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blitz0hno · 9 days

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Drabble about the whole mikotosys-night-terror chronicles cuz I don't get to write much.

Post trial 2: Mikoto, still deep in denial (although deep denial doesn't mean ur as unaware as you let on/feel all the time), cries himself to sleep again. He hates the long-time habit, but thinking about his life up to this point, especially now... It makes sense, and unfortunately a lot more starts to make sense too.

It was happening again.

Mikoto was laying on the bed in his cell, staring at the ceiling. It was the only time he knew which way was up these days.

And today had been long, and stressful.

Why must he be this kind of person?

Chained up and interrogated.... Es trying to explain why the words "I saved you" echo in his mind.... a fuzzy ringing in his ears overtaking seemingly every conversation he had with the warden; Mikoto did his best to be attentive but was purely pretending. He was sure he dreamed the crime he was accused of, sure of it. It wasn't real, he couldn't do that! He had a future to look toward, and even if some people in his life were holding him back, his urge for quick relief had been but a horror-movie fantasy. A place for his brain to put his anger so he couldn't find it.

He had always wondered where his emotions went when he made them disappear. It didn't look good that nearly every moment now felt like a dream, either.

Answering questions with pen and paper had been particularly difficult. He didn't remember much of that either. He remembered the first couple questions. He remembered waves of frustration flooding his train of thought. He remembered feeling sick when he realized it was over and he thought he had only answered two or three out of the twenty questions.

Mikoto had started off this strange "Milgram" experience intrigued, but the more he thought about the events that led up to this "reality show," the more scared he got. He had always been a forgetful guy, but felt confident enough in his ability to keep track of important things. School, work, home duties, everything was always nearly lined up in his thoughts. Sometimes he had strong feelings about a task, but he was easily able to power through. He was oddly proud of that ability, from his adolescence up to his office job.

Sure, he had been picked on for living outside the city and never going anywhere. But he was reasonably popular with girls and very on top of his grades, which made other students like him well enough he supposed. No reason to feel lonely with how busy he was anyway. Taking care of home with his mom and sister, making sure he remembered to eat and study before shifts, and cramming for tests had all paid off, hadn't it?

He had a career he was passionate about, an end goal, and a stable job at a famous company. Although this job was... Not as glamorous as he had hoped. Nonetheless, he had worked so hard for it. He wouldn't just throw it away.

Not even when his meal times got shorter and shorter.

Not even when his boss made him redo weeks of work on a whim.

Not even when 60 hour weeks turned to 80 hours.

Not even when he broke down and cried after coming home to an onslaught of texts informing him of a deadline being shortened yet again.

He needed to sleep. Without sleep, he became irritated easily, and hiding it with a polite smile always left him with a permanent lump in his throat, as if he could burst into tears at any moment but wouldn't let it happen. When it all got too loud, Mikoto knew how to put it away for later.

Now was later, and he was crying.

He wished people listened to him. If they got to be cruel with no consequences, chain him to one thing or another, tell him to come and sit and stay until 3AM doing paperwork, he should get a say too. A say in how he was spoken to, in his rest, in his mind, anything.

But he second-guessed himself every time, coming up with nothing and doubling down on his polite diligent worker persona.

His chest heaved as he sobbed. How pitiful and pathetic, if they saw him like this. And to think everyone was scared of him now, not only because he apparently really killed people, but now more things he didn't remember were coming up. Torn up clothing he had tried so hard to laugh about reporting to Es; but all the morning he couldn't stop himself from crying, even through his mask. He had heard from others in the past that he talked in his sleep, but the noises? The shredding and screaming and destroying?

That was all new.

And embarrassing.

And mortifying.

Mikoto had no memory of any of it. He thought and thought, but only recalled feeling overwhelmed, perceiving the stares and the body language around him as tense, and the rush of anxiety which was renewing itself again. Out of habit, he searched for the smile he always tried to force through the tears, even now that he was alone.

Another sob.

Alone.

And everyone knew it. His boss, his mom, his baby sister, his peers EVERYONE watched him go it alone, pushing and pushing and succeeding at any cost to himself. But that was the goal, too, to be left alone. Not screamed at, following the rules in place, breaking them if it meant a more pleasing outcome for his current audience. His breath picked up as he remembered every comment, every stare every sneer every nitpick EVERYTHING others did to belittle his hardest work. His sweat, blood, and tears turned into a cycle that kept piling more on his back.

He held his hands against his ears as his sobs turned to a choked wail. Again tonight, he felt like he couldn't stop himself. "I HATE THIS! I'm not smart enough to even remember what I do, not strong enough to even control myself! FUCK!"

Again his uniform shirt felt far too tight. The restraints he had become more used to were suddenly like snakes whose every movement he could feel through the fabric, writhing on his skin. Mikoto screwed his eyes shut and begged to disappear, pulling at the jumpsuit.

Then John screamed.

He tore, he ripped, he fell off the bed and threw himself against the wall as if it would give him more force against the restraints. He couldn't stop. He knew it was his fault, and he knew why it was his fault, but they were hurting Mikoto all the same.

John forcefully wiped the tears from his face. His breathing was ragged as he felt himself grabbing at his hair. This was bad.

He couldn't calm down. Mikoto was beyond upset, he was terrified. John's own anger and Mikoto's fear had them in a frenzy, their hands pulling at anything they could grasp. What could he do? He had to help Mikoto. After all, it was John's fault, John's anger, John's actions that caused him this agony. Mikoto wouldn't hurt someone like that. He couldn't!

"I COULD. I DIDN'T WANT TO!" A shriek escaped his mouth. John didn't feel like that words were his. He took a deep breath, one hand still keeping his hair in a death grip.

The other was over his mouth. John had heard enough of what the other prisoners were able to hear. He was sure that they would be punished if they were any louder; or maybe Mikoto was sure.

He just didn't know anymore.

"They were killing you," John whispered, voice strained. "Even if you didn't do i-"

The words caught in his throat, and John's breath hitched as he felt the world start to blur around him.

"I do remember that I wanted to," came a choked whisper from Mikoto. "I wanted nothing more. Those people - those men... My life was hell. I was too slow with turnarounds no matter how long I submitted before the deadline. They called me day and night like a dog to their side. And th- the way they spoke to me and my coworkers - realizing their contempt toward the working men alone but god the WOMEN-" He sobbed loudly, burying their head in his hands. "The- these are the people our baby sister gets to meet next. The ones our mom married, the ones who lie and cheat and demand and force- they should be GONE they SHOULD. BUT- but I never thought-" he trailed off, curled into a tense ball. He could hardly feel John anymore -

Oh god.

He could feel John.

Like another person in the room, he felt another presence almost by his side. Another sob turned into a laugh at the absurdity of it all. The warden had no dog - Mikoto did.

And it was himself.

And that's why there was another "him," blaming his newfound self for Mikoto's plans and actions.

He felt terrible, in a hundred different ways. "John, it wasn't your fa-" Mikoto stopped mid-sentence, torn between guilt for his other self and the terror of realization hitting. He pressed himself against the cold wall and breathed slowly as he could, suddenly overcome with a clammy, nauseous feeling.

It wasn't a dream.

Mikoto had been sick in his cell once before, during a particularly bad panic episode. He had cleaned it up well and told no one, but somehow he was still met with looks of concern and pity and fear ten times over the following morning. Damn thin walls. The already isolated prisoner was not about to let that happen again. He slumped against the wall, closed his eyes, and grit his teeth as the room spun, wanting only to sleep. If only he could shut down, wake up in his apartment and cry about his shitty day at his shitty job surrounded by shitty people that his shitty singular self did not kill.

The weight of that possibility leaving forever made him feel like he would never eat again.

John felt the pressure mounting in their head and body, powerless to help. Just behind front, able to listen to the perspective he'd been wishing to hear for so long, and unable to do a damn thing. After all the begging to be acknowledged, he still hadn't saved Mikoto. Not by a long shot.

They were both stricken with panic by now, John beginning to pace around the cell and breathing deeply to the point of pain. Anything to keep from spiraling, from causing a mess, from snapping again, from hurting someone or even needing them.

And then they froze, a third voice that felt equally unreal catching their attention. Difference was, she and another were outside themselves , and outside the door to their room.

"He's at it again..." John heard Kotoko sigh faintly, breathing shallow as he stood at a standstill. He was so at a loss that he forgot to be angry at her treatment of Mikoto. Mikoto wasn't a killer. John was. Leave Mikoto out of it, let him live without this pain. It's why John was here to begin with! Did he fail? Did he drive any other help away?

"Ugh. I'll wait here, as you requested. Give him this." John heard a small acknowledgement from Es as they took the mystery item. He flinched, bracing himself.

Were they chaining him up again? Drugging him? What did he get Mikoto into now??

Whether he knew it or not, Mikoto was feeling the same guilt towards John, ashamed for not having noticed and feeling cowardly for running from him.

"John..." Es brought the protector to attention, gently holding out a water bottle. He hadn't even registered that they opened the door. He stared for a second, feeling shamefully and ridiculously dog-like, but took the offering. "How did you know..."

"Because Mikoto puts on airs," Es replied plainly. "He would have forced a posture that was more relaxed, perhaps greeting me as 'Guard-kun.'" Their voice went up a tad as they imitated Mikoto's tone, first amusing and then startling John. Was the switch that obvious? Had he ruined any chance of Mikoto being normal again?

"So you can... You can tell. We really are that different?"

"Afraid so," Es replied. "John, do you two... Do you know how DID happens?" They stood across from him, gauging his reaction. John seemed to be struggling to stay grounded as he explained.

"We never thought we had any sort of amnesia... We once read that it happens when... Oh," John sighed. "I have no idea what happened. But I know... I know..."

"When a child is hurt badly over a period of time, in their very early stages-"

"Yeah I know how it goes." He snapped like John, but John felt the words come from elsewhere. The voice also sound absolutely defeated, the truth having come to reveal itself.

"Mikoto...?"

"..."

Mikoto felt.

He was aware, he knew what he was saying, but his voice was bitter and monotone. He didn't know what to feel. He just felt.

"I don't fuckin know anymore," he sighed. Es was not entirely convinced it was only him - his voice was cold, and while quieter than John's, Es wasn't even sure they had heard Mikoto curse before. Of course, Mikoto was subject to change as any other prisoner, and his demeanor almost reminded them of Fuuta's current state.

Mikoto took a deep breath, standing a little straighter. "I... Suspected it, when I heard about it from some class, and then forgot about it. But yeah, when a mother and a father hate each other, and possibly you, very very much... I know how it happens." His eyes darkened. "Life got better, I think, when Dad left. Mom wouldn't talk about him, and she'd get mad if I even said something that she thought he would... But I could tell she missed him. My baby sis seems okay for her age, on track development and all, but despite all the responsibility I could handle I could never quite get it right."

Es nodded thoughtfully. "So you were ridiculed and blamed for things you weren't even aware was upsetting to your parents? Did they take things out on you, because you were older?"

"I... I guess. I never thought it was that bad," Mikoto sighed. "But living on my own, I started to feel more and more disconnected. More angry, more paranoid... And I started having nightmares. I forgot about those for awhile too. When it started affecting my work, I even tried to forget I was stressed at all."

"Or rather, your mind helped you forget," Es mused.

"It should have stayed forgotten," the prisoner growled. "I can't believe I ruined everything, and I didn't even know it. John wanted to protect someone who forced him to exist because I COULDN'T protect me!" He pulled at the strap over his chest, struggling to keep composure. There was no trace of his fake smile.

"You didn't force anything," Es corrected him softly. "The brain is an organ that adapts to survive. Even had you known, it's not something that can be harnessed and commanded. It's adaptation." It was a simple matter-of-fact, complex as it was. Es hoped they had their facts straight now, anyway.

"So how do we go back to normal?!" Mikoto cried. His hands were shaking now and was sobbing again; he quickly realized how dizzy he was becoming. "I-I need to sit." He lowered himself back to the floor and slumped against the wall, arms childishly wrapped around his knees. He felt nothing but shame presenting himself this way. He was 23, he was a graphic design agent, a working man! He couldn't break down like this! He couldn't have it this bad! Even if he didn't even feel like himself at the moment, even if reality felt completely made up... "There's got- there's got to be a way to fix this."

To his surprise, Es didn't look at him with judgement or pity. The only thing that stood out was curiosity, and they gently sat beside him as they gathered their words. "It's not a matter of fixing, Kayano-kun. You all need... Healing," Es spoke carefully. They figured the nickname would do for now.

