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sweetbunnykook · 4 years

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Only You (8)

Word Count: 12,827 // angst (mention of physical abuse/harm, mention of child abuse/neglect, mention of forced pregnancy, mention of murder), smut (brief mention of cockwarming and masturbation), no fluff

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

A/N: I’m so sorry this took FOREVER for me to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please come scream in my inbox so I can scream with you! - 🐰

The red and yellow iron man figurine is snatched away from his clammy little hands, the harsh ridges of the plastic cutting across his palm to leave gashes that burned. Jungkook’s eyes are already glossy with unshed tears as he stares at the beloved toy in her grasp.

“Fucking useless piece of shit!” His mother screams, voice cracking as she throws the plastic figure at the man sprawled on the couch, a small pouch of belly fat pooling over his unzipped jeans. His dark disheveled hair and tattered clothing makes him look older than he actually is, earning a disgusted sneer from the woman. The head of the figurine hits the side of his arm but he simply glares at the child, and then at his wife, before turning away in silence. Iron Man lays on the dirty carpet, feet pulled apart, head dislodged from the neck.

“You think you’re the only fucking man in the world that works!? If I didn’t push out your bastard child, I would’ve left you years ago!”

Jungkook’s face scrunches into a frown, hiccupping as he gasps for air between sobs and hiccups. He knew he shouldn’t cry for the sake of angering his parents further but he couldn’t help it. Catching his mother’s attention, he steps back only for her to yank his small arm through the oversized superhero shirt and drag him across the living room. The child falls onto his knees, unable to help himself as the grip on his arms numbed his little hand in which he held his lunch bag.

“I’m sorry! Mama, I’m sorry! Mama!”

The soggy brown sandwich bag tumbles away from his grasp as his mother drags him into his makeshift room behind the sliding door of a storage unit. The shoebox-sized space is thankfully warm as it’s situated next to the hissing water heater. Jungkook’s mother pushes him onto the futon next to his school bag, empty cartons of milk, and mismatched socks.

“Don’t you dare make a fucking sound,” she spits, glaring down at the shaking boy who’d curled into the yellowed blankets in the corner. “You don’t want to upset mama, do you?”

Jungkook shakes his head, toes digging into the sheets below him. His ears are ringing, but he knew better than to disagree when her eyes become as red as the knitted dragon on his socks. Red means danger, red means silence.

The door slides shut with a bang and little Jungkook shakes and shakes, bent knees knocking into each other as cold sweat forms on his temples. He wipes his moist eyes with the back of his hand and curls into the corner, hunger pains wringing his stomach tight. He struggles to hold in his bladder and cries harder when he tremors once more and his pants turn dark with urine.

The room gets darker, the house falls steadily falls silent, yet there is still no food offered to him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed as the only window in the room is nailed shut with wooden boards; only the small amount of sunlight shining between the rotten wood tells him when to sleep and when to dress for school. Looking at the dark gaps, he’s disappointed to find that it’s well past dinner time.

He can hear his parents screaming at each other between bouts of silence, their voices lowering gradually as exhaustion takes over them. He’s glad that at least he’s left alone. When the screaming ends, there is moaning, sounds of flesh against flesh, and silence once more.

They must have forgotten he hasn’t eaten, he thinks to himself as his frown deepens.

Jungkook knows they are most likely asleep but he doesn’t want to risk disturbing the peace – the silence – that he can finally enjoy. If it weren’t for his hunger, he would be perfectly content staying still. He closes his eyes to the world and wishes on the lonely lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that one of his parents will awaken and at least take pity on him to throw the sandwich bag in the room. The roaches might have gotten to it first but he wasn’t in a position to complain.

Wiping away the dried snot on his face with the back of his hand, Jungkook looks up at the spotted roof and imagines a big studio like the one Iron Man has. When he becomes big and strong, he would have a drawer full of chocolates and another one full of clean and cool clothes like his classmates. He would be so successful and so cool that his teachers will fall to their knees and he will never have to do homework again. Even Iron Man will come knocking at his door to spend time with him – that’s how cool he will be.

Despite the growling in his stomach, Jungkook giggles softly. He discards his soiled bottoms away from the futon, being extra careful not to let the wetness touch his backpack, and lets his big shirt fall over his knees. He then rolls over to cushion his head with the back of his backpack. At least in his dreams, he lived well.

Some days are painful but some days should be better, he thinks.

“It’s a miracle you survived,” Taehyung says one day as he hands Jungkook a bigger share of his rice ball. Jungkook rolls the sleeves of his black Busan middle school uniform up to his elbows, knowing the smell will be hard to get rid of if the loose seaweed falls apart in his hands like last time. The cheap tuna Taehyung stuffed it with smelled like gasoline and they made it a habit to hold their breaths as they chew. The mayonnaise at least helps the mouthfuls of fish slide right down their throats. No matter how strange his lunch boxes smelled, Jungkook never complained.

“I hate them,” Jungkook whimpers as he chew, leaning the heel of his sticky palms against the wet boulder beneath as his older friend rubs the tender sores on his neck with a free hand. Several bruises trail down his spine and Taehyung knows there are more underneath the uniform. “I just want to get out of here.”

Their naked feet, exposed under their rolled pants, dangle from the sharp layer of rock and moss protruding from the side of the boulder. The sound of ocean waves drown their voices and they find themselves shouting over its volume. Jungkook jumps slightly when cold water splashes over his toes.

“We’ll go anywhere you want.” Taehyung stretches his neck from side to side to undo the knots, his steel eyes landing on the grains of dry rice rolling down the rock.

Jungkook looks at his dearest friend, truly look at him, and grabs another rice ball from the canteen. He coughs slightly when the tuna goes down the wrong pipe, taking a swing of the water bottle from his opened backpack laying at his feet. It was hard for him to sit still when Taehyung says such things so frivolously. In fact, Jungkook found himself annoyed – annoyed that these fantasies are way beyond his imagination and annoyed that Taehyung might not mean what he says and Jungkook is just waiting around for leftovers like the rice ball in his hands.

Jungkook kicks the side of the rock as he licks his fingers clean, scraping his heel along the ridges back and forth. His bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “You’re going away to med school later too…we might not see each other even when you get to college. It’s like…ten years.”

Jungkook can just imagine it. Taehyung, the miracle from a small town in Busan who surpassed everyone with his razor-sharp intelligence and sly fox charms. He’ll walk up to a podium for a white coat ceremony to attend the nation’s best medical school. There will be cheers and flowers everywhere; he bet even the president will show up for the ceremony because Taehyung will represent the rags-to-riches fantasy everyone wants. He’ll go on to be a surgeon full of pride and joy. He’ll marry a naïve but rich girl from Gangnam who will pity his hardships and they’ll have five children together and live in a penthouse. They’ll live on the top floor where they can look down at the people passing by like they’re nothing but ants.

And as for him, he might still be sleeping in that same storage closet next to the hissing water heater.

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung pushes the half-full canteen towards the younger boy, giving away his share, and wipes his hands on his pants. There are three giant rice balls left and even some pickled radish at the bottom. The food offering doesn’t make the younger boy smile like he usually do, his brain is so full of worries it might explode.

Jungkook shakes his head at nothing. The future seems so, so far away, almost out of reach. He can barely image his life without Kim Taehyung, the only genius the sad little town has produced this generation who ironically became his best friend and caretaker. There’s been rumors that he’d skipped four grades and grew up speaking Cantonese just from watching films. Jungkook hasn’t confirmed these theories himself but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. He had a future as bright as the stars while Jungkook knew, deep in his heart, that his kind is bound to be in the sewers. He’s forever looking up at the stars that Taehyung can collect without lifting a finger.

“I won’t burden you, Tae. I’m just trouble.”

“You’re not,” he runs his fingers through Jungkook’s dark cocoa hair with his damp fingertips. The younger boy trembles slightly at the feeling, kicking his feet to hide how much he’s enjoying it. “That’s what they want you to believe…but you’re not. We’ll get out of here together, I promise.”

“N-No, you have to go Tae,” Jungkook puts the rice ball back in the steel canteen set between them and turns, serious all of the sudden. His voice is cracking and his leg shakes up and down as he tries hard to control the rage and grief boiling inside him.

He knows what will happen. When Taehyung leaves, luggage in hand, to whatever top-tier college in the country with a full scholarship, he’ll end his life. He’ll take the kitchen knife and plunge it deep into his heart and bleed out in front of his sad excuse of a mother. His father can join in on the crying, or the celebration, over his corpse once he wakes up from a drunken slumber. Actually, they might not even notice he’s bleeding. With the piles of newspaper and dishes laying around, Jungkook would be nothing but bones underneath all that garbage by the time they discover his body.

Taehyung, gripping the hair above the nape of the boy’s neck, keeps him in place like a bothersome cub. “I won’t leave you, Kook. I swear on my life I won’t. When the time is right, we’ll get out of here together.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply immediately, weighing the sincerity on his ears. Feeling tears sting his eyes, he leans his forehead on the older male’s broad shoulders to hide his face and circles his arms around his biceps. Taehyung nuzzles his chin into the younger boy’s hair and smells the salt of the sea in his scalp.

“I’m useless,” Jungkook says at last. He’d decided that Taehyung was genuinely concerned about him after all and not showing off. Those words were not like the empty promises he’s heard many times growing up. “I’m not smart like you. I can deliver milk and newspaper and that’s about it.”

Jungkook rubs his cheek up and down Taehyung’s shoulder blade, scratching the little wound on his cheek until it burned. He can still feel the buckle of his father’s belt ripping a patch of skin off the top of his cheekbones. He had considered leaving that day without a dime to his name but knew better to stay.

Taehyung reaches behind him and tugs his backpack forward, choosing to instead comfort the boy through a gift he’s been wanting to give for some time. He shrugs Jungkook away, earning a pout as the boy wanted to hear more honeyed words of comfort. His irritation, however, is short lived when he sees a flash of onyx and silver in Taehyung’s hands. He watches as the film camera gleams under the tangerine sun, the cracks on the side oozing a type of charm only antiques have.

“This is grandpa’s camera,” Taehyung says as he sets the camera down on his friend’s lap. “I want you to take pictures of the things you love before we get out of here.”

It’s not a gift, but a promise.

“You’re giving this to me?”

He nods. “Don’t worry, he ran off ages ago. I wanted you to have it…I think you’ll like it once you get the hang of it. There’s already a roll inside, it’s half used. I know you wanted that camera from Mickey’s but…this is good enough for now.”

Jungkook’s cheeks turn bright red as he holds the camera in his hands, brushing his thumbs across the protruding lens and the square of white plastic in the corner. He didn’t realize that Taehyung paid enough attention to catch him staring at things he can’t afford. It was equally humiliating as it is flattering that someone notices his wants and needs. Although the camera in his hands is not as fancy as the one in the display cases, Jungkook is more than grateful for he would not be able to afford the basic point-and-shoot camera on a delivery boy salary.

He can’t help but think maybe this will be Taehyung’s final gift to him before he goes away. Maybe the older boy is just taking pity on him because attachment is an illusion that slowly dissipates as absence takes its rightful place.

That rags-to-riches fantasy happens to those who are smart and sincere like Taehyung and not to boys like him – boys who stupidly spend hard-earned money on Iron Man comic books despite needing money to escape.

“I can’t afford to buy film,” Jungkook complains because he knows he’ll burst into tears if he thanked Taehyung. He peers into the viewer with one eye closed. He takes a shot of the waves dancing under their feet. The cerulean blue, their tanned feet, the black rocks – he can already feel excitement bubbling within him when he’ll make the time to develop the roll at the school photography lab.

“I have a box of unused ones in the basement. I’ll dig it out for you later.”

“Mm…okay.”

He points the camera towards the setting sun, taking a snap just when two birds fly past him. The film inside clicks into place with a satisfying snap, making him giggle. He turns at the waist and points the lens towards Taehyung, who stares into the camera with a disinterested amusement that tugs Jungkook’s heart a little more than he feels comfortable with. To please the boy, Taehyung holds a peace sign over his cheek, shielding half of his face as his eye peers past the ‘v’ shaped fingers. Jungkook takes the shot.

“Happy?”

He giggles louder this time. “Very much so.”

Taehyung takes the camera away, enveloping his large hand over the boy’s fingers. He holds the viewer up to eye level, seeing Jungkook nibble on his lower lip. He knows what the boy is thinking. There’s no way he can look pretty with the wound on his cheek, with the purple bruise blossoming around his right eye, the chapped lips split open from his nervous gnawing. Sensing his discomfort, Taehyung reaches over with his free hand and tugs at Jungkook’s hair tucked behind his ears. His deep mahogany-black locks bounces forward like a curtain, shielding the injuries without effort.

“Perfect.”

The camera snaps once more.

You curse under your breath after splashing your face with cold water in the office bathroom. Work has been absolute hell in contrast to the newfound heaven at home with Jungkook. You swear there’s a force in the universe set out to get you; as one part of your life heals, another part has its wounds reopen. When Jin called in sick for a few days two weeks ago, you did not realize how different he was going to be when he returned. Something about the way he looks at you these days leaves you paralyzed, often times leading you to work entirely in your personal office instead of the open cubicle like you usually do.

You assume that perhaps there is something going on in his personal life that can explain his passive aggression towards you and your coworkers. Taking pity on him through your own self-talk, you complete his share of the paperwork without complaints for an entire week without earning a single ‘thank you’ or even a smile from him. He often walked back and forth in the hallway, dialing his phone with an aggression that leaves you wondering if the screen even works with how hard he’s pressing. Knowing he was the type of person to need distance during hard times, you didn’t push it.

That is, until he’s suddenly calling in the middle of the night and dragging you out of break rooms. The office is already short on staff due to Sora’s absence, you didn’t need to be reprimanded for laziness especially after you carried his entire workload and apologized on his behalf for mistakes in the software he was supposed to fix.

Honestly, you’re not sure why Jin is cold one moment, hot the next, and then absolutely boiling on some days. But you’ve had enough of it and you’ve reached breaking point today when you heard rumors for the first time that your department, usually praised for its performance, has too many unprofessional workers (it did not take energy for you to figure out people are talking about your little cat-and-mouse chase with Jin). Thus, it was a relief when your former assistant shows up at the office and gives you a break from the cycle of avoiding your childhood friend while saving whatever reputation you have left here.

Pleasant and giving as always, Sora brings sandwiches for the people in your department with no pressure to have the favor returned. It’s the first time you’ve seen your assistant since she took her maternal leave; you almost forgot about her despite receiving occasional updates about her condition and even yearning for her when Jin disappears from his cubicle or stares at you from across the room. To you, she’s one of the best persons you’ve worked with so far in your career. Although Jin is great at handling IT issues that arise too many times for you to wonder if the whole job should be thrown away, it was Sora who brightens the atmosphere with her rambunctious laughter and messy desk in which she was miraculously able to get work done at an unmatched rate. Sporting a small bump beneath her floral wrap dress, she greets you with a kiss on both cheeks.

As you take her in your arms, you peer at Jin leaning against the office fridge with arms folded. His public questioning about Jungkook stays fresh in your mind and everyone else’s as they quietly glance between you and him between conversation.

Almost every time he chases after you, the first words out of his mouth was your boyfriend’s name. It got to the point where you wish you’d wake up from this nightmare that will pass when whatever in his life fixes itself. You’re sure his irrational behavior, arriving from nowhere with the suddenness of a car crash, is coming from something else in his life. You are sure, one hundred percent, that this is the kind of asshole behavior that somehow manifested in your male peers back in college, not that you were ever on the receiving end of it. Until now.

Currently, Jin seems to be deep in thought, sporting dark bags under his eyes. His eyes meet yours momentarily before you pull back and gasp at Sora’s belly with the vigor of a seasoned actress.

“Why do I have a feeling you didn’t just come to bring sandwiches?” You tease while your coworkers chuckle, turning their heads towards you for a moment before turning back to their plates. There are only a few sandwiches left on the counter as you couldn’t leave a conference call until much later unlike others. Actually, it was the same conference call from the person who was disrupted when Jin pulled you out of the room for an “emergency” days ago. You were too angry to even listen to him then, and even angrier now that you’re here smiling after apologizing with a bow just moments before.

With the merry atmosphere dancing in the otherwise cold break room, even your boss sitting at the end of the table has a difficult time asking people to head back to their cubicles and corner offices.

“No, I came here because I missed you,” she squeezes your arms, dragging you softly towards the table scattered with sandwiches of all types. How unfortunate the lobster roll – your favorite – is all gone.

“Please,” you scoff and she laughs with that hearty, sweet sound you missed so much.

“Actually,” she begins, “I’ve been thinking of staying at home to be a mother.”

Your jaw hangs. “You won’t be coming back after this?”

Her face falls slightly at your question and you immediately shut all your thoughts deep inside. You don’t understand the first thing about being a mother. It’s only reasonable you hear her out first. From the corner of your eyes, you see Jin walk towards the coffee pot and pour himself a cup in his chipped mug that brings a spark of annoyance in your chest.

“I do,” she sighs, “but…I found out I’m having twins. Just last week actually. This entire pregnancy was a bit of an accident and I needed time to rethink my priorities. My husband is more than thrilled we’re having twins, you know how he is-“

You nod in sympathy.

“-but it’s difficult for me. I already have a toddler and now with two more…I thought about handing in my resignation soon. I just wanted to see you all one more time before I do.”

You place your hand on her back once you see the tears in her eyes, leading her outside of the break room and into the small walkway where sunlight from the open windows gives you a better view of her solemn yet saccharine face.

“You do what’s right for you. But I understand it’ll be difficult for you to get another job if you need one later with kids around. Have you talked it over with Alex?”

At the sound of her husband’s name from your lips, her cheeks redden slightly.

“He’s glad that I’m strongly considering staying at home. He always wanted to have a big family and we’re more than financially stable with his salary alone. It’s just…I’m going to miss work.” She looks up at you, eyes watering even more. “It feels like I have a family here. Especially you, I feel like I have the little sister I always wanted.”

“Oh Sora,” you sigh, bringing her in your embrace once more and letting her cheek rest on your perfumed shoulder. She inhales the scent of soft geranium and jasmine, letting it calm her anxiousness only further amplified by pregnancy hormones. If the rest of your coworkers found out how emotional she’s getting, they all will follow suit and cry along with her. “We’re still family whether you work here or not. I’m always a phone call away and you know the team will be here to help you if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she sniffles, “I’m grateful…really, for everything.”

“It’s no problem at all,” you smile. “I can’t wait for the babies to arrive. From the bottom of my heart, congratulations on the twins, Sora. It’s such a rare and precious thing.”

She beams at you, eyes glistening, her smile stretching wider as she takes your hands in hers and gives them an eager squeeze.

“I don’t even know how to explain it. Just seeing the ultrasound for the first time was, god I wish you were there!”

“Me too,” you agree, turning your head to the side to see Jin peering at you from between the gap of the door and the column in the corner of the hallway. “Alex must be so thrilled.”

She rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t shut up about it. He’s baby-proofing the entire house right about now even though I’m not even due for another six months.”

You giggle with her, thinking back to the time you walked into your home to see Jungkook on all fours, rubbing sandpaper to the edges of your coffee table. It’s too dangerous, he said when you stand in front of him with a fist on your hip, you’ll hurt yourself. His strong arms bulge and flex as he works the wood with the ferocity of a mad man. You wonder if Alex is in the same position on the floor, religiously rubbing sandpaper back and forth against the corner of the wooden table.

“That’s so funny,” you muse. “Jungkook baby-proofed the house once and made a mess of the living room…and I’m the farthest thing from a clumsy child.”

Sora raises an eyebrow, elbowing you softly on the side. “Is he dropping hints? You have sex regularly, don’t you?”

“Shhh! Sora!”

She cackles as you turn back and forth between the open door and at her amused face.

“We’re not even married, or even engaged!”

“Well,” she shrugs. “Do you really need to be married to have a child these days? Men can have baby fevers way early in the relationship,” she muses, thinking back to her college days. She seems completely different from the emotional expecting mother just a few minutes ago now that men are the topic of the conversation. Classic Sora move. “I conceived my daughter just a day before Alex proposed.”

You blush, tucking your hair behind your ears. For a moment, you think of your picture-perfect boyfriend on his knees rubbing your lower belly and cooing with his ears pressed up against you. “I guess not but…Jungkook and I aren’t ready for that yet. At least, for the time being.” You shake your head dramatically from side to side, bringing your hands up to your face. “All this baby talk is giving me ideas I don’t like.”

“Alright alright,” Sora waves her hand back and forth like she’s swatting away a fly. “I won’t be one of those annoying office moms that constantly pressure people into pooping out kids.”

You laugh, leaning your back against the wall.

A coworker from two cubicles down peeks his head out the door and urges for Sora to come back into the room. From the ruckus, you can hear your coworkers fighting over the last few sandwiches in a game of rock paper scissors. It seems people are also curious about the picture of her ultrasounds – which you didn’t realize were there before – scattered across the lunch table.

Everyone except for Jin, that is.

You turn towards the door as she waves you off and staggers into the room, just in time to maneuver around Jin who walks towards you while closing the door behind him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he pleads, peering down at you with a heavy, foreboding stare that wipes the remaining laughter out of your chest.

“Can we talk later?” You move to the side to walk past him, only to be blocked as he steps along with you. You really don’t want to deal with him today when you’re having a good time. You actually don’t want to deal with him at all, at your wit’s end.

“You don’t pick up my calls and you almost always leave before me, if not right away. When I ask, you avoid me.”

Every word out of his mouth is true and you feel sick being confronted with it all despite how valid your anger is with the way he seems to want nothing to do with you when he returned, then wanting to bombard you all five working days last week. However, you’re not sure if the sourness in your gut is regret or anger; regretful that you stayed away from Jin like your boyfriend asked or angry that he is slowly getting on your nerves with his recent behavior. Anytime Jin approaches, it’s never about work or even about your friendship and always about your relationship with Jungkook that he somehow sees as unhealthy and worrying.

“Sora is retiring, Jin. I want to be there for her.” You step around him, only for him to grab you by the elbow and drag you further away from the door. You push him away, glancing at the end of the hallway to see if anyone saw.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jin questions.

“No,” you whisper-snarl, looking back and forth from the door to your childhood friend. “What the hell happened to you? Why do you keep picking fights with me when you know I’m going to react the same way?”

He raises an eyebrow. “With you ignoring me?”

You can feel the anger in your veins making your nerves curl. For the past week, he had been insufferable. You’d never seen someone turn from a friend to a stranger so quickly after you have to bear the weight of his eyes following your every move, leaving you unable to do any substantial office work without errors. Even then, you assume he must have personal business to take care of and needed the well-deserved sympathy. After all, Jin has always been a hard worker and you’ve never once doubted his work ethic, especially in this company where he thrived from your recommendation.

However, his newfound aggression has you thinking back to your boyfriend’s warning about how little you know about men despite living with one. His glare sharpens every time you leave early to head back home or when you take a quick call from Jungkook during your lunch breaks. His eyes seem to follow you across the room as you move back and forth from the copier to your office. You think Jin would be over this little temper tantrum of his until, just yesterday, he’d thrown his cup of coffee in the break room sink while you were on the phone. The sound of porcelain meeting steel and the anger in his eyes was something you couldn’t forget about and in your heart you knew the fury extended past you onto your boyfriend waiting for you at home.

“I know you obviously have an issue with Jungkook.”

“So now you’re ready to discuss?”

“Discuss what?” You scoff. “You claim to be my friend who watches out for me yet you can’t even be happy that I’m finally with someone who cares for me. Jin,” you sigh in exasperation, “look, I know you let your paranoia or whatever get in the way but I promise you Jungkook isn’t a liar or a cheat like Namjoon. You’re overreacting.”

He crosses his arms. “Are you so sure about that?”

“About what?”

“Him not lying to you.”

You didn’t like how serious he looked at that very moment. You’d constantly teased about how his classic poker face he kept from his agent days is the reason why he’s been single since the day he was born. It’s a type of unique hardened face that intimidates anyone smaller than him. Now that this sternness is directed at you, you’re not enjoying a single moment of it.

“There’s no reason for him to lie to me.” You’re confident in that statement and he can sense it by the way your spine straightens and your eyes brighten.

It tugs his heart that you feel so strongly about another man when he knows the truth. It hurts him to know that you’ll be ruined by the files he received from Hoseok and Yoongi sitting in his flash drive. Above all, what hurts him the most is that he risked both of his former coworkers’ safety to verify his intuition, an intuition you easily brushed off to prioritize a months-old relationship against his life-long friendship to you.

On the other hand, you can’t fathom just how much Jungkook can possibly keep from you despite being the most sensitive and loving boy you’ve ever met. A little over two weeks ago, on your balcony, Jungkook had revealed everything you needed to know about him and the reason why he feels the way he feels. He’d trusted you enough to tell you something that affected him the most, that justified his habits you were once annoyed by, and that gave you the reason to become more than just his girlfriend. Sitting on his lap, kissing his scars, and listening to his words, you knew nothing can stop you from loving this boy you met under unwelcomed circumstances.

