#the way he throws a pile of confetti up into the air and just starts waving his arms
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#flashing#malcolm allured#buddy gask#showaddywaddy#always and ever#musikladen#1980#showaddywaddy gifs#i wanted a set of these beautiful boys#buddy and malcolm#i love them so much#THE GUY IN THE CROWD#HE IS HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE#the way he throws a pile of confetti up into the air and just starts waving his arms#he is having SO MUCH FUN#he is me just when i'm at home listening to/watching this band#i am the same
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i wrote this in 20 minutes and it's in my docs as "Eddie's mess is now Buck's". so, i hope this unedited pile of words makes sense. inspired by this post. [spoilers for 5x13]
Eddie’s bedroom had always been sparse. Empty. Lacking.
It wasn’t ever on purpose, Buck believed. The bare bones that make up a bedroom were all there. There was a houseplant or two and a picture frame of Chris and Shannon on the dresser. Colored hoodies and a book or two occasionally found their way onto the bed or over the door of the wardrobe. Once, Buck remembers finding confetti lying on the ground underneath the bed.
It was a room of love. Just. Just not for the person who sleeps in it every night.
Buck can list every item in Eddie’s bedroom off the top of his head and it wasn’t because he’d been in there so often. There was a bed (cheapest one from Amazon), a wardrobe set (left over from the previous owners), and a laundry basket (gifted), all placed at an even distance from each other. It was measured. Practical. Distanced. Eddie got up, reached for the nightstand for the alarm, slid off the bed to grab a shirt from the wardrobe and plucked his phone off the dresser on his way out. A route walked hundreds of times that Buck had never seen, but really, he didn’t have to.
The first time Buck walked into the room – ages ago, during one of their first movie nights when Buck offered to grab the extra throw from Eddie’s bedroom – he remembered feeling like the empty space was nearly suffocating, with its bare walls only accepting of strangers with one foot out the door. It felt like a rippled reflection of Abby’s house, like a love he wasn’t allowed to reach for.
He looks at the broken bones now, not shattered beyond repair but scarred and definitely run ragged. Eddie’s cheap alarm clock – the one he clearly picked up from Target because it was the first thing he saw – is lying on the ground near Buck’s feet. The screen is cracked and the red light indicating bedtime is frantically blinking. It’s the only light in the room.
Buck should turn on the lights. He should.
He takes a step into the room. The floorboards creak under his feet and he pauses with one leg up in the air, waiting to hear a change in Eddie’s deep breathing. A gasp in and a puff out. Fitful sleep but not completely disturbed yet.
Good. He needs the rest.
Buck reaches back to flick the light switch on. He runs his eyes over everything, looking at pieces around him but not allowing himself to linger yet, because it’s like a stab in his chest. Every time something is out of place or broken or torn, a gnawing feeling attacks his ribs ringing from the center of his chest up to his shoulders, reaching for the surface of his skin in some painful dance.
He takes a step forward. He didn’t mean to. There’s a Bugs Bunny keychain by his feet and a cCostco membership card hangs off of it. One of Bugs’ ears is missing.
He takes another step forward. That wasn’t intentional either. He takes another and another.
Before he knows it, his knees are folding in and his body lowers itself to the ground. A soft thud and he’s sitting on a baseball jersey on the floor in the exact place he found Eddie. Buck pulls his knees toward his chest and rests his elbows on them. His hands dig into his hair as his breath gets a little shallow. Then, he looks around.
Sheets have been ripped off the bed hurriedly before being abandoned halfway, the laundry basket Buck bought him two years ago has been overturned and socks and underwear and sweatpants and spilling out of it onto broken shards of glass and soil. A drawer hangs off the dresser, barely holding in the fallen house plant (a gift from Maddie from way back when). A cup has been kicked off toward the corner and the treadmill has been dented. The baseball bat is rolling toward him ever so slowly. And the holes. The large holes in the wall, indented like the fist Eddie pushed through them.
Buck is – He’s fucking helpless.
Where does he start trying to help his– Eddie? How does he help Eddie walk through this mess?
For all he wishes he could solve Maddie and Chimney’s problems, or prove Taylor’s skepticism wrong, or cheer Hen up, he’s never once felt the need to fix Eddie.
It’s a different kind of ache that resonates inside him when he thinks of Eddie. A wave of something bold and fierce rushes through his veins. An urge of some sort, pushing him in a direction he can’t see. Because all he’s ever wanted was to share the weight on Eddie’s shoulders. He doesn’t want to fix Eddie’s pain. It’s inexplicable, but it feels wrong to even think, let alone try. Not Eddie, who has never tried to fix Buck or his life. He just – It’s a – All he wants –
Buck exhales. He pushes his head back to rest on the corner of Eddie’s bed. The mattress smells slightly of sweat.
The thing is Buck wants to give Eddie… him. His shoulder to rest on if he needs it, his hands to hold if he wants it, and his body to lean on if he can stomach it. He wants to hand over every piece of himself he’s collected over the years – from Peru to cowboy ranches to Abby – and shove them into Eddie. Plaster them in the parts of Eddie that Eddie can no longer look at, so those parts are now something new. Something showing the growth and the journey and the love that Eddie has had and will continue to have.
It makes no fucking sense. But if Buck could find a way to melt into Eddie and intertwine with the parts of Eddie that make him feel afraid and hollow, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
For now, he’s got to sweep, dust, glue, and fold. It’s all he can do until Eddie wakes up.
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Just saw your little mix!reader au (LOVED IT) and I was thinking, what if y/n is kinda like Perrie aka the queen of leaking things and she's dating Tom and everyone makes fun of them bc they are THE couple that keeps spoiling/leaking stuff
Hello lovey!! Thank you for requesting and reading my other work, it’s very much appreciated!🥰 I love this request sm, omg. Happy reading, I hope you like it!💖
💌.
The King and Queen of Leaking
I had WAY too much fun with this request...enjoy!🥰
It had been a regular day in your household. You were in the kitchen starting up on breakfast while Tom was in his makeshift gym doing his morning workout. You were just finishing up on the eggs when your phone pinged. Glancing at your phone you saw that it was a text from Jade.
Jade💜: Babes! Check you email ASAP!!!
The texts in the band’s group chat began to flood in making you curious. Have you all done something to get in trouble with management? Maybe it was an awards nomination? Turning off the stove, you place the last pile of scrambled eggs onto Tom’s plate. After you set the plates on the table, you pull out one of the dining chairs and sit on it, pulling out your phone to see more texts from the girls.
Perrie🦋: Oh.My.God. I CANT BELIEVE IT!!!
Leigh-Anne😻: AHHHHHH THIS IS BIG!!! FIRST NUMBER ONE OF THE YEAR!!!
Jesy💖: I’m so so so SO proud of us!!! And our fans omg, they’re amazing!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!
Jesy💖: Where the hell is (y/n)???
Jade💜: Probs busy with Tom👀🍆💦
Perrie🦋: Has she not seen the news yet??
Leigh-Anne😻: Based on her lack of response, I’m guessing she’s busy😉
Jesy💖: (Y/N) I SWEAR HOP OFF TOM’S BLOODY DICK, SWEET MELODY IS NUMBER 1 ON THE CHARTS!!!!!
You gasp once you read Jesy’s last message. Your fingers move rapidly across your screen, exiting the messaging app to open up your email. The anticipation builds up in your body as you refreshed your inbox. Your leg bouncing as the little circle that went around and around popped up on your screen. For the last couple of days and weeks, your fans have been streaming Sweet Melody to top the charts and get it to Number 1. It has only been 10 weeks since “Confetti” has been released and the album has been getting an amazing response. Seeing your fans’ determination to get the song up the charts made your adore them even more and you just wanted to hug and thank every single one of them. You guys had the most amazing fans in the world, though many celebrities claimed that theirs were the best, Mixers were the crème de la crème in your eyes.
Your inbox refreshes and the first email you see is from the Official Charts Company, a company that celebrated singles that reached number one on the charts. You click on the email and carefully skim through the paragraph. When you read that Sweet Melody had officially charted at number one you let out an excited squeal. Tessa, who has been sitting beside your seat, jumped up to her feet the same time you did. Your crouched down as she happily bounced around you.
“Number one Tess! We made it to number one!” You squealed as you gently squished her face. She let out a bark before licking your face.
“Let’s go tell daddy the news, huh? Let’s go!” You couldn’t contain your excitement, the feeling rushing through your veins. You felt like your heart could burst from all the happiness you were currently feeling.
You practically ran to where Tom was, your feet moving as quick as your heartbeat. Tessa’s nails clicked against the wooden floors echoing in the hallway.
Tom, who had just finished his workout, heard the commotion outside. Your excited squeals and the sounds of both your and Tessa’s feet getting closer to him. The stomps came to a halt once you stopped at the doorway of his “gym”. He looks up from his phone and looks at you expectantly. You were beaming, like the sun that brought light into the room. His expression mirrors yours, but his smile was a bit more confused.
“Hi darling, what’s up?” He asks, removing his AirPods and placing them back into their case. You squeal excitedly once again as you run across the room and stand in front of him. Though, it was as if your feet had springs in them because you couldn’t stop jumping. Tom looks at you amused but was still confused.
“(Y/n), what did you do, love?” He asks. Maybe you were up to something?
You stop jumping for a bit and unlock your phone, shoving it into his face. He moves his face back so his eyes can focus but ends up taking the phone from you because you were moving too much. As you dance around the room, Tessa joining in on your little fiesta, Tom reads the email to himself. Once he reads the news his jaw drops looking up at you with wide eyes.
“NUMBER ONE BABY!” You scream before running into his arms. A look of shock is on his face before he screams “YES!” at the top of his lungs. Your legs wrap around his torso as his arms support your back and your bum. He starts shaking his hips and jumping around just like you were as you both celebrated your band’s huge success.
Your cheeks began to hurt from smiling too much, but you just couldn’t keep it off your face. You were too happy to keep a neutral face so you continued to smile. Tom looks up at you with the most proudest expression. He knew how hard you and the girls worked on every song on your albums, so to see that hard work being rewarded made him feel immense amounts of joy for you all.
You began to giggle as you hid your face behind you hands, Tom still carrying you. “I can’t believe this actually happened, oh my god.” Your voice came out muffled but Tom could still understand you. He chuckled while he placed your feet back to the ground. You leaned your head against his chest while his hands rubbed circles onto your back.
“Of course it happened love, you guys deserve it.” He places a kiss on your temple while he swayed you guys back and forth. His cheek resting against you hair as he held you. Your excitement boiling down to disbelief at the news.
He moved his head and gently removed your hands from your face. “Look at me.” Turns out you were silently crying, your tear stained cheeks making his heart drop, but then he noticed they were tears of joy.
You sniffled, smiling when Tom wiped some of your tears away. His hands cupped your cheeks while his eyes gazed at you lovingly, “You have no idea how proud I am of you— and the girls. You guys have worked day and night for this album to exist. I’ve seen you guys write each song and saw how much thought goes into each one, you guys are fucking incredible. Look at how much success it’s getting, you guys did that.”
You laughed as more tears ran down your cheeks. You groaned throwing your head back and wiping them away, “Well, I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been so understanding with everything and you managed to be one of my biggest inspirations for writing. Thank you. I love you so much.” You beamed at him before crashing your lips against his soft ones. You felt his lips curve up to a smile as his hands held your face. You suddenly pulled away, Tom chasing your lips, still stuck in your little moment.
“Oh my God! We need to tell the fans! They’ve been streaming for weeks!” You pecked his lips once more before rushing out the room. The excitement entering your body once again. Tom looks down at your phone in his hands smirking. He turned to Tessa, “Give her a few seconds.”
“MY PHONE!” He heard you exclaim in the hallway. Your head popped from behind the entrance. You skipped into the room and took the phone from Tom.
“I love you!” You sang, kissing his lips again, then skipping out to the hallway.
Before you can post anything of the band’s new achievement, you opened the group chat.
(Y/n)🌻: First off, I was far from Tom’s dick, I was actually cooking😌
(Y/n)🌻: Second, I love you all so much!!!!!! I can’t believe we did it, the amount of pride I feel to be part of this band is astronomical right now! Nine years together and we’re still making it, I love you guys!❤️❤️❤️
After you messaged the girls, you opened up Instagram. Meanwhile, Tom had joined you, dressed in new clothes and fresh out the shower. He hummed at the food on the table and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his way of silently thanking you. He sat in the chair beside yours and began to dig into his breakfast.
“Do you mind if I film a video real quick?” You ask him, looking into the camera as you fixed your hair. Tom wipes his mouth and swallows his food.
“Go ahead, tell the world you’re number one.” He teased you. You rolled your eyes though your lips were curved into a smile. You prepared yourself before pressing down on the circle.
Video:
“Hi guys! So I’ve just found out some amazing news and I thought you guys might want to hear it too—“ Tom began to drum on the table, making you look at him in amusement.
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” You nod, approving of his actions. When he stops drumming and points at you, you look back to the camera with a giant smile.
“Guys...WE MADE IT TO NUMBER ONE! SWEET MELODY IS AT NUMBER ONE ON THE CHARTS!” You announced, voice bouncing off the walls of your house. Behind you was Tom, also cheering equally as loud while he pumped his fists into the air.
“Thank you guys so much! The girls and I love each and every single one of you, you guys are the best fans in the world and we are forever grateful for you. Thank you!” You blew a kiss into the camera before ending the video.
You watched the video over then tagged the girls and the group’s Instagram. You quietly hummed Sweet Melody to yourself as you clicked around and added some stickers to your video. When you were content, you clicked on share and turned your phone off.
“Alright, celebratory breakfast.” You sang as you grabbed your fork and stabbed it into a strawberry.
Tom chuckled beside you and nudged your shoulder, “Then celebratory sex after?” You hummed at his suggestion, eyes teasingly squinting at him.
“Give me time to digest first. Then celebratory sex.” When Tom agreed you laughed and dug into your food. Everything was going great at the moment. Your song is number one on the charts, your career is flourishing, you had four amazing sisters, and you had the world’s best boyfriend. It was as if nothing could go wrong.
~half an hour later~
Tom had you pinned to the bed, light kisses scattering along your skin while his hands rubbed your thighs. With clothes still on, he was snuggled in between your legs, finding comfort in the tight space. He managed to get your top off leaving you in that red lacy bra he adored on you. His lips ghosted between the valley of your breast and down to your belly button. His lips stopping right above your sweatpants. He tilted his head back a bit to drink in your appearance. Hooded dark eyes, laid out before him, that red bra making your breasts look irresistible, you were perfect.
“Look at my pretty girl. Aren’t you stunning?” His voice was deeper than his usual chipper tone. The tone brought butterflies in your belly, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your core.
“I’m all yours, Tommy.” Your hand finds its way to the brown curls that rested on his head. You gently guide his head back up and pull his lips towards you. Your lips connect, first gently and almost innocent, but full of passion. The passion burns more when he presses his hard on against you, roughening up the passionate kiss, your teeths clashing and tongues wrestling. You were lost in his trance until your phone tinged.
Tom curses under his breath as you both jump from the sudden sound. You quietly apologize and mute your phone, not bothering to look at the notification. When you lay back on the bed, Tom’s palms press against you cheeks as he crashes you lips together. His hands move below you, tugging off your sweatpants. He was about to remove the last layer of clothing separating you two when your phone continuously began to vibrate. On the other night stand, Tom’s phone began to vibrate as well.
Your boyfriend groans plopping his head against your stomach. You sigh apologetically, hands now stroking his bare back.
“We should get that, seems important.” He kisses your stomach, hesitantly dragging himself off you. You roll over to your stomach and grab your phone.
Notifications
Jesy💖: We love you too my darling!! We miss you so much here in London:(
Perrie🦋: I would say let’s have a sleepover as soon as you come back from Atlanta, but the pandemic:( I miss you tons!!!🥺
Jade💜: I love youuuuuuuu❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Leigh-Anne😻: You absolute gem, I love you❤️
Jesy💖: (Y/n) what did you tag me in?
Jade💜: Wait, I’m tagged too.
Perrie🦋: I didn’t get tagged :(
Oh wait, I see it :D
Leigh-Anne😻: Why do I have a bad feeling about what she tagged us in?
Jesy💖: (y/n)?
(Y/N)!?
WHY IS SHE NOT REPLYING WHEN I NEED HER TO REPLY!
Perrie🦋: OIIII!!! AT LEAST IT WASNT ME THIS TIME🤪
Jade💜: Jesus, she’s turning into Tom, smh.
Leigh-Anne😻: She’s always been like this lmao
Tom’s only made her worse🙄
Jesy💖: (Y/N) DELETE YOUR FUCKING STORY ON INSTAGRAM THEY ARENT SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT SM IS NUMBER ONE YET!!!!!!!!!!
Jade💜: I bet you NOW she’s busy with Tom
hehehe🍆💦👀
Leigh-Anne😻: Babes!!! Now’s not the time to be doing the deed with Tom!!
Jesy💖: Hold on let me text Tom too.
Your eyes widen as you read the messages from the girls. A string of “shits” with a mix of “fucks” fall continuously out your mouth. You struggle to turn around, getting tangled in the sheets. When you finally sit up properly you go to your Instagram and rush to your stories.
“Uh, (y/n)—“
“Yeah, I know, I know.” You frustratedly mumble as your thumbs fumble on the screen. You go to your story and don’t even hesitate to delete the video you posted just half an hour ago. Tom’s phone rings and you swear you hear him gulp. He answers it, putting it on speaker mode and holds it away from his ears.
“Tom Holland I blame you!” You hear Jesy’s voice through the phone. You double check if you deleted the story before turning your phone off and shoving your face into your pillow.
“I didn’t even do anything!” Tom defended himself, almost laughing. Honestly, as bad as the situation was, it was ironic how it was his girlfriend that leaked the news. You guys are really meant to be.
“The hell you weren’t! Literally drumming on the table, you div! I can’t with you two!” Jesy exclaimed. You knew she was joking by the tone of her voice. “Where is your girlfriend anyway?”
Tom giggle shoving the phone next to your ear, “My lovely girlfriend is right beside me.”
You hear Jesy gag, “Babe, did you even read the email properly?”
You lift your head from the pillow and take Tom’s phone. “No, I got too excited about getting number one.” You admitted pouting. Tom chuckles at you, moving to lay beside you. His arms wrapping around your almost bare figure and shoving his head in between your breasts. Nothing sexual but because they felt like soft pillows against his cheeks.
“They said they’re announcing it on Monday.” She informed you chuckling. You whined and facepalmed yourself. “It’s okay, hun. You were just in the moment, I know how you can get. Although, the fans absolutely love it.” She mentioned.
“Do they?” You asked stifling a laugh.
“Having an absolute field day, they’ve deemed you the Queen of Leaks. Apparently Tom’s been crowned as your king.” She teases. You feel Tom laugh against your chest, his shoulders shaking.
“Alright, I’ll go now, let you two get back to what you were doing. I suggest lurking through Twitter and Instagram, the fans’ reactions are hilarious.” You bid your goodbyes and hang up. Tom’s head pops up from your chest, “Can we please go through the reactions?”
“I was thinking the same thing.” You tell him already opening up Instagram. You go through your tags to see a bunch of memes. Tom shifts to sit beside you, throwing his arm around your shoulder.
Some fan reactions:
🖤 1,944 likes
Tom watching (y/n) make her video and being the supportive boyfriend he is🥺 They’re made for each other I swear
🖤 1,393 likes
The girls watching (y/n)’s story and finding out she just leaked the news. We stan our Queen of Leaks😌🙌🏼👑
🖤 1,838 likes
Tom realizing that (y/n)’s really the one because they both can’t keep secrets without spoiling them. This is why they don’t have good things smh.
🖤 1,878 likes
Jesy calling the police, not for Tom, but for her because she’s ready to shred that boy’s ass for turning (y/n) into him💀
You and Tom spend the rest of the day stuck in bed going through the different reactions from your fans. They were entertaining, making you and your boyfriend laugh at your fans’ humor.
While you sat in between his legs, your back against his chest, Tom leans down to nuzzle his face into your neck. He breaths in the scent of you mixed with your shampoo, something he would never get tired of. You feel that goofy grin press onto your skin making you look up at him.
“Why’s that look on your face?” You ask hun teasingly.
“Because the fans have a point.”
“That we both can’t keep shit to ourselves?” You laugh. Tom makes a sound of agreement pulling you closer.
“Well yeah—but when they say that we’re meant for each other, they have a point. You really are my soulmate.” The goofy grin on his face was permanently stuck to his lips. You giggled shifting to peck his lips. When he sees you struggle he meets you halfway, finally touching those soft luscious lips of yours.
“I guess I am.” You hummed contently, mirroring that lovestruck look on his face. There was no other person in the world that you’d be willing to spend this moment with. The more you stared into those honey brown eyes of his the more you believed your fans; he truly was your soulmate.
#marvel#mcu#avengers#Tom Holland x reader#little mix#jesy nelson#jade thirlwall#perrie edwards#leigh anne pinnock#tom holland imagines#tom holland fluff#tom holland one shot#tom holland drabble#tom holland headcanon#Tom Holland#tom holland imagine#ally’s requests#Tom Holland smut
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Lmao I don’t know how this happened 😆
***
June 26th 2021, Saturday
When Sander wakes up, it’s to the early morning June sunlight hitting him straight in the face. There’s a vague smell of alcohol lingering in the air, and he groans pitifully when he remembers the amount of beer he drank last night; well, it wasn’t that much per se, but for his not-usually-drinking self it was a bit much, which would explain the sour taste in his mouth. He could be beating himself up for letting a little too much loose and messing up his rather strict rules, but it’s finally summertime and he was feeling so happy and free. Exams are done and over with, bigger gatherings are allowed again, and most importantly, the love of his life has just graduated high school and-
Wait.
He blinks his eyes open, arm reaching to the other side of the bed expecting a warm body, but it’s met with cold sheets instead.
Where did that love of his life go?
Bones cracking when he sits up on the bed, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes like a little boy, looking around the room, a twinge of worry in his mind. Robbe was way more drunk than him yesterday, being a giggly, inebriated, lovely, messy mess that was barely standing when the party came to an end. Sander had to practically carry him to their cabin, with Robbe wrapped like a koala around his back, holding tight as he mumbled love declarations into Sander’s hair until he fell asleep, arm looped around his head and cheek resting on top of it. It was unbearably cute, but it was also a miracle Sander’s legs didn’t give out because as small as Robbe is, carrying his dead weight on his back is a challenge.
For a second, a dark scenario enters his mind, and he’s working himself up over Robbe maybe getting up at some point to throw up and being so drunk he choked in the bathroom (yes, he’s a tad dramatic), but then a scrap of paper lying on the makeshift bedside table that is his backpack catches his sight and relief washes over him.
It’s clearly torned out from his sketchbook and he smiles before he even reaches for it.
Come and find me when you wake up x
Little hearts were added all around for good measure and then there’s another message below.
P.S. You’re so fucking hot xxxxx
Snorting, Sander thinks back to yesterday’s afternoon when he showed up to pick Robbe up with his dad’s car so they could meet everyone in Ostend. The way his jaw dropped wide open seeing his brand new look makes him feel very smug at the mere memory.
Right next to the note there’s that piece of confetti he put in Robbe’s long hair at the party, his boyfriend blushing so prettily when Sander told him he couldn’t find a flower as beautiful as him around so the confetti had to do for the time being.
That’s Sander’s favorite activity: pulling a blush out of him with his sappy lines. Well, maybe after getting lost in their out of this world kisses. Or making love to him, slow and sweet or fast and dirty, Sander’s not picky.
5 minutes and he’s out the door after the quickest shower of his life, minty fresh and ready for a quest to find his other half. It’s still very early, the clock showing a few minutes past eight, and to be honest, Sander wonders how on earth is Robbe up and about already. He was fully preparing for a morning full of Robbe’s moans (not the good kind), cursing him for letting him drink so much and swearing on his life that he’ll never touch alcohol again.
The beach is almost empty, barely a few people lounging on the sand, and it takes him no time to spot longish brown curls flying with the force of the wind. Robbe looks lost to the world around him, sitting cross-legged and leaning back onto his arms, face turned to the sun to catch the early morning rays. A soft smile is dancing on his lips as he takes in the sight of the calm sea stretching till the horizon to the sound of whatever is playing in his headphones (probably Bowie because Robbe has a Master’s degree in his music now, courtesy of Sander Driesen) and he looks the most relaxed Sander has seen him in weeks. He looks beautiful.
And Sander is so so in love with him it hurts.
The boy must’ve sensed his presence because he turns around just when he’s a few meters away, his smile growing wide at the sight of him, squinting a little and wow, how does he look so good after a night like that? Sander wonders whether it’s his lovesick devotion that makes him see Robbe through a filter or if sleep did its job marvellously this time.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Robbe pulls at his jean jacket to sit him right next to himself and wastes no time before looping his arms around his neck, peppering his lips with good morning kisses.
“Hey, drunkie,” Sander teases once Robbe gets his fit, earning a half-hearted glare and a soft scoff.
“I was not that drunk.”
“You fell asleep on my head while I was carrying your butt to bed.”
“Well your head is very comfy,” Robbe states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for further discussion because he shuts up any snarky comment Sander may have had with another kiss. That’s a-okay with him, and he tangles his hand in Robbe’s gorgeous locks that he will worship till the day he dies, never missing an occasion to bury his fingers in the tangled strands. The other hand joins in the fun, tugging playfully at the earring he’s also a tiny bit too obsessed with and delighting in the high-pitched sound it pulls out of Robbe.
“What are you doing here so early? I thought you’d be dead to the world till at least noon.” Sander makes himself comfy in Robbe’s embrace, leaning against him and playing with Robbe’s long fingers that are resting on his stomach.
The boy huffs a quiet laugh, a warm puff of air tickling Sander’s neck. “I think it’s the sea breeze making me sober up quicker than normally,” he pauses, hand nudging lightly at Sander’s chin to make him lift his head back and meet his eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he continues. “That and also I think that I was less drunk on alcohol and more drunk on love.”
Sander may be the king of sappy lines, but Robbe has a few of his own up in his sleeve, and everytime he pulls one out, it makes him melt into a pile of goo. Sander crashes their lips together in a kiss that’s a little too heavy for a morning in a public space, but hey, they’re drunk on love and he doesn’t care, Robbe doesn’t care either, and there aren’t many people around them anyway so fuck it. He hums into the kiss, Robbe’s tongue grazing the roof of his mouth almost as by accident, and it’s so good, it always is.
“Last night, it felt so... life-changing, you know? And I don’t know why cause not that much is changing, really.”
“You’re graduating high school, it feels big.”
“Yeah, but I’m staying here for uni, I’m not moving or anything. I don’t know, I think I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately.” Robbe shrugs like he doesn’t really understand it, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either. There’s a small frown between his eyebrows though so Sander reaches to smooth it out with his thumb.
Then, something comes to his mind. “Maybe it’s because of us?”
Robbe’s frown gets deeper. “What do you mean?”
Sander turns around in his arms, nodding at the surroundings, voice laced with excitement. “You know this is the first time we have been at the beach since we met?”
Brown eyes blink at him in confusion, but then they light up and match Sander’s excitement.
“Oh my god, you’re right! Fuck, it feels like a different lifetime.”
A very miserable, shitty lifetime if you ask Sander. For both of them.
“I was so lonely back then,” Robbe sighs.
Sander notices a tiny shadow of sadness fogging Robbe’s eyes, like it always happens when he thinks back to that period of his life. Some wounds were cut too deep to fully heal, but Sander’s always there to bring him back to the present.
Tugging lightly on his hair to make him look back at him, Sander gives him a lopsided grin.
“Not gonna lie, I’m very pleased this time around the only person that’s allowed to kiss you is me.”
Robbe hums, a smirk brewing on his lips. “Hmm, I don’t know, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss from Jens I think.”
And Sander knows he’s doing it on purpose, absolutely loves to rile him up and play the “Jens” card when he wants to be snogged into submission. Robbe learned early on that even though Sander’s aware he’s just joking, his possessive streak always comes out in situations like this, making their kisses extra good and their sex extra hot.
“Careful now,” Sander breathes against his mouth, the pent up tension that accumulated last night and wasn’t relieved because Robbe was too drunk hitting him hard. It seems to be mutual because Robbe bites his lip seductively, impish smile letting Sander know that he’s getting the exact reaction he was hoping for.
“Or what?”
“Or I’m gonna carry you to bed the way I did last night, but the finale will be a little different.”
Suddenly, Robbe’s smile turns softer, the gear change leaving Sander a bit confused, but he welcomes it with a chuckle when Robbe snuggles close to him, nuzzling into his neck and letting out a content sigh.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs sweetly against his skin, breaking and healing Sander’s heart all at once.
“I love you too, cutie. In elk universum.”
A giggle erupts from Robbe at the universe line. “It’s been a while since you said that.”
Sander presses a kiss to his temple. “I think I'm feeling a bit nostalgic too.”
