and walks away so they can have their little meeting.
He hears a few raised voices, but he can’t understand what they’re saying. They look at him from time to time, and the blond does his best to not frown at them. His tummy is twisting and turning, and he feels strange. After a few minutes, the redhead turns around and smiles at him.
“We’d love for you to accompany us to our base. It’s like our home to us, so we hope you feel comfortable too.”
“Sure.” Is all he can say.
“Let’s get going, then.” Black Riot mutters, eyeing Bakugou suspiciously. “C’mon, this way.”
He hears a tongue click but he decides to ignore it as he follows the redhead.
They hurry into a street and start walking in a line. They don’t speak as they hurry down empty side roads. They always make sure they’re deserted or mostly so.
Once they’re so far away that the distant sounds of the ambulances and sirens can barely be heard, they go back into walking in pairs of threes. Pink Riot approaches Bakugou, a cocky smile on her face. She greets him and tells him he did a good job. He agrees, frowning.
“You know, I’ve got you figured out.” She then says, smug. Bakugou’s heart starts beating hard and his tummy twists and knots.
“Yeah?” He grunts, trying to sound bored instead of terrified and alert. If she really is onto him, he’ll have no choice but to kill them, right there and then. He’s not sure he can fight one on one against all of them. He can easily beat Yellow Riot and maybe even Jirou, but he’s not sure about the other three. If they team up against him he doesn’t stand a chance. This could be it. He gulps, waiting for her to expose him.
“You’re like me.”
Bakugou pauses, feeling all his nerves dissipate. He breathes in and scoffs at her, but it turns into an actual laugh halfway through. There’s no way this chirpy pink haired ball of energy is a villain like he is.
“Well, maybe only in this sense.” She says, smiling with him. “You’re doing it for someone.”
“I am now, huh?”
“So, who’re you doing it for?”
He’s almost tempted to tell her that wouldn’t she wanna know but he stops himself.
“Who’re you doing it for?” He asks, turning his intense gaze to her.
“Red Riot of course. We’re childhood friends. He thought of this years ago, and when he gets an idea into his head he won’t let go until he either succeeds or it kills him. And I long ago decided that I’d do everything for him, sooooo… Here we are.”
Bakugou scoffs at her. “That’s a stupid thing to do. Why’d you decide to do everything for him?”
“Because we’re friends. And because he’s amazing. Plus, he does the same for me. So, who’re you doing it for? A giiiirl?” She says the last part with a smug grin on her face, intoning that last question.
“Fuck no!”
“Oh, a boy, huh.”
“I ain’t doing it for anyone, fuck off!”
“Rude!” She screams, but her tone doesn’t match her expression. She looks amused, her lip twisting upwards just slightly. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve got a stick up your arse.”
Bakugou almost does a double take. He pauses to stare into her wide, cheeky grin, her head slightly cocked to the side. “Do you have a death wish?” He asks her, his brow furrowing.
“I can almost smell the bravado.” She remarks, his smile growing wider. “I mean, it’s kinda cute. Y’know, the tough guy act you put on.”
“It’s not an act!” He snarls, his teeth clenching menacingly. Hopefully she’ll get the message.
Pink Riot doesn’t seem at all fazed by his intimidation and instead wiggles her fingers to wave him goodbye before skipping ahead. She goes back to Red Riot’s side, slinging her arm around his shoulders and leaning in to whisper something in his ear. He helps by crouching slightly to hear her better. He then laughs, quickly looking back at the flustered blond, who is trying his hardest not to seethe.
The rest of the walk goes by in silence. Pink Riot doesn’t leave Red Riot’s side, but they seem to have stopped talking about him.
It doesn’t take them long to reach their base. Bakugou’s almost sure he has the route memorised by now. With a few more days of coming and going, he’s positive he could determine where it is on a map for the other villains.
The redhead gestures at Bakugou to follow him inside, and he takes him to what he thought was a bathroom. It turns out to be more of a changing room. The man gives him a small tour by gesturing at the locker rooms and showers.
“You can use these if you want.” He smiles at him.
“I don’t have my clothes on me.” Bakugou responds automatically, his eyes wandering to the lockers and benches. It’s surprisingly like a gym. It smells clean, though. That’s the only difference, probably.
“I’ve got some spare clothes. Do you want those? You’ve got to be careful, you can’t wear that suit out or they might arrest you. Since yesterday was your first day… we weren’t sure you’d come back.”
“Fucking of course I’d come back.” Bakugou mutters, his gaze on the floor as he thinks of the possibility of wearing Red Riot’s clothes. They’d look a bit big on him, maybe a tiny bit ridiculous, but the idea of them sharing a fabric that’s been on that man’s skin doesn’t repulse him. If anything, it makes his heart beat faster. For some absurd reason. He blushes as he nods his head and whispers. “Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you could lend me some clothes.”
Chuckling warmly, Red Riot walks over to what Bakugou supposes is his locker and opens it with a simple combination. He gets out a few pieces of clothing, smells a shirt and hands it over to the blond. He does the same with a pair of trousers and smiles at him. “I hope they fit.”
“Yeah.” Is all Bakugou can answer. He had something witty to retort, but when he was given the soft clothes he kind of forgot how to speak.
‘What is wrong with me!?’ He screams at himself inside of his head, fidgeting. He’s about to ask where the toilets are when he notices Red Riot’s taking his shirt off.
Bakugou makes a noise similar to a screech as his eyes fall on defined pecs and abs.
“Oh.” The redhead says, looking at him with surprise. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a prude. I’m sorry for-”
But he gets cut off by Bakugou’s quick scoff. “I’m not a prude. You just surprised me, is all. Are all you fuckers like this? Like, do you change together?”
“Uhm… yeah?” Red Riot answers, his eyebrows high. “Is it weird?”
“Even the girls?”
“Yeah!”
“And they’re okay with it?” Bakugou asks, perplexed.
“We’ve known each other for ages. We’re super comfortable with each other. I trust them with my life, of course they can see me naked. Not that they do anyway, we all just keep to ourselves when changing.”
“Are… are they gonna come in now?”
Red Riot shakes his head. “Nah, they’re going to let you change first.” He turns back to his locker and takes his trousers off, peeling the horrible red suit off of his skin. He quickly puts a tracksuit on and looks at Bakugou, chuckling. “Oh, you’re going to see me without my mask!”
The blond’s heart does not start thumping enthusiastically.
The redhead offers him a smile before he takes the mask off, and Bakugou finally gets to see this man’s perfect face. His eyebrows are pretty, his nose is small and cute, and every part of him is outstandingly beautiful. Even the scar over his right eye is lovely.
“I kind of want to look at you now.” Red Riot whispers, taking a step closer. Bakugou’s heart’s already beating as fast as it can; if the redhead gets any closer he might actually die.
With trembling fingers, the blond removes his mask, closing his eyes gently as the material goes over them. When he opens them again, he sees Red Riot looking at him with a soft smile on his face.
“You’re pretty.” He mutters, making the blond’s cheeks heat up.
“What the fuck!? No, I’m not!”
“Ha, ha, yes you are dude! But there’s nothing wrong with that! If anything, that’s a good thing.”
Bakugou wants to mutter under his breath and ask why on Earth is that a good thing but instead he turns his head to the side and decides to let it pass. He takes his costume off and puts Red Riot’s shirt on to hide his embarrassment. It’s a bit too big, but it’s soft and smells good. His eyes flutter closed as the fabric drags against his face, his heart doing that thing again. He tries not to think about the other man staring at him as he pulls his trousers on.
When they’re finished, they both exit the bathroom and Red Riot takes him around the other places he hadn’t visited yet, finishing their tour in the kitchen, where he starts brewing some coffee for them.
“Was today better?” He asks, his voice quiet. He seems dejected despite the normally positive aura that engulfs him.
“Yeah. Kind of.” He returns, shrugging his shoulders.
The redhead takes a step forward and looks into his eyes. Bakugou’s taken aback, but doesn’t turn his gaze away, staring into Red Riot’s pretty orbs. He can notice his heart beating fast inside his chest and his hands feel clammy, but he’s not going to back away and show him how defenceless he feels.
“You look better than yesterday.” The other ends up saying, shooting him another one of his signature smiles that makes Bakugou’s chest vibrate in a funny way.
“Thanks?” He answers, trying to sound indifferent, but his voice is thick and hoarse.
Red Riot chuckles. “No deaths today?”
“No deaths today.”
“No deaths day are the best.” He mutters, humming lightly as he pours milk into his mug. He looks at Bakugou again, quirking his eyebrow. “Want some? How do you take your coffee?”
“Black. One sugar.” The blond whispers, dropping his gaze onto the polka dot mug that he supposes is going to be his. It seems as if he’s correct since Red Riot passes it to him just seconds later.
“The sugar’s to your right. Could you pass it to me when you finish?”
“Sure.”
He sips on his beverage as he gives him the sugar pot.
“Was your day any better?” He ends up asking the redhead, who turns to look at him with curious eyes.
“It was, thanks for asking!” He smiles warmly at him. “It’s mostly because I got to see you again. Yellow Riot said you weren’t gonna come back.”
“Fuck, did you bet on me coming back or something?” Bakugou half-smiles, his lips turning on one side of his mouth. “You better have fucking won then.”
Red Riot bursts into a fit of laughter.
“It wasn’t quite like that.” The redhead chuckles, picking his mug up and gesturing at the other to follow him into their living room. “He just had doubts on your motives behind why you want to be a vigilante.”
Bakugou snorts. “The titchy one told me he’s one to get fucking laid. Why’s he being all shitty about my motives?”
Red Riot looks at him with mild surprise on his face before taking a seat on one of the couches. “Oh, titchy? Is that what you’re calling Purple Riot? Do you have nicknames for all of us?”
Bakugou sits next to him, trying his hard to not be as close as he wants to be because he knows it would make him uncomfortable. “Maybe.”
“What’s mine, then?” He puts the mug on the coffee table and rests his chin on his elbow, directing all his attention to Bakugou, who immediately feels his heart thump noisily in his chest.
“Shitty Hair.” He manages to mutter despite feeling like he’s tongue-tied.
“Hey! I am deeply offended by that!” Red Riot pretends to pout, but the wide smile threatening to spread over his face ruins it.
“Not my fault you have terrible taste in hairstyles!”
“Like yours is any better? Do you even know what a brush is?”
“It’s called ‘messy’ and I know for a fact that you like it.”
“Oh, I like it, huh? And how are you so sure?”
Bakugou shrugs his shoulders, smirking as he turns his head to the side. “I just know. Maybe the fact that I’m in here helps.”
“I trust you. And Pink Riot trusts you too. She thinks your motives are pure, and so do I.”
The blond has to fight himself to not snort or roll his eyes. This is vital for him to not only fit in but also not be discovered. “Yeah, well…”
“I think you’re a good person. I can see it in your eyes. I can read people, you know? I’ve seen the inside of your heart and into your soul. I know what kind of person you are, I can feel it here,” Red Riot whispers, inching closer to him and pressing his open palm against his chest. “that you want to be the best person you can be.”
Bakugou leans in unintentionally, feeling like his whole skin’s on fire. Goose bumps form all over his arms and legs as he breathes in deeply.
“Yeah?” He mutters, breathless, his lips just slightly parted for him to pant that single word out.
“Yeah.” Red Riot smiles at him, tilting his head to the side and looking at him though half-lidded eyes. “The rest just… they aren’t as comfortable as Pink Riot and I are about letting you inside our base. You’re new and everything. But I want to teach you all about being a vigilante.”
“I want to learn.” Bakugou mutters, breathlessly.
The redhead chuckles, turning to have a sip of his coffee. “I can see that. I also think you’ve got great assets and things you can show us. A different point of view.”
“Yeah…” The blond whispers, his thoughts long gone as his eyes can only focus on the redhead’s juicy lips.
“Watcha doing?” A chirpy voice forces Bakugou to come back down to Earth. He snaps his head around to look in the direction of the shrill scream and he finds himself staring at Pink Riot. He can now take in her face, and he’s astounded by the amount of mascara and eye shadow she wears.
She walks closer to them and places her hands on her hips. “Hey, that’s my mug!”
“Sorry.” The redhead mutters sheepishly, ducking his head and looking at her with puppy dog eyes.
“Eh, it’s my spare. I can lend it to him, it’s okay.” She laughs and goes over to the sofa, throwing herself next to Bakugou. She slings her arm over him and pulls him towards herself. “So… whatcha talking about with the newbie?”
Bakugou shakes her off, frowning at her. She just laughs at him, holding him tighter still. There’s an almost defiant look in her eyes as he struggles to get her off himself. Before the blond can tell her that whatever they were talking about is nothing of her goddamned business she lets go and sits up, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, I’m beat, I’m going home!”
“See ya tomorrow!” The redhead calls at her as she skips along, and Bakugou hears him laugh before he continues talking. “Despite what you might think about her, she likes you.”
“Fucking doesn’t seem like it!”
“They just need some time to adjust.”
Yellow Riot and Black Riot walk into the room in their civilian clothes. The blond has a Pikachu shirt, light skinny jeans and a choker while the other’s wearing a grey sweater and dark trousers. They’re watching a video on the phone the tall one is holding and they seem to be finding it very amusing, but they immediately stop laughing when they see them on the sofa.
“You’re still here.” Yellow Riot greets him, and Bakugou can tell by the way his head tilts slightly to the side that he isn’t happy about it.
“Fucking ‘course I’d still be here.”
The other just shrugs at him. “I dunno. Most people can’t handle being a vigilante.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.”
“I can tell.”
They stare at each other for a few seconds, the tension rising in the room. Black Riot sighs and pulls Yellow Riot into the kitchen by his elbow. “Hey, c’mon, I want to make myself some coffee.”
The other responds with a drawn-out groan but he follows him nonetheless.
“Yeah… not everyone’s excited to see you here.” Red Riot chuckles nervously, holding his mug in both hands and staring at its contents as if he had nowhere else to look.
“It’s okay. I’m kinda used to it.”
“Hmmm?” The redhead lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head upwards until their eyes meet. “Yeah? Whatcha mean?”
“I…” Bakugou curses at himself on the inside as he struggles to find a way to continue without giving anything away. “I’m used to being disliked.”
The redhead stares at him, his brows furrowing. “Why would people dislike you, though?” He asks, as if it’s a difficult math problem that only the teacher can solve.
The blond snorts. “You can’t be serious.”
“No, really, I’m-”
But he’s interrupted by Bakugou, who gets up. “I’m going home. I’m tired and I need to do stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah! Of course!” Red Riot answers, also getting up and offering him a wide smile. It quickly disappears from his face, though.
The blond tries to not pay it any heed as he turns around. He’s stopped by a hand wrapping itself around his arm tightly. Bakugou’s forced to meet the saddened eyes in front of him. The red orbs are filled with a glimmer of hope in them. “Uhm… I’d like to see you tomorrow… around…”
The blond is stunned into silence. He opens his mouth but no words come out, so he just closes it again.
“We usually patrol… do… do you wanna patrol with us? Maybe?”
“What… you patrol…? Where?”
“Just around… it’s… it may sound silly, but we… we lurk around the city, making sure nothing happens.”
“And that works?”
“Well…” Red Riot scratches the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. “Not always. But when it does, it’s pretty efficient. Together we can cover quite a lot of the city. We’re also on the lookout for potential villains.”
Bakugou swallows, feeling his heart beat in his chest, hard. Nervous, he raises his eyebrows. “Do you… do you have any… leads?”
The redhead shakes his head energetically. “Not really. We did follow someone for a while, but nothing came of it.”
“I’d like to patrol with you.” Bakugou whispers, his voice softer than usual. “How… how does it work?”
“We work in pairs some days, but we mostly go alone. It’s easy and fast to communicate with each other if something happens.”
“Phones.” The blond nods his head.
“Yeah! Speaking of, wanna give me your phone number?” The redhead looks at him with hope in his gorgeous eyes. “And… uhm… where do you wanna meet up tomorrow? I think you should go with someone if it’s your first day…”
“Yeah.” Bakugou agrees without thinking, focused on the man’s pretty smile instead of his words. Red Riot takes his mobile out of his pocket and unlocks it. It’s in a red case and has a charm with a star and a planet dangling from the side.
“Pink Riot and I match.” He mutters sheepishly as he points at it, embarrassed that they look like a sickly-sweet couple. “She got me mine and I got her hers. Anyway, uhm, here, give me a call.”
He reads his number out as Bakugou types it into his device. When he finishes, he gives the other a call and lets it ring until the stupid song the redhead chose as his tone can be heard. It’s a lame 80s one hit wonder that seems to make Red Riot really uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because of the incredulous look the blond shot at him.
“Pink Riot and I match on this too.” He whispers, sheepishly. He tries to smile at him normally again. “Wait, you didn’t add me as Shitty Hair, did you?”
The blond confirms his suspicions with a snort.
“Seriously!?” He whines, putting his phone away and trying to look at Bakugou’s.
“Well I don’t know your name, do I?”
“Yeah, but Shitty Hair? You’re really telling me you don’t have anything better?”
“Give me something better, then.” Bakugou whispers, leaning in closer and flicking the redhead’s nose teasingly.
‘Oh my fucking God, what is wrong with me!?’ He screams at himself as he just stands there, shocked that he just did that. He’s sure he’s as red as the other’s hair. He never thought he’d be capable of doing something so cheesy.
“See you tomorrow!” He cries out, trying to play it cool. Before he turns around, he notices how the other’s blushing too, his eyes wide.
Outside he finds Purple Riot smoking, her eyes on the horizon. She’s even prettier without her mask, her dark eye shadow and black lipstick highlighting how naturally pale she is. She seems so small, one foot on the concrete wall as she leans her whole body against it.
She slowly turns her head to face him as she hears the door open.
“Hey,” she greets him, flicking her cigarette before putting it back in her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Bakugou asks, walking over to where she is and taking one of the smokes she offers him.
“Don’t take this personally.” Jirou whispers. “It’s not that I hate you or anything. I just don’t… yet understand you. I want to, though. I’m just not sure how comfortable I am with having you in our base.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Today. I’m… I’m wary… not of you… just… about everything?”
“You’re not making any sense.”
She sighs and tilts her head back, resting it against the concrete. “You’re new. You’re in our base. That little ‘meeting’ we had before coming here. I agreed to let you in. I was the one that tilted the scales in your favour.”
“Gee, thanks.” He says sarcastically, looking at the horizon too.
“As I said, I have nothing against you.”
“But you don’t know me. I get it. You don’t have to apologise or anything. I’d probably do the same thing in your position.” And he doesn’t say it, but he has already. He’s had to judge whether or not a wannabe villain was good enough to enter the League, and he hasn’t always exactly been fair. He knows what it’s like to be wary of the wrong people entering your group.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “something like that.”
They’re silent for a while, until Jirou shakes her head and stifles a laugh. “Red Riot’s never brought anyone back to our base. Before you, I mean. I think… I think that means something, wouldn’t you say so?”
“I don’t know him like you do.” Bakugou mutters, fully understanding what she’s implying.
“I think you’re special. I think he likes you.”
“Whatever.”
“Hmmmm.” Is all she has to offer as they finish their cigarettes in silence.