Really, it was ridiculous that you never noticed the signs before. Jungkook had always cowered to your anger, always the one to put your needs first before his, almost never raising his voice at you except for the few times you were oblivious to your surroundings and endangered your wellbeing.

And here, your friend, belittles you the longer he doubts the validity of your relationship with Jungkook.

Jin’s lips part but you manage to speak before him, stepping closer to him as you crane your neck to meet his unwavering gaze.

“I need to set this straight.” You put a hand on his arm. “I appreciate you as a friend, as someone who has been with me for a long time and looked out for me. I know you’ve always been good to me and I don’t hate you, even if I’m more than angry at you right now. I know you care a lot about the people close to you.”

You see him visibly soften at your words. The tender, loving expression on his handsome face makes you weak for a moment.

“But I need to draw a line here. I’m a woman who can make her own choices about what she wants. I don’t need you to be this…bodyguard stressing yourself to protect me from harm. I know what I’m doing and who I’m with. For god’s sake Jin, I’ve been living with Jungkook for months. If he’d somehow lied to me, I’d know by now. So please,” you beg, your eyes going back to the laughter coming from the closed break room door to your best friend’s piercing eyes. “Leave my relationship alone. Let me land on my feet after what Namjoon did to me. I’m,” you sigh, “so happy now. I’m at peace. So please…Jin,” you squeeze his arm. “Please. Can we just go back to being us?”

For the longest time he stays silent, his eyes moving across your face as if he’s looking for something important.

He finds his voice when you step away from him. “…I understand. I’m sorry…for making you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.” He takes your hands in his. “I’m really sorry.”

You offer him a small, sympathetic smile and bask in the warmth of his palms. “I’m sorry too, for avoiding you when I could’ve said all of this earlier.”

“I just-” he starts and pauses.

Jin looks out the window, focusing on nothing in particular. He can see the top of trees and similar silver rectangle buildings reflecting sunlight. He watches a few cars drive past the swirl path leading to the parking lot situated around the main entrance of the building. He looks back down at you.

“I actually wrote everything I wanted to say and…I was too chicken shit to read it out loud. I,” he clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. “I’m just going through a hard time. I know I’m taking all of it out on you. I’m really sorry, I really-”

“Wait, Jin,” you cup his face in your warm hands, immediately shedding all traces of anger and annoyance you carried for the last few days. Of course, your friend of many years would never hurt or anger you on purpose. He’s overthinking and lashing out when logic hits a wall of emotions, just like you had with Jungkook before. You’ve never seen Jin on the verge of tears until now and it’s tugging your heart painfully. “I forgive you, everything’s okay now, right? You’re still one of my dearest friends, I’m not going to be mad at you forever.”

Jin shakes his head. “No, there’s just…”

He freezes mid-sentence again, leaving you curious as to what his next few words might be. Jin’s eyes move frantically from his shoes to the trees outside. Sweat prickles his scalp as he considers the weight of what he’s about to do next, what he’s about to reveal to you. He’d considered and reconsidered his plans only to wing it all last minute. What good does thinking ever do for him? When Jungkook holds your heart captive, is planning worth the trouble? Or is it easier to play Jeon’s game with his unpredictability? Right now, Jin is convinced it’s the latter.

You watch as he digs into his pocket to reveal a small black flash drive the size of a rifle bullet. “Everything I want to say,” he swallows, “is all here.”

You feel glued to the ground by the weight of the object in his hands and by how intense his gaze is as it sets on you. If Jungkook can see you know, you know he would be furious. Jin takes your hand, revealing your soft pink palm, and places the flash drive in the center before curling your fingers around it. Even though the object itself is as light as a feather, the burden of his words lay heavy against your chest, restricting your ability to breathe.

He whispers your name softly like a prayer, rubbing his thumb across your enclosed fist. “Please read it all for me when you’re alone. I promise I’ll leave you and Jungkook alone unless you need me.”

“W-What’s in it?”

A love confession? Maybe Jungkook was right all along about Jin, about men.

Jin shakes his head. “Just read it. Alone. I went through a lot of trouble to make this for you. If you forgive me and want me to be the Kim Seokjin you grew up with, read it.”

Your fist tightens slightly as you take another step away from him. When you walked to the office this morning and found him staring into his mug of pitch-black coffee, you weren’t expecting anything more than the usual passive aggressiveness or being chased during lunch breaks between your boyfriend’s calls. You didn’t expect to stand here in front of him, wondering if the contents of this flash drive will confirm the doubts Jungkook had about him all along.

Noona, can’t you see he wants you for himself?

You dig your hands into your pocket and tuck the flash drive away, garnering the strength to finally look back into your friend’s eyes. Jin’s eyes are fixed on your pocket before they scour your face once more as if he were searching for something.

“What is it?”

How ironic that you’re the one asking the questions now.

Jin’s lips part just slightly before he digs his fists into the pockets of his black slacks and look out the window. It’s strange that he can’t find the words he wanted to say when he can finally be alone with you for once without raising the suspicion of others or, worse, Jungkook’s. The wind blows gently into the hallway, carrying with it the scent of wet leaves. He stares into the distance as you stare at him until a round of laughter interrupts your thoughts. You look at the break room door and then back at your friend who seemed to have turned to stone.

“I’ll make sure to read it,” you reassure him, unable to bear the silence any longer.

He turns back to you but his smile is sad. You gaze at him longer, unable to decipher anything that just happened in this lonely hallway. One thing for sure, you know the contents of Jin’s flash drive needed to be opened alone and whatever is inside affects you more than it’ll affect Jungkook. Something about the content is going to change you, alter your reality, and take the blissful filter you’ve been wearing for the last two weeks at home. The thought makes you feel queasy as if you have something dirty to hide, as if you’re committing adultery behind Jungkook’s back after he’d spilled his heart out to you.

It was Jin who turns on his heels and heads back into the room.

You dig the flash drive out of your pocket and hold it up to the sunlight. It’s such a small and simple plastic tool costing just as much as a tin of mints.

Yet, it scares you so much you nearly miss your phone vibrating in your back pocket. Jungkook’s name flashes across your screen and for the first time, you hesitate to press the answer button.

Perhaps you thought too highly of yourself all along. How different are you really from Yori or Namjoon when you can keep a man’s secret in your pocket while you live with another?

So far, Jungkook has learned that fear is a strong motivator. It influences you, shapes you, makes you create paths where there isn’t one. It crawls up the walls and knocks on your window as a reminder that there’s always something lurking in the distance. It’s why Jungkook believes in never settling when things get comfortable.

When he asked Taehyung to make placebo pills, he had done so in fear that you would leave him. Yet, this does nothing to settle his nerves. In fact, it makes him uneasy that he’ll get caught somehow as if the birth control pills he flushed down the toilet never melted. In his unease, he can imagine those eggshell white tablets sticking to the sides of the drain despite the chances being slim to none. One call from a neighbor about a clogged pipe and it’s over for him.

This is the nightmare that lingered in his mind before he’d sat you down in his lap and pressed your hand against the dent on his cheek. Three weeks ago, you listened to him attentively as he wraps you slowly around his fingers. He can smell himself on your neck, taste himself on your tongue, feel your touch so agonizingly sweet on his taut stomach. It pained him a little that you, the privileged girl from the world above, might trade love for pity. But you were so accepting and so understanding of his past, his dependency on Taehyung and you, that there was no way someone can come along and convince him you weren’t made for him. Making love to you, worshipping your skin and scent, has never been so otherworldly for him.

Sitting in front of the television and replaying the footage of you from the wedding that could have taken you away from him, Jungkook inhales and exhales slowly. He’d taken the time to clip Namjoon’s footage away so that all that’s left is you in the wedding boutique twirling multiple dresses to your chest, your soft wavy hair pooling over your shoulders as you do so. In a silk robe, you lift a ballroom dress up against the mirror, eyes moving up and down the charmeuse and tulle quickly to take in all its miniscule details.

He loves that about you. The way your eyes glisten and widen when something strikes your heart. It’s the same look you gave him, sitting in his lap on that damp balcony, running your thumb over the scar on his cheek.

It was especially painful for Jungkook to reopen his past wounds but in one way he felt the invisible weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t tell you everything – especially not about the strings Taehyung pulled for him to live a normal life – but he was satisfied that you didn’t mind one bit. He swears he could hear you purring and sighing softly underneath his chin, reacting with a slight gasp when he tells you how often he was hurt back then and how thankful he was that Taehyung took him under his wing. Although a small spark of jealousy ignited in his chest when you mentioned inviting his attractive friend for dinner once he’s back in down, Jungkook was more than grateful that you didn’t seem to mind how attached he is to the older man.

He wonders if you’d react that same way if he’d told you he’d lost his virginity to Taehyung a year into high school and that his first kiss happened on that same beach rock. He wonders if you’d react in the same sympathetic manner if you truly knew what happened before he was able to graduate high school before the world plunged into tar.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Jungkook’s hands tremble as he yanks the storage drawer open and dig out his shirts, undergarments, and jeans into the duffel bag. He has to make sure he doesn’t forget his winter clothes because he would be livid if he finally gets out of this house only to freeze to death on the streets. From between the cracks of the rotten wood plastered against his window, he can see Taehyung standing with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Taehyung looks around the house, at the rusted gates connected to the concrete walls that surround the perimeter, and the mailbox slumped over the garbage can. He looks at the messily covered windows and puffs out a smoke. There’s a similar slumped duffel bag next to his feet inflated with clothes and packets of food.

“I’m leaving.”

Jungkook’s mother attempts to grab him by the neck, unable to do so easily as he stands tall after he outgrew his middle school uniform. Her grip slips as fast as it comes.

“You ungrateful little shit!” She spits, reaching up successfully this time to grasp the ends of his hair as she shoves hard enough for him to stumble into the wall.

Relentless, Jungkook continues throwing his clothes, then his lunch box filled with coins and a wad of cash, into the bag.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?!” She sobs, throwing herself on the floor next to his shoes and dirty socks. She scratches the slits on her arms and proceeds to drag her nails across the floor. A wretched cry falls from her lips and Jungkook feels his throat clenching, his eyes watering. Rather than sadness, it was boiling hot resentment that keeps him silent.

He doesn’t turn to look at her. He knows she’s going to manipulate him, somehow, with her disgusting guilt-tripping shrieks and nail him against the wall to prevent him from moving.

She pounds the sticky floor mats with the heel of her palms, her voice hoarse. “I made you, Jungkook! I took care of you, I fed you, I bought your fucking clothes. And you’re leaving me with this fucking asshole,” she slams her hands down again, her head snapping towards the sound of the back door slamming open followed by heavy footsteps. His hands begin to sweat, causing the toolkit he grabs from the top of the shelf to slip and clatter on the floor.

In the distance, Jungkook can hear his father crushing a can of beer against the kitchen counter and throw it in the sink for him to clean like he usually does. No longer is he going to be yanked around like a puppet for these two sad excuses of a human being. How his mother was able to carry him inside her full term and give birth while smoking and drinking like a sailor is unknown to him. He’s grateful, at least, that he came out sane. He thinks with a sudden surge of anger that perhaps his mother’s need to have a punching bag was more critical than the inconvenience that the pregnancy caused her.

To her, his father coming back with the stench of prostitutes and alcohol always became his fault. It was his fault that his mother’s body isn’t as it used to be. It was his fault their marriage is dead. Above all, it was his fault for existing to remind them that they produced another good-for-nothing trash to add to the pile of garbage that is this town’s desolate population.

“I’m not coming back,” Jungkook grunts as he throws a camera and several rolls of film in the bag. “I never want to see you or dad ever again.”

His mother shakes her head over and over again, arms stretched towards the door as it suddenly slams open to reveal the lean yet pot-bellied figure of a graying man. His father looks down at the duffel bag on the floor, and then at his wife curled next to Jungkook shoes. His face seems lifeless – like a corpse – with bulging black beady eyes that reflect no light and a mouth set in a thin strip. It’s the first time in years that the man came to see Jungkook in the makeshift bedroom, usually taking the couch in the living room as his permanent place of residence. It’s where he drinks, where he watches the same television program about car remodeling, and where he demands weekly handjobs in his drunken stupor.

“You’re leaving?” He interrogates, voice low and tired as if he’d woken up from a slumber.

Jungkook nods, zipping his bag and glancing around the room to see if he missed anything. He didn’t own much but it pains him to leave his heavy stack of comic books behind. There was no way he could carry that with him across the country.

“Why?”

Jungkook looks at his father under the single light bulb illuminating the otherwise dark and swampy room. For the first time, he notices how similar they look. He has the man’s eyes, his soft yet chiseled jaw, and even the mole under the lips. If the man were several decades younger, they would be a splitting image of each other. The thought makes bile rise up Jungkook’s throat.

Why is he leaving? Was that even a question he needed to answer? One night with the Jeons and anyone will run far away. Jungkook has lived here for nearly a decade and a half and at no point during his residency was he able to remember a time when his body wasn’t covered with bruises or scars. It’s a miracle that he’s never broken a bone nor hospitalized after being whipped across his bare buttocks for years like a prisoner. The humiliation was far worse than the pain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jungkook retorts for the first time, gaze hardening. “I fucking hate living in this hellhole.”

His mother watches as her husband swings forward and slams his fist down on the side of Jungkook’s temples, knocking the boy against the open drawers. Jungkook splutters a ball of saliva and blood and digs his arms and legs into onto the ground the crawl away. Unfortunately, the room had only so much room for him to move. The stronger male pulls him by the ankles, dragging him back and flipping him on his back for him to see the belt buckle coming undone.

Jungkook crosses his arms across his face and shields his eyes away from the light and those deep black eyes. From the gaps between his forearms, he sees his mother crawling towards him and yanking his pants down, digging her nails so deeply into the patch of skin where his hips meet the waistband that the scratch marks instantly bleed.

“This boy needs to be taught a lesson!” He hears his father say with a voice as sudden and full of viciousness as thunder, the first lash coming down across his arm. He cries out, spine stiffening as a he gasps into the side of the bag. His breath is ripped out of his lungs. The second lash comes down shortly afterwards across his thighs where former bruises had only recently begun to heal.

“He does, doesn’t he?!” His mother encourages, no longer seeming as distressed as she was before looking down at his scrunched and tear-streaked face.

“When I am done with you, boy, you are going to wish you were dead. You ungrateful piece of-”

A stream of thick liquid splatters over Jungkook’s trembling body, a few droplets attempting to seep into his eyelids squeezed shut. His pounding head gifts him with a vision so hazy he might as well stare through a dense blanket of fog. When his arms come down at his sides to hold his temples together, he can feel his veins pulsing beneath.

It takes a full minute for him to even understand what he was looking at. There’s a muscular arm holding his father across the chest to hold the man’s spine straight and another swung over his shoulders as a silver scalpel, following a trail across the neck, stays lodged deep into the trachea. Jungkook sees another splash of red fall over his bare knees as the stream of blood falls to his feet. The smell of iron is thick in the air when his father, eyes bulging out further than he thought possible, slumps to the side.

Pulling himself away from the weight of the corpse at his feet, Jungkook watches the figure rip the knife standing tall from the man’s throat and plunge into the side of his frozen mother’s neck. He watches her pale, skinny limbs thrash as if she’s burned before she slumps down next to the futon.

With a feeling he can only describe as akin to relief, Jungkook looks up at his savior.

“I told you you’ll need me here.”

With soaked hands, Taehyung gathers the boy in his arms and leans him against the wall. He watches as Jungkook’s face scrunches in pain once more and stray tears make its way down his baby soft cheeks. He takes his trembling bottom lip under his front teeth and shakes as he whimpers like a wounded puppy.

He is truly a puppy, Taehyung thinks.

The older boy takes his place against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, watching Jungkook with the same enthusiasm as one watches a child take its first steps. Jungkook, wiping the splatters of blood from his face, exhales and sniffles loudly before crawling towards his mother. He wraps his fingers around the silver scalpel from her throat and pull until her skull knocks back down to the floor with a thud. Bloods seeps from her wound down to his fingers and, with a sudden strength, Jungkook lodges the sharp end of the tool into her heart. She must have been partially alive as a throaty gasp makes its way out of her mouth.

Her blood is darker than he remembered from the many period-stained panties of hers he scrubbed with his hands over the kitchen sink. It looked like tar, thick and warm yet lightweight as it drenches his clothes. Remembering his state of undress, he curls his fingers around the waistband of his pants and pull it up towards his hips and over the scratches at his side.

Jungkook grasps the knife once more to push further and relishes in the feeling of it hitting bone. He realizes, with wonder, that his parents don’t even look like corpses in front of him but like puppets.

Maybe that’s how they saw him when they were alive – like a puppet they could throw around without a care knowing it’ll live and die under this roof.

Jungkook takes the knife and stumbles over to his father’s body with enthusiasm, puncturing the man’s stomach and dragging the knife up towards the breastbone. More tar-black blood seep into the flooring, flooding the horizontal bamboo until it ran underneath the drawers and the small shelf holding his textbooks in a neat stack. He grips the knife and plunges, again and again, into the side of the man’s head, gasping only slightly when the bone gives away with a small crack like a camera shutter.

Jungkook situates himself on his knees, heels digging into his buttocks, and looks down at his soaked hands resembling red gloves. He examines his nails, the cuticles darkening as the blood oxidizes in the swampy room. He blinks a few times, watching the red glow under the dim lightbulb above him.

He’s imagined this moment many times before in his fantasies, some much more exciting and drawn-out than what occurred like a fight scene from a Bruce Lee movie. But none of those fantasies included Taehyung coming to rescue him like he had many times before. None of these fantasies included such quick and boring deaths. He was hoping he could say everything he wanted to say to them, about how much he loathed them with all his heart, how much he wished he could watch them boil alive like an insect in a summer pond.

They probably knew but didn’t care.

Now that it’s over, now that there will no longer be screaming and tiring cycles of starvation and receiving the belt, Jungkook is rather grateful for Taehyung’s interruption. And he’s grateful that his best friend of years has never really hid his experience from him. Taehyung just merely waited for his slow brain to catch up.

There’s only one thing he could say as the room falls silent and still.

“Is this what happened to your grandpa too?”

It was with a sudden intuition that Jungkook asked such a question.

“This…and a little more.”

Jungkook slumps down to the floor, looking past his shoulder at Taehyung, silently motioning him to come hold him.

Reading the silence without hesitation, the older boy crawls forward and envelops him in his embrace, keeping him tucked beneath his chin as two hands grip the underside of his arms. He shields the boy’s gaze away from the bodies, knowing that the first time is always the most poignant despite him taking it so well.

“They’ll know it was us.”

Taehyung brushes Jungkook’s bangs back and tucks the ends behind his ear.

“They’ll find us even if we left.” Jungkook continues. Without looking, Taehyung can hear the pout in his voice.

“Are you worried?”

Jungkook nods, fingers palming the thick ropes of muscle beneath his grip.

“Don’t be,” Taehyung chuckles, his long fingers brushing over the small sensitive patch of skin just behind the boy’s earlobes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook decides to take a long, cold shower after ending the call with you. It concerns him that you sounded exhausted over the phone but he expected it anyway as you’ve been working far too much this week. Your voice, so soft and gentle, makes him semi-hard enough that he finds himself palming the length of his cock under the running water to relieve his frustrations. It had taken him a substantial amount of self-control to refrain from asking for more time in the bedroom these days. As sweet as you are allowing him to nestle inside you and nuzzle you when you were too tired and sleepy to move, your exhaustion ultimately lead him to tucking you in his arms and make sure you at least get some sleep. God, how he wishes for you to run your hands over his chest and arms now.

Jungkook twists the shower knob into the wall and ruffle his dripping hair. He slides the glass door to the left, heaving a soft sigh as he examines the surface of the tub, the toilet, and the sink. The smell of sanitizing lemon cleanser still lingers in the air but he knows the scent will be long gone by the time you’re back from work. Next to the polished sink, he prepared a small basket of bath supplies – jasmine-scented bath salts, dried flowers, and a heart-shaped sponge – for you to pamper yourself when you drag your feet through the front door looking like death. Work has been rough on you and he was more than happy to handle all the responsibilities at home that you sometimes habitually do.

He grabs the towel folded over the slightly rusted rack erected next to the shower curtain (he reminds himself to replace that) and wraps the fluffy material around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabs his cellphone just in time for it vibrates aggressively in his grip.

Head tilted to one side to make sure the moisture at the ends of his hair doesn’t drip on the surface, he answers the call with a smile.

“Tae!”

“Is she pregnant yet?”

Jungkook exhales softly, a smile dancing on his lips. The older Taehyung gets, the less he beats around the bush. “Not yet but she’ll be fertile next week, I think I’ll have better luck soon. How’ve you been? Jimin told me you were in Cuba…and Hong Kong too.”

He hears a sigh over the speakers and chews on his bottom lip. Oh, Jimin is going to get an earful for sure for blabbering his business around.

“I had to deal with a few people…listen,” his voice lowers suddenly, “has anyone approached you or your girlfriend recently?”

Jungkook walks into the bedroom, turning off the bathroom lights with his elbow on the way out. He sits at the edge of the bed, combing his hair back until the droplets trail down his spine and shoulder blades.

“Not that I know of,” he shakes his head, “why do you ask?”

When Taehyung doesn’t reply immediately, a pang of anxiety wraps his heart in a vice grip.

“I-is there someone after me?” He grips his phone.

A few thousand miles away, the older man shakes his head, re-evaluating what he needs to hide or reveal. He wants Jungkook to be prepared for emergencies but after discovering that this Kim Seokjin person is in the same city and, out of a strange coincidence that may not be a coincidence, worked in the same building as you, he’s come to a logical conclusion that makes the situation unpredictable. A basic background check tells him that Seokjin no longer works for the government nor does he have permission to access private health and criminal records of strangers. It explains why the man needed to contact Hoseok and Yoongi. The motive behind such an unethical behavior could also be because of you, Taehyung guesses when he scrolled through Seokjin’s social media profiles to see more than a few pictures of him and you at cocktail parties and birthday gatherings. It did not take much deduction to understand that Taehyung is staring at the jealous male figure that his closest friend complained of lingering around his precious noona. Perhaps the man is using unethical means to dig for the literal skeletons in Jungkook’s closet?

However, if Jungkook sees the man as a threat and if Seokjin has evidence in his possessions, why has neither of the men taken drastic action? Jungkook is far too immature (Taehyung admits) to not consider using his services to take care of a male threat. He seems unusually at peace with you now, leading Taehyung into a wall. If Jungkook isn’t truly threatened and if Seokjin hasn’t acted yet, the former agent is probably smart enough to realize you’re not worth the trouble of dealing with a criminal. The contents of Jungkook’s case must have scared him off. Yes, that’s it.

Taehyung mentally slaps himself on the forehead for not thinking through before calling and worrying the boy.

“Tae? Are you still there?”

That bug he planted in the software used to track juvenile criminal cases lent him more paranoia than relief. There were numerous times Jungkook and his files were accessed by agents that were actively filtering or attempting to study old cases to his annoyance. Maybe the pictures scared Seokjin off for good. Two weeks is too long of a wait to expose a man when there’s an abundance of evidence.

“You don’t have to worry. I was asking because someone messed up a shipment and my customer isn’t very happy. Sent some threats that sounded a little too serious than the usual.”

Jungkook exhales a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding. “…I mean…it sounded serious enough to worry you. Should I keep watch? Should I tell Jimin?”

“No, no need for that. I called to check, just in case. You know nothing is guaranteed in our line of work.”

The thought makes Jungkook upset. Nothing is guaranteed, but he hopes your devotion and Taehyung’s safety is. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without the both of you.

“Okay…” Jungkook looks down at his toes clenching into the floor. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong, right?”

To that, Taehyung replies quickly. “Of course. We’re brothers after all.”

He smiles to that, brushing his locks back and standing. He makes his way towards the closet, fishing out a pair of black sweatpants and a matching cashmere shirt.

Hearing the ruffle of clothes through the phone, Taehyung makes the decision not to tell you about Kim Seokjin after all. With the expectation of pregnancy and Jungkook’s proneness to jealousy, he didn’t need more work on his plate. Despite the brotherhood, they each had their own lives after all and constant surveillance of the past would do more harm than good, reopen wounds that have longed healed.

“I’m catching a flight, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” Jungkook beams. He suddenly looks forward to the day he’ll introduce Taehyung to you if there’s business that needs to be done in the city. “Bye, Tae-”

The doorbell rings, prompting Jungkook to turn towards the opening where he can see past the living room to partial front door. By the time the bell rings a second time, Taehyung has already dropped the call. Jungkook makes his way out of the bedroom slowly, keeping his feet light.

Taehyung has already reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. Being approached by someone seems unlikely if this customer of his had expressed similar threats in the past. Yet, somewhere in his gut, he couldn’t fight the feeling that there’s something he isn’t noticing. And the answer to that feeling might be on the other side of the door.

When he reaches the panel, he presses the button next to the monitor to reveal the image of a neatly dressed middle-aged woman carrying a small, wrapped box in her hands. He can tell just from her clothes that she belongs to this part of the town – her posture itself reflects wealth and respect.

It took a few more blinks until he realizes who he’s looking at.

Mother-in-law!