"Can't heal from a murder charge," the prisoner scoffed. Mikoto felt reality spin as John spat out his remark. John ran a hand through his hair, smoothing some parts and causing others to stick out awkwardly. "It's still my fault. Those urges, those feelings... They're mine to carry, to protect him from."

"John... maybe you can protect each other. Share the burden. It was one body and, according to Milgram, one prisoner. Maybe if you can forgive yourselves... Milgram will show me a better outcome for you both." That was the best Es could think of to help right now. To think it was upon them to say whether this man was forgivable; he had seen so much of the real world that they themselves had yet to remember, and they couldn't even imagine the stress of his perfectionist lifestyle on top of it all. They wanted to cry from how unfair it all was, but prisoner 009 was the priority right now.

As the warden... They had to do what they thought was best. They almost felt guilty for having Kotoko on standby, even though it was she who insisted. But that didn't mean Mikoto, or even John, was dangerous.

"I know I didn't do the right thing," Mikoto sighed, sitting up as he regained composure. "And it still doesn't feel real. I can almost feel the memory slipping again. It hurts, Guard-kun!" He gripped the sides of his head. Es instinctively reached gently for his hands to discourage him from pulling his hair out, and Mikoto flinched. He hit the barrier between them with his hands as he automatically covered himself.

"Shhh... Mikoto..."

"I'm sorry!"

"You didn't hurt me. I startled you," Es said. "Mikoto, you don't need to remember all the time. That's what your alter John, and any others there may be... Are for," they looked away, thinking bitterly about what may lie in their own memories. "It can hurt to remember, Mikoto. Sometimes it's even dangerous."

"I was dangerous when I didn't remember, too," Mikoto sniffed. "John... He wanted to protect us - protect me - so badly that we hurt a lot of things. Even you."

"Well as for me, Mikoto, my physical health is no worse for wear," Es replied. They were only partly lying - they were exhausted constantly, but John's outburst was long down the list of incidents by now. "I forgive you. Do you... Forgive you? Forgive John?"

"John... I barely know John..." Mikoto sighed, feeling defeated as the words he tried to form seemed to fade from his mind. "But I... I forgive his mistakes. I hope he can forgive me too." Mikoto then felt lightheaded again, but although his throat felt stuck and his chest was tight, his left hand gave a small thumbs up.

Es couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "Well, there you go."

Mikoto heaved a sigh, suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever. "Thank you..." He whispered. He began to cry again, but smiled a smile that seemed to come more from genuine gratitude than fear. "Thank you, Guard-kun. I know... John will be happier now. I'm... I'm really scared. But we don't have to be lonely."

Es stood up slowly, offering a hand to help him to the bed. 009 sat still on the floor for a moment, a small frown forming on his face as he took their hand. "It's... It's John." He whispered, although they were partly holding him upright, Milgram ignoring his presence and giving him away. It felt strange, announcing himself like that, but comfortable too. "I know we can't undo what we did... Thank you for helping Mikoto."

"You deserve help, too, John. Mikoto wants to be there for you, too," the small warden looked up at him with almost a sense of urgency, praying John wouldn't try to take it all on himself anymore.

"Well he can start..." John mused, "by not giving away my cigarettes anymore. How's that?"

"Oh yeah, he did tell me to stop giving those to him even if he asks. I think..." They almost didn't suppress a laugh as they walked the system to their cot; although the situation wasn't funny itself, it was an interesting process. "I think finding those over and over is when he knew he forgot more than he knew."

"Damn right..." John sat down on the bed, the body falling over nearly instantly.

"Goodnight, John-kun, Mikoto-kun," Es said softly, heading towards the cell door.

"Goodnight, and thank you again," John's low voice replied.

As they went out the door, they heard another.

"Oh! Goodnight, Guard-kun!" A soft whisper said from across the room. "...And thank you."

That night was the most restful sleep Mikoto's body had gotten in years. He almost felt like he could finally get used to this. He would never get used to "being a killer," though. He didn't know much about the social perception of DID, so he sure hoped that wasn't a general stereotype.

End.

#milgram #mikoto milgram #john milgram #milgram fanfic #character study #cw vomit mention #cw panic attack #cw rapid switching #?#idk if anyone needs that but it's there lol #cw mild self-injury (unintentional)#switching my be written confusingly but we did our best lol it's confusing on this end too #ambiguous third mikoto #longer than i intended but wasn't sure where it was going anyway lol #freeform yaaaaay #Es 009 siblings for life

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sagau-fruit-bowl · 2 years

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HELLO! HI! I HAVE JUST COME TO THE REALIZATION NOTHING IS STOPPING ME FROM WRITING HEADCANONS OF [NAME] BEING LIKE, 14 IN GUIDE AU AND BEING ADOPTED BY EVERYONE

Keep in mind this is not the canon, this is me having ideas that make my found family loving heart very happy.

Please enjoy but either way, oh well because I need to write this for my soul.

This also isn't very good, this is me rambling and it has been sitting in my drafts because I didn't know if I should post it or not.

For some context... ish. This is very self indulgent.

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[Name] didn't always look their age, or act it to be honest, and when people think you're a god they let you get away with a lot of things.

So honestly [Name] didn't bother telling anyone their age, it didn't bother anyone, it's not like they had anyone flirting with them, it's not like it would gain them any respect, the only thing it might provide was an explanation for some more childish behaviors of theirs but if you look at Venti, you know it's uncommon of gods to be immature.

It only really came up on accident though someone was bound to find out someday.

It was supposed to be just another Teyvat meeting. Zhongli had some paperwork he wanted signed, Ei had some questions about offerings, Childe wanted me to help him fight Aether, Diluc was fighting the urge to drop kick Scaramouche, Xiao and Venti had gone somewhere and Albedo and Dainsleif were caught in a conversation about some kind of project, that wasn't everyone but it was normal.

However, [Name] found a bit of a problem in the paperwork and sighed. They really didn't want to lie about their age or have anyone know but unfortunately this piece of paper was about payment for items and required you to be of legal age, something [Name] was unfortunately not, so they slid the paper back over in Zhongli's direction who then looked up at them.

"Was there something wrong with it?" He asked and [Name] shrugged.

"I can't sign it. I'm not old enough yet."

Zhongli paused at that, staring at them for a few moments. "Please repeat that…"

"I'm not old enough to sign that. You need to be at least eighteen. to sign for anything regarding financial issues in that country, I'm not." [Name] did their best to reply casually and not make a big deal out of it and luckily for them, Zhongli seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing.

"How old are you exactly?" He asked.

[Name] internally sighed, hoping there wouldn't be any getting in trouble for this. "Fourteen."

Zhongli blanched and [Name] could tell they were likely going to get a rant regarding the fact they had signed so much paperwork, but he surprised them, simply asking "Why didn't you inform us?"

Again, [Name] shrugged. "No reason to. I have a bedroom I can act like a kid in if I so chose."

Unfortunately Zhongli shook his head "No, that won't do. I'll speak with the other archons about lessening your workload and finding you some friends in your age range."

[Name] held back a look of disgust. "No thank you. I'm doing fine, please just treat me according to how I act."

Zhongli nodded and [Name] hoped that would be the end of it.

_______________________________

Update, it was not the end of it. Two days later, [Name] had been called out to make an appearance in Liyue, some sort of holiday celebration.

If [Name] was being truthful, they weren't actually listening during the meeting, planning their later adventure with Venti and Kaeya, unfortunately that meant they had no clue what they had said yes too.

They had arrived only twenty minutes before but found themselves facing both Zhongli and Childe at a restaurant that had been reserved and [Name] fought to the urge to berate the duo over just how much money this must have cost.

Not long into the meal, Zhongli brought it up again, this time, and [Name] was tempted to say he did this on purpose, with Childe in the room.

"So, Your Grace, I've spoken at length with the other archons over how your duties will change now that we are aware of your situation."

Childe raised an eyebrow "Situation?" He asked.

"Don't worry about it." [Name] told him, glaring daggers into the archon's head, who simply smiled like the self assured asshole he is and spoke, much to [Name]'s chagrin. "Their age. Their Grace is in fact, a minor."

[Name] had to restrain themselves from making a I'm a Minor, and I'm Neurodivergent joke, but decided against it.

Childe looked over to them in shock "You're a kid?! But you act so old… that does explain a lot though."

[Name] rolled their eyes "I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult."

Childe grinned before pausing for a moment and asking another question "What about your family?"

[Name] also paused.

"What do you mean?" Zhongli asked.

Childe straightened himself in his chair as he explained. "Most human children really should spend as much time as possible with their family. I don't know how old they are exactly-" Childe was cut off by Zhongli "Fourteen" "Oh that's even worse. Your Grace, again I ask, what about your family?"

[Name] shrugged once more. "They showed me how to care for myself, I'm sure they'll appreciate that I'm putting those oh so important life skills to use."

Child shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I mean, what are you going to do about your family now?"

"I just told you, they'll be fine."

Childe looked over to Zhongli who shrugged. He knew he wasn't the most aware of the emotional needs of human or godly children.

Childe groaned in annoyance and turned back to [Name] "I mean, you're gonna need somebody to be a sibling or parental figure."

[Name] stared at him. "... No. I refuse. Absolutely not. All of you act more like children than I do. Not a fucking chance."

To [Name]'s annoyance, Childe just laughed "I'd be happy to be your older brother. I'm sure my parents would also be happy to be your parents."

Zhongli nodded slowly in understanding. "If it's a parental figure you need, an archon like myself would be a much better choice to teach you about growing up into godhood."

[Name] buried their face into their arms and groaned.

_______________________________

When [Name] made a return to Mondstadt, they had a few more unwelcome interactions regarding their legal guardian.

It midday on a so far enjoyable Saturday afternoon, they sat in the training grounds of the Knights headquarters, watching Jean care for Klee and witnessing Bennetts usual stunts when training with Kaeya. [Name] winced at a particularly hard smack on the older man's ankles.

They almost didn't notice when the wind began to pick up, chiming in their ears and attempting to draw their attention.

[Name] tuned into their song just long enough to hear the wind call Venti's name before tuning out once more and mentally preparing themselves for his arrival.

As always when the bard arrived, it wasn't without his share of theatrics.

He had apparently jumped from the top of the knights of Favonius headquarters and didn't bother to use anything to catch his fall until the last moment.

[Name] wasn't startled at his arrival, the warning from the wind being enough, but Bennett sure was, resulting in missed swing from his mentor and a hard blow to his side.

Kaeya looked to the side awkwardly for a moment before regaining his usual demeanor. "And that, is why you don't take your eyes off of your opponent."

Venti simply smiled at let out a small '"ehe!" Before turning to face [Name] who looked at him in confusion as they greeted him.

"Good Morning Venti… Is there something you need?"

He grinned and [Name] just knew they had opened the floodgates to something they didn't want.

"I hear you need a family."

They resisted the urge to punch his stupid smily face.

"I don't need a family." They told him "I'm perfectly fine without a family here in Teyvat."

Jean looked over at the two in curiosity "What are you talking about?"

Venti grinned even wider but [Name] jumped to their feet and placed their hands over his mouth before he could speak, leaving his words as untranslatable noises.

[Name] answered for the muffled god. "Nothing, don't worry about it. Go back to your previous task."

Venti laughed behind their hand and forcibly pulled their arm away from his face. "Their Grace is a child~" he told Jean in a sing song voice.

"Really? You're gonna talk like that and claim I'm the kid in this situation?"

Jean stared at [Name] for a while before whispering "Are you really?"

[Name] rolled their eyes. "Yes. Yes I am. I am fourteen years of age."

She looked at [Name] with a level of pity that tempted them to throw her off a cliff.

"That must be so lonely… to be in a new world without a family… I would gladly take you in if you wanted me as your mother."

[Name] huffed. "This, this is why I don't tell people."

_______________________________

[Name] had no plans for returning to Mondstadt or Liyue for the time and visiting Snezhnaya would only make Childe's insistence worse, so Inazuma it is.

Arriving, they were constantly on guard for any comment that could have been made towards their age and when they could have sworn Ei was going to say something, they quickly redirected the conversation, requesting to plan a visit to the Kamisato estate, hoping, praying, to anyone who would listen and apparently themselves that nothing would be said.

When they arrived at the estate, all they wanted to do was discuss business. The first conversation ended up derailed however, instead of focusing on trade deals with Snezhnaya and moving towards family stories, Ayato had plenty of stories to tell about his dear younger sister.

