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jiminrings · 4 years

Note

Hey bb! First of all, let me just tell u how much I love your writing! You're fabulous, love. Don't ever doubt yourself. Secondly, I wanted to know if u could do a college professor! Jungkook and pretty student reader where Jk is absolutely enamoured by her.. (also, with a bit of the good ol smut🤭) It's a-okay if u can't tho! Just know that you're appreciated!❤️

the probability of us

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 6k

glimpse: jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

notes: there’s something so warm about this request that it made me write it as an actual fic and not a bullet one!!! i did alter it a little bit but i was genuinely so happy writing this so thank you sO much for this babe :D // gif from pinterest!

Jungkook, in his better and most definitely unbiased judgement, thinks he knows enough about you.

He knows you well enough to have noticed your patterns and habits with almost everything in between. They were predictable for the most part, and that was partly because he takes pride in being observational, but you manage to unintentionally throw him a curveball every now and then that makes him smile.

You always come into class when there’s atleast fifteen people in it and Jungkook wonders if you know it in the back of your head or if you just sneak a peek at the room every now and then. He’s not keen on being early to classes, and on the three straight occasions his dad left something in the classroom from the day before and got him to retrieve it for him, you were already there.

You’re fixated and practically attached to your knitted cardigan, seemingly having no problem wearing the same outfit for days straight — something so both adorable and visibly heart-racing when it’s almost always a tank top underneath that’s on the lower scoop, and a rotation of pants and sweats that sometimes feel so misplaced with your cardigan that it matches.

Jungkook’s found out that you probably wear atleast three rings on a daily basis, and that only took him two days to figure out because you’d exit the classroom with slight marks and indentations on your cheeks or on your jaw. Whether it’s to being sleepy, being bored, or being focused is something he has yet to discern — but yeah, he looks at you with his eyes silently when the class is dismissed, wondering if he’d see the same Pandora tiara ring mark on your cheek, or this time from a signet ring you sported more often.

He’s eight weeks in doing whatever this is. Whatever having the definition of him trailing behind his dad, a back and forth between his classes and his office, then them eating out for lunch break.

Sometimes, Jungkook forgets that his dad’s the president of this very university.

He’s only really known him as dad and he’s grateful for that, and the only times he’d see his father as the educator he was with the fancy doctorate degree was whenever Jungkook’s been a little lacking in his studies as a child up until high school. His mom, a doctor, would be on duty for nights and at home for mornings so that’d be the window she’d teach him the alphabet and addition with the carrying, something that eight-year old him would tear up just at the mention of.

His dad would just sit beside him in a very calm manor, take out two notebooks for one of them each, and make reviewers. Jungkook writes down what he knows and what his dad tells him to, highlights the key terms, and for some totally odd reason, making his own reviewers saved him from failing altogether and become an honor student with little help from his parents and most especially his dad.

It humors him that people are so rigid and intimidated by his dad, and he knows that not everyone would believe that this is the same guy that taught him how to give someone a proper wet willy. Jungkook sees people left and right going out of their way to greet him and pay their courtesies, stifling in a giggle that his dad also fights the need to laugh.

He loves and looks up to his dad, feeling a lot more thankful that he has a healthy relationship with his parents as an only child. Jungkook feels he owes that much to his dad that he took education for his college course, despite his blatant lack of interest for it.

And here he is — a senior at another college his dad’s not the professor of, studying a degree that he’s not gonna practice, and shadowing his father for eight weeks while he goes and teach for the “experience” as his dad calls it.

This has got to be a little ethically questionable, but that’s okay. Jungkook takes some comfort knowing that his dad’s the boss and he could just sit in a chair, pretending to absorb his lessons. In fact, he doesn’t even know why his dad opts to teach still even if he’s well high up in that ladder, the only explanation being that his father just really really likes teaching and not just be moving between airconditioned offices and meeting rooms all the time. And if that was enough, his dad just had to teach two classes to which Jungkook needs to accompany him in both — Statistics and English Literature.

Jungkook has a memory of stone that’s probably of the same kind the Code of Hammurabi was inscribed in (because he just swears his memory started way earlier than the age of four), because he practically knows everyone in each of his dad’s classes.

Eight weeks in. He’s only known that long.

But Jungkook knows for a fact that you’re never late — that much he knows. He refuses to believe that you’re actually gonna be late to class.

His dad comes in early and normally, he sits by his chair just when he’s a minute away from starting class. For some odd push today, he felt the need to enter the room with his dad and be early for once; but for the one time that he did this, you weren’t around for it.

You’re late, and you’re never late, and you’re throwing him a curveball, but something tells him in his gut that this just wasn’t something you pull out of your cardigan sleeve to confuse him.

You’re confusing.

You’re never usually confusing.

He visibly straightens in his seat when you enter the room with a sense of complacency and without the need to rush, the class only in the quieting down stages before the lesson begins when you walked in.

Mr. Jeon’s flickered to the entrance briefly, his tinkering with the HDMI cord continuing nonetheless. “Kook,” he just barely manages to get out because he’s already standing up from his seat, nimble fingers grabbing a slip from his desk that makes his dad perplexed.

Jungkook walks all the way to you at the back of the class, holding out the late slip to you a little too eagerly as it seems, and you can’t help but feel confused and irritated at the same time with how you started your morning.

For starters, coffee was spilled on your cardigan from the night before, and soaking it overnight in a mix of detergent, softener, and the tiniest bit of bleach wasn’t enough to completely rub the stain off — which meant you had to get up extra early to have it dry-cleaned (the staff looked at you a bit weirdly) and head off to where you needed to be, in a rush.

“But I’m not late though.”

You murmur as you peer up at him, refusing to even take the slip in between Jungkook’s fingers. He turns impatient, even more-so at your retort that honestly sounded genuine, that he settles on dropping it down your desk.

“You are, Y/N.” He says as convictedly as he can, only having to glance sideways briefly to your nosy seatmate to keep him out of a conversation he clearly isn’t a part of, and you make a note in your head to apologize to Jimin who gets scared easily, especially by the president’s son.

As if to prove his point, Jungkook rolls the sleeve of his bomber jacket in the slightest, enough for you to see a glimpse of his flashy gold Rolex in an attempt to tell you the time, one you couldn’t decipher because it was analog and your eyesight’s not that quick-witted nor clear.

“It’s three minutes before the start of the class,” you make it a point to outstretch your forearm, one that isn’t covered by your cardigan as he now realizes, your silver and digital Casio telling him that it’s 9:57, indeed three minutes away from the start of his dad’s class.

He barely even blinks before he adjusts himself to stand between your stretched legs so he could hold your arm and adjust your goddamn watch to be set four minutes later, his movements done so quickly that you straighten your back to the seat.

Jimin pretends he’s looking away, but deep down you already know that he’s gonna ambush you with questions as soon as Jungkook leaves.

“See that? You’re late,” he hums contentedly, pushing the late slip towards you and stands by himself with his hands across his chest, all-knowing that he wouldn’t leave not until you comply with his stupid request for a late slip.

His dad sees the interaction unfold from a distance, still confused but somehow amused, and a curious smile appears on his face as he now has something else to bring up on the dinner table later.

After all, he only called out to his son to tell him that they should go pick up a few groceries over lunch break — not to give you a late slip.

Jungkook collects the piece of paper from you wordlessly, letting his hand linger for the briefest moment but you pay him no mind, too occupied to looking at your left and gesturing for Jimin to scoot closer.

Something’s wrong.

His instincts are not exactly the most accurate but after all, it does account for something. He’s not the best at reading people when they’re indifferent, and normally you’re never indifferent to him.

He decides to lay low at that, sitting back on his chair and only twirling the slip in between his fingers and not once setting it down on the desk, preventing himself to look at it.

It’s only when his dad calls him to do a summary and explain to the class about his lesson’s breakdown, and he turns stern when he crushes the paper within his palm for the sake of being indiscreet that he totally wasn’t fiddling with paper for an hour and a half.

Jungkook returns and that’s when his dad starts giving out final reminders for their next meeting, straightening it out as much as he could until he can see your messy handwriting more than he could see the creases.

Tutored Hwang Hyunjin; state quizbee next week.

And why, exactly?

As far as he knows, Hyunjin’s the faculty’s favorite because he was such an intelligent student. He might be the favorite of his dad but he’s not entirely sure because his dad says he doesn’t like playing favorites, but he seems to think so nonetheless. If the guy who’s in the line-up for summa cum laude is asking help for a mere quizbee, what exactly is it for?

You’re an honor student, sure. In the dean’s list and in the running for cum laude, but you’ve said it yourself that you’re no Hyunjin and in verbatim, anyone who takes education as seriously as he does needs a hug and an emotional support system. Do you see yourself doing all the extra credits when you already have the highest average on all of them?

Did you hug him?

Jungkook scoffs to where his mind is running, a little dejected as he ponders on it even more as he stands next to his dad’s desk, nodding curtly at the students who bid him goodbye.

He’s extra quick to stepping up when it’s you who passes him, hands on his pocket as he asks under his breath.

“We cool?”

He tries to search for a hint of distaste in your face and he’s almost disappointed to find none, a genuine small smile on as you reply and come out the door without so much of a look back at him.

“‘Course we are, Mr. Jeon.”

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

“What’s up with you?”

Jungkook utters the moment the door of your apartment swings open. It was straight to the point, really. No buttering up to you and no unnecessary bullshit before he drops the question that’s been plaguing his mind the whole day.

You had only been brushing your teeth when you hear a series of crisp and heavy knocks that led you to think that your neighbor Hoseok next-door has finally screwed up the pooch completely, and accidentally set his kitchen on fire with the cookie batter he’s been doing a series of trial and error with for a dozen times already.

Oh.

It’s only Jungkook, then.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned being out in the hallway that gave everyone an opportunity to see him. Frankly, everyone who’s set foot to the president’s office, which is everyone, could tell who he is simply by looking at the few hundred picture frames Mr. Jeon has on his desk.

He’s not concerned and he doesn’t have the gall to be concerned either, because as much as he knows that although underneath his dad’s section, the housing section of the college wasn’t under his close supervision. Besides that, he finds that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Jungkook only looks up to you for a few seconds, wide-eyed with your toothbrush in your mouth, and decides to let himself in.

This being yours and Jungkook’s interactions for the past eight weeks. There’s not a label to it, but it goes along the lines of the occasional fuck, and then the ranting about each other’s days, and binge-watching that either ends up as hook-up, or trying to pick up new hobbies the other’s just suggested, or whatever’s playing is actually playing and the two of you just watch, your head laid on his lap and his hand brushing your hair.

Yeah, that one. Whatever that’s called — that’s what you and Jungkook are.

It’s been painfully obvious to your tight knit of friends, namely only being Jimin and Hoseok, that those things practically yielded to the commitment of him being something that starts with boy and ends with a friend, no spaces in between and all in one word.

You blink away your internal monologue, remembering that you need to spit before replying to his question that he’s asked you point-blank two seconds ago.

“You saw me in class today.”

That one couldn’t be anymore obvious and he huffs at that, once again going on a grumpy fit of frustration while he lies on your bed upright, arms across his chest. “Off,” you swat his leg immediately, making him haphazardly throw away his shoes if he want to keep being frustrated with you.

That’s the exact bit though. Regardless if you forced him to take off his shoes while he’s on your bed, he’d be frustrated at you regardless. He doesn’t know why he’s frustrated with you in the first place and that just makes him stressed even more.

The realization hits him that Jungkook doesn’t really know why he’s so pressed about you, his tone considerably softening because now he feels a little smaller under your curious gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I clearly know that. I, uh, I meant outside of class.”

Normally, he’d find your avoidance of things actually endearing because you seemed to worm your way out of any situation you just deem to be unrelated to you — but for the first time, he doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his question. If this was still your passive-aggressiveness or genuineness showing its head right now.

“You’re starting to sound like a professor, y’know,” you note with intrigue, relishing to how Jungkook lying on your bed and looking at you under such intensity seems normal to you at this point and at this moment. “A professor hanging out with his student outside of class, in her dorm, and on a weekday.”

The comment you add was supposed to be humorous but you find it rather odd now having said it out loud, the realization dawning on you that whatever this is, is just too ambiguous and vague that you’d never wanted something so specific in your lifetime.

“Just trying to appease dad. Do I look like I have the patience to teach a class, better yet show up?”

That’d be the actual bane of him.

Don’t get him wrong, professors must be so cool and patient with their workload and stuff, but holy fucking shit does he hate it for himself. He means no disrespect to his dad but he honestly can’t see himself doing what he does, even for a fraction of his life willingly.

You sort of envy him for the upbringing he has and the wholesome and healthy relationship he has with his family that you wouldn’t mind telling people all about. Not everyone expects Jungkook to be as family-oriented as he looks, and the little nugget of information he made you privy too puts a gentle smile of your face.

“You do have the patience to ask me if I’m okay though.”

It’s a question between reeling yourself in and putting yourself out there more, plopping to sit on the edge of your bed as you try to put lotion on your legs all the way down to your heel.

Jungkook finds it normal to see you putting lotion on and zit cream on your face, and he doesn’t question it for one second.

That doesn’t automatically mean that he’s gonna address it though.

“Well, baby, are y’okay?” he crawls the short distance from you, putting half of his body weight as he slings himself on your shoulders from behind, lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you tighter.

“Mhmmm.”

He finds it that as much as he pulls you tighter, you grow a bit more distant. You’re there with him but your mind isn’t, perhaps lost on the lotion that only adds into your scent that seems engraved in his mind nowadays.

Jungkook does as much as to tug a sleeve of your shirt to expose the slightest bit of your shoulder blades, pressing wet gentle kisses that leaves you, surprisingly, unfazed.

You make no move nor action, just continuing on rubbing your arms with your hands and him taking the momentary act of silence to look around your room, seeing your textbooks piled neatly on your desk with your lamp on.

“Long night?”

He asks and not a second later do you hum in confirmation, making him roll his eyes and his stomach churn, but it probably just has something to do with a heartburn that’s beginning to form because the ache’s spreading to his chest.

It’s got to be heartburn, right?

“Alright. Didn’t have to answer me too quick just so you can kick me out.”

He mutters underneath his breath a little hurt, taking your responses as his cue to leave. His flair for what you think is the dramatics makes you roll your eyes and slap his thigh, following him out on the way to the door.

Jungkook’s fazed because he doesn’t exactly know the essential purpose plus his expected outcome of this five-minute visit. He doesn’t have a clue, but dropping to your apartment unannounced and seeing you for just even five minutes, even if he doesn’t know why, doesn’t seem wrong.

What is wrong, is that you’d normally kiss him goodbye.

This time, you don’t.

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

Jungkook’s gut tells him to come early to class, even telling his dad that he’d come down there by himself so he could scope out his class like the great son that he is, and he does exactly that.

Some of the early-birds are pleasantly surprised to see him there, early and alone without Dr. Jeon, sitting on his usual chair.

This setting’s odd for him and as much as he wants to leave, he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t really care if he’s intimidating the students because after all, that’s not the reason why he’s here. In fact, he’s aware that he seems to be quite the talk of the campus, the verdict being half and half if he was as fun, easygoing, yet stern like his father — or if he’s something else entirely. Either way, none of them could catch on to the fact besides you that he’s not here out of passion, but rather obligation.

There’s less than thirty students in the room but Jungkook could just feel it at the back of his spine that you’re gonna walk through the door soon enough. You’ve got to be, right? Jungkook stands by himself near the door, practically barricading the door with how he’s built.

This familiar guy he can’t put a name to is walking through the door carelessly, eyes completely fixed on his phone that his shoulder’s barreling into Jungkook’s.

“Oh hey dude, what’s up?”

The guy in question barely even looks up for a second, a meek smile on his face before turning to his phone again and just staying there by the door, a character paused to block it all for a fucking text as what it seems.

Jungkook barely needs a second to look at him eye to eye; tall, pale, long blonde hair, and smooth pronounced features.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s only seen him in passing but never on this scale, his first instinct being straightening his back. They’re roughly the same height, Jungkook shoving his observation to the back of his head that Hyunjin’s only a millimeter higher than him.

He’s probably the only one applying pressure to this scenario, thick brows furrowing as he almost grimaces looking at the younger guy in front of him.

“Are you in this class?”

What?

Hyunjin’s confused to say the least, not only because this random dude he bumped into is suddenly making conversation with him, but because someone’s actually questioning about his presence here.

He lowers his phone, putting a pause to his heated exchange of which installment of this series they’re watching this, all in the favor for staring at this guy who’s cowling at him.

“... Yes?”

His answer even sounds unsure, Jungkook’s questioning raise of his brows prompting him to explain.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to explain but he does it nonetheless. “They say I could sit in this class. Some topics would show up in the quizbee next week.”

That’s just grand.

Before Jungkook can simmer in his irritation even more, his dad slips through the door by holding his shoulders in place, looking between the two of them briefly before walking to his desk.

“Kook? Thought you’d open up the lesson without me.”

Blondie tilts his gaze, eyes narrowing as he tries to scan a Kook in his brain’s directory and why it sounds so fond coming from Dr. Jeon.

“Mmmm, sorry dad.”

Jungkook emphasizes a little more than needed, turning to him and sending him a half-hearted grin while unbeknownst to him, Hyunjin pales and is having a breakdown and a half.

Did he really just accidentally bump into the college president’s son? Is he gonna be expelled now?

Jungkook’s oblivious to the inner turmoil that’s unfolding in the guy in front of him, crossing his arms before looking at his dad once more.

“Is he allowed here?”

He questions sharply like a toddler who’s just seen an inconspicuous man by the swing, his cheeks rounding with his lips pursed.

His dad’s really confused because this is the most intrigue he’s seen Jungkook inhibit for the whole eight weeks.

Of course his dad knows; he’s more than aware that his son has literally no interest in being a professor, and honestly speaking, he’s not even mad at that. He’a outsmarted him on this one and just went along with the lengths of hi son trying to impress him, falling into this eight-week routine of them bonding together with little practice teaching, yet Jungkook still wonders where he got his wit from.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and Hyunjin, perplexed because he’s pretty sure that the two of them don’t know each other and that doesn’t explain the tension lingering.

“Hyunjin? Yeah. President’s lister, right?”

Hyunjin grins and chuckles at that, bowing slightly as he just passes Jungkook that appalls the latter.

“You put me there, sir.”

Jungkook mocks him under his breath, not going unnoticed by his dad who just chuckles all the same. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies right out of his teeth, sitting on his chair and spreading his legs until his dad nudges him to be atleast decent because he wants the students to focus on his presentation and not his son’s crotch.

He feels cursed having such clear vision because even when the lights are dim, Jungkook still finds his gaze looking for you out of habit. Cursed for seeing Hyunjin sit on the other side of you and suddenly he wishes that this would be the time that Jimin interferes.

He’s unsure if you’re making him confused or he’s confusing himself, but the way his head feels like splitting just by thinking about you and what he could’ve done wrong tells him that he should be definite.

“Would you mind wrapping up the lesson, Mr. Jeon?” his dad asks outloud and for any other context, they’d share identical smiles on how they should be professional towards each other (as suggested by his dad) during class.

“Not at all, Dr. Jeon.”

God, he’s so oblivious to see how he has everyone gravitating towards him that it’s actually endearing. You sitting all the way up gives you a front-row seat to see how everyone sits up a little straighter and how heads follow his every move.

Jungkook has everyone wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even know — you’re everyone; he can’t know.

He steps up to the plate and the natural dominance and hold he has on everyone broke through, a lesson about statistics never being this intense and a large majority of the people would really stay for another hour and a half if it’s Jungkook who’s teaching.

He’s so absorbed into summarizing as a way of destressing that he ended up giving perhaps one of the best makeshift lectures ever, his dad positively awed and ending up even more confused.

Jungkook’s coming down from his lecture high, nervously fiddling with his fingers as his dad gives the final reminders. What doesn’t help is also you coming out of the classroom with Hyunjin in tow, wearing your cardigan, and that’s what considerably sets him off.

Suddenly, he now decides that your cardigan is the ugliest and most disgusting piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s the furthest thing from adorable, and the nearest thing into being set on fire.

You still smell sweet and homey when you’re nearing him, and the realization that your cardigan’s tainted by the smell of you and soon enough, Hyunjin will — it hits Jungkook too hard that he mutters under his breath, his jaw lax from being clenched.

“If you have a problem with me, just tell me about it.”

He can’t find the will in himself to care whether or not Hyunjin’s gone on without you and is waiting for you by the corridor, or that his dad’s arranging his shelf and could be possibly listening.

“I don’t,” your face reflects the same thing as your answer, devoid of any uncertainty that you have a problem with him.

“You don’t?” he prods further even if he knows that asking the second time wouldn’t even help.

“I don’t. Do you?”

There’s no malice in your tone. It’s the same gentleness laced with mischief underneath, head tilting in question.

That’s when he narrows his eyes at you, always knowing how to play your cards right without him knowing.

“With you or with myself?”

You shrug carelessly, an automatic giggle tumbling out of your lips that it bothers you too because you shouldn’t be okay with pulling yourself away from Jungkook, and the fact that it could be because you made peace long enough that the two of you will never be more is something to blame.

“You tell me, Mr. Jeon.”

He’s never hated his family name more and the formality preceding it than now. In reality, he’s just a year older than most of you in this class and the last time he’s checked, no one calls their senior, despite being from another university, like that.

Everyone assumed that he should be called with respect because after all, they’re probably looking at the future of this institution anyways.

Stable breaths aren’t enough and Jungkook seems to despise the way your slightest change towards him affects him the most, and his pride over not reaching out to your first has long been gone since.

He figures that this is just your way of detaching from him because his eight weeks are almost up, and that he should be totally fine with it because after all it’s only been eight weeks.

He can’t see another eight weeks of you pulling out from him, and even worse, eight weeks without you.

“We’re not cool.”

Jungkook says as soon as you open your door, not waiting for you to gesture him to come in. In any other situation, he’d find you adorable having traded your contacts for glasses, and absolutely sexy if his blood’s rushing elsewhere besides his cheeks. There’s no introduction of asking about your day nor catching you off-guard with a kiss either.

It’s him going straight to your bed and lying upright, looking at you somberly that you feel sorry you’ve been establishing this change in the first place.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

His question is a complete 180 from his voice that’s been gravelly since morning, sincerity underneath the rough edges.

You shake your head no, a signal that there’s absolutely nothing wrong and you don’t have anything to tell him about.

“Are you sure?”

He looks at you with wide reassuring eyes just begging for anything, atleast something, the only time that he wishes there’s something wrong going on so he could chalk it up to that instead of facing this shift with you blindly and aimlessly.

You’re wordlessly climbing up on bed too, making him automatically scoot over to his side of your bed when he stays overnight, instant warmth welcoming you just by having your shoulders touch with him. It’s a head nod of yes, I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with your eyes closed.

Being beside him is the equivalent of all the comfortable nights you’ve slept. Jungkook’s the ultimate compilation and the most expensive goodie box of warm hugs and warm tea that tasted familiar instead of incredibly earthy. He’s white noise and eight-hour loops of rainfall against your windows and humidifier-goodness of sleep that you take indulgence and warmth in.

Jungkook’s in another realm of thought when he almost snaps at you because your roles have been reversed and it’s him who’s doting over you.

“Are you usually this non-committal?”

You’re always warm with a cherry on top when you talk to Jungkook, and just only two days of you giving him timid replies has him asking you if you’re the opposite of the adjective that people most commonly attached to you.

“I think we both know best that I’m loyal.”

You are.

It’s a word that’s almost always attached to your name. You’ve never really sustained a large group of close friends, and it wasn’t needed, but Jungkook finds it funny that you’re oblivious to how people look at you.

He’s well-acquainted with what goes around, and the only things that go around about you was that you’ve touched them in one way or another. You’re the most loyal friend Jimin has because you’ve stuck with him even if he’s spilled his guts on your bathroom floor, missing the mark of your toilet bowl. You gave up your bed for him and tucked him in even if he was still at risk of throwing up because he just couldn’t stop, and made him breakfast the next morning. You’ve only known each other for three days.

Hoseok considers you his most loyal neighbor slash friend ever, because you let him have a go at your pantry even if you knew at the back of your head that he’d screw up something in his recipe one way or another. Even started buying extra ingredients whenever he needs them, and him purposefully forgetting that he has brown sugar at the back of his cabinet.

You are loyal, and that’s what he sometimes hates about you too because it makes you more vulnerable. A little too easy to trample on. A little too easy to have you cheering for someone from the bleachers when they’re still on the bench.

Jungkook wonders if you’re loyal to him too, and if you were (which he’s sure of, and there’s no denying it), would you still be even if he feels like the two of you are growing apart?

“Then why do I feel that-“

He sighs in exasperation, head turning to face you and he’s greeted with your finger outstretched, digging in to where his dimple would appear.

He could look at you properly this time because he’s not in a rush asking if you’re okay. Eyes glazed looking up at him underneath your glasses, scrunched nose with the cutest smile and all that he wants this to never stop.

“Hey.”

You whisper in a rush all of a sudden, a toothy grin fading steadily when your thumb comes to rest on his cheek, whole hand soon pressed to it whole that Jungkook finds himself leaning.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out of you fluidly; no baited breath and no hesitation at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, actually. Not once did you think that you’d ever tell Jungkook you love him in this way, or ever for that matter, but it’s something that materialized out of thin air.

It’s as quick as a passing thought and as stable as a core memory, reiterating what is only a truth instead of a confession.