The door opens with a loud clang, causing the woman’s head to snap upwards at the tall man smiling down at her. She notes his damp hair and handsome features – doe eyes, a button nose, pink shapely lips and aristocratic cheekbones. You sure know how to pick your men.

“Are you…Jungkook?” The woman inquires.

He nods eagerly, stepping to the side. “Yes, you’re noona’s mother, right? Please come in.”

He notices the hesitation followed by a pair of Celine heels clicking against the polished floors. He mentally rewards himself for dedicating the morning to polish the bathroom, the kitchen, and the parquet. The house smells a bit like lemon but the balcony carried the scent of orange blossoms that masked the unpleasant sharp notes of artificial fruit.

The woman’s eyes move across the living room, eyebrows slightly raised as if she was bracing herself to witness a pig sty instead of a home.

“What time does she get off work?”

Jungkook closes the door and hovers an arm across her back to lead her towards the sofa. She’s about the same height as you, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. He silently hopes the furniture doesn’t smell like sweat as he’s been melting there with the television on for the first half of the afternoon.

“A-about nine, she’s been working overtime for this week.” His knees hit the side of the couch but any hint of pain is overridden with the need to impress. “Please take a seat, I’ll bring you some water.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, although the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jungkook backs slowly towards the kitchen and then jogs to the fridge, yanking the door open and fetching a cool bottle of water. His hands shake when he fishes a glass from the dish rack, making sure he chose the glass without the uneven bottom. He should have refunded the entire set months ago when it came with such a frustrating defect.

He quickly pours into the cup and wipes any stray droplets on the side of the glass with the back of his hand. She thanks him under her breath when he sets the cup in front of her with a wooden coaster propped underneath. She takes the glass in her hands and take a small sip, smacking her lips together as if she’s tasting wine.

Jungkook struggles to look for the right words to say.

“I brought marinated crabs,” she thrusts the neatly packed box towards him, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Jungkook’s smile couldn’t have been any larger as he takes the wrapped box from her with both hands. “Thank you so much…I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared. I wasn’t aware you were coming.”

At that, your mother clears her throat. “I came to talk to you about my daughter. Without her knowing, you see. I’m sure you know we…haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.”

Jungkook nods, placing the box on the table and gathering his hands in his lap. Despite keeping close watch on your every move, he’s kept in the dark about your family situation. He only remembers you shaking with laughter and tears when hearing about your mother maintaining close ties with the Kim family after what happened. Even though the woman hurts for her daughter, financial ties are hard to break.

“…Yes, I’m aware.”

The older woman sighs softly, dragging her gaze across Jungkook’s expression and posture. The boy certainly is polite but it was obvious he was not from the kind of world you’re from. She can tell by the way he fidgets and seem too eager to please; it was endearing but also pathetic to watch. He’s extremely sweet and charming – she admits – and overwhelmingly so. Unlike Namjoon, he seems to be much more expressive and sensitive.

She can understand why you took such a liking to him, why you could overlook the not-so-pleasant behavior that reveals his poor upbringing.

“I wanted to come to tell you…I found someone for her.”

He smiles, not understanding the woman for a few moments until her solemn eyes met his. He can feel his belly clenching as his stomach drops. He must have misheard, that’s it. “I-I’m sorry?”

Your mother takes another sip from her glass, looking around the house once more, as if she were stalling time, before planting her eyes on Jungkook’s appalled expression. She seems guilty, at least, that she’s said such a thing to the boy although she’s never once held a high opinion of him.

“I’ve been looking for a suitable partner for her.” She continues. “I am aware she is rightfully upset with me and she won’t listen to me, much less talk. I know she was seeing several men before she became…serious with you.”

Jungkook can feel his stomach churning.

“You must know by now what kind of family she comes from. There are some…things that are expected of her to respect our traditions. I know it’s entirely unfair of me to-”

Jungkook stands, turning away from her as he brings a hand up to his mouth. His temples pulse with nausea as her voice grows louder.

“-come here and ask for you to understand! What you did to Namjoon did irreversible damage to my daughter’s reputation and as a mother,” she shakes her head from side to side, “I can no longer sit still and watch her make a terrible mistake”

“I…” Jungkook starts, his heart hammering in his chest. “What I did to him…I would never do to noona. I’d never hurt her o-or even think about doing such a thing.”

The woman sighs, her eyes devoid of warmth. “I know, darling. I do trust that the incident happened because you were protecting her feelings. I can appreciate your sentient. However,…she’s my only child. As a mother…as her only parent…I have to make sure she’s on the right path.”

Jungkook turns, his eyes glazed as he bores into the box sitting on the couch. This wasn’t a present given for pleasantries, it was brought to cushion her true intentions.

“Jungkook…” The woman stands to stretch her arms out and hold Jungkook’s hands under her warm palms. He’s paralyzed, whether or not it’s from her insulting logic or from her general disapproval of him, she doesn’t care to know.

“I’m not your enemy. I know you love my daughter, I’ve heard of how much you’ve taken care of her. Please understand that-”

His ears are ringing. Jungkook can feel himself shrinking under her gaze. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry because he knows, deep down, how incompatible he is with you considering the two very different lives you both have led. Did you phone your mother for the first time in months behind his back after he told you about his past? Did you pretend to be okay even if it scared you?

It’s like your mother reached into his core and pulled every shred of insecurity he carried within him. Every night for the last few months, he felt like he was given permission to consume the forbidden fruit that is you, knowing there are consequences to his consumption. Your devotion, your promises, your endless compassion towards him – is it all going to turn into a mirage?

He knows since the very beginning that in many ways he’s incomparable to Namjoon and even some of your rebound lovers he had the displeasure of following around. A glance at a man’s wristwatch and he could tell whether they belonged to your world or not. Jungkook can only hope that the struggles he’d faced would give him the leverage others don’t have. He is willing to risk it all for you and make sure you won’t ever have to experience a single morsel of pain he’d endured.

“Can you give me a chance?” Jungkook pleads, voice small.

Suddenly, anger flashes across your mother’s face but as quick as it came, it disappeared. He could tell she was struggling to keep herself in check after several months of you ignoring her calls, her incessant demands to maintain the family image, and the burn of needing to sneak around your schedule to reach your new apartment herself. It’s the pent-up frustration of having the family pride stepped on again and again by you that has led her to this moment.

If he were your guardian, he’d also be worried too. He can forgive your mother just as he had forgiven you many times.

“A chance?” She fumes.

Jungkook nods. “I promise I won’t disappoint you…I-I have a business and I’m more than willing to be the sole provider-”

The woman’s hand tighten around his relaxed fists.

“Jungkook,” she grits. “You are not hearing me. I don’t want her marrying into a family out of our circle. We have an established tradition of-”

Jungkook scoffs, ripping his hands away. “No, ma’am. You are not hearing me.”

Her eyebrows come together as her foundation-covered wrinkles deepen with a frown. She watches Jungkook walk across the living room to the hanging picture of you and your father. You were a mere child then, staring naively up at your late father with wonder as your little fists reach up to take the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

Digging his hands inside his pocket and running his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he turns to the woman.

“I’m asking for a chance because I’ve already decided to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

#bunny:fic #yandere bts #yandere fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan angst #bangtan smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #only you #chapter 8 #i had to make a super hard decision to take out the smut that I wrote like over a thousand words for *WHEEEZEEEEE*#there will be smut in OY9 tho i GUARANTEE #pls don't come for me with pitchforks lmfao

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minerstatus · 3 years

Text

Teyvat’s School for the Gifted

Summary: He's cruel, mean, and sadistic. Lumine cannot fathom why he has the followers he does, but she won't fall into his hands like the rest of them. It was unknown to her at that time how such a stance would cause the biggest uproar the schools ever seen.

This is the silly drama filled high school/college parody AU nobody asked for filled with Lumine not giving a shit and Childe trying to buy his way out of problems.

Ship: Lumine/Childe

Tags: Highschool AU, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Jealousy, lots of side ships.

Status: 5/? on Ao3

Chapter 1

The school located on an island inside the neutral zones between nations is a blessing for anyone without a swimming pool filled with mora. Without money you have to be gifted a vision to attend. That is why Lumine thought she would never be accepted to such a place. Instead cursed to live her life on a small farm on the outskirts of Mondstadt, killing small monsters for money to aid her ailing mother.

She had become quite the prodigy around the area. Her sword work was nothing to be trifled with. Some would even gush about what it would be like if she did have a vision. Then it happened, a strange string of life changing events.

She enjoyed spending her free time sitting under the statue of the seven in windrise. It gave her a reprieve from her day-to-day life of school, killing, then sleep. She polished her blade most days she sat there, enjoying the sounds of the wilderness around her.

As she sheathed her blade, wistfully thinking about what it would be like to magically summon and desummon it as a vision user, a light began to shine behind her. There was a flash, she thought maybe a vision might appear in front of her. But this was no test or life changing event. It didn’t make sense.

Wind surrounded her body, lifting her skit in the breeze. She turned, it followed with her. She lifted her hand as a power surged through her. A burst of wind jetted from her palm and sliced across the water. It trimmed the tops off the over grown grasses lining the ponds edge. The wind died down and left her for elsewhere as the light slowly faded out of existence.

Befuddled, she stared at the palms of her hands. She felt a power emanating from her core. With a trembling arm she raised her palm again, calling forth on the energy. It darted from her as before. Shocked, she tried it again and again, smiling gleefully with each blast of wind. She twirled around, searching for her vision, but came up empty.

That is how the first visionless anemo user was born. At first people didn’t believe her. Delusions were not unknown to the common folk of Teyvat. They were a staple favorite of the mafia families across the regions. But she quickly smashed those theories to pieces. Not only was she a poor farm girl fighting to survive, but where on earth would she have the money to afford such a thing. She allowed an inspection of her things and a pat down to prove it.

After the authorities decided that she did not have a vision she was free to do as she wished. That was until the head master of Teyvat’s school for the gifted showed up on her doorstep. The scholarship she was offered would give more money to her mother per month than she could in six months of hunting. She took it without question.

That’s how she ended up here, gawking at the building in front of her. The school defied the rumors. Statues carved from marble, fountains that defied gravity, even the wood it was built from looked impossibly expensive. Heck, the wildlife looked like they ate from golden platters.

The only thing that held her from running right back to the boat was a woman pinning her down with a chemically assisted cheerful gaze. A shiver ran up her spine as she waved her over. She obliged only because her eyes looked a hair away from snapping into crazy land.

“Welcome to Teyvat’s finest Lumine!” She cheered and began to clap.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, intimidated by her nature. She looked like a robot. Sleek black hair, not a strand out of place. Perfectly pressed blazer and pencil skirt in matching shades. Her glasses glistening in the sunlight, even if they were just plain black frames. She hoped not everyone in this school looked or felt this way.

“Follow me and I'll take you to your dorm. Then it’s a trip around campus!” She quipped then turned on her heel. Even her footsteps were a perfect tempo.

They walked through the faculty building, which thankfully looked normal inside. The site quelled her turning stomach. It was into the garden next that, as expected, looked immaculate. They even had a massive sand garden. Back in Mondstadt something like that would be destroyed in seconds.

Eventually they came upon another wooden building with a large ‘girls’ over it. The woman stopped and spun so fast on her heel Lumine almost let out small scream.

“This is the girl's dorm; your roommates are waiting for you inside with your things. I'll be back in thirty minutes for the rest of the tour,” she said, smile never once faltering as she left Lumine to her own devices.

Her roommates were nice, they greeted her in the common room just as her guide stated. Amber was a bit too enthusiastic for just about anything. Barbara was a very cheerful girl but was more reserved. It was a breath of fresh air to see two friendly faces. They led her to their dorm to get settled.

“So, what do you think?” Amber asked as Lumine began to unpack her luggage. Placing her uniforms carefully into her small closet along with her own casual clothing. Her own things almost felt dirty comparted to the schools uniform she was provided. And the room was much bigger than what she expected from a dormitory.

“It's overwhelming,” She admitted.

“You'll get used to it,” Amber laughed.

“Are you?” Lumine began to ask.

“Scholarship,” Amber answered, holding up her vision, “They keep the poor kids together so we don’t infect the rich kids.” She laughed.

“Hey!” Barbara yelled at her. Lips pointing into a pout.

“Except for Barbara, she requested to room with me. She's the exception.” Amber smiled at her friend.

“So, it's exactly how I thought it would be,” Lumine grumbled. This school was probably dripping with rich kids causing trouble for the normal folk, like she expected.

“Some of the students are alright, indifferent you might say. But there are,” Amber held up her hands as air quotes, “those types.”

“Will you guys be in my classes?” She asked.

“Nope, third years!”

Lumine felt her insides twist. Great, now she would be alone on her first day. At least her dorm would be nice. Amber was warm and friendly and Barbara seemed sweet even if she wasn’t talking as much. The pair would only be a year below her so they were still close in age. Hopefully she wouldn’t be moved to another dorm with the ‘adults’ if she attends the next four years after this one.

“You don’t want to be in our year anyways,” Barbara laughed.

“Whys that?” Lumine felt a small smile form for the first time since she set foot on the island. Barbara wiggled her eyebrows and gleamed over at Amber. She turned red in response and threw a pillow at her.

“Stop! Its not my fault!” She shouted.

“It’s gross the way he drools over his desk for you,” Barbara added.

“Mind filling me in?” Lumine asked.

“No!” Amber shouted.

“She has this wolf boy that follows her around and causes trouble. Its adorable,” Barbara said anyways.

“I didn’t ask for it he just did it!” Amber defended herself.

“It's like a comedy slash horror show every day,” Barbara giggled.

“Stop teasing me,” Amber whined.

“Wolf boy?” Lumine asked. Mondstadt had a steady population of people descendant of shape shifters or animals, but she had never seen a wolf before. Most of them were cats. Granted, she did keep to herself and didn’t really mix with the town folk, even at school.

“Half werewolf, half human, grew up in the wild before coming here earlier in the year,” Amber explained.

“He can smell everything, it's awful,” Barbara moaned, “one time I tried to bring some leftovers from lunch and he almost ripped apart my bag looking for it.”

“Sounds like a nice boyfriend,” Lumine said, hiding her smile as she sorted items into her desk drawers. Amber gasped from behind her. She swallowed a laugh.

“H-he's not my boyfriend!” She yelled. Lumine busted and began to giggled along with Barbara. She was interested in seeing the exchanges between the two now.

“Very funny guys, I'll make sure to make fun of your pain in suffering next time I get the chance.” Amber crossed her arms.

“Alright I'll stop,” Barbara waved her hand at her. A sharp knock on the door quickly soured the cheerful mood. The door swung open and Lumine’s guide walked in.

“Fantastic, I'm so glad you are getting along with your new housemates. We must complete the tour now.” The woman said, still as cheerful as ever. Lumine noticed Barbara and Ambers shoulders fell on her entrance. “I'll be waiting out front,” she chirped and left.

“God, Mrs.Lee always gives me the creeps,” Amber said.

“Glad it's not just me,” Lumine laughed as she stood.

“Good luck! See you at dinner,” Amber waved as Lumine exited the room. She heard faint whispers of gossip as she left but knew it was nothing bad, those girls didn’t have a mean bone in them.

They walked around campus and Lumine slowly became accustomed to the wildly expensive taste. She was shown the inside of the year one through four buildings, for the fourteen-to-eighteen-year old's. Then the outside of the adult facilities. Mrs. Lee assured the only real difference between the two was the uniform requirement and some extra freedoms.

After taking the tour she felt less overwhelmed, but it was the final stop that really cemented the reality most of the students lived in. It was the cafeteria of the school, but should have been classified as a food court. There was the line for the scholarship students where they could use one of three free meal tickets per day, or a snack coupon, all loaded onto her school ID. Wich was normal, same thing that she had in Mondstadt, minus the dinner.

What was different was the restaurants lining the walls. Everything you could imagine from each region on tap. And the prices were nothing to scoff at. A Fishermans toast was going for ten thousand mora, she could make that for less than three hundred back home. Lines scaled out to the isles as students waited, eager to be robbed for food.

“Lumine!” A familiar voice shouted. She sighed in relief. A distraction to this insanity was required right about now. She carried her tray adorned with less appetizing food from the school over to the table Amber sat at.

“This place is crazy,” Lumine sighed in exhaustion.

“My first day I ran away,” Amber laughed. She placed a spoon full of mac and cheese into her mouth.

“Those prices are more than I make in three weeks back home,” She said as she began to eat. Pleasantly surprised that even the free food was delectable. The pasta was perfectly cooked, cheese sauce an ideal creamy texture. She moved on to nibble at her cookie, baked expertly with a crispy outside and a gooey center. “God,” she murmured, savoring the taste.

“I told you, you get used to it,” Amber smiled sweetly. A book bag slamming down on the table instantly cleared her face. She looked up to see what she assumed was the wolf boy from earlier discussions. Lumine wondered why Amber felt it was bad to have his attention. He was attractive, silver hair and red eyes, giving him an exotic look. His arms were coated in scars and a massive one gashed his face, not a bad look if your into that type. Some of the girls back home would swoon over the attention.

“Why,” She groaned as he pulled out a seat, pushing it right up against hers as he sat a plate of meat and potatoes down. It must have been one of the free creature meals from the school line. He sat, making sure he was as close as physically possible to her.

Okay, maybe that’s why. Lumine began to understand.

He tilted his head like a new puppy, “Why?” He asked, voice thick with an unknown accent.

“We talked about this,” She shoved his chair away. “This is Razor,” She sighed as he sunk into his chair to pout. Lumine nodded and greeted him with a smile.

“I bought brownies!” Barbara sang as she skipped over to the table, “For our new friend,” She handed out the sweets, “And beef jerky for you,” She said as she handed Razor a slim piece of dried meat. He perked up and took it, chewing on it greedily. After the experience with the cookie Lumine thought the food couldn’t get better. But the brownie was smooth decadent layers of velvet chocolate that melted in her mouth. She had to suppress a groan.

There was a pickup of chatter in the room that pulled her from her chocolate induced fantasy. She looked towards the entrance of the café where a group of boys walked in. They were followed by a gaggle of other students, mostly female, all adorned with an expensive accessory or more.

Lumine was an honest person and she did not deny to herself that these boys looked like royalty. They walked with an air of confidence even through the crowd, knowing that the sea of students would part for them. She counted each of their visions, anemo, geo, cryo and hydro. There was a distinct leader to the group out of the four. A redhead who wore his vision on his belt, showing it off by messily tucking in half of his unkept shirt. Like he wanted people to see it, unlike the rest of them that wore them on chains by their side, as did everyone else in the school.

“Don't stare,” Amber hissed. Lumine snapped her eyes to her friends.

“Who are they?” She asked. Amber eyed her wearily before divulging the information.

“Sons of the school's elite,” She glanced back at the group to ensure they were distracted with food or girls before continuing, “The shorter one with green hair is Xiao, the son of the wangshu inn owner. The geo looking guy is Zhongli from the Wangsheng funeral parlor. Blue hair is Kaeya, one of the sons from the dawn winery.” Amber stopped speaking as she got to the last subject. Lumine quirked a brow as both Barbara and Amber swiveled their heads to check on the group again.

“It's not really them you should be weary of though; besides Xiao they are nice. Xiao has always had a stick up his butt,” Barbara added to the conversation.

“Then what is it, why are we acting like we are defusing a bomb?” Lumine asked.

“It's Childe, the redhead,” Amber whispered.

“Childe? That’s a dumb name,” Lumine thought out loud. The girls hissed at her to keep her voice down.

“He smells mean,” Razor added. Amber pulled on his ear.

“I told you not to talk about him,” She growled at him. He grasped her hand in his, forcing her to release.

“But you are!” he argued.

“Thats because we are warning her!” Amber explained. Razors eyes darted from Ambers to Lumines and he resigned himself back to his half-eaten steak.

Amber rolled her eyes and turned back to Lumine, “It’s not his real name, no one even knows his real name.”

“Childe is an awful nickname,” She whispered back to her friend.

“He’s mean, and evil, once he has you in his sights there's no stopping it.” Amber warned her.

“What about his friends? Don’t they say something?” She asked.

“They are rich, us poor folk don’t matter to them even if they act cordial towards us,” Amber told her as she leaned back, “Besides you don’t have a vision, he will probably just ignore you.”

Lumine widened her eyes, “well...” She felt a tint come to her cheeks, “Actually...”

Amber slammed her fists on the table, “NO WAY! YOUR THAT GIRL!” she screamed. Drawing the attention of half the students.

“Show us!” Barbara insisted.

“Ah, I don’t think now is the best time.” Lumine tried to quell her friend's voices but both girls were oblivious to the attention they were attracting. She glanced over at the red head she was warned about to make sure he was still entranced at whatever activity he had chosen.

“Awh comon I wanna see!” Amber whined.

“First anemo user in history without a vision! Don’t hold out on us!” Barbara added.

“Fine! Just stop yelling at me,” Lumine finally conceded. She put her palm face up on the table and gathered a small amount of wind to it. It tinted green with her power as it swirled into a miniature tornado in her palm.

“This is so cool!” Amber gasped.

“It's the same as anyone else,” Lumine said, closing her hand to cease the wind. She was more than a bit tired of people going ballistic over her powers.

“Let's get back to the dorms,” Amber suggested, “We have much to talk about,” She smiled gleefully. Razor whimpered next to her, “fine you can come too,” She sighed. Razor looked up with a beaming smile.

“Boys are allowed in the girls dorms?” Lumine asked as they gathered their trays and bags.

“Only until eight with a strict open-door policy,” Barbara told her.

She hummed in response as the group made their way over to the trash bins. Eyes were on her now, some searching for a vision trinket she didn’t possess. She was the last one out the door when a chill tingled down her spin. She grabbed the back of her neck and turned, expecting a cryo user to be standing there with a smirk on their face.

Instead, she was greeted with sea blue eyes cutting through the crowd. He smirked when they made eye contact. The chill went down her entire body. She glared as the door to the building swung shut, cutting them off.

Shit.

#chilumi #childe #lumine #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction

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sortasirius · 3 years

Text

Programing The Winter Soldier

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, heavy angst, this is seriously big sad hours

AN: This is so very sad and I definitely cried writing it lmao. I love Bucky Barnes so much.

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Words: 3873

Read it on AO3 here

January 23, 1945

General,

Sgt. Barnes has undergone an initial mind wipe. Dr. Zola has succeeded in attaching the weapon to his shoulder. He has been put in the cryo-chamber as a test, and after some initial pain it looks as though it has worked.

We will begin reprogramming shortly.

Longing

Bucky wakes up in pain. His arm hurts. After a few moments of long, deep breaths where he decides he’s not, in fact, dead, he tries, experimentally, to move his fingers. To his relief, he finds he can, but something feels different, wrong. The clicking in his index finger, from where he had broken it when he was twelve defending Steve from some guy he had tried to fight in an alley after the creep had tried to grab at a woman on the street, was gone. The pain is gone there too, in fact he can’t feel anything below the burning where his shoulder meets something cold, something foreign.

He tries to look around, but it’s pitch black wherever he is. It’s also brutally fucking cold. He shivers violently, trying to get away from whatever cold metal is touching his skin, but no matter how far he leans, he can’t seem to get away from it.

Suddenly, without warning, fluorescent lights above him burst into life, and Bucky screws his eyes up against the sudden brightness. Blinking away the mild pain, he sees a man he vaguely recognizes coming toward him. He’s a shorter man, wearing round glasses…

Like another switch flipped, Bucky suddenly remembers this man, remembers a saw taken to the shattered remains of his arm, remembers being tied down, with a rag stuffed in his mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue. He remembers the arm that doesn’t belong to him attached to his left side. He remembers throwing someone across the room as though he was weightless.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the man looks him up and down, ignoring the way Bucky shied openly away from his gaze, “Let us begin.”

They don’t release Bucky from the restraints while the doctor, Zola, measures him from head to toe, has him flex his new arm, takes his blood pressure and heart rate, checks him for infection. He only occasionally stops to speak to an assistant, who all keep their distance from Bucky, or say something in German to a soldier watching everything. He makes Bucky watch a grainy video of ever-changing shapes, and sticks him painfully with a needle whenever he tries to look away.

“Now Sergeant,” Zola addresses him after nearly an hour of poking and prodding, “Can you tell me a memory of yours?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider, just says the first thing that comes into his brain. Whatever this guy wants, it’s going to be easiest to just give it to him.

“Steve and I were walking along Rockaway beach two years ago. I remember it was nearly dusk, summer, we were watching the sunset and Steve brought some bread to feed the birds. I remember they were swarming us, you show them any kind of food and they all come swooping in. Steve kept laughing because they were trying to land on me. I remember the smile on his face and his eyes matched the water. It was the first time he really laughed since his mother had died. He told me later that he really needed that laugh.”

Zola looks at one of his assistants and gestures to the red book on the table next to him.

“First word: Longing.”

March 10, 1945

General,

We have had limited success reprogramming Barnes so far. Zola has been working extensively with him, and while we are now seeing less incidents of outward aggression to staff or soldiers, his rate of noncompliance has skyrocketed.

Please advise on any alternate methods we should attempt.

Rusted

Bucky tries not to think about his new normal, but the repetition of each day makes that difficult.