It was a story that took place when Ayaka was around [Name]'s age that caused them to tense and one of the two to ask what was wrong.

Honestly [Name] had enough of avoiding the topic at this point that they simply explained, starting with the fact they were fourteen and ending with several tales of people insisting they have a legal guardian while in Teyvat.

"See, the issue is that if I choose someone to be my family, it's like choosing a vessel but twenty times worse. If I choose the wrong person, they'll hold it over everyone else's head for eternity!"

Ayato and Ayaka simply shared a look. "Perhaps" Ayaka began "You could be a part of our family. You'd definitely enjoy it and we promise to be respectful towards others."

Ayato chuckled "For the most part at least."

[Name] simply shook their head. "I'm fine as I am. I really really am."

_______________________________

It was almost 3 weeks later when [Name] got a knock on the door to their bedroom.

With a call for them to enter, [Name] put down the book they were reading onto their desk and directed their attention to the door as Childe, Ayato, Venti and Zhongli walked in, closely followed by Jean. [Name] knew this wasn't going to be good.

"Well good morning to you all as well… to what do I owe this meeting?" They asked after a long stretch of silence.

More silence filled the room until Childe broke it, a stack of papers that [Name] realized was in his hand was plopped down in front of them at their desk and [Name] looked at the papers in confusion. "What's this?"

The group looked between each other before Jean spoke up. "Adoption paperwork."

[Name] could only facepalm.

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There was nothing stopping me and my found family loving heart had to. I'll probably expand on this idea further once I have brain power if y'all don't hate it.

@sayomiikaye @eccedentesiast-sapphic (this is part of the being tagged in random headcanons/ideas stuff but if you'd like me to not tag you in this kind of non-canon content, please do let me know.)

#genshin x reader #sagau #genshin impact x reader #sagau cult au #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #genshin x teen

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howlingday · 1 year

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For the Ask game: #3, 4, 6, 7

3. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

Unfortunately, I suffer from a very, very rare psychological condition known simply as "Ship-Brain". I see the slightest interaction between two characters, and my brain thinks of them doing cute things.

However, I remember a really good piece of advice for romance. The question is, "Why can't they be together now?" The best example I can think of for incorporating romance is the Night Angel "Shadows" trilogy between Kylar and Doll Girl.

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4. What is the plot bunny you've been carrying for the longest? BONUS: Do you ever wonder why you haven't written it yet and experience existential dread?

Plot bunny? Uh, one sec...

Oh! You mean a story idea that never came out? Yeah, I have a couple of those. The one I've held the longest is probably the first and only legitimate story I thought of for a young adult fantasy novel. As for why I haven't written it, it's probably because I don't know the first thing about writing a real book, how it gets published, and a bunch of nihilistic rocks rattling in my skull. Still, whenever I get the urge to write it down, I write it onto a piece of scratch paper that I inevitably lose.

---------------------------------------------------

6. Do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule, or just hoping for the best?

It usually depends on my work. If I have free time, I'll try to work on a project bit by bit. If nothing else, I'll at least get the first paragraph done. The best time for me to do this is in my car, for an hour, on my phone, before work.

This past week was the worst because I had the bright idea to push myself in my muay thai class, resulting in me sleeping in late and having no time for my hour-long drafting. Going to bed at midnight doesn't help either.

---------------------------------------------------

7. Tell us about the plot of the first fan fic you ever wrote.

Ooh, now that takes me back...

I'll start with the first fan fic I ever published, which is "Lie Ren Goes To The Market" on FanFiction.Net. At the time, FF.net had a rule about how the first fic couldn't be above a "T-for-Teen" rating. So I chose a simple story about Ren going to Vale for a weekly chore. Most interesting experience from this was when an actual english professor corrected my grammar! Talk about a shock!

Now, as for the first fic I ever wrote, it was an anime chatroom. Yeah, it was that kind of cringe. My friend and I would write Naruto Chat Room stories and share them with each other. I would then watch Naruto Chat Room videos on YouTube like they were got dang soap operas! The plot didn't really exist; it was all more randomness than anything.

#my answers #writing #ask game

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hinatastinygiant · 2 months

Text

5 | Drizzle

Pairing: Kaminari x Fem!Reader

Null & Void

FLASHBACK ~ 2 MONTHS AGO

"You must be joking," Chizome laughs as you lean against the door of his cell with your arms crossed as you look at him.

"No," you narrow your eyes. "Why would I be joking about that? Look, this counselor's obviously new. She doesn't understand that I'm not going to fall for her bullshit."

"Y/N, listen to me," Chizome replies, his eyes burning into yours. "There is no getting out of this place. Not for any of us, no matter what they tell you. But if you can make 'em think you'll play along, they'll take you out of here."

"So what?" you furrow your brows. "How is that going to help me? I'll still be stuck on parole or whatever-"

"Aw, come on you know that's a load of shit," he rolls his eyes as he grabs his empty paper cup and pushes past you down the hallway. "Did you not just hear what I said?"

"You're starting to lose me," you answer as you try to catch up.

"Look," he stops, turning around to face you. "There's nothing either of us can do from in here. If you have the chance to get out and set yourself up so they feel secure enough to believe you're on their side, then that's what you should do. I don't care if it's some kind of undercover shit or whatever, it's worth a shot."

You think about what he's saying, chewing on your bottom lip as you do. Again, he starts walking and you do your best to keep up. He always moves so fast, as if he actually has somewhere he needs to be.

"So, if you were me," you finally reply, "you'd take the offer?"

"If it was given, yes. And then I'd play them. Play along. Do what you have to, but stay alive. You hear me, kid? I know I'm in here for life without a chance like yours but you," he nods, nudging you in the arm, "you can do something."

"What would I even do?" you whisper as you enter the cafeteria, your voices lost in the cacophony of chatter.

"You want to know what I'd do?" he smiles as he sits down.

"I'm listening," you answer.

"I'd make them think you're a good girl, that you've had a change of heart. They'll think they have your loyalty, then when they're not looking, you'll disappear. Go on the run and take that stupid so-called Prime Minister down."

"What? By myself? If I did that, I'd just end right up in here," you groan.

"Oh, come on, you know I wouldn't leave you hangin' like that, kid. I know a group of guys hiding in the fourth that'll help," he nods, looking at the guard nearby.

"You mean the fourth faction? How-"

"Just trust me, Y/N. It'll work," he whispers.

"But, Chizome," you sigh, "this is insane. How would I even find them? I don't know how to find anyone-"

"I'll tell you the address. Right now."

"But," you gulp, turning to see the guard standing right behind you. "They'll hear."

"Nah, that one's mine. He won't say a word," Chizome hums as the guard chuckles, looking away from the two of you.

"Chizome," you groan, feeling the urge to punch the man beside you in the face.

"Alright, alright," he chuckles. "I'll write it down instead. Memorize it, then swallow."

Honestly, at this point, his words don't phase you. Carefully, you watch as he writes the address down on the corner of a napkin, then quickly folds it into a small square.

"Swallow," he commands, holding the note out to you.

You roll your eyes but take the paper and walk off back to your cell to do ask he's asked.

∿*̩̣‧̩̣₊̣‧̩̣*̩̣𐦍*̩̣‧̩̣₊̣‧̩̣*̩̣∿

PRESENT

You stare up at your ceiling with a blank expression. There are a lot of things you'd rather be doing right now, but unfortunately, all of them are impossible. You let out a long sigh, wishing you could sleep. But your mind refuses.

Around noon, there's a knock on the door and you go to answer it. You figured that since Kendo's working in the shop, the middle of the day would be the best time for Camie to stop by. That way, Kendo wouldn't accidentally overhear anything and be put into the same situation you're in.

"Ready to talk?" she greets you as you open the door.

"Don't think I really have a choice," you reply as you step to the side and let her in.

"Yeah, guess not," she chuckles to herself.

After she takes off her shoes, you walk her to the small sitting area. You then sit quietly as she pulls out your file and has you sign a bunch of legal papers, basically signing over your soul to the Prime Minister.

"Alright," Camie nods as she closes the file, "Starting next week, you will be able to start your father's old job. You will be required to survey and monitor activist groups in the eighth on behalf of the Prime Minister. You will continue to stay in their ranks, but report back to us on a weekly basis."

"Got it," you mutter, knowing damn well you'll be doing no such thing.

"Any questions?"

"Not right now," you reply.

"Good," she grins sweetly. "But remember, if you get out of line, this home will be the next to go up in flames and you will be joining your little boyfriend in jail for life. Now, sign this one last paper."

Your eyes widen as she hands the pen to you. She's not fucking around, you realize. You're about to sign the final deal and you'll either spend the rest of your life in prison like Chizome or get killed by the Prime Minister.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek and repeating the location of the hideout of the activists from the fourth in your head, you pick up the pen one more time. Nervously, you sign your name. It's official now, this is when everything begins.

As you hand the pen and paper back to Camie, you finally realize what she had said previously about setting Kendo's home aflame. So before you can do anything, you're going to have to relocate her first. And that will mean explaining to her just what's going on.

"Well, that's all for today, Y/N," she smiles as she stands to her feet.

"But don't you have to like drug test me or something? I don't know, ask me about how I've been doing since I got out?" you sigh. "This seems a little quick."

"We'll get there," she answers, "but we're a little busy and we have our hands full at the moment. We'll schedule something for another time. Honestly, you shooting up isn't even one of my biggest concerns anyway."

As Camie sees herself to the door, you wish you could just bash her head against the wall instead of this bullshit. But you'd got Chizome and all of the others in the prison relying on you now, too. This is so much bigger than just you.

"Goodbye, Y/N," she says as she opens the door. "See you soon."

"Yeah, sure," you sigh.

And just like that, she leaves.

The second the door is shut, you rush to your room and pack your bag. You know Kendo might never have signed up for any of this, but now, there's no other choice. You've got a lot of work ahead of you.

And Kendo will not be happy.

Null & Void

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scorpionsmoonlight · 5 months

Text

Reflection

So, here we are...the start of my personal blog...Maybe I should have done some sort of outline or something before executing my first post, but you know what, FUCK IT! It's my blog and I'll wing it if I want to. Does that no fly with you...? Oh well, you'll get over it I know I already have.

Lets start with a little intro and maybe a bit of background info so we can start to filling in the picture. My name is Alex, I'm a recovering opiate addict...but lets be real here, I'm currently addicted to slamming meth, and basically doing any other drug accessible atm.

I'm in my mid thirties and currently still living with my mom. Granted I'm only living with her again due to circumstances beyond my control. You see I'm also going through a divorce from a man who felt that it was okay for him to try and control every aspect of my life. He expected that I just hand over majority of my paycheck each week for bills. Always leaving me with almost nothing, and believe it or not would still bitch me out for spending any amount of money on myself. However it was perfectly fine for him to spend large sums on anything really, but if I got mad then I was the asshole in the situation.

Anyway he was abusive in other ways as well, never physical, but any form of abuse that wasn't physically obvious I endured. He was a textbook narcissist, manipulation master, and spectacular when it comes to making a grown man feel like he's nothing with the subtle backhanded insults. Now I know what you're thinking..."if it's really that bad then why didn't you just leave?"

Unfortunately when all of your money is in your husbands bank account, and he's the only one with a bank card to access it, then you're kind of fucked. So it ultimately becomes easier to remain stuck in your living hell, finding ways to avoid your partner as much as possible. You also tend to find small ways to work around the things that are being expected of you, giving you a small moment of joy...however fleeting that may be.

Anyway believe it or not I didn't come here to rant about my stupid ex-husband...not to day at least lol. I decided to start this blog because I was sitting up in bed wide awake, with a million thought's just swarming my brain like angry wasps who think I kicked their nest. Next thing I know I'm being hit with the overwhelming urge to start writing.

Mind you I keep a regular journal, but when I realized that I had already written 5-7 pages I decided it might be time to go a different rout. Something that would give me the freedom to write as much as I wanted without constantly running out of paper.

So ultimately I guess my posts are really going to be about the current events that I'm going through and how I plan on dealing with them. I know that sounds boring, but stick it out and give me a chance. I promise you the shit that goes down in my life is anything but boring, most of the time it's truly unbelievable.

So stay tuned, and keep an eye out for new posts very soon.

Until then,

Love Peace and Chicken Grease - Alex

#real life #reality #existence #reflection #personal #my thoughts

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limbusabnormalitycodex · 1 year

Text

Canto I Dungeon Boss

Maybe the Golden Bough lies inside the apple?