There’s no sadness in your gaze and no distrust either, but the smile that stretches on your cheeks doesn’t look as giddy.

He’s a little cross-eyed with how close you are, but Jungkook audibly whimpers when you pull away suddenly and out of the bed altogether, picking up your laptop from your table.

You don’t know what you’re doing either, but you could only hope that it looks as natural as it seemed, wanting him to know that your sudden realization that you need to make a twenty-page essay in size 12 font has nothing to do with your profession of love.

“But I know I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s a conflict of interest. Anyway, let’s just end this here now and-...”

“Are you insane?”

Jungkook exclaims in punctuation marks and of deep urgency, looking at you as if you suggested the most ridiculous thing ever after what you’ve just said, which you exactly did.

“Just continue loving me!”

He says it as the most obvious thing ever, his chest feeling an odd sense of relief after having blown up with emotion. He’s a sponge at this point in whatever relationship the two of you have. He’ll take what you can give, but this was something Jungkook would run to hell and back for to not take from you.

“You didn’t even ask if I loved you back! And that’s my honest answer, not something that would appease you when you return the question.”

He looks a little softer around the edges at the moment — arms flailing around and hair bouncing as he keeps moving his head.

His cheeks are puffed out when he’s angry and his lips are red from trying to get his point across strongly, stammering with what more he could think of in his head.

“It’s not a conflict of interest either! I only shadowed my dad to please him, but we both know that I don’t want to become a professor like him. You just think that it is because you’re up on the seats and I’m down on the podium!” he’s heated and his cheeks are warm and there’s no way it has something to do with your airconditioning.

“It’s a stint. It was a literal eight-week stint for free, because he’s the president for god’s sake — that’s it! I go back to my university in like what, a week? And they don’t even need me passing requirements, because they already know, again, that I’m the son of a university president! Honestly, it’d be stupid of them to.”

Jungkook feels like he’s gonna pass out with how overwhelmed he is. Too overwhelmed to the point that he doesn’t see you smiling out of the corner of his eye, hand rubbing down the length of his nape to his back.

It’s only then that you realize that he’s rambling and his voice is wavering, concern dripping down from you instead of amused laughter.

“Y/N, please, it’s convenient — more than convenient. I graduate this year, and you next year. The last thing I’d do in my life is grade papers. You know what I want to be? I wanna be-...”

Jungkook’s cut off with a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth that’s grounded him, blinking twice to look at you.

He should really kiss you right now.

“You could’ve condensed that into a single simple sentence,” you snort when you pull away from Jungkook’s hold, sending him a look of faux disappointment to which he whines. “It’s called I love you too, Jungkook.”

He squints at your teasing but reasons just as quick, sneaking in his head underneath your shirt to escape from your teasing and importantly, press a gentle kiss to your chest, then your boobs, and settling to lie down on your stomach as he’s content.

“I was panicked!”

Jungkook’s certain that he loves you, laughing to himself when he heard heavy knocks against your bedroom wall that just conveniently happens to be adjacent to Hoseok’s.

“Fucking finally! I was about to flirt with either of you just so you could cut to the chase and admit it to each other!”

Your laugh is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, coming out from hiding underneath your shirt and just laying on top of your clothed tummy, hand looking for yours to hold on to.

You’ve been sleepy the entire time, he’s figured. You having switched to your glasses meant you’ve already had your night shower, and only had three hours maximum before succumbing to your bed. You’ve had a long day clearly, and it’s when you’re starting to succumb into sleep right exactly where you are that Jungkook suddenly remembers.

“You know what I want to be? I wanna be-…”

“With you.”

“Mhmm?” you all but mumble, feeling him adjust your head on the pillow while he lays on his, literal weight being lifted off from you.

Jungkook feels even more endeared if that’s any more possible, the tiniest boop to your nose and the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I wanna be with you.”

#fEEDBACK PLS AND THANK U :D #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook drabble #jungkook drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fic rec #jungkook fic recs #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fluff imagine

1K notes · View notes

dreamerstreamer · 4 years

Text

Toxic Taste

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] It's a perfect day for a picnic with your friends. Well, it seems like one until you suddenly fall very ill.

Warnings: very minor cursing

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: this was requested by @amintyworld! everyone just loves protective dream, don’t they? i had fun exploring this concept, and i hope you enjoy!

You hummed, fixing your hair in the mirror before giving yourself one last once over, nodding to yourself. Looks good. Just then, you heard the door swing open behind you, creaking with a quiet groan. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey, are you ready to go?”

Whirling around, your hand quickly grabbed the woven basket on the table beside you as you flashed Clay a bright grin, bounding over to his side with a skip in your step. “I am, now.”

Without having to say another word, he lifted his arm toward you, and you looped yours through his, your fingers tightening around the basket handle. The two of you stepped outside together, locking the door behind you before making your way down the oak path. Above you, only a few clouds dotted the cerulean blue sky, drifting along the gentle spring breeze.

It really was a perfect day for a picnic.

Turning, you cast a curious glance over at Clay. “Are you excited to see what everyone brought?”

He bobbed his head, his lips quirking up into a wicked grin. “Yeah—I can’t wait to make fun of whatever George made.”

You frowned, shooting him an unimpressed look. “George is a good chef in his own right,” you chided.

His smile widened, reaching over to gently tap your nose. “Yeah, but you’re the best.” He patted your basket cover, his viridian gaze swirling with mirth. “They’re gonna love your cookies.”

You rolled your eyes at him, snorting, but he didn’t miss the way your lips twitched. “You just say that because you’re my boyfriend.”

He hummed. “Just because I’m biased doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

You raised your brows at him. “Oh? So you admit that you’re biased?”

Leaning over, he brushed his lips against yours in a peck, pulling back with a dazzling grin. “Of course,” he murmured in that soft tone that made your cheeks grow hot, “without a doubt.”

You swallowed, trying to calm your frantically beating heart. “You’re so cheesy,” you said, adopting a passive tone, “no more dilly-dallying, now. We have a picnic to get to.”

He sent you a crooked smile. “Okay, okay.” His eyes flashed. “I’ll race you.”

“Huh, wh—?”

Before you could even process what was happening, he had suddenly bolted, his arm leaving yours. Almost immediately, your body yearned for the warmth of his pressed against yours, and you found yourself stumbling after him.

“Wait, Clay!” you called after him, your basket bouncing beside you as you watched him crest over the grassy hill. “That’s not fair! Get back here!”

He only turned to shoot you a goofy grin, laughter bubbling on his lips as he disappeared from view, his hoodie fading to nothing more than a tiny speck of green among the swaying blades of grass. You couldn’t stop the laughter from spilling from your lips, bursting from your chest like fireworks.

“You are so dead when I catch up to you!”

He called back over the horizon. “If you ever!”

Your grin only grew wider.

Oh, he was so dead.

“Your bread sucks.”

You gasped, lightly smacking Clay’s chest. “Clay!” Whipping around, you sent George an earnest grin. “George, I think your bread is wonderful.”

Beside you, Tommy made a face, setting his slice down on his plate with a disgusted glance. “Nah, I agree with Big D. This bread is pretty shit.”

Now, it was Wilbur’s turn to gasp. “Tommy!”

Tommy’s brows knit together as he scowled. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

George let out a long groan, his glasses threatening to slide off the crown of his head as he hung his face in his hands. “I am never baking, again.”

In an instant, Niki was on her feet, flailing her arms. “No, no, no! Don’t say that—baking can be a lot of fun!” She paused for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “I can teach you a new sourdough recipe, if you’d like!”

George lifted his head, blinking at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “You would?”

She nodded, a bright smile tugging at her lips. “Of course!”

Sapnap snorted, taking another bite of steak. “I can’t believe you have to learn from someone else how to make good bread.”

George groaned again, glowering at his supposed best friend. “Why is everyone ganging up on me, today?”

Clay was quick to butt in. “Haven’t you heard? It’s National Be Mean to George Day.”

Tubbo blinked, confusion clouding his features. “That’s not a real holi—” He paused, then gasped. “Oh, wait.” He grinned. “Never mind.”

George’s glare only intensified, and he sighed. “Niki, forget it.”

While Niki practically shriveled into a puddle, Wilbur spoke up, offering him a reassuring smile. “Well, I think your bread is delicious, George. Genuinely.”

George flashed him a thankful grin, adjusting the glasses on his head. “Thank you, Wilbur.”

Letting out another laugh, you leaned back against Clay’s side, his arm firmly wrapped around your waist as you snuggled against him. Your friends were always up to weird antics, and while you didn’t necessarily agree with their actions, you were willing to indulge in them, if only to see what would happen next. In front of you, you gingerly picked up the half-eaten fish skewer from your plate, lifting it to your lips as you took another bite. It was sweet, and vaguely tasted like saltwater, but you liked it. It was unique, in its own weird way.

You watched as Clay reached across the patterned blanket for the plate of cookies you had brought, gingerly picking one up. Glancing up at him, you opened your mouth. “Do you actually think George’s bread is bad?” you asked softly. “Or are you just trying to rile him up?”

He paused, the cookie halfway to his mouth, then shrugged, biting in. “It’s a bit of both. It isn’t half-bad, I guess.” He shot you a cheeky wink. “Yours is still better, though.”

You groaned, feeling your face grow warm. “Stop that.”

He tilted his head at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he chewed. “Stop what?” he said, leaning in close to you. “Being honest?”

You did your best to send him a glare, but you knew it was half-hearted at best. “Yes.”

His grin widened, his eyes glimmering with affectionate arrogance. “Never.”

As his eyes locked onto yours, you felt your glare melt away. With a small hum, he dipped his head to yours, pressing his mouth to yours with a smile. His tongue lapped at your lips, and you grinned back. He tasted like chocolate chips and sunshine. You pulled back with a quiet gasp, your cheeks burned with heat as his emerald eyes bore into yours, crinkling at the corners.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered for you and you alone.

Your heart swelled. “I love you, too.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, then pressed his forehead against yours, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Also,” he added, “you taste like fish.”

You sent him a horrified look before smacking his arm again, your heart flipping as he wheezed at your reaction. “S-Shut up!”

He only wheezed harder in response, and despite your embarrassment, you felt a smile tugging on your lips. That was the thing about Clay that got you every time—as much as he would tease you and make your heart go wild in your chest, you knew he meant every single thing he told you. He was just so sincere like that, and it made you want to sink straight into him.

God, you were so, so in love.

Just then, a howl pulled you away from your attack on Clay. You turned to see Quackity, his mouth agape as he pointed at Niki, a bewildered look plastered to her face. “Niki!” he screamed. “You brought cake?”

She blinked, stunned for only a moment before she smiled, nodding. “Yeah! It’s homemade and has vanilla frosting.”

Quackity immediately sank down to one knee, one hand outstretched toward her as he said dramatically, “Marry me.”

Niki’s smile didn’t falter for even a second. “No thanks.”

Quackity’s arm dropped, and he let out a whine. “Damn, you didn’t have to say it so quickly.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he sat down with a pout. “You could have at least pretended to think about it.”

You all burst into laughter, giggling as Niki simply set her cake down on the blanket next to George’s bread. Wilbur had brought three watermelons—how he carted them over by himself, you had no idea—while Tommy brought pork chops. Tubbo had also caught fish for the occasion while Sapnap packed steak. Meanwhile, Quackity had carried a sack of apples over to the picnic, but you had a feeling he may or may not have stolen them, since he didn’t exactly own an apple orchard of his own.

You opened your mouth to ask for a slice of Niki’s cake when you suddenly froze, a bolt of what felt like lightning tingling up your spine. Your head spun, and you could have sworn your vision darkened at the edges. An uneasy pit grew in your stomach, and you frowned. Why do I feel so... strange?

Pushing yourself forward slightly, you tried to sit up straight, only to feel your arms wobble before you crashed back into Clay’s side once more. In a flash, his arms were around you, holding you steady as his green eyes peered down at yours.

“Hey,” he said, his tone growing serious, “are you okay?” He wrinkled his brow. “You look a little off.”

You blinked, feeling your stomach churn with uneasiness. “I’m, um—I feel kind of sick.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Clay was on his feet, stretching his arm out to you. “Here, let me help you up.”

You slipped your hand into his, doing your best to hang on tight as he tugged you upward. You expected to simply stand on your own two feet just as you would in any other situation, but the moment you were up, you suddenly felt your knees buckle beneath you, your legs going numb. You gasped as your feet went flying out under you, your fingers digging onto Clay’s palm.

“Clay—!”

With a whirl, his arms held you to his chest, your sides shaking. A rush of anxiety rolled through you, and you looked down, desperately trying to move your foot, only to find that you couldn’t. It remained as still as a rock, and you wanted to cry.

“[Y/N],” Clay breathed, his hand on your face as he supported your weight with his other arm, “what’s wrong?” His eyes desperately searched yours for any clue as to what was happening, but all you could manage was a broken, choked whisper.

“Clay, I—” You swallowed, your hands trembling around his arm while something stung at the back of your eyes. “I can’t move my legs.”

He froze, his voice dropping to a deadly low whisper. “You what?”

You shook your head, hanging onto him for dear life. The spinning had gotten worse now, and you felt sicker and sicker by the second. “I-I don’t know, I don’t feel good and something’s wrong and—Clay,” you breathed, tears welling up in your eyes, “I’m scared.” Your heart pounded in your chest, but for all the wrong reasons. “Am I going to die?”

His gaze hardened, filling with determination as his hold around you tightened. “No,” he said without even an inkling of doubt, “you’re not.”

Before you could react, he suddenly swung one arm beneath your numb legs, easily hoisting you up so that you were carefully pressed against his chest. You gasped as your friends’ eyes landed on you, their faces full of worry as your head lolled against Clay’s shoulder.

“Everyone,” he said, his voice booming across the field, “there’s something wrong with the food.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t eat it.”

He turned his head, dipping his head toward George as he said, “George, I need you to get me as many regeneration potions and golden apples as you can, ASAP.”

George was on his feet as fast as he could, already turning on his heel. “I’m on it,” he shouted as he took off, already booking it down the hill.

Finally, Tubbo spoke up, asking the one question that had been on everyone’s mind. “Dream, what’s going on?”

Clay’s eyes darkened, and you could just barely feel his hands tighten around you while your vision swam.

“[Y/N]’s been poisoned.”

Wilbur gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

Sapnap whipped his head around, gazing at the once serene picnic blanket with sheer terror. “What the fu—”

Suddenly, your hand shot up to grip Clay’s collar, his eyes immediately darting to yours. You gasped, your head absolutely throbbing as your heart rammed against your rib cage all too quickly. You opened your mouth, your spit tasting like salt and ash.

“Clay, I—”

The words died in your mouth as the world went dark, enveloping you in cold darkness.

You awoke with a start, bolting upright as you gasped, the cool air flooding your aching lungs. Immediately, you felt your stomach churn in retaliation, and your skull practically screamed at you to lie back down again. Slamming a hand over your eye, you felt the spinning of your head slowly fade away. Disoriented and dizzy, the blurriness of your vision began to lift as you blinked, taking in the sight of the room around you.

You didn’t recognize the windowsill at your side or the mattress you were lying on. The closed door stared back at you as your gaze swept over it, almost as if it knew you were confused. Not even the sheets looked familiar.

Where... am I?

You swallowed, something sharp and uneasy prickling up your spine.

What happened?

Your eyelids fluttered shut, and you tried to recall the events that had led you up to this moment.

You remembered... cookies. And a picnic. Clay’s hand in yours. There was food, and laughter. Then suddenly, you were queasy. Sick. Something wasn’t right. Then... nothing.

You blanched. Did I pass out?

Just then, you heard the door click, the hinges swinging open with a creak. Your eyes flew open and your breath hitched in your throat, and you turned, your fingers curling tighter into the sheets. Your eyes went wide as Clay walked in, one hand on the handle and the other holding an apple. The moment his eyes met yours, he froze.

“Clay?” you whispered, your voice sounding hoarse.

The apple dropped to the ground.

In an instant, he was in front of you with his hands on your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His emerald eyes bore straight into yours with an intensity that sent your heart reeling. The words flew from his mouth in a flurry, his gaze never leaving yours.

“How are you feeling? Can you hear me? Is everything feeling alrig—”

“Woah, woah,” you said, waving your hand to cue him to stop, “what happened?”

His fingers trembled against your cheeks, and you could have sworn his eyes flashed with something wet. “[Y/N], oh, I’m—” He swallowed, his neck bobbing as he sent you a grateful smile. “I’m just so glad that you’re here.”

His hands pulled away from your face as he stood upright once more, heading for the open door. “Here, I’ll be back in a second.”

You raised your hand toward him, opening your mouth to say something, but he was already gone, having disappeared down the hall in a flash. Blinking, you sat stunned and even more confused than before, left only to wait and hope for an explanation once he returned.

Hardly even two minutes passed before you heard the rumbling of footsteps racing toward the open door. You squeaked when a series of faces filled the room, their cheeks red and chests heaving as they caught their breath. Clay immediately shuffled back to your side, slipping into the space on the bed next to you before grabbing your hand, squeezing.

“[Y/N]!” Niki cried, her eyes filled with panic. “Are you okay?”

Beside her, Tubbo’s hands shook at his side. “We only just heard from Dream that you were awake.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, your mind still hazy with everything that had just happened. Struggling to come up with an answer, you found yourself blurting the first words that came to mind. “How long has it been?”

You saw George shoot Sapnap a look, shrugging his shoulders before glancing back at you. “Uh, like, half a day.”

You shot forward, gaping. “Half a day?!”

Tommy flashed you a bright grin, leaning against Tubbo’s shoulder with a teasing look. “Yeah, you should have seen Dream run around! He spoon fed you regeneration potions and probably even read three whole fuckin’ libraries’ worth of books on poison antidotes while you wer—”

A hand suddenly smacked into Tommy’s skull, and he yelped. Behind him, Wilbur scowled. “Tommy!” he scolded. There was a soft giggle, then Wilbur whirled, his eyes narrowing. “And Quackity.” The giggles stopped. “Don’t think I didn’t see you laughing. This is serious.”

There was a slight pause. “Okay, but it is funn—”

“[Y/N],” Clay suddenly said, cutting Tommy off as his hand squeezed yours.

You blinked, trying to ignore how low his voice sounded right about now. “Y-Yeah?”

He cocked his head at you, gesturing to the sheets covering your lower half. “Can you move your legs?”

“Um...” Lifting an arm, you flung the sheets off of you, carefully shifting your leg back and forth. “Y-Yeah. I’m still feeling kind of funny, though.” You wrinkled your nose. “I’m not sure if I can stand, yet.”

He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Damn. I had a feeling this would happen, but I still wished it wouldn’t.”

Quackity took a step forward, his hand outstretched toward you. “Here, [Y/N], try—”

A snarl ripped itself out of Clay’s throat, and his shout echoed off the walls. “Don’t touch them!”

A tense silence immediately fell over the room, and Quackity back-pedalled, pulling his hand back as if he had burned it on hot coal. You watched as a pang of guilt shot across Clay’s face before he sighed. “Sorry, I mean—” He shook his head, lowering his head. “Fuck.”

Sapnap sent him a small smile, sincere and reassuring. “Hey, man,” he said softly, “it’s alright. We get it. You’re stressed. I’d react the same way if I was in your position.”

Clay raised his chin a little, his lips quirking. “Thanks, Sap.”

Wilbur suddenly spoke up, his eyes trained on you. “Dream, I think we still have some questions we should ask.”

Clay blinked, then nodded. “Right, thanks, Wilbur.” Clearing his throat, he turned to face you head on.” Do you still remember the picnic?” When you nodded, he continued. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

You paused, then shook your head. “Not that I can remember. I woke up, packed up a basket, walked over to the field with you, ate with everyone, then...” You gestured vaguely. “Well, y’know.”

His gaze hardened. “What did you eat?”

You thought for a moment. “Um, I ate an apple, and I had two slices of George’s bread.” You paused again, furrowing your brows. Then, your eyes lit up. “Oh, and I also ate some of the fish.”

Clay stared at you. “Fish?” he parroted.

You bobbed your head, humming. “Yeah. That’s about as much as I remember.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you could practically see the gears turning in Clay’s head. “Did anyone else here eat the fish?” he finally said after a while.

Your friends cast curious looks at one another before George raised his hand, shaking his head. “No.” He jutted his head toward you. “[Y/N] was the first and only person to, I believe.”

Clay pursed his lips. “Tubbo.”

Tubbo jumped, looking panicked and shaky as he stammered out, “Y-Yes, Dream?”

Clay narrowed his eyes. “Who exactly brought the fish?”

Tubbo gulped. “Uh, it, um, ah—” He inhaled sharply at the look on Clay’s face, then sighed. “I did, Dream.”

For a moment, it was quiet. Then, Clay sighed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Oh, it all makes sense now.”

Now, it was Tommy’s turn to speak, his expression clouded with confusion. “How the fuck does that make this make any more sense than it did before?”

Clay suddenly slipped his hand out of yours, your palm meeting nothing as he rose to his full height. You felt the air grow cold.

“Tubbo,” he said slowly, casually—almost too casually. A crooked, charming smile spread across his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What kind of fish was it?”

Tubbo lowered his gaze to the ground. “Pufferfish,” he said in a tiny whisper.

Tommy stared. “Oh.” Understanding flickered across his face before being replaced by horror. “Oh.”

Clay took a step forward, the grin never leaving his face. “Tubbo—”

Your hand shot forward, grabbing onto his wrist before he could take another step. His arm was tense underneath your touch, but he stopped the moment your skin met his. “Clay,” you said quickly, your words rushed and hurried, “stop, please.”

He turned, looking back at you over his shoulder. You shook your head at him. “I’m sure it was an accident. Tubbo would never poison anyone deliberately, let alone me.”

You heard a soft hiccup, then Tubbo spoke. “I-I wouldn’t, I swear it! I just... I thought cooking pufferfish would make them less toxic for other people.”

Niki raised her hand, her face pleading as her eyes darted back and forth between Dream and Tubbo. “I can vouch for him, and not just because we’re friends. He might have built up his own tolerance for pufferfish poison, but I don’t think he realized just how bad it could turn out to be.”

Tubbo nodded frantically, looking smaller than ever as he finally lifted his head. “Seriously, Dream, I would never do it intentionally, I promise.” He turned to look at you, his sides shaking as your gaze met his.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he whispered, honesty and desperation soaking into every syllable he spoke, “I really am.”

Your face softened immediately, and you could only hope he knew how sincere you were being. “I forgive you, Tubbo.” Your eyes flit to the man in front of you. “Do you, Clay?”

You couldn’t see his expression from where you were sitting, but the look of terror on Tubbo’s face said it all. “Yes,” he said, “but only because you do.”

Your grip around his wrist tightened. “Clay, I’m positive. Please, just let it be.” You tugged a little, and he turned, watching as you kicked your legs at him with a small smile. “I’m all better now, see?”

The coldness in his gaze finally seemed to melt, and he shook his head at you, his lips twitching. “Fine.” Walking back over to you, you tucked your legs back against you as he sat on the bed, levelling a glare at the crowd gathered in front of you. “Now everyone, get out.”

There was a whistle. “Jeez, aggressive mu—”

“Tommy,” Wilbur said again, already tugging at the blond’s collar as he tread toward the hall, “an angry Dream is not someone you want to mess with.”

Tommy glowered as everyone filed out of the room, his voice fading away as they disappeared outside. “Ugh, you are such a killjo—”

Sapnap sent you a friendly smile as his hand wrapped around the door handle. “I hope you feel better soon, [Y/N].”

You returned his grin with a grateful look. “Thanks, Sapnap.”

With one last wave, he pulled the door shut, leaving you alone with Clay. Shifting forward slightly, you swung your legs off the bed, nudging him with your side. “Clay?” you murmured, your eyes searching his face. It was at times like this he was easier to read.

With a sigh, he hung his head in his hands, the vein in his neck bulging out. “God, I know he means well, but I still kind of want to wring Tubbo’s neck, right now.”

You leaned against him, pressing your cheek to his bicep. “Clay, don’t say that.”

He lifted his head, growling. “I know, I know! It’s just—”

He bit his lip, then sighed again, his arm reaching up to pull you onto his lap. Shifting you around so that you were facing him, his leaned his forehead against yours, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You don’t know how scared I was,” he whispered, sincere and true. “I never want to lose you. Ever.”

Heat crawled up your neck, and your head spun, but not for the same reasons as before. “C-Clay.”

His hand stroked along your back. “It’s the truth, y’know? I’d never lie to you, and I mean every word.” Leaning upward, he pressed his lips to your forehead as he spoke, the words shaking against your skin. “You mean more to me than you may ever know.”

You hummed, your heart blossoming in your chest. “Even if that’s the case,” you said, “you don’t need to be so upset, anymore.” You felt his lips leave your forehead, and you peered up at him through your lashes. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

You leaned back in his arms, reaching up to brush your fingertips over his freckles. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you watched him melt a little at the gesture. “Now,” you said, quiet yet firm, “promise me you won’t be mad at Tubbo the next time you see him.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

You pursed your lips. “Clay.”

He chuckled. “Alright, alright. I promise.” A sly grin slipped onto his face. “But only if...”

You raised a brow at him. “Only if...?”

You half-wanted to smack the stupid grin off his stupidly perfect face. “Only if you give me a kiss.”

You giggled, slipping your arms over his shoulder and around his neck. He always knew how to make you laugh, even at serious times like this. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss. He still tasted like freshly squeezed lemonade, gleaming in the light of the sweet summer sun. You felt him smile against you, and you pulled away mirroring his expression.