Each morning, he’s awoken by a prison alarm and the instantaneous switching on of all the lights in his cell, followed immediately by his first meal of the day served through a slot in the door. Steel door, reinforced, at least four feet thick. Even the new arm doesn’t make much of a dent in it, though he’s tried. God knows, he’s tried.

After breakfast he’s led to the combat cage where he meets with Zola, before being led through drills that he must comply with. Noncompliance leads to pain. Stepping out of line leads to pain. Not eating leads to pain. Not answering a question leads to pain. His whole life revolves around inflicting pain and trying not to get pain inflicted on him.

On bad days, when he’s been too slow or asked one too many questions, they wipe him before lunch. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. There is nothing else to say. It’s beyond unbearable.

On good days, they’d give him lunch and Zola would run his usual tests. Ask him about a memory, ask him about his family, his parents, his sister, his friends. For some reason, it always came back to Steve. Every time, no matter how Bucky tried to steer his brain away from him, it always came back to Steve.

This time he tells Zola about an old motorcycle they had rescued from the junkyard one summer. It was more scrap metal than anything, rusted out from the wind and the rain and the New York winter it had suffered through outdoors, but they had scraped together pennies from odd jobs and had gotten it to run again. It was a blast, to go zipping through the streets of Brooklyn in the dead of night, looking for trouble or whatever they could find, having to stop what felt like every ten minutes to fix some part that had fallen off or sprung a leak. A total hassle, but totally worth it.

After his tests, Zola would send him back to the unnamed soldier who was responsible for his physical activity, this time to put him against enemies. In the beginning, Bucky would refuse to fight them, but in his new quest of not putting himself through more pain if he could help it, he had started obeying the commands given to him, even if that meant using the strange attachment to his body that he hated looking at, that was welded to his skin, the burned and tortured flesh above it just a reminder that he used to be fully human.

After his second round of drills, they either send him to bed and give him dinner an hour later, or they put him in cryo. He longs for the cold metal of the room they keep him in on the nights when he goes to cryo.

It’s the same every single day.

Zola starts saying a new word to him: Rusted.

May 7, 1945

General,

After three weeks, Barnes’ hunger strike has ended. He can barely stand anymore, let alone lift the arm, but he is willing to eat. Zola has suggested that we put him back in cryo and get his weight up so he can at least stand. Your suggestion of a controlled shock each time he refused to eat worked perfectly, we always appreciate your input in the construction of our new weapon.

Seventeen

They let him out of cryo after what they tell him is four weeks. When he looks down at himself, he can’t see his ribs or the sharp definition of his hipbones anymore. They make sure he can stand, that he can punch, that he can shoot a gun. They work on the strength of the punch. Zola is angry that it’s been weakened.

The hunger strike was a stupid idea, it was too much like what Steve would have done, and Bucky would never be Steve, or be with Steve, no matter how much he would like to.

His body is littered with burn marks from the shocks they gave him when he wouldn’t eat, and Bucky winces at the memory of the pain, the memory of his body seizing up and being outside his control. He supposes he should be used to the out-of-control thing by now, but he isn’t, he can’t, because then he’d really have lost.

Bucky hates cryo, he hates cryo almost more than he hates the mind wipe, because at least when his mind was wiped he could still dream. They couldn’t control what he dreamed about, and they didn’t know what he dreamed about. Rather, they never asked him what he dreamed about, therefore they didn’t know.

Bucky thinks about his last dream, the one where he and Steve were on a beach somewhere. Not the Northeast, somewhere tropical, maybe California. They have their toes in the sand and Steve remarks that the sand is so hot here, how do people walk on sand this hot?

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola breaks him out of his thoughts, “Tell me why you stopped eating.”

Bucky looks up at him, he’s so tired. He doesn’t want to fight anymore but he has to, the skinny little kid from Brooklyn with blue eyes and a blinding smile would want him to.

“When I was seventeen my family couldn’t afford food for the week,” the words pour out of him of their own volition, and he’s too tired to stop them, “Dad was out of work, we were desperate. Steve and his mom brought over dinner and made us keep the leftovers. It was a pot roast, best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want to be a weapon. I don’t want to be your weapon.”

Zola leans back and considers him. A smile spreads across his face.

“What you want doesn’t matter. It never did.”

Bucky wants to hit him with the weapon on his left. He wants it more than anything. But he can’t. He’s not allowed. He really just is a lapdog for them now.

Zola adds a word the next day: Seventeen.

June 15, 1945

General,

It has been noted recently that Barnes is unwilling to lash out or attack any combatants that fit the following profile: blond, blue eyes, male. Zola has insisted this weakness is an asset in his reprogramming and that it will not last. We have brought in two soldiers that match this profile at Zola’s request, I will report any findings.

Daybreak

He’s not Steve, Bucky tells himself over and over as the handsome blond solider smiles at him when he brings him his dinner. They open the door now, just so Bucky can see the man clearly, just so he can see his smile and the slight edge to his light blue eyes. They’re lighter than Steve’s but something in Bucky simply doesn’t care anymore. The eyes were wrong but they were something he could cling to. The hair was just a shade too dark but it reminded him of a different time. The smile was just a little too wide, but he remembered one that was a little softer, a little more slanted.

“I remember watching the sun rise in Germany during the war,” Bucky tells Zola blankly in their meeting that day, so used to the stab of the needle in his skin that he doesn’t even feel it, “Steve told me his favorite time of day was this early in the morning, right at daybreak. He told me that before, too, before he was Captain America, but we got to just sit quietly and watch it, watch the colors. I don’t remember them.”

“Very good,” Zola stands, beckoning to the blond solider to take Bucky to his next assignment.

Bucky walks along silently, head held high as he approaches the cage, where a larger soldier is waiting for him, outfitted head to toe in combat gear. Shouldn’t be a problem.

“Soldat,” Zola stares through the bars of the combat cage minutes later, where Bucky has paused, fist raised above the quivering man in front of him, “Don’t hesitate, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your audience.”

Bucky looks over to Zola, the blond soldier who smiled at him the night before is watching.

Zola’s right, he can’t disappoint him.

“New word,” Zola mutters as Bucky straightens up, shaking his hand to get rid of the red on the metal knuckles, “Daybreak.”

July 4, 1945

General,

Barnes had an unfortunate breakthrough during today’s training. He seemed to remember something from prior to his fall and was unable to complete the mission set in front of him. I am becoming frustrated with Zola, he insists that this is all part of the process, that to break a man down there will be moments of pure weakness, but Barnes is looking less and less like the man we thought he was.

Furnace

Steve is the only thing he thinks of when he has a clear mind anymore.

He doesn’t remember little details of his memory anymore, but he remembers Steve. He doesn’t remember his birthday, but he knows when Steve’s is. He doesn’t remember the smell of spring in Central Park, but he remembers the way Steve wore newspapers in his shoes. No matter what, he knows Steve.

Zola knows this, he uses it against him. Every day, the talks get longer, the punishments get more painful, and the amount of times he’s wiped go up.

“Tell me a memory,” it feels like Zola’s asked this a thousand times now.

“Steve’s furnace in his building broke last winter. We had him over for two weeks until the landlord could be bothered to fix it. Mom loves him so much, she would have him around all the time if he’d let her. He always thinks he can do everything himself.”

“You speak of him as if he’s here. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth.

Zola adds Furnace to the list of Bucky’s words. He can feel himself slipping away every time they’re uttered.

August 12, 1945

General,

Thank you for your visit last week. Your insight into our project is much appreciated. I agree that we must continue to press on, we have no put so much man power and energy into the project it would be a shame to shut it down now. Zola believes that we are close to a breakthrough, despite occasional noncompliance by Barnes.

Nine

It’s starting to get harder and harder to fight against the constant onslaught of change they were forcing on his mind.

He can’t dream anymore, so the cryo chamber at least lets him rest, because the only dreams he has are dark and shadowy. He’s losing his already tenuous grip on himself, his memories becoming indistinct, with only a few bright spots left to cling to in his mind.

“Tell me a memory.”

It takes him a second to think of one. He cowers as Zola stands over him.

“When I was nine we went on a field trip to the Met. Steve made me read all the little cards next to the paintings, even though it made us lag behind everyone else.”

“Do you still think of him?”

Always.

“No.”

“Good. Add Nine.”

September 1, 1945

General,

Zola chose to move forward with giving Barnes the news of Steve Rogers’ death last week. So far, it has proven an excellent tactic in breaking his resolve. After an initial disruption in his usual pattern of behavior (consisting of a violent outburst that left his entire holding cell destroyed followed by a complete emotional collapse), Barnes has been much more compliant in the process.

I believe we may be close to a breakthrough.

Benign

Bucky has been unmade, strand by strand, bit by bit, atom by atom, he has been unmade and put back together for the purposes of following orders, of being a human weapon of mass destruction. There has been so much pain in his unmaking, so much unrelenting physical and mental pain from being ripped apart and put back together over and over and over again.

And yet, none of that pain was like the pain of knowing that Steve Rogers was dead.

Bucky would take it all over again, spend a thousand lifetimes in this room, in the cell, in the combat cage, in the cryo chamber, having his mind wiped like a problem on a chalkboard just so he could unlearn that Steve was dead.

Zola is the one that tells him. He shows him a newspaper in English, then Russian, then German, all with the same headline: Captain America Dead!

Bucky feels like a feather caught in a windstorm, torn to shreds by the whipping downdraft of mother nature’s power, by the power of his own grief.

Bucky knows better than to move while Zola is in the room, but the second that he leaves, the rage, red, blind, hot, overtakes him, and he uses the weapon attached to him, which has become a part of him, to destroy everything he can. The metal table, reinforced with steel, comes apart like wet paper in his hand. He destroys the sink, leaving nothing but powdered ceramic and plumbing hookups behind. He gouges marks into the walls with his fingers, he slams his arm onto the floor. And then? He collapses in the middle of the cold metal room with his cold metal arm, just a cold metal soldier who’s lost the only reason he wanted to get out of here, to stay who he was.

“Come on Buck, we don’t have to do this.”

“When was the last time we snuck into a Dodgers game? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pausing as they waited to cross the street to cough into his jacket. Bucky, almost subconsciously pats his jacket pockets. Good, he’s got an extra one of Steve’s inhalers in case it’s a bad night for his asthma.

“Come on Steve,” Bucky nudges his shoulder as they approach the stadium, “I know it’s been hard recently, but hey, at least we have baseball.”

Steve laughs at that, and gives Bucky an almost radiant smile. Whatever it was, it makes Bucky feel like he has the sun in his chest.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a date,” Steve jokes as they sneak in behind an older couple, heading up to their favorite spot to watch the game.

“Who says it isn’t?” Bucky is glad his face is hidden in shadow as they make their way up the stairs of the stadium to the very back row, “But don’t think I’m gonna buy you a hotdog or anything.”

“Come on, what kind of girl pays for her own hotdog?” Steve winks at him, and Bucky can’t hide his wide smile at the words that settle themselves right in the middle of his beating heart.

“Soldat. Stand up,” Zola’s voice comes through the speaker, and Bucky can’t comply, he tries, but he’s crushed by the weight of the loss of Steve Rogers, the only person that could pull him out of this, that could undo the work of HYDRA that had been inflicted on his mind and body.

He hears the stomping of boots outside the door, but he still can’t stand, he still can’t make himself be the good lapdog he’s supposed to be. He’s broken, empty, unusable, unloveable.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, not even thinking about fighting as the soldiers pull him up to standing.

Zola’s voice comes over the little speaker they have in the room, the one that Bucky couldn’t reach to rip to pieces.

“Next word: Benign”

October 29, 1945

General,

Zola had a long conversation with Barnes today. The loss of Steve Rogers is still affecting him. Zola tells me he has a plan, that our work is almost finished.

Homecoming

They take him to the combat cage again. There’s someone waiting for him.

“We have a test for you today,” Zola swings the door open, and he sees that it’s the blond soldier who reminds him of Steve, tied up and bound and already bloody.

Bucky takes a step forward, staring at the terrified man. He feels something, he can’t identify what it is.

“Tell me a memory.”

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of the soldier as he speaks.

“When Steve brought us back from the HYDRA base, they called it our homecoming. I wasn’t used to him yet, him being taller than me, being okay with being the center of attention. I wasn’t used to him being different. But sometimes I saw flashes of the old Steve, when he looked at me, when he was drawing on a scrap of a napkin, when he made a joke that everyone laughed at. And then, sometimes I thought he forgot about me. He didn’t need me anymore.”

He looks down at the soldier.

“Kill him, soldat,” Zola tells him, “You don’t need him. You never did.”

The cowering blond soldier might as well be Steve, Bucky can’t tell the difference anymore. He snaps his neck anyway, pretending that he doesn’t feel the shattered remains of his heart split just a little bit more.

“New word: Homecoming.”

December 15, 1945

General,

Only a few more weeks I believe, Barnes has become more and more compliant, completing missions with ease and without hesitation. We put him in front of a live target yesterday, the man captured at the border three weeks ago. Barnes did not even seem to hear his pleas, even though we have been assured he can hear and understand them.

One

He kills easily now. He does it without thinking.

“Tell me a memory.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Good. Add One.”

January 23, 1946

General,

Congratulations. The asset is ready to begin service.

Freight Car

The Winter Solider does not hesitate. He does not disobey orders. He pulls the trigger as easy as breathing. He’s a ghost story, a legend, the new fist of HYDRA.

Zola speaks to him, he answers. A soldier speaks to him, he answers.

“There is one last word to add,” Zola tells him, walking around where he stands, straight, like a steel rod. He’s more metal than man now, anyway, “Tell me about the day you fell.”

“I ziplined onto a freight car. I took out the targets. I fell. I was found by HYDRA.”

Steve was there. He tried to save me. We joked about Coney Island. I miss him, I wish I was with him. I wish I had died when I fell. I wish I could just be Bucky. I don’t want to be a weapon, I just want to be Bucky.

“Very good, soldat. Final word: Freight Car.”

As each word is read, Bucky departs his mind, taken over by The Winter Solider. Each word takes away a layer of memory, a layer of who he was, who he had fought so hard to stay. Now it doesn’t take weeks of time, or months, to unmake him. All it takes is ten words, ten words that connect him completely to Bucky Barnes, yet somehow, ten words that remove him altogether.

Zola finishes the list. Bucky Barnes is long, long gone.

“Ready to comply.”

#stucky #my writing #stucky fanfic #mcu #not spn

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Mr. Mom (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Mr. Mom Rating: PG-13 Length: 2800 Warnings: Mild Angst, but mostly FLUFF. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Javier POV set in late March 1997. My Javier muse is yelling at me for the title of this chapter. It’ll make sense. Shoutout to @absurdthirst for this one and tomorrow’s. Summary: Javier goes to the grocery store.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501@fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim@amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll

“What’s his name, daddy?” Josie questioned as she held up the stuffed dog that Javier had given her to occupy her interests while he tried to shop for groceries. If she didn’t have something to do she was prone to ask a million questions about everything he bought.

The first trip to the grocery store had not been a success. He was used to going alone or having both of them there to play interference with her.

“Let me see.” Javier said as he took the toy from her, he flipped open the red heart ear tag, “Doby. Doby the Doberman.” He passed the toy back to her. “If you behave for me, I’ll let you take him home.”

“Did you know mommy wants a puppy? I can give it to her!” She cheered a little, pretending to walk the dog along the handle.

He chuckled. “Ah, she’s gotten to you as well.”

Javier couldn’t blame her. She was stuck at home all day while he was at the university. Josie was a handful to keep entertained, but she had to be lonely. He’d never known her to just sit around and do nothing and now she had to.

Shit.

He still remembered how despondent she had been in the short period of time after she’d been let go by the DEA. Numb. That was the best way to describe her. She hadn’t really snapped out of it until Danny’s wedding.

Javier pushed the cart down the aisle, eyeing the shelves as he looked for some of their favorite easy-to-make meals. He didn’t want her having to stress about what she was going to make them for lunch or dinner. He didn’t want her to stress at all.

That guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“Do you like Spaghetti-O's, JoJo?” Javier questioned, brushing his fingers over her hair to get her attention.

She looked up, scrunching her nose as she looked at the cans to her left. “Dinosaurs!” Josie squealed as she spotted the set of cans that had a dinosaur on them. “Daddy, please!” She stuck out her bottom lip.

“I hear you.” He assured her, reaching down to pick up a couple cans. “You’re going to eat all of these and spare your mother having to make you mac and cheese for lunch every day.”

“Okay!” She clapped, before her attention went back to the toy. “Doby says he loves you, daddy.”

“Does he now?”

She nodded empathically.

“Well tell him I love him too, princesa.” He smiled adoringly at her, before he started pushing the cart further down the aisle. Javier paused, grabbing a few cans of diced tomatoes off the shelf.

“No licey beans.” Josie warned him.

“I’m not getting lima beans, Josie.” He assured her, even as he put two cans in the cart. She hated almost all things bean-related if they were green. It was a problem.

“Okay daddy.” She smiled at him before she started whispering to the stuffed animal. “He’s gonna get them still, Doby.”

Javier rolled his eyes and started further down the cart. She had certainly acquired her mother’s keen sense of observation. Did that mean the next one would be more like him? Saints preserve the kid that ended up like him.

He grabbed two boxes of donuts off the end of an aisle as he made his way towards the cold food section to grab a few pizzas. They could just throw them in the oven and make them without much fuss. And she could always reheat the leftovers for lunch the next day.

“Oh, Javier!”

Fuck.

He recognized that shrill tone from dance class. Could he not have one moment of peace?

“It’s Miss Missy!” Josie pointed, rather dramatically, before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper for Doby. “Mommy doesn’t like her.”

“Josie.” Javier gave her a warning look and she scrunched up her nose.

“Sorry daddy!”

“Look at you, playing Mr. Mom.” Missy remarked as she approached his cart. He noted the way she put a little extra sway in her step. Ever since it had been pointed out to him that the mother’s at ballet had it out for him, he noticed how they often acted around him. Well, most of the time, otherwise he tried to avoid them.

Javier arched a brow, “I’m fairly certain I’m just being a father.” He opened the freezer door up, grabbing a box of pizza bites out. He hated when people made comments like that. Or that he was ‘babysitting’ his own kid. “How are you, Missy?” He questioned, realizing that the woman had no intention of leaving yet.

“Oh, you know... “ She offered with an attempt at a charming grin. “We’ve missed seeing Josie at ballet.” Missy looked at him then, looking him up and down. “And more importantly, we’ve missed seeing you.”

“Yeah,” Javier shrugged a shoulder. “We’ve had a lot going on with the move and everything.” He tried to move the cart forward, but she had a rather tight grip on the side of the cart.

“How is the new house? Coconut Grove, right?”

He nodded stiffly. “It’s great. We’re excited about finally having a place that’s our own.”

Missy tossed her hair over her shoulder, before looking around cautiously. “I heard about what you are going through at the university and I just wanted to let you know that I… understand.” She tilted her head and smiled sweetly. “And it’s okay… it’s not like the two of you are married. If you ever need to blow off steam—”

How dare she.

“This conversation is over.” He snapped, pushing the cart forward with enough force that Missy had to let go of it.

“Javier, wait! I didn’t mean any offense by it. Really. I was just trying to commiserate with you.”

“Commiserate.” He exhaled heavily, fingers gripping at the cart handle until they turned white. “Look.” He started with a sharp tone, turning around to face the woman. “The woman I love is laid up in bed with a high-risk pregnancy right now… and you’re going to stand here — in front of my daughter, mind you — and say this shit? You’ve got some fucking nerve lady.”

“Swear jar!” Josie called out, before descending into giggles.

It was hard not to laugh at Josie. She was rather committed to the bit she and her mother had started.

But Javier was pissed off and not in the mood.

“Don’t get me wrong… It really is sad, what she’s going through.” Missy offered with little to no actual sympathy. “Which is why I would understand… if the stress got to you.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, rocking his jaw. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Javier shook his head. “You live in a glasshouse, don’t you? Judging my relationship because we aren’t married. When you and the other bitc— mothers are married and trying to get in my pants. Don’t speak to me again.”

Missy opened and closed her mouth twice, before she took a step backwards. “Oh. I’m…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He snarled, before he turned back to Josie and attempted to compose himself. “Tell Miss Missy bye.” Javier told her, brushing his fingers over her curls.

“I’m okay.” Josie shrugged, her attention solely focused on Doby.

———

“We’re home!” Javier called out as he pushed the door open, letting Josie in ahead of him as he hauled the grocery bags into the house. It was still surreal to come home — to a place that didn’t have a flight of stairs or a parking lot filled with other people. To a house with a “Welcome Home” mat out front and a mailbox.

“I’m watching Romeo + Juliet. Don’t interrupt.” She called out from the family room, but Josie was already on her way to interrupt.

“I got a dog!”

“That is a stuffed animal.”

Josie blew a raspberry. “I got him for you.”

Javier laughed as he listened to the conversation, heading into the kitchen.

“You got him for me?”

“Uh-hu.” Josie answered. “He will keep you safe while you’re in bed.”

“That’s very sweet of you, sweetheart.”

Javier sat the groceries down before he looked around the corner into the family room. “How are you feeling?”

Josie was showering her in kisses, via Doby.

“I’ve been better. I had a headache for a little while.” She offered a faint smile, pulling Josie onto her lap. “I think it’s the Lamictal.”

“I’m sorry.” Javier wished there was something he could do to help her. The most he could do was handle things with Josie when he was home. At least they had Monica to help when she wasn’t in class, but he knew she was still under a lot of stress.

“Did you get me Poptarts?”

“Yeah, you want one?”

She smiled at him, “Two, please.”

“Is she an angel?” Josie questioned, pointing at the tv screen.

“No.” She answered, kissing the top of her head. “Her name’s Juliet.”

“Who’s he?”

“That’s Romeo.”

“Romeo-Sphagettio.” Josie giggled, flopping onto the sofa beside her mother. “We saw Miss Missy at the store.”

Javier folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “I owe the swear jar a few quarters.”

“Three.”

She laughed, looking between the two of them. “What the heck happened?”

He shrugged. “Apparently the rumor has got around at ballet. I’m honestly surprised the DEA hasn’t cooked up a story that I’m sleeping with one of them.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Missy was running her mouth and I went off on her. Enough said.”

“Oh, Javi.” She laughed softly, settling back on the sofa with a sigh. “Put up the groceries, make me a Poptart, and come join me.”

“So bossy.” Javier arched a brow at her. “Maybe I will take Missy up on her offer.” He would never.

“Are you trying to stress me out?” She stuck out her bottom lip, doing her best attempt at a pout.

“I think Josie could teach you a thing or two about that look.” Javier chuckled, pushing off the wall and heading back into the kitchen. He enjoyed listening to Josie asking her mother a dozen questions about the movie, while he put up the groceries.

Josie was out like a light by the time he finished putting everything up in the kitchen.

“I’ll put her to bed,” He whispered, passing her the plate of Poptarts before he picked Josie up carefully. She snuffled as she woke up, but she was quick to fall back to sleep when he tucked her in.

“How’s your Poptart, baby?” Javier questioned as he headed back out into the family room.

“Exactly what I wanted.” She grinned at him. He loved the fact that a smile like that could still make his heart skip a beat. “And you remembered that I like the ones without icing.”

Javier leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before he collapsed onto the sofa beside her. He dragged his hand over his face and down his neck as he sighed. “We’ve got to find her a new dance studio.”

She gave him a look, “What did you say?”

“Not nearly enough. If I hadn’t had Josie…” He shook his head. “I’m glad you’re not like them.”

“I could be.” She teased, giving him a look. “I’ve tried to look elsewhere, but…. for some reason I’m really attracted to you.”

Javier glared at her. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious.”

“Is it?” He arched a brow.

She shrugged, popping the last of her Poptart into her mouth. “I think it is. I mean… we both had a bit of a reputation back in Colombia.”

He grumbled, “I don’t want to talk about Colombia.”

“I’m just saying…” She narrowed her eyes at him, before gesturing at the tv. “Sometimes you meet someone you’re willing to throw it all away from.”

Javier looked at the screen. “Aren’t they like thirteen?” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “And they fucking die.”

“You know exactly what I’m saying.” She moved in closer to him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, wedging her arm in between his back and the sofa cushion. “I knew what I was doing, Javi…” She whispered. “I’m just as guilty in this as you are… stop letting the guilt eat at you.”

“It’s hard.” He admitted quietly, swallowing the lump in the back of his throat.

“I know it is. But at this rate you will be grey when our daughter is born.” She told him, reaching up to brush her fingers through his hair. “We can’t both have high blood pressure.”

“I can’t lose you, baby.”

“And I can’t lose you.” She kissed his cheek. “So quit worrying.” She traced her finger up his nose, pressing her fingertip against the line between his brows. “This could be the Mariana Trench.”

“You’re so weird.” He gave her leg a squeeze, before he looked under the pillow for the remote. “Let’s finish watching this. It’s due back tomorrow.”

“I wish there was a way we could just watch these on the TV.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, like… a channel just to watch whatever movie you wanted to watch.”

Javier huffed. “There’d be too many channels.”