#the riots#bnha#bnha fanfiction#my fanfiction#my writing#villain#villain bang#villain big bang#big bang#bb#villain bb#bakugou#kirishima#kiribaku#bakushima
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01x13 (part 3)
Season One Episode Thirteen: Route 666
a/n: here she is, the final part of episode thirteen. hope you guys liked it! episode fourteen should be out next week, so stay tuned. let me know what you guys think by reblogging or sending me a message! i love the feedback. love u all. xxx
synopsis: sam saves the day on a whim
word count: 2463
It started snowing on the way to the swamp behind the Dorian house, so you stayed in the Impala while Dean ran inside the nearest barn and negotiated the use of a tractor. “We gotta get the thing out somehow, right?” He teased you before getting out of the car.
Thankfully, you were given one but now you were standing outside in the rain while Dean used the stupid thing to pull the Dorian truck out of the swamp. Sam stands next to you, yelling directions out to his brother. You had the thing hooked, it was just time to pull her out.
It honestly sounds like the chain was going to snap or the tractor would shut down completely. It’s so loud you’re surprised anyone was still asleep in the neighborhood but when Sam yells for Dean to stop, all you hear is crickets.
You stand there, shivering, your coat wrapped around your body when Sam puts his hand on the small of your back. It feels warm there and then it’s cold again when he jogs in Dean’s direction. “Nice,” Sam compliments. Dean jumps off the tractor and mumbles a thank you. “Now I know what she sees in you,” Sam teases.
As the boys pass you, you follow behind to the truck. The truck was rusted completely. What was once black, was now a burnt orange color. “What?” Dean snaps, looking at his brother. The comment was weird, you agree, but you saw the meaning behind it before Sam explains.
“Come on, man, you can admit it. You’re still in love with her,” Sam says. You squeeze past the boys and stand right in front of the truck. You don’t have time for their brother banter or for Sam to psychoanalyze Dean and for Dean to reject all of it.
“Can we please focus?” Dean asks as you take a deep breath and pull open the truck door. His eyes are on his brother when you scream at the dead corpse sitting in the driver’s seat. “Jesus,” Dean mumbles next to you. Neither of the boys all that fazed by the literal decomposing body inside.
“Well, let's get to it,” Sam mutters and he nods towards Cyrus Dorian, silently telling you to take the body out. You shake your head and wave your hands in the air, stepping back from the truck.
“Uh, uh. No way, not happening. Sorry,” you say. Sam chuckles and shakes his head. Dean rolls his eyes and reaches inside of the truck. Cyrus’s bones crack under Dean’s pressure but he gets him on to the picnic table in one piece. You stand back as Sam drenches the body in gas and Dean pours the salt. Dean hands you the matches and lets you have the honor of putting the bitch in flames.
You stand back and watch him burn, which would be a horrific experience for most people but for you, you felt at peace. At peace that maybe this was the end. “Think that’ll do it?” Sam’s pessimism interrupting your thoughts made you sigh.
Dean was about to answer, negatively, you gathered by his sigh and sad look on his face when headlights flashed on and an engine revved loud. “I guess not,” Dean says.
“So burning the body had no effect on that thing?” Sam yells over the loud engine of the truck. The smell of burning bones, the sound of the crackle from the fire, the snow hitting your nose. It was all too much too quickly.
“Well, sure it did. Now it’s really pissed off,” Dean says, flashing you and Sam a fake smile while the truck looks you dead in the face.
“What are we supposed to do?” You ask. “The ghost is gone, right?” You’re hoping for a better answer than he gives you, but having a little hope is better than none at all.
“Apparently not the part that’s still fused with the truck,” he says and starts to walk away.
“Where are you going?” You ask him as you watch him walk to the truck. Sam keeps an eye on the truck as you keep an eye on Dean.
“Going for a little ride,” he says. “I’m gonna lead that thing away. That rusted piece of crap, you gotta burn it!” He yells as he gets into the car.
“How the hell are we supposed to burn a truck, Dean?” Sam yells. The truck is massive. It’s just as scary as everyone said it was, whether it was rusted or not.
“I dunno, figure something out,” Dean yells back. He tosses the bag of weapons and matches and books and everything you’d need over to you and you catch it. Sam’s about to protest when the Impala’s engine turns over. You duck behind the table, bringing Sam down with you as Dean pulls off. The truck follows him.
When the truck is gone, you bounce back up and take the bag to an empty picnic table. One without a body on it and open up a book that might give you some answers. “What the hell does he want us to do?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know,” you mutter. Sam’s reading over your shoulder and you run your finger along the words, reading as quickly as possible. Again, your leg is bouncing out of nerves.
Sam opens up a map and looks for some direction that he could tell Dean to go in. He has a flashlight tucked between his ear and a shoulder when the phone rings. You flip it open. “We need a minute,” you tell Dean.
“I don’t have a minute! What are we doing?” Dean yells. You can hear the truck through the phone and it sounds close but you try to ignore it.
“Uhh, let us, uh,” you stutter, trying to give him an answer and read at the same time. Sam seems like he hasn’t got any ideas either so you sign. “I’ll get back to you,” you say quickly and hang up the phone.
“You just hung up on him?” Sam asks, in shock but also amused. You look up at him through your lashes and tap on the map, telling him to get back to work.
“You got a better idea? Keep looking.” He does as you say but you can tell he’s not focused on the task at hand. However, you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “What?” You ask.
“Phone. Give me the phone,” he demands. He holds his hand out and motions for you to quickly give him the phone and you do. He’s quick to dial Cassie’s number and you stand beside him with your arms folded and watch.
You don’t bother looking for another plan, because the confidence in his voice as he asks Cassie questions makes you sure he’s figured something out. However, when he hangs up, you wish you had been looking. “What’s up?”
“You think that luring the demon truck to the church site will get rid of it?” He asks, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he dials Dean’s number. You gawk at him, your lips parting in shock that that was his idea but once again, he sounds confident talking to Dean.
“This better be good!” Dean yells. Sam puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the table so he can read the map better and you hold his flashlight for him.
“Where are you?” Sam asks his voice calm compared to his brother’s.
“I’m in the middle of nowhere with a killer truck on my ass!” Dean yells. His side of the phone was louder than your side with both engines revving and Dean’s yelling. “It’s like he knows I lit a torch to Cyrus!”
“Dean, Dean listen,” Sam says. You wanna correct Dean, tell him that you had lit the torch to Cyrus but now was not the time to inflate your ego, so you didn't. “This is important. I have to know exactly where you are.”
“Decatur Road, about two miles off the highway,” Dean tells you. You see it on the map before Sam, so you slam your finger down on it.
“Headed East?” Sam asks. Dean confirms and then there’s a loud smash and tires screeching coming from the speaker.
“Are you okay?” You yell into the phone.
“You son of a bitch,” Dean mutters to himself more than anything. “Yes, yes hurry up!”
“Okay, okay,” Sam stutters, trying to figure out the best way to take Dean. “Turn right,” he tells him. More tires screeching and then no talking. “Did you make the turn?” Sam asks almost too quietly for the situation at hand and your eyes follow his directions on the map.
“Yeah, I took the freakin’ turn! Move this thing a little faster!” Dean yells, frantic and panicked and Sam kicks back into gear.
“You see a road up ahead?” Sam asks. At first, Dean yells no but then he changes his answer and repeats it over and over again. He’s rightfully freaking out and you feel guilty for doing nothing but holding a flashlight. “Okay, turn left.”
“WHAT?!” You don’t know what’s going on, but Dean isn’t talking. Again, more tires screeching and then they stop. “Okay, now what?”
“You need to go exactly 7/10ths of a mile and stop,” Sam explains. You’re obviously aware of the legitimacy of this plan, but you weren’t expecting such tedious directions.
“What?” You sneer at Sam, trying to keep your voice quiet so Dean can’t hear you.
“Exactly 7/10ths, Dean. Exactly,” Sam reiterates. He glances at you, but can’t really see your face in the dark. He knows it’s not a good look, though. Dean mutters something under his breath but he doesn’t say anything to you.
“Are you sure?” You ask Sam, again in a whisper. Sam puts his hand on the speaker and he turns to face you for real for the first time since getting Dean on the phone.
“No, but this is our only shot,” Sam tells you. You suck a deep breath and hold it there. You’re determined to hold it now until Dean tells you that this plan had worked because you can’t ride on Sam’s blind faith. “It’ll work,” Sam mumbles.
“Dean, are you still there?” You ask.
“Yeah.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing, he’s just staring at me. What do I do?” His voice is a lot calmer now, which makes you a little calmer as well.
“Exactly what you are doing. Bringing it to you,” Sam
speaks as if he’s so sure of himself and you’re thankful Dean can’t see the skepticism on his face.
“You better be right about this,” you tell Sam as you put your fingers at your mouth and begin to chew on your nails. It’s all too quiet for your liking.
Sam picks up the phone and brings it to his mouth. “Dean, you still there?” Sam asks. He’s worried too by the silence.
“Where’d it go?” Dean asks.
“You’re where the church is,” Sam explains. He’s got an air of pride about him now, knowing that his plan worked when it maybe shouldn’t have.
“What church?”
“The place Cyrus burned down and murdered all those kids,” Sam explains.
“There’s not a whole lot left.”
“Church ground is hallowed ground, whether the church is still there not.” Sam sounds so sure of himself. Like he was spitting facts and not a wild assumption he made on a whim. “Evil spirits cross on to hallowed ground, sometimes they get destroyed. I figured maybe that would get rid of it.”
“Maybe? Maybe?!” Dean yells. You grimace at the phone. “What if you were wrong?” Sam smiles and turns to you. You give him an I told you so look but he just smiles.
“Huh, the thought never occurred to me,” he says. You wanna yell into the phone it occurred to me but you didn’t. Maybe living with blind faith wasn’t such a bad thing. Dean hangs up the phone and Sam shoves it in his pocket.
“He’s gonna kill you,” you tell him. You want to yell and fight and tell him he’s so stupid but you just wrap your arms around his neck and hug him.
+++
Dean didn’t kill him. He was angry, but he didn’t kill him. He mostly just wanted to get to bed and he slept like a freaking baby. It wasn’t until the morning when he got sad by the fact that he was leaving.
Sam sits in the front seat and your head is on his arm, which is spread across the seat. You watch Dean and Cassie, even though you can’t hear them. “He deserves to be happy,” you say.
Sam turns to you and smiles. “Yeah, he does.” You smile back at him and with his free hand, Sam moves a piece of hair away from your face. “I think we all do. At least a little bit in this life.”
“I’m happy with you,” you tell Sam. You don’t know what comes over you or what tempted you to say that but you said it anyway. Sam nods and strokes your cheek.
“Me too.” You break eye contact a little too soon but you look over at Dean and Cassie again. His face isn't too happy, but you figured before you came here this morning that there wasn’t much else to do.
They kiss and you watch so intently you start to feel creepy so you clear your throat and look down at the seat. Only a few moments later, Dean gets in the car and Sam takes off as fast as he can.
“I like her,” Sam tells Dean after you’re on the road for a few minutes. All he does is mutter an agreement but Sam keeps going. “You meet someone like her and you ever wonder if it’s worth it? Putting everything else on hold for what we do?”
The question throws you off, but you don’t say anything. You let Dean answer the way Dean would always answer, no. He doesn’t say anything, thought. He just puts a smug grin on his face and covers his eyes with sunglasses. “Wake me when it’s my turn to drive.” He settles back in his seat and you take the opportunity to reach over for the radio, but even with his eyes closed Dean can sense you and he smacks your hand.
“Ouch,” you hiss and pull your hand back to your body, sinking further into your seat like a wounded animal. “You’re asleep, what does it matter?” You ask, more to yourself than to Dean. Sometimes, you just needed to complain to yourself, ya know?
“I need to dream happy dreams,” Dean tells you.
tagged: @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy @kaelyn-lobrutto24@liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo @rachael-mae @jessewa26
#spn#spn rewrite#spn imagine#spn one shot#spn blurb#supernatural#supernatural rewrite#supernatural imagine#supernatural blurb#supernatural one shot#supernatural fandom#spn fan fic#supernatural fan fic#sam winchester#dean winchester#sam x reader#dean x reader#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#supernatural au#reader instert#01x13#route 666#season one episode thirteen
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Nervous: CEO!Reader x Intern!Shawn (Part 4)
“This was a mistake.”
Shawn’s brows furrowed as panick set in, and he frantically tried to get my attention. He reached for my wrists, but I quickly pulled it away as I pulled my skirt on.
“Honey, c’mon, look at me,” Shawn said in a hushed tone, not wanting to scare me off.
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose and shook my head, ”Shawn, can’t you see? This won’t work out. Its unprofessional and lord knows every relationship I’ve been in goes to shit. This could jeopardize your future and your career!”
“I don’t care about that right now, Y/N! There are a million other internships in the world, but theres never gonna be a girl like you again,” Shawn said as his eyes looked into mine, not showing any signs of dishonesty.
I sighed. Shawn was only about a year or two younger than me, but he was so much more pure. He was so wide-eyed and optimistic. This was a characteristic I dropped many years ago, which was necessary for fending off competitors and making my way to the top to have the best company possible.
“You’re so... naive, Shawn. You barely know me, and I’m sure you’ll find another woman who won’t set fire to your life. Your should career matters more than this.”
“You’re right. I barely know you. But I know that you always tighten your ponytail whenever you’re working on a particularly hard case, I know that you always twist your rings on your finger whenever you’re nervous, I know that you roll your eyes at everyone a lot more when you haven’t had your caffeine yet, and I know that you’re just as crazy about me as I am for you. So please, just let me know you some more.”
I chewed at my lip, thinking about the possibility of us being together. Fuck this intern and his stupid ability to make me rethink everything I thought I already knew. Fuck his powerful ass, carefully worded speech. His charisma and enthusiasm had me thinking that maybe for once, I could make a relationship work for once.
I laughed slightly in defeat, shaking my head and burying my face into my hands. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Shawn’s face lit up instantly. He walked closer to me until he was standing right in front of me, peeling my hands away from my shy face.
“Yeah. Fine.” I stated simply. I tried to keep a straight face, but my armor was cracked as soon as I saw his big goofy smile plastered on his bright face. “You got one shot at this, Mendes. Just one.”
“Thats all I need, honey,” he replied nonchalantly as he pulled me into his body, wrapping his arms around my waist. He peppered kisses all on my neck, pecking at the red bruises he had left on me just a few moments ago. His innocent kisses gradually became more harsh and more needy as his hands clung on to your body tighter. His lips trailed lower down my chest.
“Okay, okay. Enough of that, Shawn. Its almost 12pm. Go home.” I giggled while unwillingly pushing him away.
“Go home with me,” He said softly, still continuing his assault on my neck. My smile dropped as I looked at him for any signs that he might be joking. Of course he’d be joking, it was way too early for us to do this. But the way he looked back at me, with so much love and hope in his eyes, showed how he wasn’t kidding at all. And even though I knew I shouldn’t, I felt myself giving in to those charming eyes. It just felt right to leave with him that night. And so I did.
When I first walked into his apartment, I was pretty pleased. It was a decent size and well decorated considering the fact that he had just moved here a few months ago. I trailed behind him quietly as he gave a brief house tour, taking in every detail. His apartment revealed so much about him.
At the last stop, he led me into his bedroom. Shawn began stripping out of his work attire and into some comfy pajama pants, leaving his chest bare for the night. I turned around to give him some privacy, which is when I noticed the brown acoustic guitar sat in the corner of the room. “You play?” I questioned, pointing to it.
Shawn looked up to where you were pointing, “Yeah, a little bit.” He tossed me one of his old tshirts to change into.
I catched the tshirt before beginning to strip in front of him once again, “Well, sing a little something then why don’t you?”
He chuckled before picking up the guitar and making his way back to his bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and his legs laid flat, one ankle crossed over the other. I slipped into his tshirt and climbed under his comforter. I planted my chin in the palm of my hand as I watched his fingers strum the guitar strings while soft tunes fell from his lips. The sounds felt so serene coming from him. Pft. Of course this crazy hot intern was also a beautiful musician. Fuckin unbelievable. Could this guy get any better?
“Alright alright alright Prince Charming, I think I’m gonna have to ask you to stop before I try and jump your bones again,” I said jokingly as I placed a hand on top of his.
“I actually wouldn’t mind that, darlin” he replied, placing his guitar cautiously in the corner of the room before crawling under the covers with me. I giggled at his cheeky comment and the light feathery kisses that he was trailing up and down my neck.
I grabbed his face and planted my lips on his delicately. The kiss was passionate, filled with more love than lust. He broke the kiss for a brief second to remove my shirt before leaning back into the sweet but urgent kiss. His hands travelled around my body, wandering over the valley of my breasts before planting them on my waist and flipping me around so that my stomach was against his cold mattress. Shawn pushed my hair over my shoulder to expose my bare back before stopping dead in his tracks, eyes staring down on my back intensely.
He trailed his fingers softly over the small world map tattoo on my right shoulder blade. “You have a tattoo? Who wouldve known..” he whispered.
I scoffed at his obvious jab at me being a proper workaholic,“Well I have to keep it covered up, its not very professional.”
“...I like it. Don’t cover it u around me. Please.” He said, fingers still delicately tracing the map.
I smiled in response. He laid back down beside me, rolling my body on to his so that I was laying on top of him. “Whats it mean?”
“I wanna color in every country that I visit,” I said as I let out a small yawn.
“I could help you with the Canada spot, y’know,” Shawn joked, “Have you try some real maple syrup and Tim Hortons, eh? You can even meet my pet moose back home.”
I laughed at his attempt of fitting in as many Canadian stereotypes in one sentence as he could. But the crazy this was... his offer didn’t sound so bad. The feeling I got whenever I was around him was unexplainable and different from any other guy. He just made me feel content and secure. And thats why I didn’t run from his joke about travelling together, like I normally would for any other guy.
“That sounds lovely,” I said before laying my cheek against his chest and drifting off to sleep for the night
~
The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed as the sun streamed through Shawn’s thin curtains. I stuck my hand out to reach over to Shawn’s side, but to no avail. Confused, I threw my feet over the edge and pulled on his old tshirt before walking out of his bedroom. As soon as I opened the door, I was hit with a strong smell of bacon and eggs. Shawns sculpted back was turned towards me as he flipped pancakes in front of the stove, doing a little butt jiggle as he danced to the beat of the soft music playing.
I groaned loudly. He was making it so hard not to fall in love with him.
“Hey! You’re awake! I made some breakfast,” Shawn said, flipping the pancake onto a plate and shutting off the stove.
“Thank you, Shawn,” I said before reaching over to him and giving him a small peck. He sat by the kitchen bar beside me and we dug in to our food, talking about anything and everything.
“D’you not like bacon or something, love? I could make sausages instead if you’d like,” Shawn asked curiously, noticing how I haven’t touched the plate of bacon since I sat down.
“I’m a vegetarian, actually,” I said. Shawn clutched his heart dramatically and clenched his eyes. “So you’re telling me: you’re extremely hot, extraordinarily successful, and you care about animals?”