“There,” you whispered, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Does that seal the deal?”

He hummed, tilting his head at you while mischief danced in his eyes. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t stop the giddy smile from spreading across your face.

Your picnic may have been a disaster, but you wouldn’t mind ending your days wrapped in Clay’s arms more often.

1K notes · View notes

fandom-imagines · 3 years

Text

Escape Artists

Fandom: Halloween/Slashers

Pairing: Michael Myers X Reader

Warnings: Murder, mention of parental abuse, lightly-written smut (not too descriptive).

Words: 2.4k

He had seen her around the hospital numerous times. She was always sat surrounded by those weird beads that she made designs with, only to have to hand them to one of the nurses who always seemed glad to iron the pattern for her.

Despite having seen her and observed her, Michael had never actually interacted with the girl. Sure, she was interesting, seemingly too innocent to be sat in Smiths Groves, but he wouldn’t talk to her; he wouldn’t talk to anybody. This was how he lived. Day in, day out. Never talking to a soul and nobody willingly talking to him. That was how Michael liked it which is why he couldn’t help but be irritated by the person who was interrupting his mealtime.

“Hi,” in front of Michael stood the bead girl, nervously fiddling with her fingers. “I-I made this for you.” Before he knew it, Michaels hand now held a beaded blushing panda.

He was tempted to snap the poor thing in half, and he would have had he not felt a piece of paper stuck to the back with the crappy tape the sanitorium provides.

“Don’t look yet, look when you’re alone.” She said, leaving with a short nod.

He listened to her words, going to the bathroom, the one place he was allowed to be alone, to read whatever note was scribbled on the paper.

Do you want to escape with me, Michael?

Confusion overtook his mind, the creaking of the tiled walls being the only thing he could fully register.

Not only did she know his name, but she also wanted to escape with him?

Weirdo.

He simply shrugged it off.

“Morning, Y/N,” a kind nurse awoke the young girl from her peaceful slumber, something that was rare for her. “Here is your medicine.”

“Thank you, Nurse Green.”

Her small hands grasped the bottle of water they provided her each morning, spare hand now filled with the medication she took daily before gulping down all nine of them with one mouthful of water.

Yesterdays interaction with Michael still plagued her mind.

She knew what he had done to his sister, everybody did, but still he was the only person she somewhat trusted her. Not that she had ever actually spoke to him of course, even though she was exceptionally kind to all those on the ward. She simply hoped he had read the note.

Lunchtime came round quite quickly, Y/N refusing to part with her beads and Michael nowhere to be seen, something that wasn’t uncommon.

Her fingers picked out another green bead to add to her new creation, a soft smile gracing her lips as she fit the final bead into the pattern, creating an amazing leaf. She looked up with a smile on her face, ready to show the nurse only to be met with Michael face, head tilted to the side.

“Oh,” she spoke quietly, evidently shocked at the older boy’s presence. “Hi, Michael.” Her kindness didn’t falter however, the shocked look on her face quickly forming back into the smile she wore previously.

Michaels hand reached out to grab the box of beads, pulling it towards him along with a square pegboard. He quickly got to work making a pattern, something that was done in mere minutes, pushing it back towards Y/N before leaving, not sparing her a single glance as he went back to his room.

Confused, Y/N pulled the board towards her. On it was a perfectly designed tombstone, yet it was masked as a grey brick, something Michael knew the nurses wouldn’t pick up on, only someone that was looking or expecting it would. However, beneath the board was a small slip of paper, something that caused her Y/E/C orbs to widen, quickly yet carefully sliding the paper into the pocket of her knitted sweatshirt.

“He what?” Loomis’s voice was loud, booming throughout the office. “He interacted with another patient?”

The nurses were unable to tell whether he was scared or happy at this news.

Michael had never interacted with another patient before, never interacted with anyone at all so this was a big surprise to him.

“Leave this to me,”

Yes.

This one word was floating around Y/N’s mind for the entire night.

He wants to escape with her? Michael Myers wants to escape with her? It was something she could not refuse, so she got to writing.

Over the following months the two shared notes through the beads they would both make. Nobody had spotted this yet, the scheme too smart for the nurses and doctors alike at Smiths Grove. Loomis had been keeping a close eye on the pair, looking for something significant that he could use against Michael but there was nothing yet, nothing at all.

The girl was sat at her usual table, alone for once which was uncommon for her. She wouldn’t have been alone had she not told the usual people that she wished to be alone today.

She was waiting.

Waiting for Michael.

A small sense of glee filled her chest when she noticed him walk into the cafeteria, a small smile following suite. The smile only dropped when he ignored her presence, walking towards where he usually sat. He must have sensed her gaze, glancing up to catch her sight before glancing at the chair opposite him, a silent hint for her to come over which she gladly did.

“Hi,”

Michael didn’t give her a verbal response, something she was used to by now, he instead looked towards her hands that held her most recent pattern: a pink milk carton. She eagerly passed it to him, watching him closely for any sign of reaction as he observed it, the two unaware that somebody else was also watching him.

“I want you to cut all communication between Michael and Y/N,” Loomis seemed to have come up with a plan of his own. “We’ll see how he reacts to that.”

“Yes, Dr Loomis.”

Y/N sat at the desk in her room, spinning the board around the wood with her finger.

“Why am I stuck in here?” Her tone expressed how fed up she was of being confined her for the entire day. “I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you make something?”

“Why am I here?”

“A doctor wants to see you.”

“I’ve seen all the doctors. Which one?”

“Dr Loomis.”

Oh, so it worked, good to know.

A few hours later she was seated on her bed, legs crossed with her pigtails falling down to her knee.

“We’ve met before, Y/N. After you were first sent here.” Loomis did his best to be friendly, hiding the burning curiosity and urge to ask her everything he wanted in one go.

“Yes, Dr Loomis.” Her tone was friendly, also forced.

She was waiting. Waiting for-

An excruciating loud beep blared throughout the entire ward, signalling a door had been opened by one of the patients.

Loomis’s eyes widened, worried that it was Michael who had escaped. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye before rushing off, forgetting to lock the door on the way out, something the pair had planned.

Y/N had half expected their planned escape car to be gone by the time she had finished running to the door, Michael probably having using her to escape. Weirdly enough, he was sat there waiting for her, something that made her smile as she hopped into the car.

Their plan, something that had been in the works for an insane amount of time, had worked. Every part of it had gone how they had planned.

“Thank you,” Y/N’s voice was as soft as always, glancing at Michael whose eyes were focused on the road, seemingly dismissing her appreciation.

He wasn’t however. He was silently grateful for her. She had stuck by him, his quiet and rude self. She knew what he had done and had still accepted him, he could see it in her face. He assumed she was simply in for depression or something of the sort, uncaring as to why because all he cared about was leaving and finishing what he had started, but something about her drew him in and he began getting somewhat attached to the girl.

The pair drove for hours, having to stop by to get gas before pulling into an abandoned place far away from the main road so that nobody could find them.

“Do you want a drink?” Michael gave her a confused look as she sat on the car, hand stretched out to hand him a bottle. “It’s weird you know,” she continued speaking after he took the bottle from her hand and sat beside her, “I never thought I’d make it to adulthood.”

This further proved his point of her having depression.

“Not that I’m depressed or suicidal or anything. I just thought I’d die by now.” This simply confused Michael. If she wasn’t in there for depression, what was she in for?

The nights sky hung over the pair, stars being one of the only things lighting the place, supported by the car’s lights.

Y/N seemed to sense his confusion.

“Oh, you don’t know what I’m in for? Well, was in for.” Michael simply shook his head.

“I killed someone. My dad. He used to hurt me, physically, mentally, emotionally and a few other things. My mother just watched it all happen, so I tried to kill her as well but she got away and I was dragged there.”

Michael nodded as to show that he understood.

“It’s weird. When I was younger, I always thought I’d be a popular eighteen-year-old with a boyfriend, a lot of friends and all that stuff. I never thought I’d be here,” her gaze fell on Michael, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if I am a virgin.” Y/N made sure to finish her sentence off with a joke, hoping to ease the tension she felt whilst expressing her emotions whilst continuing to stare up at the sky, oblivious to the thoughts running through Michaels head, his face not showing any signs either.

Y/N jumped at the cold sensation of Michaels hand touching her bare thigh, goosebumps rising beneath her dress. “Michael?” She turned to face the unmasked man, only to be pushed to lean against the back of the car with attempted gentleness. “Michael?” She repeated, growing even more confused as he lifted himself over her, able to feel her heart pound.

She didn’t fear him, she had never feared him; he’d never given her a reason. Sure he could be rude towards her, but never fear-inducing, never to her.

“Michael?”

Her words were silenced as Michaels body crawled onto her own, his chest pressed against hers, both hearts racing, despite Michael’s calm composure and Y/N’s confused look. Her eyes widened as she felt Michaels lips against her neck, roughly sucking with such force that she knew it would leave a mark.

A soft moan left her lips when Michael’s hand wandered down to her chest, lightly toying with her nipples before grabbing her breast, massaging it as he did so. The moans that left her lips simply increased Michael’s urges, his desires; he wanted her, and it seemed like she wanted him too.

“Michael-“she murmured, fingers looping themselves in the strands of his hair as he nipped at her skin.

Her free hand ran down his front, searching for his clothed erection which she soon founds, enjoying the breathy moan that Michael made as she slid her hand into his pants. It was quiet, but not quiet enough. Michael’s own hand reached into her own panties, finger soaking up the wetness that had formed at his touch, something that almost made him smirk.

Another moan fell from Y/N’s lips as Michael’s fingers began to explore, the tightness she felt was almost too tight, yet Michael was surprisingly gentle considering who he was. This time Michael couldn’t resist his smirk, being thankful for the fact that his face was buried into the crook of her neck, marking her as his and his only.

Her grip on his hair tightened as he slipped another finger inside of her, giving her a moment to adjust before slowly moving. It wasn’t long before pleasure began to consume her, grip tightening on his hair further as she neared her end.

“M-Michael,” she moaned. “I want you,”

He seemed happy to comply, fingers leaving her heat to unclothe his member. He waited for a moment, searching Y/N’s eyes for any sort of hesitation before sliding in, giving her time to adjust.

“I’m ready, you can move.”

His movements were slow to begin with, giving it his best attempt at not hurting her, something that was incredibly hard for his rough self, but self-restraint can be a magical thing. It wasn’t until the word ‘more’ left her lips that he finally increased his movements.

The cold of the cars metal caused shivers to run down Y/N’s spine, made worse by Michael’s cold hands running across her, now bare, body as moans filled the air.

“I-I’m close,”

Her words only increased his movements more, desperate to reach both their ends. Michael’s hand moved down to her clit, harshly rubbing in hopes that in would held her meet her own release, which it did and she came with one final moan, her sudden tightness triggering Michael’s own orgasm as he came inside of her, their juices mixing together.

Cheeks flushed, both Y/N and Michael wordlessly laid against the car’s windscreen. Deciding to test the waters, Y/N leant herself against Michael’s shoulder, silently pleased when he showed no sign of rejection.

He was surprisingly warm, heating up her cold body in the cool night’s air; she never expected him to be so warm. She lightly wrapped her hand around his upper arm, snuggling herself into his shoulder before falling asleep.

Michael stared at the sleeping girl, confused and shocked at how she had so much trust in him, despite what he had done. It was oddly reassuring to him. Once certain she was asleep, he raised his hand to move a stray strand of hair from her face before falling asleep himself.

“Goodnight, Y/N,”

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

my virtues uncounted (6)

warnings: panic attack, fear, arguing

there will probably be an epilogue after this, but we're nearing the end of this story! :)

Virgil floated into consciousness with surprisingly little pain, considering the last thing he remembered was bleeding out from a stab wound.

He wasn’t entirely sure how the others’ returned after discorporating-- they weren’t much in the habit of randomly sharing vulnerabilities-- but for him, it was always rushed, his reformation slapdash at best. It was probably part of being Anxiety: he couldn’t stand the idea of being ‘out of it’ for long, not when anything could be happening to Thomas with his influence muted.

So, he would come back to himself with whatever injury that killed him barely knitted back together, and grit his teeth and bear it for the next few weeks while it slowly healed. One of his recurring nightmares was the Light Sides finding out about it, using it to keep him out of commission to ‘help’ Thomas. It seemed… less likely, after meeting them.

Meeting them. Right. He’d done that.

A low thrum of panic in his gut chased the lingering sleepiness from him, and he pushed himself into a sitting position as quickly as he dared, figuring that he might as well test the boundaries of his lack of stab wound pain before he snuck over to check that the core parts of Thomas had all made it through okay. Or before he encountered Remus again.

The first thing he registered was that there wasn’t any pain, none at all.

The second thing was that everything was proportionally huge around him.

The third thing was that these absolutely were not the Dark Side commons.

His heart rate spiked immediately as he whipped his head around, staring at what could only be the Light Side common area. He’d only caught a glimpse of it before, with the whole ‘bleeding out’ thing, and it looked impossibly different from where he stood on the living room table. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the way Thomas was so much closer here than in the Subconscious, like the difference between shallow water and the depths.

He shook himself. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in how much easier core Sides had it. There were bigger things to worry about, literally. He hadn’t discorporated, he was in the Conscious part of the mind, and he was tiny-- through no doing of his own.

Oh. They wanted revenge.

Virgil kicked away the assortment of tiny blankets around him and got to his feet, blood rushing in his ears. He’d been an asshole to them while they were stuck in the Subconscious, so they were returning the favor. Why else would they have healed him and turned him pocket-sized? It was the only explanation that made sense.

The commons were just shy of completely disorienting while empty, so he certainly wasn’t going to stick around for something as overwhelming as a Side to appear. He hurried to the edge of the table, eyeing the drop with no little trepidation. Was he lighter like this, or would he land heavily on the carpet below and break half his bones?

He shouldn’t risk it. No point in doing half the work for his captors.

If he could get a running start to the other end of the table, he might be able to make the jump to the couch, though. From there… maybe pushing a pillow to the ground. Could he even move a pillow at this size?

Another shudder worked its way through him, something small and terrified in the back of his mind shrieking at the way everything around him had changed. Had this been how the others had felt? He shook his head, stepping back from the edge and turning to face the other end of the table. He couldn’t freak out yet. Not until he was safe.

There was a distant phone alarm, the generic sort that Thomas had come to resent after using it for his morning alarm for months on end. Virgil felt a chill of foreboding pass over him, and a heartbeat later, he heard the telltale woosh of one of the core Sides rising up next to the table.

Their shadow fell over Virgil, impossibly large, and he bolted.

There was a voice, but he couldn’t pick out the words past the blood rushing in his ears, his own breathing, and the panicked rush of thoughts that came with picking flight. He focused on the jump ahead instead, the length of table ahead of him growing shorter and shorter until he was nearly to the edge, muscles tensed to leap.

The light around him being blocked out was the only warning he got before his view of the world was suddenly cut off. Half a second later, his momentum was halted by a collision with something soft, warm, and alive. He recoiled as sharply as he could, but there were already what could only be fingers curling around him, his stomach dropping as he was lifted clear off the table’s surface, his center of gravity shifting against his will.

If he hadn’t been panicking before, he certainly was now, his breaths coming shallow and shaky, barely bringing in any air as black spots started to dot his vision.

He was in someone’s hand. They could do anything to him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it, would probably deserve it, but it would hurt and couldn’t they have just let him discorporate--

The low, calm voice that had been rumbling in the background paused for a moment, and then they were moving again, his nausea growing as everything moved too fast around him, like a car someone else was driving but a hundred times worse.

And then, abruptly, there was solid ground under his feet again. The hand opened around him.

Virgil dropped to his hands and knees immediately, pressing his forehead against the table to both quell his dizziness and find something to ground himself. He was hyperaware of the warmth emanating from the hand that still bracketed him on one side, like a shield or a threat.

The Side was still talking, though Virgil still couldn’t quite parse the words. Despite his incoherence, the hand didn’t even twitch, no underlying threat to whatever it was they were saying to him. His breathing settled a bit despite himself. The implied promise that they weren’t going to outright attack him shouldn’t have been so reassuring, but it was.

His head slightly clearer, he slowly pushed himself back up to sit back on his heels, looking up to see who had found him.

It was undoubtedly Logan, though he’d never seen those glasses and tie at such a warped scale before. He could have figured it out earlier, if he’d just been listening; neither Roman nor Patton tended to be so carefully enunciated with their words.

Logan’s words, right. He was counting, which confused Virgil for a moment-- was this an experiment? Something to see how long the local idiot spent caught up in a panic attack when he was supposed to be a survival instinct-- until he caught on to the way Logan’s chest rose and fell along with the numbers. A breathing exercise.

He was kind of surprised, in that pleasant ‘pessimist-proven-wrong’ sort of way, but it figured that the Sides up here would offer even their captive literal time to breathe. He let himself follow along with the pattern for a few more moments before clearing his throat roughly and forcing himself to speak.

“Hey.”

Logan paused, looking down at him. “Hello.”

There was a short, slightly awkward pause, in which Logan seemed to flounder while Virgil refused to apologize for being kidnapped and reduced to doll size, even if he’d just had a completely image-ruining breakdown over it.

“Are you alright?” Logan finally settled on, his gaze piercing as it swept over him as though searching for injuries. “I apologize for not warning you, but I needed to stop you from recklessly endangering yourself. I didn’t intend for my actions to trigger a panic attack.”

“Yeah, who would freak out over some little old thing like being picked up by a giant hand,” Virgil snapped back sharply, his sarcasm coming out a little less biting than usual after such a draining attack. “It’s not like I’m the embodiment of Anxiety or anything.”

“You are Anxiety, though.” Logan shifted, the motion jarring his hand slightly, and Virgil barely managed to contain his flinch. “And as such, I’m surprised that you would entertain the idea of unnecessarily trying to fling yourself off of a considerable height at your size.”

Virgil squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. “Unnecessarily?”

“Clearly? I cannot imagine why your first solution would be to attempt something so risky, though it’s possible I’m missing some vital context,” Logan replied, his face scrunching up slightly in confusion. “Perhaps the others--,” he lifted a hand.

“Wait!” A surge of panic forced Virgil to his feet, but it was too late. The summons registered, and Creativity and Morality wasted virtually no time in rising up, both of them instantly looking to him instead of Logan.

“Anxiety!” they both cried, and they didn’t sound mad, but that didn’t really mean anything, did it?

They crowded forward, and Virgil couldn’t keep himself rigid this time, his whole body jerking back and bumping into Logan’s hand.The mixed signals-- hide versus get away-- left him frozen, cowering under that pitiful defense.

“Anxiety?” Patton tried, and the concern in his voice was enough to convince him to look up and meet the other Side’s gaze. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

“I’m stuck in a room with three giants, what do you think?” he spat automatically, his shoulders hunching up like they could protect him.

Patton’s mouth twisted in a sympathetic sort of way, and he moved to sit, scrunching his body down slightly so that he was more-or-less level with the table. “It’s all kind of overwhelming, huh?”

With a simple glance from the moral Side, Roman followed suit and Logan settled back on his heels, having already been kneeling. Virgil stared between the three of them, his skin prickling with nerves.

Behind him, Logan’s hand moved. Virgil immediately crouched, ducking his head down and lifting his arms in an ineffective attempt to ward off whatever was happening. There was a beat of silence, and when he glanced up, he found that Logan had simply retracted his hand, apparently convinced that Virgil wasn’t planning on a repeat of his escape attempt. Or that the three huge Sides surrounding Anxiety was enough of a cage in itself.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Jack and the Beanstalker,” Roman lied, doing an impressive job of sounding confused and harmless. “You’re not in the Subconscious anymore.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in Virgil, one that he didn’t bother to stifle. “Yeah, right. I’m not an idiot, Princey. Remus got you all twisted up over what he did and I was an asshole and now you’re paying the favor forward, I get it. You don’t have to lie about it.”

The three of them exchanged complicated glances, ones that admittedly looked more upset and horrified than conspiring, but Virgil refused to buy the act.

“We’re not lying to you!” Roman insisted, making Virgil scoff. Patton’s face started to take on that kicked-puppy cast, and Virgil averted his gaze, feeling hot anger bubble up in him at Patton’s involvement. How was any of this right and moral?

“I live with Deceit, you’re not going to fool me. Just get whatever you’re going to do to me over with,” he forced out, grimacing when his voice wobbled slightly at the end.

“Anxiety.” Logan leaned forwards, meeting his gaze with utmost seriousness. “Perhaps it will help if you understand our motives for your current state. Can you tell me how much you remember from our escape?”

“Remus found us and turned me into a pincushion,” Virgil deadpanned, a hand moving to settle over his gut. He knew now that he probably hadn’t discorporated, but he could still barely believe that there was no pain there. Core Sides could just do that? “And then you three decided to turn me pincushion-sized, I guess. How is that not revenge?”

“It was to save your life!” Roman cried dramatically, looking very put-out. “And to keep you from going back to the Subconscious and my brother, y’know, the guy who was tormenting us for fun!”

“To save my-- we can’t die!” Virgil snarled, pushing his complex feelings about Remus down in favor of twisting the fabric of his hoodie in his hands. “You trapped me up here, no room, no powers, no height, and you expected me to be grateful?!”

“We weren’t trying to trap you,” Patton interjected, looking between him and Roman worriedly. “And we aren’t going to hurt you, I promise.”

Roman, who had drawn himself up in outraged offense, visibly deflated. “Patton’s right. You know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

Virgil hesitated despite himself.

“The problem of your current stature is one that we know how to fix,” Logan took the opportunity to add, fiddling with his tie. “Once you summon your room to this level of the mind, you will be able to find security and power within it, and we won’t bother you while you recover your lost energy.”

“Woah, woah,” Virgil held his hands up to stall further explanation, feeling thrown off. “Who said anything about putting my room up here?”

Roman raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What, you want to be that size around a vengeful Remus?”

“I wouldn’t be this size if you hadn’t meddled!” Virgil snapped, scowling fiercely

“We weren’t going to just let you die,” Patton burst out, looking downright distraught. “You saved us. You didn’t want to rise up and you knew it would make your friends upset, but you did it anyhow. It wouldn’t be right, to just… not try to save you back!”

Virgil gaped for a moment, his next prepared retort completely upended. “No, I… that’s my job. Of course I did that. You don’t owe me for it.”

“Anxiety, Roman prevented your discorporation because he wanted to help you. Not to repay a perceived debt,” Logan informed him, his words stiff but genuine.

Roman shot Logan a look, heaving a dramatic sigh before turning back to Virgil. “All of us wanted to help, Gloomy B. Jones. Who wouldn’t choose to revive a party member who nearly perished heroically on a quest?”

In what universe was Roman calling him a hero? Inside his hoodie pocket, Virgil pinched himself, his confusion rising when everything refused to turn out to be a dream. Even a terrible plot twist like that would be more understandable to him than whatever was happening right now.

For that matter, they couldn’t really be implying what he thought they were implying.

“You really want me to pull my room up here. And be a… a core Side.”

Looking from face to face, he found no trace of anger or mockery, only earnestness. A genuine offer. He shook his head, his heart somehow racing even harder.

“What about when I have to do the other part of my job? The part you guys all hate me for?” he reminded them harshly. “I bet you won’t be so keen on my presence then.” He could easily imagine how well that would go over. Could a Side be cast out from both parts of the mind?

Patton shuffled forward a bit, his hands flapping like he wanted to reach out reassuringly but knew that Virgil would absolutely lose his shit if he even tried. “It’s like you said, kiddo. You want to keep Thomas safe, and we want that, too!”

“You’ve more than proven yourself willing to compromise when it counts,” Logan said, and then added wryly, “Statistically, the three of us already spend a fair amount of our time arguing before we come to a decision anyways.”

“Seriously?” Virgil asked, and Logan gestured to the necktie emphatically.

“That’s right! You may be as contrary as your jittery little heart desires, and you’ll still be in excellent company,” Roman piped up, gesturing to himself magnanimously. After a moment, he let the posturing fade into something more serious. “Anxiety, we don’t have to agree on everything for you to deserve better. Won’t you at least give us a chance?”

Virgil scrubbed his hands through his hair roughly, turning away despite his misgivings. Apart from that first incident with Logan, they hadn’t grabbed him, hadn’t even touched him despite knowing that he couldn’t do anything to stop them. At some point between that first disastrous meeting and now, they’d stopped treating him like an enemy.

He’d have to go back down there and explain at some point, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of not being repressed was one that seemed almost too good to be true. Deceit wouldn’t be happy, but maybe this would be the proof they all needed, that separating the Sides and hiding some of them from Thomas wasn’t working as well as they pretended it did.

It could be an opportunity. It could be… good.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to where they’d all been waiting, “I’ll pull my room up. I’ll-- I’ll try. That’s the best you’re going to get.”

And as the others cheered or smiled victoriously, he felt like maybe it was worth a shot after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides g/t #sanders sides fic #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #remus and janus are mentioned #g/t #mvu #my virtues uncounted #my writing #writing

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Hobbies

Phic phight! @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy

A series of vignettes about Danny having various hobbies.

(Master the Orb)

Danny exhaled slowly as the ice built up between his hands. Each new layer glittered in the ghostlight cast by the overhead ambient ectoplasm, embedding complex patterns in the overall piece as new layers built up over it.

“Very good, Great One,” rumbled Frostbite behind his shoulder. “Your control has improved immensely.”

