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machine-gun-casie · 3 years

Text

where are you?

synopsis: you feel insecure with colson and he’s having none of it. (itty bitty titty committee!fem!reader)

wc: 4k

warnings: smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it and all that), dom/sub undertones, “sir”, soft dom!colson, praise kink, choking kink.

a/n: this is my first ever smut so pls be gentle! i wrote the reader as small chested, but nothing else is described because ik how annoying it can be when small chested reader starts turning into skinny reader, so i hope you enjoy! please tell me what you think and how well i did because this is so nerve wracking!!! i love you guys!!

“Col, what are you doing?” You whined, crossing your arms over your chest. You were both lying on the couch when he suddenly jumped up and pulled you along with him.

“Wait a minute.” He giggled as he set up his phone on top of a contraption made of random books he found lying around and two tissue boxes. His front facing camera was open and from what you could tell he was filming on tiktok.

“Oh my god, is that tiktok?” You groaned lightly. Colson had been obsessed with watching tiktoks recently, yet he hadn’t been really into making them. But the last time Casie was over, she taught him how to navigate the app and he was so eager to create. But did he have to be eager right now? You hadn’t had a chance to lie down with him all day.

“Yes,” he replied and walked away from his phone to stand directly in front of you, “now stand like this.” He instructed as he placed his large hands on your waist and positioned you to face him properly, taking your hands in his gingerly and putting them by your side.

The first few notes left the speakers of his phone and you furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to figure out the name of the song. “Am I supposed to react or something?”

“No no, just wait.” He smiled, incredibly excited for whatever this was. As the music grew louder, Colson came closer and brought his hand up and grabbed the collar of your sweater gently in his palm. He pulled the sweater outwards and leaned forward to look down your shirt.

“Where are you?” He mouthed with the music.

Your jaw dropped as you threw your head back in laughter, your hand instinctively coming up to cover your chest once more. “You motherfucker!”

Colson laughed and pulled you into him by the hem of your sweater, “Come on, you know that was funny.” The audio replayed in the background as the time allotted for the video was used up, leading Colson to let go of you and reach for his phone.

“It was.” You agreed. “Doesn’t make you less of a dick.”

“You know I love your tiny tits, babe.” He mumbled as he fiddled with his phone.

“You better.” You chuckled and went back to the couch, hoping that your blanket was still warm.

“Hey, I’m gonna post this. Is that cool?” He called out to you.

“Go ahead.” You replied as you made yourself comfortable. “That was funny. Is it a trend or something?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “there was another audio that went like ‘to girls with anything smaller than a b cup, I hope you gentlemen have a good day’ or something. I thought that was funnier, but I couldn’t find it.”

“Yeah, tiktok’s search thing is crap.” You rolled your eyes. “Honestly, the most memorable part of the videos on their platform is the audio. You should be able to find things without having everything saved in your favorites.”

“Anything else I should include in my email to tiktok’s team?”

“Yes, tell them to verify me while they’re at it.”

It was only an hour or so later when Colson had to leave for something or other, he had told you about it a few days prior but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. He said that he’d be back before midnight, which was code for ‘you should wait up for me’. It was around ten p.m. when you decided that you should probably freshen up and put something nice on.

After a quick shower and some of that lotion that Colson loved the smell of, you sat on the damp bathroom counter and pulled out your little makeup bag that you had yet to unpack after your last trip with Colson.

Makeup wasn’t a necessity for nights with your boyfriend, but you knew he loved how roughed up you looked with smeared lipstick and mascara running down your cheeks. So you put on your heaviest mascara that wasn’t waterproof, focusing on your lower lashes, and one of your cheapest lipsticks so it wouldn’t stain no matter how badly it smeared.

You weren’t really thinking of how you would look as you went through your routine, but more of what would happen when Colson got home. So when you opened your lingerie drawer, full of red, black, and bright pink sets all thanks to Colson, you were surprised to be hit by feelings of insecurity and dread.

Considering the fact that your relationship with Colson was almost a year long thus far, you hadn’t felt insecure or uncomfortable with him in so long. Was it really… No. It couldn’t be.

That stupid tiktok. It was getting to you.

You weren’t sure why. You knew it was a joke, a good one at that. It hadn’t made you uncomfortable at the time. Nor did it now, really. You and Colson have joked about the size of your boobs many times, just like how you joked about how skinny he was or how bad morning breath always was. It was just how your relationship grew to be after you both fully let loose around each other.

So why was this getting to you? You tried to come to a conclusion as you pulled on one of your favorite sets. As you stared at yourself in the mirror and adjusted the lingerie, you heard the front door open and decided that the time for analyzing your insecurities was not now.

Moments after you settled down on the bed, the door open and revealed Colson in a nice fancy looking suit. He let out a low whistle as he dropped his phone and his keys on the dresser, “Wow. What did I do in this world to deserve this?”

“I think you just got real lucky.” You smirked. “Love the get up, lover boy.”

“Yeah? Balmain for next week’s carpet.” He did a little spin as he walked closer. A fitting with Balmain, that’s right. “How much do you love it?”

“Not enough.” You feigned a frown and cocked your head to the side. “I’d like it off now, please and thank you.”

“Since you used your manners.” He smiled as he shrugged off the white suit jacket, disposing of the shirt and the pants quickly after, leaving him in just his boxers. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart. I’d rip that set off you if I didn’t know how much it costs.”

“I don’t mind,” you purred as he climbed onto the bed next to you, “my man can buy me another.”

“Your man?” Colson raised his eyebrows at you, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. He pulled you onto his lap, purposefully placing the damp patch on your lace panties against his pulsing erection.

Your hips bucked up at the contact and you hissed. “Yeah- my man.” You leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against his lips, pulling away as soon as he tried to take it further. “He takes care of me so well.”

“How does he take care of you, sweetheart?” Colson asked as he trailed his hands upwards against your thighs, one of them speeding up to your waist while the other stayed on its course. Your boyfriend wasn’t one for teasing, especially when he was as hard as he is now, so you knew where his hand was headed and it wasn’t going to take long.

“He fucks me so-” You gasped as his fingers reached the side of your panties, pushing them aside to stroke you gently. “He fucks me so good.” A moan escaped you as his pointer finger slowly sunk into you, knuckle by knuckle.

“Yeah I do.” Colson grinned as he watched your face contort. “So pretty, baby.” He let his thumb rest against your clit once his finger was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Colson,” you whined as you tried to ride his finger, “move.”

He pouted at you mockingly. “You were being so nice just now with your ‘please and thank you.’ You’re throwing around commands now?”

“Please, please, touch me.” He wasted no time in pumping his finger in and out and using his thumb to circle your clit. You whimpered at the attention, losing yourself to the pleasure. He had barely touched you and you were already desperate. “Another one, Colson. Please?”

“I love it when you use your manners, baby girl. Always so polite.” He smiled and watched you carefully as he pushed in his middle finger with the next thrust. His middle finger being slightly longer in addition to the girth of both fingers had your jaw dropping as your head fell back. “So perfect. Look at you, taking my fingers so well. Think you can take my cock just as good?”

“Yes, yes, please Colson.” You nodded fervently, trying to pull yourself off of his fingers. But he wouldn’t let you, pushing up along with you to keep his hand in place as he tsked at you.

“Not now babygirl, need you to come for me first. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He replied as he brought the hand on your waist up to your face. “Can you come for me?”

You whined as your eyebrows furrowed, eyes screwed shut at this point. “Wanna come on your cock.”

“And you will,” Colson reassured you, letting his hand fall to your neck, his thumb gently stroking the column of your throat, “but you gotta give me one before I can let you. I know you can, sweetheart. You’re always such a good girl for me, always taking care of me. Let me take care of you.” He circled your bud faster as he praised you, pushing his fingers in as deep as he could without hurting you to press up against your g-spot. He watched as you rolled your eyes back as the pleasure hit you and he knew you were close.

He let his hand trail down your chest and then he pulled the lace covering your right breast down. Colson lowered his head and connected his mouth to your hardened nipple and you groaned as he swirled his tongue around it. You grabbed him roughly by the sides of his head and pulled him into a deep kiss. With your eyes closed you didn’t see Colson’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

He pulled away and looked at you carefully, realizing that you were on the precipice. “Come for me, Angel.” He breathed heavily against your lips. And like a good girl, you did.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as you let the pleasure wash over you. Colson smirked as he watched you ride out the high, knowing that he did that to you with only his fingers.

“You really know how to use your hands.” You panted, leaning forward to place your forehead against his.

“I changed your mind on fingering, didn’t I?” He asked. Colson was right, you used to hate being fingered before you met him. It just felt like prodding fingers and harsh jabs in a place that was far too sensitive for that. He begged and begged to touch you for weeks before you finally agreed, and it was probably one of his proudest moments when he managed to make you come five times with just his fingers that night.

“Ugh, I hate that word.” You chuckled,

“What? Fingering?” Colson asked as he gently pulled his fingers out of you, knowing damn well what word it was. “But I thought you liked getting fingered? I always finger you so good, don’t I?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You laughed. “You are a man child.”

“A man child who’s great at fingering.” He waggled his eyebrows at you as he brought his digits up to his mouth and sucked them clean. He placed his wet fingers against your cheeks and brought you closer to him, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it was intoxicating.

“Fuck me already!” You whined as you broke away from him. You pawed at his boxers to show him how desperate you were. “Please, I need you. Been waiting for you all day.”

“Me too, baby.” Colson huffed, lifting you off his lap and putting you down on the bed to take off his boxers. Once they were halfway across the room, Colson tried to push you down on the bed but you resisted.

“Wanna ride you.” You whispered and watched his eyes light up.

“Can I take these off first?” He asked, hand coming up to your bra strap, and you nodded. He reached back and unclasped the fabric, watching the straps gently fall down your shoulder. He always loved undressing you, never letting you do it yourself. His hands came up to gently squeeze both your breasts, thumbs rubbing back and forth on your nipples. You slowly reached down to slip off your panties, knowing that Colson would stop you. “Hey, no. Let me.”

He always undressed you, he thought as he pulled your panties down your legs. Why would you attempt something different today? Something wasn’t adding up.

“Lie back.” You whispered as you pushed him down. You crawled up towards him and moved your legs to straddle his hips. “It’s been too long, baby.”

“I fucked you this morning.” Colson chuckled, voice tight as he felt your sopping wet pussy land on his aching dick.

“Like I said,” you sighed nonchalantly, “too long.”

Colson wasn’t one for teasing. You, on the other hand, lived for it. You glided against his length slowly, slicking him up and torturing him at the same time.

“You’re killing me here, sweetheart.” Colson groaned.

“You know it’s my favorite thing to do, my love.” You smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “Gotta remind you who’s in control.”

“Fuck,” he groaned at your words, “you wanna have that talk now? We both know I give you the reins when I feel like it.” He swiftly flipped the two of you over, leaving him hovering over your body. His right hand quickly reached up to circle your throat, applying the slightest bit of pressure. “Now be a good girl and ride my dick like you said you would.”

“Yes sir,” you smiled as you got the exact reaction you were hoping for. He dropped down next to you and helped you back into your previous position, but you stayed hovering over his hips. You grabbed the base of his cock and positioned the tip against your entrance. Slowly lowering yourself, you let go once the tip was firmly in place. You placed both hands against Colson’s heavily inked chest and pushed down the rest of the way.

You both moaned in unison when he bottomed out after what felt like forever. Colson tried to move his hips, but with the slight shake of your head he paused. “Gimme a- gimme a second, Mr. Monster Cock.”

“After all this time, sweetheart?” He smirked.

“You say that every time, Colson.” You laughed as you tried to relax. “Okay.” You nodded as you slowly lifted yourself off his hips, pausing at the tip and then lowering yourself a little faster than before. “Feels bigger every time. You’re not taking those penis enlargement pills, are you?” You knew you were only stroking his ego at this point, but his face was worth it.

“They should probably use me for their ads.”

“They’d sell out too fast.” You groaned, your eyes fluttering shut. “I should ride you more often.”

“You don’t like it when I’m in control?” He asked, head rolling back and accentuating his adam’s apple. He opened his eyes and placed his palm against your throat again, warning you.

“Love it when you’re in control, baby.” You hummed. “But I gotta say, watching you from this angle is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to heaven.”

“Good answer.” He chuckled, letting his hand slip down to your chest. Before he could even try to hold you, you grabbed his hand and pushed it against the bed, holding it there.

It finally clicked in Colson’s head as he saw the sweater you were wearing earlier that morning hung up behind the door. You had barely let him touch you today after he filmed that stupid tiktok. Oh fuck no, this wasn’t gonna happen on his watch.

He sat up with you still in his lap and grabbed both of your hands. “What are you doing, y/n?” His tone and the use of your name and not a pet name stopped you in your tracks.

“I’m fucking my boyfriend, what are you doing?” You asked, not understanding what he was on about.

“You’re not letting me touch you.” You looked down at your hands in his and raised your brows at him. “No,” he paused, placing both your hands in his left one and reaching towards your chest, “you’re not letting me touch you.” He squeezed your left breast causing you to gasp and arch your back. “Every time I get close, you push me away.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t lie.” He shook his head disappointedly. “You know that video was a joke, right? I can delete it right fucking now if you want me to.”

“Colson, it’s not about that-” You started.

“Then what is it about?” He raised his brows at you. “You’re not letting me enjoy what’s mine.” He pinched your nipple hard and watched as you arched your back again. “You are mine. And I like to enjoy what's mine. These are mine. I like to kiss them,” he leaned down to do just that, “I like to bite them,” he gently nipped against the soft skin of your breast. “And I fucking love marking them.” He sucked a spot right next to your nipple, pulling away only when he was sure it would be dark enough to show. “Don’t stop me from enjoying what’s mine, you understand?”

“Yes sir.” You nodded, wrists still held in his left hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t about the video, I promise.”

“Shh,” he pressed his lips against yours to silence you, “we’ll talk about it later. We’re not having any important conversations when you’re squeezing my dick like that, sweetheart.”

“Like,” you paused to clench your inner walls, “that?”

“Oh fuck!” Colson choked out, thrusting his hips up roughly. “Darling, I think you should let me handle this now.”

“I’m all yours,” you breathed.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Colson let himself go. He didn’t even bother flipping you over, he just took control with you on top. He grabbed you by the hips and simply used you.

You tried to sneak your hand down to give your sweet spot some attention, but Colson’s growl stopped you. “Be patient, baby.”

The thrusts were no longer consistent as his hips stuttered, telling you that he was close. “Colson,” you whined, “please.”

He paused and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw how wrecked you looked. Tears leaving black trails of watery mascara down your cheeks, and lipstick smeared to one side, probably because of how he flipped you over that first time. He could see how desperate you were and he wanted to be the solution. He needed to be the solution.

Reaching down slowly, taking his time trailing your body as he went, Colson circled his finger against your clit and began to thrust ever so slowly. It took so much effort to maintain his slow pace, but anything was worth it when it came to you. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He asked as he focused on your blissed out face. “Beautiful and mine. All mine.”

“Yours,” you nodded as you squeezed your eyes shut. “So close, Colson. I’m so-”

“Let go for me, baby.”

With a high pitched moan, you let go. You spasmed on his cock, milking it and making it incredibly difficult for him not to blow his load right then and there.

As you started to wilt against him, you felt him slowly pulling out of you. “But you-”

“Wanna- Oh fuck… Wanna come on your tits.” He groaned, pumping himself as soon as he was out of you. You quickly laid down on the bed and pushed out your chest. He brought his knees to either side of waist and placed the hand that wasn’t working his cock around your throat. “Mine.”

“Yours.” You gasped. With a few more pumps, his head was rolling back and he was painting your chest.

He panted heavily as he came down from his high, eyes still tightly closed. When he finally opened them, he smiled lazily. “Look at you, covered in my load. So pretty, baby.” He reached down and rubbed the seed into your skin and against your nipples. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on your forehead and sagged against you for a moment.

After his breather, he sat back up and headed to the bathroom, tossing a ‘be right back’ over his shoulder. You were left alone in the bedroom for a minute, hearing the water running in the bathroom reminding you that you need to pee.

You weren’t entirely sure where the sudden insecurity came from tonight. Not that you weren’t ever insecure about your body, but never during sex and definitely never with Colson. You sat up on the bed and stared at the open bathroom door where your boyfriend was. He had only ever made you feel loved and gorgeous. Maybe his obvious acknowledgment to your lack of cup size did make you question. Question your worthiness of him. He was obviously well endowed, and most people knew that. You chuckled lightly as you remembered the stupid cock sock.

Maybe it made you feel a little less than, you thought as you walked towards the bathroom. You walked in and let your fingers trail against Colson’s shoulder as you passed him at the sink to do your business.

You watched him as he grabbed a towel and ran it under the warm water. You quickly finished and sat on the bathroom counter in front of him. He slowly wiped away at your chest with the damp cloth, being gentle against the soft skin.

But here he is. Caring for you. Loving on you. Loving you. You almost laughed out loud at yourself for questioning his love or your worthiness when he was so obviously devoted to you of his own accord.

“I love you.” You broke the silence.

“I love you, too.” Colson looked up at you, slightly shocked and confused. You had both already said the ‘L-word’ a while ago, but you usually kept the love confessions in dark rooms and not in the harsh bathroom light. “Was I too-”

“No.” You shook your head as he reached for your pack of makeup wipes behind you. “No, you always take care of me so well.”

You went quiet again, before you opened your mouth to speak at the same time that he did. He paused and waited for you to speak, but when you didn’t, he started again.

“If that video bothered you, you should have told me y/n. I’m sorry I made you feel insecure, but next time you gotta tell me before it escalates.” He spoke softly as he pulled a wipe out of the pack and cleaned up your face. “I love you. That includes every part of you.”

“I’m sorry, I promise it wasn’t the stupid video. It was actually really funny.” You chuckled. “I don’t know what hit me. When I was getting ready before you came, I just looked down at my drawer and felt so stupid. I felt like I was pretending to be sexy for you. Like- Like I was convincing myself all this time that this turned you on when there’s no way it could.” He opened his mouth but you looked at him and he paused. “But I know that that isn’t true. And I’m sorry for doing that back there.”

“I swear to god y/n, if you apologize one more time-”

You laughed, placing your hand on his chest. “I’m so- I’m not! I’m not sorry!”

“You aren’t,” he nodded, his eyes meeting yours so that you knew he was being serious, “because you have nothing to be sorry for. And I know that if I apologize again, this is never gonna end. I love you, and you are so sexy, and I am the world’s luckiest man because you’re all mine.”

“Yeah, you are.” You giggled and smiled as he rolled his eyes.

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diaco1968 · 2 years

Note

hi, I was wondering if you could do toga with a fem reader who is having an Enucleation and is really nervous? Sorry if this request is kind of gross.

ps. an Enucleation is the surgical removal of the entire eye. (if you look it up, be careful looking at photos bc some are really graphic) and Don’t worry, its only my right eye, my left eye is perfectly fine ;)

@exactlycasualzombie

Oh dear I'm so sorry to hear that, but I like your spirit very much :D and I bet your left eye works better than both my eyes combined ;)

Ps, it is not gross at all, like any other medical procedure :*

Wishing it goes very well and you get well quick<3

And I'm sorry if Toga is ooc, I've never managed to connect to her properly :(

The reaction she was giving you wasn't what you were typically used to after you explained what was going to happen. While her lips were parted and mouth was agape in disbelief, her widened eyes were gleaming with excitement. Probably very vividly imagining the whole process? Who knew.

"Um, if you could not look so happy about it?"

"But it's so cool!"

She grabbed your face on both sides as she maintained a very intense eye contact, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones.

"Might be, but it's still unnerving anyway..."

"Aw, sorry, you have a point. Let's see,"

She settled back down in her seat on the couch and pulled your head close, placing it on her chest and hugging it softly as she started carassing your hair, making you lean forward onto her awkwardly, but not uncomfortably.

The side of your face was pressed on her soft chest and you were feeling her heartbeat vibrate through you, it was calming.

"How about we look at it some other way, hm?"

"Hm."

The warmth and the pressure of her hug had taken away some of your edge so you nodded subconsciously to whatever she was rambling on about this time.

"We are gonna wear matching eyepatches! Oh my god! So cute!"

She squealed suddenly making you flinch and pull away slightly to look at her in disbelief.

"No! Toga, focus! That's not my concern right now."

She blinked staring back at you innocently tilting her head to the side.

"... I mean sure we can do that after... but, I'm nervous, okay?"

Her expression softened and she tugged you back down onto her as she took a more horizontal position on the couch, making you shift and finally settle between her legs, sprawling on her chest, once again comfortably.

"Do you want me to stab the doctor?"

Her tone was so serious that you had to chuckle, the fact that you knew she might've even meant what she said made it even funnier.

"Wha? No why would you do that."

"I don't know, shouldn't they make you feel reassured or something?"

"... I'm sure they did all they knew how... but like... what about the operation? Or..."

You looked up, resting your chin on her sternum, met with with a relaxed grin. Not really matching the turmoil inside your head as you thought about all the pictures you have seen and all the things you have heard.

"Oh don't you worry, you won't feel a thing! And that's the best part I can think of. It will be so easy."

You sighed, that's what everyone said anyway.

"Yeah, I bet it won't be as easy afterwards though..."

She looked at you, the smile gone. Looking at her own injured eye wasn't much help either.

"What do you think will happen afterwards?"

"I don't know Toga!"

You huffed and pressed your face back down into her boobs.

"Okay I know, let me tell you. Nothing different happens. You will have an eye that works perfectly. And a matching eyepatch with me!"

"Yea, except you don't need an eyepatch after a while!"

"Are you kidding?! I will keep it on for you, sweetie."

You heaved another sigh and she resumed stroking your hair.

"Listen, it's like any other wound. Like any other scar. Except it's cool. And you can tell the world 'hey I survived this' without saying a word."

She tilted your head and leaned up to bump her nose lightly onto yours.

"And if you don't like, you don't have to match eyepatches with me," she grinned as she watched you roll your eyes.

"You can have so many other options, there are ways no one will even notice it's gone. But then again, you are amazing as you are, why would you want to hide that."

She gave you a peck that lasted a few seconds, her lips lingering on you after she gave you a little squeeze.

"The offer is still on the table though..."

"What offer? The matching eyepatch?"

She raised an eyebrow at you as she reached down and held your hand in hers.

"Don't be ridiculous. I can still stab your doctor if you want."

"Toga!"

"Just saying."

Her grin was back as she unexpectedly rolled you over on your back trying to tickle you to make your worried expression go away as she simultaneously mouthed warm kisses over your neck and collarbone down to your chest.

Once you both settled back down you noticed the familiar tint of a blush creeping on her face again.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just really digging it right now."

"Digging what?..."

"Oh my fair lady~ my Calypso~"

She chimed giving you a smirk.

"...what are you talking about,Toga?"

"Pirate roll play obviously."

"... I'm going to make you walk off the plank before you manage to get your sea legs..."

"Ooh~ promise?"

#toga himiko #toga himiko x reader #toga x reader #bnha #mha #REQUEST

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moririki · 3 years

Text

⤷ AN EIGHT-LEGGED PROBLEM

OIKAWA TOORU & SAKUSA KIYOOMI & HAIBA LEV & MIYA ATSUMU X READER -> 1.8K you save your boyfriend from a massive problem which is currently in the corner of your bathroom )

REQUEST -> n/a CONTAINS -> spiders, bugs, you picking up said creepy crawlies, hq boys being no! help! at! all! (but that's ok bc we love them for it), fanon-ish sakusa cos i haven't read the manga and he had like 5 seconds of screen time so i'm just going off of what i've read + seen, clear favouritism despite the fact that i know basically nothing about sakusa, manga timeskip spoilers in sakusa's MORI'S THOUGHTS -> haven't seen one where the reader is the one in the relationship who takes care of bugs so since i'm a #girlboss who throws spiders out of my room whenever i see them without breaking a sweat i'm writing that into a fun lil thing with the haikyuu boys that i strongly believe are scared of bugs. also besides the point but look at the pretty colour palette that their banners make fjfjfjdj will go back to writing the requests after this! inspiration just struck

❍ OIKAWA TOORU

-> omg this fucking guy

-> don't let his pride fool you this man HATES bugs with a burning passion

-> he'll never admit it though

-> between you and the aoba johsai team he would never hear the end of how the great king oikawa would cower at the sight of a moth doing laps around a lightbulb

-> so when you pretended not to hear the shriek that left your boyfriend when he saw something flying around the bathroom light and he declined your offer to get rid of the moth for him, this left oikawa in a pretty difficult situation

-> it was just him alone in the bathroom, trying to brush his teeth while eyeing the bug warily

-> you came in a few minutes later, getting ready to go to bed as well

-> "you know, babe, that moth's been there for quite a while," you teased him

-> oikawa hummed in response, his eyes never leaving it as it continued its circumnavigation of the light fixture

-> "oh, you know. who am i to kick someone out of their home? i'm no monster"

-> you almost snorted at how poor of an excuse that was, but ruffled your boyfriend's hair anyway

-> "i'll take care of it, ru, you just finish getting ready"

-> "but y/n-chan, that moth has feelings! don't be mean to it!"

-> you gave tooru a very blank stare at that

-> "so do you want me to leave you alone with your new friend?"

-> "......no"

-> "that's what i thought"

-> you went up to the moth, managing to trap it in your hands before releasing it from a window

-> oikawa shuddered as you came back to the sink, giving your hands a quick rinse before resuming with brushing your teeth like nothing had happened

-> "you're so brave, my love"

-> "anything for you, babe"

❍ SAKUSA KIYOOMI

-> bless this poor boy

-> so it's no secret that sakusa isn't the fondest of germs

-> and that extends to bugs and spiders too

-> besides a normal amount of disgust that he held for them, the thought of where the insects had been or placed one of their many feet on never failed to make his skin crawl

-> that's where you, his wonderful significant other, comes in

-> as much as he loves you, he just can't understand how you always stared at bugs with wonder in your eyes

-> you'd even pick them up, cooing at the way they crawled up your arm while sakusa just stared at you in disbelief with a can of bug spray in hand

-> tonight was one of those swelteringly hot summer nights

-> you know, the ones where the air seems to be still no matter how many windows you open and every insect in a mile radius is actively trying to enter your home

-> you were spending the night at your boyfriend's apartment, ready to have a relaxing night in with him since your schedules had finally synced up and allowed you both to enjoy a day off at the same time

-> it took months of trust before sakusa finally admitted to you how much he enjoyed doing skincare

-> so whenever you two spent the night together, you decided to start the evening with some face masks and idle binging of a tv show

-> against his half-hearted protests, you had insisted that sakusa wore a headband while this happened (one that had a very cute duck face printed on it)

-> just to keep the curls out of his face, of course

-> whenever he caught you sneaking a candid of him with facemask and duck headband on, he just shot you a halfhearted glare and threatened you to never send that to atsumu or the rest of the msby team

-> (you set it as your home screen instead)

-> anyways, i digress

-> so tonight you decided to cool down from the heat with a few facemasks and cuddling in your boyfriend's heavily air conditioned living room

-> but he kept all his skincare stuff in the bathroom, so you went to go get them as he set up a show to watch along with some snacks

-> you flicked on the light, going to his cabinet when something in the corner of the room caught your eye

-> there was a fairly large spider, desperately trying to crawl up the smooth tile wall

-> you decided to take pity on it and release it

-> but when you had it cupped safely in your hands, you decided to terrorise your poor boyfriend just a little

-> "hey, omi, look what i found!"

