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hamsterclaw · 3 years

Text

Foundation

You know Jungkook is a fuckboy. So why are you letting him fuck with you? Featuring Yoongi.

Pairing: Jungkook x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol doctors AU, smut, angst

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Sexually explicit scenes, explicit language

Part 1

You stumble into the room, slightly breathless from having sprinted from the bus stop.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ you apologise to the woman standing next to the whiteboard.

She beams at you. ‘It’s fine, what’s your name, we hadn’t started yet?’

‘Y/N,’ you reply, reaching out to take the plastic name badge she’s holding out and pinning it to the front of your blouse. You drop into a seat, turning to smile at the person sprawled in the folding chair next to you. Your eyes meet his, and yours widen.

Jeon Jungkook!

Fellow intern but more importantly, your friend Mirelle’s ex-boyfriend.

You know him as the star player of the medics’ basketball team.

You also know him as the bottomless pit who finished all leftovers in the fridge of your shared house with Mirelle.

But you mainly know him as the primary perpetrator in the trail of broken hearts scattered through the fabric of your time in medical school.

You nod politely at him and turn back to the front of the room. You’re at a simulation day – your entire cohort has to attend six days over the course of a year to get more training on managing medical emergencies.

During the coffee break, you fiddle with your packet of biscuits, trying to rip it open whilst also not spilling your coffee.

‘Here,’ says a voice, warm hand grabbing your coffee. You don’t have to look up to know it’s Jungkook.

‘Thanks,’ you mutter, promptly taking a bite of one of your custard creams. You offer him the other one as you take your coffee back.

‘How’ve you been?’ you ask, when it becomes apparent he means to stay by your side.

‘Yeah good. I’m doing gastro here for a few months,’ he replies. ‘What about you?’

‘Cardiology at city. I’m coming here just before Christmas for urology,’ you reply.

‘Ah no way! Me too,’ Jungkook says, looking genuinely pleased.

Oh great. You aren’t sure how you feel about that. You like Jungkook as a person but he had been devastating enough as a medical student. You can only imagine the amount of attention he’s getting as a gorgeous doctor with a fully disposable income.

You realise you haven’t yet replied to his statement.

‘Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fun,’ you say, half-grimacing at him. He looks at you curiously but at that moment your trainer indicates that your coffee break is over so you hustle back into our seats.

‘Your scenario is a 68-year-old lady called Florence on the cardiology ward who is 2 weeks post chemotherapy and now complaining of shortness of breath. You have been called to the bedspace to review.’

Your heartbeat accelerates. This is the most intimidating part of the day, having to simulate how you might react in various scenarios. The worst thing is having to perform knowing everyone else is watching.

‘Jungkook, you’ll be partnered with Y/N.’

Scratch that, the worst thing is being partnered with Jeon fucking Jungkook.

As you wait for the trainer to set up the talking mannequin who is your ‘patient’, you look up at Jungkook, feeling only despair when you realise the panic in his eyes mirrors yours.

‘What should we do?’ you ask.

Jungkook shrugs. ‘You’re asking me? You’re Miss Perfect. You take the lead.’

Your spluttering is cut off when the trainer opens the door and motions you inside.

‘Florence? How are you feeling?’ you ask, trying to tamp down your panic and sense of unreality at having to fake a conversation with a literal mannequin.

‘She isn’t great,’ says the actor playing the nurse. ‘She had chemo a few weeks ago and she is really struggling to breathe.’

‘Ok, let me just examine you and shall we check your oxygen levels?’ you say, looking at Jungkook.

‘Sure, sounds a good idea,’ he says, nodding firmly.

You look at each other. ‘Any other ideas?’ you prompt.

Just then the monitoring starts beeping like crazy. Jungkook and you look at each other, and then at the monitor.

‘She’s arrested,’ cries the actor. You idly wonder whether they get paid for this or whether it’s voluntary. He looks like he’s going for Oscars gold.

‘Jungkook, I’ll take the airway, you start compressions,’ you call, running to the head of the bed.

‘Put out a crash call,’ you tell the actor.

As you deliver ventilation breaths, Jungkook begins chest compressions. You rapidly realise your positions around the mannequin afford you an amazing view of Jungkook’s arms and chest.

Bobbing up and down.

His hair flopping up and down over his slightly sweaty forehead.

The way he bites down on his lower lip with the effort of his compressions, and most of all his beautifully strong looking hands, interlaced over the mannequin’s sternum.

Fuck!

Are you thirsting over Jeon fucking Jungkook when there is a patient (albeit fake) dying in front of you?

Thankfully at that point your trainer walks into the room. ‘And that’s the end of the scenario,’ she says, smiling at you. ‘Well done.’

Jungkook steps down from the bed, panting slightly.

Jungkook smartly dressed is eye-catching enough.

Jungkook slick with sweat and breathless from exertion?

He’s a sight to behold.

You brush past him, heading back to the adjoining room where all your colleagues are watching through a screen, before he sees your face.

You scroll through your phone as you wait for the bus. The stress of the simulation day has given you a mind-stopping headache, and you can’t wait to get home. You look up as a car pulls up at the bus stop in front of you.

The front passenger window rolls down, and Jungkook’s face comes into view.

‘Want a lift, Y/N?’ he asks.

Your eyes travel from his stunning face, to his shoulders, to his muscular forearms exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Despite your reservations, you’re desperate for some aspirin and a drink.

‘Thanks,’ you say gratefully, getting in. ‘I’ve got SUCH a headache from today.’

He looks at you, frowning, ‘Why didn’t you ask me for a lift if you weren’t feeling well?’

‘Jungkook, I haven’t seen you since you and Mirelle broke up. I didn’t want to bother you,’ you reply, resting your head back on the headrest and closing your eyes. ‘Anyway, it’s only one change and the buses are pretty frequent.’

Jungkook makes a sound of disapproval as he pulls away from the curb. ‘If you ever have trouble getting to one of these days let me know, I’ll take you.’

‘That’s really kind,’ you reply, opening your eyes to smile at him.

No way are you ever going to ask Jungkook for a lift.

You don’t even have his number. Also, he probably has a queue of girls who would happily jump at the opportunity of a ride with him.

Or a ride on him, you think, and groan internally. You need to curb this Jungkook thirst before it becomes a problem. He’s cocky enough as it is.

Jungkook looks over at you. ‘Want some water?’ he asks, passing you a bottle.

You hesitate, staring at the bottle.

‘It’s a new bottle.’

‘Thanks,’ you say, accepting and taking a grateful sip.

He laughs. ‘I’m not germy.’

You laugh along with him. ‘It’s like kissing, isn’t it,’ you joke.

Oh my God, why don’t you know when to shut up.

Jungkook just smiles and turns up the music. ‘Is this ok?’ he asks.

‘Yes, it’s fine. Mind if I close my eyes for a bit?’

‘Please do,’ Jungkook replies. ‘Do you live where you lived before?’

‘Same street,’ you say, closing your eyes.

It seems like no time has passed before Jungkook is pulling up in front of your door.

‘Will you be ok?’ he asks, voice surprisingly gentle as he unlocks the doors.

‘Yes, thanks so much for the lift, this beats the bus,’ you say, smiling at him.

‘Anytime, it’s my pleasure,’ he replies. Something in his voice makes you stop.

You look up to see him, eyes on yours, as he takes a big swig of the water from the bottle you have just drunk from. You flush and he just laughs, pulling away from the curb and driving off.

***

‘I don’t know how I managed to get trapped in a stairwell with Andrew discussing penile implants,’ you moan, running your hands over your face.

Kieran, a fellow intern who has just started in urology with you, snorts. ‘Did he tell you about the Rolls Royce of penile implants?’ he asks. ‘He’s a horny bastard.’

Just then you reach the double doors of the pre-op clinic.

‘Hey guys, there are 20 patients today, shall we take 5 each?’

Well, speaking of horny bastards….

Jungkook grins at both of you, holding out an armful of patient files.

‘Sounds fair,’ you say, reaching to take the files out of his arms. Your hand brushes his bare forearm and you can feel your face getting warm.

Kieran and you head for adjoining rooms across the corridor to start. Behind you, you can hear Becky, the clinic nurse, asking if Jungkook wants a coffee.

You look over at Kieran. ‘Have you ever been offered a coffee at this clinic?’ you ask.

Kieran snorts. ‘Becky wouldn’t even do my dipstick tests last time I did this. She said, ‘you have hands, don’t you?’

Despite yourself you laugh. ‘Glad it’s not just me.’

You are finishing up the documentation from your last patient when there is a knock on your door. Jungkook pokes his head in.

‘I got you a coffee,’ he says, holding out a mug.

‘Did Becky make you an extra?’ you ask, holding your hands out.

Jungkook flushes. ‘No, she always offers but I never let her. I made this myself.’

‘Thanks,’ you say, taking a sip.

He sits down in the chair the patient has just vacated.

‘What’s it like having all the nurses fawning over you?’ you ask idly, signing off your work.

Jungkook does a half-scoff, half-laugh, eyes dropping to the desk. ‘I don’t know, Y/N, what’s it like having all the residents cornering you in the corridors to chat to you about penile implants?’

You laugh incredulously. ‘Are you kidding? All the nurses have a crush on you. It doesn’t really compare.’

‘I’m just saying we both know what it’s like to be fresh meat,’ Jungkook says.

You pause then. ‘Oh, that’s deep coming from the resident pretty boy.’

‘You think I’m pretty?’ he asks, smiling at you.

You smile right back. ‘Oh Dr Jeon, let me make your coffee,’ you say, making your voice as breathy as possible.

Jungkook’s gaze darkens as he looks at you.

You toss a balled-up consent form at him, which he catches without blinking.

‘Oh Y/N, let me tell you about the Rolls Royce of penile implants,’ he says, grinning like a fool.

Your second missile hits the door as Jungkook closes it behind him, snickering.

‘Oh, and Y/N?’ he calls, poking his head in again.

You glower at him.

‘I think you’re pretty too,’ he says, winking.

You can hear him chuckling to himself as he walks across the now deserted waiting room.

***

You look down as your phone screen flashes with a notification.

Jungkook has added you to the group ‘Balls and All’.

Jungkook: Hi guys, anyone going to the radiology meeting?

Y/N: I vote to change the group name.

Kieran: Seconded.

Jungkook has changed the group name to ‘Cockblocked’.

Y/N: I vote to eject Jungkook from this group.

Kieran: Seconded.

Amy: TF is this group?

Jungkook: You can’t eject me, I’m admin.

Jungkook: Amy, it’s our team urology support group.

Y/N: Make me admin, Jungkook.

Jungkook: PLEASE! Is anyone going to the radiology meeting?

Kieran: I am. Why?

Jungkook: I need one of our patients discussed. Can you present them please? I’m stuck in theatre.

Kieran: Sure.

Jungkook: Also, why did the basketballer see the urologist?

Amy: Why?

Y/N: PLEASE. Don’t encourage him.

Jungkook: Thank you Amy. Because he had a dribbling problem.

Y/N has left the group.

Jungkook has added you to the group ‘Big Dick Energy’.

***

‘Hey.’

You take a sip of your drink, bracing yourself before you turn to face the owner of the husky voice in your ear.

‘Jungkook,’ you nod, clinking your glass with his. You give him a once over, unable to stop yourself.

He looks better than he has any right to look, dressed in all black with silver earrings dangling from both earlobes, intermittently catching the light. His dark hair has been styled away from his face, revealing his half grown out undercut.

You meet his eyes, realising he has been watching you.

‘Like what you see?’ he asks, smirking at you.

‘You look like a page from the fuckboy handbook,’ you reply teasingly.

Jungkook laughs. ‘I’m not a fuckboy, ask Mirelle.’

‘That’s true actually, you just drink all the goddamn milk,’ you grumble, referring to his habit of demolishing everything in the shared fridge when you had lived with Mirelle.

‘I was a growing boy,’ Jungkook protests.

‘How was theatre?’ you ask, leaning forward to hear him over the loud music.

‘It was ok. I don’t think urology is my thing,’ he replies, placing a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him as a group of men passes by.

‘Are you going to the sim day tomorrow? Need a lift?’ Jungkook asks, and you realise then how close your faces are.

‘Yes, I’ll be there, I don’t need a lift, thank you,’ you reply, trying not to stare at his lips.

‘How are you going to get there?’ Jungkook presses, tilting his head down to yours. You catch a whiff of his cologne then, light and fresh. He smells so clean.

‘Oh, the bus,’ you reply, distracted. ‘It’s easy enough.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he says, ‘I’ll pick you up. I’m five minutes away from you.’

You hesitate.

‘Come on,’ he coaxes. ‘I could use the company.’

‘Sure, if it’s not a hassle,’ you concede, smiling at him. ‘Thanks Jungkook.’

The next morning, you hurry to your front door, careful not to spill any of the hot coffee you’re holding in a cardboard tray.

Jungkook pulls up right on time, coming to a stop in front of you. He reaches over and pushes open the door when he sees your hands are full.

‘Morning,’ you say chirpily to Jungkook, who looks gorgeous as ever despite the fact he left the mess night after you did.

‘You’re an angel,’ he croaks, voice low and husky as he reaches over for one of the coffees you are holding, taking a grateful sip.

‘I figured you might need it,’ you reply. ‘What time did you even get in last night?’

‘Probably an hour ago,’ he mumbles.

Both your eyes spot it at the same time, the foil condom wrapper on his dashboard.

‘Oh my god, Jungkook, please tell me the contents of that are not in THIS CAR somewhere,’ you shudder, caught between horror and amusement.

Jungkook looks as worried as you. ‘Erm – I think I tossed it out the window?’

‘Oh my god, you don’t KNOW? JUNGKOOK?’

‘Stop shouting!’ cries Jungkook. ‘It’s gone, I’m sure of it.’

‘If I get up and there’s a used condom stuck to my new skirt I will murder you,’ you threaten.

‘Oh, is this a new skirt? It suits you, your legs look amazing,’ Jungkook says immediately.

Your eyes meet in the rear view mirror and you can’t help but laugh. ‘You are literally the worst. Weren’t you trying to convince me last night you aren’t a fuckboy?’

‘I’m not,’ whines Jungkook in protest.

‘Anyway, finish your coffee, you need to be on good form today. I’m not carrying your ass through another scenario,’ you tease.

Jungkook smirks then. ‘I bet you’d look good doing chest compressions.’

‘Can you not talk to me until I’ve finished my coffee?’ you complain. ‘I need caffeine to manage,’ you gesture vaguely at the dashboard where the condom wrapper remains, ‘ALL THIS.’

Jungkook just laughs and you drive the rest of the way in companionable silence.

***

Jungkook hands you the blood gas result he has just been given.

‘Well, that’s shit,’ you murmur, looking at the numbers. You exchange a glance.

‘What are we supposed to do about this?’ Jungkook asks, rather unhelpfully.

‘We have to do something. We can’t have our patient arresting every week,’ you say, gesturing to your mannequin.

‘What’s wrong, doctors?’ asks the actor from the previous month, who is now playing an anxious relative.

‘We just need to call the resident and discuss it,’ you say reassuringly to the actor.

‘Your resident is at an arrest and won’t be available for at least an hour,’ says your trainer.

Jungkook and you confer over the gas result again. ‘Well, he’s very acidotic,’ you say, trying to talk it through.

‘And his lactate is up. And there isn’t a result for his blood sugar.’

‘Is the machine broken?’ you ask.

‘No, it was unrecordable,’ says the trainer.

Something clicks into place. Jungkook’s eyes meet yours. ‘It’s DKA!’ you say in unison.

‘Fuck! We can sort DKA,’ crows Jungkook.

‘Language Dr Jeon,’ says the trainer, warning eyes on Jungkook.

Jungkook goes to start an intravenous fluid infusion whilst you update the actor/relative, and before you know it your fake resident is back from his fake arrest and ready to help you with more advice.

Jungkook pulls you off your feet and into a hug as you leave the room. ‘Genius!’ he cries, delightedly.

You laugh as he lowers you back onto the ground. ‘We’re getting good at this,’ you say, smiling.

Jungkook says nothing, and you look up to see him staring at you, eyes centred on your lips. You speak without thinking.

‘Like what you see?’ you tease, mimicking his cocky tone.

He almost looks pained then, his face falling as he turns away.

There is a strange tension between you as you watch the next few scenarios, and you don't talk during the coffee break. You glance around the room as you pack up your things to go, realising you can’t see Jungkook.

You assume he’s left without you, and you feel a little squeeze of disappointment at the thought that he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. You use the bathroom before leaving, sighing inwardly at the thought of an hour’s worth of bus journeys before you get home.

As you exit the bathroom, you realise that the building is fairly deserted, your simulation having run past five o’clock. You shoulder your backpack, heading for the bus stop, when you hear your name called.

You turn to see a slightly breathless Jungkook. ‘Hey where are you going?’ he asks, jogging up to you. ‘I’m parked over there.’

‘Oh, I thought you had left,’ you say lightly, ‘I was headed for the bus stop.’

Jungkook frowns. ‘I wouldn’t have just left you, I’m your lift.’

You smile at him, ‘I don’t expect you to be my personal taxi service, Jungkook, you don’t have to worry I’ll assume you’ll drive me everywhere.'

‘Why do you treat me as though I’m less than a friend?’ Jungkook complains. ‘I can’t imagine you would think any of your friends would just ditch you without saying goodbye. And yet you think I would.’

You hesitate, almost about to make a joke before you realise how serious he is. You catch his arm gently. ‘I don’t think you’re less than a friend, Jungkook.’

You both look at your hand on his arm. ‘I just didn’t want you to think I take you for granted,’ you explain.

Jungkook shuffles his feet, placated. ‘Well come on then. I’m starving. Shall we grab some dinner on the way back?’

‘Sounds good,’ you reply. ‘What do you fancy? It’ll be my treat since you’re chauffeuring me everywhere.’

‘You don’t have to treat me,’ Jungkook replies.

You pretend to think about it. ‘That’s true actually, I guess it’s not that much of a favour for you to drive me around in your seedy sex car.’

Jungkook laughs, waggling his eyebrows. ‘Plenty of girls would love to come in my seedy sex car.’

‘I’m sure they already have,’ you mutter, and Jungkook just laughs again, leading you to where he is parked.

***

You swat Jungkook’s hand as he attempts to sneak a French fry.

‘You literally have your own portion,’ you say sternly, pulling your tray closer to you.

‘Yours tastes better,’ Jungkook say by way of explanation.

‘Who are you living with at the moment?’ you ask.

‘Taehyung and Namjoon,’ Jungkook replies.

‘Oh my god, you live with the actual Kim Taehyung?’ you ask.

Jungkook grimaces at you.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘We’ve been living together since 4th year. Didn’t you know?’

‘I thought you lived with us in 4th year,’ you say, rolling your eyes. ‘You and Mirelle were inseparable.’

‘How is Mirelle?’ asks Jungkook, sneaking another fry before you can stop him.

‘Yeah, she’s good, working at Lloyd’s.’ Mirelle had been a pharmacist and had graduated the year before you.

‘Who do you live with now?’ Jungkook asks.

‘Soojin. She works at city too.’ You slurp up the last of your milkshake and push your tray towards Jungkook. ‘Have the rest,’ you offer.

Jungkook frowns. ‘I can’t take your fries. You’ve barely had any.’

You furrow your brows in confusion. ‘You’ve been stealing them this whole time and you won’t take them now they’re being freely offered to you?’

‘I only did it to get your attention,’ grumbles Jungkook, tilting his head.

‘You huge overgrown baby. You have my full attention already,’ you say, pushing your fries towards him again.

‘Also, I like it when you touch me,’ says Jungkook, gaze turning heated as he looks at you.

‘Jungkook,’ you sigh, ‘you’re an animal.’

He reaches out then, hand warm on yours.

‘Why don’t you take me seriously?’ he asks.

You roll your eyes. ‘Would you take you seriously if you were me?’

Jungkook grins, with enough good grace to look slightly abashed. ‘Was it the condom?’ he asks.

You laugh. ‘Yes, it was the condom. Also, that you’re a walking embodiment of the term fuckboy.’

Jungkook smiles, finishing off your fries. ‘We’re having a party at ours next weekend. You should come. Bring Soojin. I’m inviting the guys from work too.’

‘Sounds great,’ you say lightly. ‘Is Taehyung going to be there?’

Jungkook groans. ‘Why does everyone love Taehyung so much?’

‘Aww don’t be annoyed, Jungkook. You’re equally pretty in my book,’ you say, reassuringly.

Jungkook grins at you and you toss your napkin straight at his pretty face.

***

Soojin lets out a wolf whistle as you come down the staircase. ‘Whoa. Whoa. I feel underdressed,’ she says.

You smooth the skirt of your dress against your thighs. ‘Too much?’ you ask, self-consciously.

‘No, you look great,’ Soojin says. ‘We’re going to a house party hosted by a bunch of good-looking men, so I think you’ll fit right in.’

You glance at the full-length mirror at the bottom of the staircase. You’re wearing a fitted black dress with silver jewellery, your hair loose around your face.

Soojin links her arm with yours, her white jersey dress a striking contrast to yours as you stand together in front of the mirror.

‘Look at us, we’re straight hotties,’ she says, smiling.

You smooth a curl that has fallen out of place at the back of her head. ‘You always are,’ you reply. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

You’ve never been to Jungkook’s apartment and aren’t sure what to expect as you knock on the door. Muffled music filters out under the door, and you can hear the din of people laughing and talking inside. The door swings open, and you suck in a breath.

Jungkook beams at you, pulling you into a tight hug in greeting. ‘You came,’ he says, eyes warm on yours.

You can’t help but smile. ‘This is Soojin,’ you say, gesturing to your friend as she stands in the doorway. Jungkook turns the full force of his gorgeous smile on her, and you can see Soojin visibly swallow before she smiles back at him.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ she says politely, ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

Jungkook’s eyes go to yours briefly.

Then he laughs. ‘Let me get you a drink,’ he says, leading you to his kitchen.

Soojin excuses herself to use the bathroom. You wander out to Jungkook’s huge balcony, admiring the view out into the communal garden below. Jungkook leans on the glass balustrade next to you, forearms so close to yours you can feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

‘Having a nice time?’ he asks casually, tilting his head to look at you.

‘Yes, your place is stunning,’ you say, gesturing out towards the garden.

‘You’re stunning,’ he tells you. You turn to face him, looking up at his face.

‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ you reply.

Jungkook pushes off the balustrade and then his mouth is on yours. He kisses like he has all the time in the world, his lips soft, pressing gently at yours. Your lips part under his, and his tongue licks into your mouth.

You realise that your hands are splayed on his chest, and that his are gently resting at the small of your back. He pulls away slightly.

‘Come see my room,’ he invites, holding out his big hand.

You aren’t sure if it’s the right thing to do, but you know you don’t want to turn him down and so you place your hand in his warm palm and let him lead you to his room.

As soon as the door closes behind you his hungry mouth is on yours again, pressing you against the door.

You moan at the contact of his body against yours, his hard torso, his slim hips, one of his thighs slipping between your legs. ‘Jungkook,’ you say.

‘Hmmm?’ asks Jungkook, leaning down to kiss down your neck. You lift your arms, holding him close to you as his lips travel across your collarbones and then down to the valley between your breasts.

‘Jungkook,’ you murmur, feeling breathless.

‘Hmmm?’ hums Jungkook again. He looks up at you then, dark eyes making contact with yours just before he pulls down the strap of your dress, exposing your lace bra, peaked with the outline of your nipple. He sucks in a breath, smiling up at you.

‘You’re so pretty,’ he murmurs, licking over your covered breast. One hand comes up to cup your breast, thumb nudging the lace just out of the way enough that your nipple is exposed.

Jungkook sighs, then his tongue flicks out to lave your nipple. You moan with pleasure as he licks and sucks, his other hand coming up to palm your other breast.

‘Jungkook,’ you cry. He pulls you onto his bed, pushing your skirt up your thighs. He stares at your exposed panties, eyes gleaming.

‘Did you wear these for me?’ he asks.

You smile at him then. ‘No actually, I was hoping Taehyung might get to see them,’ you lie, straight to his face.

Jungkook buries his face in your lower abdomen, half groaning, half laughing.

‘Be quiet or I won’t eat you out. And I’m amazing at that,’ he boasts.

You mime zipping your mouth shut and throwing away the key.

Jungkook chuckles, hooking his thumbs under your lace panties and pulling them off.

‘You’ll have to be quiet or someone will realise we’re in here,’ Jungkook warns.

You prop yourself up on your arms, suddenly worried. ‘Jungkook did you….’

As if on cue, the door opens and Kim fucking Taehyung pokes his head in. His eyes meet Jungkook’s. You squeak and pull your skirt down, bolting upright.

‘Fuck, Tae,’ groans Jungkook, ‘don’t you knock?’

Taehyung looks like he is about to say something, then he murmurs a ‘sorry’ and withdraws, shutting the door behind him.

By this point you are standing, pulling up your straps. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Jungkook,’ you stammer, crossing your arms.

To his credit, Jungkook doesn’t immediately protest. ‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ he says, helping you straighten the straps of your dress and bra.

‘Can I have my underwear back?’ you ask, holding out your hand for the ball of lace Jungkook is still clutching in his fist.

Jungkook smiles, looking devastatingly handsome as he pockets your underwear. ‘Can I keep them?’

You laugh. ‘You have a collection from all the girls you’ve bedded?’ you joke.

Jungkook grins at you. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever asked actually.’

You snort at that. ‘Come on, fool. I need to find Soojin.’

Jungkook holds onto your hand as you come out of his room and head to the living room.

‘What?’ he asks as you look at him quizzically. ‘Come with me, we’ll find Soojin, and I’ll introduce you both to Namjoon. I’m not sure I want to introduce you to Tae; it strikes me he took entirely too long to excuse himself when he walked in on us.’

Namjoon turns out to be an utter sweetheart, a serious looking philosophy graduate currently pursuing a PhD.

When Jungkook introduces Taehyung he gives you a mischievous grin. ‘Lovely to meet you formally,’ he says, and you flush.

Soojin smiles jauntily at him. ‘Nice to see you again Taehyung,’ she says, offering a hand.

‘Likewise,’ he replies, and you sense an undercurrent when they exchange a glance.

You leave Taehyung and Soojin chatting to each other.

‘How do you and Jungkook know each other?’ you ask Namjoon.

‘Oh, we did the first year of philosophy together before he transferred into medicine,’ Namjoon replies.

‘I can’t imagine Jungkook doing philosophy,’ you remark.

Namjoon tilts his head. ‘He wasn’t bad at it. But I see what you mean – he always has to try and fix problems. He’s not one to discuss and reflect if he doesn’t have to. ‘

You both watch as Jungkook chats to Liya and Amy. ‘He talks about you a lot,’ Namjoon says.

You scoff. ‘I don’t think I even want to know what he says,’ you laugh, patting Namjoon on the arm.

He smiles back, and your eyes fall to his newly revealed dimples.

‘Oh,’ you say, utterly charmed. ‘You have a lovely smile.’

He flushes at the compliment. Just then Soojin walks up to you. ‘I’ve got to be up early for netball tomorrow,’ she says, ‘when would you like to go?’

You realise it is past midnight. ‘Oh sure, I have an assignment to get done anyway,’ you says. You say your goodbyes to Namjoon, but Taehyung and Jungkook seemed to have disappeared.

You have just left Jungkook’s building when you realise you don’t have your phone on you.

‘I’ll just nip up and grab it,’ you tell Soojin.

Soojin nods. ‘I’ll wait down here,’ she says, sitting on one of the sofas in the lobby.

The front door is ajar, and you walk back in. You head straight for Jungkook’s room, remembering how you dropped your clutch on the floor when he pressed you against his door.

You knock but there is no reply.

You push open the door and have an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Jungkook sighs, not looking up from his bed, where he is lying on top of Liya. Her skirt has rucked up around her thighs.

‘Fucking hell Tae,’ he grumbles, ‘I really think you’re doing this on purpose.’

‘It’s not Tae,’ you say dryly, and his head spins round.

‘Y/N,’ he stutters, eyes wide with shock.

‘Just grabbing my phone,’ you say, spotting it beside the bed. Your heart is beating strangely fast, and impulsively you reach into his pocket, pulling out your underwear. ‘Guess you won’t be needing this.’

The expression on his face is almost a panacea for the hurt and dismay roiling through you.

You’d known what he’s like.

Why had you thought you were anything more than an interchangeable body from the conveyor belt of girls throwing themselves at him?

Jungkook might have thought you were the brains of your simulation duo, yet tonight you feel like you’ve been the stupid one all along.

©hamsterclaw 2021

#bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut

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creepling · 3 years

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am i not enough? (quackity x reader) - apocalypse!AU

( 。・_・。)人(。・_・。 ) | part of the @quackisinnit 1k event !

THE PROMPT IS . . . “ AM I NOT ENOUGH ? “

pairing: irl!quackity x genderneutral!reader (apocalypse!AU)

word count: 3,306

summary: the reader and alex become a duo while coming across each others paths during a zombie apocalypse. tensions rise as they set up camp in a warehouse, where alex begins to confess how he feels towards the reader. (angst into fluff <33)

tw: zombie apocalypse, blood (ment), cursing, guns, death, eating.

It had been three months since the fallen of mundane life. Three months of complete abnormality, everything known to be in existence that was worth caring about; completely gone. jobs, currency, education were becoming a historic relic. The world was put back to zero. Instead of cavemen and dinosaurs, the new species of flesh-eating corpse’s roamed in packs and seeked for fresh meat. They may have been slow, but they travelled in numbers and they could smell you from a mile away. I learned that your scent became less of a problem when you didn’t keep hygenic. My stence blended with the earth and blood and the roamers didn’t catch us out as much; so we used that to our advantage.

I only had one companion, his name was Alex. He was absolutely dumbfounded when I discovered him. I raided his abandoned home looking for supplies, and when I had to kill a roamer that vacaded in his bedroom; I found him curled up in a ball under his bed. He told me that he had been hiding the whole month when he realised help was to never come; so his only plan was to hide out until he ran out of supplies. That became a problem when I attempted to take them. We made the mutual agreement that if I was to take the supplies, he would come with me. I refused to stay and hide; that is how you get yourself killed. Thankfully he agreed to come with me, and we have been inseperable ever since. However, our bond is nothing close to a friendship, we just had to stick together to survive.

Alex’s main idea was to find a group, hoping by now someone had turned one of the surbubans into a mini civilization. We had travelled between three cities however and we found no sign of good company. As a duo, we have only killed one human within these three months. A man who tried to kill us at gunpoint in hopes of taking our things, to which we scarsely saved our lives by ducking behind a bar table. With one aimless shoot, I shot my gun and it pierced through the man’s chest. I saved our lives, but the sight of the man’s lifeless eyes still haunts me in my sleep.

One night, Alex found a two-store warehouse to shelter in while on a supply run. He suggested we camp on the second floor and catch up on our sleep and starvation, since we eventually got ahold of sleeping bags and tinned food. I agreed, but reminded him the stay can’t be perminant. He agreed also, still fixated on the idea of finding a commune.

While I made a fire and cooked food, I obvserved Alex drawing in a notepad. I failed to make out what he was doing so I asked, “What are you drawing?”

“I’m trying to draw a map.” He said to me, “It’s not accurate, but it will give us a rough idea of the roads until we find a map.”

“I didn’t take you as a smart person.” I said, hoping he didn’t think I meant it seriously. It was rare for me to joke in times like these, but when I did, my humour came off dry. Thankfully, my comment made Alex scoff out a chuckle.

“And I didn’t take you for a fighter.” Alex said. Since being with each other for two months, we both naturally adopted different roles that benefitted us. Alex was the navigator, the finder; he seemed to have a good sense of direction and I relied on him to not get lost. He also had a good eye and was always good at finding things such as second-way exits or food hiding in obscure places. For me, my job was a lot more physical. I was a good shoot, I knew how to make a fireplace, or bandage a wound. When things got dirty, I would get lucky and save our asses.

