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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

Text

the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby.

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored.

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days.

Art Donaldson.

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage.

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks.

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine.

“We’ll start with the basics.”

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go.

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.”

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him.

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you.

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace.

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.”

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days.

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches.

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?”

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?”

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit.

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.”

“Lily?”

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.”

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.”

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?”

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?”

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.”

“...He seems to be pretty busy.”

“He is.”

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?”

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound.

“It shows, you know,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.”

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm.

“Just good?” He plies.

“The best. A real pro.”

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little.

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat.

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?”

“She’s killing it.”

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it.

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.”

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds.

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.”

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.”

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.”

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him.

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw.

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap.

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies.

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud.

It spurs you to lunge a little too far.

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side.

“What hurts?”

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left.

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.”

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle.

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand.

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?”

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort.

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.”

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

“How’s the ankle?”

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again.

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks.

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.”

“Good enough to walk on?”

Hardly.

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again?

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up.

I invited Art.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all.

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days.

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely.

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room.

“Almost ready in here?” He asks.

“All set!”

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile.

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds.

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests.

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself.

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves.

“Wanted to come say hi.”

“Well. Hi.”

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours.

“He isn’t taking care of you.”

“My ankle is fine.”

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down.

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—”

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh.

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip.

“Condom?” He asks.

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.”

“Sssh.”

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip.

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—”

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.”

“Art—”

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?”

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm.

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties.

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room.

“Can I see you?”

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him.

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies.

“Where?”

“I’ll send an address.”

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk.

“...You regret it?” He asks.

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do.

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck.

“Is this Lily?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.”

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.”

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully.

“Art?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I here?”

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer.

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.”

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.”

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up.

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #the pro

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vampyrial · 2 years ago

Text

Sugar

summary: cooking for someone is the sweetest expression of love.

pairing: mark grayson x gn!reader

content warnings: soft yan!reader, poisoning, gaslighting, caretaking, fluffy if you ignore that reader is a lil crazy

author’s note: I never posted this here but in honor of s2 of invincible, here’s this fic I wrote after s1 😵‍💫 my first mark fic

Mark remembered his mom making pancakes on the weekends. It was his favorite breakfast when he was a kid. There was less time for sit down breakfasts as he grew older and spent more time outside the house working, going to school or hanging out with William, it remained a nostalgic thing for him. The smell of butter, the sizzle of the batter hitting the hot pan, he hadn’t realized he missed it.

Not until he woke up to the clattering of pans downstairs. Debbie was out for the day already, busying herself with work. As of late, the house had become stifling and she felt ill at ease. Mark was mostly left to his own devices for food and Mark being Mark, mostly subsisted on take out.

You had slept over (in the guest room, per Debbie’s request) and woken up early to make breakfast. Into the dry ingredients, you added a vial of powder as white as flour. You sprinkled it all in, hand inside the bowl, careful not to let it spill anywhere. You mixed carefully. With a focus as complete as ever, batter dropped onto the pan, sizzling.

“Making breakfast?” His voice almost made you jump. You thought you were used to him sneaking up on you.

“Good morning to you too, Mark” You smiled to yourself, not looking up at him. “And yes, I’m making you pancakes.”

You didn’t look up but you could tell he was surprised by the pause and the awkward shift of his silhouette.

“I didn't…I know I only eat out these days but I don’t need you to cook for me, I feel kind of like an asshole watching you cook for me in my own house” He mumbled, looking away.

“I know I don’t need to, I want to. I’d feel better if you didn’t eat pizza everyday for breakfast.”

“It’s not everyday, just…most of the time” He was embarrassed you’d noticed. “Are you not gonna have some?” He changed the topic.

“I had four bowls of captain crunch at 5am, I’m not exactly sure more sugar is a good idea for me right now.”

You flipped the pancakes onto a plate, sliced a pat of butter onto the top and poured the syrup. Mark, even in his quest to be somewhat gentlemanly, could not resist. The first bite of the buttery pancakes drenched in the syrup evoked strong feelings. Longing, gratitude and love. The yearning for an innocence abandoned and the feeling of being loved was so strong he could cry.

Mark, like most teenage boys, could eat. You silently kept cooking pancakes and he kept eating them. It was a lovely morning, the air was sweet and the sky was a vibrant blue. You spent the day in Mark’s room, in pajamas, tracing shapes over his skin with your fingertips as you watched a marathon of movies he liked. He eagerly explained every gag and bit of trivia. But as the sky began to darken with the day’s end, Mark’s energy declined.

He was sluggish and he felt a bit warm. When he insisted he was alright, you still stayed by his side. A comfort he was secretly grateful for. Even when Debbie came home, fatigued, you kindly asserted that you would stay up with Mark and watch over him. It was only right, Debbie already had enough to deal with and she fussed over Mark until the early hours. If there was anyone she could trust Mark to, it would be you, just while she got some sleep at least.

You wiped the sweat from Mark’s brow with a gentle hand. You brought him water and aspirin, you rubbed his tender muscles, you changed his sheets soaked by sweat. Mark felt like shit but knowing you were there, unperturbed by his frequent vomiting, was a comfort beyond words. You even slept in the same bed as him now, holding his hand, rubbing over it with your fingers. He felt like a kid again, cared for and safe.

Even though after more than a week, Debbie wanted to bring him to the hospital, you waved away her concerns. “Part of this might be coming from Mark’s emotional state after what happened, maybe we have grief to blame for this, in part. Mark doesn’t need a hospital, his symptoms aren’t worse than the stomach flu, he just needs to be cared for” you had said, so convincingly, so knowingly, that it made her hesitate. You only had his best interests at heart. Mark even spoke up and said he didn’t need to go to the hospital. He had been in the hospital so often, he was sick of it. Even the memory of the strong antiseptic smell brought a sense of dread. He would rather be with you, at home being touched by your familiar, healing, hands.

He loved you so much, and told you as much very often. When you were showering with him, washing him because he was too winded; your wet, warm skin carefully cleaning his, he murmured ‘I love you.’ He was vulnerable, tender, worn and tired but he was certain of one thing. He couldn’t live without your warmth. Everyone else counted on him, they needed something from him and if he failed to deliver he’d be letting them down. It’d be another fuck up to add to the roster and yet another time someone he loved would look at him like a loser. But with you, he felt the closest thing to unconditional love he had ever experienced from anyone besides his mom. You didn’t care who he decided to help or what he messed up, you would always accept him. Even if you weren’t always pleased with what he did, you never judged him harshly for his mistakes. For his wins or his fails, you loved him. Mark thought it was way more than he deserved and part of him really did regret his actions more in the face of your forgiveness. He did feel like such an asshole when he found comfort in your acceptance, when you consoled him as if he really deserved it. But fuck if he didn’t need it.

He obviously couldn’t rush off saving people like he had, so he stayed safely inside. His world was small and manageable. His body was whole, if aching and feverish. That was what you intended. For Mark to be safe. He was always putting himself in danger like it didn’t matter, running off to save the world like no one else. Sometimes he would come back intact and sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes he was a hair’s breadth away from death. But Mark didn’t want to stay put, you weren’t strong enough to protect him directly and you couldn’t order him to. What were you to do?

A bit of poison wouldn’t do him in, in fact, you were certain it wouldn’t even keep him down very long. But buying even this amount of time was a blessing. You wanted to keep him safe, keep him inside forever if that’s what it took but that wouldn’t work. For now, you were just buying a little time and some peace of mind. You tell yourself you were driven to this.

A few days later, Mark’s strength had recovered somewhat. You fed him soup and he kept all of it down. He was relieved to be recovering even though he would miss being babied by you and Debbie’s worries eased meaning you were safe from her suspicion. He went back to school, back to saving the world eventually. You waited until enough time passed. Until you could return things to how they should be.

The moment came six months later, the previous night you two had been out with William and Eve. He’d rushed off to the city with Eve while you were in the middle of eating at some greasy pizza joint. Your heart fluttered as you gazed at the empty space next to you in the booth. At least Eve was with him, though it was a poor consolation. They were fighting the same aliens they were overwhelmed by a few weeks ago. He came home in one piece, thankfully, but he had been fighting so much lately. Cecil asked so much of him, he’d been flying off to this and that attack. He was bound to be hurt again soon, even just that month there had been threats he’d barely escaped from. It was your misfortune to fall in love with a hero, it meant that he would never really be safe and neither would you.

You called Mark to sleep over at yours when he came back that night. Your mother worked late or sometimes, simply didn’t want to come home so the house was yours. The two of you watched mafia movies, argued about whether the godfather was overrated or not and ate an ungodly amount of popcorn. The following morning, you cooked a big breakfast, muffins, bacon, omelets. Pancakes.

He ate so hungrily it hurt your heart. He truly did love your cooking. Even though Debbie had gradually started making dinner for him again months ago, he had really missed your cooking. It wasn’t that her’s wasn't delicious, it was just…there was something that made him warm inside about the idea that you should make something for him. That you thought about him, cared about him enough. That much effort wasn’t necessarily a given in a high school relationship. It was new and nice to be with someone who showed their love for him so frankly.

You watched him eat with such a sweet look on your face. You ate with him, an omelette and bacon, for the sake of appearance. Planned out in anticipation of Mark’s tastes and in the interest of keeping suspicion to a minimum, you added your remedy to both the muffins and the pancakes. The muffins had less of it, as you knew Mark would be likely to eat more pancakes than muffins but if he chose to forgo that for the opposite, he would still be made ill. You even had plans for the unlikely event that he chose to eat neither. But Mark wasn’t rude enough to pass up food made for him by someone he loves.

Shortly after breakfast, Mark was in the bathroom vomiting. It seemed far more likely that the pizza joint with the sticky seats and chain smoking cooks gave him food poisoning than anything having been wrong with your food. In his head, it didn’t even occur to him. When you helped him into bed, he felt grateful that he was with you. It was such a relief not to say that he was fine, not to have to be brave. Nobody cared for him as gently as you did.

Your sheets and your pillows smelled like you. Mark felt weird smelling your things but it was nice to be surrounded by comfort. You washed him in your soap so he smelled like you too. He couldn’t have wanted you more in that moment, he wanted your skin against yours. He wanted your voice, the brush of your fingertips against his. When he was well, he wanted to be someone you would be proud to be with. To be that hero you deserve. When he was this sick, he still had that desire lingering somewhere in the background but he melted down into the barest of wants. And what remained was a need for you, an uncomplicated desire. He felt as if he’d dissolve into your mattress if he couldn’t feel you.

“I’m right here, Mark” You murmured, cleaning the sweat from his chest with a cloth. You have such gentle hands, your eyes stay on his to make sure you’re not hurting him. Under your loving attention, a few tears roll down Mark’s cheek. He can’t help it, you’re always there for him. Without you, who does he have to lean on like this? His mom was already a wreck, Eve had her own problems, William had no idea how to deal with something as big as what he went through — he doesn’t even know how to deal with it. He cannot live without you, who doesn’t understand what he went through but understands what he needs better than anyone.

“What’s the matter? Does something hurt?” You asked, panicked at his tears. Mark didn’t cry easily, you hadn’t meant to put him in so much pain he’d cry. You had added just enough, you always operated on that balance. Just enough pain, just enough sickness, just enough time.

“No, it’s just-” Mark’s voice was raw. “I’m glad I’m with you, that’s all.”

You softened. Hearing him say that made you melt into a puddle of sticky sweet syrup. It only strengthened your resolve and you were overcome with the need to keep him safe. And with the knowledge that if something happened to him, you would die. When the savage, gruesome fight happened, your stomach was in knots for days while you heard no news. Your heart squeezed painfully as if you were going to have a heart attack and it went on for days. When you slept to escape the constant anxiety, you had nightmares. You didn’t even go to school, you couldn’t get out of bed for anything other than checking whether or not he’d come home. For weeks you lived in hell, thinking you would lose him. And although he was alright that time, a piece of that moment lived in you every time he flew off toward danger.

“I love you so much, Mark” You bowed your head and rested it against his chest, hearing his strong heart beating. You pressed a kiss there, along the contours of his chest, right over his heart.

“I love you too” He mumbled weakly. There couldn’t be anything sweeter than you.

Your love was falling over him like powdered sugar. These moments, without knowing it, he had come to need them. Being sick was the only time he was allowed to fully be human. No one needed or expected anything of him. Under your care, he could be briefly vulnerable.

That was all you needed to ease that inkling of guilt that rose in the back of your mind. Who was protecting him like he protected everyone else? No one but you. It was why you had to resort to using underhanded methods, if everyone was trying to protect him, if they only cared — you wouldn’t need to. That was what you reasoned, anyway.

Mark needed you, anyone with eyes could see that. And you had no intention of abandoning him. Whatever you had to do, in your eyes it was all the desperation of a powerless human trying to save the man they love. It was romantic, even. You anticipated the moment where Mark might put two and two together. It made you anxious and you had practiced the speech you’d give him a thousand times. “I love you and I’m scared. I’m so scared for you. I always am." But you soothed yourself with the knowledge that Mark would understand, above anyone else, you’d earned the benefit of the doubt.

Because Mark knew what he needed, even if it was something he couldn’t have expressed on his own. Even if it was something that he shouldn’t. He was only human — even if he was half viltrumite — could he really deny your feelings and his own? No. Not when you were his saving grace. How could he not understand what you were trying to do when his sentiments were nearly the same?

You were watching Mark sleep, laying next to him, his arm around you. His skin was warm and his breaths were labored. You reassured yourself as you pulled the blanket up to his chest. You would take good care of him, he knew that. He had to, he had to know. He just had to.

#x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #yandere reader

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yumiis · 2 years ago

Note

i was wondering if you could do nick x reader with reader being in denial/oblivious to nick's flirting with them. like they take it as a joke every time bc they don't think someone would ever be in love with them/like them?

YESS i love this trope you've found my soft spot

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。 are you seeing anyone? ; nick

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

type; drabble

read below!

Nick wanted you to be his. Super badly. However, every time he made a move, you'd just laugh it off or ignore him completely. It really upset him, but he wouldn't give up on you that easily.

You'd always been the one asked out as a joke, flirted with as a joke, it was always 'ask out Y/n as a joke!'. It absolutely killed your self esteem. It also caused you to not ever dare to reciprocate feelings to anyone, because you knew it would always be too good to be true. Nick included. You figured it was some inside joke with all the guys.

Your phone repeatedly buzzed, Nick's contact appearing on the screen. You slid over to the answer button, "Hello?.." He smiled as you answered, "Y/n! I was worried I wouldn't get ahold of you. Do you wanna do something today? I'm free, the rest of the guys are out." You were floored. This had to be a joke. "Uhh.." You thought for a minute. What could the harm really be? "Sure. What'd you wanna go do?" He smiled widely to himself, finally! He'd get to be alone with you and show you that he really does care, and he's not flirting with you as some cruel joke.

"We could just go to the mall or like, a museum or something? Just to hang out. And uh, don't worry about money! That's on me." He spoke smoothly, no hesitation in his voice whatsoever. You took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect. "O.. Okay. Gotcha. I'll be ready soon then? I can drive over and meet you at the house." He shook his head, "Nah, I'll drive over to you. Be there in thirty!"

In almost exactly thirty minutes time, Nick was knocking on your door. You flattened your shirt, answering the door. "Hey!.." You softly smiled at Nick, noticing he wasn't wearing anything too fancy. "Hey! You look nice. Nicer than me at least, heh." You chuckled a little, "Yeah, heheh.." You were trying your hardest to accept that maybe this wasn't a joke, but it was hard. "Well, you ready? I got all my shit in the car. The mall doesn't close 'til about 8, so we got time!" You nodded, "Ye— yeah!"

You guys spent about an hour or two at the mall, shopping around. Nick threw out some compliments and offered to buy you so much, but you had to decline almost every time. You just felt too guilty if you took that much money from him. He insisted on at least buying you lunch, to which you said was fine.

"So, Y/n," He started as he ate his chicken sandwich, "Are you seeing anyone?" Your face and body went cold, "Huh?" You were confused why he was asking you that. You knew it. This was all some ruse set up by the boys to make a fool out of you. "Like, are you going out with anyone?" You slowly shook your head, "Uhm, no, I uh.. I guess not." Nick looked a little sad, "You wouldn't consider this seeing eachother?" He nonchalantly asked you. You perked up. "I— Oh! Oh, uhm!.."

Nick tilted his head, "Or if you don't like me in that way and i'm taking this wrong that's fine! Just tell me that, because I know you kinda ignore or laugh off any time I make like.. any flirtatious comment.." He smiled sheepishly. You sighed, "No, it's not like that.. I, uh, I do like you like that. I was just like," You paused for a second, waving your hands around a little, "Bullied in school. So I was always the one that was asked out as a joke." He stared at you in awe. "I thought this was all some joke."

"This was never a joke," He placed his hand on top of yours, "Me liking you was never a joke. The guys were really all out today, they all actually really want me to start seeing you. They all really like you, dude." You smiled softly, looking back at Nick. "So? Are you seeing anyone?"

"... Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

#alex's writing #anon.txt #tgc x reader #tgc #tgc x you #tgc x y/n #the group chat #the group chat x y/n #the group chat x you #the group chat x reader #softwilly #softwilly x you #softwilly x y/n #softwilly x reader

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kisslandeds · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | “Silent Promise”

word count: 5,999

t/w: plot-pushing, long scenes, flashbacks, mentions of violence, love triangle, fluff

MORNING SPILLS through the front windows of the Kori flower shop like liquid gold, gilding the wooden shelves and casting long, dappled shadows across the floorboards. A breeze wanders in behind it, rustling the chimes above the door and stirring the heady scent of honeysuckle, damp earth, and the faintest trace of sakura oil. The shop is a sanctuary—a small, sacred bloom in the heart of Konoha, quiet and slow in a village that rarely is.

Flora stands behind the counter, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, the air is thick with the scent of jasmine and damp soil, a comforting perfume of nature. Flora arranges a cluster of white lilies, her hands moving with a practiced grace. Her apron is dusted with pollen and ribbon scraps, her light brown hair pulled back in a navy blue ribbon. The hem of her apron is dusted with pollen and glittering fragments of mica powder she dusts on bouquets. Small white petals rest in her hair—forgotten there, as she occupied herself.

She hums as she works—something soft and old, a lullaby her father used to whistle while pruning the garden. Outside, the world moves on. In here, time feels suspended.

It was the morning after Flora's intimate night with Kakashi, a passionate but devoted gesture of affection he bequeathed to her. Though Kakashi had offered to help, his voice gravelly with sleep and affection, his handsome face still softened by rest since he hadn't had anything to do after Team Seven entered The Forest, she politely declined his request and insisted she handle the morning by herself. Accordingly, she'd pulled back leaves, loose petals, made bouquets, and now she was removing the thorns from flowers.

The bell above the door rings—clear, silver-toned.

Flora brushes the back of her hand against her forehead, lily stems still in her fingers, and for a fleeting moment she expects Kakashi, maybe with that slouching gait of his. "I'll be right with you in a second. These thorns are a little stubborn."

The figure who steps through the door is tall, broad—and loud, even before he speaks.

"Smells better in here than it does in the whole village," Jiraiya says, pausing just inside the threshold, eyes scanning the shelves of blossoms and bundles. "Though I'd expect nothing less from Yusuke's girl."

Flora sets the lilies aside, surprise flickering across her face like a candle catching wind. She slips off her cloth gloves and lays them down beside the register, her expression softening. "Jiraiya-sama," she greets warmly. "I thought you'd be long gone by now. I heard you'd leave before the Chūnin Exams for an important mission. Something urgent in the Land of Stone?"

"That was the plan, yes," he says, stepping into the gold-streaked light of the shop, a sealed scroll tucked under his arm. "I'm still leaving soon. But, something came up. Something I couldn't ignore."

She tilts her head, instantly alert. "What is it?"

Jiraiya places the scroll on the counter with more care than he usually possesses. The seal bears the mark of Konoha—but beneath it, almost erased, lies another: a faint imprint of red ink, shaped like a storm cloud, its curves still clinging to the parchment like a bruise that won't fade.

Flora's breath catches. Her hands freeze mid-reach.

"The Akatsuki," she whispers.

He nods grimly. "One of my informants smuggled it out of the Land of Rivers. He left this behind."

Flora unrolls the scroll, the parchment whispering as it curls open. Her eyes move quickly across its contents—handwritten notes, chakra patterns, reconnaissance logs. There, between the lines, she reads it: disappearances, border raids, rumors of forbidden jutsu. At the bottom, scrawled in tight, unmistakable script, is a name that brought a shiver down her spine.

Subject: Orochimaru.

The name hangs in the air like rot beneath perfume. Flora's eyes carefully scan the contents of the scroll, analyzing every detail. Her eyes stop at a mention of human experimentation in a neighbouring village.

Jiraiya notices Flora's withdrawal. "I'm not throwing around guesses," he says. "I've been chasing these rumors for months—investigating strange disappearances, missing-nin, obscure jutsu experiments out in the borderlands. But, this latest piece . . ." he gestures to the scroll. "It's not just hearsay. One of my sources infiltrated a small lab hidden in the outskirts of the Land of Rivers. He found signs of human experimentation."

Flora's shoulders tighten. "You think he's joined them? The Akatsuki?"

"I think he was at some point," Jiraiya says, voice dropping lower. "Whether he still is, that's a subject for debate."

The flower shop—so recently quiet and full of light—suddenly feels smaller, dimmer. The soft rustle of leaves from the windowsill vines sounds sharper. Even the chimes above the door seem to pause.

"Orochimaru fits their profile too well," Jiraiya goes on. "The Akatsuki's been gathering monsters—rogue shinobi with unique skills or forbidden techniques, or ambitions that align with their goal. My source said Orochimaru was seen with them more than once."

Flora's voice is steady, but there's tension coiled beneath it. "And now?"

"Well . . . that's the ambiguous part." He taps the scroll, then leans forward. "I have a bad feeling. Even if Orochimaru isn't in the Akatsuki any longer, it means he might be plotting against the Leaf."

Her stomach twists, but she doesn't flinch. For a moment, she is reticent. Flora's hand rests on the edge of the counter, fingers brushing the mica-dusted wood. Her thoughts drift off to Itachi, and she wonders if he has a hand to play in Orochimaru's vendetta. Flora releases an exasperated sigh from her pink lips, feeling frustration within herself. For some reason—she could never bring herself to pry this kind of information from Itachi when she did see him. Any information Flora has discovered, she worked for it, as a shinobi of the Leaf—not as a mistress.

Jiraiya watches her closely. He sees the flicker of thought pass behind her lashes—the places her mind goes when she is faced with the intricacies of being a shinobi and the lover of the village's enemy. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Flora," he says, crossing his arms together, "I need you to be honest with me."

Flora's eyes find his, the eyes planted onto his mature and tan visage. "Yes?"

"Has Itachi told you anything that suggests Orochimaru is conspiring against the Leaf?" Jiraiya's words are austere.

Flora's jaw tightens ever so slightly, a movement so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone but someone like Jiraiya—someone experienced in reading the complex emotions of others.

Her voice, when it comes, is several octaves low. "No," she says, truthfully. "He's never mentioned Orochimaru to me. Not once."

Jiraiya doesn't respond immediately. He watches her, weighing not just her words, but the silence between them.

Flora sighs. "That doesn't mean he doesn't know," she adds, her voice lingers with hesitance. "Itachi was always deliberate. About everything. He told me only what he wanted me to know . . . which wasn't much. Especially after the massacre."

Her gaze drops to the counter again, fingers absently brushing a white petal off the polished surface. "I've tried to understand him through what he didn't say, but that's not the same as knowing. I never asked about the Akatsuki," she admits, guilt seeping in like a slow leak. "I think I was afraid of what he might tell me. Or worse, what he wouldn't."

"More than that . . ." Flora feels a heat creep up her cheeks, she thinks of the complex relationship Itachi and her have built at this point. She'd surrendered herself to him, cried to him, shared her grief—all because she loved him. The last thing on her mind was the motives of the Akatsuki. Flora knew enough through her infiltration of the Rain, and she knew she shouldn't press such a delicate matter longer. "Though I am a Leaf shinobi, Jiraiya-sama, I am also a woman. I've dealt with so much pain—pain he instilled into me, that when I do ask him questions, it all circles back to that."

Jiraiya exhales, the sound more thoughtful than judgmental. He steps closer, resting a heavy hand on the counter beside the scroll.

"That's the hard part, isn't it?" he says, his tone softer now. "When love keeps you from asking the questions your duty demands. You're not the only one who's faced that."

Flora doesn't reply. She doesn't need to.

"I'm heading to my mission soon," Jiraiya continues. "Take this information and use it to protect the village while I'm gone."

Flora lifts her head again, and in her gaze is the glimmer of resolve he was hoping to see.

"You've entrusted this information to me, Jiraiya-sama? Why not directly approach the Hokage?" Flora's lashes flutter in surprise.

"I believe it's the best thing for me to do," he answers, "I can't afford to get Hiruzen caught up in this matter. If he knew, the ANBU would get involved."

"What is the problem with ANBU knowing?" Flora tilts her head.

Jiraiya's jaw tightens just a little, the lines around his mouth deepening. He glances toward the window—sunlight catching the edge of a hanging ivy plant—then back to Flora, as if weighing how much to say.

"I don't know who I can trust anymore," he replies finally. "Not in the ANBU. Not with something like this."

Flora straightens a little at that, brows subtly drawing inward.

Jiraiya lowers his voice, gaze steady. "There are whispers—too many disappearances, too many classified reports buried too deep. Danzo's got his hands in places they shouldn't be. You know it as well as I do, Flora. You worked closely with him."

Flora exhales slowly. Of course I know, Flora thinks to herself. All the missions she'd done for him, and the mission she'd done with Kakashi and Team Seven that suggested Danzō was directly under the conspiring of the political sabotage of Rei Tanaka—she was painfully aware of the malice in Danzō's heart; even if she didn't know the full extent of it.

Flora recalls the note Itachi had left her in her balcony long ago, a warning against serving in the ANBU and working with Danzō. She knew that if someone like Itachi was repelled by him, that revealed a direct line to the coldness present in his soul. She'd lived under the weight of his secrets, and served under him for far too long. There was a reason she'd left the ANBU behind.