-> your boyfriend perked up at your signature nickname for him, though his eyes narrowed as he saw your clasped hands held in front of you

-> "no"

-> "but baby, you haven't even seen-"

-> "no"

-> you giggled at how defensive he had become

-> "come on, don't you want to name it? it's very cute"

-> "i want you to throw it out, y/n"

-> "alright, alright"

-> you took the spider to a window, releasing it back outside before heading back to the bathroom and grabbing a few masks for real this time

-> sakusa gave you the cold shoulder as you sat down next to him, humming as you gave him a face mask and putting it on without a word

-> "aww, baby, i'm sorry"

-> "..."

-> "i'll give you a head massage if you stop ignoring me?"

-> sakusa turned to you, his eyes narrowed in thought as he stared you down

-> the act soon broke, though, and he smiled against the sheet mask that was on his face

-> "it better be a good one," he huffed as he tugged the duck headband off, already sighing at the sensation of your fingers against his scalp

-> "omi, come on, what do you take me for?"

❍ HAIBA LEV

-> ngl lev gives off equal amounts of being terrified of like the tiniest spider or just finding bugs insanely cool vibes

-> it's funnier to imagine this 6-foot-something guy scramble away from a fucking crane fly in terror though so this is how it's going to play out

-> when you invited your giant of a boyfriend to your flat, you didn't anticipate just how small he made everything appear

-> he even towered in your doorway, having to stoop to step through into your hall

-> "woahh, i love your place!"

-> it was his first time staying over for the night, and lev was making sure to drink in every aspect of your interior design

-> you found it sweet of him, and watched as he stared in wide-eyed wonder at the little trinkets you had collected over the years to make your small apartment seem more like a home

-> you didn't expect him to scream at the top of his lungs and practically run back to you, though

-> you jumped at the sound, watching as he scrambled away from your lamp and pointed back at it with a shaking finger

-> you squinted at it, making out the very menacing form of a crane fly as it bumped into the lampshade and continued on its path

-> "lev, you big baby," you giggled, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass and trap it

-> "y/n, don't leave me alone with it!" he yelped, and you rolled your eyes at his antics

-> you came back, smoothly capturing the insect and throwing it out of a nearby window

-> lev was sat on your couch the whole time, hands covering his eyes as he curled in a ball

-> "is it gone?" he asked, and you you giggled at how childlike he was acting at the moment

-> "it's all good, baby" you smoothed his hair and lev gratefully leaned into your touch, a sigh of relief leaving him

-> "thank you, y/n"

-> "i'll get rid of all the bugs in the world for you, lev"

❍ MIYA ATSUMU

-> gives off the vibes that he used to eat bugs as a child i'm sorry but

-> have mercy on his soul lmao

-> so twins are supposed to be identical right?

-> anyone who spends more than a few minutes around the miya twins know that that's a complete fucking lie

-> and you've had the misfortune of being friends with them for a very long time

-> like your mums were friends and you were all born around the same time

-> you've been pulled into their shit before you could walk or talk

-> so you're well aware of just how different these mfs are

-> even though they were both absolute bastards, osamu always had a slightly more mellowed out approach which would always end up with atsumu getting the blame for what they got up to

-> especially as a child, osamu loved to terrorise his twin with the unwilling help of you

-> one of the ways was through osamu exploiting one of his twins' fears

-> that being bugs and spiders

-> he always cackled at the sight of atsumu screaming and trying to run away from him due to the spider he was holding

-> as they both grew up, this became less of a frequent thing for osamu to do

-> you also somehow started dating atsumu, but nobody could exactly pinpoint a moment that signified a beginning to your relationship

-> but since you're dating the world's biggest manchild in disguise, and osamu gets annoyed with atsumu quite easily, you would have to swoop in to rescue him from time to time

-> recently the twins had been getting a little snappy with each other, and it had yet to sort itself out

-> from what you had heard your boyfriend was in the wrong this time, but you still listened to him whine and rant about it

-> you were going to the inarizaki school gym to say hi to your boyfriend and best friend before practice started, only to see absolute chaos unfolding

-> with kita yet to arrive, the twins were effectively unleashed and that much was clear with the way atsumu was practically screaming his head off as he ran around the gym

-> your eyes took in the rest of the players- aran had his head in his hands, suna was snickering with his phone out to record the newest miya twin fight, and osamu's deranged laugh could be heard above everything else as he chased his brother, hand held out in front of him

-> only one thing was capable of making atsumu scream like that, so you already knew what was happening

-> atsumu quickly spotted you hovering in the doorway, and made a beeline to where you were

-> his eyes were panicked, and you were quick to wrap him in a hug as you shot osamu a nasty glare over his shoulder

-> literally this lmfao

-> "that's enough, 'samu"

-> your best friend paused, before a smile spread across his face as he dangled the centipede in front of him

-> "you know it was rubber, right?"

-> you felt your boyfriend tense in your arms and you bit your lip to stifle a small giggle

-> but at least they would be back to normal by the end of today

back to the menu - ,, 🕷 ·˚ ༘ ꒱

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

The Promise of Rain, Blurb 3

Technically the third in a blurb-ish series (though this is kinda long for a blurb lol) but can technically be read as a stand alone, but i think the other parts make this seem more significant lol

A/n kinda angsty, not sure if i loveeee this but i haven’t posted a fic in such a long time bc of graduation chaos but now it’s summer and i’m working on a lot of requests/stories :))

Summary: jealousy is out of place when there’s no real warrant for it, and sometimes it’s okay to be content--to not need the rain to make you promises.

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! reader

Tiredness dulls the part of me that craves the rambunctious, but I’m still positive. I smile when someone does something only the truly inebriated find comical. I laugh when something somewhat actually funny happens, and I let the world around me drink. Twenty minutes--in twenty minutes I will claim a headache and go upstairs.

“You okay, y/n?” Jesper’s concern would border on genuinely considerate if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of slur in his words. Nights in which he consols himself after losing game after game are when he’s the friendliest. “You’re strangely quiet--you’re never quiet.”

I press my lips together oddly, smiling in a way that finally reaches my eyes. Jesper’s nice in an oddly particular way when he’s tipsy. Overly observant and careful. “Just a little tired,” I shift in my seat, leaning back against the plush seat in Kaz’s office, “I wish Kaz would just get here and dismiss us so I can go to bed.”

Jesper smiles, lifting his arm slightly and causing his glass to sway. Kaz is not going to take it well when he realizes that Jesper was extremely involved in the downstairs celebration. He turns ungracefully, moving to sit next to me with no warning. I half-heartedly glare as he takes up most of the small couch.

“You’re grumpy when you’re tired,” Jesper hums, stretching his casually.

I sigh once, but it lacks any bite. “I do not.”

He smiles easily, tilting his head so far to the side that it falls against the back of the seat, “No...but I know the real reason you’re grumpy.”

Rolling my eyes, I suppress my instinctual reaction. That would only expose his words as true. “I am not grumpy, there is no reason--”

“You know he hated it.”

I exhale, tired and slowly losing my fragine hold on fake tranquility. “Yeah.” That should make it better. “I know.” It doesn’t--it doesn’t make anything better.

So the contact we so desperately needed on our side took to flirting with Kaz. It was an uncomfortable situation because of its precariousness and I was worried because I know about his issues with touch. But it’s not like I care about the flirting part. No. It was unprofessional and so easily turned messy--that’s what my problem was.

Jesper sighs, stretching even more. I let him stretch his legs over me, too tired to push him off. I sigh, setting my chin on his bent knees. “What’s with the face, l/n?”

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes having someone care about you is annoying. I take back all of my positive thoughts about him--Jesper Fahey is an annoying drunk.

“There’s no face,” despite my words, I feel my expression sour even further. Jesper’s expression shifts from that of gentle worry to teasing pride. “And if there was one, it wouldn’t be because of Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper’s lips twitch upwards, something strange tainting his tipsy grin. “I never said a name.”

“One more condescending comment, and I’m shoving you off this damn couch.”

He laughs flatly, shifting closer and making himself more comfortable. Drunk and touchy--anyone else would have been slapped by now. “You’re nicer after some of this.”

He holds his glass out towards me casually, amber liquid sloshing slightly. I blink at the liquid with slight disinterest. I’m not exactly in the drinking mood...but I’m not exactly in the mood for any of this. The sound of the door opening doesn’t phase me--it’s not Inej, because she never lets herself be heard. Kaz doesn’t say anything, taking one dull step and then another, footsteps leaching the room of any warmth. The coldness he exudes so easily as a mask is strong tonight, I haven’t even looked at him and I can feel it.

Maybe I do need a drink.

I take the glass from Jesper, taking a quick and shallow sip of the liquid. It’s offensive in smell, taste, and the way it spills down my throat. The taste is much more intense than expected, some of the liquid slips past the corner of my mouth. Somehow more bitter than this moment, the liquid leaves me ready to splutter like a child. I exhale, pushing through the burning. Jesper moves his hand forward absentmindedly, wiping a single drop of liquid from my chin carelessly. The gesture would be sweet if my throat burned less.

“Jesper,” the warmth of the alcohol takes root in my chest, “That’s--” He laughs at my reaction, coaxing a smile from me. “Like literally the worst--why do you even have this?” If this is served in the Crow Club, I’ve never heard of it, this is the kind of under the counter alcohol that isn’t mass produced.

He laughs a little more freely. “Won it off of someone passing through--I don’t always lose.”

I wrinkle my nose, “An outlier shouldn’t be--”

“Oh, shut up.” Jesper laughs again.

“Both of you ‘shut up’,” Kaz sighs, stepping further into the room, “If you need to drink, at least wait until after my meeting.” I frown, ignoring Kaz’s lingering and sharp gaze, “You should all follow Inej’s example.”

“We can’t even see Inej.”

Kaz raises an eyebrow, but he regards me with nothing but voidness. He’s never exactly emotive, but normally in moments like this something I can never interpret touches his expression, coloring it human. “Exactly.”

“You’re funnier than people give you credit for.” The comment isn’t exactly sarcastic, but it’s something lighter than I should be offering. It’s an attempt at peace, the slight stiffness between us is starting to bother me. Our usual dynamic isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s more than this. Kaz glares. “But not tonight.”

His expression hardens. “Business is business. It’s not humor, it’s not whatever you try to make it.” Right. Just like it was business when that girl spent more time hitting on him than actually revealing real information. The thought leaves my expression tight as I swallow back my instinctual words. “It’s not whatever you’re currently doing.”

It takes me longer than it should to realize he’s referring to the position Jesper and I are in. Can he relax? It’s not my fault Jesper is tipsy and touchy.

“Kaz,” Inej’s voice is soft yet determined as she emerges from the shadows. It’s a miracle the way she’s nothing more than a shadow until she chooses not to be. “What’s our next job?”

Prompting Kaz in order to prevent a fight--Inej, always the closest thing to a mom available. I give her a partial smile, glad that she’s wedging herself between us and the tension, preventing conflict I’m too tired to follow through on.

“A merchant’s house,” he begins slowly, “We’ll be searching a merchant’s house but I’m seeking evidence more than property.” Jesper swings his legs off the couch with no warning. My head falls. I glare at Jesper who offers me a slightly apologetic tsk before dropping his head on my shoulder. Kaz must note the exchange because something in his expression tightens. He’s extra irritable today. “I’ll disclose more tomorrow,” he sighs once, already turning away, “Most of you are beyond listening tonight anyways.”

He’s at the door before I can tell him that I’m not drunk. The door opens and closes, but Kaz’s heaviness lingers like led. I frown, letting my head fall to the side, resting on Jesper’s.

“He’s weird today,” I mumble, unsure if I want a reply.

“He’s always like that,” Jesper breathes, “You’re losing your novelty, y/n--he always learns to harden himself against anything bright.”

The words leave me even more tired. “I don’t think I’m particularly bright.”

“Kaz does,” Inej replies, “And it has nothing to do with ‘novelty’, Jesper’s just cynical when he drinks.” I don’t know if I believe her, but I like knowing that Inej thinks that. “And Kaz can’t harden himself against you, and he hates that.”

I press my lips together, straightening my spine. “I’m not that great, and whatever Kaz does or doesn’t harden himself against doesn’t affect me at all.” My nails press into the plush seat. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this because whatever he does or doesn’t feel doesn’t matter to me.” I force myself up, doing all I can to seem perfectly calm. “All I care about is going to bed.”

Turning my head, I start to approach the door. Kaz has been strangely cold all night, and while I’m used to his moods, he hasn’t exactly directed them at me so fully since the day he caught me waiting for him to wake up after he almost died. If he wants to go back to how it used to be, then it can. Maybe I’ll care in the morning, when the growing weight of my eyelids is no longer a distraction.

“Sometimes the two of you confuse me,” Inej begins, “And sometimes I see you try to deal with emotion and I see the common ground.”

The words leave me cold. I don’t think being compared to Kaz is an insult, not when there’s so much it could mean. He’s much more complex than he wants to be. There is goodness within him, gilding the parts of him that are more shards than anything else.

I exhale, refusing to turn. Inej is too observant for her own good. “There is no emotion.”

“I’m not going to waste my time arguing over that because I know it’s a waste of time.” She pauses and I consider turning around in hopes of reading something less honest from her expression. “I’m just telling you as a friend that one of you needs to be mature and talk to the other tonight before the tension gets worse and that it’s not going to be him.”

She’s right. I exhale, “Do you think I should let him go?” Even just saying that leaves my heart aching. I know instantly that that’s not what I want, but it might be what he wants--it might be the best option. I might have the strength to let him go if I work at it. “I don’t--that’s not what I want and I’m not sure I could, but maybe that’s selfish of me.”

“Y/n.” I turn slowly, but I purposefully avoid her gaze, keeping my head down. “I know that I’ve known Kaz longer than you, and I know that when he’s getting along with you he’s,” she trails off, uncertain, “More him, in a good way.”

My heart swells, and with that comes feelings of panic. I never wanted to change him--to make him better or worse or anything; all I’ve ever wanted is to know him and to maybe help him with his burden. And to hear that maybe I’ve done that from someone so close to him--someone so observant and aware. That’s everything. And that terrifies me. Nothing good can last; nothing that seems to be all you could ever want actually is. I know that from life before the Crows, before I ran away from the castle I called home.

“I think he does the same for you.” I’ve never really thought about Kaz’s effect on me outside of the fact that he makes me feel warm in small moments and painfully seen in large ones.

I smile because she’s trying and she’s given me something. “I’d say I’d tell you when I make my decision, but something tells me you’ll know.”

She nods, expression shifting to something kind. “Goodnight, y/n.”

Jesper stretches out on the couch, settling himself comfortably, “Night, y/n.”

“Goodnight, guys.” I disappear past the door easily, heading towards my room.

I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to look for Kaz tonight. How much damage could be done in one night? Maybe he needs space. Maybe seeking him out now will make things worse. I exhale, opening the door to my room easily. I’ll decide before going to sleep.

When I step into the room, everything is in place. Everything is fine--but something about it feels off. The light is on. I didn’t leave the light on. Nothing else raises any red flags, so I continue into the room calmly, examining everything carefully. Nothing feels out of place as I further enter the room. I take in my bed, my dresser, and lastly my nightstand.

My heart swells all over again, but this time it feels even heavier than before. On the center of my nightstand, in perfect condition, is a copy of Pride and Prejudice. The same book I told Kaz about, the one thing besides clothing I took from the palace. I told him it was my mother’s favorite and then he asked me to read it to him.

I can’t picture him seeing this and thinking of me. I can’t picture him thinking of me--but no one else knew about my attachment to the book. I need to find him. I need to--to see him, to speak to him. To look him in the eye and see something I only ever see when we’re alone. Maybe he won’t have that look this time, but that’s okay.

I can’t expect to always understand him, but that does not mean I don’t know him.

The thought leaves me feeling a little more settled within the boundaries of my skin, but I don’t ease entirely. The good is more frightening than the bad. My fear of happiness is a benign secret I haven’t had to worry about in years. I don’t know enough about it to know how to deal with it let alone mention it to Kaz. Not that it’s his problem.

I squeeze the book to my stomach. Swallowing pride is a difficult thing, but I’m used to it with him. It’s usually worth it with Kaz because sometimes when I try he tries in his own way. I should find him. He’s not awfully creative about where he goes when he wants to be alone because people know better than to bother him. Kaz is probably in his attic or getting air outside or…

The lights were on when I came in. I’m an idiot. I didn’t feel weird when I walked into the room because of the book. Someone’s in here. He’s in here.

Setting the book down like I should have never touched it, I let out a sigh. “Lurking is unbecoming.”

“It’s also unbecoming to work for me and be so easily distracted by a book.” His voice reveals nothing as he emerges from the shadows. “I could have killed you with how long it took for you to notice my presence.” He pauses, eyebrows drawing together. “The light was on.”

Normally I’d have some kind of comment, some kind of joke that offers a more peaceful situation. “I know.” It’s a flat response. “I think on some subconscious level I knew,” I drop my gaze away from him, “I knew I was okay.” That sounds dumb. “I mean...I think I knew it was you so I knew I was okay.” Yeah, that wasn’t anymore eloquent. “That doesn’t make sense, but if you get to be confusing, I do too.”

“Confusing? There’s nothing to understand.” Curt. Simple. Dismissive.

I frown. ‘Nothing to understand’. Right, because there’s nothing confusing about how quickly he decided to dismiss me just to bring me some obscenely sentimental gift. “If you’re mad at me, you should at least tell me why.” I press my lips together. “At least that way I’ll know if I need to apologize or kick your ass.”

At that, he presses his lips together, corner of his mouth threatening to tilt upwards. “You would kick my ass?”

Great, even when he’s easing he has to be annoying. “I could.” There is no universe in which I could take him in a physical fight. “On a good day.” I let out a breath, doing all I can to not focus on his expression. Awkwardness settles in my chest as my eyes land on my bed. I sit down, trying not to let my shoulders slump tiredly as I stretch my legs across my bed. “You’re not having a good day.”

“My day is fine, I’m just not naively cheerful like you,” his words turn sharp, “Or Jesper.”

Weird addition. “Jesper’s not cheerful, he’s just drunk.” I let go of the ‘naive’ part, deciding to focus on the bigger picture. “And I’m not as naive or joyful as you think I am.” I’m not sure if I mean that as a rebuttal or just a fact. “I have bad days too.” This isn’t the kind of conversation I should have while this tired. “I could be less cheerful if you’d like.”

He’s so silent I momentarily wonder if he’s left. “No.” It’s not much, but I take it. Straightening my back, I pull my legs beneath me, intentionally creating space. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, blatant rejection. It would sting if I was less in the right. “Maybe you’ll be less weird then.”

“I am not being weird.” At least I’m getting some kind of reaction from him. “You’re the one who--”

“Who what?” Finally--progress.

Kaz sighs, turning slightly. “You’re the one who decided to ignore me after we met with the contact.” I part my lips, ready to retort, but no words come. He did pick up on my slight annoyance, and he reciprocated it in a much larger way.

He can never know that this all came from some ridiculous, territorial--partial jealousy. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” partial lie, “I’m just kind of in a weird place today, I’m tired.”

“Not too tired for Jesper, it seems.”

What? Is that what this is about? “What? All I did was sit there--he’s a touchy drunk and I just happened to be next to him.”

“You laugh with him,” he says this blankly, “You can touch him.”

The edge of unsafe territory cuts into me at an odd angle. Is this about him? Is he really tormenting himself over something so asinine to me when it comes to him? I’d rather have him than all the physical touch in the world. The book on the nightstand feels closer to me, growing by the prospect of its significance alone. That gesture, that’s more intimate than anything Jesper and I did downstairs.

“So?” I straighten my back slightly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He presses his lips together. “That’s the problem--anyone can manage meaningless contact…” The silence is louder than the words that came before it. Oh. I guess I’m not the only one who gets just a little jealous in an unwarranted way. “What if you were hurt? What if you were hurt and we were alone and you needed someone to help you and I couldn’t?” He lets out a sigh, a sound too tired for me to associate with him. “You say you don’t care now, but you’ll grow tired of it--the only life I can offer.”

Inej’s words about the similarities between Kaz and I echo in my mind. “Sometimes I don’t like when things are going well because I don’t know how to be truly content, fully happy.” Saying this twists my stomach. “I don’t know how to trust good things, so whenever there are good things I think about all the ways I could ruin something and then I do.” I take a breath. “I’m not saying that things are particularly good for you or that you’re happy, but I am saying that maybe you shouldn’t think three steps ahead when there’s nothing to think ahead about.” I regard his expression carefully, but nothing has changed. “I told you the only thing I want is to know you, and that’s not going to change.”

“Y/n,” his voice is low, “I am not rain--I can’t promise you anything.”

I scratch my knee, dropping my gaze. “For once I don’t want rain.”

Kaz sighs. “Get some sleep.” Something about the way he’s speaking is authoritative but it lacks any weight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I frown freely, “Kaz--”

“You look tired,” he mumbles, “You need rest.” He’s using this as an excuse to escape his feelings, but he’s already given me more than I expected. Greed ruins things, but then again, so does selflessness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For the job?”

Something strange crosses his features as his expression teeters on shifting. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeats, a little more certain.

The response doesn’t satiate me. “Kaz--”

“I may not be the rain, but I’m capable of making promises as well.” There’s something final about the way he says this, but it doesn’t feel cruel.

Maybe I’d protest if my eyelids were less weighted. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

My head falls against the pillow. I’m not sure if he replies, too lost in the drawl of sleep before he can even close the door.

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone show #my works #shadow and bone netflix #six of crows fic #soc imagine #soc fic #sab fic #kaz brekker imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x reader

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crescentsteel · 3 years

Text

Keeping a Secret - Part 7

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 7.4k

Part 6 || Part 8 || masterlist

[a/n]

I’m so sorry for the delayed update. Things are happening in my personal life that my writing has incredibly slowed down.

To that anon who was asking for updates, I’m sorry if I made it seem like you were rushing me (in case you weren’t). Sometimes, I just tend to feel so pressured that I easily project that to others.

Y’all been excited for this. Here you go, a drunk Tsukishima to make up for the slow update.

AO3 link is on the masterlist in case Tumblr crashes on you from how long this update is.

Your eyes widen at the current state of Tsukishima. You look around warily, checking if there’s any mutual classmate you know who is around. But with how dim the club is, the attempt to do so is futile.

“Tsukishima…” you protest while prying his hands away from your waist.

“We’re in public!” You hiss at his behavior, but he’s completely unfazed. His hands keep creeping back at the spot they were rooted at.

His facial expression doesn’t falter either. He’s still wearing that silly grin that looks nothing like his usual ones. “So? Didn’t you hug me publicly, right in the middle of the Sendai Gym?” he counters with a cocked brow as his elated grin turns to a clever smirk.

Oh God. What has Tsukishima turned into? He’s like one of those guys who hit on you, but the difference is you’re actually flustered by it.

Even with his hands and gaze glued to you, you turn to the bartender. “How long has he been here?” you shout. “A while now,” the bartender shouts back.

You glance at Tsukki’s consumed glasses again. It’s only one glass and two shot glasses. How can he be this drunk already?

You don’t wonder too long before figuring it out. Tsukishima’s definitely a lightweight, shown by his level of intoxication at the moment even though in reality, he hasn’t had much to drink.

Why did he even drink in the first place? He said he doesn’t see the point of parties. Why is he here getting himself hammered? You grimace when you realize that there’s training tomorrow. You’ve scolded members before for such behavior and now they know better than to get wasted when there’s practice the next day.

You did not expect such irresponsibility from Tsukishima, who’s always exhibited exemplary behavior.

“You should go home.” You mean to sound strict, but with his body being a bit too close, your voice falters.

He cups the back of your head and pulls you so that his lips are ghosting against your ear.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” he says haughtily.

It’s a very familiar scenario with a very different Tsukishima holding you in place. If he’s his usual self (sober and pissed off at you), you’d be teasing him for coming to this club. Instead, you’re the flustered one as his fingers brush your nape while his breath fans your ear.

“G-go home, Tsukki,” you stutter as you feel his grip on your waist tighten.

“But why?” His hand on your nape travels down on your spine. “Didn’t you say I was welcome to go here?” The ends of your hair prickle up as he presses the warmth of his lips on your cheek when he pulls away slightly.

It was almost the same scenario when you first saw him in this very same club - the whispering, the closeness, the incredible urge to feel his mouth on yours. The difference is Tsukishima himself. Unlike before when you two were fighting the pull of the temptation, this time, it’s worse because of his suggestive demeanor.

“Stop it,” you chastise him with a little bit more conviction.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” He withdraws until his lips are only an inch away from yours.

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself before pushing yourself away from him. “Go home, Tsukishima. You have training tomorrow!” you shout to make sure he hears you without leaning close to him.

He looks at you like he doesn’t understand shit. His tipsy grin is now wiped off, replaced with an empty, clueless Tsukishima staring at you. You don’t falter though. You continue glaring at him. Luckily, it seems to sink in his head after a few seconds as he finally stands up.

At the first step he takes, he staggers like a high school student who got drunk for the first time. You start to feel bad for him because he looks like he really is struggling with it while continuing to fiddle with his glass as if that’s the cause of his apparent dizziness.

You position yourself underneath his arm and help him balance himself.

You groan as you wobble when he rests some of his weight to you. How can you momentarily forget that he’s a professional athlete weighing more than 160 lbs? You’re always surrounded by tall men, and this has made you think that that height is normal, when in reality they can crush you in a snap.

You realize that Tsukishima is a lot more busted than you thought. You can see he’s actually trying to walk normally but is failing miserably.

You’ve already talked to most of your friends so you don’t mind helping him get back home. Not that it matters. You’d still be helping him get back home even if you hadn’t. Aside from being one of your players, he’s also your study partner. You can’t just leave him be.

With a very drunk Tsukishima on one shoulder, you hail a taxi and carefully make him sit inside. Your initial plan is just getting him a ride home, but looking at him now, you’re not sure if that’s the best idea. He might suddenly pass out. Who knows what will happen to him then?

You sigh as you get yourself inside the cab as well.

You give the driver the address of the Tsukishima’s while he rests his head on top of yours. “This car is moving too much,” he complains with discomfort crisp in his voice. The vehicle is rather stable. It’s the alcohol in his head that’s making things shaky for him.

Instead of letting him lean on you, you carefully settle his head against the headrest of the car seat so he’s leaning back instead of sideways. You kneel instead of sitting so you can use your hands to keep his head steady because he’s too darn tall.

After a short while, he lets out a sigh of relief from the stability your hands provided. His features are more relaxed now that his brows are no longer scrunched up and his lips no longer pressed in a strained manner.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head a bit to look at you. He grasps one of your wrists as he gives you a faint smile that doesn’t resemble anything he’s given you, not even the dumb one he did at the club.

It’s a tender and genuine smile that softens up his usually stern face. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Yes, you’re well aware. You hear it all the time that the word lost any shred of novelty it once had.

But when Tsukishima says it, your heart skips a beat. He isn’t flirting with you. He’s looking at you like he’s stating an observation he finds pleasing to him, like you’re a sight he’s truly enjoying to see.

You almost let go of his face from the uncanny feeling on your chest that’s making you uneasy, but you halt yourself when you remember that this guy’s world will spin faster than Jupiter’s rotation if you let him be.

You let out a deep sigh to calm yourself down.

“I know,” you respond firmly to hide the fuzzy mess that you are on the inside.

“If I’m not so fucking plastered, I’d kiss you.”

You suck in a sharp breath upon hearing it, the yearning to do so creeping up fast behind you.