I laughed loudly at his exaggeration, to which I earned a soft kiss on the top of my nose from Shawn. “Stop, you’re too much,” I said before realizing that today was a Thursday, “Oh fuck, what time is it?”
By the look on Shawn’s face, he must’ve lost track of time too. “Oh, uh, its 8:30,” he said, glancing to the clock on his wall.
“8:30?! We gotta get to work!” I said, quickly cleaning up my dishes and putting them in the sink.
He followed me into his bedroom as I threw on my clothes from yesterday and tied my hair up in a sleek bun. He grabbed his go to work outfit as I ran into the restroom and brushed my teeth with his extra toothbrush. After I was finished, I grabbed my purse and we walked out the door to my car. The ride to work was filled with music flowing through the speakers as we hummed and sang certain parts.
Parking my car, I looked over to Shawn,”You can go in first.”
Shawn scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, “What? Why?”
“I just... I don’t want everyone to know about this. Yet.”
Shawn was a little bit hurt at that statement, but he nodded and silently left the car anyways. He thought it was unbelievable that he was deep in my guts and making me moan his name into his ear just last night, and now I want to act like none of it happened.
I watched him leave before grabbing my spare work clothes in the trunk and changing discreetly in my car. I waited about 5 minutes before trailing into the building and up the elevator. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Arlene was quick to meet me at the entrance with todays schedule. “I did some more research about that company you wanted to invest to and I emailed you some notes, you have a meeting with Mark from HR at 10 and Tiffany from finances at 11.“
I took in this info as I walked with Arlene into my office, making it a point to not even glance in Shawn’s direction to not raise any suspicion. He noticed this action, sighing at how cold I was acting.
“You seem a bit distracted, is everything okay?” Arlene’s voice broke through my thoughts. I debated on whether or not to tell her about my night with Shawn. She was one of my best friends, afterall. But for some reason, I didn’t want to tell her just yet in fear of her judgemental reaction.
“Huh? No, I’m fine. I just need my coffee,” I said, turning on my computer to start looking through my emails.
“Alright, whatever you say boss. I’ll have Shawn bring it in a bit. He’s a great intern, by the way. I think we got lucky with this one, he actually knows how to follow directions in a timely manner,” Arlene ranted. She absolutely despised the not-so-bright intern we had last summer, who didn’t even last the whole summer in this fast paced work environment before getting terminated.
“Yeah I’m really lucky to have him,” I said without thinking before I said it, “I mean, we. We’re really lucky to have him. This whole office is lucky to have him.”
Arlene stared at me trying to save myself from that slip up, “...Okay?”
She walked out of my office with no further questions, but I just knew she has her suspicions on. She was way too smart to not know. I sighed, planting my elbows on to my desk and stuffing my face into the palms of my hands. Dating is so complicated. If you could even call it dating, we haven’t even officialized anything yet.
As if on cue, there was a knock on my door. “Come in,” I called out.
Shawn walked in with my usual cup of caffeine, closing the door behind him. “Hey,” he said cautiously, not knowing where he stood with me exactly.
“Hi,” I tried to put on a brave smile for him, leaning over to clutch the coffee and bring it to my lips.
“Are we okay?” He asked in a straightforward manner.
I almost choked on my drink, “What? Yeah, of course. Why?”
“I don’t know, are we gonna act as if we don’t know each other at work everyday?”
“No. I mean, yeah but no, I-“ I started before shaking my head, trying to find the right words to say,”I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just, I’ve never done this before. Even with other guys that didn’t work with me, I never let the office know of my personal relationships. But then theres you, sitting just a few feet away from me with that stupid curly hair that looks so good between my thighs and that stupid cute smile that I can’t resist and, I just, I don’t know, okay?”
I watched his face change from extremely confused to understanding to amusement. “You think I’m cute?” he teases, walking towards me.
I rolled my eyes but laugh nonetheless, “Is that really all you got from that speech?”
He nodded, leaning in to kiss me. His hands were quick to land on my waist, pulling me closer to his body. In return, I wrapped my hands around his neck and began to kiss down his neck, harshly sucking on his sweet spot and leaving a light bruise. He whimpered whenever my tongue would graze across the spot where his shoulder met his neck. “Please touch me, fuck,” he breathed out with his head thrown back and eyes shut. I smirked at his response but decided not to give him what he wanted just yet.
I unbottoned his slacks, pushing them down along with his boxers to free his member of its tight constraint. I lightly stroked it, feeling it get harder under my touch. “Mm, thank you, thank you,” Shawn whined into our kiss. I smiled against his soft lips, he didn’t think I was actually going to give it to him that easily, did he? Poor guy.
My hands wrapped around his, dragging it down his body to meet with his hard cock. I unlocked our lips from the kiss and leaned back, crossing my arms. “I want you to touch yourself,” I smirked at the bewildered look on his face. His face was flushed and his eyes were wide. He was stunned. He’d never done this in front of anyone, ever. He stood there hoping I was going to say that I was just joking or fucking with him.
“I said, touch yourself. And don’t come until I say you can. Are you going to be a good boy or am I going to have to punish you?” I repeated with an assertive tone.
Shawn shook his head no before taking his member in his head and stroking the tip out of fear of what his “punishment” would be, as if this wasn’t already punishment. To touch himself while I was stood right in front of him, not willing to even lay a finger on him, seemed like the worst punishment he could think of right now. But nonetheless, he did it and he admitted that he liked it.
He pumped his cock in his fist harder watching me unbotton my silk dress shirt, revealing a pink lacy bra. “Oh shit,” he breathed out looking at my sexy body.
I got down on my knees in front of him, batting my eyelashes up at him. I cupped my breasts, “D’you want to come on my tits, baby?”
His mouth was agape, small moans and whimpers falling out at the sight of me on my knees in front of again. “Yes, fuck yes,” He moaned as he felt his climax rushing towards him like an avalanche.
“Well thats too bad, isn’t it? Stop touching yourself. Now.” I said, getting back up on my feet.
Shawn’s brows furrowed immediately. He was so close, so fucking close. I tugged his arm away from his member as he gasped at the close rush he had. He took his lip in between his teeth, biting down to ease his nerves after being edged like that.
I sat Shawn down on my desk before I climbed on top, grinding on his crotch with my lace clad pussy. I was still fully clothed, skirt rising up as I grinded on his fully naked body. He balled his fists hard until they turned white to try and resist the urge to pull my panties to the side and slip his cock in my wet pussy. He was absolute putty beneath my touch, letting out a string of whines. When I started to circle my hips in figure eights, that almost send Shawn all the way over the edge. “Fuck! Please, please let me come holy shit,” Shawn moaned. His climax felt like it was coming on even stronger than before. He leg muscles were clenched as he prepared to see white, before I lifted my hips up and restrained from giving him any friction again, edging him close to his orgasm once again.
“No, ba-“ Shawn started, but he was interrupted by a knock on my door.
“Mrs. Y/L/N, you have a visitor.”
taglist: @vxidnik @justjustyncase @onemorekissisallittakes @kindadefinitely-fucked @hollandechart @imfreefallinall @ashwarren32 @nevermindmisha @winterparker @kinglyhemmings @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @alinashawn @peruvian-bae
#shawn mendes imagine#shawn mendes au imagine#shawn mendes imagines#shawn mendes au#shawn mendes fanfic#shawn mendes fanfiction#shawn mendes x reader#shawn mendes one shot#shawn mendes oneshot#ceo!reader x intern!shawn#intern!shawn#shawn mendes smut#shawn mendes smut imagine
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For @oceanwaves-blog, because you are lovely person and sometimes life can be rough, but we always have people who care about us.
Summary: Gray's not feeling great, so Natsu comes up with a surprise to help him feel better.
Rating: General Audiences
Pairings: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe
Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Music, Inspired by Music, Family Feels, chosen family, sweet husbands, Best Friends, Fluff, minor hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Gray's a bit depressed, but Natsu's a good husband
“You okay, Snowflake?”
Natsu slipped up behind Gray in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Gray’s waist and kissing the back of his neck. Gray sighed, leaning back into the embrace and putting his hand over Natsu’s on his stomach.
“I dunno,” he said quietly, waiting for the hiss of the Keurig to stop before grabbing his coffee mug. He didn’t turn around, just ran his thumb over the back of Natsu’s hand and stared at the tiles along the counter. “Just tired.”
“You always say that when you’re sad,” Natsu murmured against Gray’s neck. He pulled Gray tighter against him and kissed behind his ear. “I love you.”
“Love you too, mon coeur,” Gray said softly. “I dunno, I’ve just been... work is stressful and stupid things are getting to me.” He rubbed his face, then took a sip of his coffee. “My shoulder’s been hurting which is dumb cause it’s been seventeen years.”
“Not dumb,” Natsu said, taking Gray’s hand and placing it on his scarred left arm. “This still hurts sometimes too.” Gray ran his fingers gently down Natsu’s forearm and across his wrist. “I’m sorry you’re feeling shitty,” Natsu added. “Anything I can do?”
“Mm.” Gray set his coffee down and turned around slowly in the circle of Natsu’s arms. Natsu gave him a soft smile and leaned in for a kiss. “Kisses are good.”
“You guys are so sweet it’s disgusting.” They both looked up to see Sylvie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a smile on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. Gray laughed, letting go of Natsu and moving over to hug Sylvie.
“That’s new,” Natsu commented, kissing Sylvie on the cheek and pointing to the ring in her septum. “What’s your mom think?”
“She thinks you’re a bad influence,” Sylvie said, rolling her eyes and gesturing to Natsu’s own piercings. Natsu laughed, leaning back against the counter. “It’s better now that I’m in the college dorms, though. We fight less.”
“Told you,” Natsu said. “You want a coffee before we head out, or you ready to rock?”
“Already stopped at Starbucks, your frappucino is in the car.” Sylvie grinned.
“You’re my favorite niece,” Natsu said. “Don’t tell Kiya or Ada.” Then he turned and pulled Gray into another quick hug. “You gonna be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Gray said, kissing Natsu’s forehead. “I’ve got a bunch of work stuff I’ve gotta get through. Go have fun with your music.”
“’kay.” Natsu waited until Sylvie was back at the front door before pressing another soft kiss to Gray’s lips. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Je t’aime.”
Gray sighed, pressing his face into Natsu’s hair before letting him go. “Je t’aime aussi.”
~*~*~*~
“Why do you have Uncle Gray’s meeting notes?”
Sylvie stood in the middle of Ryos and Sting’s basement, frowning at the sheaf of papers on Natsu’s chair. There were several crumpled pages, covered with Gray’s neat handwriting and various doodles in the margins.
“’cause I have an idea,” Natsu replied, grabbing another chair. He turned it around, straddling it and crossing his arms over the back. “But I need your help.”
Sylvie raised an eyebrow and Natsu grabbed one of the pages, pointing at the doodles - they were actually lines of music that Gray had written. “I wanna learn to play this,” Natsu said, “but I can’t read music, it’s almost as bad as reading books.” He made a face. “If you play it on the piano, I can pick it up by ear, though.”
Sylvie took the music from Natsu and glanced over it. Sting appeared behind her, peeking over her shoulder and shaking his head.
“This is why I play the drums,” he muttered. “No music.”
Sylvie started humming under her breath, fingers following the hand-drawn staffs and notes that Gray had scribbled down.
“C’mere,” she said, gesturing for Natsu to grab his guitar and come sit next to the piano. She sat down and hovered her fingers over the keys, tapping out a few wrong notes before falling into a rhythm. She played the first few lines twice, then turned to Natsu, who closed his eyes and started picking it out on the guitar.
“How do you do that?” Sting asked, leaning against the piano and watching Natsu’s fingers dance over the strings as he corrected himself.
Natsu shrugged. “It just sounds right,” he said. He plucked out the melody a few more times, then nodded for Sylvie to keep going.
Half an hour and some creative flourishes later, Natsu was able to play the song from memory. He switched over to the electric guitar, fiddling with the setting on the amp before running through it again.
“I’m pretty sure this was supposed to be a classical piece,” Sylvie said, kicking her feet up on a chair and twirling a strand of purple hair around her finger. Natsu grinned at her, running through a quick series of notes and ending on a loud chord.
“It’s more fun like this,” Natsu argued, looking up at Sylvie and Sting. “Now all it needs is some drums and bass.”
~*~*~
Gray sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. The comptuer screen was making his head hurt, and part of him desperately wanted a nap. He wished Natsu were home.
As if reading his thoughts, a text popped up on his phone.
hey snowflake, hows work? u wanna come for super? ryos is maknig that pasta u like. but if u dont wanna be with ppl i can come home. love u. <3
Gray smiled, tapping his fingers against the phone screen as he contemplated the question. He glanced out the window – it was still light out, and the drive to Ryos and Sting’s place would take him along the beach. And as much as he felt like curling up under the blankets right now, spending time with friends was probably a better idea.
The sun was just setting as Gray drove along the beach, soft layers of gold and pink slowly slipping behind the curve of the park behind him. It helped calm Gray’s nerves, and by the time he got to Ryos and Sting’s place, he was already feeling better.
“Hey, you,” Ryos said as he opened the door. He examined Gray’s face, then pulled him into a hug. “Bad day?”
Gray shrugged, returning the embrace and then leaning back to kick off his shoes. He resisted the urge to repeat the usual just tired, and instead said, “sorta.”
“Well, I made linguine,” Ryos said, motioning for Gray to follow him into the kitchen. “They’ve been downstairs all afternoon, I haven’t seen them since they got here. You want something to drink?” He opened the fridge and gestured to the bottles of beer in the door.
Gray shook his head. “Not supposed to drink with the new meds,” he said, settling down at the kitchen table and fiddling with the napkin on his plate.
“Are they helping at all?” Ryos asked, grabbing the water jug from the fridge and setting it on the table.
“I dunno.” Gray shrugged. “It’s only been a week, it’s hard to tell. I still feel weird about taking them, which is dumb because Natsu’s been on meds for forever.”
“I’m sorry,” Ryos said, sitting down across from Gray. “I hope they help.”
“Me too,” Gray said softly.
The door to the basement opened and Natsu popped his head out, smiling when he saw Gray.
“Hey, handsome,” he said, moving over and kissing Gray’s head. “I knew you wouldn’t say no to pasta.”
Dinner was comfortable and familiar, and Gray felt some of the melancholy slip away as they ate and traded stories back and forth. Sylvie talked animatedly about her mechanical engineering program, and Natsu teased her about the guy she was dating.
“You still think kissing is gross?” he asked, laughing. Sylvie rolled her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue.
“You know I do,” she said, grabbing another slice of garlic toast. “And so does he.”
“Have Ur and Xavier met him yet?” Gray asked around a mouthful of salad. Sylvie shook her head.
“I was actually thinking of bringing him for brunch on Sunday,” she said. “I just hope papa doesn’t embarrass me.” When Sting raised his eyebrows at her, she elaborated. “He wore socks with sandals to Félix’s graduation last week.”
“The horror,” Ryos mumbled from behind his wine glass.
“It was atrocious,” Sylvie muttered.
~*~*~
After dinner, Natsu grabbed Gray’s hand and pulled him toward the basement.
“C’mere,” he said, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Gray frowned, but followed Natsu down the stairs into the practice space they’d set up. Natsu and Gray had spent a weekend helping Ryos and Sting soundproof and paint it, and they kept all of their instruments there.
“Go sit,” Natsu said, nudging Gray toward the couch. Ryos sat down as well, kicking his legs up over Gray’s lap and watching as Sting settled down behind the drums. Natsu grabbed his guitar and fiddled with the amp a bit, while Sylvie did the same with her bass.
“What song is it?” Gray asked, tipping his head back against the couch cushions.
“Surprise,” was all Natsu said. He did some quick tuning, then settled down on the stool and began to play.
Gray watched, fascinated, as Natsu’s fingers flew across the fret, dancing through a ridiculous progression of notes that ended in a loud chord. It was quickly followed by Sylvie and Sting joining in.
The song was bright, energy flowing through the notes, and Gray tapped his fingers against Ryos’ legs to the beat. They were almost thirty seconds into the song when Gray realized it was his music.
“I... wrote this,” he said softly, and Ryos raised an eyebrow at him. “H-how...”
Natsu’s eyes were closed now, and Gray knew he was playing from memory, fingers picking out each note. Natsu had described it to Gray once as colors, splashes of light that jumped out at him and dragged his fingers to the right places.
Gray’s face softened as he watched, memories surfacing of Natsu at seventeen, curled up in the corner of the youth center with his acoustic guitar, hair falling in his face while he played. He was always so gentle with his instruments, even when he was dancing riffs down the fret of the electric guitar. Gray thought of those hands on him, tracing circles on his arms, curling in his hair.
Natsu was gorgeous, and Gray was so, so lucky.
The song ended on a flourish, and Natsu bit his lip ring as he looked up at Gray while the final chord rang in the air. Gray realized his cheeks were wet and he wiped them quickly.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Natsu said softly as he set down the guitar and moved to the couch, crouching down in front of Gray and running his hands up and down Gray’s thighs. Ryos slipped out of the way, giving Gray and Natsu some space.
“You stole my notes,” Gray said softly, reaching out and brushing Natsu’s bangs out of his eyes.
“I did,” Natsu said, sliding onto the couch next to Gray. He kissed Gray’s cheek, then rested his head on Gray’s shoulder. “Did you like it?”
“Of course I did,” Gray whispered, sliding his fingers between Natsu’s and squeezing his hand tightly. “You’re amazing.” He sniffed, looking up at the other three, who were all pretending not to look. “Thank you,” he said, loud enough for Sting and Sylvie to know he was talking to them as well.
“It was fun,” Sylvie said, plopping down on Gray’s other side and snuggling up next to him. Gray sighed, leaning his head against hers and feeling an overwhelming sense of nostalgia for the little girl who used to climb into his lap and demand he read to her. “But I told Uncle Natsu it was supposed to be a classical piece.”
Gray snorted. “I don’t think he’d play classical music if you paid him,” he said, and Natsu nodded in agreement. “And it sounded good.” Hearing Natsu’s interpretation of his notes was... Gray couldn’t think of a word to describe it.
“Well, you know what that means,” Natsu said, bringing Gray’s hand to his lips and kissing it. Gray raised an eyebrow at him, and Natsu smiled. “You’re just gonna have to write more music for us.”
#fairy tail#ftlgbtales#ftlgbtfics#gratsu#stingue#gray fullbuster#natsu dragneel#sting eucliffe#rogue cheney#fluff#bit of angst#they're so in love with each other it's almost gross
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Babysitting
Title: Babysitting
Ship: Alexys/John Doe [Joker] [Self Insert/Canon]
Word Count: 2125
Summary: Bruce convinces Alexys to help him out with watching a couple of Selena’s cousins after he gets scheduled for an important gala event. John decides that he wants to help her out too.
A/N: A commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising with her and the Joker again! An adorable couple, honestly, I'm always happy to write for them ;u;
“No.”
“Alexys please-.”
“Bruuuuuuuuuuuce.”