Lacking Data

Last time I wrote an observation log, I was a kid, so I'm not sure if I'm up to this, but... I guess orders are orders. So, uhh... Start with describing its appearance? Hm, alright. That was an apple. A huge grotesque apple with limbs. Personally speaking, doesn't it freak you out when a food item gets all massive or starts walking on its own? Is it just me? I went off-topic there. Anyway, that apple was golden. Definitely not something out of your average orchard. Mmm, right. It's what you call an Abnormality, yeah? Then yeah, that apple Abnormality was strutting all by itself. So I... I was getting a growing urge to chop that apple. It was almost magnetic. Hard to explain. ...Well, you won't find a lot of people who hate apples as much as I do. I guess that's on my unusual past. We decided to fall back for now since we had too little intel to try and fight. We'll probably take it on at some point, so I'll write down more when that time comes. >How disorganized. Were your reports as terrible during your military service? >Vergilius instructed us to write these however we wanted. Dante agreed with that, too. >...If Executive Manager is fine with it, I won't object. >[A cigarette burn is left on the paper.] S.P.C. >Seriously, some petty complaint that was.

Obs. Level I

Man, that was tiring. It kept healing itself or whatever, it just wouldn't fall after we sliced, tore, smashed, and did all kinds of damage to it. Fighting it was pretty simple... Well, it's not like all of us got out unscathed, though. What it does it run into us for a body slam. Not too hard to deal with once you're used to it. I think I get its schtick after fighting it a few times. You see, it's got a golden aura floating around it, yeah? But the aura was gone after the apple recovered several times. Maybe that's the threshold of regeneration. I'll let manager bug know about this. It might be what helps end this tedious struggle.

Obs. Level II

... [What appears to be foul words are scribbled out.] This is why you put me in charge of the observation? Did you know this crap would happen and... Yeah, no. There's no way you could have... None of us could, this was our first time. Gah... When I blew that golden apple up, it split open. Then some [What appears to be foul words are scribbled out.]ed branches popped out of the crack, and... That thing, that bastard... It took Yuri... And with that new nutrient, a swarm of maggots piled up inside... "Metamorphosing" into a hideous face. Haha, funny, isn't it. I was feeling a sense of kinship with that crawler. I guess it's because we were both pests... Realizing that, I just couldn't stay calm. I had to tear that detestable face apart to find peace. And then, and then... >Gregor was struggling to maintain his cool in his writing, so I relieved him of his pen. He didn't have much else to offer in terms of information, anyway. >Those maggots squirmed harder than I expected when I scorched 'em with my cigarette. Does this count as intel?

"I'll go check it out!" Yuri said to the others. The Sinner with the bug's arm seems worried about this. Does he want to go with her, perhaps?

Check Passed

[Sinner] managed to escape, but it seems Yuri couldn't. The fruit's flesh melted to form a new body. Don't feel too guilty about it. One lost life is better than two.

Check Failed

[Sinner] was too occupied to notice it in time. They managed to get away but ended up injured. Yuri was even later to notice. The fruit's flesh had already melted with her to form a new body. It's unfortunate, but there's nothing we can do about it. One of our own got hurt, too.

[Sinner] loses 25 HP

All parts of Golden Apple gain 3 Damage Up for 2 turns.

*Editor's Note: There seems to be a part of the text that the English TL or most English players cannot view due to missing characters. If I'm ever able to find this part clean, I'll update this post or make a new one.

-Combat Concluded-

#false apple #canto i the outcast #canto i dungeon boss

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cinnaminsvga · 3 years

Text

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

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fanfictionatic · 2 years

Text

The Stars Are Right

Pairing: ???!Jotaro x gender neutral!reader

Description: Reader finds an old book in their uncle’s attic that seems to be calling to them for some reason.

Warnings: Post-Lovecraftian elements, mentions of relatives dying. Other than that this is just fluff. Also this is going to be kind of long because I got carried away writing it.

This is my first JJBA fanfic ever and I hope it’s ok

You don’t know how long it had been since you had been in this house. The last time you could actually remember being in this tiny secluded cabin in the woods was when you were a kid and your crazy uncle that used to go on long nonsensical rambles was still very much alive and breathing.

Now....it felt quite. Not empty, not calm, but quiet. Well, aside from the sounds of the birds outside anyway which liked to sing in the evening out here. It was a very strange feeling and you weren’t really sure what you were going to do with the house now that your uncle had finally passed on. You supposed you might as well start looking at the things that he left behind here. It was the least you could do to try to figure it out.

Most of the house was close to how you remembered it. It was messy with everything from pots and pans to clothes just kind of tossed around carelessly all over the place. It could have ended up on a reality TV show about hoarders. You could see a few scraps of paper here and there with the weird drawings that he always did on them. You still had no clue what any of them actually meant.

After looking through everything else, the only place you had left to check was the attic. You had no idea what you would actually find up there really. After all, your uncle had always told you to stay away from it because it had things in it that you weren’t supposed to see until you were older.

Well, you were an adult now and he wasn’t really around to stop you anymore. You slowly push open the hatch, making a layer of thick dust fly up in the process.

The place is surprisingly more organized than you thought it would be. All you can see up here in the dimming light of the setting sun is bookshelves. Rows and rows of them that seem to almost make up some kind of personal library. Which is strange considering the warning he always used to give you. Maybe the books were just too mature for you to read at the time or something?

You walk along them, glancing over what is written on their spines to try to figure out what some of them are. None of them are labeled in a way you can read though. All they have on them is symbols that look like your uncle’s drawings. If he liked these books enough to have this many, it would explain why he kept drawing them all the time.

One of them catches your eye though. Unlike the other books which are shelved, it seems to be on some kind of table near the window giving you just enough light to make out what is on it. The symbol drawn on the black leather cover is nothing more than a pink star.

You walk over to it and see that there is a bookmark still in it. Was he reading this before he died? It gave you a strange feeling seeing it just laying there unopened. Something deep and primal in the back of your mind was urging you to change that and you couldn’t fully explain why.

So you decide to open it up and take a look at the contents, flipping through a few of the worn down pages that smell like a friendly used bookstore. Unfortunately, when your eyes scan over the words they seem to be written in a language you can’t read. You wonder briefly what the language actually is and if you could somehow pull out your phone and try to use the internet, but you doubt it will get reception out here. That and the fact that it doesn’t seem to resemble any language you have ever come across in your life.

There are pictures though. Very detailed ones that make you smile, just a little bit. They were drawings of the hills that surrounded the house. The hills that you had grown up coming to visit. Your uncle used to take you up to the top of them in the middle of the night and point out all the constellations. Most of them were ones you had heard of but couldn’t spot yourself, but others you were sure now he had to be making up because of their strange names. Either way you didn’t care. It was something that you enjoyed. Something that always filled your heart with wonder at just how vast the universe could actually be. You didn’t know of any other place where you could see them anywhere close to as clearly. You used to ask your uncle if they were eyes that were staring down at you, watching the world from up there from something really pretty in the sky that made the stars. He would just laugh a little bit and pat your head, changing the subject every time.

As you looked out the window, you figured that you would probably have enough time to go visit them one more time. Just to relive some of your old happy memories. You could easily make it up there before it got too dark if you left now. Tucking the book against your chest, you make your way back down the two sets of stairs and out the door.

When you get there, the last of the light is leaving the sky for the day, painting it with the faint orange and purple tints that remind you of a painting. Now all you have to do is wait. It shouldn’t take very long now. You can already see the faded bow shape of the moon peeking out at you. Absentmindedly, you sit down in the clearing.

The book in your hands suddenly does something weird. It opens, almost on it’s own to a random page that you were not previously on. It’s probably just the wind though and you are curious if there are more pictures in it of the hills.

There are in fact pictures of the hills on the worn down pages, but they aren’t like the ones from before. Instead of just showing them empty with nothing but the land and the sky, there is a figure that is drawn doing what you think might be....dancing? It’s hard to make out but you think that might be what it’s doing.

You get up with a grin on your face, starting to copy the movements from the book as the last of the light slips away from the world. You might as well try it, right? Again, something was just telling you to. It was the same feeling you got when you went to open the book.

It feels good to do them for some reason. Almost like you’re on some kind of stage as you twirl around, moving your arms while your eyes scan across the horizon. It only really ends when you mess up on the last step and end up falling over and landing right on your back. Oh well, it’s not too bad like this. The grass is actually pretty soft and now you can get a good look at what you came out here to see since it was dark now. You laugh a little bit as you mentally trace over the made up constellations that your uncle told you about up in the sky.

But something about them seems....off. They aren’t supposed to be moving like that. Come to think of it, constellations aren’t really supposed to be moving at all! They seem to be...coming towards you? This can’t be right. They’re supposed to be far away.

Like someone slowly climbing out of a deep pool of water, they seem to flow around a figure that you can only describe as surfacing from them. The blackness of empty space glittering with light drips around them and off of them, covering their skin like a thick liquid falling off.

And sure enough, someone is standing next to you. It’s a very large man with hair that seems as dark as the space that he should not have been able to exist in at all a moment ago, completely solid now and staring at you with glowing blue eyes and a stern unreadable face. He’s wearing clothes that seem as white as light itself. He sighs and sits down on the grass. Something about him seems off. Almost like there’s something behind him that you can’t see but you know is there.

“Yare yare, you couldn’t keep your balance could you?” His voice is deep and has an annoyed tone that matches his face in a way.

You just give him a very confused look. An EXTREMELY confused look considering he just stepped out of the actual sky somehow!

“Um....who are you and how did you just do that?” It was the only reasonable question that your mind could piece together right now. Nothing about this situation was reasonable at all.

“Jotaro.”

You pause, waiting for him to explain more of it, but he doesn’t seem to. That answered almost none of your questions. You get up and let out a sigh of your own.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just go back then. I thought I was alone out here before.” You turn to get up and he seems to mimic your movements, almost like he’s trying to figure out how to do them himself.

You roll your eyes. You don’t want some guy you found up in the hills that saw you dancing to follow you back to the house. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

He stares at you, staying still for now. “No. I can’t go back anymore. It’s going to be a pain in the ass to find somewhere to stay.”

You can’t really turn away from the look he’s giving you. Even though you have trouble reading his face, something about his eyes gives off the impression that he is telling the truth about that. You relax and shrug.

“I guess you can stay with me then. Just....don’t touch anything. I still need to sort everything out.”

He gives you a nod. “I won’t touch any of your uncle’s crap.”

You tilt your head and give him a look before you turn around and start walking back in the direction of the house. “Did you know him?”

“In a way. He tried to talk to me a lot. It was really freaking annoying.”

You can’t stop yourself from laughing. “I can see how he would be. He was a good guy though even if he could be weird like that sometimes.”

He scoffs as he starts following behind you. For some reason his footsteps don’t seem to be making any sound. “I didn’t say he wasn’t. Just irritating sometimes.”

“That sounds like him.”

You walk the rest of the way back in silence, but this time it’s a much more comfortable one. This guy was your uncle’s friend and he didn’t seem too bad even if he was also kind of weird. Being around him made you feel as calm as you would have been anyway with the stargazing for some reason.

When you get back, you unlock the door slowly since it’s hard to see in the dark. “We can sit out on the porch for a while. I think I was lucky enough to find some tea and some mugs that weren’t actually broken before I left.”

He nods and looks around, looking around and sitting on the railing of the porch instead of the actual chairs that are laid out. You don’t even stop him. If it works for him then it works for him you guess.

You come back out a few minutes later with the mugs of tea. You don’t know what kind of tea it is, but it smells good so it’s probably fine. Your uncle never really kept bad tea in his house from what you can remember. You hand one of them to Jotaro.

“So do you live around here? I know there’s some kind of town close by. Also was the thing with the sky....real?”

He seems to be looking out through the trees. Some of the stars can still be seen, but not as clearly as before and you can’t seem to find the constellations that you saw him walk out of.

“It was. If you had actually been competent with the ritual I wouldn’t be stuck here and I would be able to leave when I feel like it.”

You set his tea down and roll your eyes. “No one even told me I was doing a ritual! I was just following what I saw in the book! And you still haven’t told me what’s actually going on!”

Again, you don’t really get an answer from him. You just sigh and take a sip of your own tea, staring up at the now empty looking space in the sky with him.