“Look, I’m spending a lot of time watching movies. I have ideas.” She rolled her eyes, chewing on her bottom lip. “Can you pick up From Dusk Til Dawn and Desperado tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll look for them. Balto for Josie, right?”

“Yep.” She grabbed one of the sofa pillows and rested it on his lap, before she settled down lengthwise and rested her head on it. “I hate being stuck at home—”

“Baby.”

“— but this is nice.”

He smiled as he brushed his fingers through her hair. “I wish I could be here more often.”

“Someone’s gotta pay the mortgage.” She pointed out. “Ow.” She winced a little, readjusting how she was laying on her side. “Your daughter is kicking again.”

“Yeah?” Javier grinned as he looked down to where she was rubbing her stomach. “May I?”

“Of course you can.” She grinned up at him, though it was tinged with a slight look of discomfort.

He reached down and rubbed his hand over her side, before he slid it around to rest against her stomach. It took a moment before he felt the fluttering movement of the baby beneath his palm.

“She's quite the kicker.”

“It’s hard to stay seated all day when she's kicking at my bladder.”

Javier played with her hair. “You’ll have me all weekend… except when I have lesson planning for next week.”

“I’m really okay.” She promised him. “And it’s nice having Monica to help. I made her unpack my clothes.”

“Yeah?” Javier questioned, half-heartedly watching the movie.

“It’s going to take me forever to get back in shape.” She complained quietly, resting her hand on her stomach. “I feel bigger than I was with Josie.”

“Remember what the doctor mentioned.”

“I know.” She sighed.

“Baby, you’re perfect just like this.” He promised her. “And you'll be perfect after.”

She huffed and laughed. “You just like having proof that you got me knocked up twice.”

Javier chuckled, brushing his fingers over her temple. “Isn’t that what the kids are for?”

“Touché.” She rubbed at her forehead.

“Headache?”

“A little. I’m fine.” She sighed heavily, staring at the TV. “Do you think she’ll look like Josie?”

“Who?”

“The puppy. Obviously, I’m talking about Sofía.” She reached for his hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss her palm. “Speaking of which… I’d prefer a mature dog.”

“You really want one don’t you?”

“I almost adopted one in Colombia.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “It was when I was with Lance. He was super great about it, not being a dog person, but ultimately he drove home the idea that I’d probably have to leave them behind if I ever went back to the states.”

“Are you trying to guilt me into getting you a dog?”

“They’re great for stress relief.” She rolled onto her back, looking up at him. “And we’ve got a fenced in backyard.”

“Maybe.”

“We could get Monica to watch Josie.” She suggested. “The shelter is open on the weekends.”

“Are you sure it won’t add to your stress?”

“That’s why we should get an older dog. They might be more settled with the change.” She smiled hopefully. “We can name the dog Steve and torture him.”

“I like the way you think.” Javier smirked, leaning down to kiss her lips gently. “They’re not sleeping in our bed.”

“Famous last words.”

He rolled his eyes.

How the hell had he become this man so easily? Colombia either felt like a lifetime ago or just yesterday. But it was still hard to fathom how naturally this life had been built up around him.

He was a man with a badass partner, a daughter and another on the way. They had the house with a yard and no white picket fences in sight. A Jeep Grand Cherokee parked in the driveway that had stickers baked onto the inside of the back windows.

And now… he’d been convinced to get a family dog.

Everything he’d once run from.

Now he couldn’t stand the mere thought of losing it. Of losing her.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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whothehellisyn · 3 years

Text

Cat and Mouse | Ch. 7

Series Masterlist

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Dark!Mysterio x Reader

Chapter Warnings: unreality, paranoia, wet dreams, minor gaslighting (moved objects), sleep paralysis

AN: you know the typical warnings, and we’re almost caught up to my current writing!

It’s been two weeks since Quentin left, and it’s been three days since you’ve slept. You can feel the exhaustion affecting your body and your mind, as you’re much clumsier now. Earlier you dropped a glass again, and just now you hip-checked the kitchen counter because you miscalculated how far you were from it.

“Fuck!” You groan, rubbing your hip. “God, I’m so fucking tired.”

“Maybe you’ll pass out eventually, and just collapse and force-sleep.” You say. It’s a hopeful thought. “Maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll happen later on tonight.” You nod to yourself and go back to perusing the kitchen for lunch.

“Damn, I need to go to the store soon.” You note, wondering if you should make a list. “Wait...” Oh yeah. You can’t do that.

“Is there enough for this week?” You ask. You start to do some mental calculations, counting up the cans and boxes.

“Maybe? If you’re careful.” You decide. “No more snacks, just the meals.”

Making conversation with yourself has become second nature now, and you don’t hesitate to ask yourself things that don’t matter. Over dinner, you explain to yourself wether you believe in fairies or not. You pretended to give a tutorial on cooking as you prepared your meal. You’ve started to feel more and more tired throughout the day, but in the middle of cleaning up your dishes it starts to really hit you.

Even as you wash your plate you can feel your eyes trying to close. Your body begins to settle into a sort of lull as the sink runs, the white noise is so comforting and soft...

The metallic clang of the plate slipping from your fingers and landing in the sink makes you jump, snapping awake.

“I’m way too tired to be handling breakable items.” You mumble. You know you have to shower before you try to get some sleep, but it’s so tempting to just go to bed dirty.

“Don’t be gross,” You chastise yourself, “You stink.”

You start the shower again and begin to get undressed. Just before you go to get into the shower, you hear the big metal door clanging shut. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you peek out of the bathroom and look for Quentin. Nobody is in the suite, but there’s brown paper bags on the kitchen table. You go to them and discover that they’re groceries, a mix of fresh foods and shelf items.

t occurs to you that this means you’re being punished for the long run. Then you start to think more about this delivery. Apart from your short bathroom breaks, this was the first time all day you’ve been out of the main area longer than a few minutes. How could he have known you needed food and also when you’d be occupied long enough to deliver food without you being able to see him?

You tighten the towel around your body and look around the tops of the walls. He’s got to be watching you somehow.

You search around for fifteen minutes before you realize you’ve left the water on.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You say, running to the bathroom. You feel the water and luckily it’s still warm. You shrug off the towel and rush to get clean. Hopefully he doesn’t have cameras in the bathroom.

Wether it was the grocery delivery or the shower, that sleepiness from earlier is gone much to your chagrin. You lie on the floor, on the verge of tears from frustration. God, you’re so fucking tired.

“I just want to sleep!” You whine, covering your eyes with your arm. “I don’t want to sleep in the bed.” You add, as if to stop yourself from suggesting it.

But maybe you have to, even if you don’t want to. You sit up quietly and sneak over to the bed to avoid your own will from realizing what you’re doing.

The bedsheets are so soft, have they always been? They don’t even smell like Quentin anymore, thank god for that. You use the blanket you’ve been sleeping with onto of the bedspread and curl up in the comfort of the mattress.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You dream that you’re in SHIELD headquarters and Peter Parker has dyed his hair green on accident. Director Fury’s eyepatch keeps changing eyes but he doesn’t seem to notice. He asks you if you’re allergic to tomatoes and that he wants to know because he just learned how to make spaghetti.

Your neighbor Madeline announces to the three of you that she is now the new head of SHIELD and puts Director Fury in a mason jar. You get put in a coffee mug and she makes Peter dye his hair purple before putting him in a Tupperware. Apparently Director Madison has a fascination with putting people in containers.

It starts storming inside the headquarters, and little fishes and seaweeds drop from the clouds and onto everyone. “It’s a hurricane!” Director Fury yells, dumping you out of the mug. “We have to take cover.”

You obey, and hide next to Peter Parker underneath a desk. He has an octopus on his head, but you try not to stare. He’s about to tell you something when–

You wake up still exhausted, but feeling much better than before. What a weird dream.

You half expected Quentin to be in bed next to you, but you’re still alone. You go to unpack the groceries from last night but they’re already put away. Another quiet visit.

“That’s kinda of rude, don’t you think?” You ask.

“Personally I think it’s incredibly fucking rude, but what do I know?” You reply.

“No, no,I definitely agree with you.” You say, opening the fridge to look for where everything has been put. “Especially because butter,” you grab a knob out of the box, “goes outside the fridge!” You tear off the paper and drop it onto a plate.

“Of course he’d put all the butter in the fridge, the fucking bastard.” You say jokingly. “He’s the exact type to not understand the needs of butter.”

You chuckle for a few seconds before you go quiet. You’re really laughing at something you told yourself, huh? That’s not what normal people do. Maybe you’re going crazy.

“You’re not crazy, dumbass.” You say in an obvious tone. “Social conventions are bullshit, everyone talks to themselves at least a little.”

You feel the need to add to your defense, “At least you’re not seeing stuff.”

Two more days pass and you start to feel more paranoid about the surveillance that surely is required for these quiet visits of Quentin’s. You’ve also been incredibly bored and anxious to do literally anything since day three, and now you’re getting tired of talking to yourself. Which is pretty fucking bad because you don’t have have anybody else at this point.

You’re eating a bowl of soup for lunch when you notice the bathroom door is closed. That’s weird, you think. it was definitely open a few seconds ago, you just came from the bathroom not ten minutes before. Setting the bowl down on the kitchen counter, you approach the bathroom door and let it swing open.

The bathroom is empty. You were certain you hadn’t closed it, but maybe you did and just didn’t realize it. The days all blend together now anyways, it’s not unreasonable to have done it without noticing.

You go back to your soup, picking it up off the table where you left it.

But you didn’t leave it there. You left it on the counter, didn’t you?

The metal door hasn’t opened since the groceries were delivered and put away last week. You’re certain of it. You even started showering with the bathroom door open so you’d be able to hear it.

You abandon the soup and start opening up cabinets. You open up every single cupboard, the pantry, the linen closet in the bathroom, you even open up all the drawers. You tuck the bed skirt up under the mattress so you can see under the bed. You find nothing but...

Something is in here with you. You don’t know if it’s Quentin, or a drone, or both, but there’s no fucking way you would think you placed the bowl on the counter unless you really did. You’re not sure how to proceed with this information.

You go to put the leftover soup in the fridge, and on the middle shelf at your eye-level is the plate with the butter on it. You calmly take it out and place it back on the counter.

“Like I said, a fucking bastard.” You say quietly.

You crawl into bed that night wary of your surroundings. Nothing has been moved since lunch, but you can’t shake the feeling that something else has changed. It’s something unconscious, you think. Like if the walls were suddenly two shades lighter than they were yesterday. There’s no way for you to prove something is different but you can sense it all the same.

You get underneath your trusty blanket and lie in the darkness. You want to fall asleep, even if it means that whatever is in here has the chance to do something. You can dream if you sleep, you can go be somewhere else and “talk” to people.

You are dreaming, but it’s a sea of images and sounds and sights. It feels like home and nowhere simultaneously, which was fine. You feel something crawling all over you, and when you look down, your body is covered in thick vines that have wrapped around your limbs.

You wake up flailing, inches down the bed from where you fell asleep. The covers are thrown off, your pajamas slouching down towards your left foot as if something had grabbed it to yank you off the bed.

These sort of peripheral out-of-sight visuals continue. Sometimes you feel breath on the back of your neck that belongs to no one, or feel the looming presence of a person inches away from you until you turn around to face an empty room. You know he has illusion technology, you know it must be him, but it feels so small and minuscule compared to what he’d usually do.

Maybe he’s trying to make you feel crazy, so you’ll run into his arms afraid you’re insane. Maybe you’re trying to make you feel crazy, accidentally.

You sleep again, this time waking up to sleep paralysis. You’ve never had it before now, at least that you can remember. You had dreamt of a weight on your chest, and something choking you with just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. You hallucinate that a rotting corpse is straddling and strangling you as you lie immobile, and when the paralysis leaves you you sob with relief.

Days melt again and sleep comes rarely. The times you do fall asleep you’re always jarred awake, that feeling of falling taking over. You fall asleep anxiously, your heart pounding slowly as if it’s preparing itself for more terror.

You step out of the shower one morning and in passing notice your obscured reflection in the bathroom mirror. Full of steam, your body is a blurry mass of flesh tone within its confines, but what catches your eye is a large, dark object directly behind you.

Breathing shallowly, you pick up a hand towel and slowly make your way to the surface of the mirror, before swiping quickly as if it startle the thing behind you first.

As you swipe away the steam, the visage disappears instantaneously. Whatever was behind you is no more. Paranoia begins to rear its head.

The night terrors and sleep paralysis are awful, the peripheral hallucinations as well, but nothing mentally prepares you for the dream you have.

It’s easy to write off the rest of these moments as Quentin’s doing, after all, he’s a master manipulator.

You’re running through the maze again. It’s still as dimly lit and damp as it was the day he forced you through it, but this time something has changed within you.

Quentin catches you with ease, just like last time. But when he grins, you grin back and catch his lips with a very open kiss, tongues working into each others’ mouths. You wanted him to catch you.

His Mysterio clones pin you to the wall and you moan, legs opening wide for the Quentin as they grab your arms. You’re not wearing panties, and Quentin groans approvingly as he kneels on the ground and buries his face in your sex, hiking your gown up past your hips. He rips the side seams, leaving you naked before the three men. The clones, rid of their helmets, bite at your neck and take turns kissing you messily.

Everywhere you look, everything you feel, is Quentin Beck. The two clones lean to kiss you at the same time, Quentin fucking you with his tongue as he eats you out. You get close and closer to climaxing when he pulls away suddenly and looks up at you, dragging his tongue against your clitoris torturingly slow.

“Fuck, please,” you gasped. “Please, I don’t want to cum yet.” Quentin slows his pace even more, his tongue hot and wet against you. The mysterios begin to tease your nipples with their fingers as they suck on your neck, one dipping down to use his mouth. You whine and squirm against them and the pleasure.

“I want you to fuck me, please.” You beg, stomach tightening from the impending orgasm.

Almost excitedly, Quentin pulls back and tugs his suit off, though his clones haven’t stopped their pace at all as if to keep you on edge. They’ve raised you further up the wall, Quentin nestling between your legs like he was made to be there.

He pushes into you and your entire body thrums with how good it feels. How good he feels.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good sweetheart.” He groans. He sets an unrelenting pace, quick and hard.

You’ve devolved into a series of pleases and fucks and yeses, alternating between those words as he rubs your clit with one hand and grabs your hip with the other. His clones are whispering things to you, Quentin too.

“You gorgeous little thing, you’re ours and nobody else’s.” one says. “You’re such a good girl for us, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll have to carry you back, all fucked out from my cock.” Quentin says, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby?”

You nod, your entire body stimulated from the three of them. It would feel good to be spoiled that way, to be carried back and tucked in and away from everything else.

Quentin’s breathing has become ragged, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he thrusts harder and harder into you until he cums, your own orgasm following suit as the feeling of his release inside you pushes you over the edge.

You wake up sweating, underwear damp and proof of what had just transpired.

The one place Quentin couldn’t hurt you, and there he was, fucking you inside it. A wet dream to betray your hatred.

You know it’s impossible for him to know what just happened but you still feel ashamed and confused.

The shower water is hot, borderline unbearable, and you roughly wash your arousal out of yourself with your fingers. It did not happen. It couldn’t have happened. It will not have happened.

Various excerpts of the four of you play in your head every idle moment you afford your brain. It lurks behind every thought you process as if to remind you that it came from within your mind.

You push it away as much as you can, try to ignore the sinking feeling. Somewhere Carl Jung is preaching to a dead choir about wish fulfillment. Plenty of people have dreams about the things that happen to them, and it gets jumbled up and spit back out in their sleep as something contorted and wrong. You’re just processing the awfulness of this all, that’s all. Your brain is trying to make sense of this betrayal in the only way it knows how.

But it also makes sense considering what you and Quentin were, before. You can still remember how soft the first kiss between you two was, something tentative and sweet. He cupped your face that first time, stroking your cheek with his thumb like he was trying to remind himself you were real.

You’d fallen asleep in his arms, once. There was even an inkling of a future with him in your mind. Maybe that’s why you lash out so much. It’s true that what he has done is evil, but to be truthful you’re more scared and disgusted by yourself.

After everything, part of you wants to love him, the real him. Because he has to be in there somewhere, doesn’t he? You want to salvage this awful, terrible thing even after he tortured you. You wonder what there is to say about it. Perhaps it’s just you clinging to what little reality there is left, even if that reality is a false one.

The water has run cold. You turn the knobs to shut off the flow and wrap yourself in a towel. There’s a lot to think about. You dress silently, and say nothing as you stare at the television for a while.

“I’m not sure how much of this isolation I can take.” You whisper suddenly. “We’ve gone full to circle to having… that sort of dream after everything that’s occurred.” You say even quieter, “What if I’m starting to need someone?”

You look up from your seat on the bed at the television. “I think you’ll be okay.” You try to say reassuringly. “The nightmares aren’t so bad that you can’t sleep afterwards, you still have an appetite...” You trail off.

You nod, and bite your lip as tears start to fall. You have those things, for now. But even trying to be hopeful about things working out somehow just hurts in the end.

#cat and mouse

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topherfoxtrot · 3 years

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One day in the simple life of Jack Daniels.

This is the next installment in what I'm calling the Springville AU. You can read the first part here but basically John and Olivia move to the countryside with new identities post tfatws. This was written before the finale so nothing that happens there affect this fic. As always like comment and share if you want more people to read it. Hope you enjoy :)

John and Olivia woke up with the alarm clock at 7am. Olivia was the one to turn it off because it was at her side of the room. She sat in the bed and stretched without opening her eyes entirely quite yet. John's big hands crossed her back and neck swiftly. Olivia has no choice besides falling back into bed.

"Good morning." John whispered right next to her ear.

"Waking up in a good mood?"

"It's been a while huh?"

They both laughed.

"Stay here." John pleaded.

Olivia smiled and pressed herself against John before letting go and getting up for once.

"You know I can't. Otherwise how are the kids going to understand Romeo and Juliet?"

"That's the play of the week?"

"Of the month!" Olivia laughed "There's no way they could read all those pages in seven days."

"If they attended to school on our days they would be obliterated."

"Okay boomer." Olivia shrugged.

"What?"

"The kids taught me that."

"What does it mean?" John was embarrassed but curious.

"Well, I guess you'll have to Google it to find out."

Olivia left the room with a proud smile on her face before John could say anything else. He laid his head again and took a deep breath. I love this woman, he muttered to himself before getting up.

Their house was small. Without the veteran benefits and Olivia's paycheck there wasn't anything fancy they could afford. Still, the house was cozy enough. And the thermoregulator worked out just fine, most of the time.

While Olivia was taking a shower John started preparing breakfast like the usually did. That way Olivia could get at school on time. He put the bread in the toaster and broke four eggs, two for each of them. They used to have bacon as well, but not on those trying times. Thinking about it made John angry. He was the only person to receive three medals of honor for his services in all american history. Yet there he was not having bacon for breakfast because it was too damn expansive.

The toaster sound interrupted his thoughts before they could get any worse, but the handle of the pan still got a little crooked because of the strength John applied on it unconsciously. It has been a couple months since he got the serum but sometimes it was still hard to control his own strength.

At least it was just a pan this time. Couples weeks prior he grabbed Olivia way too hard during sex. She warned him before any damage could be done but since then John has been extra cautious around her. Every little thing in his routine was a reminder he took the serum. A reminder he couldn't save Lemar. A reminder he was not the hero they wanted him to be. It's all so unfair, he said out loud without realizing it.

"What is unfair Johnny?" Olivia came from their room all dressed up already. Her shirt was red and her scarf was brown. The overall was by the door, near the photographs they kept from their previous lives.

"What? Oh nothing! I was just... thinking out loud."

While Olivia was distracted getting the breads, John untwisted the handle of the fan. He then served her the eggs.

"Those look good! But what were you thinking about?"

"About how pretty my wife is!" John sat by the small table.

Olivia's smile was short. She quickly shifted to a serious and worried face.

"You can talk to me John. In fact, you have to." She was kind but firm.

John took a deep breath, "I know, I'm sorry. it's unfair how it all turned out. I did my best, you know I did-"

"I know that!" Olivia reassured.

"...and still it wasn't enough for them. They don't know what it takes to be a hero, Olivia."

"That's all in the past. We are different people now. Okay, Jack?" She winked at him.

"Oh yeah! That's right Maria!"

They both laughed.

"You're the real hero here." John said, "Thank you for staying on my side."

Olivia smiled from ear to ear and they both finished their breakfast in a good tone. When Olivia got up John walked with her. She entered their car and John stayed at the door while she drove away. The air was cold and the snow was still shy, but not for long.

There was nothing on their front yard except grass. There was a rod on the wall near the door but there was not flag on it. When they moved in John tored the flag to shreds. Afterwards they made a fire with it. It was really cathartic.

John breathed the cold air one last time before getting in and closing the door. He took a cold shower (the only one he knew how to take) and did the dishes from last night. With Olivia working at the school he was responsable for most house chores. He didn't like the idea of being alone the whole day at the beginning, but he had to get used to it eventually. Someone had to work and John's set of military skills proved to be quite useless in the countryside small town they scaped to.

He tried construction for a while but he would twist metals and break woods with his bare hands more often then he would like to admit. Besides even though he had a thick beard now he was still scared someone would recognize him. Recognize Captain America.

He left the job, he and Olivia had a big fight that night. In the midst of his own shame and self loathe though John figured there was indeed something he was good at: welding. And with his super strength it was even easier to handle the right tools. John worked the whole night and by the morning when Olivia woke up she met John sleeping in the spare room (the one for the kid they never had) with a heart shaped welding sculpture on his arms. Since that night John has found a new passion and income. The word spread fast that Jack Daniels, the newcomer, was a really skilled artist. He started doing pieces by demand.

***

After the shower John dressed casual clothes and went to his work room. There were still some leftovers from last night so he could work a little more instead of cooking lunch. The heart sculpture was on the wall right next to the clock. John worked until 1 pm. After lunch he did some laundry before someone knocked at the door.

"Are you Mr Daniels?" The old man asked.

"Just call me Jack, please. How can I help you sir?"

"Oh nothing special!" he made effort to talk "My boy is coming back from his first tour and I wanted to give him something y'know 'to thank him for his service', as they say."

John's face went completely blank while the man got a cellphone from his pocket to show a reference photo of what he wanted: a worm carrying a bazooka.

"First tour, you say..?" John's voice cracked.

"Yes, he went to Afghanistan!"

John swallowed and blinked more times then he should. The cold breeze from outside made his bones shiver but he stayed still as if he was actually frozen. Not by the cold though but by his own memories. After what seemed like an eternity's the old man spoke again.

"Are you okay Mr Daniels?"

"Jack!" John blinked, "Call me Jack. And please get in it's super cold outside! What's your name again?"

"It's David!"

John offered a cup of coffee to the old man and took him to his work room. David looked at all of John's previous works fascinated.

"You really know your way around welding. When did you start with it?"

"My father taught me. It was the last thing he taught me in fact."

"Oh I'm sorry."

"Don't be." John smiled politely "That was a lifetime ago."

Speaking about his life before Springville was starting to feel weird. John Walker was starting to feel like a whole different person. And Captain America was somehow an even older memory. John used to spend his days surrounded by men and women in unforms. They spoke loud and smiled bright. Jack on the other hand spends his days welting metal around and taking care of the house.

The change was abrupt but John was getting used to it. Now he wonders if forgetting his old life isn't actually a good thing. Maybe that was the problem in the first place. In Springville John gets to spend time home with his wife. John gets to wake up late if so he pleases. John gets to breath for once.

David and John talked for a while to set prices and sizes and deadlines. Once they were finished John walked David out. When the old man finally left John sighed really loud and pressed his head softly against the door. He had being holding that breath even since David entered the house.

John was done with the military (or rather the military were done with him) and even though he had some peace at his new home the world outside was still spinning. And young boys with no perspective were still being sent to fight someone else's wars. John used to take such proud of his service. How could he?

***

When Olivia got home from work John was at his room. The work was a good distraction.

"A lot of work?" Olivia leaned at the door.

"Hi, babe. Yeah an old man came here earlier. Requested a piece for his son."

"That's great! What did he order?"

"A video game thing. His son.... He's coming back, y'know.. from his first tour. They sent him to Afghanistan."

"Oh my gosh John." She got closer to him, "How are you feeling?"

John just shrugged, "Do you mind making dinner tonight? I'm kind of busy here." That was code for 'I don't wanna talk right now'.

"Yeah, of course. I'll let you work."

Olivia kissed her husband and left to take a shower. Dinner was served at seven. They both sat at the small table while the television showed the news. When Captain America Sam Wilson showed up Olivia quickly grabbed the remote to change channels, but John slightly hold her hand.

"Leave it." He said. And she did.

Sam was visiting a highschool. The kids were all really excited to meet him personally. There were lots of selfies and lots of laughter. Sam was simply the life of any party he was in.

"He's a hero." John said.

"He really is." Olivia agreed, carefully studying John's face.

He looked at the television for a while before getting back to his dinner. A good hero, he repeated to himself as an effort to let that sink. Olivia touched his hand kind of worried.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I'm alright, Olivia." He smiled to make her feel better, "I've been thinking. Sam is with them, but he's them. He can inspire kids without making them do the same mistakes I did."