Danny inhaled equally slowly, examining his work so far but not adding to it quite yet. “I don’t know. It looks a little lopsided.”

“Mmm, it looks fine to me. Especially for such an early attempt.”

Danny sighed, exhaling the ice he had built up with his breath. “So, it is lopsided.”

“Consider it practice,” said Frostbite, encouragingly. “It takes time to master art of any kind.”

“Humans do ice sculpture, too,” mumbled Danny. “They get really good, too. I’ve seen pictures. And videos. They don’t even have ice powers.” He rubbed his thumb over the surface, smoothing over a slightly rougher patch.

“That may be true,” said Frostbite, “but, again, you just started, Great One. You have only had your powers for a little while. Give yourself some support.”

Danny shrugged. “I guess it isn’t something my life depends on, so I can relax about it.” He built up another layer of ice. “This is oddly therapeutic, and I don’t say therapeutic lightly. You know Jazz.”

“I do indeed,” said Frostbite, somewhat ruefully, head half-bowed.

Jazz could be a force of nature, even more so than ice powers.

He held the ice orb up to the light. It caught on the patterns he had placed there. Fractals were the easiest. He was hoping that if he got better, he’d be able to make real sculptures with patterns in them, instead of just orbs.

But, first, he had to master the orb. Just like how when drawing you had to do circles first. Circle. Orb.

Ooorb. Yep.

The controlled application of ice. The evenness of the internal patterns. The solidity, density, and durability.

His orb was… not very orblike, despite what Frostbite said. Frostbite probably thought he was making so flat on purpose.

Yeah. He was terrible at this.

He was having fun, though.

(Furnace)

“You’re taking up glass blowing?” asked Tucker, surprised.

“Yeah? Is there a problem?” asked Danny, reaching over to stop his friend from accidentally drawing a line of orange sharpie across his poster on the themes in Macbeth.

“No!” said Tucker, quickly. “But, like, why? It just seems… unlike you.”

“Exactly,” said Danny, nodding sharply. “It has absolutely nothing to do with my powers and nothing to do with my family. Plus, I had a coupon.”

“For glass blowing?”

“It was a groupon,” said Danny. “For making Christmas tree ornaments. I’m going to do it with Jazz.”

“But, Danny,” said Sam, looking over from where she was working on her own poster about Twelfth Night, “glass blowing, uh, involves a lot of heat.”

“Sure?”

“Danny, you have an ice core.”

“Ah,” said Danny. “Well. I’ve got to use that groupon. If it doesn’t work out, it’s only the once, right?”

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny, wringing sweat out of his t-shirt. “That was awesome!” He giggled to himself and peaked into the annealer again. “So awesome!”

“Uh huh,” said Jazz. Her attempts had been… rather less successful than Danny’s, partially because she was trying so hard to make them perfect. But she had managed a few little baubles, nonetheless. “I think these’ll all be good for the tree. Assuming we get one.”

“And it isn’t set on fire.”

“Oh, yeah, that was a bad year.”

He squeaked open the annealer again, only closing it when the instructor lightly scolded him. “They’re so terrible and lopsided,” said Danny.

“Hey,” said Jazz. “Mine are fine.”

“I know! I was talking about mine.”

“Ah, okay then. I agree.”

“You aren’t supposed to agree.”

“What, you want me to lie? And after you said it first?”

“No,” said Danny. “But you could be nicer about it.”

“I’m your sister, what do you expect?”

(Lung Capacity)

Danny let the last note trail off to complete silence. He stared apprehensively at the assembled student body. Curse Mr. Lancer’s extra credit talent show assignment. Any minute now, they’d start laughing at him.

What was he thinking? He’d just watched a few YouTube tutorials on breath control, and he thought he could come up here and sing in front of people? He was a moron, and—

Sam and Tucker started cheering wildly, followed rapidly by everyone else in the gym.

Okay. What?

Sam and Tucker, following impulses known only to overexcited teenagers, swarmed up the stage and attacking Danny.

“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing like that?” demanded Sam.

“When did you learn?” asked Tucker, doing his level best to noogie Danny. “Why did you learn?”

“I wanted to improve my, you know, wail,” muttered Danny, “and all the breath control YouTube videos either had to do with diving or singing, so…” He did a little head wiggle to illustrate his point and also dislodge Tucker.

“I just can’t believe you kept this a secret from us,” said Sam.

Danny snorted and took a sort of half bow before attempting to leave the stage. “My dudes, I am basically made of secrets.”

“Encore!” screamed someone who clearly hated him.

“Oh, no,” said Danny, bracing himself against Sam and Tucker who were pushing him back into the middle of the stage. “No encore. I don’t do encores.”

But now people were chanting. Chanting.

“Come on, Danny,” said Tucker. “Just once!”

“Yeah, these are your fifteen minutes of fame!”

“I had those already! Multiple times!”

“That was Poindexter.”

“And now it can be you.”

Danny reluctantly took the microphone back off the stand.

(Letterhead)

The ink was thick, almost creamy, and paint-like. It was the ectoplasm mix, which also gave it a rich, rosy glow.

Danny was practicing ghost calligraphy. Well, one particular subset of ghost calligraphy, one which put special emphasis on the color of the letters as well as how they fit together.

It was a totally useless hobby. But it was… not exactly calming. No. He’d gotten way too angry about poorly formed arcs and crooked lines a couple of times. So. Yeah. Not calming. But… meditative. Meditative. And there was something satisfying about seeing the finished product.

Plus, if he framed his better finished work, they made for good presents for weirdo ghosts.

“You misspelled this,” drawled Ghost Writer.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Keuwii only has one kei.”

“This is only one kei.”

“What’s this, then?”

“It’s a flourish.”

“A flourish.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a critic. If you don’t want it—”

“I didn’t say that.”

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Ghost Writer made a show of rolling his eyes. “Very well. Do you have one for my half-brother Randy. Perhaps one that says something along the lines of ‘idiot?’”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

(Babies on Fire)

“Danny,” said Jazz. “What are you doing up at three in the morning with a lighter? And… yarn? Is that yarn?”

“Dad wanted me to learn how to sew,” said Danny, “but I don’t like needles, not the sharp ones, anyway.”

“You get stitches every other week,” pointed out Jazz.

“Exactly,” said Danny, gesturing with the lighter. “So, I decided to look into, you know, knitting. And I was on knitting websites, and having, you know, a pretty good time with that, but then I found out about the babies.”

“The babies.”

“The babies,” said Danny, seriously. “And the blankets that are on fire. It depends on the yarn, you see. If the yarn is the wrong kind of yarn, if it catches on fire, the blanket can melt onto the baby. It’s terrible. Just terrible.”

“I kind of think that if the blanket is on fire you have bigger problems,” said Jazz. She took a step closer to her obviously insane younger brother. “Are you… testing the yarn?”

“I have to, Jazz. It’s for the babies.”

“Alright,” said Jazz. “You are going to limit it to just the yarn in our house, right?”

“But we don’t have any babies.”

“Okay, that didn’t answer my question, but, like…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Since we don’t have any babies here, why are you testing the yarn?”

“Because we might have babies here in the future,” said Danny. “Or I might knit something and give it to someone as a gift and then they give it to their baby. Oh my gosh, I’d feel so guilty.”

“I’d be more worried about the toxic waste in our basement,” said Jazz, which was exactly the wrong thing to say to a sleep-deprived half-ghost on the edge of an Obsession-fueled breakdown. Danny vanished in a blur, trailing yarn behind him. Jazz, who had only gotten up for a glass of water, cursed under her breath.

(Before the Ball)

“I’m so, so sorry, Dora,” said Danny, holding back something adjacent to laughter.

Dora laughed, more openly. “It is fine, Sir Phantom. Even now, you are better than my brother.”

“Am I really? Your brother? Who was raised to do this?”

“Well,” said Dora, letting go and stepping back out of the range of Danny’s feet. Which were, evidently, both left feet. “No, I’m afraid, but it is amusing to say, isn’t it?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, suppressing more laughter.

“Yeah, it is,” admitted Danny.

“In any case, you are far more graceful concerning your mistakes than he ever was. More gallant. A better representative of chivalry altogether.” She patted the shoulders of his shirt.

“Thanks,” said Danny. “Do you think that I’ll be, uh, ready in time for the party?”

“It’s more than a party,” said Dora. “You’re being officially knighted. You’ll be a peer of the realm.”

“Aha,” said Danny. “Yeah. I don’t… what? Really? That’s a thing?”

“You thought I was joking?”

“No,” said Danny, drawing out the word. He had, in fact, thought she was joking and only accepted her offer to teach him how to dance because he thought it sounded like fun and like it might take his mind off his problems. “Of course not. So. Dancing. Important. For first impressions?”

“Everyone already knows you, Phantom,” said the knight assigned as Dora’s bodyguard. “But dancing is surprisingly useful for swordplay. Which you need all the help you can get at.”

“You said I was getting better.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re good.”

“Ouch.”

(Time)

“I don’t have time for a hobby,” complained Danny through the Fenton Phones. “Maybe if the ghosts let up a bit—” He zapped one of said ghosts.

“Danny, are you fighting ghosts right now?”

“Yeah. That’s my point.”

“Oh my god, get off the phone.”

“No way! This is the only time I can call you, what with all of your classes.”

“Danny…” said Jazz, clearly exasperated. He took advantage of the lull in the conversation to blast a few more ghosts.

“I’m fine Jazz.”

“You are not fine. You are, like, ten thousand miles away from fine. When was the last time you even slept through the night?”

“Eh,” said Danny. “Recently?”

“You need to take more time for yourself.”

Danny sighed and captured the last ghost. “Maybe catching ghosts is my hobby.”

“Catching ghosts is your self-imposed penance for doing something that isn’t even your fault. Not a hobby.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to you on Wednesday, same time.”

“Danny, don’t—”

He hung up.

“Ugh,” said Danny. “I guess I need to find a hobby. Have to find time to find a hobby.”

“Perhaps I could be of help.”

“Ah!” Danny jolted forward, dropping his phone.

Clockwork gestured with one hand, and the phone dropped back into Danny’s hands from above.

“Ohhh my ghost, why are you here?”

“You were just talking about finding time. And now I’m here.”

“Good timing, I guess?”

“Only the best,” said Clockwork, evenly. “But we were speaking of hobbies. Might I suggest ice sculpture? Your friends in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to teach you...”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021

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livexdolan · 3 years

Note

40 & 70 with gray? :)

40. "Thought I told you to stay by my side, eh?" & 70. “You know what? Never-mind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

Masterlist

Whenever people found out who your best friend was- you knew they were trying to keep from laughing in your face. If he weren’t standing right next to you when you told people, sometimes they would think you were lying.

You’ve been friends with Grayson Dolan for more than a decade, knowing each other since elementary school. By high school, you drifted apart socially but you still hung out at each other’s houses, played video games, helped him with projects, even decided to go to the same college.

You handled Grayson’s popularity in high school well and he handled your lack of popularity well. All you prayed was college would be different.

It wasn’t.

Grayson decided to join Theta Xi, known to be the biggest pothead frat but also the best partiers. You told Grayson that maybe your friendship wasn’t going to work out, this was the sign. Grayson argued with you and spent weeks proving the frat would never change him.

Three years and a presidency later, he had changed. Yet for some reason, she stayed.

Well, she knew the reason, she’s been in love with him since the first time they kissed. It was on a rock in the forest behind his house, they were 16 and 17 and he had just learned no one had ever kissed her before.

After that, she knew she had to stay in his life even though she wasn’t his type at all and he had never given her any reason to believe he was interested in her as more than a friend.

Now, she’s cursing at the way she always get blindsided when it comes to Grayson. He talks her into the stupidest shit because he asks her in ways that she doesn’t realize what she’s getting into but by the time she finally realizes, it’s too late to back out.

Like right now, leaning against the counter in one of the kitchens. The frat house was split into four quads downstairs and two quads upstairs. Each quad has two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a small living space, which all lead out into the main, large room of the house where the main part of the party is happening.

She could still hear the music thumping beneath her feet, she was upstairs in the ‘off-limits’ quad. It was Grayson, Ethan, Ryan, and Mando’s rooms up here.

Grayson’s the president, E’s vp, Ryan’s in charge of everything grayson doesn’t want to deal with but his official title is treasurer, and Mando’s in charge of all things social media for the frat.

I’m in Ethan and Grayson’s kitchen, the cleanliness not surprising seeing as Ethans girlfriend pretty much lives with them at this point. I always try to clean up Grayson’s room and bathroom when I’m over, the OCD type A freak in me hates seeing his books everywhere, trash cans full of bottles, laundry piled in the corner.

It’s not like that most of the time though, that only happens on his bad weeks. Those are the weeks when he falls into this funk and only talks to me and Ethan. We all give him space because we know why it’s happening, they started right after their dad died.

Mr. Dolan dying was so hard on everyone. My family included. My dad wasn’t a very stand-up guy, and Mr. Dolan always made me feel welcome and was the kind of dad I always imagined my dad to be.

“Thought I told you to stay by my side, eh?" I jump at the deep voice, turning to see Grayson standing in the doorway, looking like an angel committing a sin by looking so hot.

He has on a pair of slacks and a loose, silk shirt, the pattern almost matching Ethans. The theme for the night was Coachella. Even if we were many states away and most of the people here couldn’t afford to even look at Coachella tickets.

I let him talk me into coming, wearing a knit triangle bralette top and off-white shorts Grayson picked out, I just realized my shorts match his pants perfectly.

I quirk my eyebrow at him and cross my arms, “I’m sorry, did I leave you to play beer pong?”

He smiles at me and I want to slap it off his face- or kiss it off- either is fine with me, “I’m sorry, angel. Just come back down and enjoy the rest of the party with me, I won’t ditch you again, I promise.”

Grayson’s always done his hardest to keep ever promise he’s told me, so I push off the counter, my entire hard-ass demeanor falling away and my normal, shy and reserved self takes it’s place. He grabs my hand and I try to ignore the pleasure I get from feeling his warmth on mine.

He pulls me towards the stairs and then we walk down together, me slightly behind him. He abruptly stops and I bump into him, cursing at him but he squeezes my hand, silently telling me to shut up.

I look over in time to see Dylan here, with McKenna. Dylan was my first boyfriend, though we’re only kissed and cuddled, I thought we were serious. Until I found out he had been sleeping with my dorm mate the entire time. That was freshman year, I should be over it. I am over it, but the look Grayson gives me tells me I don’t look as though I’m over it.

“C’mon.” Grayson pushes us through the crowd, keeping us out of the line of sight of my ex.

We duck into one of the quads and I realize too late- it’s the pot quad. The rooms filled with a thick haze, the slight soundproofing making the vibes much more calm and relaxing. There’s only a dozen or so people but I feel much better in here than out there. Even if I don’t smoke.

Someone passes Grayson a blunt and he takes a quick hit, “I feel like I should stay sober to make sure that asshole doesn’t even look at you,” I smile at Grayson’s protectiveness.

“I’m fine. It was a while ago, Gray. I’m over it,” I shrug. Maybe it would’ve hurt more if my heart didn’t belong to someone else.

I make a quick decision and go to take the blunt. Grayson pulls back, the weed out in the air where I can’t reach it, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He raises his brow and I scoff, rolling my eyes, “Give it to me, Grayson. I just want one hit.” He pulls back again when I try to reach out.

He just shakes his head and it feels like his patronizing a child, “this shits strong, angel. You can’t handle it.”

Something about the way he said it sends me back to a memory I forgot ever happened. After Dylan took me out for our five month, we went back to his place and we started making out. I tried to reach for his belt but he pulled away, telling me I wasn’t ready. Couldn’t handle it. That I was too immature and if I wanted it to be great, I should lose a little weight, because skinny girls have the best sex.

I snatch the blunt from Grayson, taking a hit before he can stop me. Fuck men. Fuck all men who think they know what I can and can’t handle. I think I inhaled to much because when I exhale I feel a heavy burn and a dry cough comes up my throat.

Grayson pats my back, “Angel-“

“Don’t.” I push his hand off me. Taking a deep breath, I see Grayson watching me closely. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. What is wrong with you tonight?” He asks me and I roll my eyes.

“You know what?” He looks at me expectantly and I sigh, “Never-mind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

He grabs my hand and takes me out of the small room, moving us through the crowd to the back porch- a large, glassed in room. There’s only a few people out here.

He grabs my arms, “what’s wrong, y/n? Is it Dylan? I’ll kick him out if you want. ”

I look up into his eyes, the sincerity there surprising me. Grayson’s always been so honest with me. It’s time I’m honest with him. I don’t know if weed works this fast or if it’s the beer I downed earlier but I decide to be honest with him, “No, it’s not Dylan. I wasn’t even that hurt when we broke up. That’s because- I uh- I like you, Gray. I’ve had a crush on you since eleventh grade. I want to be with you. I mean- with you with you. I want to wake up next to you and hold hands and kiss and hug and- I want you to love me as much as I love you.” I rant.

His hands fall off my arms and my eyes well up, knowing the thing I’ve always feared is about to happen. He’s rejecting me. “Y/n I- I care about you. So much. But I- this isn’t a good idea.”

His words break my heart and I keep my gaze on the ground, “Um- okay. Well, I’m gonna- I have to go.” I say, looking up at him and biting my lip to hold back tears.

I turn on my heel and practically run back into the main room, trying to get out of this house as quickly as possible, “Y/n! Come back! Wait!” I hear Grayson’s voice and the tears start to fall, I push through the crowd faster, when someone grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Y/n?” I look up at Dylan, standing with McKenna. His eyebrows furrow when he sees me crying.

“Let me go,” I state, trying to get my arm out of his tight grip.

“What’s wrong? Who-“ he stops when he sees someone behind me, “Of course it was you. You’re such an asshole. What did you do to her?” He demands and I finally get my arm away from him.

Turning to see Grayson with rage in his eyes. He never got over Dylan cheating on me, “I didn’t do anything to her. You’re the piece of shit who cheated on y/n. How dare you come into my house and accuse me of hurting my best friend?” Grayson spits and I grab his arm out of instinct as he lurches forward.

“Gray, stop.” I say, he looks away from Dylan’s smirk to make eye contact with me for only a second before shrugging my hand off him.

“Yeah, Gray. Listen to your girlfriend. Don’t wanna embarrass you in your house, right?” Dylan mocks and I roll my eyes, knowing he’s just trying to rile Grayson up.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” the words are out of his mouth so quick, I don’t even realize what he said at first. I scoff and roll my eyes.

Because this is the time to correct him. You know what, “Fuck you.” I spit at Grayson and push my way out of the small circle forming around us. I make it to the front door when I hear a loud crack, looking back to see Dylan on the ground holding his nose and Grayson looking for me in the crowd.

We make eye contact and I shake my head, knowing this is the end of us. I open the door and slip out, running down the road, passing all the other fraternity houses. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears but I keep pushing myself until I get to my apartment, knowing it’s only a mile or so.

Once I get inside I slide down the door, leaning against it as I realize that happy ever afters are fake. The person you love isn’t always going to love you back. Fuck fairytales.

It’s not like I can hate Grayson- he didn’t know. I can hate him for not chasing me. He probably realized I’m not worth it. Best friends don’t run after each other, right? If he loved me, he wouldn’t have let Dylan get to him. He would’ve grabbed me and made me stay.

Tears fall down my face unrestrained as my heart clenches at the thought of never being friends with Grayson again. We’ve gone through death, high school, years of people trying to pull us apart, and I was able to ruin our friendship with three words.

If it was meant to be, he would’ve fought for me. Figuratively, not physically, seeing as he already punched someone tonight. I drag myself to my room and fell into the blankets, closing my eyes. I pray I will forget this night ever happened.

Next Part...

A/n: For all my people who didn’t get their fairy tale ending ❤️

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starsstruck · 4 years

Text

i just know that something good is going to happen.

part of the cloubusting universe. a continuation of the story of painter!harry and barista!mc. cold decembers baths, too hot baths, and even hotter confessions.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, sexual content words: 7.8k

series masterlist

a/n: hi. im back. this is just pure sweetness because why not. more will be coming from them, more from earlier on and later on in their relationship and time together💕 happy reading, hope everyone enjoys and please let me know what you think !💕💕

What time are you off ?

You glanced at the time after reading the text from Harry. The morning was incredibly slow, the drab December weather not enticing patrons to come out for a hot coffee.

3pm but I might be able to get out early

You saw the three little dots appear and disappear as Harry was typing, briefly glancing up at the door between looking down at your phone. As suspected, no one had walked in and no one needed anything from you.

I’m just heading home now Come by when you can x

Finding yourself smiling down at the phone, typing back a quick response before shutting it off and placing it back in your pocket to do some menial cleaning around the café to pass time.

Sounds good💕

Time flew by far too slowly. Three people came in between one and two o’clock, and you were left to mindlessly dust inside of cabinets and overstock the counters.

Saya was just as bored as you, the two of you chatting until you saw the clock hit 2:30 and decided that it was close enough for your time to head out. You had loose plans with Harry, him having asked you if you were free after work since he had the day freed up as well.

Which is why you now found yourself walking up the now very familiar steps to his place, finding his door propped open with a book for you.

You knocked once on the door just to let him know that you were there, before picking up the book and letting yourself in.

You saw Harry sitting by the large window, his back facing you. Still wrapped in your jacket, you hung the straps of your tote bag over the back of a chair and moved towards him. You were sure he heard you come in, how could he not have, but he still didn’t turn back to face you until you were standing behind him.

“Hi there,” he smiled with a quick tilt to his head. Your hands fell to his shoulders, leaning your front against his back as you hugged him from behind.

“What are you working on?” You hummed, chin resting against his shoulder. You didn’t get a chance to see what he was doing, as he quickly flipped close the two large sketchbooks he had in front of him.

“Secret,” he turned around on the chair, tilting his head as you quickly moved from his shoulder to avoid his chin hitting your cheek. “How was work?”

“Work was so slow – which I guess was okay. M’tired.”

Your arm circled around the back of his neck, as one of his own landed to your lower back, pulling you around him. Your lips brushed his temple.

“Lips are freezing,” he murmured, tugging you further into him until you were sat over his thighs. Keeping your arm around his neck as he held your back, he hugged you closer after you came in from the chilled December air. “Is it that cold out?”

You cozied in the warmth coming from him, even as you sat still wrapped in your thick coat. “The heaters are still broken at work.”

He titled his chin, lips brushing your cheek. “Are you still cold?”

You unwrapped your arms from around him, tugging at the buttons keeping your jacket together as you let it fall open. “Not as much,” you laughed lightly when his hand around you helped tug the thick coat off, neither of you caring when it hit the floor. “Just caught a small chill.”

He leant in closer as if pulled by an invisible force towards you, eyes locked. His lips nudged yours, catching them in a small kiss as you revelled in the warmth of his face. His cold fingertips brushing over his cheek, he pulled away with an overdramatic shiver. “You’re freezing.”

“Warm me up then,” you teased, as his grip tightened around you and his head dipped in to rest in the crook of your neck with a series of little pecks.

“I’m trying –” he muttered against your skin, before rising his head so that your eyes could once again meet. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, mindlessly tracing the patterns in the knit of his sweater.

You could practically see the strain in the muscles of his cheeks as he tried not to smile. “But I don’t think taking your clothes off is the answer right now.”

He pushed his cheek against yours, breath fanning over your ear. He kissed the corner of your jaw once more while his grip grew even tighter around your back so that you were completely flush against him.

You tapped your fingertips over his neck before muttering to no one in particular, “how’re you so warm all the time.”

He pulled his head back to face you once more, the tip of his nose gracing over your temple before puckering his lips over the same spot. Another kiss was pressed over your cheek, following the curve down until smooth lips captured your own.

Your fingers had moved up from his neck to his scalp, mindlessly trailing them through his hair. “How was your day?”

“Slow,” he nodded against you. “Went for a run, did laundry – that kind of day.”

You only hummed, a small silence falling over you as you embraced each other.

“I love…”

Harry shifted slightly from under you, his voice getting as he fell back into the crook of your neck. “I love the way you smell like coffee.”

His hot breath was felt when he spoke, nuzzling his nose over you for a moment before looking up towards you once again. You let out a soundless laugh, smiling down at him.

“Hm,” you could feel the hum come deep from his chest. He inhaled in an exaggerated way, bending his neck down so that his nose brushed along the exposed skin above the neckline of your sweater. “Smell like honey actually – like honey and jasmine.”

You let out a little laugh. “You’re saying I smell like coffee and tea?”

Although teasing, you were aware of the hint of jasmine in the perfume that was spritzed onto your neck earlier that day and almost surprised that he could tell what it was.

“I’m saying I love the way you smell.”

Even from the slight unfocused way you saw him, you watched the way his lips curved around the word “love”, unable to help noticing how often he used the word.

Not answering, instead you lowered your head to rest against his shoulder as you simply embraced each other for a moment. From the way your neck was titling, a small pain was starting to grow in the corner of your neck that had you having to pull away.

Rolling your head back on your neck in a feeble attempt to stretch out the kink, Harry’s fingers squeezed your hips.

“You okay?”

“Just sore.” The pain that you got from your ribs and shoulder only seem to grow instead of subside, new knots forming every week. “Keep forgetting to make an appointment at the physio.”

Harry hummed, watching as you unlatched one arm from around him to rub over your shoulder. “Take a hot bath – it’ll sooth your muscles and warm you up.”

“I don’t have a tub,” you watched him, “you know that.”

“That’s true,” he smiled. “But I do.”