It had been a few days since Jotaro had showed up at the house uninvited and despite the fact that he still hadn’t fully told you what was going on, you were actually getting along. You had realized pretty quickly that he wasn’t the best at expressing himself and it would take a bit more to actually read him, almost like the book you had accidentally used to bring him here in the first place. But once you realized that, it became easier to understand him. Like when he said he didn’t need to eat and called you stupid for now knowing that, but then ended up finishing the entire plate of food you made for him anyway.

He had started helping you fix the place up without even asking. You figured it was probably because you were letting him stay there, but he had just started doing it without really saying anything about it. When he would do things in the daytime like taking out the trash and getting rid of some of the weeds in the yard (which seemed to be pulled up by some weird invisible force you couldn’t perceive for some reason), he looked normal enough if you disregarded the naturally intense colors of his eyes and his hair.

But at night, he seemed to take on the same quality you felt when you first ran into him. Like there was something murky behind him under the surface like a gigantic fish hiding in the shadows of a pond that you could only see the outline of. It bothered you just a little bit and it gave you a headache sometimes, but you kept this to yourself because you didn’t want Jotaro to worry about it when he was already being so nice to you. You still also felt kind of bad that you were the reason why he was stuck here even if you didn’t know the exact details of what had happened.

Today, you needed to go into town for some supplies. Jotaro hadn’t wanted to come with you at first because he thought that running into people might be annoying, but he had decided to come at the last minute anyway for some unexplainable reason.

Since it wasn’t super far away, you had decided that it would be better to walk there since you didn’t want to deal with driving today. The path was nice and took you right through the woods, letting you see the twisting branches of the winter trees covered in fresh ice and snow that had just fallen yesterday and glimmered like glass as it slowly dripped down and melted. While you could make out the path, it still wasn’t spared from being covered in a white blanket of the stuff. It softly crunched under your boots and left footprints as you made your way. But again, it was only you. Jotaro might as well have not even been there since it stayed perfectly still and smooth wherever he seemed to walk.

“Have you done much in the snow before?”

It was a basic question you were curious about as you walked behind him since he seemed to already somehow know the way. In fact, you wondered how much he had interacted with much of anything before or what existed in his own little square of reality that he had been pulled out of.

“Not really. But I’ve seen it before.”

“Oh?” You grin to yourself, an idea popping into your head. You start to pull bits of snow off of the low branches as you walk, packing them together and rolling them in your gloved hand.

“I’ve been around to see a lot of the crap that happens in this area. That includes snow storms-”

Before he can finish talking, you suddenly throw the snowball that you’ve been making at him and he suddenly stops walking. However, instead of hitting his coat which seems to be whiter than the snow and falling apart on impact like you expect it to, it seems to just vanish out of existence completely.

You pause yourself and look around with a confused and startled expression until you feel something cold hit your back from behind you. You quickly turn around but there isn’t anything there and it seemed pretty much impossible for Jotaro to have been able to catch it in mid air and pelt you with it when he hadn’t moved.

Still, when you face him again, he is staring at you with a certain look in his eyes and you can’t really think of any other way that it could have hit you.

“It seems like you know what a snowball is at least!”

Eventually the two of you do reach the town after more walking and a few more ambushes of snowballs between you both. It isn’t really much to look at, but you suppose the houses are kind of nice. All of the ones in this area are very old with the exception of a few, but in a way where they have their own personalities that grew over the years.

When you get there, you can tell that some people are giving you guys some looks. While they recognize you as your uncle’s brother’s kid and don’t really think much of you because they’ve seen you around before, in a small town like this where everyone seems to know everyone else Jotaro definitely stands out.

It’s hard to tell by the expression on his face how he’s taking this though. He doesn’t seem to be an easy person to read at all. But from how close he’s starting to walk next to you, you have a feeling that he isn’t very comfortable with the stares that he seems to be getting. You hear him mutter under his breath “Good grief, do people really have to stare like that?” and you have to wonder the same thing.

You step into the store and start to grab the supplies you need quietly and quickly. You don’t really want to stay here too long. For now you just seem to be getting looks, but what if they realize that Jotaro is more than they think he is? It’s just better if you hurry.

As you step up to pay for your things, Jotaro grabs you hand suddenly without any change in his expression or reaction to what he just did. You try your best to match the indifference, hoping that it will somehow help for some reason or another. After you check out you walk out the door and he doesn’t seem to let go until you’re far enough away, almost dragging you.

He finally does let go before you get into a more crowded part, looking away from you and pulling the hat that he’s wearing down ever so slightly. He doesn’t say anything, so you just nod in response. It looked like he didn’t want to bring it up again. Instead, you decide to talk about something else. Something that might take his mind off of the town in general.

“What kind of places did you usually like to look at when you were up there?”

“The ocean. It’s really big and I liked looking at the animals when they came to the surface. It was.....relaxing and nice.”

You smile at him. “That does sound really nice. I bet you saw a lot of it from up there. Maybe I can take you to visit it on the ground some time. It probably looks different from the ground.”

He nods at you, and you get the feeling that he might be relaxing just a little bit. “I would enjoy that.”

You had gotten back to the house with the supplies a few weeks ago and it had been uneventful, but also relaxing. Jotaro was adjusting really well, which was good because you still couldn’t find a way to reverse what you did and he was probably here to stay if things kept going the way they were. Not that you hadn’t been trying, but there were a lot of books in your uncle’s collection and you couldn’t read most of them so you had to ask Jotaro for help which always irritated him since your uncle had apparently not organized them very well.

You hadn’t brought up that one time when the two of you had gone into town, but for some reason you couldn’t get it out of your mind. Even though he was just pulling you somewhere at the time, remembering how he just grabbed your hand like that made your heart beat a little bit faster. Were you really growing that close to him? Even if you found a way for him to go, were you really sure that you wanted him to leave?

Currently, the two of you were sitting on the porch with some more warm food that you had made, looking through more of the books again. The one you were looking through was one of your uncle’s journals about the ‘old gods’. Jotaro was somehow able to eat with whatever invisible form you couldn’t fully make out while also holding the book with his human hands, which you figured must be really helpful.

“Good grief, this book is useless.” Suddenly you see it flying off to the side and you let out a sigh.

“Tell me about it. I still can’t read most of these symbols. You would probably be able to though.” You shrug and set the book down, taking another bite of your food.

You wonder if you should have said that, because he seems to vanish from where he is and suddenly materialize behind you picking the book up as you end up on his lap. His body is surprisingly solid, but you swear that you can feel it shifting under you constantly like it has a mind of it’s own and it could turn into liquid and flow away at any time. You can feel your cheeks turn red, but you don’t really say anything. You just continue to eat your food.

“You should have gotten my help with this one sooner. This is pretty much what were looking for. The handwriting is crap, but it should still do the trick.”

You bite your lip. This was it. He could finally go back to where he came from in the stars. He could finally go home. You weren’t really sure what to feel about this, but you knew you should be happy. He wouldn’t be stuck here anymore and he would end up where he belonged. Still, you can’t help the words that slip out of your mouth. You end up saying them very quietly under your breath.

“I’m going to miss you....”

You’re suddenly turned to face him and to your surprise he’s pulling his hat down over his face to hide it. It’s something he would sometimes do when talking to you, especially lately but you still aren’t really sure why. But since you are this close to him, for some reason it is hitting you differently this time.

“I don’t have to leave right now. I can....stay here. For as long as I want. I have a lot of time. That and I would....actually miss you too. You’re less irritating and loud than most of the humans here.” He says the last part quietly and you pause. Did he...feel the same way about you? Is that why he never brought up holding your hand?

You decide to test the waters and pull him in for a kiss. This time you aren’t really surprised when he closes his eyes and kisses back. You swear you can make out something shifting around excitedly in the space behind him as a few eyes stare at you.

#jjba #jotaro x reader #jjba x reader #jotaro #jotaro kujo #reader insert #jojos x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #fanfiction #jotaro kujo x reader

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stilemawillow · 2 years

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A Poem for the Right Person [Levi | Reader]

a poem for the: i - wrong person; ii - right person

Knights, fairytales, Prince Charming, a damsel in distress. Standard universal formula. An unfortunate pretty girl struggles with her unfair life, meets her Prince, survives a crucial misfortune, gets back to her beloved and they live happily ever after. Standard formula.

Comparing yourself to the main heroine would be quite presumptuous. Somebody who wrote poems to express their feelings wasn’t somebody who had a realistic grasp on the world surrounding them. A dreamer could make of the worst heartbreak a beautiful tragedy. He could make of the simplest gesture a literary piece full of colours and meaning. He could see a teacup and whip up a quick fantasy about the life of the person who’d last touched it. He could watch death and say it’s kindness. He could live years of unrequited love and say it’s simply meant to be, in some life, in some form – that it’s beautiful and fulfilling despite its misfortune. You were that kind of hopeless unrealized dreamer.

Because you observed people and you couldn’t help it – thinking what their thoughts consisted of, thinking their smallest of movements and changes of expression held meaning. You couldn’t help thinking whatever was meant to happen would happen regardless of you and your actions. Fate was fate and you were yourself – nothing more and nothing less, and you couldn’t affect anything – you could only sit and write it down. Now, Corporal Levi Ackerman had a contrasting opinion.

“It’s been a year. You’ve gone nowhere near a confession.” He was at his desk, working through a discouraging amount of paperwork as you sat on the small couch on his right, pondering your newest poem and recklessly ignoring the duties he’d burdened you with. Well, not exactly “burdened” because, a week after you’d moved into your new quarters, you’d begged him to have you repay his kindness in some way. He refused at first before settling on a simple secret deal. You became his personal assistant and he let you stay in that room. Your duties entailed bringing him tea, helping him with non-confidential paperwork, fixing him baths sometimes and memorising the times of his meetings for him. Even if you didn’t fulfil those duties he’d never kick you out of your quarters. It was more of a “make yourself feel useful” kind of deal.

“Because I don’t want to. He’ll reject me.” You were tapping against the paper in your lap and it would take you a few seconds to realise the ink had created an ugly blotch in its margin. Did “failure” rhyme with “gesture”? Could you sell it well enough? Maybe? The current topic was something the Corporal often pursued when you were buried to your knees in his paperwork. Midnight was closing in but you always refused to go to sleep – thus why he’d already given up on asking you. Your love life was in a stalemate. Both the one he thought you had with Eren Jaeger and the one you realistically envisioned in your head.

“And if he doesn’t?” It’s really ironic that he didn’t know he was the “he” in question. Him finding you in front of the locked closet had been the catalyst, of course. The poem had been the second part. Him urging you into action was something else entirely. Giving you the empty room was kindness and trying to play the very bad part of your wingman was beyond baffling. Jaeger this, Jaeger that – you talked less of him when you loved him. A year later, that tragic love had been slowly replaced with a strong warm feeling of camaraderie. Levi Ackerman didn’t know that. So he pushed you still. To sit next to the teal-eyed cadet, to talk to him, to spar with him, to confess to him. For a man so perceptive and observant, he sure wasn’t well-versed in the art of romantic feelings. “I see you’re spacing off.” You’d forgotten to answer and now he was looking at you.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll---“

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s Levi? I feel more disrespected when you don’t follow my orders to disregard my title.” Not exactly a bark, but it was cold and it was a reprimand. Your shoulders shrunk in mild shame and you clenched your pen tighter. This little “call me by my name” deal had happened about three months ago. He’d gotten so fed up with listening to “sir” this, “sir” that, he lashed out at you one night and ordered you use his name when it was just you two. Two reasons for that: first, you had the unpleasant habit to constantly remind him he was your superior; second, for about two hours every night, he didn’t want to be your superior.

“I’m sorry.” It was a timid apology, accompanied by a low voice and a pair of shamefully downcast eyes. Truth be told, you had no idea whatsoever your Corporal harboured a smidge of affection for you, which might as well put you in the category for “observant but oblivious” with him. Also, speaking his name – something you’d refused to do ever since he’d first ordered it – wasn’t something that came easy to your heart. When he first lashed out, you dropped the honorifics, leaving empty spaces where an address to him should originally reside. You still did that.

“Just write the damn poem.” He was looking back at his papers when your gaze snapped up to meet his. The grey was focused on the parchment and the ink but it was almost as if both of you could hear the way your heart sped up dangerously. At your baffled silence, he elaborated: “I can see it’s on your mind. Barf it on the paper and get back to work. You’re going to fuck up my documents if your thoughts are otherwise engaged.” Sounded logical. And a bit too kind of him. You bit back a smile and did as you were told.