***
The beach is slowly starting to fill out with people and bursting their little bubble so they get up reluctantly to the sounds of their grumbling stomachs that demand late breakfast. They notice their friends in the distance, spreading a huge blanket on the sand and carrying armfulls of food, and they walk over to them slowly, smiling goofily at each other and swaying their joined hands, paying no mind to people around.
“Hey, Sander?” Robbe says suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna be dating a college boy now,” Robbe announces, and he sounds so proud and so adorable that Sander has to tease him a little.
He sighs, putting an extra edge of sorrow into it. “I think you’re getting too old for me, Robin.” A choked-off sound of pain follows, Robbe’s mellowy state not stopping him from jabbing his elbow in Sander’s ribs when he’s being a cheeky little shit. He should’ve known better by now - Robbe’s elbows are merciless.
They arrive at the spot shoving each other playfully until Zoe yells at them to behave and sit their butts down like good boys to eat their food. They dig in without needing to be asked twice, their previous bickering forgotten as Robbe feeds him sandwiches, pretending they’re airplanes and making Sander and everyone around laugh hard.
This, today, yesterday, is a new memory. One that wipes away the angst he used to associate sea and beach with after enviously watching Robbe in the arms of someone else.
This time, Robbe’s smiles are directed at him, his eyes are constantly seeking out him, hand slides surreptitiously into his hand, and Sander’s heart is bursting with happiness.
They’re going on a roadtrip this summer, just him and his favorite skater boy, and Sander cannot fucking wait. Just like he can’t wait for their future together.
And if there’s a ring sitting in his bottom drawer nobody needs to know for now.
Robbe will find out in 55 days.
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a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.
laughter in the rain
ao3
word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack
blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.
(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)
----
Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.
“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”
“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”
“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”
“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”
“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”
Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.
He grinned. “Yes?”
“We have talked about this.”
“Have we?”
“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.
“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”
She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”
“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”
“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.
“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”
She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”
“Storming off, are we- ow- ”
Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.
“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.
Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.
-----------------------
To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”
“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.
“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”
“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”
Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”
He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.
Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame. Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.
“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”
She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.
“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.
“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”
“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”
Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”
“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”
“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”
“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”
“Yes.”
“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”
“As target practice?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol. “You seemed like you could use some help.”
She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”
A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.
“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.
The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”
“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”
“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”
Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.
Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”
Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.
“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”
He grinned sheepishly. “How?”
She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.
“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”
She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”
“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.
“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”
Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”
“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”
She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.
Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”
The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.
Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”
The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.
“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.
“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.
Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.
“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot. Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.
“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”
“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”
“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”
“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”
She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”
“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”
“Without the puns.”
“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.
Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”
His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.
“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.
“Nikolai,” she called after him.
He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”
Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”
He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.
#zoyalai#i am an idiot#zoya nazyalensky#nikolai lantsov#horrible puns terrible puns#nikolai duology#grishaverse#tortoise tries to write#me
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"you're not helping..."
CW: Teenage OCs (Izzy is 17, Jamie is 14), children of whumper and whumpee, trauma response, referenced past captivity with parental whumper/child abuse but the references are vague
Jax Gallager (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee
Izzy is seventeen years old when she grabs the post to bring it inside on her way in after school and comes to a sudden stop just outside the door, staring down at the envelope, battered and beaten after its long journey not just across a country but over an ocean and through customs, too.
Her little brother Jamie very nearly walks into her, lost in his own game on his phone, and he just barely swings to the side to avoid her. “Iz!” When she doesn’t react, he pauses. He’s taller than she is already, and sure to be even taller before he’s done growing.
Where Izzy is all skinny knees and sharp elbows, her brother has the sort of bulk that’ll turn to muscle with time. He’s a gentle sort of giant, and it’s concern and not annoyance that shifts in his expression as he reads the wide-eyed stare in hers. “Izzy? What’s up?”
Izzy swallows, her throat clicking so loud she’s surprised the flock of birds lurking in the gutters and on the roof of the place next door don’t take off startled by the sound. She can’t, for a moment, remember how to speak.
She can’t remember how to breathe.
She just holds the card out for Jamie to look at as heat burns behind her eyes, her heart racing. She feels inside her the absurd urge to be polite and sweet and well-mannered. To somehow try to ensure safety in an unsafe space.
But she’s not there anymore.
She’s not there. She’s here.
And still...
Jamie takes the envelope slowly, looking over it himself, his lips moving as he reads the return address. Then he pales, lips thinning. “How-”
“I don’t know,” Izzy whispers. “She’s not supposed to know where we live, Jamie. She-... she’s n-not allowed, but that’s... that’s her handwriting, that’s-... she isn’t supposed to know-”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Iz.” Jamie glances towards the door - Jax is inside, and he’ll know if they’re more than ten minutes late either way, he’ll be looking at the clock and thinking about their safety, worrying over them the way Izzy worries over everything, too. “Look, hide it and we’ll look at it in your room, yeah? I’ll handle Dad.”
She nods, a jerky sort of motion, but she stuffs the envelope into her school bag and the two of them head inside. Izzy blames a headache for being quiet and if their dad suspects, he doesn’t say anything, just lets her go to lie down in her room. Jamie takes more time, talking about his day, getting something to eat and drink.
His skin prickles with impatience, with the need to go look. Izzy’s terror doesn’t translate to him - he mostly feels curious about the woman who makes up half his genes, who he has no memory of at all. Curious, and angry on behalf of a father and sister who struggle with what she did to them. Maybe a little angry that this shadowy woman built the boundaries of his life and made the fears that keep his father and sister up at night, and he doesn’t even remember her.
Plus, he doesn’t want Izzy to be scared alone. That’s been their deal his whole life, their agreement - Izzy doesn’t have to be scared alone. They’re scared together, and brave together.
His lips move in memorized words like a prayer as he heads down the hall. He’s been prepared for them to have to be brave together his entire life, urged on by Izzy’s careful planning, the go-bags they still keep hidden from their fathers, just in case.
My name is James Timothy Gallagher and my sister is Isabella Nicole Gallagher...
Please don’t let this be something like that.
She’s not on the bed when he comes in with a bag of crisps and some water. He finds her pushed against the wall under a blanket between the bed and her desk with a flashlight, still staring at the writing on the envelope.
“Someone e-else wrote the address,” She says when Jamie pulls up the edge of the blanket and sits beside her, squeezing into the tiny space as best he can. Her voice is shaking and her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. “Not M-Mom. She wrote my name, but... but that’s it. Oh, God, she started writing Isabella M-Marcoset and had to cross it out-”
“Bint,” Jamie says amiably. “Everything’s Gallagher now. But there you go.” He nudges her with an elbow. “She doesn’t know where we are, still, right? Someone else wrote it for her.”
“That’s n-not helping,” Izzy says, and sniffs. “That means someone helped her send it, someone who does know, someone w-who-... I can’t. I can’t look.”
“Probably her lawyers or something, they’d have our address I guess. If we tell Dad he’ll rip them to shreds over it, you know his lawyer chews them up for breakfast. If you can’t look, I can.” Jamie takes the envelope from her before she can stop him and tears it open, casually ripping half the envelope apart to get to what’s inside.
When he finds it, he blinks. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t let Dad hear y-you say that,” Izzy says automatically, with a weak smile.
“Like he’s one to say much. I think you mean don’t let Kie hear me say that.” Jamie’s eyes roam over the contents of the envelope. “Iz, this is a card for you.”
Izzy looks slowly over, peering through her fingers.
On the front, it’s pastel pink bordering a black-and-white print of a child’s chubby hand against a polka-dot dress.
It’s okay to miss your mom, the outside of the card reads.
Izzy’s lips pull back from her teeth in a snarl.
Jamie opens the card to read what’s inside, in his soft voice. He might look more like the Marcoset side than his sister does, but his voice is nearly indistinguishable from his father’s when he speaks softly like this. “... Because she sure misses you. Though we've grown apart, I really do miss you. I remember my sweet little girl on her special day. Happy birthday, Isabella. And she wrote in here her prison address to write back. Tell me about you. Love, Mom.”
He sits there for a second in silence and then says, slightly dumbfounded, “Well, shit.”
Izzy starts to cry, hands pressed over her mouth to keep it silent.
The tears run in a waterfall, burying themselves in the minute space between hands and skin. She tastes salt at the corners of her lips. Jamie slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her chopped-short hair, starting to slowly grow out on one side.
“Oh, Iz. D’you want me to get Dad?”
She shakes her head viciously, little hitched sobs and half-sounds coming from her and little more. Even if Jax had his ear pressed to her door, he wouldn’t hear her, Jamie thinks. His big sister learned how to cry silently, to keep herself safe by not doing anything to bring her mother’s attention on her.
She knew how to be silent out of fear before she learned how to speak in full sentences. Jamie heard someone say that, once, he can’t remember who. He wasn’t supposed to hear it.
They tried not to let him see how hurt she was, but Jamie has always known his sister was shattered and he wasn’t, and he’s always felt like he has to be the one who stays whole for her.
“Please, Iz. He’ll know what to say. I, I don’t know what to do-”
“It’s not my birthday.”
Her words are muffled behind her hands at first, and so quiet he nearly misses them even in the stuffy silence under the blanket.
“What?”
“The-... the c-card said happy birthday, but my birthday was... was seven m-months ago.” Izzy’s tears turn to bitter, cynical laughter, no less worrying than the crying had been, still nearly soundless. “She doesn’t even know when my fucking b-birthday is. You’d think since s-s-she’s the one who fucking made me-... oh, my God. She doesn’t even know my birthday.”
“No, I-... I guess she... doesn’t.” Jamie opens the card again to look it over. He hadn’t even thought about that, but now looking, he can’t help but start to laugh, too. “Iz, why’d she-... she could have just asked someone when your birthday was, it’d be in the court stuff, right? Birth certificate and shit?”
“Right. She wouldn’t want people to kn-know she didn’t remember. Or she just didn’t care.” Izzy’s shoulders shake, now, laughter or tears or both. “She doesn’t want to know me, she can’t even bother to know my fucking birthday. She’ll just-”
“Ask about Dad,” Jamie whispers.
“Right.” Izzy stares down at the card, then hands Jamie the flashlight and takes the card right out of Jamie’s hands and tears it right down the center, then again, and again, and again. The sound of the thick cardstock paper shredding is the loudest sound in the room.
“She doesn’t fucking know me, she doesn’t know anything about me, she doesn’t know she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t even fucking want to try-”
Finally, when all that’s left is a scattering of little bits of paper with the occasional visible word, like the world’s most irritating puzzle, Izzy shoves the blanket off entirely, picks up the pile in both hands and throws it up into the air, giving another bitter laugh as the pieces float down like confetti.
“She can’t even be scary right,” Izzy declares, and Jamie watches his big sister force down her fear to mock the monster under the bed, the nightmare mother who never quite leaves her mind. “That’s how awful Mom is. Even when she’s trying to scare me, she can’t do it r-right.”
“I don’t think she meant to be scary,” Jamie says, a little hesitantly. “I think that was her trying to be our mam and fucking that up.”
“Well, she’s not a mam, is she? She’s not. She’s a fucking... she’s... Fuck her!” Izzy sweeps up the scattered bits of card and dumps them into the little bin she keeps by her bed, covers them with some tissues to hide them from anyone who might see.
She turns to look at Jamie. “Don’t tell Dad, okay? He doesn’t need to know about this.”
“Iz...” Jamie stands and reaches out to pluck a piece of card that had gotten stuck in her hair. There’s a clearly recognizable Isab- visible on it. “You should tell him.”
“But you won’t.” Izzy’s eyes search his, looking up at her younger brother. They’ve always trusted each other, been each other’s backup more than anyone else, in the way of children who know they might have to keep each other safe when adults can’t. “Promise, Jamie. Promise you won’t tell Dad.”
“I promise,” Jamie says, uneasily. “I won’t tell, Iz. But you still should. Or at least tell therapy, or... something. Not just sit on this like it didn’t happen.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything either way, half-chasing him from her room so she can duck into the little bathroom and wash her face, wiping away the evidence of her tears, leaving only the hint of red in the corners of her eyes to give her away.
She comes out and blames it on her headache, promises Jax she’s taken something for it, disappears back into her room. He can’t tell if Jax believes her - their dad is hard to read sometimes. But... Jamie thinks maybe he knows something’s up.
Jamie settles down to play his game on his phone a while longer in the living room, and he wonders if she’s in there digging the pieces of the card back out to put in the box under her bed she thinks nobody else knows about.
But he knows.
He’s seen the CD cases, printed out photos from old interviews, an old magazine she’d nicked from a hair place after getting her hair cut once. Their mother’s face again and again and again, younger or older, in prison and before prison and between prison, too.
The monster literally under the bed.
He should tell Jax, probably. It can’t be healthy, to keep all those things. Right? But he can’t bring himself to break her trust, when Izzy trusts almost nothing and no one outside her own home. He can’t be the one to wreck even that for her.
He can’t.
He promised.
Jamie glares down at his game, the little tinny sound coming from his phone’s speakers, a repetitive melody, the soft sound of explosions.
He should tell Jax.
He should tell Kieran, maybe.
But he swore he wouldn’t, and they’ve always been there for each other even when no one else could be, and so Jamie doesn’t tell anyone at all.
-
@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @eatyourdamnpears @pretty-face-breaker
#izzy fucking gallagher#jamie gallagher#I love Jax#comfy-whumpee#trauma response tw#trauma recovery tw#recovery whump#recovering whumpee#fear response tw#familial whumper#parental whumper#child of whumpee#panic response tw#whump#caretaker and whumpee
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Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.
Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.
tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down)
Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products.
This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold.
“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him.
He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth.
“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.
“People want to see that?”
They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes.
He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”
They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks.
Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended.
Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”
Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?
Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”
“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore.
“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing.
“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register.
“Did anyone help you in the store today?”
“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling.
“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”
Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words.
Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”
Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff.
Damn transphobes.
He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.
Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect.
The story’s different.
After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go.
Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous.
In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.
“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.
In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and-
Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again.
“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.”
Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar.
More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him.
“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.
Chuck made him kill himself.
Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone.
Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”
He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.
“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen.
“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”
There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually.
“So those voices in the background were-”
“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief. What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried.
Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.
“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”
“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes.
Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”
“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.
“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.
“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.
He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”
Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.
“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”
“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”
#i fixed it#god fucking damn it#dean winchester#destiel#saileen#saileena#sam winchester#castiel#eileen leahy#castiel winchester#jack kline#roweena#my writing#ficlet#deancas#trans dean#trans woman OC#tw: transphobia#tw: suicide mention
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I have a mandalorian prompt if you take them.... 🥺👉👈 I have looked everywhere but I can only find a few...I really want a story where Mand'alor Din finds his birth parents alive. Can you imagine their amazement, their son... who they haven't seen since he was little... now an undefeated warrior and a king of an entire creed, of an entire planet AND has a jedi son to boot!I really want more stories like this
Reunion (1300 words)
Din feels too small in the throne room that’s supposed to be his.
Din feels too big for the throne itself. It’s clearly made for slighter form than his.
He’s sitting on his cape. It’s uncomfortable. He tugs at it and finds its caught on his belt. He leaves it alone, letting it gently tug at his neck while he shifts around trying to find a comfortable position.
Grogu sits in the middle of the carpeted rug leading from the double-doors to Din’s new throne, acting like its a runway for his toy star cruisers. His burbling fill the empty space, joyful confetti that raises to the high ceilings.
Din smiles under his helmet.
He has kept the helmet on since he landed on Mandalore, awkwardly holding out the dark saber that no one would take from him and that he didn’t want.
He kept telling them he didn’t want this life. Not for him. Not for his kid. Instead, they put him in this throne room, told him to take all the time he needed to get used to the idea...and here is where he would sit.
Forever probably, because I will never be used to this idea.
He turns the saber on. It hisses in his hand like a viper denouncing Din’s new title as strongly as Din. He cuts the air, watching the dark light streak with deadly ethereal grace.
“Not bad, I guess,” he murmurs to himself. He prefers a blaster, or his pike, or literally anything else, but...
Grogu’s watching him.
Grogu’s smiling...wide.
“No,” Din says, knowing what that smile means.
Grogu lets the star fighters floating all around him drop suddenly and he shoots a clawed hand out towards Din. The saber rattles in Din’s hand. His grip tightens.
“Hey,” Din growls. “Knock it off, ya lil womp rat!”
“Brrrp fwa!!” Grogu’s ears lower and he squints.
No, you! He says. Or rather that’s what Din can feel in his mind. Din’s thankful Luke was tutoring Grogu here instead of a temple. He’s also thankful he taught Grogu how to communicate, if only to confirm what Din already suspects about the kid: He’s as stubborn as a reek in a rainstorm.
Suddenly Grogu’s hand drops. His head whips towards the door.
“Huh? What is it, kid?”
He feels Grogu broadcast his feelings to Din.
Family. Grogu said. Family back.
Din stands up, walking towards the double-doors, picking up Grogu on the way.
His heart sinks selfishly. “What do you mean? Your family?”
No. Yours.
“No,” Din says, almost too fiercely, too sharply. Grogu’s ears lower. “Sorry, kid, I don’t mean...it’s just...They’re gone. You’re my family.”
Din halts before opening the door, seeing a pair of shadows on the other side of the door. He hears whispering through the amplifier in his helmet.
“If he’s really here, we should wait until he comes out,” a feminine voice whispers.
“If he’s really in there, do you really want to wait another second to see him?” a deeper voice responds.
Din’s hand goes to the one of the door knobs, but his hand is shaking so badly he can’t bring himself to grasp it. He takes a step back.
Grogu lets out a gentle coo, then lifts both his hands as the doors fly open on his command, revealing the visitors on the other side.
Ice hits his veins...
Shock frays his nerves...
His heart which had been shattered for decades start to sweep itself back into a neat pile and begin the arduous task of repairing itself.
“Is it you?”
The question is asked by three people simultaneously: Din Djarin...Lupita Djarin...and Paolo Djarin...
“...Mom?...Dad?...”
Grogu lets out a sharp chuff and Din realizes his helmet is still on, a dark saber still in his hand. He quickly shoves the saber away and rips his helmet off faster than he’s ever wanted to. It falls with a heavy thud on the carpet.
Beneath the helmet is a scruffy-faced man who has lived too many lifetimes in thirty some odd years he’s existed. And yet, at the same time, he looks like a frightened boy who watched his parents die at the hands of battle droids, and now, with large, soulful eyes, wants so very desperately to believe they somehow survived the attack.
Truly it doesn’t sink in until Lupita and Paolo run towards him. They ignore the discomfort of hard beskar, heavily-armed holsters and a thick belt full of grenades and gadgets. They throw their arms around their son and he embraces them back, just as Grogu climbs onto his back so he’s not crushed by the affections.
“How...” his voice breaks.
“Your Jedi friend found us,” Lupita’s hair is more gray than black, but the ringlets tumble over her shoulders just as he always remembered them. Her nose wrinkles in that familiar way as she smiles brightly through shimmering tears. “He said the Force guided him there and so the Force would guide us back to you.”
“Luke did this?”
Paolo runs a hand through Din’s hair and Din realizes immediately his dad is fussing with it as he would every day before school. Din’s hair is always unruly, the helmet had nothing to do with it. And ironically, he inherited this from his father.
Paolo’s hair is as still dark as he remembers, but the bionic replacement eye is new. It’s very close to organic, but the vectors in the iris give it away. There are scars around one side of his face. They’ve long since healed.
“I thought you were both dead.”
“It’s a long story, son,” Paolo says gently, giving up on his son’s hair and wraps a comfortable arm around Lupita, resting a hand on Din’s shoulder. “And we have plenty of time to explain later, but for now...”
“You’re a king!” Lupita says, brightly, looking around the throne room.
“Ah, sort of. I’m a lot of things. I’m a Mandalorian first...no...” Din let his tears run free, not bothering to wipe them away. “I’m your son first. I’m also a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and...a father.”
Grogu knows his cue and pops up from behind Din’s shoulder, letting out a loud pfffft sound to present himself.
“Oh...” said Lupita coos and Din can hear her heart melting as she speaks. “Hello, little one...what’s your name?” She is already reaching for him and Grogu doesn’t hesitate to leap into her arms, eating up the attention shamelessly.
“Grogu,” Din says, proudly. “I’ve adopted him.”
“We’ve missed so much,” Paolo says, also not bothering to wipe the endless stream of tears away. “But no more. We are here now. And here we’ll stay, though...are we interrupting something?” Paolo sees the festive banners around the room and surely they walked by all the festitivies outside welcoming the Mand’alor who doesn’t want to leave his throne room.
“No, you have excellent timing,” Din says. If there was any chance he was going to join the day-long festivities for his reign before, they were dashed now that his parents were here. “We all have long stories to tell. Don’t worry about the Mand’alor situation, I’ll-”
“The what?” The Djarins asked in unison.
Family! Grogu interrupts, wiggling out of Lupita’s arms Family Play! The Negotiator! The Falcon! The Hound’s Tooth! The Razor Crest!
Grogu toddles over to his pile of toy ships and plops down, waiting expectantly.
“Grogu wants to know if you two would like to play what he calls ‘star wars’ with him.”
Paolo purses his lips, and it looks as if he may break down into sobs, which, Din knows, is a very valid reaction at how darling Grogu can be during emotional times.
Lupita rubs Paolo’s back, holding herself enough together to say. “We would love to. May I be the Negotiator?”
Paolo sniffles and follows Din and Lupita. “I declare the Falcon.”
DIn looks back at Grogu who is already floating the Razor Crest possessively.
“Stuck with the Hound’s Tooth again, huh kiddo?” Din asks.
Grogu lets out a proud grrrruuuuuu!
-----
@permanently-exhausted-witcher thank you so much for this writing prompt! I wasn’t actually taking prompts at the time, but this prompt broke my heart in the best ways so I hope you enjoy!
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witching hour
Overview: Halloween has always been an extra magical time of year for you, and when you happen to run right into a very cute guy at the candy table at the party you're attending then you just know this is going to be one supernaturally good Halloween! And not even a talking cat can ruin it for you.
Pairing: Iida Tenya x Fem!Reader (Aged up Supernatural AU!)
Word Count: 4.4k
Warning(s): A little bit of cursing? And the reader is FEM! So if you are uncomfortable with that please be aware!
Author’s Notes: This is part of the Sweater Weather BNHA Sanctuary Fall Collab 2020! You can find the masterlist here, and please go check it out and give the other fics some love too! They’re all AMAZING!!! This one is unashamedly cheesy, corny, and definitely inspired by Sabrina the Teenage Witch (because that just screams Halloween to me, and I hope it does to you too!)
***
“Hey, I’m home!” you called, walking in through the back door of the house with your shopping bags in hand. You nudged it closed with your elbow and put the bags down before pulling your shoes off. There was no answer, but you could spot a folded piece of paper on the table that would most likely tell you where your uncles could be found. You picked the bags back up and moved them over to the counter before walking back to the table to take a look at the note.
Your name was written across the front in Uncle Toshinori’s neat, blocky handwriting, and as you opened the letter it flew out of your hands and started hovering around your head. Both of your uncles owned fully functional mobile phones, you made sure of it, but sometimes they still preferred doing things the Witch Way.
“Hello, young (Y/N!)” the letter started speaking, your uncle’s voice coming out loud and strong as if he was standing next to you. “Taishiro and I have gone shopping for Halloween gifts for Nemuri’s party! We’ll be home in time for dinner, so save your appetite! See you soon!” As soon as it had finished, the letter exploded into tiny pieces of confetti; you were happy to see that they were tiny little orange pumpkins and black bats, perfect for the time of year. Brushing the confetti off of your sweater, you walked back over the counter where you’d deposited your bags and started pulling everything out so you could start to put it away.
Maybe it was corny, and maybe it was cheesy, but Halloween was hands down your favourite time of year. Everything about the month of October was great; the leaves started changing colours, the temperatures dropped for that perfect sweater weather (for a week or so, at least, before it got too cold), and the fact that this was the one month of the year that all of the weirdness that usually followed you around could be excused as part of the spooky season. Which, okay, not that it was ever really excused by your mortal friends, but still. Being a Witch was never easy, but least Halloween made it easier than normal.
For Witches like you and your uncles Toshinori and Taishiro, Halloween was more than just an excuse to decorate the whole house, dress up in costumes and consume an absurd amount of candy—which you definitely did, you wouldn’t deny that—it was the season when your magic was strongest, and it was a time when you would get together and see all of your friends and family who didn’t live in the Mortal Realm like you did. And this year would be extra fun because instead of going to the family party this year (being held by Uncle Tsunagu, which always promised you’d be bored to tears), you were going to a costume party being thrown by a friend of your uncles.
“Ooh, what did you bring me?” You were shaken out of your thoughts by a voice to your left, and you turned to see Shinsou, your uncles’ deep purple cat, had jumped up onto the counter and made himself at home on one of the empty plastic bags. Sneaking up on everyone else was one of his favourite things to do (aside from take naps, provide unwanted sarcastic commentary, and pretend he didn’t love playing with the cat toys around the house unless he thought he was alone). You rolled your eyes, reaching over to scratch him behind the ears.
“Nothing, you nosy cat,” you told him, and he swatted at you with one of his little white tipped paws. You withdrew your hand, going back to emptying the bags.
“Rude. You leave me all by lonesome, no one to give me food or throw my mice for me, and you don’t even bring something home for me?” he asked. You ignored that. You instead turned to the pile of things on the counter—most of it was Halloween candy you were planning on hiding in your room to snack on when you were studying, but you’d also gone out to get a costume for the party that you were going to. Shinsou walked closer, making his way around the boxes to come and see what you had.
Holding up the costume against your body, you showed it off for the feline. “So? What do you think? I thought it was really cute!” you told him. He looked you up and down, his small face scrunching up.
“You’re going as a Witch? Really? And I thought your uncles were unoriginal,” he said. You pouted, folding the costume and putting it back on the counter. It was a really cute little dress and hat combo that you’d picked up, and you thought it would go perfect with some tights and shoes you had in your closet somewhere.
“Oh yeah? And what are you planning to be for Halloween?” you asked, and Shinsou huffed. He brought one paw up to sweep through the air as he gestured across the kitchen.
“Well, the last time I was human for Halloween was when my cult—er, my organization was planning to make me Emperor of Earth, and I was a pirate,” he said. You could only imagine Shinsou in an absolutely ridiculous outfit, probably dressed just like Jack Sparrow, right before he was busted by the Witches Council for trying to take over the Mortal World. Sometimes you had to wonder how someone like him could do something like that, but he had this weird ability to talk people into almost anything. “Everyone loved it. But now I’m a cat, so I guess for Halloween I’ll just be a cat who pretends to listen to you whine about how you’re still single and eating candy corn by the bucket.”
“Well if you liked being a pirate so much, why don’t you do that again this year?” you said, huffing slightly. You pointed your finger at Shinsou, concentrating, and then in a poof of smoke and sparkles, he was sitting on the counter in a tiny pirate costume. He stood up and looked himself over, turning in circles. You couldn’t help but laugh as you grabbed your candy and your costume and took off out of the kitchen and started climbing the stairs. You could hear the jingle of Shinsou’s costume from behind you.
“Hey! Come and take this off of me!” you heard him yell, and you only laughed louder as you ran into your room and closed the door before he could get inside.
“Have fun, Shinsou!” you called, and you heard his little claws start scratching at your door. You could hear him grumbling something about no one appreciating his sarcasm and you walked away to go hide your candy from your uncles.
Yep, Halloween was always fun in your house.
***
A week later, you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup before you were supposed to be leaving for the Halloween party. You were sitting at your desk in front of the mirror while Shinsou was on your bed, stretched out and toying with one of the tassels on the end of one of your pillows. You were still happy with your costume choice, no matter how many snarky remarks Shinsou made—there were a lot of them—and dressing up as a Witch was fun! Plus, the outfit itself was very cute, especially since you’d been able to find the tights and cute black shoes you’d been looking for.
You heard a knock on your half open door, and you looked up to see Uncle Taishiro poking his head through the doorway. His face was stretched wide with a grin, and you saw that he’d slicked back his normally unruly blond hair and left his face on display.
“You about ready, kiddo?” he asked, and you nodded. You finished up and quickly packed away your makeup before standing up and picking up your hat to place on your head. Uncle Taishiro stepped fully into your room, and you did a twirl to show off your costume. He gave you a thumbs up, laughing just a little. “Very nice! You make a very lovely Witch, (Y/N), if I do say so.”
“And you make a very handsome Gaston,” you told him, seeing his costume. He brought up an arm to flex, winking at you. You had to admit that his costume did look very good, and very authentic. He most likely magicked that up, but why not? You’d used a little bit of help yourself, just to make the details on your dress sparkle a little bit brighter in the light.