"You think he'd bury this information?" she asks.

"I think," Jiraiya says, tapping a finger on the scroll, "he'd weaponize it."

Jiraiya continues. "I've been around long enough to see the difference between loyalty and manipulation. Whatever Orochimaru is planning, if we misstep—if the wrong people get this first—it could turn into a bloodbath. Konoha can't afford another civil rift. Not after the Uchiha."

Jiraiya moves toward the door, his sandals thudding softly against the floorboards. Just before stepping out into the light, he pauses—hand resting on the frame, back still to her. His voice, when it came, was quieter than before. He wasn't the Toad Sage then, or the war-hardened shinobi. He was just a man who respected Flora and wanted to protect the village.

"You see things others can't, Flora." he looks back at her, and the sunlight caught the edge of his smile—tired, but true. "That's the gift your father passed onto you. So be vigilant."

His gaze lingers a second longer. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone, kid."

Flora stands alone in the hush that followed, her hand resting on the scroll, eyes heavy with truths not yet spoken. The lilies on the counter leaned toward the windowlight, white and still as a mourning shroud. The petals had begun to bruise. Outside, the village went on. But something unseen had shifted—like the moment before a storm when the birds stop singing and the wind forgets which way to blow.

II.

The forest was swallowed by the afternoon's blue and gold cloak, where the shadows of trees stretched long and tangled between towering trunks. The air was cool but heavy, scented with damp earth and the faint sweetness of cherry blossoms drifting down like pale lanterns in the dusk. Flora knelt at her father's grave, her fingers trailing lightly over the cold stone marked with Yusuke Kori's name etched in solemn silence. The quiet presses in around her, thick as the mist weaving through the roots beneath her knees.

Flora looked into her father for guidance, leaving white lilies on his grave and revealing to him the factors of stress in her life. She wishes her father was able to respond to her, but felt a relief to know he was no longer suffering. It just meant she'd have to look into herself, since she could no longer confide in him.

She exhales slowly, voice barely more than a whisper carried by the breeze.

Sasuke . . .will you be alright? Will you find your way back from the darkness? Flora thinks to herself. Since he's entrance to The Forest of Death, she'd had an uneasy feeling envelop her in the most mundane moments. Flora felt this was premonitory, her gift telling her Sasuke was turning closer to his darkness.

Her heart tightens with a familiar ache, thoughts drifting to Itachi—the burden he'd left on her, and her irrevocable love for him. She wonders if Itachi would do anything to protect his brother. Her eyes close briefly, the cool stone grounding her as memories stirred beneath the surface.

A cold shiver traces her spine, unease settling deep in her chest like a lurking shadow. Flora's mind drifts off to Jiraiya's warning in the morning. It had been several years since she'd even heard the name 'Orochimaru' mentioned, and everytime she did—a pungent feeling would pervade her. Flora knew deep in Orochimaru's heart was a dark, vile malice. Flora had experienced just as much.

The memory floods Flora's thoughts like the first scent of a rose—sharp, and vivid.

Dark, wet stone stretched around her like a hollowed lung—tight and breathless, like the earth itself had swallowed her whole. The walls glistened with condensation, veins of mildew pulsing through the cracks like black moss. Every step Flora took echoed faintly, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the smothering silence, as if the very air refused to carry her presence forward.

The others—her ANBU team—had split off to search the perimeter for a sign of a spy. Flora, however, had felt something, a pull through the soil and air, her chakra blooming with warning. A vision. A whisper. Her gift guided her underground, into the marrow of something buried too long.

The stench hit her first—an unbearable mingling of formaldehyde and decay, metallic blood and something chemical, sharp and bitter. It was the smell of things meant to be hidden from the sun. The longer she lingered, the more the odor clung to her, curling into her mask and skin, crawling down her throat like smoke. She swallowed hard against the bile that rose.

She moved without a sound, masked, every muscle in her body wound tight. Her ANBU gear clung to her with a second skin's silence, her footsteps swallowed by the damp ground. The deeper she ventured, the colder it grew—unnaturally so—like she had stepped into something long dead.

The corridor opened into a chamber veined in dim blue light. Tanks lined the far wall—massive, upright things of glass and iron, thick with grime and fog. Behind the cloudy panels floated horrors. Bodies, or what had once been bodies, suspended in a viscous green fluid that bubbled faintly at the bottom. Some were headless. Others twisted in ways bones shouldn't allow. Arms bent like wilted branches, jaws unhinged, eyes wide and frozen with a kind of pleading that would never reach sound. One form—lacking skin entirely—drifted close to the glass and bumped against it with a sickening, wet tap.

Her fingers ghost over her blade's hilt, ready.

A voice, smooth and slow as oil, slid through the stillness like a snake through grass. "My . . . what a delightful surprise."

Her heart jerks. She turns sharply, kunai already in hand.

A white, slender figure stepped from behind a column of tanks, untouched by the filth and rot around him, his presence stark against the dimness. Undoubtedly, it was Orochimaru, the Sannin that took the darker path. His pale skin gleamed like candle wax, stretched tight over his sharp cheekbones. His eyes—yellow and slitted like a serpent's—glinted with amusement, or an ambitious hunger.

"I wondered when someone would discover my lab," he says, voice lilting and cold. His long tongue escapes his lips after sentence. "Only to my surprise, it was you, Flora Kori. Half-Uchiha. Nature-touched. How could I forget . . . that crystal chakra of yours." His smile widens, too many teeth gleaming in the low light. "So rare. So . . . perfect."

Her grip tightens. The kunai caught a flicker of light from the overhead bulbs, some of which sparked and popped, sending down the occasional drip of water from cracked fixtures.

Orochimaru, however, didn't move to attack. He studied her with the curiosity of a collector looking to collect a new gem.

"You know," he takes a languid step forward, "your chakra resonates unlike anything I've studied."

Flora's amber eyes flutter in fear. She reaches for the blade behind her back, drawing it in front of her. "This is vile, Orochimaru," she asserts, "you're abusing the lives of others for your benefit."

His gaze slid lower, his voice quieter now—silken, dangerous. "Itachi spared you. Even if it is a product of his foolish emotions, he spared you and left the world with your unique gift."

Orochimaru chuckles under his breath, a sinister laugh that echoed in the underground. "Have you ever wondered where your gift came from? That little flicker of foresight?" Orochimaru tilts his head. "Not quite Sharingan . . . not quite prophecy. Something ancient."

Flora puts her blade back in a swift motion, and weaves a few hand signs. "Crystal Bloom Technique: Wisteria Coffin."

Flora didn't intend to kill him—she wouldn't dare, he was a Sannin, he very well could kill her if he so decided. She wanted to buy time. The floor beneath Orochimaru cracks. Vines of translucent crystal erupted upward, shimmering and sharp, curling around him like petals folding in fast motion. The structure forms a cage of blooming crystal spires—each one thrumming with raw, concentrated chakra that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

Soft violet gleams across the glass tanks, refracting over the mangled remains suspended inside. The air shimmers with heat and chakra and something older—something born from her bloodline, but shaped by her grief.

Orochimaru didn't move.

The coffin encased him—not touching, but holding. Not sealing, but binding. He lets out a soft, almost reverent laugh. "You've only fascinated me, Flora Kori. What elegant destruction you've displayed to me."

Orochimaru stood still, encased in a cage of shimmering crystal—vines of violet light twisting like ghostly wisteria around his pale form. The air thrummed with raw chakra, each crystal petal sharp enough to pierce flesh yet holding him suspended, untouched.

His yellow eyes gleam, cold and amused. "You want to destroy me, Flora. But, you won't."

The chamber's stale air seemed to pulse with his words. "Your chakra is no accident. You are a fragment of a forgotten power—wild, ancient. That makes you precious."

Flora's breath caught. Without hesitation, her hands move in a blur of seals, weaving her unique jutsu.

The crystal cage blooms violently—petals fracturing into shards that caught the flickering light and exploded outward in a storm of prismatic death.

When the shards settled like fallen stars, Orochimaru had vanished—leaving only the sickly scent of chemicals and a chill that settled deep in her bones.

Flora's pink lips release an exhale as she comes back to reality. Her amber eyes meet the cool stone that marked the grave her father rested in—a grave next to her mother. The air is soft with evening's hush, wrapped in the delicate scent of cherry blossoms falling like gentle blessings. Shadows stretched and softened between the trees, folding the forest into a quiet, protective embrace.

Flora's voice is low, steady, carried lightly on the breeze. “Father . . . I carry your strength with me, always. Even when the road feels uncertain, I know your light is there." She presses her hand to the stone, a quiet smile touching her lips. "I have your guidance . . . I hope you will continue to guide me in these uncertain times, and help me protect those I love."

III.

The morning sun casts fragile shards of gold through the paper-thin windows of the Academy classroom, painting the wooden floor with fractured light. The air hung heavy with the scent of ink, parchment, and faint hints of jasmine from the tea that sat at the mahogany desk, a sweetness that did little to soothe the tightening knot in Flora's chest. The chatter of young voices settled into a quiet hum, the restless energy of budding shinobi palpable beneath their focused gazes.

Flora stood at the front of the room, her green flak jacket crisp and shadowed by the light. The Uzumaki crest gleamed faintly on her shoulder, a symbol of legacy she both honored and carried alone. Her amber eyes, bright yet weighed with something unspoken, swept slowly over her students—bright-eyed and eager, hungry for knowledge but blissfully unaware of the conflict gathering beyond these walls.

"Ninjutsu," she begins, voice steady but with an edge that demanded attention, "is more than your own skills woven from chakra. It is a war waged inside your body. To master it, you must first master yourselves."

Her words hang in the air, sharp and crystalline like the technique she wielded. The students lean in, absorbing every syllable, their small hands gripping their pencils and writing notes with determined white knuckles.

Yet beneath her calm exterior, a restless tempest roiled.

The area outside the academy whispers like a living thing—its shadows sprawling long and dark, twisted between ancient trunks like veins pulsing with secrets. The scent of damp earth and pine mingled with the sharp sting of cherry blossoms falling like pale tears on the ground. Behind the silhouette of the many buildings and trees was the same forest where Team Seven had stepped into the crucible of the Forest of Death, where unseen dangers lurked beneath the canopy.

Flora's heart throbbed unevenly, a discordant rhythm she could neither silence nor fully trust.

She tried to banish the unease curling in her gut. They will be safe. Sasuke will hold his ground. She repeats the mantra mentally, but it was a fragile shield against the chill creeping through her bones.

Her fingers twitch at her side, betraying the tension she kept carefully locked away behind a teacher's calm smile. The classroom's warm light felt fragile, like a candle struggling against a raging wind.

Her gaze flickers involuntarily to the window. The trees beyond swayed in a restless dance, their dark limbs clawing at the sky as if reaching for something just beyond grasp. The shadows pooled beneath them, deep and tangled—a silent reminder of the unknown waiting patiently.

Flora's breath hitches ever so slightly, yet she goes on about the intricacies of ninjutsu and focusing your mind and body into one being.

The conflict inside her was raw and jagged: the steady protector who taught children to be strong, and the one who knew too well the weight of darkness creeping ever closer to those she cared for. Flora had a dangerous premonition once again—she knew something horribly wrong was going to unfold in the Forest.

"Remember—training hones your skills, but it is your heart that will guide you to what works best for you," she says. "There are different natures that align with different people. There's wind, water, fire, and earth. Your sensei here combines fire and earth for nature and crystals."

The students nod, eyes bright with hope and conviction, unaware of the storm quietly gathering behind their sensei's amber gaze.

As the lesson presses forward, Flora's thoughts drift back to Sasuke, to Itachi, to the fragile thread of light she desperately clung to in a world tipping ever closer to shadow.

Outside, the wind whispered through the leaves—a cold promise wrapped in the scent of cherry blossoms and earth—waiting.

The students nod, eyes bright with hope and conviction, unaware of the storm quietly gathering behind their sensei's amber gaze.

A boy in the second row—Takeshi, quiet, always scribbling in the corners of his scrolls—raises his hand.

"Sensei," he asks hesitantly, "what if your chakra resists you? What if it . . . pushes back?"

Flora's breath catches, but she hides it well. The weight behind those words lands like a stone in her chest. She looks at Takeshi, really looks at him—small shoulders, ink-stained fingertips, brows drawn in concern far beyond his years.

"That means you're not ignoring it," she replies gently, walking closer. "Chakra isn't always obedient. Sometimes, it reflects what you haven't dealt with yet."

A girl near the window leans forward, frowning. "So it's like . . . when you're scared or angry?"

"Exactly." Flora nods, kneeling beside their row. "Chakra is connected to how you feel—how you really feel. If you're anxious, it'll slip through your hands. If you're angry, it might burn too hot."

She pauses. The sunlight catches the dust in her eyelashes.

"You have to learn to listen to it first. Then guide it. Like water in a stream."

The class grows quiet again. Some of them write it down. Others just stare at her, as if sensing there's more she's not saying.

Flora rises, smoothing her jacket with slow fingers.

Outside, the wind picks up, dragging loose petals of cherry blossoms across the windows like pale memories. Her eyes flick toward the trees again, something sharp threading through her chest.

She speaks before she can lose the words.

"You won't always be in control," she advises. "But that's when you learn the most."

The bell rings a moment later. Not loud—but final. A clean end to something unsettled.

"We'll continue next time," Flora says, voice soft.

The children gather their things. A few linger, glancing back at her. She offers them a nod, her smile gentle but strained.

As the last student slips out the door, the silence folds in around her again. The warmth in the room feels too thin, like a layer of light stretched over something breaking. Flora moves to the window and presses her palm to the glass. The trees outside sway like they're breathing. The Forest of Death beyond—alive, waiting.

Her reflection stares back at her: calm eyes, unreadable expression, but her fingertips tremble against the glass. Flora felt something unbelievably sinister within the village, something she could not explain.

She had tried to be still, to trust. But her body remembered the way premonitions lived in her bones—insistent, aching warnings that led her to suffer. Flora knew things before anyone could, and it could be seen as both a gift and a curse. That same ache now burrowed behind her ribs, coiled tight like a spring.

Flora knew something was coming.

Not just a danger in the Forest. But a crack in the veil—between the village she had sworn to protect and the darkness inching closer through unseen seams. It wasn't just Sasuke she feared for; it was everyone.

A wind rushes through the trees, and for a heartbeat, it sounded like breathing. Or whispering. Or the rustle of something vast and hidden moving just beneath the surface.

Flora pulls her hand away from the glass. The cold stayed on her skin like a warning.

She turns from the window and back to the classroom, now empty but not quiet. The walls seemed to echo with the voices of her students, bright and fragile. The lesson was over, but something far greater was just beginning.

IV.

The evening air is cool and soft, carrying the faint scent of pine and blooming jasmine from nearby gardens. Lanterns hung around a small tea house outside the village, where Flora and Kakashi spent the evening in. The warm glow of the lanterns casts gentle pools of light over the wooden floor and low tables. The quiet sounds of night—rustling leaves, distant insects—filled the space between sips of tea and moments of stillness.

The tea house sat nestled beneath a canopy of whispering pines, its paper lanterns glowing softly like captive fireflies against the velvet night. The wooden floorboards creaked faintly beneath their feet, warmed by the gentle flicker of a brazier where the flames danced like liquid gold. Beyond the open walls, the village slumbered, but here the world felt suspended—held in the fragile balance between earth and sky.

Flora sat quietly, the steam from her cup curling up like a pale ghost, mingling with the cool night air scented faintly with jasmine and cedar. Her green flak jacket was folded neatly beside her, and her amber eyes were fixed on the stars that twinkled like scattered diamonds beyond the roof's edge.

Kakashi settled across from her, his single eye soft beneath the moonlight, the silver strands of his hair catching the glow of lanterns. The faint sound of leaves stirring in the breeze mingled with the distant call of a night bird.

For a long moment, neither spoke, but enjoy the presence of their company and their amiable dispositions. They had gone on for about an hour or two prior about their days and stories about their former lives.

Finally, Flora breaks the silence, her voice low and almost hesitant. "There's something pressing on me tonight."

Kakashi's gaze sharpens, the faintest crease between his brows. "Is that so?"

She nods, fingers tightening around her cup. "I keep telling myself they'll be safe. That Sasuke will hold strong. But this . . . I've felt this before."

Kakashi reaches out, his hand warm, covering hers in a steadying grip. "What do you see, Flora?"

The warmth of his touch seeps through her, steadying the restless pulse in her chest. She blinks. "I don't know."

Outside, the wind stirs the pines, sending a soft rustle like a whispered secret through the night. The stars overhead shimmered, indifferent and eternal, yet somehow watching—silent witnesses to the fragile hope and quiet dread resting between them.

Flora's amber eyes meet his, the unspoken fears and resolve passing like a current in the stillness.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" Flora tilts her head.

Kakashi looks off into the indigo sky, watching the twinkling stars for a moment. "I don't know how you deal with this gift of yours. To see into the pain of others, or to have to live through a painful experience before it happens, it must be a horrible feeling, isn't it?"

The words hang in the air for a brief moment, Flora lingering around them. Her eyes meet the golden contents of her glass of tea, staring at her clouded reflection. "I just wish I wasn't put in such compromising positions, that I could do more for others as I live and see their experiences before they happen."

"You and your father . . . to think you're the only one of the Ancients alive," Kakashi sympathizes. "Your father was a good man. He was in touch with the gift, and was an asset to the village. Like him, you have a kind and gentle heart, Flora. I'm sorry you have to bear this burden."

"Before he passed, my father told me not to see it as a burden, but as a grace," Flora's amber eyes find the indigo sky. Her mind is enveloped with the fond memories of her father and the letter he imparted to her—his final words. "He told me to use it for good. I intend to honor that, like you with Obito's vow."

Kakashi's visible eye softens for a moment, a crease forming in his skin as he heard the name of his former comrade escape Flora's lips. His hand wraps around the steaming cup of tea, and a sigh escapes his lips. "Flora," he clears his throat, "should you see anything, I want to know you can always communicate it with me. I don't want you to bear the responsibility of seeing a future event by yourself. I'm going to be here for you."

Flora's lips curl into a faint smile. Her pale skin glimmers softly in the golden lighting of the lanterns nearby. She runs a hand through her tresses, the loose curls falling off her shoulders. Her mind lingers restlessly, yet, in this moment, she felt a warmth envelop her—a warmth that she felt only Kakashi could instill within her. It was the comfort of being loved, in a tender, supportive way—one that was offered freely without fear. "Thank you, Kakashi. That is very sweet of you."

Kakashi offers a small, almost sheepish shrug, as if surprised by his own tenderness. "It's not sweet. It's the truth."

The words hang between them—not heavy, but full. A quiet truth neither of them tries to soften or explain away. Flora watches him, the way the golden lantern light plays along his silver hair, the faint crease beside his visible eye when he looks at her like that—like he sees her, without needing to understand every haunted inch of her past.

Her heart doesn't race. It settles.

"I wonder," she murmurs, fingers resting gently on the rim of her tea cup, "if my father ever felt alone in this, or some kind of way. Carrying things no one else could see."

Kakashi leans forward slightly, his hand still wrapped around the warm cup, his gaze never straying from hers. "Maybe he did," he says softly. "Though, I think he found peace sharing that weight with you. Maybe now it's your turn to share it, too."

She smiles faintly, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not." His voice drops an octave, low and raw. "But, you're not alone anymore."

That quiet declaration pulls her in more than any touch could. She reaches for his hand again—a silent testament to her appreciation of his gestures. Their fingers meet and linger, the contact delicate but certain, the way morning dew clings to the petals of a flower just before dawn.

A long moment passes, and the space between them feels different—softer, charged in a way that hums just beneath the skin.

Flora studies him. "You carry a lot, too."

Kakashi's eye flicks to hers, and for the first time tonight, he lets his mask of ease falter. "I do."

"Do you ever feel—" she hesitates, the words brushing her lips like breath, "—lonely in it?"

His answer comes without hesitation. "All the time."

Something inside her breaks open at that. She doesn't speak, doesn't move to close the distance further, but her gaze says everything.

"But," he adds, his voice so quiet she almost misses it, "not tonight."

Flora blinks, stunned by the warmth those three words stir in her. A part of her wants to say something—something careful, meaningful—but it lodges in her throat, tangled in her thoughts and the mutual understanding.

Instead, she squeezes his hand, just slightly. Beneath the quiet sky, with the scent of jasmine and pine wrapping around them, that promise was enough to hold the darkness at bay—if only for a little while.

#naruto #oc #itachi #kakashi #kakashi x oc x itachi #itachi x oc #kakashi x oc #kakashi sensei #kakashi hatake #itachi uchiha #uchiha #shippuden #itachi fanfiction #kakashi fanfiction #shonen jump #lovetriangle #slow burn

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hanniology · 2 years ago

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two umbrellas | jeon wonwoo

Synopsis: wonwoo doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but you do after meeting him. genre: fluff, sick fic, kinda angst. warnings: none I think besides the fact yn makes a bad pick up line. calls wonwoo, wonuwu, im sorry. word count: 1528. pairing: jeon wonwoo x gn!reader. Note: another repost until i have time to post some new stuff later.

“Hey there Wonuwu.”

The boy you addressed the new nickname to lifts an eyebrow.

“Wonuwu?” He asked with a slight face of disgust.

“Yea I think it’s a really cute name for you, what do you think?”

He turns to face you with a straight face, “No.”

Rolling your eyes at his response as he goes back to take a tour of the library to make sure everybody has left the building already. Knowing you’re gonna follow him.

“OUCH!!” He hears you exclaim behind him.

“Wonuwu, my face hurts.”

Not looking behind him because it was probably just a line to one of your cheesy pick up lines you’d always make.

“Did you walk into a bookshelf again?”

“What no that was one time-it’s because I fell face-first for you~” You explain, he was right about it being a part of a pick up line but he still cringed.

“You ruined the joke.” You grumbled while pouting.

You’ve always been like this, making really bad, cheesy, overused pick up lines thinking it’d impress him.

The two of you met in a coffee shop that you worked at, Jihoon, one of his roommates recommended it to him saying it had good coffee and was nice and quiet as long as you don’t go in at rush hour. So he decided to go one day when he didn’t have work, and that day you were working. You remember that day when you saw him, he was absolutely beautiful.

You were taking his order and well when giving him his coffee you thought of giving him your number on his cup. Wonwoo received the cup with the number on it and walked out of the coffee shop to meet up with some friends. He didn’t notice until later when Mingyu pointed out and convinced (read:begged) him to text the number.

He obliged and texted your number asking who this was. You introduced yourself as the person who was serving him and told him he was so pretty and was gonna try and win him over.

He blocked your number.

He didn’t want to seem rude but he didn’t want to deal with some random person he doesn’t know that’s trying to woo him. He’s also just been a strong believer that love at first sight just doesn’t exist.

No one can just grow feelings towards someone that quickly.

He thought that'd be the end of you but that wasn’t until he found you sitting in the living room in his dorm. He thought you were trying to stalk him and threaten to call the auditory. To then realize you were in the same performing arts classes as hoshi and jun, his other roommates and are good friends with them and they invited you over.

And as time passed you two became friends (?) it’s complicated, the two of you would hang out because of friends and sometimes just the two of you. You’d always go on with your lame pick up lines and he'd just simply ignore them and move on.

“Why do you always insist on coming here? You could just go straight home from work. And it’s raining today.”

“Eh, just thought I’d give you some company, you know, it gets quiet in the library when it’s closing time. It gotta be boring.” You shrugged.

Wonwoo finished the turn of the library and went to go get his stuff and you as always followed him. You always did and it wasn’t anything weird. He was used to it but you wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with; you always respected his boundaries.

The two of you were outside now with rain falling down crashing to the ground, the sound of it much louder than it was when you two were indoors.

You watch the frown slowly grow on Wonwoo’s face as he looks at the rain.

“Here,” you hand him your umbrella.

“No, no it’s fine the dorm isn’t too far from here, I don’t want you to get sick because of me.” He declines the umbrella, dropping it back into your hands.

“Aww you care about me~” you coo.

He scoffs before mumbling a “whatever”.

“The dorm is not too far from here so I could make a run for it.” He says before dashing off with just a hood over his head.

“Wait!” You yelled at him trying to get his attention, “I brought two just in case.” Take out the other umbrella from your bag.

He didn't hear you, he was just running and you watch his form become smaller and smaller as he runs with you standing there with two umbrellas.

Putting one back in your bag and opening the other, you started walking to your place. Stopping in your tracks when you remember his dorm is not that close to the library.

The next day you weren’t too sure what to do. You didn’t have any classes today and you had a day off from work. Soonyoung and Jun were planning on going to some tiger sanctuary , you didn’t really feel like going.

Ding noise came from your phone, rolling to the other side of your bed to reach over for your phone. You see a text message from Jihoon.

Unplugging the charger from the phone opened up the message.

It was weird for Jihoon to be messaging you, you always thought he hated you. He always looked somewhat annoyed when you were around, but Jun said he’s just always like that. You weren’t even sure if you guys ever exchanged numbers.

Jihoon: yo I got your number from wonwoo’s phone.

Jihoon: Can you come over? Wonwoo is sick and I got work and Jun and soon left already.

Yn: sure but how’d he get sick?

Jihoon: The rain I think he came back soaked yesterday.

So you were right that he would have gotten sick. And he calls himself smart.

Yn: ok I’ll be there just need to stop by somewhere

Wonwoo slightly wakes up at the sudden noise he hears someone enter the room. Jihoon most likely already left, but he did say something about someone coming over, not remembering who because he was too tired.

He hears the footsteps gradually become louder and closer until the footsteps seem to stop in front of him. Looking up to see you, you were putting down a big bag on his nightstand.

“Oh you’re awake? Did I wake up? Sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” His voice sounded scratchy. Before he could even sit up he felt your hand pushing him down back to his previous lying position.

“Rest.” You demanded.

“What’s in the bag?” He sees you in the corner of his eye, as you slowly take everything out of the bag.

“Oh, well Jihoon said you were sick, but I didn’t know exactly what kind of sickness, so I just took one of everything from one of the shelves at the store.”

“Even got you some corn patches.” Holding them to him. With the sleepy boy giving you a strange look, giving him a shrug back.

“But why are you here and buying all this stuff for me?”