The rhymes weren’t perfect the first time around, it was a bit short and a bit vague and you were stuck on the last two lines for about twenty minutes. You were watching him the whole time and, every time his gaze would flicker in your direction impassively, you’d feel a gulp get stuck in your throat. It was astonishing, how well you’d learned to cover it up, contrary to your crush for Eren, where you became a blabbering red mess in need of a visit to the infirmary. Maybe it was because you felt more comfortable in the presence of the Lance Corporal.

He always said the right things, even when they were vulgar. Always at the right time, too. He was welcoming in his manner. He let you babble for hours on end about things he surely wasn’t a single bit interested in. He got mad at you on three occasions only: for spilling ink because it hardly washed off, for being late and for performing below average during training. Not for fucking up his tea, as you realised once you’d substituted salt for sugar and he drank it all; not for messing up his documents; not for cracking his floorboard by tripping; not for waking him in the middle of the night and begging him to please help you get your door back on its fringes; not for falling asleep on the couch in his office and drooling on the cushions; not for accidentally hitting him with the wooden dagger during training; not for being the most terrible cook when you were on kitchen duty; not for being incapable of something as simple as brushing a horse properly. Not for many other things either.

Half of those accidents had occurred mostly due to the fact you’d been a bit too mesmerized by him to pay attention to the task at hand. It was weird how in a matter of months, the things that were so enrapturing about Eren became simple features that called forth in you sympathy and respect, whereas your superior turned into, weirdly enough, not a glorified version of what he’d once been. Contrary to worship, your attitude towards him exuded more appreciation.

He wasn’t the most handsome man, the smartest or the best. He was just the best man to you. The lilac crescents under his eyes didn’t disappear – they became something for you to worry about. The pallor didn’t turn into porcelain – it turned into skin you wished to touch. The cold glare didn’t turn soft and affectionate – it became one you wanted to have on you. His voice wasn’t suddenly smooth like honey – it was deep and husky and mostly cold, but it was now a voice you could recognise across a full mess hall of rowdy cadets. It was weird. You noticed more and more of his kindness every day – and to think it had been there the whole time was astounding, because there was much more than what you’d pinpointed at the beginning. You sometimes pestered him by noting on your case file.

“I’ll grab these,” you could see he was about to fall asleep in his chair, “and I’ll drop them off tomorrow before breakfast.” You stood and he nodded in understanding, didn’t bother arguing and, when you returned half an hour later, his face was resting on his desk and you had to place a blanket over him after blowing out the candles. You went back to your room, wrote a passage in your journal, edited and rewrote the poem on another piece of paper, finished all the documents you’d been too spaced off to work on earlier and went to bed with the stacks of paper next to you.

It was a few hours later when a knock sounded at your door – you jumped immediately, knowing the Corporal always knocked and left when you were sleeping in. Your hair was the usual mess and your lids only opened after you poured a cold bucket of water on your head. You hastened to comb your hair and put on your uniform, hastened to tuck the journal under your mattress and, in a frenzied hurry, gather all the strewn papers and bring them to his office. You were out of the door in less than ten minutes, visiting his office, knowing he’d left for the mess hall, and leaving the messy pile of documents on his desk. You almost cringed at the impending lecture that awaited.

It was about noon when you were sparring with Mikasa and the Corporal ordered a short break for the cadets prior to silently giving you a “come hither” sign with his finger. You jogged to his side, pretended to ask him something about the combat moves you’d been practising and then he shut you down when you both realised nobody was paying you any attention. Being smitten with somebody you always needed an excuse to talk to was quite the pain in the ass.

“I’ll be delivering the paperwork to Erwin at today’s meeting. You dropped them off?” His gaze was on your face and you felt your heart beat faster. You nodded and shamefully looked around – still, nobody was paying attention to your pair. This might as well be pinned an intimate conversation because your fellow cadets as well as his fellow superiors had no actual idea he’d relocated your quarters and made you his personal assistant.

“Yes, sir. But I didn’t---“

“Arrange them? Would’ve guessed that much myself.” He clicked his tongue and your lips pursed in bashfulness – of course, he’d know. You never arranged them and when you did it was such a badly done job, he always had to redo it. He never once scolded you for that. Just once he’d told you you’d learn if you were promoted. And that had been the end of it. “I’ll sort them myself. Have my tea ready before dinner.” His patience, truly, sometimes seemed endless. You nodded, loudly addressed him as sir, and went on to quietly ask his preference for tea. “Chamomile.” His fingers rose to your shoulder and dusted it off, lightly brushing your neck and making goosebumps rise along its length. “Go back to the field, (L/N). And keep up the good performance.” Praise from him really made your whole day.

You grinned brightly, nodded, held back a salute and relished in the sound of your surname out of his mouth prior to swivelling and not catching for a second how his fingers lingered at the collar of your uniform. You walked with a pep in your step, hummed a tune during lunch and received three separate comments from your comrades how you were in a good mood. Truly, you were. You were whistling on your way to your quarters, straight-up singing whilst showering and then decided to tuck the stray paper with last night’s poem in your journal. Except it wasn’t on your bed where you left it. It wasn’t on the floor, under the bed, in the drawers of your nightstand. You were sitting in your towel when realisation hit you. In your morning haste, you’d misplaced the poem and put it with the Corporal’s paperwork.

“Oh, no.” Your eyes widened comically and you hastened to rise. “Fuck!” The curse slipped out as you rushed out the door and barged into his office. “Corporal, please, don’t touch---“ You almost swallowed your tongue when you saw Eren Jaeger sitting on the couch you usually occupied as the ebony-haired superior sifted through papers at his desk. “The paperwork.” It went out as a wheeze, you were still in your towel and it was dripping onto the floor you’d been polishing last week. “This is a misunderstanding. I mean, I didn’t know this was the Corporal’s office, I, this, um, we, well…” They were watching you – wet hair and a decent portion of bare body, and you never thought this was how you’d die.

“Jaeger, have some fucking decency.” The ebony-haired superior snapped at the brunet, who immediately whipped his head in the opposite direction – so fast, in fact, you heard his neck pop. He mumbled a loud but barely coherent “I’m sorry, sir”, then Levi Ackerman was the only one whose eyes were on you. He looked by no means enthralled by the sight and you realised it was just because he saw you as nothing but a soldier. Still, you weren’t experienced enough to notice the painfully clenched jaw and the stiff hands clutching each other over his desk. You couldn’t see the pursed lips and you were entirely blind to the way his eyes refused to comply with his own order regarding decency. “What did you want, cadet?”

“The papers. I need them back.” One of your hands was latched onto the towel around your body as the other one pointed in the direction of his desk, and when he asked for your reasoning, you felt your throat shrivel up to the point of no return. Because you left a love poem for him there and didn’t want him to read it? You couldn’t exactly say that. “Personal matter.” You barely spit it out, seeing as his sharp gaze was incessantly scanning your face and just sometimes bouncing to your bare shoulders. Your anticipation was building up – you’d come this far and humiliated yourself this much, might as well actually retrieve the cause for this whole fiasco. You saw this situation unfolding in at least ten different ways – and your superior played out not a single one of them.

“We sorted them already. There were no personal matters involved.” His glare was nestled in the crevice of your collarbones prior to meeting your frightened gaze. Might as well die on the spot – how in the hell hadn’t they found it? What did that mean? It had fallen? It was being swept up and down by the wind for anybody to randomly find and read? You felt dizzy at the prospect. “Go and get dressed now. Jeager might sprain his neck if he keeps straining it.” The mockery was prominent, stated in an unfazed monotone. You dipped your head and exited his office with slumped shoulders. And, right after the door had closed behind you, Eren was finally free to part his gaze from the wall behind him. Five minutes later, he finally built the courage to speak.

“I actually found it, sir. I swear I didn’t mean to look, my eyes just scanned it.” Frantic teal hues bounced around the room as he held the stray piece of paper with the poem on it. He expected for his superior to aim a reprimand at him or – even worse – a punch. He did neither. His glare was sharp, then he sighed and, instead of addressing the invasion of your privacy, inquired as to his thoughts on the matter. Eren was briefly taken aback. Then he wet his lips and fumbled with the paper. “It’s endearing. She writes beautifully. I never knew she felt that way.” A small smile fought its way onto his lips. Levi’s heart was clenching at his words.

“Should’ve seen the first.” There was reminiscence on his mind and ice on his tongue. This was it. Eren Jeager finally learned about your feelings – after almost two years. He’d return them and then Levi would have finally played his role as your knight properly. Things would be done. You’d stay his assistant and the only comfort he’d draw from you would be the terrible tea you sometimes made for him or the shy smile on your lips as you waited for him in his office after he was done with meetings. All would be well. Then Jaeger spoke.

“There’s more than one? Well, what I’m seeing is enough.” He chuckled just a bit but, upon further inspection, Levi found scattered remains of bitterness along his features. “She almost makes unrequited love sound beautiful, if I have to be honest.” Levi’s brows furrowed and – how the hell could this fucking brat say this so casually? The superior’s mouth was struggling not to lash out at the boy. First, he had to make sure the brown-haired idiot had an actual grasp on the situation and what it meant.

“Unrequited?” He echoed flatly, watching the teal hues scan the poem with a hint of bashfulness. “You don’t return her feelings?” Now his second question made Eren Jaeger face him properly. In fact, so properly and so abruptly his neck could be heard popping for the second time that day. About seven different emotions passed along the brunet’s countenance before his expression settled in a constipated look.

“I don’t--- what?” Eren Jaeger might’ve been dumber than Levi thought – what with not getting the gist of the fact you liked him and all that. Then the teenager shook his head and met the adult’s grey hues. “Sir, I think you’re misunderstanding.” Levi’s frown deepened. What exactly could he be misunderstanding? If anything, Jaeger was the one who--- “This poem’s about you.” Levi’s thought died down immediately. His heart froze in his chest. He, all of him, froze. Then the boy kept talking. “I mean, I could be wrong. But with the grey eyes and the indifference and---“

“What the fuck do you mean it’s about me?” He was lost and confused. His frown was now deadly. Eren Jaeger fumbled with the paper and scanned the lines till he found what he needed, his finger tapped the one word he’d been looking for and then his bright orbs were back to Levi’s tense figure.

“It says right here – “sir”. Maybe you should read it.” The raven immediately shook his head and argued that he shouldn’t. The teenager argued back and they kept throwing phrases back and forth, slowly rising from their respective seats and almost beginning to scream at each other. Levi was vehemently defending your privacy all the while protecting his own feelings – because if Jaeger was right then it meant--- “I already did it accidentally. If you’d please read it and stop arguing with me--- It’s all in here. Just---“

Levi’s nerves snapped and he snatched the piece of paper Jaeger’s hand was frantically waving around. Your handwriting was neat and small and it had surely undergone an improvement since he forced you into helping him with his paperwork. Levi’s hand held the paper to his desk as he leaned over it and scanned the words. It was about him. It really was. The fucking brat could read and he’d read between the lines well enough to recognise Levi. The superior’s stomach flipped unpleasantly.

“Dismissed, Jaeger.” His eyes were glued to the lines and the cadet was approaching the door. He hadn’t yet opened it when he turned around and timidly, almost quietly, begged the ebony-haired Corporal to let you down gently because he’d never wish to see you heartbroken. The raven’s jaw clenched. As if he’d like to see that. “I’m afraid she’s prepared for it, Jaeger. Now get out.” His voice was sharp and imperative, colder than the arctic snow. The door shut behind the brunet, then the pale man fell back in his chair and put a hand to his forehead. He was getting a headache.

“You’re cold and indifferent and oh so stern, you’re silent or raging, you give no clue still your eyes are made of flames, they burn. Grey is, I concede, my new favourite hue.

You work, rest a bit, and again that work and then you steal the breath from me; your callused hands so gentle they almost irk there’s no question, yours I want to be.”

“… yours I want to be.” He found himself quietly echoing the words in the solitude of his office. His heart was heavy and his eyes were strained but they couldn’t stop scanning the lines – over and over and over again, till they began hurting, and even afterwards. His callused fingers were clutching the paper and he was becoming increasingly aggravated with himself and with the situation. This wasn’t good. But then again – the next few lines were exactly about that.

“This is bad, forbidden, wrong – no, we’ve said once before love is nothing short of strong age and rank won’t let me adore you but I want more, don’t paint this as a chore.

Kindness overflows, you listen your generosity hidden behind frowns; I cannot describe the bliss in my heart – royalty should not wear crowns you, broken gem, glisten brighter; is this sin?