“Your food’s ready.” I said, handing him his warm can of chicken soup and a packet of chips. He thanked me, putting his notebook down and sitting cross-legged beside me. As we ate we sat in silence, the only sounds in the warehouse being our mouths chewing the food. We hadn’t ate in nearly a week. I tried my best to chew my chips before swallowing so I didn’t end up with stomache pain, but the instant flavour shot through my tongue and I instinctly ate them quickly. Alex finished his food within minutes, licking the chip packet and his fingers; scraping every last bit of soup from the can and into his mouth. I reluctantly did the same, feeling a little embarrassed; I have never felt so starved in my life.

“That was fucking amazing.” Alex sighed out, now heating his hands over the fire. I nodded in agreement, collecting the empty tin cans and keeping them next to our things. They will be handy for traps, tying them with strings and hanging them in the woods while hunting would let us know of intruders. It was the small things like that that has made us survive this long.

“Are you gonna go to sleep now? I could keep watch.” I offered, observing Alex’s bloodshot eyes. If we had mirrors, we would flinch at our reflections. Alex looked rough. He always wore his beanie, which he apparently did even before things got bad. He always had a collective spot of dirt on his nose and cheekbones no matter how clean we were, it’s where it always collected the most. His hands were the most dirty, dirt under his short nails and inbetween his fingers. From the rare occasions we touched hands, I felt the softness of his hands, compared to mine that felt aged and rough. His knuckles were stained with blood. Out of both of us, I was covered in the most blood. When I looked down, my hands had a reddish tint, observing more I could see small cuts on my hands from being idle with my knife when striking roamer’s heads. Without having to see, I knew I had sprays of blood on my face from the amount of times I killed roamers. To think when life was normal we cared so much about our appearence, but now activities like doing makeup, brushing your hair, brushing your teeth seemed so pointless. We were slowly becoming used to primitive life and deep down that scared me. I think it scared Alex too.

“I’m tired as fuck, but I know I won’t sleep.” Alex said in a low tone, looking at his hands full of shame. I nodded my head in understanding, knowing exactly how he was feeling. We hadn’t slept properly in months, instead when one person kept watch, the other just lay down with their eyes closed. We forgot what it was like to dream, or to feel hazy. We were constantly alert.

“Since we have no intention of sleeping. Why don’t we play a game?” Alex said. I cocked my eyebrow up in question. What game could we play that didn’t involve making noise and attracting attention?

“We ask each other 20 questions. Normally if you don’t want to answer a question- you would have to do a dare. But hey, wants the point in hiding nowadays?” Alex said, looking at me contently.

“We should be hiding ourselves more than ever, I think.” I said, adding fuel to the fire to keep it burning. “That way no one knows our weaknesses.”

“So you don’t trust me?” Alex said. His question threw me off. It’s not that I didn’t trust him, but maybe I was unwilling to get to know him. I had already lost the people close to me, and I was still in grieving. I was too afraid to get close with Alex. I always had the thought in the back of my head that one day, I might end up losing him. His intelligence may only get him so far.

“I understand.” Alex said, taking back his question. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, he must have realized what I was thinking. He lost his close ones too. We both lost so much, we had a mutual understanding about that. Yet, I looked at Alex, and he still felt like a mystery to me. He always pulled out jokes, even in times like these. However, in moments when he thought I wasn’t looking, I could see the pain concealed in his face. Sometimes I even heard him cry at night when he thought I was sleeping. Maybe it was about time we opened up to each other, instead of feeling like we need to suffer alone. We could be there for each other not just physically, but emotionally.

“Okay then, since it was your idea, you ask the first question.” I said, hugging my legs to my chest. Alex smiled a little at me, going into thought as he tried to think of a question.

“So, what did you do when life was normal?” He asked first.

I let out a sigh then replied, “I had a very normal life. Lived with my family, did average in school, worked a job to get money. I actually had plans of moving out to the city, I always wanted to go to LA. I never really had aspirations, just wanted to be content.” It sounded boring, but I was happy with my life. I had my ups and downs like everyone else. “What were you like?”

Alex smirked and looked away from me, seeming to become bashful. “I was a twitch streamer.” He said. “And had a Youtube channel. God- it sounds so stupid now that I say it. Like it was all pointless-”

“Were you like- famous?” I asked, trying to conceal a smile.

“Um- I guess you could say that. I had millions of followers.” Alex shook his head, “But I also went to college. I was studying law. I was always staying up late, barely sleeping; both studying and streaming all the time. It took up my whole life, that I just kinda forgot about everything else.”

“Well, you were obviously not famous, because I didn’t know who you were.” I jokingly said, nudging his side. That seemed to make him smile and feel less embarassed.

“So how the hell did you learn how to shoot if you lived such a normal life?” He asked.

“I just learned while doing it. My dad kept a gun.” I admitted, looking at the very same gun I had in the holster wrapped around my thigh. “He would teach me now and then how to use it, but I was never a shooter. The more roamers I shot, the more I got used to it.” Thinking about someone close to me made me chew the inside of my cheek anxiously.

To deflate my melancholy, I asked the next question. “Did you always wear that stupid hat?”

Alex chuckled and rubbed the top of his hat. “Yeah, twenty-four seven. I don’t why, I just find it comfortable. My “fans” would joke that I was bald because I never showed my hair.” He said, “God- saying the word fans sounds fucked up . . .”

“Maybe you’ll bump into one of them.” I said, “Heck- maybe there’s a commune right now dedicated to you, trying to find you and keep you safe.”

Alex laughed again, covering his face with his hands. I laughed alongside him, the first time I genuinely laughed in a good few weeks. Looking at Alex, seeing how I uplifted him, it struck a chord with me. As much as I didn’t like to show it, but he made affects on me that were indescribable. He made me feel just a little more contempt, without him I would probably not be able to cope for this long. We eventually locked eyes with each other, Alex’s gaze being longer than I expected. If it wasn’t for the blood, my face would have exposed the blush forming on my cheeks.

“Have you ever fell in love, (Y/N)?” Alex then asked me, which set me aback. The question was out the blew and I think Alex realised that as he looked away shyly, his gaze fixated on the flames of the fire to avoid my gaze. I still stared at him, almost in amazment, trying to conjuct a reasonable answer.

“I don’t know.” I answered. “I have loved people, yes, but- I don’t think I have been in love. You’re suppose to know when things like that happen, right?”

Alex didn’t answer me, he kept staring at the fire. I found myself admiring his side profile, watching how he slowly bit his lip; concealed in thought. I noticed how the glow of the flames contrasted with the darkness of his eyes, how the light outlined his complexion. When I realized I was staring for too long, I looked away, instead my eyes looked out the warehouse window, my eyes tracing the stars in the night sky.

“I feel like I have known you forever.” Alex admitted all at once. “It’s only been two months, but I have gotten close to you more than anyone I have in my whole life. It might sound crazy but- I believe we were suppose to come together that day.”

My gaze turned back to Alex when I felt his eyes lay upon me. His stare was soft, something I only seen in passing times. I was able to admire him for the first time since we met. In this moment, in the dead of night, away from danger and suspicion; I could look at him with full sentiment. I didn’t need to admire him when he was less suspecting it, afraid of receiving decline or making things awkward. In this moment I realized, I may have developed feelings more than companionship towards him. That excited me. But also terrified me.

“I feel that way with you, Alex.” I admitted, “But . . .”

I decided to choose my words carefully. This conversation was heading in a direction that made me nervous. The world is falling apart around us, and I couldn’t help but question our motives. We should be focusing on survival, not developing a relationship that could be destroyed at any second. Once we step out this warehouse, our chances of losing our lives become high. I wasn’t prepared to damage my mental state, it was already bad enough. I realized my long pause was making Alex shift nervously, so I looked at him in hopes my words would slip from my mouth.

I caved in, muttering lowly, “We should get some rest.” I got up on my feet and was ready to grab my sleeping bag and make up a place to rest, until I heard Alex get his his feet and say words that made my heart sink.

“Am I not enough?”

When I turned to look at him, the hurt was glistening in his eyes. He gulped dryly and he fumbled with his fingers. My eyes shifted from side to side as I was stuck with my words. I kept stammering, and I rubbed my face in stress, ready to plead my case. Until Alex jumped in.

“Don’t think I’m only saying these things to you because there is no one else, (Y/N). I have been thinking about this for a while, everytime I am left with my thoughts. I am certain I will still have the same feelings if we met when things didn’t go to shit. I don’t just think this because we have been the only people for each other. I really really like you, (Y/N). And because of the way the world is, I never want to lose you. I never want you to feel alone ever again. I not only want to protect you because we’re a team, I want to protect you because the thought of losing you pains me so much.”

For a split second I thought Alex was about to burst into tears. That was when I did something I thought I would never do again, which was pull him into my embrace. I hugged Alex so tight that I heard him gasp, freeze, until he eventually wrapped his arms around me and held me just as tight. My face buried into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his body, his soft hands caressing my back and brushing his thumb down my spine in a soothing manner.

“You are enough, Alex.” I said, my words muffled by his body. I reached my lips to his ear so he could hear my words clearly. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to like me, or be forced to like me just because we were brought together. I was afraid you thought you were stuck with me.”

I anticipated the day that once we meet other life, Alex would slowly fade away and forget who I was. Once he meets other people, we would go our seperate ways. I never knew why the hypothetical idea pained me so much, until now. As Alex pulled away from my embrace, looking me in the eyes in a loving manner that was foreign to me, his hands on my shoulders, I realized why that idea made my heart feel heavy. I never want him to leave me, I want him to always be by my side. Alex’s gaze was enough proof that he wanted the same.

Stimulated by his touch, I was taken aback when I felt his hand cup my cheek. The warmth of his breath breezing against my cheek, I inhaled as if oxygene was nonexistent. I never realized the proximity between us was slowly closing in and when I did my eyes fluttered shut. Alex hesitated for a split second before pressing his soft lips against my own. My neck bent slightly backwards and I shifted my head to the side to deepen into our kiss, my blood-stained hands grabbing the edges of his open jacket and holding him dearly close. The heat of the kiss intermingled with the heat from the fire, my cheeks and ears grew hot. Alex’s hands were surprisingly warm as he reached his hands under my shirt, pressing his fingers and palms on the middle of my back before running his touch down my spine. My breath became shaky and I felt my legs grow heavy under me, my hands cupped the back of his neck to keep myself uplifted, and luckily Alex’s arms held my weight and pressed my body against his. It felt like hours had went by between our lips moving in sync, our tongues grazing our bottom lip’s, our hands moving and resting on different parts of our bodies. His touch felt contagious, his kisses ranging between soft and passionate. I didn’t want to stop, I never wanted to let go. Between kisses I would mutter you are enough, you are enough which made Alex smile against my lips.

That night, everything we had to worry about became last priority. The focus all throughout was each other, making up for the days where affection couldn’t be shown. In the dead of night, there wasn’t a roamer in sight. Instead of hearing narls and groans or screams of pain, there was only the faint sounds of nature. The full moon glistened, as if to be a prediction for the emotions spilling between us. I promised myself from this moment on, as I admired Alex, I would protect him no matter what. I will make sure he always feels safe as long as he is beside me. He will always be enough, if not more.

TAGLIST: @momo-has-a-gun @diggorysmalfoy @quack42069 (join my taglist)

#quackity x reader #irl!quackity x reader #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #gender neutral reader #quackity x gn!reader #quackity imagine #quackity fanfic #mcyt fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #youtuber imagine #quackity angst #quackity fluff #apocalypse!AU #mcyt apocalypse au #quackity apocalypse au

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snelbz · 4 years

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Reckoning and Retribution {3}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, House of Earth and Blood, & Throne of Glass Crossover, Western AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 4k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Ok hear me out: WILD WEST AU CROSSOVER”

@snelbz / @tacmc

It was Saturday morning, which meant that the market was set up in town, every local farmer and gardener, and even some from other towns and territories, out to sell their goods. Elide loved Saturdays, loved deciding what she would be baking that week. She loved to bake, her mother used to bake, and she used to help in whatever way she could before her mother’s untimely death.

“You should bake banana bread,” Aelin crooned, looping her arm through Elide’s. “You make the most wonderful banana bread.”

“I do make wonderful banana bread,” Elide agreed, with a grin.

At the end of the market, up by Hunt’s saloon, Lorcan Salvaterre was leaning up against a post, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes, smoking a cigar.

Elide couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her, that he had been since their abrupt meeting earlier in the week. His gaze didn’t unsettle her like it should have though. She often found herself meeting those dark eyes, and just when she thought he may approach her, something would steal one of their attention or he’d glance away.

“What a waste of a second chance.”

Elide glanced up at her oldest friend. She followed her line of sight and found that they were looking at the same man. “Why would you say that?”

“He’s awfully cocky,” Aelin said, with pure disdain. “And horribly rude.”

Elide had to admit that he wasn’t exactly welcoming during their encounter, but he didn’t seem that horrible.

Aelin lifted a brow. “Judging by your silence, I’m assuming you disapprove of my judgement.”

“It’s not that I disapprove,” she said, slowly. “I’m just...intrigued by him.”

“Intrigued…” Aelin mused, letting the word hang between them. “I wasn’t even aware you two had made an acquaintance.”

“I wouldn’t even say we’re acquaintances,” she muttered, stepping away from Aelin to inspect a stand full of exotic fruits. “We’ve only spoken once.”

“And when was that?”

The question wasn’t accusatory, but there was indeed an edge to Aelin’s voice that hadn’t been there before.

Elide sighed and turned around to look at her friend. She was off duty today, so she was dressed as Elide was used to seeing her: full, ruffled skirts, corset cinched tight at the waist and her hair was curled and pinned back off her face, which was elegantly accented by the cosmetics she used every day. She looked like a lady waiting for a ball, not the local deputy of a small town.

“A couple days after you started working with Sheriff Whitethorn,” Elide said, moving on to the next stall. Knives and blades and weapons and bullets and all manners of destruction and death were laid out before her. She made to move on, but they’d caught Aelin’s eye and she moved in.

“When you were dropping off my gift basket, I assume,” she asked, picking up a small, wicked looking dagger. Elide nodded, knowing Aelin had worked out the rest.

She’d ranted to her for an hour the other night after she’d come in and found his muddy boots propped up on her desk. Half the goodies in the basket were gone, too, though Rowan had admitted to eating quite a few of them.

“Mm.” Aelin said nothing else as she examined the dagger, it’s intricate filigree handle shining in the morning light, and found a suitable thigh holster for it. She paid the stall owner an egregious amount of money and turned to Elide. “I feel like you’re going to disregard everything I say and are going to attempt to befriend that surly brute of a man, so I would like you to be prepared, just in case.”

Elide blinked as Aelin pushed the small dagger and leather holster into her hand. “I can’t use this.”

“I’d prefer you not have to,” Aelin sighed, “but I’d rather you be safe than sorry.”

Elide hesitated, but Aelin was already walking away. After hurrying to catch up and match her pace, Elide was saying, “You know that I have never used a weapon, not once.”

“Perhaps I should give you a lesson?” Aelin asked, something new already catching her eye.

Elide sighed as she, once again, had to hurry after her oldest friend.

“I won’t even have to use it, Aelin,” Elide protested, looping her arm through Aelin’s to slow her down. “And I am not going to...befriend him.”

Aelin snorted. “You forget how well I know you, Miss Lochan.”

“Oh, trust me, Miss Galathynius, I am fully aware,” Elide said. “You know me as well as I know you, which is why I believe you’re being over dramatic about Mr. Salvaterre.”

A blonde eyebrow raised. “Mister, hmm?”

“Drop it, Aelin,” Elide said, picking up a new bundle of chalk sticks for her classroom. The pieces the children were having to use we’re becoming so short, their writing was becoming near illegible. Well, more illegible, in the case of her younger students. She snagged a bottle of ink as well and before she could reach for her money pouch, Aelin had paid the man. She didn’t bother thanking her friend, knowing she’d wave the praise off anyways. “There’s nothing going on between Lorcan Salvaterre and I.”

“Well that’s a damn shame.”

Aelin and elide turned, finding the man himself standing behind them.

“Miss Lochan,” he drawled, tipping his hat. “Deputy.”

“Mister Salvaterre, good morning,” Elide gave him a friendly curtsy and continued on her way, pausing at a stall that sold little trinkets and jewelry.

Once she was out of earshot, Aelin turned to Lorcan. “Don’t even think about touching her.”

His gaze was amused. “And what made you think I would, Deputy?”

The way he said Deputy made Aelin want to punch him in the throat.

“She’s a kind woman,” Aelin went on. “You will not do anything to cause her harm or ruin.”

Lorcan grinned, wild and vicious. “You make it sound like she fancies me. Has she taken a liking to me, Deputy Galathynius?”

The fact that he used her title as a form of mockery had her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“Aelin, are you coming?”

The pair turned to where Elide waited a few stalls ahead. She called, “Give me just a moment.”

Elide nodded and continued sorting through the fabrics the seller offered.

Turning back to glare at Lorcan, Aelin breathed. “I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. If it weren’t for my promise to protect this town and all who live in it — including you, apparently — I’d put a bullet between your eyes and wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. Rowan tearing up the warrant for your arrest was the most reckless thing he’s ever done. Now, don’t make me repeat this, ” She was a solid foot shorter than him, but as she said the words, Lorcan felt as if he was being talked down to. Like a child. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

His eyes turned dark, hard, as his jaw locked. “Fine, if it means that much to you.”

“It does,” Aelin snapped, picking up her skirts as she stormed to Elide’s side, leaving Lorcan behind.

Elide blinked as Aelin approached, frowning. “Is everything alright? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Aelin said, forcing a bright smile. “Let us continue on with our morning.”

Sighing and linking her arm with Aelin’s once more, Elide did just that. After they’d shopped for a few more minutes and Elide had decided she had enough supplies for the week, they were making for her cabin at the far end of town. It was a bit of a walk, but the ladies didn’t care, not wanting to saddle horses. It was such a hassle, and now that she was used to trousers, Aelin just didn’t want to mess with it.

“So,” Aelin began as they walked up the steps of Elide’s little house. “Aside from the fabulous banana bread you’ll be making me, what other goodies will you be baking this week?”

Elide listed off a menagerie of delicious desserts and baked goods. “A peach cobbler, oatmeal and cranberry cookies, blueberry crumble, a couple pies, and a chocolate and stone ground oat cake.”

Aelin’s eyes were wide. “Such a wide variety. What for?”

The tips of Elide’s ears turned red and Aelin certainly noticed as she began to blush. “Mister Salvaterre’s welcome basket.”

Aelin froze as she followed her friend into her house.

Oh, this was not good.

* * * * * * * * *

Bryce loved the silence.

Lying on her bed, she opened the new novel Hunt had given her the day before.

A gift, he had said, and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she had told him that she couldn’t accept.

She was grateful for it.

It had been so long since she had been given a gift, had owned something new. She couldn’t wait to lose herself in the story, if even for a few moments, to get out of the living hell she was in.

A quiet knock sounded on her door. She tightened the sash of the dressing gown she wore around her waist. “Just a minute,” she called.

She made herself appropriate before opening the door, finding Hunt on the other side.

“Hunt-.”

Her quiet words were cut off as he crashed his lips against hers and softly shut the door behind him. When he finally pulled back, Bryce was breathless.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Come on, grab your things,” he said, looking around the room for a bag. The room was lavish and luxurious and the furnishings probably cost more than Hunt’s entire saloon, deed, ale, whiskey and all. “Maeve just left. Feyre is watching the bar. Let’s go.”

Bryce hesitated. “Go? Go where?”

Hunt took her face into his large, calloused hands. The look in his eyes was wild, determined. “It’s our chance. Now is our chance.”

Bryce closed her eyes. “Hunt-.”

“Please,” he breathed, his breath hot against her mouth. “Please, Bryce-.”

“I can’t go anywhere,” she whispered, forcing her eyes not to well up with tears. “You know I can’t go anywhere.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on. “Cairn will find us, you know that. What happened to Clare, to Isaac… I won’t let that happen to you.”

Hung closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall against hers. He knew she was right, knew if they had any hope of getting out of this town alive, it would cost them an egregious amount of money.

Otherwise, they’d be paying with their lives.

Clare Beddor and Isaac Hale were proof of that. After they ran away in the dead of night, Clare’s debt unpaid, it only took two weeks for Cairn to bring back her lifeless body and his decapitated head. His mouth hung open in a wide, never ending scream. It was tossed into an unmarked grave somewhere on the property, but Clare…

Maeve had made a few extra bucks off of her, thanks to the few sick fucks who lived in this town.

This was her life, and there was no getting out of it, no matter how many sleepless nights she spent wondering how she could get out of her debt.

But there was no way.

It was hopeless to dream.

“Bryce,” Hunt whispered, bringing her back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it, even though it meant nothing. “You need to let this go, Hunt. I’m a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged, just as he always did.

Every time he did it broke her heart.

“I’m making an offer to Maeve on Monday.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his. “What?”

He wrapped her up in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, listened to the heart beating inside. The heart that belonged to her, in every way. “I’ve saved up enough for your freedom, with some extra. With what you’ve…earned… We have to be close, Bryce.”

She heard the words he specified. Your freedom. But not Danika’s.

“It’ll be a few more years, Hunt-.”

“No, damn it, I refuse to believe that.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He whispered, “I wish you never would have made that bargain.”

She shook her head. There was no dwelling on it now. What’s done is done, and besides… “I don’t. Not if it kept her safe.”

Copying her motion, Hunt shook his head, his loose hair shaking with the motion. “For two weeks, Bryce?”

The sob that tore from Bryce was heartbreaking.

When she was eight years old, her father had ripped she and Ruhn from their beds, with no explanation, and they’d left the small town they called home. Years later, they’d realize it was because he’d killed Bryce’s mother in a fit of rage. If only that was the worst thing their piece of shit father had done.

Just a few years later, the family, with their young ward, Danika Fendyr, visited Rose Creek on their way west, as far west as they could go. Their father had gotten drunk beyond measure, the former owner of the saloon supplying as much whiskey as any one man could consume. He’d run out of money during his poker game, and needed a few new bargaining chips. He had three.

Bryce and Danika were sold to Maeve, while Ruhn was shipped off to the mines.

The girls were only sixteen when they were to begin selling their bodies, their souls, on behalf of Bryce’s father’s debt. Bryce’s birthday came first, Danika’s just a month later. A week before Danika’s unveiling, Bryce made Maeve a deal.

Her life for Danika’s. Double the price, double the debt, Bryce promised Maeve double everything, if only she said yes.

Maeve agreed.

Danika went free.

She protested, told Bryce she was an idiot as she wept and wrapped her arms around Bryce. Bryce told her best friend, her sister, to go free, to make something of herself.

She deserved as much.

Less than two weeks later, just days after Danika turned sixteen, she was killed by a bandit, a robbery gone bad, making the sacrifice Bryce made worthless.

She had doubled her debt for two weeks of Danika’s freedom, and she had been paying off that debt ever since.

“I don’t care the price, I don’t care how long it takes,” he promised. “One day, you and I are going to leave this town, and we’re never going to look back.”

“Hunt!”

The cry from downstairs was a warning, their time was short.

“Go,” Bryce breathed, her tears at last running down her face. “You can’t be up here when she gets back.”

He knew that, knew that he wouldn’t be the one to bear the punishment if they were to get caught. He nodded, pressing another kiss to her forehead, then her lips, letting it say all the words he couldn’t out loud.

I’m sorry.

I’ll get you out.

I love you.

* * * * * * * *

Exhaustion dwelled in every inch of Ruhn’s body as he followed Aedion, Declan, and Flynn into the saloon. That exhaustion did not stop him, though, he had things to do, those to protect, even if he could only do it from afar.

Anything else would get him shot.

Or hanged.

All they had to do was raise their hands in greeting to Hunt before plopping down around a table. A minute later, Feyre came carrying a jug of ale and four mugs.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Feyre crooned, setting it all in the middle of the table.

“I don’t see any gentlemen here,” Flynn muttered with a smirk.

“True,” Feyre agreed, “but any other sort of greeting just seemed rude.”

Aedion’s attention was immediately on the striking brunette across the room. She was primped and preened and the smile on her face showed everyone how much fun she was having at the saloon, being passed from lap to lap.

That smile was the biggest crock of shit Ruhn had ever seen. It was the same smile he saw on Bryce’s face and Nesta’s and all the other girls who had to lay on their backs just to keep their families fed or protected.

Promising to come back if they needed anything, Feyre flitted off, refilling the glasses of whiskey the sheriff and his newest deputy had sitting on their table. The man in black intrigued Ruhn, but he wasn’t one to start a conversation and make new friends. Especially with a man he was sure had killed people.

It was slow, for a Saturday night, if Lysandra was down on the floor of the saloon. Either that or she was a walking billboard for the services Maeve offered. Since he didn’t see his sister, Ruhn was inclined to believe the latter.

So instead he kept an eye on Feyre, tracking her as she moved from table to table, carefully watching every hand that came close to her.

It seemed that Feyre was fairly good at taking care of herself, and Hunt watched her like a hawk, but still, as he watched Feyre flutter around the floor, watching every man she passed watch after her with a hungry gaze, Ruhn felt the need to look after her, too.

It was difficult enough having to watch the women passed around who weren’t allowed to say no, but he couldn’t bear to watch those who were allowed to say no be taken advantage of simply because they were a woman in a saloon full of drunk bastards.

Flynn and Declan had ended up at the bar and Aedion had snuck into the dry storage room, leaving Ruhn to mull over his day, life and purpose with nothing but a mug of ale to keep him company. When he realized he’d been tracing the same knot in the wood for an entire song in the old, barely-in-tune piano, he looked up, his eyes darting around the room.

No sign of Bryce, but he’d learned to not to hold out hope for easy nights for her long ago.

But when his eyes made another pass, searching for not for wine-red hair, but golden-brown… He came up short.

For a moment, he debated on joining his friends at the bar, if for no other reason than a new vantage point to watch the room. That thought drifted away as he heard a voice, full of sass, from behind him.

“Are you watching me, Mister Danaan?”

He spun around in his chair to find Feyre, one hand on her hip, the other holding up a tin pitcher.

“I was just...scanning the room, Miss Archeron,” he said, simply.

She narrowed her eyes and suppressed her grin. “I believe you’re telling a lie.”

Ruhn huffed a laugh, unable to help himself as Feyre sat down across from him at the empty table. “I was just ensuring your safety after what had happened the other night.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Feyre said, eyes bright. “You are appreciated, you must know.”

He tipped his head in thanks. “How has your day been?”

“Long,” she admitted. “I suppose I cannot complain, though. And yours, Mister Danaan?”

He thought of the hacking he’d done with his pickaxe, hour after hour after hour all day, before he said, “Mine was long, as well.”

Unlike his sister, Ruhn wasn’t forced into the servitude he was sold into. Gavriel, the man who owned and operated out of the mines, was a fair and just man. He saw the situation the children were in, saw that he had the opportunity to help at least one of them. So when Ruhn’s life was offered to him, as payment for a life debt, he said yes, took the young man in.

And then told him he was free to do as he wished. Free to go, to stay, to work, to run.

But with Bryce in proverbial shackles, that wasn’t an option. So he took a job in the mines, made a modest living and did what he could for his sister.

The sadness in Feyre’s eyes told him she understood well.

“Miss Archeron, may-.”

“Feyre, please,” she interrupted. “Call me Feyre.”

He smiled. “Miss Feyre, with your permission, I’d like to walk you home tonight.”

Her eyebrows rose, her blue-grey eyes bright in the candles hanging from the chandelier. “I don’t get off work until late, well past midnight.”

Shaking his head, Ruhn said, “I don’t mind.”

Feyre nodded, slowly, perfectly amused. “Very well, Mister Danaan, you may walk me home.”

She pushed herself up from the table and was beginning to walk away when Ruhn called, “Miss Feyre?”

She turned to face him, yet again, a small smile on her lips. “Yes?”

“If I can call you by your first name, then you may call me by mine,” he said, then added, “Please.”

“Very well,” she said, softly, and then she was off to make her rounds, yet again.

* * * * * * * *

Saturdays were Nesta’s least favorite day.

The crowds were bigger. The room was louder. The men were worse.

As Nesta hurried toward the saloon, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of torture Maeve would have planned for her to punish her for being late the night before. Again.

She hurried into the saloon, squeezing Feyre’s hand as she passed, her sister giving her what little strength she could, and started up the stairs.

“Nesta Archeron.”

She paused, and turned, finding Maeve standing at the bottom of the staircase. “I’m not late tonight, ma’am.”

A wicked smirk. “No, you’re not.”

Nesta swallowed hard and made her way back down the stairs.

“Get ready and be back down here within twenty minutes. You have a special request tonight.”

A special request. It sent chills up Nesta’s spine.

And not in a good way.

Nonetheless, she did what she was told. After hurrying up to her room, she took her place in front of the vanity and took down her hair, the curls long and loose as they hung around her shoulders. She lined her eyes with kohl, painted her lips to a ruby red, and pinched her cheeks until they were nice and red. She looked at herself, admired herself in the mirror as she did every night before she changed.

Her reflection haunted her.

She was staring at the ghost of the girl she once was, the girl she once knew, before.

After pinning her hair back so that it was out of her eyes, she shrugged off her robe and dressed. Corset, skirts, stockings beneath that reached her mid-thighs.

Lacing her boots up, she steeled herself, praying it wouldn’t be one of the sick men who enjoyed pain. Nesta hated the pain.

She walked down the stairs, Maeve still waiting in the same spot as before. Eyes turned to look at her as she descended into the saloon, as they always did. People always stared when the whores entered the room.

She glanced around, trying not to make it obvious, as she caught the eyes of those in the bar. The usuals were there, of course, Hunt and Feyre and Luca, picking up dirty dishes. But Azriel Draeven was there, too, along with the mayor. And at their table, eyes trained on her, a glass of whiskey in his hand, was Cassian. Their eyes locked and her feet almost froze on the stairs, but she forced them to keep moving.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Maeve inspected her with an experienced eye. Without a word, she nodded, clearly pleased with Nesta’s appearance. She held out an envelope. “Do not open this envelope until you’ve reached the general store. You’ll find further instructions inside. You’ve been booked until sunrise. Go get your coat.”

Nesta didn’t say a word as she took the envelope and went back up to grab her coat. It was all she grabbed, her coat, not wanting to bring the rest of her belongings in case things turned ugly. She would have Feyre to grab them before she left. She wouldn’t mind.

She never did.

With her coat over her shoulders, she descended the stairs, once more, not bothering to look at anyone else except for her sister behind the bar.

Feyre could see the question in her eyes. She nodded, once, and Nesta ignored the sorrow in her youngest sister’s eyes as she exited the saloon, envelope in hand, and went down to the general store.

It wasn’t late by any means, but the dusty main road in and out of town was deserted. Those with families were home, having dinner, spending time with their loved ones. Those that didn’t… well, the saloon would be open for quite a while yet. The envelope in her hand felt heavy, though she knew that was just in her mind. It held nothing but a note, written in Maeve’s formal penmanship, like it always did. This wasn’t the first special request she’d fulfilled and she knew it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

With a sigh, she opened the envelope and a letter in an unfamiliar hand fell onto her lap. She read through it once, blinking, and paused. She was misunderstanding. She had to be. Nesta quietly read the letter allowed, making sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

“Return to your home, lock your doors, and go to bed,” she murmured. “Tell no one, keep this a secret from all but your sisters. Get some rest, beautiful.”

The letter still clutched in her hand, Nesta looked around the deserted street. There was no one around, no one secretly watching her, waiting to catch her making a mistake.

Nesta had never run home so fast in her life.