You finish taking out everything from the bag and take a seat on the ground next to his bed. “Because I care about you.” You say simply.

“Yn-’’

You interrupted him knowing what he’s gonna say.

“Yea Wonwoo I know you don’t like me the way I do but I mean I still like having you as a friend. Don’t worry the feeling I have for you will leave eventually, but I still care for you, you know.”

There was a silent pause after you said that, you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at the ground kicking your feet side to side at each other. So you just assume that sleep took over him.

“Don’t.”

“Huh?” Lifting your head, seeing his body facing you and watching you with soft, droopy, sleeping eyes.

“Don’t stop having those feelings for me. I don’t want those to leave while mine are starting to arrive.” He mumbled quietly, before taking a sneeze.

Handing him a tissue, letting the gears in your head turn. “Wait, Arrive. What??”

“Yeah, I kinda wish I’m not all snotty sick and sleepy when I confessed.” He admits, letting his head fall back onto his pillow.

“Well you wouldn’t have to if you just took my umbrella yesterday.”

“I didn’t want you to get sick.” He mumbled.

“Awwww, you really do care about me.” You coo pinching his cheek.

Rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” He scoffs.

“Ok maybe I do care about you,” he quickly mumbles.

“So you should leave or you’ll get sick too.”

Shaking your head, “No it’s fine, if I get sick you’ll take care of me I’m not too worried.” You smile at him.

Letting out a sigh knowing that you aren’t gonna leave.

He starts to toss in the bed pulling the blanket higher, looking like he’s ready to go to sleep. You watch as his eyes fall close and his breathing becomes slower.

“You know I had two umbrellas.” You fall backwards giggling at Wonwoo’s reaction.

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kingdaddydaichi · 3 years ago

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Daichi’s Birthday “Wake”

↳ I had this idea and couldn't wait 8 months for Daichi's bday so fuck it, here it is. Happy early birthday to Daichi.

↳ Notes/Warnings: timeskip!Daichi, Daichi is 21+ years old, playful/joking mention of necrophilia, death and death-related themes (fucking spoilers), those with a distaste for morbid senses of humor are likely to find this reprehensible, otherwise you're welcome.

You and Suga are the masterminds behind it all

Old teammates and friends are invited

Hell, y’all even get his siblings in on it (his parents think it’s a hilarious scheme but decline to attend since it would be too difficult to play along. Understandably so.)

When Coach Ukai caught wind of the plan he insisted on being there

All in all, about 30 people gather inside your and Daichi’s shared home

Everyone’s wearing black and several of you have handkerchiefs

There are drinks and refreshments

Everyone chipped in to buy a cheap urn and one of those huge funeral wreaths and a tripod with a tasteful plaque that reads “In Loving Memory of Daichi Sawamura”, compliments of Hisoka

You and Suga lay down the ground rules: “Absolutely ignore Daichi, no matter what. If he starts getting to you, excuse yourself to the restroom so he’ll leave you alone. Try your very best not to laugh, but if you do lose your shit and start laughing, pretend you’re crying really hard. We’re going to keep this up for a half hour, minimum. Or until Daichi starts getting mad, whichever comes first. When (Y/n) gives us the signal, we’ll all turn to Daichi at the same time and yell ‘Happy Birthday!’ What’s the signal, (Y/n)?” “The signal is…CACAW CACAW!”

Daichi comes home from work, expecting a party when he sees everyone’s cars in the driveway and parked along the road. But his big grin falters when he walks through the door and sees everyone moping around, talking in hushed tones about what a great guy he was, just…

KAGS: “Daichi was always so good at pulling people together. He truly was an excellent team captain.”

SUGA, fake-sobbing: “He was my best friend. Oh gods, I already miss him so much!”

DAICHI, his expression knitted in confusion and concern: “Suga. What’s going on? Who died?”

SUGA, fake-sobbing (read: laughing) harder: “It’s like I can still hear his voice…”

TSUKKI: (legit laughs)

COACH UKAI: “Tsukishima, you sick fuck, why are you laughing? This is serious!”

DAICHI, chuckling: “Okay. Alright, I get it. I’m dead ha ha.”

TANAKA, shaking his fist and gritting his teeth with tears in his eyes: “I’ll never be able to forgive myself…”

KIYOKO: “That you didn’t call the receive that day will haunt you for the rest of your life…”

TANAKA: “Savage woman!”

DAICHI: “Yeah, Tanaka. You asshole.”

TANAKA: (buries his face in his hands, racked with laughter guilt)

…Daichi notices the memorial plaque with his police academy photo in it, along with the giant wreath hanging from the fireplace just below where the urn sits on the mantle. He opens it with great curiosity…”REALLY, YOU GUYS? RICE??”

DAICHI’S 4 SURVIVING SIBLINGS: “The best big brother we could’ve ever asked for.” “He always took such great care of us.” “Yes. Made sure we always did our homework and brushed our teeth. It was like having a third parent.” “Maybe that’s why Mom and Dad had so many of us. It really takes a village, doesn’t it?” The others hum in somber agreement. His youngest sister runs to the bathroom when Daichi waves his hand in front of her face.

ASAHI, legitimately crying: “My heart goes out to you and the rest of your family. Daichi was like a brother to me, too.”

NOYA, rubbing Asahi’s back: “There there, Asahi.”

HINATA, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder and handing you his handkerchief: “I am so sorry for your loss, (Y/n). Daichi-san really was such a good man.”

YOU: “Thank you, Hinata. I know I will never find a kinder, more loving boyfriend. And our wedding was only just a few weeks awayyyyyy…” you trail off, laugh-crying into the handkerchief

DAICHI, smirking, turning the tables a bit: “You’re in so much trouble, sweetheart. Faking your fiancé's death like this? Seems you’re the one getting the birthday spankings tonight.”

EVERYONE: (shoulders shaking from violently sob-laughing)

TSUKKI, shaking his head: “That’s too bad, (Y/n). You might’ve at least found solace in Sawamura’s badass pension if he’d just waited a little longer to die…”

DAICHI: “Alright, guys, that’s enough! The jig is up! Little Miss Corpse Fucker over here has blown your cover!”

YOU, through tears: “CACAW CACAW!”

EVERYONE, losing their shit: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAICHI!”

DAICHI, hugging everyone: “I have the best worst friends a guy could ever want.”

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shotokimchi · 4 years ago

Text

Décapante

Pairing: Bakugo x F!Reader

Summary: After getting dragged to one of the most popular strip clubs in the town by his friends, a unique performer catches the ash blonde's attention. What about his feelings though?

Warnings: Aged up characters Bakugo's in his early 20s, Smuttish (READER IS A STRIPPER WHAT DID U EXPECT hUh?)

credits to the GIF's owner / feedback and reblogs appreciated cuz I'm insecure about my writing shalala~

You can listen to these when reading:

Doja Cat - Streets (Silhouette Remix)

Confident - Justin Bieber (feat. Chance The Rapper) (slowed + lyrics)

The warm night breeze that smelled like smoke filled Bakugo's lungs, he was having a difficult time because of his hero duties. He wasn't complaining he still had a long way to go but sleepless nights filled with paperwork wasn't really fun, so one of his friends (Mina) suggested to go out as a group and have some fun, his attempt to decline the offer was blocked by the social butterfly of the group 'Eijiro' so thats why he was in a white shirt and black ripped jeans right now, waiting in the line with his friends to get into the club.

"Ahhh yes, finally we're gonna have some fun as a group!" Mina chimed while bouncing on her high heels while Denki eyed some pretty girls drooling like a puppy. Eijiro confirmed her statement with a nod, Sero turned towards the blonde and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "It's been a while since this asocial individual accepted to hang out with us." Bakugo sneered at his friend's words and freed himself from Sero's arm. "That's how you achieve things tape arms, by working really hard." Denki rolled his eyes and the bouncer's strong voice caught their attention. "You guys have a reservation?" Bakugo raised a brow "The hell, is this a fancy restaurant or what?" Before the bouncer could say something Mina interrupted "Ah yes we do actually! It should be under the name of Ashido." The bouncer hummed while checking the list and show a small smile "Mrs.Ashido and her friends, you may pass." She quickly linked her arm with Kirishima's and called out to the other three "Come on guys!" Mina led them upstairs and all of them looked at her confused "You look like you know this place Mina." Denki said and she winked "Actually my friend is a performer here and we sometimes come here to watch the male strippers with the girls." Kirishima choked on air and Denki's loud 'Haaaaah?!" echoed through the walls of the club. "Girls?! As in Momo, Uraraka and the others right?" Sero asked and Mina nodded, Bakugo listened to their conversation with a neutral expression. "Ooohh~ I've never thought that the girls would be this naughty." Denki smirked and Kirishima sighed "They're adults y'know?" They sat down at a large table, the dark stage was visible from the balcony, the view was good, a waitress came to take their orders and Mina made quick conversation with her "Is Y/n gonna be performing tonight?" The waitress smiled and nodded. Mina rubbed her hands together with a mischievous look on her face then she turned to face Bakugo "Get ready bestie because you're gonna have the time of your life!" Only to be met with a signature scowl but she waved it off "She'll wipe that scowl on your face~" Just then the dark stage lit up with dim lights and a charming woman silhouette appeared, grabbing the pole with her experienced fingers she twisted and bent her body just the way everybody liked. "Yeeeeess that's my girl!" Mina cheered loudly and sipped her drink "Wow" Denki whispered, eyes wide with amazement. Kirishima tried to seem unfazed but failed miserably when Y/n started to spin with the help of the pole and let out a breathy gasp. Bakugo's hand gripped his drink with a little bit of force than before, he wasn't affected much compared to his friends but the way she moved was smooth and addicting to watch. People down there started throwing cash towards the beautiful woman, Mina's golden eyes looked at her blonde friend, eyes sharp and concentration gathered towards the performer, he was watching her perform without missing a single move of hers. Then the performer slowly raised her head and for a second the blond thought they made eye contact, he leaned forwards placing his elbows on his knees and intertwining his fingers together.

The performer grabbed the pole and turned towards the audience while using her curves to attract many looks from the crowd, then she kneeled and arched her back while crawling like a tiger ready to hunt her prey. Getting on her elbows and raising her body to the air, she spread her legs and earned some whistles and more cash; performing wasn't just about spinning around the pole and climbing on it, it was using the body to the fullest. Her charm was the way she presented her body to her audience that's why people usually crowded her side of the club. While her performer friends played with the poles for their main performances, she used the pole as an opening and used her body for the main show.

Bakugo was enjoying the show, to say the least but he wasn't gonna make it obvious to his friends. He waited for the performer to raise her head and lock eyes with him again, then the music started to slow down and the dim lights get brighter, she raised her head and now her face was visible to the whole crowd. Her make-up was professionally done, eyes shiny and lashes dark painted with mascara, peachy lips waiting to be claimed. She blew a kiss and got off the stage walking seductively then the employees got on the stage to collect the cash.

"Hey Mina, did you enjoy the show?" The pink girl's face lit up when she heard the familiar voice of her friend. "To say that I was enjoying it is an understatement, you were amazing as always Y/n!" Y/n gave her a smile and eyed the table, observing the guys head to toe but her eyes rested on the blonde's figure longer compared to the others. "We want a private show!" Denki raised his glass, his tipsy behavior showing itself. Y/n nodded and motioned Mina to open some space for her then she took a seat and ordered a glass of alcohol "Aren't you gonna introduce your friends to me Mina?" Y/n faked a pout and Mina linked her arm with hers "Of course baby!"

Y/n POV

"This is Bakugo, he's a work addict but we managed to drag him here tonight." Bakugo clicked his tongue and continued to sip his drink, your eyes followed his plump lips, glistening with lip balm. "Oh, really?" You raised a brow teasingly and waited for him to say something, he was the quietest one out of these four but his eyes were wandering on you for quite a long time. "I don't know why he's like this Mrs.Y/n he's usually either screaming or blowing up things." Denki said while doing fake explosion effects with his hands. You nodded "I saw him on TV he is quite popular nowadays, saving people and fighting villains that's impressive Bakugo." He smirked and rolled his eyes "These dumb fuckers think success comes while having fun." You supported his statement with your own words "I'm not a hero like you but being a stripper contains long hours of workout and practice, that's why I'm well known today." Mina rubbed her cheek on yours "Y/n is a really popular performer she even performed for some governors and celebrities!" you escaped from her hold and smiled "Ah you're flattering me too much, aren't you guys celebrities too I'm lucky to be performing for you guys." Kirishima wiped his invisible tears "Damn that was smooth and kind at the same time." You smiled at him and turned towards Bakugo giving him a playful look, you got up and walked towards his side of the table, motioning him to scoot over. "For a person who liked my performance, you are pretty silent." His ruby eyes met with yours and he smirked "It was okay." Your brow twitched and you cleared your throat getting Mina's attention then motioning Bakugo with your eyes, luckily she got the message and start insisting the others to get up and dance. Poor guys, in the end they followed her into the crowd and you were alone with Bakugo, grabbing his drink from his hand and putting it on the table "He-" Before he could say something you straddled his lap. "It was just okay?" You grabbed his chin and pushed yourself up with your knees, his eyes got blurry and he looked at you silently. "What?" You giggled, he was distracted by your closeness "My performance, was it really just 'okay'?" Then you grabbed his hands and guided them to your waist. A growl was heard from his throat and a smirk appeared on his lips "It was alright." If there's something you like, it was praise and when people teased you about your profession you either got ambitious or frustrated. "Oh really? Then..." You stopped your movements and comfortably sat on his lap, he let out a sound of protest and grabbed your thighs trying to make you grind yourself on him again. Your hands clutched his wrists "Stop." You got off his lap and his eyes slightly widened, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, whispering in his ear "If you think that I'm gonna fuck you here, you are so wrong." A competitive look clouded his face "Who's fucking who?" You nibbled at his ear and he tensed, the heat of his skin was hard to ignore. "You either wait for me to finish my work or leave this club." His eyes narrowed and a dangerous look appeared on his handsome features, "Not going anywhere, no running away got it?" You nodded then bit his bottom lip with your teeth and murmured "See ya later." Just then his friends appeared in front of him and Denki pointed at his face "Dude you have some lipstick on your face." He panicked and aggressively tried to wipe it off, Mina giggled and looked behind her seeing you walking down the stairs while a smile appeared on her pink lips.

People left one by one some of them were drunk and some of them were sober but it didn't matter for Bakugo, the more of them left the more his smile grew. Mina looked at his friends and saw Denki snoring while resting his head on the table, Sero was having his nth shot and Kirishima was punching the wall completely drunk, he turned towards the blonde and smiled "I'm taking these messes home, night Bakugo." He acknowledged her with a nod and continued to sip the sparkled water in order to stay awake. His friends left then he waited some more, he tossed his head back and let out a bored sigh "Wow, I didn't think you'd wait." His eyes shot open and looked at her form, she was wearing dark leather jeans with a black crop top. Grabbing his hands enthusiastically she dragged him out of the club, then started to walk at the streets while holding one of his hands surprisingly Bakugo was too occupied by eyeing her form to shake her hand off. She turned her head and their eyes met, she smiled and he just looked at her with a haze in his eyes.

"This is yours?" He looked at the decent looking black car, you nodded and got in he quickly followed and they both fastened their seatbelts. He continued the examine the car and you giggled "If you work hard this job pays very well." He hummed and stared at the road, 20 minutes ago he was trembling with heat and lust but now he just wanted to know about her, since they were going to her house. Bakugo wasn't really into one-night stands he liked a serious relationship but since he didn't want a relationship and had his needs this was gonna be one of those fuck and leave kind of nights. "When did you start performing?" He asked genuinely, you turned towards the ash-blonde and saw him looking outside the window "You don't need to hesitate Bakugo, actually i studied engineering." He choked on air and looked at the woman, why didn't you get a stable job and decided to get into the nightlife? Bakugo didn't have any experience when it came to engineering but he knew that you needed high scores to study it. "So you were a nerd?" He asked and you let out a genuine laugh "You can say that." You looked at his features they were more relaxed compared to the second he got into the car. "After graduating from the university I got bored and dancing was one of the things that I liked the most, I liked the attention the way my body moved it felt amazing." He hummed while listening paying attention to your words "I am pretty curious about your job too but since you wanted to get away from it by going out tonight we should save this work talk for later." He raised a brow and gave a surprised look, the fact that you were being thoughtful left a good impression on him.

The car stopped in front of three huge buildings "Come on, or I'm leaving you here." you joked and he clicked his tongue "I didn't wait at the club for 30 minutes just for you to leave me here." You led him to your apartment and his eyes sparkled with curiosity this was a foreign territory. "Want anything to drink?" He shook his head and made a move to sit on the couch but your arms around his waist alerted him "You waited pretty long right? He let you lead him towards your bedroom, it was pretty big for a single person the bed was huge. "Don't worry I don't bring my clients here, it's my personal room." You touched his belt and started to undo it "Should i feel special then?" He asked with his husky voice "Well, if you wanna think that way." He huffed and you giggled. You pushed him onto the bed and got on top just like you did at the club "You know what, you should feel special because you're gonna get a private show for free." A mischievous grin appeared on the man's face and he grabbed your thighs, you placed your hands on his "My clients cant touch me but since you're special..." You tore his shirt off and attached your lips to his collarbone while your hands massaged his nipples, which earned you sighs filled with pleasure from him "Get ready Bakugo because we're gonna have a long night." Just when you were about to attack his neck his hand slightly pushed your tummy "Katsuki." He corrected you and you nodded with a small smile.

After your steamy night with Bakugo, he become a regular and joined his friends' nightly outings, he even bought VIP tickets and paid for your private shows. There were many strippers in the club but his eyes were on you and only you, when you finished performing you would pay their table a visit and he wouldn't let you leave, pulling you closer to him or ordering drink after drink your boss was complainant about it but he couldn't do anything because he was a pro hero and he was paying well, you weren't complaining talking with him was actually relaxing because even though he looked cold or harsh he was a good listener and he cared about the things you told him. Sometimes he came alone because of his loud friends and when they came as a group Mina would always eye you both from the other end of the table and shot you a wink. Bakugo was different from your other clients, he wasn't hiding his feelings, if he didn't like it or loved it he was always open about it but lately, you knew something was different. The way he looked at you, the way he joked around and flirted more openly there was a single answer explaining the change in his demeanor... He got a crush on you. You weren't sad or uncomfortable it was the opposite but dating a stripper wasn't a thing to be honored about if you accepted his feelings that meant spending the night cuddling together or laying in the same bed and you couldn't give him that. You didn't want him to sleep in the cold bed alone, waiting for you to come home, or you didn't wanted to dance on someone else's lap while you actually belonged to him, that's why you refused to acknowledge his feelings and continued to act like a dense and horny stripper.

It was a regular night, Bakugo took his usual seat and waited for you to appear on the stage. Lately, you were on his mind a lot and even though he knew the reason acting like it wasn't there was the best option, he was busy with work and had goals and by the looks of it you were just as busy as him. Plus, what would you tell him, would you even look at him, would you accept his feelings or shame him cuz he likes a stripper? He didn't know, he wasn't a coward when it came to villains or disasters but when it came to his feelings yes, he was a coward. His thought got interrupted by the click of high heels, he raised his head and saw the person he was itching to see, you. "I thought you were performing tonight?" He asked with a neutral expression and just when he was about to scoot over you grabbed his shoulders and plopped yourself on his lap "I came to see my favorite client." Then started to leave butterfly kisses on his face, he sighed with content; this wasn't lust, it was filled with care and longing. It felt like he came home after a long day filled with work to be welcomed by you and your warmth, he opened his eyes and saw you admiring his features with a small smile on your lips, it was now or never, he didn't care about your answer he didn't want to have any 'what if's or regrets in the future so his ruby eyes found yours and... "Y/n, got a minute to talk?"

A/N: ARRGHHH I'M SORRY THIS IS LIKE- RLLY BAD I HAVEN'T EVEN EDITED IT JUST STR8 UP POSTED IT SO IM SRRY IF I HAVE MISTAKES I'LL FIX THEM LATER. Anyways uuuh reblogs and feedbacks r appreciated teehe<3

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homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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wordsnwhiskey · 4 years ago

Text

As It Should Be | Chapter 4: Company

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: Whiskey gets a surprised call and he and Frankie have a long talk.

Rating: M

Warnings: Talks of drug use, alcohol, mentions of character death, mentions of canon typical violence, PTSD, violent nightmare

A/N: I really wanted this conversation to happen between these two given their respective histories. We all know that Whiskey needed therapy and in this verse he gets it. It’s also my HC, from what I vaguely know (I’m not an expert and I could be very wrong), that Whiskey was an officer in the Air Force where he flew/placed in jets and that’s how he knows how to fly an F-22 (The Silver Pony).

We are getting some angst and some fluff this time folks!

Also, yes I do have a specific soap in mind for Whiskey, it's Old Glory by Duke Cannon

Huge special thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the betas and encouragement!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons | AO3

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Frankie pulled his phone out, went to the recent number that was, as of yet, unsaved, and pressed ‘call’. His shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear as the line rang.

Whiskey’s hair was still wet from his shower, and his white t-shirt clung to his damp skin. Eyeing the take out on his counter, he sank into his couch and smiled at your texts:

Whiskey: Thai sound good, sweetheart?

Bourbon: God yes Jack, I’m starving!

Whiskey: I’ll let you know when I get outta the shower, see you soon sweetheart

He was just about to send you a message to come on over when his phone rang. Glancing at the clock on his stove, then back to the unfamiliar Texas number on his caller ID, he frowned.

“Whiskey.”

His greeting was curt. Who the hell would be calling at 8:30 pm on a Wednesday?

“H-hey Whiskey, it’s me, Frankie. Is… uh, is she there?”

Whiskey’s frown deepened, not that he minded Frankie calling him, far from it, but his voice was cracking like he’d been... crying?

“Oh, hey there, Flyboy. No she isn’t, do you need me to get her?”

“N-no, no… I, uh, I don’t want her to see me right now. I’m, uh,” Whiskey could hear Frankie take a deep breath on the other side of the line. “I’m having a bad night, Jack. Could you come get me? I’m at the hotel.”

Jack shot straight up, practically leaping to his feet.

“Did you…?”

The question clung to the air like lead, crushing both of their chests in the silence.

“No, I haven’t… I just… fuck.”

Jack was moving, grabbing his leather jacket, keys, and Stetson, practically sprinting out the door.

“Don’t worry about it, Flyboy. I’m headed your way.”

He shifted his weight while he waited for the elevator to take him to the parking garage, shooting off a quick text to you in apology. Frankie’s words, “I don’t want her to see me,” rung in his ears and he decided to hold off on telling you what had come up, at least until he could see you at the office tomorrow.

Whiskey: Hey sweetheart, sorry something came up and I can’t do dinner tonight. Everything’s fine, see you at the office, sugar. X

Your phone went off and you quickly unlocked it, eager to hear back from Jack so you could head over. A frown pulled the corners of your lips down at his text, but you knew he wouldn’t cancel on you without good reason.

You: See you tomorrow, cowboy. Better make it up to me ;)

Frankie had left the door slightly ajar and was pacing around his room, arms crossed in front of him when he heard a quick knock, then the handle was turning and Whiskey crossed the threshold. He took a cursory glance around the room: nothing but minibar booze bottles, thankfully. Whiskey let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived when he took in Frankie’s demeanor. Frankie’s face was taut with shame, and his gaze refused to rise any higher than Whiskey’s boots.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Frankie choked out, “ Pope, and Hawk… I can’t disappoint them again. I’ve been clean for three years, and I didn’t…”

Jack shook his head and beckoned Frankie over, wrapping his arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him in for a quick, tight hug.

“C’mon, Flyboy, this is not the time nor the place to talk about this. I’m taking you back to my place, and we’re gonna have some whiskey that’s much better than what you’ve had here, and then we can talk.”

Frankie nodded and grabbed his hat, planting it on his head as Whiskey tugged him out of the hotel room. He was so deep in his thoughts and his guilt for having Whiskey come out that he didn’t realize where he was until the elevator dinged. Whiskey unlocked and opened the door to his condo, giving way to a view so incredible Frankie almost forgot to breathe. Across from the entryway, on the far side of the condo, the gorgeous New York night skyline twinkled back at them from beyond the wall of glass windows. Frankie marveled at the rustic elegance of Jack’s home. It had an entirely open floor plan, giving Frankie a view of the dark cherry butcher block island, the top-of-the-line range top, and other appliances, all immaculately clean. For a moment, he wondered if that was because Whiskey ordered out more than he cooked, but then he saw the bags of takeout on the counter and immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, looks like I interrupted your dinner plans.”

Whiskey closed and locked the door behind him, hanging his jacket up on the nearby hook. He glanced over at the takeout, then put his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, partner. I just told her something came up. You hungry? I ordered her Drunken Noodles, be a shame to put them to waste.”

Frankie was about to decline when his stomach rumbled, and Whiskey chuckled.

“C’mon, Flyboy, go sit down on the couch and I’ll bring the food and some whiskey round.”

With a nod, he toed his dress shoes off (they were all he had without his go bag) and made for the brown leather couch. He sat down a bit stiffly, feeling awkward given the circumstances. Whiskey brought over the containers of food, handing one to Frankie and resting his own on the coffee table before grabbing them the promised drinks. He sat down, and Frankie took his drink in one hand, relishing in the smooth burn as he took a sip, then set it down to dive into his food.

They ate in a relaxed and cozy silence. Frankie finished first, which wasn’t a surprise. When Whiskey finished, he took Frankie’s empty container with him to toss in the garbage before he made his way back. An awkward silence replaced the previous comfortable one, and Frankie found himself having a hard time pulling his gaze from the amber liquid in his glass. Whiskey took a deep breath, then turned on the couch to face Frankie.

“Santiago said you’ve been clean for three years? That’s quite the accomplishment.”

“Yeah, thanks. Doesn’t really feel like it right now. I feel like I failed. I’m worried I’ll slip up.”

“I don’t think you will, Frankie. Neither do Pope or Bourbon.”

Jack didn’t know why, but the words rang true in his mind, even though he hadn’t known Frankie for very long.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to throw three years of hard work away, Flyboy.”

A small smile tugged at Frankie’s lips and he took a sip from his glass.