The two of you had been together for just over two months, but he still blushed slightly as you held his gaze and rolled your lips in against your teeth.

“If you want – we don’t have to bathe together or anything if you don’t want to. Would be nice for your back though.”

You only smiled at your partner. “That sounds perfect, actually.”

For some reason, the idea of taking a bath with someone else was so extra intimate to you. Showers were one thing – whether Harry’s hands were lathering shampoo in your hair or pushing you against the tile, there was always something a bit quick and rushed about them.

Baths were slow, and peaceful, and had the sole purpose to sit and do nothing other than let yourself relax.

Harry had a surprising amount of bath products, not that it was news to you as you were already familiar with the contents of this washroom cabinets. You found a lavender bubble bath that you poured in, and some epsom salts that were scented with some fresh smelling essential oils.

Waiting for the tub to fill, you rubbed make up remover that you kept at Harry’s over your skin. Taking your time with the process, patting small layers of moisturizer over your newly washed faced.

Sweater was already sitting on the countertop, you did your skincare routine standing in your bra and jeans.

Your attention turned away from your reflection in the mirror when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by Harry speaking your name just loud enough to be heard over the crash of the water falling into the tub.

You giggled lightly as you turned the knob to open the door, endeared by the fact that he knocked first.

“I found these,” he stood at the door way, two little white candles in hand. “One of them smells like vanilla.”

You hummed in approval, grabbing hold of them, bringing both under your nose as the soft sweet smell surrounded you.

He smiled softly, eyes dropping down to take in the already relaxed state you seemed to have settled into. “Take all the time you want – I’ll start making something to eat.”

You furrowed your brow. “You’re not joining me?”

“Oh – figured you want some time alone, no?”

You shook your head, bottom lip between your teeth. “No. The water is hot, I put way too much bubble bath in – it’s the perfect recipe for a bath.”

He laughed, walking past the doorway to near you and wrapped an arm around your back so that you wouldn’t move back. “I think just being in there with you is enough of a selling point.”

A kiss was pressed to your nose, and then your lips, before the hands on your lower back were smoothing over your bare skin. You could feel his fingertips fiddling with the clasp of your bra, undoing the garment and letting it fall free from your body.

He moved away, just far enough so that he could pull the blue fabric off of you and he let his eyes trail over the skin that was just exposed to him. “I’ll go grab some towels.”

When Harry came back, you had fully stripped down and already settled into the tub. Your back resting against one side, water hitting just at the middle of your chest with bubbles sticking to the skin of your breasts.

The water was too hot, but in a good way. In the kind of way that you took a bit longer to fully settle yourself in, but once you were in you didn’t want to leave.

“How is it?”

You only hummed in response; eyelids half closed. You could still see him move around the small space of the bathroom, shutting the door and flicking a lighter until the wick of the candles was crackling. He turned off the overhead lights, eyes glancing at you as if to check if you were okay with it.

The melodic songs of Francoise Hardy filled the room, echoing nicely around you. You could hear him shuffling around, and you peaked an eye open to catch him just as he was tugging his sweater over his head.

He placed it next to your clothes on the counter, already pulling up the teeshirt he wore under it. His back was turned to you, the orange glow of the candlelight lighting up his skin. Every dip in muscles was accentuated with a deep shadow, and you shifted a bit in the tub to get a better view of him.

His baggy pants were easily kicked aside, and it was just as his thumbs were hooking into the elastic of his briefs that he caught your eye through the mirror. “Enjoying the view?”

“I am, very much so,” you watched the smirk pull on the corner of his mouth at your words.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he tugged the last piece of clothing off. He didn’t miss the way your eyes dropped, followed by you quickly looking away and shutting your eyes as if embarrassed to be caught staring. Although there was a smile that lingered on your lips, and the both of you knew that you were anything but embarrassed.

Your eyes only reopened when you heard a splash followed by a little hiss, and after peaking an eye open you saw him sitting at the edge of the tub with half a leg submerged in the water.

“It’s really hot,” he laughed a little, slowly sinking the other leg to join the other.

“It’s nice,” you hummed, watching as he pushed himself off the edge and slowly eased into the tub. Sitting across from you, he extended his legs out.

Your limbs moved with a splash as you brought your knees to your chest, allowing him some room for his legs.

“Bring ‘em over here,” he hummed, a little wave of his hand as he motioned to your half-hidden legs. You placed them over his under the water, immediately feeling one of his hands gripping onto your calf to adjust you slightly.

He sank down against the back of the tub, settling in nicely. Your gaze remained on his, watching a little drop in his eyelids as he relaxed. “It is really nice.”

You opened your eyes further at his words, blinking some haze from your vision as you fully focused on him. “I should take baths much more often”

“Of course,” he continued, “it’s not the same when I’m alone.”

You couldn’t really see through the bath water given the amount of bubbles, but his hands never ceased moving over your legs. Small traces of fingertips mixed with the kneading into the skin, you found yourself subconsciously slipping deeper into the tub and closer towards him.

The peaceful silence settled around the two of you. The only sound was coming from the speaker, quiet lulling of the music fitting the mood perfectly.

Harry’s hand on your leg was mindlessly rubbing on your skin, dancing from your ankle to your knee with slow movements before repeating the same action on your other leg.

“Feels nice,” you murmured after a moment – a few seconds a few minutes, you had no idea.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” you hummed, not missing the little twitch in his lip. “You know I love your hands.”

He laughed, thumb massaging into your calf. “And what else do you love about me?”

You knew he was teasing, but you felt your heart beat a bit faster in your chest. Only letting out a breathy laugh, giving him a shove with your foot before he joined in your laughter.

“You know,” he said, after a moment in silence. “I can try and massage some of those knots out your back if you’d like.”

“You think so?” You asked, even though you knew that he was probably right, you didn’t know why you’d never thought of it before.

He nodded. “Especially with your muscles all relaxed in this hot water.”

You didn’t need much convincing after that, the idea being one of the best you’d heard all day.

Turning a bit awkwardly in the tub, you moved until you were sitting between Harry’s legs with your back towards him. Rising your legs a bit, you leant forward on to rest your elbows on your knees so that you could expose more of your back.

With a splash in the water, Harry brought both arms out and placed his hands on either side of your back. His hands were warm, the entire bathroom was steamy and warm but Harry always seemed that much warmer.

You felt him trail his palms over the upper part of your back, gently pressing into your skin. He more or less knew where you had issues, but he wanted to feel it out first.

“It’s here?” He spoke, voice cutting though the comfortable silence after a moment as he gently pressed his fingertips under one of your shoulder blades.

You nodded, before speaking. “Yeah,” bringing one of your own hands around to press into a particularly tight spot just under your shoulder. “And here too, and then –” you moved your hand lower to the beginning of your ribs. “Here.”

He only hummed, both hands on one side of your back before he slowly pressed a thumb into the skin under your shoulder. You tightened your muscles on instinct, tensing up at the slight pain before willing yourself to relax back down.

“Relax, m’love,” he hummed into your ear, letting his lips brush over your neck before moving back again. You still hadn’t gotten used to the way he talked to you so affectionately, especially when he added “my” in front of his names for you. He really made you swoon in ways you had never thought possible.

You dropped your shoulder, doing your best to relax your muscles as much as they would allow. “Really tense,” he spoke again, few more seconds of rubbing into the knot.

It was already feeling a bit better, although the knot was tight and hurt when he applied more pressure you knew he could apply a bit more. “Can you press harder?”

He wordlessly followed your instruction, having your head dip down a bit until your chin hit your chest and your eyes were falling shut.

He massaged into your skin while slowly adding more pressure, both hands moving along the expanse of your back.

You hummed low in your throat when he pressed against the spot by your ribs. Shifting a bit in the tub, feeling Harry’s thighs squeeze your hips. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, needing to pause to cough slightly before you spoke again. “Just a really sore spot.”

He didn’t say anything else from behind you, fingertips moving away from the spot for a moment. You could hear him shift in the tub behind you, water splashing as he readjusted himself.

Feeling a very light pressure, one that that wasn’t his fingers but rather his lips against the knot in your back as pressed a gentle kiss on your sin.

He pressed another, and another before his hands were back on the spot, tightly kneading into the skin. “Feels good?”

You only nodded with a hum, as he continued to work on the spot with the occasional kiss to your skin.

Minutes passed, and you were slowly relaxing further against him. Your legs unfolding and extending forward, feeling Harry’s legs on your side close you in further. Although there was still a small distance kept between your back and his front to make room for his hands, you found yourself shifting closer to him.

His hands moved around your sides, thumbs pressing gently into the sides of your breasts. He was kissing over every place his fingertips touched on your back, soft hums against your skin as his chin nudged your spine.

He rested his chin over your shoulder, cheek nudging your neck as he muttered close to your ear.

“Feeling better?”

You again had to clear your throat before speaking. “Feels a lot better thank you,” you hummed, turning your head slightly to catch the corner of his grin in a kiss.

He clicked his tongue. “No, no I’m not done.” His hand moved to your jaw, gently turning your head back to face forward once more.

You laughed lightly, following his order and facing the off-white tile of the wall in front of you.

Though he said he wasn’t done, he didn’t start to massage into your skin right away. Instead you felt his lips press on the crook of your neck, moving down to your shoulder as he trailed a series of kisses down your skin.

“Mm,” he hummed, sound low in your ears. “I love how you still smell like coffee.”

“I do not,” you laughed softly, lifting your hands from under the water with a splash.

“Yes,” his mouth moved against the curve your shoulder, “you do.” His teeth nipped over your skin.

He sighed heavy in his chest, lips sliding over to the nape of your neck. “I love how you always get goosebumps,” he spoke quietly. “Even now in the steaming hot bath.”

Your shoulders shook slightly with a quiet laugh, knowing he was right that you often got goosebumps under his touch, not matter the temperature around you.

His hands slid down your shoulders and to your front, wrapping around your tummy and pulling your closer to him along the bottom of the tub. “I,” he sighed heavy again, chest rising over your back. “Love how you feel with me – can’t seem to get enough.”

His thumbs grazed the underside of your breasts. His lips were still against your skin, feeling them move as he spoke and pressed random kisses over your back.

He murmured your name, sounding so soft off his mouth and deep from his chest. Your head was spinning; you didn’t know if it was from the heat in the air, from the lack of hydration or from the words the man behind you was kissing into your skin.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, so quiet that if you weren’t pressed against him you wouldn’t have heard it. He kissed a spot over your spine as he whispered the three little words, no doubt feeling every function of your body come to a stop.

This time he didn’t stop you when your head turned over your shoulder to face him.

He quickly spoke again. “I don’t expect you to say anything, I just –” he paused with a slow exhale, like he was letting go of everything he was possibly holding on to. “I just wanted to tell you.”

You shifted around, legs moving so that you could bend them and fully turn around in the space of the tub until your front was facing his.

He moved as well, allowing your space so that you could sit on his thighs in a straddle. Hands wrapped around your back under the water, holding you in place on top of him.

His eyes were intent on you, jumping between each of your eyes as he tried to gage any possible reaction you could have to his words.

There was a small furrow between his brows, one that you wanted to smooth your thumb over and kiss. Lifting both arms out of the water, you gently wrapped them around his neck to pull him in even closer.

“You do?”

You felt drunk on him. The slight teasing tone in your voice wasn’t completely on purpose, you couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.

Though, Harry laughed. A small laugh that came from his chest, as that furrow between his eyebrows disappeared and a smile graced his mouth. He dipped his down forehead falling against your shoulder for a moment.

“I do,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck before lifting his head back up. “And I really – I really love you.”

Your shoulders dropped, letting go of tension you didn’t realize you were currently holding. His hands on your back squeezed your skin lightly, pulling your tighter against him.

Face nearing yours, you didn’t realize how close you had gotten as you were subconsciously leaning in closer with your eyes zeroed in on his.

Your voice came out a bit hoarse, a quiet little rasp from the back of your throat. “I love you too.”

His hands gripped your even tighter, causing you to shift over his thighs until your chest were fully pressed together. “Do you now?”

You wanted to laugh out loud, instead a quiet laugh shook through your chest as you felt your chest warm more than it already was. You pushed against him with your palms pressed flat above his chest. “Stop that.”

His hands slid lower on your back, squeezing the skin above your hips as he smiled wide. “Tell me again.”

“No,” you dipped your face against his shoulder, cheek pressed into his neck.

“Tell me,” he chuckled, gripping the soft skin of your hips with a nudge of his chin over your temple. “I wanna hear you say it again.”

You peppered a light kiss over his collarbone. One hand moved up his chest, cupping his jaw loosely as you pulled away from the curve of his neck. Not saying anything, you met his happy eyes with your own while following the curve of his cheek with your thumb.

Brushing over his skin, the tips of his hair falling forward ticking your hand as it moved up his jaw, parted fingers weaving through his hair. Your other hand repeating the same motion, this time lightly moving your thumb over his pinkened lips, keeping a firm hold of his jaw.

You pushed moved yourself closer to him once again, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. His lips instantly puckered with yours, eyes falling shut when he moved to meet your mouth.

He kissed you lightly, although the firm hold that he had around your hips told a different story. Moving you closer to him, your knees readjusting under the water as they planted firmly against the smooth white of the tub.

Hips jutting into his, you gripped him tighter. Your lips parted with a subtle smacking sound that would have been inaudible to anyone else, kissing one, two, three more times on his mouth before whispering, “I love you.”

You felt his lips turn up against yours, his cheeks rounding under your fingertips.

One of his hands rounded around the back of your neck, pulling you back in to kiss him deeply. His tongue easily met yours as you sighed into his mouth, twisting your fingers through his hair. He quietly whispered your name against your lips, licking over your lips gently before pulling you in for another kiss.

Your hands now slid down his shoulders, down his chest under the water in the tub. You felt him shiver against you, unsure if it was at the affect of your touch on him or of the cooling water of the tub Your mouths parted with a wet smack, his lips nudging the underside of your jaw as he nipped at the sensitive skin.

Your own lips were resting against his temple, hands circling around his hips as you could feel his hardening length pressing into your thigh.

“You’re hard,” you observed, mumbling into his skin.

He laughed lightly, voice sounding a little breathless. “I got the most gorgeous girl sitting on my lap, telling me she loves me,” he pulled you forward, causing the water around you to splash against the side of the tub. “How could I not be?”

You giggled against his skin, letting him tug you closer until the bubbles stuck to your skin were getting squished between the both of your chests. Moving one of your hands from his hips to land it gently under the way over top of his thigh, letting your nails dig gently into his skin.

Lips slid against each once again, a bit more fire under your actions as your tongue slid against his and your chests heaved with heavier breaths. You could tell that he was extremely aware of the soft brushes of your fingers over his thigh, as you slowly inched your palm higher up.

You could hear his breath hitch and his mouth slack over yours when your hand slipped up to grab a light hold of his cock. Simply holding him in your hand for a beat, letting your lips fall from his mouth down to his jaw, before licking wet stripe under his earlobe. He was leaning into your touch, chest falling against yours as his arms wrapped tighter around your lower back.

His legs jolted slightly when you stroked your hand over him, his knees rising with a small bend in his legs that had you falling into him even more. He brought one of his hands from your back and up from under the water, taking a light hold of your chin to tilt your head back up to his.

His mouth was on yours in a matter of seconds, biting into your bottom lips before kissing your deeply. You tugged on his length from under the water, thumbing over his tip as circled around him. Your hand falling over him again, applying more pressure when he moaned quietly against you.

“Fuck,” he called softly, as you kept working your hand over him. Moving away from you again, he leant against the back of the tub with a blissed out smile over his lips and heavy eyelids. “That feels good.”

You leaned in to him, kissing over the skin of his neck that was newly exposed to you. “Good,” you breathed over his neck, your thumb following the vein that ran on the underside of him. “I love making you feel good.”

Leaning forward to kiss over his collarbone, tasting the slight remains of soapy bubbles on his skin as your lips moved over him. You grazed your fingertips along his sensitive skin, as he involuntarily bucked his hips up into your hand, soft moan coming from his throat.

His fingertips dug into your skin. “Do you,” he breathed. “D’you want to get out of the tub? The water’s getting cold.”

You hummed against him, not stopping the motions of your hands under the water. “What do you say we do after then?”

A quick tug at your hips had him bringing your attention back to his face. One of his hands nudged the bottom of your chin, further tilting your head up to his. “Going to take you to bed.”

You were both quick, not too quick as to not slip on the bottom of the tub, to get out and drain the water. Harry had wrapped a big warm towel around your shoulders, rubbing at your arms as he hugged you from behind.

His hips were pressing tightly into your backside, a quiet grunt was heard from him as you pushed back into his hardening cock. With his arms around you, he dipped his head down to quickly find your neck with his lips, gracing it with a smattering of kisses.

“Harry,” you murmured, tightening the towel around your shoulders. Watching him through the mirror, you brought a hand up to brush through his hair. “Harry,” you called, tugging lightly on the strands to get his attention.

“Sunshine,” he mumbled against the skin of your neck, arms tightening around your middle. You felt him pressing hard against your bum, teeth nipping into your skin over your shoulder.

“Thought you said something about taking me to bed.”

He took you off guard, spinning you around in his arms so that your backside was pressed against the ledge of the bathroom counter. He glanced at you with a glint in his eyes. “We have to get dried off first.”

His hands rested over yours, easily having you release the towel from your hold as instead he grabbed the soft material. Dragging the fabric over your back, letting the front fall open as his gaze fell along with the towel.

Bending at his knees slightly, dipping his head down to kiss over water drops that were running down your chest. You held your breath, already feeling wetness pool where you knew he was headed, and you were growing slightly impatient.

He fully dropped down to his knees, letting the towel fall down to your legs along with him. His towel covered hands ran along your calves, moving up over your knees in small motions. You glanced down at him, watching as he focused on ever small drop of water covering your skin.

“So soft,” he murmured, one hand skimming and pulling over the skin of your thighs. He brought his other hand with the towel to brush over the swell of your ass, gripping and releasing the skin a few times in his hand before letting the towel fall to the ground and wrapping both hands around your hips.

You couldn’t keep your eyes away from him, surprisingly not feeling cold as you usually did when you got out of a bath or shower. He wrapped a hand around your hip to pull you closer to him, one of your hands still resting against the bathroom counter. His other hand slowly smoothed around your inner thigh, pulling on the soft flesh as he prompted you to part your legs wider for him.

He leaned in closer, pressing a single kiss to your inner thigh with lingering lips. The simple motion had you in a frenzy, your heart starting to beat faster in your chest as you could practically hear his thought process.

In the time you had been together, although still quite short, you had quickly learned Harry’s affinity for getting a taste of you. Whether it was slow and deep as he edged you on, or quick and wet to bring you to a quick orgasm, he seemed to continuously enjoy going down on you.

Which was no surprise when he glanced up at you with a stupid little smile, telling you “I think I have to dry you off with my mouth.”

The comment was a completely ridiculous concept, but you didn’t have a chance to tell him as he nudged you against the counter, keeping your thighs parted with one hand and leant in to plant a kiss over your clit.

Wrapping a hand around your thigh, with the other pushing against your folds to part them further as he teased over you with his fingertips. Kissing over you once more, his tongue poked out from parted lips to flick over the sensitive bit of nerves.

You knew you were wet, had been before he had touched you and obviously, he knew it too, but it still sent a warmth through your tummy when Harry muttered “don’t think you’re just wet from the bath, angel.”

You whined into the air, not having the capacity to think of anything to say back to him as he licked over your slit, finding wetness pooling at your entrance. You jolted under his touch when he moved his tongue back up to your clit, lips circling around it with light flicks with the tip of his tongue.

A hand landed in his hair, gripping on his tightly when he dragged his fingers around your sensitive inner thigh and to where you wanted to feel them. As much as he liked to get a taste of you, he liked to tease you.

Keeping light movements over your clit, his tongue darted down to circle around your entrance once more with a muffled moan when you whined his name. Pulling back for a second, be placed a light kiss over your clit as you spoke a broken call for him once again, before he was pushing a finger inside of you.

As much as he liked to tease you, he loved to give you what you wanted just as much.

It was rushed, and messy, and just like two people who wanted to feel the other as much as they could, far too desperate for the other.

He had you gripping the countertop tightly with on hand, the other hanging on for dear life in his hair. You could feel the beginning of the burn in the pit of your stomach, and you tugged on him just a bit harder to grab his attention. “Harry,” you whined, repeating his name again.

Humming against you, he moved his mouth over to the fleshy inside of your thigh and bit over the skin with a wet kiss. “What’s that?”

“Take me to bed,” you breathed, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you. “Fuck me.”

He gazed up at you for a moment, dark eyes meeting yours before peppering another kiss over your thigh. Moving up slightly, slowly lifting himself from his spot kneeled between you. Grazing light touches over your hipbone, over your stomach, over your breast.

Pressing your palms against his shoulder, pushing him back slightly as you searched for one of his hands to grab. He easily complied to you as you pushed off the counter, sidestepping Harry as you pulled him by the arm.

He wrapped that arm around your chest, standing behind you as he let you lead him out of the washroom. Walking you to his bed with his arm swung around your front, keeping your back pressed closely against him while messily kissing the side of your face.

Blindly finding his bed, you turned and fell out of Harry’s grasp as you let yourself fall onto the soft comforter. You were both slightly damp, but neither of you cared.

Moving until your head rested by the pillows at the head of the bed, Harry didn’t follow over you right away, and instead walked around the mattress to stand by the side.

“C’mere,” you spoke quietly reaching out to grab hold of his hand.

He met the edge of mattress as you pulled him closer to you, wanting to feel him over you. He held your gaze with a slight grin, biting his lips before leaning down towards you and murmuring, “not going to fuck you,” his breath sent goosebumps all over your neck. “Gonna make love to you.”

“Come here.” You repeated, grabbing his hand and tugging him down as he let out a small laugh while he fell over you. His lips landed over the crook of your neck, as your legs parted to make room for him over you.

“That’s it,” he hummed over your skin, pushing his hips against yours as his lips danced over your skin and his hands roamed your sides. “D’you want me like this?”

You whined into the air, his palm smoothing over your breast as he pinched your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth to yours.

“Yes,” you paused, hugging his waist with your thighs as you hooked a leg over his ass to push him further against you. “Just like this.”

His lips fell from your mouth, forehead pressing into your cheek. You could feel him over your folds, nudging his hips up so that his tip pushed over your clit. Involuntarily spreading your thighs wider for him, you whimpered at the light contact.

Impatient, you brushed your hand down from his shoulder and over his hips, reaching for his cock between the two of you to help slip him in. Rising his head from the crook of your neck, he glanced at you with a lazy smirk when you gripped his length in your palm.

Running him over you, you let one of your knees hit the mattress as he slowly inched inside of you. Each letting out sounds in unison; you a breathy moan at the feeling of him filling you and him a quick grunt as he bucked into you.

“Every fuckin’ time,” he groaned, lips mouthing against your jaw.

He gripped your thigh in one hand, fingertips digging into the skin as he hooked your leg tighter around him. Hugging him with your legs, you urged him to keep moving as the slow grinds into your hips were driving you crazy.

He seemed to feel the same way, pulling back and fucking into you harder each time. He had your head nudging the pillow under your head, your fingers holding on for deal life in his hair and you were moaning up against his jaw.

He was unable to go long without having his mouth on yours, stealing sloppy kisses as his hips pumped into yours with muttered praises along the lines of “such a pretty cunt,” and “taking me in so good.”

The way his lips grazed over your earlobe as he spoke, the way he let you hear every moan and whimper that left his lips, the way he spoke to you with a deep low drawl made you whine into the air with nothing but desire for him.

Having him so desperately and passionately made you feel drunk, like you were going to float off the bed. That is, if the feeling of your hips digging into the mattress with ever pound of his hips, and his weight over and inside of you was not making you bite your lip so hard at the sheer intensity of it.

“You feel good?” He posed it as a question this time, lifting his head from where he was biting into your neck as his nose nudged yours.

You repeated his words from before with a nod, a throaty moan when you met his eyes. “Every time.”

He groaned over you, catching your mouth in a kiss. “Love fucking you –”

You were pushed up on the mattress again, the pillow bending oddly under your head but it was the last thing on your mind right now. His hand smoothed over the side of your face, caressing your forehead lightly – a contrast to the fast and sinful pumps of his cock inside of you.

Blinking your eyes shut, you were surprised to find a damp coldness caught in your eyelashes. Realizing the small tears – only out of happiness – lining your waterline as you quickly blinked again.

He stole a kiss from your mouth, as you lifted your head up to meet him hallway. “Love making love with you –”

His hand left your hair, instead reaching up to grip the headboard with a quick desperation. Your head fell back against the pillow, a strangled moan past your lips as all you could do was nod in agreement. You raised your hand from his shoulder, reaching back as you blindly searched for where his hand had his tight hold over the worn wood. Covering the pack of his hand with your palm, both of you holding for dear life as you grew more desperate to cum.

“Oh –” you arched your back against him, meeting his movements halfway. His other hand was still holding a firm hold around your thigh, hitting a new deepness when your hips met up with his. “Like that – again.”

“Yeah?” His breath fanned over your chinned, his hair falling down over his forehead as his pace was unrelenting. “Wanna give it to you – fuck,” he cut himself off, feeling you squeeze him tighter. “Please tell me your close.”

You dug your nails into the skin of his back, calling his name into the air as his lips found your neck. “Yeah,” you voice was breathy, distant. “Just a bit more.”