* * * * * * * *

Lysandra had slipped into the dry storage of the saloon while Cairn wasn’t looking. She just needed a second to breathe, to sit without being hounded.

The door cracked open a minute later and Aedion appeared. “Are you okay?”

She breathed a relieved sigh as she nodded her head. She wasn’t sure if she could speak. If she spoke, she may start crying. Maeve would get far too much enjoyment from her tears.

He understood though, he understood how it took a toll on her. Wordlessly, she stood, making her way over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Aedion didn’t hesitate to wrap his own around her and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

She shook her head and Aedion knew it’s because there was nothing either of them could do.

For a moment, that’s all there was in the world, just the two of them and the silence. She loved that silence, loved when he held her and she could take a few minutes to breathe.

Even if it was never long enough.

Which it never was.

“You should go back out there,” she whispered.

“Or I can give you some coin,” he replied, quietly.

Not for sex, she knew, but so she could have ten extra minutes of breathing time.

Lysandra shook her head. “It would be a waste of coin, and you know it.”

Neither of them made to move though. Aedion’s hand wove into her hair, holding her head to his chest as she breathed him in, as she rooted herself in this moment, to use it as her anchor for the rest of the night.

Stolen kisses and secret meetings are all they had. Aedion would gladly pay for a night with her, for every night with her if he could. He loved Lysandra more than a man had ever loved a woman, or so he firmly believed. And she had given him her whole heart, since they could never have anything more.

She was Maeve’s favorite whore. There were no prices for a night with Lysandra, not unless someone was willing to shell out a wagon full of coins. No, she was Maeve’s personal gift to give out.

To the most worthy of companions.

Maeve’s most worthy clients.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

Aedion nodded, knowing the time was coming. The time always came, no matter how many nights Aedion spent praying it wouldn’t.

He wanted so desperately to tell her that he loved her, but he wouldn’t. No matter how much he felt it, he’d keep it to himself, because to say it would be too hard.

He would say it and nothing would change.

“I’ll be there,” he decided on, after a few seconds passed. He would be there, in the saloon, in case she needed him to look at, to make eye contact with, when she was feeling completely and utterly alone.

She nodded, before taking one last deep breath, breathing him in. And then she was out of his arms, out the door and back into the front room, into her own personal hell.

Because when she saw who was sitting in Maeve’s booth, she thought she was going to be sick. It had been years since she’d seen him. When Maeve crooked a finger over and called for her, those silver eyes met hers and Arrobyn Hammel smiled.

#snelbz rar #reckoning and retribution #sjm crossover #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #snelbz x tacmc #acotar #tog #hoeab

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parakeatswrites · 3 years

Note

22. Space AU & 56. Awful first meeting for whatever pairing you like!

Thank you for the prompt!! Sorry that it took me so long to get

I'm a sucker for the kind of space AU that has junkyard/wildwest aesthetcs and ai/telepathically linked ships. Also this idea got away from me a bit so we're looking at a Sarchengsey with a side of pynch. Had to stop myself before it got longer, but if I had more room, there would be lots of Blue & Ronan annoying friendship overtones.

[Link to OG post - give me 2 tropes & a pairing, and I’ll combine them!]

Either there was another glitch in the holographic screen of Blue’s pilot console, or there was a weak SOS beacon 20 clicks to their port side. She squinted at the static. The colour overlays had bugged out a week ago and she’d been flying by feel ever since. Somehow, she had thought flying between planets with contraband would be more exciting, but apparently anything could become banal if done frequently enough.

“I think there’s someone out there,” Henry told her, fresh from the sonic shower and a nap in their tiny bunk. He leaned over her shoulder, warm and smelling of the cologne he had insisted on buying at the last trading post.

“Unlikely,” Blue shrugged him off and slouched into the creaky pilot’s seat.

“Open your eyes, Blue-bird,” he pointed at the screen as though he was any better at piloting than her, “it’s faint, but there’s a beacon, just there.”

Blue jostled the controls and his fingertip poked through the fuzzy projection.

She said, “that’s an AGG beacon. Only R.A.V.E.Ns have them.”

“Ohh,” Henry sounded thrilled at the prospect, “an Academy ship! I wonder what they’re doing all the way out here? Imagine swooping in and saving the day!”

Blue pretended for a moment that he wasn’t going to convince her to check it out. She didn’t want anything to do with an Academy ship - everyone knew that R.A.V.E.Ns were assholes zipping through their backwater little sector like they owned it. With the way they were setting up research stations on each mid-sized moon, they might as well own the sector.

She was already turning towards the SOS beacon.

Their hail was picked up the moment they were in range. Henry gleefully reeled off the standard opening call - at least he omitted their serial number - as he turned slightly in the tiny cockpit to hover over the communication panel.

The voice that came back was threaded with static, but still arched with the entitled sort of accent you would expect from a R.A.V.E.N pilot.

“Is your ship refurb Old Guard tech?”

“Circa old age fourteen-fifteen,” Henry confirmed coyly.

“Are you seriously flirting about the commission date of our unlicensed ship?” Blue hissed incredulously.

The voice was back enthusiastically, “I thought I recognized the symbols on the anterior. She’s beautiful, but she’s seen better days, I expect?”

And Henry was swaying over the comms unit, eyes lit up by the blue dash. Blue could nearly see him writing the back-cover of his own trashy romance novel in real time.

“Do you need help or not?” Blue cut in, testily, before they got derailed further.

“Oh, yes, I expect so,” the voice still did not seem to belong to someone who needed to be rescued.

“You don’t sound like you need to be rescued,” Blue said.

“Well, the AGG beacon does reach quite far,” the voice was happy to inform her, “I dare say that another smuggler will likely come along before my life support systems are critical, but they probably won’t have as interesting a ship as you do.”

“I hate him,” Blue muttered.

“Blue, be a dear and reroute some power to the de-con unit?” Henry asked, blowing a kiss towards her.

The first thing the R.A.V.E.N pilot said to them after stepping out of their tiny closet of a de-con unit was, “have you had any luck accessing the ship’s AI? This should really be in a museum - they’ve been doing stellar work at rigging up a device to allow interfacing with pre-Fall AI.”

And because the first thing the pilot had done before speaking was tug off his pressure suit’s helmet to reveal mussed brown hair and a face that belonged on a recruitment poster, Henry mimed a swoon.

Blue flipped on the janky autopilot and spun in her chair to glare at him, “listen, no more of,” she gestured at the pilot up-and-down, “all this.”

He looked down at himself and seemed to consider this, then earnestly looked back at her, “I think the de-con took care of any pathogens, if that is your concern.”

Blue had the patience to either pilot the ship, or deal with a floppy-haired Academy pilot, not both. Since Henry was already all-in on the romance of picking up a stranded pilot, Blue said, “I can either pilot this ship or deal with you.”

“I would be happy to pilot the ship,” a small twitch to the pilot’s lips said that he was teasing her.

Blue scowled and spun her chair back to the pilot controls, “we’re not taking him all the way to the Academy.”

“We would love to take you to the Academy,” Henry said.

“Henry.”

“My apologies, I have been remiss in introductions,” the pilot sounded like he was offering a hand to shake, “Lieutenant Richard Gansey the third. But please,” and his voice was warmer again, “just call me Gansey.”

“Henry,” Blue could hear Henry’s genuine excitement, even as he continued coyly, “you can call me, Henry, Gansey-man.”

“A pleasure,” Gansey continued, “and for fear of offence, have you interfaced with the AI?”

Blue wished she had - it was the whole reason she and Henry had kept this junker of a ship even though it had cost more in repairs than to initially buy off of the dealer Seondeok had connected them with. Blue had spent her whole youth dreaming of two things: getting off of that small moon, and figuring out even a small corner of the mystery of pre-Fall AI tech.

She didn’t want this annoying, self-entitled R.A.V.E.N pilot to stick his Academy nose into it.

Henry said, “we haven’t heard a peep out of the AI.”

Only the bloodlines from Glyndower’s Court were able to communicate with AI without bio-mods and they had all died during the Fall. Claiming to be able to interface with an AI was equivalent to trying to claim a birthright to a throne purposefully kept empty. That was a one-way ticket to a quiet death. Blue and Henry weren’t stupid enough to admit that to a stranger from the Academy even if they were fluent.

“Say you were interested in changing that,” Gansey stepped up behind the pilot’s chair and Blue could see his boyish smile in the corner in her vision. Against her better judgement it lit up something sleeping in her gut. He continued, “I might know someone who could help.”

[Star-wipe to a rusted out garage on a dusty planet with a tarp-sign that says “Parrish’s Repairs”. Blue’s ship kicks up dust as Ronan stalks out the corrugated steel door with his hand on the heel of a holstered pistol.]

#sarchengsey

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

Text

Comfortember Day 1: We’re Here For You

Summary: Written for Comfortember Day 1. Takes place in the Httyd Zombie AU, follow-up to Whumptober Day 27's "I'll Be Right Here, Bud". After waiting and waiting, their friends finally come for them.

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Stormfly

Pairing: None

Words: 1 436

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Rescue”

Whumpee: Toothless

Author’s Notes: You would think that I would be done with the month-long prompts after completing Whumptober. APPARENTLY, I'm not quite done yet.

I don't know if I'll do the entire month, but it seemed like fun to do "whump" prompts that are more focussed on the comfort after the whump.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3 for Comfortember Day 1

Ao3 for Whumptober Day 27

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

"Hiccup?! Toothless?!"

That's Astrid's voice that's calling out to him and his Bud, Hiccup lifts his head up from Toothless' and looks up to the night sky, the stars twinkling far above their heads. The remains of the sunset can still be seen in the far distance.

"We're down here!" Hiccup calls out to them and he can hear them running towards them.

Toothless' head is still on his lap. In the hours they've been waiting, neither of them has moved much. Hiccup's injured knee is bend beneath him and it has swollen that way, too.

"Hey, they're here! And they're alive!" Ruffnut happily announces and ten different faces appear where the front of the house should be and Hiccup is happy to see them, though he does have some questions.

So his smile melts just a tad, but only a tad. He's still happy to finally see them all.

"So mind telling me where you guys have been this whole time?" He asks. Considering how long it's been, he believes he has a right to know.

"I'm sorry, Hiccup, we got held up." Astrid apologizes, Stormfly chirps to back her up.

"We ran into some of those Hunters and then we all got caught in that earthquake!" Snotlout adds, wanting to be sure that Hiccup knows that it isn't their fault they got held up. They didn't just forget about their friends and then didn't worry about them the entire time it took them to get back to their leading duo.

"Okay! So can you guys come get us out? Toothless can't be moved before we get all of this off him first." Hiccup asks of them, gesturing to the wood and brick and dust covering his dragon, and they don't need to respond. Of course, they'll help them out.

Hiccup sees their faces disappear from view, without a doubt they're searching for a way down.

"And Fishlegs? Bring medical supplies!" Hiccup shouts up to him.

"Oh-okay!" Not the most reassuring thing you want to be asked, but not too surprising either considering their situation.

"Over there!" Astrid tells the Riders as she might've found a way into the basement and while they're on their way to them, Hiccup pets Toothless' head and shakes him lightly to rouse him out of his sleep.

"Hey Bud, wake up! They're here!" It doesn't take much as Toothless isn't sleeping that deeply. He can't with that wound in his wing.

Tiredly, Toothless wakes up and croons hopefully to his Rider, but doesn't lift his head from Hiccup's lap. Hiccup doesn't want him to either, he's lying just fine.

The knee that he dislocated earlier that day has probably swollen beyond use by now anyway, but that is of little concern to him.

The Riders reach them, climbing over and under the debris all around them.

"Wow, this earthquake wasn't nice to this neighborhood." Ruffnut remarks.

"Well, this neighborhood could've done with the occasional upkeep. The street, too." Hiccup says to her.

There have been a few aftershocks, too. When they happened, instead of leaving his Bud behind to get to infinitely safer ground, Hiccup had draped himself over his head and hoped for the best. Though this house that they're in is mostly ruined, there is still plenty of it left to fall.

Some smaller parts of it did, but not on them, fortunately.

"So what's the situation?" Astrid asks and kneels by the duo. Obviously, there's something wrong or they wouldn't still be sitting here in what looks like a basement.

She pets the Night Fury's head, too, and Toothless purrs appreciatively at the show of affection.

"His wing is hurt. Some wood broke off from somewhere and pierced his wing." Hiccup points it out. The bleeding has stopped a long while ago and the puddle that he had originally found hasn't grown much. The wood must be stopping it.

"Oh, that could be bad," Fishlegs states and stands there with all of their medical supplies. This place is quite cramped for someone his size. This place is quite cramped for everyone involved.

"So what do we do?" Tuffnut asks and they all look to Hiccup as maybe he already has an idea on how to handle this situation.

"We remove the debris lying on Toothless. Start from the top, that way we won't risk hurting him further. And someone hold that wood in his wing still, we can't risk moving that either. Fishlegs, keep an eye out for an opening to help. I'm going to stay here." He tells them swiftly. His part of the plan is not only to keep his dragon calm as he probably won't be getting up with that knee of his anyway. Not easily, at least. He might even be a detriment to Toothless' health if he tries to help out.

But the Riders agree with the plan and they get to it. Excluding Hiccup and Fishlegs, they still have a total of four pairs of hands to help all of that junk off Toothless.

They get to work and Hiccup looks down on his Bud, petting the top of his head with a smile.

"It's going to be okay soon, Toothless. We're here for you. We're going to get you out of here and fix that wing. Everything's going to be okay." Hiccup leans down and hugs the dragon's head, who lifts it and purrs knowingly.

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

It took some doing to get Toothless out of that basement. First to get all that rubble off him without disturbing the object impaling him, then removing that object itself, and then they had to take care of that tear in his wing. And as wings tend to bleed profusely, it had to be done quickly.

After all of that was taken care of, Stormfly had to lift him out of there before they could search for a campsite to settle down in for the night.

And in the meantime, the Dragon Riders found out about Hiccup's once dislocated knee and that means they have two injured friends in their group.

But they found a nice place to stay in the form of a hotel with a lot of nice and big beds to rest in, certainly big enough for a Night Fury. Though this injury isn't nearly enough to stop him for long, flying won't be such a good idea for at least the next week or so. The good news is that dragons are fast healers.

The rest for tonight and tomorrow, it's merely to recover from the events of the day.

The doors of the hotel are big enough for a dragon Toothless' size to just fit through and he and Hiccup take one on the second floor. The Riders each have their own room on one of the upper floors, close to the Dragons, which have settled on the roof.

"Here it is, Bud! Our very own suite!" Hiccup tells his Bud, limping into the room with a crutch to aid him. He always has at least one with them ever since the loss of his leg. With his chronic pain, it's handy to have one with him for his bad days.

Toothless comes in with a rumble and looks around the room. It quickly becomes clear that he has little interest in anything present and swiftly climbs onto the bed. It's a miracle it can even hold him.

Hiccup lets out a chuckle and watches Toothless get comfortable, the frame creaking horribly all the way.

"Don't break it, Bud." He tells him, Toothless rumbling indignantly, but in a teasing manner.

He settles, bed groaning beneath him as he does, and Hiccup lets out a laugh when Toothless pats on a spot next to him with a paw.

Placing the crutch down on the ground by the bed, Hiccup gets on it and removes his shoes, deciding to leave his prosthetic on. It doesn't feel too pleasant on his knee to crawl up on the mattress to reach his dragon, but Hiccup manages and looks at his Bud.

"We made it. At least for today." He tells him with a smile, Toothless croons in agreement.

"I told you we would be there for you, didn't I?" Hiccup asks and pats him on the nose, which coaxes Toothless into laying his head on the human's uninjured knee. His smile widening, Hiccup pets him.

It's well past midnight by now and all they have for light is the moon, but there is still plenty of hours to go before the sun rises again. Until then, Toothless can rest and so can he.

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chloebeale · 4 years

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UNTIL I’M OKAY (preview)

AUTHORS: @bottombeca & @snowbritt. RATING: M. PAIRING: Bechloe. WORDS: 1,794. ABOUT: Bechloe ‘Dead To Me’ AU.

This is purely a preview of chapter one, the entirety of which will be posted shortly. While this fic is based heavily on the show Dead To Me, it has been altered, adjusted and added to to create a Bechloe story and universe.

We hope you enjoy the below preview of our collaborative baby!

Warnings: Mentions of death and miscarriage.

***

All morning, there have been signs; signs that Beca shouldn’t be here. Firstly, Ryder’s cheeks had looked a little more flushed than usual. No, maybe he didn’t have a fever or anything, but Beca is not a doctor, he totally could be getting sick. Maybe she should’ve kept him home from school for the day, stuck around to take care of him.

Next, the Atlanta traffic, typically insufferable anyway, had been even worse this morning somehow.

It also doesn’t help that this isn’t necessarily voluntary on her part—court-ordered attendance doesn’t care about signs, or so the judge told her the last time she skipped.

And now this: a broken coffee machine. At least, Beca thinks it’s broken… She is positive there is no way anybody would try to pass off what she can only consider the sludge floating around in her styrofoam cup as actual coffee, right? Not that she has tasted it yet. Rather, she simply eyes it with a scrutinizingly raised brow, attention shifting distractedly to the view ahead.

If she has to endure cheap coffee and even cheaper cliches, at least there’s a view. The river will be a nice distraction when everything inevitably starts to get a little too weepy for her tolerance, she supposes.

Perhaps Beca is a little too caught up in the serenity of it all, in fact—the aforementioned view—because she seems to lose herself for the briefest of moments, at least long enough to bring the coffee cup up to her lips.

Instantly, she regrets it.

“Dude, what the—” She doesn’t know if she should choke it down or spit it back in the cup.

“That bad, huh?”

The voice to break into her quiet outburst is an unfamiliar one, though it comes from close enough by to have Beca’s attention drifting toward its owner. She is unfamiliar, too. Beca doesn’t register her own blank expression until the other woman speaks again.

“The coffee…” There is a distinct lightness to the nameless face’s voice, one that Beca really does not have the energy for this morning. “Kind of looks like you’re not enjoying it.”

“Oh, right,” Beca nods, tone disinterested. “Yeah. It tastes like shit.”

The melodic giggle to ring out from the stranger’s lips seems somewhat misplaced, all things considered. “Guess I’ll avoid it then,” she says, tucking a chunk of curled red hair behind her ear. She hesitates for the shortest moment, before pushing a bright, welcoming smile to her lips. “I’m Chloe, by the way. This is…” Chloe motions vaguely around them, “Kind of new to me.”

Beca is not here to make friends. In fact, she doesn’t even want to be here. Regardless, she nods politely in response to Chloe’s introduction—it is really not her fault Beca cannot control her temper, after all. “Beca.”

“Beca…” Chloe repeats in a breezy tone, almost as if trying to commit it to memory. “Pretty.”

Though Beca’s brows tug together slightly, she offers Chloe a small smile, one that definitely does not meet her eyes—then again, when does Beca’s smile meet her eyes these days?

Chloe’s wide gaze seems to be staring at her expectantly, as if awaiting a response. What is she even supposed to say to that?

Fortunately—if anything about this situation can be considered fortunate—a new voice cuts into their conversation.

“Ready to join the circle?”

If Jesse were here, Beca would make a mumbled comment to him about how semi-threatening the request sounds. But, he isn’t… And that is why Beca is even here at all. So, exchanging a brief glance with Chloe, whose subtle amusement appears evident, Beca sets down her cup of lukewarm sludge, before dutifully making her way toward an empty seat.

“Looks like we have a few fresh faces here today,” the previous voice announces cheerfully.

Beca glances up to the blonde wearing the neatly pressed Fallen Leaves t-shirt, taking note of the way she is now looking expectantly between Beca and the redhead seated beside her.

Taking no further prompting, Chloe sends a small wave toward the group, before introducing herself with a polite, “Hi. I’m Chloe.”

Following a brief silence, Beca registers the countless sets of eyes now training on her.

“Oh. Um, hi. I’m Beca,” she says awkwardly to the group, the distinct difference between she and Chloe’s greetings palpable. The way she straightens in her chair seems to display her level of discomfort, if the way the blonde shoots a sympathetic look her way is anything to go by.

“Well, welcome to Fallen Leaves,” she says, evidently taking over, “My name is Aubrey. As some of you know, I like to start out our grief group by sharing the loss that got me into this work.”

Beca braces herself for the first of what she’s sure will be many sob stories to come, though she takes comfort in the focus no longer being on her.

“During an acapella competition in college, under extreme pressure, I violently vomited on stage,” Aubrey begins to explain somberly. “My co-captain slipped in it and fell off the stage, breaking her neck in the process. It happened with the whole crowd watching, not to mention on live television.” She pauses briefly, giving the group a moment to digest the information and evidently ignoring the look of mild horror displayed across Beca’s face. “And I live with that every day.”

Shrinking back into her chair a little bit, Beca is beginning to regret everything that led to her being here today. She doesn’t want to talk about it with anyone—let alone someone who anxiety-puked their way into killing someone.

“Oh, my god,” Chloe murmurs sympathetically.

Aubrey presses her lips together. “Thank you. Is there a loss you’ve had that you’d like to share with us today?” Her gaze moves toward Beca briefly, though Beca is quick to shake her head in response.

“I do,” the voice beside her pipes up. The group’s attention, Beca and Aubrey’s included, moves toward Chloe, and Beca finds that she is grateful to lose the spotlight yet again.

Apparently, Chloe doesn’t share Beca’s disdain for all eyes on her. She looks comfortable enough as she shoots a small smile toward her audience. “Okay,” Chloe begins, straightening slightly in her seat. Just because she seems to be okay with the attention does not mean that whatever she is about to say is something she is comfortable with. In fact, it becomes quickly evident that it is not. “Well, um, my fiancé and I—ex fiancé—were trying to start a family. We tried a bunch of times, in fact,” Chloe explains, settling into her story.

Beca notes the way her gaze lowers, as if she is mentally disappearing somewhere else.

“About eight weeks ago, our baby died. It was sudden. Really sudden. I was…” Chloe’s voice gets small and strained as she wrings her fingers together.

Beca is about the least affectionate woman in all of Atlanta, but something about Chloe’s small voice and shrinking demeanor almost makes her want to reach out and settle a comforting hand against her shoulder. She doesn’t, of course; she just focuses her own sad gaze on Chloe as she continues.

“I was five months along, so we weren’t really expecting it, you know? Maybe we should have been. There were four before this. And the miscarriages… No one prepares you for how hard they really are. But this time, I guess I just thought we’d made it. That I was really going to have a family.”

Chloe is looking down at her hands, folded into each other to keep from fidgeting. “This time we’d set up the nursery. We hadn’t done that before, not since the first…” She clears her throat. “I keep coming back to this baby blanket that I’ll never get to wrap around my baby. Or lift it to my nose and breathe in her smell when I miss her.” She blinks a few times and looks back up, like she is coming back to the present. Beca notes that her eyes are a little harder to look into now. “So, yeah,” Chloe murmurs. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

That same somber expression, already familiar, has returned almost automatically to Aubrey’s face. “We’re here for you, Chloe,” she says, a genuine air to her comforting tone. “Let’s hear it for Chloe, guys.”

Like conditioned robots reading from a brief handed out before Beca’s arrival, everyone except for Beca, who is unintentionally watching Chloe, says in monotone, “We’re here for you, Chloe.”

Beca’s is the lone voice to say, much more personally, “That sucks. I’m really sorry.”

Despite the sea of eyes trained on Chloe, Chloe’s gaze lifts to meet Beca’s, auburn brows drawn tightly together. They seem to relax a little as she looks at Beca, though. Eventually, she just says, “Thank you,” quietly, a small nod of appreciation accompanying her words.

A moment passes between them before Aubrey speaks. “Thank you for sharing that.” While Beca may not be used to this, to people opening up so deeply and personally, Aubrey evidently is. It seems to be business as usual for her as she continues in a clear voice. “Last week, we started talking about the F-word.”

Instantly, Beca’s eyebrows jump up. She glances around at everyone else, but they don’t seem to find anything strange about this—something Beca finds strange in and of itself. Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe’s gaze catches Beca’s, and Beca notes that it looks as though she’s trying to suppress a confused chuckle.

“That’s right. Forgiveness,” Aubrey says. “Forgiveness can be really difficult. It can even take a lifetime. But no matter the circumstances, everyone is deserving of forgiveness.”

Beca can’t keep the indignant scoff from leaving her lips even if she wants to. Aubrey stops talking, her mouth slightly open in offense, while piercing eyes seem to narrow in on Beca directly.

“Do you have anything to share about forgiveness, Beca?”

Beca’s lips purse, armor falling briefly. “Yeah, I do,” she nods. “How do you forgive someone who hits your husband with their car and then drives away, leaving him to bleed to death on the side of the road?” Beca mutters flatly. “How do you forgive the person responsible for you lying awake every night, wondering how your boys are supposed to cope without their father? How do you forgive that?”

Wide eyes stare her way incredulously, but before anyone has the chance to respond, she leans back in her chair, closing herself off to further conversation. “You know what, I actually don’t want to get into it, so someone else can go,” Beca exhales sharply, trying to push her anger back into its usual box, stored up on the highest shelf where it belongs.

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #dead to me #until i'm okay #bottombeca #collab:bottombeca #mine #mine:writing

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beth-bethar00 · 4 years

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Love Blooms Like a Rose

This is my entry for @takuyakistall’s Valentine’s prompts. Sorry it’s so long, my brain went brrrrrrr while writing

Valentine prompt 1: Confession.

Pairing: Beth Brella x Octatrio

Tw: Hanahaki au

It’s been a few months since Beth’s life at Night Raven College began and her meeting the octatrio. At first she was content with the 3 of them being her friends, but lately, she’s noticed that her feelings seemed to have changed towards them. At first she had no idea what these feelings were, but after awhile she understood. What she was feeling, was love. She had fallen in love with all 3 of them at the same time, but instead of happiness, she felt a sense of dread and anxiety. “Do they actually like me that way… W-Would they all be ok with sharing me between the 3 of them…” She’d ask herself while tending to her flowers. After a few minutes she started coughing and after the fit ended, she noticed some petals on the floor. At first she thought nothing of it, that she might’ve just blown some off her flowers from coughing, but then she felt something wet run down the side of her face and grew pale when she wiped it. There on her handkerchief, was a mixture of white and teal flower petals and blood. “O-Oh no… H-Hanahaki… Me of all people to get it… Fate really is cruel…” To which she choked out more petals into her hands and started shaking slightly from the pain that’s starting to form in her chest. She then walked over to her desk to look into her flower journal to find out what flower these petals are from. “L-Lets see…” She flips through the pages, seemingly not having any luck until, “A-Ah…” She at last finds the flower she’s looking for. “C-Christmas rose… Their flower language meaning is… Ah… The irony…” Sensing another painful coughing fit approaching, she quickly moves away from her desk to head to her trash can and hacks up a bunch of petals and an actual whole flower this time. She left the book open on the page, with the meaning of the flower now underlined, ‘anxiety’

It’s now been a few weeks since this all started, and the effects of it are starting to become apparent. Beth’s gotten significantly paler and weaker, she barely seems to be eating, and has been excusing herself more often. And most of all, she has been avoiding Azul, Jade, and Floyd. During times where it’s impossible to avoid the 3 of them she acts really tense and nervous, and right now just happens to be one of those times, as they have her currently cornered in the courtyard. “So, is there a reason why you appear to be avoiding us, Beth-san?” Azul asked, sounding rather concerned given how she currently looks like she’ll keel over at any second. “A-A-Ah… I-I haven’t really been f-feeling that good, a-and I didn’t w-want to get you guys s-sick…” She was hoping this would be convincing enough to get them off her tail, and for the most part it was, until Jade spoke up. “Oya? If you aren’t feeling well, then let us take care of you, the lounge is closed tonight, but we still have some things we need to take care of there. You may stay with us during this time” “I-I don’t w-want to impose-” Beth attempted to stutter out before getting cut off by Azul, “Please, we insist you do” Azul was giving her that smile. That dang smile that causes her heart to race a mile a minute and turn her brain temporarily to mush, That smile that caused her to stutter out, “W-Well… A-Alright…” “Wonderful! We’ll see you there after school.” And with that, the 3 of them headed off to their next class. Once they were out of earshot, Beth doubled over in pain over a bush and painfully choked out a bunch of christmas roses, their white and teal hues hidden by both the bushes and her own blood. Once she had recovered enough, she headed off to her next class as well.

Classes had finally ended, and Beth was heading back to change into her dorm uniform, only to be dragged off to mostro lounge by Floyd the second she steps through the mirror. “W-Wha?! A-At least let m-me change into my dorm clothes f-first..!” She stuttered out, surprised by Floyd dragging her off. “Nope~ Azul’s orders. He wanted you to come straight over, men-dako-chan, and told me to get you.” He happily says before he notices something about her. “Eh..? You usually feel way stronger than this usually, normally you’d have some resistance to my pulling you like this, but right now you feel like a wet noodle! Aha~! You must be really sick…” Floyd’s face quickly changes between amusement and concern as he talks on the way over there, as he notices that Beth’s starting to shake and appears to be in a lot of pain. “M-Men-dako-chan..? You aren’t looking too hot, hang on…” To which he immediately picked her up in a bridal carry and practically ran the rest of the way there, he yelled for Azul and Jade as he burst through the door. She could clearly sense the amount of distress he seemed to be in as he ran over and set her down on one of the lounge couches. She could feel another coughing fit coming and tries to head to the bathroom, only to be pushed back onto the couch by Floyd as Azul and Jade run out from the vip room. By the time the 2 reach her she’s unable to hold the coughing back anymore and choked out a whole bunch of flowers in front of the 3 of them, stunning the 3 males for a while as she rode out the incredibly painful coughing fit.

The room was silent for a bit before Jade finally managed to speak up. “Hanahaki… How long have you…?” “A-A few weeks now… I.. I didn’t want to worry any of you.. I-I’m sorry..” She was shaking and refused to make eye contact with any of them, instead she was staring down at the pile of bloody flowers underneath her. Jade seemed to be staring at the flowers, as if he was analyzing them, before finally saying. “Christmas roses… Are you perhaps anxious about love or who you love not returning your affections? There are other cures for this, you know…” Beth remained silent for a bit before finally saying, “... I’d rather die than lose my memories of you three…” Which once again shocked the 3 of them before they happened to notice the colors of the flowers, which looked exactly like their hair colors and that’s when it clicked. She was anxious about whether they’d accept her love.

Azul was the first to act. He walked over to the couch and sat next to her, put his hand under her chin and gently tilted her face towards his own, and leaned in to kiss her. She went wide eyed for a moment before melting into the kiss. It didn’t last long, however, before Floyd pulled her away and mashed his lips onto hers, almost hungrily. She was still reeling from Azul’s kiss and immediately melted into Floyd’s kiss as well. It took Azul to pry him off of her. “Aha~ You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that, Beth~” For once he didn’t use the nickname her gave her, and that could only mean one thing, He was being serious.

But it wasn’t until that moment that the 3 of them noticed something. Jade was nowhere to be seen. He must’ve slipped away while Azul and Floyd were busy kissing Beth. “D-Did he really just up and leave like that..? That’s low, even for him…” Azul said, with a tint of anger and concern in his voice. He was deep in thought, only coming out of it when he heard the sound of Beth being pulled over the back of the couch, earning a surprised look from him and Floyd. ‘E-Eep..! Mmph!” This caused the both of them to look over the couch and now they look even more surprised now. There, sitting against the back of the couch, was Jade. He had both his arm and legs wrapped around Beth and was kissing her rather passionately.