“Must’ve been weird for Halcón. Last time she saw me, fuck, I was barely with it. The suspension hit me hard. I had been getting my shit together before Colombia and the funeral. I just wanted to be able to fly. I couldn’t and still can’t stand the idea of being grounded. That, and I knew my fianceé would leave me if I didn’t get it together. But then, well, we all went to Colombia.”

“I couldn’t imagine being grounded. I don’t fly often, but to not have the option? I dunno what I’d do.”

Whiskey shook his head and grimaced. Frankie perked up, head snapping to meet Whiskey’s gaze.

“You fly?”

“Mmmhmm, was in the Air Force for a bit, did jets. Statesmen has an F-22, the Silver Pony, that I fly.”

A small buzz of excitement was washing over Frankie, and he subconsciously scooted closer to Whiskey. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to about flying, even if helicopters and jets were two very different means of flying.

“What made you risk it, Flyboy? What happened in Colombia?”

Frankie frowned and let out a deep sigh.

“Pope had been down there for a few years, chasing a narco named Gabriel Martín Lorea. He finally got a break when his CI told him she knew where he was hiding out and where he was stashing his money. He showed up outta the blue asking us, our old team, to come down and do recon, $17k just for a week of recon. If we wanted to stay on after that, we’d be entitled to 25% of whatever we seized, and the rumour was that Lorea had $75M on him. I’m guessing Halcón was busy with a mission for you guys, and I’m glad she was. It ended up being a fucking shitshow.”

Whiskey noted the faraway look in Frankie’s eyes as he sighed and took another swig from his glass, shaking his head as Frankie recalled the events.

“After the recon, Pope said he thought we could do the job ourselves, take all the money and not tell the local governments. We found out that the local agency hadn’t been the ones to pay us the $17k. That had come out of Pope’s pocket. He was so sure that the locals were on Lorea’s payroll, and if he went to the local agency, Lorea would disappear with the money. At the end of the day, none of us could say no. Turned out the rumors of Lorea having $75M were wrong. The house was stuffed, literally, with cash. Tom, our captain, got greedy. He ignored our hard-out time and insisted we take more loads of cash. We ended up stealing close to $250M, then we burned the house down.”

Whiskey whistled. “$250M is a lot of money, partner…”

Frankie barked out a humorless laugh, his eyes rueful.

“Too much. Our helo couldn’t take it all and make it over the Andes. I knew it before take off, and I warned Tom and Pope, but all any of us could see was the money. Tom didn’t want to leave it on the runway. I almost had us over the Andes when a gearbox blew, and I had to get us back to flat. We had to cut the money net, and it was just our luck that it happened to be over a coke farm. It was a bad landing. I honestly don’t know how none of us were seriously injured, but Pope and Tom went to go and convince the farmers to get out of the money. Our comms were out, so we were going off of hand signals. Tom got too trigger happy, and he dropped a few of the villagers. I-I provided cover fire, too…”

Frankie hung his head, no matter how much Will, Benny, or Pope had tried to reassure him, he still held an enormous amount of guilt over what had happened. He felt Whiskey’s hand rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch.

“That’s what you were trained to do, Flyboy. You couldn’t have known any different, especially without comms.”

Frankie nodded, taking a large gulp of his whiskey, then continued on.

“A couple days later, we took fire in the mountains, and they got Tom. It ended up being a kid and another guy from the coke farm. We killed them, but there was nothing we could do for Tom. Headshot, he died instantly. 10 years we all served together, and then he was gone, leaving behind an ex and two daughters. It could have been any one of us though, Jack… we all took lives during that mission. Tom just took the wrong ones. It… it could have been me even, I shot some of those villagers, too.”

Frankie felt Whiskey’s grip on his shoulder tighten and looked up to see the empathetic sadness of someone who truly understood how he felt reflected back in Whiskey’s eyes. Frankie cleared his throat.

“We ended up bailing on a lot of the cash, taking only what we could carry in our daypacks and tossing the rest in a ravine so we could haul Tom’s body out with us. At the end of it, we made out with around $5M, but we all agreed it should go to Tom’s family. I got back to find my fianceé had left. She couldn’t stand my leaving with Pope. Looking back, my addiction is probably what really did us in, but I was devastated to come home to an empty house after everything that had happened. Things got… dark after that. I fell back on old habits, fuck, I had barely been clean a few months when we went to Colombia. I didn’t want to think about what we’d done there, didn’t want to feel the emptiness, didn’t want to sleep and deal with the nightmares. I was a mess, and I… uh, I took too much one day. Pope found me unconscious, lying on the ground, and got me to the hospital. When I came to, I realized I didn’t want to end up dead in my shitty apartment, once they discharged me, I checked into rehab.”

Frankie took another drink. No one other than Pope knew that knocking on death’s door had been the turning point for him. Whiskey chewed on his lip, taking a drink and debating whether he should share his past as well.

“Drugs are… a terrible thing to get hooked on. My high school sweetheart, carrying my unborn son, was murdered by two meth head freaks robbing a fucking convenience store. I was on leave from the Air Force, waiting for them to come home when I got the call. I didn’t realize how much it festered in me until about a year back when we were taking down the Golden Circle.”

Frankie nodded. He remembered that he had been glad he was clean by then.

“I’m sorry, Whiskey… I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have-”

Jack’s hand moved from Frankie’s shoulder to rub his back reassuringly.

“Listen, the things you’ve done and seen for our country… and not, well, it’s a lot, and I know it’s not the same as the freaks who… it’s not the same. I almost sabotaged the mission. My hate-addled brain thought it would be justice… It was Bourbon who very literally knocked me on my ass and kept me from making a decision I’d regret. She encouraged me to see a Statesmen counselor, which has been a lot of work, but has been more helpful than I ever thought it would be. Have you thought about that?”

Frankie was distracted for a moment by Jack’s hand. It felt nice, reassuring, safe, things that had been sorely lacking for him today.

“I have and I did, well, I had to as part of the program, and I kept it up for a bit after. It helped, but… I couldn’t really talk about what happened with Tom. Sure there’s confidentiality and all that, but what we did is all kinds of illegal. I couldn’t exactly bring that to a session or group.”

Frankie snorted, a ghost of a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“Really though, aside from the program I was in after rehab to get my license back, I’ve gotten some hobbies and some other out-outlets. This was just a lot. I needed to not be alone.”

Jack cocked his head at the way Frankie stuttered and subconsciously fidgeted with the bandage on his right wrist. He had picked up from the night prior that Frankie had a thing for pain, and Frankie’s reaction when he had bandaged him up was further proof of that. But using it as his sole outlet or method of working through his issues was something he wouldn’t enable. His eyes narrowed, and before Frankie could blink, Jack snatched his left hand, mindful of the tender marks as he held fast and fixed Frankie with a hard stare. Frankie flinched at the sudden movement then his eyes widened a little.

“You know this ain’t a solution, Flyboy.”

Jack’s voice had an edge to it bordering on a growl. Frankie shook his head quickly.

“Shit, no, Whiskey, the i-impact p-play stuff, i-it’s an outlet, and it’s not my only outlet. I met my old partners, Sam and then later on her husband, a year and a half or two years ago. I was a year clean before I even had my first session with either of them. I met Sam when she booked a flight tour, and one thing led to another… She’d come back into town and sometimes her husband would come with, but we all kept everything pretty quiet. They helped me relax, and they had their fun.”

Frankie was doing his best to be nonchalant, but he couldn’t help the slight bitterness creeping into his voice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jack’s tone had thrown him off guard, unexpectedly stirring something in him. Whiskey, of course noticed on both counts, having been trained to do so. He could see through Frankie a mile away. Frankie nervously took another sip from his glass, shuddering as Whiskey’s thumb gingerly rubbed circles over the marks, seemingly accepting his explanation.

“You know, had I known about your… interests, I would have done things a bit differently last night, Flyboy.” He winked at Frankie, then smirked as he examined Frankie’s wrist more thoughtfully. “How are they doing?”

“G-good, thanks. And uh, well, you’re one of 3 people who know.” Frankie murmured.

Whiskey’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise as he nodded and released Frankie’s hand.

“Really? Not Pope or Bourbon?”

“Are you kidding me? Pope would never let me hear the end of it. There are some things he doesn’t need to know.” Frankie chuckled and shook his head. “And Halcón? Well, there was never any reason for her to know. We never did anything together before last night.”

“How long has it been since you last saw Sam or her husband?”

Frankie downed the rest of his whiskey, eyes far away for a moment, remembering their last session, the sharp pain followed by a rush of endorphins and the occasional soothing praise. He shook his head gently, blinking himself out of his memories at the feeling of Jack’s warm hand on his knee.

“It’s been a while, six months? They moved overseas.”

There was a beat of silence, Whiskey could sense there was something up, it was a subtle shadow flitting across Frankie’s face. He decided to push a little more.

“Did you have feelings for them?”

“It was complicated.”

The edge in Frankie’s voice was tinged with pain, and he tried to cover it up with a laugh that came out humorless.

“I guess it isn’t that complicated. After six months, things shifted, and they made it clear I wasn’t part of their long term plan. It became very transactional, which was fine, but there was less and less... care after.”

“Oh.”

The response slipped from Jack’s lips, and he was momentarily stunned quiet before his temper began to flare. His index finger and thumb gently gripped Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Listen carefully, Flyboy. What I did last night was the bare minimum of what someone should do in that kind of situation. Anything less is negligent. Christ, how was this ever stress relief for you if you were left to free fall afterwards?”

Whiskey’s voice was calm and even, but Frankie could see the fury raging in his eyes. Sensing Whiskey’s desire for understanding, he nodded then shrugged.

“I guess I’d try to go on a hike with one of the guys or go train at the gym.”

Silence fell between them, a muscle in Whiskey’s jaw clenching before he glanced at the clock and let out a deep sigh, willing himself to calm down.

��It’s already just about midnight, Flyboy. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll put on a clean bandage for you once you’re done. You can use my bathroom. There’s a clean towel hanging you can use. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll leave something for you to sleep in on my bed so you can change while I set up the guest room for you.”

Frankie was about to protest, saying he could do his own bandages, but Whiskey fixed him with a stare and shook his head.

“Go on Flyboy, get yourself in the shower. Head down the hall, second door on the left. Your room is across the hall. I’ll be waiting there with the medkit when you’re done.”

Whiskey took Frankie’s empty glass and stood, taking their glasses to the sink while Frankie got up and made his way to the shower. A pensive frown tugged at Whiskey’s lips. Tonight certainly explained a lot of things. The sharp fury that permeated Whiskey’s chest when they were talking about Frankie’s previous partners returned. How could someone not be bothered with aftercare? It was also clear that Frankie felt abandoned by them. On some level, the poor man was probably terrified of that happening again, if he even entertained the thought of something between the three of you. Whiskey waited a few moments until he heard the water running before heading into his room. He let out a sigh as he grabbed a white t-shirt and a pair of linen shorts for Frankie to wear, leaving them on the bed before he left to make sure the guest room was all set.

Frankie undressed quickly, folding his clothes and setting them down on the vanity in a neat pile crowned with his hat. Next, he made quick work of unwrapping the bandage around his wrist and tossing the materials in the garbage. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the shower and the hot water scoured the last two days from his skin. The relief was quickly replaced with a small whine of pain as the water hit his wrist. Closing his eyes and bracing himself against the wall with his forearm he breathed through the pain, acclimating to the sensation. Frankie took a minute to just exist, trying to enjoy the quiet that had slowly crept back into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he set to work getting himself clean. The steam made the air thick and heavy with the scent of Whiskey’s soap, something akin to leather and tobacco leaves. It clung to Frankie’s lungs, and he could have stayed there enjoying it for considerably longer. But, he didn’t want to keep Whiskey waiting, so he rinsed off and hopped out of the shower. He toweled off, smirking to himself when he saw it was monogrammed (because of course it was), then headed out and changed quickly into the shirt and shorts that had been left for him.

Whiskey looked up in time to see Frankie stride through the doorway wearing his shirt and shorts, smelling like him, his soap. He swallowed thickly and tried to recover with a smile.

“Feel better, Flyboy? C’mon, sit down. Let’s have a look.”

Frankie nodded, then took a seat next to Whiskey on the bed and gave him his right hand. Whiskey hummed his approval at the lack of resistance from Frankie, something the pilot felt tug at his chest.

“This is looking much better, Flyboy, should be completely healed in a few days.”

Whiskey smiled as he finished tending to and wrapping up Frankie’s wrist. Without prompting, Frankie offered his other wrist and Whiskey couldn’t bite back the smirk that followed. He was glad though, glad that Frankie was trusting him with this and was embracing these moments, even if it was for something small. Frankie’s left wrist was considerably better off, but even so, Whiskey was still gentle as he looked him over.

Frankie’s heart fluttered at the intimacy of what was happening. Here was Jack, a man he’d known for barely 48 hours, who was taking care of him, who had dropped everything to come get him, who had spent his evening letting Frankie talk. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him this way.

There was an overwhelming urge building in his chest, and without thinking, he acted on it.

He gripped the collar of Whiskey’s t-shirt with one hand, tugging him closer as Frankie leaned in and kissed him. Whiskey was shocked for a moment, it had been the last thing he had been expecting, but he quickly recovered when he felt Frankie’s tongue swipe at his lip. His hand rested along the column of Frankie’s throat, thumb grazing over the scruff along his jaw as he deepened the kiss, leaning into Frankie and tasting him.

A small moan pulled Jack back to his senses, resting his forehead against Frankie’s and cupping his jaw with this other hand. They both panted, trying to catch their breath, and Whiskey smiled as he gave Frankie another quick kiss. For a moment, Frankie was worried he had overstepped when Whiskey cut off their kiss, but looking into the other man’s eyes, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve had a long day, Flyboy, we’re not gonna do anything tonight. Tomorrow though, if you want, I could help you get rid of some of that stress and help you come down the right way. No rush, no pressure, you can say no and nothing changes. I don’t want an answer right now either, sleep on it.”

Frankie’s breath quickened and his pupils dilated at the thought, but one thing nagged at him.

“What about Halcón?”

Whiskey chuckled and patted Frankie’s shoulder.

“Well it’s what we both want, in a manner of speaking. She’d be onboard, but she doesn’t have to know exactly what we do for now unless you’re comfortable with it. A lot of this is stuff I know she wants to go over on Friday, but for now, when it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it, partner. If you want to do this tomorrow, then we can do it. If not, no harm, no foul, you’re still welcome to stay here and keep me company.”

Frankie nodded, still processing what Whiskey had said and more than a little surprised that Whiskey was inviting him back regardless of his decision. Whiskey stood up then, squeezing Frankie’s shoulder.

“G’night, Flyboy. Holler if you need anything.”

Frankie was back in Colombia. He felt sluggish, his feet refusing to respond the way he wanted them to. He saw the villager from the cocaine farm pop up from the rocky outcrop, but Frankie couldn’t move, couldn’t draw his gun to take him out. He cried out in anguish as the man fired.

“No! Tom!”

Then he was surrounded by Pope, Benny, Will, you, and Whiskey, statuesque as the man who killed Tom lined up and dropped Pope, moving his way down the line. Frankie was sobbing now, he was being swallowed up by the ground, sinking helplessly as the people he cared for were murdered.

Whiskey woke with a start to the sound of shouting.

Ripping the sheet and comforter off, Whiskey glanced at the clock. It read 01:30 and he sighed. Frankie just couldn’t catch a break.

“P-please, No! Po-Pope, God, n-no, Hal-Halcón! Whiskey!”

He really didn’t want to shake Frankie awake, worried as to how he might react waking up from that sort of dream, but Jack had to do something.

“Hey, Frankie, I’m right here, you gotta wake up. Wake up, Flyboy.”

Frankie shot up, feeling like ice water had been poured down his spine. He was wild-eyed and breathing heavily, but once again, Whiskey’s soothing words served to ground him, and he clung to them with all he had. He felt Whiskey pull him into a hug, and Frankie didn’t care about the awkward angle, he clung to the embrace as well.

Whiskey’s heart ached at the way Frankie clutched at him after hearing him call out Pope’s, his, and your names. He had a vague idea of what might have happened, he still had dreams where he couldn’t save his loved ones every now and then. Once Frankie’s breathing calmed a bit, Whiskey tugged him up out of bed.

“C’mon Flyboy, you’re coming with me.”

Frankie didn’t argue, he just followed, grateful that Whiskey was pulling him by his hand, needing that point of contact. Whiskey pulled back the covers on the side opposite of his and waited until Frankie crawled in before he pulled the covers over him, then slid in on his side of the bed. He scooted a bit closer, not wanting to crowd Frankie unless he wanted the contact, and was pleased when the other man scooted back until his back rested against Jack’s chest.

“Get some sleep, Flyboy. I’ve got you.”

Sooner than he expected, Whiskey heard soft snores coming from Frankie. He smiled then wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

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imagines4thefandoms · 4 years ago

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The Ramen Filth (Batfam x Reader)

requested: no

word count: 18k+

“Y/n what are your plans for spring break,” your best friend (Bff/n) asked as the two of you walked out of your last class.

“I'm going to go home actually. I miss everyone,” you told them.

“So no trip to Bora Bora, a week on a yacht,” they asked slightly pushing you.

“Nope, just me my brother, father, Alfred, and my bed,” you replied pushing them back.

When you guys left the building they went to their car while you headed to your dorm room. It always surprised people when they found out that you lived on campus. “You’re a Wayne. Why don’t you live in some penthouse in the city.” “Why are you slumming it here?” Well, you wanted the whole college experience.

When you entered your dorm room, you tried to pack your bags quietly so as not to wake up your roommate. But that didn’t work cause when you were grabbing some clothes and throwing them into a suitcase, she woke up.

“Excited to go home,” they asked you sitting up in bed.

“I haven’t seen them since August,” you replied searching around your room for your car keys. “So maybe a little.”

After you found your keys, you proceeded to gather the rest of the stuff you were bringing home with you. Your roommate got out of bed and went to grab a drink from the fridge. You looked over at her and watched her shotgun a bud light.

“Jesus (r/n) it's 2 in the afternoon,” you exclaimed throwing your computer bag on your bed.

“Well for me it's breakfast,” she replied grabbing a hoodie from their closet and grabbing their backpack. “Well off to class. Drive safe.”

You shook your head at them and waved them off, while you grabbed some snacks to enjoy while at the manor. After grabbing, your suitcase, computer bag, backpack, purse, and dirty clothes you headed out to your car. There was quite a long walk from your dorm to your car cause parking is hell but many people had already left so there was a straight shot to the car. You popped the trunk of your car and put everything in the trunk.

After getting in the driver’s seat and starting the car. You set up your fave Spotify playlist and started to head back home. The college you attend is just outside Gotham which your father kind of insisted. You didn’t really object. Sure you loved Gotham even with all the craziness it held but it has been nice being able to walk around town and not get mugged or have a city block shut down due to dad and the joker.

Once you crossed Gotham City limits, you kind of tensed up and double-checked that the doors were locked but once you were closer to Wayne Manor you started to relax. You really enjoyed the scenery on the ride home. It reminded you of when Dad first brought you home after your mother left you at GCPD with a note letting them know you belong to Bruce.

The Manor came into view and you saw Damian and Titus running around in the yard. You pulled up to the front door and Titus jumped at your door, either he was excited you were home or ready to attack you. Damian called Titus over to him then ran over to open the door for you.

“Sister you’re home,” he said in his usually monotone but this time he gave hug.

“I missed you to bud,” you replied hugging him back.

He helped you get your stuff out of your trunk and carried it into the house. You placed your suitcase and dirty closed by the front door while Damian brought the rest to your room. Jason was in the living room with Tim playing video games. Dick was either at work or in the cave training and the same could be said for dad.

“Honey I'm home,” you called out.

“Y/n,” Jason and Tim yelled running to give you a hug.

Jason tripped Tim in order to hug you first. Tim got up, punched Jason in the arm then gave you a hug. You missed this. Your annoying brothers. They didn’t give you time to breathe. They just grabbed your arm and pulled you over to the couch to play their video games with them. Alfred walked into the room and a smile appeared on his face when he saw you.

“Welcome home, miss. Y/n,” he said walking over to you to give you a hug.

“I missed you,” you replied returning the hug.

“I suppose you have something for me,” he asked letting you go.

“Yes sir, by the front door.”

Once Alfred left you decided to play a round or two with Jay and Tim. You were so in the zone of kicking their asses you didn’t notice when your dad came home. He just stood behind the couch and watched four of his kids play video games without a care in the world.

“Come one, you weren’t smart enough to see that coming college girl,” Jason teased as he was beating you.

“Prepare to die again Jason,” you said as you beat the crap out of him and killing him.

“You cheated,” he said throwing down the controller.

“No you just suck, Todd,” Damian said defending you.

Someone behind you coughs. You turned around as saw dad and Dick standing there. You got up from the couch and ran to give your dad a hug. After he left you to go, which took a while you gave your favorite older brother a hug.

“I missed you,” you said looking between your brother and father.

“Right back at ya kid,” Dick said ruffling your hair.

After giving your dad another hug, you returned to kick Tim’s ass this time. You kicked Tim’s Damian’s, Dick’s, and Jason’s ass (again) at the game before Alfred came in and announced that dinner was ready. Your stomach did like a backflip from the excitement of Alfred’s cooking. It had been a long time since you had a home-cooked meal; you kind of lived off ramen, cereal, and coffee for the past 9 months. You jumped with joy when you saw that he made (favorite meal).

“Aw Alfred I love you,” you said taking a seat at the dinner table.

The meal was delicious, no surprise there. After dinner, you caught them up on everything, even though you basically call home every day. Damian made a comment about how he missed having you around and Jason teased him about it which caused the two of them to fight. Tim got excited about the 24/7 library and coffee shop. That boy worries you sometimes. Dick kept asking about the security and how safe you are even though he basically interviewed every campus officer when you first moved in.

“This is nice and all but don’t you boys have a night job to do,” you asked getting up from the table.

“My daughter is home from college after 9 months. I don’t have to go out the boys have it,” your father replied.

“Daddy, i will be home for 9 long days. Go plus I was hoping you would so I could catch up on sleep. LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE DO,” you yelled the last part so Tim could hear. “Just wake me up when you get back so I know you're safe.

“Alright,” he agreed to get up and heading down to the cave.

“Be safe guys,” you warned them before they went down.

“Always am,” Jason replied which really didn’t sit well with you.

You asked Alfred if he wanted help cleaning but he declined the offer and told you to go to bed. Not needed to be told twice, you went up to your room and just plopped on the bed.

“I forgot how comfortable this bed was,” you said to yourself.

You decided that you needed to change into pj's, so you climbed out of bed and changed only to lay back on the cloud. Sleep took over about five minutes after your head hit the pillow and it was wonderful. But it didn’t last. You woke up and check to see what time it was. 2:19. Going back to sleep wasn’t going to work, so you decided to sneak downstairs for some late-night ramen. You grabbed the (favorite flavor) ramen from your backpack and then headed downstairs. It took a while to find the kettle cause Alfred is very particular about where things go but after you found it, you boiled some water and make the ramen. You were sitting at the table enjoying your snack when the lights came. You froze with noodles hanging out of your mouth when you saw that it was Alfred.

“What are you eating,” he asked disgustingly.

“Ramen,” you replied with a mouth full of noodles. He shook his head and grabbed the bowl.

“Hey give it back.”

“This isn’t food y/n. Do you eat this often while away at school,” he asked kind of scared of your answer?

“Only when I'm hungry,” you replied with a sweet smile.

“unacceptable. You will never eat this filth again,” he promised as he tossed the food in the trashcan.

“Hey, that was my last bag. And that filth is delicious.”

“No Wayne child will eat this especially under my roof,” he warned grabbing a pan and placing it on the stove.

“What are you doing,” you inquired.

“Making you a proper meal.”

“No the point of ramen is that it's not filling. I'm not that hungry I just couldn’t go back to sleep.”

He ignored your comment and proceeded to make your grilled cheese and tomato soup. Alfred placed the food in front of you and shook his head as he went back down to the cave. You had eaten half the ramen already and were kind of full but the grilled cheese smelled so good. So after eating basically a second dinner you went back to sleep. Being home was great.

The rest of your time home was just like you never left. You had a daddy/daughter date and helped everybody train. There was also a small family trip to the amusement park, which was amazing. Damian ate too much and threw up on dad. Best day ever. When it was time to go back to school, you hugged everyone bye and dad helped you pack your car. Before you left Alfred handed you two tote bags.

“Promise me that you will call if you need food. And never eat that filth again,” he warned you in his caring way.

You looked in the bag and saw that he and meal prepped for you. There was enough food here for the next week. Alfred always takes care of you.

“Thanks, Alfred. And I promise.”

Ever since then Alfred and made it his mission to drive up every weekend to bring you meals for the week. Sure it was kind of embarrassing, especially when he didn’t it in the quad during lunch. But you weren’t going to complain. Alfred’s cooking was amazing.

#batfam x y/n #batfam imagine #college life #ramen #batfam x reader

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yoshkeii · 4 years ago

Text

"𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐."

࿐ character(s): Kaeya Alberich

࿐ genre: sfw, comfort

࿐ type: drabble (written in bullet points)

࿐ requested by: anon

⌦ gn!reader (they/them)

⌦ reader is just a traveler/adventurer, one that stumbles in Monstadt quite often. reader is 21+, since it implies drinking.

⌦ ‘a comfort drabble/oneshot (whichever is perfectly fine) with kaeya + a reader who's kinda low on energy? and generally out of it--nothing is necessarily wrong, they just kinda feel bleh. - gn or masc reader is fine, too! ’

A/N: kaeya !! my beloved icy boi <3 he’s one of the mains i use when i need cryo, mans never fails me (although its quite hard to nail this feeling into- words or verbally expressing it but i hope i got it alr- since i get the feeling all the time.)

→ Kaeya knew you solely because you were classified... as a “local” adventurer or traveler in the city of Monstadt. Seeing you around the stone streets doing your own deeds of buying supplies for your daily traveling.

→ For someone who travels and wanders around majority of their days, he always envied you for your energy. Ecstatic to keep moving or finding a new commission to take in your grasp. But finding you at Angel’s Share was quite a rare sight.