He was hitting the perfect spot inside of you, repeatedly making you see stars. His hand unwrapped from your hip, sneaking between both your bodies as his fingers quickly found your clit. Collecting wetness from where you connected, then met the sensitive bundle with messy but effective strokes.

You loved every kind of sex with him – slow and passionate or like now, quick and both desperate for each other that neither of you cared it didn’t take very long to get there.

You were pushing your hips to his, gripping for dear life on his hand over the headboard while call after call of his name left your mouth.

“Love you,” he whimpered, lifting his head with a nudge of his chin over yours. “I love you.”

You felt as if your eyes were rolling into the back of your head. He felt so incredibly deep and close to you. Confessions of love over your mouth had your stomach flip and your core clenching around him. You realized you had never had a partner tell you they loved you during sex, you had never felt this intimately close to anyone in your life.

“Love you more –” the end of your sentence was cut off by your own moan.

Meeting your release around him, whimpering his name against his skin as he was unrelenting over you. Your hips bucked with his movements, pushing yourself against his hand that paid attention to your clit. It was all for too overwhelming, mixed with the confessions of love that ran through your head.

Your motions were getting slower, the hard pumps of his hips over yours the last bit of what he needed. Barely getting the chance to warn you, a quick breath of “I’m coming –” over your ear before he was pushing everything he had inside of you.

His hand let go of the headboard along with yours, flipping your palm in his to interlocked your hands over the duvet cover. He was muttering endless praise to you, endless breaths of your name as you both came down from your highs together.

With his chest pressed against yours, he gazed up at you with heart shaped eyes. He bit his smile down, a little laugh leaving past his lips as you raised a hand from his bicep to push his hair out of his face. You kissed his smile, his mouth easily opening for you as you both savoured the other in a brief calm moment.

He kissed the side of your cheek, leaving a small trail as he kissed over the corner of your eyes, not doubt noticing the small wet patches from the small tears that escaped your eyes in the overwhelming intimacy.

He didn’t say anything right away, but you could see the corners of his lips curve to a light smile. “You okay?”

A slow nod, you took a heavy swallow to help your dry throat before speaking. “Yeah, I just,” you paused, searching for the right words. “It’s never been like that. I’ve never… felt like that.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you intently. “In a good way,” you quickly added. “In the best way.”

“I know,” he muttered against your mouth, pushing himself up over you as you unhooked your ankles from around his thighs to let him move off of you. Withdrawing from inside of you, you could already feel him making a small mess over the crest of your thighs but you didn’t care, that was a problem for later.

You let out a breathless sigh, grazing his cheek with your fingertips as you watched his eyes flick over every inch of your face. Slowly lowering his face once more, pressing a soft but firm kiss over the corner of your lips.

He fell to his side, lying on his hip with his up half still supported over top of you. “Think I love you even more after that.”

#okay im off ! happy reading everyone #pls let me know what u think and all as usual ! <33 #cb #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry x reader #harry styles x reader

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cyoc49 · 4 years

Text

HIMBO Magazine: Changing Departments

*click! click! click! click!*

Derek listened to the camera flash as he sat on the side of the bed. He was currently doing a photo shoot for HIMBO magazine, a fashion and lifestyle magazine “for the modern gay male™”. Fake blood dripped against his chest - they were doing some Halloween type of shoot. But let’s be honest, the blood wasn’t the focus of the shot: it was his body. Derek had never been the best student - and his attitude certainly didn’t help - but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make his body look as sexy as humanly possible. Derek scoured nutrition blogs to make sure he stayed up to date on everything related to fitness, and the dedication showed itself in his beautiful, sculpted body. Sitting here with no shirt on and wearing a pair of lethally tight skinny jeans, he looked like every gay man’s wet dream. To put it simply, Derek was hot as hell; problem is, he knew he was hot at hell.

“Alright, that’s good. I think we have what we need, thank you Mr. Hale” the director said. Derek stood up and two twinkish looking assistants came over to remove the blood. Derek stood still and tried to ignore the two obviously gay men putting their hands all over his body. Derek was the kind of guy who thought all gay men were jumping at the bit for any man they can find. Doing a photo shoot for a gay magazine was certainly not his dream, but hey: a paycheck is a paycheck.

After he was cleaned off, Derek put on a t shirt and enjoyed the feeing of it stretched tight against his pecs. He slung a Louis Vuitton backpack over his shoulders. All he had to do was collect his check and he could be done with this homo magazine. Derek headed towards the doorway connecting the studio space to the rest of the offices. He turned the corner into the hallway, only to immediately crash into someone coming from the opposite direction. Papers went flying.

Derek hesitated, then reluctantly crouched down to help the man pick up his papers. As he did, the man spoke to him in a deep voice “You know, you should really watch where you’re going. People are busy around here.”

This was the remark that set Derek off. It was enough that he had done a photo shoot outside his comfort zone, and ran into someone while he was leaving, but now he was being sassed by some worker who couldn’t slow down enough to watch out for passers. Derek had had enough of this magazine. “You know,” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought you fags would be more excited to slam into other guys.”

Derek could sense the shift in mood immediately. All the workers around him who had been buzzing about immediately stopped and looked at th scene. The office had gone dead silent. As Derek looked around at all the men staring at them, the man he had bumped into finished collecting his papers and stood up, allowing Derek to finally look at him properly. Woah, this was a fine looking man. Strappingly tall and ruggedly handsome. He filled out his expensive-looking three-piece suit perfectly. His whole demeanor was one of absolute confidence. Finally, Derek realized what had happened. He hadn’t bumped into some random employee. He had knocked over and subsequently cussed out the boss of the whole place.

*Well*, Derek said to himself, *I fucked up bad this time*.

The boss was surprisingly well-composed for someone who had just been called a slur, Derek thought. As if to prove this point, the boss suddenly started laughing. It was a good, deep laugh. And when he laughed, everyone else in the building laughed along with him. Derek stared at everyone in the office in confusion. Why did they find this so funny? Was it because he’s their boss? And they were all looking at the boss with such admiration. Derek just hoped this meant the issue would blow over and he could leave before embarrassing himself sooner.

But before he could step away, he was spoken to. “I used to get really angry when people said stuff like that to me,” the boss explained in a rich, inviting voice, “now it just makes me sad, because I see all the failed potential hiding behind that language.”

Derek took a little offense to that last statement, but he knew he was in no position to argue right now. It seemed like the laughter was the all-clear the rest of the office needed to know their boss was okay, because the normal hum of voices and keyboards had returned. Now it was just him and the extremely powerful man he had pissed off. Derek broke the silence. “Look, Mr...”

“Christian Le Maítre” the gorgeous boss informed him, “Editor in Chief of HIMBO magazine. But everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.”

“Right. Well, uh, Mr. M, I’m really sorry about-“

“No you’re not.” Christian cut him off without missing a beat. “I’ve seen so many models like you come and go through these halls. You think you’re hot shit, and take pity on all of my boys in this office who had to take desk jobs because their bodies weren’t nice enough to let them get by on looks alone. But you know, we’re hard workers here. And we’re a close knit family.”

Derek objected to being interrupted, but as Christian talked, he felt his defenses melt away with every word. Mr. M was right, Derek realized. I am a narcissistic asshole who holds myself above others. He had never felt like this before. But everything Mr. M said just seemed right. When this gorgeous, confident man spoke, Derek realized he was speaking the truth.

“What’s your name, son?” Mr. M asked him.

“D-Derek, sir. Derek Hale.” Derek was never one stutter, but how else could he feel right now?

“Well Derek, I’m sure our lame little office doesn’t fit your macho man swagger persona, but I think you’d find that working here is pretty great.”

Was that an offer? Derek didn’t know. He had completely forgotten the context of their conversation, and indeed his reason for being in this office in the first place was slowly becoming a distant memory. All Derek knew in this moment was that he HAD to work at HIMBO. In fact, he couldn’t imagine life without working here.

Derek tried to compose a response, but was increasingly timid in the presence of this incredible man. “Well, uh, Mr. M. Perhaps if you have any opening I might be able to, uh-”

Mr. M just laughed again, and this time Derek laughed right along with him.

“Well I’m shocked to hear you change your tune so quickly, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Working here is kind of a dream job, if I do say so myself. But there’s no need to submit your CV and go through the traditional channels. I am actually prepared to offer you a job on the spot.”

Derek felt his ears burning. How lucky was he! To be offered a job at the best company on earth. He would take it immediately!

“Mr. M, it would be an honor to work for you” Derek bowed his head as he said this. Respect was important, especially for the man who was giving him a job no questions asked.

“Glad to hear it, sport! Now full disclosure, it’s a clerking position. I know, not the most exciting stuff, but here at HIMBO we believe even the most mundane work can be made magical! Of course, you would have to change a few of your behaviors to *best* fit the position. Your ego, your hot-headedness. Do you think those are things good for a clerk to have?”

“No, sir” Derek said with convocation. “Anything you want me to change, I will change.”

Christian cracked a smile, as if Derek had said something unintentionally funny. “Well I admire your commitment. It’s just, clerks are so straight-laced and serious, and you are such a character, Derek. Mr. Macho Man with a great body. Actually, I do like this body.” Christian looked Derek up and down, “I think that can stay. But as for everything else, well, I can take care of that.”

Christian stopped talking and instead just looked at Derek. The hopeful employee stood there silently, unsure of what to do. Just then, he suddenly felt a draining feeling. It wasn’t his muscles or his IQ or any of that stuff that he felt fading away, it was more like he was losing... his personality? All the pride Derek felt over his hot body and great life was disappearing. All the anger he get towards people not like him, slipping away. But it wasn’t replaced by new emotions, it wasn’t replaced by anything. Derek stopped feeling strong feelings about much of anything. He liked his job, he followed the news, but he had never had any opinions of his own. Never tried to be individual or stand out. Derek was becoming like his new favorite flavor of ice cream: vanilla.

As Derek’s personality slowly morphed him into a contender for the World’s Most Dull Man, his wardrobe changed to follow suit. His designer t shirt loosened out a bit. The sleeves grew down his arms before spouting buttons and cuffs. Buttons also sprouted down the middle, and the shirt gained a collar, becoming a basic button-up shirt. A white plaid pattern spread across the shir. At the same time, Derek felt his skinny jeans go “pah” as all the tightness shrugged out of them, changing them into (gag) regular fit pants. They lightened to gray and changed material to thin cotton, becoming work slacks. His new plaid shirt automatically tucked itself into the pants, and a brown leather belt formed around his waist, with his expensive designer sneakers morphing into brown leather dress shoes to match. The LV backpack he wore fell as one of the straps broke off, before disappearing altogether. The remaining strap lengthened and slung itself over his shoulder, and the bag itself shifted into a basic messenger bag, holding plenty of important documents and paperwork.

For a brief moment, Derek felt confusion and fear. Why were these changes happening to him? Where did his nice stuff go, and what were these boring-ass clothes replacing them? These thoughts only lasted for half a second, before Derek realized how right this was. This was his style, or more accurately his *lack* of style. Derek had never cared about trends, or getting fancy new clothes. As long as they fit him well and looked professional enough for work, that was all that mattered in Derek’s eyes. A Ross Membership Card popped into his wallet to cement this change.

Derek felt something in his pocket, and pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses. These were the glasses he needed to see, of course. Derek opened them up and put them on. To follow suit, his hair parted itself to the side and became thick with gel holding his new professional haircut in place.

As promised, Christian had left Derek his body, but had taken basically everything else from him. Where there had once stood an arrogant, trendy mode, there was now a walking turtleneck. Normally in cases like this, Derek would sprout new memories of his new life. But no memories came, because Derek didn’t really *have* a life. He was now a total office drone. From 9-5 he worked faithfully for HIMBO, and after that he went home and solved jigsaw puzzles until it was time for bed... except on the nights where Mr. M invited Derek to his house. Derek truly wanted nothing more from life.

Christian smiled at the new corporate boy that stood before him. “Okay I think you’ve handled the onboarding process well, Dirk. Dirk, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” Dirk replied matter of factly. Dirk Kent. Filing clerk for HIMBO magazine.

“Great! But there’s actually one more thing I need from you. I’m still a little raw about that comment of yours earlier, and I would hate for it to taint our working relationship with each other, so allow me to bury this hatchet.”

Christian snapped his fingers, and Dirk felt his impressive manhood shrink, and shrink, and shrink, until he heard a “pop!” sound and knew that it was no more. Poor Dirk was smooth as could be in his private areas. But he didn’t mind: being unable to orgasm helped him focus on his work. And besides, if Mr. M needed help Dirk still had two perfectly serviceable holes on him.

Christian laughed again, eliciting another laugh from Dirk. “Dirk, pal, I don’t think I have ever been happier with one of my new hires. But you know, I do seal my deals with a kiss.”

“Why thank you sir!” Dirk replied with enthusiasm, as he allowed Christian to walk over, turn up his chin, and plant a kiss on his lips. And it was the greatest kiss Dirk had ever felt. Indeed, it was the only kiss he had ever felt, but as far as kisses go it was still pretty spectacular. As Dirk stood there with his lips pressed against those of his incredivle boss, he knew there was nothing more he would want from life.

As they parted, Derek looked hopefully up at his boss “Where should I start with my work, sir?” He lived to work.

Christian smiled again. “I’ll film you in on that in a minute, but let me take you to your desk. You’ll be down in the accounting department. In fact, I think you’ll be desk neighbors with our other new hire Bartholomew! You’ll love him. A total nerd but a sweet kid regardless.” Without warning, Christian turned and walked down the hall. He didn’t need to say anything. Dirk instinctively followed him, just as he instinctively obeyed every command Mr. M gave him. Life was easier that way.

#gaytf #gay #officetf #suittf #tyler hoechlin #suit #slick hair #derek hale #teen wolf tf #nerd derek #nerd Derek hale

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xxiaoyang · 4 years

Text

more | yangyang (m)

yangyang has gotten his way one too many times and this time you're going to make him earn it or yangyang slipping into subspace for the first time

words: 4.5k

warnings/tags: suggestive, almost smut, dom!reader, sub!yangyang, lowkey brat!yangyang, spanking, subspace, dirty talk?, some build up, a bit of fluff?

the soft blue glow of the television lit up the room, the anime long forgotten in favor of watching yangyang's slender fingers make patterns on the inside of your thigh.

he's leaning against your side, head slightly below yours and eyes transfixed on the animated fight scene in front of him, but his fingers continue to work shapes into your skin with purpose.

you thought maybe it was subconscious, but with yangyang, you know it's just to get you worked up. and it works.

everything yangyang does works on you which is part of the reason it irritates you so much. that and the fact that he's a huge brat. he's used to getting what he wants from you, even if it comes after some resistance.

you were never good at handling brats, you simply never tolerated the behavior. and for yangyang, it's easier to give in and let him have what he wants (it's definitely not cause you want to or anything).

yangyang is very vocal about how much he loves your thighs, always talking about having them wrapped around him and leaving marks all over them, so it's no surprise his hand ended up here.

you watch as he shifts slightly which causes his hand to ride just an inch higher up your thigh. he brushes his fingers across the skin softly and moves his thumb in circles, all the while his eyes stay on the screen.

you're sure he can feel you burning holes into the side of his head or at least sense your frustration, but he doesn't pay you any mind.

you think for a second that maybe he is just really into the show and his touching is more of a habit or unconscious thing. yangyang is a boy with a lot of energy and doesn't sit still very often. he's also very, very touchy.

you begin to relax and interpret his touches as soothing, trying to fill in the blanks of what you missed on the screen.

it's only after you've immersed yourself back into the 2d world that you feel yangyang slide his hand up your thigh and squeeze, his head tilting up and bringing his hot breath with it.

you feel a tingle down your spine and convince yourself you only had such a reaction because he caught you off guard. you don't respond. you don't even move.

he doesn't stop. instead he pushes forward and presses his lips into the corner of your jaw below your ear and you have to suppress the sigh that's in your throat. you don't like how much power he has over you and how he knows he can get his way so easily.

you decide in that moment that you're not going to give it to him this time. after all, it was his idea to start this show.

sitting up straight, you fold your legs up onto the couch, your knees pointed away from him and your feet touching his legs as he's still leaning against you. he's even lower now and you can see him look up at you with those big puppy eyes he knows how to use so well.

you keep yours trained on the screen, not blinking or swallowing until he shifts a bit and looks back to the tv. you can't help but feel triumphant, but if you know your boyfriend at all, this isn't the end.

yangyang is so used to getting what he wants, that it makes him act like a brat when he doesn't. like a little kid, he'll pout and whine and sometimes even throw a small tantrum. you find it cute since he's always saying he's not a baby and yet he acts like such a baby.

he isn't pulling those stops yet, but they're coming. this thought grounds you in your resolve. if he wants it, he's gonna have to beg for it.

after two more episodes of yangyang trying and failing to initiate any kind of intimacy, he starts to get antsy.

the entire time he never spoke a word, only using his body to try to communicate his desires. and when you basically ignored all his advances, it finally got to him.

you could feel him getting impatient and bit back a smile. his eyes were locked on the side of your head, willing you to pay attention to him. if there's one thing yangyang couldn't deal with, it was not getting enough attention from you.

in true toddler fashion, he shifted from side to side folding and unfolding his legs, moving closer to you then separating himself completely to sit back and look at you, all the while huffing and puffing.

you held in a smile at the thought of his frustration. is he that needy? he wasn't even watching the show anymore.

it wasn't until he was sat staring at your side for what felt like minutes that he finally broke. he moved in front of you on the couch so he was half in your lap and grabbed your chin with his hand to bring your face to his.

"why are you ignoring me?"

you feign a look of confusion. "ignoring you? i'm not ignoring you, we're watching tv."

he groans and rests his weight on the leg he's straddling. "yes, you are. since we started the show basically."

your brows knit together. "you haven't said a word to me, yangie, how could i be ignoring you?" you know exactly what he means, but you're going to make him say it.

he falls right into your trap and suddenly the assertive boy on your lap is gone, replaced with a more shy boy who can no longer look into your eyes as he speaks, but he tries to keep up the act.

"you know... when i was, like, touching you."

his voice dies down at the end but he's so close that you still hear it clearly. it sparks a flame inside of you that you haven't felt in a while.

you use the opportunity to take control of the situation, placing a hand on his thigh and rubbing it similar to how he did with you earlier and he tenses.

you want him to look at you. you want him to give in and tell you what he wants. as talkative as the boy is, he never asks for what he wants.

"what was that, baby?" you put on a look of slight concern so when he looks back up at you he sees your softened eyes looking at him.

the name had an effect on him and he begins shifting on your thigh. he's never been in this position. he's not sure what to say for the first time, so he doesn't say anything at all.

his hands grip at the bottom of your shirt as he wishes for you to just get the hint and fuck him.

"what do you want, baby boy? you gotta tell me so i can know how to help you."

yangyang doesn't like how you're speaking. talking down to him like he's some little kid, voice all soft and sweet. for someone else, that might have been enough to melt them on the spot, but for him, it just makes him want to resist.

he straightens up and and looks away from your soft eyes, his lip instinctively jutting out in a pout and his arms crossed. you almost laugh at how childish he can be sometimes.

"no." it was as simple as that. he separated himself from you but he was still hovering over your leg, barely making contact. you thought of shifting your leg up into his front to tease him but you wanted to play with him some more.

grabbing his hips in both of your hands, you push him down on your thigh so his legs are spread and he's almost eye level with you as you sit up and stare into his eyes.

with your head tilted you question, "no? no, you're not going to tell me what you want?"

he's facing you but his eyes are off to the side, still being stubborn, and he doesn't say a word.

a muscle twitches in your forehead and you grip his jaw and force him to look into your eyes.

"answer me." there's no malice in your tone. you're not even that bothered. you just want to show him who's in charge.

he pulls his face from you and leans back to get up but your other hand on his hip stops him. you're surprised for a second at how stubborn he could be. would he really rather walk away from you than just ask you to touch him?

"so you're not going to tell me why you were all over me a little while ago? why you were mouthing at my neck and groping at me like a bitch in heat?"

you knew he liked when you called him names. it was something he would never admit, but he couldn't deny how his body reacted to the obscene words. his whole body tensed and you could see the mask slipping off, but he was determined.

"why do you think?" yangyang spits back. your brow raises and you just stare at him. you know he's embarrassed, but to give you such an attitude is very uncalled for.

"excuse me?" you tighten your grip on him.

he doesn't hesitate and looks you in the eye, "i said, why do you think? are you dumb?"

you're shocked for a moment. even as bratty as he can be at times, surely your cute and sweet boyfriend would never call you that, right?

it's seconds later that you realize that he would, and he did, not because he actually thinks you're dumb, but because he wants to push you.

it worked. in a second you were pushing to stand as yangyang barely found his footing before he slipped off of your lap.

his heart skipped at the thought of you walking away mad at him. had he gone too far this time? but when he stood and faced you and saw the look in your eye as you glared at him, a single finger pointed toward your shared bedroom, he knew he'd gotten his way again.

"bed. now." your voice broke his thought and he decided to push you even further.

"and what if i don't want to?"

your brow twitched but you stood your ground.

"then you can get yourself off for the next week."

yangyang's eyes widened at that, almost comically. you'd never threatened him like that before. surely you didn't mean it. how could you resist him?

at his silence you prodded further, "i can just stay right on this couch and leave you with blue balls for the next seven days if that's what you want." you took a step closer to him. "or you can get your ass on that bed and be rewarded like a good boy."

he didn't know what to think. you'd never shown this kind of dominance to him before.

two minutes ago the thought wouldn't have interested him, usually he's the one in charge, but now seeing you all worked up and confident with that tone, he couldn't stop his dick from twitching in his pants. he liked this side of you, a lot. he liked thinking about you forcibly taking control over him and even being rough with him.

so many new ideas were entering his brain at once that he wouldn't be surprised if he was drooling right there.

the dazed look in his eyes didn't go unnoticed by you, nor did the shiver that racked his body.

you got him.

with this victory you grabbed his shirt by the collar and kissed him deeply, making sure to leave a bite on his lip as you pulled away.

his hair was messy and his face and neck were flushed, lips shining as they rested slightly agape. he looked so beautiful, gazing down at you with big doe eyes. you wanted to make him fall apart. a new desire that had never existed in your mind prior, but was much welcomed.

yangyang returned to himself and straightened, only giving you a small nod and lowered his head.

unable to see your wicked grin through his fringe, he followed as you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall to your bedroom.

a rush of excitement bloomed in your chest, traveling all the way down to your core. you wanted to try so many things with him. you wanted to ruin him.

yangyang didn't make a sound as he watched you expectantly, careful so not to break the mood.

he couldn't deny how excited he was. how hard it made him to see you looking so angry and being so rough. he could feel himself leaking into his boxers already.

"get on the bed, on your stomach."

your voice never faltered. it carried a weight with it that shot straight to yangyang's already aching dick.

he only hesitated for a second before letting himself spread flat across the mattress.

"what are you gonna do?" he wasn't sure if he should ask questions, but he was curious to know why you had him on his front rather than his back.

you approached him in slow strides and wordlessly curled your hands around his hips, pulling him to the end of the bed with so much force that he actually let out a yelp. he was bent over the edge of the bed so he was almost kneeling in front of you, and that's when it clicked.

yangyang's eyes went wide and he lifted his head to look at you but you were quicker, placing a firm hand on the back of his neck and leaning down to whisper by his ear.

"i'm gonna show you what happens to boys who wanna act like little brats."

you pushed off of him and returned to stand behind him. you were still for a moment as you watched him, scanning his entire body for any sign that he was uncomfortable with this or that he wanted you to stop.

you waited for any protest and when you received none, you went to work.

you started with your hands on his outer thighs, gripping both of them softly and rubbing in soothing motions as you went higher. he tensed and you slowed as you slid your hands over his still fully clothed ass. it was so small and firm. cute.

yangyang shifted back and forth slightly, not used to the sensation and slightly embarrassed at the attention he's receiving there. but he liked it. he wanted more.

when you found no sign of resistance, you pushed on, kneading at the soft flesh of his behind and letting your nails press into him from time to time.

yangyang put his head down in his bent arm to try to conceal himself and the noises that were escaping his lips. he was already enjoying this too much.

he wondered what this meant and if this would change anything about him, but mostly he wondered what other things you'd be willing to try with him. to do to him.

he was brought back by the sound of your voice, softer and lighter in tone this time.

"if you want me to stop at any or point or don't like it, please tell me. okay, angel?"

angel? you'd never called him that before. especially not in these circumstances. it made him shiver and want to push himself back into your touch. he felt so needy and hot and just a bit lightheaded.

"yangie?" you placed a soft hand on the small of his back.

right, he needed to answer you.

yangyang turned his head to face you and nodded, "okay."

his skin was flushed and he looked so vulnerable in this position, it made your heart swell. you forced down your feelings for later and smiled at him, returning his nod.

"i'm going to start off easy, i want you to keep count for me, okay?" you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his sweats and boxers. "and you better not move from this position."

in one swift motion you pulled his clothes down so they fell to his thighs, his pert ass exposed to you, bringing a smirk to your lips.

"you have such a cute little ass, you know that, baby?"

he squeaked. he actually squeaked at that. you've never complimented him like that. sure, you've told him he's cute or handsome and even complimented him on his chest and shoulders, but you've never talked to him -about him- this way. it made him feel small and powerless like he was some little toy for you to use. and he loved it.

he buried his face deeper into his arm and just wiggled slightly in response, eager for you to put your hands back on him and just touch him.

you chuckled lowly and grabbed a handful of the flesh of his ass. "nothing to say now, hm?"

you pulled your hand away and lifted it above him, quickly bringing it down across his right cheek with a resounding smack.

the slap entered yangyang's ears and bounced around in his now empty head, the only sound he could produce being a rather slutty moan that echoed back to him in the stillness of the room.

you smiled and looked down at him, content with how he's already falling apart under you.