“If you’re both done goofing around, we have a party to get to,” Shinsou interrupted. He made his way across your bed wearing his little tuxedo and bowtie, before jumping off the bed and up into Uncle Taishiro’s arms. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your bag, pulling it over your shoulder and walking out of your room behind your giant of an uncle (you swore there had to be some kind of giant genes in your family, because both of your uncles were humongous—well, Uncle Toshinori used to be, before his… accident, but still). Uncle Toshinori was waiting in the hallway, and he was wearing a skeleton costume that you were pretty sure you had seen him practicing a spell for earlier in the week to make sure it was showing off his real bones. He really did go all out for Halloween and you admired that about him.
“Young (Y/N)! Very cute, you make a very good Witch,” he said, holding up his camera so that he could take a photo. You smiled and let him do it, and you took it from him to take some photos of him and Uncle Taishiro before the three of you left.
It wasn’t long before the three of you (plus Shinsou) were going through the hall closet to get to the entrance to the Other Realm, which was surprisingly empty tonight. Everyone else crossing over had most likely done it earlier in the day, which worked in your favour. Uncle Toshinori entered Nemuri's address into the system and then you all stepped through the door, popping out the other side and right into the party.
“Tai! Toshi!” came the loud voice of the host, Nemuri Kayama, who came over to give them big hugs. She was wearing some kind of leather looking bodysuit—maybe she was Black Widow? You had no idea. She did look good, though. She always did. And when she spotted you, she was quick to bring you in for a hug as well, crushing you up against her chest. It was only for a few seconds (but it felt like a lifetime before you could breathe again, black leather and a big chest were not a good combo for close quarters). Then she was letting you go and while you readjusted your hat, she started ruffling Shinsou’s fur.
“Aw, look at the fancy cat! Are you a butler, Shinsou?” she asked, and he swatted at her hands.
“Absolutely not, I am James Bond, thank you very much,” he told her, puffing himself up to show off his little tuxedo jacket and bowtie. You hid a laugh behind your hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to find the catnip bar and enjoy myself while talking to people who will appreciate me and what I have to say.” And with that he jumped out of Uncle Taishiro’s arms and threaded his way through the crowd. He’d find his way back eventually—that, or you’d end up finding him passed out somewhere or playing with Nemuri’s curtains. Both had happened at family gatherings before.
Uncle Toshinori handed Nemuri the Halloween presents—which was a tradition, exchanging Halloween presents was a big deal among people in the Other Realm—and then he and Uncle Taishiro were being pulled away by friends who had spotted them and wanted to see them. You recognized Keigo and Miruko, who came by the house pretty often, and there was also a man with very, very long blonde hair dressed up as a cowboy and a man with not quite as long dark hair who looked like he had also taken your idea and dressed up as a Witch. You smiled and waved, and Uncle Taishiro told you that you’d be leaving at midnight and one or two of your cousins were hanging around so you should look out for them if you needed anything. You nodded, but there was no way in hell you were going looking for your cousins. With your luck, it would end up being Izuku. Who was fine, really, you liked hanging out with him when you were kids and he was a nice enough guy (you talked at all mandatory family functions and usually stuck together along with cousin Mirio to protest being stuck at the kids table) but you wanted to have fun and he was… well, too quiet for having fun at a party like this. Sometimes you wondered if he really was from the Werewolf side of the family. But you decided to try and have fun on your own. Which… lasted all of about five minutes before you realized there were a lot of people here. Maybe you needed to take some time to make a plan before you approached anyone else to talk.
So here you were, standing by the snack table, trying to decide what you wanted to eat while you formulated your plan of attack. You’d vaguely recognized a few people on your way over there—a lot of your uncles’ friends were here, and they’d all brought people (Siblings? Children? You had no idea) who looked about your age. Or, well, you thought they looked about your age, but you could never really tell. Especially with vampires. You got yourself a cup of punch (which was a very cute little goblet! Witches really do take Halloween very seriously) and you were browsing the wide selection of food before you saw it. The biggest bowl of candy corn that you’d ever seen. And it was calling your name (which it may actually have been, for all you knew Nemuri might have bewitched the bowl to entice people to eat it. Not that Witches ever needed a reason to eat candy corn).
You walked towards it, reaching for the scoop to get yourself some of the nice little treat when your hand collided with something—or someone, actually, who was trying to grab it at the exact same time. You looked up, startled, to see a young man who looked about your age standing on the other side of the table. He was… well, you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t absolutely handsome, and you couldn’t help but stare at his face. He had short, neatly styled dark blue hair, with some very uniquely shaped pointed eyebrows that were almost near his hairline. His eyes—which told you that this was a Vampire—were red and shining behind black framed square glasses. His face was square, with a very defined jawline, and you were now realizing that you were just standing here staring at a very pretty, very strange new person who was probably wondering why you were being so weird when all they wanted was candy corn.
Your eyes met his and you smiled at him, shrugging one of your shoulders as you moved your hand back and away from the bowl to let him go first. That caused your hand to brush against his once again, and then all of a sudden the bowl was in the air and there was candy corn everywhere. It took your brain a second to catch up, just as the bowl hit the floor, before you realized he had flipped the bowl over.
You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the look of absolute shock on his face. His cheeks very quickly turned bright red, and he bent down to pick up the bowl. You looked around, and thankfully the music seemed to be loud enough that no one had really noticed. You pointed your finger and then in a flash of sparks the bowl was full again and the floor corn was in the nearby garbage.
“Didn’t know you were that against candy corn. Did it hurt you when you were a kid?” you asked, the words coming out before you could stop them. You really had to stop hanging out with Shinsou so much, he was rubbing off on you. The stranger blinked, before setting the bowl back down on the table and clearing his throat.
“Um… I was just surprised, is all,” he said. His voice was deeper than you’d thought it would be and it suited him way more than whatever you had imagined in your head. “I didn’t think you would actually be a Witch, though. Your costume is a little on the nose.” Oh, so he wanted to play that kind of game, huh? You reached forward and grabbed a handful of the candy corn as you looked him up and down. He was wearing some kind of… knight costume? Which looked pretty authentic, you had to say. It was white and polished, with gold detailing that looked like leaves all across his chest, and a deep blue cape slung across his shoulders and falling down behind him.
“Mine is on the nose? Are you supposed to be some kind of… prince? I hope that armour isn’t made of silver or you might piss some Werewolves off tonight,” you said, and you were surprised to hear him snort at that. You popped some pieces of candy into your mouth, smiling again, and you saw his cheeks flush once more.
“I’m a knight, I’ll have you know,” he told you. You shrugged. He looked good either way, honestly. “This was my brother’s. Not silver, thankfully. But at least a little more creative than some other costumes.” You frowned, your eyebrows pulling together. So he was being serious when he implied you weren’t creative?
Your train of thought was interrupted, though, when a loud voice yelled “TENYA!” and you looked around, startled. Not too far away was another young looking man with the same colour hair as the man in front of you was waving over at you. He was dressed up as Batman—a very, very good looking Batman with his mask sitting in his lap so you could see his face and how much it resembled the pretty boy in front of you—and he was gesturing towards you. But your name wasn’t Tenya, so it must have been towards the person in front of you. Who was probably named Tenya. You looked between them, and the Vampire in front of you sighed and excused himself. You watched him make his way over to Batman, who nudged him lightly on the arm before they started talking.
You couldn’t help but watch the two of them go back and forth, trying to imagine what they were saying. Batman was making a lot of hand gestures, some in your direction, while Tenya kept very rigidly waving his arm up and down with his hand open and palm flat out. Maybe Batman saw what happened with the candy corn? Or Tenya was supposed to bring him candy corn? You kept eating it yourself.
After a moment or two had passed, you realized that okay, it was probably time to go and find someone else to talk to. Which was sad, because as odd as this Tenya was, he was still very cute and you did like going back and forth with him. But you should probably try and have some fun before you had to leave. Looking around the crowd, you spotted a group of younger people not too far away, and they looked friendly enough—there was another young woman who was dressed up as what looked like a pink fuzzy sheep? Beside another woman dressed as Bo Peep, and a guy dressed up as what looked like Gomez Addams—so you figured it was worth a try. You grabbed a handful of candy for the trip, and you turned to leave. But you didn’t make it two steps before all of a sudden Tenya was back in front of you.
“Um, wait!” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. You nearly jumped. You always forgot how fast Vampires could be; you didn’t know very many back in the Mortal Realm. Batman was coming up behind him, stopping his wheelchair just behind him.
“Is everything okay? Did you forget something?” you asked. Tenya paused, just for a moment, one of his hands coming up to rub at the back of his neck. It looked kind of cute, really, a little flustered and out of place. Vampires were usually old school and old money (from what you knew) so this was unexpected. But not a bad thing. You leaned against the table, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him.
“Are you four hundred or are you four? You can do this! Come on!” Batman probably meant to whisper that, but he was loud enough for you to hear. Tenya groaned.
“Look, I… yes, I forgot something,” he said. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, and for the first time tonight you saw his lips curve up into a smile. You mirrored it, unable to help yourself. “I forgot to tell you that while your costume choice is on the nose, it’s also practical and… it suits you very well.”
Well. That was unexpected, but you weren’t going to complain. You uncrossed your arms and brushed your hands along your dress, smoothing out the fabric. “Yours does too, Prince Charming.” You knew he’d said he was a knight, but you couldn’t resist. Batman laughed from behind Tenya, who turned to shush him.
“She’s great! Don’t let this go to waste, Tenya,” he said, slapping Tenya on the back. The armour made a loud clang, and Tenya swatted at Batman’s head. The older (you thought? Maybe? God, Vampire aging sucked because no one could ever tell how old anyone really was) blue haired man waved at you, before taking off across the room. The armoured male turned back to you, shrugging.
“Please excuse my brother. He’s… probably drunk,” he said. You laughed loudly, waving your hand in front of you.
“It’s okay! He’s pretty funny,” you said. That got a smile out Tenya, and you were happy that he’d come back over. You grabbed another handful of candy and offered him some. He took a few pieces, and the two of you eased into conversation. You found out his name was in fact Tenya, he was definitely an old money Vampire, and he was planning on studying History (since he had already lived through a lot of it, why not get a good grade out of it? But seeing how animated he got discussing his passion for all things old and dead in History books, you thought it was kind of cute).
Before you knew it, hours had flown by. It felt like minutes, really, and you were definitely happy you hadn’t ditched the candy table to try your luck with the other people at the party. You were just getting to learn about Tenya’s brother’s wild antics as a soldier wearing the armour you’d admired earlier when you heard your uncle Toshinori call, “Young (Y/N)! We need to get heading back! Time to go!” You looked over your shoulder to see your uncles waving to you. Uncle Toshinori was holding Shinsou in his arms, and his jacket was unbuttoned and it looked like the cat had a very good time because he was currently passed out. And most likely purring. You nodded, sending them a thumbs up.
“It’s been nice talking with you,” you said as you turned back to face Tenya. His smile had turned into a frown, and he nodded. “Those are my uncles, I gotta get going. Have to head back before the door to the Mortal Realm closes for the night. But this has been really fun, Prince Charming.”
“Yes, of course, please get home safely,” he told you, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit disappointed that he hadn’t asked for your number. But at least it would be a cute story to tell your friends, and maybe you’d see him next Halloween? Hopefully? You hiked your bag further up your shoulder and started walking towards your waiting uncles. But after a few steps you stopped. Did you really want Shinsou to make fun of you for hanging out by the candy and pining after a Vampire when you could have done something about it? Absolutely not. Tenya was cute, you both liked candy corn, and how cute would this story be to tell when people asked you how you started dating?
Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself, but you were gonna go for it.
You turned on your heel and walked back over to Tenya. You dug one hand into your bag, digging through it until your hand closed around what felt like a pen, and thankfully was a pen when you pulled it out to take a look. You took Iida by the wrist, pulling his hand close to you, and clicked the pen so you could scribble your name and number across his palm.
“This is my number. Let me know the next time you’re free, and maybe sometime before next Halloween we can go get some candy corn together and not have it end up on the floor,” you said, drawing a little heart underneath your number. You looked up at him and smiled, and you were happy to see his mouth hanging slightly open as he looked down at his hand. You squeezed his wrist once before you let it go. Uncle Taishiro called your name again, and you waved at the boy in front of you before turning around and following your uncles out of the party. You kept that big smile on your face the entire time, and pretended you didn’t notice the looks your uncles were giving each other behind you.
Yeah, Halloween was definitely your favourite time of year.
#iida tenya x reader#tenya iida x reader#tenya x reader#iida x reader#bnha#bnha fic#bnha scenarios#bnha imagines#bnha x reader#my hero academia#my hero academia fic#my hero academia imagines#my hero academia scenarios#mha#mha imagines#mha fic#mha scenarios
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The Trieste Venture (Part 2 - Mourning the Lenin)
GAME CANON VERSION: The second part of the rewritten Trieste Story Quest. I wish they had added more of the emotional stuff for the MC. I don’t think it would have been hard. They had like, some nice elements. They just didn’t use them well or not at all. Below the Cut!
You watched those lung snails slowly swallow Caesar and Chu Zihang like a mudslide, while you sat with this bloodless coward in the cockpit.
The lung snail attached to the Lenin's outer wall probably weighed several hundred tons, and could kill a man if it hit him. Chu Zihang was trying to climb towards Caesar, but he was further away from the nuclear power module than Caesar was. He was carried askew by the currents when he fell into the lung snail pile, and his landing point was not as good as Caesar's. According to the instructions for use, the suit can only support five minutes and is used to repair the shell of the deep submersible if necessary, but now Caesar's suit has been outside for seven minutes, and Chu's has been out for two minutes. Caesar is unconscious, and Chu Zihang's vitals are getting worse and worse. He is relying on blood rage to support himself, but the effect of blood rage in this extreme environment is also unknown.
The chances are getting smaller and smaller. The Chu Zihang in his spherical submersible is still paddling his arms in the pile of lung snails. He understands that he is doing his best. He’s obviously the kind of person who is not too concerned about anything, but as long as he has any strength left, if there is even a glimmer of hope, he will not let it go.
Chu Zihang finally broke through the lung snails in front of him and grabbed the handrail behind Caesar's suit. He tried to use a strap to tether the Caesar’s submersible to his suit, but how the two suits are joined side by side and this is a big problem.
Your rage has gone and left you feeling empty inside as you watched. It wasn’t like the heart-pounding explosions, the gunshots and the desperate screams of the dying at Black Swan Bay. This seemed cold, clinical and distant. The cabin was completely silent while you watched them struggle.
There was no need for you to be here. Caesar and Zihang were absolutely wrong. There was something you could do.
You slip off the headset and take off the seatbelt.
“Not you too! What am I supposed to do?” Lu Mingfei cried.
Because Caesar and Zihang would live, they would be able to provide him with instructions. That was a fact. So there was no need to say anything to Lu Mingfei or answer his questions.
“There are only two suits. You’ll die if you go out there!” He protested.
“That’s the point.” Because Lu Mingfei meant nothing to you, and his feelings didn’t matter, it was easy enough to say what was in your heart.
“Really? Suicide?!” He whimpered. But, just as you expected, he was too weak and cowardly to stop you. He didn’t even move to unbuckle his seatbelt.
“You’ll understand later. I’ll be back with them.” You stepped into the cockpit hatch and shut it. Inside, you could hear the rushing of the ocean over the vessel. It reminded you of the time you fell into the ocean after being pushed there by your dear friend. You’d survived extreme ocean conditions before.
You close your eyes to focus. In your mind, swirling serpents appear in a vision. They part to reveal flaming golden eyes.
“Wait!” Lu Mingfei’s fists are pounding on the hatch. Your eyes are golden, your pupils have turned to vertical slits, and large blue-black veins are crawling up your neck and face followed by bright golden scales. Because you were going to die, it didn’t matter if you died like a monster. With this strength, with Blood Rage, you could live, just like the mermaids lived. From within the hatch, your heart beat loud like a drum. In a single inhale, you sucked the air. When you opened the hatch, the water rushed in, pressed in on you and forced that breath out of you. The water was pitch black, but you could see just fine.
More and more mermaids crawl out of the ground, creeping and swimming, reminiscent of millions of earthworms crawling from the mud in spring. A huge crack appeared, cutting lengthwise into the long river of lava. Hundreds and thousands of tons of lava gushed into the crack. Something huge struggled in the lava, its scales black, its dorsal crest bearing barbed bone spikes, black metal hooks piercing its muscles, locking it firmly under the rubble. But the metal hooks were just barely able to restrain it, and it lashed the ground furiously with its thick tail. The buildings that still stood collapsed in pieces, with metal fragments floating up with the gravel, forming a blinding fog in the sea.
But that wasn't the worst of it. What looked like swarms of fireflies were flying out of that chasm!
It was those ghost-toothed dragon vipers! They had first appeared further up from the trench, but no one had expected the ruins to be their nest. The dragon vipers poured out like silvery bands of light in the sea water. They were not interested in small things like lung snails or corpse guards, but gradually closed in on the struggling Caesar and Chu Zihang. Your mind explodes in a rage. You remembered what Chu Zihang and Caesar said: the ghost tooth dragon viper gathered in groups and chewed the bronze pillar to eat. They can secrete strong acidic mucus, and chewed metal with their horrible teeth. Can the titanium-magnesium alloy used to make men’s equipment stand up to the dragon viper's teeth?
You weren’t about to let them find out. The Dragonblood in your body was surging and you let out an inhuman cry, a cross being a baby’s cry when it is first born and a wildcat’s scream. Your body powers forward, undulating like a dolphin, knowing how to swim like this even though you weren’t built like a mermaid. The dragon vipers didn’t know you, but your fierce charge marked you as an opponent and, for a moment, they instinctively changed course as one school, spinning away from you.
Caesar and Chu Zihang couldn't run, they were completely trapped in a pile of lung snails. Chu let go of Caesar, plucked the lung snails in front of him, and headed for the nuclear power module. Apparently, he had heard your scream and understood the situation at hand. He was trying to see if he could fire up the nuclear pods before the dragon vipers pounced and tore into them, but all he knew was that the code had something to do with Nono's birthday.
The swarm has come back around, this time in even greater numbers. The urge to survive is pushing your blood rage to higher levels and now you don’t even think twice about focusing on the group and lashing out with claws, slicing the fish open neatly, blood and entrails filling the water.
The viperfish are not above cannibalism and this throws the swarm into a frenzy, biting into their wounded brethren and occasionally taking chunks out of healthy fish who are then rendered skeletons in an instant. The feeding frenzy doesn’t go unnoticed and more viperfish are coming. You cry out from the sharp pain of one latching onto your foot. You dislodge it, but the numbers of fish are starting to over take your ability to fight and those on the outer edges of the school suddenly turn their attention back to Chu Zihang and Caesar.
Fortunately, the toughness of titanium-magnesium alloy is far more than bronze, so these small things they have to bite very hard.. Chu Zihang is exhausted, he is still less than 5 meters away from the nuclear power module, but his metal prosthetic limbs have broken, he can not enter the passcode. You want to save them, but the moment you turn away from the school of viperfish, they pounce on you, biting at you like gigantic mosquitos! You start to realize that you might not rescue Caesar and Zihang after all, that maybe… just maybe you wouldn’t be enough…
Again.
The spherical figure suddenly stood up. It was Caesar, who had been unconscious! His pupils burned brightly, and he used metal prosthetics to crush the dragon viper attached to his body. With the power of a rock driller, he plucked away layer after layer of lung snails. He passed Chu Zihang step by step, approaching the nuclear power module. You’re stunned for a moment and then you feel a sudden thrill, like the sudden excitement of descending the first hill on a rollercoaster!
Your body really is moving on its own. You slice through the fish like a blender, claws ripping, teeth tearing. Scales floated through the water like it was glittering confetti for New Years Day at Times Square! They turn to bite back but you’re too fast, zipping through the school with such power they were forced to part ways or get bludgeoned to the side by your own body. You’re lost in the amazing power of it. Was this you? Was this happening? You’re laughing, but you don’t feel breathless! How was this happening? What was happening? Your mind was screaming with giddy joy, but you’re not sure where this is coming from. It was as if you were on some sort of high from a powerful drug and your conscious mind was taking a back seat.
Caesar was a little drowsy, slowly entering the code. A confirmation of success! The nuclear power module reignited, the cadmium rod recovered neutron density and rose. This time it wouldn't go into safe mode. It really became a nuclear bomb. Caesar turned around and grabbed Chu Zihang who was struggling in the pile of lung snails, and removed the lead dive weights from their suits. The weight was reduced and they immediately surfaced, taking with them the ghost-toothed dragon vipers that were biting at them.
You follow them into the pressurized cabin as door began to fill with water, followed by drainage, when the pressure in the pressurized cabin returned to the same as in the cockpit, Lu Mingfei could not wait to pull open the pressure door.
You were a mess of half human, half servitor and bitten a thousand times. As the strange power left you, you found yourself unable to stand any more and slipped to the floor. The pain was unbearable as your muscles and bones reminded you that even though you couldn’t feel it in your moment rapture, they were working beyond their limits. The strains, sprains, bites and bruises crashed into your mind all at once. It hurt so much you couldn’t even cry, only gape wordlessly.
“Get Caesar! I’ll take care of her!” Chu Zihang had already shed his spherical suit. He drew his blade and brought it down hard against the dragon fish that were still clinging to it, beheading them as neat as a sushi master. He then left for a few seconds and returned with the injection that was supposed to save you. Still, he held that bright blade against your throat just in case. You didn’t even feel the needle only the serum’s burning course through your veins.
“It’s okay…” You tell him. He didn’t have to try to save you. In fact, you don’t know why you even came back to the submersible. You were just following the natural order of events and you felt fine. Why did you bother coming back? You were supposed to die out there. That was the plan, right?
Chu Zihang held your hand up and examined it. Little by little, the scales and black veins were starting to retreat, albeit, slower than he would have liked. “Stay in here, I’ll bring a first aid kit.”
"What the hell kind of fucking fish is this!" Lu Mingfei was screaming. You watch as he takes the fire extinguisher and sprays the fish still clinging to Caesar’s suit with it. Even though they were powered by Dragonblood, they still needed oxygen to live. The foam sapped them of that oxygen and they dropped off Caesar’s suit. Turned out that Raccoon Boy as good for something after all.
A bump attracts your attention. Through the inches thick glass, you see that the gold scaled mermaids are flying past you in a swifter river than before, streaming upwards. Chu Zihang returns, carrying a blanket and pulling on a roll of bandages with his teeth.
“Hey is she alright? Do you need help?” Lu Mingfei asks, with approaching footsteps.
“Stay out there! Tell me what’s going on outside!”
You finally look down and see that your clothes have been near completely shredded save a bit around your waist and neck.. Chu Zihang was kneeling in front of you to obscure you from Mingfei’s view.
A wall of flames rose slowly from the side of the Trieste, and the sound of thunder resounded in the depths of the trench. Rivers of magma erupted! Millions of tons of magma spurted out of the chasm! The magma was golden red when it was newly ejected, before gradually solidifying and turning black, rising to about half a kilometer before it completely solidified, forming a giant black wall, and the seawater next to it instantly vaporized, as if a million thunderstorms had exploded continuously at the bottom of the sea. The Treiste and the mermaid hybrids were only a few hundred meters away from the wall of lava, and there were still streams of lava spewing from below. The newly solidified volcanic rocks above had begun to fall. So the mermaids gave up the attack and started to flee again. Even these things can't help but be afraid in front of a huge disaster, and it's obvious that when the lava wall collapses, everything will be destroyed.
From the beginning, they fled not because they were afraid of the nuclear power module, but because they sensed the eruption of the volcano under the sea.
Chu Zihang finished bandaging your wounds and covered you with the blanket. He then picked you up and carried you to your seat to strap you in. "It’s already too late to call the Sumeru. We have to accelerate away. Mingfei, you control the rudder and stabilizing wing. In a few moments the nuclear power module will explode. We must reach beyond a safe distance!"
"But we have no power! We've already lost the nuclear power module! Just the lithium batteries aren't fast enough!" Lu Mingfei was dumbfounded.
"I'm an engine too." Chu Zihang strapped himself firmly into the seat.
His golden pupils burned up, and the four walls of the cockpit were illuminated in gold as heat waves reverberated through the air.
Royal Fire erupted! Swirls of black flame appeared in the seawater below the submersible. It was the most concentrated state of the Royal Flame, with internal temperatures of several thousand degrees, yet not a trace of heat was escaping. The black vortex slowly rotated in the seawater for a second and then collapsed. The heat leaked out. The huge amount of seawater was instantly vaporized. The swirling white steam stream roared in the deep sea. The water vapor and the flame were entangled and swirled together to create a flaming vortex!
You were all starting to rise! Even though the rock wall was collapsing around you, the Trieste brushed past the falling debris. You’re holding your breath hoping that you wouldn’t end up buried anyway.
You stared at the screen. The screen is an external camera shot of the Takamagahara. The scene was solemn and magnificent. The ruins are slowly sliding along the tilted sea bed into the lava river, the last buildings gradually tilting and crumbling, high towers snapped off, thousands of bells rolling in the streets of the city. You feel that at the moment they play sad music like the song sung by desperate birds. A small mountain of volcanic rocks fell from above, spewing out lava as they splashed in the ruins. Lava was converging into small rivers along the streets, as if cleaning the city with flames. Tides of magma from the fissures swallowed up more and more of the ground. Certain shattered pieces of land disappeared forever into the rivers of lava, and soon with the sun-bright explosion of the nuclear powerhouse, Takamagahara was lost to the world forever.
The Lenin slid along the tilted foundations, its huge hull collapsing countless buildings along the way and rolling into the magma. The embryo inside did not struggle, and the Lenin floated in the lava for a few moments before gradually sinking. The fractured metal tower rolled over and smashed into its middle, destroying its bridge. The high temperature burned the fleshy layer covering the Lenin, exposing the carbide red five-star of Soviet Russia on the bow, which was the last to sink. By now the Trieste was far from the depths of the trench, and the bright river of lava in view was fading.
It was just a ship, but it was one of the last remaining memories of your past. You remembered anticipating the visit of this ship every Christmas with its gifts of chocolate for Vera and vodka for Herzog, new clothes and shoes for you. Up until now, when you thought of your past, you thought of a terrible end. The blood and the fire and the smoke. You shed no tears then.
But watching the ship and the city sink irretrievably, it finally hits you that everything happy is gone. Gone is the ship and its presents, burned forever and it was never going to arrive again.
You hold the blanket against your reddening face and stain it with your tears, all your sorrow bursting out an a flood.
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City of the Living Dead
Chapter 6
"September 28, 2:30 am... It's down to just me and 3 others. No weapons...no ammo...and too many skirmishes have drained us mentally and physically. We're not gonna make it... Officer Phillips once suggested we escape through the sewers. Apparently, there's a secret tunnel under this place left over from its museum days. I brushed her idea off before, but now, it's not sounding all that bad. Yeah, there's no proof there's even a tunnel or that the sewers aren't infested with zombies, but I don't wanna sit here and wait to die, either. It's a long shot, but I'm gonna try to find out what I can about that tunnel... Elliot Edward," you read, "Shit. Rest in peace, buddy." You placed the transcript back to where you found it and proceeded in scanning the room you and Leon were in.
It was an office of some sort with mahogany desks occupying the center, swivel chairs pointing towards every direction, some paperworks piled in a stack and some (or rather most) cluttered all over the tables and floor. It looked like a hurricane together with an earthquake and a tsunami clashed and crashed in the area.
"Leon, w-" your head twisted and turned as you looked for best friend and even called out to him when you found him just staring at something on the ceiling, his trembling lips pinned in between pearly-white teeth, eyebrows furrowed upwards, and eyes looking like a dam was about to breakdown because of too much pressure. You went towards where he was standing and followed his gaze. You gasped. He was looking at stringed triangle banners with letters printed out on each of them
WEL COME
LEON
Your face began to mirror Leon's but a pained smile differentiated yours from his as a sudden rush of memory enlightened your brain. "Hey, look, the design's the same as the banner I surprised you with when we were 15," you said, raising an arm to point at the triangular flags.
Leon chuckled softly at what you said and nodded while a sneaky tear flowed down his cheek in a tiny stream. "Yeah."
"Come on, Leon! I worked hard for this." You hauled on your friend's wrist and led him towards his room with a strain as Leon's languor held him back.
"This better be good, Y/N. You fucking woke me up and I'm really close to fucking strangling you." His voice was a little hoarse from having just woken up right before you pulled him off of the couch and he was still lowkey tired because of the three-hour rest he had last night, but as much as he wanted to throw you out of his house and fall into a well-deserved slumber again, he was into surprises and was curious as to what you had in store. So, he went along with it even though he was pretty much a sloth still.
"I promise you'll love it." You chortled.
Leon sighed in defeat before loosening up and letting you pull him towards where you wanted to take him for this so-called surprise with a rub of his crusty eyes.
When a familiar door came into view in front of you, you covered Leon's eyes with one of your hands and twisted the door knob, revealing a bedroom with a banner hovering over Leon's messy bed, before lightly pushing him inside.