You can do it yourself. You’re not dizzy. It’d be so easy. His face is already in your grasp anyways. You just have to lean forward a bit and you can easily grant him what both of you want.

Should you?

It’d just be one of your harmless kisses, right? You’ve done it countless times before. One more shouldn’t hurt.

“We’re here.”

You’re harshly brought back to sanity by the driver’s cue that you’ve reached his home. You’re thankful for it because you were really about to kiss him even though you’re the one who said that the deal is no more. You would have slapped yourself if your hands aren’t full.

You pay the driver and help Tsukishima get out of the car.

You get under his one arm again and assist his steps so he doesn’t stumble. Once you reach their doorstep, he gets his keys from his pockets but scuffles trying to insert it in the keyhole. Instead of getting pissed, he laughs sardonically and faces you.

“Look, y/n. The key is fucking stupid,” he says, completely believing that it’s the key’s fault and is actually snickering at the inanimate piece of metal’s ‘incapability’ to shoot itself where it needs to be.

You can’t help but laugh. Even at his drunken state, he still roasts things he deems doltish. It’s funnier cause he talks a bit dopey while insulting the innocent key. He’s still failing after a while so you volunteer to do it.

“I can do it,” he says seriously and on his next attempt, he does get it in. Then he looks at you and smirks proudly. “See?”

You shake your head and roll your eyes at how absurd he’s acting, but the grin on your face remains. He is still very much himself. It’s just that his rudeness is comically misplaced. Yet as entertaining as it is to watch, you can feel the strain in your shoulders and upper back already.

You open the door and hope that a relative is somehow still awake to take Tsukki off your hands. Still no luck for you as you’re greeted with nothing but silence.

“Where’s your room?” “Upstairs, left.”

Great. Can this get even worse? Your original plan is just getting him a cab. Now you have to personally walk him to his room since he’s hopeless treading on a flat surface. What more on a flight of stairs?

You ask him to close the door and lock it before you head up. “Alright, Tsukki. Let’s get you in bed,” you tell yourself as a motivational push to get the task done.

You huff every step you take because he really is too heavy for you and you’ve had a long night already. You’ll be sure to reprimand him tomorrow for this.

“Y/n?”

You lift your head up from wooden steps and see Akiteru at the top end of the stairs.

“Aki-san!” You can’t be more thankful upon his arrival.

He urgently goes to you, stopping a few steps up from you and Tsukki.

“What happened to him?” Akiteru asks concernedly.

“He’s…” you try to think of a more decent word but you can’t think of any at the moment so you tell it as it is. “He’s drunk,” you admit.

Akiteru’s expression is even more incredulous than yours was back in the bar. He’s looking at you and Tsukki interchangeably.

“You... you got him to drink?”

You don’t know if you’re offended or amused because Akiteru looks like he’s extremely grateful that you caused this to his brother.

“I-uh... no. I found him like this in the club. I think you should take him already,” you suggest. You’re about to lift Tsukki’s arm off of you when you feel him resist. When you turn to him, he’s already looking at you with displeasure. “You said you would get me in bed,” he states.

Is he fucking serious? Hell no. You have no reason to do so when Akiteru is here already. “Aki-san, please,” you implore while glaring at Tsukki.

“Umm... you heard him, y/n.”

You harshly turn your head at Akiteru from disbelief. When your gaze lands on him, he’s sporting an innocent smile, a stark contrast to knowing that the intention behind it is not so innocent.

“Aki-san?” your voice rises a bit from bewilderment at what he’s insinuating.

“Why do you call Nii-chan by his name?” Tsukki slurs as he asks.

“Huh?” You eye Tsukki exasperatedly. You have yet to absorb what Akiteru is implying and Tsukki is already adding up to the initial question mark hanging on your head.

“You just met him and you already call him Aki-san. We’ve been working together for three years, yet you don’t call me Kei. Not even when we ki-”

You cover his mouth and laugh awkwardly and loudly. “Tsukki! What are you talking about?” You make yourself sound clueless as you give him a very subtle glare while smiling, hoping that he gets your warning.

“When you what?” Akiteru prods, his eyes still friendly, but with amusement lurking beneath them.

You form a smile but with Tsukki’s weight and his intoxicatedness that’s causing him to babble nonsense, it comes out distressed.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you persist. “I should really go now. It’s really late, Aki-san. Please,” you press on.

“You can stay,” Tsukki suggests with a faint smirk.

“I agree with Kei. It really is late. We’d be responsible if something happens to you,” he explains kindly, but you know his concern is only second place to what he’s actually thinking. You can tell he’s rooting for you and his younger brother.

“Yeah, I don’t want to be responsible for you,” Tsukki announces with his voice a bit garbled.

Akiteru laughs at Tsukki’s remark but thwarts it immediately as he eyes you apologetically. “Sorry about my brother,” he whispers with one hand covering his mouth.

“Just sleep with me in my room.”

Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, it does. Your mouth gapes at Tsukki from how he just uttered that inappropriate statement right in front of his older brother.

You turn to Akiteru defensively. “It’s not what you think.”

Akiteru’s courteous smile doesn’t faze as he says, “I’m not thinking anything, y.n.”

The whole situation makes you want to let go of Tsukki’s arm and jump off the railings of stairs. Then, you’ll wake up in the morning and find that you’ve escaped this entire scenario altogether.

You sigh and wave an imaginary white flag in your head. “I’ll make sure he’s fine,” you say to Akiteru.

You see his eyes light up. Since you and Tsukki are already occupying the narrowness of the stairs, Akiteru can’t go to Tsukki’s other arm to help you. Instead, he goes back up and opens a door on the left.

He keeps it open until you reach what you surmise is Tsukki’s room.

Once you get inside, you hear Akiteru speak, “Thanks for taking care of my brother, y.n.” He closes the door before you can say anything.

Rather than minding Akiteru, you pour your attention on Tsukki, getting him to sit down with his head leaning against a wall.

You feel the instant relief on your shoulders with Tsukki’s weight off them. However, you can’t ease up yet. You have to go to their kitchen and get this guy some water.

You’ll complain later or tomorrow, but for now, you’re going to focus on getting shit done.

You’re about to head out of his room when the door opens itself, causing you to yelp from shock.

“Sorry,” Akiteru apologizes with a hushed voice. In his hand is a huge bottle of water which he extends to you with congenial fondness.

“Goodnight,” he says prior to closing the door.

Akiteru is pleasant, but he can’t be more obvious on how he eminently pairs you up with his brother.

You don’t delve into it further as you need to get Tsukki all fixed up. You walk over to where you seated him and make him drink the water Akiteru gave.

You need to make sure he’s not totally hammered when he sleeps. You don’t want him with a hangover tomorrow and skip training when the next match is just a week away.

He seems in need of the liquid too since he quickly finishes the bottle as soon as he takes it. He clumsily slams the empty bottle on his desk and stands up precariously.

“Woah there. Where are you going?” you ask imperiously.

“Bathroom,” he answers. He tips his head towards you as a corner of his lip shoots up. “Why? Care to join me?”

You want to fight back with a sarcastic ‘No, thank you,’ but he still walks a bit funny so you can’t exactly let him be. You sigh as you take his arm again and aid him as he walks.

“Only until the door,” you patiently answer.

As much as you want to be a smartass like him, you need the Frog’s starting middle blocker to never miss a training. You can’t have him tripping, falling flat on his face, or accidentally bumping on a wall.

You let him inside the restroom. Luckily, they have one on this floor so bless your shoulders and upper back. When he comes out, he looks a little less disoriented and his sense of balance is somehow stable with how he’s standing.

You follow him as he goes back to his room. To your shock, he immediately crawls to bed without changing. ‘Disgusting,’ you comment mentally. He came from outside, a club specifically. How could he not bother changing?

“Aren’t you going to change clothes?” you ask, your grossed out tone clearly heard.

“I’m tired and I’m still slightly dizzy,” he says nonchalantly.

He begins settling down while you’re standing there, tired and dumbfounded. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” He glances around his room, probably trying to recall where he put an extra mattress. Only two seconds later, he gives his bed one firm tap as if to tell you that you’re sleeping beside him.

You close your eyes from exhaustion and exasperation combined. You don’t want to sleep next to Tsukishima but it has been one hell of an evening already that you’ll take what you can get. He’s already sobered up a bit anyway. You’re at ease that he’ll keep his hands to himself.

You walk to his drawers and find a pair of loose clothing he can comfortably sleep in. Then you stride to his bed and give it to him. He looks at the clothes you’re holding then at you.

On a regular day, he wouldn’t dare sit on his bed without changing after spending time outside.. Tonight is the only exception because he truly isn’t up to the task anymore. He’ll just change his sheets tomorrow.

He only wants to lie in bed and shut his eyes already. But with you handing him a change of clothes, he has no reason to not to do so anymore.

No reason but to get back at you for giving him hell when you got yourself sick and passed out with only him present to take care of you.

“I told you I’m dizzy,” he says without accepting the clothes you’re offering him.

“Don’t tell me I have to change your clothes myself.” He can hear you’re about to lose it and it’s spurring him on even more. He hides his smirk and shrugs indifferently, leaving it to you to decide that for yourself.

You palm your face furiously and it’s almost breaking his resolve to keep a steady face. You prove to have a sensible amount of control on your temper as you recover after one excruciating deep breath. He’s not exactly surprised though. You’ve been a manager for three years now and handling male athletes is not exactly a walk in the park if one has temper problems.

You put one knee on his bed as you start tugging his shirt up. “Why did you even drink?”

“Why do you care?” He answers the same way you did when he asked why you bother going to parties.

“Because I’m the one taking care of you!” you almost yell as you dress him in a new shirt. When you successfully change his shirt, you glance at his pants then to his eyes. You didn’t have to utter a word to let him know that you don’t plan to change that particular piece of clothing.

He doesn’t falter though. If he tasted hell because he had to undress your top while you were passed out, he couldn’t miss the chance to return the favor.

“So? You didn’t hear shit from me when I had to take care of your sick ass,” he says, pouring salt to the right burn so he can push you to go along with his scheme.

You clench your jaw as you avert your eyes from his.

“You were a real handful, you know that?” he continues on. “Come to think of it. You’ve heard not a single complaint from me about that night. Should I lecture you now?” His lips betray his apathetic facade when a smirk forms on his face.

You smile at him with utter displeasure but don’t say anything as you start unzipping his pants, your spiteful eyes never leaving his amused ones.

“I’d love it if you help by lifting your sarcastic butt,” you sound distressed as you try to pull down his pants.

He grips both your hands that are tugging on his waistband. He props himself up a bit, leaning down and closing in on your stunned yet still delightful face.

“Why do you look so surprised? You asked me to help you, right?” he asks with a subdued voice as he tugs his pants down.

You turn your face away from his and don't answer his question as you continue what he started. His eyes never trail off your features until you successfully take his pants off

With your face still turned away from his, you grab the shorts you took earlier and toss it to his face. “Seems like you’re not dizzy anymore,” you say as you head to his closet.

For no fucking reason, he’s laughing elatedly. He might not be dizzy anymore but he can still feel the aftermath of the drinks he rushed drinking at the club. Is this why people get drunk? Because even the most trivial things are funny?

No. It’s because he’s drunk. It’s because of how entertaining you look when you’re a flustered mess. Before you looked away, he caught the wild blush on your cheeks, the stir in your eyes, and the way your hands trembled as you undressed him.

Initially, he wanted you to put on the shorts you got for him as well. But he figures he can show you mercy and do this one on his own since he already had his fun seeing you in a flustered state.

You open his closet and pick your own set of fresh clothes to borrow. Without saying anything, you step out of his room and head towards their restroom.

The first thing you do inside is check your reflection and goddamn it--you’re blushing like a teenager about to lose her virginity.

You groan frustratedly as you softly slap your cheek with your free hand. Tsukishima is tipsy and is just messing with you. Why do you have to be so affected?

You turn the faucet on and hurriedly wash the heat off your face. When you feel like you’ve cooled off, you look up at the mirror to check if you’re no longer a bursting tomato.

You sigh with relief when you see that your face is back to normal. You turn off the faucet and begin changing to Tsukki’s clothes.

As expected, everything is loose. His shirt is almost a dress. Actually, it already is with how it’s draping just above your knees. You had to use your hair tie to knot a portion of his shorts’ waistband for it to not to drop on your ankles.

It’ll be uncomfortable sleeping with lumped fabric on your hips but you’d prefer that than not wearing anything underneath his shirt.

You neatly fold your clothes and go back to his room. Another wave of relief hits you when you see him lying down with his eyes closed already. His glasses are already off too. Despite the strenuous and outrageous turn of events earlier tonight, you’re actually glad that he’s safe and sleeping soundly.

Hopefully tomorrow, he’s going to be fine and forget the shit he pulled on you tonight.

You take a deep breath as you sit on his bed. Fortunately, his bed is wide enough for you to have some decent amount of space away from him. He also has another pillow so you can sleep comfortably with one of your own. You just pray that it won’t be so cold because there is only one blanket.

Oh well. You’ll cross the bridge when you get there.

You get his extra pillow and lie down. Once your back hits the soft mattress, your eyes shut close on their own. You feel the weight in your legs and back settle as your body starts to relax. You know that any moment now, you’ll fall asleep so you turn to your side with your back facing Tsukishima.

You were right. You already feel your consciousness drifting off not long after, only to be disrupted by an arm sliding over your waist.

“What the-”

“My head hurts.”

Even if Tsukishima doesn’t say anything, you already know how close he is with warm breath fanning your nape. You’d scoot away but you’re already at the edge of his bed.

You harshly remove his arm and face him to give him a not so peaceful piece of your mind. You toss around to face him and when you do, you forget your annoyance as you’re met with a very distressed Tsukishima. His eyes are closed and his brows are furrowed together in almost a straight line.

“How bad is it?” You ask as you gently brush his hair away from his forehead.

“Like someone’s driving a fucking nail on my head,” he spats out with the crease on his brows getting deeper.

You gently slide one hand under his head and so you can massage his temples with both thumbs, hopefully it’ll soothe him even just a bit.

Thankfully, the crease on his brows and the tension around his nose and mouth eases up. “Where are your painkillers?” I ask softly. “I’ll go get one for you.”

He opens his eyes, a certain tenderness dancing in his orbs while he stares right onto yours. “Just stay here,” he utters delicately as he gradually slides his arm back to your waist. With a firm but still gentle grip on the small of your back, he draws you closer to him until there’s almost no space between your bodies.

This is different, way too different than he was earlier. And to be honest, you’d prefer that over this. This… it’s something even you cannot name.

Your thumbs stop moving on their own accord as he inches his face closer. You almost gasp for air with how heavy and thick it suddenly feels.

“Uh..,” you trail off without even saying anything. You just thought if you said something, it would break the tension. However, it only made it worse.

“Hmm?”

You seem to be the only one uncomfortable as he’s still gazing intently at you like it’s nothing.

“W-Why are you staring at me like that?” What the hell did you stutter for? This is just Tsukishima, goddamnit.

“It hurts less when I do.” You’d think he’s joking but there’s no trace of derision anywhere on his face. He removes his hand from your waist only to rest it on your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw as he says, “I don’t like that I can’t see you clearly right now.”

It’s too much.

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode from how fast your heart is pounding. You want to retract your hands away from him, but you can’t move them because having them there makes him feel better.

Then he looks down on your lips, a knowing look that you’re very much familiar with.

“Tsukki, we can’t do this,” you whisper, causing his eyes to go back on yours.

“What are we doing anyway?” he asks as if he’s not aware of what he’s stirring in you.

“You know what,” you insist. There’s no way he doesn’t.

“I don’t. Maybe if we actually do something, I’ll know what you’re talking about.”

You squint at him with disbelief, not buying the innocent act of him not grasping the situation when he’s the one causing it. “We already broke that deal, Tsukki.”

“Then let’s bring it back,” he counters right off the bat.

You sigh while shaking your head disagreeably. “You’re drunk,” you state plainly, reminding yourself of this fact to rationalize the way he’s behaving, to calm the havoc that he’s inciting in you.

You put your thumbs back to work and knead his temples again.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees as he closes his eyes again. He lets out a reposed sigh, then removes his hand from your neck.

You can now rest easy as the temptation backs away himself. You keep at it, observing his stern features which are getting more lax while you continue massaging him.

Finally, he does as you want him to do: sleep and keep his hands to himself.

So why is there a nagging emptiness brimming inside you? You’re not actually disappointed, are you?

“Tsukki,” you utter his name in hushed tones, hoping that he won’t respond.

With his eyes still shut, you thought he wouldn’t. Yet, he answers just as softly as you called him. “What?”

You sigh. Why is he still awake? He could’ve been asleep already or just stayed quiet and ignored you. Then you’d be able to sleep soundly knowing that you didn’t do anything that you could possibly regret in the morning.

You stop encircling your thumbs on his head and rest your palms on his cheeks instead. You lean closer to his face.

“If you change your mind in the morning, forget this happened,” you whisper before you succumb to the snares of attraction you’ve been running away from since you saw Tsukishima in the bar.

You capture his lips, gradually easing into it, giving yourself time to retreat before he responds. Apart from you not wanting to, he doesn’t give you much time at all as he puts his hand back on your neck and returns the kiss with a guttural sigh.

He eagerly nips on your lips, ardently moving against them as if he’s been wanting to do this for a while already. You respond with the same passion, pressing yourself closer to feel his body firm against yours.

He moves his hand from your neck to the back of your head, lightly gripping your hair as he coaxes your mouth open with the flick of his tongue on your lower lip.

You immediately yield to him, parting your lips so you can have more of what he’ll give. When he slips his tongue in and grazes yours, you taste the slight tang of alcohol. It’s very subtle, barely there, but it’s causing a buzz in your senses that no other liquor has provided.

It’s only a kiss, but you know that this is unlike the previous harmless ones you’ve shared with him.

Your soft moans on his mouth and his lips growing greedier with each nip tells you that this is one very dangerous kiss.

You drag your hand from his cheek to his chest to push him away, but he suddenly tugs your hair down, giving himself access to the column of your neck. This time, rather than nudging him away, you clutch his shirt tightly, feeling his mouth trail along the sensitive skin of your neck.

“T-Tsukishima,” you whine as his hand travels down your ass, his huge palm and long fingers tugging on the fabric as he gives one cheek a firm squeeze.

“Hmmm?” he hums on your skin before you feel his tongue swipe down on your collarbone.

Your skin is on fire but you feel like you’re drowning. Everything he’s doing is compelling you to want to go further than this, to let him touch you beneath the clothes you’re wearing, to let him kiss you wherever he pleases.

Tsukishima wants nothing but precisely that. He’d blame the alcohol, but nothing’s more intoxicating than the sound of your whimpers and your body deliciously pressed against his. His clothes hanging loosely on you only adds to his delirium.

He knows this is going to lead to something incredibly stupid and totally reckless, but stupid and reckless has never felt this delectable. How can he not indulge himself when the promise of your rapture is just within his grasp?

He just needs to know if you’re willing to cross the obscure boundary of the deal you once had.

He puts his free hand to use, sliding it underneath the baggy shirt you’re wearing. He carefully skims his hand up, grazing his fingers just below your bra. Meanwhile, his other hand on your bottom goes a bit further down, only for him to slip his hand inside the oversized shorts and feel your almost bare ass.

With his other hand feeling empty, he moves his palm up and kneads one supple bosom.

“Ah,” you clench his shirt tighter as you mewl from his touch. Even though he can’t see you clearly, your voice and the way your arch your body even closer to him is enough to cause a tent to form in his shorts.

He withdraws away from your neck and gets back to your lips. With his hand on your behind, he lugs you closer and grinds his erection on your thigh, letting you know how much you affect him, how much he wants you right now.

Then your body stills along with the quivering of your lips.

He pulls back to look at you and even with his blurred vision, he can sense that you’re frightened. “What’s wrong?” Just a while ago, you were melting within his embrace. Now, you’re shaking like a leaf.

“I-” Your breath hitches when you speak. “I can’t do this,” you whisper weakly even though you’re the one who instigated the kiss that led to this.

Although he’s confused about the sudden change of heart, he doesn’t push it. He immediately removes his hands off your delicate parts and puts considerable space between you.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to seem so scared,” he tells you with an insipid, yet reassuring tone.

You are scared, but not of Tsukishima. You’re afraid of yourself, of your own desire that’s starting to get out of control. You know that one more kiss and you’ll totally cave in.

It shouldn’t be a problem since you know that he wants you just as you want him. The hard thing poking at your thigh is enough proof.

But what happens if morning comes and he wakes up regretting his inebriated urges? He might not be batshit drunk anymore but alcohol is still running through him. If not, he wouldn’t be openly flirting with you.

What about you? What will be your excuse if the sun rises and he asks why you went along with his intoxicated whims?

None.

You’ll be held responsible for leading him to dance the devil’s tango when he’s not capable of consenting to it with a straight head. You don’t want that. You don’t want to see disgust and regret splashed on his face in the morning, not when you terribly enjoy his kisses and touch.

So you softly push him away. “I’ll sleep beside you, Tsukishima. That’s all I’ll do,” you say with your head down and palms flat on his chest.

“Okay,” he obliges right after you said it. “Do you want me to turn away from you?”

Your eyes shoot up and meet his somber golden ones. “N-no. It’s fine. I’ll do it,” you stammer as you shift your position so your back is facing him. You take a while before you feel your heartbeat getting steady again as the temptation dwindles down.

You’re about to close your eyes when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder.

“Can I hold you like this?” he asks, his voice a bit farther than it was a while ago. You can tell that he’s maintaining his distance this time.

“Just like this,” he reiterates with his hand squeezing your shoulder to let you know that his hand won’t drift anywhere else.

You shut your eyes with a faint smile on your lips. You place a hand over his and give it a light squeeze as you murmur, “Yeah.”

Your hand starts to slip down when tonight’s events offer you a last surprise. As your hand glides down while you’re starting to drift off to sleep, he laces his fingers with yours to keep it in place.

You hum peacefully with a gratified smile fully forming on your lips.

You allow yourself to have this.

What harm can come from holding hands with your tipsy blonde middle blocker?

You wake up a bit refreshed. However, you can still feel the aftermath of Tsukki’s heavy figure slouched on your shoulder last night, or was it morning already? You try to massage your shoulder but as you move your hand, you feel someone else’s intertwined with it.

You press your lips together to prevent a smile when you realize that you two slept together. It’s nothing. You shouldn’t be smiling because of it. It’s just a tiny gesture of reassurance that things are okay between you two despite what almost happened.

You carefully untangle your fingers from him before you sit up. You glance sideways to see if you woke him up. He shuffles a bit but doesn’t seem to have been disturbed.

You look out the window and see that the sun has barely risen, meaning you haven’t gotten enough sleep. You know it’s no use getting back to sleep since your mind is already fully awake. You wouldn’t dare get out his room but you’re parched and you need to use the restroom.

You step out of his room and gently closes the door. After you finish using the restroom, you carefully go down their stairs. You take a peek if any of his relatives is up and are relieved when you see that their kitchen is empty.

You saunter your way to their kitchen, remaining as quiet as you can be while you fix yourself a glass of water.

“Morning.”

You flinch and almost drop the glass you just finished when you hear the unexpected greeting. You look at the source and see Akiteru, leaning sideways against the fridge with an amicable smile.

“Oh!” You exhale a huge breath of relief as you put down your glass on the counter. You turn to him to greet him but when you face him, he eyes what you’re wearing. You follow his gaze and realize that you’re wearing Tsukki’s clothes.

‘It’s not what you think,’ is what you want to say, but you already said that at the stairs. If you repeat it again, you’d seem more defensive than you already were. But how else would you explain yourself?

You look at him with pleading eyes and a weary smile. “I swear, it’s really not what it looks like,” you insist weakly. “I just had nothing to wear,” you add to your defense. Akiteru laughs and waves his hand considerately.

“Don’t worry! I believe you, y/n,” he says with his honest, kind smile. “It’s a bit early for you to be up though,” he remarks.

“Yeah. My mind is all...” You hover your hands on both sides of your head and shake them while you roll your eyes inanely.

He chuckles from the antic you didn’t even realize you did. “Wanna chat for a bit? Since you’re all,” he imitates what you did with your head but quelled and contained.

You smile from how pleasant he is despite teasing you so much for taking care of his brother. “Sure,” you answer kindly.

He walks towards their dining table and offers you a seat. You follow curtly and sit across him. He regards you decorously, making you feel at ease even though he’s practically a stranger.

“I have to ask, y/n. There’s really nothing between you and Kei?” he asks genuinely. You can tell that he’s looking out for his younger brother, hence the straightforward question.

You shake your head with a courteous smile. “Nothing. I don’t know if you know, Aki-san, but I’m also his manager.”

His eyes widen.

“You’re the Sendai Frogs’ manager?”

He’s seen Kei’s games but didn’t really have the chance to meet those who stayed on the bench. In one game he has watched, he heard some people beside him saying how blessed the Frogs are for having a ‘hot’ pair of coach and manager. Although he glanced very briefly because of his curiosity, he didn’t really see much of said pair for he was too far away in the stands. You beam proudly at him as you nod, confirming that the other half of the duo is indeed as lovely as the rumors he heard. “For three years now.”

Akiteru scans your face and can’t help but feel like he’s misjudged you a bit. He thought you’re a university student who likes going out and enjoys the most out of college life. He didn’t think you’d be working as a manager for a team. “I was just making sure he got home okay because we need him for practice. The next game is already next week.”

“Isn’t it tough to be his manager?” he asks, curious about what you think of Kei as an athlete.

“Not really. I like everyone in the team. To be honest though, he was a real pain in the a-” you cut yourself off and clear your throat. You must have realized that you’re talking to him, Kei’s older brother. Although, he wouldn’t really mind if you continue what you were about to say. It amuses him actually.

“What I mean to say was he was a bit difficult at first. But over time, I got used to him and actually found him nice to have in the team. He’s very smart and very disciplined. Even if he’s apathetic and sarcastic at times, I know he loves being part of the Frogs,” you explain.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says truthfully as he sees that you’re fond of Kei when your eyes shimmer a bit brighter when you talk about his brother.

“Sometimes people misunderstand him because he acts detached. The truth is when he starts caring about something, he cares deeply. That’s why he has that cool, uncaring facade,” he adds as he stares at the surface of the table.

When he raises his gaze to you, you look a bit mystified.

“I’m sorry! I rambled a bit there, didn’t I?” he laughs tensely.

You smile graciously and wave your palms. “No! It’s fine. I just wasn’t sure why you’re telling me this,” you admit with an apprehensive simper.

He grins warmheartedly. “I just felt like sharing,” he answers even though the real reason is because he’s convinced his brother likes you too and you might need to know that aspect of him.

Kei wouldn’t have allowed you to take him home no matter how drunk he is if he isn’t comfortable with you. The entertaining exchange you three had on the stairs was another clue. Lastly, Kei let you sleep in his room and you’re even wearing his clothes.

“Has he always been like that?” you ask.

“Not really,” his smile fades, for he knows that he’s a big factor why Kei is extremely apprehensive of getting too passionate about something. He brushes it off and continues, “But he’s always had that sarcasm ever since he was little.”

You giggle at his answer. “Why am I not surprised?” you say amusedly before your eyes wander to the window.

“The sun’s up,” you announce softly. “I should go back to Tsukki’s room. I need to change and leave soon so I can attend my earliest class.”

“Of course! Thanks for the small chat, y/n,” he says dearly.