"baby? are you forgetting something?"

he registers your words seconds late and flinches at his realization.

"one."

he already sounds wrecked and you have to bite back the groan in your throat.

"good boy."

yangyang lets out a whiny moan at that.

"you like being called that?" you let your hands slide up his bare ass and under his shirt to massage at his toned back.

"you know, you could hear that more often if you didn't act up so much."

you pulled your hands from him and landed another smack on his right cheek, this one a bit harder.

he lurched forward and groaned loudly, then dropped his head back on his arm.

"t-two."

"who knew you were such a pain slut," you laughed. with that, you gave a third slap to his left this time, even harder than the last two.

yangyang was slowly losing his mind. his head felt like it was spinning and there there was so much sensation in his bottom half, but not where he's used to.

all of these new thoughts and feelings were overwhelming his system, along with the delicious stinging on his behind. he couldn't understand how it could feel so good, so satisfying, but he chalked it up to it just being you. he loved anything you did to him.

for now, he tried to focus on counting. "three."

you hummed and smoothed a hand over his already reddened cheeks, "very good, baby. can you do seven more?"

he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nodded. with the way he was feeling now, he could probably do this all night.

you smiled, the gesture going unseen by your boyfriend whose face was still down in his arm.

he looked absolutely precious. so sweet and docile. the contrast from his usual confident and playful demeanor was making your legs weak, but you pressed on. it wasn't even about a punishment anymore, now you just wanted to show him who was in control tonight.

wasting no time, you delivered the fourth and fifth smacks in quick succession, each getting heavier in force.

strings of high pitched whines left his mouth but he kept up with your ministrations, the numbers falling past his lips like a mantra.

he counted to seven before he felt something shift in him. he needed more.

for the first time since you started, he found his words and finally spoke up.

"please, please keep going."

he sounded positively fucked, almost pathetic to his own ears, but he couldn't control himself. he'd never felt like this in his life.

usually he's got control of himself and even sometimes you, but right now he's sure that if he weren't flat on this bed he'd be falling to the floor. his body feels so light, maybe he'll start floating instead?

his mind feels like it's floating away from his body and he's hit with the sudden need to hear your voice. you feel so far away and he feels so airy and gone that he's not even sure if you're still there.

without even realizing it he's hiccuping with small cries, his shoulders shaking slightly.

as soon as you notice, you're crawling up the bed to his side, a sudden fear growing in you that maybe you had gone too far and hurt him.

you lifted his face in your hands gently and searched for his eyes.

"what's wrong, angel? did i hurt you? do you want to stop? we can stop. i'm so sorry, baby."

you shifted to his level and brought him closer to you, guilt building a home in your chest.

yangyang realized the situation. it looks like he's crying out of pain, but that wasn't it at all. he's crying because it feels so good and you make him feel safe enough to be that vulnerable and he just loves you.

but he can't figure out how to voice that right now, so instead he just shakes his head and grabs your hands in his, bringing his face to your neck and taking deep breaths. he calms himself before he speaks again.

"no, no you didn't hurt me and there's nothing wrong. i just..."

you pull away and watch him with soft eyes, patiently waiting for him to finish.

he lets out a deep breath and pushes himself up on his elbows.

"it just was a lot and i've never felt like that before. it felt like i left my body and i guess for a second i got scared cause i felt so far and i just wanted to feel you and hear your voice. but it feels so good and i don't want you to stop. i just got carried away. please keep going, please."

all hope of keeping down your emotions was lost at his small voice as he pleaded with you.

he wanted you to keep going. he was enjoying himself so much that he got lost in the feeling, and it overwhelmed him to the point of tears.

it felt like there was a swarm of butterflies in your stomach and chest as you processed it. his newfound submission and trust was so much better than punishing him or trying to teach him any kind of lesson.

you almost wanted to stop and just pull him into your arms and soothe him, but more than anything you wanted to make him feel good. so if he wanted more, then he was going to get it.

you rose from the bed to return to your place at the end, but not before kissing him sweetly on the lips and reminding him to tell you if he wants you to stop.

he was still turned on his side watching you with glassy eyes and you could see how hard he was with his front exposed.

he was standing tall against his stomach, red and glistening with precum. all things considered, it was adorable and your heart swelled at the sight. you would have to pay special attention to him later.

gently you guided him back on his stomach with a hand on his hip and he obeyed, lifting his hips and pushing his ass up for you.

you giggled at how eager he was and squeezed his thigh.

"okay, baby boy, three more. you ready?"

he mewled and hummed immediately.

"good boy."

you raised your hand and landed a hard smack across his ass, pulling a loud moan from his throat at the impact.

he was already panting and his shoulders were going slack, the ecstasy taking over his body again.

"what are we on, angel?"

your sweet voice enveloped him like a plush blanket in a harsh winter. he trusted you. he loved you so much.

"eight."

"good, baby. keep going?" you checked once more and he nodded.

you massaged the supple skin on his behind and promptly delivered another hard slap on his left cheek.

yangyang was falling again, heat and shivers spreading throughout his body at your touch. pressure was building in his core at your praises. he just wanted to keep being good for you.

"one more, baby, you're doing so well."

you bent over and placed a kiss on the side of his head, rubbing his shoulders and whispering soft praises to him to keep him grounded.

he was writhing and literally squirming on the bed, his back arched as he awaited the final spank. he needed it. he was so close.

raising your hand one last time, you put a little more force into it as you swept your hand across his ass, earning the loudest sound you'd ever heard from your boyfriend.

it was a mix between a cry and a moan and it left him in waves as he shook under you.

you crawled up next to him and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you and running your hand through his hair, the other making circles on his back.

"i've got you, angel. you did so well. you were so good for me." you reassured him.

his breaths were shallow and shaky as he came back down to earth. his hands gripped at your shirt and he sniffled into your chest.

"was so good. love you so much."

your heart somersaulted behind your ribs. you held him tighter and continued to whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

once his breathing returned to normal, you sat up and looked at him.

"wait, you still need to finish, don't you?"

he didn't respond and put his head into your chest.

you got your answer in the form of a wet spot on the sheets, looking down to see his dick only half hard and covered in cum.

he came just from that.

now you were the one who felt like you were floating.

not wanting to embarrass him, you stroked his cheek with your thumb and sat up to get a towel.

before you could stand he was pulling you back down next to him and shoving his face into your chest again.

"mm, don't leave. shower later." his voice was soft and squeaky. it made your heart do a flip.

you held him against your chest and took in his warmth, listening to the peaceful sound of his breathing. "okay baby, i'm not going anywhere."

looks like he got his way after all.

#wayv smut #wayv fanfic #yangyang #yangyang smut #nct smut #nct #nct fanfic #sub!yangyang #dom!reader #yy #i #i wanted to write the process of him slipping instead of straight smut so #hope this is okay #gender neutral reader

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missskzbiased · 3 years

Text

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (21)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Han X OC

WC: ~ 9,2K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness

Tag List: here

Notes: SO! I hope you guys like it. I’m sorry for the delay. Next one will probably take some time as well. I’m an anarchist now, and updates will come out as I finish the chapters or once a week, no schedules.

PLEASE! Tell me if there is anything you would like to read regarding cute/suggestive scenes so I can include them <3

////

You closed the door behind you with a heavy sigh.

It had been just a few hours ─ if you could call about eight hours just a few ─ but it felt like time enough to last for a week; the exhaustion from a day too long crushing you mercilessly. You hesitated for a second, staring at the woody surface as you held the doorknob, before letting out another sigh while dropping your shoulders. The soft thud that filled your ears as you rested your forehead on the door was somewhat comforting, emphasizing the silence that met you in the living room.

Fucking finally.

Perhaps you were just too overwhelmed by all the things that happened along the day but as you wandered your eyes to the floor ─ meeting the familiar surface under your feet ─ there was an impossibly tight feeling in your chest that urged to be released. The realization that you were indeed at home crawled you little by little, getting to your mind and making you tear up. You never thought that day would come to an end but then you were right there in your living room, enjoying the comforting silence of your home.

You inhaled deeply, feeling every single corner of your lungs being filled by the air and holding it in as you closed your eyes to focus on everything that you shut away inside your head. The flickering thought that crossed your mind ─ two dark orbs that dived into your soul; a hurt twinkle dancing in them ─ made your breath falter for a second. The urge to cry hit you like a truck, and as soon as you choked on your own emotions and memories, the moment died in your throat.

You couldn’t let Paris see you crying for him.

You opened your eyes slowly, frowning as you focused on the complete lack of any sounds in the dorm. Why was it so silent in here? You detached your forehead from the door, turning around with narrowed eyes that roamed around the place just to find it empty. What was going on? You finally placed your eyes on the TV ─ turned off, therefore explaining the lack of the background noises ─, confused as to why Paris wasn’t watching it as usual.

“Paris?” You called unsurely, stepping away from the door to get a better look inside the house, “Paris?” You tried again, knocking on her door before opening it and peeking inside her room. No one to be seen. You frowned as you closed the door, divided between feeling relieved or worried about her absence.

Did she mention anything to you?

You roamed your eyes around the room again, looking for any piece of paper that could vaguely resemble a note but finding nothing in sight. There was something definitely wrong here. It wasn’t like Paris to go out so late at night… Especially without a previous warning. Did something happen to her? You pursed your lips, fumbling through your pockets to find your phone ─ hopeful of any kind of message or missed calls ─ and setting your sadness and tiredness aside for a moment.

No message or missed calls.

As much as you wanted to be alone ─ finally allowed to mourn over your poorly made decisions ─, you didn’t want to be crying while Paris could be out there in need of a friend. At the same time, the realization that it was yet another thing to deal with at the end of this excruciating day didn’t help much. The way your eyes turned watery again brought another heavy sigh out of your lips as you rubbed your face in distress, trying to organize your thoughts.

You pinched your nose bridge ─ index and thumb holding it firmly ─ before you let your fingers slide to make some pressure on your eyes. The motion ─ the closest thing that you would have from a calming massage ─ was barely able to ease your nerves, relieving the pent-up stress in an unsatisfying way that would have to be enough for now. You felt your eyebrows knitting as you tried to hold back your tears; lips quivering and chin trembling.

You had to organize your thoughts… You should be thinking… You should be doing something… You should make a decision… Why weren’t you calling her? Why were your feet stuck on the floor? Why weren’t you running or yelling or crying or –

The creaking sound snapped you out of your thoughts and your eyes glued to the entrance as the opening door revealed a smiling Paris carrying some plastic bags. You let go of your phone to stare at her blankly; arms dropping to your sides as she closed the door behind her. The way she walked to the counter ─ placing the bags there without much thought ─ was an incredible indicator that she was fine as hell and you were worrying over nothing.

Honestly? You didn’t even have the energy to be mad at her.

“You’re here” There was something under her tone that raised your suspicion immediately. The sentence hung in somewhere between excitement and acknowledgment, and you couldn’t help but frown at her input “I bought us some stuff” She shifted to a somewhat knowing tone, looking at you with glinting eyes as she gestured to the bags.

Usually, you would ask what was going on with her. Or at least you would study each motion and pattern she had ever presented to you so you could figure it out. But not today. No… Not today. Today you just wanted to go to your bed, tuck yourself inside your blankets and bawl your eyes out for rejecting Hyunjin.

You wanted to suffer for something you put yourself into and were now regretting. You wanted to be alone, and safe, and able to ignore anything that could add to your already stressful day. You wanted to ignore Paris and any strange antics she was displaying right now for whatever reason she had.

You wanted to feel at home.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m here” You agreed mindlessly, averting your eyes to your door and nodding your head at it “And now I’m going there,” You said, forcing a small smile as you took the first step to your safety nest. You didn’t miss the way her expression dropped ─ a mix of shock, confusion, and upsetness going through her face ─ but you choose to ignore it as you took another step towards your goal.

“Wait” She blurted; eyes darkening as she looked at you “Don’t you want to tell me about your day?” She sounded conflicted ─ maybe even offended ─ as she crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side “I thought… I thought that since I missed classes yesterday and we didn’t have much time to talk…” She mumbled unsurely, frowning before averting her eyes “And today…” She trailed off, darting her eyes back to you.

Today?

There was just so much one could ignore and pretend not to notice at all… As much as you wanted to believe it was all a coincidence, you didn’t really think that Paris would show up with your favorite ice cream and wanting to talk about your day ─ especially today ─ if she didn’t know anything. You stopped in your tracks, sighing before turning around to look at her with narrowed eyes.

“What about it?” You asked just to throw her off, watching as she licked her lips before biting them ─ a quirk that showed up every time she was anxious ─ and swallowing dry “Do you have anything to say to me?” It was clear by your tone that you had picked up on something, and the way she darted her eyes around the room to avoid yours was a good indication that she knew it too.

Paris and Chan were working together.

You should have seen it earlier ─ actually, it had been happening quite a lot to you lately, hm? ─ but you had no doubts now. Of course, it could be just another gossip going around… Maybe someone had seen both of you? No… Paris wouldn’t just believe in a rumor like this… Not to the point of showing up with your favorite ice cream and asking about your day… Not to the point to get that disappointed.

On the other side, there was someone who Paris would believe on the spot… Someone that knew far too well why you were waiting for Hyunjin. Someone who knew your feelings and his. Someone who was encouraging you to go after him. Someone who tried to trick him and make him jealous just so he would do something about it. Someone who made sure to clear his real intentions up before walking away… Someone who had been suspiciously close to Paris lately.

There was no way they weren’t working together.

“No… It’s not that I have something to say but…” You watched as she uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her sides, “I mean… It’s just that I thought… I guessed you would…” She floundered before clearing her throat; the nervous antics confirming your assumptions “… Want some ice cream after a long day?” She risked, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace than anything else.

“Unbelievable” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Fine!” She whined, pouting as she stomped the floor “Chan told me you and Hyunjin had a talk today, okay?” She confessed bitterly as you threw her a disappointed look “I’m sorry but I am waiting for that ship to sail for too long to not be curious!” She said as if it was a good way to defend herself “Can you blame me for wanting to hear that you finally got someone who loves you?” She tried to appeal, getting another scoff.

“Yes, I can” You said matter-of-factly, huffing before looking away from her for a second “It’s my personal life, Paris! You shouldn’t be meddling with it!” You scolded, returning your gaze to meet hers “Now what? You and Chan will be like two old ladies gossiping about my life behind my back?” You sneered, huffing “My love life is none of your business” You reminded her, tone wavering slightly with the anger boiling inside you.

You weren’t quite sure what made you react the way you did.

It was like your mind had split up into two different trains of thoughts that were totally opposing each other. On one side, you felt the need to be focused and rational, so you pursed your lips and tried to stay composed, pretending to be calm on the outside. On the other side, the sadness was giving way to anger and it boiled and burned you in the unhealthiest way possible.

You wanted to scream and cry and fight and be mad and… Anything.

You wanted anything that could put all your fears away.

Maybe that was why you were being such an asshole.

“Hey” Paris blurted in surprise; brows arching as she stared at you without a clue of what was happening “What the hell?” She didn’t sound offended as she said it but lost, frowning at you while tilting her head “You don’t seem too happy… Didn’t he… I mean… I thought you would be really happy right now” She admitted, trying to play dumb and not give away his feelings.

“Yes, he did” You answered blandly; a faux calm settling in your face as you stared at her blankly “He confessed; if that’s what you’re wondering” Of course, you knew far too well that this was exactly what she wanted to know. You knew that your next line would get you into an argument but somehow you didn’t care; you even urged for it “I rejected him” You stated simply, watching for her reaction.

The expectation raised on you as Paris seemed shocked by your input; eyes lost in yours as she didn’t have a clue of what to do now. You studied the lack of expression on her face, catching the slight change when a hundred thoughts seemed to cross her head at a time. You pursed your lips as her brows slowly knitted together ─ as if each second that went by made her realize what you had just said ─ until she finally frowned at you, mad eyes connecting to yours.

“You did what?!” Her tone was heavy and stern, a reprehension that fueled you as she scrunched her nose to show you how she despised your decision “Y/N!” That was it! That was the anger you were looking for “Why would you do that?! You like him!” She inquired in dismay; eyes diving into yours to find any signs that could explain your behavior.

“What does it have to do with anything?” You knew you were being obnoxious and Paris swallowed it hook, line and sinker. The way her eyes glinted in disappointment and outrage fueled you to keep pushing her boundaries “I don’t get why you’re so interested… It’s not like you want him anyway” She scoffed, averting her eyes to try and not take her anger out on you.

“You know what?” She sighed, still refusing to look at you “I don’t get you” She shook her head in wonder; the grimace present in her face insinuating how pissed off she was “I don’t get what is going on inside your head… I really don’t” She admitted, returning her gaze to you “You’re being ridiculous and I know you know it” She added “I just don’t understand why” She stared at you, disgusted at your antics.

“Maybe you should ask Chan” You taunted, getting a scoff as she rolled her eyes, tilting her head to look at the ceiling in a fed-up manner. You watched her curiously, waiting for her to blow up but she didn’t. Paris returned her gaze to you once more and threw you a look that almost made you ashamed of yourself.

Almost.

Because that was exactly what you wanted.

You longed for her outburst.

“I’m not going to play this game” She smirked knowingly; surprising you as she seemed to pick up on your plans “If you want to fight, you need to do way better than that” She grimaced, shaking her head to show that she wouldn't give what you wanted “If you have all this energy to keep bullshiting me then go to Hyunjin and sort things out, Y/N” She sighed, scowling “What do you expect me to do? Yell at you?” She scoffed, arching her brows skeptically.

“Yes…” You didn’t intend to answer her so honestly but before you knew it, the word hung in the air heavily, making you shrink. You lowered your head, peeking at her reaction just to see her expression morphing into a surprised one, clearly not expecting you to actually answer her “I mean… No, of course not” You lied, voice so low that you couldn’t even convince yourself.

“I don’t understand” She admitted simply, tilting her head in wonder. You noticed how she started moving away from the counter ─ careful as a hunter afraid that their prey might run away ─ and came in your direction with hesitant steps “Why would you want me to yell at you?” She asked with caution, glancing at you unsurely.

“Because I deserve it…” You muttered under your breath, prompting her to hum in confusion, questioning you again without any words “Because I deserve it!” You finally snapped; head going up to allow you to meet her eyes. She yelped ─ startled at your break out ─, looking at you with wide confused eyes that couldn’t grasp what was going on “Because I’m a coward, Paris!” You added; voice shaking as you let the tears roll down your face and eyes overflowing with hurt and regret.

“Y/N…” She mumbled; pity oozing from her eyes.

“Don’t Y/N me!” You cut her off “Yell at me, Paris! For Lord’s sake! Yell at me! Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me I’m awful! Anything!” You wailed, hand going to rub your face and wipe away some of the tears “Anything! Just tell me that I’m a coward! Tell me that I do nothing but run away! Tell me…” You hicked up, choking on your own tears as you let yourself slowly go to the ground.

You curled up as you sat, rocking your body back and forward.

“Tell me I don’t deserve him… Tell me I blew everything up…” You begged, raising your eyes to meet hers. You could feel your face twisting in a pained grimace that threw her off for a second “Tell me I’m a coward, Paris… Please, tell me I’m a coward…” You couldn’t help but curl up again, hands pressing hard against your eyes as you let all your feelings out of your chest; the crying loud and ungraceful.

She stared at you silently; gaze burning your skin.

“Why don’t you yell at me?” You mewled; swollen eyes going back to meet hers in a suffering question that you knew she wouldn’t answer “Why can’t you do this, Paris? I’ve been bad… I did everything wrong again… I messed everything up and I can’t stop doing it!” She kept her silent stare at you, and the lack of response prompted you to keep rambling “I run and run and run and run… And I keep coming back to the same mistakes again, Paris” You vented; hand going to rub your running nose and wet cheeks.

Again, she just stared at you.

“Say something!” You yelled, eyebrows knitting together in renewed anger “Anything, Paris! Hit me if you want! I don’t know… Just…” You tried to fight back the quivering in your lips, tangling yourself with your own arms before lowering your head again “Just hurt me…” You pleaded, shutting your eyes as much as you could “Gimme a reason to cry, Paris…” You choked on your own words, hiding your face from her as you burst out in tears once more “I don’t wanna cry for him” You mumbled, voice muffled.

The steps echoed in the room along with your crying but you didn’t raise your head to follow her path, shrinking when you felt two arms wrapping you. The warmth provided was very welcomed, and you leaned on her touch; the unexpected tenderness being enough for you to pour everything out of your chest. You felt Paris kissing the top of your head, no words being said as she silently supported you through your breakdown.

“I’m so sorry” You howled but what you really meant was thank you.

////

You stared at the dancing branches above you.

The light beams that managed to get through the heavy layer of leaves decorating said branches painted the air with thin yellowish strings that caught your attention. You let your mind wander as your eyes followed every single notch that came together into a messy crease pattern, getting distracted by the falling leaves that blocked the beams every once in a while. The moment meant to be calming and reassuring to your soul but you couldn’t help but feel melancholic as the grass underneath you tickled your skin, reminding you of brighter days.

It was kind of funny how the blue sky peeking at you behind the treetop, the insufferably shiny sun casting beams all around, and the perfectly shaped clouds couldn’t brighten up your mood. As much as you could tell that this was a beautiful day ─ maybe the most beautiful day of the whole season ─, you couldn’t feel healed by any of this. You could see it was all dazzling and colorful and perfect… Yet, you felt exactly the same as if it was a cloudy rainy day with nothing but grey to take in.

The wind fanned all over the place; a soft puff that intensified the branches’ dance and disturbed the sunbeams’ path, allowing it to hit right at your face. The forced warmth wasn’t enjoyable and the sudden brightness that hit your eyes was even less welcomed, prompting you to close them shut. The motion was harmless and it wouldn’t bring you any suffering on any other day but something about it brought you everything you were trying to push aside right now.

Perhaps it was the fact that you cried so much on the day before that your swollen eyes felt too heavy ─ even if you had plenty of time to get used to it by noon ─ and closing them just reminded you of your own feelings. Perhaps it was the fact that closing your eyes brought you the urge to cry again ─ even if you had already cried enough for an entire lifespan ─, reminding you of the sadness you pretended not to feel right now. Perhaps it was the fact that the blackness and emptiness behind your eyelids served as a screen to project all of the details ─ his eyes, his mole, his nose, his smile, his dimples, his tears… Just all of him ─ that you didn’t want to remember.

You exhaled heavily.

Perhaps it was because you were a fucking masochist that decided to lie down under the very same tree that witnessed everything… From your laughter ─ such as when you caught him pretending to read a book ─ to your bonding ─ such as when he cried while venting about his insecurities ─ to your confession ─ such as when he kissed you as if you were the only thing that mattered in his world ─ to your departure… Such as when you walked away from him, leaving all your true feelings unspoken.

Yeah, perhaps it was because you were a masochist.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snapped your eyes open, startled at the sudden intrusion as Chan’s voice made its way to your head “Do you mind explaining to me why the fuck are you lying down under this damn tree instead of making out with the bloody guy I had to trick to confess his own feelings to you?!” You sighed; eyes softening into a vulnerable gaze as you shifted to sit down and look at him “Because I sure as hell don’t have a fucking clue!” He groaned, clasping his hands together as he met your gaze in a demanding and inquiring glare.

“I don’t know what you want me to say” You confessed, exhaling heavily as you crossed your legs, resting your arms on your lap as you lifted your chin to fully return his gaze. He scoffed ─ closing his hands on a fist as he bit his lips to hold back a comment that would have probably hurt you ─ before throwing his head back to huff at the sky. Chan returned his eyes to you with nothing but outrage, grimacing before pinching his nose bridge tiredly, trying to stay composed.

The façade didn’t last even for a second.

“Say that you fucking love him!” He snapped, floundering his hands in the air to try and calm down “Wasn’t that what you wanted to say to him?” He asked in distress, eyes urging for your answer “Isn’t this how you feel?” He insisted, offering you a lost and yet frustrated look that prompted you to sigh “Just go and kiss him! I don’t know!” He pressed his temples, closing his eyes as he exhaled heavily to try and organize his thoughts.

You stared at him blankly, studying his upset features for a few seconds before you lowered your head, focusing your gaze on your lap. Contrary to what you would have expected, the sudden outburst didn’t startle you. If nothing else, his scolding felt like a warm comforting hug and a pat on the back. It was just what you needed. The way he yelled those words at you ─ demanding to know why you had chickened out like that ─ was just like hearing everything going on inside your head out loud.

There was something about hearing it from him and not from yourself ─ from actually hearing it and not just torturing yourself with those thoughts ─ that fulfilled your needs. It felt real. It was like all those words and feelings weren’t just inside your head anymore. You weren’t the one mourning and reliving everything. You weren’t the only one who despised your actions; plus, you could see it plastered over his face in a way that was impossible to ignore.

And you didn’t want to.

As you looked at him, you felt the urge to take care of Chan… To calm him down… To soothe him. This feeling ─ the kindness that finally ran through your veins instead of the hatred and contempt ─ was strong enough to distract you from your mind. Maybe that was what you really needed. Although you could reach out for Chan─ place your hand on his ankle and squeeze it reassuringly ─, you couldn’t do the same for yourself.