"All right, here we are," you spoke as you removed your hand from your face, moving right beside him to watch Leon's face as it shifted from being enraptured to crestfallen real quick. You guffawed in a boisterous way at his reaction and plummeted down to the ground whilst clutching your stomach in a joyful pain.
YOU SUCK
LEON
"Really, Y/N? This-this is what you wanted to show me?"
"It's true though, you actually suck!"
"Come on, you know you only won in Street Fighter because I let you," he whined. You stood up from being laid on the floor before clutching onto Leon's shoulder for dear life.
"For 20 times? Really?" You laughed again, "nah, you just suck, bro."
Leon narrowed his eyes at you with lips pressing tightly in a thin line and turned towards you, his feet moving slowly in tandem as he approach you with a spurious anger, his hands closing into fists.
"What?" You asked with a nervous chuckle and feet backing up in rhythm with his laggard advances.
"You think I suck?" His voice imitated a dark tone. Had you not been slightly scared - which you hated to admit - you would've busted a gut at how ridiculous it sounded.
"I mean, yeah, it's already said in the banner, dimwitt."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Hell yeah!"
"Well, let's see who sucks now!"
Welp, that's my cue!
You dodged Leon's attack by the skin of your teeth, stumbling on a stupid pencil for a bit, before proceeding to run around the house to avoid Leon's "spider fingers" as you call it and making a tiny bit of a mess. However, your luck has gone away and he eventually caught you when you accidentally tripped over the leg of a chair, throwing you into his bed and tickling each spot that would make you squirm and and laugh.
"I still suck, huh?"
"N-no, fine...y-you don't...s-suck," you cried in between heavy breaths and hysterics. Satisfied with your remark, Leon stopped his fingers from moving and plopped down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before he pulled you closer to his body and spooned you. "You still couldn't win yesterday though."
"Yeah, well, I know a million ways to win your heart though."
"Fuck off, Le-le." Leon tsked at the nickname.
"Y/N, that sounds awful as fuck."
"Whatever." You felt his lashes kiss the nape of your neck as he closed his eyes to give them another four hours of rest, your own following afterwards when you heard Leon's muffled voice vibrate against your shirt.
"Hey, you wanna be my date for homecoming?"
"I thought you already asked Lexee to be your date."
"Dante already asked her out, so..."
"Okay, fine, I'll be your date." You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers with his and smiling when you felt him kiss your hair.
"Thanks, Y/N. Good night."
"It's 10 in the morning, dumba-"
"Shh... Rock-a-bye baby..."
"You do suck though." You light-heartedly nudged Leon's side and wrinkled your eyes in a grin, chuckling when he returned the gesture with a titter.
"I really don't," he retorted back.
"Sure." You took his hand in yours and gently squeezed it in a comforting way to ease the two of you before placing a feather's kiss on the back of it. "Come on, we still have a job to do."
*****
Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment.
Your mission is...to unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names. Input the letters in order of our desks.
There are 2 locks- 1 on each side of your desk. Make sure you get them both.
Basically, your first task is to remember your fellow officers' names, but you figured that much out, right?
Good luck, Leon.
By the way, it might take a little work to get Scott to give you a straight answer.
Lieutenant Branagh
Scrawled in a corner between drops of blood on the paper was an additional note the lieutenant had written while he and his fellow officers were isolated and trapped, and it read:
Be glad you're not here, rookie.
"Remember your fellow officers' names..."
"I think that means the initials of my supposedly co-workers' names should be the password to open these locks on my desk." Leon stood up from where he was knelt down on the floor and casted around from desk to desk, unlocking the padlocks on his table and claiming the prize after accomplishing his "first assignment" - a magazine for his beloved Matilda.
You smiled when Leon pulled out the gun he's had since the beginning of his adult years, another retention reminding you of the peaceful days you once had before you started walking right into confusion.
Matilda was a gift Leon's father had given him on his 18th birthday, a few months before he died of cancer. He was happy about it, and knowing how his family had supported his decision on him becoming a cop, his heart fluttered inside and he couldn't be more grateful about it. Leon held onto it everyday, even becoming a bit hesitant about leaving it behind whenever he went to school. And when his father passed away because of said illness, he grasped onto the weapon the same way he did when his dad was still alive, if not more.
"Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday, Leon... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!"
Leon's cheeks stretched in an almost painful way as everyone erupted into cheers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Each person was wearing cone-shaped hats and the living room was decorated with different ornaments colored in his favorite hues. His family was there and so were his friends, and oh, how could he almost forget...
It was his 18th birthday!
"So, what do you think?" You spoke from behind him. He turned around to see you smiling like an idiot and tugging on the string of a party you picked up from the floor.
"This," he began. "This is amazing! Wh-"
"Well, son, the candle's almost melting. Wanna make a wish?" Leon's dad emerged from behind the small crowd with a three-layered cake balanced on top of his palms. The icing of the pastry was blue, edible police-related finishing touches garnished it with such perfection he almost didn't want to eat it for the sake of admiring and staring at the cake, and a single candle formed into the number 18 as an emphasis to his recent age was placed on top with a tiny flame dancing around in the air. Leon closed his eyes and wished for the best before blowing the candle, watching as the fire disappeared into a swirling smoke. Everyone rejoiced once again.
When voices had began dying down one by one, Leon's father called his name and picked up a box from underneath the table after placing the cake down where it wouldn't fall down.
"Leon, you're going to be attending the police academy soon and in the next few years you'll be the cop you always wanted. So, as a gift, I give you this gun." He opened the rectangular cardboard box where a gun laid and presented it to his child, Leon's eyes sparkling in delight at his very own weapon. "I know you'll be taking good care of Matilda."
"Matilda?" Leon asked in confusion.
"You know, like, Mathilda from Leon: The Professional," his dad replied. Leon chuckled in response before he carefully took the gun out of its container, still a bit iffy about touching it.
"I'll be taking good care of this, dad."
"I know you will."
"You still have that gun?" You spoke as you gestured towards his firearm.
"Yep, she still looks good as new. I didn't want to break my promise," Leon responded. He turned his gun around to show you just how much he kept it safe like a mother would to a child. Your E/C orbs twinkled in admiration, a feeling in your heart you had kept for a very long time flittering in a joyous manner for the first time since you last saw him.
"Nothing's really changed, huh?"
"I don't want to change anything for now...especially now that you're back here with me."
*****
So, I found this image on google and an idea suddenly popped into my head lmao.
Anyway, WE'RE BACK! I was busy in school blah blah blah. I think yall know that already.
#leonkennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy imagines#leon s kennedy x reader#leonxreader#leon kennedy x you#resident evil#residentevil2#resident evil fanfic#leon kennedy#leon kennedy fanfic
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Funtime Freddy x reader chapter 2 - Danger
Hello my peeps. FINALLY I finished my 2nd part of that fanfiction. Jesus. After nearly two years! But here it is. And this time my gf helped me once more. So please check her out @thefredricus ! Again, I hope I can finish off that fanfiction!First part-.> https://creeperchild.tumblr.com/post/177130218435/funtime-freddy-x-reader-chapter-1-the-encounter
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(y/n) = your name
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You hold yourself tight and close to Freddy as he leads you through the dark establishment. Rustling of metal and the sound of steps echoe from all around you. Freddy turns to you, his sapphire eyes bright in the pure darkness.
"Are you okay?" He asks, worried as his hand holds your hand a tad tighter. You could only answer with a short "yes" and you both continue to walk. Soon he stops and some sort of beeping noise can be heard. A door opens and a bright shine greets you. Funtime Freddy can only smile as he pulls you into the room with him. Apparently the bright light is a lamp that dangles from the ceiling, but it doesn’t illuminate much of the room. The bear lets go of your hand and starts to wave a bit while chuckling:
"H~Hello friends! I have brought you somebody!" With that he steps aside, offering the darkness to glare at you. You stare back for a moment. A feminine voice echoes out of the darkness.
"You must be new... am I right?" You nod slowly. A huge shadow piles up in front of you. You step back in fear and stumble over a wire and you fall on your butt. The mysterious shadow walks closer and finally steps into the light.
It is a girl-like animatronic with orange hair, put in two pigtails. Her white face is beautiful with her rosy cheeks and the bright smile on her lips. But in this situation it is rather creepy. She is wearing a red dress and clown shoes, fitting to the rest of her looks. She kneels down and puts her hands on her knees, getting a bit closer to you. You crawl back and press against the wall as you watch her, breathing heavily. From the corner of your eye you notice two shadows coming out of the darkness as well. One is a fox, a rather female looking one because of its fingernails and lipstick. A big tail waves slowly from side to side behind it. The other shadow is a person you already met. It is the ballerina from yesterday. You cringe at the awkward memory of kicking her in the face. The animatronic in front of you leans closer and speaks in a calm and slightly threatening voice:
"You will not scoop us...will you?" Her green eyes wander over you. She stares for a while at your hurt wrist. You stay quiet and try to calm down as much as you can. You don’t want to admit it, but you are really creeped out now. The girl moves a bit closer and asks the same question again and accentuate the "will you?" You realise you have to answer and shake your head. The girl closes her eyes and sighs.
"Anyways...", she stands up "my name is Circus Baby, but just call me Baby."
"My name is Funtime Foxy. Nice to meet you!", the fox bows down and smiles at you. You can tell by the old-timey and deep voice that the fox is indeed a male. The ballerina walks slowly to you, every step perfectly placed as if she is on stage.
"And I'm Ballora and I think that belongs to you." She hands you the shoe that you lost. Guilt fills your eyes when you stand up. As you take the shoe you start to stutter an apology for yesterday. But before you complete the first words she interrupts you.
"It is fine. Everybody makes mistakes." She gives you a warm smile.
"So...what is your name?", Baby asks curiously. You hesitate before answering:
"(y-y/n)." You put your lost shoe back on where it belongs.
Baby grabs you all of a sudden by the neck and presses you against the wall. You struggle for air, but the strong metallic hand keeps you in one place. Baby slowly leans down and speaks, still in her soft and calm voice.
"And if you dare to betray us...(y/n).. then this will be your end...", she tightens her grip as she speaks. Her eyes pierce through your soul as she stares down on you. She slightly opens her hand to give you the chance to breathe. Choking for air you nod slightly. Then, we you least expect it, Freddy jumps into the situation by throwing confetti in the air and Bonbon blowing a party whistle.
" We have a new friend!!" Freddy happily exclaims. Baby rolls her eyes and finally lets go of you. You drop down onto your knees and gasp for air. This time the fox speaks to Freddy:
"Pardòn Freddy, but don't you need to take care of the power system?"
"Oh god! I forgot! I’m gonna be right back!" With those words the bear runs out of the room. Baby grabs you once more, but this time your wrist. You wince in pain as the clown girl examines the bruise. "You must be lucky...", whispers Baby as she runs her thick metal thumb over the wrist. Looking at her confused, not knowing what to say, you decide to stay silent. The girl lets out a sigh.
“You don't know what I mean, right? Let's just say.. .Funtime Freddy can be a bit... extreme. Every person that came into his room where dead or in the hospital for nearly 8 months, but only if you are lucky enough." Your eyes widen in shock as you gulp your saliva down.
"It's 6 am. We need to go now.", Ballora said. All of the animatronics walks out of the room, but not Baby. She turns around one last time.
"Be careful with Freddy... one wrong move and it could be your demise...".
Now you sit all alone in the empty room. Slowly but surely you go back to the main room after the lights got turned on again. Ballora's gallery is HUGE. It takes a while, but you find your oh so familiar vent and make your way through. You stand up, brush the dust off of you and press the red button for the elevator. It takes a while before the rusty thing even bothers to move for you. Something tugs gently on your shirt. You slowly turn around and jump by the sight of Freddy.
"Oh! sorry if I scared you..!". He sounds rather nervous and shy as he continues:
" I~I just wanted to tell you... you..."
"We like you alot, (y/n)!", Bonbon bursts out. Funtime Freddy immediately turns his head away, to hide his blushing face. You stare at Freddy for a while as he slowly drops his head down, ashamed. Baby's words came back into your mind. 'Be careful with Freddy' was now stuck in your thoughts. You didn't want to anger him for sure. So you did what was best for you: forced a smile and hugged him!
"I like you too," you lie to the bear and hide your fear for him as best as you can. He hugs you tight and relief washes over you. Suddenly you feel some small hits on the right side of your back. Apparently Freddy hugs you so tight that he presses Bonbon's face into your back who also now struggles to get air and flails his tiny arms against your back for the hope to live.
"MPHHHH!"
Freddy quickly pulls away from you as he notices his friend is dying. Bonbon inhales deeply as he got the chance. Finally the elevator arrives and opens the doors for you to enter. "Y-you come bac~back tonight, right?"Hope glimmers in his eyes when he asks the question. You nod and the doors close quickly after you step into it, sending you back to the surface. Freddy watches until you disappear into the huge tubes of the lift. He bursts into a loud cackle and bounces up and down like an excited school kid, celebrating what he just achieved.
"Bonbon, SHE LIKES US!", the white bear squeals in excitement. Bonbon can’t help himself and squeals with him.
"I KNOW RIGHT!?"
"I h~have an idea. We should give her a surp~prise when she comes back!"
You open the door to your house just to find your curious mom waiting for your arrival.
"Good morning, (y/n)! How was your first night shift?" Your mom smiles happily. A sigh escapes you before you plop down into a chair opposite of hers.
"It was okay, I guess." You don’t say much and just watch your mom stir her coffee with a spoon. Finally daylight breaks through the windows and lights up the big, white and sparkly clean kitchen. It is quiet for awhile.
"So..anything interesting happened?" Your mother doesn’t want to give up apparently. She triggers all the memories of the events that happened last night. Everything flashes through your mind. The blackout. The Animatronics. Especially Freddy comes to your mind. The head of yours lowers down as you see your bruised arm again. Holding back the burning need to cry you stutter out:" No, nothing happened. I'm just tired and want to go to bed." Before your mom can say anything you are already running upstairs to your room.
You quickly slip into your room and lock the door behind you. Warm tears burn against your cold face. You feel weak and alone. You crawl under the blanket in your bed and close your eyes in the hope that everything was just a bad dream. 'Why do I have such bad luck? Why are there living animatronics?? Why is Freddy like that?? Will I die..?'
Before you know it, you doze off.
A loud knocking throws you out of your sleep.
"(y/n)? Are you awake?" It was your small brother as much as you can tell in your state. "What do you want?" You groan. Your brother snaps at you: "Dinner is ready, you buttface!" Loud and uneven footsteps can be heard as he makes his way downstairs. You sit up and stretch a bit to get rid of the tiredness. A sigh escapes you as the surrounding clears up to you. Your pink and cutesy room was always a thorn in your eye. The walls are in a pastel pink with some old horse designs on them. You asked, even begged your mom for a wallpaper change. But she always refused. You will always be her little princess. Luckily you covered the embarrassment with posters of bands, movies and games you love. At least, most of it. You jump out of your bed and head downstairs. The family is already there, waiting for you. You sit down on the only free chair and grab some food. As your family has a funny conversation about their favorite Tv show you don’t say much and stare down at your plate.
"All okay?" The dad of yours asks, worried. You said nothing, afraid to tell him the truth.
"Nothing, it's all okay.", you finally reply.
The rest of the day you mindlessly watch Tv to get rid of those horrible thoughts.
But before you know it, it is time again. You reluctantly get up and slowly but surely prepare yourself for the night shift. You grab some clothes and head to the shower. Fighting with your own thoughts, you decide to go back to your job, because you desperately need the money. The refreshing shower helps you clear your thoughts a litte. After you dress yourself you get your backpack and stuff it with various items you might need. A flashlight, some drinks and snacks, your telephone and a handy toolbox. In front of the mirror you put your hair in a ponytail. [If you have short hair then just ignore it.]
"Sweetheart, it's already passed half twelve! You gotta go now or you will be late!!" Your mom yells from downstairs. You don't even know why she is still up so late, but you don't bother too much to ask. The door squeak as you exit your safe house.
After the long bike ride of 20 minutes you finally see the sketchy building. It is barely visible because of the lack of street lights close by. You close your eyes for a moment to take a deep breath before you enter it. With fast steps, you go to the lift and close the doors. This time, you have a plan to survive. Just block off the vents and you'll be fine, right? HandUnit is quiet today, too quiet for your taste. The lights flicker as the elevator reaches the bottom floor. You get out and lower yourself to crawl through the vent. The space is a bit tighter, since you have your backpack on. Finally, you slip out of that stupid vent. You throw your bag onto the table and search for the toolbox inside of it. Strangely enough you feel like being watched. So you turn around and you figure you aren't wrong. Your body freezes as you see blue eyes piercing through the window in the darkness of Ballora's gallery, staring directly at you. You feel how your heart beats faster and faster. Sweat runs down your face as you feel how your body gets weaker. The illuminating eyes goes down for some reason and the sound of something, or someone in the vents can be heard.
"No no NO!" You cry out as your panic goes through the ceiling. Quickly, you examine the room for something to save you. The only hope would be if you pull the table in front of the vent to block it off. So you grab the side of the table tight and pull with all your might. It won't budge even if you try your best. A moment of silence passes before a voice speaks.
"What are you doing?"
You sharply gasp as you turn around to look who the voice belongs to.
The blue eyes peer out of the vent to Ballora's room.
"O-Oh n-nothing", you mumble out as you press against the table. The creature's white arm shoots out of the vent to pull itself out of it. A pink snout can be seen and then a head. It's Funtime Freddy who forced himself into the metallic vent and ended up in the room with you. The bear stands up and brushes the dust off his also pink belly. Bonbon waves at you a bit before Freddy steps closer to you without saying anything. He stretches his arm out to grab you, but you avoid his grasp by dodging it. You crawl on top of the table and accidently kick your backpack down. Funtime's eyes are locked onto you as he gets dangerously close. You curl up on the desk and wait for your death. But when Freddy puts his foots down, he hears a crunching noise and stops dead in his tracks. He lifts it up to see what he stepped on. A bag of chips lays on the ground. He blinks.
"What is..?" Freddy mutters to himself as he picks it up and studies it with his eyes.
"Chips.", you say.
"C~Chips... what are chips?" His faceplates shift as he ask. Totally overwhelmed that this robot never heard of chips you raise an eyebrow in question.
" Well it’s something to eat!" The bear’s eyes light up like christmas lights. The bunny squeals in excitement.
" We only have pizza down here!"
"And cupcakes, ice cream and cake!", the bear adds. "Can we try them, plleeeeeeaaase?", Freddy pleads while making big eyes to convince you. "O-of course..!" Forcing a smile on your lips as you say it.
The animatronic hands you the bag of chips and sits down on the table, making it squeak. Surprisingly it doesn’t break down by his weight. The smell of the potato chips hits you as you open the bag. Freddy curiously tilts his head to the side like a puppy and you shake the bag to encourage him to grab some. The bear slightly peeks inside before he decides to grab a chip. He studies it closely, viewing it from every angle before taking a bite. The fresh chip crunches while he chews on it. Freddy's eyes grow big.
"Oh my gosh...THAT I~IS AMAZING!!" He immediately takes a handful more and shoves the chips in his mouth.
" I want some too!" Bonbon shouts in excitement, clapping his hands. You smile slightly as you lean the bag towards him. The small bunny slips inside the bag to get some of the new found salty goodness. He struggles a bit before he gets some of the chips and tries them too. It is kinda cute how that small bunny tries to shove a whole chip in his tiny mouth while Freddy stuffs his face with handful of chips. As well as Freddy, Bonbon enjoyed the taste of the junk food.
"They are really good! I want more!" You decide to give them the whole bag and watch them eat. It doesn’t take them too long to finish it off.
"You guys want to try more stuff?" You ask. Both of them nod quickly as Freddy licks his fingers. You jump off the table and grab your bag to pull out the goodies you got for them. A chocolate bar, some cheese balls, Oreos and other fat-making snacks. The animatronics get really excited as they see the new and colorful packages. It is weird how Freddy can be creepy in one moment and in the other a super sweet teddy bear. The bear grabs the chocolate bar.
"What is that?"
"Chocolate!" You answer. " Humans love to eat chocolate!" He hands you the bar which you open quickly. You want to see how they react to that so you give both of them a whole row of the chocolate bar. All three of you take a bite. You close your eyes and enjoy the taste of the chocolate that melts in your mouth.
All of a sudden you hear a strange sound. You open your eyes to see where its coming from. A slight blush creeps over your cheeks as you realize it is Freddy who started to purr.
His eyes are closed while being completely relaxed. He is also swinging his legs back and forth in the air. You watch him quietly for a while. He looks so peaceful right now. Even a bit adorable. Bonbon chews quickly on his piece of chocolate like a real bunny and notices your stare. He immediately pokes Freddy's cheek to make him aware too. His cheeks turn bright red when he notices you.
"Well, (y/n), we have something for you too!" The bunny chuckles.
"Y-Yeah we have…” Freddy adds while mumbling under his breath. He extends his shaky hand to you and accepts the fact that he is still blushing like crazy. His embarrassed face makes you smile slightly as you take the offer and put your hand in his. His fingers gently close around your hand as he stands up. He leads you to the vent where he came from.
You crawl in first and Freddy directly after you. You wonder how Freddy can even fit through the vent if you already have problems with it. Finally, you enter Ballora's gallery and stretch out your body. The bear struggles out of the vent and quickly stands up. You feel how his hand grabs yours gently and pulls you behind him as he enters the abyssal room.
The only thing you can see are some dim lights far away. The familiar tune from yesterday. Funtime Freddy stopped.
"Oh h~hello Ballora!" The music stops as the female animatronic speaks up.
"Oh, hello Freddy. I didn't hear you coming..." Two eyes light up in front of Freddy.
"[y/n], it's nice to see you too today. I am glad you came back...!" You can’t say much but wave slightly at her. You are still creeped out by this place. Alot.
"I have to go now Ballora! I need to show [y/n] a surprise!", mentions the bear before he walks past Ballora, with you behind him. You both finally reach the breaker room. With the creaking of the door, he drags you into the room. The, oh, so familiar place with the wires where you first met the crazy bear. But there is something different this time. You immediately notice a big, white box on the floor in front of you, adorned with a red ribbon. It’s a present!
"TADAAA~!", Bonbon squeals out. Freddy finally leaves your hand alone and smiles wider than before. With excitement, nearly singing, he exclaims: "C~Come on, ooooopen it~!!"
You slowly step forward. Something is really off. A present in the middle of an empty room screams like a trap. Oh gosh, you wish you could run now, but as you look back for a second you realise that he stands directly in front of the door. He would catch you like a goalkeeper would with a ball. Only one option left. You kneel down and slowly remove the carefully wrapped paper around the mysterious box. You hold your breath when the bear steps closer.
He is right behind you now!
You begin to shake when the last pieces of paper are removed by your hands. 'Oh god ,what could be in there,' you think. Probably a severed head as far as you could tell! You grab both of the tabs of the box and finally bend them to the side and you find-
"SURPRISE!!", screams the bear right in your ear, which makes you flinch hard and you fall to the side. How could he be so close to your head already? You lay on the floor as you realise you hold something soft against your chest. So you decide to look at your gift. It’s a small white and pink bear with a blue bunny as his right paw. It looks really goofy.
"Is that you?" You ask in a bit of disbelief. The bear nods proudly.
"They made plushies of the w~whole gang! But they stopped producing them, since the shutdown!"
"We had to search for a while for the stuffed friend here!" Bonbon adds. You can’t help but smile. At least a bit. You slowly stand up and hug the huge metallic bear.
"Thank you, Freddy and Bonbon! This is so nice from you two!" Freddy has no answer but to hug you as gentle as he can, as well with Bonbon. It is quiet. It feels even peaceful, but something got stuck in your brain that would haunt your mind.
'What shutdown?'
Combined with what Baby said yesterday, it made a poisonous mixture of distrust in the back of your head. You break quickly and abruptly from the hug, which confuses the robots.
"What's wrong?" questions the bunny. You decide that the tiles on the ground are more interesting to look at than Bonbon.
"Nothing." You rub your arm, still focused at the floor. Freddy slowly takes a step towards you, but you reply by turning your whole body away. Freddy sighs and speaks up, more softer, quieter and with a bit of a quiver in his voice.
"You are afraid o~of me. A~Aren't you, [y/n]...?" You can't answer, like your mouth is sewn shut or dried out. But that is a clear answer for Freddy anyway. You turn around to see the bear stumble away from you. His face is hidden in his paw and his back is turned against you. Even Bonbon looks away, but sometimes glances at you with a face of sadness and betrayal. Motivated by guilt, you cautiously make your way to Freddy.
"I-I am s-"
"G~Go away...", mumbles Freddy with a kinda sobbing voice. Ignoring what he said you get even closer, wanting to comfort him and Bonbon. All of a sudden Freddy swings his arm at you and screams.
"I SAID GO AWAY!!" Barely dodging the fist of doom, you fall to the ground once again. The bear steps over you and looks down at you in your fragile position. The lack of light in the room coats his face in darkness. He looks even more scary from this angle. He speaks up, more energetic and angry.
“WE THOUGHT WE COULD TRUST YOU! I~I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU! BUT YOU DON'T EVEN TRUST ME!" You can’t make out any details in his face, but you know he is really upset. The atmosphere is tense. It pinches your throat as if it doesn’t want you to inhale the cold and dry air. Suddenly you feel something wet and warm on your knee, like a warm raindrop. Yet another one and another. Is Freddy... crying? The tall shadow starts to break down onto the ground with a big thud. He arches his back, crying out loud and tries to hide his tear filled face, curling up in a ball while he sits on his legs. You can't help but to tear up too. But if you don’t go now, he might do something horrible to you, even though you feel bad for him. Therefore, you get up quickly, run to the door and slip through the crack that is still open.
As you run through the darkness, you hear the bear cry out a scream of pain. The whole facility could hear the agony. It just made you run faster, getting away from a possible killer bear and the guilt you carry around with you now. With one go you slip through the vent and start to close off every connection that might involve a room with an animatronic. His screams and cries don't stop in the meantime, they become more died down and spaced out, but still consistent. You pack your bag as quick as you can and swing it onto your back, when a slam on the glas scared the hell out of you. On the left side you see Foxy slamming against the window.
"What did you do to our friend?!", speaks the pissed off fox and hits even harder against the glass with his manicured hand. Ballora joins him on the other side and speaks with a soft, yet threatening voice.
"Why did you hurt him? We aren't what you think!" You finally get out of the shock and bolt to the elevator. You spam the button, hoping that it will get there faster, even if that means you break your finger by doing so. Finally the elevator comes down and opens its two rusty doors for you. You take your chance and get in just in the right time. Some glass shatters before the doors close completely and send you upwards. You try to calm down now. The cold sweat drips down your nose and it even covers your back.
The HandUnit snaps up on your way up to freedom.
"You’ve finally done it...", a calm female voice exclaims.
"You are not better than the others. We thought we could trust you. You were the one. The one that saves us. And yet, you betrayed us and broke our hearts. Please, never come back to this place or we will make sure that you will not get out again..." With that the doors open to the outside world. Quickly, you run outside and inhale the fresh and cold air. The urge to cry is getting stronger, so you give in to it and let it all out. You sprint to your bike and unlock it with shaking hands. You don't know if they can get out and chase you down. You don't want to risk it. The face of yours is covered in snot and tears as you finally sit on your bike and pedal your way home. It is 2:54 o'clock in the morning as you finally get into your room. You jump onto your bed and cry your eyes out until you can't stay awake anymore.
The next day you wake up harshly by the ringtone of your phone. You wonder who is calling? You look at the time first: 7 am sharp.
"Hello...?" you ask with a raspy and dying voice.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE LOCATION?!" Oh snap! It is your boss! The screaming wakes you even further up.
"What happened..?" You ask, kinda scared.
"YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT! EVERYTHING IS BROKEN! THE WINDOWS IN THE CONTROL MODULE! AND I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE BREAKER ROOM! HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO BREAK EVERYTHING IN THERE AND EVEN DAMAGE THE ANIMATRONIC?!"
You have no words. Did Freddy get into a rampage?
"THEREFORE I WILL FIRE YOU AND YOU WILL NOT RECEIVE YOUR PAYCHECK EITHER! BE HAPPY I WILL NOT SUE YOU!" With that the manager called off. You are too exhausted to be upset about it. Closing your eyes, you think about those two nights. The encounter and what happened afterwards. You think about the animatronics. Foxy. Ballora. Circus Baby... Freddy...
"Oh gosh, I am such an idiot..." You speak to yourself as you slap your forehead with your bare palm.
After two hours of self loathing, you decide to go downstairs and eat breakfast. Your slow and heavy steps alert the other family members.
"Good morning, sweetheart!", chirps your mum as she notices your being. Her face turns worried as she realise your red and puffy face. It kinda looks like it got attacked by a swarm of bees, so much did you cry yesterday. Your hair made it even look worse! You notice her concern and reply immediately.
"I am okay...!"
"What's the truth, sweety?" She doesn’t believe a word you stammer out. You guess it’s a mom intuition. But you don't want to tell her the whole story that happened. You would probably sound crazy.