This went on for a minute before Azul decided to break it up by saying, “Oya, get a room you lovebirds.~ Fufu~” Which seemed to make him promptly stop the kiss and look away, and for once, all 3 of them could see Jade blushing, bright red as a matter of fact. Thankfully for him, Floyd decide to speak up and it caused the attention to be shifted away from his embarrassed blushing. “Nee nee, you don’t need to be afraid anymore, right Beth? All 3 of us love you a lot!” “It’s true. You mean the world to us Beth-san. We couldn’t think of anyone else we’d rather spend the rest of our lives with. So please… Be our angelfish.” Azul said, and from his tone of voice, it sounded sincere and it caused her to smile softly. “I’d like nothing more..~ The 3 of you mean so much to me.. A-Ah.. T-The pain in my chest, i-it’s fading..? A-Am I cured..?” Hearing this caused the 3 of them to smile. Azul and Floyd then got off the couch to cuddle with Beth and Jade, and the 4 of them stayed like this for the rest of the night. And for the next few days worked tirelessly to nurse Beth back to full health.

The End

#twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #twst oc #twst oc beth brella #hanahaki #JustJadelentines2021

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tundrainafrica · 4 years

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Masterlist

This will serve as a personal tracker of all of the fics I have ever written, all of the books and series I have consumed etc. I wrote this out to help me organize my thoughts since I have time now to reflect on this closet hobby of mine. I also put it up just in case anyone has ever read my stuff and is curious about how these works are doing in my head space.

Some were written back when I was way younger so apologies for the quality.

ALEX RIDER

Come Home (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Memories don't keep people grounded in their present. They're the reason people think of what ifs and would haves, regrets and daydreams. Alex sees three dimensions of his reality and makes a decision. Set after Never Say Die.

Status: Done (I guess?), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet

Killing (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Spoilers for Never Say Die. Killing is like learning to ride a bike as Alex is going to figure out very soon. For Spyfest 2017.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet

Transparency (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Although the bank robbery made national news, the young boy who saved the lives of all the people in the bank didn't. First hand witness accounts said the boy was a hero, the media said there was no young hero in the bank and one journalist tries to get to the bottom of it all.

Status:WIP (could probably still finish it, it’s almost done anyway), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet)

Type II Error (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Written for Spyfest Week 3. Set before Ark Angel. The updates on payroll accounts and budgets lined up too well with mysterious deaths and undisclosed missions. An auditor working for MI6 decides for herself whether or not the orders of her bosses Blunt and Jones were worth prying into.

Status: Done (Oneshot), will post on tumblr yet

Unforeseen Circumstances (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

It's April, the time of year when most students start salvaging their grades. Missions had taken their toll on Alex's grades and he needs to start salvaging soon or risk repeating the year. Nature wasn't on his side though and it turned out that his devil's luck had just run out.

Status: WIP (8/15), On hold, not posted on tumblr yet

ATTACK ON TITAN

Levi and Hange’s Relationship in Erwin’s POV (Status: Completed, not posted yet)

A Tale of Two Slaves (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

"Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn't exist. Everything is a choice. At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him."

Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn't.

Status: WIP (6/?)

A Free Spot (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Slight AU! Levi sacrifices himself in Chapter 132 instead of Hange and Hange deals with the consequences years later. Written for Levihan Angstober Week 4. Prompt: Free Spot

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet

Division of Labor (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

"The past years, we have noticed a lot of our fresh high school graduates knew nothing about responsibilities the that awaited them outside high school and even college. Many students do not master budgeting, taxes, household planning, loans and we hope to raise a generation who can navigate the adult world without the consequences of bad decisions they are bound to make going in blindly..."

Paradis High school starts a program incorporating adulting into their curriculum and Hange and Levi are paired together.

Status: WIP (1/?)

En Prise (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Hange already had the innate analysis skills and the quick wittedness to excel in the classroom. Chess should have come easy for her. As she processed her fifth loss to the man in front of her, she started to understand that there was more to the game than meets the eye.

College AU! Levi is a little too good at chess and Hange gets roped into studying the game further.

Status: WIP (1/18), will try to create a backlog before I post more.

Heroes or Victims (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Post Chapter 115, Hange reflects on emotions, relationships, war philosophies, and a future while taking care of a severely injured Levi.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet

Household Planning (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

"It was Levi's household. The plates were arranged and sorted by color and use, the way Levi liked it. The cabinets and the storage were arranged in a way which would be efficient for cooking, or at least the way Levi would have wanted to cook."

Levi gets sick and Hange is left to navigate household chores.

Status: Done (2/2)

Passion Project (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange's relationship before canon.

Status: WIP (1/3) Timeline written, Chapter 2 rough draft complete, not posted on FFN yet

Rough Day (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

It should have been apparent to Hange by the weight gain and the sudden lack of red days. Somehow, Levi noticed it first.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet, will probably write more fluff similar to this

Sugar Rush

(AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Marley brings the celebration of Halloween to Paradis. Hange and Levi go trick or treating with their child for the first time and start to realize how much the world has changed since the war.

A Halloween piece for the Levihan spookfest one year late.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet, will probably write more fluff similar to this

Would You Cry? (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Hange asks an innocent question and Levi finds himself reflecting on his emotions and his relationship with Hange. Written for LeviHan Week, Angstober 2020. Prompt: Silence/Screams

Status: Done (Oneshot)

Vulnerabilities (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Slight AU! Although Levi is humanity's strongest soldier in the battlefield, his rough childhood had left him weaker and more vulnerable to illness. Levi had always taken measures to prevent sickness nit anyone who has ever been close to him caught wind on it anyway. A series of oneshots throughout the story focusing on Levi's chronic weakness and others taking care of him.

Status: Sporadic updates depending on mood, not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Big Hero Six

Deal with the Devil (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

When mourning becomes too much for him, Hiro finds himself resorting to prayers and deals to bring back the brother he lost. The devil may have had pity on him but he never promised to let Hiro go unscathed.

Status: WIP, on hold, probably could get back to it just need to rewatch the movie, not yet completely posted on AO3 and tumblr

Fatal Flaw (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Grieving may be a long and painful process but in time most people do recover. For Hiro Hamada though something probably went wrong along the way because from what Aunt Cass could see, he was moving on yet at the same time, he wasn't.

Status: WIP, abandoned, completely forgot what I was planning, not yet posted on tumblr

Coco

Dares, Pranks and Curses (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Written for the Coco Valentines Fanwork Exchange. The night of Dia de Los Muertos, Miguel ends up staying out late to play a little game with his friends in the cemetery. Hector, Imelda and Miguel reunite through a game of Ouija.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Somewhere between Life and Death (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Dia de los Muertos isn't the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.

Status: WIP 9/20, on hold, timeline is complete just need to get it written, need to fix tumblr tags

Crossovers

Quest for Origin: Ranger’s Apprentice x Percy Jackson (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

A young boy gets washed up on the shore of Camp Half Blood with no memories whatsoever of his life before. How did he end up there? Is it all just a coincidence? Or is it a message from the Gods? What's with his uncanny skill with the bow?

Status: On Hold (25/35), timeline complete, will probably continue with PJO TV show comes out, not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Kingdom Hearts

Coded Connection (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Post KH3. If Kairi keeps Sora's memory alive, he'll eventually call out to her right? Then it will be her turn to find him, hold him and never let go.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr and ff

Kuroko no Basuke

Yellow, Red, Green, Blue and Purple (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Collab with friend back in high school. All Kise wanted to do was complete one more level of Flow Free before practice starts. When you have teammates as lazy, eccentric, hyperactive, sociopathic or invisible as the Generation of Miracles though, sometimes the things that sound the simplest, can be the hardest to do. Crackfic

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr

Ranger’s Apprentice

Being a Ranger’s Wife (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

As Will leaves on a suicide mission, Alyss ponders on her choice to have married him.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr or AO3

Danger Zone (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Rangers are human. Humans make mistakes. The difference though between an ordinary human and a ranger is the consequences they'll eventually face for past mistakes. Will should have known that for rangers, this included being on the run from an angry group of pirates with his silver oakleaf on the line.

Status: Probably Abandoned, first fanfic I have ever written lmao, completely forgot where I was going with this, not yet posted on tumblr or ffn.

Farmer’s Apprentice (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Will lied to Mr. Chubb about stealing from the kitchen years ago. How did that small decision change the course of the young boy's life? AU Crack fic.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr or AO3

Masters, Apprentices and Sons (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Gilan accepts Morgarath's challenge in the Plains of Uthal and Halt is left to care for his apprentice in the aftermath of the battle. Halt wonders why it took him this long to realize that there was no fine line between an apprentice and a son.

Status: WIP. I have written out all the way until chapter 5 but I completely lost the files. I don’t know if my current frustration will allow me to continue this.

The Fall of a Hero (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Will had fallen from his place as one of the top rangers in the corps and one of the top figures in Araluen and it's up to his friends to help pull him back up. Recovery Fic.

Status: WIP, timeline not written, could probably still continue this, just need to catch up to the series

Prince of Tennis

A Break from Ingenuity (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Timing is everything. Fuji gets his timing wrong, makes one misstep then finds himself facing a career ending injury. Maybe, that's when everyone will realize that he's human too.

Status: WIP. Will probs continue if new POT content comes out.

Yuri on Ice

Surprises (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

With all the stress piling up for the Japanese National Championship and more importantly, the World Championship, one can expect an athlete to get injured. To have the coach be the one struck by a career ending injury during practice is another story. That's exactly how Victor surprised the crowd though, maybe for the last time.

Status: WIP (3/?), not yet posted on tumblr

#Yuri on ice #Prince of Tennis #ranger's apprentice #kuroko no basket #kingdom hearts #percy jackson #coco #big hero six #attack on titan #Alex Rider #fanfic #masterlist

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edie-k · 4 years

Text

Conflict - R/Hr Fanfic

Today, I mentioned my dislike for one Ginny Weasley on the Romione Discord and I was met with polite side eyes. It made me remember this fanfic I wrote in 2004 (pre-HBP) in which I challenged myself to write a story where I liked Ginny but kept her fairly in character. Looking back at it 16 years later, I see all the cringe but I did accomplish my goal so I thought I would share.

Obviously, this is AU after OOTP.

Title: Conflict

Pairing: Romione

Rating: PG (I think I say hell once or twice, which is par for any conversation with me)

Disclaimer: Characters aren’t mine.

Ginny Weasley was a woman of divided allegiances. Her heart belonged to two separate factions: institutions that had been in place since almost the beginning of time. As Ginny Weasley was a loyal person, she had a difficult time choosing a position when these two sides went to war with one another.

You see, Ginny Weasley was a girl and a sister.

Of course, one may think these two went hand in hand. In order to be a sister, you must be a girl. True as that was, there were so many instances when it was difficult to be both a girl and a sister.

Ginny had six brothers and she loved them all dearly. Bill and Charlie regarded her as all significantly older brothers regard their younger sisters - she was innocent and young and could do no wrong. Apparently, Bill and Charlie did not remember much of the girls they knew at fifteen.

Percy… She was a bit reluctant to talk about Percy. She could never truly hate him, not even if she wanted to. When Bill and Charlie went to Hogwarts, Percy took on the role of the eldest child. He treated her as though she was his personal responsibility. Part of her wished he would return to the family just so she could drive him mad again.

Ginny’s relationship with the twins changed constantly. Some days they wanted Ginny as their protégé. Other days they wanted her out of the way. She was excellent in both carrying out their plans and schemes or as their unwilling test subject. Beyond that, she was a bit of a pest in their eyes. They had each other and did not see a need for anyone else’s company.

None of her five oldest brothers posed any problems when it became obvious she was a girl. They allowed guilt-free participation in girly activities, like gossiping and giggling with other females her age.

Ron was the one who always brought conflict and strife when it came to her roles as a girl and a sister. Ron was not her “favorite” brother or the one she “loved the most”. None of her brothers were. That was just not how the concept of family worked. Ron was her closest brother, and they had grown closer this summer.

The two of them spent the first month of holiday at the Burrow where the only real company was each other and it had been very enjoyable. Ron really seemed to have matured the past year, and it showed in their conversations. Ron actually listened to her, even when she could tell he thought she was being ridiculous or nosy. She found they could talk about almost anything. Ron even managed to muster up the maturity to listen to (some) details about her past and present relationships, although every time, he, not so subtly, hinted her perfect match had messy black hair and glasses.

Yes, some people may think that having one’s brother as a close friend is a bit pathetic, but something her mother said long ago stuck with her. Her brothers, especially Ron, were the only ones who knew what it was like to grow up a Weasley; who knew the holidays and memorable events the family shared. There were things her friends could never understand and the same went for Ron’s friends. They could not know what it was like to be poor or grow up in the magical world or as the babies of a large family. For that reason, Ginny was not ashamed of her friendship with her brother. He was a great person and even when Ginny was angry with him, she always found herself rooting for Ron. Therein lay the first half of the problem.

Not all areas of Ginny’s femaleness conflicted with her sisterly obligations. Ginny had plenty of friends who were girls. In fact, all of her roommates could be counted among her girl friends. They were not the pour-your-heart-out-to-and-tell-all-your-hopes-and-fears friends. No, they were more of the stay-up-late-giggling-about-boys-and-gossip friends. Yes, Ginny recognized that giggling and gossiping were not the most sophisticated of activities, but she enjoyed the frivolous time she spent with these girls.

There was a girl who was slowly becoming the heart-and-soul sort of friend. Hermione Granger listened in the same genuine way as Ron. She was trustworthy and faithful. They could discuss the serious matters in life, as well as the more entertaining aspects. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger was the other half of her problem.

Ron and Hermione were best friends. Of course, in saying that she rolled her eyes or raised a suggestive brow. Because while Ron and Hermione were just friends, neither of them actually felt that way, and more and more people caught onto that fact, Ginny especially, because she was the only one who had managed to coax confessions from them both.

Hermione already confessed the prior summer at Grimmauld Place that she possessed feelings beyond friendship for Ron. Consequently, Ginny made it her goal to obtain the same confession from Ron that summer. It was not half the challenge Ginny originally anticipated. Two weeks into holiday, she spoke a few carefully chosen words about Hermione’s impending arrival and Ron caved. Irritatingly enough, neither one of them made a move to step past the line between romance and friendship.

With the stalling of their relationship, the bickering remained. Harry remained distant and removed from the whole situation, designating her as the go-between of choice. This brought out Ginny’s two personalities, Ginny the Sister and Ginny the Girl. It actually got to the point where Ginny could visualize miniature versions of herself perched on each shoulder. Sister Ginny wore a Weasley jumper with jeans and her hair was such a bright red that it could not exist in nature. Girl Ginny wore way too much pink and an extraordinary amount of makeup. And the two of them never agreed on anything. They bickered almost as much as Ron and Hermione. What made it even more difficult was they both always had valid points.

So when Hermione exploded into the fifth year girls’ dorm, where Ginny sat on her bed, organizing pictures in her album, she was not surprised to see Sister Ginny appear on her left shoulder and Girl Ginny on the right to see what the problem was.

“Oh Ginny, sometimes he is just so awful!” Hermione cried, flopping on Ginny’s bed.

“What did he do?” demanded Girl Ginny.

“What did you do?” hissed Sister Ginny.

“What happened?” Ginny sighed. It was a beautiful October afternoon and the last thing she wanted to do was discuss her brother with Hermione and her two personalities.

“Well, Ron and Harry came down with their brooms and I said, ‘Ron, I thought you were going to work on your Potions essay with me this afternoon.’”

“She nagged him about that yesterday!” Sister Ginny huffed.

“Encouraged!” insisted Girl Ginny.

“Oh please. Are you telling me that Hermione doesn’t nag?” asked Sister Ginny.

“Didn’t you mention that to him yesterday?” asked Ginny.

“Well, yes.”

“Ha!” said Sister Ginny.

“Only because I - well, because I care about him. I want him to do well,” said Hermione.

“See, she means well!” said Girl Ginny.

“It’s because he’s much smarter than he gives himself credit for and if he just worked a little harder…”

“Well, I guess I have to agree with her there,” conceded Sister Ginny. “He is smart.”

“For a man,” agreed Girl Ginny.

“And then, he says, ‘Don’t nag!’ I told him that I, of course, AM NOT nagging and -”

“Hermione, might I ask why you’re so upset over an argument that seems so typical for the two of you?” Ginny prodded.

“Oh, good point! Now we’re getting somewhere!” said Sister Ginny.

“It’s not very nice to corner someone,” Girl Ginny huffed, crossing her arms.

“I told you; I just want Ron to do well!” insisted Hermione, but her pink stained cheeks told a different story.

“Ooo, she’s got a secret!” squealed Girl Ginny.

“Must you squeal?” asked Sister Ginny.

“Hermione,” Ginny prodded, her voice tinted with disbelief.

“Well,” she said, sitting up and primly straightening her skirt. “He just made a comment yesterday and I thought that - I obviously took it out of context.”

“What did he say?” asked Ginny.

“It’s not - it’s not a big deal. In fact, I obviously made a big deal out of something that was not.”

All three Ginnys patiently stared at her.

“Well, yesterday, he told me that he thought that I looked nice,” she said quietly.

“Good going Ron!” Sister Ginny said.

“What, she doesn’t look nice everyday?” asked Girl Ginny.

“And….” Hermione stopped and blushed.

“Hermione,” Ginny prompted.

“Well, yesterday when we were playing chess, he said it was sort of nice to spend time together by ourselves and - he kind of put his hand over mine. Of course, before I could respond, Dean and Seamus came in needing Ron to settle some sort of Quidditch argument. So I made some excuse and left.”

“She fled the scene?” asked Girl Ginny.

“See, she was in the wrong!” declared Sister Ginny triumphantly.

“Maybe his hand was clammy,” Girl Ginny said.

“Hermione, it sounds like he was complimenting you and trying to show some more than friendly affection. I don’t think my brother would do that unless he was attracted to you.”

“Ginny, I don’t know,” Hermione said as she rose from the bed. She began to pace back and forth. “All I wanted was to - to spend some time with him alone again this afternoon and so that’s why I pressed the issue, I guess.”

“Oh Hermione,” said Sister Ginny. “Homework is not the way to seduce my brother.”

“Food works well for seduction,” piped up Girl Ginny. “Or cleavage.”

“Okay, I can handle some things but let’s all please remember that this is our brother and I would prefer we never have the word seduction be uttered in the same sentence as his name,” Ginny told her two alter egos.

“Hermione, I bet if you just told Ron you wanted to spend time with him, he would happily oblige,” Ginny suggested gently.

“Hmph,” scoffed Hermione. “Why would he want to spend time with me?”

“If you want to bang your head against that wall, we’ll hang on tight,” suggested Sister Ginny.

“Because he just told you he does!” Ginny exclaimed.

“He’s just… making conversation,” Hermione said. Ginny glared at her. “Oh Ginny, I wish I knew for sure!” Hermione sank back into bed and sighed.

“I wish I could just tell her that Ron told me and this whole damn thing could be over with,” Ginny thought.

“Well of course you can’t,” said Girl Ginny. “And neither can I. But you can!” She pointed directly at Sister Ginny.

“What!” said Sister Ginny.

“What!” said Ginny.

“What?” asked Hermione.

“Just - just hang on a second. I have to think for just one second,” Ginny replied. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen. We can’t tell Ron Hermione likes him because Hermione is our friend and you cannot betray a friend. We all agree on that, right?” said Girl Ginny.

“Right,” confirmed Sister Ginny, looking a touch confused. Ginny herself was a bit confused as to where this was going.

“Now, you’re his sister. That means you can’t allow anyone to put him down or humiliate him or anything like that, right?”

“Correct,” answered Sister Ginny.

“But as his sister, it’s your job to embarrass and annoy him!”

“So,” Sister Ginny started out slowly. “I can tell Hermione that Ron likes her and it’s not really breaking a promise to Ron -”

“It’s being a little sister!” finished Girl Ginny.

“Wait a minute!” cried Ginny.

“This is perfect! I can’t even feel guilty because this is helping Ron. He can’t even be mad!” Sister Ginny exclaimed.

“Shouldn’t we stay out of this whole thing?” Ginny asked weakly. She needed to regain control before she was completely overruled.

“NO!” shouted Sister Ginny and Girl Ginny.

“Well, at least you two are getting along,” Ginny sighed.

“This has gone on long enough. It’s time for some serious interloping,” confirmed Sister Ginny.

“Just tell her. She’s your best friend and you should not keep secrets from your best friend,” pushed Girl Ginny.

“Don’t you want to do what’s best for your brother?” Sister Ginny asked.

“Ginny? What should I do?” asked Hermione.

“Tell her!” Girl Ginny urged.

“Say it!” pressured Sister Ginny.

“FINE!” yelled Ginny. Hermione jumped two feet in the air at sound of Ginny’s outburst. Ginny took little notice as she launched into her speech. “Hermione, Ron likes you. He told me himself over the summer holiday. He wants to tell you but he was just too scared to say it so I helped him develop a plan. He was going to try and slowly change your relationship. That should explain the decline in the rows and the increase in compliments and touching. Ron was going to see how you responded, and if he thought you liked him too, he was going to tell you on Halloween.”

“Halloween?” said Girl Ginny, wrinkling her nose. “Not very romantic, is it?”

“At least he was going to make a move,” said Sister Ginny.

Hermione was looking at her with wide eyes and a slight smile. “Really? He thought up a plan? It’s more than I managed.”

“Well, I did help him come up with it,” Ginny reminded her. “Anyway, with Halloween right around the corner, your bolting away from him last night probably made him doubt all the other responses he had been getting.”

“Which explains the fight earlier,” finished Hermione. “Oh Ginny, thank you! I’m sure it was hard for you to give up something Ron told you in confidence.”

“Well, it’s for a good cause,” Ginny said. “You are going to fix this, right?”

“Oh yes! I’ll - I’ll - I’ll meet him down at the Quidditch pitch right now,” she declared, standing up from the bed with a look of determination on her face. Suddenly, she deflated slightly. “Oh, but Harry will be there.”

Ginny chuckled. “I’m sure Harry will leave you alone.”

Hermione looked at her. “Does he know as well?”

Ginny was not sure if Ron had told Harry or not but Harry’s increased eye rolling and smirks in Ron and Hermione’s direction seemed to indicate he figured it out. “I’m not sure,” Ginny shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll leave you alone. He’s not as nosy as Ron.”

Hermione smiled as she glanced in the mirror, smoothing her skirt repeatedly. “Do I look okay?” she asked as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean, obviously my hair is a fright but it hasn’t picked up anything between here and the common room, has it? No stray quills, right?”

Ginny laughed. “No, your hair is fine.” While her friend’s hair was bushy, it wasn’t quite the disaster Hermione imagined it to be.

“Well, I suppose it’s okay,” she said, still smoothing it down. “It’s not as if Ron likes me for my looks.”

“Oh Merlin. She either has horrible self-confidence or she is completely blinded by love,” said Girl Ginny.

“Even I am not that delusional about my brother,” said Sister Ginny.

Ginny snorted. “Hermione, you do realize Ron is a teenage boy? I mean, yeah, he likes loads of noble things about you, but he definitely likes looking at you. Believe me; I’ve heard all about it. His eyes even glaze over when he stares at you, and you know he’s picturing you naked.”

“GINNY!” exclaimed an outraged Hermione, face burning red.

“Isn’t that a little too much information for you?” Girl Ginny asked Sister Ginny.

“I have five other brothers. I figured out a long while ago what they think about the majority of the time.”

Ginny ignored the two and turned back to Hermione. “Go on Hermione! You’re a beautiful girl; just go out there and tell Ron how you feel. While you’re at it, make him forget I was the one who let his secret slip.”

Hermione giggled. “I’ll try,” she said as she hurried out the door. Ginny sank back onto her bed.

“I hope I did the right thing,” she muttered aloud. “I feel a bit guilty for giving Ron away like that.”

“It had to be done,” Girl Ginny reassured her. “The arguments, the constant need for your advice…”

“It wasn’t good for your sanity,” finished Sister Ginny.

“My sanity? I’m in my room, talking to two aspects of my personality that have taken on distinctive voices and physical forms. Ron and Hermione were not the ones causing me to question my sanity. So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go down to the common room and fill Harry in when he comes back up,” Ginny finished, standing up and walking towards the door.

“Harry?” Girl Ginny asked excitedly. “Is that open for discussion again?”

“You cannot date your brother’s best friend!” insisted Sister Ginny.

“And why the hell not?” asked Girl Ginny.

“Oh Merlin.”

#au romione #pre hbp #romione

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howaboutleeches · 5 years

Note

For the Au, trope, prompt thing. How about 9, 9 and 2 with Julian?

“For the Au, trope, prompt thing. How about 9, 9 and 2 with Julian?”

9 - camp!au

9 - strangers to lovers

2 - “fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. fuck.”

(Sorry in advance for my lack of knowledge about summer camps. I’ve never been to one and all my info about it comes from USA movies. I hope you like it though ;) )

@gangsterloli

——————————————————————————————————–

“His warmth” Camp!AU (Julian x Reader)

Word Count: 1,934

It was that time of the year again. Moody teenagers, hot weather and mosquitoes as predators. Summer camp was happening once again and now you were officially qualified to be a Camp Monitor. You remembered ‘till this day all of your monitors and how they were the best people ever. They always made summers happier, even if you didn’t want to go camping that year. And now, you were one of them.

You were now waiting at the bus stop for the minivan who was supposed to pick up all the monitors. Asra and Nadia were casually talking, also waiting for the van as you decided to drift into your thoughts and imagine all the possibilities of the next three weeks.

“Excuse, are you also monitors?” Your head snapped at the source of the sudden voice.

Standing tall, the skinny but charming man had his cheeks red and his chest going up and down with exhaustion. The tips of his hair were sweaty and you realized he had opened a few buttons of his monitor shirt. Damn.

“Yes, we are! Are you the new monitor, Jason?” Nadia extended a polite hand to the red-haired man and he responded with a very excited handshake.

“Actually it’s Julian, but no worries” He then proceeded to shake Asra’s hand with the same vigor and turned to you.

Both your eyes lingered on each other’s for a while before sharing the last handshake of the moment. You just stood awkwardly close to each other waiting for the van to arrive.

The trip was really quiet and everyone seemed to be trapped in their own thoughts. You looked through the window, taking in all the beautiful nature around you. The closer you got to the camp, the fewer buildings and houses you would see, and more green would be presented to you. Memories of the past years you went to the camping site crossed your mind. Hiking, laughing close to the fire…your first kiss.

“The last to get out of the bus has to carry all the bags!” Asra joked and rushed out of the van, rapidly followed by Nadia.

You got up quickly, not wanting to face the punishment and bumped straight to what felt like a brick wall. Eyeing you down, the tall redhead held a chuckle and gave you enough space to pass through. You accepted and quickly waddled out of the van.

Of course, as an act of kindness, you decided to help Julian with all the bags. Most of them were easy to carry, but when you had to deal with Nadia’s, it took both of you and Asra to be able to move it to your shared room. Her excuse was something among the lines of “the weather is crazy in here, you never know what to expect”. Forecast who?

“So, why did you decide to become a camp monitor?” The sudden voice from behind your back spooked you. Turning slightly, you could see Julian’s soft smile towards you.

“Well, I’ve spent most of my summers coming here and I really enjoyed it. I always admired the monitors though. They were always so happy, full of life. It looked like they were having more fun than all of us. I had my chance to be one and I didn’t want to waste it. What about you?”

“Well…I’m actually here in a secret mission, you know. My younger sister is going to spend her vacation here and I, accidentally, overheard her talking to some friends about the reason. There’s this guy, a few years older than her, that’s also coming. I had to do my duty as a caring older brother and not let her do anything stupid”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I definitely didn’t picture him as an overprotective older brother. But it was a little cute though. We proceeded with the small talk until noon when we had to get together with the rest of the team and make the pair’s divisions. We waited in the cafeteria for a few minutes until a tree of a man showed up.

He had his long dark hair tied up in a man bun and his physic was more similar to an MMA fighter than to a logistics guy. He analyzed each one of our faces and looked at his clipboard, trying to match names, photos and whatever other notes he had taken previously. He then nodded to himself and proceeded to point at each one of us with his pen.

“Nadia and Asra, Fane and Pietros, Maika and Kilian, Julian and (Y/n)” We looked at each other simultaneously and gave each other a warm smile. The logistics guy, Muriel, just rolled his eyes at the common excitement and retrieved to the room he came from.

————————————————————————————————-

“OKAY, WHO’S READY FOR THE BEST TREASURE HUNT EVER?” I yelled at the top of my lungs and heard howls and excited screams coming from the twenty-five teenagers in front of me “Jules, would you like to explain the rules?”

Julian rubbed his hands together before saying each of the treasure hunt rules as if they were sacred. It was really funny to watch him get so into this job. As a result of spending almost three weeks together, always talking and planning activities, you were really close by now. Sometimes both of you would just sit under a tree in front of the lake instead of going to sleep and talk about everything and anything that popped into one of your heads at the moment. Of course, you couldn’t be spotted by any of the teens or else it would be a huge problem, but all of it being a secret between you made things even more exciting. After the main rules were given, he turned to me, and I knew what it meant.

“Now, there are ten riddles hidden in the campsite. You’re all familiarized with it by now, so it should be easy for everyone to guess where we should go next to look for the next clue. And now…LET’S WIN” A horn sounded in the middle of the woods and you ran towards the campfire place. All you knew was that the first clue was there and nothing else. Everything was also a mystery to you.

Your group was smart and after ten intense minutes, you all were headed to the final clue. Portia, who you later found out was Julian’s sisters, was coincidently in your group, and she had found the 9th clue. “ “What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?” What kind of riddle is that?” She angrily questioned.

Marvin, the quiet kid in your group, raised his hand energetically “I know, I know! It’s a river!” And then, everyone ran like crazy towards the nearest river, and the only one we had seen since we arrived. There was a boat on the edge of the river with a sign saying “monitors only”.

Apparently, it was way too dangerous for the kids, but it was okay for us to take the risk. Damn Muriel. We alerted the teens to stay away from the water as Julian and I would get into the boat, get the clue and get out, as fast as possible. They all agreed and we ran towards the boat. I, somehow, managed to jump right into it, but Julian wasn’t that lucky. While jumping into it, he gave the boat some impulse, making us back away from the shore.

Obviously, my first instinct was to pull him inside the boat, but after that, we were both getting further and further away from the kids we were supposed to be watching.

“fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. fuck.” Julian mutter to himself like a mantra and it was honestly making me nervous.

“Julian, do you know how to swim?” He looked at me and nodded vigorously. I grabbed the clue, held it tightly in a fist and pulled Julian up by his wrist. I counted to three and then felt the cold water absorbing me into darkness. Well, this is definitely different than the pool. Or the beach. Yeah, definitely different. I tried to swim up, hold onto something, but I had let go of Julian and now I felt completely desperate.

I could feel my fingertips getting colder by the second and my body becoming heavier. I couldn’t end like this. My heart was beating too fast for its own good and I was feeling the urge to breathe, but I couldn’t, or else it would be the end. My eyelids were slowly closing when I felt this sudden pressure on my wrist and then my body was being pulled upwards.

Air filled my lungs in a matter of seconds and a cough harshly came out of my throat. My savior, Julian, was smiling at me, his cheeks as red as an apple and his long hair sticking on his face. I felt a sudden urge and I knew I had to do it immediately. I grabbed his face and pulled him towards me, giving him a very passionate kiss. I ran my thumbs on his cheeks and he gave into the kids. Of course, it didn’t last very long since I was already out of breath, but it was totally worth it.

We swam to the shore being greeted with whistles, claps and a very disgusted Portia, complaining about how all that was very inappropriate and that she would tell Mazelinka. Even being wet, we managed to read the next little and rushed to the final point. We were the first group to get there, meaning we had won the treasure hunt. Our group won double dessert, they could stay awake until 2AM, and the monitors were allowed to use the hydro.

“Are you guys okay? What happened?” Asra asked when he arrived with his group in second place.

“Oh trust me, everything is fine” Julian replied, holding my hand.