“Any time, Aki-san,” you respond buoyantly then stand up. Instead of going back to Kei’s room, you head to the fridge and get a bottle of water.

“He’ll probably be thirsty as f… hell when he wakes up,” you explain, receptive of Kei’s condition even though his drunk brother must have given you a hard time last night. You bow thoughtfully then head up.

He watches you get back upstairs, careful not to make so much sound from your steps since it’s still early. Then he walks to the kitchen to get him some coffee while thinking how well you suit his younger brother. Part 6 || Part 8 || masterlist taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @finnydraws @namelessidentity @hqbeesun @yatoatyourservice @mrkozume @suzuyamitsuki @celestialarchiveshq @yongboxerrr @gomenpudding @kutiekoge @fizzfrick @flamingosis @korean-bbq @ihaterainbowsprinkles @red-lint @backtonormalthings @borpcorp @lonelyheartxn @venomouscreatures @lucyrocks86 @shawtiie @honestlysora

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima angst #tsukishima smut #tsukishima kei #haikyuu x reader

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junicai · 3 years

Text

applause.

| order no. | 10/21

| summary | While filming for NCT2020, Aria fears her interview partner is coming down with a fever. Spoiler alert: He’s not.

| word count | 1.8k

| warnings | None

| era | circa. December 2020

a/n: ok so i figured i’d mark my return to posting with a lil floof for the soul :) before i ruin it again :) so here u go here are two idiots being idiots :)

Oftentimes, it was easy to forget just how many members NCT had amassed over the years. With the sub-units separated the majority of the time for their own promotions; the odds were that if you weren’t in a sub-unit with another member, you’d rarely interact with them outside of the company walls.

NCT2020 was incredible in that sense. Twenty three boys and one girl, all in one room, singing the same songs and performing together. The impact left on the spring-flooring when they danced as a group physically shook the mirrors.

They had a reputation to uphold; something which every single member took as seriously as a blood oath.

Aria, over the years, had formed bonds with most of the other boys. She hadn’t really had much of a choice in the matter; it was either, make friends with the people around you, or have no friends at all. It was lucky, in that sense, that they were all so warm and welcoming. She found her home in the 127 dorms, and later, her family with the Dreamies. She wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The fact remained, however, that when it came to Aria and WAYV - there was a gap. Be it because of the differing promotional schedules, or the fact that SM had point blank refused to acknowledge WAYV as a sub-unit of NCT up until the announcement of the NCT2020 promotions; the bottom line was, Aria didn’t know half of the members beyond their first name.

So, when the randomized name selection came out, and she was paired with Xiaojun; Aria took a deep breath, and reminded herself that this was a chance to start to form some new relationships.

She’d never been all too good at making friends as a child - always a little too shy, and then all of a sudden far too abrasive in a lost attempt to compensate for her earlier quietness.

Sitting beside the boy in question, Aria left her hands tucked beneath her thighs to prevent herself from fidgeting. The air between the two vocalists was thick; and Aria found herself looking around desperately for Mark or Ten or hell even Yuta, even though she knew Dejun was significantly more scared of him than her.

Anything to break the awkward, stifling silence that was hanging over the both of them.

“Do you-”

“Hey, I-”

They turned to face each other at the same time, sentences blending together before being cut off abruptly. Aria’s face flamed beneath the foundation, and by the darkening tips of Dejun’s ears, she could tell his cheeks were flushing as well.

“Go ahead.” He gestured with a nod.

“No no, it’s okay! What were you saying?” Aria disagreed.

“Uh, I was just wondering if you feel the breeze as well?” Dejun questioned, hands coming to tug his light jacket around his shoulders tighter. “It’s giving me goosebumps,” He laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Aria frowned. “No? It’s quite warm in here I thought.” The pair were surrounded with several lamps that were shining large bulbs onto their faces. With the heat from them, and the blanket that she had tucked over the legs, Aria was toasty warm - but a quick glance at the thin material Dejun’s jacket was made out of had her untucking the corner and folding it out again.

“Here,” She offered, holding out the edge of the blanket.

“Oh no I can’t,” Dejun began to refuse, but a shiver ran down his spine, cutting his words up into pieces.

Aria raised an eyebrow. He relented.

“Thank you.” He acquiesced, once the soft material had been laid over his lap. He was still shivering lightly, but the body-shaking tremors had worn off, so Aria was better pleased than she was a minute ago.

“Okay!” A voice called from outside the set. “It’s just an interview, like you were both briefed. Feel free to take it where you want and - Aria can you just -” The director gestured to Dejun. “Don’t sit so far away, people will think you’re scared of him.” He teased.

Coughing lightly, Aria scooched towards Dejun, the blanket bunching up in-between their legs. She could feel him leaning back slightly, as if he was afraid of their faces being too close together.

“Little more.” He insisted, now peering at the two through the viewfinder of the camera.

Aria shuffled into the middle of the set’s sofa, her knee lightly brushing Dejun’s thigh.

“Better! Now just don’t look like someone’s about to shoot you.”

Aria opened her mouth before schooling her expression back into something less, terrified. “Sorry!”

This close, she could see the light flush that sat high on Dejun’s cheeks. His eyes were slightly glassy, and his chest was moving at a moderately quicker pace than it had been a few minutes ago.

Aria placed a hand on his arm, lightly, patting the exposed skin where he had rolled up the sleeves.

The filming went as well as it could. As they were told prior to entering the set; it was just a couple questions on how they were getting on together as a group, what it was like performing as a mix of all twenty three members, recounting some entertaining tidbits from the practice room or from behind stage.

Over the next hour, the icy feeling that had surrounded the two vocalists melted into a comfortable conversation, soon drifting away from the interview questions and flowing sweetly into a little chat that czennies were sure to adore.

With Dejun now turned to face Aria completely, and Aria sitting back with her shoes kicked off and her feet tucked beneath her; they were solely focused on each other; like the cameras had stopped rolling a half hour ago (They hadn’t) and they were old friends, catching up (They weren’t).

Aria learnt that Dejun had a penchant for green tea lattes, and the number eight. He slept on the top bunk, and was a lot funnier than his members gave him credit for.

Dejun learnt that Aria was a lot more accident prone than her ‘professional image’ would let on, that she has a dimple on her right cheek when she smiles, that when she smiles she beams - bright enough to beat out a lightbulb - and that her favourite colour was yellow and she still looked at the stars when she got homesick.

Aria learnt that Dejun wanted to travel to Paris one day, that he wanted to learn how to bake bread properly and that he stayed up too late playing games only to regret it the next morning every single time.

Dejun learnt that Aria had an addicting laugh; and he wanted to hear it as many times as he could. That he wishes she’d let herself laugh for longer; that she wouldn’t lift her hand to cover her face as she giggled.

His cheeks flushed brighter, the tips of his ears now a bright red.

“Dejun? Are you alright?” Aria leant forwards into his space, her face moving closer to his. She had noticed the poor boy’s flush over the course of the last hour; but the pink was slowly becoming a deep red, and her concern was deepening with it.

Dejun immediately pulled back; floundering. “Yeah! Yup, yes, absolutely fine.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m doing wonderful! Are you alright? Aria?” Dejun flipped the question on her, sweat beginning to bead beneath his fringe.

Aria squinted at him, relenting. “I’m okay, yeah. Are you still cold?”

“No!” The reply was sharp, and she jerked back a little.

“Oh- okay- sorry?” Aria pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, worrying the skin lightly.

Dejun could have punched himself in the face, but he settled for pinching himself beneath the blanket where it was out of sight.

“Aaand, cut!”

The two vocalists turned to the director who was grinning madly. “That was perfect, you two. I don’t know what you did, or where you pulled that from, but you’re definitely the best duo we’ve had in here so far.”

Aria didn’t think that was hard, there had only been two other groups in before them, but she kept these words wisely to herself.

“You’re both free to go! I’ll expect to be seeing a lot more of you together though, this is going to go down an absolute treat.” The director’s smug little grin reminded Aria of a cat who had gotten the cream; and her own little grin formed to match it.

“Thank you,” The two bowed lightly towards the staff, before collecting their things from the set and shuffling towards the door again. Once outside, they were silent again - but this time the lack of noise was not unsettling.

“Hey I-”

“What about-”

Dejun and Aria looked at each other momentarily, before bursting out into laughter.

“Okay that has to stop.” She giggled, hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Agreed,” Dejun coughed out, ears flushing one final time.

“You sure you’re feeling alright? You looked a little flushed back inside; that’s all.”

“Fine!” He squeaked. “It must have been, uh, the lights, or something. Yeah.”

Aria puffed her cheeks out, but made no further comment.

Pulling away, she slipped her feet into the runners she was wearing for the interview - uncaring as to whether or not she’d accidentally break the backs of them. They were old ones, anyway, ones she’d been gifted as part of a brand deal that had fallen through; no wonder, she thought, as the shoes really were all look and no practicality. They were the least comfortable shoe she owned - and Aria owned a lot of uncomfortable shoes.

“’Til next time?” She straightened up, head turned to Dejun.

He nodded, going to extend a hand as Aria stepped forward to wrap her arms around him in a hug.

What followed, was a painstakingly awkward hand-body-shuffle-jerk dance that left Aria’s face flushed red from embarrassment and Dejun’s desire for the ground to open up and swallow him whole growing to immense proportions.

Eventually, Dejun moved away, waved, turned on his heel and borderline sprinted away back down the hallway before Aria had a chance to return the wave. He rounded the corner, slowing to a stop in anticipation of slamming his head into the wall. However, thinking against it, Dejun instead turned to put his back to the wall, sinking down against it; lifting a hand to smack himself in the forehead.

“Idiot.”

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lovely-ateez · 3 years

Text

I’ll Be Home Soon~

ꕥPosted: 5/16/21

ꕥGenre: Fluff

ꕥPairing: Fem!Reader x Idol!Mingi

ꕥWord Count: 1.8k

ꕥWarnings: An overwhelming heaping of fluff

ꕥTag List: @nevieatiny @bobateastay

ꕥA/N: I know this is short but I wanted to write at least a little something for Mingi’s return. I’m just so proud of him and can’t wait to see him again ><

I sat on the couch as stiff as a board. At any minute my boyfriend would return home after being away for months. We kept in contact while he was gone, of course, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person. Even after all this time, I still wasn’t accustomed to the cold bed or the lack of sticky notes he would leave me throughout the day, all saying some variation of I love you or good morning or you look beautiful today. It was always something simple, but they became so meaningful to me. Waking up without his warm smile never got easier, and every moment he was gone I thought of him. Our house wasn’t a home with only me.

I heard the faint jingling of keys and I scrambled to the door, about falling over in the process. The door opened to reveal my tall, lanky boyfriend. He was dressed casually, wearing a large white sweatshirt over black baggy pants. His brown hair was down, slightly covering his eyes. He wasn’t dressed up or wearing anything special, but in that moment he looked more handsome to me than he ever had before. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since I laid my eyes upon him and my heart was already beating as rapidly as the first time I met him.

He smiled at me and opened his arms wide to embrace me in a tight hug. I jumped in his arms without thinking and felt tears beginning to run down my face.

“I can’t believe you’re home. I missed you so much.” I nuzzled into his warm chest.

His voice was deep and warm, enveloping me ten times over. “I’m home, baby. I’m home.”

We held each other tight, basking in the feeling of the other after being separated. It felt new, in some ways, but completely and totally familiar at the same time.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” His voice was soft, as if he thought I might blame him.

I pulled back from his embrace, making eye contact. “Song Mingi don’t you dare apologize! Health always comes first and I’m so proud of you for recognizing that you needed a break.”

He gave a shy smile that I happily returned. Noticing the luggage that he was carrying, I picked up a few bags and ushered him in, setting the bags down once we were inside. He looked around our living room, smiling at its setup. On the main table I had placed his favorite snacks, a few presents, and an overwhelming number of envelopes.

Mingi quirked a brow and chuckled, obviously thankful but a bit confused, “What are the envelopes for and why are there so many?”

I looked to the ground,feeling shy. “Every week that you were gone I wrote you a letter. I know we facetimed and everything but I thought it might be more personal through a letter. I tried to send them to you but your manager told me to keep them instead-”

Mingi set his luggage on the floor and once more hugged me, this time lifting me in the air and placing kisses all over my face. “You didn’t have to do this, babe.”

“Oh I know, but I wanted to. It’s the least you deserve.”

His eyes watered at my words and I gently cupped his face. “You deserve the world, my love.”

He set me back down and gave me a playful shove, “Stop that I’m gonna cry.”

I pouted, “I’m sorry I don’t mean to make you cry. I just love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

I stood on my toes to press a kiss to his lips, which he returned. I felt him smile against my lips and the gesture made butterflies stir within me.

"So what do you wanna do, babe? We can stay here and watch a movie and relax if you want or-”

He laughed, “Honestly? I kinda want to go to the zoo. I don’t really know why, but I haven’t been in awhile and it just sounds fun.”

“Right now?”

“Hell yeah.”

I smiled at his childlike answer, expecting nothing less from my puppy-like boyfriend, “Alright, let’s go then! Oh-”

I felt a ball of fluff run past my ankles and up to Mingi. Both of us looked down to see our cat, Mao. Mingi smiled and picked her up, pleased to find her purring while he pet her.

“I missed you, too. Silly cat.”

“She’s been sleeping on your side of the bed since you left, so you’re probably gonna have to kick her out tonight.”

His eyes widened, “You replaced me?”

“No! I could never! She just decided to keep me company.”

A tight smile formed on Mingi’s face, “Sure, sure.”

I scoffed, “Are we going to the zoo or not?”

“Of course!” He set Mao down before moving his luggage into our bedroom. I picked up my purse and car keys as I saw him return to the living room and gave him another smile. We quickly said our goodbyes to Mao and locked the door, excited to spend more time with each other.

“So what’s your favorite zoo animal, Mingi?” I asked as we walked through the zoo with our fingers intertwined.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought, “I kinda like sun bears. Have you seen the memes about those things? How they look-”

“Like a person in a bear costume?” I finished his sentence and he giggled, nodding at me.

“I think they have those here, actually. We might have to find a map but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

After asking around and wandering for half an hour, we finally found the sun bear enclosure...only to be met with empty land.

“Damn, are they really not here?” Mingi asked, looking dejected, “I thought they’d have at least one.”

Before I could reply a little girl ran up to the exhibit in front of us, her brown pigtails swaying with her quick movements. She pressed her small fingers to the glass, squinting to see any signs of the sun bears. Her bottom lip stuck out when all she saw was an empty exhibit and my heart lurched for the poor girl. Mingi and I watched as an attractive couple ran from the same direction as the little girl, their movements frantic until they saw her tiny figure.

“Migyung you can’t just run off like that, sweetheart.” The mother lightly scolded, sounding more concerned than angry.

The little girl turned around at the sound of her mom’s voice and frowned. “I’m sorry, mama. I just wanted to see the funny bears!”

The father crouched down to reach her height, “I know, just tell us next time, okay?”

Migyung nodded at her father’s words.

“And would you look at that?” The man smiled and pointed behind her, “Look who’s coming over to see you.”

The girl turned around and spotted a sun bear walking towards her. She let out a gasp, once more pressing her fingers to the glass. Her eyes filled with stars as she looked at the bear.

She laughed with excitement and bounced on her toes, “Daddy, mommy, look at him! He’s so fat!”

“We see him, sweetheart.” The father replied with a smile, even though the girl couldn’t see it. He looked over to his wife and placed an arm around her, kissing her cheek as they looked at their daughter fondly.

Mingi squeezed my hand, his attention no longer on the sun bear. He turned to me with love-filled eyes and whispered, “That’s gonna be us one day, you know?”

I bit my lip and felt warmth spread through my body. We’d talked about our future before, how we wanted kids and planned on getting married, but watching the scene before us and seeing the sincerity in his eyes, it made my heart feel like exploding.

“I’d really like that.”

We stood there for a bit longer before leaving to look at the other animals. The red pandas, in particular, caught Mingi’s attention, and I found myself quite fond of the baby rhinos, but we both agreed that the sun bear was our favorite.

Neither of us were entirely sure how we both ended up covered in flour on the floor of our kitchen, only that once the sun had began to set we left the zoo and came home with empty stomachs, then deciding to make breakfast food for dinner. Now we were both in fits of giggles as we struggled to sit upright, Mao’s strange looks at us somehow making the event even funnier.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I laughed.

“I think this was a great idea,” Mingi said with a smile before grabbing a handful of flour and throwing it at me.

“Hey! You’re gonna pay for that!”

He stood and grabbed the bag of flour, raising a brow in challenge, “Oh yeah? Come and get me, babe.”

Against my better judgement I stood and ran towards him, throwing my body onto his and tackling him to the floor. As our bodies collided, the bag of flour flew out of his hands and I crawled over to the bag only to feel Mingi’s arms wrap around my legs and drag me back towards him.

“Noo! I’m so close!” I giggled, the bag barely a foot away.

“Not anymore, you aren’t.” He pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me tight, preventing me from escape, “What are you gonna do now, huh?”

I tilted my head with a smile, “I’ll probably flirt with my captor until he falls for me and then I’ll run away with the flour.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, what if he’s already in love with you but won’t let you go?” Mingi shifted our bodies to where I was laying with my back on the floor, his own body hovering over mine but still very much keeping me in place, “What if he’s gonna keep you here with him? What do you think about that?”

My breath hitched as he looked down at me, his face slowly inching closer to mine. He had it too easy, really, with how quickly he could fluster me.

“I think you’re far too handsome for your own good.” I said barely louder than a whisper.

He let out a chuckle before kissing me, our lips moving in time with the other’s. My hands found his hair and I pulled him closer to me, my hunger long forgotten.

As I felt Mingi’s body against mine, I finally felt whole. It was hell, going without seeing him for so many months, but because of moments like these, I knew I’d gladly wait a hundred more if it meant I could just have one day with him.

#ateez #atzinc #kpop #imagines #ateez au #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #fluff #kpop fluff #welcome back mingi #mingi imagines #song mingi #mingi fluff #mingi ateez

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beautifulletdownfics · 4 years

Text

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

Chat to me here

#OOOO SHIT what have i done #well #1dff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles X reader #harry styles stories #harry styles imagines #harry fic

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dropsofletters · 3 years

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how to lose someone in seven steps? | ten

— summary: when she gets the opportunity to record her first music video, she doesn’t expect the director to be this enigmatic and vain. ten throws his head back, squinting his eyes at her mere presence, inspecting her every move, and she feels like threatening him. it shouldn’t be that hard to fulfill her promise of breaking his heart.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: ten x reader — genre: music video producer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: fluff ; romance ; humor ; drama ; angst — word count: 10,850 — playlist: no blueberries – dpr ian (ft. cl and dpr live) ; diamonds – rihanna ; love me less – max ; my my my – troye sivan ; fever – dua lipa ; ex – sik-k (ft. chacha malone) — note: you have to read the prologue before reading this route.

One would say that she has never gone through heartbreak. One meaning…she says it all the damn time. It’s what she manages to let out with a cramped smile on her face, hands expanding for further emphasizing. Heartbreak is not my thing.

It’s the thing she told herself with one of the last men she dated (Or is it ‘saw’, ‘went out with’? This generation has changed the terms exponentially), when she pulled the straps of her dress up her shoulders, knowing that inside his heart there was someone else. The blood of a singer told her to go for passion—to fight the competition like a champion would, but love is not a matter of winning. It never is. It’s about how much you can lose in one go, and if you’re smart enough, you’ll rationalize the pieces to share with several people. Give out one? Forget it’s ever coming back.

The hairstylist—and it’s so weird to say this without a giddy feeling inside her chest—pulls at her hair harshly enough for her eyebrows to raise the slightest. A face lift wasn’t necessary, but she might as well start thinking about one in the future with the amount of stress that has piled up inside her at the mention of a music video recording. The short woman manages to smile, cheeks puffed out in ways that makes the speckles of pink on her cheeks glisten under the harsh lights of the preparation room. Staff goes around and comes around, like flies on a summer day, while Hao, her manager, keeps looking down at his phone like a maniac.

She reaches forward, trying her hardest not to confuse her migraine with the headache induced by the pull of her hair. This ponytail is so high up her head that she may as well start using it as an antenna, old school style, to get some signal. Instead, her fingertips wrap around Hao’s hand, pulling it down to have him looking at her. “Hey, care to be my friend and my manager at the same time and help me feel less like…?” Looking around, she lowers her voice. “Like shit?”

For the first time in a while, Hao doesn’t look like a father. His khaki shorts have been exchanged for something far more presentable—a suit that fits him like a glove, his hair pushed away from his face in elegance. His hand comes forward to rub her cheek softly, only to hear a hiss from the stylist.

“Don’t touch her makeup.” For someone as small as the stylist, she surely has some bite to her. Hao’s hand pulls away as if she was made of electricity, rubbing his fingers together in hopes of not having any leftover makeup on his fingertips. The makeup, however, makes her feel different. It’s the vision of the director, she knows this much, of the new record label that had taken up on her with the promise of a contract only if this song does well. The thick eyeliner on her eyelids looks much better than anything she had tried—eyes elongated, almost cat-like, as if she’s ready to eat the world just by glaring around.

“You’re going to do fine.” Hao instructs, a wave of his hand coming soon after. “Besides, I called one of your friends to come here and support you through all this,” One of her many friends, whose tears have become one with her skin, whose smiles are glimpses of her soul—whose tastes have come merged with her in some way or another. Friendship is such a beautiful thing. “Since I’m shit at it. Don’t ask me who it is, though, because I literally can’t tell the difference between any of them.”

“Genius.” She replies, feeling once again a tug at her hair before an elastic band wrapped around the strands. Harshly. “Ah, Siyeon…could you try to go softer on me?”

“No.” Siyeon says, a tiny smile to her face. “This ponytail has to stay in place so the director sees if it’s a good look. I need to do my best so I don’t have to think about any other styling.”

“…Good.” Though, she can’t say anything else. At this point, the director sounds awfully like a dictator. “If you don’t know who is coming to support me, how did you contact them?”

“I just press one of the many numbers I have.” Hao turns his screen to showcase it to her, and she can’t muffle the laughter that escapes her lips.

“Who the fuck is ‘Friend Number Three’?”

“She was parking, so I imagine we’ll figure it out in a second.”

“Hao,” Her voice is tiny as she starts, eyes drifting to the person in the mirror. It’s not her—it’s a version of herself she hasn’t seen often. Thick leather jacket draped on her shoulders in a way that tugs them down, accompanied by a floral button down that were pushed inside her—surprise, leather—pants. Well-hidden, stylish, with no flaws flourishing just yet; she looks different, all thanks to Siyeon’s work. “How is it that you manage a bunch of artists but can’t remember the name of my seven friends? I’m your favorite represented artist.”

Not that he had openly said it without being in a drunken blur, but he doesn’t deny it. She is, indeed, his favorite. Perhaps, reminding her of his daughter that lives with her mother, far away from the country, never once sparing him a glance for not having a future. It’s been years since Hao has tried to demonstrate his broken family that he is a good manager. “They’re just too chatty. I can’t remember any of their personalities exactly.”

“Look at those thighs! Damn, girl, we’re going to have to get you on Tinder before all that beauty is wasted.”

When the opportunity rises to run away, she always opts not to. The world is harsh at it is, but it seems a hell of a lot less like a burden when people like Angela made their ways through her life. With her bangs perfectly placed over her forehead, a blue sweater cladding her body, she holds a cake on her hands. Pearly white but with sprinkles in blue, the same shade as the icing on top that reads ‘congratulations!’ along with her name.

Because, relationships end in heartbreak—they are unnecessary findings that we thirst for because they are, apparently, much different from friendship, but friendship is exponentially better. Angela came to her life in the form of a baker in one of the first spots she performed in for some money—her guitar case was opened as she played miraculously, and just when Angela went out to ask her to cut it out, she stopped herself. Instead, they relished in a deep conversation about music that sooner than later translated into meetings as friends.

“You’re friend number three!” She utters with a smile on her face, though not quite being able to move her face with the tightness of her hairstyle. Instead, Angela holds the cake on one hand, the other wrapping around her shoulder to press a kiss to her highlighter-coated cheek.

“The makeup!” Siyeon screeches, both hands reaching her face comically, and the blinding lights by the vanity make her look even funnier. Angela pulls away with uncertainty on her face, widening her eyes comically before humming.

“I understand…sorry.” She whispers, soon after recomposing herself to let Hao hug her from the side. Her eyes look up at the older male, her straight teeth perched in a shy smile. “You didn’t know my name, right?”

“…Angela?” Hao hesitates, and the woman in question groans comically.

“Hey, at least he remembered!” She defends her manager, feeling one last tug at her hair until Siyeon pats both hands on her shoulders.

“You’re ready.”

When standing up from her seat, she watches as Angela and Hao talk comically. The woman must be at least thirteen years older than Angela, if not more, and yet she argues with him as if he’s one of the workers at her bakery. “Name all our friend group, come on!”

“Too many people.” His lips wrap around the words comically, lowering himself slightly to come face to face with this cake. “And what is this cake for?”

“Our star is finally getting her first music video. I’m just getting on the bandwagon before she rockets into stardom.” Angela’s trust goes over the roof. She’s stubborn—even for the good things. No one can get through her mind when an idea has settled inside her brain.

“Oh, stop it.” She says, silently licking her lips as she watches the dulcet treat in front of her. Would it be a good idea to eat cake when her lips are tainted in the deepest shade of red? She can already hear Siyeon screaming inside her head. “You’re talking as if I’m the next Lady Gaga.”

“You’re not the next anyone,” Angela says. “You’re the new you.”

“Poetic.” Though, she can’t quite imagine herself to be more than she already is. For one, she has been practically living off having her guitar case opened anywhere she goes, singing to her heart’s content, never once meeting the deadlines of her life. Planning done a mess, she roams this world like an archive, searching for the will of continuing with this dream. Hao is one of the few people that reminded her she has a future in this, and maybe, that has to deal with the fact that he actually gets paid from what she does. “I don’t think I can have a slice right now, though. Got my makeup done and all.”

“It’s okay.” Angela chirps, putting the cake down on a vanity before sighing. “I’ll keep it here until you’re over with the recording.”

Hao shakes his head then, letting go of Angela. “Oh no, the recording’s not today.”

“You said recording.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Look it up,” Hao indicates, pointing at her phone. “I didn’t say recording.”

But Angela, as always, never once wanting to be wrong, shakes her head. “I don’t need to. I’m sure you said recording—”

“Either way…” She interrupts, knowing damn well that Angela is an excellent friend, and even better at baking, but extremely bad at having anyone try to change her mind. “I’m just going to meet the director and see if my styling is right for his vision. He’ll explain the schedule today and whatnot.”

Angela’s brown eyes become anchors to her body, pulling away to squint at her. “You look cute.” She says, though, she hears that from every single one of her friends. Sometimes, when she’s feeling her worst, she starts to believe everyone in a liar—you’re a nice singer, you have a great future ahead, you’re beautiful. All fucking lies when the time is wrong. “I feel like you’re one of those…one of those grunge kids.”

“Oh no, this is not grunge.” She answers, pointing at her outfit. “This is something very movie-esque. Not grunge, definitely.”

“Maybe, you have a future as a movie star.”

She rolls her eyes at Angela’s antics. Her positivism meets that of a mother’s sometimes. “Where? A porno?”