"I got fired yesterday," you mutter. Your mom gasps a bit.
"Oh I am sorry to hear..." It gets quiet around the table as the both of you said nothing.
From this day on you are looking for jobs. Everyday from now you always get declined, it was like a curse! Days and weeks pass...but ...you can't stop thinking about him.
Funtime Freddy.
At evening you lay in your bed, frowning after you got a message saying that you got declined once again. Putting your phone aside, you stare at the ceiling and your mind goes everywhere. It stops by a certain point, once more, on Freddy. Your cheeks warm up by the thought of the robot. Oh, how you wish he would be there for you.
'What am I thinking??' You snap at yourself.
‘Have I gone insane and have Stockholm syndrome on top of that?' But you can't deny that you caught some feelings for him.
You wonder if he is okay.
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The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love (M)
SUMMARY: World renowned bestselling author, Kim Namjoon, has always been praised on his philosophical outlook on the many trials and tribulations of life, but when he decides to tackle a certain topic, he finds himself in a rut full of writer’s block. As a last minute decision, he decides to take up his best friend’s, Kim Seokjin, offer and agreed to speak to his writing class about the ups and downs that come along with writing. While helping out his friend, he managed to find the resolution for his writer’s block; falling in love.
GENRE/WARNINGS: Author!Namjoon, College!AU; Fluff, angst, and smut all in one, with an inexperienced!Joon and a (somewhat) fem!dom.
WORD COUNT: 18.7k.
A/N: I’m baaaaaaack! *throws confetti* After a few months and whatever-the-fuck happened to my old blog, I’ve resurrected from the deleted blog grave and have come back. I will be slowly (but surely) re-uploading more of my works as time goes on! This is the first of many. Enjoy loves!
There was a moment in time when Kim Namjoon was on top of his game; he was able to sit in front of his computer and write like there was no tomorrow, marking down every idea and thought he had dwelling in his mind. He pumped out three novels, all bestsellers, and was adored by the general public for his genius visions and elaborate words that managed to capture the feelings of the person reading the book. He was labeled as a prodigy, considering he had only been nineteen years old when he had published his first novel, and though he’ll deny it, that had been the reason for his constant stress. Living up to the expectations that other authors and the public had put on him caused a strain, ultimately leading up to his lack of inspiration and writer’s block.
It’s been two years since he’s published something else and as the days pile up, the stress upon the man builds even more. Countless nights and days are filled with him staring blankly at the blank document occupying his screen, his brain completely empty of anything he could remotely use as an idea to run with. His methods of writing have seemed to fail him this time around, and now he’s stuck with nothing -- and he hates it. The more he stares at the blank screen the more he becomes frustrated, the now twenty-three year old feeling as if he’s never going to be able to write anything else. The constant pressure has him medicating in ways he probably shouldn’t, bottles of alcohol and packs of cigarettes littered next to his desk has his friends worrying for his health, though they have yet to say anything. When Namjoon is stressed, he doesn’t take lightly to those who try to help him. His words become blunt and striking, venom laced in his tone as he curses at them, thus leaving him to push away those who had reached out to help.
There was another downfall, however, one that Namjoon has acknowledged as his weakness; Namjoon had never been in love.
While many authors or writers have a muse by their side, encouraging them and supporting them consistently, Namjoon had no one. All of his life he had his nose buried in books, the man opting to study up on writing techniques and broadening his craft as opposed to going out with his friends and experiencing the things most kids his age would have. Sure, he’s kissed a few people, but that’s the extent of any form of intimate contact he’s come encountered with. In college he was too busy writing his novels to let any sort of romantic relationship happen, though he did have a few dates who had struck his interest -- but he couldn’t find a spark with any of them when the time had come to actually getting to know them. He was a man who sought out someone who could give him the mental stimulation, someone he could actually hold an intelligent conversation with, and while those he went out on dates with weren’t exactly not intelligent, they still lacked what he had been looking for.
The loneliness stacked upon the stress and frustration was making Namjoon start to regret choosing this field of work, and he was desperate to get out of the funk that plagued his life for far too long -- so he decided to change it. Starting from now he’s going to scan through any and every piece of literature, he’s going to look around him and turn to the world to find the inspiration he lacked -- but his plans seemed to take a different turn when he had reluctantly agreed to host a seminar at his Alma Mater for inspiring authors and writers like himself, and he found himself inching closer to the source of his inspiration.
Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you huff in annoyance as you weave in and out of the students who cluttered around the lecture hall, silently cursing at those who stood in the way of your seat. It had been a rough morning; your alarm decided to ring twenty minutes later than you had set it, causing you to clamber around clumsily while you tried to gather everything you needed. You left your dorm with sopping wet hair and - if it hadn’t been for your roommate who called you out on it - you would’ve left with mismatched shoes. A large cup of coffee and another twenty minutes later, you had managed to make it to class on time, but even that doesn’t diminish your visible annoyance and irritation for the unfolding day.
Plopping your bag onto your desk, you lean back into your seat and rub your temples, the oncoming headache making you dread the day even more. A small snicker from beside you doesn’t falter your attitude, not even when your friend leaned over to place a concerned hand on your back.
“You alright, (Y/N)?”
Hana’s soft voice filled your ears as she rubbed your back soothingly, aware of your - very - irritated stature. Your gaze landed on her soft features, a small smile painted across your lips as you shrugged your shoulders.
“I will be, hopefully,” you admitted. “It’s been a rough morning.”
Hana nodded, the girl silently understanding your annoyance.
“You’ll be fine,” she smiled. “We’ve got a guest speaker coming today so we won’t have to do much work, thank god.”
Her words set you at ease, your shoulders slumping back into relaxation when you realize that you were able to sit back and enjoy today’s class without having to scribble endless nothings onto paper like usual. Hana giggles as she watched you sink back, her head shaking as she turns back towards the front.
“I feel you on that one, (Y/N).”
Your gaze scans around the room, eyes falling on the different pairs and groups that littered around the class as they talked amongst themselves. It was always fascinating to you when it came to observing others; you took note of their different mannerisms and gestures towards others, making mental notes of the people who have confident body language and those who consider themselves superior to others.
You snap out of your daze when the professor strolls happily into class, his hands clapping as he gains the students’ attention. The idle conversations fizzle into the air as everyone piles into their respective seats, the patient professor looking more than excited as he leaned against the edge of his desk. A pleasant smile is painted across his lips as his gaze swept over his students before he’s opening up to speak.
“As you all know, we have a special guest coming today,” he said happily. “Not only is he a bestselling author, but he also happens to be a very good friend of mine, so I expect you all to give him a respectful and warm greeting when I bring him in, though you’re all adults so I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly. I’m going to go fetch him from the hallway, so talk amongst yourselves.”
And with that, he exits.
Namjoon is nervous -- no, scratch that; he’s fucking terrified.
It’s not that he’s nervous speaking in front of crowds, he had always been comfortable talking to those who were genuinely interested in his craft, it’s that he feels like he’s lying to these students. His friend had whole-heartedly invited him to drop knowledge and tips for his aspiring students in hopes that they would follow the path Namjoon did, but the latter felt like he was putting up a front. How was he supposed to give pep talks to a bunch of people who are trying to get to where he’s at in his life when he can’t even bring himself to write another fucking novel? How was it fair that he pretends he’s been busy working on more books when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
Namjoon could feel his hands shaking as he watches his friend emerge from the classroom, the bright eyed professor grinning happily at his friend as he claps him on the back.
“You ready, Joon?” He asked, making Namjoon suck in a harsh breath.
“Truthfully?” He sighed. “No.”
The man’s face falls at that, his head cocked to the side as he shot his friend a concerned look.
“What do you mean ‘no’, Joon?”
“I feel like I’m lying to them, Seokjin,” Namjoon huffed. “I’ve have writer’s block for the past year, I haven’t been able to write anything -- and you want me to give an inspiring speech to these kids who could probably teach me a thing or two.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes at his friend’s words, the man shaking his head as he gripped Namjoon’s shoulders.
“Listen to me, Joon,” he said, his gaze piercing. “I don’t want you to think that you have to preach that the world of writing and becoming an author is easy or that it’s a breeze. I invited you here because I know that you’re the one person who will inform them of, not only the good things, but the struggles as well. Writer’s block is something that everyone will come across at least once or twice in their lives, Joon, and I want them to realize that that’s okay. I want you to be honest with them, I want you to not hold back.”
Namjoon pursed his lips, still hesitant.
“Isn’t that kind of discouraging them?”
Seokjin shook his head.
“Absolutely not,” he denied. “It’s setting them up for the reality of the situation. You can’t expect to just pump out novels constantly - there’s a lot of work that goes into it, and sometimes it isn’t pretty. I don’t want them to go in with high expectations only to end up disappointed.”
You mean like I did... Namjoon thinks to himself.
Letting out another sigh, Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, a moment of silence slipping past the pair before the author nodded his head, reluctantly agreeing to go through with the lecture. Seokjin beamed with delight before he gives his friend an encouraging pat on his back.
“You’re gonna be great, Namjoon,” Seokjin affirmed. “I’ll be by your side if you need me to fill in anything you can’t.”
Opening the door to the classroom, Seokjin gestured for Namjoon to walk in first before he followed his friend inside. The daunting number of students has Namjoon swallowing the lump that formed in his throat as he tries to hurriedly collect himself. Seokjin plops down comfortably onto his chair, his eyes motioning for the author to take his place at the front, before Namjoon slowly treaded to the front. The curious glances of the students doesn’t help his cause as he anxiously taps his fingers against the desk.
“Hello everyone,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “Some of you may know me, others may not, but I go by the name of Kim Namjoon. I’m not sure what my friend, Seokjin, might have said about me beforehand but I’m a published author. I’ve written three novels, all bestsellers -- not that that matters or anything.”
A nervous chuckle escaped the author as his gaze shifted around the room, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.
“You know -- not too long ago, I was in the same position as you. I was nineteen when my first novel was published, and I can honestly say that it was the best time of my life. When you spend most days and nights working on something consistently, it’s always nice to have your efforts acknowledged, right? To say I was over the moon when my book got picked up would be an understatement -- but I’m not here to talk about my own personal accomplishments.”
Taking a step closer to the students, Namjoon’s gaze turns fierce, his posture straightening as he glanced around the room.
“As you all know, it’s not easy to come up with a firm idea or plot to run with all the way through. If any of you are like me, you’ll most likely trash any kind of idea that you think isn’t good enough or that won’t capture an audience -- and while that is what you have to take into consideration, I want to make it clear that, at the end of the day, it’s what you want when it comes to your writing. Sure, the public’s opinion matters and sure the critics can make your break you, but you will never get anywhere unless you fail at least once.”
The clearing of a throat echoed around the room and Namjoon’s gaze falls on a burly student with his hand half raised.
“Have you ever failed, sir?” He asked, making Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. “I mean -- no offense to you or anything --”
“None taken,” the author chuckled. “If I’m being honest… It took me quite some time to get my first novel published. Like I said, I was nineteen when someone finally decided to pick it up, but I finished it when I was eighteen, barely done my first year of college. Not many publishers want to take a chance on young kids who think they’re the next best thing.”
A hollow laugh escaped the man as he shook his head.
“I was lucky enough to have someone take the chance on me, but that’s only because I was headstrong, not willing to give up -- and that’s what I want to stress to all of you. Just because someone turns you down or tells you that you’re not good enough, I want all of you to keep pushing. Perseverance is something that is imminent in a field like this; if you really want it, prove it.”
The student nods in acknowledgement, silently appreciative of the man’s advice as he sunk back into his seat, intent on listening.
“I’m not here to preach, honestly, nor am I here to try and discourage you from evolving and moving up the ladder to becoming a published author. I’m just a firm believer in tough love, I don’t want any of you going in with these unrealistic expectations of the writing world, thinking that it’s easy breezy, when - in fact - it’s the hardest industry to crack.”
Seokjin nodded in silent agreement from behind the desk, his gaze locked on his friend as he ushered the author to go on.
“There are so many factors that go into writing something, let alone a novel. Not only do you have to be inspired to write something, you have to take into account how the flow of the message is, how the readers are going to relate to the characters, and how the whole plot is going to play out. You can have a beginning, middle, and end, but it’s how it’s delivered that really makes the story. Sometimes there are people who put too much in the middle and end up cramming nothing but nonsense in the end, or there are people who don’t exactly specify anything from the beginning to the climax of the book and it just gets so confusing and complicated that it makes readers lose interest. It’s really a tedious job, but I’m going to lie -- it’s stressful.”
As Namjoon drawled on about the pros and cons of the writing world, you can’t help but find yourself completely enthralled by him. The way he spoke, the way he worded his lecture, the intelligence that rolled off of him was inspiring in itself, and you were hooked from the first word he uttered. Your gaze scanned along his face, your eyes drinking in every detail and feature on it, silently memorizing it as he walked around the front of the room. From beside you, Hana gently nudged your side, your gaze curiously landing on hers as she smirked.
“He’s quite the looker, isn’t he?” She giggled quietly, making you nod.
“That’s for sure,” you murmured.
Almost as if he had heard your voice, his gaze landed on your face and you felt your breath hitch momentarily. A small silence falls over the classroom as the author holds your gaze, an eyebrow quirking in question, before he’s opening his arms and gesturing towards the whole class.
“Any questions?” He asked. “I’m willing to answer anything.”
As if someone had pressed a button to activate the students, dozens of hands rose up high into the air, Namjoon chuckling at the response before he starts calling on people.
You sit quietly in your chair, listening to the different questions being asked, and while you had some of your own, you opted to stay quiet.
Being an aspiring author, it certainly was a bit discouraging. While you had many ideas and plots brewing within the back of your mind, you never knew how to start them or even had a clue on how to bring them to life on paper. Professor Kim had always praised your papers in class, admiring your thought process and the way you had laid out your ideas and rebuttals for term papers, research papers, and essays. Those had all come naturally to you, it was when you had to come up with a plot or idea yourself that you didn’t know where to begin. There were so many things that you had wanted to say but trying to find the words was the hardest part.
You were constantly inspired -- but you didn’t know how to act on it.
As Namjoon spoke, Seokjin (who was perched behind his friend at the desk), leaned forward to gain the author’s attention.
“Joon,” he called out, making the other man turn around to look at him. “The other day one of my students, (Y/N), was asking about writer’s block…”
You felt your breath hitch at the sound of your name, all of your classmates eyes finding your face and you suddenly felt the urge to slide down and hide.
“Is there anything you could touch on about that?”
Namjoon stands still for a moment, his teeth gently tugging at the flesh of his lip as he tries to find the right words to say.
“Writer’s block…” He murmured, turning back to the class. “Like I said before, it’s inevitable to not come across it at least once in your lives. For me -- that period of time is right now. For the past year, I’ve been trying to find that spark of inspiration that can help me write another novel… And while it’s taking me quite a long time, I’m certain that my muse will come to me eventually. It’s nothing to fret over, though it is a pain in the ass, but it will all work out in the end.”
Seokjin nodded, content with his friend’s answer.
As the class drew to a close, the professor stood up to take stand next to his best friend. A gentle, friendly hand is placed on the author’s shoulder which makes Namjoon turn towards his friend.
“Thank you for coming in today, Namjoon,” Seokjin grinned. “Both my students and I appreciate it.”
Despite his anxious start, Namjoon was now at ease, a warm smile painted across his plump lips as he gazed around the room. The looks on the students’ faces made him feel more relaxed, especially knowing that they had feared the same things he had when he was in their position. It was endearing, really, especially when they had all personally thanked him after class.
As the group filed out one by one, Seokjin’s eyes followed each and every one before they landed on the one person he wanted to pull aside personally -- you.
“(Y/N),” he called out, making you freeze momentarily. “Can you come here please?”
Hana glances cautiously at the scene before she pats you reassuringly on your back and walks out. Despite the instant panic that flared up inside of you, you made your way towards where your professor stood with his friend. Adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you stand in front of the pair, a slight feeling of intimidation emitting off of them as Seokjin smiled warmly.
“Namjoon, this is (Y/N),” he introduced, making the authors gaze fall on you. “While I personally don’t like to single out students because I think they’re all brilliant, I will admit that (Y/N) has something special when it comes to her writing.”
Your face flushed at his words, Namjoon’s eyebrows shooting upwards as an impressed look crossed his features.
“Oh really?” He asked.
“Absolutely,” Seokjin affirmed. “I haven’t read anything that’s moved me in a while but her writing managed to do that. I have a few of her essays and papers if you would like to read some?”
Shock crossed your features at your professor's words, your jaw clenching as you fight to let it drop open.
“You really don’t have to, profess --”
“Oh, I insist, (Y/N),” Seokjin waved his hand dismissively before turning towards his friend. “You won’t be disappointed, Joon. I promise.”
Your face is flushed bright red as you watch your professor walk to his desk to scramble around to find your papers. The muted sound of rummaging around becomes static noise as your gaze falls on Namjoon, your heart speeding up when you met his eyes. His plump lips are parted as he scanned your face, a glint of intrigue hinting that he wanted to say something, and you held your breath as he spoke.
“This might come off pretentious,” he said, sheepishly. “But have you read my novels?”
Biting down on your lip, you guiltily look down at the ground as you shake your head.
“I actually haven’t gotten around to that yet,” you admitted. “I’ve been so preoccupied with getting my things done for school that I haven’t gotten to read anything new since I started college.”
Namjoon nodded, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping him.
“I understand,” he smiled. “It’s hard to be able to do anything remotely on your own will when you’re swarmed with work and papers.”
At that moment Seokjin pops up from the desk, a handful of papers in his hands as he smiled brightly.
“Found them!”
Both you and Namjoon turned to see your professor scrambling to his feet before he’s handing the stack of papers to his friend, which the author graciously takes from him.
“I’ll make sure to read through these tonight,” the author grinned, his gaze falling back onto you. “Hopefully we can talk again soon?”
You flush once again, your head nodding as you try to find your words.
“Y-yeah,” you agreed. “We’ll talk soon.”
Offering you a wide, dimpled grin, Namjoon nodded before he said goodbye, your eyes following his stature all the way out the door as your mind tries to comprehend what in the hell just happened.
“Wait, he gave him your papers?!”
Hana’s mouth is slacked in shock as she stared, completely flabbergasted, as you recall the events to her. A humble shrug of your shoulders makes her let out a squeal of excitement, her hand reaching over the table to grab yours as she grips it happily.
“(Y/N) that’s awesome!” She said, grinning widely. “That means a bestselling author is going to read your stuff! Do you understand how many doors this could open for you?!”
You scoffed at that, the cynical side of you coming to light as you deny any sort of recognition that you could gain from this.
“I highly doubt that, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s going to put them aside and never read them. I mean, would you want to read someone’s papers who has yet to read your own novels?”
Hana rolled her eyes at your words.
“Not everyone is able to read every single novel that’s published, (Y/N), and you said yourself that he understood --”
“He could’ve just been saying that,” you said, cutting her off. “He probably didn’t want to be rude.”
Hana shook her head as she leaned back against the booth, her hand leaving yours as she gripped her coffee cup.
“I’m just saying,” she began. “Anyone who’s actually willing to take the papers and offers to read them instead of blatantly turning them down speaks volumes to me.”
Hana smirked then, her gaze turning smug as she glanced at you.
“Besides,” she chuckled. “He’s not exactly the most horrible looking guy, (Y/N). Maybe he thought you were cute.”
A loud laugh escaped you, your head tilting back as you registered her words. That definitely was not a possibility in your case. What successful author would want anything to do with a college student who is barely scraping by?
“You’re funny, Han,” you laughed. “That would never happen.”
Hana whined, a pout crossing her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“It is possible!” She cried. “I mean -- look at you! You’re fucking beautiful!”
Shaking your head, you dismiss her words as you reach for your coffee cup to take a sip, the conversation between the two of you dropping completely.
The harsh burn of whiskey runs down the column of Namjoon’s throat as he downs the rest of his glass, his eyes burning holes into the screen in front of him. A blank document stares back at him, the blinking cursor taunting him each time it animates. It’s half past one in the morning and Namjoon can feel the frustration begin to overflow as he growled lowly before slamming the lid of the laptop down.
This was his nightly routine lately; staring angrily at the blank document that taunted and tortured him, cackling that he can’t write anything. Every time he thought he had something, the moment he would begin to type, the thought was gone and replaced with the block that has been invading his brain for the past year. It’s frustrating, it’s annoying, and Namjoon has had enough of it.
Reaching to the side of his desk, he grabs the bottle of whiskey and fills his glass back up, the buzz from the alcohol making the man’s body begin to heat up as he chugs down another glass. The silence in his apartment is heavy, a loneliness basking from it as he looks around the dimly lit study. Papers are scattered around him, some crumpled and balled up while others are torn, and Namjoon makes a mental note to find the will to clean up soon. His eyes cast towards the other papers littered next to his laptop, curiosity getting the best of him when he sees a name scribbled at the top of one of the papers; (Y/N).
Pushing his books to the side, he reaches for the papers given to him earlier, the man completely intrigued by the writing his best friend had recommended for him to read. The perfect marks at the top tells him that Seokjin really did appreciate this piece, that it was good enough to receive not only an A+ but also his friend’s approval -- which was hard to come by. Seokjin was tough on his students, he wanted them to be the best they could be, so he wasn’t going to give just anyone a remarkable grade.
Namjoon plucks through the different titles; a term paper, a research paper on the fundamentals of writing, another term paper, and a story -- but it piques the author’s interest.
The Pros and Cons of Falling In Love.
Tossing the other papers to the side, Namjoon’s gaze falls on the cover page of the story, his eyebrow quirking in question as he scanned the page. There were several paged attached - 250 to be exact - and he couldn’t deny the curiosity that swirled within him as he opened to the first page.
Pro #1: The electric shock of the first meeting.
It’s the feeling of one electric current surging through another. It’s the butterflies that erupt in the pit of your stomach the moment skin to skin contact is initiated, the fastening of one’s heartbeat the moment their eyes meet the other’s. It’s a mutual attraction, a sudden nervousness that you’re going to fuck up as soon as you open your mouth -- but then the calmness steps in. The easiness of talking to someone, of getting to know the stranger that you had only met moments before. The attraction is locked in and ready to move to the second step, or in this case…
Pro #2: The pure excitement and nervousness of the first date.
He swore that he was only going to read a little bit of it, but by the third paragraph, Namjoon was completely hooked. His eyes drink in the words, his heart feels the emotions poured into the characters, and by the time he reaches the climax of the story, there’s tears streaming down his face as the love story unfolds before his eyes. He can feel the love between them, the pain of heartbreak, the desperation of not wanting to lose the other person -- he’s moved, so incredibly moved, and he’s sobbing by the last page. The vulnerability that’s portrayed from both sides is almost too much for him, the raw emotion from the words scattered on the page has Namjoon applauding the efforts of your writing.
It’s half past three in the morning when he finally falls asleep, tears dried on his cheeks as his empty glass sits next to him, your story still embedded in his mind as he’s lulled off to sleep.
Wednesday mornings were always uneventful for Seokjin. His classes didn’t start until the late afternoon which left him some much relaxation time in the early morning hours. Although he didn’t have to be in his classroom until about eleven, he still made a point to show up between eight and nine, opting to use that time to grade papers that he had left until last minute. In the solstice of his classroom he lets himself get swept up with the soft hum of his stereo, the music calming him down as he marked paper after paper. But today seemed to be a different day compared to the others.
As Seokjin was wafting through the different essays, the door to his classroom burst open and he’s met with a disheveled Namjoon, the former’s eyes widening in alarm as he straightens up in his seat while his friend walks towards him. Seokjin opens his mouth to say something when Namjoon plops down a paper in front of him, his gaze falling on the large stack before he catches sight of the title. A small smirk formed on the man’s lips as he casted a knowing glance towards his friend, amusement clouding his features as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“So you read it, huh?”
There’s a fierce look in Namjoon’s eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he points at the stack.
“She needs to publish this,” he breathed. “I -- I honestly have no words as to how fucking incredible this is.”
Seokjin chuckled at his friend’s state, the man completely amused at his reaction.
“I’ve been telling her that for months, Joon. She won’t do it.”
“Why not?!” He asked incredulously. “This isn’t just writing, Seokjin, this is fucking art! I don’t think I’ve ever read a story that has made me feel this way in such a long time.”
Seokjin stayed quiet, instead opting to watch his friend frantically speak and drone on about your paper, his amusement never faltering.
“Honestly, I can’t believe that a college student wrote this. It’s beautifully written, you can feel the emotions from the characters, and it leaves you wanting more with every god damned chapter! How does she not want to publish this?!”
“She doesn’t think it’s good enough.”
Namjoon blanched at that, his mouth falling open as his eyes widened in disbelief.
“What?!” He shouted. “How in the hell does she not think it’s good enough?! I mean -- there are a few minor things that can be fixed but other than that it’s pure perfection!”
Seokjin’s smirk widened as he leaned back into his chair, another chuckle escaping him as he shook his head at his friend.
“Then tell her that, not me.”
Namjoon frowned, his pacing coming to a stop.
“I don’t know where she is or how I can reach her -- and besides, isn’t it a little weird if a complete stranger is looking for her?”
“You’re not a complete stranger,” Seokjin dismissed. “She already knows that you were supposed to read her stuff, so isn’t it fair to her that you tell her directly what you think of her writing? Don’t you think she deserves that?”
“I mean -- I guess --”
“She works in the school library every Wednesday, I’m sure she’s there now.”
Seokjin didn’t even time to blink before Namjoon was out the door, his head shaking with amusement at his friend, all-the-while hiding his secret knowing grin.
The quiet solstice of the library is something that always seemed to relax you, the aura sending an almost euphoric feeling aflame inside of you -- though that could just be because you’re surrounded by the plethora of books, which was another form of relaxation for you. It was the feeling of having a book in your hands, the smell of the pages, the mental stimulation sending you into a euphoric bliss. Each and every book that lined the shelves were different; though some had similar plotlines, the story contained within the pages were completely different -- and that is what set them apart from everything else in your life. You lived a predictable life, every move or thought that someone made or had was something that you could point out before they had even done it. With books, every page had you itching to know more. You clung to every tidbit of information, forming hypotheses and ideas that could possibly come next as you turn the page. It kept you on the edge of your seat -- and you loved it.
The tips of your fingertips run along the spine of the books littered along the bookshelves, your gaze falling on every title as you searched for a new book to read. As the second semester dwindled down and Christmas break approaches, you can feel the stress begin to simmer, your free time opening up right before your eyes. As you begin to lose yourself in your thoughts, your subconscious had seemingly taken you towards the ‘K’ section of the books -- low and behold, your fingers had landed on the author of the books you had never gotten around to read.
Kim Namjoon.
Curiosity mixed with genuine interest runs through you as you reached up to grab the first book that had his name on it; The Fundamentals of Life. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you turn the book over to read the synopsis on the back cover, your eyebrows raising in surprise at the topic of the book.
From the ages of five to twenty-five we’re taught to go to school, to find something that speaks out to us, to reach for the stars and achieve that goal we’ve kept hidden away for so long. Life is one big lottery game to some, a challenge for others, but it’s what keeps us going, and like everything else in this world, it’s got some rules and regulations that we’ve somehow adapted into our everyday lives -- and those rules are called ‘The Fundamentals of Life’.
You were so wrapped up reading the synopsis that you didn’t realize the presence that stood by until you saw a pair of black boots standing next to you, your head snapping up to catch sight of the smiling face of the author of the book himself. His wide dimpled smile made your face flush slightly, more-so because of the fact that you were reading about his book, and you bashfully slide the book back onto the shelf before you’re turning back towards the man.
“Sorry,” you apologized, grinning sheepishly. “Can I help you with something?”
Namjoon nodded, the smile never faltering from his face.
“Yes, actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze fell everywhere but on you. “I was wondering if we could talk about ‘The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love’?”
Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his words, panic beginning to rush through you as you try to find the words to say.
He hated my story… Oh shit, am I ready for this criticism?
“I-- I, uh, yeah --” You stuttered out, deflecting around him as you went to find a table to sit down at. “We can sit here.”
Namjoon followed quietly, your story still clutched tightly in his hands as he watched you sit down at one of the tables in the back corner of the room. Much to your surprise, you took the seat next to you instead of across from you -- though that might have been because he didn’t want to talk too loud and disturb the others who were studying for their finals.
As he sets your paper down onto the table, you can’t help but let the apprehension grow, your hands nervously twisting in your lap as your gaze dropped to the floor, not daring to look at him.
“So, uh -- what did you thi --”
“I think you’re brilliant.”
Your head snapped up at that.
“W- what?!”
Namjoon’s smile transitioned into a wide grin when he catches sight of your shocked expression, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he nodded.
“You’re brilliant, (Y/N),” he reaffirmed. “I was just speaking to Seokjin about this but I honestly, genuinely, haven’t read anything that has had the affect on me like your story has in a long time. The way you depict the character’s emotions, the way you write -- it’s fucking beautiful, (Y/N).”