After eating our deserved dessert and making sure everything was in its place, we headed to the hydro. He was already in it when I got there and I felt a little embarrassed to take off my robe in front of him, even if I was wearing a bathing suit underneath it. He, reading my thoughts, covered his eyes and gave me enough time to take the robe off and hop into the hydro, sitting across from him.

“Are you sure you want to sit there, so far? After basically harassing me, I thought you would want some closure” I splashed some water in him in a joking manner.

“Oh, please, I was just dizzy and wasn’t thinking straight. You can’t take rushed and unthought actions seriously.” He gave me a smug grin and slowly leaned closer, putting his finger under my chin.

“Are you still dizzy?”

“No”

“Good”

He brushed our lips together before closing the gap between our mouths. He was warmer than I expected and, just like magic, I was sitting on his lap, his hand firmly holding my hips and my arms around his neck. He separated the kiss and looked me deep in the eyes.

“ I really like you. I want to get to know you. I want to make you happy every day. I want to make your heart beat faster and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Will you let me?”

I leaned on his chest, his warmth comforting me. “Only if you let me do the same to you.”

——————————————————————————————————-

So much fluff

I loved it!

#julian imagine #julian imagines #julian x reader #julian devorak #julian x mc #julian fluff #the arcana #the arcana imagine #the arcana headcanon #asra x reader #nadia x reader #Smut #julian smut #muriel x mc #muriel x reader

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eutaerpe · 5 years

Text

the kim social test

pairing — jungkook x reader

word count — 15.4k

genre/warnings— fluff, friends to lovers au. domestic!jungkook, jungkook in a towel, kissing, mentions of sex. and they were roommates! trope, namjoon is attractive (even though we all knew this), mentions of drinking because Taehyung creates the Kim Social Test while drunk and Jimin prompts to get wasted maybe more than once. who knows. rom com undertones?

summary — “I’m moving out.” These are the first words Jungkook hears on a fatal Thursday morning, hands holding onto the kitchen counter. A mixed feeling paints his expression. “I know we haven’t talked about this, but I think we both know that it’s the right thing to do. I can’t stay here anymore.”

alternatively, “it takes more than five exhibits for you to prove that Jungkook is a zero, according to the Kim Social Test”.

notes — i accidentally started writing this in first person. 3k words into the story i realized my mistake lmao i thought about changing it, but it would have affected the writing style of TKST which was supposed to be a short thing about jungkook and the reader shy panicking, moving in together, becoming friends and guk eventually getting a blowjob. life really be like that sometimes, huh? anyway i hope you all don’t mind because tkst is my baby ♥︎ it might be flawed and i, for myself, can already see space for improvement. reading my a smoking party draft, i can see how much i’ve improved. this style is something fresh and new for me lol i’m so excited to share something i’ve worked on since january. let me know what you think ♥︎

THE KIM SOCIAL TEST

(or “it takes three attempts to realize that Taehyung can be, indeed, right too”)

“I’m moving out”

These are the first words Jungkook hears on a fatal Thursday morning, hands holding onto the kitchen counter.

A mixed feeling paints his expression.

“I know we haven’t talked about this, but I think we both know that it’s the right thing to do,” I add, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I can’t stay here anymore.”

“So, you’re moving out. Definitely,” he ruffs his own hair, voice steady and low, his typical morning voice. Even though it seems like he’d like to add more — start asking questions, clear any doubt — I interrupt him, trying to sound as firm as possible.

“Absolutely,” then he nods, slowly, “I’m moving out.”

HYPOTESYS: JUNGKOOK IS A ONE

— 6 months earlier —

It starts like this.

“I’m moving out,” I declare, as Jimin opens a bottle of beer. “Tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”

Taehyung beams, excited, “Y/N! That’s amazing!” - he engulfs me in a friendly hug, laughing openly - “With this short notice? Fucking fantastic. Where are you going to stay, then?”

I see Jimin filling our glasses, a satisfied smile on his lips, too.

I can’t help but sigh at the sight. Things are going to run smoothly from now on. I can feel it. All according to my plan, nevertheless. God knows how much I wanted that job - (“Hello, Namjoon! Yes, it’s still me, any news on the… yes, I know, trust me, I know it’s only been a couple days, yes, they usually take a week or two to choose the interns, let alone the newcomers… That can do! What’s four, five more days? I can wait for weeks. It’s not like I have a place on the line. Or my whole life. Mhm. Yeah. Yes,” smiling sardonically, I start tapping my fingers on the desk, “Always a sweetheart. Thank you again, Namjoon!”) - wanted out of that small, reeking apartment I had, up until yesterday, to share with two guys I hope I’ll never meet again in my life (as Jimin once said, get wasted with me and you’ll forget them. As Taehyung once replied, have sex with me and you’ll even forget your own name. I agreed to the first reasonable proposal, but apparently even getting drunk with Jimin doesn’t help. Especially if, after the second Negroni, sometime before sipping from the glass Jager, you stop thinking clearly and end up at your place with a heavy Jimin partially covering your figure. Ergo, we went home. We woke up with a terrible headache just as my I’d-rather-forget roommate greeted us, more than partially naked, definitely wasted, absolutely stenching).

“I-uh, I think you know the guy? At least, mentioned him a couple of times over the years? Jeon Jungkook?”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, tongue wetting the upper lip. “The Jeon Jungkook?”

“Roommate of Min Yoongi? The one and only?”

“Yeah, he’s leaving for an internship abroad he didn’t think would win, so he left Jungkook with such a short notice he had to actually go look for someone to pay half the rent with,” I explain, “What’s up with the tone, though? He seemed nice. Over the phone he almost sounded shy. And I’m the one saying he seemed shy. I couldn’t talk to any of you for the first weeks of high school even though we walked the same way home and had known each other for years. Me!”

“The chances of Jungkook being shy are the same as me being a virgin,” Jimin explains, rolling his eyes.

I furrow my forehead. Things don’t add up. “I don’t believe you,” My purple haired friend drops dramatically his head on his hands, “Not the virgin part, I know you won’t tell me whom you had your first time with, which, by the way, rude, but I’m pretty sure there has been one to begin with— “

“Trust me, there’s been even more than one with that same person.”

“Taehyung, gross,” I exclaim, “Not the point. I’m not interested in your sexual life— “

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Tae shrugs. Jimin groans. I close my eyes, red staining my cheeks—See? Shy! I told them. I’m the shy one. And I can sense a shy one around me. Jungkook gives off this… timid vibe. I’m sure of it, I can’t be wrong, for God’s sake.

“I don’t believe you, at all. Twenty bucks says the guy’s a timid, socially awkward introvert too nervous to muster up the courage to even talk to me.”

They look at me in disbelief. I can’t believe them. I have good instincts. They know it, too. So what? They mentioned the guy a few times over the years. It’s inevitable—they’re friendly, outgoing, extroverts. They know people. They inevitably bump into people when they’re out partying and going to class and joining groups and going to the gym.

Apparently, there are people who can juggle between three different activities while at college. Activities that don’t include showing up to classes, calling your mother at least once a week, and searching for a job. Duh. Who knew?

People nowadays judge before getting to know others. It’s something millennials and elders have in common, every now and then.

Plus, rumours are worse than the Black Plague. You wake up and tell a friend you feel this is your lucky day, then it turns out people say you got up flexing on how you got lucky. And you had your walk of shame. While sore. And naked. Because in this fucked-up scenario, you’re born confident in your own body. And your walk of shame is very valid, even though it’s in your own house. (Read: this is a fucked-up scenario) Gasp! How rumours fly. How much stories are accurately changed and automatically deterred with a simple misunderstanding.

It’s 2019, for Christ’s sake. Give the kid the benefit of the doubt.

“Agreed,” Jimin says, a smug grin on his lips, right before Taehyung shakes my hand, smirking openly.

EXHIBIT A

Okay, so. In hindsight, it’s 2019. Never trust first impressions. Or your superb instincts.

Jungkook? Older than me. Just slightly, however. Bigger than me. Bulkier than what I imagined him to be. Sure, he had a sweet voice but what’s the point, huh, when you’re almost six feet tall and as intimidating as Jimin when he’s dancing? Or Tae when he plays the piano?

“I call bullshit, what the fuck,” I hiss, holding onto my phone, “You agreed to this even after I told you ‘I can’t believe you, you’re fucking making this up’?”

“Especially after that,” Tae sighs, and I want to punch him, “I can’t say no to free money. Well, fairly earned money.”

“Where’s fairness in all this? You let me move in. With a guy. That is—how can I say this?”

“Hot? Very fuckboy-ish?”

I refrain myself from answering. What have I gotten myself into? So much for things finally running smoothly.

“Very Not Shy,”

“Oh, what a curious phrasing. Have you talked to him yet? Or better—proved my Kim Social Test right?”

The Kim Social Test – also widely known among your friends as the infamous Kim Taehyung’s third attempt to be right – is something he made up while tipsy (because he can’t possibly hold his liquors, although one would never hear this coming out from Taehyung’s own mouth), frowning and frustrated. It’s more like an investigation of all sorts aimed to prove one’s social skills, ranking from one, id est a nice, cute introvert who, given the chance, will surprise you, to twenty-three, as in the years Tae and Jimin had known each other when Tae made this test up. Not that I’ll ever admit it to him, but I suppose there’s partial truth somewhere in between all those steps, fuelled by the dark-haired friend of mine’s interest in psychology, reverse psychology, communication, and his instincts.

Step one: talk to the person in question.

Step one failed.

Unless Jungkook’s the one trying to test the KST on me.

“What I’m trying to say,” I begin, unsure, “Is that he smiled. Offered to help with my things. Explained how things work here – anything from the absurd no dating slash no couples! policy, to how to deal with neighbours. Turns out that the landlord is staying on the floor below ours, while the landlord’s son in on the floor above. But I’m digressing,” Taehyung snorts, the great friend, “He was being nice—borderline over friendly, then said not to mind his absence, every now and then, because he needs to de-stress, if I know what he means, and I’m always free to try his car with, uh, him, if I know what he means.”

“So, your paranoid ass is trying to tell me he hit on you twice?”

“I’m finally out of that squalid place even you promptly detested and I knock into this splendid flat – you should see how neat and spacious it is – only for it to be inhabited by some horny guy who’s keen on getting laid. Tell me how I should feel, Taehyung.”

Taehyung stays silent for a hot second, slightly worrying me that he hung up on me.

“I’ll tell you what,” – the best friend suggests, while I start twisting my ring – “Jiminie and I are coming over this evening. He’ll see us, he’ll understand, he’ll back off. In this precise order. You in?”

“Roger that, captain.”

This prompts Taehyung’s laugh, loud and dazzling, the comforting noise filling my ears.

EXHIBIT B

Step one: talk to the person in question.

A month ago, this mere action would have terrified me. Which is a solemn hypocrite thing of me to think, now, because, as a matter of fact, it threw me off. Not one bit of me was safe and sound, after I non-talked to Jungkook when I moved in. I didn’t think I’d ever muster up the courage to converse to him—maybe just to politely decline his feeble and frantic advance.

(“Fuck, you’re so dramatic,” were Jimin’s first words when I opened the door that night. Maybe so, Park.)

However, I was substantially right. I soon realized that maybe my roommate – twenty-two, almost 6 feet tall, shows a playful tendency to wear only commonly dark clothes – really is shy. After Jimin and Taehyung came over, that very same day, he turned into a mess, avoiding altogether eye contact with me, backing away even when my friends – not anymore concerned – offered him dinner.

A spur of bravado, we agreed later on that day. Known that – understanding that maybe he was just as excited and terrified about the new intruder as I was—made us magically forget altogether about that small… incident. About the awkward spur of bravado, I mean.

“Tough Tuesday shift?”

Jungkook is spread on the couch, his long form lost among all the cushions. He’s holding what I assume are papers he needs to grade, several of them scattered on the coffee table before a mug of tea and three red pens. Being an assistant teacher suits him, in a way. He’s tidy, neat, precise – I’ll never stop repeating this sudden realization in my mind. He revealed, on a late night, the movie long forgotten, that doing the laundry calms his nerves. Can’t quite believe that this is the same person who implied he needed sex to relax.

“Let’s say Namjoon doesn’t forget easily,” I try to joke as he grins warmly, adjusting on the couch so that he faces me more comfortably. He studies me as I take off my coat, his inquiring gaze following every move I make – including me staring back at him.

“Seokjin-hyung came by, an hour ago or so,” he announces, passing a hand on the dark grey sweater hugging his torso, “Left something he prepared because he’s convinced I can’t cook. The very same person who taught me how to properly feed myself—can you believe it?”

Although his tone is teasing, tainted by almost pure disbelief, he keeps on grinning. I chuckle. “Yeah, how rich of him.”

“If you’re not planning anything, we could have real dinner together. Finish Haikyuu!’s third season on the couch. We could even just complain about your boss, really. If you’re up for it, I mean,” he rubs the nape of his neck, discarding on the coffee table the papers that moments ago he was holding.

That’s the thing about Jungkook. He’s his very own person, discreet, kind, nonetheless quiet. He does things a lazy eye wouldn’t even notice; someone uncaring would not bat their eyes at his deep, silent actions that speak more than words could ever. It’s more than just wearing his heart on his sleeve – it’s caring and being attentive not just because sometimes it’s convenient or it casually happens. There’s meaning beside his every action, led by his desire to truly be helpful. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s really not the person people make him out to be, and I mentally scoff at Tae and Jimin’s antics when I said ‘Jeon Jungkook?’ and they had answered with ‘The Jeon Jungkook?’, staining his… persona. His kind soul.

I hum, nodding eagerly.

“Yeah, it sounds amazing. I’d like that.”

His bunny smile makes a bashful appearance.

***

Step two: pay attention to the body language. Spot the differences between how the person in question talks and acts.

The first time I hear about Mina it’s on a Wednesday afternoon, and Jungkook’s not home.

Following Namjoon around for the entire day meant that the smart, charming new leader of the Publishing Department – a promotion he got a few days after I became his colleague – got, at the same time, amused by my… consistency and tired of having me as his new shadow.

He, of course, understands what it means to be new, fresh out of college and passionate about my new job and has tried, for the past few days, to challenge my abilities – perhaps soon, yes, but the glint in Namjoon’s dark eyes tells me that he sees in me the same young guy he was himself, not even a long time ago. Hence the try-doing-this-on-your-own with its thrilling sequel I’ll-be-here-when-you’re-done he’s thrown on me lately.

Which is a nice way of saying you’ve become bearable but as the new leader I’ve got more work on my hands, so I can’t guide you through this new world slash don’t make me regret trusting you. I swear, this man has a way with words Hemingway could never.

Anyway, this explains why I’m working on this novel – the debut work of a young writer Namjoon firmly believes in – in our living room, laptop on my thighs and manuscript in my hands. On a Wednesday afternoon. Alone. Because Jungkook’s Wednesdays are, in this order, full of assholes actual-professors that expect the most from him, gym, kick boxing with Yugyeom, and finally coming back home to hit the shower and fucking rest.

Apparently, however, Yoongi isn’t aware of his former roommate’s schedule, because he’s Skype-calling him, in this very moment. I’m not snooping into his stuff, not at all, it’s just that the last time they did this – having a video call like two adorable siblings – Jungkook used my laptop and forgot to log out. Which is a very good explanation for why Min Yoongi’s eyes are staring into mine.

“Y/N?”

“Hi,” I splutter, as surprised as he sounded. “Seems like Guk forgot to log out since you last talked.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, hands in his wet, mint hair. “Is he home? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him, but the kid’s been avoiding all my calls.”

That doesn’t sound like Jungkook. Sure, he’s not winner of the year for the fastest replier ever existed, but in decent time – which can vary between two hours and two days – he gets the message (pun intended) and decides to grace his acquaintances with an answer. Or a call back.

“No—Wednesdays are usually the worst week-days for him,” as I explain, though, I can’t help but notice the deep sigh Yoongi exhales. Or the tiredness of his expression. “…but as soon as I see him, I can deliver a message for you, if you want? He’s gonna be tired, no joke, but I’ll make him call you back, I promise.”

The sympathetic smile he sends my way makes me want to punch my roommate. Which would probably hurt like hell, if the ungodly hours he spends at the gym are anything to go by.

Still: Min Yoongi being exhausted because of him is a good reason why I should at least try to hit him. Min Yoongi is Jimin’s… idol, famous in the music department with a deceiving reputation of being anything but sociable. Wrong, terribly wrong. He’s not. He’s a small loving and caring friend in the body of a small human. The amount of times he called to make sure Jungkook was okay is— truly admirable. (He even helped Jimin with a project of his, once. Hence the epithet of the one and only. I have a terrific theory of him being somehow linked to my Jimin, but no one has still dared to answer me. Jerks. Tae and him both.)

“Sure. Tell him his to talk to his girlfriend. I’m tired of having her blabbing no stop about how much of a jerk he’s turned into lately and disputing whether declining her calls means he’s cheating on her or a strategy of his that will end with Jungkook surprising her on their anniversary.”

Wait, what?

“Jungkook has a girlfriend? He’s in a… romantic relationship that doesn’t involve playing Overwatch with Taehyung on Friday nights?”

“You don’t know about Mina?”

“What the fuck is a Mina?”

He stills for a second. “I… I don’t understand. Are you shitting me?”

“I’m not. I know there’s a strict rule about not bringing your dates over and not fucking in this apartment, but I’ve never heard of her. He never mentioned her. I’ve never seen this girl, never even knew she existed before you told me.”

Yoongi begins scratching his forearms. He tilts his head, staring into the void of his room.

“What the fuck,” is the final summary of his train of thoughts. Yeah, what the hell. “I’m not sure I want to be part of this helping circle anymore. We always joked that Jungkook would turn out to be the reason why Jin-hyung will have grey hair, but I never imagined he’d be mine too. I swear, this kid.”

“I can still talk to him, though. This isn’t lying, not even sure if it counts as lying by omission but…” I shrug, “I don’t know. I’m wondering why he kept his mouth shut.”

Yoongi mutters something I can’t make out, then asks if I can still deliver the message and abruptly ends the conversation.

You live for a month with a guy and think you know him. It stings in a funny way knowing you don’t.

Jungkook finds me on the couch when he comes back home. He has tiredness written all over his face – his crinkled forehead, his sweaty appearance; I can sense it among the silent grunt and deep sighs he exhales thinking I’m not in the living room.

“Hey,” I pout, eyes on the manuscript.

My roommate turns around in a swift move, eyes wide open. “You still up?”

He’s tired. I know he’s tired. His velvet voice doesn’t betray his shape. I don’t buy it.

I hum, turning on the couch so that he can’t see my face, my eyes still on the novel. I can see him pausing and wondering what’s going on in the periphery of my sight.

“Yoongi wants to let you know you should stop ignoring him and your girlfriend so she can stop pestering him. Virtually hugs you and sends a thousand kisses, too.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but then I hear his footsteps and I see him in front of me, licking his lips, lost in his thoughts. His fingers move continuously on the bag he’s holding. As I focus my gaze on his face, I realise that what hurts more is that he didn’t trust me enough with this information rather than not fully knowing him, my roommate. It doesn’t concern this specific piece of information, per se, more the fact that he didn’t feel comfortable enough in sharing something that is supposed to make him cheerful and proud. Maybe I projected much, I don’t know? Just because you share a flat with someone it doesn’t mean he’s your friend.

“I didn’t mean to keep this a secret—I swear…” he trails off, and I bite back a laugh, delusion hitting me.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jungkook. I’m not your mom and sure as fuck I’m not your confidant. I’m just your roommate. I’m sure it would have come up, if you had to sexile me because of her. Don’t worry,” I spit out, at once regretting my harshness, “I get it.”

“You don’t, though. You don’t know me,” he begins, following me when I get up.

“I know I don’t!”

“I don’t mean it that way, fuck! Y/N!” - he grabs my wrists, eyes darting into mine – “We’re… we’re just in a bad place right now. We needed a pause, I begged for it, but she didn’t want to, so I’m—uhm, choosing not to deal with her at the moment. We’re going through a lot,” he says, pondering his words, thumbs moving on my hands. I freeze at the contact.

“Yoongi doesn’t know. Because she’s mad at me for something that happened a long time ago when we weren’t together. And, fuck, I don’t want Yoongi to think about that time. I don’t want to think about that time. I didn’t think she’d pester him, shit”

The high-pitched laughter he lets out almost frightens me. Jungkook’s fidgeting look pushes me to intertwine our hands. I don’t have time for disbelief towards my own gesture—his former, floating discomfort strays gradually from his body as I do so.

I keep the eye contact with his doe eyes—it happens then. His breathing comes back to normal, his fingers grasp firmly mine. I’m here, I want to say.

I only manage a quiet: “It’s okay. It’s okay, Jungkook” that has him nodding, sure.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” he announces.

“Sure,” I breath out, “Listen. I know I’m not probably the person you’d want to have this conversation with… but if you don’t feel like bothering Yoongi – which you’re not. Unless you call him in the middle of the night – you can always talk to me. Count on me.”

Jungkook pinches the bridge of his noise.

“Wouldn’t it bother you?”

“Of course not, you giant baby.”

He chuckles. “Alright. Wait for me?”

“I’m ready when you are.”

***

“Is there a way to turn sad stories into happy ones?”

My hands fall around the mug. “Have you always been this dramatic or did Yugyeom punch you so hard you’re not well functioning?”

He bites back a laugh. “We both know I’d need a stronger hook to lose consciousness, c’mon.”

“I don’t know,” I play pretend, “The other day Jin barely slapped you and you looked like you wanted to cry.”

“Hey!” his hot cocoa is long forgotten, “I’ll have you know he’s older than me—”

“Oh, so now age matters?”

“—and has been playing kick-boxing for a lot longer than I have. Obviously, he knows what he’s doing!”

“It was just a friendly slap!”

He scoffs, still smiling.

“You know, when Yoongi called he asked me if I knew about Mina and I answered, ‘what the fuck is a Mina?’ which, in hindsight, it’s not a very kind thing to ask.”

Jungkook bursts into a quiet laugh, back against the wall. Maybe being on the carpet isn’t a suiting position to have a talk—about serious matters, too. But Jungkook’s comfortable, and as long as he is, I really don’t care.

It was weird seeing him, even if just for a fraction of a second, losing control.

Maybe he needs a friend more than he knows.

“I met Mina a long time ago. Sophomore year, maybe? I had been dating Sowon for two years then—Sowon and I met in high school, she was my first girlfriend. A bit older than me. When I got into college, we started fighting for the most meaningless things, though. For the last months, ours was an on and off relationship. We broke up and made up all the time; it was actually a relief when we broke up for good. That somehow changed me. I dreaded for anything but a relationship. Jin-hyung likes to say that I turned up to be a handsome fuckboy,” he laughs, staring into the mug, “Yoongi-hyung says it was terrible having me around. I was always off to parties and spent most of my nights in girls’ sororities. I’m not exactly proud of that period. Sowon had disappeared from life by then. I only saw her once again, when she found out I had been sleeping around. I don’t know, she got mad. Really mad. Tried to fuck Yoongi-hyung to get back at me.”

“That’s…” Jungkook looks at me, lips parted. I find out I don’t have it in me to continue my sentence.

“Not ideal, huh?”

“Far from ideal.”

“The hyungs helped a lot, back then. Mina, too. She was one of the girls I had been hooking up with. I can’t say what exactly changed in our relationship, or what she did to make me realize I didn’t want to be careless anymore. One day I started looking at her differently and…” he shrugs, “The rest is history.”

“Damn, and I thought for a solid second that my relationships of five months were a huge fucking goal.” He snickers. “How long have you two been together, then?”

“Two years? No, wait. Almost two years and a half. But lately she’s been hinting that she wants more. Her parents got married very young, and so did her sister. I think she kind of expected me to pop the question, half a year ago. But I haven’t. Which made her think I was cheating on her. Which I’m not. She thinks I’m twenty years old Jungkook all over again. Which, for the third time, I’m not.” He huffs. “I don’t know how to make her understand that we’re young and there’s so much we could be doing rather than worrying about getting married. Christ, I’m twenty-two. I’m barely studying for my master’s degree. She thinks I don’t love her, and it makes me so fucking mad. I begged for a pause. We need some time apart.”

“But you said she refused. Hence why you’re avoiding her.”

“Yeah.” He finishes his hot cocoa off. “Do you think I’m insane for wanting to distance myself for a while?”

“No, I don’t. It may sound cliché, but people who love each other don’t always see eye to eye. They change. Long term relationships require many compromises, and sometimes it’s hard to do that.” I throw my head back against the wall. Jungkook follows my movements with his gaze. “Sometimes you fall out of love, too. Things… happen. People change. There isn’t always a valid reason why. I think that recognizing change is brave. Forcing things to never shift it’s dangerous.”

A peaceful silence falls between our bodies. I can’t help but realize it’s very late. I sneak a look at Jungkook, who’s looking at me with his eyebrows furrowed. I’m glad he decided to trust me.

“You know, for being so short you’ve got an insane amount of wisdom inside of you.”

“Fuck off, Jeon”

He deserves every pillow I’ve thrown him.

EXHIBIT C

“And you expect me to say he’s not a jerk?”

“Well,” Lisa breathes out, downhearted. “I don’t think he knows the very meaning of kindness.”

As an ungainly rustle of papers fills my ears, she exhales, turning to Yuna, a scorn adorning her face.

“Look, have you seen the guy? He’s got a promotion and boom!, there he goes thinking he’s better than all of us combined. Don’t let him get to you, girl. He probably thinks that a discussion on the oxford comma is first date material. Fuck,” she then smiles, a curve void of sympathy, “The guy probably thinks he’s too good for a date. Do you recall the last time he looked as if he fucked someone’s brain out?” Yuna doesn’t answer, instead she opts for smoothing her shirt and Lisa smirks, proud. “My point exactly. He’s a poor jerk. Leave him be.”

It’s not considered eavesdropping if they’re sniping about Namjoon out in the open, right? I’m thrown aback for a solid minute, because, yes, Namjoon is a lot, a deeply wholesome and complex guy to have as your boss, but he’s not that bad. Sure, he has his moments – like any of us has – yet he’s attentive, caring, a tall mentor I’m delighted to have around.

Not to mention the fact that he’s attractive. It’s undeniable. He’s charming because he extrudes confidence when he arguments whilst gesticulating, when he talks back and smiles sharply, when his ideas are picked because original, fresh, on the spot. He trusts and gives, in a manner that can swipe anyone off their feet when adorned with his dimples.

Namjoon’s an attractive man, period.

I frown.

I plop on my chair, coffee in my mug.

Oh my God. Namjoon’s attractive. He’s hot. He’s smart. He’s sarcastic. His humour amazes me first thing in the morning when he hasn’t had his shots of coffee yet and has to talk to people.

Stop, Y/N. Okay, so what? He can be nice to have around. I’m at loss of words – thoughts – when a picture of Namjoon wearing slacks and a white shirt pops in my mind. White shirts fit him so well it’s unreal. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice startles me and, as my eyes widen, I turn towards the person in question, “Mind helping me with these?”

Namjoon – fit Namjoon, Kim I’m-wearing-beautiful-glasses Namjoon - points to papers a now hidden part of me I know she recognizes, and I find myself nodding like an idiot before I can even think of an eligible answer.

Think of unattractive people. People you’re not attracted to. People you would mind undressing you. Touching you. Hugging you. Think of…Jungkook.

Jungkook isn’t… my type. He’s warm, he’s soft with his bunny smile and happy eyes. He wears dark t-shirts on a daily basis. He snorts when his students write absurdities others would cry for. He once tried to inhale six packs of ramen just because Taehyung dared him to. I mentally chuckle at the memory. Think of Jungkook, I repeat to myself. The same Jungkook that swears when playing Overwatch. The same Jungkook that pouts when he studies and frowns as he focuses so hard.

Jungkook would never slam his partner against the door, hands in their hair. He’d never command them to go down on their knees before him. He’s only been in long term relationships. The guy’s probably not even a fan of PDA.

Jungkook is soft around the edges, and shy and cute and definitely someone I’m not attracted to.

“Sure,” I breathe out, a smile tugging at my lips, “Let me see.”

“So,” Jimin begins in a quiet whisper that has me wondering why he can’t speak out loud, “You want to bone your boss.”

I mentally scold the office policy and its daunting, cryptic suggestion to keep a semi-formal appearance. Which translates into high heels. I have to wear high heels. They would be heels – just heels, comfortable, classy, lovely heels – if only there wasn’t what Jungkook defines as height discrepancy. Which translates into I’m short. And it’s 2019. So short people are expected to be tall, in certain circumstances. Like office attire. Even though, to be honest, it’s also my fault. My fault for being so enamoured with the classy and charming – when I told him, Jungkook sneered so hard I thought he was seconds from combusting – clacking heels make on smooth floors.

“That’s—” absurd, I want to say, but I settle with a mellow “—right.”

He’s not wrong. I am in the wrong, though. I open the front door of our apartment building, almost soulless.

“You can’t have feelings for your boss,” Jimin sighs, and I hear in the distance a vague shuffling of clothes. “You can’t be sexually attracted to your boss, either.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I greet our neighbours with a nod — actually, neighbour. The landlord, who is now heading out — and, as soon as she leaves, I groan loudly. With cattiness, I push the elevator button, my forehead pressed onto the wall next to it.

“We have to do something about it. This is not happening. And this clearly refers to you drooling over someone you can’t possibly have, for perfectly good reasons.”

“We?” I ask meekly, opening our place’s door. Jungkook’s not home yet, he’s got a late afternoon class that usually drains all his energies, which only means get in the shower before Jungkook does. Ergo, translation sponsored by the creator of the roommate language, thank you very much, the roommate who had to shower multiple times with cold, freezing water, in order to avoid such fucking loathsome situation, should enjoy her roommate’s absence. Especially since he wants all the hot water in the world for himself for the following half hour. Jungkook is caring just like that, yes. I am the luckiest gal in the world.

“Well, it’s not like we can handle you being all gross when talking about this guy’s dimples while sexually frustrated because, and I quote, he’s so fucking attractive.”

“I-I never said I was sexually frustrated, though?”

“Really,” he deadpans, “You did not. So, we didn’t go through a detailed erotic novel based on how you’d call him daddy despite you not wetting yourself at the thought of calling someone your daddy—or how you’d drop on your knees—”

“I think that’s enough, Chim.”

“Yeah,” he groans, “me fucking too.”

I ponder whether asking him what’s bothering him, because there’s clearly something I can’t quite picture troubling one of my best friends. Jimin is altogether the perfect comrade one needs in their life (he’s cool, he gives great advice, he listens, he’s always giving, which applies to a wide range of things, spacing from his shoulder to more practical, capitalistic things you didn’t even know you’d need) and the worst interlocutor one could ever have (he despises talking about his feelings, his thoughts, and never shares unless something huge happens). Jimin’s a solid seven, based on the results of the Kim Social Test. Tae had nodded his head, gravely, then wrote something on the papers he had been holding the whole time he questioned his soulmate.

How I wish I knew how to properly read people like Tae does. Jimin and I once planned to get him tipsy enough to sneak into his chaotic room for plenty of time, so that we’d discover the secret papers – the KST secret papers. Needless to say, we still know shit regarding Kim Taehyung’s enigmas. One day, Chim. One day we’ll discover all of the answers Taehyung hasn’t shared about the infamous twenty-seven steps test.

The moment I take off my shoes, though, something moving in my periphery catches my attention. Something white moving. Proper phrasing, Y/N. Namjoon expects better from you.

Someone… in white… moving?

Ten points to Gryffindor.

Wait.

It’s Jungkook.

My roommate. My shy roommate. Wet. Wearing just a white towel around his waist. Can people actually have a waist this tiny? And since when Jungkook has abs? What the fuck?

“’Min, I’ll call you back.”