→ Knowing you weren’t much of a drinker, compared to Kaeya, you only took alcoholic beverages whenever it was a treat for a special occasion. And that’s that.

→ Walking towards your lone figure at corner table, he stared at you in slight curiosity before it shifted into confusion. Your body rather slumped over ontop of the table head flatly resting on the table.

→ “..F/N?” Kaeya called out before sliding into the seat across from you, the shifting noises of the chair scooting made you lift your head slowly. Eyes drifting towards him slothful before widening slightly to see the Cavalry Captain staring back at you.

→ “Ah- Uhm.. Hey, Kaeya...” You greeted slowly, almost slurring on your words.

→ “Are.. Are you alright? I don’t commonly see you around the tavern, let alone Angel’s Share. The Cat’s Tail seems more of- your taste-” He softly teased.

→ Only laughing at the comment, the feeling of your eyelids grew heavy the more you held your head up. Trying to force them open for a little longer, Kaeya easily noticed.

→ “You haven’t been overworking yourself... right?” “You do quite a lot in Monstadt, even have your own lil’reputation among the shops too”

→ “I- No, of course not. I learned to avoid that, especially from last time’s incident.” You mustered a replied, leaning back against your chair supporting your slowly given body.

→ “Heh, that’s good to hear- Knowing I had to drag-”

→ “Ah- Kaeya. Don’t continue that sentence.”

→ Chuckling, he continued to conversate although he stopped on the story of that incident. “Then, how are you feeling? You seem- abit off, I noticed..” “Not ill are you? I hope not.”

→ Shaking your head, “..I’ve just been feeling off. N-not tired or exhausted... Just..- eh? Y’know?” You softly shut your eyes for a moment.

→ “Fatigued? Lethargic? I could assue you could be something along those lines, F/N.”

→ Seeing you nod your head slightly, you opened your eyes to hear a chair move again. Kaeya getting up from his seat and standing aside of you with his hand open towards you.

→ “It could be the fact you’ve been working alone. Having no companions on your many journeys seem quite a hassle, why not stay around with me for a bit?” Kaeya offered, the soft smile he held on his face made your heart skip a beat. Ignoring the feeling, you focused on his open hand.

→ The leather material seemed smooth but you could see the rough scratches along it, notifying the durability it had. Grabbing his hand with yours, Kaeya slowly lifted you up. Not wanting to push your body more in such a sluggish state.

→ “Almost thought you’d decline and left my hanging there”

→ “I would, but being with you... seems nice right now.”

→ “Eh~? The loner adventurer likes to be around the Calavry Captain? Who would’ve thought you had fallen for me too”

→ “Don’t get your hopes up Captain.”

→ You and Kaeya soon shortly left the tavern, keeping an eye on you though. Having a feeling your body will just... keel over. But despite that, you both had your antics along the way to Kaeya’s place. Since he insisted for you to come and stay over rather than sleeping at the Inn’s.

#folder 📁;- 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗 #at-dusk;- 🌆#kaeya x gn reader #kaeya alberich x gn reader #kaeya x gender neutral reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #x reader

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kimvvantae · 5 years ago

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puzzle; 7 (m)

➜ you and jungkook are best friends of a lifetime, even though your personalities are like unmatching pieces of a puzzle. the line between friendship and something more has never been crossed between you two - but that changes after a break up and a drunken night, when you not-so-accidentally cross this line to something much more. what happens when after this accident your non-matching puzzle pieces seem to match in a way you’ve never imagined?

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader

genre: smut, angst, comedy; friends with benefits au; college au

warnings: lots of swearing, a little bit of violence

rating: 18+

word count: 12k

A/N: sweet jesus it’s been so long but it’s finally here! this is the last but one chapter of the series. i genuinely hope you guys enjoy it and i reeeeally want to know your thoughts on it! feel free to leave a comment! if you feel i’m deserving of it lmao

enjoy!

➜ Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

« playlist »

[bby bear]: where are you???

[bby bear]: you'll get late for class

[you]: i knoww

[you]: the traffic is so heavy today 🤦🤦

[bby bear]: you should have come w me

[you]: i need to go to the bank

[you]: i told you

[bby bear]: i could have taken u theer

[bby bear]: there

[you]: 🥺🥺 next time i'll go w you i promise!!

[you]: but i'm close

[you]: i'll probably lose the first period tho

[bby bear]: 🤦

You shove the phone inside of your pocket when you notice the pedestrian sign is finally green. The crowd on both sides of the avenue rush, everyone on their fast pace as usual. You're even forced to push some people in order to walk by.

Getting to the other side of the street, you stop in front of the building.

Tall as fuck. That cool kind of building with mirrors all over it, where only cool people wearing cool suits walking around holding cups of coffee on one hand and phones on the other hand talking business language kind of people work at.

You certainly don't work here. You definitely don't have any stuff to do here. You surely are not close to the campus and you will lose much more than just the first period.

Seulgi will most definitely punch your face when she finds out where you are and what you're about to do.

You confidently walk inside the building, pushing through its glass doors into the pristine, modern and gigantic main hall. Your black boots contrast with the high heels all the other women wear around you. So does the rest of your outfit. Mini skirts and oversized hoodies are not part of the dress code here. You can almost hear their minds asking, what is this person doing here? The clanck clanck sound of their heels clicking against the marble floor is somehow pleasing, though.

You stop in front of the reception counter. A pretty girl opens a crystal white smile to you. Her hair is tied tightly, her uniform was ironed to perfection. "Good morning. How can I help you?" She chirps happily.

"Good morning. My name is Y/N. I'd like to talk to Irene."

The smile quickly falters.

The girl side eyes her colleague that sits by her side. "Hmm… unfortunately, Miss Irene does not receive visits," she says carefully, still trying to keep her smile. "You must be mistaken."

You can see this girl thinks you're crazy. You quickly realize that people usually don't come at the reception and simply say they want to talk to Irene. But, well, what else would you do? You have to announce your presence somehow.

"Irene is waiting for me. You can call her and ask if you want," you insist.

The receptionist looks pale for a moment.

Hesitantly, she takes the phone and dials a number. You can still see that the girl thinks you're lying; she's probably ready to call the security guards. During her quick talk on the phone, you notice she's not talking to Irene, but with her secretary.

You also see the moment her eyes widen.

She hangs up the phone and stands up, smiling widely again.

"Miss Y/N, Irene is waiting for your arrival," she says, and you notice the slight tone of panic in her voice. "Please, accompany me."

All the other visitors have to show their identifications and take a quick picture on the reception, you notice, but the girl simply ignores this procedure with you, guiding you to the elevator instead. She explains the situation to the security guard and he lets you in. The receptionist still looks slightly panicked. She's probably scared that you'll complain how the receptionist was rude to me directly to Irene, but you won't. Poor girl was just doing her job.

The elevator is big, too. It has a panoramic view of the city as it goes up to one of the highest floors.

You always thought Seulgi was overreacting when she said how bad she sometimes felt for dating Irene, but now you kind of understand her.

You knew Irene was rich. You can recognize a Gucci jacket when you see one, and you've seen Irene wearing plenty of these. But Irene always acted so normal. Sure, she was elegant - and sometimes even arrogant -, but she was still someone very pleasant to be around. She never looked disgusted to be in your tiny but comfy apartment, she never made faces when she'd sometimes wear some of Seulgi's or your clothes when she didn't bring any to spend the night, she never complained to eat the junk food you'd buy for dinner. She was just… chill.

Because of that, you'd forget that she's rich sometimes.

Being in this massive building where everyone acted as if she was a princess made you remember, though.

Irene is beyond rich. Your standard of "rich" used to be Joy: someone that has a cool, big house in a nice part of the city. Irene partially owns a fucking company. She's so chill that you never even bothered to Google the company's name; you did this today to get the address, and it only made you more shocked.

Seulgi must have felt overwhelmed many times in their relationship.

But you're sure she was much happier back then than she is now.

You're used to their drama. They were already dating when you first met Seulgi, and you saw this cycle repeating many times. This time, though, things are not happening as usual. Seulgi is the saddest you’ve ever seen in these almost three years of convivence. Right after they broke up, you thought she was just being dramatic as usual… now you see that it isn’t simple drama. She’s actually sad and has been in this state for months. She doesn’t go out anymore, stopped doing the things she liked… she even got tired of Netflix. That’s probably the most shocking fact of all.

Jungkook said you shouldn’t get involved in this, but you’re tired of seeing your friend being so sad all the time.

Their breakup was messy this time. They didn’t talk properly, didn’t make things clear. Seulgi is too stubborn to make a move (she’s totally lethargic at this point, both physically and spiritually), and Irene also seems too stubborn. Since none of them has the balls to do anything, you finally decided to step up and take action.

(Funny how you thought Jimin was annoying for trying to push you and Jungkook together, but you’re doing the exact same thing right now).

Well, look, you’re not exactly trying to push them into each other. First, you want to know Irene’s feelings and opinions on this situation. If you see that she has really moved on from Seulgi, then you’re ready to give your friend all the comfort and support in the world so she finally moves on. If Irene shows you that she still has feelings for Seulgi… well…

The speed in which she replied to your DM is a strong indicative of that.

The way her eyes glint with undeniable hope when the elevator doors open and she greets you is another indicative.

Irene looks gorgeous as always; she’s like a human version of Snow White. It’s kind of funny to meet her in her office like this. She’s almost like a female and hotter version of Christian Grey.

Her ways of greeting you are polite and… hesitant. You understand why. She probably doesn’t get what you’re doing here in the first place, what you want to talk about. Considering you’re Seulgi’s friend, she must think you’d be mad at her or something.

“Why didn’t you call me, Y/N? My guests never enter from the common hall.” she asked. Oh. Common hall is what that massive hall is called. Almost like peasants area.

“I didn’t know.” you simply say, shrugging.

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting here at my workplace. It feels too profissional, doesn’t it?” she smiles sheepishly.

Well… it does. You don’t even feel comfortable enough to move around her great office, afraid that you’d accidentally break anything (you’re sure that every little piece in this room is much more expensive than you’d be able to afford).

“Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria. I think it’ll be more comfortable to talk there.” she politely suggests, and you just agree with her.

Irene guides you around the halls. This floor is less crowded, since only Important People with Important Tasks work here - and she’s greeted by all of them as she passes by. Their eyes immediately float to you, and they were surely asking themselves why Princess Irene was being followed by this peasant.

The cafeteria in question is as pretty and neatly clean as the rest of the building. Soft music plays from the speakers. Irene chooses a more private table by the windows and asks if you want to have breakfast; you politely decline and both of you end up ordering simple cups of coffee.

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air.

"I… have to confess that I got surprised when I saw your DM," Irene speaks softly. Her eyes are glued on her cup of coffee. "It's been a while."

"Yeah."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine." a hundred different scenes pass on your head as she asks this, and you know that you feel anything but fine in the moment, but it's not as if you'll rant about your complicated love life right now. "But I'm sure you don't want to ask about me."

You see a shade of pink flush Irene's cheeks.

"Well… I don't think it would be right to ask about her." Irene says.

"Why not? It's not as if you didn't know I came here to talk about Seulgi."

"But she doesn't want to know about me."

You're left speechless for a few seconds.

It's funny to see the two sides of a breakup. Because of their stubborness, they became completely out of tune with each other. Irene thought that Seulgi didn't want to know about her, when you knew pretty damn well that Seulgi stalked her social media an unhealthy amount of times per day.

You cross your arms and lean your back on the chair. Irene looks hesitant, but you see she's eager to know whatever information you may have. That's not the behavior of someone that hates their ex.

"Can I ask you something?" you say. It's funny how Irene, the owner of pretty much everything around you, looks so cornered by you, her shoulders shrinking visibly. She nods softly. "Why did you guys break up? I mean, what's your side of the story?"

Irene sighs and passes her hand through her dark hair. She looks out the window. She doesn't seem irritated by your ask. She just seems… thoughtful.

It makes you realize that, perhaps, Seulgi's not the only one feeling broken here.

"We're… different." she starts quietly. "I have been trying to keep this relationship working for a long time, you know. Even though we argued a lot and disagreed about many things. But…" Irene sighs again. Sadness shadows her features. "It was getting hard. Seulgi never accepted my help. She knows that money is no problem for me, and I just wanted to help, but why did she act so angry every time I wanted to help you guys?"

Oh.

You don't miss the way she said "help you guys"; she must be talking about the times both of you were struggling to pay the rent. Oh God. You clearly see where their opinions diverge. Irene has always been rich; she saw money as something simple, giving money to others wasn't a big deal. Meanwhile, Seulgi must've felt dependent and it surely hurt her pride. Besides, there were enough people saying that Seulgi was only dating Irene to get money from her…

"And there's more." Irene's voice becomes quieter, more fragile. "My family, they're… very conservative. It was already hard enough for them to accept my sexuality. They never did, to be honest… but they particularly don't like Seulgi, because she's not, hm, on my "social level", as they like to say."

Ooh.

This is more complicated. Seulgi doesn't know what it feels like; her family is very open minded. She told you that, in the beginning, her parents were shocked when she told them that she also liked girls, but they slowly accepted it. Irene, on the other hand…

"They keep saying that my relationship with her will be bad for the company." She confesses. "They said they'd even accept my relationship, as long as we dated in secret."

"What?!" you gasp. "This is disgusting!"

"I know." Irene nods, eyes focused on the mug between her hands. You have the impression that you see tears welling up on her eyes, but she blinks rapidly to dissipate them. "I… I was willing to go against them, because if they don't accept my relationship, then they don't accept who I am. But… I don't know if it's worth doing this if I'm not sure if Seulgi feels the same about me."

Ouch.

You remembered the night when they broke up. Seulgi came to you, crying, and said that she was tired of being with someone that wasn't brave enough to accept her.

Seulgi, my dear… you know nothing.

You can see that to go against her parents isn't as simple as it sounds. To Irene, going against her family involves reputation, money, and the company itself. It's definitely a big deal. Seulgi didn't understand how serious it is.

And Irene is willing to take this big step for her.

It's your time to sigh.

"Irene." you lean closer, staring at her seriously. "Do you still love Seulgi?"

She blinks at your direct question. Irene looks down, gulps… and nods.

"I do love her."

You can't hear any hint of doubt on her voice.

That's what you wanted to hear.

"She's not okay." You blurt out the truth. Irene widens her eyes softly and looks at you. You see guilt on her eyes as she hears this. "I came here because I'm worried about her. She doesn't act like herself anymore. She even got tired of Netflix."

Irene widens her eyes in shock. "She stopped watching Netflix?!"

"Yes." You nod seriously. "And she still loves you, too."

Irene freezes when you say this.

Now, you're sure of the tears welling up on her eyes.

"I…" she stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence. "A-Are you sure?"

You can't help but giggle at her; Irene looks shy, almost like a teenager - scared and excited to know that her crush likes her back. You feel your own heart warming up at the sight.

"Of course I'm sure."

A smile wants to make its way up to her lips. "B-But what do I do? I can't just walk up to her like this. I don't want to start another fight…"

"Irene, believe me. Seulgi will listen to anything you have to say, as long as you're being honest. Tell her about the situation with your family. Prove to her that you're willing to stand for her. I mean, if you're still willing to…"

"I am!" Irene exclaims in a heartbeat. "I am. As long as she's with me, I feel like I can do anything."

You feel yourself smiling. Irene's eyes are shining like diamonds.

"But you also have to try to understand her." You say seriously. "Seulgi is not wrong for wanting to be independent. She's finishing her studies, she wants to build a career for herself, and she wants her own money. I know you're trying to help, but you have to respect her. Also, I'm sure she doesn't want to be a burden for you."

Irene nods vehemently. "Okay. You're right. I get it."

She doesn't hold her smile back anymore as a tear rolls down her cheek. She looks so immensely happy… it's a delightful sight. And you can't help but feel happy too, because right now, more than ever, you see that Seulgi found something rare and precious in this world.

True love.

And this fact itself is enough to make you feel that coming here was worth it - even though Seulgi might want to kill you afterwards.

"But hey, Irene," you call her seriously again. "I'm doing all this because both of you stupid asses couldn't, but if you make Seulgi cry again, I will kill you. I know where you work now."

Irene laughs at your very serious threat. She leans forward and holds both of your hands. "Y/N, thank you so much for telling me all this. I will forever be grateful. If you need anything- and I mean anything- I will help you, okay? Anything!"

"Alright, alright," you say, shrugging, the slight thought that a millionaire owns you a favor sounding nice. "Now, you better go talk to Seulgi. I can't stand her walking around the living room looking like a zombie anymore." Irene laughs softly. "And… I said I wasn't hungry, but now I kind of want that waffle."

Seulgi looks like a very grumpy zombie when you meet her in the corridor.

"Where the hell were you?!" Seulgi exclaims. "It's noon!"

"Yeah, I know." you shrug. "The bank was pretty crowded."

Seulgi narrows her eyes. Her hair looks messy even though it's tied up and she has bags underneath her eyes. She's wearing the top of her old orange pajamas. It has an old kitchen oil stain over the chest. Seulgi from months ago would rarely go out looking like this.

"What the hell did you need to do there anyway? I didn't even know people still go to banks." She whines. "I was getting worried, you know?"

You walk down the corridor with your hands behind your back. You're glad Seulgi is too grumpy to notice the sly smirk on your lips, the way you kind of bounce by her side in expectation.

"Always so thoughtful, Seul. You're so cute, did you know that?"

She side eyes you, the frown deepening. "Why are you complimenting me?"

"What's the problem with complimenting you?"

"Whenever you compliment me it means either you want something or you did something that you know will piss me off."

Sometimes you forget how well Seulgi knows you.

"Jesus, you're too stressed, girl. I'll pay you lunch, okay? Let's eat at that Italian restaurant you like."

"When you offer yourself to pay for stuff it also means that-"

Seulgi stops in her tracks, completely frozen.

"Irene?"

You step back silently and hold your breath.

This is the moment that might end your friendship with Seulgi if it goes bad.

Irene seems to be holding her breath as well, her eyes round - scared, hesitant, hopeful.

And they stand there, looking at each other. As if time has slowed down. As if there was no one else besides them in the busy corridor.

If this was a drama, you imagined that the romantic soundtrack would kick in now.

"Hi, Seulgi." Irene says softly. "It's… it's been a while."

It seems that Seulgi's brain is struggling to function. "What… what are you doing here?" the fact that she does not sound defensive or aggressive but genuinely surprised and confused relieves your chest.

"I came here to talk." Irene says. "Just… just talk. But if you want me to go…"

"No." Seulgi interrupts her embarrassingly too fast. "It's alright. We… we can talk. Just talk."

Their eyes are gleaming and the ghost of smiles appear on their lips.

Your chest fills with triumph as you silently walk back. Not that either of them would even notice you anyway.

You're too far to hear what they're saying now, their soft voices drowning in the middle of the many more people walking around the corridor, but you still kind of hide inside an empty classroom, half of your body peeking outside of the door to watch them. They're talking and smiling timidly. You feel tempted to take some photos, but it's better not to. You kind of feel like an intruder watching them, even if you're this far-

"What are you doing?"

You almost feel your spirit jumping out of your body when the male voice asks dangerously close to your ear, turning around in a jump to see the source.

Now you don't know if your heart is beating so ridiculously fast because of the scare of because of the view in front of you.

Jungkook looks down at you with a puzzled expression, his hands behind his back, his body slightly leaning on your direction. He's wearing a modern grey hanbok over a black t-shirt and slippers. His backpack hangs from one shoulder. His hair is half tied up in a small bun, curly bangs falling over his eyes. This is precisely what makes your heart almost fail. You've been wondering how he would look like with his hair tied up ever since he decided to let it grow…

He's got no business looking this good. No. Fucking. Business.

But you're a master of pretending you're unbothered, so you just point ahead at their direction with an excited smile. Jungkook's eyes look up to where you're pointing and his eyes widen.

"Oh!" Almost instantly, he kind of hides behind you as well. It's hard to ignore the warmth of his body on your back, even though he isn't close enough to touch you. "Did they make up? Are they dating again?"

"I hope they will." it's weird how you're both speaking so low, as if they could possibly hear you over the loud chatter.

"What if they start fighting?"

"Don't even say that! I put my friendship with Seulgi at risk to get these two to talk!"

You turn your head in time to see Jungkook's eyes frowning as he realizes what's going on.

"It was you?"

"Of course it was."

He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shakes his head slowly in disapproval. "You said you wouldn't get involved!"

"I never said I wasn't going to get involved." you bat your lashes prettily at him, trying to give your best innocent look (unsuccessfully).

"You damn gremlin."

You whack his chest. "Aw, come on! Just look at them and tell me it isn't working!"

Both of you look ahead again to see them smiling sweetly at each other as they talk. You bounce and giggle excitedly like a little kid. "Look, look! She's blushing!"

Jungkook tilts his head to the side. "But what about Jennie?"

"Oh, Irene and Jennie went out on dates, but it didn't work out in the end. They're just friends." you repeat the exact same words Irene told you earlier.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, if she cheats on Seulgi, I'll kill her."

You watch as they slowly start to walk away side by side, heading towards the exit.

You jump out of your "hideout" and open your arms in triumph. "I did great this time, didn't I?!"

Jungkook chuckles and leans on the doorway, arms crossed. "Whatever you say."

You're an expert at acting unbothered, but right now it's really hard to do so when he looks at you this way.

He has a pretty lazy smile on his lips. It makes you feel hot inside and your stomach jumps and your heart races. His gaze is intense… but not in the way you're used to. That look isn't his I want to fuck kind of look, it's… it's… shit, you don't know what that means, but it's pretty intense. Why is he looking at you like that?

You just hope he doesn't notice how your legs are wobbly.

It's the first time you see him in person since two days ago, when he slept at your house. Two days after you had sex even though you said you wouldn't. You didn't talk properly about what happened there. To be honest, your brain still didn't process that well.

Things are awkward between you two - but this time it's a different kind of awkward. A type of awkward that made your cheeks burn while you cleaned yourself and got dressed. A type of awkward that made you feel all fuzzy and warm inside, that made a silly smile grow on your lips every time your eyes crossed his from the other side of the living room, an awkwardness that forced you both to look away and try to pretend your cheeks weren't aching from the damn smile that didn't want to go away. A type of awkward that didn't let you talk about what happened - as if none of you wanted to talk about it, to just keep it engraved in your minds forever, as if talking about it would take all the magic of the moment away.

You don't hate this type of awkward.

It's not uncomfortable. Not like what has been happening for the past months. Yet, you feel that you need to talk about it - to sort things out clearly and straightforwardly this time… because if the way he's looking at you means anything, then maybe… just maybe…

"I've got good news." Jungkook says suddenly (because he noticed that you've been staring at each other for far too long to not be embarrassing anymore).

"What?" you fiddle with your own fingers, trying to ease the tension.

"Remember that director I told you about? Mr. Choi?" You nod. "He invited me to work with him."

Your jaw drops, your eyes widen. "What? Are you serious?!"

Jungkook nods excitedly. "Yeah. Well, I'll be like the assistant of the assistant, to be honest, but… he invited me to work with him on his next project. I'll gain some real experience, at least…"

"Are you kidding? This is great, Kook! What the fuck!"

You jump over to hug him, your arms dropping around his shoulders, and Jungkook quickly hugs you back. His low excited giggle right next to your ear makes goosebumps crawl on your skin.

"I'm so fucking proud of you!" And you couldn't be more honest. Jungkook has always been so hardworking; he deserves all the success and recognition in the world. You always thought so.

"Thank you," his voice is still low and excited.

He caresses your back. It makes yet more goosebumps crawl on your skin.

Oh, God. He still smells like baby powder. He always does. You feel tempted to sniff the crook of his neck, just to take a little bit more of his scent, but you hold yourself back. It's not like hugging Jungkook is something new to you. Fuck, after everything you've done, hugging should feel like nothing. But for some reason… hugging him right now feels like a lot.

Feels awkward.

So awkward that you have to remind yourself that you're in the middle of a corridor full of people, and that this hug is taking way too long, so you step back before your brain completely malfunctions.

"A-And," you clear your throat and put a strand of hair behind your ear, furiously avoiding his gaze. You never thought that Jungkook would make you feel shy like this. Shy and Y/N shouldn’t make sense in the same sentence. "When is this next project?"

"In two days. I think he decided to put me on the crew last minute."

"This means that he really trusts you."

Jungkook smiles sheepishly and massages the back of his neck. "I just hope I won't mess things up."

"You'll do great, Kook. You always do."

He lifts his gaze to you again.

That same look again.

You feel that everything is blurred except him again. No one else is in that corridor. No loud chatter. Just him and his starry eyes, looking back at you, eyes that smile as much as his lips.

God.

You need to sort things out.

You can't just stare at him with heart eyes like this anymore. You need to talk about what happened. This conversation feels awkward because you're both trying to act normal, pretending that there isn't a fucking elephant in the room - an elephant that makes you think of a mattress in the middle of your living room, of sunrays touching his exposed skin, of old pajamas being thrown around and sweat and soft kisses and salty tears dripping down your temples.

You need to know if he also felt that that morning was different. You need to know if he feels the same. Even if he doesn't - even if his heart lays with Yeri or Joy or whoever it might be - you need to know, and you don't care about what the outcome might be. You just can't torture yourself like this anymore.

So you inhale and gulp.

"Jungkook, I was thinking… are you busy after classes?" you ask timidly.

He presses his lips together. "Actually, I am. The boys and I are planning to celebrate the end of the semester tonight."

Mission abort! Mission abort!!

"Why?"

"Oh- it's nothing. I was just…" you can't think of any excuse. "It's not that important anyway. Forget it."

Jungkook looks at you with suspicion. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! I'm sure. Nevermind."

He still stares at you for a while, frowning.

"You wanna come with us?"

"No!" you shake your hands dismissively. You're not having this super important conversation surrounded by all of his friends. "I'm just gonna bother you guys. It's fine, Jungkook. Enjoy your night."

Jungkook shrugs. He takes his phone from his back pocket for a moment. "Well, I gotta go. I promised I'd pay Jimin lunch."

"Alright."

You start to walk in opposite directions.

“But we can meet tomorrow, right?” You turn around way too fast when you hear Jungkook say, a few steps away from you. He looks hesitant, an awkward little smile on his lips. “I have some stuff to do, but we can see each other at night. After I finish preparing my stuff. We could meet, right?” He visibly starts to look more and more awkward as he speaks. As if his confidence started to vanish. It’s kind of adorable. “You could come to my place. O-Or I could go to yours, I don’t care- I mean, can I?”