Your mouth had fallen open slightly by this point, your mind completely flabbergasted that a fucking bestselling author was praising your work.
“I -- wow,” you breathed out. “Thank you.”
“No -- thank you, (Y/N),” Namjoon said, gently placing a hand on your arm. “You opened my eyes to a completely new world, something that I - myself - have yet to, uh, experience.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, confusion swirling across your features as your head cocks to the side.
“What do you mean?” You asked quietly.
“While I did come here to tell you how much I enjoyed your book, I also came here to ask you a -- um -- rather personal question…”
You stayed silent, nodding for him to go on.
“I’ve never been in love,” he confessed. “And from the sound of your story, it seems as if you have… And I was wondering if you could -- uh -- teach me or tell me what it’s like when you are in love?”
Another wave of shock crosses you as Namjoon looked down towards the floor, subtle shame and embarrassment running through the man as he avoided your eyes. Your eyes scanned over him as he looked away from you, your gaze drinking him in, before you’re letting out a quiet sigh.
“I’ll do it,” you murmured, making Namjoon instantly lift his head, a bright smile painted across his plump lips as he looked at you.
“Really?” He asked, making you nod.
“It’s a tricky subject,” you pursed your lips. “But everyone deserves to experience -- or at least get to know -- what real love is.”
Namjoon had never been more grateful.
Pro #1: The Electric Shock of the First Meeting
You could’ve never been prepared for the loud shriek that had escaped Hana the moment you told her what was going on, the bubbly blonde all but tackling you with a hug out of happiness.
“That’s amazing!” She squealed, making you groan.
“Han, you’re gonna pop my eardrum --”
“I can’t believe you and the hottie author are going to be seeing each other!”
“Don’t say it like that, it sounds like we’re dating --”
“But you practically are!” She squealed once again, making you wince with pain. “He asked you about love, (Y/N)! Of all things -- love!”
You inwardly groaned at her words, your hands coming up so you can rub your temples out of frustration.
“He’s never experienced it before, Han. He deserves to at least know about it.”
The wide grin on the blonde’s face doesn’t falter as she plops down onto the grass next to you.
“But still!” She beamed. “He asked you!”
You shook your head, denying any romantic affiliation she had conjured up in her brain as you laid down, your back against the crisp grass as you gazed up at the clear blue sky. Your mind was racing as Hana’s words finally registered in your head, the damage of the whole situation finally beginning to settle within you.
What if I fall for him during this whole thing? You thought to yourself. What if he falls for me? Is this considered a date? Why do Hana’s words keep getting the best of me, god dammit.
Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind of all the thoughts that added to your stress, all-the-while secretly hoping that at least one of them comes true…
Pro #2: The Pure Excitement and Nervousness of the First Date.
Your fingers tap against the cover of the coffee cup, nervousness filled your body as your gaze scanned the quaint shop. You were supposed to meet Namjoon here, the first telling of the story being today, but he was ten minutes late. You weren’t anxious about him not showing up, in fact you had secretly hoped that he would forget about it -- not that you didn’t want to help with… whatever this was, it was just… Namjoon is a published author. He’s received more awards for his works than you could ever dream of, he’s highly intelligent, and he just reeks of supremacy of this field. Not to mention he wasn’t bad looking -- and by that you meant you had to keep yourself from swooning over him every god damned time he walked through that door.
Before you had personally met him, you could recall a few times when Professor Kim had brought up the author in one of his lectures. He always talked about his friend with such respect and admiration, it was almost cute, honestly. There was a special brotherhood bond between the two of them that you couldn’t help but admire. You had always assumed that Seokjin had just hyped him up, that he really wasn’t as great as he was made out to be, but the moment he opened his mouth and spoke that day in class, you were proven to be wrong -- he was more.
While you hadn’t known him that long -- keep in mind, it’s only been a few days -- there are just certain people who come into your life and make a strong impact in such a small amount of time; and Namjoon is one of them.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out from the table, the bleached blonde man smiling brightly at you from across the table. It wasn’t until he was snapping his fingers in front of your face did you finally snap out of it, a deep red blush flushing across your cheeks as your gaze settled on him.
“Sorry,” you apologized. “I was caught up in my thoughts…”
Namjoon hummed softly, his own coffee cup nestled between his hands as he sent you a curious glance.
“What were you thinking about?”
You.
“Just about the things I should tell you,” you lied, deflecting your gaze downwards towards the table before you’re lifting your coffee cup to your lips. The burn of the drink serves as punishment for your lie.
“We don’t have to get into that right away, you know,” he mused. “I’d like for us to get to know each other first -- just so we can get a fair judgment on each other’s character.”
You quirked an eyebrow at his words, somewhat surprised by his forwardness.
“We could definitely do that,” you agreed. “Would you like to go first?”
Namjoon grinned, his long slender fingers tapping against his cup in an unknown rhythm.
“Well, as you know, my name is Kim Namjoon,” he began. “I was born in Ilsan, I grew up with my mother. My father died when I was young so I don’t really have much recollection of him. For as long as I could remember, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. My mother would always read books to me when I was younger so I’ve constantly had different pieces of literature in my life, which is probably what sparked my love for reading in general. I was too preoccupied in school to actually pay attention to those around me, meaning I’ve pretty much lived a life of solitude -- apart from Seokjin, of course. I met him when I was a freshman in high school and haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”
A deep chuckle escaped the author as he shook his head at the thought of his friend.
“I wouldn’t have it any either way, though. Aside from my mother, he’s been an incredible support system for me. But, anyways -- my favorite color is black, my favorite food is meat - literally any and all kinds - and, this may be shocking to you, but I’m a fan of rap music.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as you grinned widely.
“Rap music, huh?” You asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is that?”
Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly as he lifted his cup to his lips to take a sip.
“Much like books, rap - to me - tells a story. Granted, most mainstream rap isn’t exactly the most, uh, literary based, but there certainly are a handful of rappers who really know how to tell their own personal story through their lyrics. To me, there is nothing better than listening to someone who has passion within the field they work in, and most rappers definitely accentuate that with their words -- which I find quite commendable.”
An impressed look flashes on your features as he speaks, your head nodding in acknowledgement as you take a sip of your coffee.
“Wow,” you said quietly. “That’s actually quite impressive, if I’m being honest.”
The grin never leaves Namjoon’s face as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table, his gaze locked on yours as he nods towards you.
“Your turn.”
You blink as you stared at him, the proximity of him making your breath hitch in your throat and you’re positive that he’s well aware of the affect he has on you -- especially when you can feel your cheeks begin to heat up.
“I -- uh, well I’m (Y/N),” you stuttered. “There really isn’t much to me, if I’m being honest. I grew up just like everyone else -- though, like you, I’ve taken a liking to books much more than other people have. My parents were always busy so they didn’t really have the time to read me books but that didn’t stop me from reading them myself. My grandfather actually bought me my first book -- The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He told me that that was his favorite book growing up and he passed it down to me in hopes that I would like it as much as he did, needless to say, I was pretty much obsessed with it.”
A quiet laugh escaped you at the recollection of the memory.
“I carried that book everywhere; at school, at the store, to family parties. It never left my sight,” you paused, your gaze dropping to look down at the table as you hooked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “He passed away about a year before I started college, but before he did, he told me to pursue the one thing that made me the happiest it could. When I was younger, I had a journal -- but I wouldn’t write diary entries or anything like that, the book was actually for me to be able to write down poems. My mother is actually a published author, she has had many of her poems published and has also won a few awards for it, as well. I guess it runs in my family but I believe that my love for writing stems from my own inspirations and genuine intrigue for the field. And - I guess - I would like to be a published author one day but as for right now, I enjoy writing for me.”
Namjoon let a smile grace his lips, a bright twinkle in his eye as he looked at you.
“That’s what makes you special,” he muttered. “When you’re able to write for yourself, you know that this field was made for you.”
“You think so?” You asked quietly, making Namjoon nod.
“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “It takes a whole lot to be able to write for someone else, but when it comes to writing for yourself, that’s true passion.”
Silence falls between the pair of you as you both divert your gazes towards something else, not having the courage to look into one another’s eyes. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, Namjoon’s words beginning to resonate in your brain, and the blush from earlier begins to cascade along your cheeks once again as you silently lift your cup to take a sip. The warmth of the coffee shop helps set you at ease, the faint smell of the coffee beans almost making you feel at home, and you can’t help but look around at the other customers.
Namjoon, on the other hand, was lost in his thoughts.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can spot the distant look on the author’s face. His plump lips are pressed into a thin line, gaze casted downwards towards the floor, and his fingers are fumbling with the cardboard surrounding his cup. He’s quiet, almost too quiet, and you’re certain that he’s going to say something -- and he does.
“You know,” he began quietly, eyes still focused on the ground. “I’ve been on a few dates before. I’ve been in the company of quite a few people, but none of them ever really stood out to me.”
You stay quiet, your silence urging him to go on.
“I think my main problem is that I crave too much mental stimulation,” he admitted. “I know everyone bases their ideal types on looks and such, but I honestly couldn’t care less about that. All I want is to have someone who can understand how I’m feeling and to be able to talk about the things I love most. Sure, it’s nice to just have someone by your side, but I’m the type of person who needs to be able to have an intelligent conversation with a partner.”
You nodded in agreement, a heavy sigh falling from your lips.
“I’m the same way,” you said quietly. “My last boyfriend, Jace -- the one who I wrote the story about, he was fun -- not that there’s anything wrong with that. But the more I spent time with him, the more I realized that we were two completely different people. He was more about living the adventures of life; not being one to deal with responsibilities, not having a care in the world, always making impulsive decisions. He was a free spirit. For the majority of the time, he brought me out of my shell and showed me so many things that I had missed out on, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t the one for me. We went our separate ways after high school but there was a moment in time when I was in love with him. I don’t regret any of it, to be honest, I just wish I had known that he wasn’t the one for me earlier on… That way it wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did when we parted ways.”
Namjoon hummed softly, his gaze finally lifting from the ground to shyly meet yours.
“Do you think I’ll ever be able to experience love?”
You don’t hesitate to answer.
“Absolutely.”
Whenever someone is called to see the professor after class, the worst is always assumed. While you knew that you were one of his favorite students, you still couldn’t help but worry when Professor Kim called your name before you could walk out of the door after class, a striking fear of being in trouble and losing your scholarship a prominent thought in your mind. But Seokjin didn’t harbor any sign of being mad; in fact, he wore a bright grin on his face as he sat comfortably in his chair.
“Miss (Y/N),” he greeted brightly. “How are you doing, is everything going well?”
Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you nodded curtly.
“Yes, everything is fine,” you said meekly. Seokjin chuckled at the tone of your voice, his hand gesturing towards one of the seats.
“Don’t worry, dear, you’re not in trouble. Have a seat, I want to talk to you about something.”
Timidly you shuffle to the seat he pointed towards, your bag falling to the ground as you nervously twiddle your thumbs in your lap. Seokjin’s smile never faltered as he leaned forward in his desk, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Namjoon came to me yesterday looking for you,” you sucked in a breath, awaiting his next words. “Did you speak to him?”
You nodded. “Yes, he met me in the library.”
Seokjin beamed.
“Good, good!” He said happily. “He was genuinely moved by your story, (Y/N). I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy about a piece of literature in a long while, it was definitely a sight to see.”
A wave of heat rushes to your cheeks at his words as you bashfully looked down at the desk.
“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, causing Seokjin to laugh.
“Call me Seokjin, dear. After class is over, the formalities are over and done with,” a smug smirk formed on his lips then. “Besides, I think you’ve made my friend quite happy, and any friend of his is a friend of mine.”
You swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of your throat before giving him another curt nod. The mischievous glint doesn’t escape Seokjin’s eyes as he lets out a soft chuckle, his finger pointing towards you.
“You know,” he mused. “I think both you and Namjoon would make a great pair. There are certain traits that the two of you share, and though it might just be my wishful thinking, I think you could both benefit something from one another.”
His words stunned you to silence; you blink once, twice, a third time, before you’re sputtering nonsense.
“I -- Sir --”
“It’s alright, (Y/N),” he grinned. “Things like this take time so you can’t deny anything yet. But if the two of you keep hanging out at that coffee shop --” he paused, sending you a knowing smile. “Something great can come of it.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, even as he dismissed you the words he had said still resonated deep within your brain. You didn’t believe him, hell -- you had just met the guy! -- but you also couldn’t dismiss the way your heart sped up at the thought of it.
Heaving a deep sigh, you make your way out of the building, Seokjin’s words still rumbling about in your mind.
“So do you have writer’s block too?”
Your gaze lands on Namjoon who’s sat across from you, his coffee cup between his hands as he takes a sip. You shook your head, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you lean back.
“Actually, I don’t,” you laughed quietly. “I think I have reverse writer’s block, to be honest.”
The man’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.
“Reverse writer’s block…?”
“I have ideas and a bunch of inspiration to write something but as soon as I got to type, I can’t figure out how to word it. I try and try again but nothing is ever good enough for me.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “So you know what you want to write about but you can’t find a way to bring it to life?”
“Exactly.”
Namjoon pursed his lips, his fingers idly drumming against the table as he wracked his brain for any advice he could give.
“Have you ever tried to actually think about the plot?”
Your head cocked to side, trying to decipher what he meant.
“Meaning…?”
“When I wrote my first novel, I played out the whole story in my head. It’s sort of like a movie; you imagine the characters coming to life and you watch them act out every scene you have plotted. That way you can figure out what you want to put in the beginning, the turning point, and the ending.”
You stared blankly at him, your hand idly clutching your cup as you begin to nod.
“That’s… brilliant actually.”
Namjoon grinned, a sheepish shrug of his shoulders turning the man bashful.
“It’s just something that helps me,” he admitted. “I don’t suppose you’d know any advice for writer’s block?”
“I probably know as much as you do,” you laughed. “But we’ll find something that’ll inspire you. I’m sure of it.”
You watch as he sighs, your eyes raking over his face as he lifts the coffee cup to his lips, Seokjin’s words suddenly floating back into your mind as you look at the author. Just the sight of him was enough to get your heart racing, the organ pumping loudly in your ears as it beats rapidly. The increase in speed has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your mind not ready to admit any sort of attraction you had towards this man. Instead you take a hasty sip of your coffee, silently hoping this damned feeling goes away.
Con #3: Denial of Feelings
“This is so exciting!”
Hana’s squeals make you instinctively cover your ears as you grimaced at the high pitched noise.
“Han please --”
“No, I will not quiet down, (Y/N)!” She shrieked. “He’s so smitten with you! How are you not freaking out right now?!”
You shrugged, even though you felt your heart leap at her words.
“It’s not like that,” you deadpanned. “It’s strictly professional between us.”
Hana scoffed at your words, her eyes rolling as she sends you a look of disbelief.
“Bullshit!” She laughed. “What the two of you talk about - dating and such - is certainly not professional. Especially when he’s opening up to about his ex flames or whatever they are. He likes you, (Y/N). Just face it.”
Running a hand over your face, you can’t help but let out a groan as you faceplant onto your bed. You could already feel a headache coming on - whether that was from thinking about the situation you were currently in or from the high volume of Hana’s shrieks, you weren’t quite sure, but you knew you needed to sleep.
“(Y/N), if his best friend is literally pushing you in his direction and openly voicing his opinion that you’d make a great pair, it’s meant to be.”
You can’t help but snort at that, your head lifting from the bed as you shoot her a dismissive look.
“That tells me nothing, Han. One person’s opinion doesn’t determine fate’s course.”
Hana shrugs, the bubbly blonde sending you a knowing look as she climbs into her own bed.
“I’m just saying,” she mused. “You’ll see it eventually.”
Rolling your eyes, you drop your head back down onto your pillow.
“Whatever, Han.”
Pro #4: Getting to Know the Person on a Deeper Level
As the months droned on, you found yourself growing closer and closer with the author. The more you hung out with Namjoon, the more Seokjin’s words stuck in your mind. Every single look or gentle brush of a hand ignited something inside of you; you suppressed it, however, not making it known or noticeable to the author in fear that the feelings were not reciprocated -- and that was something you had always feared when it came to expressing your feelings. The worst thing in the world is having someone you deeply care about not give two shits about you.
You tried to keep your distance. Even when he had decided to invite you over to his place (which was, despite the mess, fucking beautiful) you kept your distance from him. Instead you focused your attention on the empty bottles of whiskey and crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around the living area. While others might have depicted this type of lifestyle as toxic, dangerous almost, you understood where the man was coming from. When you spend your life doing something that you genuinely love and cherish, all the while spending every waking minute working on something just as precious to you and that inspiration stops -- it’s not a fun feeling.
Those on the outside wouldn’t understand what it’s like to sit and wait for something to spark that inspiration back up, to sit and wait for what seems like a useless cause. Writer’s block is something that could make or break someone; you either keep going and try to find something to pique your interest or you give up on it entirely. Namjoon had mentioned in his lecture that what you need the most in an industry like the writing field is perseverance -- and he’s not wrong.
He’s never wrong...
The crisp autumn air whips past you as you quickly follow Namjoon down the path he had led you, your body shivering underneath the light jacket you had stupidly chosen to wear, all-the-while mentally cursing the author out for leading you to a place that nowhere near being heated. Dead leaves crunch beneath your feet as he reaches behind to grab your hand, successfully pulling you up to get to the spot that he had wanted to show you.
‘It’s my secret spot,’ he had said. ‘I go there when I’m at a loss for inspiration.’
You felt honored that he had wanted to take you there, especially since you had a spot of your own back home -- but not even that could’ve prepared you for the beauty that was placed in front of you.
As you reach the spot, you couldn’t help but inhale the salty air, the melodic sounds of the waves crashing against the shore instantly putting your mind at ease. The sand crunches soundly beneath your feet as you walk across the beach, your gaze set on the rising sun across the horizon. It was breathtakingly beautiful; the way the dark blue early morning sky ignites into vibrant pink and orange hues, almost as if the sky was on fire. It was calming, a serene sight to witness, and you can’t help but plop down onto the sand as you stare at the beauty unfold.
Namjoon lets out a quiet chuckle as he watched you sit on the sand, the author not far behind you. He rests his elbows on his legs as he stares ahead, a comfortable silence drifting between the pair of you as you stare at the colorful horizon. The colors reflected off of the crisp blue ocean, the three hues intermixing and creating one big colorful hue. It certainly was a sight to see.
“I found this place when I was writing my first novel,” Namjoon began quietly, eyes still trained on the horizon. “It was this exact spot that inspired me to write it; the story about a young boy finding his way through this crazy thing we called life. He often took it for granted, thinking that he was so much bigger than world, that he was destined for things greater than everyone else. Well… he was certainly proved wrong when he was able to witness something as magnificent as this.”
You hummed softly, shifting your position in order to find a more comfortable spot.
“I need to read that book,” you murmur, distracted by the view. Namjoon chuckled.
“Actually, it wasn’t the book I was talking about. That boy was me.”
You turned towards him at that, an eyebrow quirked upwards in question.
“But you just said --”
“I said this view is what inspired me to write, but what I said about the boy… The one I wrote about -- that was me.”
You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.
“In my twenty-three years of living, there were so many things I had taken for granted. When I was younger, I thought I was the next best thing when it came to writing. I was beyond my years, as my teachers put it, and I let all of the praise and admiration get to my head. I was fueled by everyone’s fascination with -- not just me -- but my writing as well. I constantly attempted to outdo myself and, nine times out of ten, I managed to… But the more I locked myself up in my room and typed away at my laptop, the more I realized how fucked up it was that I let people get to me like that. Writing isn’t supposed to be a chore or a job, you’re not supposed to write because people or waiting and anticipating your next piece of work. Writing is supposed to be for yourself -- it’s supposed to be because you love it.”
Namjoon continues to stare ahead, his fingers twisting together as he lets out a humorless laugh.
“When I discovered this place, I realized that I had been doing it all for the wrong reasons. Sitting here on this beach, getting lost in my thoughts, it’s therapeutic to me. The serene setting, the peace and quiet… I always feel so inspired here -- and nowadays, it’s starting to feel like I’ve used up all of the magic it’s offered to me.”
“What makes you think that?” You asked quietly. Namjoon shrugged.
“I’ve been coming back here since the beginning of the year, which was when the writer’s block first happened. Each time I come I think that maybe - just maybe - this time it’ll lift, that I’ll be able to find that spark again. But it doesn’t happen.”
“That doesn’t mean this place has lost its magic, Joon,” you murmured. “Maybe you’ve grown used to this kind of inspiration. Maybe you need to find a new place, something that can offer you an entirely different scenario.”
Namjoon hums softly.
“Maybe…”
Another silence drifts through the air and you can’t help but lean over to him, your chin resting on his shoulder as you look up at his face. Namjoon peered down at you, a small smile gracing his lips - dimples prominent in his cheeks - and he lifts his arm so he can wrap it around your shoulders, effectively bringing you in closer towards him.
“You’ll find inspiration soon, Joonie. I’m sure of it.”
“Whatever you say, (Y/N).”
Con #1: Waiting Around for the Person to Call or Text
The next week was full of nothing but stress; day after day you were swarmed in books, empty coffee cups, and crumpled up pieces of paper as you try to cram for your midterms. Six finals, one term paper, and the urge to pull each strand of your hair out was enough to make your roommate schedule an intervention -- though you had heavily protested the idea of the moment she had brought it up. But here you were, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a carton of ice cream while The First Wives Club plays on the television.
Hana sits on the other side of the room on her bed, her eyes every so often shifting from the TV to you, a playful smirk painted on her lips as she leaned back against the headboard of her bed.
“How’s Namjoon?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow. You shrugged in response while shoving another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.
“I don’t know,” you muttered. “Haven’t talked to him in a while.”
Hana looked at you incredulously, all-the-while shaking her head.
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
It does...
You frowned and turned your head to look at her, feigning a confused look.
“No..?” Your voice was soft, the fake confusion never faltering. “Why should it bother me? He’s busy.”
“But you guys are pretty much dating…” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at her words.
“We’re not dating, Han,” you countered. “We’re just friends -- and even that is putting it loosely.”
Hana’s expression is unreadable, though her eyes tell another story.
“You do realize that he pretty much asked you to show him how to fall in love,” she pointed out. “Which means that, along the way, he’s going to end up falling in love with you.”
Her words make you choke on your ice cream, your eyes widening in shock as you look at her like she’s gone crazy.
“Woah, woah,” you coughed out. “That’s definitely not what I’m doing!”
Hana shook her head at you, a quiet laugh escaping her.
“Sure it’s not,” she replied sarcastically. “All I’m saying is that when you’re in situations like this, it’s very much likely for one person to fall for another.”
Yeah, I fell for him...
“And I’m saying that he’s definitely not going to fall for me, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s already got someone in mind that he wants to fall in love with.”
“Yeah,” she paused. “It’s you,” she chuckled.
Rolling your eyes at her remark, you opened your mouth to defend yourself once more when the buzzing of your phone pulled your attention, your gaze locking on the screen as Namjoon’s name flashed.
“Speak of the devil,” you muttered, making Hana’s eyes widen as she clambered off of her bed and onto yours.
“See!” She shrieked, playfully hitting your arm. “Answer it!”
There’s always a moment of hesitance when it comes to answering phone-calls. It’s the nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach that automatically ignites whenever your ringtone goes off, a moment of panic that triggers in your brain because what the fuck am I supposed to say? But then it’s as if something clears out all of that negative energy and substitutes the panic for impulse -- which is what makes you press the green answer button.
“Hello?”
There’s a brief silence on the other line, but then Namjoon’s voice is filling your ears and you can feel your body relax immensely.
“Hey, (Y/N),” he chimed. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”
You smiled at his polite demeanor, all-the-while pushing an overly excited Hana away from you as you push yourself up from the bed.
“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m actually taking a brief break from burning out my brain with all this studying.”
Namjoon chuckled, the sound making your heartbeat increase and you subconsciously yell at it to stop.
“Ah, I understand all about that,” you can already picture those damned dimples protruding from his cheeks. “Well, anyways, I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out or something? I’m not exactly in the writing mood tonight and I’ve been dying to go out for a drink or something…?”
You inhale sharply through your nose as you sneak a peek towards Hana -- who, by the way, was furiously nodding towards you in encouragement.
“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “I’ll come out.”
You can practically see the grin on Namjoon’s face as his voice filled your ears once more, a harsh blush coating your cheeks as you run a hand over your face.
“Perfect!” He cheered. “I’ll meet you soon, yeah? At the pub?”
You nodded, regardless of whether or not he could see it.
“Sounds good.”
The moment you hang up the phone, Hana doesn’t waste any time in pouncing on you, her cheers filling the dorm room as you groaned loudly.
“Please let me do your makeup!” She begged. “I wanna pick out your outfit too, (Y/N)!”
“Han --”
“Please!” She begged again. “I just want you to go out looking nice!”
Sighing in defeat, you collapse into her grip and reluctantly let her take the reigns.
“Fine…”
And yet again, you were nearly deafened by the high pitched shriek emitting from your friend.
Con #2: Experiencing Jealousy Over Someone Who Isn’t Yours (Yet)
Pro #6: The Realization of the Intense Feelings
It had been a while since Namjoon had drank in a place that wasn’t his apartment. While he did enjoy the comforting four walls of his place, he had to admit that actually going out for a drink with others was far more fun than staring at a fucking blank screen. It gave him more opportunities to find the inspiration he was lacking, something that he was determined to finally put to rest. As he makes his way into the bar, he can’t help but feel at home within the company of the quiet bar. For a Thursday night it was fairly packed, but there’s definitely not as many people as there would be during the weekend -- which Namjoon is incredibly grateful for.
Taking a seat at the bar, he doesn’t hesitate to order himself a drink -- whiskey on the rocks -- while he waits for you. It had been a whirlwind of events since the day he met you and he has yet to entirely process the way he feels about you. Sure, he’s convinced there’s at least some kind of spark between the two of you, but Namjoon hasn’t ever experienced the true meaning of feelings; he’s confused as to what is going on inside of him, perplexed by the complexity of the emotions that he had always heard Seokjin drone on about.
When his friend would boast about the girls he was with, Namjoon was always half-heartedly listening. Most of the time it would go through one ear and out the other, but he always paid attention to the important details. Though you hadn’t exactly touched on the basis of what it was to be in love, he definitely heard enough about it from Seokjin to know that it’s supposed to feel like you’re the only two people on earth, that nothing else matters except the person who holds the true reign of your heart. Namjoon, though he would never admit it out loud, subconsciously seemed to yearn for that kind of love, a love that was so intense and fulfilling that it consumed him.
But at the same time, he was afraid.
He feared the vulnerability that came along with falling in love, let alone expressing his own feelings. Most of it is due to the fact that - once again - he has yet to experience such a thing, but he’s not really one to open up to others easily. But with you, it felt different for him. The common interests and similar mindsets between the two of you has seemed to put him at ease, the author finding a sense of comfort whenever he’s in your presence. He’s open minded and the feelings or fears that he would usually keep away would roll off of his tongue without a second thought, and even though that scared him - he would much rather express them to you than to anyone else. Even Seokjin.
As Namjoon sips on his drink, his gaze fell on the door to the bar, a wide dimpled grin forming on his lips when he catches sight of you walking through the entryway -- and fucking christ, have you always looked this beautiful? You were dressed in all black - something of which he did not mind one bit - the silk dress clinging to your upper body while the black tights clung to your legs, chunky heeled ankle booties adorning your feet and elongating your legs to the point where Namjoon had no idea where they began and where they ended. You looked stunning, and the author takes note that you - in fact - had always been this beautiful.
You catch his gaze the moment you walk through the door, the bleach blonde author looking more than handsome as he leisurely leaned against the bar. Adorned in a black and white checkered button down and black skinny jeans, his hair was pushed off of his forehead and styled back, and you swore that he had gotten more handsome since the last time you saw him. Offering the author a small smile, you take a seat next to him at the bar and rest your elbows on the counter. Namjoon’s gaze makes a small wave of heat appear on your cheeks and you have to break your gaze from his, not wanting him to catch sight of the blush coating your cheeks.
“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted, grinning widely. You smiled towards the ground.
“Hey, Namjoon,” you said politely. “Did you order a drink?”
The author nodded, his slender finger pointing towards his glass.
“Sure did,” he chimed. “I was going to order yours but I wasn’t sure what you liked…”
You sent him a small smile, your head nodding towards him in acknowledgement.
“It’s alright,” you brushed off. “We hadn’t really discussed what kind of alcohol we preferred. Although… assuming from the amount of empty whiskey bottles in your apartment, I’m going to take a wild guess and say that that’s your drink of choice?”
Your teasing tone makes Namjoon chuckle, the man bashfully looking towards the ground before his gaze rests on you once more. You, on the other hand, turned towards the bartender to order yourself a drink.
“Cherry vodka and sprite, please.”
You can faintly hear the deep chuckle resonate from Namjoon, your curious gaze falling on his dimpled grin as he looks at you. Raising an eyebrow towards him, you can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips.