"It's a good way of looking at it, John."

"Thanks. I was the hero they asked for but maybe wasn't the hero they-" he pointed at the kids on the TV, "...the hero they need."

Olivia smiled and grabbed John's hand. "I'm really proud of you."

"I'm proud of us!" John replied, their fingers intertwined.

They finished dinner and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day in simple life of Jack and Maria Daniels. And they were both really greatful for it.

#john walker #john walker positive post #Olivia walker #foxtrot fanfic #Springville AU #tfatws spoilers #the falcon and the winter soldier spoilers #johnolovia #i cant believe i love olivia more than marvel does #ive been in a really strong fugere urbem phase okay??

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hqprotectionsquad · 4 years

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𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 - 𝒚𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒌𝒂

⤷ 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒚𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓? ⤷ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒙𝒎𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 ⤷ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

word count: 3709

submission for @haikyuuwriters‘s may event - Mothers’ Day — write about Mothers’ Day. Meeting an s/o’s mother for the first time? Visiting a grave and paying respects? Fluffy moments for a couple with kids? Or is your pairing considering kids?

“Can you let me in, Hitoka?” Tsukishima’s voice is muffled through the wood and Yachi rushes to turn the handle and fling the door open. In comes a man who hauls in paper bags in his arms with his glasses on the brink of sliding off of his nose. Before she has a chance to think, Yachi pushes up his glasses and Tsukishima scrunches his nose at her action.

“What did you bring?” Yachi leans on Tsukishima to try to see what is in the brown bags he carries. It’s Thursday evening, which means after Tsukishima’s shift at the museum, he picks up groceries at the market and dinner for the two of them. “How much can I pay you for the dinner?” She asks as he begins filling the refrigerator with vegetables and fruits. Yachi stands on the outside of the fridge, where photos are suspended by magnets. One features the Karasuno boys’ volleyball team at Nationals, another has Yachi’s selfie with Tsukishima. There are also usually lists of items needed, and the papers are replenished every Monday and Thursday, when they take the list with them and buy groceries for the apartment.

“You don’t even know what I’ve bought for dinner.” Tsukishima side-eyes Yachi as he continues, “For all you know, I could’ve brought leftovers from the dumpster and you would still pay me beforehand.”

Yachi’s mouth gapes at his accusation, but she quickly composes herself. “You’re not wrong,” she says with a pout. Yachi fiddles with her phone while Tsukishima finishes unpacking the products from the bag. Now, the fridge looks happy to be full again.

Tsukishima sets the table pressed against the wall with plates and cutlery. It’s a small table, like the rest of their furniture. They both live humble lives, so why not live together? It’s not like they each take up a grand piece of space and the apartment they live in is snug enough to fit their belongings. He’s about to tell her that he bought curry and even splurged on two slices of strawberry shortcake when he passed by a bakery on his way home, but she’s already preoccupied with a call of some sorts.

“Hello?” Yachi speaks into the receiver softer than usual. She doesn’t want to attract attention, so she sinks into the edge of her bed, with her door slightly open, but she’s sure Tsukishima will end up seeing her anyhow.

“Hitoka, hi. It’s your mother. Are you free on Sunday?” Yachi barely mutters a word out before her mom continues with her steamrolling agenda. Yachi is one-hundred percent sure that her mother is calling her between clients, acting as if Yachi should be thankful that her mom reached out to her. “Great, let’s have lunch together. Sounds good?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” As quick as her mother calls her, she is just as quick to leave. Yachi is used to this, or rather she should be used to it by now. She wasn’t the most doted on as a child. Then, Yachi grew older and only saw her mother in the mornings, dashing out the door with a piece of bread in her mouth. Sometimes, Yachi would stay up much past her bedtime, with her sheets balled up in her fists by her eyes, and the light in the kitchen would spread into her bedroom by the crack by the door. Yachi would hear her mother slurping on instant noodles at two in the morning and her mother would be up again four hours later, but all without a single word exchanged between the two. By the time she applied to universities, Yachi only told her mom her final choice instead of the eight schools where she competed for a spot in their marketing department.

Isn’t it sad?

“Is everything alright?” Tsukishima enters her room with barely a warning. His footsteps are soft, but his presence is known when Yachi turns her head to see him.

With a breath in and out, she replies, “Not really, but I wish it was.”

Tsukishima has gotten far since high school. Yachi believes that she might have had something to do with his attitude change, but she knows that college has also brought him out of his shell. When they first moved in together as roommates, Yachi needed to yank his feelings out of him whenever Tsukishima would brood in his room for a weekend-straight. Now, Tsukishima will approach Yachi at times.

“Let’s eat dinner. Maybe you can get your mind off it after eating.” After he crosses the room in two steps to get to Yachi, he nudges her to get out of her room and into the kitchen.

Tsukishima serves her, not asking a single question until she mumbles through her rice, “My mom asked me to come meet her on Sunday. Of all days, Mother’s day.”

“Huh.” He says in reply, not really knowing what else to say.

“She’s barely been a mother to me. I don’t know why she comes now that I’m out of university and have a stable job that she wants to meet me.” Yachi sets down her utensils to thread her fingers through her hair with a roll of her eyes. She’s grown a tougher skin in this city she’s lived in since the start of her adulthood. “I really don’t want to be alone with her.” She pauses for a moment, letting her mind reel. Yachi’s eyes open wide all of a sudden and Tsukishima is afraid that her eyeballs will pop out. “What if you came with me to my mother’s lunch, Kei? Are you doing anything on Sunday?”

“Well, considering my family lives three hours away, not exactly.” Tsukishima shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll come with you.” While he has gone out with Yachi multiple times, he’s never been used as a plus-one and in this situation, he has no idea what he’ll be introduced as.

The week progresses much quicker than they both could have imagined.

“Are you sure this is okay, Kei? I don’t want you to come if you’ll be uncomfortable with me and my mom,” Yachi says, looking up at him. She’s wearing a black dress, tight on top but flares out at the knees. If she saw herself on the street, she would think she’s dressed up for a funeral. Tsukishima is indubitably brighter for once, but only in comparison, as he dons a polo shirt that matches the color of the clear sky.

“If it wasn’t okay, then I wouldn’t be standing next to you on the train,” he mutters as he holds her tight against his skin. It’s something he’s used to doing whenever they are on the same train together. He doesn’t remember when it started, but he does remember why. Something to do with creepy men and Tsukishima offhandedly offering he’d hold her, and Yachi praising him for a brilliant idea. Now, they’re like this. He doesn’t mind because he’s a placeholder, an intermittent person to step in before Yachi has a person to do that for her.

Well, at least that’s what he believed when they moved in together their first year of college to save money on rent, but they’ve never moved out to this day.

Their stop arrives and everyone from businessmen to children get off and move onto the just as crowded platform. Somehow, despite the busyness, everyone knows where to go and when to shift in this march of the morning. Each step in this district is made of surreal dreams that formed out of thin air. Maybe in middle school, Yachi would be so excited to see this happen one day, but now that this day has come, her stomach wrings into tight knots.

Tsukishima sees the look on her face, something he’s seen often, caused by miniscule and large things. Without exaggeration, he could say her face is showing off green tones. Suppressing the want to sigh, he scoops her hand into his and leads them towards the station’s exit.

“Have you been to this station before, Tsukishima?” Yachi rattles off as they walk out of the sliding doors and into the next city. She continues to say whatever’s on her mind or maybe these are words to say to distract her mind.

“Hitoka, you never said where you’re meeting your mom.” Tsukishima grits his teeth as he manages to weave between the sidewalk traffic, looking down to spare his eyes from ticked off passersby. They must think they’re foreigners by the looks of their hair. “We kind of need to know so we can get to the right place.” Tsukishima pulls Yachi to the side of a building, taking refuge by this wall. He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in after he glances at their still interlaced fingers. She doesn’t even bother to unlatch, that’s how nervous she is, Tsukishima thinks to himself.

“Right! Let me check my phone.” Yachi smiles up at Tsukishima and then her eyes drag down to where her bag bounces against her hip. “Huh?!” Her hand rips out of his loose grasp. Is she that mindless that she hadn’t realized Tsukishima’s hand was touching hers. With a crimson sweep across her face, she scans the short thread of text messages exchanged between her and her mother. “It seems like we should be heading three blocks in that direction,” Yachi says after a pause. She toys with the star charms that hang from her phone with one hand and with the other, she points in the direction of the station and onward.

“So we’ve walked three blocks, just to walk double that,” Tsukishima drawls.

“I’m sorry!” She doesn’t need to look at him to see the word disappointment written all over. “We’ll be alright, my mom’s not expecting us for another half hour,” she mumbles after feeling under the pressure of his gaze.

“Let’s just get going.” Tsukishima motions for them to join the sea of people on their way back to the office after a lunch and tourists exploring the city at this random time of day. “Come on, hold my hand so you don’t get lost.” His intentions are self-indulgent, but he presents as a protective friend, which is all that matters.

Yachi reluctantly allows it and they assimilate with Tsukishima leading. She just sees his back as they move one-by-one in this mass of bodies and she’s never been more thankful for him than in this very moment. Soon enough, they stand in front of the restaurant her mother wanted to meet up at. Unfortunately, Yachi never mentioned that the restaurant they’ll be dining at puts Tsukishima at a risk of being kicked out.

“Is this going to be alright to go inside?” Tsukishima pulls at his short sleeved shirt, but before he can continue, Yachi’s already tugging at the metal beam to open the door. She looks ridiculously small, with her fingers just barely grazing each other around the grip. He reaches over her head and pulls on the handle as well. “Well, ladies first,” he says.

“Thank you!” Her voice switches into a more professional tone as she begins conversing with the hostess of the restaurant. Despite her size and her anxieties, she’s great at stepping up when she needs to.

When she makes it back to Tsukishima, who is nestled in a chair in the corner, she tells him that the hostess will come get them when they have everything ready with the room. “My mom’s already there.” She sits on the armrest of his chair, her body fitting the edge of it precisely. She brushes the fabric of her skirt downward with a careful hand.

“You’ll be okay.” Tsukishima doesn’t know what to do or what to say. He’s never seen her this thrown off. Even during their high school years, seeing her deal with his teammates seems like a cake walk at this point. He’s never felt so weighted with the truth that isn’t even his own.

“I haven’t seen my mom in person in nearly five years. We’ve called on the phone, but it feels so transactional. She only calls when she feels like I could benefit her in some way. I don’t even know how she is on a personal basis. I don't know how she’s doing at work, if she has someone in her life. I don't know how she lives. Shouldn't I know this?” Her shoulders shake ever so slightly, and then all at once, they move up and down, side to side.

“Hitoka, it's okay. You’ll be okay.” Before he knows any better, Tsukishima stands and he just does what his instincts tell him to do.

“What?” Yachi asks as she’s being pulled into his chest, and she doesn't have the heart to ask further questions. Her hair and ear presses against the stable curve of his body. His heart is quickening as his hands land on opposite shoulders.

“Yachi-san, party of two.” The hostess calls into the waiting area, and Tsukishima nearly jumps away, now standing three steps away from her. He is sure someone saw their melodramatic performance and rolled their eyes at it. If he were on the outside, he would too. But on the inside of this bubble, maybe he’s not thinking so much about what other people think.

Yachi pays no mind to it and follows the hostess without sparing a glance to a scrambling Tsukishima, who rubs the lenses of his glasses on the hem of his shirt. First impressions start with being able to see her mother.

When they enter the private room that her mother has arranged for the lunch appointment, the first thing Yachi notices is her mother’s eyes, or rather, the lack of gaze. Her mother’s eyes are on her phone, clicking away on the device. They still contain the same beauty that Yachi admires, laced with lines around them. While her mother doesn't have the same youthfulness as she did when Yachi saw her last, she is the most beautiful.

Yachi doesn’t want to be rude, so she waits until her mother is done with her business and her eyes look to her daughter and this man right next to him. “Hitoka, it’s good to see you.” Her mother rises from her chair to meet her.

Her mother stretches her arms around her daughter and it is a foreign feeling for everyone in the room. Her mother hasn’t felt her baby in her arms in five years, Yachi hasn’t felt the comfort of motherly love, and for Tsukishima, he feels the palpable awkwardness between them. At last, Yachi pats her shoulders, in the best attempt to reciprocate this action.

When her mother releases, she gestures for the two of them to sit across from them.

The first questions that come out of Yachi’s mouth are “Are you on a lunch break? Do we have a set amount of time to be with each other?” and Tsukishima doesn’t know whether to feel appalled for her mother or be proud of Yachi for standing up for herself, in this strange manner. For sure, Tsukishima did not expect anything of the sort to happen if it were based on when they first met at Karasuno. Yachi surely has changed, but so has Tsukishima.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Happy mother’s day, I brought you something,” Yachi says. She reaches into her bag and she relinquishes a leather wallet that must have cost her a fortune, adorned in gold embellishments and pressed all over with a brand.

“Thank you, this means a lot to me, Hitoka.” And she’ll put it into her closet, with the rest of the items she’s purchased or have received as gifts. This is the woman she has grown to know as her mother. “But I didn’t ask you to come here because I expected a present. I came here because I want to see you. It’s mother’s day, but I’m not a mother without you.”

“Of course she would say something like this,” Yachi mutters under her breath as she balls her hands into fists underneath the table, her dress fabric becoming one with her hands.

“This isn’t like you, Hitoka,” Tsukishima whispers into her ear. This isn’t like her. He feels like a wedge between them, a referee of some sorts. “I shouldn’t be here.” His teeth are gritted, finding new things within a half a conversation about this girl he’s known for years.

“You should stay, Tsukki,” Yachi replies, using his old nickname. Turning her head back to her mom, she takes a deep breath and lets everything out all at once. “You shouldn’t have called me, you know. We can live without each other.”

“Is it a crime,” the woman on the other end looks right into Hitoka’s eyes and she squirms under the sudden dissection. “Is it a crime,” she repeats. “to see the woman that made me a mother? I’m sorry I haven’t been there—”

“It can be when my mother doesn’t speak to me for a few years and then she suddenly wants to get in contact with me.” Yachi holds onto Tsukishima’s hand underneath the table, their fingers intertwining, but it is different than when Tsukishima led Yachi through the streets of this city.

“But I want to get to know you now.” And there is an earnest look in her eye that causes Yachi’s insides to rub rotten. “I am telling you the truth, Hitoka. I love you, and you are my only daughter. You can ask me anything and I will not tell you a lie.”

Yachi’s lips press into a thin line and her eyebrows connect at the center of her face. Tears rush from her cheeks up to the bottom of her eyes, but she won’t let her body feel the resolution it seeks. “How can I trust you? How can I trust you, mom?” Yachi’s just letting all the words come out, not knowing whether or not her words hold the tone she’s really feeling. She tries her hardest to hold against the walls she’s built, but she can feel the crumbling from the inside.

“I don’t know what to say, Hitoka.” Madoka slides the hair tie out of the bundle and lets all of her hair fall. The strands curl at the ends without effort and they reach to the bottom of her shoulder blades. It’s as Yachi remembered, but not quite. “If you can’t trust me now, then I suppose that’s okay. But I want you to trust me eventually. I care about you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not supporting you these last few years, but I want to make up for it.”

It’s hard to pick out what Yachi wants to hear when everything feels fabricated and made up on the spot. The muscles in her chest stretch out from the middle, or maybe it’s her lungs squeezing with too much effort. Either way, she must be on fire and her tears want to extinguish her flames.

Tsukishima feels like Hitoka’s blazes have expanded into the outside world because what he just saw go down between the two women in this room seemed like a fire truck combusting into spontaneous flames. “Hitoka,” he mutters. With his thumb, he wipes away a stray teardrop that hugs against the side of her cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words aren’t directed at a single person, but she still feels the need to apologize for how she’s feeling. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“I am the one that’s at fault. There’s nothing to be sorry about, Hitoka.” Her mother, the vision of poise, is blubbering her words softly, but it’s clear that she’s trying to keep everything together. She stands and is tentative with her steps. “Would it be okay if I hugged you right now?”

“Please.”

Tsukishima watches the pair make up and eventually, he notices the wistful smile he has on. He wishes he were with the rest of his family, crowded around a table to fight for food, even if it is just the three of them. This is his life now, though. He’s made up his mind on where he is living, but he doesn’t have to be set on how his family relationships lie.

Tsukishima’s hand has been long unoccupied as Hitoka speaks to her mother in hushed tones, Hitoka’s lips moving right by her ear and arms slung around her mother’s neck. He can’t hear them, but by the looks of their faces, it must be reviving conversation.

“Oh, right! Mom, this is Kei.” He can’t deny that there’s something inside that swells deep when Hitoka introduces him as Kei to her mother, but all there is to show on the outside is a polite smile.

Madoka straightens her back to look at him through slotted eyes. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, when you were in high school.”

“Right, he was on the volleyball team. Well, he’s still playing volleyball with the Sendai Frogs. He’s a great player and I try to make their games whenever I can,” Yachi beams with delight.

“Your family must be so proud, Kei.” Madoka takes a pause before continuing. “Are you two dating? Is this why you brought him today, Hitoka?” There is a teasing implication running along her tongue as she speaks.

At the same time, Yachi says “sort of” and Tsukishima says “no.” In an unironic and comical fashion, they both turn their heads at each other and stare.

“Oh,” Yachi’s mother mutters, holding a hand to her mouth. She only planned to be part of one reunion, but seeing another union blossom right before her eyes is priceless.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Kei,” Yachi’s eyes can’t quite meet his when she says this. “Nobody else knows me like you do.”

“Right.” He glances back and forth between Yachi and her mother. This would be a weird way to confess that he’s been in love with her for the past four years, but he decides that any time would be better than this. “We should talk about this later, but I feel the same way about you.”

“Oh, great! Maybe I’ll have grandchildren one day!”

“Mom!”

tag-list: @clowninfortodoroki

general hq tag list :D - @heccingdead @dorkyama @fireflywritingstories @totallynotcryingmyeyesoutwhat

#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuuwriters 0520 #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu writing #haikyuu writers #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu yachi #tsukishima kei #tsukishima #yachi hitoka #yachi #tsukiyachi #tsukishima haikyuu #yachi haikyuu #karasuno

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savysavannah · 3 years

Text

Practice Challenge One part Two

Special thanks to: @eaton-schreave and @s-morgan

Men have been paying more attention to me lately. Not that they didn't much before, I am a woman after all they're fairly predictable on that front. But what I wasn't expecting was how aggressive they'd be once I became something they knew they couldn't have.

I tried to continue living on as if nothing happened. Wake up, go to work, work through lunch (you can't let the papparazzi see you with mayo on your cheek again), take a break and call Angelic who works at the palace and has been my personal helper through this transition, beg my boss to let me work through the selection, "I can just go to court virtually!", skip dinner, drive home, make sure no one is following me, they still haven't found out where I live at least, pop open a bottle of gin, then research this bitch who I had to somehow, for the sake of my own ass, not murder.

The office is on floor 10 of the 20 floor building I work in. I park in the parking lot, thankfully the paparazzi can't follow me there as you have to scan in. I walked up to the elevator and pressed the button. Just as the doors closed a larger man ran up and blocked it with his hand. He was around 6’4 and towered over me, he stood a little too close and I clutched my purse to take the anxiety out.

I watched the numbers go up as we rode but felt him watching me. His pinky finger rubbed against my thigh fiddling with the hem of my pencil skirt. He couldn’t do anything to me, not with who I now was, not in a moving elevator. I tried to remember to breathe as we hit floor eight and leaned to the side to avoid him which he leaned closer in response. Finally we stopped at floor ten and I got off. Thankfully, he didn’t follow.

I tried to put the moment out of my mind while I worked. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, but it was the first time that I was completely and utterly alone. I clicked the B key of my laptop over and over trying to get my brain to pump out something. Some kind of work. But all I got in response was the distracting thoughts of what to do next time.

At lunch I stared at the elevator. I had to take either the stairs or the elevator. If I took the elevator I'd be stuck in the same situation. If I took the stairs I'd be alone in a dark area for longer. I pressed the button and watched my watch as I waited.

I was thankfully alone as it lowered to the ground. I was able to breathe and let my mind debate over if I should go to the sandwich place near work or drive home and eat leftovers. Going with the sandwich I started to walk down the block.

“Daniel will you get off that stupid device and pass your sister the peas.” Mother ordered as we all sat at the table of our parents estate. Our weekly dinners were normally a lively event, but tonight was the first night before I left. Daniel and I still hadn’t made up since his plan for vengeance against someone who had not harmed him had succeeded.

I’d tried to make the best of the situation, research some ounce of goodness in the Prince, but all I found were articles of his outrageous college behavior. Dan had been assuring me that once I was eliminated I would have a sea of men to pick from and would be happily married to a two or upper class three, I could quit work and be a simple housewife like his Marina, this outraged me further and caused a fight. My goal in life is not to be a wife but to work and be content with my work. Danny was the only one who could actually provide any solace reminding me that it would just be for a few weeks, possibly less, then I’d be back to work just as before. Eventually, people would forget I was ever someone to know and I could return to my life.

Just as we finished dinner the doorbell rang, though there was quickly a rattling of the knob and a busting in before the help could get to the door. Grandmother came in with large pink bags, which I believed to be for me. Soon after I learned that they were filled with all kinds of masks. Masks for face, masks for hair, hands, feet. Apparently, being on TV meant my skin had to be extremely soft.

Grandmother is the current head of the Mars candy corporation. Next in line is my Uncle Dennis, then my cousins, then uncle Ricky. Hopefully though it won’t come down to Ricky. Ricky blew all his money before he could trap a wife, he’s still a two as grandmother keeps him afloat, but barely. One day he’ll probably be caught with some kind of drug, he’ll be dropped to an eight, it’ll be a shame that could have been prevented had the lawyer in the family not been a stuck up bitch. I’m just tired of working for free on a man who will never change, and doesn’t deserve the luxury. But God forbid I charge family.

The morning of the flight I wasn’t nervous at all. I said my goodbyes to my boss, let her know I’d be available on my phone or through email if she needed anything, locked up my home, and headed to the formal goodbye where I’d meet up with my family. There was a surprising amount of pride in the province for me being selected. I had read an article about how it seemed I would be destined to be the perfect fit for Queen. I already worked in helping those of Illea through complex laws and policies, I was well educated, from a wealthy family but not a literal two. I was the perfect mold and the pride of Labrador. There were other provinces which had an eight selected that were not quite as cheerful. In the quiet of the airport I was finally able to say my goodbyes. Mother told me to remember to not be too closed off, Father told me to be careful, Danny told me to tough it out but give it an honest try; “He may not be terrible, don’t deny yourself happiness.” Some nonsense like that.

Dan congratulated me on the opportunity, and Daniel stood quietly trying to avoid eye contact. I was still mad at him. What he did was unforgivable. But we couldn’t leave like this. I hugged him tightly and boarded the plane.

The day was a blur, a blur of useless lessons, a blur of mild appearance changes, girls who were possibly friends, possibly enemies, possibly annoying. It was late into the evening by the time I got to my room. My maids, Florence, Abigail, and Eimear seemed eager to be serving possibly ‘the future queen of illea’ and I was eager for a moment to myself. I dismissed them for the night to unpack on my own.

I’d snuck a few pairs of my own tailored dress pants in, my laptop, phone, a notebook, a few books, and a family photo. Soon enough the room was a strangers room with sprinkles of me throughout. Once I sat down at my laptop I realized it was already getting fairly late. I changed into a silk nightgown, closed my laptop and tried to sleep.

As I slept I thought of the footsteps around me, everything felt so loud, a screaming echo that I was in the very last place I ever wanted to be. After a while of tossing and turning I finally stood and walked to the wine cellar. We had been told to make ourselves at home afterall. As I walked back to my room I bumped into a stranger.

After a moment of shock and regaining my grip on the bottle of wine I looked up to see Prince Eaton. He was known to be more sane than his brother, so I was thankful for at least that. “Oh! I'm sorry, Prince Eaton.” I spoke and gave a small curtsy.

He looks down at the bottle and myself with a bit of a furrowed brow “You don't need to apologize.”

He pauses for a moment and gives a friendly smile, “And you don't need to curtsy, either. Lady Savannah, is that right?” It’s a bit astonishing he’d both remember my name and recognize it as mine upon seeing me. If I were in his place I’m not sure I could.

I sighed a bit in relief please I wouldn’t be getting yelled at for my carelessness this evening, “Yes. Just Savannah is fine, or Ms. Mars if you insist on formality. Though, the apology is still warranted considering I should have been watching where I was going. At little out of it, first night and all.” I lifted the bottle as the first night related to the bottle.

He gave a deadpan joke and I was fortunate then that I am competent in people reading. It may have been awkward if his "I'm not sure wine will help you remember the palace geography.”

“Well, the goal is to drink it once I return to my room. That or the courtyard since it is pretty out tonight. Though, you do make an excellent point that the wine combined with being in an unfamiliar location could have negative consequences.” For a moment I paused. It may not be a horrible idea to make the acquaintance of someone here.