Bruce rolled his eyes at the weak-willed whining of his best friend as she all but threw herself against the plush interior of his luxury card, limbs flailing as she stretched across the upholstery in an effort to take up as much room as possible. Bruce, unphased, leaned back in his own seat to avoid the set of limbs blindly flinging themselves around from a variety of directions. Alexys pouted back at him, as if upset she had somehow missed his form in her flailing efforts. She probably was upset about that, Bruce realized with a roll of his eyes as he held his hands up to try and continue his discussion with the woman before her.
“Selena asked me to help and I answered before I knew my full schedule,” He had explained in a last ditch plea towards his best friend, “But something came up on the day of and, now, I don’t think there’s any way for either of us to reschedule.”
“Why didn’t you just ask Xena then?”
“She’s out of town on a gallery conference in Metropolis,” Bruce’s voice echoed a more pleading tone as he practically pouted at Alexys, whose arms were now crossed hard over her chest as she leaned back in the seat in a proper, upright position, “You know I wouldn’t ask you unless I was completely out of options, Alexys, I really am sorry but…”
Alexys sighed and gave an accepting nod, her fate being sealed within a moment of her begrudging agreement. Bruce had rarely asked favors of her in their entire friendship, a sort of basis built up on trust and communication as any relationship, platonic or otherwise, should be. The favor was not the worst at any rate either. Selena had asked Bruce to help watch a couple of her cousin’s kids while she was away on business. Alexys was sure that the ‘business’ she was away on was either going with Xena to Metropolis (god forbid either of those two leave their girlfriend alone in another city) or a job of thievery that would prove to last a few days longer than she had expected it to. Regardless, there was trust in asking Bruce to do it. And more trust in Bruce asking her to do it and not spill the beans to the woman who had made her boyfriend promise he would take good care of them.
It was how she had found herself in the small, but homey area of downtown Gotham. The street cars roared at the bottom of the five-story apartment building, windows shut to muffle the endless white noise of the city as Alexys sat with the twins before her, their eyes wide and curious at her as she introduced herself with a wave and smile.
“I’m Alexys. Bruce sent me to take care of you both, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Why didn’t he come himself?”
Despite being seven, the words were eloquent. The girl, with short hair matching that of Selena’s, quirked a bushy eyebrow while the boy at her side nodded eagerly, hoping it was enough to back his sister up on her wording. Alexys was...perhaps moderately surprised at the wise indications of the children before her, but, it faded quickly. They were related to Selena, after all, and as such were bound to inherit some of her intense intelligence above all else. So she kept a smile on her lips as she shrugged, crossing her legs in front of them where she sat and sighed.
“He got busy with adult, rich, billionaire things and decided it was best to leave us all alone with his credit card.”
“What a jerk!” The boy quipped up at last, “Let’s buy a bunch of toys to make him pay for it!”
Alexys felt the laughter leave her before she could stop it, the giggles echoing from her mouth as the idea of putting several toys-r-us and target runs on Bruce’s credit card filled her with mischievous glee should it not promptly end their friendship in one way or another. The laughter was contagious, apparently, as the two before her began to giggle in unison. This increased Alexys’ laughs until the group of them were cackling together on the ground, clutching their chests as the banter of what they should buy with esteemed billionaire Bruce Wayne’s credit card continued in their group.
It was at that moment that her phone rang, the tune of a classic song that had come with her phone’s generic ringtone setup blasting on full volume through the entire household. Pausing in her fits of giggles, Alexys checked the caller ID to identify just who it was ringing her up in this moment. Her mouth only split into a wider smile when she realized that John’s name, displayed pleasantly before her with the accompaniment of hearts and a small flower, made her heart skip a beat. Answering it took no hesitation as she held the device up to her ears and vibrated as she spoke.
“Hey, John!”
“Alexys, hey!” The man cheered with delight upon her voice reaching his own ears, “Where are you, Doll?I was hoping we could spend some time together today, since you were free!”
Her heart dropped as she bit her lip, looking on at the curious children before her with an apologetic gaze before answering back into the phone with a tone that matched the look, “Oh John, I’m so sorry...But, Bruce needed my help last minute in watching some of his fiance’s niece and nephew, so, I volunteered and am looking after them. I can’t go anywhere today…”
The softest ‘oh’ of contemplation echoed against the receiver before silence enveloped the situation, the quiet filling her soul with guilt as she pursed her lips, prepared to apologize again and promise softly that she would make it up to him another time. Probably with a lot of kisses and a gentle encouragement of why she loved him so much for cure. Instead, her words were cut off by an echoed snap noise and then her boyfriend’s excited intonation practically yelping into through the speaker:
“Let’s watch them together! Where are you at?”
“Wh-What? No, John, it’s okay you really don’t have to take time out of your day to-”
“Come onnnn, I want to spend time with you! If it means helping you watch some of your friends kids then, heck, baby me up, Doll!”
The awkward way he litingly phrased the encouragement sent a fit of giggles bursting from Alexys’ throat as she rolled her eyes, looking on at the children before her as they gazed intently at her conversation, as if trying to hear through the phone to the other end so they could see just who she was talking to. With a smile, she gave them both a thumbs up before asking her own question:
“How would you both feel if I had someone over to join us?”
---
Truth be told, John was a bit nervous.
Maybe not a bit nervous. Maybe really nervous.
Children were...interesting. Not in a bad way, but, in a they held nothing back sort of way. In a ‘they would tell you your honest opinion of you’ certain way. Unlike adults who dodged questions and faded answers to other answers in a trained and precise way, children were always upfront with their opinions on the world around them. On the people around them. What if these children, in front of Alexys no less, disliked him? What if they hated clowns? What if they didn’t find any of his jokes funny?
The horror of reality caught up with him only after he had made the impulsive decision to drive down to the address Alexys had eagerly given him, his hand poised over at the door with a pale look of shock as he remembered just what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath, there was a moment where he lowered his hand to give himself a pat on the back, literally, his hand reaching over to caress what shoulder blade it could reach as he shook his head.
“Come on, John, it’ll be fine. It doesn’t matter what some kids say, she’ll still like you...Unless, well, she doesn’t-but-she always says that she does! Why would she change that over a nice and nephew she just met? It would be stupid...or honest...or would it? Hm-”
His self ramblings were shut off when the door clicked open. Alexys, having seen him standing in the doorway, rushed to pull it open before he could truly knock on it. Her smile sent his heart fluttering up to his throat as her beauty, as it usually did, took the breath away from him. His own smile creeped up against his lips as he gave her a light wave.
“Alexys, good to see you!”
“You too, John-” She leaned forward to hug him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before ushuring him inside, “Come meet the Kyles! They’re incredibly sweet.”
John ignored his clammy hands as the two children approached him, both eyes widening at the slicked back green hair he sported and pale source of makeup blushed across his face with careful application. When names were exchanged (“This is Arthur and Mary. Arthur and May, this is John.”) a silence followed, disturbed only by the echo of the grandfather clock in the living room hall.
Arthur pointed to John first, his lips curling into a smile.
“You look cool.”
The words strung the guitar strings of his heart like a guitar, the music playing from the compliment in his mind like a melody to his psyche. Slowly, surely, a sheepish sort of blush spread across his chin as he let a hand raise up and rub the back of his neck with a bright laugh.
“Why, thank-you! The hair is all natural, I promise. And if anyone says otherwise, they’re just jealous because green is the rarest hair color in existence.”
The girl giggled now, May’s hands falling to her mouth as she laughed at the absurd way he spoke about it. The boy joined in soon, the two children laughing in delight while John leaned down to get close to them both, face flushing at the cute way they seemed to stare at him. Their eyes, full of curiosity for the new being who had entered their home, were ready to take in whatever he said next with the utmost attention. John felt his grip on his own palms ease and his straightened shoulders relax as he tilted his head, tapping a finger to his chin as he hummed.
“Hey! You kids wanna hear a joke?”
Alexys felt her heart flutter as they cheered.
It was how the rest of the night seemed to progress. Little by little, Arthur and May seemed to warm up more and more to the man they now affectionately referred to as ‘Mr. Green’. Jokes went smoothly, sending them all laughing as pizza was ordered and eaten along with video games acceptable for all four of them to play on. Mario Kart ended with John dramatically flinging himself onto the floor, as if acting the fact that he had come in fourth place was the death of him. Arthur jumped on him in return, sending his breath winding itself out of his stomach while May laughed through the events. Alexys felt something...warm in the center of her stomach as she watched John’s gentle hands move against the children he already seemed to consider family.
It wasn’t until they were asleep that she brought it up. Both had their heads in John’s lap, his fingertips stroking through their short locks as Alexys cleaned up the remains of a pillow fort long since collapsed.
“I didn’t know you were so good with children.” She mused with a smile, sending another blush on John’s face as he chuckled in a whisper.
“They find things funnier than adults...And, well, most people say I act like a child. Maybe it’s just who I fit in with best.”
Alexys paused to press a kiss to his temple, feeling the stretch of his skin as he smiled tiredly through the motion. A pause. A meaningful gaze. A whisper.
“You’d make a wonderful father, John...Do you think you’d ever want to be one...someday?”
John Doe looked at Alexys with shock in his gaze before his lips parted to a warm, honest grin. Reaching one hand up, he stroked her hair and brought her in for another close kiss, the soft snoring of the children on his lap echoing his decision as he murmured it against her lips.
“With you? Definitley.”
#self insert#self shipping#self ship#kinley writes#telltale joker#batman self insert#telltale batman
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Digby’s Big Adventure
The year is 2054 and World War III, otherwise knows as The Nuclear War, has just emerged. Unlike his three sisters (and literally, like, everyone else), young Sunny Digby is happy that Britain’s at war; he thinks a little chaos will do good for the world. An unexpected bombing at their school separates Sunny from his sisters and he gets stuck with a crazy conspiracist named Gordy. Along with Sunny’s trusty SpiderBot, Orbi, they venture off into war zone, looking to become heroes.
Here’s a crappy unfinished first draft of the story, if you’re interested. Also, I’m not british and it’s set in britain, so the language is a little wonky. Wrote it the night my brain created the story, so I’ve changed some things since:
“Morning all,” said the man on the radio. Sunny Digby sat at his desk, attempting to fix up his latest creation, a tiny spider-like robot. It seems his spider-like complexion makes it prone to crushing. He had been listening to some tunes while working, but the nine ‘o clock news disrupted that system. With a disgruntled huff, Sunny turned the nob, lowering the volume of the radio. Clearing his throat, the radio man continued: “British Prime Minister Anthony Barr has met with American President, Salma Abdullah. The visit was arranged after both North Korea and Russia threatened to fire missiles. His Majesty, King William V, has issued—"
Sunny let out a dignified “YAK!” as he turned the radio completely off. Instead of listening to such dreadful news, he decided to put forth his full attention to the robot before him. “There you are, Orbi,” he said as the robot opened its eyes. “Go on then, get up. That’s a good girl.
“Right,” he said, tinkering with its legs. “Let’s see if you can still walk. Start off slow now… That’s it, girl.” The robot walked meekly toward the picture frame of him and his three sisters at the far end of the desk. Its legs shook so terribly, Sunny had his hands around Orbi for support, in case it decided to fall apart like the last few attempts. Successfully, Orbi made it to the picture frame still in one piece. Placing three of its eight robotic legs on the frame, it began attempting to climb. “Slow down, girl,” said Sunny, laughing. “I haven’t yet reattached your bristles to make you climb.” He let it down gently back on the desk and it began crawling to the wall. Leaping forward, it tried to attach itself to the wall. Sunny caught it quickly before it could damage itself.
“Honestly, why do you even bother with that thing,” said a voice at Sunny’s window. Sunny screamed, throwing Orbi high up in the air, and fell right out of his seat. Orbi, unable to grab the ceiling, fell onto his head.
“Bloody hell, Margo,” said Sunny. He removed Orbi from his head and started rubbing the bump that was now forming. “Will you quit doing that? Nearly killed me this time.” he said as his sister Margo climbed into Sunny’s room.
“Why do you think I still do it,” said Margo, slyly. Helping herself, she sat down on his bed and picked up the book laying peacefully beside her. “’Robotics for Dummies’,” she read aloud. “How fitting.”
“Gimme that,” he said, yanking the book away from her and tossing it carelessly onto his desk. It hit the picture frame and knocked it to the floor. “What’re you doing here?”
“You missed Maths class,” she said simply. “Again.”
He rolled his eyes. “What? Are you off to tell Mum? Or maybe Pops… Not like they’ll care, anyway.”
“If you get kicked out of Charterhouse, they’ll have no choice but to send you off to military school,” she said, a sly grin forming on her face. “I even heard Mother tell Father she wanted you to attend the Royal Navy Academy.”
“You did not,” he said. He held Orbi firmly in both hands, afraid of what his sister might do to it if he let go.
“I did too,” she said. “It was on holiday… She casually mentioned to Father about what a nice school it was and how it would man-up their little boy Sunny.”
“Quit lying to me, Margo!”
“Would I ever lie to you, little brother,” said Margo, a teasing tone in her voice.
“Let me think,” said Sunny, pretending to be lost in thought. “Yes! All the bloody time, in fact.”
“Regardless if I’m lying to you or not, you need to attend your classes.”
“I was planning to,” he said, looking down at the robot in his hands, “but someone crushed and killed Orbi while we were walking to class." He powered down Orbi and set him gently back down on his desk. “And what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be off playing football?”
“On my way now, as a matter of fact,” she said, walking up to the window. With one leg inside her brother’s room and one leg outside the commonwealth, she turned back to Sunny: “Go to Maths class, you buffoon.”
***
As Sunny was walking to class, he noticed Dr. Angular, a teacher of science, staring up at the sky. His hand covered his forehead, attempting to block the sunlight—what little sunlight they had, anyway. Beside him, some technicians were setting up an alarm of some sort beside the entrance to the science building. Sunny wasn’t bothered by them too much; he figured they were attempting to modernize Charterhouse, and it needed all the modernization it could get. He was more interested in the doctor—more importantly, what he was observing. A new scientific discovery, Sunny suspects.
“Doctor,” said Sunny, looking up with him, “what are you looking at?” When he did not respond, Sunny tugged on the sleeve of his coat. Dr. Angular jumped at the touch and turned to the young Digby boy. Sunny laughed. “Sorry for startling you, Doctor. I was only wondering what you were looking at.”
“Oh, Mr. Digby… I was just—well, if you must know, I was looking for missiles.”
“Missiles?” said Sunny, looking up. “In the sky?”
“Yes, we live in dangerous times… Dangerous times indeed.” He went quiet for a moment, staring back at the sky, before Sunny tugged his sleeve again. Again, he jumped. “Needn’t worry, young Mr. Digby. Just a precaution, that’s all. Just a precaution.”
***
Sunny spent the rest his day unbothered. The doctor is known, notorious even, for his crazy antics. Sunny is sure he’ll be searching for extra-terrestrial life tomorrow… and God the next. Before bed, he managed to fix Orbi right up, bristles attached securely and all. He tried to listen to some music while he slept, but they had interrupted the station with a special message from the British Prime Minister. Sunny clicked it off before the old man finished his greeting. And so asleep he fell, dreaming of Kings and Presidents, and missiles floating above his head.
***
“Sunny, get up!” he heard as he felt the world shake. He groaned and turned, placing his pillow above his head. Maybe if he ignores the voice, they’ll go away. “Get up, you buffoon!”
“I’ll be… up in a bit,” he mumbled out with a yawn. “I just need… some more time.”
“We don���t have time, Sunny! We have to go now!”
“Go where?” An alarm went off—the fire alarm, Sunny suspects—and the person began shaking his bed more urgently.
“To the underground!”
“The underground?” He opened his eyes and turned to the voice, his sister Margo.
“Yes,” said Margo, pulling him out of bed, “we have to—” There was a high-pitched ringing in his ear and it seemed to be coming closer and closer. It was so loud the Digby siblings had to cover their years to try and block out the noise. With a final and determined bang the ground shook furiously, knocking both Sunny and Margo to the ground.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Sunny said, panic in his voice.
“Let’s go!” Margo kept a firm grip on his wrist and led him to the window. Carefully they climbed out.
Most of Charterhouse was up in flames and robot soldiers infected the place. “What… what about Jo and Tattie? Where are they?” The chaos was so terrible, he nearly forgot his other sisters.
“They’re already on the coach.”
Tightening her grip on Sunny, Margo started running, as fast as her athletic legs could take her, and she dragged Sunny along behind her. He tried to keep up, but she was just too fast for his legs to handle. Finally, his body collapsed, and he fell to the ground. Margo was running so fast, she made it ten feet before realizing he had fallen. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, SUNNY! WE HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING!”
The ground shook again and Sunny cried out in fear. “I… I can’t!”
A very scrawny-looking robot, who had a big red ‘EVACU-BOT’ stamped on its forehead, noticed them. Scanning them, he hurried toward them. “STU-DENTS OF CHAR-TER-HOUSE, PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE. THIS AREA IS CUR-ENTLY UN-DER QUAR-AN-TINE. TH-ANK YOU AND HAVE... A NICE DAY!”
With great ease, Margo lifted Sunny up to his feet and started running again. His feet were just skimming the ground; Margo was stronger than she looked, like their mother… That, or Sunny is just incredibly light. Probably a little bit of both. As Margo ran, and Sunny glided, the EVACU-BOT led them to the exit. Headmaster Vice was guiding the students safely to the coach across the road.
Sunny plopped down to the ground as they waited in line to cross the street. With a big huff, Sunny patted his front pajama pocket. “All right there, Orbi?” he said. Upon realizing his pocket was empty, he stood abruptly up, searching around him like some wild dog. “Orbi,” he said. “I forgot Orbi!”
“Next in line,” said Headmaster Vice urgently.
“Forget the stupid thing,” said Margo, taking his arm and dragging him to the Headmaster.
“No,” he said, yanking his arm away. “I have to… We have to go back!”
“Children, come along now,” said the Headmaster, gesturing for them to come closer.
“Sunny, you can make another spider,” said Margo. “This place is about to be filled with warrior bots… We have to leave now!”
Grabbing the EVACU-BOT, he sped off back to his dorm room, without so much as a goodbye. “SUNNY! WHAT THE—” Headmaster Vice grabbed her before she could run after him and led her to the coach.
***
“ORBI! ORBI, CAN YOU HEAR ME,” he yelled, looking in through his window. Orbi was sleeping soundly on his desk, unbothered by the flames surrounding it. “Orbi, activate,” commanded Sunny and the robot’s eyes opened. Assessing the area, it quickly jumped to the wall and crawled its way out to safety, landing safely in the hands of its master. “That’s a good, girl.”
Smiling, he patted the robot’s head gently, but stopped when he heard that deafening sound again. It was so loud it blocked out the sound of the alarm. Looking up, he saw a large tubular object falling from the sky.
The EVACU-BOT beeped and said, “UR-GENT! UR-GENT! STU-DENT OF CHAR-TER-HOUSE, PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE. PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE! PLEASE E-VAC-U-ATE TO THE NEAR-EST SAFE ZONE!”
Though the bot’s words were firm, it did not practice what it preached and Sunny had to push him to start moving.
“UR-GENT! UR-GENT!” the bot kept repeating, its eyes blinking red.