“What?” You asked, making Namjoon shake his head.
“Nothing, nothing,” he grinned. “I just didn’t peg you as a vodka girl.”
You mirrored his grin at that, a quiet laugh escaping you as you shrugged.
“It tastes good,” you admitted. “I’m not a fan of really hard liquor. I like the sweet and fruity stuff.”
“That makes sense,” he hummed softly. “Most people like drinks that resemble themselves.”
You give him a look mixed between surprise and confusion.
“Are you saying that I’m sweet, Mr. Kim?”
Namjoon smirked, his body leaning closer towards yours.
“Possibly,” he mused.
You can feel your heartbeat increase at the close proximity of him, the smell of his cologne hitting your nose, and you can feel yourself melting into his ways. For someone who had zero experience with girls, he was surely confident when it came to flirting. Then again, there was a mutual comfort between the two of you. It was natural, almost like you had known him for years, and you certainly weren’t complaining about it.
Gripping the cherry in your drink, you hold it out to him with a quirked eyebrow.
“Want it?” You asked, making Namjoon reach out and take it.
“Do you not like cherries?”
“Eh, not really a fan,” you admitted.
Namjoon feigned shock.
“Perposterous!”
The two of you laughed at his antics while you idly stirred your straw around to mix the drink, another blush coating your cheeks as you take a sip of the drink. The natural air between the two of you sets your mind at ease, a breath of relief coming from you when you realize that you don’t have to pretend with him. When you were with Jace, you felt like you had to act like a completely different person whenever you hung out with him. He was the outspoken type and you thought that you had to stoop to his level of immaturity and obnoxious nature in order for him to notice you -- and while it did end up catching his attention, you weren’t comfortable pretending to be someone you weren’t.
The more time you spent with the author, the more you began to realize the similarities between both yours and his personalities. He understood you in ways no one else ever could, the strong passion and admiration for the field that both of you work in sealed the deal.
Casting a glance towards the man, you can’t help but examine his features. Sure, you had noticed the obvious things like his dimples and his plump lips but you never took the time out to actually look at him. You can feel your brain internally memorizing every curvature and point marked on the man; his slightly puffed out cheeks, the subtle point at the tip of his nose, his sharp jawline. He really was handsome, that you will admit. But aside from his looks, it was his intellectual nature that drew you in. The pure intelligence that was buried within the author’s brain never failed to impress you; he was smarter than most (a fact he had revealed to you whilst talking at the coffee shop), and he always managed to pay attention to the small details within everyday things.
He was brilliant, he was kind, and he was yours.
...Wait -- what?!
The feeling of panic rushed through you within that moment and you tore your gaze away from Namjoon’s face, the sound of your heart pounding wildly in your ears as your brain goes into overdrive. Namjoon definitely was not yours -- nor did you want him to be. You were just helping him out, teaching him the ways of how love works and what it feels like when you’re with that person. Under no circumstances are you - or him, for that matter - supposed to feel any sort of romantic feeling towards one another. You were simply friends helping one another out.
You were so caught up in your inner turmoil that you hadn’t noticed Namjoon looking at you with a curious gaze, his head cocked to the side as he gently places a hand on your arm.
“Are you alright?”
His deep, velvety voice that filled your ears only fueled the chaos within your brain, your heart beating rapidly now as you turn back to face him. Plastering a fake smile on your lips you nodded your head furiously.
“Y-yeah!” You choked out. “Why wouldn’t I be?!”
Namjoon sends you an unsure look, the author - no doubt - knowing you’re lying. But before he could open his mouth, another voice beat him to speaking first.
“Hey there, handsome.”
Both yours and Namjoon’s eyes focused on an older woman standing next to him, a sickly feeling rushing through your stomach as she eyes the author up and down. Namjoon, who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, smiled politely at the woman as he nods in acknowledgement.
“Hello,” he greeted.
You can practically feel her undressing him with her eyes and you bite back a scoff as you turn back to your drink, irritation filling you up as you gulp down the alcohol.
“I saw you from across the bar and I couldn’t help but come over here and tell you how incredibly handsome you are,” her voice is sickly sweet, the sound churning your stomach even more. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Namjoon chuckled.
“Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink?”
You gritted your teeth at their exchange, your gaze shooting deadly daggers towards the woman as she places a hand on his arm.
“You’re too sweet --”
“Too bad he’s here with me,” you shoot back, plastering a fake smile on your lips. The woman gives you a look of disdain, her nose turning up into the air.
“I see,” she replied curtly. “Are you his girlfriend?”
“She’s not my --”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” Namjoon’s eyes widened at your words, the man’s body turning towards you as he looked at you completely flabbergasted. “So I would appreciate it if you left my boyfriend alone, thanks.”
The woman sends you one last dirty look before she finally drops her hand from Namjoon’s shoulder and walks away, a string of curses being muttered under her breath while you smirk in satisfaction. An uncomfortable silence shifts between the two of you as you down the last of your drink, your blood pumping loudly in your ears as you feel the anger begin to dissipate, devastation in its wake as you reach to grab your jacket.
“I think I’m going to head out,” you muttered, making Namjoon look at you.
“What?” He asked, following you as soon as you stood up.
Sending him a small smile, you slip your jacket on and grab your purse.
“I’ll see you later, Joon.”
The man can’t utter one more word before you’re out the door, the chilly winter breeze serving as a punishment for the lack of control you had over your feelings. Your brain is screaming at you for the stunt you pulled in there, the devastation of the events beginning to unfold, and you can’t help but mutter under your breath. Your heart, on the other hand, is commending you for standing up for your feelings. Despite the willpower to conceal them, your heart overtook your brain in that particular moment and you were torn on how to feel about it -- either Namjoon could totally hate your guts right now for killing his flirting game or he could be thankful…
...It seemed to be the latter because not even a minute later, you could hear your name being called.
Namjoon was breathless by the time he made it by your side, his eyes wide and plump lips parted as he panted for air. Your heart seemed to awaken again at the sight of him and you cursed the organ for contradicting your feelings, not wanting them to show anymore.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, still slightly breathless. “Did I do something?”
You let out a humorless laugh, your head shaking as you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket.
“Not at all, Joon,” you affirmed. “I’m just tired. All of the studying for finals has me completely wiped out.”
Namjoon frowned at that, his eyes searching for something -- anything.
“Then why did you agree to come out tonight?”
You fell silent at that -- though you did have your doubts about coming out with him tonight and it was heavily influenced by Hana, there was a part of you that was aching to be around him. It’s funny how fast feelings that you’ve suppressed can come into light, the subconscious thoughts of your mind ruling out any good judgment that you had possessed earlier. You wanted to be around him, you wanted to be with him -- but the cynic inside of you ruined any chance of you actually going for it.
Bottling up your emotions, you sucked in a deep breath before holding your head up high and offering him a small smile.
“Goodnight, Namjoon.”
You had barely managed to walk a step away from him before his footsteps could be heard, the harsh crunching of leaves beneath his feet echoing around the silent air.
“(Y/N)!”
His hand wrapped around your arm before he stands next to you, his steps gradually falling into place with yours.
“At least let me walk you home,” he begged, his deep brown eyes pleading. “It’s not safe for you to walk around at night by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine, Namjoon --”
“Please.”
His voice fell to a quiet tone and you could feel your heart clench as your gaze lifted to meet his, a heartbeat passing between the folds of silence before you’re slowly nodding your head.
“Okay…”
There’s a tension between the two of you as you walk side by side, Namjoon’s arm brushing yours with every step of the way. You can feel your heart racing at an uncomfortable speed just by having his presence near, the annoying butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach as you try to calm yourself down. Namjoon is silent the whole way to your dorm, the man not daring to look in your direction. His hands are shoved within the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes straight forward ahead, and you can feel your heart crumble at the crestfallen expression on his face.
As you approach your dorm, you stop in front of Namjoon and turn towards him to send him a small smile.
“Thank you for walking me home,” you said quietly, making Namjoon nod.
“No problem,” he smiled back. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
“I appreciate that,” you murmured. “Goodnight, Joon.”
As you turn towards the door, you can still feel his presence from behind you, the light clearing of his throat making you turn back to look at him as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Are you sure there wasn’t any particular reason as to why you came out with me tonight?” He asked quietly. “Or as to why you jumped down that woman’s throat?”
You pressed your lips into a thin line at his questions, your heart screaming to tell him the truth -- but you couldn’t. The intense feelings you held for the man in front of you were something beyond anything you felt for anyone before - even Jace - and honestly… it scared you. It scared you that you had managed to fall hard and fast for a man you’ve only known for few months, that he had managed to wiggle his way into your sealed shut heart. So you pushed away your feelings and put on a fake smile.
“I came out because I like hanging out with you,” that wasn’t necessarily a lie… “And that woman was up to no good, Joon. She wasn’t looking to have an intellectual conversation with you, she was looking for more… intimate things.”
Namjoon blinks, but he doesn’t say anything. You give him one last pained smile before you’re waving at him.
“Goodnight, Joon. Get home safe.”
...Yet you still hadn’t managed to move inside.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
The hand you had on the doorknob froze as he spoke, your heartbeat speeding up immensely as Namjoon steps closer to you. You don’t move and inch, not even when you feel his hand on top of yours, the warmth creating an electric shock that wracks your body. He’s quiet, lips not uttering one word, but you can feel his hot breath cascading along your neck, the sensation emitting goosebumps to flare up on your flesh. A shiver knocks through you and you can’t help but let your lips part when you feel the plump flesh of Namjoon’s lips brush against your skin.
“(Y/N),” he whispered, an arm loosely wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him. “Please… Be honest with me…”
You can feel your self restraint beginning to break, the emotions that you had fought off for months were free now, the wall you had put up completely crumbling into pieces as you sink into his touch.
“I feel it,” you breathed out, eyes closing as you relish in him. “God, Joon, I’ve felt it for months.”
That was all he needed to hear.
Turning you around in his arms, Namjoon cups your face and pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours without a second thought. The frustration and denial you had tried to convey towards your feelings were gone, completely diminished by the pure, raw emotions you felt towards this man. Your lips move against his in a slow, languid dance, and surprisingly - or at least for someone who lacks experience - he’s magnificent. His lips are softer than you imagined they would be, but there’s a hidden passion behind his kiss. He’s taking his time, almost like he’s mapping out every movement you make, trying to decide his own move.
You can feel your breath hitch when you feel your back press against your door, Namjoon’s hands moving from your face to rest on your waist. You’re lost in him, completely mesmerized by the man, and you can feel the oxygen leaving your lungs -- but you don’t care. He’s addictive, his pillow soft lips calling out to you in more ways than one. But you pull away, a ragged breath escaping you as you pant quietly, fighting to catch your breath. Namjoon, on the other hand, takes it as his cue to move his kisses elsewhere. While you rested against the door, his lips found purchase along your jaw, his tongue sweeping along your skin, the sensation making you shiver beneath him as you lace your fingers through his blonde locks. He’s mouthing at your flesh, sucking softly on your skin, and you’re crumbling even more - your body completely craving his touch, each and every part of you calling out for more.
Tugging softly at his tresses, you let out a quiet whimper when he reaches your neck, his mouth suckling on a spot that has you arching into him.
“Joon,” you murmured. “If you don’t stop now, I’m going to end up dragging you into my room.”
Your words have Namjoon smirking against your neck, his tongue swiping along your collarbone before he nips at it playfully, earning himself a quiet yelp from you.
“What if I don’t want to stop?” He asked, making you draw back from him.
“Joon seriously --”
“I am being serious, (Y/N).”
Lifting his head from your neck, Namjoon has a dangerous glint in his eyes as he gazed down at you, his hands moving up to cup your face once more.
“I like you,” he reiterates. “I want you, I want to be with you.”
You sigh softly as you relish in the touch of his hands.
“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you…”
“How are you taking advantage of me when I want it to happen?”
“We’ve had drinks, Joon --”
“So?” He chuckled. “I’m not obliterated, (Y/N).” Gripping your face, he pulls you closer towards him. “I want you to show me what it feels like to be loved, I want you to show me what it’s like to feel wanted…”
His mouth reattaches itself back to yours as soon as he finishes speaking, only this time it’s not closed. The tip of his tongue prods against your lips and you hesitate momentarily, wondering if what you were doing is right; but then he’s murmuring sweet nothings against your lips, his hand gently caressing your cheek, and you melted instantly.
Reaching out a blind hand, you fumble with the doorknob before the two of you are stumbling into the room. Pulling away from his lips you call out for Hana, only semi-aware of her absence as Namjoon mouths hotly at your neck, his hands unzipping your jacket until he’s sliding it down your arms. Reattaching your mouth back to his, you’re pulling him towards your bed whilst helping him shed off his jacket. The moment Namjoon is pressed against the bed, you’re breaking your mouth from his and attaching your lips to his neck, the man beneath you instantly pressing you closer to his body.
Your tongue runs along the skin connected to his neck and collarbone, the spot seeming to be a sensitive one for the author considering the moment your mouth latched onto it he lets out a deep growl. You smirked against his flesh, his sounds egging you on as you continue to nip at the skin. You can feel him begin to harden beneath you, a low whimper escaping the man when he feels your hands run underneath his shirt, his hips bucking up into your touch as you press a kiss to the column of his throat.
“(Y/N) please,” he murmured. “I want more.”
Peering up at him through your eyelashes, you begin to unbutton his shirt, your lips attaching to each newly revealed part of his chest until you’re moving down his body, your tongue dipping along the indents of his abdomen as you slip the shirt off of him. He may not be the most muscular man around but it was nothing less of beautiful, his tan skin glinting in the moonlight, the faint shadows of the small hint of muscle was just as impressive as one who held a more muscular build. Namjoon was truly beautiful -- inside and out.
As your mouth reaches the hem of his jeans, Namjoon lets out a small groan, the feeling of your fingers making the man crave so much more than what you’re giving him - but he knows that you’re showing him what it’s truly like to feel appreciated. So he stays rooted to the bed, his hooded gaze locked on your form as you unbutton his jeans and slide them down his long, lean legs. The feeling of your hands on his bare skin has him squirming, the anticipation bubbling up within his body. He’s already beginning to sweat, the man on edge as he anxiously awaits for you to continue.
A small hiss of pleasure escapes him when he feels your nails gently rake against his skin as you slide up between his legs, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you place a kiss on his hipbone. If it was up to you, you would be leaving marks upon marks upon marks on the man’s skin -- but you decided to save that for another time. This time around, the first time (for him at least), you were determined to show him what it meant to be adored.
“Joonie,” you cooed softly, peering up at him. “You’re doing so well, baby.”
“Oh fuck,” he moaned, hips rising from the bed when he felt your fingers play with the hem of his briefs. “Keep talking to me, (Y/N).”
Your smirk grew wider at his pleading and you tug the briefs teasingly slow down his legs until they crumple into a ball on the floor, your hands ghosting along his honey thighs as you position yourself comfortably onto the bed. Your eyes are trained on him, gaze locked on his, and you send him a flirty smile as your hands reach his inner thighs.
“Tell me how you feel, baby,” you murmured, before leaning down to press your lips to the flesh of his thigh.
Namjoon whimpers, his hands reaching out to clench at the bedsheets as he digs his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip.
“I feel fucking amazing, (Y/N),” he moaned. “You make me feel amazing.”
Half listening to him, you gently grab his cock in your hands before letting the tips of your fingers glide along his length, the action earning you the sweetest groan to emit from the man’s lips. Sinking down further onto the bed, you dip your head down and teasingly lick a stripe to the underside of his cock.
“Oh fuck --!”
The hiss of pleasure is all you needed to hear before you’re completely enveloping the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it as your hand wraps around whatever wasn’t being touched. Namjoon is writhing beneath your ministrations, the man’s hips bucking upwards off of the bed as cries of pleasure are falling from his lips, his breath falling in short pants as you take more of him into your mouth. He’s putty in your hands - and he knows it too - and god, he’s so glad he waited for this until he actually developed the feelings he has for you. His passion towards you only fuels the pleasure for himself, all he sees is you and he’s crashing down fast - almost embarrassingly fast - but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Inhaling sharply through your nose, you take as much of him as you can into your mouth, your hand gliding along the rest that doesn’t fit, before you take a deep breath and swallow around him. The action has Namjoon keening loudly, his hands moving from the sheets to rest in the locks of your hair, nimble fingers tugging harshly at your tresses as he bucks his hips into your mouth. You choke slightly, but you power through it as you drop your hand from his shaft. Swallowing once more around him, you glide your mouth down the rest of his length until the tip of your nose presses against his pelvis, a string of curses falling from Namjoon’s mouth when he realizes you’ve managed to take all of him.
He’s reaching his brink quickly, the man feeling his body beginning to coil and his balls tighten, his release building faster and faster with every flick of your tongue - and before you know it, he’s letting out a loud cry of your name as he comes undone. His thighs tremble with the aftershocks of his release, your tongue happily lapping up every last drop of him as a growl rips through his chest. Slowly you’re drawing back from his cock, your tongue running over your lips as you swallow what’s left of his release, a playful smirk on your face as you slither back up his body. Namjoon’s hands clutched you tightly to him, his lips surging up to find yours as he kisses you sloppily.
“Please let me touch you, baby,” he pleaded against your mouth, his fingers sneaking underneath the hem of your dress. “I want to make you feel good too.”
“Are you sure you can handle it?” You asked, teasingly. Another growl rips from Namjoon as he drops his hands to your thighs, the man rolling you over without hesitation.
“I’ve watched enough porn to know how to treat a woman,” he purred, making you scoff.
“Porn isn’t reality, Joonie --”
“But it still taught me how to find a woman’s spot.”
He wastes no time in ripping your dress off of you, the article of clothing being carelessly discarded as he reaches behind you to clumsily fumble with your bra, the pesky lingerie finally coming undone after the fourth attempt. It was endearing, honestly. Namjoon’s movements are precise yet clumsy, the man far too eager to even begin to slow down his pace -- not that you were complaining anyways.
When his mouth attaches to your now revealed breasts, you can’t help but mewl with pleasure, his warm tongue soothing your flesh in soft circles. His fingertips are dancing along your stomach, the pads gently tapping an unknown rhythm as his tongue strokes your pert nipple softly. The slow ministrations sends your body into overdrive, the craving for him growing to an excessive want as his mouth unlatches itself from your breast and trails down your body.
He’s carelessly pulling down your tights, your panties soon following, and you open your eyes fast enough to catch the glimpse of him licking his lips in anticipation. This time you’re molding to the bed as his warm hands part your thighs, his blunt nails softly digging into your flesh as he faces your dripping core. Reaching down, you give him an encouraging tug on his locks, a nod of your head soon following before Namjoon leans in and attaches his plump lips to your folds.
“Shit…”
The hiss falls brokenly from your lips as he mouths at your core, his tongue running along your folds every now and again. He’s definitely watched some sort of pussy eating porn because the moment he wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks, you’re shameless bucking your hips into his face, a cry of his name falling from your lips. You reaction makes the man smirk, a devious glint in his eyes as he peered up at you from his eyelashes, Namjoon gaining pleasure from just watching you relish in the touch of him.
He can feel his cock twitch as he laps at your core, every once in awhile sucking at the sensitive bud, but he’s never been more satisfied. From between watching you writhe with pleasure and all but grind down onto his tongue, he’s relishing in everything that’s you. He may not be as experienced as the guys you’ve had before, but he’s a damn fast learner and he’s determined to make you feel even half - if not more - of the pleasure you’ve felt when you were with others.
Experimentally he’s running the tip of his finger along your folds, the action only adding to your pleasure, and you reach down to grab his wrist to push him more against your core - a sign that it was okay to do what he had planned. Slowly he’s running the digit along your slick folds, coating it thoroughly before he’s pushing it inside of you. Instantly mewling at the contact, you swivel your hips to rock against the touch, silently guiding him to build up a rhythm with his fingers. He takes the reigns, however, curling the digit inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion, the length of his finger brushing further inside of you as he begins to pump it in and out.
You’re feeling yourself begin to falter, your release building slowly in the pit of your stomach, and although you loved to relish in the feeling he’s giving you, you didn’t want to cum this way. So instead you’re gently pushing him off of you and sitting up, Namjoon’s eyes widening at your actions as he licks your juices off of his lips.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, slightly panicked. “Did I do something -- oof!”
Namjoon’s words were cut short when you gripped his forearms and pulled him onto the bed, sneakily grabbing a condom from your bedside drawer before your legs are placed on either side of his legs as you settle comfortably onto his thighs. A dirty smirk is painted on your lips as you run your nails along the skin of his back, your nose gently pressing against his cheek.
“You were perfect, baby,” you praised. “I just didn’t want to cum like that.”
Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion Namjoon opens his mouth to ask what you meant when a loud groan emits from him, a soft giggle falling from your lips as you slip the condom onto his length and align yourself up with him. With one arm looped around his neck and the other placed gently on his thigh, you slowly slide down onto his length, gasps of relief escaping from both yours and Namjoon’s mouths as he fills you up to the hilt.
Namjoon is gritting his teeth, the man not used to having his cock be completely enveloped in a tight warmth. You stay still for that reason, patiently waiting for him to control himself so he doesn’t blow right then and there. It’s only when Namjoon whimpers softly, his hips gently twisting against you, do you finally begin to swivel your hips. The slow rhythm is enough for you to hold onto him tightly, your nose pressing against his as the two of you rock gently into one another. Namjoon’s lips seek out to find yours, a messy kiss being exchanged as you begin to fasten the tempo of your hips.
You’ve been with your fair share of lovers, some worse than others, but you can confidently say that none of them were at all like the man in front of you. The intimacy shared between the two of you was like none other; it wasn’t hasty, it wasn’t rushed. It was raw, it was pure, and it was real. You could feel yourself become overwhelmed within the situation, your lips parting in pure pleasure as Namjoon rocked against you, your nails gently raking against the skin of his flesh as you angled your hips to make him surge deeper within you.
You clench around him, the sensation making Namjoon growl against your skin, his teeth biting into the skin on your shoulder as you reach to grab his wrist. Placing his hand between your interlinked bodies, you urge him to press his thumb against your clit, the man doing so without any sort of hesitation. You’re rocking roughly against him now, the feeling of him inside of you mixed with the rough circles being rubbed on your clit making your delayed release begin to build again. Namjoon isn’t far behind you, either, the man inching closer and closer to his own release as the rhythm begins to grow sloppy.
White hot pleasure is illuminating between your bodies as you clench once more around him, Namjoon coming with a low groan against your skin, his teeth softly nibbling at your flesh as he trembles beneath you, the rough circles on your clit and the soft brush of the tip of Namjoon’s cock brushing against your sensitive spot has you soon following, your hips grinding down onto him as you ride out your release.
Sweaty bodies are molded together, neither you or Namjoon wanting to break the contact as you unwind from your highs. The gentle nibbles of his teeth on your skin transition into soft pecks, his tongue running along the marks he had bitten into your skin until he’s making his way up your jaw and to your mouth. Lips tangle within a passionate kiss, soft flicks of his tongue against yours making you mewl quietly, the sound reverberating into his own.
Slowly he’s bringing you back towards the comforter, your sweaty skin sticking to the blankets as he throws them over your bodies. His fingers lace with yours as he finally draws back from your mouth, his nose gently grazing against yours as a blissful, dimpled grin forms on his lips.
“Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against yours. “For finally showing me what it feels like to be in love.”
Mirroring his grin, you lean in to place a soft kiss against his lips.
“And thank you for showing me how to love again.”
A loud shriek of happiness echoes within the hallway, your hands instantly covering your ears as Hana bounces excitedly.
“I told you so!” She cheered, clapping her hands happily, making you roll your eyes as you bite back a grin.
“Shut up, Han,” you laughed.
She’s beaming with pride, the bubbly blonde wrapping her arms around you as she squeezes you tightly in a hug.
“I knew it from the beginning, (Y/N)! You two are most definitely meant for each other!”
Not even being able to bite back the grin this time, you let it consume your lips as you beam at her.
“I think we are,” you agreed. “Thank you for opening my eyes, Han. I appreciate you.”
She gives you another tight squeeze, the blonde bouncing on her heels as she pulls away from you. Nodding her head in the direction behind you, her grin slips into a wide smirk as she nudged you playfully.
“Your boyfriend is here,” she teased.
Quickling bidding you goodbye, you watch her bounce away before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, soft, plump lips gently pressing to the skin on your neck.
“Hello, beautiful,” Namjoon’s deep voice fills your ears as you turn around to lock your arms around his neck.
“Hi, handsome,” you grinned. “How was your morning?”
“It was uneventful,” he pouted. “I didn’t have my beautiful girl with me.”
Rolling your eyes at his cheesiness, you lean in to peck his lips softly.
“Well I’m here now,” you murmured against his mouth.
“And that’s all I need.”
“I thought that I would never be able to fall in love. I thought that my career would essentially leave me lonely; no one by my side, no one to help me get through this rough patch. I was swarmed with an empty mind, no creative outlet allowing me access from within. It was hard, I’ll admit. Endless nights of me drinking myself into oblivion, hoping that somehow my drunken stupor could bring me at least one idea or spark my inspiration once again. I was drowning in nothingness, falling into a black hole filled with nothing but regret -- and then it happened. An angel from above came down to save me from my stupidity and rash behavior. She taught me everything I needed to know; from learning how to get past the writer’s block that plagued me to learning what the true meaning of love meant. She is my savior, my angel, my muse -- and her name is (Y/N).”
-- Kim Namjoon, The Angel of Love (Release Date: Coming Soon)
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A Dumb Idea (1.4 k, coda to 14x15 “The Last Holiday”, Sam & Dean, Dean/Cas)
(ao3)
They celebrated Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, birthdays, even the Fourth of July. What about the other holidays? What about Valentine's Day?
Mrs. Butters actually had a plan for that, but she left before it could come to fruition. Sam, however, stumbles on Dean and a leftover piece from said plan. Something Dean would rather Sam not see. When he does get a peek as to what it is, well... Dean and Sam have a lot to talk about.
Sam didn’t intend this. He called Dean’s name, first. Except his brother didn’t react. Head bowed, headphones on as he studied something before him. Music loud enough Sam faintly heard it from the kitchen’s entrance. Easily obscuring his footsteps as Sam approached, curious.
Moving closer, Sam saw a pencil in Dean’s hand. Wrinkled paper waiting underneath it. Marred with illegible words. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “What are you writing?”
Dean jumped, headphones slipping off his head. Zeppelin blaring, echoing across the room until his brother slammed a fist on his mp3. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean turned, glaring. Both hands covered the folded paper, pencil forgotten as it rolled away. “Don’t do that! Could’ve had a heart attack.”
“You have a better chance at going deaf than having a heart attack, Dean.”
“At least then Eileen could teach me sign language,” he said, bending forward. Somehow maintaining eye contact with Sam. “And we can gossip behind your back with complicated, advanced signing that you can’t do because of your big moose hooves.”
Snorting, Sam brushed the insult aside. He won’t be distracted that easy. “What are you doing?” he asked, again, “What are you writing?”
Dean’s lip twitched. His gaze flit between the paper and Sam. “I’m not writing anything.” The pencil, thrown from the table’s edge, landed with a guilty clatter. “Okay, I was writing something,” Dean admit, dragging the page towards him, “It’s… a grocery list.”
“Groceries?”
“Yeah, those things you buy?” Dean rose with a nervous giggle, the paper pressed against his chest, “Mrs. Butters wasn’t here for that long Sam, you must remember food doesn’t naturally poof out of thin air. So I set to taking stock of what we needed and… actually, I just finished.” He inched backwards, Sam trailing after him. “Might as well go and get the groceries, now that I have the… the list.”
Sam shrugged, grinning, “That makes sense.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
A beat later, Sam pounced. Dean, anticipating his attack, spun on his heel. Sam’s chest colliding with his back, blanketing it. But Dean hadn’t considered his next move, because the kitchen island blocked any attempt at escape. Trapped between Sam and it, all he could do was play defense while Sam used every dirty trick on making his brother let go. Because Sam already ran through the scenario in his head, planning for this moment. From the second he saw Dean hide that paper.
It wasn’t what he intended; Dean left him no choice.
He tickles, he pinches, and he pulls. Finally, Dean surrenders his hold on the paper. Sam snatches it and bolts, his brother chasing him. “Sammy!”
“Grocery list my ass!” he yells behind him, skidding around a turn in the hall. Narrowly avoiding Dean’s fist, laughing as he slams into the wall Sam avoided. “Let’s see what you were really writing…” His eyes scan the front of the paper, reading aloud what Dean scrawled in bright red ink. “I never really believed in angels,” he says, slowing, “until I met you.”
Dean slams into him, both sent tumbling. They lie on their backs, panting, the paper in Sam’s hand with Dean’s creeping closer. Sam feels it go taut as Dean grabs hold, yet he won’t fight further. Perhaps afraid of ruining what’s there. Of the cheesy pick-up line titling his inner thoughts, bookended by doodled wings and a giant, colored heart stamped on the bottom.