Your heart is bouncing crazily inside of you. You don’t notice how you’re mirroring his awkward smile. “Of course, Kook. When did you ever need permission to go to my apartment?”

Jungkook frowns as if he just realized how stupid his ask was. “Guess you’re right. Or maybe we could go out somewhere, right? It’s been a while since we went out, the two of us.”

He’s right. All you’ve been doing for the past months is meet to have sex. You don’t even remember the last time you two did something that didn’t involve getting naked.

“Sure, let’s go out.”

You stare at each other for a few more awkward moments (awkward is a word you’ve been thinking a lot about lately). See, that’s not how things would go between you two back then. Neither of you ever needed to ask previously to go out. You’d just usually drag Jungkook out of his house by force when you deemed he hasn’t been taking enough sunlight (fucking Overwatch). Or Jungkook would call you at 3am because he was bored of playing Overwatch and just realized there was only expired milk and an empty box of cereal in the cabinets because the last time he and Jimin bought food was 2 weeks ago and he’d be like “hey, let’s go to Walmart” and you’d be like “what the fuck Jungkook it’s 3am” and he’d be like “but Jimin’s not home I need help” and you’d be like “fuck you” but twenty minutes later you’d both be on your pajamas pushing a cart inside of an empty Walmart as you barely register Jungkook ranting about how he thinks he’s lactose intolerant because he had diarrhea the last time he ate yogurt.

That’s kind of how things used to go back then.

At the same time you desperately want your relationship to go back to normal, you don’t really hate the way you’re feeling right now.

“Right, I gotta go.” Jungkook snaps out of it faster than you and nods. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Again, you turn around and start to walk in opposite directions. Slowly. Hesitantly. Because both of you know you don't want to go. Both of you know you still have a lot to talk about.

But maybe later.

[bby bear]: i kinda want to kill you rn but

[bby bear]: thank u so fcking much

[bby bear]: ily

[bby bear]: bitch

You're smiling so hard that your cheeks might probably start to ache. If Seulgi texted you this, it means things went really well with Irene.

The chatter in the dining hall is nothing but background noise on your ears as you scroll down your boring Instagram feed, the plate just half eaten in front of you. You’re not really hungry. Maybe the stress of studying for finals messed your stomach. The hell’s finally over, at least, and you’re sure that your grades won’t be that bad (Seulgi didn’t want to do anything, but you at least convinced her to study with you. That’s the only thing that got her out of her bedroom. Her zombie state was kinda the reason why you studied so hard).

Some text notifications pop on your screen, but you just swipe them away since none of them are from the person you’re waiting for. All of your friends are planning to go out tonight and some of them are asking if you want to go. No, you don’t. Honestly, you’ve not been feeling yourself these days. Past you would always be up to a party. Past you wouldn’t be having lunch alone in the dining hall - honestly though, you don’t even mind being by yourself. Nothing would make you feel emptier right now than being surrounded by random people. Just one person matters at the moment-

“Hi.”

You almost drop the phone inside the plate when you look up to see who just sat in front of you.

Joy.

Your throat feels suddenly bitter. You have to gulp.

“Jesus, I didn’t even notice you come,” you inhale and chuckle. “How you doing, Joy?”

Joy smiles. “I’m fine.”

She’s lying.

There’s something in the way she looks at you and in the way her smile looks plastic-fake that makes you shiver.

It makes you think that she didn’t even want to be here.

Well, you don’t know about her, but you certainly feel uncomfortable right now. You can’t lie that you’ve been feeling kind of guilty these days because you’ve been fucking the guy she likes in secret, but a big fat load of guilt hit you especially after two days ago. Joy went on a date with Jungkook and barely a few hours later you had him inside of you. And, of course, you had rough sex with him inside of her bathroom. All the while you knew Joy liked him and encouraged her to be with him-

Wow, it’s getting hard to look at her right now.

You really are a bitch. In the beginning you didn’t feel bad because you stupidly assumed there weren’t feelings involved. It was just friends with benefits, right? You even agreed that you could have sex with other people. If Jungkook started dating Joy, of course you’d stop doing it. Also, there was nothing between you two. You didn’t even feel jealousy.

Things changed, though, and at some point you genuinely started to hate this poor girl for breathing around Jungkook. And now you feel guilty because you realized that you like the guy that she told you she had a crush on months ago.

I took a shower this morning, so why do I feel so dirty right now?

A shiver runs down your spine.

The way she’s looking at you… what if she knows-?

“I’m throwing a party tonight,” she says suddenly. “To celebrate the end of the semester. You wanna come?”

You’ve been fucking the guy she likes for months and there she is, being nice and inviting you to her party. You really are a fake ass bitch-

“O-Oh.” You rub the back of your neck. “I, uhm… thanks, Joy, but I’m not feeling very well today. I just feel like sleeping, to be honest.” You chuckle sheepishly again.

Joy nods. “Alright.”

She doesn’t insist. It looks like she doesn’t even care. As if she’s just being polite.

In fact, it kind of looks that she’s relieved that you said no-

“So, how was your date with Taehyung?” She changes the topic quickly. “We didn’t even talk about it.”

Right. She’s talking about the person you don’t even want to think about because there’s only so much guilt one person can feel at once.

“It was fun.” You say. “We had a lot of fun.”

It sounds stupid, the way you can’t even articulate your date with him. You’re not lying - you had fun… kind of.

“Are you dating him now?”

Okay, this is getting strange. Not the question, but the way she asked. You’re 100% sure she’s annoyed by something, and honestly looks uninterested in your current state with Taehyung right now, so why is she asking anyway?

“No, we’re not.” You admit.

Joy stares at you in silence as if she’s waiting for you to say something more, but you say nothing else. Joy then nods. This is getting very uncomfortable.

You feel that she’s about to leave, so you pick up the courage to speak again. She touched this topic anyway.

You know it’s wrong to ask. You shouldn’t. But you’re so curious that you can’t help.

“A-And, uhm… what about you and Jungkook? How was your date?” you try so hard to pretend you’re not dying curious to know.

Joy stares at you in silence again. She isn’t smiling.

“He didn’t tell you?”

What? Is there something to tell?!

“No. Jungkook’s kinda private about this type of thing,” you’re lying, of course, because even if Jungkook didn’t want to, you’d usually annoy him with questions about his dates so hard that he’d end up telling everything that happened.

Joy looks away and quirks one eyebrow. “Oh. I assumed he would have since you guys are so close.”

The way she says so close bothers you.

It’s her turn to rub the back of her neck, her eyes glued on the table - only she doesn’t look nervous. Yeah, she’s annoyed. Joy takes so long to talk that you’re about to repeat your question, but she finally speaks:

“We also had fun. Jungkook really is a sweet guy, right? He did nothing wrong. He’s so polite that it ended up annoying me, honestly. More polite than I would have wanted him to be…” Hah, so they didn’t fuck! Great! “Well, he dropped me home and I invited him to spend the night and all, but… He was very polite. He apologized a lot and said that he couldn’t stay…”

Joy licks her lips. Why the dramatic pause? Say it already, come on!

“He’s also a very honest guy, right?” She chuckled, but she clearly didn’t think it was funny. “He said that he thought I was an amazing person, but things wouldn’t go further than this because…”

For the first time, Joy lifts her gaze and looks at you.

“Because he already had feelings for someone else.”

You’re honestly not breathing anymore.

Joy is watching you very carefully. You’re as stiff as a board.

“Not a fun way to finish a date, right?” She says and chuckles, again, it’s clear she isn’t happy at all. “Anyways, I have to go now. Bye.”

She gets up and walks away before you can even say anything, as if this conversation was being unbearable for her.

Meanwhile, you just sit there. Frozen. Breathless.

He said things wouldn’t go further than this.

Your throat feels very dry out of sudden. Very, very dry and coarse, as if you’ve eaten sand.

Because…

You take the water bottle from over the table and drink it in one big, big gulp, until the bottle is empty and your shaking fingers crushed the fragile pet bottle.

He already had feelings for someone else.

You get up and take the tray so fast that you almost drop everything.

Your movements are fast as you walk out of the busy dining hall, your heart beating loudly on your ribcage, your breathing irregular and your mind working at 200 km/h.

He already had feelings for someone else.

He told Joy this. He dropped her home and told her the truth. He apologized. He… he said he already had feelings for someone else. Jesus Christ. Your heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to stop anytime soon.

He- He-

He might be talking about Yeri, a little, hesitant voice inside your mind whispers. Well… sure. You’ve been suspecting it for a good while. But… after Jungkook dropped Joy home and said this he-

He went to your apartment.

He went to you.

You feel the need to stop walking and lean on the corridor’s wall. The world around you is blurred.

What is this feeling bubbling up in your chest? A feeling so strong that it’s almost spilling over? This thing that makes you open the widest smile you ever opened and makes you want to jump around the corridor like crazy?

He came to me. He came to me. He came to me. He came to me.

He came to me!

But-

But there’s still the Yeri possibility.

You need to know the truth. To hear him say it, and you can’t wait another day - not anymore.

You take your phone from your bag and type with shaking fingers.

[you]: hey

[you]: can we meet today?

[you]: i really need to talk to you

Jeon Jungkook is a simp.

He doesn’t like this word. He thinks it’s annoying how people would call a guy a simp just because he’s treating a girl with minimal decency.

But, like. He’s a simp. He knows he is. He took a long time to admit this, but lately his pride has been already so crushed and stepped on by a particular pair of feet that he can’t even bring himself to feel anything anymore.

Actually, no. He has been feeling like shit for a long time. It’s just the alcohol anesthetizing him right now.

That’s just his second bottle of beer and he already feels kind of dizzy. It’s been a while since he last drank alcohol, that’s probably why his resistance feels weak. He makes a mental reminder to not drink too much. Jungkook knows that he gets really talkative when he’s drunk and he always ends up saying stuff he shouldn’t - and today especially he can’t end up saying stuff he shouldn’t with that guy around.

If he knew Taehyung would be here too, Jungkook wouldn’t have come. Yes, he knows he’s being childish. He knows he’s angry at someone that didn’t do anything wrong, he knows that jealousy is bad, he knows that technically he is wrong because he’s been dicking down the girl that he knew his friend liked. He knows all that, alright?!

Jungkook throws his head back and sighs, passing his hand through his hair. A chilling night breeze touches his cheeks; since the inside of the bar was already full and they were too many, everyone decided to sit on the outside part of the bar. Jungkook hasn’t been paying attention to anything anyone around him was saying and neither was he interested. He thought that coming here would make him forget about the things that have been troubling him, but in the end he’s just thinking more about them.

I could excuse myself and go home. He thought. I have a lot of things to do anyway. I wouldn’t be lying.

He feels a hand rest on his shoulder and looks at Jimin, sitting on a chair by his side. The look on Jimin’s face already says everything. Jungkook sometimes thinks that Jimin has telepathic superpowers; how does he always know what’s going on before anyone even says anything?

“You alright?” Jimin asks in a low tone, careful not to call anyone’s attention. The younger one nods.

“Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook reassures.

Taehyung laughs loudly from across the table and both of them end up looking at him. Jimin looks back at Jungkook.

Jimin sighs. “You know you can go home if you want to.”

“Yeah.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

Jungkook looks at Jimin and sips a bit more of the beer slowly.

“Yeah.”

Jimin smacks his shoulder and goes back to his previous conversation with Hoseok.

How Jimin always seems to know what’s going on… it annoys Jungkook a lot. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. It’s not like Jungkook told him about his feelings, Jimin just… realized. They were doing grocery shopping one day and Jungkook mentioned how last time he went to Walmart you told him that the diarrhea he had wasn’t because he was lactose intolerant but because the yogurt was expired and then Jimin turned around and simply said:

“You like her, right?”

And Jungkook gasped.

Jimin smirked knowingly and just kept pushing the cart. He said nothing else - but it was as if Jungkook had just confessed his deepest feelings right there.

This happened a little bit after Jungkook and Yeri broke up and kind of made him feel offended. How could Jimin say he liked you? He hadn’t even gotten over Yeri, Jimin knew very well. However, it seems that Jimin is not only a telepath, he can also see the future, because he couldn’t be more right.

If Jungkook’s being honest with himself, some months ago he wasn’t really really sure about what he felt about you. As the “Yeri” scar started to heal he got more aware of his own feelings and actions towards you, but it was hard to sort things out because he was always in denial. That desire to hold you close and hug you and take care of you and not let anyone hurt you anymore? Well, that was just his protective side. You have always been one of his dearest people. Jungkook also knew that he had a little possessive side. He was sure that this feeling would eventually vanish.

Maybe he was also frightened because he knew it wasn’t reciprocal. You never even looked at him in a way that might mean you felt something else for him. He wasn’t going to confess something he wasn’t sure of to someone that definitely didn’t feel anything for him and destroy a life-long friendship.

But oh boy, how things have changed.

They changed the moment you hopped on his lap that night inside his car. Jesus, that first week was hell for Jungkook. He was trying so, so hard to forget the messy drunken memories of his night with you - especially because, the moment he woke up and saw the pure face of terror on your face when you realized what just happened, he thought of how much you regretted that and all of his hopes died right there - the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than friends.

Yet, he got to taste you again. Two times were all it took to get him addicted.

He couldn’t stop anymore - and it hurt him much more than he would like to admit. He felt that he was being used, even though he let you do it (and he enjoyed it every time, not gonna lie). He felt worthless, he felt angry at himself because he couldn’t stop and because you were so, so fucking stupid, so fucking blind, he felt sad because he watched as your friendship started to slowly die down, and now he feels jealous and guilty because he’s been seeing how Taehyung likes you - how Taehyung even asked him advice to ask you out - and he didn’t stop fucking you anyway.

That day at Joy’s house? It was ridiculous. Jungkook still doesn’t understand what the fuck happened to him, why he felt so angry. Perhaps he was finally getting tired of how dumb you are, how you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.

Just thinking about you hurts now. And Jungkook thinks about you a lot. There he is, surrounded by his friends, where he should be talking and having fun, but he’s too busy thinking about you. In two days he’ll start working for Mr. Choi, his first real job. He should be thinking about it. Not about you.

He can’t stop thinking about your flustered face.

You don’t look flustered that often. Especially not around him.

He thinks this is very intriguing.

What hurt him the most in all this - the thing that made him feel like a piece of shit more than anything - is that he knows you too damn well and he knew that it was never special to you. To you it was just sex, it was just fun; whenever your lips touched you never felt like you were being swept off your feet like he did, whenever you touched him you didn’t feel like just then, in that moment, everything was right - as if the Universe was only created for that specific moment to happen, as if the Universe was expectantly waiting for the moment his fingers ran on your skin freely since the very beginning.

He never felt like this with anyone else. No other pussy has ever made him feel this poetic.

The fact that Jungkook knew you didn’t feel the same was exactly why he couldn’t stop; this would be the closest he’d ever be from you in that sense - and honestly, after he tasted you, he didn’t want to go back to stage one. You were like a drug. You brought him comfort, you brought him bliss. Having sex with you became somehow of a escapist method. But, just like every drug, you started to make him feel sick… so sick that he couldn’t stand to be around you when you weren’t fucking.

He drifted away.

God, he even stupidly tried to move on, but Joy was a foolish try. Jungkook felt bad for using her like this - even though he never even kissed her, he felt that he was fooling her anyway. Going on that date with Joy made everything worse, because he was with that gorgeous, intelligent and lovely girl, but he couldn’t feel anything but fucking empty.

He also realized that you couldn’t be his drug anymore. You deserved much more than that. That’s why he drove all the way to your apartment like a magnet. He preferred to go back to stage one if necessary, if it meant that he could be around you without feeling like a worthless piece of shit anymore.

Of course - things didn’t work out that way.

But that morning- it was different.

Jungkook has to sip more of his beer just thinking about it.

It was different.

It was… quiet, very quiet. Much more quieter than he was used to. And much closer than he ever remembered.

All the times he had sex with you - his body was being pleased, but his soul felt hurt. This time, though, he felt that his whole self was being healed. You didn’t feel like a drug. You felt like a cure.

As if you were connected in somehow of a deeper way.

As if this time, it wasn’t one-sided on his part.

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about it. His pessimistic side tried to convince him that he was being delusional or dramatic (he has this tendency to overthink anyways) and maybe he was, but, again… you don’t usually act flustered, especially not around him. And you’ve been looking flustered around him for quite some now, even before that morning. Sure, your friendship became uncomfortable at some point and he realized that none of you knew how to act around each other anymore, but still…

What about that time you saw a picture of Yeri on his computer?

You looked very, very awkward.

Or how you sometimes seemed bothered when Joy was around. You teased him a lot at that pool party. Jungkook knew you could get kinda kinky sometimes (he knew you liked the thrill of possibly being caught), but that felt like too much even for you.

His pessimistic side once again tried to convince him that he was seeing things. You wouldn’t be acting jealous. You were never jealous of him with any girl. Never. You even encouraged him to be with Joy, right?

What if… what if maybe, just maybe…?

Stop getting your hopes too high, his pessimistic side scolded. You look stupid.

I’ve been looking stupid for a goddamn long time, Jungkook thinks back. His pessimistic side looks back at him with disdain.

Jungkook frowns and looks at the bottle of beer on his hand. This is just regular beer, right? He surely isn’t so drunk that he’s already arguing with himself.

I should probably go home.

Or…

He could go to your home.

You wanted to talk to him earlier today. You looked very hesitant - again, very uncharacteristic of you. It felt like it was something important. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if he knocked on your door unannounced - wait, you never cared. At least when your relationship didn’t involve rough sex. I mean- you didn’t mind not even when you started fucking, to be honest.

Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve never felt nervous over such a stupid thing. I mean, she’s the same dumbass I’ve known my whole life.

You’re probably home doing nothing. That’s also very uncharacteristic of you. Normal you would be at some club or party right now, celebrating the end of the semester. Normal you would probably have tried to drag him along. Or you’d meet some time during the night when you’re both too drunk to be standing and then you’d end up at 5am at the usual Burger King because you’re both hungry, and the Burger King employees would be staring at you both with anger and disgust because you’re both laughing like stupid and talking too loud and they’ve been up all night and can’t stand two drunk costumers this early in the morning.

It sounds nice.

Jungkook remembers that Seulgi and Irene made up, which means that Seulgi most definitely isn’t home.

Which means you positively are home alone.

Home alone, huh.

Jungkook sips more beer.

This sounds nicer.

But, hey, it’s not like he’s being dirty minded (well, at least not entirely). He really wants to know what you wanted to talk about - and suddenly, he doesn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow. Maybe it’s the alcohol (maybe he really shouldn’t finish this beer), but he wants to see your face a lot right now. Your flustered face. And he kinda feels like holding your face with both hands and kissing you very slowly. And he kinda feels like going very very deep inside of-

You know what? Fuck it.

Jungkook puts the bottle over the table and is ready to get up. His excuse is ready. Nobody’s gonna think it’s strange anyway - Jungkook has actual stuff to do.

But he doesn’t have the chance to move when he notices a person approaching the tables where he’s sat.

He freezes.

It’s you.

You’re looking down at your phone before you lift your head and see the group of familiar faces a few meters away from you. You’re alone.

Jungkook’s heart starts to beat furiously inside his chest. A smile unconsciously increases on his lips. What are you doing here? He didn’t know you’d come. He’s also sure that he didn’t tell you which bar he would come to earlier today. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as a hundred ideas run on his mind in those few seconds; did you feel the need to see him as much as he wanted to see you? Did you have the same idea as him? Were you so eager to see him that you couldn’t wait until tomorrow-?

Your eyes finally cross his.

That’s when Jungkook notices something isn’t right.

You look surprised, then a second later you frown, then you slowly widen your eyes.

He knows you too damn well.

You didn’t know he’d be there, too. You’re surprised to see him. And it looks… it looks like you didn’t want to see Jungkook there.

“Y/N!”

A loud, excited, familiar male voice bursts out.

Jungkook watches frozen in place as Taehyung gets up in a swift movement, holds your face with both hands and kisses you.

Taehyung’s lips are warm against yours. They taste like toothpaste and beer.

The kiss is very brief. Taehyung breaks it alway soon, but still holds your face with his hands. He’s smiling widely.

“You're late, missy!" He says happily.

You're frozen in place.

This isn't happening.

"I-" you stutter. It seems that your brain went into complete malfunction. "I, uhm…"

Your eyes travel back to Jungkook.

He's just watching. Not moving a muscle. No.

No no no no no no.

This can't be happening.

Jungkook wasn't supposed to be here. You thought- you thought he was going to celebrate with his classmates, you didn't expect Taehyung would be here too. No, no. Just no.

You see the exact moment his features get as hard as stone. The way he clenches his jaw tight.

You can't breathe.

When you texted Taehyung earlier, you didn’t really like that he told you to meet him at a bar. A bar wasn’t the right place to have this type of conversation - you also felt bad that you’d probably ruin his end-of-semester celebrations - but you agreed anyway because you desperately needed to make things clear with Taehyung before you had that talk with Jungkook. You decided to do this because Jungkook was honest and fair with Joy; you needed to do the same. You left the worst of the impressions when you let Taehyung kiss you that day. You needed to tell him the truth, or else he’d just suffer more - and you couldn’t be a bitch enough to just dump him by text.

But fuck - you didn’t expect Taehyung would fucking kiss you in front of everyone the moment he saw you!

With the corner of your eye, you see Jimin looking from you to Taehyung to Jungkook very fast, his face going pale as he realizes what just happened. No one else notices that something’s wrong.

Jungkook breaks eye contact with you and gets up from his chair. Jimin looks at him, helpless. You know that expression. He’s angry and- and-

Hurt.

You step away from Taehyung, trying to get control over your body again. It feels like pure frost has filled your veins. “T-Taehyung, I…” Your mouth is very dry again. You clear your throat. “C-Can we talk somewhere else?”

You suddenly hate how oblivious Taehyung is and how touchy he is because it’s clear that he’s moving his arm to hold your hand. What the fuck?! We just kissed once, it’s not like we’re dating!

“Sure. Do you wanna get inside? Wanna get a drink?” He asks with the same happy smile.

You’re trying to think of something to say, but again, someone else behind him gets your attention.

“You’re going this early, Jungkook?” Hoseok whines, oblivious to the whole situation. Jungkook is putting his backpack over his shoulder. He’s looking down, jaw still very tight. Not a word said - yet you could see exactly how hurt he was.

“Yeah. I have a lot to do.” He simply says.

“Aw, come on, man!” Taehyung encourages. “You can stay a little longer!”

If Taehyung was a little less oblivious, he would have noticed the death glare sent in his direction.

“I can’t.”

A shiver crawls over your entire body as the death glare is now directed to you.

He’s so, so hurt.

Jungkook’s walking away.

Stop! You want to scream. You got it all wrong! Don’t go!

But you don’t have the chance to stop him, and Jungkook doesn’t have the chance to walk away, and Taehyung doesn’t have the chance to understand what’s going on.

Everyone turns their heads when they hear a boisterous, scandalous laughter, and the sound of someone clapping their hands dramatically.

Now you’re sure that your veins are frosted. You shiver again - yet this time, it’s pure fear.

It’s Mike.

A very, very drunk Mike.

He looks the worst you’ve ever seen him; his clothes are a mess, his hair has grown a lot, and he hasn’t been shaving lately. His eyes are widened, red and maniac. He stumbles as he walks closer, everyone on the table - and the people on the tables around - stopping to look as he still claps ironically.

“Oh, look at what we have here!” he’s loud. Very loud. “So interesting!”

You notice that Jungkook isn’t walking away anymore - in fact, he comes back a few steps, standing closer to you. His body language has changed. Jimin has also gotten up; it seems that Taehyung might be starting to understand what’s going on.

“This is the funniest shit I’ve seen in a looooong time,” Mike continues. God, he’s drooling. This isn’t happening. That’s not possible.

You watch as some guys come closer to Mike and recognize them as his friends. One of them holds Mike’s arm. “Come on, man. Don’t start a scene. It’s not worth it.” He says in a rather low voice, but you can still hear it.

Mike gets off his grip aggressively. “What do you mean? Of course it’s worth it!” Mike looks at you and grins like a madman. You feel another shiver run down your spine. “Hello, Y/N! It’s been a long time! How have you been?!”

“Your friend’s right.” Jungkook speaks up. “Get out of here.”

“Ooooooh,” Mike shakes his hands as if pretending to be scared. “Look who’s here, too! It’s the bestie! Jeon Jungkook, the best friend your girlfriend could ever have!”

Pretty much everyone on the outside part of the bar is paying attention to what’s going on. They whisper between themselves, looking at Mike, you and Jungkook. You feel so embarrassed that you might as well faint. You feel that you should have said something already, but your brain is still malfunctioning.

“Jeon Jungkook, the friend that will want to fuck your girl so bad, but he won’t because he’s a coward!” Mike screams and laughs like a maniac.

Jungkook steps up closer to Mike in a brusque movement, but Jimin’s fast enough to hold him back. At this point, all of his friends have already gotten up from the table, wanting to stop Jungkook from doing anything.

“Shut up, Mike! Let’s go!” Mike’s friends try to stop him as well, trying to drag him away, but even though he’s drunk, he’s still strong enough to stay in place.

“You think I didn’t know, huh, Jungkookie? You think I didn’t know that whenever I was balls deep inside of Y/N you wish it was you? You always wanted to make her scream like a bitch the way I did!”

At this moment, the fear and shame are overwhelmed by anger. Without realizing, you are the one stepping closer, you are the person who Taehyung has to grab the arm in order to stop. “Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch!” You hear yourself yelling.

People on the tables around have gotten up - the noise of many chairs scraping the floor getting louder than the worried voices of the people trying to get away from this mess. You hear someone - a guard from the bar, maybe - threatening to call the police, but you can’t pay attention to him.

“Oh, but that’s exactly what you are! A whore!” Mike yells back. “You got so sad that I cheated on you, but haven’t you been doing the same to me?! You think I didn’t see you two inside the car that night?!”

That night… in the car…

Did he... ?

You freeze again when you see Mike pointing at Taehyung.