“Oh my God, no!” Angela swats her hand over her shoulder, only lifting her gaze when they hear her name being called. Not by Siyeon, but by one of the staff members—if she recalls correctly, the director’s assistant, Hong. With a twirl of his fingers, calling her over, she starts moving, Angela following right after her. “You’re learning a little too much from Yifei.”

She chuckles, knowing damn well that Yifei is the jokester of the group. “Maybe, I have more of a future as a comedian.”

“Hold your horses, Joker.”

“…Are you trying to tell me I’m going to go batshit crazy if people don’t laugh at my jokes? Because, that’s what the Joker did.”

“I’m telling you…” Angela trails her voice, her sneakers a nice companion to the click of the heels in her boots. “That you’re going to do fine in whatever you put your mind into.” The warmth of her words reaches her in a way that has a smile appearing on her face. Praise isn’t that bad after all.

“Thank you, Ang—”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—”

“What?”

Angela’s hand tightens around her own when Hong opens the door to the director’s office, her nails digging into her skin as she watches the man in front of them. A black button down leaves the first few buttons open to welcome his taut chest, a leather jacket half thrown over one shoulder, falling off the other for the zippers on the sleeves to meet his ripped jeans. His long black hair curls a bit onto itself at the edges, damp from humidity, though his face is the most impressive. A nicely structured nose that makes the edges of his face even better to look at, twinkling eyes and thin lips. Rosy, at that.

“That’s my ex.” Angela whispers, only to have looking over her shoulder. Hong, whose bleached blonde hair barely reaches his ears and stands at least a foot taller than the director, may be her ex in this situation.

“Hong?”

“What? No.” Angela frowns deeply, lifting one hand in the air to greet her past lover. “Ten, how’s it been?”

The covers are blown at that moment—actually, shot away and straight through her heart when she watches the director stare at Angela in recognition, battling to put a smile on his face that doesn’t look panicked or angry. He moves forward the slightest, crossing both arms over his chest before replying. “Angela, long time no see. May I ask what are you doing here?”

Ten.

Wait.

That name sounds like something she has heard before…

Four months ago, drunken night, Ten was in a picture Angela had showed her on her phone and she had promised to break his heart at the time. Not that she was thinking straight, really, this man probably shatters the souls of millions of people on the daily—someone that good looking is, at least, a Greek god of sorts.

“I’m supporting my friend, considering she was about to meet the director of her new music video.” Angela replies, watching as Ten’s eyebrows lift on his forehead, albeit a bit stuck in his own thoughts.

“Mhm, alright.” Ten says, opening the door of his office with delicate motions of his body, as if balance exists within him, only to continue his train of thoughts. “But Angela can’t come inside. I have a recording in an hour and I have to make this quick.”

“That’s okay.” Angela replies quickly, pulling her hand away from her before mumbling softly. “Get ready to deal with the most stubborn asshole you’ve ever met.”

And that, coming from Angela, baker bridezilla that is not actually getting married to start with, just is the first big, twinkling, red light that comes with Ten.

###

Magic died the day sentimentalism did. When break-ups started to happen though texts, or when kids stopped living the best ages of their lives to be on social media, or try to be adults. Magic relished on its death when people stopped caring for others, when seeing someone falling on the floor was more of a call out for laughter than a reason to help them stand up. Magic died within her, somehow, someway, in a road to utter lack of empathy. She knows that, in order to come out of life as a champion, she had to protect herself over all.

So, why is it, that when seated on that elongated table at Ten’s office, she feels like there is some mystic power that is held over her? Beauty in the form of him, in the white and black decorations but how he spices them up. There is good and there is bad. There is sadness that meets his happiness, in the somberness of the black and the speckles of colors that he has in family pictures and in some drawings that he holds up on the walls. Something about him…something about him calls out for interest, even when the last time she saw him, just one week ago, he was quickened with his words, never once looking at her, never once stopping to breathe.

This time around, her face is not pulled by a ponytail and she remains as makeup-less as possible, tapping her fingers against the table and watching Hao and Hong speak within themselves about some music videos that they enjoy. On the other hand, she has kept herself quiet, letting herself relish on the feeling of just not feeling at all. It’s the limbo of life, when she doesn’t know if she should be happy or sad, and she decides to be numb. Comfortable, sure, but not exactly good for a musician.

The doors open at that moment, a little bit over the time they were supposed to meet—twenty-four minutes, if she’s getting technical here—, but she can’t help but think that Ten is, truly, a favorite of destiny and the world. The speckles of rain that patter against his coat, gray to be exact, almost look like snowflakes, glistening under the harsh lights of his office. His hair is pulled away from his face by a ponytail, some of the strands falling on the back of his neck or his forehead, though his eyes are left a mystery as he keeps a pair of red and retro sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Ten says, a rumble to his voice as he moves further inside the office. “I was looking for my sketchbook and my drawing board for the music video. We need to go over the visuals, the cameras, and everything of that sort before we start the recording in three days.”

Not even a ‘hello’ from him, as unreachable as possible. The icy walls of Ten’s heart somewhat make her feel more intrigued, like the tattoos that scatter on his slim arms when he pulls his coat down and is left on his tank top. He turns on the heater without asking, and she decides to be the polite one in the situation. “Good afternoon, Ten. How are you?”

“Mhm, I don’t know. I asked for an iced coffee after waiting in line for twenty minutes, and the ice has melted off so now it’s dirty coffee water in my cup.” He instructs, putting down his sketchbook and putting up his drawing board on a stencil to be able to showcase it. He pulls his sunglasses down, then, settling them on the table before sighing. “There was no parking spot…because someone decided to park on my designated parking lot—” He cuts himself short then, lifting an eyebrow when he looks at her. “What about you, superstar?”

There is some edge to his tone, and she doesn’t know if it’s a challenge or an annoyance. “I’m good.”

“Good, because I had a whole epiphany when we talked last week—” Ten moves the stencil closer to the table, showing the drawing board with expertise. The style is one to envy, intelligent and complicated in its drawing form, showing different shots, words written to further indicate the details of the music video. “Your song is very pop-y. I liked it, don’t worry. But I think that to make you stand out more in the pop stance, we have to hit the scene with something strong. Maybe, the absurdity of life for someone whose head is locked onto itself. Very science-fiction, mind-based…”

Something about Ten when he has his mind roaming is that, at times, he stops to smile at himself. Pride fills the imagery of what he has imagined, and she’s captured by the way he has twisted the vision of her song into a whole daydream. The kind of nightmare that people love to watch in the form of a music video, but would be a heart-taker if only they went through it. Ten’s idea speaks about losing one self in the middle of our own thoughts, when it’s hard to divide regret from deciding, love from hate—and it’s her. So much that she finds herself enraptured in his thoughts, and for a moment, she thinks she can give her little penny.

“I think we shouldn’t make the music video that dark, though. Like, the idea of a filter on the entire music video would only further emphasize what we’re already showing. It’s a bad idea.” Her tone is serious, leaning over the table to speak properly to Ten, and the man stops pointing at the drawing board to chuckle.

“If we leave everything in a light tone, it’s going to look like a trip dream. We don’t want people to think it’s a video about the aftermath of cocaine, but something serious instead.” Ten replies, eager to open his mouth and explain the end of the video, but she still holds onto her thought.

“It’s a pop song, if we make it too dark, it’ll be too risqué for a debut—”

“But if we make it too light, the idea of the song will be lost and you will be one step closer to being a LMFAO wannabe.”

The stare-off continues for a few seconds, and she has to laugh as she shakes her head. “Listen, I know you’re the expert here, but I don’t think it would look cute.”

“You’re awfully like Angela when you want to, you know that?” Ten spits out, annoyance creeping up on him when he breathes through his nose and speaks again. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve done videos like this before and people love a good storytelling music video.”

Though, her mind is not in that argument anymore. “Why would you say that? You dated Angela, that’s not my fault. You don’t get to diminish people just because they don’t think exactly like you do.”

“A—Alright! Let’s all calm down.” Hao is already up on his feet, ready to launch herself forward if she keeps running her mouth to put one hand over her mouth to stop her. She doesn’t.

Ten gives her one of those smiles that will forever be engraved inside her brain, perhaps for being annoying or for being breathtaking. “That’s exactly what she does. Mrs. Perfect just loved saying everything I did was not good enough, and you’re doing the exact same thing even though you’re just a newbie.”

Ouch. “W—Well, I haven’t seen your name around a lot either.”

“Really? All the music videos I’ve directed in United States and Asia beg to say otherwise.” Ten breathes out, patting his ponytail before clearing his throat. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with you, but the filter is staying. Otherwise, it will look poorly done—”

Four months ago, Angela spoke about how much of a vain asshole he was—and there is nothing she wants more than to show him how much power she could have over him if only she put her mind into it. Make his life difficult, insufferable, just as he’s doing right now for her. “You’re insufferable, aren’t you?” She whispers, well aware that Hao has finally gone to her side of the table and already placed a hand over her mouth.

“I—I’m sorry, she didn’t mean it!” Hao’s apologies are already background music to the tension between Ten and her. She looks at him. He stares right back. Brightness and darkness becoming one, the twinkle on his eye danger beyond all.

“Don’t apologize for her. It’s okay.” Ten indicates, swatting his hand in the air to lay it on the table, leaning his weight forward. Instead, he talks directly to her. “I’m insufferable?”

Pulling Hao’s hand away from her mouth, she replies: “Why? Want me to say it again?”

“No.” Ten adds. “I just want to remind you I’m insufferable now, but I can be even worse.”

Going on with his explanations, she finds herself speechless—but mentally, she’s chatting herself up about how much she hates Ten. How the fuck did Angela date someone like him?

###

“You know,” Hao’s hair is already gray—with some hair-dye, sometimes, he tries to return it to its dark color, but the gray strands appear every once in a while—but it may turn bone white with how much stress is read on his expression. Their usual café does not serve him as a relaxation method, much more when he continues with his dilemma. “I’ve done all I fucking can to get you here, and now that we’re two days away from getting you to record your music video, you decide it’s a good idea to drink lemonade like a maniac and fight Ten in the process.”

The straw in between her lips slips from her hold when she looks up, and it’s true—this is her second glass of lemonade, relishing on the sweetness and sourness of it all, and it may damage her throat, but it’s what she craves right now. “Hao, it will be fine. I’m just not letting that asshole talk to me as if I’m stupid.”

The white and cream walls of the café contrast with the harsh sigh that rips from his throat, running his hands over his face, playing around with his cheeks a bit. “Listen, stop drinking lemonade and listen to yourself for a second,” He says. “He’s one of the most famous music directors at this moment…and he does a damn good job at it. You’re set to succeed and, still, you want to fuck it up.”

“That man is crazy!” She completes her sentence with some hand motions, looking down at her lemonade and pondering if she should drink another one. Does she want to go to the bathroom for the entirety of the night, or, would she rather just control her nervousness? After all, she’ll have a big shoot in two days. “I’m all about self-confidence and positivity, about self-love, too, but I’m sure if Ten could be cloned, he’d choose to date himself.”

Hao tilts his head to the side at that moment. “I mean, if I looked like him, I would definitely date myself, too.” He replies, laughter following his statement before he places one hand over hers, stopping her from taking her glass of lemonade once again. “Hey, hear me out. I’m serious. I don’t want you to fail on your dream only to end up giving a hand-job for five bucks in some bar downtown because no one wants to listen to your voice anymore.”

Harsh, the hostility in his voice comes from a place of deep worry—but there is nothing to worry about. If Ten is as sensible as a flower when it comes to honesty, then that’s his fault. “Why am I the one that ends up giving a hand-job in some bar downtown when he’s the one that treated me like shit?”

“Because you weren’t so polite, either!” Hao replies. “You could’ve easily lifted your hand,” And he does. “And said—” Then, he changes his tone to one that matches hers. Maybe, a bit lower. “Excuse me, Ten, I think we could arrange a lighter tone in the filter because it would look better, in my opinion. May we add some colors? I’m not too experienced in this, but I would like for my opinion to be taken into consideration for this.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times and a few more before she says. “And that is what I would never say. What do I do after? Kiss his feet? Call him my master?”

“That’s being polite. You’re at a workplace.”

“I’m the artist.”

“And you’re a newbie.”

“And?” She drags her voice, eyes widening. “Madonna was once a newbie. Beyoncé was once a newbie. Do you think Beyoncé has no say in what goes in her music videos?”

Patience is Hao’s best virtue, maybe, or he really is mostly like a father figure to her. “Well then, produce something as good as Lemonade or as Single Ladies, and we won’t even need Ten to start with.”

She throws her head back, looking up at the white ceiling with anger flushing from inside of her. Ten, a masterpiece from the outside, a piece of garbage on the inside. A trashcan has less odor than his personality. Whatever. “Why are you so in love with Ten all of the sudden?”

“I’m not in love with Ten. I’m in love with the opportunity that means having him as your director. You’re set to a good start, that’s all I want for you.”

Her heart melts, dripping onto the center of her body, leaving her with a smile on her face. Why ask for richness when she already has the best, she could ever ask for right here, in her life? “Thanks, Hao.” She replies, wrapping her fingers around his hand and tightening her hold. “We’re going to skyrocket in this business, just—just let me sit Ten down in his place when he really needs to. Just some ass-flatting so he knows how to treat me.”

“Watch out—”

She rolls her eyes then. “I’ll be fine. I won’t attack him if he doesn’t attack me. I’m a revengeful person, not a stupid one.”

“Questionable.”

“Hao.”

“So, now that we’ve settled that.” The man stands up then, downing the rest of her lemonade in one go before snapping his fingers together. “I’m getting you some tea for those vocal cords. I need a high note.”

###

Wild hair, dampened almost romantically, makes her skin glimmer with goosebumps as the coldness of the night hits her in the abandoned building that Ten has set his mind recording the first scene into. Everyone knew that it was going to be this cold, sporting coats over coats, sweaters, holding cups of hot chocolate or coffee. Instead, she’s the artist that has to stand looking at Ten from up-close as he explains to Hong and herself what they’re going to do for the first scene.

The sleeves of Ten’s sweater trail down his hands, keeping him covered even past the jacket on his shoulders. With his gelled back hair, he’s an ode to trouble. The kind of people most lovers run away from in fear of being caught up in his trap. With his tongue in between his lips, Ten concentrates on what one of the staffs talks about—the lights and how they’re going to fall on certain angles to make the shadows more appealing and more fitted for her face. She doesn’t understand much, but what she does understand is the beauty of Ten’s features when he brings his cup of coffee up to his lips.

Ten is a poem made person—those that twist in between the good and the bad, and sometimes, when she looks at him, she can’t tell if he’s deeply saddened or in love with the world. Not that she should care, if anything, Ten is bitter about people not painting the world how he wants it. Or, that’s what she wants to believe when he catches her staring at him.

“I want you to act as if your song is stuck in your head and it…you want it to get it out of there. Dance to your will, but I want you to touch your head a lot, maybe play with your hair?”

“I wasn’t given a choreography, Ten.” She replies, silently cursing the cold as she blows raspberries onto her hands. With an eye-roll of his own, Ten’s cup is given to her with one brief movement, the man moving his shoulders a bit as he speaks.

“We’re recording the first verse here, I’ll tell you when to stop, but I had thought something like this. Not a choreography, just common sense. Feeling the music, as one would say.” The wind blows on his hair when Ten lets his voice romantically wrap around the lyrics of her song, motions matching that of a dance as he makes it visually perceivable that he can’t stand whatever is going on inside his head—this insecurity, this limbo that she talks about in her song. With his legs strutting as if he’s on a runway, she hums.

“I’ll see what I can do,” She answers, taking a sip of Ten’s coffee before being delighted by the taste. He makes good choices when it’s not iced coffee. “You can sing, though.”

“…A normal amount. Anyone can sing.” Ten says, ready to go over to the staff in charge of the fans that will blow at her hair and make her seem the slightest bit more stylish. She doesn’t know, she has never been in front of the cameras, and maybe that’s why she goes after Ten.

“No. You actually sing and dance. How—?”

“I used to watch MTV a hell of a lot when I was younger.” Ten breathes out, the wind curling onto his words and leaving an imprint of white onto it. A kiss from him that is visible for the world. “…And I would sing along to all these songs, learn some dance steps. I was in dancing classes for a while, but I got more interested about the behind-the-scenes stuff. Art meets art, you know.”

But he never does look at her, not even when she lowers her face to look right at his eyes. He only inspects her for a second before returning his gaze to the fans, checking them one by one. “It’s even more surprising that you learned the lyrics to my song.”

“You’re not a shitty artist. At least, not as shitty as you get when something doesn’t go your way.”

Fuck this dude.

Honestly.

Or, rather, don’t think about fucking this dude, because she feels her knees buckling up a bit when a smile appears on the corner of his lips.

“Speak for yourself!”

“I am.”

“You are so conceited.”

“That’s the Angela in you speaking. If you go meet someone with the predisposition of feeling like you know them and their flaws, you’ll find them.” Ten shrugs his shoulders then, turning around to look at her without noticing how their chests flush together, pressed to one another and yet, powerful enough to make her give a step back. “I’m confident about what I’m talking about. Never conceited. If I know what I’m doing, I just say it out loud.”

“First and foremost, my opinions about you are not levelled by what Angela has said about you to me.” But they do play around to certain extent. After all, she initially thought Ten was vain without even getting to know him. Fuck him and his nice logic. She puffs her chest out to defend herself, one hand on her waist. “And secondly, I am also confident about what I think about, thank you very much.”

“Good for you.” Ten answers, and the curtness of his reply has her pressing her lips together. This man will make her end up in anger management. “Anyways. Are you a fan of Christina Aguilera?”

“Her voice…” She has to breathe in for a second. “To die for. Why?”

“I need you to have the confidence she had for the ‘Dirty’ music video.”

The gasp that leaves her in unexpectedly loud, making some of the staff look at her as if she’s a fish out of the water. “She is fucking Christina Aguilera, how am I going to challenge Chris—?”

“You’re you. Challenge your inner diva.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Ten, do I look like a diva to you?”

“No, your inner self is a denied track for ‘Nevermind’ by Nirvana—but hey, I need some troubled diva to come through. Your outer self is badass right now, keep that.”

“What do you mean a denied track?” She asks, though, she can’t help but show a smile on her features, and Ten simply has to laugh at her antics.

“As troublesome as Kurt and Courtney together, but somehow, it’s appealing.” Throwing her head back, she lets the sarcasm in his voice get to her.

“I am not troublesome.”

“All musicians are.”

“What about music video directors, huh?” She asks, moving over to the center of the cameras as she throws a look at him. The redness of her lips captures his attention for a second, or maybe, he’s just concentrating on what she is saying. “I’m sure that there’s some emotional, Panic! At The Disco scene era, loving asshole under all that bite you have.”

He hums, sitting down on his director chair before speaking loudly. “I don’t know, figure it out, Christina.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so difficult to talk to, Brendon.”

“I’d rather be Ryan.” Ten corrects, and a smile appears on her face. Huh, so he really did watch MTV back in the day. “He wrote all the songs in the first album. That’s more of a mastermind for the era you’re talking about.”

“So much for telling me I’m the Nirvana denied track made person.”

“…Well, I got the bite and the diva out of you, didn’t I?”

That’s the day she realizes that Ten has more than just a vain side to him, that when he’s seated on his throne in the shape of a director’s chair, he’s much easier to talk to. That his knowledge in music, for the first time in a person she has met, matches hers and she doesn’t quite hate talking to him when it’s about that. It’s annoying, sure, but it’s better than what they started with.

###

“How much do you think I would make if I sold pictures of my feet?”

Shishi’s questions are always something to look forward to, much more when her face is stained in red and a glass of wine is on one hand, checking her phone while talking to Angela and her. Her YouTube video is uninteresting in this girl’s night-out turned sleepover, mostly because all three of them are too tipsy to go anywhere else, and Angela’s place is always the tidiest of the bunch.

“Depends.” She says, lifting her own glass of wine and taking a sip of it. “I don’t think I’ve openly talked to someone about foot fetishes, but…like, is it sexier if the toes are stubbier or like, is it hotter if they are slim toes? Do they have to be hairy toes?”

Angela puts her glass of wine down with a continued, harsh slap against her thighs. “You say toe one more time and I’m going to put my actual toe down your throat for being so disgusting.”

Shishi raises her hand slowly, as if she’s in the middle of class and wants to ask a question, so Angela can look her way. “If you do put your toe down her throat, can I record it and sell it on the internet so I can buy a Levi Ackerman body pillow?”

The answer comes from both Angela and herself at the same time: “No, Shishi!”

With mostly silence overtaking the room as Shishi roams the deepest of information about foot fetishes and the cost of feet pictures online, and Angela says she’s going to prepare some food to take some of the tipsiness away, she opts to enter Instagram. Not that she does that much often—and she can already hear Hao scolding her for it inside her head, for she should have a social media following, but the standards of normality that exist in such social media site really do get to her. There’s only so much she can stand before it actually starts playing with her head.

She brings her thumb up to her mouth to nibble on it softly, rushing through her scrolling to get to the latest picture and clicking her tongue when only seeing one picture of her interest. Though, to be unexpectedly convenient, Instagram suggests some people to follow for her, and much to her lack of knowledge, the appearance of Ten’s name and a small, circular picture of him is enough of an invitation for her to tap on his profile.

The last time she saw Ten was three weeks ago, and in less than a week, her music video would be released for the world to see. With some promotion, of course, not that she has quite paid attention to that without feeling like bawling. But, something about his profile makes her feel more connected to him. Only because he’s as immaculate on his social media as he is with his music videos, and he does look damn fine in every picture that she taps onto.

Now, one of the finest things that could be created in this life is the combination of fries and ketchup…and Ten challenges that. Head on. Face first. He puts all foods to shame, even the wine on her hand, with how fine he seems to be on every picture, and maybe it’s the liquid courage trailing after her actions that has her clicking the follow button and looking through his stories.

Because, let’s be honest—he’s annoying. He was annoying as all hell. But there is a double standard to that…he’s awfully uncapable of making himself be liked personality-wise when he’s working, but if he shuts his lips for one single second, he’s a dream come true.

He is asking for questions on his story, and her fingers move fast simply to jot down an innocent inquiry: “Favorite MV to direct?”

The answer comes less than fifteen minutes later, when Shishi’s head is laying on her lap and the smell of pasta has her stomach growling and asking for garlic bread as soon as possible. Her mouth watering, imagining the perfect bread siding past her lips for her to take a bite—

The image is black, but the answer is enough of a hit on the face for her to sit up straighter. “Yours.” He replied, with a tongue-out emoji after.

This man is the sole reason she doesn’t know the difference between sexual tension and absolute hatred.

To: @tenlee_1001

You’re joking.

And the three dots that appear soon after have her biting down on her lip.

From: @tenlee_1001

Maybe, stalker.

To: @tenlee_1001

I’m not stalking you.

From: @tenlee_1001

Said, the liar.

To: @tenlee_1001

You’re lucky I’m too drunk to reply to that.

How’s it been?

From: @tenlee_1001

Good.

How have you been?

To: @tenlee_1001

Hungry.

Angela’s making pasta right now and I can’t wait.

From: @tenlee_1001

Are you and Angela always tied to the hip?

To: @tenlee_1001

Not really.

Does that bother you?

From: @tenlee_1001

She’s nice.

Sometimes, two nice people just can’t be together.

To: @tenlee_1001

Are you meant to be the other half of that statement?

From: @tenlee_1001

Yeah, haha.

I’m nicer than you think.

To: @tenlee_1001

Prove it.

From: @tenlee_1001

I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

To: @tenlee_1001

Said, the nicest guy on earth.

From: @tenlee_1001

Ah, fuck you.

All the people I’ve dated said I’m the nicest guy they’ve met.

Maybe, it’s the garlic in the air, the wine on her hand, or Shishi’s heavy head on her lap that dizzies her when she says:

To: @tenlee_1001

Then, take me out on a date.

Or, are you chicken?

It’s been a while since she has talked to a man like this, and, for fuck’s sake, she’s supposed to be hating this man. Throwing her phone on the cushion beside her, she tries to stifle her screech. Okay, sure, it will be okay, things could be worse—

And then, her phone vibrates and it takes her a second for her to check it.

From: @tenlee_1001

Okay. Let me just plan something.

I’ll take you out next Friday.

It’s a date, Aguilera.

To: @tenlee_1001

…Okay, Ryan.

And not exactly Gosling.

From: @tenlee_1001

Is that supposed to hurt me?

To: @tenlee_1001

No.

Because not all guys can be Ryan Gosling.

Maybe, she’s too tipsy to be having this conversation, but when she sees Ten has just followed her on Instagram, she knows it’s game over for her.

###

Eloquently dangerous is the worst kind of trouble a lover looks for. In the shape of Ten seated on the driver’s seat, legs parted and both of his hands resting on the lower part of the steering wheel. When he picked her up, the stiff conversation tightened around their necks, leaving them speechless—but music unites them again. After all, it’s the reason why they met and why they’re going out on this date to start with.

According to Ten, whose long hair is enough of a call-out for her to lean herself to the side to be able to talk to him from a closer position and still, wish she could rake her fingers through it, there is a restaurant forty minutes away from her place that is to die for. Thai, he said, and she’s not about to contradict him on that. On the way there, Ten’s conversation lingers within her with interest, enough for her to nod her head along to the beat of ‘Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)’ by Nancy Sinatra.

“This song makes me feel like I’m in a post-apocalyptic world and I’m looking for revenge.” She says, eyes staring at his profile. What a blessing it would be to call the smile on his face hers, but it isn’t. His short-sleeved button down moves a bit over his collarbone, just when he throws a glance over his shoulder.

“That’s the mentality of a director.” Ten indicates, though he licks his lips and waits for the last few seconds of the song to pass by. “I don’t listen to it that much, even when it’s in my playlist, but it mostly reminds me of this scenery…an ex going to a wedding and killing the bride just because of jealousy. The secret to not letting go and how twisted it can be.” He shrugs soon after. “That’s the meaning of the song, in my opinion.”

“Damn.” She replies, a hiss following her statement as she sits down straighter. “Are you that type of ex?”

“Of course not.” His voice is rapid to defend himself, before clearing his throat. “But you should know more about me as an ex, considering you’re good friends with Angela.”

She remembers Angela being full of Ten’s shit, the way she deleted all their pictures in the blink of an eye before locking herself in her job. She doesn’t exactly recall anything else other than knowing Ten is— “She told me you were vain.”

“…Fuck.” He chuckles then, though a bit dark in the process. “I am not vain, we were just two stubborn people who got into a relationship without really knowing each other.”

The last part hits home, and she has to bite her bottom lip when she starts to hear the tune to Alicia Keys’ ‘Show Me Love’, perhaps featured by Miguel, but her mind can’t come up with the truest answer at this moment. “I understand that. Relationships are really fucking difficult. You ignore all the red flags just to get with someone.”

“That sounds awfully like someone remembering their ex.” Ten says, a hum to his tone in the form of a song.

“I don’t remember him much. Too overconfident for how bad of a lover he was.” She tells him, and a smile spreads across his face when he passes a green light.

“Is that a connotation for what I’m thinking about?”

“You know, I’m just saying, at least you had something serious with Angela.” For a second, her mind lingers in the nights in hotel rooms, always being picked up by a man simply to end anywhere but a place to have a date in. Tangled in between his sheets, getting lost in his physique, in the way his lips wrapped around her and how much he seemed to desire her. Desire is not the same as love. “You didn’t have to deal with a guy who seemed to like everyone and you. I was a little toy for a guy and that’s the thing I regret the most.”

“Shit.” Ten curses, raising both eyebrows before shaking his head. “What made you fall for an asshole like that?”