“Care to have a glass with me? Splitting it and being with someone who knows the 'geography' well may decrease the negatives.” I offered.

“Interesting that you don't drink though. I'd heard you were more....sober, than your brother but it's noted to the extent. *kinda blushes* not that I was researching you or anything, it's just difficult to not hear things when you both went to my undergrad and you're a prince. Kinda a common conversation topic.”

He stood a bit straighter and eyed the bottle, “I do not drink.” After a moment passed he then cleared his throat, the tone of his statement before must have hit him, “However I can keep you company if you want to.”

I stifled a laugh at him clearing his throat not trying to be rude but finding his realization funny, “Great then. You can be my guide then for the evening.”

he seemed embarrassed and put his hands in his jean pockets, “I'm afraid this kind of thing comes along with the title...“ he took a hand out of his pocket, making a motion like ‘shall we go?’

“So you went to the University of Labrador?”

“yup. Go Labs *kinda mumbles for a moment* I wasn't really there for long. We started the same year I think, which I don't really remember much of. I was kinda a different person then. Then I graduated in 2 years and went to Yale law so all in all not a whole lot of time there. But I am from Labrador and my family home is near the campus so I know the area pretty well.”

he had a very small smile “And I showed off to my brother for graduating in three years. Labrador is a beautiful province, though. I miss it.”

“Well, I'm sure you had more to do than me. I'm not some kinda royal so I just got to spend all my time working on getting credits. It is pretty though, I already miss it. Not that Angeles isn't. My mom's family lives here so I've been here a few times, but it's just not Labrador.”

“I agree, but I've come to realize Angeles is full of little gems. You just need to find them. Hopefully you'll be able to get out of the palace to see it for yourself.”

I chuckled a bit at my situation, “Well, I don't imagine I'll be here very long so maybe I'll have a little Angeles vacation”

he raised his eyebrows, “I know... My brother's reputation. But I think he's trying to take this seriously.” He paused for a moment, “Or as seriously as he can take anything.” It was a bit shocking to hear him say that. He seemed like a sensible person, any sensible person would be unlikely to defend the Prince. Though, he was also his brother, perhaps there's a familial bias.

“Mhm.” I nodded then picked the conversation back up, “well, only time will tell. Hopefully for the sake of the country what's been said about him the last few years are baseless rumours” I sighed a bit thinking about which floozy of a wife will be our future Queen. The floozy and the fuckboy, what leaders.

Prince Eaton clenched his jaw, “Media is prone to exaggeration.” but did not deny what had been said.

He was being nice by walking with me so I decided to spare him a grilling and change the topic, “I'm sure. So how do you feel with the whole uh, 35 girls in your house situation?” Great now I sound like an interviewer.

We reached an access to the gardens and he opened a French window for me, “My space is always invaded, it's nothing worse than usual.” He said with a failed attempt at a smile. I assume he isn’t looking for pity but it’s difficult to not be pitying over such an attempt.

“That's fair I guess. Surprised you stayed though. Had my brother decided to have a bunch of ladies in our home, privacy be damned I don't wanna be around that mess.” I joked.

He snorted and seemed surprised at himself, “I was supposed to avoid it with a world tour. But things took another turn and now work won't get done alone.”

“World tour sounds a lot more fun. Postponed or cancelled?”

He gave his first genuine smile of the night, “Already done, actually. I came back a couple months ago.”

“Where did you go? Since I assume a world tour isn't literal?”

“Oceania, South Asia, Central Africa, and Europe.” He gave a small wistful sigh. I’d be wistful too if I had been all over there.

“That's very worldly. I've only been to France and Germany. Did you have a favorite visit?”

He didn’t hesitate for a moment, “New Zealand and Scandinavia. What about you though? Did you enjoy your visits?”

The question caught me off guard so I took a moment trying to remember them, “they were alright. Quite a long time ago though. We only went to stay with my Uncle in France since he runs the part of my family's company in France and then we went to Germany because we were there so we may as well head there. Mostly it was just sitting with my brothers at a hotel while my parents went off or my grandma playing dress up with eight year old me”

“Oh. Do you regret not getting to see more of those places?” He said and looked to a bench we were approaching, but more with a thoughtful consideration than a directional goal.

“A bit. It would have been nice to go out but they were more business trips than anything else. Maybe I'll go again at some point on my own if I have the free time.” I let us pass the bench, I’d been sitting far too much today with all the lessons and makeovers.

“Sometimes you have to give yourself the time or you'll never do certain things.”

“Logically I agree. But emotionally.....it's difficult to step back to work when my work directly impacts horrific moments of people's lives. Like if I were to go see a movie and my phone off, a client could be arrested and their treatment and time in jail without being able to contact their legal representation would be on my hands.”

He nodded slowly, “I can understand that. It gets hard to stop when people's lives are on the line.”

I sighed, trying not to get too revealing over my reasons for being here, afterall telling a stranger- regardless of him being a prince, that my brother had forged my application would be dumb, “I don't even really want to be wasting time here. But it is what it is. Trying to view this as a forced vacation. At least there are pretty flowers and good wine.”

He furrowed his brows, “Is there a way we could keep you working, from here? I guess you couldn't do much, but a little is better than nothing.”

I sighed, “Yeah I tried. I work for the ICLU so I asked if I could just stay in contact with clients and work from a far. But I wouldn't be able to make any proper court appearances and they wouldn't want someone just thrown on for court so it made more sense to just give me paid vacation. They were pretty proud anyways since apparently it's an honor to be selected for this reboot reality TV bachelor show.”

He pursed his lips, “I'm sorry you don't get to keep working. But they're not wrong. You being selected does give visibility to your organisation.”

I stopped for a moment, completely caught off guard by the comment, “That is true I hadn't thought of that. It's a non-profit so I hope donations may increase from me being here.” I dug into the oversized pockets of my nightgown and grabbed a pen, always best to keep a pen in the pocket, then scribbled on my hand, “reminder to think of ways to bring up iclu during this.” I explained.

He laughed through his nose and smiled, “See, a couple things might come out of your forced vacation.”

I chuckled a bit, “You're a smartass, and I mean that as a compliment. I can tell already which makes me feel much better about Prince Damian being in charge next.” I sighed content for a moment then remembered I was supposed to be making conversation, “So, you know I'm a nut for my work, what are you passionate about?”

He shrugged and looked around as if the gardens would save him, “My work.”

I smiled wondering a bit why that would be something to be ashamed of, “I get that. But do you have a specific part? I mean I'm sure you do a lot. So do you ever wake up and you're like 'man I get to do blank today!" Like for me it's court days because I love the theatrics of it.” I smiled a bit remembering the fun of cross.

The question seemed too intimate for him as he tucked his hands in his pockets, “I guess I like working on projects. I mean, when the planning part of it.”

“Projects are fun. I hated them when I was in high school. I was very much so not the nerd I am today.” I tried to avoid going too deep into the projects conversation, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable.

He raised a brow at the comment of my past, “I understand why people can find them boring, though.” Thankfully he didn’t press further on the past.

“Yeah I was more of a push off project till the last minute and party with my friends type for a while. Now I kinda wish I could have them again, it'd probably be fun to analyse how the flaws of Gregory Illea still impact us from a historical perspective.”

He snorted and shook his head, “It's more nerve-wracking than fun, in my opinion.”

“Well yeah, but if you can identify the flaws you can work to fix them and the research is fun so overall, more fun.”

He looked up at the stars as he thought, “I don't know... Not all of it is fixable. Not that easily at least.”

I thought as well for a moment, the country had been in a bit of unrest for awhile now. He was probably thinking of that, “Well, just because it isn't easy isn't any reason to not be excited about it. The accomplishment of fixing something difficult is arguable even better.” I tried to reason.

He stayed thoughtful, and looked down at me, “I see your points. But sometimes I think our ancestors just put us in a situation we'll never fully get out of.”

“That's a very cynical outlook and I disagree. It isn't logical to assume that just because a way hasn't been thought up yet that there can be a way out of a problem.” I said and smiled up at him.

“Maybe it's cynical, but what I see is history repeating itself.” He looked up again, “It doesn't mean I think things aren't worth fighting for, though. But magical solutions don't exist.”

“I agree. Solutions often require a lot of work and even then are often not perfect. But to never fully get out of seems too far cynical for me to believe.”

He looked down at me curiously, “You're more optimistic than you appear to be.”

I raised an eyebrow, “hm, interesting that I appear to not be optimistic. I take it that it's the wine bottle causing that.”

He smiled slightly, “Maybe. But just a little.”

“Any reason you don't drink?” I asked before realizing that may be very personal, “that is if you're comfortable answering.”

He shrugged, “I don't like the taste. Or the sensation.”

“That's a fair reason. I didn't like it much till I joined a sorority and ended up just liking it because we drank so much.” I kinda shuddered remembering the hangovers.

He raised an eyebrow, “I guess it tastes different once you're inebriated enough.”

“Yeah like spicy foods. Everyone hates them when they are a kid but you grow to love them as you get older.”

He snorted, ”I've always liked spicy foods, even as a kid.”

I laughed, “Well then you're weird. I still can't handle wasabi.”

He laughed softly, “You just need to be careful about the quantity.”

“No literally any bit of it and I'm out. My brother Danny put some on my sushi the other night, it was just a dapple from his chopstick but I couldn't eat the piece.”

“Did you try to?”

“No. Why would I want to be in pain, I'm not a weird masochist.”

“How do you know it's that bad if you never give it another try though?”

“Hmm, traumatic memories.”

He raised his eyebrows, a curious expression on his face, “Care to share?”

I sighed at the memory, “When I was a kid I really loved matcha paste. It was like a sweet matcha pouch of paste that you could suck out, like those applesauce containers. it was my favorite thing. My grandmother gave me some and since my parents found it effective to shut me up I got it a lot. One day they ordered sushi, left it on the table, I was around four so i could reach it, thought the wasabi was matcha and ate a handful of it. Tears ensued and now I'll never touch it again.”

He laughed softly, “Alright, I understand better. But you could try to overcome your trauma someday.”

“Maybe one day, but with a lot of milk in arms reach”

He nodded, “I'm sure it can be easily arranged during your little vacation.”

I kinda shuddered at the thought, “I'll for sure need a friendly face there with me for moral support.” I laughed.

He laughed quietly, “It shouldn't be hard to find.”

“Probably harder than the wasabi though. So that is task number one on mission wasabi.”

He smiled slightly, “Well, if you stay stuck too long on task number one, I can volunteer as a friendly face.”

“Thank you. Same to you if you ever happen to need one.”

He nodded, “I'll remember that.” He jerked his chin to the wine, “Are you still planning on drinking this?”

I lifted the bottle and stared for a moment, “it'll come back to my room for further deliberation. Possibly a nightcap.”

“If it can help you get some sleep…” He glanced at the palace, “I should walk you back to your room.”

“If you don't mind. I would consider you an expert of palace geography after all.”

He snorted and shook his head, “Do you remember your room number? Or Hall?”

“Ummmmm. I'm gonna guess 14. Could be 15 though.”

He took a step towards the palace, gesturing for me to walk along, “Well, hopefully we won't step into anyone's bedroom.”

“Hm. Well the doors do say our names on them, so assuming one of us is literate I think we're safe from that” .

“I'm a humble geographer, I read maps.” He replied, getting a small giggle from myself.

“lead the way, humble geographer.” We walked for a bit through the palace till we found my room.

“That's me.”

He stopped in front of the room, “Well, we've made it. Unscathed, at that.”

“Very impressive. I would say you're a 10 out of 10 guide for such an achievement.”

He bowed, “Please don't hesitate to post a review on TripAdvisor.”

I chuckled at the joke, “well thank you for all your help. Wishing you the best, Prince Eaton.”

“Eaton's just fine. Goodnight.” He smiled.

“Good night, Eaton” I replied with a curtsy then retired to my room.

Once I got on my laptop I pulled up my email. It wouldn’t be too annoying if I emailed my boss with some advertisement suggestions. If I let her know I’d be willing to help as much as I could. I could take up some interviews and remind people to donate. But as I typed I found myself hitting the same key over and over.

Finally I scrolled onto Toogle and began to read about Prince Damian. The bottle of wine found its way to my lips as I read about his partying, his boorish public behavior, his absolutely lack of responsibility for his people. Quickly the bottle was empty.

The world spun and I closed the laptop. My stomach gurgled demanding sustenance. Crackers? Something salty? Maybe popcorn. Popcorn and a movie sounds good, I mean why should I bother with anything else while I’m here in this hell. If I have to wake up early I can simply nap when I have a moment to spare. I took the bottle with me planning to throw it away in some form of recycling bin which I assumed would be in the kitchen.

I couldn’t find the kitchen. Instead I stood in an unknown hallway for a few moments, before finally deciding to give up and just return to my room. I could ask my maids for popcorn in the morning if I still wanted it.

I walked to my room on the corner of the hallway, walked in and laid on my bed. I let my shoes slip off and rest on the ground next to where I had placed the empty bottle.

“Um…” I hear someone say who then clears their throat and says a bit louder, “hello?”

I Rolled around to look at her. I had dismissed all of my maids, who was this person? After a moment I recognized her as a selected who I had seen earlier in the day, “Um? Hi?” I mumbled and tried to sit up a bit in bed. This was not a good time for me to be receiving visitors and I hadn’t the slightest clue why this girl was in my room.

She steps a bit closer to me, “Are you alright?”

“More than. Rich asshole got fucking great wine. I'm Savannah Mars of Labradoradora. Why are you in my room?” I slurred.

She mouthed “Labradoradora” silently to herself before she blinked again, and walked to the edge of the bed and looked at me. Seeming to understand my condition she smiled, “Somehow someway, you ended up in my room. Sienna. Not... Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Woops.” I giggled a bit at the situation now fully understanding this poor girl's confusion at my intrusion. “Savannah.” I lifted an arm in a lazy wave, “Mars. If you read the papers I'm the selected whose brother punched a reporter.”

She half grimaced, “Well hopefully you don’t punch me when I offer to help you back to your room.”

I laughed a bit at what this girl must be thinking of me, “not at all! They're just protective over a creepy paparazzi.” I sat up more straightly and swayed a little.“you don't have to help me though. I am perfectly capable of finding a room. Regardless of my state I am in fact a lawyer. Therefore I can read.”

Her smile is a little more at ease with my laugh, then she nodded slowly, “Oh absolutely. But so I don’t get mixed up in the future, can you let me come?” She said, eyeing my swaying carefully.

“Gotcha!” I cheered and did some finger guns and stood up successfully with the help of the bedpost, “I'm a lawyer, you?”

She stepped near me and offered a hand, answering distractedly, “Illustrator.”

I took her hand, “Pretty!” Then blushes a bit at the exclamation, “Illustration i mean! You are too though!” Trying not to insult the stranger.

She laughed softly and took my arm into the crook of hers, “Thank you. The compliment goes both ways.”

I nodded enthusiastically, “oh no bad idea dizzy.” I said and settled myself again, “I sleep somewhere around here. Why do all these doors look the same”

“I see why you got confused heading into my room.” She chuckles as she scans the plates, “Are you sure your room’s in this direction?” She blinked “Never mind.”

Suddenly I saw another door, it said S something, how many selected with S names could there be, “S is me!” I exclaimed.

She squinted and she looked closer at the nameplate, “S is close to you, but this isn’t your room. It’s Soraya’s,” She frowned and nodded at a guard who we passed.

“Oh... “ I wondered why someone else would have joined this, I suppose this other selected is a perfect person to ask, “Do you have the hots for the prince?”

She seemed startled by the question, “Well... we haven’t even met him yet.” She then raised a brow, “Do you?”

I laughed and nearly threw my head back, “Absolutely not! But I was wondering if all the girls here would be like” I stopped for a moment to gather myself, “UWUWUW Prince Dammmm i wanna be your wifeeyyy” I batted my eyes mimicking my expectation of my fellow selected, “and shit.”

Thankfully she laughed before quickly covering her mouth, “Let’s see how the interviews go then talk. I might go all moony-eyed.”

I half chuckled, “I don't think there’s a thing he could say to me to make me go all "uwu'. Strongly dislike the man off the bat.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow, a laugh still in her voice, “Is it the partying?”

“120%” I said fully serious.

She hummed, “What about it don’t you like?

“The fact that he's supposed to be the heir to illea and he's running around partying like he's just some ordinary frat boy. He has an obligation to the country and his choice to party over starting on work directly impacts thousands of peoples lives. I spend freaking days arguing cases that could just be solved if we had a leader who was sand enough to amend laws that deserve amending but he's out there doing jello shots and drinking tequila!” I complained, probably spilling out a bit much.

She sighed and bobbed her head to one side for a moment, focusing on the hallway before they reached the end of it and realized her room is probably back where they were before, she simply missed it. tugs them back in that direction again, “Maybe he’s... getting it out of his system.” She defended and wrinkled her nose clearly not believing her own words.

I sighed, “Maybe. At least this will let me tell if he's really that hopeless or not. Not that I'm one to speak in my current state.”

She gave a short laugh, “What if he is hopeless? What will you do then?”

I hadn’t quite thought that far out, “I figure out which one of you is the least hopeless and try to help them win.” I suggested.

She seemed amused at my conclusion, “Why did you submit your name then? For kicks and giggles?”

I sighed, “I didn't submit my application. Let's just leave it at that. Why'd you submit yours?” She seemed to agree with me about the large faults of the prince which made me more curious.

“Second chance at... something.” A vague answer.

I snorted, “something? What did you date a prince in a past life?”

She looked down with a smile then back up, “Life. Second chance at life.” I knew what she meant. The chance to reinvent yourself. I was able to get it before, if this was hers I wished her the best.

I looked up at her and smiled, “Well, I hope you get it Ms. Artist.”

She directed a smile at me, “Thank you.” We finally approach a room directly labeled Savannah Mars, which is funnily enough exactly across the hall from Sienna's. “I hope you don’t get too much of a headache tomorrow.”

I waved, “Nah I chug water.” I smiled at her already feeling the effects wearing off, “Thank you for walking me here, and I'm sorry for lying on your bed.”

“Sure sure.” She let go of her arm and raised a brow, “Positive you’ll be alright?”

“Positive.” I replied with a brief nod, headed into my room, then passed out for the night.

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goattales · 5 years

Text

Caught in the Act

Plot: The reader catches Jasper and Alice making out and he starts avoiding them cause he's way to embarrassed to deal with that. Note: the reader doesn't know they're vampires

You, in general, didn't really fit into any of those neat little groups the school divided itself into. You weren't sporty enough to be a jock, you didn't wear enough black to be a got, and you weren't popular enough to be, well, one of the popular kids. You were just Y/N L/N, some high school Senior that kept his head down. The universe had no plan for you, you were merely wandering this earth as a bystander.

But that didn't mean you didn't want to be part of a clique, because it gave people a deeper sense of belonging, a reason to act the way you want to, dress the way you like, do things you enjoy, all with likeminded individuals! But it was too much stress, you preferred to just bounce between interests- sports, art, history, books -without having to be tied to one forever.

And with all that running around your head you started to shove your books and pencil case into your bag, barely even letting the bell ring before you stood up to go to lunch. Nothing fancy in your bag today, just some leftovers from last night's dinner and a bag of candy you had been slowly working through all day.

Despite not being in a clique, you didn't sit alone; you sat with Angela, Mike, Eric, and Jessica. Bella use to sit with you guys too, before she started to sit with the Cullens, now her relationship to the group was more a see-eachother-in-the-corridor-and-smile sort of deal.

That wasn't so big of a concern for you, though, in fact the first time you saw her sit at the table you knew she wouldn't be sat with you all for long, she had one of those popular looks about her, so when she was hand selected to join the five person moping party that was the Cullen table you weren't too surprised.

In some other timeline maybe she would have gone on to joint the nerds in the back table near the stage, or maybe she would have taken to the goth table that was in the corner near the fire exit. And maybe there was even alternate universe where she stayed at this table, but that would be something you may never find out.

Not, at least, with Mike Newton pulling you back to real life with little care for your ears.

"Y/N! Are you even listening?!" Mike dragged you out of your train of thought by waving a hand in front of your face and screeching at you. That was surprisingly subtly by his standards, though.

"Mike, leave him alone, he just got out of maths. He's recovering, aren't you, Y/N?" Jessica came to your defence with an elbow in Mike's ribs and a soft sort of grin for you, and you thanked her with a small smile before you spoke.

"It's okay, Jess, but thanks. I was just thinking about existence and how absolutely infinite it is" you shrugged.

"That much, huh? Deep, L/N, deep." Mike seemed stunned, or maybe he just regretted prompting you to talk, but either way he didn't try to drag you into the conversation again, and you took the opportunity to fall back to your thoughts gratefully.

When you all parted ways for the last five or so minutes of lunch everyone waved, some hugged, and Mike and Jess walked off attached at the hip. They were together again, though who knows how long it will last at this point. You and Angela were talking the other day, and agreed that they were probably so on-and-off because they were lonely and the other was close enough to fix that for a bit.

You shook your head and huffed quietly, rounding one corner after another and then climbing a set of stairs only to realise you left your coat in your last classroom, and with a great deal of frustration you turned on your heels and took a brisk walk back. You were hoping, no praying, that the room would still be unlocked, because the teacher would have left by now and the room won't be used until tomorrow.

By some streak of luck it was, but when you pushed the door open and made a grab for your coat- laid out on the teachers desk, predictably -the shuffling of other people's clothes made you look up so fast you hurt your neck.

Stood in the back of the room were Jasper Hale and Alice Cullen, both very disheveled and looking rather like deers caught in headlights. Even from as far away as you were, you could see that Jasper's shirt was almost completely open and the straps of Alice's bra and vest top were a mess around her forearms, more of her chest on show than usual.

As they rushed to correct it and called out for you to wait, though being vague as opposed to a name-you heard a very light "h-hey, you with the coat, wait!" as you made a break for it.

You decided in that moment that you would have to move schools, because the most they did was hold hands when other people were around and there was no way you could face them after seeing that, so you spent the next three days avoiding them as much as possible.

The next day you barely dodged Alice in the hallway, narrowly avoided Jasper in the bathroom, and didn't go to lunch at all for fear of them cornering you as you entered the hall. The day after that it was sunny enough for their mum and dad to yank them out of school. The third was more perilous, you had History and sat a seat in front of Jasper, but you managed to talk the guy in front of you into switching, and you made a show of hanging behind to talk to the teacher until everyone else had left.

But the fourth day it was all over. You thought that maybe they had just dropped it, because when you sat to eat and glanced over at the table with as discrete of a gaze as you could manage, Alice caught your eyes and just looked away.

You were actually just leaving as you were bumped out of the stream of teenagers and then grabbed by what you would maybe describe as the ice cold grip of death himself, but looking down you saw it was just Alice. Little Alice with the big eyes and pretty lips, lips that right now were pressed into a thin, terrifying smile.

She dragged you into a classroom, where Jasper was sat on a table, hands clasped together in his lap and shoulders stiff.

You were actually terrified, because in the few seconds between being grabbed and then getting pushed into this room you had convinced yourself that you were going to get murdered.

"You know, my family is gonna worry when I-I'm not home by four, so killing me w-would be a real bad idea" your mouth ran despite your better judgement telling you to keep it shut, though your fear died in your chest when Jasper snorted.

"What?" Alice let you go and raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you'd grown a second head. "Y/N, we're not going to kill you, where did you even get that idea from?"

"W-well, I walked in on you two the other day, a-and you've been ch-chasing me down ever since" tripping over your words, you were scratching the back of your head as though it would wake you up, because that would be really good right now.

"Only 'cause you've been running away." Jasper spoke this time, and you looked over to see him staring at you much in the same way Alice was.

"We just wanted to apologise, because the way you found us was kind of..."

"Unbecoming" where Alice trailed off, Jasper picked up, and you found yourself rushing to speak.

"Oh! Oh- no it's fine, I've walked into worse. This is a high school, freshmen are practically feeling eachother up in the halls every day. I just, well you two don't even hug around other people, s-so I assumed you would be super annoyed that I walked in"

Jasper shrugged and Alice shook her head, laughing softly.

"No! We were just really ashamed that you had to see that, especially Jazz." as Alice spoke, Jasper nodded along, and spoke only when she had finished.

"I hope this has not altered the way you see us, Y/N, though perhaps we can build a friendship from this experience."

Lost for words, you nodded, and something inside of you starting to warm up at the idea. Perhaps the universe, in all its vast and unpredictable glory, had a plan for you after all?

#twilight #jasper hale #alice cullen #male reader #twilight x reader #twilight x male reader #jasper whitlock hale #male reader insert #my writing #this got way longer than i thought it would

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unmanageable-day · 4 years

Text

By your side | 05

previously ➺ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

You were applying your skincare routine and just getting started with your coral blush when someone rang the bell. You found it odd, because you never had a guest on weekends, let alone in the morning. Or at least before lunch time. The bell rang twice, making you rush to open the door.

"Coming," you shouted at the door.

You lost all words when Johnny appeared behind your door, looking as fine as you could remember although he simply wore a sweater and a pair of jeans. "Johnny, what are you..."

"May I come in?" he calmly asked. He was so quiet you almost can't recognize him. The Johnny you used to know was the bubbly, giggly, cheerful and talkative Johnny whenever and wherever.