“Hm, you’re Taehyung, right? Are you dating her now? Well, be aware of her best friend right here, unless you like sharing your girl! But Jungkook likes leftovers, right, Jungk-?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin isn’t strong enough to stop Jungkook from jumping over and landing a punch on Mike’s nose.

There’s yelling and the sound of tables turning as a whole lot of men try to stop the fight and glasses breaking and Jungkook screaming incomprehensible things as he holds Mike’s collar and punches once, twice, three times, and then Mike’s mouth and nose are bleeding, and Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung are trying to get Jungkook off Mike but it seems that not even the three would be enough to stop him.

You’ve never seen Jungkook so mad. It scares you because Mike is too drunk and can’t defend himself - but you’re not scared for Mike, that fucker can die -, you’re scared of what might happen to Jungkook.

So, when Jimin and the others drag Jungkook away as he still tries to free himself violently, you somehow squeeze yourself between them to hold Jungkook’s arm.

“Jungkook, stop!”

The black-haired man looks at you, his eyes red with rage in a way you’ve never seen before.

You didn’t notice that, in your despair, your eyes filled with tears. This is probably what makes Jungkook stop for a moment.

“Enough! I called the police! Everyone out of the bar!”

A siren can be heard from far.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Jimin yells.

Another mess as everyone grabs their things and to try and run out of the bar - even the people that weren’t involved. You see that Mike hasn’t fainted as his friends grab him out of the bar in a rush.

Jungkook has to get out of here, it’s the only thing on your mind. Jungkook thinks the same apparently, because he’s quick to take his bag from the floor and jump over the bar’s fence to the sidewalk. You assumed that he didn’t drive his way here because he knew he would drink - which means he had to run.

Your only instinct is to follow him.

You jump over the fence too, much more clumsily than him. Jungkook is already running down the street.

As you’re about to follow him, you hear someone call your name.

It’s Taehyung.

He’s standing on the sidewalk as customers run out of the bar. And the look on his face crushes your heart.

I am the worst person in the world.

“Y/N, what he said… is it- is it true?” He asks quietly.

You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing coherent comes out of it. The guilt rushes with adrenaline through your veins. You knew he would be hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t.

“I-I’m sorry, Taehyung,” is the only thing you can stutter.

You don’t see what face he makes next - both because you can’t take it, and because you’re already turning around and running down the street after Jungkook.

Jungkook is the only thing on your mind.

You can’t let him go away like this.

You run through the busy streets full of bars. As usual, they’re crowded with people. Some of them look at you running like crazy when you pass by, but you can’t stop running because you can still hear the sirens.

Jungkook has some damn long legs. He runs much faster than you and doesn’t even look back. You can barely breathe and your stomach hurts as you unsuccessfully try to catch up to him. You keep running and running and running until you’re on less busier streets, until the bars are left behind and now you’re on a more residential part of the neighbourhood. As Jungkook crosses an almost empty square, you decided that your body can’t take it anymore. You stop gradually, feeling your entire body scream in pain.

“Jungk- Jungkook!” you yell.

The black-haired man finally looks behind his back and sees you; he widens his eyes in surprise and stops.

“Why are you-?”

He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence as the sound of the sirens get closer. You immediately start to run again and this time - instead of running in front of you - Jungkook waits until you get closer to grab your hand, forcing you to run faster. You two cross the square and run into a stair alley with houses on both sides. It’s quiet here. Jungkook crouches down behind a big trash bin, making you crouch down as well.

You both make as much silence as possible (considering you’re both panting heavily), both sweating, and wait until the sounds and lights of the police siren go away.

After maybe five minutes Jungkook gets up again, dropping his backpack on the floor. He cleans the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt; you rest your hands on your legs, trying to recover your breath. Your stomach hurts as if it has been stabbed. Maybe I should start working out.

You notice that Jungkook’s right hand is hurt; his knuckles are swollen and bleeding a little. He frowns in pain as he analyzes it. “You- you’re hurt.” you stupidly stutter. Jungkook shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” He says in a low voice. “I said I would beat him up if I saw him…”

Out of instinct you step closer to him, worried, and lift your hands to hold his swollen one.

But Jungkook steps back before you can even touch him. He literally flinched away from you.

It feels like an arrow has just buried itself in your heart.

He’s not looking at you.

“Jungkook-”

“No.” He shakes his head again. He’s breathing heavily as if trying to calm himself down. “Don’t… don’t say anything. Please.”

It’s getting so difficult to breathe. Jungkook puts his hands on each side of his waist, staring at something on the floor - clearly avoiding your pleading gaze.

“But Jungkook, I… you didn’t…” why the hell can’t you speak a coherent sentence anymore? That’s why you followed him all the way. You must make things clear, but seeing his face right now makes you hesitate. Jungkook looks genuinely angry; you’ve never seen him like this, ever.

He throws his head back, looking at the sky, and lets a very dry chuckle past his lips. His expression tells you everything you need to know - he’s tipsy, not entirely drunk.

“You know, I don’t even understand why I’m angry.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or to himself. “There was never anything real happening, right? We were never real.”

You feel yourself choking on your own words. What does he mean?

“Jungkook, you have to listen to me. I just wanted to talk to Taehyung-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Y/N!” He interrupts and finally gazes you back with bloodshot eyes. “We’re fuck buddies, right? It’s just for fun, right? No real feelings involved. It’s not like we’re supposed to care.”

Tears start to make your sight blurred. Each word of his sound more and more bitter, more sad, more hurt, and it feels like someone has buried the arrow in your heart deeper when you realize that his eyes are getting teary, too.

“Stop saying that. You know it’s not true. You’re the person I care about the most in this world-”

“If you start saying how I’m your best friend I’m leaving you right now.”

You frown and blink, trying to dissipate the tears. “B-But it’s true-”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! I’m in love with you! Stop acting like you don’t know that already!”

It feels like your brain and your limbs and your lungs stopped working all at once.

Did he… did he just…?

Jungkook exhales heavily. He looks so tired. He rests his back against the wall in front of you, once again avoiding your gaze.

Something tells you that this should have been a happy moment. Deep down, you feel the pure bliss and excitement and it feels like your heart will combust - because you finally heard the words you wanted to hear the most coming directly from his mouth, you finally understood everything; he felt the same, the fucking same.

Yet, all the happiness is being overwhelmed by worry.

You’re watching him intently. You know the man in front of you better than you know yourself. You’ve never seen this expression before - this mix of anger and hurt have never been directed towards you. You’re scared because you don’t know what it implies.

It’s his breaking point.

He might be giving up on you right now.

You don’t know what to say. For a long moment, you just stare at him as he tries to calm himself down - always avoiding your gaze. It seems that words won’t come out of your mouth no matter how hard you try.

“Since when?” is the only thing you can whisper after a long time.

Jungkook shakes his head and lets yet another lifeless chuckle. “I don’t know.” He says in a low, broken voice.

Your fingers are shaking as you close your hands in tight fists. He needs to hear the truth.

“Jungkook.” Yet again, you hesitantly step closer. Your voice is fragile, pleading. “You got it all wrong. Please, you have to listen to me. Today, I-”

“Yeah, I know I got it all wrong from the start.” He interrupts you again. Shut up!, you want to scream. Let me fucking speak!

However, you can’t speak anymore when you notice the tears dripping down his face.

Jungkook is crying.

It’s your fault.

He passes both hands over his face as quickly as the first tears started to fall and sighs heavily. He takes his bag from the floor and shoves it over his shoulder again, turning around before you can see his face again, before you have the chance to say anything.

“I’m going home. You should go home, too.”

And he starts to walk down the stairs way too fast.

Your body is moving before your mind registers and you try to catch up to him. “Jungkook, wait-”

“Don’t.”

Is the only thing he says without looking back.

This makes you stop.

You watch, frozen in place, as he walks down the stairs. You keep your eyes on him as he crosses the empty square again. He’s almost running.

He wants to get away from you as soon as possible.

You know Jungkook too well. You know that, even if you followed him, even if you insisted, he wouldn’t want to hear you anyway. He’d probably despise you even more. This is what made you freeze.

You suddenly feel your legs get weak and sit down on the stair steps. Not only your legs, actually. All of your limbs feel heavy.

You don’t remember the last time you cried like this. The unstoppable tears just coming and coming and the sobs barely let you breathe.

You’re crying because you’re ashamed of what just happened at the bar - how Mike made you feel humiliated in front of all those people. You’re guilty because you weren’t honest with Taehyung and now there’s no way back - you let him believe in whatever he wanted to believe instead of making things clear, and now he’s hurt.

And the worst of all.

You’ve been hurting Jungkook so bad for so long without realizing. You hurt the person you cared about the most.

All of it is your fault.

God, it hurts so much.

You know Jungkook too well. He’s the person that has been always there with you for better or for worse. You always knew you’d have each other’s backs no matter what happens; he’s a part of you, the most important, most precious part of you.

This time, you genuinely don’t know what will happen from now on.

This time... you don’t know if Jungkook will ever forgive you.

#btswriterscollective #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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limitlessgojo · 4 years ago

Text

Blood Bound: Blackened Bond (Ch 15)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Big White Lies

Next Chapter: 土御門天皇 (Tsuchimikado)

Tags: Kamo Noritoshi x Reader, Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, and specify if you're okay with NSFW posts or not, please mention it in the comments below ty ❤

Chapter 15: Shadows Fall

You numbly sat down on your bed. The room was dark. Your Phoenix brand, silent, a dull sepia stain on your inner wrist.

It hurts a lot.

“He’s no different to the power hungry elders of this corrupt society after all huh.” You were disappointed. It was dumb of you to give your heart away to him. Especially to a man who was already planning on taking in concubines, this early into your “relationship”.

You checked your phone to see the notifications. Mai and Miwa were looking for you, saying that you have dinner out with them in a few minutes.

'Ah, that was supposed to be for tonight' you thought.

"Sorry can't go, feeling unwell. You guys go ahead." You texted back to them as you slumped on your bed.

After a few minutes your door slammed open. "Where have you been?!" Mai asked, but stopped talking upon seeing your red rimmed eyes. Miwa peeked out behind her. "Are you okay y/n?" She asked.

That question absolutely crushed you. You started sobbing again, not being able to hide your shaking shoulders. The two girls filed in and closed your door.

"We are ordering take out. Miwa go ahead and cancel that reservation. We will stay in tonight." Mai said. "Right!" Miwa worriedly replied as she pulled out her phone and made the call.

"I'm not here to baby you. You will tell me what happened, okay?" Mai demanded.

"I need a few minutes" everything looked so blurry through your tears, Mai and Miwa only looked like unfocused blobs of dark green and bright blue. Literally, the only way you could distinguish the two girls at this point was by their hair color.

They couldn't get much out of you other than you talking about how Kamo-san never liked you in the first place and how you pushed yourself onto him.

The girls held you as you cried. They couldn't believe what they were hearing. "But both of you looked great. I'm sure Kamo senpai really liked you though?" Miwa questioned out loud.

Mai just nodded her head. "I said it before already. Both of you act like you're so oblivious to each other's affections. But I do agree that you put more effort into the relationship. He always turns down your request for dates off campus. Even an outsider could see that."

"No, no it’s not that. You guys know how the big 3 clans operate. He just felt that I was a suitable wife to bear his heirs. They're jumping at the chance to use me to get a blood-manipulator jujutsu shi who may also possibly inherit my psychokinesis technique. I don't want to stay in a relationship without any love in it." You whispered.

Your voice was all gone after you sobbed for hours. The fight and energy just drained out of your body.

They couldn't say anything to that as it was your relationship with Kamo and not theirs. That night, they slept over in your room, the three of you squishing into your queen sized bed and plushies.

◇◇◇

On the other hand, Noritoshi had woken up from his nap, bedhead and red rimmed eyes and all. Clearly remembering all your painful words. He looked over to the side, staring at the Jade dragon pendant atop his bedside table. A small pink letter resting beside it, one that you had given him days prior.

‘Dearest Toshi,

You must be exhausted from all of your extra tasks given to you by your clan as of the late. I hope that it gets better soon, I’m here if ever you want to talk about it or if you need any help with that. My family and I are open to supporting you in your endeavors, though you haven't met them yet. Hiroki nii is especially excited to meet you, I can already see the both of you getting along quite well. Whenever you’re ready <3

Have a good evening.

Love, Y/N.’

He felt tears burn behind his eyelids.

“It was too sudden, I couldn’t even understand half the things she said to me earlier,” he murmured to himself. He racked his brain, trying to recall the things you said. It was mostly a blur to him.

Something about what he and his father talked about yesterday. That wasn’t an issue, it was mostly clan duties as per usual.

Also, how he never liked you. Well, he hasn’t confessed yet, but he couldn’t see why you’d bring that up out of nowhere when everything was still fine 2 days ago.

Concubines. The talk on concubines. Why did you- Oh. “... from yesterday” Noritoshi’s head was getting clearer and clearer. You must have misunderstood the conversation he had with his father, and left before it finished. It didn’t sound pretty now that he thought of it.

He had that single-minded goal of pleasing his father and the elders, but somehow you got tangled in the mess.

He sighed frustratedly. It always seemed to be the case with you jumping conclusions about him, didn’t it? Now he has to clear it up with you before it gets too bad.

◇◇◇

You woke up the next morning feeling and looking like utter shit. Mai and Miwa had to dress you up and drag you out of bed.

“There’s only one thing you can do now Y/N.” Mai said as she straightened out your collar. “Get over him.”

Huh. Easier said than done.

◇◇◇

There was a drastic change in your behaviour towards Noritoshi. The name "Noritoshi-senpai", that you had always cheerily called out, was replaced by a short and curt "Kamo-san" whenever conversation was necessary. Also, you don’t look into his eyes anymore.

You avoided him as much as you can, thanking yourself for knowing his schedule so well. Not hesitating to turn and go around in another direction if you ever saw him approaching from a distance. Because of this he rarely sees you on campus.

It hurt Noritoshi badly to see you act this way. He never realized just how warm you were with him until now that it was all gone. He tried to catch you during your breaks, calling out your name with the same tenderness he always had. But it was in vain as you ran away from him.

Todo and Momo wisely chose not to make any snide comments, upon seeing how downhearted Noritoshi was in the following days.

Everybody avoided eye contact with both of you if and when you had to interact. It couldn't be helped. The tension was like a fine piece of glass waiting to shatter.

The pain in your heart didn't subside at all. You've taken to staring at the mark on your wrist.

'Did I successfully reject our bond?' You wondered hollowly.

Sometimes you half expect your mark to start flashing wildly, like whenever you and Noritoshi have off days with each other. But this is the first time you've seen it so… silent.

You wrapped it up with more darker velvet strips and ignored it.

It was the opposite on Noritoshi’s end. He would lie in bed and stare at the mark that is dangerously bright red and hot. It almost felt painful, like someone was searing a brand onto his skin.

He wrapped it up in gauze bandages and put salves to soothe the mark. But it was never enough. He needed you back.

◇◇◇

During one afternoon, you just finished an English lesson with one of the windows who teaches at Jujutsu High. You stood up from your desk and turned to see the man outside of your classroom.

"Y/n, are you free for lunch?" Noritoshi had obviously sprinted as soon as his lessons had ended. “We need to talk.” All 4 of you looked up to see him outside the classroom, as composed as ever. But he looked terrible.

There were shadows under his eyes, and he seemed to have gotten thinner. The shitty side of you was cruelly happy. Good that he’s like this, because he lost his toy. Good on him. But your heart was sad, yelling at you to go back and take care of him already.

"Ah I'm sorry, but I've got lunch with the rest of the 1st year's here." You politely declined. Trying to school your face into a neutral expression.

"I insist." He firmly stated. He looked over to the other students. "You don't mind if I borrow her do you?"

You inwardly scoffed at his poor choice of words. The stupid arse still thinks I'm his belonging apparently. Something to be borrowed and used.

But Mai stepped up. "If she doesn't want to hang out with you then she doesn't." Miwa was fidgeting worriedly. "Now now." She started.

"I really wanted to have lunch with my fellow 1st years, if you could please excuse us Kamo San." You hastily uttered, pulling Mai's arms towards you while turning away. The other first years followed your lead.

But Noritoshi was determined. He quickly put his hand on your shoulder, only for you to slap it away and flinch from him. Everybody froze.

You were clearly trembling, which made Noritoshi lower his hand and step back. "I'm sorry y/n." Whether the apology was for holding you without your consent or for everything that happened, you painfully let it slide. Silently bowing to him, then quickly walking away with the others.

Noritoshi could only watch wistfully as your figure disappeared from his view.

◇◇◇

"The nerve of shitty men," Mai angrily stuffed her mouth with eggs from her bento. "Thinking they own women, that they're better than us. It was like this with the men in my family as well. Bullying and kicking aside the weaker women."

You sadly poked at your food. It was katsudon. You ordered it ahead of time from the cafeteria, wanting to perk up with a favorite dish. But today it tastes so bland. It wasn't the cooking that was off. Just that you had no appetite.

"Wouldn't you want to talk it out with Kamo senpai, y/n?" Miwa asked. Truth be told you were adding fire to the problem. You just dumped your anger on Noritoshi and kept rudely cutting him off before leaving him.

But your pride and broken heart didn't allow you to go back to him. "I don't think there's anything left for me to say or do to be honest. I'm not in the mood to face him. At all." You lied.

Mechamaru surprisingly spoke out, "Love is a fickle thing. And it's a fact that women are more in tune with their emotions than men are. But I think you won't regret it if you give him a chance. Kamo Noritoshi isn't a bad man."

Mai huffed. "Whose side are you even on?"

"There are no sides. Just two idiots who are madly in love with each other." Mechamaru dryly replied.

Your heart clenched, but you stayed silent, not denying the fact that even after you pushed him away, you still loved him.

"Let's talk about something else shall we?" Miwa hurriedly changed the topic and started discussing the homework to be done.

◇◇◇

Hiroki was both the best and the worst brother you could ask for. Because he chose this time to surprise you with a visit at Kyoto High, claiming he wanted to see how you were doing with classes and that he would stay for a while.

Secretly, he wanted to meet and gauge Noritoshi, only to find out that the both of you have just broken up. You brought him into your dorm room to have a chat and some snacks.

“WHA?! YOU- You ended things with your soulmate?! You were together for like what?! 4 Months?” His jaw dropped as you told him the entire story.

You gave a drawn out sigh. “Hiro nii, I’m done. Like… He… I dunno anymore. To be honest I broke up with him in the heat of the moment.”

“Tsk, you’ve always been led by your emotions. That’s why you’re so reckless half the time sis. You didn’t even try to talk it out with him.” He asked as he opened a bag of chips.

You stayed silent and reached for chips. Chewing and ignoring him.

“What’s with you and bottling all your pent up anger only to toss it onto the poor guy? Didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself.” he tutted.

You whirled on him angrily. “They just want me for my power. Then they’ll let him off with like a dozen women around him. What the fuck is there for him to explain?!”

Hiroki looked way too calm. “Who are 'they'?”

You paused. “The Kamo family.”

“Are you 100% sure Noritoshi was in this only to use you?”

“Like 99.99%...” you trailed off. Hiroki eyed you knowingly. “That 0.01 percent chance of him loving you. You considered it, even though that’s a small ass probability sis. But hey, that’s your man. If you want him out, our family’s got your back. I’ll beat him up for you if you need me to”

You shook your head at him.

Hiroki sighed, “Though with that concubine thing, I can see it happenin’. Clan heads are desperate to have a son with the inherited technique. The Gojo clan just got lucky with Satoru. We dunno if it’s normal in the Kamo clan though. But with you as his soulmate, he shouldn’t need any. Somethin ain’t addin up…” He got lost in thought.

“You won’t know until you talk with Kamo himself.”

You sadly continued eating your chips. “I hate it when you’re right.”

◇◇◇

The next morning Utahime urgently called for a full student body plus all available jujutsu sorcerers on site for a meeting.

You and Hiroki stumbled into the room, almost late, pushing against each other. The other students looked curiously at the man who was fighting you for space on the couch.

You jabbed him in the gut and put a leg over his. “Uhhhh y/n who is that?” Mai asked.

Your cousin shrugged your leg off of his, stood up and said his greetings, “Hello, I am Tsuchimikado Hiroki. Alumni here at Kyoto Jujutsu High. Semi-grade 1 sorcerer. Pleased to meet you all and thanks for taking care of my lil sis- ah I mean cousin.”

“Ohhhh” Miwa took a closer look. You noticed Noritoshi glancing over at you. Todo walked up to him and pointed a finger, “Tsuchi’s relative? Then what woman is your idea-”

You used your technique to immobilise Todo and forced him to sit down in a daze. “Sorry for my rudeness, senpai. You can have that convo later.” You knew it would take too long if this starts again.

Hiroki looked affronted, “It’s rude to point bruh.”

Utahime clapped her hands to gather your attention as Principal Gakuganji appeared on the podium.

“Thank you so much all for coming into this meeting on such short notice. Especially to the alumni and other available Jujutsu sorcerers. Let's get straight to the point: I am here to announce that War is coming.”

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

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kitacco · 4 years ago

Text

lucky.

pairing: gn!reader, itadori yuuji.

genre: fluff.

summary: in which an extroverted athlete and an introverted photographer find love.

cw: none.

wordcount: 1.6k!

! saw a tiktok and just had to write this.... !

it was hard to explain, really.

you never questioned the people that’d watch you with curious or confused looks, actually, it was something you’d started to find fun about the whole situation.

yuuji really wasn’t the kind of guy someone like you would date, at least that was the rule.

yuuji was outgoing, funny and friendly. as for you, yuuji believed you were funny too - yet not that much outgoing or friendly. he said that was one thing he liked about you, of the many other things.

you watch your boyfriend run across the field at a speed you’d never seen before, despite attending all his practices after classes. your heart bursts with love and admiration for him, as the camera you’re holding in your hands clicks, capturing the moment. you don’t have time to check if it’s good - either way, you really don’t need to, your boyfriend could always look at pictures, although he’d often say only you could take such good pictures. you’d get red and try to leave, and like always, yuuji would wrap his arms around your waist and spin you around despite the heavy object in your hands. it became a habit the two of you shared after every race.

the questions were common, and surprisingly continuous, even though you’re sure half his track team knew, and probably was present that night, such an eventful night. you’re reminded of it as you sit waiting for your boyfriend to come back with both your orders. like every other day after a victory, his team would go to this milkshake place a few streets away from school, often coming with their partners too, that was probably why there was always someone new asking how the two of you ended up together.

it’s hard to explain - it really is.

like any other time, you were at one of yuuji’s races to take a few pictures for the school’s newspaper. you’d often photograph the football and basketball team, so it was your first time coming to one of these. upon arriving, you realized why your classmates didn’t like coming; it was awfully hard to take a single good picture to use.

you were starting to feel a little frustrated as every picture you took would come out blurry. it was getting dark and surprisingly cold despite it being spring. you didn’t bring a jacket and no picture was good enough to leave early and get done with your task. that until yuuji’s turn.

the moment the pink haired boy rushed off, you took a quick picture. cold enough and guessing the position you were in was probably the reason why all pictures were turning bad, you turned off your camera and walked back to the crowd behind the grids. tired enough, you decided to give up and simply head back home, deciding you’d try to get a better picture next time.

the next morning, you had already sent the pictures taken, and shortly the newspaper was published. you were walking back to your classroom after a quick restroom visit, when you were suddenly corralled by a quite loud guy.

“hey! you took the picture, right?”

you frown at the sudden confirmation, feeling nervous as you remembered the familiar pink hair. your face fell, “y-yeah.”

you didn’t really know what exactly were you expecting, still, it never was a strong hold of your hand between his as a smile appeared on his face, eyes shining brighter, as if it was possible, “it was amazing! it’s been a while since the newspaper has taken a good picture of the team, i had to find you myself and thank you!”

you’re confused, only nodding whilst he left as he arrived. you decided to check it for yourself, surprised by the picture you had simply sent the night before, too tired to even check if it was okay. you were glad - the picture was surely a good one.

you couldn’t help but notice, too. the pink haired, that you guessed was itadori yuuji, had a concentrated look on his eyes as he appeared to be flying over the ground. the background was a little blurry, yet his figure seemed to stand out as if you had edited the picture to look like that - which you hadn’t.

it was no surprise a few other people from his team seemed to come by and thank you for the picture, which only led to you being assigned to the track and field team only.

you couldn’t really complain - it was fun. taking pictures for them was hard, but at the same time, it was surely a challenge you took excitedly. after every race you seemed to outdo yourself more and more, to the point that not only the team, but also their couch would often congratulate and thank you for the pictures.

but that also made you spend more time with them, and, surprisingly, more time with itadori yuuji.

you were sure your feelings were the same as any other person that had ever had the pleasure of meeting itadori. he was so bright, so fun and so extraordinary, it was hard to ignore it, your heart constantly beating faster whenever he would even look your way. that simple it was for him to have an effect on you.

but you knew it was like that with many other people, and as fast as you fell for him, you understood your position - someone like him would never notice you.

you were two ends of a coin. he was bright and special, as you were reserved and ordinary (at least in your opinion).

not only that, but whenever you’d think he was being too nice, you’d realize he was like that with everybody else. regardless, yuuji continued to make his way into your heart, and you decided to leave this as any other silly crush you’d ever have in someone.

what you didn’t know, was that yuuji’s hands would also get a little sweaty every time he’d approach you. it was crazy, though. he couldn’t explain, at that moment, unaware of the feelings bubbling up his heart.

all it took was another milkshake, the same one he placed in front of you as you were once again telling the story of how the two of you ended up together.

yuuji smiles, excited to hear the story again. the both of you told it in a completely different way, at the moment, unaware of each other’s emotions.

yuuji had just finished another race, which had lead to the victory of his team, again. you took a picture of the team like always, smiley faces and tight arms around their shoulders as they posed for the picture that’d be in the newspaper announcing another victory of the team. one of the members of the team suggested all of you to hang out at the milkshake place, and the rest agreed, grabbing their bags and walking to the small restaurant. you weren’t really sure, it was cold, you had to email the picture as quick as you could, and, for some reason, you were feeling a little out of place. most of yuuji’s teammates had their partners, kissing them lovingly and whispering compliments as everyone started walking in a group. deciding to try and let them walk a little further so they wouldn’t notice you leaving, you stayed behind, carefully placing your camera inside your bag.

you hadn’t noticed yuuji standing a few steps away from you, only doing so when a soft and a little heavy cloth fell over your shoulders.