I love, love, love you; the ice and the fire, and every time you ask who I want to say with ire not the one you think is true but you, you’re my one desire.

Teach me, speak or not, hate me, love me or reproach, my heart you caught, I care not of your approach; in strength and thought, my feelings are a knot.”

“… fucking certainly sin, yes. I’m a fucking idiot.” He couldn’t stop mumbling curses, until every next word of the poem made him just spill an endless waterfall of “fuck”, over and over again, quiet and angry, then loud and angry, then loud and frustrated, then quiet and defeated. It went up and down and nobody but him could tell why he was cursing so much, nobody but him could reason with the stupid knot his own feelings had become. He sighed, then once more and when his eyes went back to that “I love, love, love you”, his foot landed a kick to the dest in front of him.

“I’m sorry for never using your name I’m sorry for wishing to see you smile I’m sorry for my shame I’m sorry for my thoughts, they’re vile I’m sorry, I’m to blame I’m sorry, I wish to watch you for a while I’m sorry, I know you’re not the same I’m sorry, age and rank are actually hostile I’m sorry, sir, for calling you “sir” so much, wish we could reconcile.”

He wanted to argue but he had only an empty office to argue with. He kicked his desk again and the abuse pushed it back and tipped over a stack of papers. He couldn’t care less. His free hand was massing his temple and his lips were pursed into a straight line. It hurt. It hurt that he had to read nine consecutive apologies about things he had no idea you’d been thinking. The fucking words hurt more than everything else. Age and rank and sorry and the “sir” made a strangled growl leave his lips. He wanted to crumple the stupid paper and throw it out the window. He wanted to go and beat up Jaeger. He wanted to go and scream in your face. He wanted also, to scream at his own face, for being so dumb and oblivious, so fucking inconsiderate and so fucking reckless.

“So allow your dutiful eyes to stray for this one thing, this little cue, just to hear me for the first time say I give my heart, useless as it is, to you.”

“… fuck.” He was tired. He was frowning. He kept rereading it. Kept thinking about lying to you and keeping it. Kept cursing. How was it possible to hate yourself all the more when it turned out the one you love loved you back? Truly, Levi hated himself when he read. He despised himself when he put the poem down and kicked his desk one last time. And he entirely loathed himself when he folded it and headed to your quarters – because there was exactly one way out of this situation and he would be who he’d always been – the asshole who tried to make things right by saying all the wrong things.

“Jaeger found it.” He knocked and you let him in and it was the first thing he said. Your expression was hardly confident. You were looking down at your lap, where you’d been writing in your journal a second ago. You didn’t bother closing it. You met your superior’s gaze and asked him if he’d read it as he handed it to you. You kept your fingers far from his during the exchange. He was silent for a bit, then he took a sharp breath and it was all you needed. “… yes. He did, too.” Your eyes glued themselves to the comforting sight of your journal. “Suddenly you can’t look me in the eye.” His comment made you frown.

“I apologise for the shame I’m feeling.” You drawled ironically, making his jaw clench as he watched you. You were trying to shrink away into nothingness and your discomfort was visible. It made Levi just a bit angry. Just the exact amount of angry to open his mouth and be the asshole he kept incessantly trying to prove to you he was. This would be his final argument. He would do you a lot of good. And himself some bad for the sake of the greater good.

“No need for sarcasm, (L/N).” He reproached coldly, stepping just a bit closer to the bed where you sat and glaring at the top of your head. “What do you expect me to do?” He saw your fingers twitch over the journal and crumple the poem just a bit. “Do you think the rules suddenly won’t matter and I’m going to sweep you off your feet and profess my undying love for you?” His voice was harsh and cold and you shook your head with a small argument that you’d never wanted that. “Then what do you expect me to do?” He was mad. He was mad and you could feel it. Your shoulder shrunk further and you told him you expected him to do what he’d always done. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“What do you mean---“

“How the fuck am I supposed to stay neutral? How am I supposed to help you with your stupid confession if it’s aimed at me? You realise nothing here can work, right? Fuck age and rank, rules don’t allow it.” His voice had raised and he was almost furious. He could see by the jump of your shoulders there were sobs stuck in the back of your throat. “You should stop feeling this way. And don’t you fucking dare cry. Because you’re giving me all and every opportunity to do something I know I shouldn’t do.” Wrong line. Wrong. He was so angry. Fucking furious. If he saw one tear (he wouldn’t manage, he wouldn’t manage) he’d completely lose his cool. “Jaeger said you make unrequited love sound beautiful. I think it’s outright ugly, but I have no taste. I’ve never had taste. The current situation is a perfect example of that.” He was spitting venom and spite and your uncomprehending gaze left your lap to take a glance of his visage. He was already facing the door. Thank God for that, otherwise you might see him crumble. “Take the day off, cadet. You’re still my assistant in the morning.” His voice went back to being cold and emotionless and he heard the first of many sobs echo on the other side of the door when he shut it.

You took the day off, as per his order. You didn’t show up to afternoon training. Didn’t show up in the mess hall for dinner. Didn’t show up in his office to help him pick up the papers he left lying on the floor. The sun had barely risen when he woke from his restless slumber because somebody opened the door of his office. You walked inside and found the place a mess. He hadn’t bothered collecting the paperwork, much less delivering it to the Commander. You got to work with that. And by the time he’d taken his morning shower and put on his uniform, you’d made the trip to the Commander’s office and left on the Lance Corporal’s desk his morning cup of tea, just how he liked it.

You knew if you didn’t go to him he wouldn’t risk painting your pair as suspicious by approaching you himself. Thus why you kept a safe distance from him and snuck papers and drinks in and out of his office when he wasn’t there. You spent a lot of time thinking too, to the point it made you bite the dust twice during combat training. You saw through his strategy. Playing the terrible asshole really didn’t suit him. You were sure he didn’t return your feelings but that didn’t mean you were blinded enough by your pessimism to miss he cared for you to some degree, much like how he cared of every soldier serving under him. For the sake of the rules and for the sake of preventing you from making a fool of yourself, he wished you’d hate him. It was something you could never do.

And, the same evening, when you entered his office with his late-night tea, you intended to make that clear. You left the cup at the edge of his desk and he glanced at you once whilst working on the late report he should’ve started yesterday. The desk was between you when you spoke, stiffly and awkwardly, with just a pinch of confidence.

“Sir, I know it’s not my place to meddle with your good intentions---“ the mere act of him taking one second to glare up at you made your voice hitch along with your breath, then you slowly recollected yourself and kept going, “but trying to be an asshole didn’t work. On the contrary, my case file is growing.” You heard him click his tongue at that. “I know you don’t like me but there’s no need to encourage my hatred for you in order to protect me.” His right hand halted as it wrote, then he sharply put his pen down and ordered you to sit down. You almost tripped in your haste to land on the couch.

“I want you to listen to me now.” He rubbed his temples with a sigh as you waited, pursed lips and clammy hands fidgeting in your lap. “I know you’re not one for acting. You probably would’ve never admitted your feelings if I hadn’t stumbled upon them by chance.” You didn’t dare nod but he was right. “I realise you won’t beg me to return them, make me feel them or throw yourself at me.” You couldn’t face him for the life of you. “You won’t say my name, much less try to kiss me or touch me. I have to ask – do you want to?” You went red in shame because, yes, you wanted to and yes, you wouldn’t dare try anything physical.

“What do you want to hear?” You asked instead, avoiding honesty and giving him the chance to withdraw from the conversation. You didn’t want to admit it – you’d hate to, honestly, but you wouldn’t object to conceding it if he requested it of you. After all, you had to set things straight and let everything proceed as it had – with you writing poems of unrequited love and him being unbelievably king and tolerant toward you.

“The truth.” His gaze was hard and you shamefully nodded your head for fear your voice might betray you. It was enough for him nonetheless. He clicked his tongue. “Alright then. You’re seventeen. We’re in the army. The circumstances are shit. I don’t like going against rules or my own moral grounds. So I won’t lay a hand on you until you turn of age.” Your brows rose and your eyes widened – what was that supposed to mean? As if having sensed your surprise and confusion, he elaborated. “After that, it’s up to you. Until then, I want that poem.” His voice was soft and quiet, like he was sharing a secret. You met his gaze and there were probably stars in your eyes. This was, far as you and the dreamer in you were concerned, an indirect confession. “And fix the fucking ending, your heart isn’t useless.”

He avoided eye contact and went back to his normal self. You glanced at the door, then your eyes moved back to his countenance. His shoulders were tense and you took a deep breath, asking him, in the shakiest voice you hated hearing from your mouth, if he could close his eyes for a second. They narrowed at your expression, then rolled in defeat and finally closed. You sighed and he could hear you get up from the couch. One step in his direction, then another. The third brought your feet right by his chair. He could hear your heart – or just his own. Light pressure on his jaw – three trembling fingers. Then your lips rested at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s unfortunate the right poem came into the hands of the wrong person this time around.” You were whispering against his skin and his hands were itching to reach up and grab you. And to think you were trying to prove to him you could throw yourself at him after all. This was wrong, correct. But that was why his eyes were closed and why he refused to move even when every fibre of his being wanted to hold you. How despicable of him, to fall for the underage cadet whose heart he’d casually picked off the floor that night he found you in front of the closet. “Thank you for always being so kind, Levi.” Your smile was pressed against the corner of his mouth, his jaw clenched and you smelled of soap and flowers. “Fuck” yet again seemed to be the only word in his mind.

You stepped back, promised you’d give him the poem tomorrow morning and fled the office. His eyes opened only after he heard the door close behind you. He flexed his hands and got back to work, and when the folded stray piece of paper appeared on the edge of his desk the following day, he tucked it in the breast pocket of his jacket and went about his day as he always did. Your eyes would sometimes meet across the mess hall or during training, you’d bring him tea and help him with his paperwork, and sometimes, when he thought of you, his hand strayed toward the secret in his pocket.

He’d wait for you and he’d be your knight. You’d wait for him and you’d be his damsel. You’d live through hardships and get a mediocre happily ever after if you were lucky. Standard fairytale formula. Until then, the perfect combination was finally achieved – the right poem for the right person. And that was enough.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #reader insert #levi ackerman fanfiction #snk x reader #levi being a wingman not realising he's the object of affection #eren being wingman not realising he was the past object of affection #misunderstandings are my absolute favourite thing to write lol #not too romantic #wanted to keep it real #cause like y'know age difference and stuff

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Out With the Old. Yan Childe x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Brief mentions of injury and blood, typical yandere undertones. Word count: 3.2k. Notes: i absolutely loved writing this!! i never realized how badly i needed a yandere childe that’s so obviously whipped for his darling. :’))

“Dearest [First],

I can only imagine the look that must be on your face as you read this. Don’t be too harsh on me for saying so, but I promise not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of you. Now stop scowling at the letter, it won’t do any good, after all; it’s just a piece of paper. I’d hate to come back home to see that you’ve aged from all that frowning at parchment.

Somedays I wake and fail to notice I’m in Inazuma instead of Snezhnaya. The scenery has its differences, of course, but it’s only when I realize I can’t see you that it truly sinks in. Writing this, I realize your judgment about my honesty only appearing in written form rather than in person is true. You’ve always had a penchant for keeping me in line, haven’t you?

Not that I can blame you.

You’ll be relieved to hear that the reason for my being here turned out to be a simple misunderstanding. There’s no grand coup d'état waiting to unfold amongst the lower ranks, so, unfortunately for me, it turned out to be a waste of time. On the bright side, that means I’ll get to come back home all the faster.

Tonia tells me that you’re doing well and I’m glad to hear it. I know your parents aren’t that fond of me, which is a smart call all things considered, but I hope they’re both in good health. Let me know if they need any help with their shop and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t let them know it was from me, or they might blow a gasket.

When I come home, I wonder if I’ll see your face among the crowd on the pier this time.

At the very least… consider not discarding this letter like the others. Really, I can’t tell who is more stubborn, me or you.

-Yours eternally, Tartaglia”

This is the first letter of his that you’ve bothered reading in some time, as he made a point of mentioning. It’s difficult to identify the exact feelings his handwriting and characteristic word choice inflicts upon you, ranging from relief to exasperation. He has some audacity, refusing to see you in person for months on end, only to carry on as if nothing happened between you.

With the letter in hand, your mind wanders back, hoping to find some hints of where it all went wrong.

You remember the words said to you on that late, fateful winter evening. The confident timbre of his voice then still resonates in your head at random, never muffling despite the years that have passed, ringing as clearly as a bell. Does he ever think about it? It’s hard to say.