“Really,” Sam gasps, “you got so worked up over that.” His body burns with exhaustion, having overexerted himself. Although not really. Sam should be more concerned with his stamina, except there were other matters that need his attention.
“Shut up…” Dean’s cheeks were red, from embarrassment, exercise, or a combination of both. “Shit’s personal.”
“And grade school,” Sam says. He lurches into a seated position, Dean popping up alongside him. Neither letting go, still. “What are you doing writing a Valentine’s Day card?”
“Why does anyone write a Valentine’s Day card, Sam?” Dean stares at his feet, thinking. The grip on his end goes slack, hand falling to his side. “Read it.”
Sam hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“You’ve already seen enough,” he sighs, pinching his brow. “Come on. Do it, before I change my mind.”
Noting the twinges of irritation threaded into his voice, Sam knows he won’t have long. He flicks it open, first three letters stealing his breath. Glancing at Dean, he sees his brother curled. Physically making himself smaller, like Dean could disappear if he tried hard enough. Sam keeps his initial thoughts silent, saving it for the end.
Which was the right choice. If the first word were a seed, then the rest of his message was the flower. Each sentence like a petal that together created a beautiful image. Of a secret love. Simmering feelings, strengthening over time. Insecurities laid bare that Sam had expected yet never confirmed until now. A simple plea – a prayer – that leaves him raw, despite the words having come from someone else.
Sam closes it, wiping at his eyes. “I…” he clears his throat, “Wow. You were planning on giving this to Cas?”
“Yes…” Dean pouts, snatching the card from Sam. He lets Dean take it. “Maybe, I – I don’t know.”
“But you wrote it,” Sam says, “Did you… did you mean it? Everything?”
“Of course I did!” He waves the card about, snarling, “If I didn’t mean it, it wouldn’t be there.”
Nodding, Sam slides closer. Throws an arm around Dean, tugging him into a loose hug. “How long have you been sitting on this?”
“On the feelings or the card?”
“The card.”
Dean relaxes, leaning on Sam. “A few days now. You were getting ready for your date with Eileen and, well… when Mrs. Butters was still here, she was going on about the next holiday we should celebrate. With Eileen here, maybe invite her over and do a whole Valentine’s Day dinner…” He chuckles, rubbing at his jaw. “And I was eating some of her snickerdoodles, and she looked at me. Clucked her tongue and said how it’d be perfect to set me up with a girl as good as Eileen. I… don’t know if it was because I was in such a good mood, or it was easier, explaining to a stranger, but it all came – it came rushing out. I couldn’t stop myself. Then… when I was finished… y’know what she did? She magicked up that paper and the – the pencil back in the kitchen. And said I should put everything I said down there. Invite Cas over and then give it to him.”
Sam braves a smile for both of them. “Sounded like it would have been fun.”
“No,” Dean says, “it wouldn’t. Because then Cas would read my card and… and he’d know how I really feel.”
“That’s a problem?”
“It’s a problem if he doesn’t feel the same!” He throws Sam off of him, scrambling to his feet. Sam stands, too. “I have all these big, awful, disgusting… intense, amazing, fantastic feelings for him, but what if that���s where it ends. That for him I…” Dean shudders, body shaking. “I’m just a friend. And this whole time I’ve been imagining more than what was there. Hoping that maybe, the reason we always found our way back to each other, was because we were meant to.”
“Dean,” Sam starts, cautiously approaching him. Gentle, like he was a wild deer. Skittish, alert for any surprises. “You won’t know if you don’t try… I’m sure that, when Cas sees that, he’ll be happy. More than happy!”
“You don’t know,” Dean says, lifting the card. Scowling, he holds it on either side. “This was a dumb idea anyway… I shouldn’t have ever listened to her.”
“Dean, don’t –“
He rips it. Rips it again. A third time, and many more after that until confetti rains from his fingers. Sam watches this happen with a pit in his stomach, all of Dean’s hard work disappearing in an instant. Resolve crumbling as fast.
Dean sniffs, swiping his nose. “Let’s… forget this ever happened, okay Sammy?” he says, stalking down the hall, “Got more important things we should be focusing on anyway…”
He disappears, footfalls echoing until those, too, end. Sam stays, staring at the pile of shreds.
Sam bends, sweeping them into his hands. Makes sure they’re all there. Then he heads towards his room.
Cas is due back soon, anyway. If Sam acts quickly, at least some of what Dean wrote can reach him. Enough for them to have the conversation that’s been looming overhead for years now. The clock is ticking, and Sam will be damned if it runs out on those two.
#supernatural#spn#spn15#15x14#spn the last holiday#sam winchester#dean winchester#destiel#deancas#destiel fanfic#deancas fanfic#supernatural fanfic#spn coda
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Star Crossed ⁕ Chapter Three
WARNING: Mentions of Blood
←Chapter 2 | Master List
“Pay up!” Thalia exclaimed excitedly as she stopped in front of the two eldest Weasley siblings with her hand up. They looked shocked to see her, mainly because she had been standing with Fred and George in the very back of the group as they walked back to their tents, but stuck their hands in their pockets nonetheless.
Charlie was mumbling under his breath as he dropped two galleons onto Thalia’s palm, while Bill just let out a laugh as he did the same, before excusing himself to catch up to their father.
“We told you it was a bad idea” Fred squeezed himself in between Charlie and Thalia, wrapping an arm around her again. She simply rolled her eyes at him, shrugging his arm away before walking ahead to join Ginny and Hermione.
“Siding with her won’t make her accept your apology” Charlie sang teasingly, punching his Fred’s arm lightly, “What did you do this time?”
“He placed a bet with Ludo Bagman using her guess” George answered humorously.
“Hey, it wasn’t just me!” Fred exclaimed defensively, “You were there too, you know!”
“Yeah, but you did all the talking” replied George, “As far as I’m concerned, we’re in good terms”
Fred groaned, shoving his brothers away as they teased him for Thalia not accepting his apology, before he got fed up and walked away from them.
As soon as they returned to the tent, they shared a hearty dinner of sandwiches prepared by Percy – who had gotten back to the tent earlier than all of them. After they’ve brushed their teeth, Thalia tucked herself into her claimed bunk bed, spreading open a muggle fiction book onto her lap as she drowned out the noise of Fred and George teasing Ron for his immense love for Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian team’s seeker.
In the middle of her reading, she felt her eyes start to droop from the lack of sleep and the tiredness she felt. Shutting the book and placing it over her chest, she allowed herself to succumb to sleep, smiling when the noise around her vanished.
That was until blood-curdling screams flooded her ears, jolting her awake. She could see Arthur and Bill’s silhouettes peeking outside the tent, and Charlie and Percy standing behind them, wands raised in front of them. Thalia knew something was wrong, so she was quick to jump onto her feet, waking the others as quietly as she could, telling them to get ready.
“Must be the Irish” Fred said sleepily, rubbing his eyes as booming sounds echoed the air.
“Something’s wrong” Thalia muttered as she walked towards Arthur. He looked at her, then peered towards the children already awake, before breathing out a sigh of relief.
“Outside the tent, everyone!” Arthur shouted once the noise started getting louder and louder, and there was already a proper commotion outside as people ran like their lives depended on it – maybe it did. Everyone piled outside, panic running through their bones as people dodged them, running away from a group of masked men in the distance, marching in line towards where they were, incinerating tents along the way. “We’re going to help the ministry! Get into the woods and stick together! I’ll come fetch you when we’ve sorted this out”
With that, they sprinted towards the commotion, leaving the children to themselves. Thalia was quick to run, seeing that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have already gained some distance. She turned to look for Ginny, realizing that she, Fred, and George were all still standing near the tent, frozen in shock as the group slowly neared.
“What are you all standing there for?” Thalia exclaimed, running Fred’s hand to tug him behind her. “George, hold on to Ginny, we’ve got to go!”
She dragged Fred behind her, relieved to see George with Ginny not far behind, starting to catch up to her. “Fred, please, you’ve got to run!”
Fred, whose legs were barely moving, was pulled out of his initial shock and blinked at Thalia a few times before finally taking control of his feet. He looked behind, realizing the masked figures were actually Death Eaters, following closely behind them.
“They’re gaining on us, Lia!” Fred exclaimed in panic, picking up his pace. They have reached the woods and so far, everything was going as planned, when the first beam of red light flew past Thalia’s shoulder hitting a tree in front of them. They’re throwing spells now, great.
“Just duck and run, guys!” Thalia screamed, starting to feel tired over balancing navigating the four of them in the forest and throwing spells behind her. She felt a bit of pride having hit one Death Eater who have gotten closer, but since there were about a dozen more behind them, that wasn’t enough.
She felt a stinging pain behind her back as she dodged a low branch, brushing it off as a thorn she hadn’t noticed while they were dodging plants. “Fuck!” She screamed, realizing they’ve reached a dead end, cornered between a wall and the group of Death Eaters that pursued them.
Without much thought, she shoved Fred, George, and Ginny behind her, stretching an arm to keep them there while raising her wand with the other. “Hold on to me” She muttered, gripping her wand until her knuckled turned white.
Her eyes flickered to Ginny, noticing how the younger girl was staring up at her like she trusted her with her life – and maybe in this scenario, their lives did depend on her, on what she planned to do next.
When she was sure everyone was grabbing on to her, she closed her eyes, silently praying to all the gods and deities she knew. Please work, please work, please work.
Just as a death eater muttered the beginning of a Killing Curse, they vanished out of the woods with a soft pop, appearing onto a hill near The Burrow. Thalia lied, moaning as she writhed in main, clutching her sides where blood seeped through her sweater. It’s alright, we’re all alright. Ginny’s safe.
George was quick to pick Thalia up from the ground, wincing as the blood seeped through his shirt as well. He carried her to the Burrow, Fred and Ginny trailing close behind, as he screamed for his mother in panic. He placed her gently onto the sofa, ridding himself off his shirt to press it against Thalia’s side to stop the bleeding while Molly searched through cupboards hurriedly, coming across the potion she was looking for, and immediately joined the two near the sofa.
George lifted Thalia’s shirt on instruction, exposing her wound to Molly, who poured half the bottle over it, erupting a cry of pain from her lips.
“Fred, take Ginny out!” George exclaimed, eyes softening at the frightened look on his little sister who staring at Thalia. Fred, now realizing Ginny was watching, took her outside with him to shield her from the scene, allowing George and Molly to continue treating Thalia.
George collapsed onto the floor minutes later, leaning back against the coffee table in relief after Thalia had been treated and she had passed out. Molly sent out a Patronus to Arthur, informing him that the four of them had arrived, but Thalia was injured, before retrieving a shirt for George from the laundry she had done earlier.
˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚
“What happened?” Molly finally asked, breaking the silence in the living room as she handed out cups of tea to Fred and George. Ginny, who had been a bit shaken up from seeing the person she had grown up with in pain, excused herself to have a hot shower, probably to calm herself.
Fred took a breath, lowering his cup, “We- we were” he cleared his throat, “We were all asleep when Thalia woke us up. People were screaming. We thought it was the Irish at first – celebrating, you know? - but dad... and even Percy were suspecting it wasn’t”
“Dad told us to run into the forest” George, sensing his brother couldn’t continue, filled in for him, “They chased us, the Death Eaters” Molly audibly gasped, “and we got cornered. Thalia told us to hold on to her and – and we ended up here before- before-”
“Before what, George?” Molly urged on.
“Before they could use the Killing Curse on us” Ginny’s voice filled the living room. She had finished her shower and decided to join the three in looking over Thalia.
Molly, upon hearing that information that three of her children would have been dead if Thalia hadn’t gotten them out of there sooner, stood and rushed into the kitchen, not wanting to cry in front of them. Moments later, cracks were heard from the garden, followed by Bill, Charlie, and Percy piling into the living room, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione close behind.
“Is everyone okay? Why is your mother crying?” Arthur’s voice boomed in the living room, before he stopped in his tracks, staring at the young girl asleep on the sofa, “How did you get here? Better yet, where did you go?”
“We ran to forest like you told us to, but they cornered us!” Fred exclaimed, his father’s eagerness getting to his head, causing his eyes to start watering.
“She apparated us here! She was bleeding when I saw her so I carried her inside” George explained further, exasperated at the sudden turn of events that happened just hours apart.
Molly joined them in the living room, eyes brimmed red from crying.
“Are you sure she wasn’t splinched, Molly?”
“She wasn’t” Molly assured, shaking her head, “I don’t know how she learned how to apparate, but from what they’ve told me, the four of them would have been dead by now if she hadn’t”
The living room was enveloped in silence at the revelation, none of them knowing what to say. Molly instructed the children retreat to their rooms and get some rest for the night while Arthus, Bill, Charlie, and Percy all apparated to the Ministry to settle everything that’s been going on. And while Molly had told them all to leave, Fred and George insisted to wait for Thalia to wake.
Thalia had just acquired her new wand from Ollivander’s after hers had exploded into confetti just as their break began. Her mother had signed her up for a two-week advanced magic tutoring session, which she had always done even before Thalia had gotten her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. She had met her tutor on their first scheduled day – a man named Vulcan Gregorio, who spoked too formally for Thalia’s liking, but seemed to know what he was teaching.
Usually, when Thalia was pushed into having summer classes, she’d be taught charms and potions, gaining her an advantage for her classes the following year. However, when Vulcan told her she’ll be learning apparation and disapparation even if Thalia couldn’t acquire a license because of her age, she thought she needed a bit of an explanation.
“It’s for emergencies” Her mother had replied when she asked why she needed to learn it. Astraea’s voice established finality, so Thalia didn’t dare ask any more questions. She agreed, and in a week, she had mastered disapparating from the library of her home, to apparating in the nearby village – and vice versa.
However, when Vulcan came the following week, claiming he’s be teaching her the Unforgivable Curses, she started questioning the intentions of her mother. Sure, her mother had been kind to her and to others her whole life, but something about this didn’t sit well with her.
They pushed through the lessons, though, despite Thalia’s protests, mainly because Vulcan had threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse on her if she didn’t cooperate. She tried telling her mother about his threats, really, but all she did was wave it off and tell her he had a rather dark sense of humor, then she dropped the topic completely.
When the day came, Vulcan had set a live spider on a stool, teaching Thalia to use the Imperious Curse – which wasn’t that bad considering it was the most forgiving of the unforgivable curses.
But when she was forced to practice the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse on the innocent spider – ooh, the thought just sent shivers down her spine. Vulcan had his want pointed to the back of Thalia’s neck that day, urging her to use the first.
“I really would prefer not to-”
“You know what would happen if you don’t” Vulcan threatened, the tip of his wand digging deeper in the nape of her neck.
Thala swallowed dryly, pointing her wand towards the spider with a muttered, ‘crucio’.
Of course, nothing happened, but Vulcan’s voice rang in her ears, “LOUDER!”
“Crucio!” She raised her voice, feeling hot tears run down her face as she watched the spider writhe in pain.
“Good,” Vulcan commended, although scowling when he noticed Thalia wiping her tears away. “You know what comes next”
“I don’t want to do it” She pleaded, turning towards Vulcan, whose wand was pointed directly in her face now. She stepped back, cowering slightly, but she didn’t give up. “I don’t want to do it”
“You either do it on the spider or I’ll do it to you” He looked serious, and Thalia didn’t want to test if he really was. So, she turned back, staring at the spider. “I’m waiting, Ms. Pallas”
Thalia’s hand shook, tears already running down her face as he felt the cold tip of his wand pressed in the back of her neck again. Closing her eyes, she forced out, “Avada Kedabra”
Thalia sat up, eyes frantically searching the room as she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes caught Fred and George’s worried ones as they kneeled on the floor beside her, holding her hands. “Is everyone okay? Where’s Ginny? Is she okay?”
“She’s good” George replied, voice slurred from what Thalia assumes is sleep.
“Merlin, Lia! You were screaming in your sleep” Fred exclaimed, hand grasping hers tightly, “Are you okay?”
“What’s happening?” Molly’s voice broke through the room as she rushed down the stairs, wrapped in her robe. Upon seeing Thalia sitting up, she was quick to join her side, holding the younger girl to her chest as tears escaped her eyes. “Thank Merlin you’re okay”
Master List | Chapter 4→
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@elf-punk
#fred weasley#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley imagines#fred weasley x oc#harry potter#harry potter imagine#harry potter x reader#harry potter imagines#george weasley imagine#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley imagines#george weasley x oc
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James Potter and Latin
Summary: Part three, but can work as a one-shot! Working through each Marauders’ relationship with the Latin language. This is James Potter. Also on Ao3 and FFN (I’m also writing a very long fic following the Marauders in school. Link on my blog description!).
Wordcount: 2790
On the day that James Potter turns nine, his parents throw him the most excellent birthday party that James has ever seen.
Streamers float in the air, just low enough for James to yank on their curly tails if he wants to. Confetti swirls at James' feet, perpetually suspended a few inches above the ground—it's like wading through multicolored water. Balloons bob against the ceiling, and they're all red and gold (James' favorite colors).
James' favorite part, though, is the pile of shiny presents in the sitting room, resting securely on the table directly underneath the chandelier. James will never tell his parents, but he's already slid a thumbnail under the largest one and lifted the wrapping just enough to see what it is. He did it in the dead of night so that his parents would never know, and he was so perfectly sneaky that he knows they'll never find out.
The present seemed to be a broomstick. James already has one, but he just knows that it's a bigger, faster model. He can't wait to take it for a spin and see what model it actually is (he couldn't really see enough through the wrappings)... but first, he's going to enjoy his party.
His friends arrive around noon, and James' mother, ever the gracious hostess, lets them in. James can be a gracious host, too, when he wants to—he never wants to, of course, but he figures he'll try it today. "Welcome, Madam Pattinson," he says sagely, sweeping into a graceful bow.
Pattinson places a hand over her heart and smiles. "Oh! Such good manners. You've raised a good boy, Euphemia."
"I know I have," says James' mother. She kisses the top of James' head, and James grins. "Why don't you run along and play with Janice until the rest of your friends arrive, Jamesy?"
"Right-o, Mum!" says James. Janice is standing behind Pattinson's skirts, sucking her thumb. James cringes. Janice is such a baby.
"Go on and play with James, dear," says Pattinson to Janice. Janice closes her eyes, seemingly drawing up the courage from a place deep within, and then dashes inside the house to play with James.
James entertains Janice for the next twenty minutes—there's really no other word for it; it's not as if Janice is entertaining James. He doesn't know why Pattinson arrives everywhere thirty minutes early. He might understand it if Janice wasn't a snivelling brat, but she is, so James doesn't understand it. He suspects it's because Pattinson is tired of playing with her tiresome child and wants a babysitter.
James sighs. He should be paid for his time, at least.
Marcellus arrives around half noon, and James is much more glad for the fact. Marcellus is loads of fun. He has a pet parrot that he carries around on his shoulder. The parrot knows dirty words, and James always gets a kick out of hearing them. James' mother doesn't approve of this, of course, but Marcellus always tells her that "it can't be helped", seeing as the parrot doesn't understand what it's saying. James' mother accepts this, and then Marcellus always leans over and winks at James. Little does James' mother know that James and Marcellus taught the parrot those words themselves on a rainy Saturday afternoon.
James can't wait to show Marcellus his broomstick. Perhaps he'll let Marcellus ride on the back—if they fly far enough, then they might be able to ditch Janice without getting in trouble. If James' mother asks, James will just say that they "only meant to be gone for a second, but then they got lost". It's not very believable—James has a great sense of direction—but James' mother always believes any excuse that comes out of James' mouth. She's a good mum like that.
It isn't until twelve-forty-five when the party really starts. James has ten good friends, and all of them arrive within five minutes of each other, carrying presents and wearing comfortable dress robes. James' robes are red and adorned with patterns of Snitches—his parents bought them for him exactly one year prior. James is growing out of them now, but he plans to throw a massive tantrum if his parents buy him anything but Quidditch-themed dress robes in the future. He loves these robes.
James and his friends play all the regular games—pin the tail on the house-elf, Ring-Around-the-Gillyweed, and Duck Duck Snidget. James wins every one. He'll never admit it, but he practices these games for hours—what's the point of having a birthday party if someone else wins the games?
James' favorite part of the party is opening his presents. His parents did indeed get him Quidditch-themed robes—these are red, too, but they have tiny, moving golden Quidditch players on broomsticks flying up and down the sleeves and across the chest. They're even better than James' current dress robes. He hugs his parents and changes into his new robes straightaway.
His new broomstick is a grown-up broomstick—it's not a model with safety features, and it's not even made for kids! It's a real-life broomstick made for real-life adults. James is smiling ear-to-ear for the rest of the day. The rest of the presents can't measure up, and James' parents have to remind him to be polite and thankful—but James is trying his best. He's just so excited to go outside and play with his new broomstick.
He normally loves it when his friends visit, but today he plays with them a bit impatiently while he waits for the party to end. He's ecstatic when they finally leave. "Can I play with my new broomstick now?" he squeals, not even waiting a second after the front door shuts behind the last of his friends.
James' mum smiles adoringly at James and ruffles his hair. "Of course, but Daddy needs to supervise. And go slowly!"
"Sure!" yells James, already removing the new broomstick from its box.
"James, you have to change out of those robes. They were very expensive, and I don't want them to get soiled."
James needs only pout for fourteen seconds before his mother begrudgingly agrees to let him fly the broomstick in his new robes. That's a new record.
James' father supervises while James rides over treetops, past smoking chimneys, and above the Potter mansion. He can go so much higher than he's ever gone before, and it's such a thrill to look down and see his legs dangling so far above the ground. At this height, his shoe is bigger than an entire house.
"You're going too high, James!" says James' father, and James reluctantly lowers his broomstick ten feet. He gazes at the sparkling emerald pond and then dives hard and fast, pulling up just in time to skim his shoes across the water. His father yells at him for that, but James isn't going to fall. He feels more comfortable operating a broomstick than he does walking, even. And James is a good walker. He hardly ever bumps into things.
Now, from the outside, James looks like a spoilt brat. Some people say that he is. He's never set much stock in rules; after all, he always seems to escape with nary a scratch. Perhaps James is lucky. Perhaps he's clever enough to get out of a scrape. Perhaps his family is so coddling and adoring that James has never really been in danger to begin with. Either way, James looks like a spoilt brat from the outside looking in.
But James knows that he isn't all bad. He does follow rules—sometimes—and he does listen to his parents—sometimes—and he doesn't complain—well, not always. His parents treat him well and love him so because he is a good child, don't they? James would be in a lot more trouble if he never listened and always did the opposite of what he was told. He'd never be allowed to ride such a dangerous broom, so high above the treetops, if he weren't at least a little bit responsible. James' parents trust him.
And because he's been so good recently, he decides that he can break a rule here or there. He climbs higher—even higher than he'd been before—and ignores his father's shouts of annoyance. Then he dives. The wind whistles past his ears. The houses and trees are blurs below him. There's a delicious swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach. James—who is responsible, at least a little!—watches the water carefully as he draws nearer—and then he pulls up at exactly the right time, expecting his shoes to skim against the water again and perhaps even spray his father and earn him a laugh—
But James forgets to take into account that the broomstick on which he is riding is not the one that he's been riding for the past year. The velocity, speed, and feel are all very different from what James is used to. The broomstick isn't as light and responsive to his touch, so he pulls up a bit too late. The bristles of the broom are caught in the water, and James feels the broomstick sag underneath him—he tries to pull up, but there's not enough time and not enough strength—James is submerged in the water. When he resurfaces, paddling and gasping and laughing, there's water in his nose and it burns.
"James!" cries his father, rushing towards him. "Are you all right?"
James is lifted out of the water, and his nods his head. "Fine, Daddy," he says. He's still laughing. He keeps laughing until he notices that his leg hurts a lot.
When he looks down, his leg is covered in blood. "Oh, ow," he says. Now that he's seen the wound, it starts to hurt ten times as much. James' eyes fill up with tears.
"Oh, dear," comments James' father. "Let's get you inside to your mother." He carries James, bridal-style, and James tries not to think about the burning in his nose and on his leg. He clutches his broom to his chest, and he cries harder when he notices that some of the bristles have broken off. He cries still harder when he realizes that there's a gash in his new robes.
James' mother coos over him as soon as he enters the house. "No harm done, Mia," says James' father. "He only scratched his leg on a rock at the bottom of a pond—it's much worse than it looks. I'll mend it in a second."
"But my broom!" sobs James.
"We'll take it to the shop and get it repaired, son. Don't you worry." He turns to James' mother again. "Everyone gets hurt on their first adult broomstick, Mia. The thrill of it is just too enticing. Not to worry—I was there to slow him down."
James wonders if he crashed because his father slowed him down, and his crosses his arms over his chest. "Wish you hadn't," he mutters darkly.
"Do you want to be fish food?" says James' father, and James giggles. He's feeling a bit better now. "That said, you really should have obeyed me. I know you think that you're invincible on a broom—and don't get me wrong: you're a thumping good flyer and you'll be on the Quidditch team before your third year—but there are certain rules that you have to obey in order to be safe. And since I now know that you're not as responsible as I thought you were, I'll have to supervise you every time you fly from here on out until you can prove yourself."
James sobs a little at that, knowing that he won't be able to have any fun with his father around. But it's fair, he knows. James cares about fair.
His mother mends his wounds, helps him out of his wet clothes, and summons a house-elf to draw James a bath (with more bubbles than water; just as James likes it). James hates the concerned look on his mother's face. Things aren't perfect anymore. Things are messed-up, and James wants to fix them. He has to. He feels so bad for her—she hasn't done anything wrong—and he wants to make her happy again. "I'm sorry, Mummy," James says. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to get hurt... or ruin my robes... or break my broom. It was just so fun."
"It's all right, darling," says James' mother. She kisses his forehead and rumples his hair. "You made a mistake, but now you can learn. Carpe diem."
James has what his parents call a photographic memory. He can recite long strings of numbers and words. His vocabulary (though he never chooses to use big words) is advanced. He can read faster than both his parents combined, and remember more, too. He has some vague memories of himself as a baby, before he could even walk. If James hears it, then he remembers it—which is why he's so certain that he's never heard that word before. "What's carpe diem?" he asks.
The annoying thing about being so bright and so young is that adults tend to laugh James off. He doesn't get an answer—he only gets another rumple of his hair and a "such a clever boy". James is disgruntled now.
He decides that, if no one will tell him, then he's going to find out for himself. He knows where the library is. And riding to the library safely on a broomstick all by himself will certainly prove to his parents that he can be safe and responsible, won't it? So, under cover of night, that's exactly what James does. It's a good job he's magical enough to unlock the shed by himself.
The library is closed, which isn't what James anticipated. So he sits on a bench outside the library for a bit, hoping to wait until the library opens and he can go in. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he suspects that the foreign phrase will be in the foreign languages section.
James nearly falls asleep on the bench, but he's interrupted by a kindly-looking lady with soft brown eyes and floofy grey hair. "You're the Potter lad," she says, and James nods. "It's midnight, my boy. What are you doing out so late?"
"Technically early," says James, who knows how the twenty-four-hour time system works. "I'm waiting for the library to open."
"Why?"
"So that I can find out what carpe diem means. Mummy won't tell me."
"Oh," the lady says, laughing. If she knows what it means, she doesn't tell James. "Did you fly here all by yourself?"
"Yes," says James. "The broom's bristles are a bit broken because I fell into a pond—yesterday, not recently—so it's a bit wobbly. But I stayed close to the ground. I even stayed behind the trees in case there were any Muggles around, but I know there aren't any Muggles in this wizarding neighborhood. I was ever so careful."
"I believe you." The lady looks vaguely impressed, and James puffs his chest out with pride. "Carpe diem is Latin for seize the day. Now, why don't I Apparate you back home?"
"No, thank you," says James. "I have to get home on the broomstick so that my parents trust me to fly alone." He swoops away before the lady can say 'no', and he's home in less than ten minutes.
His parents are still sleeping; they never even found out that he left. James can't wait to tell them.
The next morning, he announces over breakfast: "Carpe diem is Latin for seize the day."
"It sure is," says James' mother. She's used to James' knowing random information by now, James is pretty sure. She doesn't look impressed at all. "James, the shed was unlocked. Did you remove your broom to look at it last night?"
"No," says James. "I actually—"
His mother interrupts before he can finish telling his mother that he'd actually flown it. "Good. I knew that I'd made it clear that you were not to fly your broomstick alone under any circumstances. Daddy said that I wasn't blunt enough, but you understand, don't you?" She smiles at him and finishes her tea.
James slowly shuts his mouth and then leans back in his chair. "Yep, crystal-clear," he says.
He never tells his mother nor father about his midnight excursion. But even if he had gotten in trouble for it, it would have been worth it.
Carpe diem. James decides then and there that he'll live his life by that phrase. After all, what's the point of life but to have fun?
#james potter#marauders#young james potter#maurauders fanfiction#harry potter fanfiction#broomstick#carpe diem#scene from my fanfic#you should check it out lol#new readers give me instant happiness
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