“He was a web designer. I thought that a nerdy guy mixed with a gym-rat body is what I wanted.” She answers, bringing laughter up Ten’s chest, his eyes wrapping up in their magic, enigmatic stance. “He was afraid of commitment, I think he had daddy issues, too. I met him because he went to one of my shows in a bar downtown.”

“And you became friends with benefits?”

“Are we really friends if I know nothing about him other than his body?”

“Damn.”

The lyrics embrace her ears and enter her brain when, indeed, Miguel’s voice fills the air and much to her surprise, she does know this song—

Without realizing, she tries to remember the lyrics, mumbling some of the words and jumbling the others, and Ten hates this enough to shake his head, lifting one hand in the air to instruct the tempo to her. “It’s ‘you gon’ show me love like, like you tried it—’, two likes, honey.”

At the mention of such a nickname, she has to push his shoulder sightly. “Honey?”

“Why? Did your little asshole ex call you that?”

“He was not my ex.”

“He’s an ex if he got to be with you.”

“Why? Jealous?” Quirking an eyebrow, she is surprised when she sees Ten shrugging.

“I shouldn’t be jealous when I know that, if I really put my mind into it, I can do a much better job than him at winning you over.”

She has to hiss at this moment. “I don’t buy it; I feel like you still hate me.”

The car starts going slower by the time Ten gives her a reply. “If I really hated you, would I have taken you out on a date?”

“Maybe, you’re just planning to take me out to this horrid place and—”

“Oh, no, no, no, no.”

The car comes to an abrupt halt at that moment, and Ten’s head lulls against the steering wheel at the same time that a groan creeps up his vocal cords. “What happened?” The car is still on, however, so it must not be the engine fucking their date up.

“Didn’t you feel that?” She shakes her head then. “You’re dead inside. I think one of the wheels has, I don’t know, like a nail piercing through it.”

When Ten gets out of the car, right after turning off the car, she’s left in complete darkness—and she hates it. Why is it that when everything is going well for them, a wheel decides to just fucking deflate and almost kill them? At least, they’re in a somewhat safe street. “Ten, hold up—” She says, taking her phone out of her pocket to shine a light onto the wheel he is inspecting, trying not to let her eyes trail down to his toned legs. “We can call someone and they’ll get here in no time, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a Friday night. It’s even more difficult to get someone to help us at this time.” Ten instructs, and she decides to lighten things up in the worst way possible.

“It seems like you’re not that good of a driver, considering you know what to do in this situation—”

Ten sends a glare over his shoulder, some strands of his hair passing over his face, and she has to give him a cramped smile. “I am a good driver.”

“It was a joke!”

He manages to give her a short laugh before bringing his own phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling a friend that can come help us out.” And he does, his back becoming the main image he sees, his slim body but nicely squared shoulders making her scrunch up her nose and close her eyes tightly. There’s always something going on between them, ain’t it?

Sitting down on the sidewalk, she lets the coldness seep through her jeans, staring at the city lights that are even more beautiful than the harsh one from her phone. She turns it off, but uses her phone to distract herself in a different way. Music must be the only way she can relax herself, a breath in and a breath out as she looks through her playlist.

But nothing sits right with her, only listening to a few seconds before she switches the song to something else. However, a presence makes itself known by her side, no longer talking to his friend but, instead, sending an eye over to her phone and letting his finger roam over the screen.

“I like this one.” And she has to cackle at the choice of songs. Definitely something of the like that is expected from him, ‘34+35’ by Ariana Grande fills the air in between them, and much to her surprise, Ten knows how to sing along to some of the lyrics.

“Are you trying to hint at something?” She jokes around, dipping her feet in the water just because she can, and the warmth of him by her side isn’t quite as unpleasant in this winter blues.

If she could see his cheeks, she would be able to tell that they are tinted deep red, and that the small, almost inaudible laugh that leaves him is one of the most beautiful sounds she has ever been welcomed to. “I’m not saying anything. You’re the one being dirty-minded.”

“Oh, come on, the song is definitely about—”

“She says: ‘love me ‘til the daylight’.”

“What the fuck? No!” She corrects, giggling a bit when Ten drapes his coat on top of both their bodies, mingling closer until his perfume becomes a drug she can’t get enough of. “She says: ‘fuck me ‘til the daylight’.”

“Too much to say on a first date, you know?” Ten conquers, and she has to laugh directly at his face.

“We’re not getting it on tonight, Ten.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t say we were going to! You brought it up.”

“Whatever.” She replies, resting her head on his shoulder before sighing deeply. “When is your friend coming?”

“In an hour, if he’s lucky.” Ten instructs, and she doesn’t want to look disappointed, but Ten had painted the restaurant they were going to go to as the best thing in this world—

“I’m hungry.” Her lips puff out in a bit of a pout as he speaks, and Ten takes this as a cue to take the car keys, lock the device before standing up, leaving his coat over her shoulders.

His hand extends, an anchor for her to take, messing up with her temper when he waves his fingers and invites her in a way that makes her heart beat like a fool’s. It’s been too damn long since she’s felt like this. “There’s a convenience store nearby…and, I don’t know, maybe we could buy some burgers and fries in the way there? Eat somewhere less cold, too.”

When their fingers interlock, she thinks she gets a grasp of exactly why Angela had rushed into a relationship with him. He’s magic in its truest form. “Fries sound amazing right now.”

They start walking, though the conversation never dies down. “Do you like do dip them in ice cream, ketchup or mayonnaise?”

“People dip it in mayonnaise?”

“That’s less chaotic than the ones that dip it in mustard.”

“…The end of the world is near.”

His laughter is nicely welcomed, a blanket for her to keep herself warm in this cold night. Though, his hands and his coat do as much, as well.

###

With Angela’s Yorkshire Terrier held up on her arms, the dog licking up her face for the umpteenth time and probably doing his best to take off the rest of her makeup, not managing to steal a kiss from her when she moves her face around in the way to the vet, she continues talking to her friend with intention. Five days after her last date with Ten, and the first one at that, and she can’t seem to stop running her mouth about it.

“Really, Ange. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to break his heart when he was an absolute sweetheart—” She says, the harsh sunshine falling on top of her face, and this dog is adorable, much more now that he doesn’t know that he’s going to get his mandatory shots, but if he continues licking her face, she may lose the skin of her cheek. “Did you know that he loves Alicia Keys? And that he loves drawing? He’s so stylish, too, and he’s so open about talking about himself.”

“Because he loves himself.” Angela interrupts, placing the keys of her car inside her purse before sending a smile her way. Before she could say anything, Angela speaks up. “But I’m happy for you, babe. We both know that you deserve someone who treats you right. Even if it’s my ex.”

At the mention of such a title, she has to stop her rambling. “You’re okay with it, right?”

“Of course.” And the truthfulness of her tone has her releasing a sigh from the depths of her worry. “I’m not insecure, honey. Not even jealous. Ten is nothing for me now. I don’t like him, but I don’t like him for me. As long as he treats you right, we’re okay.”

Though, she does feel a bit of curiousness about the relationship that ensued in between the two, but maybe that’s too early to talk about when she has only been talking to him through the phone, planning dates, meeting up in the briefest of moments when they both have time. After all, her song is doing good and now, she’s recording an album—

Her phone rings at that moment, eyes opening widely when she hears the specific ringtone she has for Hao. “Angela, take your dog. That’s Hao calling.” Though, the woman doesn’t relent when she passes the sweet dog over to her. Her phone fits her hand perfectly when she picks up the call, ear welcoming the sound of Hao’s familiar voice. “Hao, Hao, what’s up?”

“Nothing much…” His voice trails, but it’s unusual for him to call just because. Just when she continues walking in the parking lot, Hao decides to say something. “But you’re going to be opening show for the tour of one of the biggest artists in this country, that’s all that’s happening right now. Not much.”

If she could scream right now, she would.

Her hand spreads on top of her face, jelly on toast, made to be there. Shivers going up her neck, body paralyzed in her spot, her free arm going up to raise into the air—feel the wind, the sun, let it ravish her as her dreams give a glimpse of becoming true. The fever of stardom and success rips a squeal out of her, twirling on her own spot as words of thankfulness become one with the air around her. For once, she feels like an artist—like her voice can be heard, heart healed by the heel of the world and how it twists around to her favor.

“I’m going on tour!” She finally screams, happiness meeting her lungs, breathing in a way that doesn’t feel cramped. The world is good for once, and Angela’s smile matches her own.

###

The worst part of it all is saying goodbye to something that didn’t happen.

Her friends know about fashion more than she does, a red jacket draped over an almost all-black outfit, while they all wear clothing that seems to be fitted for the party in her honor. Well, not in her honor at all—but for the main artist of the world tour that will start in no less than a week from now, such short notice, and she was invited in the process. The elongated hallways of the hotel the party will take place in, extra expensive at that, barely do much to conceal the laughter that bubbles from her friend-group or the sound of their singing to their latest single, well over a million views in YouTube as of now, and directed by then.

She hasn’t told him. It’s that one thing that she doesn’t know if she should talk about or not. Whenever they eat together, she feels like telling him…but she stops herself for some reason. It’s the brink of not knowing if he cares or if it would hurt him, but the world knows what it is doing. With her boots hitting the tiles with expertise, she doesn’t expect to hear her name being called, with such a soft and nice tone that she already knows whose it is.

When she looks over her shoulder, her friends stopping their singing and laughing to stare at the scene displayed in front of them, Ten rests his back against one of the bathroom doors near the entrance to the main salon for the party. With a bun laying on top of his head, the strands of his black hair falling behind his neck, she’s surprised to see him so put together—white button down, trousers, and a poised look on his face when he says:

“Congratulations. Not that you told me but…I’m so happy you’re going on tour.” Her heart races at that moment, not caring that Angela is there, that her friends are glancing at Ten and speaking between themselves as she moves with certainty, taking her place in front of him and grasping his hands in both of hers, eyes shifting to every portion of his face. The face of a man she wants to have, but can’t.

“T—Ten, uh, I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t care. It’s nothing against you, really, but since we don’t have anything serious yet—”

“I’m not mad.” He says, a small smile on his face. “Why would I be mad when this is all you have ever asked for?”

A halo exists over him, and she doesn’t know why she hated him on the first place at this moment. Perfection in the form of a man that she can’t get to know so well right now, simply because her career is launching and so is his. “Well, you’re more used to travelling than I am. After all, you’re always all around for shootings and director stuff that I don’t know about—”

“It’s damn fun. Seeing the world that way…you’ll love it.” Ten whispers, sending one look over to her group of friends before lowering his voice. “Can you just tell them to leave?”

“Yeah.” She says, looking at her friends before speaking up. “Get it going, there’s a party waiting for you!”

In between whispers of their own and some looks at them, she doesn’t realize that Ten’s hands have taken place on her waist, bringing her closer to inspect her features. Looking at her as if she’s the only woman in the world, when she had thought he had only seen himself all along— “I wish you would’ve told me, though. I was invited by Hao and got the news thanks to him.”

Hao is either really blessed or the unluckiest man alive. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. After all, I—” She mumbles, swallowing thickly after. “I wanted to try things out for you. With you. Ah, you know—”

“There’s always ‘later’. Maybe not now, but maybe, we’re just meant to connect in some other time of our lives.” His words make her cling closer to him, fists tangling onto his shirt, taking more of him— “And until then, live your dream and I’ll live mine. The gratitude of being the best version of ourselves is more important right now.”

When she leans her head forward, his lips come in contact with the bridge of her nose, breathing softly, a silent confession, a plea to let go of the world for one night and be there with each other. One of their latest nights together, of the impossibility of minutes as they glare at them from the clock and ask them to pull away.

“I wish we could’ve gotten a real chance.” She whispers, laying her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist as his thumbs draw on her back.

“We’ll get to try later.”

Later sounds like forever when he is right there, within her reach, and yet so far away. The promise of a goodbye is shadowed by the trials of continuing with their connection. That, maybe, losing time with him was her worst mistake, the reason why it shatters her heart—

But later is also a moment, a moment that will welcome her after tour.

#ten scenarios #ten #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #writing #wayv angst #wayv fluff #wayv au #ten angst #ten fluff #ten au #how to lose someone in seven steps?

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thequibblah · 3 years

Note

directors cut for WTRF? 🥺👉👈 not biased at all obviously just objective third party asking for a directors cut hmmm hmmmmm

literally how could u do this every other word in that fic is an easter egg i can't shut up about..... bestie u are about to have regrets

one thing u should know is that 90% of things in this fic have real-world equivalents and its not even like....... hidden equivalents. serie primo = serie a, for instance. this trend is going to continue and i won't apologise <3

fun fact i named the bar the Bar and the drinks after shapes because i was too lazy to come up with something actually clever

this bit

I’m grinning to myself by the time she approaches my table.

was a very intentional fakeout and if you read this and thought "she" would be lily, feel free to sue me for emotional damages

the biggest conundrum of this AU was, how are jily not going to have met in school when magic exists? the solution was, of course, having multiple magic schools. but i couldn't let one of them have hogwarts, that didn't seem fair. i know i did sort of let lily have it..... but i felt more comfortable making hogwarts a university so there was a legit reason why james wasn't there and in gryffindor (if he'd gone he absolutely would have been)

once solved, i did the fun thing of naming them! ottaline gambol's was easy, i just scrolled through the list of ministers for magic and picked a progressive one. peverell hall was a whim, made all the funnier when lily's reaction is:

Much was made at Otty’s — one of the more progressive magical schools, named for one of the more progressive Ministers of Magic — of schools like Peverell Hall and St. George’s. The latter, I know, is chock-full of pureblooded elite. Peverell Hall is supposed to be slightly better, but still.

dang, it's gonna be funny if she ever finds out james is a descendant of the guy it's named after

fun fact, i included this because peter's question was a real thought i had when reading bond and free, your inspiring writing knows no limits:

The first thing you conjure in Walking Wombat is a yellow quill... “Why yellow?” Peter asked. Eddie gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

i realised i'd put jily in the same conundrum they had in tis the fucking season here:

It’s only then that I remember she’s just bought us drinks. I turn back to my triangle. “Oh, shit.” I suppose I can pawn it off on one of the others.

...but of course the resolution is rather different, and i do so enjoy a james with no filter (aka default james)

I briefly lose control of my brain and my tongue. “Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

by the way, no-filter james will be a theme. wild things sure do run fast but not as fast as this boy runs his mouth!

also, another interesting challenge here was making sure james has a reason to be the way he is in AU. i love playing around with james's childhood/background and seeing how that affects his character while (hopefully!) staying true to who he is. i did that in ttfs by having him move around a lot and not meet the marauders until after the flashback timeline, which is why he's less of a git — he doesn't have the level of comfort in a social setting that canon james has with hogwarts, which is basically his playground from day 2 of first year lol

here, james was probably a fkn nightmare all through school, but of course he gets a big ego check when his quidditch career is derailed. i imagine his years in italy as a continuation of that humility lesson.

I will fully admit I used to be a cocky prick. This is what comes of being a kid who grew up with everything. But one useful thing that the whole fiasco four years ago taught me is humility. I’ve learned how to ask nicely for another chance.

and so much of writing him in wtrf is juggling that typical confidence with the insecurity/fear of losing something he's invested so much in (and has seen slip away before). it's really new to me, because typically i give lily uncertain life circumstances, but i suppose it's both of them in this AU.

the car thing was... i swear didn't start out as smutty, it was purely because i wanted a way to establish lily as muggleborn in a world where the connotations of not having magical parents is very different. more to come on that!

also, come to think of it, by this metric...

I’m now in dangerous territory, since that adds another impressive action to her running tally.

...i think james is already in love with her LOL

this bit:

The street is considered indecent and the downstairs hallway would have our landlady come running at once, so if it pleases Your Honour, we would recommend the sitting room sofa.

...was actually because in draft one lily was a lawyer, but then it was funny enough that i didn't want to take it out, but NOW i realise it makes it sound a little like she's addressing james as your honour, which.... hm. but anyway, we move on

Marc Bolan begs us to get it on through the stereo, vocalising my thoughts exactly.

the song here was initially "you shook me" (h/t @keepingupwithpotters) but i chickened out because zeppelin is SO horny dfjkhgkjs

also, it gave me so much joy to read everyone reacting to lily thinking about her ex (the general vibe was "who the fuck is this guy!!! ew!!!!") — rest assured (or, unassured??) that he has a part to play in all this. anyway, this is one of my fave lines:

He’s just a person, and there’s such a relief in sleeping with James and not the myth of a guy.

because as any come together reader knows....

Just James. Just James. It was never just James.

wtrf lily will learn!

literally the whole world knows i'm obsessed with needle drops that have no subtlety at all, but this one...

We just laugh, tangled together in a sweaty heap, as “Heaven Is in the Back Seat of My Cadillac” plays through the car’s speakers. “On the nose, isn’t it?” James says, sitting up.

...was pure luck, because i was looking up the top hits on the uk singles chart for the week(ish) this scene takes place in so that i could find a song that would realistically play on the radio, saw this, and was like omg the stars really do align

i feel like the thing i enjoy most about writing romance is the importance i get to place in noticing/looking/observing (and sometimes, not noticing!). it's just such a powerful but simple writerly tool, and god knows i am obsessed with pithy descriptions anyway, so this bit i am especially happy with:

James is already waiting, leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets. I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time, the faint light of the flickering streetlamp catching him in profile: the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He studies the facade of our building with open curiosity, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

(one can only imagine james's train of thought in this moment. perhaps "ah. here lives the future love of my life"?)

“Thanks,” she tacks on at the end. I tip my head to one side in confusion. “For what?” “For, I don’t know. Being nice.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t do this very much.”

it wouldn't be a quibblah original tee em without some discourse to come about the nature of romantic/sexual relationships, would it? one thing i enjoy about this AU ("one thing" i say as if this isn't the billionth thing in a list) is that i get to write a romantic lily who's squaring that romanticism with what she perceives as the culture of the times. (this is a bit of a staple in all my characterisations of lily, but it is not often paired with casual sex, the complication of all complications!)

oh this bit literally wrote itself like i didn't even pause to think just vomited it out:

In the morning — and it must be early still — the sun streams through Lily’s sorry excuses for curtains with aggression that cannot be ignored. I crack open an eye to find myself sprawled out across her bed, quite literally spread-eagled. She’s attached to my side like a barnacle. Or a very pretty barnacle, anyway.

i'm especially proud of james's voice in this story. i don't often write first-person fic and i was worried how it'd turn out, but i think james as a character/narrator typically colours his own 3rd-person narration so strongly that it ended up a smoother transition than i'd feared!

also i just. i can't resist throwing in comic relief and i hope that this whole segment was a gentle enough preparation for the awkwardness that followed LOL

All of a sudden, the balcony door bursts open. I nearly drop the mug. “What the—” Mary pokes her head around the corner, sporting a righteous smile. “Morning, handsome.” Over her shoulder she shouts, “He’s on the balcony!” I blink. There’s a sound from inside the flat, as if something very large has just been dropped. Then a swear. “Oh, shit,” I say, realisation dawning, “you weren’t looking for me, were you? It’s so loud out here—” Mary cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “Lily was frantic.” She’s quite violently yanked back, and Lily herself appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Should’ve checked the balcony first,” she says, and closes the door before Mary can insert herself into the space again. “Hi,” I say, which is agreed-upon best practice for greeting a woman you’ve just had fantastic sex with and ideally would like to have sex with again.

to this day i don't know what lily dropped. let's hope it wasn't expensive!

Captained the under-17 English squad at the World Cup some years back, Serie Primo’s lead goal-scorer of last year… Only an injury in what should’ve been his first season at Puddlemere mars his record. I wince reading about it and comparing it to a heap of press clippings. James Potter was hurt, and Puddlemere didn’t fancy paying for him not to play, so they shipped him off to Milan.

(you cannot imagine how much pointed interrogation of my brother it took to gather this intel.) i constantly worry that i've got dates or timelines wrong somehow — you might notice i tweaked under-17, which used to be under-19 until i realised that made no sense (even though in terms of its career importance i would much preferred it to have been u-19.... anyway). i also found out that u-17 football squads don't actually have captains but i said fuck it on that count.

but obviously i started writing this AU for the sports possibilities, only to discover i'm going to have to interfere a great deal with the Timeline (you shall see in future instalments).

god i really went through the whole fic. like i reread the whole thing to do this. here u go clare jfbghjfd

#this has no right to be this long #wtrf #clareee75 #ask me #director's cuts

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msiopao · 4 years

Text

The One With the Rise of the Soup Spoon

pairing: jimin x nobi (x jungkook at the end)

summary: a vlive with nobi and jimin exposes jungkook’s horrifying encounter with a spoon

Laying on his bed, Nobi scrolled through her phone as she continued to read her webtoon while also having a text conversation with Jungkook, who was in the room across the one she was currently in. Jimin was showering in the bathroom since they just got back from rehearsals for their New York Love Yourself World Tour and he was known to sweat quite a lot so Nobi sent him to the shower immediately.

“Park Jimin-ssi, please hurry!” She called out.

“Yes~!” He yelled back and he emerged wearing a black long sleeve and black basketball shorts.

Seeing him, Nobi looked up and she looked at him with wide eyes. “Wah, Park Jimin-ssi! Your thighs! And your bare face! Wah, so handsome!”

The older boy stopped halfway to the bed and giggled at the sudden compliment, sweater paw covering half of his face to hide his blush. “Yah, Asami Sakura, stop it.”

“No thank you~,” she refused sweetly. “You deserve every compliment so let me shower you with them!” She yelled as she suddenly stood up on the bed and ran to Jimin, jumping on his back.

He almost toppled over at the sudden weight on him and caused his phone to fall. “My phone!”

With Nobi’s refusal to get off, Jimin had to carefully lean over to pick up the fallen phone and set it back to the app. He turned his head around to meet Nobi’s grinning face and he placed the phone closer to her finger. “Do you want to do the honors?”

At the hit of the button, they came on live. It must’ve been quite a sight to see the up-close faces of Bangtan’s puppies and there was slowly a lot more watching. Nobi waved for both her and Jimin as he was holding the phone with one hand and the other on her thigh to prevent her from falling.

“Hello, everyone! ARMY, hello!” She greeted, happy to speak to her family again.

Jimn tapped her thigh to signal her to get off and she shuffled over to lean against the headboard, waiting for Jimin to sit beside her. He placed a pillow on his lap to make it easier for him to angle the phone without making his arm sore while Nobi leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Sorry everyone, for the sudden live. Rehearsals ended earlier than expected so we still have time before dinner. So, what better to talk to ARMY while we wait!” Jimin explained after seeing surprised comments from ARMY.

“Oh? ‘Is Nobi having another emergency sleepover?’“ Nobi read out loud, nose scrunching as she focused on it. “No, I am not. I actually left my key in my hotel room and our manager is at the concert hall sorting out something and he is the only one who had the extra.”

Seeing the amount of ARMYs saying how unsurprised they were, Jimin chuckled while patting her head. “Our girlie has done this before so it’s not so shocking. But you’re really not surprised hearing this, right?”

She slapped his thigh with her hand and he faked an expression of pain. “Well, he said he had an emergency so I ran out to help but in the end it was just which face mask to use!”

“Yah! I was torn between the koala and penguin!” He defended himself while she rolled her eyes.

“Everyone knows to pick penguin! Always!” Nobi scolded and Jimin just nodded, a done look on his face.

The live was filled with more questions about their tour and behind the scenes moments to which Nobi was glad to answer but Jimin was too scared to face the wrath of the others.

“You know everyone, Jungkook and I were actually eating dinner the other night and he got up to wash off his spoon for his ice cream and all of a sudden, I hear screaming from the bathroom!” She told, eyes wide. “I really thought he slipped and fell or there was a ghost in there so I ran in with the closest thing I could find: a fork.”

“Why did you bring a fork of all things?” Jimin asked in between his laughs.

She looked at him wildly. “If you were in that situation, anything would do right? So anyways, I was asking him if he was okay and turns out, he just got sprayed with water because of the way it hit the spoon and he was just so shocked.”

By now, Jimin disappeared off of the frame as he laughed at the story and the muscle pig maknae who screamed bloody murder from a spoon.

“But it made me feel like I was in a movie like scream or something. The title would be ‘The Rise of the Soup Spoon,’” she giggled. “I was just so shocked at how high-pitched his voice was. That was when I understood how he got his position as vocal,” she nodded with recognition.

“Jungkookie is going to kill you, Bibi.”

Turning her head with a confident look, she looked at the camera with her finger pointing at the screen. “Don’t worry everyone. Jungkook would never lay a finger on me that’s why I can freely tell embarassing about him.”

“You heard right, everyone. Jungkook spares Bibi even though she does worse things than us! His hyungs!” Jimin exclaimed, outraged at the obvious favoritism.

“Sorry, I can’t help but be his favorite. I guess you just need to try harder,” Nobi teased.

Again, shocked at how he is treated by his younger, Jimin silently opened his mouth. “Bangtan lives like this, ARMY. We live in fear everyday because we don’t know what these two will do!”

“Stop being so dramatic, babo,” she shoved.

Comments about their chemistry and their playfulness filled the comment section as ARMY couldn’t help but scream at their ship. There are many videos in Youtube with Jimin and Nobi but they are always moments in vlives since they love teasing each other in live streams.

“Oh! Also, the story of the underwear shorts!” Nobi hit his thigh again, trying to stop him from exposing her.

“Ah, stop!” She begged but he was already giggling and ready to tell the story.

“So, it was about a year or 2 ago?” Jimin counted, looking at her for the correct answer but she pouted and refused to answer. “Anyways, Jungkook bought these white underwear with Ryan face patterns that has strings to tighten around the waist. And when we do laundry, of course, Nobi has to separate her stuff. But since they both share a room, it must’ve somehow ended up in her basket. Nobi just throws her stuff on the hamper so she probably didn’t see it.”

“Yah,” she whined, hoping to stop him but it didn’t work. “Oppa, stoppp.”

“You called me a fool so that’s not going to work anymore, Asami Sakura!” He sweetly said. “So! Nobi doesn’t remember what her clothes are because she has a lot so she probably just shoved it in their closet. Well, we had practice that day and it was really hot so Nobi usually wears shorts and a big shirt to practice in. So, she took her shower, got dressed, and all that. When she came out of their room, we didn’t really notice what she was wearing. Not that we would know what Jungkook’s underwear would look like in the first place.”

“You wear his underwear too!” Nobi called out, defending herself.

He looked at her with wide eyes and similarly tried to defend himself. “No, I don’t! Taehyung does that! I don’t wear his because it doesn’t fit me!”

Looking at the camera with a look and pursed lips, Nobi turned back to him. “Ah, so you’re saying Jungkook’s bigger than you?”

“Yes!” He answered, not sparing a second to think about his response. A moment of silence fell on them until he realized why she was looking at him so shocked. “YAH!”

Nobi laughed out loud before jumping off the bed to escape Jimin’s headlock. “WAH! SHE’S GETTING SO BOLD! CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?!” Jimin yelled and ARMY was too shocked to even say anything in the comment section.

Nobi returned and she gestured cutting the scene. “Cut, please.”

“Ah! Asami Sakura, just let me finish my story!” He pleaded. Nobi just nodded.

“Since you told almost all of it, might as well just finish it.”

“Thank you. She probably was thirsty so she was getting a glass or something. Since she’s short, she has to stand on her tippy toes to reach the glasses and the shirt went up and when Jungkook noticed, he choked!” He stopped and joined Nobi’s cackle as she re-lived the memory in her mind.