As they ran, they watched as the missile flew over them and landed behind them. Again, the ground shakes and they all fall to the ground. Feeling a terrible wave of heat hit them, they watched as terrible smoke filled the air and the sky turning a deep red from the fire. His eyes burned; he could barely see. “O-orbi,” he said. He managed to grab hold of the EVACU-BOT and yank off the metal on his back, exposing his wires. “Orbi… Orbi, fix him up.”
The spider-bot crawled inside the EVACU-BOT and started rearranging its wires. “UR-GENT!” it still said. “UR-GENT! UR…GENT! UR—” Suddenly his blinking red eyes turn a firm green and it stands tall, as if it were a WAR-BOT. Noticing Sunny laying on the ground, the robot helps him up with ease. “I WILL SAVE YOU, FAIR CIT-I-ZEN,” it says to Sunny.
Sunny climbs on top of the bot’s exposed back and it begins speeding forward, quick like a flash. The next thing Sunny knows is he’s being dropped off at the gate with a former EVACU-BOT, rewired into a WAR-BOT, saluting him farewell.
The night air is filled with black smoke and heavy flames. In the distance he sees the coach, listening as its engine starts. He runs quickly. He sees his sisters, Margo, Jo and Tottie, in the back, banging on the glass window, encouraging him to hurry. Another missile lands, and the ground shakes furiously. Sunny almost falls to the ground, but his persistence kept him balanced. He reaches for the coach, stretching his arms out far.
Suddenly, bang, something hits him, and he gets tossed up in the air. He hits the ground hard, with an ache in his right arm and head. He watches, through blurry eyes, as the coach drives off. He sees legs of a man, hovering over him, checking if he is dead. He is not dead. Not yet. “You okay, kid?” he hears, the words echoing in his head. “You okay? You okay? You okay?” With a groan, he closes his eyes.
#story idea#story#oc#own character#fiction#fictional writing#creative writing#art#my art#colored drawing#drawing#digital art#fictional story#book#book idea#novel
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Too Much
Summary: Mizuki runs into trouble with a villain in an area far from the city. In an effort to save her friends, she distracts the villain, but what happens after puts her in a precarious position...though maybe it isn’t all that bad~
Word Count: 2781
Featured Character(s): All Might, Shouta Aizawa
Author’s Note: I have not yet finished season two so please no spoilers! Also! I actually really like this concept and I love Aizawa so if people are interested, I might make more of this story! Might even think about making it a full story!
Requests are OPEN!
“Who’s that?” A whisper of one of the students catches the ear of the woman seated at the table beside the window overlooking the campus of U. A. High. It wasn’t surprising that the costumed brunette, who appeared a little old for the high school, would draw attention. The woman listens to the conversation of the students sitting in the booth not far from where she is, seated on the stool, her ankles crossed and her weight resting on the table, her cheek on one fist.
“You haven’t heard?” A different kid answers, clearly older than the one that had asked in the first place. The woman watches the older blonde lean a little closer, speaking in hushed tones, not realizing that the brunette could still hear him.
“She’s the one that cause all of that damage a week ago,” He whispers harshly, making his younger classmen gasp, eyes going wide.
“Seriously?!” He exclaims, earning hissed hushes from the others around the table. “Why is she here, then? Isn’t it dangerous?” The younger man asks, voice quiet again.
“Apparently, she’s not all that bad, actually,” A different boy, around the same age as the blonde, answers, adjusting a pair of glasses on his face. “I heard she has a crazy powerful quirk but it’s really hard to control.”
“Really? How powerful?” The youngest gasps, staring at her in awe.
“All Might would have trouble with her,” Glasses answers, causing gasps from the table. “I heard it was actually Aizawa-sensei that had to stop her.” All eyes turn to him again.
“Woah, really?” The blonde asks. “I heard that guy’s kinda weird and really strict,” he mentions, to which the other’s nod; clearly, they heard the same.
“That’s why she’s here,” Glasses continues, “He’s one of the only ones who can contain her powers when she uses them so she has to stay close. Apparently, she’s being hunted! Since she can’t control her powers she’s a prime target for villains to try and take advantage of her.” The woman tenses just a little at the comment but it goes unnoticed by the boys.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” The younger asks fearfully, but glasses shrugs.
“U.A. High has some of the strongest heroes on campus at all times, plus state of the art security,” He explains, “And since All Might and Eraserhead are both teachers here, it’s best to keep her close. I think that’s why she’s here. Plus, so long as those two are around, she’s like an ace.” The other two ‘ooh’ and ‘awe’ at the explanation, looking a little more comfortable.
“Wow, that’s pretty cool!” The younger mentions before the blonde snorts, grinning.
“I’m glad she’s around, older women are hot,” The boys laugh, the brunette turning a little red and rolling her eyes, though she smiles good naturedly to herself.
“C’mon, man, what about girl’s your own age? Kawasaki’s pretty hot,” The younger points out, drawing the conversation to the girls in their class, which the brunette tunes out. Sharp brown eyes catch sight of a familiar mess of black hair across the courtyard, heading towards his next class, drawing her mind back to the day she met the notorious Eraserhead, the day her life changed.
----
The echoing sounds of screams pierce the cool night sky, the rumbling vibrations of something huge shaking the earth as the sharp stinging smell of dense smoke fills the air. A small group of civilians run down the abandoned streets—too early for many people to be out—and turn several sharp corners, into alleys. Behind them a huge, monstrous, form follows at a breakneck speed as he lets out an enraged snarl, quickly gaining on them.
A shriek rings out as a small blonde woman snags a piece of trash in the alley and falls to the floor just before a branching path in the alley. The woman behind her, a tall and strong looking brunette, just barely keeps from running the woman over, skidding to a stop as the two men in front of the fallen blonde, do the same and turn back to the two women. The brunette is quick to pull the smaller woman to her feet, an action that makes her cry out again; her ankle sprained.
“C’mon! We have to move! We just have to stay alive till the pro heroes arrive!” One of the men shout as he runs back to the two. Being the larger of the two men, he’s quick to pick the blonde up as the brunette looks over her shoulder at the villain rounding the corner and entering the alley.
“Get her out of here!” The brunette shouts as she shoves them both towards the straight branching path. The two men start running without hesitation, but the brunette doesn’t follow.
This guy’s too fast, the brunette thinks quickly as she grabs a piece of trash from the ground and darts for the right branching path. We’re too far in the sticks. It’ll take too long for the heroes to show up at this rate. I have to distract this thing. Or it’ll hurt my friends. She barely finishes the thought before she turns and hurls the heavy can at the twisted mass of muscle, drawing the enraged man’s attention to her branched path of alley.
“Hey, stupid! Nice quirk!” She shouts at the man, “Didn’t know there was an ugly quirk!” The resulting shout of rage and multiple profanities from the man’s mouth tell her that her plan was working. Turning back around, she continues out of the alley, hearing the thundering sound of the man following her.
There’s some a park not far from here. I should lead him there, it’ll be easier for the heroes. They won’t have to worry as much about collateral damage. The woman’s brain is moving as fast and as frantically as her feet as she runs from the villain. Sharp turns and fear are the only things keeping her in front of the creature but it’s not long before she sees her desired park.
Thank god. There’s no one here, she thinks as she runs for the center of the woodland park. She can’t get further than that, however, before she suddenly feels a powerful force slam into her side, sending her flying into a thick tree twenty meters from the villain. The impact makes her cry out in pain, something in her ribs making a rather unsettling cracking sound.
“Shit,” The woman mutters as she pulls herself off of the floor and spots the man darting towards her again. Nimbly, the brunette rolls to one side as he barrels into the tree she’s just been thrown against, his force destroying it. Holding her side, the woman looks around frantically for any sign of a hero. She sees nothing.
The dark sound of the villain chuckling draws the woman’s attention snapping towards him, eyes wide at the sound, chest heaving from their chase.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” The man laughs as he turns to face her. “You’ll be dead by the time they get here, and I’ll be long gone,” He points out. The brunette pales as she realizes that he’s right. The heroes won’t get here in time.
“I-I can’t…” She whispers to herself as her own thoughts drift to one option. The man laughs, thinking her words have a different meaning.
“I’ll make it quick,” He chuckles before setting back on his heels, ready to dart at her.
“Mizuki!” Comes a shout of the woman’s name, drawing the attention of both to the group of three the brunette had been running with earlier. Her eyes go wide and her face grows deathly pale at the sight of her friends, the villain turning to face the three with a sick grin on his face.
“Run!!” She screams at them as the villain darts towards them. Time seems to slow as Mizuki stares in horror; the monster slowly closing the distance, her friend’s faces turning pale and panic stricken, and something echoing around in her head.
You have no choice.
The woman releases her death grip on the power inside of her. Time resumes to the woman’s perception and the park echoes with the shattering boom, like the sound of a bomb going off. The villain skids to a halt and turns to look back at the source of the sound, eyes wide. The place where the woman was just standing has crumbled, the ground shattered; creating a several meter-deep hole. The brunette, however, was no longer standing there, appearing in the blink of an eye in front of the villain. Her hair and clothes float around her with the violent wind that follows her arrival, her eyes glowing blue with the force of the energy that had been released. Her gaze snaps to the group behind the huge man and she yells at them to run. The three, shaken out of their fear, turn and run as fast as they can, stumbling as they do.
The villain barely has time to shake himself from his own shock before the woman’s hand snap out and grab him by the face, the force of the move sending another crack echoing through the park as she breaks the sound barrier, along with the man’s nose. The force of her energy flowing around her is cracking the ground still, bending and breaking lamp posts, trees, and benches within a fifty-meter radius around her. Suddenly, the villain feels very afraid. The woman hauls him off his feet by her grip on his face before slamming him onto his back, burying him in the ground.
The impact it almost less painful then the feeling of the raw power flowing around her and crushing his bones, just from him being close to her. The monsterous sized man is quick to lose to the pain, falling unconscious.
“Fear not, citizens. Why? Because I am here!” Comes a familiar cry, followed by a hearty laugh. The brunette’s glowing eyes grow wide as they fall upon the huge, seven foot, man as he lands not far from them.
“No.” She gasps, quickly distancing herself from the hero as she trembles, trying to reign in her power. The ground cracks and breaks where she’s standing, the playground beside her, creaking as it bends and crumbles like a crushed tin can. The blonde’s grin falters slightly, hidden gaze glancing between the woman and the man unconscious on the ground. He takes a step towards the woman who flinches away, keeping a great distance between them.
“Don’t come any closer!” She shouts, arms crossed over her chest as she tries to pull her power back in, trying to control it again. All Might seems to get the wrong idea as he faces her fully and takes a heroic stance.
“Surrender!” He calls in that boisterous voice, “Turn yourself in quietly and we won’t hurt you!” The woman shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, tears that give the hero pause. The woman grips her hand above her chest as her heart hammers. She lets out a shout as she tries to force her powers back down, the pain echoing through her body like fire in her veins.
“Mizuki!” Her name is called again, her friends having heard All Might’s arrival and returned. The man looks back at the three as the woman’s frightened gaze falls back onto them.
“No! You have to leave! I don’t want to accidently hurt you!” She shouts, the turmoil she feels increasing her range of destruction, almost hitting All Might now. “No no no no!” She shouts, curling up into a ball where she, now, hovers, feet no longer touching the ground, the force of her power a full circle around her, pushing her off of the ground that crumbles further beneath her. The blonde steps towards her and feels the force of her power batter him as he steps into its range. Even All Might is forced to put up his guard, sliding several feet to one side as the power batters him.
“No! All Might! Don’t come closer!” She shouts, her grip on her powers growing tighter, drawing it back into her, the force battering against her body, filling the park with the sounds of sharp cracking of bones; her bones. Her body struggling to pull the force back inside of her.
“Damn it, this isn’t good,” All Might mutters to himself, widening his stance and crouching to dart at the woman.
“Stand down, All Might. I can handle her.” Comes a deep, tired sounding, voice from behind him. Though the range of the woman’s quirk is shrinking thanks to her attempt to reign it in, it appears to be battering her body from the inside out and the power inside of the shorter range seems to have become stronger, lifting the woman higher into the air. The blonde hero takes a step back as the smaller black hair hero walks up beside him, goggles on.
“It’s Eraserhead,” Comes a whisper from the civilians near them. The man’s eyes fall on Mizuki and turn sharp as they start to glow, his hair rising up around him. The moment his gaze locks on the woman, the power around her disappears and her limp body falls from the sky. All Might is quick to react, catching the unconscious woman before she hits the ground, shaded and dark eyes falling on the unconscious young woman. Her body looks bad, striations along her skin where her veins would be; striations that look like burn marks. Her breathing was shallow and labored, her face pale and body temperature high. All Might looks around at all of the devastation (her quirk was impressive) and notices the man from before was gone. That can’t be good, but he’d have to deal with it later.
“Nice work, Eraserhead!” He calls to the black haired man, grinning.
--
The soft sounds of beeping is the first thing that greets the woman as she wakes…followed swiftly by the feeling of intense pain. She lets out a soft whimper, hand flying up to her chest where the pain is the worst.
“Don’t move,” Comes a deep, gruff, voice as something wraps around her wrist and pulls it back to her side. The woman’s eyes fly open and dart in the direction of the voice. She sees a tired looking man with scraggly black hair and glowing red eyes, a cautious look on his face. She glances down at the large, thin fingered, and pale hand wrapped around her wrist tightly. Spotting a pad of gauze taped to her arm and a clear tube leading out from under it, she frowns, looking around. It’s clear she’s in some sort of medical facility, a state of the art one at that. Turning her gaze back to the man, she notices that the whites of his eyes are growing more red and sore looking. Staring at his eyes, she suddenly remembers what happened, the feeling of her quirk being nullified upon seeing those eyes and the relief that followed.
“Oh,” She realizes why his eyes are glowing and he hasn’t blinked, “You don’t have to continue nulling my quirk. I can control it now,” She assures, voice coming out a croak. The man seems to hesitate but a huge figure steps into the woman’s line of sight around the privacy curtain around her bed.
“You heard her, Aizawa!” He grins as the pats the man on the shoulder, making him blink. His hair falls from its floating position, settling around his face again. The two seem to hold their breath for a second before relaxing when the hospital room doesn’t spontaneously combust. Eraserhead takes a step back and releases her arm as All Might moves to her side. The woman tries to sit up, only for him to place a hand on her shoulder to try and keep her down.
“Your ribs are still broken and your body is under a lot of stress.” He says, voice soft and caring. She offers him a small smile and pats his hand before sitting up anyway.
“I’m okay. It’s just pain,” She says with a soft laugh, which quickly devolves into painful, rattling coughs. All Might rubs her back gently as Aizawa grabs a pitcher of water and filling a plastic cup, handing it to her when her coughing fit finished. She thanks him quietly as she takes a few sips before cradling the cup in her hand.
“I’m sorry,” She whispers, voice still rough. “I’m usually good about containing my quirk. Most people don’t even know that I have one,” She sighs.
#my hero academia#my hero academy oc#all might#aizawa#aizawa shouta#super heroes#anime#oc#snippet/drabble#snippet#injured#hurt#wounded#injury#my writing#fanfiction
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I Need U Part 9/?
[cred to gif owner]
Member: Yoongi, but all of Bangtan will appear.
Genre: mostly humor, a hint of angst maybe?
Words: 2k words
Synopsis: You’re invisible, a nobody, no friends - no nothing. Your mom died while running away from your still abusive and drunk father. You live a life no one wants, but a shared passion for piano seems to perk your interest. Who is Min Yoongi? The answer may have changed your life.
Warnings: Strong language, violence, can be triggering for some and… Just don’t read it if you can’t handle abusiveness and stuff.
A/N: I have a uni/college entrance exam thing on saturday (the day this will be uploaded) and unfortunately I’ve been studying for that instead of writing this so this will only be a short update! Super sorry for that but school does come first!
Again updates will come every other Saturday! (odd weeks)
>>| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |<<
>>| Masterpost |<<
Previously
“About that…” I pull up the note and start reading it loudly in front of the rest of the boys.
“Dear Yoongi, Jin, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook…”
- Monday -
Y/N POV
School’s starting again and life is feeling useless.
You walked home calmly seeing some of them here and there. Hopefully that would make them move away from the boys’ track and leave them alone.
The walk home wasn’t that bad. But when you came up to the house... That was something completely different. You facepalmed yourself when you realized everything was locked and that you didn’t have a key nor anywhere to sleep.
So what do you do when you don’t have a key and desperately need to enter the house? That’s right you break in. So yes, you broke into your own house. That’s not against the law... You hope... heh.
It wasn’t easy - since you didn’t want anything to break - since that means punishment...
The house still reeked of alcohol - mostly beer. Tears started to form in your eyes again after seeing the belts and whip on the floor, together with the bedsheet with dried bloodstains on it. You touch your ribs and upper left arm.
It’s not like you’re not used to it though. So you take the fabrics and starts washing them, you take out the beer cans and clean up a bit. All the work made you sweat so you took a shower. The exhaustion soon took over and you fell asleep on the couch.
You’re happy that the boys have a competition today. That means that they won’t be at school and you don’t have to avoid them like they were a pest. The grey hoodie you’re wearing are covering up everything you need covered up. It also works as a personal shield to hide in for any interested eyes.
The day goes on as usual and you find yourself in the music room again after school.
Your hand drags over the piano, enjoying the cooling effect it has. This might be the last time in a while. You can’t come here because the boy’s will expect you to be here. You have to be smart about it and avoid all the places where they’d believe they’d see you. Even if that means having to stay at home more.
You sit down and play some tunes and soon without really noticing you’ve started to play one of Yoongi’s songs. When you realise what you’re doing you just stop. Your thoughts start to wander off to their competition... You can’t really help but to cheer them on in spirit.
-Tuesday-
-Yoongi POV-
“Eyyy, Suga” the boys greets me as I walk towards them. I nod a bit and they turn back to their conversation.
“...but are you sure it’ll work? She said she didn’t want us to talk to her - or acknowledge her at all” Hobi says probably thinking back to the letter Y/N had left behind.
“Are you talking about Y/N?” I ask.
“Yeah, we’re trying to come up with a way to talk to her. There’s something fishy about it and we need to find out what” Jungkook answers. Of course it’s weird. I can’t help but think so too. I mean I talked to her just before she left. And it is something fishy about it. But before I know more I don’t really want to tell the rest of the boys what happened that day. For some reason it feels like something is dangerous, and having contacts with the local gangs I for sure know that my gut instinct is usually right.
“You should just leave it alone. She sounded pretty desperate in the letter so let’s just do as she says” I answer and take a seat on one of the stone stairs.
“But hyung, I miss her! She was so much fun...” V pouts and looks at me with those damn puppy eyes. I roll my eyes at him.
“Y/N is smart. She probably had a reason for it - so before we know any more, let’s just see what happens” I answer “And also, she didn’t say anything about shadowing her” I smirk a bit and wink at him.
“It’s true, she never said we couldn’t follow her in the shadows. That way we can carefully see what’s happening and maybe get a clue to what’s going on” Namjoon adds.
“Let’s do it” Jin says “I’m very concerned about her. Those... scars and things she had. It needs to be taken care of. We need to who’s responsible” he says. We all nod and put our hands together while forming a ring.