“Oh,” Jungkook has seen me, moved in my direction and I shoot my gaze directly on his face. Not an inch below. Nope. I won’t stare at him. (Sure, the guy goes to the gym. The guy has muscles. But abs? Shit.) “When did you come back? I didn’t hear you coming in.”

Jungkook is handsome.

“Seconds ago. Really.”

He looks at me with a lopsided grin, hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. If he notices that my posture is somewhat frozen and my gaze won’t, incidentally, meet nothing but his, he doesn’t say anything, and I’m immensely grateful for that.

It just—struck me in a funny way, I guess. Not everyday you expect your almost naked roommate to greet you like this, coming back home. Nuh-uh. Especially not a roommate you didn’t realise had abs, thank you very much.

“When did you—uhm, when did you come back, though?”

“As soon as I heard my class was cancelled. I’ve been working on those fucking essays ever since, goddamnit. I needed a break, so I hit the shower enjoying your absence very much.” He shoots me a sardonic smile and, for a second, I’m tempted to hit him. But I don’t. He’s fucking naked. His skin is glistening because he’s still wet. He’s… he’s basically a whole adult now, and he still hasn’t learned how to properly use a towel.

Fucking fuck.

He’s wetting the kitchen floor.

Oh my god, get a grip, Y/N.

Eyes up.

“You were right, by the way,” he furrows his eyebrows, adjusting his towel with a hand and opening the fridge with the other, “I had to write them a long time ago. Procrastinating is fucking me up.”

I suppress my next thought as soon as it’s formed and carved into my brain. My heart is burning at how quickly this conversation could take a turn for the worst, so I spur, without thinking, “You’re fucking me up.”

Also known as the very, exact thought that my brain didn’t manage to stifle. Which could mean a lot of things, really! Out of context, yes, it could seem like I meant that in a… sexual way? But in reality—of fucking course not! Have you seen me? Have you seen Jungkook?

Jungkook’s eyebrows raise so much I’m afraid they faded into his hairline. Flush creeps into my face, so I hasten to add: “I’m supposed to take a shower first, you know. I deserve the hot water too. This means you only won this round.”

He grips the fridge door tighter, takes his time licking his lips and—I stop following his movements when he chuckles, his laugh almost lost in the awkward silence I brought myself upon.

“Yeah, war’s still on, shortie.”

I gasp, a loud sound that has him vibrating against the fridge. I’m seconds away from touching his back and get a hold of his attention but I refrain from doing so because—because he’s showing so much skin, smooth skin that would feel like silk under the touch. I can only imagine how my thumbs’ pads would feel, running against his bare body.

Get a grip, Y/N.

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“Mhm?” – he blinks, playing pretend – “What did I say?”

I hastily grab his banana milk from his hands, shoving it away from him and barely above my head.

“Come again, you coward.”

He now faces me, the tip of his tongue wetting his upper lip.

I fucked up, I realize, eyes widening.

I probably have three seconds to surrender before he’ll say or do something that will worsen the situation. The situation being his presence – his mostly naked presence – hurting me and making me flutter and thinking things and…

“You do have a chance of winning the shower game, baby…”

I’m fucked.

“But you lost this battle a long time ago.” his velvet voice whispers as his eyes dart into mine, falling into the darkness of my pupils.

Jungkook grabs the banana milk bottle, his fingers brushing mine and burning me while I can only stare back, mouth agape. He spares a look at his hand making contact with mine, but it’s gone as soon as it begins, because he’s back to staring into my soul and past lives and future ones.

I’m fucked, period.

I gulp when his phone starts ringing and that catches his whole attention.

More so, I feel like I can breathe again.

Jungkook blinks a couple times, his doe eyes darting to where he placed his phone last and, in that moment, I realize that Jimin is right: we have to do something about it.

We need to do something about it as soon as possible.

EXHIBIT D(enial)

Step twelve: what kind of relationship have you established with your person in question? Let yourself find out.

Jimin shakes his purple head from side to side, his thumb stuck in mid air as he stops scrolling down his phone.

“I just don’t understand,” he frowns, smacking his lips, “What am I supposed to tell you? You declined all my plans.”

If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was whining, the sound loud and deafening, able to soften his features and make him look a lot younger and innocent.

“I know,” it’s my turn to whine and show despair, I now get to crumble under Jimin’s scrutiny. “But I don’t want to date. I don’t want to put myself under all that stress—constant anxiety, fear of not knowing what the other is thinking, undeniable concern because our schedules wouldn’t match… and,” I add, allowing myself to breathe, “I want it to happen casually. I don’t want to force a relationship. The last time I did this it turned out to be a complete failure.”

Jimin sighs, blocking his phone and throwing it away on the couch. Taehyung and Jimin’s flat is suffocating. Hence why we avoid hanging out together at their place—one could say it’s nice, it gives off a cosy vibe and, yeah, in a way I agree. But having to shove Tae’s clothes in order to enter home, cramming into a small place both the kitchen and living room and debating whether the tiny veranda can be considered a new room is too much. (And frankly, concerning. Once, Jimin went outside to fetch underwear. Yeah, underwear.) I’d rather live anywhere but here.

My mind likes to be a bitch, because in a hot second I’m picturing Jungkook doing the most domestic and unfathomable things, like… like, laundry. I see him crouching on his knees, an attentive look offered to his dark clothes only, forehead showing, and tiredness written all over his face. He always smells so good after taking care of his clothes, the detergent’s distinctive smell sticking to his skin for longer than necessary.

“And I don’t want hook-ups. Especially not with people of your choice.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll admit that Tae and I have tried one too many times to match you with… not good fits.”

“Not good fits is a fucking euphemism, Park.”

He snorts, a hand in his hair. “Sorry, sorry. I know. Still, that leaves us…” he pretends to look at a paper in his hands, expression contorted into a delusional one. “Masturbation. Rub one off in the good, old way. Should be fine for a week or two.”

Doctor Park earns a swift prod of my elbow against his thigh, and I’m rewarded with his high-pitched laugh.

“Fucking hell, Y/N, that hurt.”

“This whole conversation hurts, Jimin.” – I sigh, slouching on the couch – “I can’t believe I’m letting you help with this… problem.”

“My dear dramatic friend,” he starts, propping an elbow on a cushion, “you’re just horny. Frustrated. And I don’t know how to help you.”

“That reminds me, you useless purple-haired good-looking friend—”

“…That’s not an insult?”

“…is everything okay with you? I mean – you live with Taehyung, so clearly something is wrong with you, but I mean emotionally? You’ve been a little off these past few days.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” my smile is inevitable, “Oh.”

Did he really think people wouldn’t notice? Me, of all people, wouldn’t realize something is wrong from his behaviour?

“No, just—same old, I guess.”

“My Jimin translator is currently fucked up so I need you to repeat what you just said in an understandable way, Min.”

Scratch that, my Jimin translator has always had problems. If it had ever worked, I wouldn’t find myself here, knees brought up to my chest, struggling to hear Jimin talking about his feelings.

He passes a hand through his locks. “I’m holding up just fine? Studying, working, hooking up unlike you.”

“Don’t make it about me, jerk. What about the person you were with, when we talked on the phone yesterday?”

“What do you mean, the person I was with?”

The look on my face makes him groan, hands now covering his eyes. “What gave it away?”

“Happy post coital Jimin is very different from frustrated but not sexually Jimin, I’ll have you know.”

“I don’t even want to know, what the fuck.”

“But I do,” I plea, tugging at the end of his shirt, “Tell me what’s wrong, Min.”

The whining tone of my voice has to do the trick, I reckon, because he’s throwing his head back and hastily grabs a cushion to hold—or to suffocate himself with, I can’t tell.

“I’m sort of—getting over someone. It’s harder than I thought.”

Oh, Jimin.

I’m dramatic, okay? Jimin knows, Taehyung laughs because of this and Jungkook finds it amusing, too. Everybody knows. So, I developed several different scenarios – a wide range of possible things Jimin would share (finally) with me, but none of them resemble in the slightest the real thing. And it’s somewhat frightening.

“You don’t have to tell me… I didn’t know you even liked someone in the first place. Really, it’s okay. I thought it was something trivial like trying to survive in this place or a fight with Tae, I don’t know.”

This makes him smile. “No, it’s—it wasn’t an unrequited crush, you know? Only, things happened, and we stopped seeing each other. Turns out it’s difficult to get over him.”

A pause, the tip of his tongue wetting his plump lower lip. “Do we know him? Me and Taehyung, I mean?”

“It’s—complicated. But it’s not a big deal, really.”

“How can you say that? Your feelings are at stake and seeing you hurt haunts me.”

He bites the insides of his mouth, eyes glinting with disbelief. “You really are dumb and dramatic, what the fuck. I’ll get over him, don’t worry.”

He throws a cushion at me, while I stare him, eyes wide and mouth agape because of his reaction, calm and composed. As if it’s really not this big of a deal.

“If you really feel sad, though… buy me a drink. Or two. Or three. Until me suffering stops haunting you.”

The audacity of Park Jimin, ladies and gentlemen.

[15.38] you: okay min

[15.38] you: you were right. i’m horny

[15.40] jimin: what else is new bb. What did he do this time

[15.41] you: bold of you to assume he did anything in the first place. But no. he didn’t do anything

[15.41] you: Beside getting a terrible haircut. I hate it. I kinda wanna punch namjoon in the face for this, and not in the kinky way

[15.43] jimin: Is there a kinky way to punch someone? Maybe you meant spitting in his mouth? On his dick? I’ll stop with these bc I don’t want you to get worked up over my texts

[15.43] you: shut up

[15.43] you: anyway one of his friends passed by. Red hair. Mouth hearth shaped. Adonis body. 10/10 would bang or kiss or hold his hand

[15.43] you: 15/10 would prefer the banging. Anyway, I don’t have a crush on namjoon, I’m just in need of a good dicking

[15.46] jimin: I’m screenshotting this and sending it to taetae

[15.46] you: blocked and reported

[15.46] jimin: you’re my dick deprived friend and I love you. Taetae says he’s not up for dicking you good because he’s in love with a girl that is about to blow him, sorry don’t be mad I don’t make the rules

[15.48] you: what the fuck did I just read

[15.48] jimin: just say you love me and you’ll go out with us tonight. Let’s partayyyy. I’ll help you find someone to go down on you, trust me

[15.49] you: what the fuck did I just read, the reprise

[15.51] jimin: no ok ok ok. Seriously. Go out with us. Me, tae and guk. We made plans a couple of days ago. Come with us. If you’re not up for a hook up you can just loosen up a bit and have fun with us. I promise

[15.52] jimin: please

[15.54] you: I’m in

***

One thing Jungkook doesn’t notice about me straight away is the feeling of uneasiness and worry that creeps up my face.

Jungkook’s curious, mostly alcohol-hazed, look scurries away before meeting my eyes: he checks me out (I wish I didn’t have to say this—but one has to come to terms with this admission after being looked at with dark, hooded eyes for a good five minutes), tilts his head in what I assume it’s his flirting expression, comments on the dark, sometimes transparent dress Taehyung bought me online and clicks his tongue in a mocking way, when said Taehyung hits him with a can of cheap beer and a couple of dirty jokes.

I would like to wrap Taehyung like a burrito with a warm, inviting plaid instead of having him dragging us all in a packed bar, for the simple and yet abhorrent (to him, of course) reason that he’s shit at pregaming. To be completely honest, he’s shit at drinking. Can’t hold his liquor if his life depended on it. Jimin blocks his phone and groans loudly, then proceeds in wrapping his arm around Tae’s waist and escorting him outside our apartment, murmuring a regretful “I’m doing this because I need it, you shithead. Don’t make me regret I came with you.”

I chuckle, amused by the two.

It’s only seconds later that my wrist is playfully grabbed by one clearly upset Jungkook. He blinks, twice, before wetting his chapped lips. I shoot him a questioning look that I hope doesn’t feel like I’m in need to get away from him because I’m being weirded out by his behaviour.

“I didn’t know you were coming with us.” he says, even though it sounds like a realization he wrongly pronounced out loud.

“Am I gonna be a problem for you?”

His doe eyes widen at that, but he’s quick to reassure, voice steadier: “Of course not.” He furrows his eyebrows, “I just meant…” A shrug. “I thought you didn’t do this.”

“What? Hanging out with my friends?”

He’s smiling an empty smile how, lips twisting into a crude exhibit of disorientation, like he doesn’t know how to answer that.

“Right.” He nods, stopping holding my wrist. “A friends’ night out.”

He steals a glance at me, short, devoid of emotion, before grabbing his jacket and following Jimin and Tae.

‘Right?’ I’m not—I’m not interrupting a guys’ night. I am not imposing. I can be pedant and dramatic and clingy to Jimin when drunk (remember the Incident with the former roommates of mine? Or better—don’t. I don’t wanna reminisce those moments. Just acknowledge that Drunk Me can turn into a cuddly, clingy friend) but I’m sure as fuck not imposing. God. I’m not.

As I play with the short cuticles on my middle finger, I gnaw at the inside of my mouth.

It’s funny how I am the one wondering ‘Right?; it’s in moments like this that I want nothing but to shove Jungkook against a plain, stone cold surface and ask him to talk to me. This crumbling show resembles so much the Mina Thing that I am feeling uncomfortable even asking. I thought that having a roommate meant gaining a friend; now I say: maybe. It depends. I guess that sharing a house with someone means you’re bound to come into contact with this other person, and there are times when this connection turns into something deeper, like friendship. Still, it’s not the usual friendship path, so you have to be careful and make sacrifices along the way. Right now, the sacrifice I’m making is taming my – how did Jimin call it, once? Mom-friend attitude?

Tone it down, Y/N.

Especially since I know I am not nurturing the boys into spending time with me and showering me with attention.

I sigh.

The question that fails to be answered is only one…

What’s gotten into Jungkook?

***

“Plan for the night,” Taehyung smirks, hands in his now longer hair, “I’m getting wasted.”

“Very mature,” Jimin snorts.

“You’d be too, if the fuck of your life didn’t call you back.”

“Oh my god,” I groan, “It happened a long time ago. I remember I was still wondering whether asking your roommate to wash up was decent human being behaviour or not.”

“Or not.” Tae blinks, hands in his pockets, “You once told me, too. You were rude.”

“You threw up on me!” Jungkook chuckles. “Besides, it was freshmen’s week.”

Jimin nods. “Banging on freshmen’s week doesn’t count.”

“Especially if that’s a grad student sorry excuse to get wasted.”

“She is a hot grad student, thank you very much.” – Taehyung moves into the crowd stalled at the entrance and points towards the bar – “You’re gonna find me right there until the love of my life comes back.”

“She won’t—”

“Don’t ruin it, shortie.”

The audacity. “Have you ever considered that, perhaps, you weren’t the fuck of her life, instead?”

“Way to hound me, woman.”

Jimin shakes his head and pushes his soulmate out of the way. “Grab me a drink while you’re there.”

“Make it three!” my voice follows him, now definitely swallowed by the crowd.

The place is packed. Tae mentioned the location being renewed over the past week, but I hadn’t given him much thought. (I still remember the ruin pub tour in Budapest, for god’s sake. A tip for the future: never let Taehyung plan your holidays. No matter how much promising his ideas look) and I must admit that I like the new touch.

My gazing the surroundings is hastily interrupted by a now awaiting Jeon Jungkook: he looks at me with an arching eyebrow, his lower lip enveloping his upper one.

“What?”

“Again, what do you want?”

Knowing who pissed in your Cheerios?

“I,” I shrug, “What do you mean?”

“Grab her a Long Island, Guk,” Jimin’s voice cuts in between our bodies, “I take whatever Tae’s having.”

Right. The drink. Of course.

Jungkook disappears before stealing a glance at the both of us, a je ne sais quoi of unsaid still clear between us.

“I hate to ask. You know I do.” Jimin’s fingertips brush against the leather of my jacket. “But… is something off? Between you two?”

The soft indie music that welcomed us when we got in slowly turns into a more upbeat, loud mix of sounds and I spot in Min’s eyes the need to go dancing. I instantly remember that this night it’s for him as much as it is for me.

“No, Min.” I shake my head along to my words, a quick smile on my lips. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Better not, shortie.”

Dancing is a harder activity to excel at, especially when you’re not Jimin nor you haven’t got Taehyung’s confidence, somehow perfectly balanced by his carelessness – he doesn’t give a fuck about judgements and stares and what-not, and this freedom only fuels him. I find myself juggling between being either of them or, well, striving to channel either of them into my limbs and inner self.

It’s all about matter of attitude, in the end.

This matter of personality traits you-can’t-quite-inherit-unless-you’re-the-soulmates-themselves corners me in a delightful position: I’m very close to dancing without restraints in the middle of this place, still placing a decent amount of attention on the music itself and the crowd that has managed to swallow me whole in the past half hour.

I’m exhausted.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s insanely freely to disinhibit myself and let go, every once in a while, but I feel as if there are matters yet to be discussed that stop me from giving one hundred percent myself out on the dancefloor, as Jimin called it.

These disturbing matters present themselves right on my side in the form of one very attentive yet not-so-sober Jeon Jungkook, when I shake my head and decide to buy myself another drink.

His bouncy, fluffy hair is sticking in every unfathomable direction when his gaze crosses mine, and I don’t further inquire his state, despite my expression probably giving my thoughts away. He cocks his head, licking his lips.

“What’s up?”

That definitely sounded like a staggered what’s wrong? Where did I fuck up?

I cross my arms and place them on the mahogany counter, shrugging my shoulders.

“This place is starting to stink.”

“Well,” he mulls, a finger in his freshly formed curls. “I hope you weren’t expecting flowers and, fuck, I don’t know? Soap? Ginger ale?”

“Damn, there you go crashing my hopes and dreams.”

“Jeon Jungkook, professional heartbreaker at your service.”

I scrunch my nose. “Be more creative, c’mon.”

“International playboy?”

“I was thinking more of laundry fairy, though? Or black clothes enthusiast?”

He stares at me with an uncanny expression, blinking twice. He then shakes his head, the tip of his tongue poking out, his hands moving with emphasis in a c’mere, I just wanna talk gesture.

“You take it back,” he says, unable to hold back a laugh, “Take it back now.”

“You’re a fucking menace, is what you are.”

Jungkook chuckles while placing his elbow on my shoulders, enhancing his tall person privileges. “It’s still early, you know,” he mutters after a while, waiting for me to order before talking.

“For what?”

“Jimin said he promised to get you a hook-up,” he explains, eyes on the people still dancing in front of us. His voice is softer when he speaks next, and I find myself unable to look away from his profile even though he’s not even glancing in my direction. “It’s still early, you have all the time in the world.”

Oh.

Funnily enough, I had almost given up on the quest. I just assumed Jimin and I were living knowing the second part of our deal was taking place right around us, ergo us just having fun. Brushing aside the stress of the past few days.

Jungkook thinks I’m here to get laid? For fuck’s sake. My face heats up at just the thought.

“I’m not that desperate, Guk.”

“I know this.” He takes a strand of my hair between his calloused fingers. “I’m just saying… there’s nothing stopping you.”

“Stopping me?”

He’s so close his laugh resonates against my side, his little smile not disappearing from his lips.

“Fishing for compliments, huh?”

He chooses the moment I frown not so delicately to turn around and look at me. “Am not.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he sighs, turning me around and placing an arm around my shoulders. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Oh.

How to survive from getting compliments by the one and only Jeon Jungkook, an autobiography by yours truly.

I can vaguely feel my fingers trembling.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” I retort, putting up the bravest smile I could muster up. “Try again.”

He hums, closing dangerously the distance between our bodies. I am flushed. Tingling. Burning. His breath is nudging my ear, his fingers playfully tapping my shoulder.

“Let me rephrase this, then,” a pause, “You could get anyone here.”

I follow his stare into the crowd, a bubbly, commercial song now playing. His deep, soft voice continues, “Literally anyone. From that guy on our left that has been staring at you for the past half hour to the girl on your right with the black straw in her mouth.”

As my eyes catch a glimpse of the people he’s mentioned, a vivid, powerful weight drops in my stomach. I swallow, frowning slightly. I just. I just don’t want them. I don’t want random people. I don’t want casual anymore. I’m throwing myself toward a better goal, a blazing direction, an ardent feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something that resembles a stable relationship. Domesticity. Tenderness. Urgency. Passion. The whole package, I can practically hear Jimin shouting. I want…

My mind must love playing tricks on me, because suddenly I’m surrounded by muffled sounds and I can only think: Jungkook. This one right here. This warm body next to mine. This kind soul.

The bubble bursts as rapidly as it had grown around me in the first place.

This Jungkook with a girlfriend. This taken man. This body that is used to warm up another girl’s sheets.

I fight the instinct to cry.

“Not interested in anyone, sorry.”

Jungkook’s tone is crushed when he speaks next, but I don’t care. I don’t even want to know why. It doesn’t even matter. I don’t want to think about it.

“Right.”

I grab the freezing drink with one hand, the other in my hair.

The cold feeling against my skin sends a shiver down my spine and I can’t help but feel as if that’s the only ending I’m getting. The only road I’m supposed to enter—the average one, the ordinary, already paved, already walked on by thousands before me.

The only time I’m thinking seriously about someone it’s—it’s about a taken one. Well played, Y/N. Good fucking job.

“See you at home?”

It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but who cares, right? I’m leaving Jungkook’s periphery before he can even form a decent answer.

Turns out I can channel one of the soulmates, in the end. It’s Jimin. It’s what the purple haired friend always does when his feelings are at stake. When he puts his defences up and plays around like me and Tae can’t fucking see he’s hurt.

I’m making sure feelings can’t get to me.

***

“Y/N? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Yoongi’s alarmed tone is the only clear sound I can properly hear. I giggle uncontrollably, hand covering my mouth.

“Ooops. Wrong number.”

My back slides against the wall, and I sigh as I sit down on the bathroom floor.

I don’t know what prompted me hiding in here.

I don’t—I didn’t think this through. Properly. I’ve never aced hide and seek, as a kid.

“Don’t worry… are you—are you alright?”

I gulp. “Yep. Yup. Positive, sir.” Now I’m hiccupping like someone who can’t hold his liquor. Someone I’m not. Taehyung in his purest form.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s voice reverberates in my ear, “Have you been drinking?”

God. Why on earth am I on the phone with him?

“I don’t know, you’re the one who called me.” I said that out loud? Oh, shit. I burst into a fit of giggles, once again. This is so embarrassing. “Are you alone? Is Jungkook with you?”

“No, god. No.”

“Is Jimin with you, then?”

“Dunno. Might be outside the women’s bathroom. Might not.”

Have been here for the past twenty minutes, looking far worse than I sound, of course I don’t know. The freezing tiles melt me and my first instinct – my primal reaction to this unexpected, rude cold is staring at the ceiling. Not batting an eye. Throwing my head back on the wall, hoping the goose bumps will fade in seconds. Hoping the childish, irrational tears won’t wet my cheeks.

I hate this state of raw, sick vulnerability. I hate knowing it doesn’t go away with a snap of fingers, with the silent, hushed promise to myself that I’ll do better next time, I’ll take care of myself in such a good way this will only feel like a bad dream. A short-lived nightmare.

“Can you reach him? Please?”

It’s a sequence of blurs, then – getting on my feet, meeting Jimin’s worried eyes, brushing away Taehyung’s confused, warm hand. Jimin nodding, grabbing his jacket, scanning quickly the room. The buzz dissipates around me, numbing me to the point that I don’t recall going home, in the end. Neither Jimin’s precious care nor the quiet sobs that don’t stop.

Nothing but an unexpected text, bright and deadly, blurred with tears for me and myself only.

[01.26] jungkook: staying at mina’s tonight.

EXHIBIT E

Step fifteen: when in doubt, ask for a rematch. Challenge your opponent. Scoot closer. Drop the formalities. Let that stake be higher.

I’ve been through worse.

I’ve literally shoved my fingers down Jimin’s throat so he could throw up. I’ve studied the wrong assignment more than once. Once, I only ate birthday cakes for a week. Emphasis on cakes.

Harbouring silly, illogical crushes for someone doesn’t even make the top ten list. When you’ve known Taehyung and Jimin for longer than five years, you know it doesn’t even make the top twenty stupid things you regret doing in your life chart.

That’s why it doesn’t matter—okay, Jungkook looks good wearing black. Passing his hand through his messy locks, therefore showing his forehead. Making eye contact when he talks (that has lately turned into a reason why I’ve been blushing more around him, for Christ’s sake).

So what? It happens. It happens when people are cute. And smart. And funny.

“Morning,” Jungkook mumbles, voice drowsy and thick with sleep.

I’m thrown away by his appearance, which can only confirm the fact that he didn’t spend the night here, at home, his bedroom next to mine. He’s slouched on the couch, eyes still closed, his thick eyelashes catching my attention.

I try not to focus on the feeling in my belly, a weight in the pit of my stomach that dropped when I got his text last night and hasn’t disappeared ever since. He’s got a girlfriend and I have no right whatsoever to feel saddened by this crucial statement. Honestly, a part of me feels guilty because it’s nothing I didn’t know before yesterday. Does it make me mad, knowing that his girlfriend has been away from him for so long? That, while he pushed her away because he needed space, feelings for him started spurring in my stomach and mind and every limb of mine? Yes. Yes, ten thousand times yes. But—what can I do about them? I’m so used to dealing with feelings on my own – how many crushes did I suppress because my feelings were unrequited? I lost count – that it shouldn’t even surprise me. Yet here I am, yet here my last shred of hope flees away. I’m delusional. I’d laugh, out loud, dry, not at all sympathetic if only Jungkook wasn’t here.

As I bit the insides of my mouth, I can only hum in response, not gathering the strength to form a proper greeting.

“Tired?”, Jungkook asks as he starts playing with the rings on his fingers. I turn around, facing the kitchen counter and the mug I’ve just grabbed.

Tired doesn’t even begin describing what the fuck I’m feeling.

“Yeah.”

It’s all I can muster up.

“Mhm.”

I can hear a vague shuffling of clothes – he must be standing up, stretching his limbs, suppressing a groan. Only a glance. I spare only a glance at his tired figure that disappears from my periphery.

That’s how Jungkook retreats in his room.

I never hated Saturday mornings as much as I do now.

***

Maybe that was an idiotic hyperbole. Because, my internal voice almost stutters, this is what sucks. This is what I hate: a whole week (a whole ten days) without Jungkook. Scratch that. A whole ten days with Jungkook in it and my usual Jungkook missing from my life altogether.

He scraps his neck, doesn’t meet my eyes, doesn’t stay in the same room as me anymore. Which is understandable. I’m a rational human being, not at all baffled by emotions of any kind, of course, so I get it. An inclination of sorts erupted between us during that night out and it unequivocally brought to surface my limits (read: my feelings) and his desire to stray as further as possible away from me. I get that. I would have flirted with him and said things to him if the girlfriend package didn’t cross my mind. I have feelings and a deep, vivid imagination to support said to-be-neglected feelings and Jungkook must have sensed that. Must have had an epiphany somewhere in between this horrific, awkward week without me.

Makes sense! It’s alright! I can manage without him.

It’s the only right turn of things, after all.

As I hold the key in my hand and open the apartment’s door with a sigh, the stillness of the living room hits me at once. I don’t know whether blaming the shredded, dying light of the day breezing past the sunblinds or the overbearing tidiness of the stuff in the room. Just a glance towards the awfully tidy space, crammed with magazines precisely positioned on the coffee table, the couch, unused for days, taking up too much space, and the TV turned off since the beginning of the week… makes my stomach drop.

I’m suddenly burned out, feeling the weight of a never-ending week of work and innumerable talks with my mind crashing on me and trapping my chest. I let out a drawn out, exhausted breath, feeling for the first time in a long time like a guest just waiting to go back home.

A black mop of hair distracts me from this dying scenery, and I meet for the first time in too many days Jungkook’s big, doe eyes.

“Hi,” he puffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hungry?”

He’s standing with his fingers interlaced and a white tee too big for his figure that’s swallowing him fully. I can’t help but steal a glance at his bouncy, almost curly hair that look so, so incredibly soft at the touch.

“No,” I shake my head, voice low, already taking a step forward my room. “I’ve got a huge load of paperwork to do before tomorrow.”

He nods, and my heart breaks just a little because having dinner together was a thing I got used to too fast for my liking. There was something about his jokes and disparate comments on whatever show we were binging. Or about the soft chuckles he let out, the way he relaxed against the couch and, when it became too late, made sure to wake me up with that husky voice of his when I fell asleep on my end of the couch.

Upper lip between my tooth, I decide against standing like a fool in front of him when he made it extremely clear, in the past ten days, that doesn’t really want me around. Which is—hurting me, but I guess there are things I can’t control in life. One of them being his friend, right now.

As I retreat in my room, I feel so terribly stupid, without any doubt crushing once again on the wrong person.

***

Thursday morning finds me padding softly through my room, reaching the kitchen with my eyes half closed and hair purposely sticking in multiple directions to make me look like a mess in front of my roommate, because, of course. Jungkook’s in the kitchen.

It feels like a nightmare. One where I’m supposed to bump into Jungkook in the worst of times, looking desperate while he’s the very definition of boyfriend material. And I’m internally screaming. And dying, of fucking course.

He’s on the phone, humming at his interlocutor while tracing patterns on his thigh, his little dimple on full display.

“Hyung, no—”

He groans, and I can’t help but chuckle softly at the scene, his dark locks in his eyes. “I don’t know if… I mean, I hope we can make it…”

Jungkook turns fully around and faces me, his mouth agape and eyes wide, still able to melt me into a puddle of softness and quick heartbeats. I stare back like a stupid, crushing human being while I flush and he mouths a silent “morning” that steals a smile from me, anyway.

I can practically hear Jimin whispering whipped on repeat in my head and the implication alone makes my heart flutter.

(Maybe so, Park)

He stays like that in front of me, not moving, not even an inch, focusing his morbid eyes into my messy hair and brushing gently the tangles out. I freeze, unable to do something that’s not burning under his caring touch and pretending I’m not about to reveal my deep, inexcusable, unrequited crush to him.

I’m guilty once again—observing for a fraction of a second his lips, soft because of the melon lipbalm he insists on buying and when I look up, his eyes, ablaze, lock on mine and I believe there’s something resembling a flicker in them—a fervent flame shattering its surroundings.

“I’ll call you back, hyung. Yeah, yes, I know.”

As he places his phone down, he rasps, “Yoongi hyung is back. Just… just for a few days, though.” He hesitates, eyes still fixated on my bed head. “He invited me to his friends’ night out. Invited us, I mean. It’s nothing more than him pretending to be annoyed by us and being a good hyung, nonetheless. You know,” he furrows his eyebrows, “He’ll tell us we can’t hold our liquor then will buy us drinks and food. He’s gonna watch us eating like we’ve never had that much food in our lives and smile like an idiot at us bickering. It’s always the same with him. So,” he shrugs, his eyes darting to find mine, a bit insecure, “Are you free tonight?”

I blame the whole boyfriend attire. The softness of his request, the gentleness of his touch, his big eyes, my deep desire to feel a part of his life once again. Just for a night. Like the old times. Like we’d never put these barriers in between us. I want it so bad, even if it’s just for delusional fractions of a single, ordinary day.

“Yeah,” I whisper back, barely nodding, “Yeah, I’m in.”

EXHIBIT F(ucking finally, kid)

“Okay, so, you’re being paid for doing something you love?” Taehyung look absolutely gobsmacked by the idea that in this alternate universe there’s someone being paid for that exactly. “Hyung, it seems fake. Are you sure you’re being paid? Like, have you actually checked your bank account? Counted the money? Got that bread?”

“Oh my god,” Jimin whispers to himself, grabbing Taehyung’s hand and shoving him back. “You can’t ask people that, Tae.”