“Now that it’s in the past, it’s much funnier,” she wheezed out.

“I was sitting next to Jin-hyung as he played Animal Crossing and Jungkookie just started coughing and he choked on the water he was drinking. It was all a mess since Nobi got startled and dropped the glass and it shattered everywhere and everyone didn’t know who to help!”

“I remembered Kook’s face! It was so red, he looked like an apple since his hair was tied up like a little plant!” Together, they cackled and laughed before jumping at the sudden banging at his door.

Thinking it’s just one of the members, Nobi walked to the door while JImin stayed at the bed. He switched it so it faced away from him and he angled it to the door so he record the members. Suddenly, Nobi screamed and Jungkook emerged from the small hallway, the girl over his shoulder like a potato sack.

“YAH!” Jungkook yelled while Nobi wiggled, trying to get free.

“Jeon Jungkook, put me down!” She screeched but giggled when he hit the back of her thighs.

“Come here, kids!” Jimin beckoned and Jungkoook threw the poor girl on the bed before crawling next to her. Nobi settled between them with Jimin’s arm around her shoulder and Kook’s around her waist

ARMYs greeted the new guest and he raised a hand in greeting to the camera. “Hello, everyone.”

“I don’t think we should continue what we were doing, Bibi.” Jimin off-handedly said that caused Jungkook to look wildly at them. He didn’t even realize what he said until Jungkook’s eyes glared into his face.

It went way past Nobi’s ears and only looked up when she felt Jungkook’s heated stare. “What?” She asked, not knowing what happened.

“What were you doing?” Jungkook questioned while Jimin stared at him, amused.

“Why? Does it matter to you what we were doing?” Jimin pressed as he knew that Jungkook got,,, envious,,,, whenever Nobi was taken from him.

“Yah, stop it, hyung.” She slapped Jimin’s thigh and slightly glared at him for initiating something there. Turning to Jungkook, she laced her fingers into his that was curled into a fist. “You too, stop it. We weren’t doing anything bad. Just telling stories to ARMYs in our live stream.”

Jungkook backed down when she gave him a pointed glare at the mention of being live and to control himself in front of millions of people. “Ah. That’s not fair, I have stories too.”

“We didn’t finish telling the Ryan incident!” Jimin reminded her.

Knowing exactly what it was, Jungkook looked at her betrayed. “And you allowed him?!” She shrugged and that made his jaw clench. “All right. I can play that too. Everyone! Want to hear the story about Kura and the microwave?”

“OH NO!” She leapt and clamped his mouth with her hand and the camera shook due to Jimin’s laughing and him rolling all over the bed.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair that you get to tell a story about me but not you?!” Jungkook yelled and Nobi screamed.

“You don’t think that wasn’t embarassing for me either?! And HOW DARE YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME?!”

There were confused comments from ARMYs as the camera was now facing the ceiling and there was a faint thud that indicated Jimin’s form falling off the bed. There was a mixture of sounds from the screaming and the laughing, ARMYs didn’t know if they should be shocked or amused.

But they knew this was coming since you just can’t put Nobi, Jungkook, and Jimin in the same room together unless you want to unleash ultimate chaos.

a/n: i didn’t exactly know what I was writing about

#can you tell im a kook stan #he somehow manages a way to get into the scenario #like him invading my life #bts imagines #8th member of bts #bts 8th member #bts au #bts scenarios #bts female scenarios #bts female imagines #bts female member #bts female addition #kpop oc #bts girl member #female!oc #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts aus

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mercurryblack · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6: Rudyard

Day six: the investigation fruitlessly continues.

❃❃❃

“Any luck today?” Yuen asked.

After six fruitless days of combing over Berilo’s house and garden, LLAC had once again returned to the usual meeting place. By that time, Yuen, Rudyard and Sardion were already waiting for them, and the sun was inching down past the horizon.

Lillian shook her head in disappointment. “Nothing. We searched the house from roof to basement as usual, but we didn’t find anything that wasn’t already marked or mentioned in the initial report.” She informed them.

“Yeah, same here.” Cait added. Under their breath, they grumbled; “This is so not cool at all.”

The search of the garden on the first day had been under pleasant weather, but that was the only upside that they recalled— most of that day had just consisted of crawling around underneath the plants and staring at every inch of grass and dirt for footprints. Consistently, the highlight of each passing day seemed to be their short lunch break.

Sardion sighed. “We’re in the same boat, then. Nothing turned up for us, either— I guess we’ve hit a dead end.” Yaara’s house, in comparison had been spick and span, just like how she organized it. Like Berilo’s, a blood spatter marked the area where she had died, but the house was in better shape than his— the door was still on its hinges, with no sign of lockpicking.

“So, what are we going to do next, Detective?” inquired Rudyard. Despite his annoyance at the lack of any new leads, he managed to keep his tone calm.

Yuen raised a hand to her temple, exhaling heavily. “For now, we should head back to my office. I’m sure the lot of you are hungry, I have some food stashed there. We can talk over a nice meal.” she answered.

Sardion raised an eyebrow. “You keep food in your office, too?”

“Ah, just some Dr. Piper and a few packs of Simple Wok instant noodles,” Yuen replied. “…Er, lots of Simple Wok instant noodles, to be honest.”

***

Yuen prepared some water for the instant noodles on a hot plate, as the group sat huddled in the small space.

“Sorry that this is all I have. Whenever us detectives need to stay for the night, cup ramen and soda become our nectar and ambrosia.” She said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Rudyard laughed, giving Sardion a gentle nudge in the arm. “It’s alright, detective. Truth be told, it makes me remember when I was back in the academy. Sardion, Berilo and I used to sneak boxes of these from the cafeteria to our rooms every once in a while, so that we could have late-night snacks every time we needed to stay up to finish our written assignments.”

“Oh gods, yeah, I remember that.” Sardion said. “And you remember that time Yaara yelled at all of us because we pulled an all-nighter and made the entire room smell like broth? She said if we had just eaten enough at dinnertime like ‘normal people’, we wouldn’t be hungry and therefore wouldn’t stink up the dorm. She was right, of course, but that never stopped us from doing it again and again.” He started laughing along with Rudyard.

“Man, we should try that out, Hattie.” Cait suggested. “Knowing ol’ Branwen, there’s no way that he’ll let me off of that paper just for this assignment, so we might as well have something to eat.”

“Yeah!” Hattie agreed. “We can eat whenever we want!”

Sardion adopted a comically authoritative demeanor. “Hey, hey, bad idea. Don’t do it. And if you ignore me and get caught, don’t tell Lionheart we did it too at our time there. But, if you pull it off and don’t get caught, then you gotta tell us how you did it.”

Rudyard shook his head, grinning. “Man, we must’ve done it ‘til the day we graduated. That grouchy old lady who worked there would always wonder why some of their food was lost, but we never got the blame for it.” He clicked his fingers “Say, you remember the time Hidalgo and Gin found her stash of chocolate pudding and took as much as they could carry?”

“The Great Pudding Robbery of ‘56. How could I ever forget—?”

This time, it was Lillian’s turn to interject. “Wait, Hidalgo? As in Hidalgo Ferrante?”

Sardion turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, he was one of our pals in the academy. You know him?”

“Sort of.” Lillian replied. “I mean, I’m dating his daughter right now.” She explained, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“Wait, no kidding?” Sardion’s eyes widened. Turning to Rudyard, he mouthed ’did you know?’

“Yeah, her name’s Rosario.” Rudyard continued. “Talks about her all the time. Showed me a picture of her once, too— she’s definitely her old man’s daughter, has his eyes.”

As he spoke, Yuen sat down with them, placing the pot of now-boiling water in the middle and gesturing to the box of cup ramen. “Okay, grab whatever flavor of noodles you want. And before we continue with the nostalgia and all that, we should first discuss what we want to do next.”

“But… we still haven’t really found anything. How are we supposed to know our next move?” Amaryllis asked.

“Well, it’s not like we can just sit here until something else happens.” answered Yuen.

“Actually, they could stand to do so.” Sardion suggested, indicating LLAC with a nod of his head. “Not for long, but just half a day should suffice. We need to have clear heads, and that goes double for you, Detective— you’ve been pulling all-nighters trying to connect the dots on that corkboard. We all deserve a moment’s rest before we try facing the problem head-on.” he suggested.

Rudyard pensively nodded. “Sardion and I can carry our own independent investigations during then. We’ll try and reconvene with you in the evening, Detective, and LLAC can join us the next morning. The last couple of days have been a whirlwind, and while I’ve no intention of stopping my search for the killer, I don’t want us to burn out— or you guys, for that matter.”

After a moment’s pause, Yuen nodded in agreement. “Alright, team, you kids get tomorrow off starting at noon, and you two get the morning to make your own inroads. But when we all get back, we immediately pick up from where we left off, agreed?” She remarked.

“Agreed!” LLAC responded in unison.

***

“You know, despite all the preservatives, this stuff isn’t half bad.” Lillian said, shoveling a hunk of chicken-flavored noodles into her mouth. “I can see why people would get addicted to it.”

Yuen laughed. “What, don’t tell me you never ate this growing up? Not even once?”

Amaryllis shook her head as she followed her sister’s example, holding up a cup of beef-flavored noodles. “Aunt Izzy was always pretty strict about what we ate. Sure, we had breakfast cereal and juice and the occasional sweets, but that was pretty much it. Said that we had to follow a good diet, and that taste was one of the first things Huntresses sacrificed in the field.” She slurped some of the broth. “Hope I never have to find out what she meant by that.”

“Mmmllpphh... uhh knww whuhh duhs’ lhhk,” Cait said through a mouthful of noodles. “Than’th fuhh th’ muhhll.”

Yuen nodded. “No problem, kid. Eat up, you need it.”

“RRURRRRRP!” Their conversation was interrupted by a loud burp from Hattie. “Ah, ‘scuse me.” She said sheepishly

“Hah! I’ll have whatever she’s having!” Sardion laughed, countering her with a slightly louder belch of his own.

He barely even finished before the petite girl grinningly returned the favor with an even louder eructation.

“Are you… perhaps challenging me, Miss Lazuli?” Sardion inquired, his face turning comically stony as he repressed the urge to snicker.

Hattie smirked, holding up an unopened soda can. “Mayb—b—buUUUURRRRUUUPPPP!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Lillian groaned at the childish antics of the two. “Okay, saying it right now; I’m not being the judge this time.”

***

“Okay, you two, you know the rules. Whoever burps the longest wins, brownie points for whoever starts the loudest,” Amaryllis recited, holding up the timer on her Scroll, her finger raised just above the screen. “Ready.”

Sardion and Hattie each snapped open a can of soda, looking each other dead in the eye as they did so.

“I must let you know, Miss Lazuli, that I was the burp-off champion of Haven Academy in my time.” boasted Sardion.

“That was a long time ago, old dude. Now, it’s my time to shine.” Hattie shot back.

“Set.”

Both of them raised the metal edges of the cans to their lips, still maintaining their locked gaze.

“Last chance to back out, kiddo.” Sardion said, in a taunting voice.

Hattie didn’t reply, but narrowed her eyes and gave Sardion a thumbs-down.

“Go, Sardion.” Rudyard cheered halfheartedly yet amusedly, who sat on the couch watching the game.

“Get him, Hattie!” Cait crowed.

“Begin!”

Glup, glup, glup, glup. Both Hattie and Sardion began swigging down their cans in one long draught, their eyes beginning to water against the drink’s stinging carbonation. Within the span of a few seconds, they had poured every last drop down their throats, only for their cheeks to pouch as the carbon dioxide came rushing back up their gullets.

“Aaaaaaand… go!”

(For the reader’s own sake, this ridiculous match has been abridged by the author, who apologizes for this shameless, childish, and blatantly filler chapter. If you wish for a much funnier burping match, please follow this link.)

“And… time!” Amaryllis turned off her Scroll’s timer as Hattie and Sardion’s burps died down at the same time. “Geez! Thirteen seconds, not bad.” She remarked, swiping on her CCCT browser. “Says here that the world record’s over forty, apparently.”

“Which one had that time?” Hattie asked, wiping her chin with the crook of her elbow.

“Both of you, actually. Tie.” Amaryllis said, lifting her gaze.

Without missing a beat, Hattie grabbed another can of Dr. Piper and thrust it at Sardion. “AGAIN!”

***

While they continued with their childish contest, Cait, Lillian, and Rudyard were busy talking about some of their older missions. Cait found the pair’s recollection of the Kumoyuri assignment far more interesting than the day’s work, and found the part where Lillian had gotten dunked in mud wildly funny.

Personally, they didn’t find their extracurricular Grimm-hunting work to be as interesting, but Rudyard still politely listened nonetheless. Lillian, having been there along with Cait, only half-listened to them as she poured water into another cup of noodles.

“Oh, man. So there we were, looking right in the eye the largest Boarbatusk I’ve ever seen in my whole life. It huffed, and it puffed, it almost blew us away, but we still weren’t scared!” Cait exclaimed, gesturing with their hands to the best of their ability. “Thing is, it was pretty simple once we got down its attack pattern. Charge, turn around, charge, turn around, snort, repeat. Fourth pass around, Hattie managed to chop off its tusks with Whirligig… uh, her saw-gun thingamabob.” They continued, snapping their fingers as they tried to recall the exact name.

“Whirling Dervish.” Lillian said.

“Yeah, that, thanks Lilly.” Cait said, nodding. “Well, as I was saying, she cut off its tusks and got its face pretty good, and I shouted, ‘Guess you’re just a “Boarba” now!’” They sniggered for a moment at their own joke. “You wanna know why I called it that?”

Rudyard chuckled, bracing for the terrible pun he knew was incoming. “No, I have no earthly idea. Why?”

“Because it lost its tusks. Gettit? Boarba? No ‘tusk’? Cut its tusks off?” Cait grinned, acting as if the wordplay had been anything resembling clever.

“Oooof.” Rudyard groaned, shaking his head despite the grin on his own face. “Bad one.”

“I know, right? I should get an award for my combat banter. S’not as easy as everyone thinks it is.”

“Ignore them.” Lillian said, rolling her eyes.

Rudyard leaned back, taking a helping of his own noodles. Despite his inner tension, the pain he still had in his heart, he felt relaxed and eased by LLAC’s company. It felt nice for all of them to gather like one big family, even facing the stark reality of the next day to come. It would take far more than one good night to heal, but watching his protégé and her team… it filled him with determination.

It gave him strength and determination, seeing the new generation take the reins the old had once held. More importantly, it gave him hope.

#team llac #team llac fic #agave yuen #team sybr #sardion sarikaya #rudyard millard #lillian armilde #cait miya #harriet lazuli #amaryllis armilde #fanfic #fan fiction #rwby fan fiction #rwby oc #rwbyoc #rwby

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

Text

Weep Not For Roads Untraveled PT. 3

A Connor Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,216 Warnings: Explicit Language, Uses Of Time-Period Racism (Be advised), Violence

Author’s Note: I wondered how I was going to write this one, Shay showing up at the homestead, or him finding the reader in NY. I went for the latter. Enjoy! -Thorne

He wasn’t sure what was funnier, the fact that his wife looked like she was ready to bail into the tall grass or the fact that their children had been chanting Drink Up Me Hearties Yo Ho at the top of their lungs for the last two miles. He needed to be careful of the stories he told about their great-grandfather. “Have you tasted sour grapes (Y/N)? You have such a bitter look.” She turned her head, narrowing her eyes into a glare because she knew he was pushing her buttons to get a rise out of her. And though she loved the man with all her heart, she countered,

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, I love our children more than the world, but I’ll never understand how you managed to talk me into having three.” Before he could even laugh, a head poked around the side of the carriage and quipped,

“Don’t feel upset mother, we’ll grow out of it one day.” (Y/N) jerked into Connor’s side, frowning at her oldest son who wore a smirk.

“Haytham Kenway, what have I told you about doing that to me?” Though her tone was one of annoyance, he didn’t seem phased, simply sliding onto the bench beside her.

“I think you’ve told me not to do it, but you tell me a lot of things, so it’s a bit hard to remember.” She scowled at the boy while Connor chuckled and she crossed her arms over her chest, griping,

“I swear he gets this from you, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

“Me?” He sputtered. “He does not. We both know you are more impish. He gets that from you.” (Y/N) let out a ‘pfft’, and as they neared the city, Connor pulled the horses towards the stable. She and Haytham were the first off the carriage, moving to the doors to help his sisters out. The three of them stood side by side and she reached over, patting their heads.

“Haytham, Kaniehtí:io, Io:nhiòte, I have to go take care of some business before we go to the ship.” Her voice turned solemn, and though she wished she didn’t have to say it, she did anyway. “Stay next to raké:ni at all times, do not leave his side unless he tells you to.” Still young, her daughters stared with confused expressions, but Haytham knew better, nodding as he stood between them, taking their small hands in his.

“Don’t worry mother, I will protect them.” (Y/N) tried to smile, but managed a grimace at best, cupping his cheek with her hand.

“I know you will my sweet boy. If the worst comes, you take Kaniehtí:io and Io:nhiòte and you run as far away as you can, and you don’t stop until you’re on the Aquila.” She leaned over, pressing kisses to their foreheads before turning to Connor, murmuring, “Promise you’ll find me if anything happens.” He nodded and leaned over, pecking her lips.

“There is no need to worry Ehnita. I will keep them safe, as I always have.” Their children groaned mixtures of ewws and gross, causing them to laugh and (Y/N) pulled away, sparing them one last look before saying,

“I’ll meet you at the ship. I love you all.” They waved at her and she turned, heading into the city.

An Hour Later:

“I can’t thank you enough how much this means to me Sarah. These plans will be a big help to me and my husband.” The older woman smiled at her, laying a hand on her back.

“Think nothing of it (Y/N). You and Connor helped us a lot during and after the war. Besides, they’re only gathering dust just sitting on his desk.” (Y/N) nodded, stowing them into her pack.

“Yes, I’m sorry for your loss. Mister Franklin is still greatly missed in the scientific world.” Sarah smiled before waving her off and she hummed as she made her way to the docks. The schematics would be a great help to building more on the rifles at the homestead, especially since many of the recruits she taught tended to prefer long range stealth instead of up close and personal. The thought of them made her laugh as she imagined her husbands face when one of her recruits had no other instinct besides put distance between and shoot the enemy. (Y/N) chuckled and shook her head, nearing the docks, but stopped when she caught sight of a familiar child of hers roaming the market. A welling of anger rolled inside her and she snuck up behind him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And this silk scarf? How much?” The man cocked an eyebrow looking down at him.

“Boy, where are your parents?” Haytham’s face pinched and he retorted,

“They’re on the ship. How much?” A sigh escaped the man but before he could speak, (Y/N) quipped,

“Expensive enough that you don’t need to be spending money without me or your father present.” The boy’s shoulders rose until they touched his ears and he spun around, seeing her glowering down at him.

“M-mother!” (Y/N) tossed a polite smile to the merchant before grabbing Haytham by the scruff of his neck, pulling him along. “I can explain!” She clenched her jaw, hissing,

“One rule Haytham. I had one rule. Do not leave your father’s side unless he tells you to.” She looked down at him, fury in her gaze. “Can you tell me where you’re not at?” He teetered from foot to foot, offering rather confidently,

“I’m definitely not at father’s side.” (Y/N) felt a humored laugh rise in her chest but she quickly turned it into a snort of anger.

“I am not in the mood for your sarcasms, young man.” She stopped moving, turning to face him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be without your father or me? Haytham, you could’ve been killed.” His face pinched and he raised an arm.

“I’m not defenseless mother.” In the wake of his words, he flexed his wrist, and to her surprise, a hidden blade engaged from out of his sleeve. (Y/N) jerked forward, careful of the blade, and folded her son’s arm to his chest.

“Put that away now!” He did so, only to gape at her as she hissed, “Where in god’s name did you get that?! And why do you have it?!” Haytham shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I found it in the training room under the manor.”

“You’re not supposed to be going in there.”

“Antony let me in.” (Y/N) growled low in her throat, muttering,

“I’m gonna kill that Spaniard.” She pointed at him. “I am going to wring both of your necks when we get back to the homestead.” At that, Haytham took a step towards her, pressing a hand to his heart.

“I have a right to arm myself just like you and father! I’m eleven!” (Y/N) bent down, placing both of her hands on his shoulders, expressing,

“And we’ve trained you to defend yourself, but you are still a child.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Haytham, there are people who would kill you simply because you looked at them the wrong way.” His mouth snapped shut, shock etching on his face. “There are many people here who do not like natives, or anything associated with them.” She reached up, cupping his cheeks, voice softening as she whispered, “Your father and I set our rules so harshly as we do because there are evil people in this world Haytham…and until you are old enough to properly protect yourself, there is a serious chance that you could find yourself at the wrong end of a blade simply because of the looks and blood you bear.” Shifting one of her hands, she wiped a tear that was sliding down his cheek.

“I’m sorry mother…I…I wasn’t thinking.” Her heart broke for her son and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him.

“No…you have nothing to be sorry for…none of this is your fault.” She ran a hand through his long dark hair, murmuring, “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have had this discussion with you here…now is not the time nor place.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly, wiping his cheeks. “Come now sweetheart. No more tears. Let’s get back to the docks.” He nodded, hiccupping a little as he wiped his cheeks, and as they started again, she suddenly stopped, an unnerving feeling coming across the back of her neck. She spun, staring around to find the disturbance, and when she did, her eyes went wide. (Y/N) grabbed Haytham’s shoulders, directing him to the nearest alley.

“Mother?” He inquired. She shushed him, pointing down the path.

“Be quiet Haytham, we’re being followed.” She didn’t wish to frighten the boy, but she was desperate to get away from what was following her. As they turned a corner, she instantly stopped, yanking her son back to her chest, arm curling around his shoulders protectively as they group of men spread in front of them.

“Well…look what dropped into our little alley.” The ringleader sneered at Haytham. “A little savage,” he eyed (Y/N) lecherously. “and his mummy. Tasted the forest fruits, didn’t you?” (Y/N) gently pushed herself in front of Haytham, asserting,

“We’ve no quarrel with you. Let us pass.” The man started laughing, prompting the others around him to laugh to as he retorted,

“Quarrel? Oh no…we just want to have some fun with you.” She stood straight, shoulders squared and muttered,

“Haytham, listen very carefully.” He knew she couldn’t see him, but he nodded anyway, fear beginning to crawl under his skin. “Do you remember that sight your father and I were teaching you to use?” He couldn’t hide the shake in his voice as he whispered,

“Y-yes?” (Y/N) reached a hand back to him and he took it, wincing as she squeezed it tightly.

“I want you to use that sight right now. You turn around, and you run as fast as you can to the docks. Get your father.” Before he could respond, she shoved him, throwing herself into the group, yelling, “Go now Haytham!” His eyes went wide, but he obeyed, spinning on his heel to run to the docks. She wasn’t even out of her prime and she could already tell she was in deep trouble. She tried not to think about it as she blocked their attacks, sending back ones of her own, cursing herself for not at least arming herself with a knife before they left the homestead. Not that anyone could blame her; since the war had ended and their children being born, (Y/N) stayed at the homestead more often than she traveled. In such a protected location with new brotherhood recruits arriving every other day, she didn’t feel the need to arm herself all the time. A failed block allowed a fist into her cheek and she grunted as she hit the wall of the house. Instinct told her to fight, however she found her wrists being pinned to the wall, a hand curling around her throat; the ringleader got in her face and she resisted the urge to hurl as his foul breath crawled across her skin.

“You’ve got fight. I bet being a savage’s whore does that.” The men around him laughed and her blood boiled at the insult, not only for herself, but for Connor. She leaned forward and spat as hard as she could, glaring at him as he recoiled, wiping his eyes. “You bitch!” He backhanded her across the face, and she grunted as she felt the corner of her lip split. She spat bloodied saliva to the ground and looked back up at him, grunting when he grabbed her jaw, threatening, “You’re gonna pay for that.” A silver glint caught her eye and she realized he’d pulled a knife on her. (Y/N) shut her eyes, praying that her son had reached the docks and Connor. Believing that she was about to meet her end, she opened her eyes once more, warning,

“If you walk away now, you’ll have time to get out of the city before he starts tracking you down.” The men went silent, sharing glances between one another before they burst into laughter. She glared at them when all of the sudden a shot rang out, and with a stunned cry, she hit the ground, blood and brain splattered across her face. Her eyes widened at the ringleader laying on the ground across from her, face frozen in a mask of laughter as he bled out on the ground. Her eyes lifted to the older gentlemen holding up the second flintlock to the other men and he taunted,

“Unless you wanna end up like him, I suggest you run. Now.” Seeming as they realized they were up against someone stronger despite his age, the rest an off and he stowed the flintlock in his holster, walking over to her. (Y/N) steadied herself on one hand, taking the one he held out to her, allowing him to help her up. She stood, then gazed at him, quipping,

“Damn you’re old, old man.” He let out a laugh and though she felt the humor too, something she couldn’t describe coiled in her stomach and she added, “Hello father.” Shay offered her a small smile, replying,

“Hello daughter.”

#connor kenway imagine #connor kenway imagines #connor kenway x reader #connor kenway x reader imagines #connor kenway x reader imagine #connor kenway #Ratonhnhaké:ton #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #assassins creed 3 #ac3 #shay cormac #ac rogue

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cyb-by-lang · 4 years

Text

Leaning On Each Other (Remix)

This is a while later than I expected to get it finished, but here is @writer-and-artist27‘s birthday gift. She asked for a Kei-style take on this minific she wrote a while ago, so I did a full remix.

Apologies for making it a remix instead of the requested Kei's POV of this exact scene.

“I’m telling you, the difference is all in the wrist,” Kei said, holding out a kunai as though it was a katana. She spun it between her fingers as soon as her demonstration was over. “I mean, imagine this about four times as long in the handle and with ten times as much blade, but the point still stands.”

“You’d have to get me a bokken and show me directly if you want that to make sense,” said Obito, shaking his head slightly. “Rin?”

Rin shrugged, though her eyes didn’t quite leave the blade. “The blades I deal with are even shorter. I don’t really use them to stab people outside of a medical context. If you’re stabbing someone with a scalpel, something’s gone wrong,” Rin said, even as Kei made the kunai disappear into the holster on her thigh.

“Like in the flying clipboard story?” Obito asked.

“I still don’t know the actual story behind that,” Kei said.

Rin nodded along, but only smiled mysteriously when both of her friends in this conversation turned interrogative stares her way. “It’s funnier if I don’t tell you.”

On the opposite side of the couch, Kakashi made an agreeing noise, then flipped to the next page in his book. Kei didn’t know for sure what he was reading, other than noticing earlier that the cover art was entirely in grayscale and looked kind of gloomy. If Kei had been the one reading, she probably wouldn’t have paid enough attention to the conversation to know where she was supposed to make obligatory listening sounds.

Tomoko emerged from the kitchen at this point, flopping down on the couch between Kei and Obito. Kei raised a hand to keep her head from hitting the wall, and the three of them shuffled around a bit to accommodate her.

“So, done working for now?” Kei asked, silently making sure that all of her weapons were stowed. Sure, she’d left her sword at home, but no shinobi was ever fully unarmed. It was a truth universally acknowledged that a kunai somewhere unfortunate would ruin anyone’s day.

“You know me,” Tomoko replied, not noticing the shinobi weapons-check or not saying so. She leaned against Kei’s shoulder without hesitation. “Just for now.”