“1..2..3...BANGTAN” we all yell and throw our hands up. And right after that the bell rings.
“Now go to class kids. I have to get back to uni - call if something happens” Jin says and walks towards his car while we scurry on into the school. Without looking too suspicious we try to look for Y/N. But for me, everything seems to remind me of her...
This is going to be interesting.
-Y/N POV-
You know the boys are back, and you know that they won. As soon as you saw them in the morning you wanted to run into their group and hug them all and congratulating them. But no - you knew better than that. You wouldn’t put those boys in danger. They had a bright future in front of them, you couldn’t ruin that. One life is enough.
You’re pretty sure you’ve avoided being caught by their radar. Because as far as you know, they haven’t noticed you at all. Not that you were stalking them or anything.
But that’s when you remember. shit. You have Biology together with Jungkook. You hope with every fiber in your body that he won’t talk to you nor acknowledge you.
As you make your way into the classroom you take big steps towards the lonely bench in the far back. You pull up your hoodie to cover most of your face and hide behind the books.
Loud cheers and laughter are audible before a group of boys and girls enter the room. In the absolute middle you can see Jungkook. You thank the “fangirls” for being all up in his face congratulating him and turning his focus away from possibly finding you.
The good thing about your Bio teacher is that he never calls up anyone. He just starts the class. Those who are not interested can fail - it’s not his problem. As he draws some cells and talks about different functions you can feel somebody’s eyes on you. Being the paranoid person that you are you’re pretty sure it’s Jungkook - but your gut can be wrong. Nonetheless you find your eyes wandering around the classroom trying to find the person staring.
When your eyes finally find the brown mop of hair belonging to the youngest Bangtan member, you see that he’s concentrating on taking notes. I guess I was wrong then.
It doesn’t take long before you feel the eyes on you again and this time you look up directly - eyes aiming straight for the maknae. But he’s still taking notes, looking as concentrated as ever. I think I might be going crazy.
Taking the decision that it’s probably just your mind playing tricks on you, you decide to move your focus back to the lecture. What am I even thinking. Of course they wouldn’t look for me. Don’t think you’re special Y/N.
“Don’t think you’re special Y/N. You’re just going to end up like your mom. You can’t win this. You know it” he laughs a cynical laugh while grabbing you buy the hair “You don’t even know half of what I can do. So watch yourself. Next time you try to fight back - you know what will happen” he whispers in your ear before throwing your head back down on the mattress. Your tears wetting the fabric covering your eyes and whimpers filling the air...
You’re smacked back into reality when you hear everyone shutting their books and start to walk out of the classroom for lunch. You feel a stray tear making its way down your cheek and onto the blank paper. Quickly you take your sweater paw and dry the rest up while collecting yourself. Get yourself together Y/N.
You gather your books and quickly exit the classroom, following the stream of people to the cafeteria. When you pass your locker you quickly put your books inside and then join the stream of students again.
With your head down and hood up you’re kind of invisible. Or at least that’s how you feel.
- Jungkook POV -
[JK]: I’ve found her.
[ChimChim]: What how??
[JK]: Haha you’d think I remember that she’s in my Bio class but it’s not a surprise since she was good at hiding.
[JK]: + Mr.Jeffreson never calls us up. Probably why ^^
[Princess]: Okay who changed my name to Princess again??
[Princess]: Also keep on tracking her. But be discrete Kookie.
[JK]: Of course hyung. I’m not stupid.
[JK]: Also - it was Hobi hyung ^^
I quickly slide my phone down in the pocket again and keep on trailing Y/N.
“Jungkook oppa~!” Cindy’s voice calls out. Not her.
“Hi Cindy” I answer giving her a big fake smile before returning to keeping an eye on Y/N. I almost thought I lost her for a second there but then swe the grey hoodie again. As I’m about to walk closer as to not actually lose her, I feel someone grabbing my arm. I look back and see that Cindy has linked her arm together with mine.
“Come and sit with us at lunch Kookie~” she says in a cute voice. I roll my eyes and pry her arm off.
“Please Cindy I don’t have time right now -” I start but she cuts me off.
“But you promised that if you won you’d sit with me” she said doing a pout and grabbing my arm again. God she’s irritating.
“I did?” I ask starting to get stressed. I look over the sea of students for the grey hoodie again and I can see her about to enter the line for food.
“Yes you did. It feels like you never have time for me anymore oppa~” I cringe at her saying oppa. I hate it. I continue to keep an eye on Y/N while not actually listening to what Cindy is saying. “YA! Oppa, who are you looking at?” she says grabbing my arm and forcing me to look at her.
“I’m sorry, but like I really have to-” I’m yet again cut off by someone. But at least this time it isn’t Cindy.
“YA KOOKIE!” an angry voice calls out and half of the students turn their heads towards... Hobi. He runs towards me with big steps while yelling “HOW DARE YOU TELL JIN HYUNG ABOUT MY PRANK!” he runs straight into me, grabbing my arm, dragging me away from Cindy and fake slaps me on the shoulder. I look up at him with big eyes and he just winks back.
“Wha-w” I stammer a bit confused.
“HAHAHA I’M just playing with you” he goes from yelling to talking normally. He pats me on the back and everyone’s attention go back to whatever they did before.
“You’re welcome - now where’s our little Y/N?” he whispers as we start to walk towards the lunch line. I look around trying to find her again but I can’t see her.
“I can’t see her now - but she has a grey hoodie” I whisper back to him and we start to take our food. I look up again to locate her but to no avail.
“Hey is that her?” Hobi asks and nudges me. I look in his direction and I see the same grey hoodie from before - or at least I thought so. But instead of a girl it was Carl. Or as most people call him stinky Carl.
“Ya, are you blind? It’s Carl!” I say slapping him lightly.
“Well at least it’s not my fault losing the real target...” Hobi says and I stomp on his foot making him whimper “Ow“. I just glare at him and take my things to go looking for a seat. That’s when I hear a plate dropping to the ground.
All heads turns towards the sound and there she is. Grey hoodie soaked in milk and a laughing Cindy holding the box in her hand...
A/N: okay this got really long lol. But like I hope you enjoyed it - even though it was pretty much of a filler! Look forward to the next parts though!
#min yoongi#yoongi#bangtan#bangtan angst#min yoonig angst#yoongi angst#angst#bts angst#min suga#min suga angst#suga angst#suga scenario#series#i need u#i need u series
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It’s 2010 bitch!!!
written also with @spacetaemin, @5hineesback, @choitaemins and @sabakunocasali (and probably many others)
“Minho shoot the ball” yelled super jock Kim Jonghyun as he ran down the footballl field. Minho, baseball in hand, hit the soccer ball so hard it become a touchdown. Everyone in the audience cheered but especially Taemin, long haired bb child innocent my son,,,doesn’t know a damn thing about anything. Evry1 thinks hes a girl but rly hes just feminine and cute and clueless!
Sitting next to Taemin was his best-friend-but-also-pseudo-mother, Kim Kibum, better known as “Key Umma.”
“I did it I got a homerun!!!” Choi Minho, the coolest jock in school, yelled as he ran on the track. He locked eyes w/ his super beautiful girlfriend, Yuri. She was so hot and he wsa really heterosexual and straight. Nothing would ever change that!!!!
Jonghyun, the token gay on the Sports team, immediately ran to his boyfriend in the stands, Key. The two embraced lovingly, proclaiming their love in front of the entire school because apparently homophobia isnt a thing and high schcool is just Amazing. They were the only Gays (Trademark) in the entire school (a/n: or so everyone Thought!!!!! Wink wink!!!!), and everyone knew that they Loved each other So Deeply that they would probably get married right after graduation. (a/n: jonghyun is thinking of proposing right after the game!!! He has a ring in jock strap and everything!!)
Minho looked on, disgusted. How could they possibly be okay wit THAT? He knew deep down he was truly homophobic. Minho hated gays!!! Suspicious that no one ever questioned why…
The next day they had to go to science class because it’s school and that’s what happens sometimes. Of course this was only for Loser kids, and Kim “Straight” Jonghyun wasnt One of those kids. He didnt even go to school he just sat in the basketball courts and pretended. He was cooler than That
Minho was still in class though because he was even cooler than Jonghyun and the coolest kids break the expectations of what’s expected of them. He sat in sciencey class ignoring the teacher. He scribbled down his favorite cereal recipes to pass the time.
Meanwhile, sitting int he back of the class was Taemin, even though he and minho aren’t even in the same grade. Taemin scribbled Minho’s name in little hearts all over his notebook, slamming it clsoed as loud and dramatically as possible when his teacher called him out for not paying attention.Minho didnt even know taemin Existed, let alone that he was a…..boy.. (and minho, as established, is not A Gay..he couldnt be!.. ..
Minho looked up at this. “Who’s That Girl” by EXID played in the background as Minho looked at Taemin for the first time...who WAS this boi? And WHY did he want to know? There’s no possible way that this literal nobody could make Minho question himself
The bell rang, and now it’s lunch because of course lunch happens right after the only class of the day. Taemin went to sit with Key Umma and Kim “Call Me Appa” Jonghyun at their usual lunch table (which was the only place at school jonghyun would actually go because usually hed be sitting alone in a basketball court). Taemin had lunch from home, because he would never eat the gross Cafeteria food that was served. Of course his Key Umma made the lunch for him since Taemin didn’t knwo how to make lunch at all. Taemin sipped on his 2 liter jug of banana milk(through a bendy straw courtesy of Key Umma) and innocently hummed a tune, blissfully unaware of the tragedies that occur in daily life.
“Life i s so good ummma” taemin said happily with a ray of sunshine coming down onto him from the window. Coincidentally, the sun also shines straight out of his asshole, and sometimes, a rainbow. “I don’t think anything can go wrong ever”
Just then!!! Minho, carrying his tray of Cafeteria food, tripped and fell and dropped all of his food right on Taemin’s head!!!
Key immediately stood up to defend his perfect pure virgin son, screeching at Minho for corrupting him with his School Food!!! Taemin didn’t even know what food was!! How dare Minho do this to him/!!!
“*sorry in Korean*” apologized Minho but Key umma was not having it. He hit Minho over the head with a his gucci bedazzled rhinestone purse, careful not to damage his perfectly manicured nails which no one at this school questioned, because he was the Queen Bee (and Shin Sekyung WASN’T) who everyone Feared.
Key immediately turned to Jonghyun, slapping his shoulder and saying, “Protect your Son!!!111!!”
Jonghyun, conflicted between defending his son’s honor and offending his Star Teammate, could only sit and now know what to do.
“Uwu it’s ok key ummma i-i can just go wash this off” taemin said as he poured banana milk on his head as a makeshift shower of sorts. Minho escorted him to the water fountains, dribbling a basketball as he did at literally all times ever.
“Minho oppa what’s basketball” taemin innocently asked.
“Ball is life” was the reply, Minho looking soulfully at the ceiling as if staring into the very eyes of god
“Ooooooh! That sounds so fun! Oppa-HYUNG you’re so dedicated and tall and amazing and I’m so...me” he said, sunshine still falling on him even though they were indoors, with the first hint of disappointment he’s ever shown in his whole Kawaii, Clueless life.
“Just you?” Minho yelled, dribbling his basketball faster. “NO”
“wae”
“Taemin you are so...kawaii” minho didn’t realize he said the words until he said them. A single tear rolled down his cheeks as he let himself realize...Taemin neomu yeppeo. He didnt want to admit it….but could these doki dokis…..be gay doki dokis????? It couldnt be. He continued dribbling.
“Minho ophyung..” taemin said dreamily as he stared into his chocolate orbs. This was it...he had fallen in love with the coolest jock in the school! But how could this happen? Taemin was just a lowly science nerd who even thoough was extremely pretty and beautiful nobody @ school liked him except for Key umma (and jonghyun but again, did he really evene go to this school? How old even is he???? Does he havea home?)
Minho pushed taemin away. “Taemi i’m not gay okay and also...you’re in the sciencwe club. That’s fucking dumb”
“Bbut……...hyoppa………...without science would ball still be life?”
“Ball is ALWAYS life!!!1!” Minho shouts in his face. Still dribbling.
“What if it isn’t??” Taemin challenged Minho’s way of life for the first time.”Without science, you wouldn’t even HAVE life!!”
This was too much thinking for Minho’s basketball brain to handle. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to explode. Key Umma hoped he would explode.
“What if…..” taemin started, shakily, already in tears, “what if you’re–”
“N O” minho answered, sprinting away with his long, gazelle like legs.
“What if…..ur my life……...hyoppa”
Minho was too far away to hear the tragic confession….
KEY’S POV
Today I’m wearing a gucci bedazzled purse, ripped jeans that has a cheetah print on them with black lace at the ends, red converse which have mud all over them from marching band even tho i don’t play an instrument, that’s only for preps! EW! (I dont march either, wwalking is too much work! They carry me on the drums because everyone fucking loves me and worships me like a god, but anyways) My diamond studded earings shone gracefully in the wind as I walked to the stupid jock-ey school holding the hands of the HOTTEST BOY I’VE EVER MET my boyfriend jonghyun! He has an eightpack and literally LIVES in a basketball court. Jonghyun isn’t just my boyfriend he’s also my bitch
Suddenly, Shin Sekyung. And bees.
What a stupid whore I hate her because she gets in the way of me and Jjongie!!! Also she has 30 boyfriends already, because shes a prep and a slut, and i only have three! Well, three counting all of jonghyun’s edgy personalities. At least two and a half are straight.
Shin Sekyung and her prep friends look at me. I put my middle finger up at them.
I continue making out w my beautiful, hot bf and ignore them.
“What the hell are you doing you motherfuckers!!” Lee Sooman yelled as he ran across the campus, angrily shaking his fists.
“Oh no” Jonghyun said wearing his hot Good Charlotte shirt that I bought for him because I love Good Charlotte and MCR. Gerard Way is soooooooo hot. But not as hot as Jonghyun
“Key umma what’s going on” asked Taemin innocently as he tripped over his -2 sized shoes and fell onto the ground and dropped his banana milk. I had to protect my son from the stupid preps who go to this school that doesn’t even have any real emos in it. Sad!
I ran towards my baby careful not to get my $200 pedicure ruined by the grass
“My lil bab are u okay????? U lil innocent soul” I said as I pet his hair
“Umma what’s gay i don’t know what’s this is!”
I starts screaming that someone has corrupted his baby, even though he himself is the MotherGay, and he cradles Taemin’s perfect little cherub head close to his chest and tells him that he doens’t need to know what a penis is.
“That is only for grown ups!!!! You're too young bby” I said as I shook my head
“I went on the internet with my parents permission last night and looked it up but I just got confused! What’s a penis i don’t?? UNDERSTAND”
I SCREAMED
“TAEBBY YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ABOUT PENISES!!!”
“BUT UMMA I THINK I HAVE ONE!!!”
“YOU DONT KNOW THAT! GO TO BED!”
“Wwe;re at schcool” he sobbed
“TAEMIN GO TAKE A NAP IT’S NAP TIME FOR SWEET INNOCENT LITTLE BBYS”
I heard balls dibidibidribbling in the distance, getting close and closer. I turned my head it was Minho with at least 50balls!
Minho was such a stupid prep and I put my middle finger up at him. “Go away minho” i yelled sexily, “you must be the reason for my small baby child son’s corruption……...
Minho sneered “psh yea i got a functioning diccccc”
“Umma,” taemin piped up from his nap, “i think my penis likes minho”
“Taemin i’ve” minho started “i’ve come to terms w/ it..i’m Gay but only for you!!!! And only because you look like a girl with your hair!! My bae you’re so beautiful if you just wore contacts and wore a lil makeup..i wanna fuck you btw. But its not gay its just you! Because ur basically a girl!”
Taemin blushed and swept a strand of his long hair away from his face. “Gomawo…. Oppa.. hyung…. What is a fuck? Can you teach me?”
Kibum SCREETCHED and ascended to another plain of reality away from the preps. Hes not dead but like, hes basically in gods hands now
MINHO’S POV
Taemins so hot I wanna have sex with him but from behind so I can pretend he’s a girl. Suddenly i got phone call from my girlfriend yuri who i completely forgot about! She squealed about how hot i was at my lacrossesoccerketball game and then asked something that i didnt care about and then hung up. I went downstairs to cook up my signature “cereal”
I put bananas and honey and spiders and a little bit of granola in it to make it into the perfect meal. I knew Yuri would love it. When did yuri get here? I dont know. I have no sense of what time is, and ive heard its fake anyways so its cool
“Taemin here’s your meal- oh no i mean yuri!!!!!!” yikes!!!!!!!!!
Taemin started crying “minho hyoppadeul what are spiders..why are you doing this to me”
I had to pretend like I didn't know what he was talking about I had to bully him because I have gay feelings that need to be pressed back in my head until i can believe they dont exist anymore because im not gay? Whats a gay? Ive never Heard of that! Shut up
Now I’m back at school, because I don’t know hwy I ever left in the first place, but I have to start bullying Taemin!!! In front of everyone!! No one can know that i am Part of a Gay. mostly the dick part because thats the manliest part
“Fuck you taemin” i said while breaking his arm just by breathing on it. I felt a little bad but then I remembered my social status is really important for my lacrosse scholarship and I’ll only get the $5 in financial aid if I’m the coolest person in school so……………….
I dibidibidribbled a baseball in one hand and pushed Taemin intoa trashcan with the other, smirking the entire time as the rest of the entire student body Laughed at him !! haha!!
Key appeared from behind the trashcan. “HOW DAR E YOU HURT MY PRECIOUS SON”
“Umma what’s death i hear it calling for me” taemins tiny bb eye s blurred with tiny tears..he was hurt and beautiful
Key umma rushes to Taemin’s side and pulls him out, pointing a manicured finger straight at Minho’s face.
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU YOU STUPID fucking PREP” Key screeches!! He puts up his nails like a cat, having recently got them redone to be Sharp.
“knock it off you mediocre dunces!!!!” Lee Sooman yelled from across the hall. He used his special principal powers to teleport us to the prinipals office which was his office actually so it was convenient in many different ways!!
Key takes his gucci purse and WHACKS me in the eyeball with it!
“ANI!” I screamed as my contact fell out and glasses magically appeared onto my face. I hid my disgusting face. Nobody could know that I swear vglasses i wanna fuckin diE
“NOW I’M AN UGLY STR8 not gay NERD!!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!!”
Taemin starts crying, because he thinks his miinho hyoppa thinks he’s ugly because he wears Glasses like a NErd.
Taemins half dead corpse whispered from the floor, “omo…..i………...wear glasses too Hyungpa..”
“Taemin my soul mate,,,” i reached out to grab taemins hand in my pinky finger because he’s so small. “I want to tell you i- I am only part of a “gay” for you”
Taein cried “wgat is part of gay...are you a buy of sexual?”
“Yes,” minho whispers, “i’m buying a sexual… my peen…. Lovs u….”
“Minho hyoppa” taemin croaks from his half dead state “what’s a peen?”
“GODDAMMIT TAEMIN” KEY SCREAMS “YOU CAN’T KNOW WHAT A PEEN IS”
“Is it what i have?” taemin reaches down to show key the extra leg he thought he had in his pants.