The soulmates glance at each-other, and Yoongi exhales a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I did. Had to buy Jin-hyung a Yankee candle as a thanks for the airport ride.” He looks at the eldest now, a frown and a pout adorning his face, “That shit costs a fucking fortune, though.”

“Not my fault my nose is delicate. I’m allergic to most things, you should know by now.”

“Most things?” Jungkook asks, confused. “I only knew of pollen?”

“Cheapness, kid. The acrid smell of an Ikea fruity candle. Yoongi’s crappy softener.”

Yoongi quite literally stabs Seokjin with his icy stare. “When did you smell my softener?”

“It’s lavender,” Jimin nods, solemnly. “It’s not bad.”

Before I can ask wait, how the fuck did you know that?, Yoongi shakes his head and comments on something twenty-one years old Seokjin did, once upon a time, that earns him a pout and a high-pitched reply by the eldest. I’d focus on how close the two – Jimin and Yoongi, of course - are, sitting with their shoulders almost brushing and thighs just inches separated, but I decide against it when I notice the way Yoongi smiles – all gums, all eyes turned into crescents – when Jimin throws his head back and laughs openly, clasping his hands together.

Oh, my mind offers, and I bite back a smile.

When Jungkook had told me about this night out, I didn’t imagine this scenario. This well outlined scenario with the bright cameo of Jimin and Taehyung, also known by anyone but me, thank you very much, as Yoongi’s friends. Or, well – acquaintances. At least on Tae and Yoongi’s part.

I fill my glass with water, eyeing the close two – Yoongi and Jimin – with sharp eyes, enjoying the calm aesthetic of this place, promptly suggested by a very euphoric Seokjin. (“It’s my brother’s restaurant,” he had explained, pride in his eyes, “I’m almost offended to hear you didn’t give it a try yet, but I’ll forgive you because you’ve put up with Jungkook for longer than I expected you to.” He smiled a proud, dad smile, all soft and bright, and before I could ask him to explain what he meant – or tilting questioningly my head, Jungkook had complained, loudly, a whine on his easy pout, “I’m hungry. Can we go in?”)

Turns out that we, yes, can go in, but, to Jungkook’s great dismay, we’re waiting for the last two friends to arrive. Jungkook has gone quiet beside me, his rings-filled fingers tapping a melody only he knows on the edge of table. I eye him for a second – a second that turns into two or three, definitely intrusive, because he snaps out of his hazed state and looks back, orbs all inquiring and able to make me burn under his scrutiny.

“I thought you’d be moping by now,” Seokjin begins, pointing his chin at Jungkook, a hand on the back of his neck. “You know, about…”

“His sorry relationship?”

Seokjin sneers at Yoongi’s remark. “More about that… all of that ended.”

“It ended a long time ago, though.” My roommate replies, while it’s my turn to become quiet and process the words I’m hearing. Does this mean what I think it means?

I swallow.

“Hyung,” Guk says, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “You know it had to be done. Wasn’t fair for either of us. Hasn’t been for god knows how long.”

“Wait,” Taehyung snaps, the bestest of friends, “You broke up?”

“No, wait,” Jimin says, a hand covering Taehyung’s, frozen in mid-air, “You were dating?”

Seokjin snorts, then shakes his head and goes for the first alcohol bottle on the table. Mood. Fucking mood. I’d grab that bottle or snatch it from his hands myself if I weren’t completely in a desperate, freaking out mode. My mind’s running towards ends and assumptions I don’t even want to hear, for my own sake, while my heartbeat is too fast paced for a chill, night out with friends. Friends only.

Oh, god. I wish Jungkook wasn’t smart and quick-witted. I’m so hoping he doesn’t connect the dots. I don’t want him to pick up the pieces and end the whole puzzle, so that he sees beyond the longing gazes and words and touches—or lack thereof and… gets it. Gets that my crush is insurmountable. And that it broadens itself like oil, dense and clear and unavoidable.

“Fuck off,” Jungkook smiles, then shakes his head as if to shrug off his shoulders this whole conversation. “You’re both being rude.”

“Hey, I’m not!” Tae replies curtly, “I just wanted to know if I can finally tell you how idiotic our last conversations have been! You know, all those ‘hyung, I need an advice’, ‘what if she—'”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, so what about the hideous ‘I jerked off to—'’

“For fuck’s sake.”

A napkin has been thrown in Tae’s direction.

“Nice touch” I say, because I’m an idiot that only points out the most useless thing out of this whole thing – fucking hell, this gigantic conversation slash vase of Pandora.

“Glad to know Jungkook’s still a brat,” a loud, chirpy voice to our left says. Remember when I said I didn’t picture the scenario like this? Well, scratch that. It turns out I didn’t picture the scenario at all if I’m being graced with Namjoon and Red hair. Mouth hearth shaped. Adonis body. 10/10 would bang or kiss or hold his hand himself. Oh my god.

What fucked up scenario is this?

What drama am I on?

“What the fuck.” That’s Namjoon’s greeting. I would snarl, but that would ruin my shocked expression. “What the fuck.” He repeats, blinking.

My boss, y’all.

What fine elegance. What charming behaviour. What snarky attitude. You wouldn’t believe that he is an editor, writer wannabe with that cool lexicon of his. His gentle manners, his perfect choice of words.

“Y/N? Why are you here?”

“Wait,” 10/10 would bang or kiss or hold his hand says, pointing fingers and retreating them soon after that, adjusting his shirt’s buttons. “Do we know you?”

“Kind of,” I say, offering a hand to him in greeting. “I’m Y/N.”

“Jungkook’s roommate? Wait—” 10/10 pauses, eyes wide, “Namjoon’s terrible intern?”

“I’m not that terrible, c’mon—”

“—you’re Namjoon?” Jimin almost shrieks, while 10/10, in the same, terrified tone asks: “Namjoon’s terrible intern is Jungkook’s roommate?”

As Jungkook casually throws his arm around my shoulders – most specifically, on the edge of my seat, I think, flushed, crushing, that this is the story of how I meet best friends Namjoon and Hoseok, number one Yoonmin stans, lukewarm coffee enthusiasts, great friends of Jungkook.

(He’d whisper to me, half an hour later, voice husky, “I didn’t know my Namjoon was your Namjoon.”

Then, Jimin would squeal, muttering to himself, “That Namjoon?”, ignoring Yoongi’s curious stare.)

***

Jungkook has broken up with his girlfriend.

Which means that he’s, now, single. Girlfriend-less. No girlfriend package. When I think of him, from now on, I’ll only be picturing a single, tall, package. Handsome, clearly. Good. Warm. All smiling and friendly. Caring.

“Have I seen you somewhere else, though?” Hoseok asks, eyebrow furrowed, while Jungkook stops eating and joins him in a collective scrutiny directed to me. This Jungkook is… just him. No relationships involved. No girlfriend. No love interests. No love interest?

It’s seconds later that I realize I didn’t answer Hoseok’s question, so I shrug my shoulders. “Work, maybe?”

My feeble, yet vivid and convincing hope has to die down. Because… Because what gives me the right to think he’ll want to jump off into another relationship? What makes me think he’ll like me? He’ll want a relationship with me?

Taehyung snaps his fingers right in front of Jimin’s face. “Screenshoot guy? 10/10?”

This is insane. I can’t believe I risked thinking I could make a move. Me, a shy coward. I can’t even fathom into thoughts – into words – the desire to laugh out loud at myself that I feel.

Idiotic. Truly idiotic.

“Yeah, Sherlock,” Jimin says, mocking, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Took you long enough.”

I send him back a tentative smile, that earns Hoseok’s genuine confused expression. Then I sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, not noticing a pair of eyes following my actions. Not until he scoops closer and props his elbow on the edge of my seat, eyes covered with worry.

“You okay?”

It’s in these moments that I find myself wondering– what if I’m just imagining things? Just projecting? Just putting myself in the worst possible, imaginable scenario?

What if there’s more behind Jungkook’s care?

Right in front of me there are his soft lips, stuck in a pout, and I urge myself to lift up my gaze and meet his comforting eyes. “Yeah,” I nod, “Yeah.”

Jungkook’s hand then meets the back of my neck, brushing against it with a gentleness so sudden it almost makes me tear up. “Okay,” he murmurs, voice a tad louder than a hushed whisper.

The burden of my worries, as well as the unbearable weight of my thoughts, flutter away like a wave with his tiny, barely noticeable gesture and I find myself burning with affection for this soft, quiet boy.

***

“You’re drunk”

“I’m hardly drunk. I’ve sobered up,” sounding almost offended, he raises his hands on either side of his head, as if he was proving his innocence, “Would a drunk guy be able to sing a song of your choice without fucking up? Just say the name, I’ll prove it to you.”

(The chill, quiet night around us reminds me once again that right now it’s only the two of us. We said goodbye to the other guys ten minutes ago, each of us going in a different direction – ours is towards Jungkook’s car – and… I can’t help but recall Jimin’s fingers brushing Yoongi’s slender ones, crooked and willing to wrap around the younger ones. My heart. My poor heart is bursting with hope and fondness.)

Jungkook leans closer, eyes fixated on my face, causing heat to colour my cheeks. He doesn’t seem fazed by my lack of answer. My gaze moves from his exposed collarbones up to his doe eyes, eventually meeting his comforting but never questioning stare. He’s here, quiet, his presence never imposing, yet dominant.

He comes impossibly closer, chest brushing mine, a tentative hand gently caressing my jaw. I suck in a breath. His presence is numbing; the mere tracing patterns on the juncture between my face and neck is—is overwhelming. Too much.

I flush, inevitably, head ducking.

“Eyes on me,” he blinks, voice lower. “I want to…” his voice falters, just as a short circuit takes over my whole brain: his intoxicating closeness, his eyes on my lips… God.

Terribly close, yet so, so—

He doesn’t even see me exhale, nor wet my lips—my mouth meets his before my thoughts start making sense. Jungkook shudders at my lips pressing against his, gasping, mouth parting.

He presses his mouth harder on mine, flushing his body against my own, his slender fingers at the nape of my neck.

God.

I pull him closer, so tight I let out a whine that allows him to explore my mouth, tongue demanding, hands clutching at either side of my neck.

Moaning drives him mad, makes the kiss hungrier and more urgent and I’m suddenly gasping for air, tugging at the end of his hair, pulling him to me.

This riles him up—one hand strokes my cheek, gently, as opposed to the licking of his tongue, definitely different from the digging of his fingers at the small of my back.

He draws out his name from my mouth so gently that, for a moment, I think I didn’t speak at all.

“I want you,” he mutters, eyes shut and mouth indefinitely close to mine. “Want you so bad”

“Car,” he kisses me again, “your car, Guk.”

The next actions are a blurred mess (his hand finding mine, our fingers intertwined, my body pushed between the door of his car and Jungkook’s toned torso) but also have me collapsing against Jungkook, his heat pressed against mine.

God.

“Fuck,” he takes a breath, “you’re gorgeous.”

His hands tentatively roam on my hips, descend onto my thighs, grip them, all of this while I lose myself again in his kisses.

“Shit, baby”

Jungkook’s patience runs out when he feels my pebbled nipples against his chest, because he tugs at the end of my thin sweater, then kisses me harder, and I feel him everywhere, when he grips my ass, when he grinds himself against my center, drawing a long moan out of me.

Jungkook is intoxicating.

He draws my breath right out of my lungs, fingers teasing, grinding once again against me.

“Jungkook, fuck”

I whimper, he chuckles. The glorious, idiotic kisser trails pecks all over my neck, sucking on a sweet spot beside my ear.

“Guk, please…”

I don’t know what I’m whining for, but it’s enough for him to smile and close the distance between our mouths once again, savouring me slowly, in a wet, calculated kiss.

Just as my pulsating heat meets his in another tentative grind, Jungkook’s phone brightens the calm darkness of the car.

Oh.

He takes it out, swearing.

I wish I was groaning for other reasons. Sweet, good reasons. Like Jungkook pushing my legs apart, settling between them, lowering to—

“What the fuck do you want, Tae?”

As I listen to my best friend’s voice through the phone, I push myself off Jungkook’s warm body, sliding onto the passenger’s seat, legs crossed.

God.

He looks at me with a questioning look, eyebrows furrowed, and face flushed. His lips are wet from the ministration of my hungry kisses and I instinctively bite mine.

Don’t think about Jungkook’s eating you out, don’t think about Jungkook’s eating you—

“No, we were–we were going home. Yeah, that can do. Don’t worry, give us a minute”

He sighs loudly when the call ends, throwing his head back.

The sight’s almost comical.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to answer. It’s just–the phone was vibrating against my dick and you, too, were very close to my dick and I- “

I interrupt him with a kiss. He melts into it instantly.

“One more,” he hums, “before turning up the engine? Please?”

I erupt into a quiet laugh, obliging.

(What am I gonna do, say no?)

“In case it wasn’t clear,” he rasps, eyes on the road to pick Tae up as he has probably now realised he’d been left all alone without a ride back, “I like you. Have been since managed to eat half a cake in a sitting. Or since you fell asleep on me while watching Princess Mononoke. Which, incidentally, I don’t condone.”

I hold in my breath. “Yeah?”

He waits, then offers his palm to me, “Yeah.”

I intertwine our fingers.

It’s all quiet. It’s all silent. Yet, all warm. A graceful wordless full minute that warms my heart and makes me think this is not real. This is not possible. I think, my mind says, hazed, replaying Jungkook’s kiss once or twice or thrice, this is not really happening.

Oh god. I point with my chin at the next stop. “Pull out for a minute. Just a minute.”

“Something’s wrong?”

When he does, I feel my body aching for him, alive, burning. I can’t believe this. I brush my lips against his, all swollen and tasting, despite everything, still like melon. “In case it wasn’t clear,” I say, softly, “I like you.”

“Yeah?”

I pull back. His nose is touching mine, our foreheads brushing. Jungkook chases me, cupping my cheek with his hand, tracing circles, and letting his tongue delve into my mouth.

“We gotta pick Tae up.”

“Right,” he says, not moving an inch, “Right.”

“I’m gonna trade picking up my best friend for a kiss. Or two.”

“Cockblocker,” Jungkook replies, nodding, “But deal. Wait, no. A kiss. Or two. Hundreds, of course. Along with making out in the car.”

“I’m always free to try your car with you, if I know what you mean, right?”

Jungkook groans. “Let me live.”

“Of course.” A kiss. “My best friend’s waiting.”

“You asked me to pull out.”

“You kissed me back.”

“Of fucking course, do I look dumb to you?”

((“I’m moving out”

These are the first words Jungkook hears on a fatal Thursday morning, hands holding onto the kitchen counter.

A mixed feeling paints his expression.

“I know we haven’t talked about this, but I think we both know that it’s the right thing to do,” I add, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Absolutely,” then he nods, slowly, “I’m moving out.”

“Thank god,” he murmurs, hands already cupping my face, “For all the sex we’ll be having.”

“Jungkook!”

“Think about the bed,” he says, smiling like the attractive idiot he is, “The couch. Because you’re getting a couch. Think about all the places Taehyung can’t reach. Baby.”

“Jerk,” I say, kissing him lightly on the mouth.

“I’m celebrating for you, you ungrateful, amazing ass. Think about how easy blowing me will be.”

“Oh my god.”

“Think about how easy it’ll be for me to eat you out.”

I throw my hands around his neck.

“Not complaining anymore, huh?”

“Ass.”

“You love me.”

“That I do, baby.”

That I do.))

#jungkook #bts #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanficiton #bts fake texts #bts jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts scenario

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bonbon-chan · 4 years

Text

of shining moonlight and revelations

Pairing: KakaSaku

Rating: T

Summary: Sakura has already made a difficult decision. She just needs to stick to it.

For the September 18th Prompt 2: AU

A bit late, but better late than never lol

Read on AO3

@kakashiweek

KakaSaku Bleach xover Hollow | Binding | Meeting

What do you get when you mix this week’s 3 prompts and Kakashi week?

This is what you get lol enjoy!

Sakura stood in the middle of the expanse that was Hueco Mundo. The breeze carried grains of sand that grazed her skin before continuing their journey through the desert. The Espada swept pink locks away from her face, brushing the bone tiara across her crown out of habit. The porous surface scraping her hand. It’s a reminder of what she is.

Las Noches was off in the distance. She was far enough that her attacks wouldn’t damage the castle and Madara wouldn’t have to chastise her again. Not that she believed things would be the same from now on.

Konan had confided in her about what was to come. Sakura was prepared for what she had to accomplish.

Or so she thought

She sensed him before he saw her.

“Shinigami-san,” she greeted without turning around to face him.

Kakashi took a moment to observe her new attire. Gone were the tatters she had previously worn. Here she stood, shoulders back, white jacket with a black trim that cut off at her waist. Her hakama-like pants started at her hips and continued through to her ankles—the hems dancing around her legs.

Kakashi scratched the back of his head. He hesitated before finally arranging his façade. She may be the hollow with a mask, but out of the pair, he was the one who spent more time behind a veneer. “Ma, Sakura-chan, is that really the way we have come to greet each other after all our meetings?” His visible eye turned into a pleasant half-moon.

“No, Kakashi,” she acquiesced, “but things are not the same anymore.” There was tension in her shoulders. Kakashi kept a lid on the dread attempting to crawl up his spine.

His eye tightened at the corner, “I suppose not,” he moved to stand beside her. The perpetual crescent moon hanging in the sky illuminated her features for the Shinigami captain. His observation was cut short when bright jade eyes turned to him. Her eyes always shone the brightest in Hueco Mundo. He wondered what it was about this wasteland that made her look ethereal.

Sakura looked at him. He looked the same as always, standard silver, gravity-defying hair, reprehensible posture, and devil-may-care attitude. She saw echoes of him now. How broken he was when he lost Obito. The sacrifice of Rin. Growing up as an orphan This was a man who was intimately familiar with pain.

She hated what she was about to do.

She has been told repeatedly that the most significant difference between the species of hollow versus a Shinigami is that the hole that is physically on her body denoted a missing heart and the absence of emotions that usually accompany the organ.

She would like to punch every individual that has told her that.

Because this anguish she was feeling was pushing her to a breaking point. Forcing her to question the decisions she made in cold calculation.

Madara would not allow failure. If she was weak now and did not follow through, then all her efforts would be for naught.

“I have an objective to complete. Tell your friends to stay out of the way.” Her frosty gaze shook him from his stupor. He figured she would have changed, but he underestimated how much.

“Sakura, whatever that mad man is offering you isn’t worth it.”

“He’s the only one that can give me the solution to my problem. And why is it up to you to decide if it’s worth it or not?” She sniffed in derision.

“You know that’s not true. With all the R & D Orochimaru is doing, I’m sure there can be an answer.”

The Espada became agitated, “How many times to I need to drill it into your head, Kakashi?! I am an Arrancar, and you are a Shinigami. The rules that apply to you are different than the rules that apply to me.”

He finally got emotion out of her, but he was now regretting it.

She ripped her jacket open. There was a perfect black hole above her left breast, the size of a fist.

Kakashi averted his eye, and she noticed. Her own eyes narrowed in anger. She hated that her objective was becoming more apparent by the second.

She crowded him. Got close enough so that he could not avoid her because she was bringing up something that he wanted to ignore. “This is what makes us different. I must fight to keep my nature from consuming me. If I let up even a moment, then I revert back to a mindless hollow reacting on instinct alone. This,” she pointed to where her heart should be, “is confining me to my roots. It is part of me and who I am.”

She straightened and zipped her jacket up again.

She saw Kakashi’s jaw clench beneath his mask. He wasn’t ready to lose another precious person. He shook his head, “No, that doesn’t have to be true. We can--”

“Kakashi,” she mutters barely above a whisper, “please stop.” Her voice was flat, but the skin across her knuckles was pulled taut. The tight binding she had across the abyss in her chest was coming undone.

She released her Zanpaktou and faced the Shinigami, her once-upon-a-time friend and confidant, but now he was a hindrance.

She refused to let anyone get in the way. Kakashi was not exempt from that.

#kakasaku #haruno sakura #hatake kakashi #kakashi week 2020 #bleach au #espada sakura #shinigami captain kakashi #angst #look when i see the word hollow as a prompt #my mind immediately went to bleach #and hollow sakura

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kmomof4 · 6 years

Text

So do you know what today is? Or tomorrow rather? For me, I mean... Tomorrow for me, today for her...if that makes any sense at all...

It’s @artistic-writer birthday!!!!!!

🎶Happy birthday to youuuuu, happy birthday to youuuuu!!! Happy birthday dear Salem, happy birthday to youuuuuuu!!!!🎶

Pink and puppies... what could be better? I’ll tell you what’s better!!! Celebrating what a wonderful person, friend, and writer you are!!!! So that’s what I’m doing! Happy birthday my love! I hope your birthday is as wonderful as you are!!!

Aaaaaaaaaaand now, for your gift!!! Salem is so near and dear to my heart! It has been a privilege and blessing getting to know you over the last... about what, 15mos? Somewhere thereabouts. Anyhoo, I first met Salem through her art for @totheendoftheworldortime Swan-Jones Trio. She is an INCREDIBLE artist and our fandom is truly blessed to have her! Here is the link to all her fanart that she’s made. She’s never made any art that I haven’t loved!!! My personal favorites are probably the SJT art, the Marvel Men of OUAT, her art for The Legend of Captain Killian Jones by @hollyethecurious, Between Heaven and Hell by @alexandralyman and Alii Dimidium Lunam. Now moving on to her fics! Salem is one of the sweetest and kindest people in this fandom! Even when she tortures me with her fics! And THEN she cackles with @hollyethecurious about my conniptions and comes up with even more ways to kill me! But she deserves all the good things for her birthday and every day and I can’t wait to someday meet her in person and squeeze her to death! But then she couldn’t write and art anymore... nevermind... And now for my very favorite fics that she’s written! These are in no particular order.

Talk Irish to Me

Modern AU. Emma has often wondered why Killian and his entire family have Irish names, despite his sultry British accent. As it turns out, Killian not only has an Irish heritage that he is extremely proud of, but he also speaks the ancient Gaelic tongue rather well.

Love Finds a Way. Jurassic World AU WIP

Emma Swan is the Head of Operations for David Nolan’s exotic adventure park, Jurassic World. She has a son, Henry, and is loved and respected by her colleagues. Her life was perfect until a new dinosaur the park created, Indominus Rex, decided to escape. Oh, and her one night stand, Killian Jones - he’s there to help contain the asset. Just to complicate things even more.

The Paradox of Light. I’ve only read this once, and I’ll only read it once, but I just have no words for the pain and beauty of this fic...

Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface. They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms? What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control? What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down? How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light?

Between Now and Nether

On their way to a Nolan Charity Gala, tragedy befalls Emma and Killian who is given just seven days to set things right. Can he make Emma believe and escape the Nether before he is lost forever?

Alii Dimidium Lunam. Her fic for the @cssns last year.

Mongrel Killian Jones, packless and alone, finds Emma by chance in a bar, but she neglects to mention she is running away from her pack responsibilities...responsibilities that her strict father and alpha, David Nolan, expects of his only child and heir to the Misthaven pack. None of which include falling in love with a mongrel. Loosely based Lady and the Tramp AU.

The Perfect Proposal

Killian Jones has an image of the perfect proposal in his head, the one way he will surely win over the woman he wants to give his heart to for the rest of his life. But will taking Emma on a five day break to the romantic, Austrian mountains help him find the courage and perfection he so desires?

Her ABO fics co-written with @doodlelolly0910 including

Give/Take

When Killian goes away on business and his rut appears early, Emma's little pick me up causes a little heat between them, prompting her to find her Alpha and sate both their needs.

and

Something More. Written for Hollye’s birthday last week. After some really hot and apparently needed together time, Emma and Killian discover Something More between them!

So that’s it! Again, Salem is an absolutely fantastic author and artist and she deserves all the love for everything she brings to this fandom with her delightful presence and her creations! I love you to the moon and back again my dear and I hope you have a wonderful day!

#happy birthday #to salem #its artistic-writers birthday!!!#happy birthday @artistic-writer #fandom birthday #fic rec list #cs fic recs #and art rec

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aranciafiamma · 6 years

Text

The Demon Wears Neon

My Holiday Gift for @teatimeunicorpia for @mp100ficrec gift exchange!

Prompt: High Fashion AU starring designer Teru

Ship: None, Kageyama Mob & Hanazawa Teruki

Summary: Mob has been set a challenge by his parents. He needs to learn how to live on his own. Which means find a place, find a job, and then keep the job. That sounds easy enough. (No Powers AU) -Inspired by the Devil Wears Prada and Princess Jellyfish

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

Stylish. Chic. Desperately trying to be bougie. Looks like the backstage of a runway, with employees that just stepped away from a photoshoot.

SHIGEO KAGEYAMA, 22, stradles the line between homely and homeless. He appears so unremarkable that he goes by a second name, MOB.

Mob loiters in front of the entrance. He looks up at the big, lit up sign and then at the job opening flyer posted on the door. He peers inside for the nth time.

The contrast between the sharply-heeled, precise-cut outfitted clerks and himself is apparent. Comparable to the way a multi-million, downtown condo contrasts an abandoned cottage in the woods. He sighs.

MOB There's no way...

He shifts his gaze down.

A shot of his scuffed-up sneakers on the concrete sidewalk.

INT. KAGEYAMA HOUSE - EVENING

Two weeks ago.

A shot of the same scuffed-up sneakers but on the laminated floor of a genkan. Shot pans up.

MRS. KAGEYAMA, middle-aged with a no nonsense look that can only be cultivated by raising two boys. She stands in front of Mob, hands on her hips.

Mob just got home, looking like he went out for a run. He's in a pair of sweatpants with a white T-shirt damp from sweat.

MOB Oh. I'm ho-

MRS. KAGEYAMA Are you doing anything tomorrow?

MOB No? I don't-

MRS. KAGEYAMA What about the next week? Or the next month? Or the next year? Do you have any plans at all?

MOB Um...

Mrs. Kageyama drags a hand down her face.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige. You're a grown man now. It's time you learned how to live on your own. Just look at Ritsu! Gone off to college!

MOB But you agreed college wasn't for me.

MRS. KAGEYAMA I did. That doesn't mean I wanted you to just hang around the house. You're not even working! You know, your father and I won't be here forever. We can't keep waiting for you to get moving.

MOB What does that mean?

MRS. KAGEYAMA We agreed to provide you with one month's rent. Just to get you started. Find yourself a place. Find yourself a job. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. You could work at a 7/11. I just -

Mrs. Kageyama sighs. Every year of her age seems to catch up in a single second. She looks tired and worn out, like a beloved blanket washed too many times.

MRS. KAGEYAMA We just need to know that you're going to be okay...

Mob looks down at his feet. Silence for an extended pause.

MOB That's one month?

MRS. KAGEYAMA Yes. Plenty of time, don't you think?

A front shot of Mob's face, focus on his eyes - a flat, dead-fish looking stare.

MOB Yeah... Yeah, okay.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

Same shot of Mob's eyes.

MOB This is a bad idea.

TERU Blocking the door tends to be.

A full shot. Mob jumps and whips around to see TERUKI HANAZAWA, 23, the human personification of LMFAO's "Sexy and I Know It". His personal style is disco night meets black light parties - a lot of sequins, a lot of neon.

He peers over his bedazzled, heart-shaped sunglasses, giving Mob a once over. He is not impressed with what he sees.

TERU Well?

Mob blinks at him.

TERU (clicks tongue) Get out of the way.

Mob scrambles off to the side. Teru flounces in, his many shopping bags hit Mob on the way. Stunned, Mob dazedly follows him inside.

There's an uproar as all the store clerks swarm Teru. They take his bags, asking rapid fire questions, presenting him with products. Mob watches, swept off to the side.

ARATAKA REIGEN, 36, like a car salesman but fashionable. He strides through the crowd, holding up two belts.

REIGEN There you are, Teruki. I'm planning to change the window display. Help me pick a belt.

Both belts are teal, wide, and flat but with different buckles and base materials. To the casual onlooker, the belts appear identical.

MOB Aren't those the same belts?

A pause. All the store clerks and Reigen look at him. Mob becomes a living statue - maybe not even living - a soon to expire statue.

Slowly, dramatically, Teru turns to face Mob.

TERU Oh. The boy masquerading as a door mat.

Mob draws up his shoulders, a turtle ducking into his shell.

MOB I... There was...

He points at the job opportunity flyer. Teru frowns.

TERU I knew that flyer was a bd idea. It invites all kinds of riff raff.

MOB Puh- Please. Two weeks. Rent due. I need - That is, I can... Please.

Reigen sighs and lightly nudges Teru.

REIGEN Listen kid. We need more help. I'm sure with the right training-

Teru glances at Reigen, glances back at Mob, then gives Reigen a look that could dry up the seas in second.

TERU We aren't running a charity here. Our job candidates should at least start from rock bottom, not the inner depths of the Earth's crust.

MOB I can work very hard! An - And I can follow orders! I'll do my best to learn!

REIGEN Oh give him a chance. He can work in the back, doing inventory. No one has to see him. We really need the extra help.

TERU I heard you the first time.

REIGEN Did you.

Reigen and Teru lock eyes. A tense moment.

TERU Alright! Fine. We can take him on. Temporarily. If he messes up my shop, it's on your head.

MOB ... Wait. This is your shop?

Teru and Reigen stare blankly at him. A beat. Teru turns to Reigen with a grin that could put a laughing Buddha to shame.

TERU Good luck, Arataka. You are going to need it.

Teru walks away with a dramatic spin on his heel. His staff follow after him like particularly noisy chickadees - chirping out new questions and suggestions.

Reigen and Mob both watch them go. A pause. Reigen looks over to find Mob preoccupied with a nearby sweater. His fingers run over the smooth cashmere in a repetitive rhythm.

REIGEN (clears throat) Alright, kid. I just stuck my neck out for you. Don't let me down.

Mob blinks. His eyes got that thousand yard stare. Reigen's brow twitches.

REIGEN Geez. You really make a guy feel confident about his choices. What's your name?

MOB Shigeo Kageyama. My friends call me Mob.

REIGEN Like a mob boss?

MOB Like a mob character.

REIGEN .... Right. I'm Arataka Reigen.

Mob nods. A long, stretched out pause. They stare at each other.

MOB Oh. Thank you. And please excuse me but, why did you do that?

REIGEN What? Help you out? Listen, a new stock of our famous Jellyfish couture just came in. It's a massive order. I could either go crazy doing it by myself OR we could hire you to give me a hand. Now come on.

Reigen walks away, beckons Mob to follow. Mob stays put.

MOB We're starting now?

Reigen doesn't even pause or glance back.

REIGEN Why? You got other stuff to do?

Mob stumbles after him, trying to catch up.

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - EVENING

Messy, cluttered, obviously occupied by more than one twenty something. Anime merch scattered on every surface. Sci-fi posters plastered on the walls. A roach sets out from the Take Out Box street and visits its cousin in Candy Wrapper lane.

TOME KURATA, 24, self-identifies as a cryptid but actually she's just a NEET. She's camped out on the living room floor, playing a console game.

Mob enters. He looks like the patient of a medieval doctor - as in someone stuck a bunch of leeches on him and now he's nothing more than a husk of a human being.

TOME Ossu! How'd the job hunting go?

MOB ... I got one.

Tome pauses her game and faces him.

TOME Nice! Did you - Woah! What happened to you?

Mob doesn't answer. He shuffles over to the couch and faceplants on it. He is dead now.

Fade to black.

TOME Mob? Oi, Mob! Mobbu-kun!

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - AFTERNOON

Two weeks ago.

Blackout.

TOME Mob?

Fade in. An unimpressed Tome stands with her arms crossed. She looks Mob up and down.

TOME What kind of name is that?

Full shot. MAMETA INUKAWA, 22, vaguely resembles a Shiba Inu. He's standing next to Mob, a hand clapped on his shoulder. They're both facing Tome.

INUKAWA Oh it's just something we liked to call him.