“That’s what you always say,” Obito said, leaning forward over his knees to get a better look at their faces. “You should’ve let us help.”

“There was batter on the ceiling last time, wasn’t there?” Rin asked. She’d only heard this story second-hand and the details changed in the telling because no one wanted to admit they’d been the one to start shit.

“That was Kakashi’s fault,” Obito said instantly. “And we were at Kei’s house, so we only got banned there, so it doesn’t count!”

“Getting banned from any kitchen still disqualifies you from going into a professional one, I think.”

“Focus, team,” Kakashi said, but mostly sounded like it was a wordier version of the iconic Uchiha “hn.” He certainly didn’t put any force behind the order.

“Okay, okay.” Kei nudged Tomoko with her elbow. “So, what’s up? Besides a clear need for a nap.”

“Nothing but the ceiling,” Tomoko replied.

“No, really?” Kei drawled automatically. “Would’ve never guessed. Congrats on your first well-timed pun, though.”

Tomoko pouted. “It got your attention, even if it’s a horrible one. So I’ll try to be punny more often.”

“Tomo-chan!” Obito said, shaking his head.

“I don’t regret it. Fight me.”

Kei considered her options carefully. A bad pun used in verbal combat came with a number of acceptable responses, but Tomoko wasn’t Hayate—who Kei would have already shoved off the couch by this point. Possibly backflipped him over the top of it, trusting his combat training to handle the landing. Tomoko needed more delicate handling.

Therefore, Kei said, “Obito wouldn’t fight you if you paid him, puns or otherwise.”

“It was a joke!” Tomoko protested, half-sunk into a combination of Kei’s jacket and the plush back of the couch. Her voice was a little muffled and pouty as a result.

And Kei occasionally pretended she didn’t know about those conversational ripostes solely to exasperate Tomoko. She wasn’t sure Tomoko had caught on yet.

From cross the table, Rin leaned forward and said, “You need to work on your delivery, Tomo. That landed pretty flat.”

“And the Earth is round and rotating on a crooked axis, sue me,” Tomoko said childishly in return, refusing to raise her head from her new resting spot. “I’m trying and I don’t wanna move.”

“It’s almost like overworking has totally foreseeable consequences,” Kei mused, her voice lilting to take the sting out of her words.

Tomoko paused, thinking on it for a second. “…Would you have me any other way?”

The answer was immediate. “Nope.”

“Good.” A smile replaced the pout. Tomoko’s habit of puffing her cheeks out to pout mostly made Kei want to poke her. “What’s up with you?”

“Not much.” Kei shrugged as best she could with Tomoko’s head on her shoulder. “To make a long story short, Kakashi doesn’t want to give input on my totally half-assed kenjutsu lesson. Obito and Rin are being good friends and pretending they know what the hell I’m talking about.”

There was a crinkle signaling the turning of a page as Kakashi went back to reading.

“Okay, just for that? Rin and I are going to talk about things that aren’t swords,” Obito said with a comically exaggerated huff. “See how you like it.”

Kei rolled her eyes. “Oh no. Traitors, et cetera.”

Rin’s smile was helplessly fond. “All right, all right. No more sniping until we get you both on a practice range.” She turned her head. “So, Obito, did I tell you what happened when Akihito-shishō caught the nurses smuggling candy—”

Rin’s tempting gossip drew Obito’s attention wholly, which was a good indicator that everyone was indeed done with the sword story.

Tomoko turned her head so that her face was finally angled up toward Kei’s. “You know I was asking about you, health-wise?”

There were times when it seemed as though Tomoko did little else. The life of a ninja was like riding a rollercoaster with a rickety, rusted track that didn’t deserve to have so many twists and turns. Especially for how unreliable it was. Their lifestyle was a major risk to life and limb.

Kei didn’t say any of that. Instead: “Yeah, I know.”

Tomoko thumped her head against Kei’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend in the whole wide world, y’know.”

“I know,” Kei said by rote. Reincarnation time buddies! Who hopefully weren’t going to destroy the universe by accidentally turning something into a paradox.

Another bonk. “Nagareboshi Café will always be open for you, y’know.”

“I know, Tomo.” Mostly because Kei had enough people in her life that she’d never forget it now. Being able to find half her social group there on a given day made the place a landmark, even if it wasn’t also a homey spot on its own.

Sounding a little strangled now, Tomoko added after a short pause, “So then, Kei?”

“Hm?”

“Whenever you need help, whenever you’re down, you can call me up, y’know. I don’t know how well I can fix things, but I’ll try. I’ll always try.”

Kei sighed. It was half from fond exasperation, but half from genuine frustration. There was always a part of her that utterly rejected the idea of pushing any of her emotional burdens onto Tomoko. Kei had volunteered practically from the start to chase whatever means of gaining power she could, all so she could make sure her precious people were safe. That was not the choice Tomoko had made. She’d never needed to, and Kei almost needed her to stay out of the blast radius.

“Tomo, you know I’m not good at asking for—”

Bonk.

Kei went silent, raising an eyebrow in a silent question as Tomoko stared back.

“Just listen, okay?” Tomoko rarely demanded direct, sincere statements toward Kei, who was equipped with a bone-deep inclination to deflect and dismiss what she viewed as excessive verbal reassurance. “No matter what happens, no matter what you end up doing, I’ll stay with you. To the end of our days.”

Kei bit down on the urge to interrupt.

“I care about you, y’know. So when you need it, let me help you like you help me. Just get that memorized.”

Kei sighed again, reaching up to pat Tomoko’s head. “I’ll remember that.”

When she could. It wouldn’t be as easy as Tomoko made it sound, but perhaps it could be, eventually.

And that was when Obito bounced onto the couch hard enough to make Tomoko briefly airborne. She landed with a surprised “eep” with her weight still mostly on Kei’s side, but turned to face Obito.

“Obi?” Tomoko said, startled.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Kei said over Tomoko’s head. It was so much easier to downplay any surprises when she could track everyone’s location within the room. Also, she’d seen Obito move out of the corner of her eye because he definitely wasn’t being stealthy.

“Your conversation looked like it needed crashing,” Obito said lightly. “It looked heavy even from where I was standing.” He tilted his head to one side, tucking his legs underneath him. “Tomo, is Kei influencing you? Are you gonna start all your conversations with puns now? Please say no.”

“It was my first try, Obi,” Tomoko soothed, reaching over with her right hand to rest against the side of his scalp. “I can try a different joke.”

Kei shifted her weight so that Tomoko ended up leaning more Obito’s way.

“I don’t know, I think the debut worked,” Rin said, settling back in at her spot. Whatever she and Obito had talked about must’ve scared him back into this conversation. She added to Tomoko specifically, “Just maybe relax a little and let them come naturally.”

“Wordplay and swordplay are both about timing,” Kei offered, “so I could probably help.”

“I can see you being a bad influence, you know,” Obito said. “Even if you’re trying to be all underhanded about it.”

“You’re shinobi,” Tomoko said, “Everything’s sneaky and underhanded! I could’ve sworn bad puns are how eye roll considering the family-friend thing.”

Obito groaned, defeated. “Kei, you had one job!”

“If she’s not making improvised bombs in her bedroom, I’m still coming out ahead,” Kei told him. “And she’s not. I think?”

“I’m not!” Tomoko said, half-frantic at the turn. “Just baked goods, like usual!”

“Oh, if that’s the breaking point,” Obito grumbled.

Tomoko frowned thoughtfully. She rested her hand against the side of Obito’s face in apology, then said, “I’ll hold off on the puns and you can have a batch of cupcakes later. Will that be better?”

This time, there was a hum of approval. Obito closed his eyes and leaned into Tomoko’s hand like a cat, mollified for now.

That’d probably last until the next time one of Kei’s friends opened their mouths. Peace reigned until the next half-joking argument in the life of Team Minato. And most of their associates.

“Can I join in?” Rin said, though she was already cramming herself into the space on Kei’s other side with a medical textbook in her lap. Kei didn’t bother wondering where she’d gotten it from; at some point, pulling a “nothing up my sleeve” routine felt like it was expected. “This looks like fun.”

“There’s cookies near the stove if you want to grab those first, Ricchan,” Tomoko said. Her chakra felt floaty with contentment. “Just to help with the studying you have there. The cookies are sugar and snickerdoodle.”

Rin’s smile widened. “Maybe later?” She still absently opened the front cover of her book, glancing at it before leaning against Kei’s other shoulder. “This feels nice right now.”

“Just make yourself at home, I guess,” Kei said with a toss of her head, settling farther down in the couch cushions. She shuffled to handle both hers and Rin’s weights before considering. “What about you, Kakashi?”

“Hn.” He instead disappeared briefly into the kitchen, out of easy spotting range thanks to the movement limitations of the human neck. “There’s not enough space for five people on that couch. There really wasn’t for four, but apparently we’re stacking like apartment blocks,” he judged when he returned, but he settled at the group’s feet and set the plate on the table in front of them all. “I brought the cookies.”

At this point, Tomoko started humming.

Rin reached forward and retrieved her cookies, passing out others at random. Kakashi demurred, returning his attention to his book, and wrinkling his nose at the thought of eating such sweet things of his free will. He was content just basking in his friends’ company.

“Just eat and relax?” Tomoko offered, passing a cookie from Rin to Obito. “We don’t have anything going on today, so let’s pass the time like this.”

Kei leaned her head back against the top of the couch, listening with half an ear to the world around her. With sight out of the way, she could focus on her friends’ contentment through her chakra sense and live in the moment.

Tomoko’s voice rose over the impromptu cookie party:

“Dream of anything;

I’ll make it all come true.

Everything you need

Is all I have for you.

I’m forever

Always by your side.

Whenever you need a friend,

I’m never far behind.”

Obito shifted and the couch dipped under his weight. Felt like he was reaching for his next dose of sugar already. The plate scraped across the table. “Could you sing that a bit louder, Tomo-chan? I want to hear.”

“Eh?” A sudden wave of shyness swept through Tomoko. “You sure?”

“We’ve all heard you sing before, Tomo,” said Kei, keeping her eyes shut. “No pressure.”

Rin’s sun-on-water chakra perked up along with her voice as she said, “You were the one to say we should relax, right?”

There was a brief back-and-forth between the boys—banter so played-out it was almost entirely fond. Amusement passed through each of them like an electric current.

Tomoko’s voice rose again.

“If the stars all fall,

When there’s no more light,

And the moon should crumble,

It will be alright.”

Being here, with these precious people, would tide Kei over through their next absence. With the life she and her friends lived, that separation was inevitable. There was always something else coming down the pipeline and eventually disturbing their peace, but that was the future.

This was now.

“Don’t you worry about the dark,

I will light up the night with the love in my heart.

I will burn like the sun,

I will keep you safe and warm.

Like the smell of a rose on a summer’s day,

I will be there to take all your fears away.

With a touch of my hand,

I will turn your life to gold.”

Kei seared the moment into her memory, to keep it like a light against the darkness still to come.

#the sea and stars #snippet #snippets #keisuke gekko #hoshino tomoko #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #rin nohara #team minato

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Donald Duck Birthday Special!: 12 Donald Shorts!

Happy Birthday to my faviorite duck! As you can probably guess from my previous Ducktales reviews Donald Duck is my faviorite of the classic disney gang. As an angry but well meaning, sometimes lazy sometimes hardoworing and always out of his depth guy really spoke to me for obvious reasons and my love of him made me check out life and times and well you know the rest. But weirdly, until last month i’d hardly seen any of his theatrical shorts. I grew up as a “Tom and Jerry” and “Looney Tunes” kid, and with Disney never playing them on disney channel for whatever reason (even with the ones they really CAN’T play there’s dozens they sure as hell can), I just never had any real intrest. But then Louie’s Eleven happened , I was starved for Donsy content and thus rewatched Mr.Duck Steps out, and most of her filmography, skipping the ones where she’s the miserable wife from every sitcom... more on that later, and with one exception. So I wanted to review them.. but quickly reailzed that with 6 minutes for most shorts there’s not a ton to dig into, so I decided after finding out his birthday was next month to take a handful and pile them in here, review them and see what makes my boy so great, what dosen’t, and look at the good the bad and the holy shit did he just point a shot gun at that poor defensless animal of Donald Fauntleroy Duck. We get this party started under the cut.

For funsies since, unlike most things I cover, every episode has a gif on here i’m going to use the gif keyboard to look up an image for the cartoon.. and if not well.. whatever’s there will have to do.

1. The Wise Little Hen (1934) A charming little short that I rewatched today to get on the docket, and i’m glad I did. The plot is very simple: A Hen and her 8 chicks are planting, then harvesting corn. For each task they ask Peter Pig, Local dick and the Rusty Spokes of 1934, and Donald Duck, our boy looking very diffrent, for help. Peter just says who me then runs off while Donald fakes a bellyache. Both get their compuance when the Hen and her 8 chicks make a ton of goodies from the corn and decide to eat it all themselves, while donald and peter give themselves an ass kicking.

I genuinely wish this is how life worked: Your bad, take advantage of people and your reward is not taking their beinfits and snickering but having to kick each other in the tuckuss on loop.. you know instead of the Peter Pigs of the world blaming people for getting maced in the face by stormtroopers. Sigh. That aside it’s just a fun, charming short with great animation, and a great look for Donald. I do genuinely love his first look, even if it’d later be eased down to perfection. And there’s plenty of fun gags and great music. Overal a solid A short.

2. Moving Day (1936) As you can see from the GIF this one isn’t strictly donald, we’re still one away from a starring role. After annoying the shit out of Mickey in the classic’s “The Orphans Benefit” and “The Band Concert” , Donald soon became his regular sidekick alongside Goofy. Both would quickly breakout and this short is apparent why as Mickey is a side character in his own labeled short. The setup is somehow, after 84 years, STILL relevant to modern day. Basically Mickey and Donald are tennants who haven’t for whatever reason, paid their rent and are 6 months behind. And sure they could just be obnoxious squatters doing it onlyf or their art who shriek like banshees the moment their asked to actually pay rent, but thankfully this isn’t RENT, or else I would’ve jumped out of a window by now. No given this is the depression, their likely trying to hold onto their house and meager posessions for as long as they can while work is incredibly scarce... not like.. now.. ha .. ha. ha.... I may take the window up on it’s offer after all. Anyways, our valiant heroes decide to try and cram everything they can into their friend Goofy’s milk truck while Pete’s busy putting up signs to advertise him trying to sell their shit to make up his back rent. WHich translates to a bit of mickey doing that and most of the short being spent with donald fighting a rug and Goofy being outsmarted by a piano. Both are utterly hilarious and prove why these two became far more popular, and overall the short’s a damn good timea nd our heroes win by still getting a pile of possesions out while their antics destroy the rest so pete gets nothing! Horay! They can sleep at goofy’s place! Now moving on from crushing reality, it’s animal cruelty!

3. Don Donald (1937) I wasn’t kidding. Yeahhh this was donald’s first full, not attached to Pluto for some reason or an adorable chicken family or his mousy overlord short. Don Donald. Donald’s in mexico, for some reason and wooing a lady, in this case Daisy prototype, Donna Duck as seen in the header image. I like her, they have a diffrent dynamic, both being kind of tempramental and flirty instead of that being just ONE of donald and daisy’s dynamics. Others being muttually supportive and adorable (Ducktales and Quack Pack) or daisy being the wife from according to jim, or last man standing, or my wife and kids, or king of queens, or the george lopez show, or everybody loves raymond, or ... you know what i’m depressed enough from the last two shorts you get it. But you know without Donald being an obnoxious asshole who views every guy his daughter dates like a horny degernate who just wants to get in there and overreacts to everything involving them and makes me pray for death but death wont come.... I may not like classic daisy very much. Moving on. That being said as you can tell from the donkey abuse donald.. ihs a fucking asshole in this one.. and not the loveable asshole he is in the band concert mind you I mean he’s less brent sienna and more tucker carleson. He laughs at his girlfriends misforutunes and hit shis burro and then tries to trade it in for a car.. which he does. He gets his commupance and all but yeah.. it’s deeply uncomfortable to watch him abuse this animal for half the runtime. Trading it in is one thing, but he’s still an utter dick to it.A short that COULD’VE been fun that instead is just uncomfortable, even given the time it takes place in.

4. Donald’s Ostrich (1937) Donald works at a distant train station taking care of various cargo that comes in and ends up having to care for an adorable ostrich named hortense. Hyjinks, especially once she swallows Donald’s Radio, insue. This short.. is a MASSIVE step up from don donald. INstead of uncomfortable animal abuse donald just gets frustrated with an ostrich and battered round a bit, and tries to cure her hiccups. My faviorite bit is when hortense arrive, and stands up with a box on her,a nd donald goes under her gives a greatly delivered by Clarence Nash “what’s going on around here” before hortense sits on him. Really funny. And yes Hortsense is a regular ostrich. And yes that paradox has been around this long. But this one’s way funnier, way more charming and really damn adorable and dosen’t remind me of the crushing horrors of real life so yeah. A+. There’s only one short I like as much and it’s coming up.

5. Modern Inventions (1937) Another one from his first year and another classic. Basically donald deals with various inventions in a “house of the future” type attractions, gets ruffled by them and the robot butler seen above steals his hat with a dry brtiish “your hat sir” while donald adorably pulls one out of thin air in increasingly creative ways. Again plotwise these shorts are simple but by now they figured out what made donald work: getting frustrated sure but with him being a relatable every man and sometimes trickster as seen here with the hats and him pulling that old coin on a string trick.

He also dresses up like a baby at one point and i’ts weird but oddly funny... but yeah donald is in peak form here and this one is another clear A+, if for the running robot gag alone as donald keeps puttingon new hats and the robot has a truly spectacular design.

6. Donald’s Better Self (1938)

Now for a weird one.. not the most surreal thing on our list, despite you know a devil version of donald popping out of his mailbox, but it’s damn close because you know, Donald as Satan popping out of his mailbox. In short Donald is cast as a school aged child.... you know what’s coming.

And you may say “Well jake they were just experimenting and his age was vauge at first” and to that I say, with no joke Huey Dewey and Louie debuted THIS SAME YEAR. Even given how adaptable older cartoon characters are, and they are it’s part of the charm, and tha’ts fine.. this is a bit over the line. Oh and it gets weirder as donald has the standard cartoon angel and devil arguging over his actions things.. only here the Angel and Devil are donald sized, and again fighting over the soul of a chid in the body of a 30 year old man, literally in some cases, ending with said devil encouraging donald to smoke before he and the angel get into a fistfight. While not an especially GOOD short, you have to admit.. it’s unique.. batshit but unique and worth at least one watch.

7. Donald’s Penguin (1938)

The second in our trilogy within a series of “Donald gets a pet” shorts, this one start’s out fine, Donald gets an adorable penguin named Tootsie from “Colonel bird” and does cute things like immitate it’s walk or what not while Tootsie is a grumpus. Fun stuff. Then tootsie apparenlty eats Donald’s fish, and donald spanks the poor bird. Now this pissed off some people on Letterboxd but me, while it’s slightly distressing, it was 1938: while spanking was NEVER a great thing, it was acceptable back then and as far as Donald knew Toottsie knew not to eat the fish, Donald had told him no adorably, and did it anyway. So donald goes to get an apology trout, which he just.. has for some reason out of the ice box and uh.. things take a turn from “it was accpetable at the time” to “HOLY SHIT”... Tootsie decides fuck it and eats the fish and uh... Donald.. how do I put this calmly.. ahemahem okay... DONALD GRABS A FUCKING SHOT GUN AND CHASES HIM AROUND, THEN ONLY BACKS OUT AT THE LAST SECOND, A SHORT FIRES, AND HE MOURNS WHAT HE THINKS IS HIS DEAD PENGUIN. We then get a cute shot at the end but holy shit.While Elmer fudd is one thing since he’s A) the bad guy and B) is indeed trying to kill a wild animal he has a lisence for instead of his fucking pet whose a protected species if those existed back then, this is just... like the donkey abuse, deeply uncomfortable. It’s one thing to spank a pet, even up to the 90′s that was acceptale and still is in some circles, but it’s another to try and murder it over a slight infraction. Just.. jesus christ. I want Tootsie back too, this was objectivley terrifying. Let’s move on.

8. Mr Duck Steps Out (1940)

Ahhhh yes the short about dancing that brought me to the dance. This one is, without a shred of second guessing, which for my anxious self is a miracle, my faviorite both of this batch and in general. The short is about Donald trying to go on a date with Daisy at her house, and his nephews inviting themselves along and trying to ruin there uncle’s every attempt at getting romantic with wacky hyjinks. That’s.. basically the plot.. as you can tell these things are very light on plot but here that’s all you need. A few things to note. 1) The boys are VERY much in their early characterization, i.e., their all assholes instead of “All huey 2k17 but dialed down a notch” or “karmic tricksters working against their uncle’s ego”, though they’d ocassionally dip into this in the 80′s ducktales depending on the episode, especially if webby was around, and shove their face into it and inhale deeply like me with the hidden mountain of cocaine hidden under my basement. The second is that Daisy has a duck voice, much like Donna did for this short and only this one. It’s not too distracting given she barely speaks, though she has more than enough body language to make up for it, it’s just.. odd.. especailly since it means Clarence Nash, donald’s voice actor, is voicing EVERYONE in the short and doing a terrific job of it. Even weirder is Disney would later redub a shortned version for Disney Channel in the 2010′s that had their modern voice actors (Donald Aselmo, Tress Macneil and Russi Taylor, god rest her soul) re-dub it and it just feels all kinds of wrong despite the three being excellent va’s. I dunno the cleaner modern audio just feels wonky coming out of the old 40′s short. But despite it’s oddities the short really has fun, from the iconic little dance donald does at the start...

Serioulsy I freaking love that dance and his outfit. To the little laughs donald gives when telling daisy “HA, I brought my nephews ha” like a 40′s tommy wiseau, to him roaring in a lion skin to the ending which is just pure adorable and nice because Donald actually GETS to win, especially because half of all donald shorts or comics where he’s sympathetic end up with Donald miserable and beaten up and me like this.

Instead Daisy kisses him all over and over again, until the night goes dancing.

Overal a fun, fast paced short about Donald trying to get laid and the gold standard of Donald Duck shorts. Two more things before I move on. This was co-written by disney comics legend Carl Barks, and it shows, and i’d be remiss if Id idn’t mention this bit of Daisy, after playfully shoving donald away when he coyly asks for a kiss, giving him a come hither signal with her butt.. which is somehow hot. Don’t ask me how.

And with that mental image we move on. What do we got next?

9. The Spirit of 43 (1943)

Ah yes propaganda! and the first one I couldn’t find a gif for. I watched this one because it’s another Barks one, he worked on several of these and was also the one who suggested not having HDL be assholes all the time as he felt, rightly, it’d get old after a while, and because it has protypes for scrooge and gladstone, and is thus one of the only shorts Scrooge is in and the only classic one... And like Donald’s Better Self it’s fucking weird. It’s all propganda no joke as ONCE AGAIN, yes AGAIN, two figures battle for Donald’s soul, this time a scottish man encouraging him to save and donate and a sleezy huckster encouraging him to spend for himself.. even though spending in bars and what not helps the economy and gives the bartender money to stay open during such trying times, but whatever. Also the huckster aka proto gladstone turns into hitler.. yes really.. and Donald then punches him through a swastika captain america style because donald duck is hardcore. Trust me this is somehow NOT a cocaine induced fever dream I had. Not a great one but like Donald’s Better Self worth at least one watch, in this case in additiont o the insantiy for the historical value of seeing two prototypes for Carl Barks most iconic characters.

10. Sleepy Time Donald (1947)

As you can tell this one’s way more wholesome and way less of a drug trip. Donald goes sleepwalking and Daisy, realizing it, plays along so he dosen’t wake up and goes thorugh the motions of one of their dates. Very simple, ending with Donald thinking he’s the sleepwalker before she conks him out, and very adorable as while Donald isn’t concious, and has a boot on his head, we see what a standard date for them is like when Daisy is being written well as they strut around the park, he proposes, it’s all really damn cute and if you like these two together, you’ll really enjoy this one. Not much else to say other than it’s really precious and really funny and creative. Kinda hard to follow up Donald duck punching out hitler.

11. Daddy Donald (1948)

Another quick one and the end of the “donald gets an animal” trilogy. First off, while I only got one gif from this short, I DID get this lovely image under “Daddy Donald” in Tumblr’s gif search thing

Awwwww. Anyways, Donald adopts a kangaroo like it was a baby, it’s kind of weird, not as weird as the above. He and Joey slowly bond, while he gets directions on what to do from the lady at the adoption place over the phone and hyjinks insue. Kind of cute but not quite reaching the heights of “Donald’s ostrich or the first hal fof “Donald’s Penguin” and not being quite as surreal as Double LIfe or Donald Punches Hitler.. which is what Spirit of 43 should’ve been named. I mean at least “De Fuherer’s Face” had a memorable name. But yeah not one of hte more notable ones and I mostly included it to round out the trilogy. Speaking of trilogy’s to close out this celebration of Donald, one of the last shorts and the last one featuring Daisy, and the inspriation fo rher Ducktales outfit. Donald’s Diary.

12. Donald’s Diary (1954) Well.. this is basically one half of a good short ending in a lot of misogny. I could end it there but there is a lot to this short. It basically has donald, weridly in a clearly voiced narration talking about his courtship with Daisy as she first tries to get his attention and he’s oblivious.

Then she uses a rope trap and we get this iconic image which is concentrated awwwww.

Then they date, Daisy’s implied to have dated a bunch of guys which was a bad thing in the 50′s but is perfectly resonable in 2020, and he meets her brothers, basically huey dewey and louie standins and her.. parents. Yes apparnetly donald’s parents have to be implicitly dead by present day, but Daisy’s can be alive. Weird ain’t it? It’s pretty adorable, has some great gags and we even get him proposing and them marrying! And then the shoe drops.. yeah the rest of the short is how she expects him to GASP work all day , fair enough but then GASP do all the chores.. which is bad but the short implies it’s because he’s the man and she’s the woman and she should do housework. It’s actually bad because marriage is an equal partnership and while asking him to do a chore or too after working all day is fine just fine, asking him to do EVERYTHING while you do nothing is abusive and terrible and i’ve seen it actually happen in my friend’s previous marriage. So yeah this message can fuck off. And I knokw standards of the time, penguins having shotguns pointed at them etc but there’s not having aged well but being able to ignore it and there’s this. And then she procedes to spousally abuse him and work him to the bone, and then he wakes up, and assuming ALL marraige sare like this dosen’t end up proposing leaving the poor girl wondering what the fuck she did to upset him. Real fucking cute guys. Seriously just.. part of the reason this part bothers me so much is MANY people think this is what marriage is like, like a fucking terrible sitcom. Life isn ot like home improvment or according to jim, or my wife and kids or king of queens or family guy, or you get my point again and yes I reused some their that bad.. even now we get stuff like man with a plan. It annoys me because 70+ years later and while it’s getting better this same lazy comedy still happens! and much like king of queens wasted the late great jerry stiller, this short wastes great animation and a great first half to tell a terrible story. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth and is a bleh note to end on. Watch the first half because it’s adorable, end it at the wedding. IN conclusion Donald’s shorts are a mixed bag but as you could tell some are truly spectacular and some are worth the spectacle and all have terrific animation and effort put in, evne when they didn’t deserve it and as such I couldn’t think of a better way to honor donald’s birthday than with these animators hard, well worth it efforts. Even when it wasn’t great, it was still somewhat fun. So happy birthday old friend and here’s to many more. Later Days.

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