Between his legs wasn’t a penis but….is that senator Bernie Sanders??!?!?!??!?!
Minho gasps. “Here’s how Bernie can still win!!!”
Then Minho dribbled a basketball into the distance with Taemin hanging off of the ball.
“It’s time to dibidibidie, taemin”
“What’s a die?” taemin asked
Key umma could be heard yelling in the distance, but MInho was already dribbling Taemin into the light.
As they approached what was (probably) heaven, and not just a hallucination due to taemins pain meds which were actually just bird seeds(key umma would never let him take real drugs!! Those are DANGEROUS!!), krystal, aka G O D, appeared unto them and stated her wisdom,
“Taekai is real..minho who?”
“Whos kai this is 2010”
“I’m from the future and you’re gay”
“Whats gay”
“Sorry did i say kai i mean...nickhyun. Taenickhun is real”
Suddenly onew appeared eating chicken, trippping ovr everything.
Taemin looked at him and gasped. “Hyung… i havent seen you in years… since you died in the skeleton war………..“
“I was off raising a heavenly chicken farm!! I’m marying a fried chicken leg!! Pls come to my wedding in Chicken Heaven” onew said
“ENOUGH” said Krystal aka G O D as she clapped her thunderous hands, obliterating Onew from existence. He doesn’t belong in 2minjongkey universe.
Taemin started crying. “Where did hyung go, minho hyoppa?”
“Taemin…” Minho said, trying to shield his tiny bf from the pains of death but ultimately failing to do so. “Sometimes people jst fucking leave ok. Jsut like my dad”
“But minho we just went to heaven and god didnt let me die”
“God doesnt let angels die”
Taemin wings grew just then...it was then that everyone remembered he was a Literal Angel. A literal angel. Actually.
“Is this why you didn’t know anything about sex?” Minho asks.
“The only sex ed in heaven is Abstinence” taemin tells him “so you’re going to hell”
“Well damn can we fix that” minho asked, still fucking dribbbling a basketball. Or something
“But hyoppa i don’t know how to sex you have to teach me ;) bb”
Key materialized from the got damn toilet, previously having brunch with GOD, and clapped his sparkly magenta, not green bcs green is for dicks(except jonghyuns dick bcos key liked that one) manicured hands twice, transporting them to who fucking knwos
“LISTEN BITCH” Shin Sekyung roared as she tore out Key’s sparkly pink hair extensions.
Key tried to hit Sekyung (jfc poor girl i can see her funeral) with his gucci purse but missed, flinging it into the distance as he screamed.
Key turned, telling his super hot muscular popular bad-boy boyfriend Jjong to tell this Prep Bitch Shin Sekyung that he was dating Key now!!! And she needed to get her Prep Ass away from him!!
“Jonghyun. Buy me a new purse” key said to his boyfriend, flicking his hair in a diva-ish manner and bounced his soft hips (i read something like this in a fanfic holy shit)
Event hough Jonghyun is still in high school and never goes to class and has no job, he has rich ass parents, so he can buy Key anything he wants. He pulls out his dad’s credit card and tells Key to pick out any purse he wants!!!
Key picks out the purse that those ugly preps would dislike the most, and makes a mental note to slap all of them with it.
Jonghyun buys the purse for him and gives it to his diva boyfriend. Then taemin appears.
“Umma i ran out of banana milk :( minho said i could drink his but i don’t know what he means… i didn’t see him with any milk”
Key Umma started screeching into oblivion, and Jonghyun had to wave aroudn his credit card with promises of a new outfit to get him to calm down and come back to the mortal plain of existence.
That’s when Key Umma ran straight to Minho!!! That PREP had corrupted his baby!!!
“HE WAS INNOCENT U BITCH!!” Key screams in Minho’s face. “YOU TOLD HIM WHAT A PEEN IS!!”
Minho frowned, dribbling his basketball more aggressively hsi totally stoic cold face(trademark) existing.
“But he has a peen”
“THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE KNEW WHAT IT WAS!!1!!”
Taemin, sipping on a new bottle of banana milk that Jonghyun had pulled out of his ass for him, only shifted his eyes between his umma and his new (secret!!) boyfriend. Key Umma couldn’t know that Minho was his (secret!!) boyfriend! No one could know, because then everyone would know that Minho was part of a gay, and Minho didn’t want anyone to know that. He might lose his spot on the basketball team since Jonghyun is the only gay allowed!!!
“I didn’t tell him.” minho said. “Telling him might make people think… i’m a…. gay...w hich i’m not. I have a girlfriend her name is yuri. Shes really hot and i know this because i’m straight”
Taemin’s eyes filled with tears. “Hyoppa….”
Minho pushed Taemin into a trashcan again, the banana milk flying from Taemin’s hands and up into the air, only to open compeltely and spill onto the top of his head. His tears mixed with the banana milk flowing down his chubby baby cheeks. He couldn’t believe his Minho hyoppa would say he was a Straight.
“Key Umma, what is a straight?” Taemin asks through banana tears.
“I’M GOING TO KILL THAT PREP MINHO!!”
Key umma, finally so fed up with that DUMB PREP!! flew (a/n: very literally!!) at Minho, hitting him in the head with his brand new gucci purse!!
Minho’s brain popped straight out of his skull, and it was actually basketball this entire time!!!
Minho’s body was still working without it’s basketball brain, and so he reached over and started dibidibidribbling his basketbrain.
Suddenly Amy walked in she was so cool!! She’s an OC shh.
“Who are you?” key asked. “Another dumb prep?!!!! Are you here to steal my popular hot muscular jonghyun?”
(A/N buy press it on iTunes)
Suddenly, Amy hovered in the air and magicalyl turned into Shin Sekyung!!! THAT PRE P BITCH!!
Key threw his purse straight at that Prep Bitch’s head, killing Shin Sekyamy instantly. She ascended into Prep Heaven and haunted them all for the rest of eternity.
Suddenly, her soul turned into a piece of chicken. Onew appeared and picked up what was left, munching on it happily. “My kokoro goes dugeun dugeun for chicken” he said when he had finished.
Taemin gasped. “Hyung!!!!!!!! You’re back!!!!!” and then he started crying again, clutching minho’s shirt wetting it (with tears xdxdxd)
“I must go” onew said. “I need to finish marrying my chicken wife.” and without another word, he evaporated, leaving behind a trail of chicken grease and nuggets.
Out of sudden and behind the grease and dust the gucci slippers appeared.
Taemin gasped. “Hyoppa…. Look… they’re beautiful….”
Key took the slippers right off of Taemin’s feet and hit him over the head with them.
“DO NOT” Key screamed “DO THIS TO MY INNOCENT PERFECT BABY CHILD.”
“But I am your innocent perfect baby child” taemin stuttered, banana tears welling up in his eyes.
“THEN DO NOT,” KEY SCREAMED “DO THIS”
With that, Key disappeared into the void. To finally burn those shits
Taemin cried harder. “Hyoppa… why did he take them from me…. My kokoro is so sad… please make me happy again”
Minho kept dibidibidribbling his basketbrain.
Taemin didn’t seem to notice that Minho no longer had the top of his skull, which was where his basketbrain fell out of. It was okay, because Taemin loved his Minho hyoppa no matter what!!!
“Minho hyoppa…. Do you think… i’m a gay?”
“You can’t be a gay,” minho tells him. “Because i can’t be in love with a gay. I am a straight.”
Taemin starts crying. Key Umma can be heard screaming sassily from the Void(which now was pink)
“I can be the only gay on the basketball team” bling bling says.(a/n: bling bling is jonghyun xD)
Jonghyun, furious at the thought of not being the only gay on the team, shoves Minho away from him. In the Heat of the Moment, Jonghyun accidentally pushes Minho into Taemin!!! Minho was already dead, his body dribbling his basketbrain post-mortem, but Taemin, who was still alive, gets shoved into a trashcan for the last time. His head cracks open from hitting the edge of the trashcan, and a bottle of bananamilk spills out of his head. That was the end of Taemin, for he ascended into heaven so he could take his rightful place as Perfect Baby Virgin Angel of Heaven (trademark).
Jonghyun looks down at them sadly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Dibidibidis… his name was minho.”
Key, furious from his place in the void, literally fucking launches himself at Jonghyun, and the two of them blow up at the impact. A Gay Rainbow is left in their place, permanently.
Shin Sekyamy ressurrects from the dead, and she laughs maniacally. This had been her plan all along - to get them to all kill each other!!! Now she could be the Real Queen Bee!! Key Umma Whom???
Dibidibidone.
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you were my new dream (3/5) (skk tangled au!)
ahhh I’m really bad at cross posting ;u;
on ao3 there are 4 chapters now...
also this is my least favorite chapter I’ve written rip me
read on ao3
part one | part two
“This is the place?” Chuuya asks, frowning as he examines the small inn. Flowers lined the pathway to the entrance, and a sign out front had the words Lupin printed across it in large letters.
“Yup!” Dazai chirps, grinning. “Isn’t it cute and little, like you?”
Chuuya slams his fist into the other’s face, relishing Dazai’s groan of pain. He supposes that the inn is cute though, surrounded by flowers and cute garden decorations.
“Off we go then,” Dazai urges, taking Chuuya by the arm, much to his surprise. The two of them walk up the pathway and through the doors together.
Once inside, Chuuya gasps.
Contrary to its cheery outward appearance, the inside of the inn is decorated with horned helmets and filled with crooks, rogues and thieves. The shadows inside the inn make their figures seem taller, their faces more crueler, and Chuuya feels his heartbeat race as they study him as if they were planning how to chop him up into pieces.
“Hello, everyone!” Dazai greets cheerfully, “Sir, your best table please!”
Chuuya begins to back away, but then realizes that Dazai was still holding onto his arm. “Let go,” he hisses out, squirming, but the man’s grip is surprisingly tight.
“Why?” Dazai questions, tilting his head, “are you scared , Chuuya?”
Chuuya freezes. Did Dazai really just bring him here only to scare him?
This son of a bitch .
“Wow!” A voice chirps out, and Chuuya turns around to see a man with reddish brown hair, whose shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his chest. The man reaches down to grab a lock of Chuuya’s hair. “That’s a lot of hair!”
“Don’t touch it!” Chuuya snarls, pulling till all the hair left the man’s grasp.
An intense-looking, tall older man dressed in a yukata approaches them, his expression almost grave. Chuuya warily eyes the samurai sword that hangs at the man’s hip. The man reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a slip of paper.
“Is this you?” He asks, holding the paper out, and Chuuya realizes that it’s another wanted poster of Dazai, even uglier than the one he saw before.
Dazai tsks. “They’re not even trying anymore.”
The other crooks begin to surround them. Chuuya tightens his grip on his frying pan.
“Hey now,” Dazai says, forcing out a chuckle, “let’s not act too hasty, yeah?”
“There’s a million dollar bounty on your head,” a new voice says, and Chuuya turns to see a woman approach with a dangerously enormous knife in her hands, “I’d sure like some of that money.”
“I’ll go get some palace guards!” Another voice chimes out, and Chuuya sees a figure quickly run through the doors.
“Hey wait—” Chuuya begins, as men begin to restrain Dazai’s arms, deeming Chuuya irrelevant and ignoring him. The man dressed in the yukata pulls out his sword, holding it close to Dazai’s neck. “Hey, stop that!” Chuuya shouts, only to be pushed away as more people join in on the action, wanting to take the bounty for themselves. “I need him!” He yells, growling at the fact he’s still ignored. He ties his hair around the pan handle, stands up onto a table, and flings the pan as hard as he can towards the man holding the sword. A loud ring echoes through the air as the pan hits the man right in the head. The commotion immediately stops, all eyes turning around to face him, including the man with the sword, who surprisingly didn’t get knocked out.
“Put him down, you greedy bastards!” He shouts. “He’s mine, you got that? I ran away from home and I need him to take me to see the lights because that’s all I’ve ever wanted, and nothing's gonna stop me from seeing them now that I’ve come this far! Let him go! Haven’t you guys ever had a dream?”
The man in the yukata stabs his sword right by Dazai’s neck, pinning the man’s collar to the wooden post he was currently pressed against, before turning back to approach Chuuya, walking in slow, steady steps. Chuuya holds his breath, clenching his fists and forcing himself to keep his bravado as he tilts his head up to stare into the man’s eyes.
“My name is Fukuzawa Yukichi,” the man begins, before turning his head to look out in the distance, “and I once had a dream.”
Chuuya blinks, forcing himself to keep his mouth from opening in shock. “...Oh, really? Uh, what was it?”
“To own a cat cafe.”
This time, he can’t stop his jaw from dropping open. “A cat...cafe?”
Fukuzawa nods solemnly. He doesn’t elaborate.
“Th-That’s an awesome dream!” Chuuya stutters out. “Uh, I’m sure you can still do it!”
The man’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
“Of course,” he reassures, placing his hands on his hips and shifting into a more confident pose. “It’s never too late to start making your dream come true.”
“What about my dream?” A different man calls out. “I want to be the greatest detective in the entire world!”
Chuuya huffs, jumping down from the table. “Do you think you’re good enough, Mister…?”
“Call me Ranpo,” the man says, before exclaiming, “Of course I’m good enough! Are you stupid? I’m the best there is!”
“Well then I don’t see why you can’t achieve your dream either,” Chuuya shoots back. “Who’s the stupid one now?”
Faint chuckles thunder through the room. The woman with the large knife wraps an arm around his shoulders, thrusting the knife in her hand up in the air. “I like this boy!” she yells rowdily, before pinching his cheeks, causing him to squirm. “He’s even got a cute face!” She smiles down at him. “My name’s Yosano, and I want to be a doctor, dreamer boy.”
“She just wants to cut people up,” Ranpo cuts in, sticking his tongue out at her. She makes a face at him back. “Poe, what about your dream?” Ranpo asks, turning to face the taller man that loomed behind him almost like a shadow.
The man’s blush is just barely seen under his long black bangs that cover half his face. “I want… the person I admire to notice me…”
Ranpo blinks at him. “Huh. Sounds nice, I guess.”
Poor guy, the entire room simultaneously thinks.
The man who’d touched Chuuya’s hair before moved to rest an elbow on Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya scowls at him, which only prompted the man to wink at him. “I’m Twain, and I want to be a sharp shooter.”
A rush of voices begin to talk all at once, filling the room with a cacophonous shouting of wishes.
“I want study science and make lemon bombs!”
“I want to be rich!”
“I want to sleep…”
“Gin secretly is into fashion,” an old man states, causing the girl next to him to blush. The boy with a bandage on his nose snickers, but his amusement is quickly stopped with embarrassment when the old man continues with, “Tachihara wants to fall in love.”
Suddenly, everyone in the room turns to face Dazai, who was in his own world, humming a tune to himself.
“What about you?” Yosano asks threateningly, aiming her knife at Dazai’s throat, “what’s your dream?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Dazai says, “I wanna die!”
There’s a pause. Everyone in the room freezes, not exactly sure how to respond to the statement.
“...Sounds good enough to me!” Kajii shouts out, prompting shouts of encouragement. Fukuzawa pulls out the sword that had been pinning Dazai to the wooden post, giving him a nod.
Chuuya feels himself being pushed around the room, a glass of alcohol suddenly ending up in his hands as he cheers along with everyone else, downing his drink, before immediately asking for a refill. He feels a pair of eyes on him, and turns to see Dazai standing alone away from the commotion, an amused look in his gaze as he watches. Chuuya reaches for another drink.
Akutagawa paws at Chuuya’s cheek. Chuuya, he warns.
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he reassures the chameleon, stroking his back, “I might as well have a little fun while I’m here, right?”
Akutagawa scowls, irritably flicking his tail in Chuuya’s face. Whatever. I won’t say I told you so when you end up dead drunk, he hisses, hopping off Chuuya’s shoulder and scurrying onto a table.
Someone begins to play the accordion, a piano quickly joining in. A hand grabs his wrist, and before he knows it he’s been pulled into dancing with Twain, and then Kajii, and then he’s grabbing Tachihara’s wrist, making the boy blush red as everyone begins to sing what Chuuya assumes is a common folk song.
“I’ve got a dream, I’ve got a dream…”
Where on earth could Chuuya be? Mori thinks to himself as he trudges through the forest. He has never felt this desperate in years. He needs to find Chuuya soon, otherwise Elsie would...
He passes by an inn. Mori frowns when he begins to hear a boisterous collection of voices. He moves towards the inn to investigate, peering through the windows. His eyes widen.
Because standing in the middle of the inn filled with ruffians is his Chuuya, dancing to the music, a glass in his hand and a red flush to his cheeks as he takes another long sip of his drink. Mori cringes every time someone steps on Chuuya’s hair, the redhead himself surprisingly oblivious to it as he dances; Mori supposes that he was used to feeling his hair tugged.
The redhead laughs wildly, obviously tipsy. “Fuck it,” He shouts out. “I’m so glad I left my tower!”
Eyes wide, Mori feels himself almost tremble with anger.
Chuuya left the tower? He wasn’t taken by this Dazai Osamu?
This ungrateful little—
The sound of pounding horse hooves that could only be recognized as palace guards catches his attention, and Mori quickly flees into a hiding spot.
“I got the guards!” A man calls out as he barges back into the inn, causing all the commotion to stop. His expression turns confused as he sees everyone’s panicked faces.
“Time to hide, little Chuuya,” Dazai whispers into Chuuya’s ear, grabbing his wrist and pulling him behind the bar counter. Once they’re out of sight, Dazai takes a moment to study Chuuya’s face. “Wow, you’re drunk, aren’t you? Of course you’re a light weight.”
Chuuya glares at him, eyes glazed and cheeks painted red. “I’m not—”
Dazai quickly covers the redhead’s mouth with his hands. “Be quiet, shortie.”
He hears the guards march in, and almost groans as he hears one of them speak.
“I’m looking for Dazai Osamu,” Ango states, “I know he’s in here. We can do this the easy way by handing him over or the hard way, which includes me turning this place upside down till I find him.”
Fukuzawa gives him the deadeye. “I’d like to see you try.”
Ango remains stoic faced. “Search the place,” he orders.
Dazai risks a peek over the bar counter. “Well, that’s not good,” he murmurs to himself as he sees Fyodor step inside, chained up and held at spear point. The man looks as solemn as always, but Dazai knows he’s inwardly planning ways to cause Dazai extreme pain.
His ears quirk up at the sound of a quite, insistent tapping on the bar counter. He looks up to see the bandaged nose kid Chuuya was dancing with earlier. They make eye contact, and Tachihara glances pointedly to the side, before moving out of sight. Dazai frowns but follows his directions, him and Chuuya crawling under the bar table.
“Wait, I need to find—” Chuuya stops himself at the sight of Akutagawa scurrying on the floor and crawling up onto his shoulder.
“I can’t believe you were about to risk our lives over a frog,” Dazai deadpans, beginning to move again.
“Chameleon!”
They meet up with Tachihara. Placing a finger to his lips, Tachihara reaches up to the counter and pulls a sculpture that Dazai thought was just decoration but is actually a lever. An exit opens op on the ground, leading into a tunnel.