MOB My name is Shigeo Kageyama. It's pleasure to meet you.

TOME Huh. I'm Tome Kurata.

MOB Oh. That's my grandmother's name.

TOME Neat. So. Our last roommate fucked off without paying in advance. We're really in a bind here. I'm not even asking for the full payment just half.

MOB Yes. I can pay. But I need a room.

TOME Pfft! If you keep paying, you keep staying. Just don't murder us all in our sleep. And for the love of all things holy, wash your fucking dishes after you eat. That's all.

MOB I can manage that.

TOME Excellent. Welcome to the Cryptid Den, Mob-kun.

MOB Uh... Cryptid?

INUKAWA Because we're all hopeless shut-ins who barely scrape by on night-shift part-time work. So, seeing us is like sighting a cryptid - you know, Big Foot, Nessie...

TOME BZT! Wrong! We're cryptids because we all have a mysterious allure!

INUKAWA Oh. I thought that was just the smell from your unwashed bras.

Tome shrieks wordlessly and flails at him.

A torso shot of Mob, standing in front of the door.

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - EVENING

The same shot of Mob, sitting at the dining table. The rest of his roommates have trudged out of their self-imposed isolation. They're eating take-out sushi.

SARUTA SHIRIHIKO, 22, big, broad, and butt-chinned. He casually steals sushi from Inukawa's plate. HARUTO KIJIBAYASHI, 24, always looks stressed out but it's just his resting face. He laughs as Inukawa thumps Shirihiko.

Mob focuses on carefully dipping a roll into soy sauce.

Tome walks in, carrying a pack of beer. She thumps it on the table before taking a seat.

TOME Right, boys. I don't have to remind you. But I'm still gonna so don't you give me any excuses later. Rent is due in two weeks. That is 14 days. Got it? Mob, you listening?

Mob lifts his head. His roll slips from his chopsticks and splashes soy sauce on him. He flinches and reaches for a napkin. He pats himself down.

A pause. Everyone is waiting for him to respond. Distantly, the front door can be heard opening.

RITSU KAGEYAMA, 21, a Hot Mess pretending to be the Cool Guy. He walks in.

Tome clears her throat. Mob returns his attention to her.

MOB Ah. Yes. I heard. I can pay on time. I have a job now.

RITSU Really, Nii-san? Congratulations!

Ritsu grabs a beer and takes a seat next to Mob. Tome eyes him.

TOME Oi, Kageyama. If you keep coming around here, and I'll start charging you for rent.

RITSU Please, Kurata-san. I am a poor college student. I don't have a penny to my name.

INUKAWA What's the job? Where at?

MOB So far it's been managing inventory. At some place called Teru.

KIJIBAYASHI Whoa. Wait. Teru?

RITSU Do you like it?

MOB Mmmm... I have a lot to learn. It's very tiring.

TOME Yeah. You looked half-dead when you got in today.

Ritsu frowns, gripping his beer can hard enough to dent.

RITSU Well. Don't work too hard.

MOB I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me.

RITSU Just promise me if you get too stressed out-

KIJIBAYASHI I can't believe you're working at Teru!

INUKAWA Why is that such a big deal?

KIJIBAYASHI It's like super popular! The store owner is supposedly some kinda fashion prodigy.

SHIRIHIKO And how do you know this?

KIJIBAYASHI My girlfriend. She's all about this kinda stuff.

TOME Hold up! When the hell did you get a girlfriend?

The rest give Kijibayashi hell. Ritsu turns his attention to Mob.

RITSU If it gets too much, you can always quit.

MOB I know. But I really do need money.

RITSU I can talk to Mom. I can convince her to let you come home. You don't need to put yourself through this.

MOB Mom's busy taking care of Dad. He's still on medical leave, you know?

RITSU Still?

MOB ... I want to do my best.

Ritsu scowls and takes an angry sip of his beer.

Tome has moved to throwing pizza crusts at Kijibayashi and Shirihiko. Inukawa is in tears from laughing.

RITSU If you need anything-

MOB Ritsu. It's fine. (beat) And you need to stop checking up on me. I know you're busy with college.

RITSU (sighs) Okay, Nii-san. Okay.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

Mob enters. The boutique is in a frenzy. Store clerks run about blindly. Teru is at the center of all the mayhem. He's fixing up a mannequin, paying little attention to the panic.

TSUYOSHI EDANO, 24, stuck in his "high school punk" phase but now in a suit. He stands next to Teru, taking notes.

TERU Details of your incompetence do not interest me. Tell Simone I'm not going to approve that girl she sent me. I asked for clean, athletic, smiling. She sent me dirty, tired, and paunchy.

Reigen appears next to Mob. He grabs his arm. Mob jumps.

REIGEN You're late!

MOB I... But... You told me to come at 8am. It's 8am.

REIGEN Clearly I meant to come 15 minutes earlier. That's how it works around here.

Reigen pulls Mob through the store. Mob watches the store clerks rush around.

MOB Is it always like this?

REIGEN Just the Teru effect. But he's in fine form today. The shop isn't even open yet and he's already sent someone crying.

Mob blinks, slightly frowning.

REIGEN I wouldn't worry about it. Your job is out of his way. Unlike mines.

MOB If you don't mind me asking, what is your job?

REIGEN Mostly I handle the daily operations of the shop. But I'm also the event planner. Teruki puts on fashion shows, you see. It's what all those fancy brands - Gucci, Prada, Versace - they all do it. And that kid, well he believes himself on par with them. So of course whatever they do, he will too. Never mind that they've got more resources and reach. So he's just stressing himself out for not much pay off. And of course, us underlings get the brunt of his freak outs - I'm ranting, aren't I? Don't mind me, kid.

MOB I wasn't. I didn't get... any of that.

They enter the backroom. It looks like the kind of place where simple joys die slow, drawn out deaths. No windows. Buzzing, overhead lights. A small mountain of unopened boxes next to a second door. Rows and rows of shelves and racks, most empty. Not a lot of breathing room.

Reigen glances over at Mob.

REIGEN Mob, right? Just do as I say and we should get along fine.

Mob stares at Reigen.

REIGEN Think you can do that?

MOB Oh. Yes.

REIGEN Good. Now, where did I leave off yesterday...

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MONTAGE

Mob hard at work. He's carrying a huge box. He can't see where he's going. He bumps into a store clerk who stumbles back, knocking over a set of mannequins. There's a deafening crash. Reigen comes running over.

REIGEN Mob!

Reigen carefully jotting down the inventory. He double checks to make sure they received everything. Behind him, Mob unpacks a few boxes. He pauses for a moment, wiping his brow. He notices an electric fan in the corner - it's huge, industrial sized. He switches it open. The sudden breeze sends all of Reigen's files flying.

REIGEN Mob!!

Mob walks in, carrying a tray of tea. He trips over his feet and sends the drinks flying, headed right for the unwrapped stock of very expensive cashmere skirts. Reigen yells and makes a mad dash. In slow motion - like watching a hardened soldier take a bullet for a fallen comrade - Reigen steps in and shields the skirts from the tea splash.

MOB ... Oops.

Reigen now dripping wet.

REIGEN MOB!!!

EXT. BACK ALLEY - AFTERNOON

A cramped area behind the boutique. Largely bare. Only a recycling bin full of flattened boxes, a mostly empty trash bin, and Mob.

He squats next to the door. He picks at a store-bought bento.

MOB (sighs) Man. I suck at this.

Door swings violently open. It knocks into Mob, upturning his bento and spilling the food all over him.

Teru enters.

MOB ... Ow.

Teru glances over and sees him.

TERU You know, if I had wanted a doormat, I could have bought a perfectly serviceable one at a department store. It would have been better looking too.

Mob focuses on brushing the food off him.

TERU Hello? I'm talking to you.

Mob slowly lifts his head and turns to Teru.

TERU Are you deaf?

MOB No.

TERU Then why didn't you say anything?

MOB Was I supposed to?

TERU Sorry would be a good start.

MOB But... You're the one that hit me... With the door...

Teru turns away from him. He pulls out his phone and a cigarette. He starts a call, puffing out smoke.

Mob gets up, throws away his bento, and enters the boutique.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - AFTERNOON

Mob walks into the backroom. Reigen is using a box for a desk, scribbling fast. He sees Mob and turns to him.

REIGEN Whoa. Did you eat lunch or did lunch eat you?

MOB I-

REIGEN Yeah, yeah. Listen. Kid. This isn't gonna work.

MOB What won't?

REIGEN You are just constantly in the way. I can't believe you've stayed on. You're clearly not cut out for this. You should quit.

A pause. Mob shakes his head slowly. He scratches at his arm.

MOB ... No.

Another pause, drawn out. Reigen studies him.

REIGEN This is a fashion boutique. Employees should have an interest in fashion. Which you don't.

MOB I can learn.

REIGEN Who's going to teach you? Because I just don't have the time.

Mob scratches his arm faster.

MOB Give me - Give me one more chance. I need to work. I can't - Mom and Dad - tired of disappointing.

A pause.

Teru enters with his usual dramatic flair.

TERU Reigen, I need coffee.

REIGEN I'm busy, brat.

TERU Then get your little errand boy to do it. Isn't that why we hired him?

Mob stops scratching his arm. He balls his hands into fists.

MOB I can do it!

TERU You don't have a choice. I want a triple grande caramel macchiato in a venti cup, 1/2 whole milk, 1/2 almond milk, a splash of soy, double the amount of vanilla syrup, caramel wall in the cup, extra whip. Understood?

Mob did not understand.

MOB Y-Yes.

TERU Then what are you standing around for? Go!

INT. STARBUCKS - AFTERNOON

No place special. Just somewhere to get the usual caffeine fix.

Mob stands at the counter. A hand furiously scratches at his arm. He stares at the menu. Seen from his point of view, the menu starts to blur into an unreadable mess.

ICHI MEZATO, 22, the love child of Sherlock Holmes and Lois Lane. She mans the register, eyeing Mob. A line is forming behind him.

MEZATO Hey! I know you! Don't you work at Teru?

Mob jumps. He stops scratching.

MOB Ho-How did you know?

MEZATO I stopped by this morning and saw you knock a store clerk into those mannequins. Man, that was funny. Lemme guess. You're here for the bossman.

Mob nods.

MEZATO I gotchu. He always gets the same thing. I've memorized the order by now.

MOB That's... convenient.

MEZATO Hey, don't question your luck. It seems like a stressful place to work at. You're gonna need all the help.

MOB Thank you...

Mob squints at her name tag.

MOB Mezato-san?

MEZATO That will be 400 yen.

Mob freezes.

MEZATO ... He didn't give you money, did he?

Mob mournfully pulls out his wallet, sighing.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - EVENING

Mob enters. Teru dashes over. Reigen stays standing at the register. He watches them.

TERU Finally! What took you so long? I thought you died or something!

MOB Please excuse me.

Mob hands the coffee to Teru. He eyes the cup suspiciously before taking a sip.

TERU Hmph. I suppose that will do.

Teru turns around and flounces away. Reigen walks up to Mob.

REIGEN That brat always orders the most elaborate stuff. I'm surprised you managed it. So you can follow instructions, huh?

MOB Yes.

REIGEN Alright. I can give you one more shot at this. But if you mess up, that's it.

INT. CRYPTID APARTMENT - EVENING

Mob and Ritsu sit on the couch. Tome and Inukawa play some sort of dancing game. They are both obviously out of shape.

RITSU How's work?

MOB It's going okay.

RITSU Not too stressful?

A pause. Mob keeps his eyes on the game. Ritsu watches him.

MOB I'm handling it.

Ritsu says nothing.

A beat. Mob yawns. He stretches and the sleeves slip down. His arms have raw-red scratch marks. Ritsu grabs Mob.

RITSU What is this?

MOB Don't worry about it.

RITSU Nii-san! This job is obviously awful. Please quit. I can loan you some money. You don't need -

MOB I need to be treated like a grown up. I'm the older brother. I should be taking care of you not...

RITSU I don't need to be taken care of.

MOB Then at least let me take care of myself. I'm not quitting.

RITSU But-

MOB Drop it, Ritsu.

Tome and Inukawa finally collapse from overexertion.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - MORNING

A week later.

Mob and Reigen are in one of the dressing rooms. Reigen is carefully outfitting Mob with some of the store's best-sellers.

MOB Um... Reigen-san.

Reigen buttons up a smart-looking vest. It's very tight. Mob scratches at the seams. His posture has gotten very tense.

REIGEN What, Mob?

MOB Do you really think I'm ready to work at the front?

REIGEN Nope. But if you stay working in the back with me, I might just go completely insane.

Mob deflates.

REIGEN I'm just kidding. You've really gotten better.

Reigen winds a tie around his neck. Mob squirms, trying to loosen it. Reigen knocks his hand away.

REIGEN Stop that.

MOB Is all this stuff really necessary?

REIGEN Unfortunately. Teruki doesn't let anyone on the floor unless they're looking runway ready. It's part of the hashtag-aesthetic.

MOB I don't know what that means.

REIGEN Same, kid.

Reigen claps Mob on the shoulders. He spins him around to face the mirror.

A full shot of his reflection. It's still Mob, with his bland-looking face and his severe-looking haircut. But his clothes are well-fitted and the dark colors complement his skin tone. He looks... well, pretty nice actually. Mob puffs up, smiling a bit

REIGEN There, now. All you gotta do is keep the racks stocked and the shelves organized. We're not throwing you behind the register or anything. So don't worry. But you should be familiar with what we carry. Right?

MOB Um...

REIGEN Say yes.

MOB Yes.

REIGEN Good. Now get out there.

Reigen shoves Mob out of the dressing room. There's a cart full of stock waiting for him. He blinks and stares at it.

REIGEN Take that to the front. You can figure out where to put it all.

Mob jumps and jerks into action. His movements are stiff, almost robotic. He wheels the cart into the crowded sales floor. Store clerks are buzzing about, flitting from customer to customer.

Mob watches them all and idly tugs at his tie, scratching his neck. He nearly crashes into a customer.

CUSTOMER Hey! Watch it!

MOB Sorry - Excuse me!

Mob hastily drags the cart over to a corner, breathing fast and hard. Both hands reach up to his neck, digging his nails in and scratching hard - leaving the skin an angry red.

A pause. Mob inhales deeply and faces the sales floor again. He looks at the cart then at the racks and starts heading out.

The chatter of the customers and clerks steadily grow louder. Mob scratches at the seams of his vest. He rocks on his heels as he hangs up some of the stock.

A store clerk passes by, casually re-applying perfume. Mob doubles over, clapping a hand over his nose and mouth.

A pulse can be heard - it's Mob. At first, just a steady beat hidden under all the noise. But slowly deafens everything else. Close up on the customers lips - smiling and talking away. Close up on the display lights, blindingly bright and everywhere. Close up on the vest's material, the starchy woven fabric embroidered with gold thread.

A full shot of Mob. He appears completely frozen. The cart is off to the side, abandoned.

A customer approaches.

CUSTOMER Hey, excuse me. But I'm looking for a cashmere skirt. It's part of your fall line, I think. Could you help me?

A hand reaches out and gently nudges Mob's shoulder. Mob flinches away - as if electrocuted. He slaps away the hand and snarls at the customer. He looks ready to go apeshit.

A beat.

CUSTOMER Um. What the he-

Mob dashes away. He tugs off the tie, flinging it away. It hits Reigen, dealing with a customer nearby. He turns.

REIGEN Ow! Hey, who threw tha - Mob?

Mob exits the sales floor.

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM - NIGHT

Five weeks ago.

Whitewashed walls, sterile-tiled floors. Buzzing flourescent lights. A crossbreed between a lab and a holding cell.

Mob is curled up on a chair. He scratches his ears. Mrs. Kageyama paces, wringing her hands. Ritsu enters, dashing in.

RITSU How is he?

Mrs. Kageyama stops pacing.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Oh, Ritsu! You didn't need to come all this way!

RITSU Didn't?! Dad just had a stroke! How can you -

A pause. Ritsu breathes in deeply. He looks over at Mob. He approaches cautiously.

RITSU Hey, Nii-san. You okay?

Mob doesn't answer. He doesn't even glance at Ritsu.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Oh don't bother him. When your father collapsed, I thought to faint myself. Must've seemed worse for Shige.

RITSU And is Dad...?

A pause. Mrs. Kageyama slowly shakes her head. A sob bursts out. Ritsu rushes over and drapes an arm around her.

Close up on Mob. Mrs. Kageyama can be heard crying in the background. He squeezes his eyes shut, gripping his knees hard.

INT. KAGEYAMA HOUSE - EVENING

Three weeks ago.

Mob stands at the entry way. He's dressed in a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt.

MR. KAGEYAMA, middle aged, stooped over from years of hard work and a very recent hospitalization. He is escorted in by Ritsu. They pass by Mob.

MR. KAGEYAMA I can walk just fine. You're making me feel old, son.

RITSU You are old, Dad.

MR. KAGEYAMA Yes. But you shouldn't say it.

Mob watches them disappear into the kitchen. Mrs. Kageyama enters, stuffing her wallet into her purse.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige, if you've got time to be gawking, then you should be setting out the plates for dinner. You did order the take-out like I asked, did-

Mob pushes past her, kicking off his slippers and shoving on his sneakers.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige? What - You're going out? Now?

Mob remains silent. His expression is the most serious seen. He dashes out the door.

MRS. KAGEYAMA Shige!

EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS

Empty. Rows of unlit houses cage in the lane. The sky is a heartbreaking purple.

Mob runs. He runs and he runs and he runs. His face is a rictus of pain as he draws sharp, short breaths. He stumbles a little but quickly regains his footing. He keeps running.

A shot of a streetlight, flickering on.

EXT. BACK ALLEY - EVENING

Close up on a streetlight.

Pan out. Mob leans against the wall.

He's pulling off the vest, rocking on his heels. His breathing is fast and short. He frantically scratches everywhere.

Reigen enters. He's got the tie hooked around a finger. He watches Mob.

REIGEN I'm guessing you didn't like the fit?

Mob doesn't answer. He's crumpled up the vest in his hands, squeezing tightly. Reigen winces.

A long drawn out pause.

REIGEN So. How long are you gonna stay out here?

Mob stops scratching.

REIGEN Just ran out the door. Honestly. You scared a customer.

Mob slowly turns to Reigen.

REIGEN You're really bad at this. Dunno why you stick around. It's not a good fit for you.

Mob blinks.

REIGEN ... Just finish out the rest of this week. Then, you can get paid and go.

Mob shakes his head. He turns to face the wall, inhales deeply. A beat.

MOB I want to work. I can. I have to. I'm - I want to stop running.

REIGEN Okay... Why...?

MOB Be-Because I need to prove I can.

REIGEN To who?

MOB To myself. That I can grow. And I'm going to be fine. And if I - if I just work hard enough...

A pause. Reigen hisses out a breath.

REIGEN Right. Well you don't need to kill yourself in the process. Look, you've scratched your neck into bleeding.

MOB Happens. Been trying not to scratch so much.

REIGEN Okay. So how about this. Let's go back to managing the inventory for a bit. And then... Well, if you still really want to, we can ease you into the front.

MOB But wasn't this the easy job?

REIGEN Then I guess we'll have to make it easier.

A pause. Reigen studies Mob.

REIGEN Are you absolutely sure? You don't have to. You can get a job that isn't retail.

Mob doesn't answer. Again he faces the wall and holds his hands, trying not to scratch.

MOB My parents. They never... When they first found out I had autism, they never treated it like a big deal. They just went - "Ah, okay." They never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. (beat) They honestly believe in me. That I can take care of myself. I want to - I want to believe it too.

Then Mob glances at Reigen and smiles.

MOB And. You know. Not a lot of options for part-timers with no work experience. I can do this.

Reigen barks out a laugh, shaking his head. He spins the tie around his finger.

REIGEN Then let's get started.

INT. DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE - EVENING

Two days later.

The boutique is closed. The store clerks have fled. Reigen and Teru argue loudly. They stand by the registers. A cup of coffee on the counter.

Mob enters, carrying several shopping bags.

TERU I don't understand why it's so difficult to confirm an appointment!

REIGEN But I did confirm last night!

Teru notices Mob at the door.

TERU Who are you? The store is closed! Can't you see the sign?

MOB Oh but -

REIGEN He works with me, remember? Helps out in the stock room? I just sent him to pick up some scarves for your little fashion show.

TERU And it took him this long to come back? What happened? Did he get into an accident?

MOB I got lost.

TERU You got lost. He got lost. Okay you know what. Get out. I already sent everyone home but you - you won't be returning.

MOB ... What does that -

REIGEN Hey, don't pick on him! He's trying his best!

TERU His best clearly isn't good enough. I expect nothing short excellence.

Teru gifts Reigen with a sneer that threatened to melt the flesh from his face.

TERU And there's seems to be a shortage of that around here!

A pause. Reigen shakes his head.

REIGEN That's it. I'm done. Come find me when you're finished throwing your tantrum.

TERU Find you? I'm firing you!

REIGEN Is that right?

TERU I'm the boss around here! Seems like you forgot!

REIGEN Just never figured you to be an idiot. Stupid sometimes sure. But not an idiot. Have fun trying to figure everything without me!

TERU Fine!

REIGEN Fine!

Reigen storms out, exiting through the backroom.

A pause. Teru sees Mob watching.

TERU And what are you looking at? Huh? Yet another mistake of his. Didn't I tell you to leave? You're fired too.

MOB That was mean. He was only trying to help.

TERU Didn't you hear me? You're fired.

MOB I heard you. And... And I don't care. All Reigen-san has ever done is help you. He works overtime trying to put together your fashion show. But you just keep yelling at him. That's not right.

TERU Who are you to lecture me? Get out!

MOB You go around yelling at people and for what? Why do that? It doesn't actually help anything except maybe make you feel better. That's not - You can't just lash out.

TERU Watch me.

Teru picks up the coffee and flings it at Mob. He ducks. The coffee splashes across the front doors.

MOB Hey! That's dangerous! You'll ruin the clothes!

TERU Those are my clothes! And I'll ruin all of it if I please!

Teru pulls out a pair of scissors from the counter. He picks up a skirt and proceeds to cut it into pieces.

TERU You think you're better than me. Is that it? Is that why you keep lecturing me? As if I'm some poor, retarded child.

Mob balls his hands into fists.

MOB That's enough.

Teru picks up shirt and slices it into ribbons.

TERU When really, between the two of us, whose the real retard here? Hmm?

MOB Shut up.

TERU You think I didn't know? Please. I know everything that goes on inside my little shop. You almost lost me a customer.

MOB I said shut up.

TERU If I wasn't so busy, I would have fired you earlier.

Mob screams. He throws the shopping bags at Teru. Some fall halfway. Some miss. But one hits Teru right in the face.

A pause. Teru turns to Mob, a truly ugly grimace on his face.

TERU You!

Teru grips the scissors like a knife and lunges at Mob. He jerks back, hands catching Teru's. There's a struggle for dominance. Snip.

Snip?

Both freeze. They eye as a huge chunk of Teru's hair falls between them.

A long pause.

Teru lets out a heart-wrenching wail. He drops the scissors. Hands reach up, clutching at his now very uneven hair do.

MOB ... I'm sorry...

Teru falls to the floor. He curls up into a ball, shivering.

TERU It's over. I'm ruined. I'm done. Finished. A washed-up has-been.

MOB You can still fix it. Just even it out. Maybe.

Teru finally lifts his head. Tears and snot stream down his blotchy-red face.

TERU You don't get it! How could you? Living your dull, ugly life.

MOB You're not much better looking.

A pause. Teru blinks at him.

TERU Excuse me?

MOB You look the same as everyone else. To me, at least. It's good that you wear all those neon clothes. Or else I wouldn't know it was you.

A beat. Teru starts laughing. He laughs long and hard. The laughter turns into soft sobbing. Mob watches, unsure what to do.

TERU You're face blind? Of course you are. What is a god to a nonbeliever?

MOB ... Should I call an ambulance? Are you... okay?

TERU No, I am not. I've been arranging this stupid fashion show, when I don't have anything to show. I try and I try to design. But nothing comes. Hey, what do you think I'm doing wrong?

A pause.

TERU Look at me. Asking help from a -

MOB I can't wear any of your clothes. And I always thought it was a bit unfair... If only certain people can wear your clothes and others can't.

TERU That's just how the world works. It caters only to the special ones - those gifted with beauty and talent. Like moi.

MOB I don't know who moi is, but they can't be very special. And if you're just following what the world does... Then aren't you just like everyone else?

Another pause. Longer this time, softer. Teru looks at Mob, really looks at him.

TERU ... I'm sorry I called you... Well, you know what I called you.

MOB Yes. I'm still angry about that.

TERU Right. As you should be. I would like to... I don't mean to sound presumptive, but I'd like to earn your forgiveness - if I may!

MOB ... How?

TERU Well, first. You're definitely not fired.

MOB And Reigen-san?

TERU He isn't either. In fact, I'm giving you two some very important jobs.

Mob eyes Teru warily.

INT. CAFE - AFTERNOON

A popular hangout for college kids. Mismatched decor, worn out furniture, posters for open mic night. Currently crowded.

Teru and Ritsu sit together.

TERU Model for me, mon chéri.

RITSU I’m sorry. You want my brother to... what?

TERU Really. It's that simple.

RITSU ... And we are talking about my brother, right? Kageyama Shigeo?

TERU Do you have any more brothers?

RITSU Look... I... Can you just explain? Why him?

TERU Why is this so unbelievable? Do you not think he can be a model?

Ritsu flinches as if struck.

RITSU That’s-

TERU Well, if you really don’t understand.

RITSU Okay, you know what-

TERU I've worked with many top-class models. As I'm sure you know.

RITSU I didn't, actu-

TERU I'm used to certain standards of beauty. And your brother... failed to meet any.

RITSU So why -

TERU And I admit, upon first glance, I practically dozed off with how utterly dull he looks.

RITSU Hey now -

TERU But then! Oh but then! My eyes were opened! I was enlightened! Your brother has a certain... Mmmm... Je ne sais quoi...

Ritsu thumps his fist on the table.

RITSU Enough with the French! I get it! You're very cultured!

TERU Oh grazie.

Ritsu gifts him with a stare that could peel paint. Teru replies with a smile that could withstand a nuclear meltdown.

RITSU Alright, listen Hanazawa. I watch my brother very carefully. And ever since he started working with you, he's been more stressed out than ever. He's scratched himself hard enough to scar.

TERU I've been told that he's gotten better at that.

RITSU He shouldn't be working at your place. You need to fire him.

Teru studies Ritsu.

TERU ... You approached me to say this? Shouldn't you be convincing your brother to quit? Wouldn't that be easier?

RITSU Don't you think I've tried? He won't budge.

TERU Then why should I fire him? He's willing.

RITSU But he's not able! Surely you've noticed by now. My brother has... special needs.

A pause.

TERU I think your brother is perfectly capable of assessing his own limits.

RITSU And I think you just want to use him for your little scheme.

Teru's smile widens. He gets to his feet.

TERU Oh please, mon frére. None of my schemes have ever been little.

Teru exits.

Ritsu grits his teeth. Close up on his pained expression.

EXT. STREET - AFTERNOON

12 years ago.

Same shot of Ritsu's pained expression, now a 9 year old kid. He's got a cut on his head. It's bleeding profusely. He's watching a 10 year old Mob, currently in the middle of a meltdown.

RITSU Nii-san... Stop...

Mob is throwing rocks and beer bottles and whatever else he can get his hands on. He is screaming furiously and helplessly.

RITSU Please stop.

A bunch of older middle-school boys flee from him.

RITSU Stop!

Mob drags his hands down his arms. Scratching heavily. He curls into a ball.

A shot of Ritsu, squeezing his eyes shut.

INT. CAFE - AFTERNOON

Close up on Ritsu, eyes squeezed shut. He runs a hand down his face. He breathes out.

A pause.

He looks out the cafe window. He blinks. He sits up.

Pan over. Seen from Ritsu's point of view, Teru exits the cafe and dashes over to Mob, waiting across the street. They walk away together. Mob has his usual blank expression but he nods occassionally.

RITSU Nii-san... What are you up to?

INT. TERU'S WORKSHOP - MONTAGE

Mob and Teru bent over the drafting table. Teru presents some fabric swatches. Mob feels each one, giving feedback. Teru listens very carefully.

A dressform. A shirt mockup pinned to it. Mob attaches a sleeve. He looks back at Teru and gets a thumbs up.

Mob runs his fingers over a swatch of fabric. He takes in the dressform with its mostly assembled outfit. Teru approaches from behind, carrying two cups of tea. Mob accepts his. They both turn to look at the dressform.

Close up on the outfit. It's an elegant piece, made of soft material with no visible seams. It has a low-hemline, with long sleeves and a loose turtleneck collar. A blazer is draped on top and pair of loose, square cut pants. It looks appropriate for the office or a night out.

TERU I think we did a pretty good job.

Mob nods. A pleased smile.

INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING

Chaos. Well-ordered chaos. Models are putting on their clothes, getting their make up done, being fussed over by Reigen. They all start lining up, ready for the runway.

Behind a dressing screen. Only Teru's and Mob's shadows can be seen. Teru is helping Mob put on the outfit they made.

TERU You can back out right now. I don't mind. I've treated you badly and I'd deserve it if you -

MOB I don't care about that. Not right now, at least.

TERU You're right. You're absolutely right. This is all about you. Mob, what do you want?

MOB I want to do this. I can.

TERU You can. You practiced. We did that dress rehearsal. This is your style. Own it.

A pause. Mob's shadow looks at Teru's.

MOB No more running.

TERU No more running. Now we strut.

Reigen rushes over. He's tapping at his watch.

REIGEN Teruki! Showtime!

INT. STAGE - EVENING

It's a packed room. People are seated on 3 sides of the catwalk. Bright lights render them all faceless. Lots of indistinct chatter.

Close up on the Cryptids. They're all seated together. Pan over to Mezato, seated off to the side.

Close up on Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama seated with Ritsu. They have a front row view. Mrs. Kageyama holds onto both her husband's and son's hands.

Teru walks on. Everyone hushes.

TERU Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming tonight. This collection gave me the hardest time. I had an artistic block. And then someone wise - much wiser than me - gave me a push in the right direction. I'd like to say this is my night. But it's not. My collaborator is the true heart and soul of this show. He focused on clothing for those with sensory issues. He forced me to think outside of my usual parameters. And if I am very lucky, I hope to continue working with him for a long, long time. (beat) Now you didn't come here for me to monologue at you. Let's start the show.

Teru steps off the stage. The models start walking out. The music is lively. The clothes are beautiful. Everyone murmurs appreciatively with each new piece. The music changes. The lights dim.

INT. BACKSTAGE - EVENING

REIGEN Alright, Mobbu. It's your turn.

Reigen turns around. Mob is out of the shot. But Reigen clearly likes what he sees.

REIGEN Go get 'em, kiddo.

INT. STAGE - EVENING

Mob walks on. He's wearing that elegant outfit. He looks confident. His shoulders are squared. His chin is lifted. He steps with grace and care and just that touch of attitude. At the catwalk's end, he strikes a simple pose - hands loose and free at his sides. His usual neutral expression shifts to allow a small smirk. Then he spins around and walks back down.

The Cryptids cheer wildly. The Kageyamas cheer wildly. The rest of the crowd follow their example. There's roaring applause.

The music quiets. The crowd slowly stops clapping. Teru retakes the stage.

TERU Please give it up for my excellent collaborator! Shigeo Kageyama!

A beat. The crowd claps. No one comes out. Teru glances over his shoulder.

Mob gets visibly pushed back on stage. He almost stumbles but manages to hide it by taking a wide step. He repeats his walk down to Teru, no less confident. A wide grin now obvious on his face.

The two face the crowd. They bow. Cheers fill the room.

THE END.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #terumob

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