“you must be cold,” yuuji said in a soft voice, one you surely had never heard before.

you smiled, thanking him quietly as you gripped the hoodie over your shoulders, “it’s fine, i’m heading home so—”

“i’ll walk you to the station, then,” yuuji is quick to say. “the least i can do.”

you don’t have the guts to decline his offer, neither you want to. despite knowing yuuji would never see you that way, you couldn’t help but shake at his proximity as he insisted you kept the hoodie at least until you reached your train. yuuji didn’t say much, but it wasn’t awkward either. for the first time, you felt comfortable in silence with a stranger - even though you couldn’t bring yourself to call him a stranger. he wasn’t your friend either, or that you thought.

“it’s pretty cold tonight, isn’t it?” yuuji suddenly speaks up.

you nod, giving him a shy smile.

“you must be cold,” you say, fingers still gripping onto the cloth.

yuuji smiles, shaking his head, “surprisingly i’m not.”

you laugh with him, and the silence falls again.

yuuji is still close to you, his shoulder touching yours as the both of you reach the station.

“so?” someone says, too impatient as the both of you give each other smiles. “who confessed first then?”

“totally him,” you mutter, taking a sip of his milkshake.

“i mean, you were giving me eyes all along, so we could say it was you,” yuuji says, leaning onto your side.

you look back at him, and even though you know a lot of people are watching, you place a quick kiss on his cheek, like those he loves to have before a race.

you remember that night like it was yesterday, when, as you were stepping inside the train, yuuji pulled on your hand and you jumped out of the train, falling onto his arms.

“listen, this might sound crazy,” he says as if he’d just ran for hours, out of breath as he stares into your eyes. “but i think i really, really like you.”

you laugh as you remember, yuuji’s face suddenly turning red and the fact the two of you had to wait another thirty minutes for your train to come again.

but you wouldn’t change it for anything, you think to yourself as your boyfriend continues to chat with his friends, and you think:

you’re pretty lucky to have him.

#itadori x reader #yuuji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #kitacco!

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 5 years ago

Text

feel like i’m drowning (johnny suh)

Summary: You’ve always had a love/hate relationship with your roommates older brother Johnny, and when he comes to visit the worse for wear, things aren’t any different.

A/n: Commission, I hope you like it!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: oral (f. receiving), teasing, vaginal fingering, some dirty talk, some possessive behavior, it’s honestly pretty soft for what it is, alcohol tw

Word Count: 5216

It takes a month before what you feared would happen when you moved in with your best friend actually happens.

You love her to death, you’ve been friends since middle school and when she’d gone to college and you’d taken a year off “to explore things” (much to your parents’ chagrin), you’d missed her terribly. So when you finally join her on campus and she has her own place, a house nearby that is falling apart but has three bedrooms and a big kitchen, you’re both excited to see each other.

The honeymoon period can only last so long, however, and you’re well aware of that because for all the wonderful things about your best friend Leah, she has one incredible, fatal flaw.

Her older brother, Johnny Suh.

You’d first met him when you were 15 and he was 17 and you remember how wide your eyes had gotten when he blasted past you on his skateboard, how your face had screwed up in disgust when he’d sat down on the curb and lit a cigarette.

“That’s gross,” you’d said snootily.

He laughed and looked up at you. “Nice to meet you too, princess.”

You’d hated him ever since, carrying around his stupid skateboard all the time and the eternal pack of cigarettes in his t-shirt pocket and his stupid smirk and the way his bangs falling into his face made your heart race just a little.

“Y/n-ah,” Leah says in a sing song voice and you roll your eyes, knowing something is coming.

“What do you want?”

She pouts at you, batting her brown eyes. “Who says I want something?”

“You only call me Y/n-ah when you want something, Leah. You don’t even speak that much Korean?”

“My parents want me to learn, I’m trying!” She insists. “Listen, so...I’m going to head over to Jae’s tonight but I have the slightest problem.”

“I don’t have any condoms,” you say, deadpan, and she smacks your shoulder with the heel of your hand.

“Not that!” She screeches, and then flushes. “I have those. Anyway, so my brother is coming in tonight and I need you to be here to let him in -”

You stop dead, having been washing the dishes, and you almost drop a mug onto the floor. “Johnny is coming?”

“Yeah? I only have one brother?”

“And you want me to let him in?”

“Come on, Y/n, you don’t still have a crush on him, do you?” Leah bumps you with her hip and you sputter.

“I’ve never had a--” You pause and take a deep breath. “Fine, what do I get if I stay and let him in.”

Leah gives you a big smile and blinks innocently at you. “My eternal love and gratitude?”

You give her a withering look.

She huffs, her smile fading. “Fine, I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

You keep staring, unblinking.

“Fine, a month!”

You grin. “Would have done it for two weeks. You’re terrible at negotiating.”

The rest of the day goes by much faster than you want it to, and part of you wants to take it all back when she gets all dressed up and heads out to her boyfriend’s for the night.

You don’t even know why you’re so nervous, he’s just your best friend’s stupid brother who thinks he’s so fucking cool but he’s not even that cute and-

There is a knock on the door while you’re internally raging on the couch.

“There’s a doorbell, you idiot,” you mutter, but your palms are sweating when you jerk the door open.

He’s rolling luggage behind him with a backpack slung over one shoulder, bangs hanging in his face like always.

“Hey-” He looks down at you and blinks, comically, as if he wasn’t expecting to see you. “Oh. Is that you, princess?”

“Y/n,” you correct.

He nods, still staring, and you huff out a breath and grab the handle of his luggage, ignoring the zing through your hand when your fingers brush his.

You roll it into the guest bedroom and you don’t even realize he’s following you until you turn around and bump into his chest.

“Slow down, princess,” he murmurs, taking your shoulders in his hands and your mouth goes dry.

You let out a long breath through your nostrils and push past him.

“Not gonna give me the tour?” He calls, and you feel like screaming.

“You’re grown, explore on your own,” you shoot back, slamming the door of your room and ignoring his laughter.

You focus on your studies, having an essay due the following morning, so it’s a few hours before you take out your earbuds and stretch, hearing a banging around in the kitchen.

Your curiosity outweighs your frustration with him and you pad your way into the kitchen, now dressed in a pair of yoga shorts and a camisole.

Johnny is reaching in the top cabinet for the bottle of tequila Leah always keeps there for impromptu parties or breakups with her on again off again boyfriend, and you cross your arms, tsking.

Johnny pulls it down and looks at you, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Leah never changes.”

“Neither do you. Must be a family trait.” You sit down at the kitchen table.

Johnny shrugs. “You might be right.”

There’s something about the way he says it, flat and listless, that makes you frown.

“Is something...is something wrong?” You find yourself asking.

He shrugs again, brings two shot glasses over to the table, fills his own and then looks at you with the lip of the bottle poised over your glass.

You nod almost imperceptibly and he pours one for you as well. When he sits down you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You didn’t even get the limes? What the fuck?”

He laughs and watches you head to the fridge and bring out a container of lime wedges to sit between you.

You throw back your shot before sticking the lime wedge in your mouth and biting down, making a face.

Johnny watches you, just a hint of a smile on his mouth.

You scrunch your nose. “What?”

“You grew up cute, princess.”

You cough a little on the tequila. “Shut up and take your shot, you coward.”

He does, shooting it back and then making a face.

You push the bowl of limes toward him and he rolls his eyes and bites down on one.

“Oh. That is better.”

You scoff. “Told you.”

The alcohol burns in the back of your throat, already making your head feel a bit lighter. You aren’t much of a drinker, so it doesn’t take much.

He doesn’t talk much, and that’s unusual, you remember as a kid hanging on every word he said even though you’d disagreed with most of it and brattily told him as much.

“Did something happen back home?” You ask after he takes another shot and you decline one. You tilt your head, concerned.

“Ah, nothing to be concerned with, princess.” When you frown, he looks up and gives you a weak smile. “Nothing to do with Leah.”

You bristle just a little. “I didn’t say I was asking because of Leah.”

“Yeah, well, I figured. You’ve never liked me much, yeah?”

His tone is all flat again, so unlike the teasing lilt he always had, and it just makes you frown harder.

“Didn’t say that,” you insist, stubbornly.

“Didn’t have to,” he says with a chuckle, pouring a third shot for himself and hovering the bottle over your shot glass again.

You don’t know why you nod, you don’t even like tequila, but something about the look on his face, that wry chuckle, makes you cheer him with your shot glass before biting down on the wedge of lime.

He keeps staring at you, propping his chin in his hand, and it’s making your face feel more flushed than the alcohol is.

“So what’s been going on with you?” You ask, to make conversation, and he shrugs again, looking down at his hands. He’s twisting a ring around his index finger.

“Lot of different shit, really,” he starts, and you wonder if he’s finally tipsy enough to tell you what’s wrong. Instead, he looks up at you, eyes trailing along the line of your neck. “You really did grow up while I was away, huh?”

“Don’t be weird,” you mumble.

Johnny laughs, reaches out to grab the bottom of your chair and scoot you closer to him. You squeak when your knee bumps his.

Of course he’s wearing ripped jeans, when is he ever not wearing ripped jeans, and your bare skin against his makes your head feel light on your shoulders.

“It’s true,” he insists. “You always were a pretty princess, but you’re something else, now.”

“You’re not even that much older than me.” You tilt your chin up defiantly.

“I’m still your oppa,” he murmurs, and his face is close, too close, so you clear your throat and pour you each another shot.

It’s another two shots before you’re well and truly drunk and bold, going so far as to prop your legs up on his lap, settling back in the kitchen chair comfortably.

His fingers light along your ankle, trailing up to the back of your knee and back down again casually, as if it wasn’t making your heart beat faster. To your credit, you don’t react, just watch him with half lidded eyes.

“Your skin is so soft,” he mumbles, words slurred around the edges.

You can’t deny that when you were younger, you’d thought about this, imagined what his hands would feel like on your skin, his deep voice murmuring sweet nothings into your ear, even as you hated yourself for it.

Instead of an insult or a witty comeback, you find yourself thanking him for the compliment.

He looks up at you, surprised, and your breath catches in your throat when he lifts one of your legs to his mouth, planting a soft kiss just on the inside of your ankle bone.

“Johnny,” you breathe.

“Mmm?” He smiles against your skin and you wonder if it’s possible for all the blood to rush to your genitals at once.

“Do you want to see my bedroom?”

He looks surprised only for a moment before nodding, and you manage not to stumble when you stand. Your hand feels so small in his when you lead him to your room, and you crawl onto the bed and then turn to look at him with a pout.

He makes a show of looking around, glancing up at the fairy lights stretching across your ceiling. “A room fit for a princess.”

“Shut up and come here,” you say, and you don’t even care that it comes out like a whine.

Johnny laughs and crawls into bed with you and you twist to face him. He loses his smile when you place your palms on his chest.

“Princess...Y/n,” he starts, but you silence him by pressing your mouth to his.

He makes this sound into your mouth, something between a groan and a growl and it makes you clutch at his t-shirt, press your tongue into his mouth.

He kisses you back at first, his hand going to the back of your head and he tastes like tequila and tobacco and all your teenage wildest dreams but then he’s tugging your hair, his other hand on your shoulder to move back from you.

“Y/n, you’re drunk,” he says firmly, running his tongue along his lower lip.

“M’not,” you lie, trying to press in closer to him but his hands are tight on your shoulders, not allowing you to get closer like you want to. You pout. “I want you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, and drops a chaste kiss on your forehead before climbing out of your bed even as you protest. “I need some air.”

Anger rises up in you, you’re tipsy and needy and your skin feels hot all over and your head is starting to pound. You throw a pillow at him that he barely ducks.

“Fine! Get out! I don’t need another mistake, anyway,” you spit out and he blinks once, twice, face looking wounded.

“Ha. Okay, then.”

You’ve buried your face in the pillow but you hear how low his voice sounds, how the door closes softly behind him.

You wake up to the sound of Leah yelling.

“Fucking shit, Johnny, you scared the hell out of me! What are you doing sitting in the dark with a bottle of tequila like some kind of --wait is that my fucking tequila?!”

You wince and head to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth, your head aching. You remember taking the third shot with Johnny and then bits and pieces and you’re mortified by what you do remember, the way he’d pushed you away.

By the time you head into the kitchen for a much needed glass of water, Leah has retreated to her room. You gulp down half the glass and you can’t help stepping into the living room, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Johnny is sitting on the couch, not in the dark anymore since Leah had flipped on the light, a nearly empty bottle of tequila nestled between his thighs.

You wrinkle your nose. “You drink all that by yourself?”

Johnny blinks up at you, eyes glassy, before sneering. “What do you care?”

You let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk and I shouldn’t have been...anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you didn’t make a mistake.” His tone isn’t raised, just low and flat like it was last night.

You sit down hesitantly on the couch next to him, perched on the edge of the cushion.

“I didn’t mean that.”

Johnny snorts, not looking at you, eyes fixed forward on the television which is turned off. “Yeah, you did.”

“I didn’t,” you insist, and take his hand, squeezing it so that he looks at you. “I’m sorry,” you say again, softly.

“S’okay,” he mumbles, eyes on your mouth. “Wanted to kiss you for so long.”

You manage not to choke on air, but it’s a near thing. “You...you what?”

He drops his forehead to your shoulder as if he’s tired, and you wonder if he’s been up all night.

“Always thought you were the prettiest princess,” he mumbles against your shoulder and your heart skips a beat.

Your fingers thread through his hair, longer than it had been a couple of years ago when you’d last seen him. “You should get some sleep.”

“Mmm.” You’re not sure if that’s an agreement or not until he shifts on the couch, placing his head in your lap.

You let out a sound, not in protest, exactly, more in surprise, and he frowns when you move your hand from his hair, looking up at you with hazy eyes and taking your hand to put it back.

It’s cute, you have to admit, he’s cute, and he’s breathing slow and even in moments when you start running your fingers through his hair.

Leah raises an eyebrow when she comes through the living room. “So are you not over your crush on my brother yet?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, flipping on the television and putting the volume on low.

Leah perches on the arm of the couch. “He’s been having a rough time lately,” she says softly. “I’m glad you were here for him.”

You feel a pang of guilt rocket through you at her words. “He didn’t say anything about having a hard time.”

Leah nods. “You know Johnny, he doesn’t like talking about his feelings. I think he just thought things would be different for him in Los Angeles but he’s not getting as much traction with his music as he wanted and he was dating this girl….didn’t end well.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, feeling like scum for how you’d acted last night.

“He’s probably just homesick, it’s why he wanted to come and see me.” Leah ruffles her brother’s hair. “Dumbass,” she says fondly. Johnny barely stirs.

After sitting and chatting for another few moments, Leah heads back out to her boyfriend’s and you stay still, unwilling to get up and disturb him. After you’ve watched two hours of a Snapped marathon, he stirs and sits up, groaning and rubbing his hands over his face.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and you stop him from getting up with one hand on his chest.

“Stay here.” You return in a few moments with a plate of toast and a big glass of water and he looks at you as if you’re the sun.

“Thank you. Bless you.”

You watch him devour the toast and gulp down the water.

“So,” you start, and then trail off, not sure how to approach the subject.

“So?” He doesn’t look up from his plate, mouth full of toast.

You huff out a breath. “So, I’m sorry about last night, but to my credit you didn’t tell me that you were going through something.”

Johnny scoffs. “What would that have accomplished?”

“I would have been nicer!” You hit his shoulder with the heel of your hand.

“Would have been nicer, she says, and then hits me.” He rubs his shoulder dramatically. “Highly suspect.”

You pout but you smile nonetheless. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Johnny looks at you, head tilted slightly. “Yeah? Not like we’ve ever been friends, princess.”

You shrug. “I’m older and wiser now. And over my high school crush.”

Johnny’s eyes widen and you wince at your slipup. “You had a crush on me?”

“Oh, god, shut up. Tell me what’s going on with you.” Your cheeks feel hot and you cross your legs under you on the couch.

Johnny’s grin fades just slightly. “All right, fine, but we’re coming back to that,” he warns, and you scoff.

“Leah said that you were homesick.”

Johnny shrugs. “I guess. I had these big plans, big dreams, and it just….it feels like everything’s falling apart. It’s like I”m drowning, barely keeping my head above water. Like I was better off here, skipping classes to go to the skatepark and flirting with you.”

You ignore his last comment. “No one has it all together after a few months, Johnny. I certainly don’t. I took a year off to find myself and it’s not like I even know who I am yet.” You laugh. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

Johnny smiles. “Thank you for saying that, it makes me feel better.”

“That’s what I’m here for, to throw myself at my high school crush and then make him feel better about his quarter life crisis,” you say dryly.

Johnny grins, eyes lighting up as he leans toward you. You’re close to the same height so his face is close to yours again and again, it makes your heart speed up. He just looks at you for a long moment and you’re so sure he’s going to kiss you until he stands up.

“Hold that thought,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

You sit there with your mouth open for a moment as he heads out to the porch.

“Johnny fucking Suh,” you mutter. Instead of waiting for him, after a couple of moments you storm out to the porch.

He leans against the rail of the porch, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, those fucking bangs falling in his face again.

“Johnny fucking Suh,” you repeat, to him this time, and he smirks around the cigarette before taking it out and blowing smoke from his nostrils.

“Can’t say that’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“What’s your deal? You pushed me away when I kissed you last night but then you told me I was pretty and now you…” you trail off. “What do you even want?”

Johnny tilts his head, smoking, as if he’s thinking. “Hadn’t thought about it that much.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted.

“You haven’t--”

He tosses his cigarette, steps closer, and thumbs at your bottom lip.

“Want to kiss you while you’re sober,” he murmurs, leaning forward, and you tilt your chin up just slightly. Instead of kissing you, though, he slips his thumb between your teeth and you bite down gently.

He chuckles low in his throat. “Okay, princess. Point taken.”

Johnny takes your face in one hand, squeezing tight so that your mouth opens and slides his tongue in your mouth, making you whine. It’s maybe the dirtiest kiss you’ve ever had, not much style, just wet and aggressive and it makes your skin tingle all over.

You find yourself wondering if he kisses like this, what else is in store, and your arms go around his neck, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Y/n,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“What?” You gasp out, pouting a little as you back off.

“You gotta let me shower first, I smell like tequila and depression.”

You’re surprised into a laugh, and step backwards, feeling only a little embarrassed at your needy behavior. “Fair enough.”

You don’t start to feel awkward until you’re in your room, naked under your covers and wondering if that was just an excuse to get away from you, if he wouldn’t show up after all, until you hear a faint knock on the door.

“Come in,” you call, holding the covers up to your neck just in case it’s Leah and trying to brace yourself for disappointment if it is.

It’s Johnny after all, no more ripped jeans but instead gray sweats and a white tanktop, hair damp and slicked back, no more bangs in his face.

It’s different, somehow, seeing him stripped bare like this, and you worry your lip between your teeth, feeling exposed even under the covers.

“Change your mind already?” He teases, but he steps inside and closes the door anyway.

“Lock it,” you say, hiding your face under the covers when he raises an eyebrow at you.

You keep your face hidden until you feel him sit down on the bed beside you.

“You gonna tell me about this crush you had on me?”

“Oh, fuck, no,” you groan.

Johnny tugs down the covers and then takes in a sharp breath. “Oh, princess, you were expecting me after all.”

“Who else would I be expecting?” You mutter, hiding your face with your hands.

He laughs, taking your hands in his and leaning down to kiss you, softly this time, none of the aggression from earlier.

When you try to slide your tongue into his mouth, he pulls away and you groan in frustration.

“Ah-ah, gotta tell me about that crush first,” he teases.

You struggle into a sitting position, moving the covers to reveal your breasts, and his eyes flick downward, tongue darting out to wet his lips, but then back up to your face as if unbothered.

“I couldn’t stand you, but I thought you were hot,” you admit with a sigh. “Kinda wanted you to hold my hand and kiss me and stuff.”

“I thought you were into those jock types. Like that one guy, whatshisface?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” You’re sitting there with your tits out and he’s talking about some old high school boyfriend of yours?

Johnny scrunches his nose. “That guy you dated junior year. The big one.”

You roll your eyes. “What, were you jealous?”

“Yeah, a little.” Johnny looks down at your breasts again, takes them in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your nipples, and you gasp.

“Johnny.”

“Hmm?” He’s focused on your breasts, on how your nipples peak under his hands.

“Shut up and fuck me already.”

His eyes dart to your face, just a hint of a smirk on his face. “Orders from the princess?”

You huff out a breath but he tears the sheets off you, kisses down your hipbone and you lose any breath you’d had to complain.

It’s a combination of the way his mouth feels on your clit and the low moan he lets out against you that makes you cry out, and you bite the back of your hand to muffle the sound.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moan, threading your fingers through his damp hair, and he makes that low groan/growl sound that has your hips bucking up to meet his mouth as he latches his lips around your clit. He works his tongue against you, side to side, he’s good at this, he’s had tons of practice, you’re sure, but holy fuck. You’re not one of those girls that finds it easy to get off, even by yourself, but you’re so close it feels like your clit is swollen beneath his mouth, heat flooding through your body.

Just as you’re about to cum he moves his tongue from your clit to slide inside your pussy, lapping you up like you’re some exquisite meal, and you let out a whimper and a frustrated sigh, clenching your thighs around his head.

You hear him chuckle as he nips at your inner thigh, making you yelp quietly. You’re sure there will be a mark there, and the idea makes you feel hot all over again before he slides two long fingers inside you, curling up, and latches his full mouth around your clit again, sending you over the edge in just those two motions. You bite down hard on the back of your hand to not alert Leah that her older brother is face deep in your pussy, rolling your hips up to meet his face.

You tug on his hair, impatient, your pussy clenching around nothing, and he slides up your body, his mouth and chin shiny with your slick. He kisses you just like on the porch, rough and dirty, moans into your mouth.

“You taste so sweet, princess,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you feel him hard against your hip, bigger than you’d imagined.

You twist away from him, digging in your bedside drawer and bringing out a selection of various condoms.

Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck you, it’s college, I’m prepared.”

“Hmm,” is his only response, but he doesn’t waste time, tugging down his sweats and your eyes widen only slightly at how thick he is, redder toward the head, bobbing against his abdomen.

He applies the condom but doesn’t slide inside you like you expect, instead working three fingers in your pussy, stretching you, making you gasp for air.

“You’re so tight, princess. Haven’t used these condoms much, yeah?”

“Oh fuck off, that’s not how it works and you know it,” you gasp out, and he laughs, loud and open.

He takes one of your thighs in his hands and moves you so that he’s between your thighs and your knees come up instinctively, your pussy aching to have him inside you.

His eyes are darting between your sex and your face and you bite your lip.

“Johnny, what the fuck are you waiting for, come on,” you whine, but he keeps looking down at you with dark eyes.

“Don’t want you to have used them much,” he mumbles, so low you’re not sure if you’ve heard him, and you blink.

“Are you...are you being serious?”

He shrugs, kneading your thigh with one hand.

A moment of inspiration hits and you sigh. “Well, if you’re not gonna fuck me, let me up so I can go and find someone who will. It’s a big campus, there’s lots of jocks from the lacrosse team-”

Johnny makes that growl/groan sound again and your heart speeds up.

“Real cute, Y/n.” He leans down to kiss you, nipping at your lower lip as he finally pushes inside you, and you’re glad he’s kissing you because your cry definitely wouldn’t have been quiet otherwise.

He feels so hot and hard inside you, you can feel him pulsing and you lift your legs up with your hands below your knees so that he can fuck you deeper and he groans loud against your mouth. Apparently he doesn’t have the same worries about Leah finding out, because he’s making all kinds of noise as he fucks you hard and deep, looking down at where the two of you connect.

“Grip me so tight, princess, so hot and wet, fuck…”

“Johnny, please,” you whine, and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for but he gives it to you anyway, shifting to fuck you harder, hitting this spot inside you that you can barely reach with your fingers and it makes black spots bloom behind your eyelids.

“Every time Leah posted a picture with you I thought about you,” he babbles, never slowing. “Every time she mentioned you I remembered how you looked with your hair falling out of that ponytail you always hand it in, nibbling on your thumbnail and sassing me left and right.”

“Johnny,” you breathe, and then you’re vaulted into another orgasm and he kisses you hard and dirty again but there’s something oddly passionate in it. He grunts into your mouth when he spills into the condom and you breathe hard against his neck until he rolls off you.

“So you had a crush on me too, huh?” You ask, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Johnny groans and laughs at the same time and covers his face with his hands.

“Shut up.”

You can’t stop smiling, and you give him fifteen minutes before you start kissing along his ribs, down to his hipbone, sucking a mark there as he gasps.

When you take him into your mouth, he groans so loud that Leah bangs on the wall.

“Gross!” She yells, and you manage to keep it together, laughing only a little around him before going back to your task.

Later that day when the two of you come up for air, she wrinkles her nose at you both but smiles, and you figure that’s her way of giving her blessing.

You all end up at the campus quad and Johnny is skating when the lacrosse player that you’d hooked up with a few months ago comes up behind you and hugs you from behind.

“Hey!” You greet him brightly, hugging him back and then backing away, about to tell him that you’re seeing someone new.

Before you can though, you feel a kiss on your shoulder, a hand snaking around your waist.

“Hey!” Johnny says brightly. “I’m Johnny, Y/n’s boyfriend.”

“So salty,” Leah says with a snort when the lacrosse player walks off.

“I’m not salty,” Johnny pouts. “Not even the jealous type.”

“Oh word? Lemme go ask him if he wants to take me out tomorrow night, then-”

Johnny bites down on your shoulder gently. “You better fucking not.”

You laugh and you’re not even mad when he lights a cigarette, sitting down on the curb and looking up at you like you hung the moon.

“Do you feel better, now?” You ask, the next night as you’re both sitting on the porch and watching the sunset. “Less like you’re drowning?”

Johnny leans over and kisses your shoulder, open mouthed. “Yeah, feel like I learned how to swim, thanks to you.”

#johnny suh x reader #johnny x reader #johnny suh imagine #nct imagine #johnny suh smut

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