“Go live your dream,” the boy whispers.
“Why, thank you—”
“Not your dream,” the boy cuts in, giving Dazai a glare. “Your dream sucks. I was talking to him.” He gestures at Chuuya.
Chuuya, who seems to have sobered a bit, gives the boy a gentle smile and a kiss on the cheek, causing the boy’s entire face to turn flushed red. “Thank you,” Chuuya says, before moving to enter the tunnel, Dazai following behind him.
Mori moves out of his hiding spot and begins to observe through the window again. He watches as the guards begin to search with no luck. Suddenly, a horse bursts into the inn.
“Kunikida,” Ango greets, “I was wondering where you went.”
The horse makes a movement eerily familiar to a nod, before beginning to sniff at the floor, causing the crowd to part for him as he moves. Suddenly, he stops, straightening and raising a hoof, pressing against a sculpture. A tunnel opens.
“Perfect,” Ango says, “let’s go.” He turns and points at a guard. “You stay here and watch this criminal,” he orders, gesturing towards Fyodor, before him and the rest of the guards storm down the tunnel, the horse following.
As expected, Fyodor easily knocks the guard out. He then takes a ruffian’s axe and uses it to cut the chain bonding his wrists together. Silently, he moves into the tunnel. No one stops him.
A boy walks out of the inn, face bright red as he holds a hand to his cheek. Mori quickly aims a knife at the boy’s throat.
“Where does that tunnel lead, boy?”
Dazai hums to himself, holding out a lantern as he and Chuuya walk through the tunnel. “I had no idea little Chuuya was so charismatic. Even criminals do your bidding,” he says, and it’s meant to be a compliment but ends up sounding more mocking than he planned.
“Shut up,” Chuuya retorts, sounding a bit more sober. “I saved your sorry ass.”
“You’re right,” Dazai responds, “thank you.” The genuine tone in his seems to take Chuuya off guard, the redhead giving him a stunned look.
There’s a lull of silence, their footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls. The bones of former travelers are occasionally seen leaning against the walls. If Chuuya sees them, he doesn’t say anything, not even seeming afraid, much to Dazai’s surprise.
“Do you really want to die?” Chuuya asks after a while.
Dazai pauses mid step, turning around to look at the other. “Yes.”
“Why?”
The redhead’s voice is solemn, neither aggressive or sympathetic. Chuuya is curious, and not out of concern or pity, and Dazai finds that a little odd; usually, people ask him because they don’t want him to die, because they’re worried about him, but Dazai feels as if Chuuya’s simply asking to understand.
“One question at a time,” Dazai responds. He begins walking again. “I have a question for you now.”
“You—”
“I can’t ask about the hair, this overprotective father of yours, and the tower,” Dazai cuts in, grinning at Chuuya’s huff of annoyance. “And I don’t want to ask about the frog.”
“Ryuu’s a chameleon , you fucker.”
“Does it matter?” Dazai quips back, “anyways, little Chuuya, why do you want to see these floating lanterns so badly?”
Chuuya falters. “I just—” He cuts himself off, frowning. “Every year, I’ve seen them light up on my birthday. I guess I just felt like they were calling out to me.”
On his birthday?
He feels an inkling of a revelation sneak into his mind. “Why haven’t you gone before, then, if you wanted this so badly?”
Chuuya stiffens. “One question at a time,” he says, and Dazai grins.
Suddenly, the floor of the tunnel begins to tremble, the pounding noise of footsteps coming closer and closer. He catches the sight of Ango and his subordinates running towards them. They make eye contact.
“Dazai Osamu,” Ango calls out, “you are sentenced to death under Her Highness Queen Kouyou.”
“Oh my, how scary~” Dazai shouts back, before turning to face Chuuya. “Run,” he orders Chuuya, helping the redhead gather up his hair before the two of them begin to sprint, the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer.
They reach the tunnel exit, the bright light blinding them for a few precious seconds. Dazai blinks a few times, squinting and observing their surroundings. They were at the edge of a drop off, a good few hundred feet gap between them and the other side of the valley. Behind them was a dam that seemed to be holding back a waterfall while some water was slowly drained out through a watermill. In front of them was a long rope ladder that reached the bottom of the cliff. Chuuya begins to make his way towards it, before a loud noise catches their attention. The two of them look down and see a man in a white ushanka who had just busted through a different tunnel exit. He glares up at them.
“Who the fuck is that?” Chuuya asks.
Dazai smiles. “He doesn’t like me.”
At that moment, the guards stormed through the tunnel exit, effectively trapping them, Ango at the lead.
“Who the fuck are they?” Chuuya hisses.
“...They don’t like me either,” Dazai answers, smile becoming more sheepish.
A blond horse arrives, almost knocking a few of the guards over with his explosive entrance.
“Who the fuck—”
“Let’s just assume that at the moment, nobody here likes me,” Dazai cuts in.
“Why is that not surprising at all!” Chuuya snarls back, before thrusting his frying pan into Dazai’s hands. “Take this,” the redhead orders. He then grabs his hair, swinging it back and forth before throwing it and latching it onto the wooden post supporting the watermill. He jumps, using his hair to swing him across the gap and safely to the other side of the chasm.
For a moment, Dazai gawks in place, before the unmistakeable sound of a sword being drawn catches his attention. He quickly turns around, watching warily as three guards with swords approach him.
“Three against one? A little unfair, don’t you think, Ango?” Dazai says.
A hint of a smirk spreads across the curve of Ango’s lips. “I’ve never known you for playing fair.”
“Haha…” Dazai’s smile is almost wistful. He grandly holds out the frying pan in his hands like a weapon. “You’re right about that.”
The guards attack. Dazai moves on instinct, the sound of swords banging against the pan hurting his ears. He’s not sure how, but somehow he ends up knocking out two guards, hitting them square in the face with all his might, before whipping around and doing the same to Ango. Once all three soldiers hit the ground, he stares at the frying pan in awe.
I need to get myself one of these …
His eyes catch on the movement of the horse, and his eyes widen when the horse reaches down to grab one of the discarded swords on the ground with his mouth, aiming it at Dazai, eyes burning with a challenge.
“You can’t be serious—” He begins, only to be cut off as the horse charges towards him, Dazai barely blocking the horse’s first attack. He continues to parry the other’s blows, quickly losing ground as he backs up closer and closer to the ledge. “What kind of horse are you?” He shouts out, honestly disturbed, before the horse does one smooth hit, effectively knocking the frying pan out of his hands and off the cliff.
There’s a pause as the two of them watch the pan fall, hitting the ground with a clang. Dazai slowly turns his head around to meet the horse’s gaze. “Well, that was fun, I’m gonna get going now~”
He then proceeds to jump off the cliff.
There’s a few moments of free fall, before he feels the expected feeling of an arm wrapping around his waist. “Shortie, you're ruining my fun.”
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” The redhead hisses at him. One of his arms is currently supporting Dazai like a fair maiden while the other one has a tight grip on his hair as he swings them to safety.
Dazai studies the redhead’s biceps. “You're actually pretty strong, aren't you?” He muses, moving to wrap his arms around Chuuya’s neck to make the redhead’s life a bit easier and coincidentally causing him to look even more like a maiden who needed saving. “Oh, watch out.”
Chuuya looks down, frowning as he sees them approaching Fyodor as they continue their parabolic momentum, the black haired man glaring at them and raising his knife.
Chuuya just kicks the man in the face, knocking the man down, not even bothering to change their momentum. Dazai looks up at him in awe.
“Chuuya, please do a double suicide with me.”
“Shut the fuck up. I won't.”
“So cruel, Chuuya…”
Chuuya lands safely on his feet, discarding Dazai on the ground, not caring whatsoever when he groans out in pain. A loud crack catches the pair’s attention, and they whip their heads around to see Kunikida kicking at a wooden support beam, knocking it over and creating a bridge for the horse to cross the gap between the two cliffsides. The dam begins to shake.
“Stupid horse,” Dazai curses, quickly beginning to gather up Chuuya’s hair, pushing the man along. “It’s gonna blow.”
“What—”
The dam breaks, and a storming rush of water roars through the valley. They watch as Fyodor is quickly taken by the water, before springing into action and sprinting as fast as they can. The force of the water knocks over a tower of rock, making it fall towards them. Desperately, Dazai scans his surroundings, eyes catching a tunnel entrance and he pushes the redhead in that direction. Chuuya makes it first, Dazai sliding in just seconds before the rock lands on the ground, effectively trapping them in the tunnel. The relief of not being crushed is brief as water begins to rush through the cracks. Dazai quickly moves away from the entrance, Chuuya following, only to realize that the tunnel they entered was actually a closed cave.
He watches the water level rise, a solemn expression appearing on his face. They were trapped.
Chuuya continues to desperately move to higher ground, clawing around for some sort of opening. “O-Oi, Dazai, come on, help me!” He stutters out.
He wants to tell the other it’s hopeless, but in the end decides not to. Dazai moves, placing his hands on the wall, frowning when he realizes that they were actually just piles of rock and stone, and not a wall at all. There’s an exit past this. He joins Chuuya, making attempts to push rocks out of the way, hissing when it results in a nasty cut on one of his hands. The water level rises higher and higher, quickly reaching their waists. Dazai dives underneath the water to see if there’s any opening below, but finds that once he submerges he can’t see anything at all, blindly groping for some sort of surface. He quickly resurfaces, gasping for air.
Chuuya moves to dive into the water, but Dazai quickly stops him, grabbing his shoulders. “There’s no use. It’s too dark to see anything.”
The redhead’s eyes widen with panic. “What the fuck are you implying, you bastard?”
“I’m sorry, Chuuya,” he says genuinely. He’d actually been wanting Chuuya to realize his dream…
The redhead runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck. I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t have done this, Mori was right—” His voice catches, “I’m sorry, Dazai. This is all my fault.”
Akutagawa snuggles closer to Chuuya's neck in an attempt to comfort the other.
Dazai just smiles, though it’s a bit halfhearted. “Don’t apologize to me,” he replies, “I’m fine with dying here.” Chuuya still looks unconvinced, but nods anyway. There’s a small pause, before Dazai speaks again. “My real name is Shuuji. Tsushima Shuuji.” At Chuuya’s wide-eyed look, he continues with, “someone should at least know before I die, right?”
“...My hair is magic and glows when I sing.”
A beat of silence. The water continues to rise, just resting under their chins, forcing them to tilt their heads up to give them more air.
“What?”
A look of realization passes through Chuuya’s face. “My hair… holy shit— O expectations, stale and dismal airs, leave this body of mine!” He chokes out the last few words just as the water surrounds him, cutting off his air supply. Slowly but surely, his hair begins to glow a fiery red, lighting the cave up with a red glow. He sees Dazai move back in shock. The two of them make eye contact before quickly looking down, immediately noticing the loose rubble beneath them. They ferociously claw the rocks away, and just as their breath is about to give out, they feel the piles of rock collapse, creating an opening.
Dazai feels himself land into a new body of water. He quickly swims up, gasping for air as he surfaces, immediately observing their surroundings as he swims to shore. They had landed in a river lined with trees. Chuuya plops down onto shore next to him, panting.
“Your hair,” Dazai murmurs.
“What about it, waste of bandages?” Chuuya responds, standing up, absolutely drenched. Dazai takes a moment to appreciate how Chuuya’s shirt clings to his skin.
“It glows.”
“I thought that was pretty obvious by now.”
“Why does it glow?”
“...I'll show you,” the redhead responds, currently stroking Akutagawa’s back in an attempt to comfort the animal who was shivering from the cold. At Chuuya’s words, the chameleon perks up.
The smirk Akutagawa gives him makes him wary.
Fyodor stumbles out of the tunnel, soaking wet. He wrings out the water from his ushanka, face expressionless but eyes burning with fury.
He’ll kill that Dazai, he’ll kill him for sure.
He feels a presence come near, and hears the softest sounds of footsteps. “I know you’re there,” he calls out, turning around.
There’s a pause. Eventually, a older man with chin length black hair moves out from behind a boulder, an eerie smile on his face. “Why, hello there.”
Fyodor doesn’t answer.
At this, the man’s smile widens. “Will you be more willing to talk if I show you this?” The man pulls out a satchel, and not just any satchel, Dazai Osamu’s satchel.
Fyodor moves quickly, drawing out his knife and aiming for the man’s throat. To his surprise, his attack is stopped just as his blade was mere inches away from the man’s neck. He looks down to observe that the man had blocked his attack with a mere scalpel, arm not even trembling as Fyodor presses down with more strength.
“If you listen to what I have to say, I can give you the crown, and something even better. And that’s not even the best part.” The man states cooly.
Fyodor narrows his eyes. “And what is the best part?”
The man laughs. “Dazai Osamu’s head.”
Fyodor retracts his knife. He doesn’t enjoy being in partnerships. But if things don’t go his way, he can just betray this man later, anyway.
Chuuya can feel Dazai’s gaze on his face as he wraps the ends of his hair around Dazai’s injured hand. It makes him feel a bit self conscious, but he doesn’t dare look up, not wanting to see what the man’s expression is.
They’re sitting on a log in front of a campfire, the fire lighting the area with a bronze glow.
“Chuuya’s being strangely caring,” the brunet muses. “It’s awfully scary.”
He grits his teeth. “I’m a caring person. Just not to you, because you’re an asshole.”
“There’s the Chuuya I know and love!”
Chuuya kicks the other’s ankle, smirking at Dazai’s yelp.
“Alright,” Chuuya says as he wraps the last lock around Dazai’s palm, “are you ready for this?”
Dazai tilts his head questionably, but nods.
Chuuya sighs, before beginning to sing the words. “O expectations, stale and dismal airs, leave this body of mine…”
An orange red light begins to appear, starting from the roots of his hair and slowly spreading downwards. Dazai’s eyes widen as he observes, head turning to follow the light as it continues to spread through Chuuya’s hair. He makes eye contact with Akutagawa, who smiles slyly at him. He suddenly feels wary again.
I want nothing anymore but simplicity,
quiet, murmurs and order.
O acquaintances, grantors of dark disgrace,
do not wake me again!
The light fades just as Chuuya finishes singing the last few words. Dazai slowly unwraps his hand with a forced neutral expression. Shock shows in his eyes as he sees that his hand is as good as new, with no signs of any previous injury.
He opens his mouth to speak, but Chuuya cuts him off.
“Don’t scream.”
“...I was just going to ask what else it could do…”
Chuuya blinks. “Oh,” he begins, before frowning. “It just reverses time. Changes things back to it’s previous state.”
“How long has it been doing that?”
“Since I was born,” he answers, tucking strands of hair behind his ear. “Mori says that some shitty bastards tried to cut it when I was younger, so they could have the magic all to themselves. But when it’s cut, it turns dark and loses power.” He moves some of his hair back so Dazai can see the darkened strand that’s usually hidden. “That’s why he’d never let me leave… Or I guess, that’s why I—”
“You’ve never left that tower,” Dazai finishes for him. There’s a caring look in Dazai’s eyes that makes Chuuya’s heart flutter. “Why do you even want to go back?”
“I don’t,” he says, voice firm and demanding. He clenches his fists. When he speaks again, it’s a lot more timid. “I-I don’t…”
Akutagawa climbs up Chuuya’s arm to snuggle into his neck. He strokes the chameleon’s back absentmindedly.
“So, Tsushima Shuuji, huh,” he says smugly after a few moments of silence.
Dazai actually looks a bit embarrassed. He feels that fluttery feeling in his gut again. “Well, shortie, even the great Dazai Osamu has his secrets.”
“Why did you change it?”
Dazai hesitates. He turns his head to look off into the trees. “Well you see, Chuuya, I used to be a pathetic orphan!” The brunet begins airily, “I was taken care of by the local orphanage in the kingdom. Ango and I met there and became super close~. We used to steal stuff in order to make money and help the orphanage since the funding was practically nonexistent.” At this Dazai laughs, but it sounds a little off, a little forced. “But then our caretaker was killed. Ango took the path of becoming a palace guard in order to stop the ‘bad guys’ while I just didn’t see the point of anything anymore, and changed my name in order to continue the life of crime!” He gestures dramatically. “And there you have it! The tragic backstory of the great Dazai Osamu! Doesn’t it make me even more attractive?”
Chuuya answers honestly. “You’re more attractive when you’re being honest to yourself.”
He watches in awe as the slightest of blushes spreads across Dazai’s cheeks, tinting his skin pink. “Is that so…” The man mumbles, refusing to make eye contact.
He suddenly feels a flush heat up his face too. To think this man could actually be kind of cute.
“Well, I’m going to get some firewood,” the other says, quickly standing up and beginning to walk away,
“For the record,” Chuuya says, turning his head to avoid Dazai’s gaze as the other turns to look back at him. “Dazai Osamu’s a shitty name. Tsushima Shuuji is better.”
“Is that so,” Dazai repeats though this time Chuuya can hear a smirk in the other’s voice. He begins to walk again, and Chuuya watches his receding figure.
“Oh, he’s finally gone.”
Chuuya jumps, whipping his head around, grabbing the frying pan for defense. Akutagawa scurries away. He immediately lowers his makeshift weapon when he sees the intruder, eyes widening. “R-Rintarou?”
“Chuuya,” Mori croons, holding his arms out wide. He looks older, more wrinkled and scary. “I’m glad you’ve been having fun on your little escapade.”
“Mori, I’m—”
“Sorry?” The man cuts in, before chuckling. “Oh, you better be sorry. Now come with me, Chuuya, we’re going home.” He grabs Chuuya’s wrist, dragging him along.
“Mori, wait ,” Chuuya persists, wrenching his wrist out of Mori’s tight grip. “I—I don’t want to go back. I’ve seen all these amazing things. I’ve—I’ve made a friend.”
“Oh yes, friends with the wanted thief, I’m so proud,” Mori sneers. “We’re going home, Chuuya.” He moves to grab Chuuya’s wrist again but he snatches it back.
“Mori, I think he likes me.”
At this, Mori freezes, expression becoming so cold Chuuya feels himself shiver. “ Likes you?” The man hisses. “Oh Chuuya, you poor naive thing. How could he like you? Look at you!” He reaches up to grab strands of Chuuya’s hair, running his hands through it to show off the length. “Do you think that he’s impressed? Don’t be ridiculous, Chuuya. Let’s go.”
He clenches his fists. “No.”
“...No?” Mori repeats, before smiling a smile that shows anything but mirth. “You’re disobeying me? Fine. Then, if you’re so sure, why don’t you give your supposed lover this?” He holds out Dazai’s satchel.
Shock surges through his heart. “How did you—”
“This is why he’s here, Chuuya,” Mori cuts in, roughly throwing the bag to him. “Don’t forget that. But if you’re so confident, give him this and see what he does!”
“I will,” he answers firmly, clutching the satchel close to his chest. “I’ll do it.”
“So be it,” Mori replies. “If he leaves you, don’t come crying to me, Chuuya.”
And with that, Mori leaves, not turning back when Chuuya calls out his name. He hears the faint sounds of Dazai’s voice, and Chuuya quickly moves to hide the satchel.
Mori was wrong about Dazai….
Right?
part four
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