“One day,” Ajax, or Tartaglia as he claimed his new identity to be, had told you, “I’m going to conquer this world.”

His breath materialized in front of him as white, vaporous wisps. There’s something about that particularly frigid season that felt like magic, more so than the Cryo Vision wrapped snug around your neck. You bit back a scathing remark and instead focused your energy elsewhere. Your gloved hand raised and hovered just above his split lip, a prominent frown etched onto your face at the fresh wound. Likely the first of many to come, you lamented.

Your Vision pulsated with life and light blue shone through at your command. The tender, bruised flesh on his lip began to close, before it faded away altogether. Tartaglia raised his hand to gently touch where it had been, now nothing but a faint memory.

With that out of the way, you placed your hands onto your hips and gave him a stern look. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that. It’s going to get you into trouble one day.”

He laughed and waved off your concern.

“If only. Things have been so dull lately, I wouldn’t mind stirring up a little trouble.” Tartaglia hummed, much to your displeasure. It was no secret in your quaint hometown of Morepesok that this boy had been spiraling down a dangerous path. Your parents said as much and even encouraged you to break off ties with him. This just won’t do, you thought.

“Ouch!”

You flicked his forehead and offered up your most intimidating glare. “So you are capable of feeling pain, huh? Good. If it keeps you out of fights, then I won’t heal you anymore.”

Tartaglia rubbed the spot and smiled sheepishly.

“You say that, but I’m sure you’d change your mind if I came to you all bloodied and battered. You’re just that kind of person.” When he paused to reflect, you raised an eyebrow and challenged him.

“Now what’s this? I’m what kind of person, Ajax?” You pinched his cheek, much to his vocal displeasure, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “Say it loud and clear this time.”

“The kind that always looks out for others, even those who don’t deserve it.”

Your arms fell limp by your side. At that moment, your heart twisted in a way it never had before. It could only compare to how it felt when Ajax had stumbled back home after missing for three, long days. You weren’t sure if you had heard him right — his eyes widened as did yours like he felt equally surprised — and he rushed to save himself. The flush that dusted over his face was most certainly not from the cold weather.

Tartaglia shot up and made way for the door at a record speed. “I told my old man that I’d be home before dark. He already worries about me enough as is, so... I’ll be on my way. See ya around.”

Your rebuttal was slow as your tongue felt frozen. Tartaglia waved to you over his shoulder and took off, leaving you to wallow in your muddled thoughts. What exactly had he meant by that? Why did his gaze soften and his usually boisterous voice drop in volume?

Questions flooded your mind, questions that wouldn’t be answered for years to come.

ii.

You’ve always found this area of Morepesok to be serene. There’s no buzz of the community gathering, chattering about the latest gossip and notable news, no vendors vying for people passing by to purchase their fresh early morning catch. The surroundings are nothing but peaceful, and most importantly, silent. In the summer, there’d only have been the sound of the rushing rivers that are now frozen over and humming insects.

Twigs and dry leaves crunch behind the tree stump you’re hanging out at, signaling an approaching figure.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Tartaglia sits down next to you, blades of grass rustling against him as he did so. You don’t bother to look up, instead feigning interest in your fingernails, staring at them intently. Anywhere other than his face, which most likely than not would be boasting his trademark grin. Seeing the fake expression that he plasters on daily would only add fuel to the fire that rages inside.

Your lips part after an uncomfortable silence settles in, the atmosphere growing tenser by the second. “So you’re a Harbinger now, huh?”

“You don’t look impressed like everyone else,” He notes, his language notably more tentative than usual. It strikes through your heart, piercing flesh and blood, your fingers curling painfully tight. If he notices, he decides not to comment. Tartaglia gives you the time to process your overwhelming thoughts as if it’d make any of this easier on you.

“How could I possibly be happy about that?” You snap your head, catching how he’s momentarily caught off guard before it’s covered up just as fast. “This… this is going to be the death of you, Ajax. And Archons, the worst part is, I know me saying that won’t matter in the slightest. That death would just be the result of a fulfilling fight to you.”

Your breathing grows erratic, to the point you’re forced to stop speaking to regain yourself. He doesn’t dare utter a single word — uncharacteristically silent — watching your every movement with calculating precision. It’s taking all your strength to keep yourself together, not wanting to come undone in front of him, feeling weak just for showing this much. This is why you were hoping to avoid him, but figures he’d go out of to seek you out.

“And if I don’t die? Would that make a difference in how you feel?” He challenges, tilting his head, voice dipping in volume. “You can be honest with me, [First]. It’s not just that you’re upset about. No, there’s something else.”

He knows you too well and it’s beyond frustrating. Your body language might be difficult for others to read, but not Tartaglia, who picks up on every little nuance with ease.

Your lower lip trembles. “I hate that this is what you’ve become.”

“So that’s it then,” Tartaglia nods his head, once, coming to terms with it as soon as the words left your lips; like he already knew it all along. “I figured as much, but to hear you say it… haven’t you heard of mincing your words before?”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you internally plead with yourself not to let the nonchalant words get to you. It’s his way of dealing with strife to act unbothered, you know this, and still, it strikes deep. What if this isn’t a façade, but who he really is now? That boy you knew and grew up with — Ajax, your dearest friend — he may be physically sitting next to you, but his soul is gone. Whatever happened in those hellish three days changed him forever. Now his flesh and bones are nothing but a vessel urged on by bloodlust.

How ironic, you think. That your Vision lets you heal physical wounds, but not the unseen kind, which runs deeper than any gash could hope to. Maybe you were a fool for thinking you could fix him, revert him to how he used to be like nothing ever happened. Or maybe he let you try just to earn more time together for whatever twisted reason. Knowing that once reality settles in, you’ll go someplace far out of his reach, where he can never get you back. Sitting here, you realize that it won’t just be you losing him. He’ll also be losing you.

Is that why he is sticking around? To prolong the inevitable?

“When I look into your eyes,” you clear your tightening throat, not willing to let yourself cry. “There’s… there’s no light, no humanity, and you know it. That has to be why you chase all those stupid fights, all so that you can feel alive again.”

Tartaglia allows you the room to ramble without interruption, your venomous feelings that have long festered gushing out. When you work up the courage to look up, you find Tartaglia frowning, staring far off but at nothing in particular. So even he can sometimes be rendered to a loss for words, huh?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the chilly air invading his lungs. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

Another cautious pause. He’s giving this a lot of thought.

“My fighting is not for the sole sake of the adrenaline rush, as enjoyable as that is,” he scratches the back of his neck and forces a laugh. “It’s so that I can get stronger. I told you, didn’t I? That I intend on conquering the world. To do that, I need to be the strongest, or else I can’t fulfill my promise.”

Your lips part, eyebrows furrowing together in irritation, but he places a finger to your lips before you can tear into him. The leather feels cool against your skin, and it’s just now that you realize how close he is to you. Having been so absorbed in your emotions, you failed to notice his stealthy movements, the two of you now shoulder to shoulder. Your heart thrums, reminiscent of that day ages ago.

“When the entire world lays defeated at my feet, what I want is to have you by my side. Until that dream of mine comes true, I’m afraid I’ll have to continue making you sad, but know that it’s for a reason.”

Tartaglia pulls his hand back, his finger lingering just a second over your bottom lip, finally allowing you to speak your piece.

You’re drawn like a moth to a flame to his lifeless eyes, which have seen more bloodshed in the past few months than you could ever fathom. Murmuring, you find it within yourself to respond, albeit so quietly he has to cant forward to hear. “If you accomplish just that… who’s to say I’d want to be by your side? The side of a killer?”

“Hm? Did I ever say you had a choice in the matter?” Tartaglia returns your inquiry with a bold one of his own, one that sends you recoiling in astonishment. He lets the words settle like fresh snow on the ground before laughing them off. You cross your arms over your chest, making your displeasure over his comment evident.

“Please, I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that,” he puts his hands up in mock defense. “Ah, it’s suddenly feeling colder than usual. You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? I never thought that humble [First], the child of the town’s apothecary at that, would be so bold as to freeze me to death.”

Your nose wrinkles up and you hold back a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “Yeah, right. Like I could ever stand a chance against you in battle.”

“You might be surprised! I could make a warrior out of you yet. Think about it, Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa saw fit to bestow a Vision upon you, didn’t she?” He accents his words by pointing to your neck, where you prefer to keep your Vision. Subconsciously, your hand raises, delicately touching the icy gem.

“I’m not like you,” you shake your head at his jest. “Hurting others is the last thing I’d ever want to do, trust me.”

He hums, your words taking him back, memories flashing in his mind. “I know, that’s why I’ve always done it in your stead.”

“Whoever would’ve thought fending off bored kids with a wooden sword would escalate into you climbing the ranks of the Fatui.” Had it not been for the final part of the sentence, you would’ve found it endearing to reminiscence back to your early childhood together. Still, the frost around your heart melts at the sweet memory, despite your attempts to keep it hardened. This goes to show how much I cherished it, you muse.

Lips curling into a smile, you take him by surprise and lay your head onto his shoulder. His muscles go tense, body unresponsive to the affection you used to bestow upon him in heaps. It’d been so long that he forgot the warmth you radiate like you were the sun incarnate. He had once commented that he expected a Cryo user to be cold, only to be delightfully surprised by how warm you were.

“Maybe I was always terrible, and you just didn’t notice?” He proposes, to which you snort.

“That most certainly is not the case. I’m a better judge of character than that.” You scoff at the mere idea. No, little Ajax had been nothing but a darling, there’s no doubting it. Wherever you’d go, he’d follow as if his life depended on it. There was hardly ever a time where the two of you wouldn’t be seen paired together.

“You’ll get no argument out of me there,” Tartaglia rests his head on top of yours like he used to. The circumstances have undoubtedly changed, but it’s nice to feign ignorance for a few minutes. “Say, you remember when we used to sneak off and meet here, right?”

“How could I forget?”

Tartaglia nods his head in agreement. “I was always dragging you into trouble, even then. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but I guess it’s hard not to when we’re here.”

Now that he mentions it, it wasn’t an immediate shift into his now unhinged personality; like all things, it began as a gradual descent. You should’ve noticed something was awry with how frequently he’d come to you, boasting injuries of all sorts. Each was accompanied by a rehearsed explanation as not to alarm you. Unfortunately for him, in a small town such as this, word travels quickly. It was inevitable that you’d find out the bitter truth behind his wounds.

Maybe you always knew but didn’t want to face reality.

“There was this one time in particular that always stuck out to me,” he closes his eyes, reflecting. “When I said I intended to marry you when we got older, or whenever you’d have me.”

You’re amazed at how Tartaglia recounts it without so much as stuttering, the humiliating memory sending your head spinning. There were so many memories he could’ve mentioned and that’s the one he decides to go with? You’re certain he’s messing with you at this point.

“I-I thought we swore never to mention that again!” You exclaim, blood rushing to your cheeks.

He blinks when you abruptly lift your head and shrugs off your concern. “I don’t remember ever agreeing to that. It was you who kept insisting to take a vow of silence on it, for whatever reason. Personally, I find it cute, you were so eager to accept my proposal then.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This irksome teasing quality had reared its head alongside his other new shortcomings. The best way to deal with it, you’ve learned, is to keep the conversation going. Dwelling on it for too long never ends well.

“So, Liyue, huh?” You recall the gossip from the marketplace earlier. Some locals were fussing over the news that the Fatui’s latest Harbinger, Tartaglia, would be sent abroad for more work. There were murmurs of excitement over how a child from this seaside town managed to make it so far up the ranks. And to think they used to bemoan Ajax’s violent streak, you remember. Now that it’s beneficial to them, they sure have changed their tune.

“I wonder what it’ll be like,” he muses. “Anthon seems to think the people there eat rocks, for whatever reason.”

“Kids always say the craziest things unprompted.”

He seems agreeable to that statement. Neither of you utters another word for some time, instead thinking of both the past and the future. It’s not a comfortable position to remain seated in, yet neither you nor he complains about it. For a few brief, glorious seconds, everything almost seems normal again.

“Hey, [First].”

You hum in response. Tartaglia’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. In the silence that follows, you swear you hear a sound akin to electricity crackling, the hairs on the back of your neck standing from the drastic shift in atmosphere.

“I meant what I said. Someday, you will be by my side. I don’t care what it takes, I’ll make it happen; even if you come to hate me.”

“Because once you make a promise… you keep it.”

And he intended to do just that.

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