"Yeah, sure." You opened the door wider for him. Without words, you watched him take off his shoes, waited for him to follow you entering your studio apartment, and gestured him to sit down on the couch. "Coffee? Tea?" you offered.

He smiled. He knew you knew he loved coffee more than anything, yet he also knew caffeine was never on your grocery shopping list. This kind of simple little thing sometimes made him unexpectedly miss you even more. "Anything is fine," he answered.

"Then yujacha it is," you concluded, smiling back at him. You excused yourself to make his drink. "So, why are you here?" you casually asked from the pantry, not even bothered to look at his direction.

"I want to see you." He took a pause, unsure to blurt it out or not. He approached you to the pantry, and managed to get in your way, standing before you. "Because, uh.. I miss you." There. He said it. Not very loud. But it was quite clear.

You made an 'oh' sound with your expression getting puzzled. Not quite the reaction he was expecting, which he had to accept. He had to swallow his disappointment, yet he couldn't complain since he was the one to end your relationship.

"I miss you too, Johnny," you responded. But the smile on your lips was not as genuine as before. As when you learned how sweet Johnny was with his words and actions.

You passed him through his side without saying anything. You silently put two cups of yujacha on the table in front of the couch.

Behind you, Johnny followed your steps back to the living room, feeling uneasy. His eyes were tracing all over your outfit; a summer dress he recognized that Sooyoung bought you for your birthday but he himself never saw you wearing that—which he had to admit you looked stunning and it went great with your name, as well with your rosy cheeks. He also noticed your neglected make up kit on the small table beside the TV. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was actually getting ready to go out, but then you came. So, yeah.."

He automatically looked apologetic, but the feelings were mixed. He felt bad to disturb you. But he couldn't help to worry about who you were going with. Could it be... Jung Jaehyun?

"Don't worry," you quickly said as you tied your hair into a messy bun before a word slipped out of his mouth. "It's not like I have important meeting." You quickly tidied up your small table, put it in your bed room, then grabbed an outerwear to cover the revealing skin of your shoulders, arms, and upper chest. Soon, you joined him on the couch. "So, is there anything I can do for you?"

Still, he can't feel relieved. Especially when you made it sound like he only visited for his interest only. Can't he just casually come visit you like a friend?

"Is it okay if we hang out today?" Johnny encouraged himself to make himself clear, at least for the time being. "No need to go outside. Just chillin' here. Just you and me. Just like you wanted to do." He ended his words in hesitation. He might realize it was not wise to bring up the things you wanted to do back in the days.

It just made you ask yourself. 'Like what I wanted to do'? Do I still want to do that?

But the soft side in you gave in. You said yes to Johnny, even if it meant that you had to cancel your plan for the rest of the day. You already made a messy bun anyways, and you hadn't gone all the way for your daily makeup. These excuses were enough to stay at home.

Except Johnny was with you.

Johnny offered to use his Netflix account, and in return you let him decide what to watch. You didn't have much interest in movies and TV shows anyway. So you just sat there, with a distance of two pillows away from Johnny, your eyes on either the TV screen or your phone. Mainly your phone actually. Sometimes Johnny would start small talks about whatever scene displayed. However, since you weren't very responsive, he gave up on talking with you. He let his mind wander around where and how it went wrong between him and you, while still trying to watch the TV series Doyoung recommended to him. Being the multi-tasking person he was, he would also caught you drown in your own world as your hands were stuck with your phone, your thumbs busy typing although you could still face him and talk to him.

Eventually, the only sound heard in the room was from the TV. You and Johnny were in the same room, sitting on the same couch, yet Johnny felt like he was alone. As the TV series went on, the more Johnny lost his focus on his sight. He no longer watched the TV. He was staring blankly at nothing. The dialogue from the TV started to sound like murmurs in his ears. His mind was rather going back to recall the moment he spilled everything on you. The moment he shouldn't have said whatever he said.

Now he had better understanding of what mere physically exist means. This was it. Only your body was sitting there. Probably his presence there didn't matter at all to you. Or maybe worse, you didn’t even want him there.

This had never happened before.

Just because you were being a bit more quiet than usual when you went out with him and his friends, the audacity he had to say that you were just ‘existing’. He didn't even bother to ask why. Maybe he did, once or twice, but because you said you were fine so he just bought it. Johnny wanted to mock and laugh at himself. Taeyong would love to do it for his dear best friend.

"Johnny?" you called. Loud enough to snap him back to reality from being in a daze.

"Sorry, I almost dozed off." He faked his blinking and yawning. "Oh, it's evening already," he mumbled as he diverted his eyes to your window.

"Yeah," you shortly uttered. You silently untied your bun and let your hair fall freely, then you tucked some strands behind your left ear. Your expression was difficult for him to read. You were neither smiling, nor frowning. You just sat there, still holding your phone. Johnny had never seen you occupied with a gadget to this extent.

"We should have done this more often," he quietly spoke, looking at your direction to find your eyes. He could see you were still not used to him being a homebody like this. It was very understandable as you always accompanied him almost wherever he went out. You barely had dates at home, or just nice brunch dates without having to meet many people. You can even count how many times Johnny visited your home. This time was probably the fourth or fifth time. "Instead of going out to clubs, or to some parties," he continued, mumbling. There were some regret heard from his intonation.

You finally put your phone away. You had been texting non-stop during the whole episodes, and Johnny noticed that, causing him to lose concentration.

"Hey, it's fine. I had fun too meeting your friends." You tried to boost his mood. It was very odd to see him down.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

"It's already in the past. Don't think about it anymore."

Johnny didn't respond. If there was one thing he just realized, it would be the idea of you being relieved that everything about you and himself now was already in the past. And how much you emphasized that, as if you didn't want him in the present time. This was another wake up call for Johnny, that he messed up real bad in his relationship with you.

The silence between you and him was another thing that was uncommon. The first and the last time you experienced this kind of mood was the break up day. It was uncomfortable when you were reminded of it. You got up and pretend to search for something edible on your fridge beside banchan and the raw foods. It never slipped on your mind to ask him stay for dinner although it was past 7 PM. Even you skipped lunch because you didn't bother to offer him a meal, and he didn't say anything about it either, so you ended up snacking your last fruit stock. Now you only had some leftover of kimbab from yesterday in the fridge. You closed the refrigerator door hopelessly and got back to the living room to find Johnny already get up on his feet.

"I should go home," he calmly said.

"Oh, okay." Then you walked him to the front door without any small talk or whatsoever.

Johnny wished you would ask him to stay, or ask him why leaves so soon instead of saying okay right away. It felt like you had been waiting for him to go.

I want to hug her, he screamed inside as he had to control his body from jumping towards you and making you sink in his embrace. He stood before you wordlessly, with his mind contemplating between asking your permission for a hug, suppressing his desire to take you in his arms, or not giving a damn and just pull you into a bear hug.

"Johnny? Is there something wrong?" you asked, tilting your head to one side.

"Can I... can I hug you?" he shyly confessed, while his eyes unusually looking at the floor. Three seconds had passed without any response from you and it already tortured him. "Anyway, never mind. Don't listen to me." He waved his hand to the air before putting them in his pocket.

Your feet shifted closer to his. To his surprise, you placed your hands on the both sides of his waist, your side head resting on his chest as if you were listening to his heartbeat. Just when he was about to tighten the embrace, you abruptly let go of him due to your phone ringing loudly, leaving Johnny frozen in his spot with the remaining fruity scent from your shampoo.

"Oh, hi, Taeyong." He heard you speaking over the phone.

Taeyong again? Johnny pursed his lips. He was so in a big trouble.

"Yes, Johnny's here with me. We're in my house. It's fine. Okay, I'll see you around."

You hung up the call then folded your arms. "Taeyong is looking for you."

"I know. I should really go now."

You nodded.

"Thank you for today," he said as he put on his shoes. Just before he headed out, he turned back to you. "Can I come over again?"

You wore your pokerface, unconsciously making Johnny feel uneasy. "It would be better if you ring me up first."

Johnny nodded lightly. "Okay, I will."

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct au #nct fanfic #johnny imagines #nct angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #post by yourblinkies

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theworldoffostering · 4 years

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Baking & Cooking

Whelp, more time at home means more time in the kitchen (at least this week). I thought I would share a few recipes that we have made this week that were hits with the majority of people in our home. Pioneer Woman’s Chicken Salad: https://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/chicken-salad-the-way-i-like-it/ I made this up as a lunch option for the week. I eat it as a stand alone, but my kids like it on an open faced bread product. I do a small sandwich round bread or a pita for these. I toast the bread and then just put the chicken salad on top. Pioneer Woman Pot Roast: https://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2008_the_year_of_the_pot_roast/ I’ve made a lot of pot roast in different ways, but this recipe is just so, so good. I add more carrots (maybe a pound), and I add potatoes to it too as E won’t eat mashed potatoes, but she will eat them if I just add chunks of them to the pot. I also make a little gravy with the leftover juices from this. We had it for dinner this week and only Baby wouldn’t touch it (his loss). Your house will also smell amazing with this cooking. Paula Deen’s lasagna: https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/lots-omeat-lasagna-recipe-1940492 I use one pound of beef and one pound of turkey when I make this. I also only do two layers of noodles because I feel like the cottage cheese part isn’t enough to split into three. Whatever. My family never complains. They all eat seconds. Again, your house will smell amazing. I serve it with a basic side salad and a French baguette with butter and garlic powder wrapped in tin foil and heated in the oven for 15-20 minutes. Morning Glory Muffins: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/20995/easy-morning-glory-muffins/ I’m not saying that they’re healthy, but when the kids are home all day, they eat all day, and these do have carrots, raisins, apples, and coconut in them. High in fat and sugar. My kids like them and they are a bit more filling than the average muffin. I make them in a regular size muffin tin, and this recipe makes 24 for me.

#It's what's for dinner #pioneerwoman #snacks #surviving covid-19 #dinner #baking #cooking

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sockparade · 4 years

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tips for surviving the pandemic: things i learned from my immigrant parents

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a little over a week since the WHO announced that the coronavirus (COVID-19) was officially a pandemic. This has been a long, challenging week for a lot of people and it is nothing short of terrifying to read reports of what is happening in Asia and Europe as many predict that we’ll likely endure a similar fate here in the United States. In the midst of all of this chaos and uncertainty, I’ve been reminded of so many lessons that my Taiwanese immigrant parents taught me. I’m sharing them here so that others might also benefit. Thanks Ma. Thanks Daddy.

你昨天已經出去了.

“You already went out yesterday.“

1. Learn how to stay home. Our family is eight days into self-isolating at home and Tony asked me this morning if I had cabin fever. And strangely, the answer is no. I’m not. Not to downplay the difficulty of this moment but my experience with this “shelter-in-place” ordinance reminds of pretty much all my summers between kindergarten and 8th grade. Both of my parents worked full-time so summer was just three blissful months of nothing. No structure, no plans, no camps, no playdates, and no responsibilities. My parents never made me feel like I was missing a thing by staying home and I don’t remember ever feeling bored. There were always library books to read, stories to write, and thoughts to journal. Hours were spent playing school with my big sister (now a first grade teacher!), making up random games like who can avoid touching the carpet longest, learning Kim Zmeskal’s latest gymnastics floor routine, writing lyrics to Kenny G saxophone solos, and rehearsing for our variety show that we would perform to our tired parents at the end of the day. And that’s not even including the hours we spent watching The Price is Right, CHIPS, Knight Rider, and Airwolf (yep, no cable).

As a teenager I carefully plotted all my hangouts with friends so that I didn’t have too many consecutive days when I was out of the house. Whenever I asked my parents if I could hang out with friends, they would always say, “But you already went out yesterday. What’s wrong with staying home? Why do you always have to go out?” It was as if having too much fun two days in a row was off limits. If there was a big party on Friday, I would purposely make sure I stayed home Wednesday and Thursday just to increase the chances of being able to go out on Friday. I know a lot of people talk about how awful their high school years were but I was one of those lucky kids who had a really great group of friends that made me feel seen, loved, and cared for. The downside was that I couldn’t get enough of it. I was always thinking about the next hangout, the next event, the next thing. It took me all the way until my late twenties to fully appreciate the fine art of staying home and to finish my unexpected transformation into the expert homebody that I am today.

I’m reminded of that old quote by Blaise Pascal, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone."

It’s great to be out and about, but it’s also really important to learn how to stay home.

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晚上要吃什麼？清冰箱.

“What are we eating for dinner?” “Cleaning the fridge.”

2. Be creative with what you have. I love food. Not in a foodie sense, but I get a lot of pleasure out of eating. I’m not a food snob by any stretch of the imagination. I thoroughly enjoy a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as much as I enjoy a fancy, inventive, Michelin-starred meal at Commis. What’s hard for me is when food is eaten as sustenance rather than with delight. But my parents taught me that you can always take pride in preparing a meal. No matter your ingredients.

My mom is an excellent cook. I know a lot of people think their mom is a good cook but my mom is legitimately skilled in the kitchen. There were some nights when I’d ask what was for dinner and my mom would just reply, “Cleaning the fridge.”

Now for some, this might sound terrifying. But my mom could honestly make something out of nothing. I still crave my dad’s simple egg and garlic fried rice. My parents raised me to be able to make an tasty meal just from rummaging in the pantry and fridge for random leftover things. There were plenty of summers where lunches and snacks were an individual culinary adventure for each of us kids. I still remember the day I witnessed my baby sister add a Kraft single on top of her onion ramen noodles. She saw my confusion, shrugged and said, “You should try it, it’s good.”

With all the hoarding folks have been doing during this pandemic, I’ve found myself feeling quite anxious. Trying to calculate if we have enough food. Estimating how many more meals we can eat at home before we need to make another grocery run. As someone who struggles with a scarcity mentality it has been hard not to panic. But then I keep reminding myself that I know how to make good food using just whatever’s available.

You know, I was pretty disappointed with Mary H.K. Choi’s second novel, Permanent Record, given how much I enjoyed her debut novel, Emergency Contact. But I was absolutely thrilled with the shine she gave to what her protagonist calls “Hot Snacks”.

Here’s an excerpt from Permanent Record that is a beautiful ode to creative food mashups and immigrant kids everywhere:

“I edit and post a Shin Ramyun Black video set to music. My favorite instant noodles with three flavor packets and so much garlic. It’s a classic Korean HotSnack, especially when you throw in cut-up hot dogs, frozen dumplings, extra kimchi - and this is where the artistry comes in- eggs, cheese, corn from a can, and a drizzle of sesame oil on top. And furikake if you’re feeling wealthy. The next night I put up a bacon, egg, and cheese not in a bagel but in a glazed honey bun. Laced with sriracha and pan fried on the outside. Then it’s chilaquiles with Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos and chorizo. Jamaican beef patty casserole disrespected with a smothering of Japanese curry and broiled. With Crystal Hot Sauce over the top and pickled banana peppers. I’m trolling with that one but the controversy is berserk. When I run out of old videos, I make saag paneer naanchos with Trader Joe’s frozen Indian food, and it’s a hit. Especially when I add yogurt and a thick layer of crushed-up Takis on top.”

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看連續劇.

“Watch soap operas.”

3. Find a way to escape. I’m generally pro technology but I’ll admit I’m a little bummed at the way iPhones and iPads have made TV viewing such an individual activity. I like how Disney+ has gotten some families back to watching TV together again. Although I will say, we really coddle our kids these days. I grew up in a time when movie ratings only applied in the theaters and we watched movies with our families like Alien, The Fly, and Gremlins. We were scared out of our minds and sometimes could only watch through the cracks between our fingers covering our eyes because it was so scary. Okay, this also might be why I can’t watch horror movies as an adult.

From a young age, my parents taught me that watching other people’s drama unfold on screen is one of the best way to escape your own drama. Some people say binge watching became a thing when the TV networks started releasing shows on DVD. Others give credit to Netflix releasing their original content a whole season at a time. But truth be told, I first learned how to binge watch from my parents.

We would rent 30-40 VHS cassette tapes from that random spot in Bellaire Chinatown. Can you picture it? You needed multiple plastic bags to transport that many VHS tapes.

Do you remember the one about the dying mother who needed to find homes for each of her 7 children? I don’t think it’s normal for a 10 year old to cry so much but you better believe it’s made me learn the true value of a soap opera escape hatch.

Are you in a pandemic? Now’s the perfect time to pick up that YA novel, binge that reality show, start that kdrama, or rewatch all six seasons of The Sopranos again.

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下個禮拜會下雨.

“It’s going to rain next week.”

4. Be informed about what’s ahead. If you ask either of my parents about the weather at any given time they can reliably tell you the daily percent chance of precipitation and humidity for at least seven days out. They’ve always been this way. They would inform me of the weather at various points throughout the week. They planned their yard work and car washes around the weather forecast. There’s something about the way the weather forecast is available to everyone. And it feels like it’s just a matter of making the small extra effort to access it and gain a slight advantage. I feel like so much of the immigrant mentality is to be diligent in making the right choices to not screw yourself over and seizing opportunities whenever you can. And it wasn’t just weather but this is such an obvious example of it.

I remember my dad saying to me once, "Can you imagine if someone decided to read every book in their local library? If they just went shelf by shelf and systematically read all the books? You could do it, you know. It’s free, it doesn’t cost any money to check out a book from the library. But no one really does it.”

I think immigrant parents get a bad reputation for forwarding chain letters and health/science hoaxes they get on email, WeChat and Line. And in a pandemic, yes, they are definitely susceptible to misinformation, rumors and flat out untruths. But the thought behind it seems right.

The mistrust of government leadership is actually quite relevant right now in this pandemic. Many immigrants left countries with governments that were overtly corrupt, oppressive, and used propaganda to influence its citizens. And while many Americans still take pride in living in a country that verbally champions freedom and democracy, the truth is that our government has already failed us and lied to us in many ways. During this pandemic, we cannot wait on leaders to tell us what to do. We must be diligent in reading for ourselves, seeking experts, using our critical thinking skills, and making preparations accordingly.

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會不會冷?

“Are you cold?”

5. Check in with yourself. Check in with others. I have so many memories of my parents walking through the living room and asking me and my sisters if we were cold. It felt like they couldn’t walk past the thermostat without asking us if they needed to raise it or lower it. As if they couldn’t hear us sneeze and wonder if they needed to turn off the ceiling fan. They couldn’t see us sitting in a dim room without turning on a light for us. There are so many times I fell asleep reading on the couch and woke up with a blanket over me. Or sometimes I was fully awake doing something random, like playing Egyptian Rat Screw with my sisters (a cardgame for the uninitiated), and my mom would walk by and wordlessly drop a warm, heavy blanket over my shoulders. That’s care, y’all. Consistent, immediate action, and often without words.

The tip here is to pay attention to your discomfort during a pandemic. There’s this immigrant stereotype of stoicism and that’s true to some degree but maybe the resilience is made possible not because of unnatural toughness but largely because immigrant parents can also be so incredibly perceptive and tender in some very tangible ways.

When everything is chaotic around you and you’re busy multitasking these next few months, don’t ignore your needs. Notice how you’re feeling. Physically and emotionally. Where are you carrying your stress and tension in your body? You don’t have to tough it out. Oh and remember to check in with your people on how they’re feeling. Is there a light switch you can turn on for someone?

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笑死人.

“Laugh to death.”

6. Laugh to survive. Look, we didn’t have the perfect family or anything like that. We’ve definitely had our share of difficult times, financial stress, health issues, arguments, and pain. But my parents also really knew how to laugh and taught us to laugh with abandon. Like, bent over, tears running out of your eyes, can’t breathe kind of laughing. Our dinner table was kind of like a writer’s room. It was difficult to tell a mediocre story. You had better come prepared with a punchline or a point. It was a tough crowd, every night. On many occasions I stopped myself halfway through a story upon the self-realization that there was no real way to land the plane. Polite laughs were nowhere to be found, except perhaps a charitable smile from my baby sister. But it didn’t stop us from trying. I think my sisters and I are all probably better storytellers for it and we definitely have learned to try to bring humor into difficult times.

I know that this pandemic is so incredibly dark and depressing that it can sometimes feel disrespectful, inappropriate, or childish to laugh at anything. But my parents taught me that you laugh to survive. Nothing is ever so dark that you can’t find a reason to laugh. And sometimes you really need to find something to laugh about.

I’ve been taking long breaks each day from major media news outlets but I have been finding such joy and laughter from the meme creators on IG and the comedic geniuses on Twitter. In Taiwanese when something’s really funny, people will say a phrase that is imperfectly translated as laugh to death. Like you killed a person it was so funny. Now’s the time to find that content or those people who will get you to laugh to death.

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我要去挪車.

“I’m going to go re-park the cars.”

7. Go to bed with a plan for the next morning. I grew up in a suburb of Houston, Texas where one property developer built the entire neighborhood and used the same eight or nine floor plans for all the houses but changed up the brick and trim color to keep things interesting. Most homes have a long driveway that connects a garage set near the backdoor of a home to the street. By the time I was driving, we had four cars in total -- two in the garage and two on the driveway. At the end of the day when everyone was home for the night and my dad was getting ready to go to bed, he’d announce, “I’m going to go re-park the cars.” Then we’d all kind of stop what we were doing and rearrange the order of the cars to match our morning departure schedules. This meant figuring out who was leaving when in the morning and sometimes also prompted brief check-in conversations about any changes in our usual routine.

In a pandemic it can sometimes feel like there are a million different things to attend to and large conceptual concerns that demand your attention. But there’s something calming and centering about spending a few minutes each night thinking through specifically what needs to happen just tomorrow. Not the day after or next week. Get super tactical and specific about what tomorrow morning looks like. Check-in with your partner about any aberrations to your schedule (e.g. I have a super important conference call at 7am tomorrow) to minimize any unnecessary surprises. There’s something magical about setting up your morning that helps you rest just a little easier at night.

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星期三我們有禱告會.

“On Wednesdays we have prayer meeting.”

8. Make time for your spirituality. Growing up my parents both had physically demanding jobs. My mom was a seamstress for many years, providing alterations at my aunt and uncle’s dry cleaners. She later worked in an elementary school cafeteria and then eventually became a classroom aide for special needs students. My dad worked at that same dry cleaners for years until he got a job at the post office. He then became a letter carrier, delivering mail on foot. The summer months were especially grueling, carrying a heavy sack of mail in 100 degree, humid weather, and walking until sweat soaked his shirts and blisters formed on his feet. They had every excuse to skip weeknight events. But unless they were sick in bed, I can’t remember a time when they missed their weekly prayer meeting with their friends from church.

Pandemics have an unsettling way of forcing us to confront our mortality and can trigger a bunch of unresolved shit that has been bubbling underneath the surface. We’ve lost some of our usual coping mechanisms and it can be super hard to quiet the anxieties, fears, and other demons that we usually try to keep under control. This isn’t a lecture about a particular faith or belief system. It’s just a reminder to prioritize your existential questions, your interior life, and your connection to things much bigger than yourself -- whether that’s a community, a yoga practice, a faith group, a tradition, or something else.

I have a fledgling meditation practice that I’ve been trying to strengthen since last year. When I say fledgling I mean that sometimes I bail before the ten minutes is up and check my phone. Even though I’m not very good at it yet, I can really tell the difference on the days that I make time for it. Our church started hosting its weekly Sunday service online and that’s challenging for me because a church service feels like it’s designed to be so much about the physical rhythm of going to a place, seeing faces of people I love, hearing their voices co-mingling with mine in song and in prayer, and tasting the bread and wine in my mouth. The online service was short, and just for viewing through a zoom conference call, but there was still something meaningful about setting aside that time Sunday morning, asking our wiggly kids to be present, and saying the liturgy out loud knowing that in homes all across the country, other people are doing the same.

If things are really going to get as bad as some are predicting, we’ll need the spiritual strength to make it to the other side. Those habits are hard to form overnight. My parents taught me that you really have to make the time for your spirituality non-negotiable, so that you won’t abandon it when it’s inconvenient or when you are too tired.

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沒辦法.

“What choice do we have?”

9. Rise to the occasion. Whenever my parents are telling old war stories about things they had to do to get to where they are today, inevitably one of us will say, “Man that’s crazy, how did you manage to do it?” And instead of pointing to some super personality trait of theirs or some complex self-help principle, they always say, “We had no choice.” It’s not said in a defeated way, but in a posture of accepting that life can be cruel, unfair, and capricious. And that it’s not helpful to dwell too long on the why’s and how’s. My parents taught me that you can’t stay in despair mode. You eventually have to push yourself into problem solving mode and you do whatever it takes to move forward.

This coronavirus is so unlike anything we’ve ever experienced in our lifetime. It is so unprecedented for me that my brain is having a hard time processing the reality of what’s happening right now and the rest of my lived experience. I spent the first few days of this week just being overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and irritable. At this point though, I’m in go mode. I’m doing what needs to be done for our family and taking care of business. What choice do we have? I can hear my parents saying it. One day, if we’re lucky, we’ll say it to our kids too.

#coronavirus #immigrants #immigrant parents #survival tips #advice #covid-19 #pandemic #childhood #lifelessons

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