You didn’t deserve it.

The disappointment you held for your actions was too much to allow you to be this kind to someone so unworthy of it as you. The way you saw it, there were just two possible ways to deal with it. You either cried everything out ─ and you didn’t think you had the right to do it ─ or you relived it over and over again ─ punishing yourself for being like this.

There was no time to be kind to someone like you.

But you could be kind to Chan.

Maybe it could make you worthy of something other than hatred.

You didn’t need any words as you lifted your eyes to meet his; thumb rubbing circles on his skin and lips twisting in a small smile that was meant to tranquilize him. You sensed it wasn’t the right time to talk ─ as you could see in his embarrassed and regretful eyes ─, so you waited patiently for him to say something, giving him enough time to think about whatever was going on inside his head. He let out a heavy sigh, sitting down across you and taking your hand into his, holding it gently as he stared straight into your eyes with a tiredness you never saw before.

“I’m sorry” He huffed, hold tightening just a little bit as if to say that he meant it “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like this” You couldn’t help but fight back a smile, finding it amusing how he was so apologetic about something that made you feel so at ease. You shook your head ─ a slow motion that was meant to conceive how untroubled you were about his behavior ─ before smiling at him, dismissing the idea that you were somewhat offended by anything he said “I’m just really tired…” He sighed, rubbing his face in distress.

“Why? What happened?” You asked softly, and he scoffed before looking away in disbelief. As you stared at his profile, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes but you choose not to comment on it “Do you need my keys?” You offered, tilting your head as you tried to read his expression but getting nothing out of it.

“Are you really going to ignore why I’m here?” He asked grudgingly, returning his eyes to you “Y/N… I thought you loved him” He admitted “I really did… I…” He chuckled bitterly, pinching his nose bridge before sighing one more time “I spent all night long watching ‘My Best Friend’s Wedding’ and seeing Hyunjin crying and eating everything he could find in his way” He confessed, and the picture was somewhat funny and yet depressing.

You didn’t answer him; there was nothing to say.

“If I’m gonna be honest with you… I thought you guys were meant for each other” He scoffed “I thought you loved him as he loves you… I thought you guys shared so many struggles that you could heal one another… I thought…” He hesitated, letting his shoulders drop as he lowered his gaze to his lap “I thought you would say yes, Y/N…” He confessed, clearly disappointed at you.

He let the silence hang in the air, expecting you to say something.

You didn’t.

“Nothing?” He sighed “Really?” He raised his gaze to meet yours.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Chan” You tried your best to let your tone unwavering but you failed, and you knew it. You noticed how his eyes twinkled, picking up on your oddness “What do you want me to do?” You asked obnoxiously, scoffing as you looked away “Lie to him?” You felt your lips twitching slightly; the lie tasting too bitter for you to keep a straight face.

“Haven’t you done that already?” He asked knowingly; voice softening as he seemed to figure out everything “Y/N…” He smiled kindly; the corner of his lips sinking just enough to show his dimples as he played with your fingers “Why are you lying to yourself?” He didn’t sound judgingly but gentle, trying to look into your eyes but failing as you avoided his gaze for dear life “You love him” He stated matter-of-factly, chuckling in relief.

“No, I don’t,” You scoffed, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“So what is this for?” He asked, hand going to your face.

You allowed him to lift your chin and guide you to look at him, shivering as his finger slid from there to the corner of your eyes. You knew far too well what he was going to find there. You pursed your lips as firm as you could, trying to hold back everything that you wanted to pour out of your chest. He caressed your skin gently, and you could feel the faint watery sensation there as he let go of your face to show you his finger; a single drop balanced in there.

You closed your eyes, refusing to acknowledge it.

He chose to stay silent, waiting for you to be comfortable enough to say something. Anything. The way your entire face twitched and spasmed ─ especially your jaw that seemed settled in quivering nonstop ─ brought the realization that it was too late. You couldn’t fight back your tears anymore. You threw your face back, opening your eyes in a vain attempt to allow the soft wind to dry your tears away but it didn’t. The way you clenched your jaw and tensioned your throat did nothing but bring you pain before you finally let everything out, bursting into tears.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You howled, choking on your own feelings as you threw Chan a look that was meant to be a glare but turned out to be more of a cry for help “I don’t want to talk about it… I don’t want to feel it, Chan!” Both of your hands shot to your eyes, pressing them firmly to try and hold back the tears “I don’t want to love him!” You cried, shaking your head repeatedly “I don’t want to!” You insisted, voice stressing in a pained mewl.

“But he loves you, Y/N” He pointed out carefully, placing his hand on your head to stroke your hair gently “He really does” He reassured you, body sliding on the grass ─ the soft sound giving him away ─ to get a place beside you. He let his hand trail down to your back before sneaking to your shoulder and trying to pull you closer to him but you didn’t give in to his touch “There is no need for you to run away… He’s already yours” He hunched his back to try and take a look at your face but you still had your hands over your eyes “Why not take this chance?” He tried again, and this time it was too much for you.

“Because I’m a coward, Chan!” You snapped, removing your hands from your eyes and glaring at him “Because I’m a fucking coward that can’t face my own feelings!” You cried, connecting your eyes to his even though you couldn’t clearly see him “Is that what you want me to say?!” You let the corner of your lips quiver, knitting your eyebrows together “Do you want to hear that I won’t ever have someone to love because I’ll keep running away from it?!” You choked, overwhelmed by everything that crashed over your feelings.

You threw your head back, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

“Do you want to hear that no matter how much I run, I always end up in the same place?!” You scoffed ─ almost a whimper as your throat tightened by the second ─ before returning your eyes to him “No matter how much I run, Chan… I run and run and run and run… And I always…” You took a deep breath, air wavering to get into your lungs “Always” You emphasized, averting your eyes from him “End up alone, Chan” You muttered, hugging yourself as you lower your gaze.

“Y/N…” He whispered, shocked by everything you spilled on him.

“I don’t want to be alone, Chan” You howled, throwing your arms around him as you shoved your face on the crook of his neck, letting your tears soak his shirt. He wrapped you up in his arms, rubbing gentle circles on your back as he let his lips graze over your strands “Just don’t leave me alone…” You pleaded in a choked way that prompted him to shush you.

“Never…” He promised quietly “I would never”

////

How exactly did you end up in this situation?

You cut the beef on your plate awkwardly as you avoided looking him in the eyes, the scratching cringe noise making you shrink and grimace as you fixed your gaze on the fork and the knife in your hands. Now that you thought about it, maybe you should have weighted your options a little bit more… Wisely. It was too late for that, though, as Han sighed before dropping his cutlery in his plate, raising his eyes to stare at you uncomfortably.

“Lemme see if I got this right…” He said, covering his mouth and muffling his voice as he tried to manage swallowing down his food and talking at the same time “You’re asking me advice about your relationship with Hyunjin?” He stressed out the word love, throwing you a skeptical look “Because I hate him” He added in confusion, frowning at you.

“Yeah…” You cleared your throat, refusing to look in his eyes “Pretty much yeah” You risked a glance at him, bringing the food to your mouth as you tried to buy some time. He stared at you fixedly; head slightly tilted down, which made him look judging and attentive as you munched your food. It went down your throat as gently as a rock, prompting you to cough “I mean… Is tha such a weird thing?” You shrugged but the answer was quite obvious.

Yes.

“Kinda” He chuckled, arching his eyebrow funnily “I mean… You stumble over me on the way to have lunch” He raised his index finger in a counting motion “You comment on how Hyunjin missed today’s classes and how Paris saw him wandering around and went after him, leaving you alone” He pulled the second finger “You have puffed eyes and dark circles and look like literal shit” He pulled the third finger, and you couldn’t help but to chortle.

“Oh, Thank you!” You chirped mockingly, lifting your head so you could fully stare at him, “Such a nice thing to say” You pointed out playfully, getting him to pale and deadpan at you for a second. You could almost hear his system rebooting but it didn’t prevent you from laughing at his face “I’m just kidding” You decided to take pity on him.

“That was totally not what I meant!” He reassured you eagerly; system finally back and eyes settling for desperation “You’re beautiful as fuck, I swear!” He rushed to say, frowning at his own words “No! I mean… Not like beautiful in a flirting way, you know? Just like beautiful as… As in beauty and... Hm…” He rambled, seeming embarrassed as he trailed off and stared at your grin “You know what? You can do the talking” He sighed, holding his cutlery again and shoving food in his mouth.

“I think the saddest part is that you’re still being awkward as fuck around me” You mentioned, leaning back on your chair as you tilted your head and looked at him teasingly “The bright side is that you always were kinda weird anyway” You joked, prompting him to lightly kick you under the table and making you laugh.

“Ha-Ha! You’re hilarious” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief “Pardon me for not wanting to make it more awkward than it already is” He grumbled; mouth making soundless complaints as he took another bite at his food “I mean─ I literally confessed to your all sweaty and smelly and mouth full of sauce… God, that was terrible” He cringed, hand going to hide his face “And then I go all–” He scoffed, taking his hands away from his face “You’re so beautiful” He spoke in a silly low tone, mocking himself.

“If it makes you feel any better this is the first time that I genuinely laugh in three days” You offered him, face twisted in a playful frown “Also… You weren’t that smelly and sweaty… You didn’t practice hard enough that day, I think” You taunted, and he snorted before looking to the ceiling and huff.

“Okay… So first: No, it doesn’t make me happy” He knitted his eyebrows together, throwing you an inquiring look “You literally just said you’ve been sad for three days” He pointed out, eyes widening slightly to emphasize his sentence “And two: Coach practically shoved that ball up in my ass! How can you say that?!” He whined, grimacing grudgingly at you.

You laughed at that ─ like wholeheartedly laughed at that ─, and for a second you actually believed that your attempt to brush aside your feelings was working out. Silly you. It struck you again ─ just like a truck ─ and your laughter died in your throat little by little until the twinkle in your eyes vanished like the flame of a blown candle. Something about it must have caught his attention because Han mimicked your expression, staring fixedly at your face as he waited for you to voice out your thoughts.

You didn’t.

“Everything fine?” He asked concerned as you didn’t offer anything back. Hell no… No, it’s not fine. You could never voice it out loud, though, even if it was the truth, “What’s with that face?” He risked, arching his brows to invite you to answer his question.

“Got it when I was born” You tried to joke it off.

“I see your jokes didn’t get any better” He taunted; a playful tone trying to mask the worry you could see in his eyes. He cleared his throat before reaching out for you; hand slowly slinking its way to lay on top of yours in a reassuring motion. The situation itself made you fight back a smile, and you found it somewhat cute the way he tried to push aside his shyness to make sure you were okay.

“Tough crowd” You smirked at him, and as much as he rolled his eyes playfully, you knew he wasn’t buying your cunningness. Wasn’t the fact that you could deceive neither of you kinda funny? You sighed heavily as you lowered your eyes, knowing that pretending there was nothing going on inside your head wouldn’t get you anywhere “Hyunjin confessed to me” You admitted dejectedly, peeking at him to see his reaction.

Contrary to what you expected, Han didn’t seem surprised or enraged at all, deadpanning at your statement for a few seconds before clearing his throat again and lowering his gaze. He didn’t say anything for a while, diving deep into his thoughts and pursing his lips as his eyes changed from time to time. Maybe you shouldn’t discuss your love life with a friend that confessed to you not that long ago… But now was a little bit too late for that.

Were you capable of doing something right at this point? You didn’t think so. You sighed heavily as you studied his features, wondering how could you have put so much unnecessary stuff on everybody’s shoulders in so little time. To be fair, you had a lot on your plate right now… It didn’t mean you had the right to fill someone else’s cup, though. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, ready to push the subject aside and move on to any other thing but Han beat you to it.

“So you love him?” Han’s tone wasn’t really loud but it startled you just like he had shouted right to your ears and then hit you in the face. You didn’t even answer him, mouth closing shut and eyes staring at him blankly for a few seconds as your system seemed to reboot “You wouldn’t tell me he confessed to you if you weren’t interested…” He mused, narrowing his eyes at your reaction “But you rejected him” He assumed wisely, stating it in a matter-of-factly way that made you wonder when did he start to actually be able to figure out what was going through your head.

There was no way of taking it back now.

“Love is a strong word” You mumbled, averting your eyes from him and fixing it on your plate again; fork poking the food and scrambling things all over. Well… As people say: You are what you eat. You grimaced bitterly at the sight, grossed out at the mixture you did yourself and dropping your fork with a clink before swallowing down the lump on your throat.

“Yeah… It is quite strong” He agreed softly, almost sounding mindlessly before he squeezed your hand once to invite you to look at him “But is it the right word?” He questioned solemnly, and you could only be thankful for not giving in to his squeeze and refusing to meet his eyes, or else he would have seen things you didn’t want to show to anyone.

Things you were trying to hide from yourself.

The truth was that the rollercoaster of emotions you had experienced through Wednesday and Thursday brought you a realization: There was no way to fight those feelings away. Well… If you were really being honest with yourself there might be a way but you just didn’t have enough willpower to succeed in it. If you had feelings for him but you didn’t want to and you couldn’t fight them away, there was just one other option available for you… Ignore them.

Initially, you felt guilty for trying to fight away your feelings. Especially with how harsh you were about it while rejecting Hyunjin. Although you weren’t rude, you weren’t gentle as well… You were raw, to say the very least. You knew how much it meant for him to face his fears and voice his feelings out loud. You knew hard it must have been for him to say that he loved you and wanted to be with you even though he was terrified of bonding. Now, you couldn’t feel guilty at all.

Now, you couldn’t help but think that you should feel proud of what you were doing. So what If you were running away from your feelings? So what if you were scared to handle this maturely? So what if you didn’t want to risk your mental health for him? You weren’t meant to do this. It wasn’t your job to take. You shouldn’t feel sorry for protecting yourself from the instability that was bound to come from this relationship.

You shouldn’t feel sorry for running away again.

It didn’t matter how many times you chanted it to yourself, you couldn’t help but feel guilty anyway. In retrospect, you couldn’t remember a time when you managed to overcome your feelings… You couldn’t point out one time that you didn’t give up and decided to run away… You couldn’t point out one time that you fought for dear life for something you wanted. And it destroyed you. You couldn’t help but run away from your problems and every single time you did it, nothing was resolved.

Your father? You watched as he walked away from your life and you did nothing about it. You let him abandon you and your mother and when he came back ─ as if nothing had happened ─, you let him walk into your mother’s life just so you could follow your own path. Your mother? You left her behind just like your father; ran away from all the problems she got you and herself into and didn’t even look behind. You let her with the one man you could never trust for the rest of your life and pretended you weren’t as bad as him in the most hypocritical way you could ever have done. Hyunjin? You rejected him as if you didn’t love him as much as he loves you… You settled on finding a reason why you shouldn’t love him back and held on to it for dear life.

Maybe, if you could convince yourself he wasn’t good enough for you, then you could finally let him go. Maybe, if you ignore your feelings like you had been doing throughout all your life, you would eventually grow used to it. Just like, eventually, the pain of being left behind was manageable enough. Just like, eventually, the disgust of acting like your father was manageable enough. Just like, eventually, the façade that you weren’t just like him was manageable to maintain. Just like, eventually, you would be capable to manage to not feel affected by your feelings for him.

You didn’t need to fight it because, eventually, it wouldn’t even affect you anymore. You didn’t need to be a fighter ─ to be fair, you weren’t really a good one ─, you just needed to be a good runner. And that you could do for dear life. You were a hella of a runner and if you needed you would be the best of them all. You would run away from your feelings for dear life. You would proudly and actively pretend that not seeing him in the morning didn’t affect you. You would convince yourself that knowing he couldn’t even bear to go to the same classes as you didn’t affect you.

You would convince yourself that this was your best choice.

You would convince yourself that the tight feeling in your chest meant nothing but an overattachment that you would be able to manage eventually. You would convince yourself that the fact that you kept turning your back to people didn’t affect you… That you weren’t afraid of being abandoned again… That you weren’t afraid of not being enough… That you weren’t afraid of being crazy just like your mother… That you weren’t afraid of being untrustworthy just like your father… That you weren’t afraid of running over and over and over–

“Hm… Y/N?” Han called you unsurely, trying to catch your attention by waving his hand right in front of your face “You’re still with me?” He asked jokingly; a vain attempt to lighten up your mood. You blinked a few times, trying to regain consciousness. What were you talking about before? You didn’t even remember anymore “So… Do you love him?’ He cleared his throat, searching for your eyes.

“What I feel doesn’t really matter” You dismissed his question, though your answer made it quite obvious “What matters is that I don’t think he’s the right person for me” You lied but the scoff you got as an answer was a good indication that Han wasn’t buying it at all “And Paris and Chan don’t seem to share my vision… And I was wondering if…” You glanced at him unsurely “You know?” You grimaced sheepishly.

“You were wondering if I wasn’t up to badmouth him since I hate the dude” He completed for you, arching his brow amusedly “You want me to say that he’s a fuckboy and there is no way that he loves you for real and you shouldn’t fall for his charms, right?” He licked his lips, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair “You want me to say that he’ll cheat on you and hurt you because he’s a huge piece of shit” He added, and you felt your throat itching to refute him, and yet you urged to believe in it.

“Yeah… Kinda” You nodded, getting a chuckle as an answer.

“This can never get out of here…” He muttered, moving forward to lean on the table as he cupped his mouth to mockingly pretend to tell you a secret “And I mean never” He emphasized; eyes glinting in amusement. You nodded, confused as to why he was acting so lighthearted to the fact that you just implied you loved Hyunjin and needed reassurance that not acting on it was the right choice.

“Just spill it” You rushed him, frowning in confusion.

“I don’t think I can give you what you need” He admitted, and to say that you were flabbergasted would be an understatement. You gawked at him, surprised to see him shrugging his shoulders as he returned to his seat “I know I tried to meddle a lot in your love life… And I know I said he just wanted to get into yours and Paris’ pants that day” He coughed to hide his embarrassment, eyes darting around before fixing on you again “But the truth is that… He did a lot for you guys” He said grudgingly.

There was no fucking way.

“You’re kidding me, right?” You scoffed “What happened to your attitude?! You hated him!” You scowled; the rage suddenly building up. What were you going to do now?! You were counting on it! You needed to hear someone supporting your decisions! “Now what?! The fact that he fucked the whole campus doesn’t matter anymore?! The fact that he’s always pissing you off?! The fact that he’s annoying to the point of being obnoxious?!” You slammed the table, though it wasn’t strong enough to catch anyone’s attention.

“I don’t believe I’ll have to say it…” He sighed; the grimace that narrowed his eyes ─ as well as the whining and ridiculous whimpering ─ showing that he wasn’t happy to say what he was about to say “So what about the fact that he went way out of his way to help Paris?” He scowled as he defended him “Or the fact that you’re constantly defending him when I roast him?” He added, eyebrows moving to emphasize his point “Or the fact that both of you always seem comfortable around him even though he’s a dick? Or the fact that you literally let him kiss you on the stairs?” He pursed his lips judgingly, and you couldn’t help but feel your face burning at that.

“It was a fake kiss!” You retorted eagerly “And what about the fact that you were always dismissing all those arguments?! What about the fact that I don’t want to hear his good points but his bad ones?! What about the fact that I’m freaking the hell out here?!” You yelled, getting up from your chair and placing your hands on the table to look more threatening “You were supposed to tell me that he sucks, Han” You whined “I need you to help me hate the idea of being with him” You sighed tiredly, returning to your seat.

“No, Y/N…” He offered you a small smile, reaching for your hands once again “You need to face your emotions” He said softly, rubbing circles on your skin “You were the one to encourage me to tell my father my real thoughts… My dreams…” He sounded grateful, and you couldn’t help but stare deeply into his eyes “I was afraid too, you know? I was afraid I would disappoint him… I was afraid… Well, it doesn’t matter” He chuckled, shrugging “The point is that you’re afraid of your feelings… You’re afraid of being hurt” He moved his hand to your cheek, cupping it gently.

You lowered your gaze, unable to look him in the eyes right now.

“And it’s normal” He reassured you “But to be honest with you… I don’t think you would be like this if you didn’t believe he loved you back” He admitted, prompting you to nod softly “You would just know that you couldn’t give in to your feelings and be firm about it… I was on the other side once, I should know it” He laughed, making you cringe for a second “If you love him and you really think he loves you back… I mean… Someone who comes to his enemy to ask for help for a friend couldn’t be that bad, hm?” He offered you, and this time you looked at him again, catching the disgust in his features.

“Who would think that you would come to like him one day” You joked, chuckling as he scrunched his nose and retreated his hands from you, shaking his head eagerly to dismiss the thought.

“Not a word about it to him!” He said threateningly, narrowing his eyes at you “If he comes even close to knowing that I don’t hate him that much now, I’ll make your life a living hell!” He grumbled, making you laugh wholeheartedly.

“You know what?” You rested your cheek on your hand, leaning on the table “I think you deserve a hot dog tonight” You offered him, a grateful smile on your face “Really… Thank you for saying that” You sighed “I think… I mean… I knew it was the right choice but…” You cleared your throat “You inspire me to be bolder, Han” You cringed, hiding your face behind your hand “God! I’m so cheesy and emotional nowadays” You grimaced, making a gagging sound as you let your index go into your mouth jokingly.

So maybe you were freaking out about your emotions… Maybe you were too afraid of being hurt and hurting him… Maybe you were terrified of not being enough for someone you loved so much. Again. Maybe you were terrified of not being able to support him… Maybe you were just too afraid to allow yourself to fully express your feelings for him… But that was why you were in therapy.

You would learn how to deal with your struggles…

Eventually, you wouldn’t be so afraid anymore…

Eventually, you would learn to manage it.

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter.

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth.

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did.

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two.

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around.

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there.

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?”

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes.

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice.

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank.

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning.

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes.

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser.

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper.

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face.

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric.

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you.

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list.

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus.

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.”

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom.

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #kita x reader #kita imagine #kita imagines

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

Text

Vampire Town {Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader}

Requested by: I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find the conversation so I can’t remember. :( Wordcount: 2778 Summary: Happiness and Love can appear when least expected.

During the long span of your life, a lot of your nights had been sent in solitary. You wandered through the world, seeing the beautiful sights of history; the architecture, the music, the literature, the wars, but never had anyone to share that with. Until you came across the broken form of a blonde vampire - Lestat. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” You said, sensing the poor vampire. Broken, without a home, ready to give up on his life after his partner had left him. You sat on the stoop of a burned down mansion beside him, tore your wrist open and forced him to drink from you. He became greedy, which you encouraged. You had just fed on three mortals, willing victims who walked away just as safe as they had come, just a little anemic. You put your hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head back, letting the blood pour down his throat. You squeezed a few more drops, and he let you go, hanging his head upon your shoulder like a hungover human.

You took him to the abode you were staying in. Nothing so gothic as what Lestat may have been living in, but a home nonetheless. A three-story brownstone with a basement that concealed your coffin. You put Lestat into it before the dawn arrived, and looked down at him with a tilt of your head. He was a very handsome vampire, and would only look better with more blood flowing through his veins. He would need a trough-full, however. You would need to wake early to prepare that for him.

Your long fingers stroked his face, turning it towards the candlelight to get a better look. His skin was pale, his hair flaxen. He had been through a lot of pain - even his sleeping face showed that. It may take a dozen nights, perhaps, to get him to peak performance. But you did love a challenge, and were a sucker for a disaster of a person. Loneliness had grown old along side of you - why not try something new for once.

It took some time for the vampire, whom you learned to be named Lestat, to look alive again. Or, perhaps, a little less dead. He was far too beautiful to ever be considered a human being. Those dull creatures, though you were one of them once, bored you with their generic looks. You enticed a few of them towards the house, let Lestat feed. You found out one thing about him instantly - he was absolutely vicious when it came to feeding. Not at all as elegant as his demeanor might make it seem. And you allowed him to finish victims to nearly the point of death, then disposed of the bodies yourself.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” You said, joining him in your parlor. It was just you and he, as you knew no one else in New Orleans. You had only stopped here because it was where the first boat you came across was going. “How could you give up on your life like that?”

Another thing you learned about Lestat; he was very convinced of his own righteousness.

“It is my right to give up my life if I so wish,” He hissed, despite the blood dripping from his mouth. You did not say anything to contrary, just licked your thumb and plucked the droplet from his face. You let it rest on the tip of your tongue, savoring the flavor. “Who are you to try to bring me back?”

“You may call me y/n,” You said with a soft smile, ignoring his harsh tone. “I am noticing that you are alone, but you are well versed in talking to people. Were you a social one, Lestat?”

He was quiet for a little while after that, in some sort of reflection. He stared at nothing, and you left him to that, sleeping in a box rather than your coffin for you still allowed him to take over yours. That was the most intimate gesture that you had ever given to someone. You had shared your clothes with him, even, until you had gotten him some of his own. He looked as pretty as a painting in your white blouses, in your long dark skirts. In this world, for the first time, you had someone to share everything with.

His perpetually bad mood never bothered you. Nor did his dramatic nature. Because you knew that one day, he would either open up to you, or he would leave. You would prefer the first. But would have to quietly accept the second.

But after two years, a blink of an eye for someone like you, he opened up. He told you all about Louis, about Claudio, about Armand. About the reporter whom he had turned who was who-knows-where. About Marius, even, and how he had turned which was further back than you had expected him to go. And so in return, you told him about your loneliness, about how you had traveled from town to town and only run into a few like you. You did not know your maker. You didn’t remember him, or her. You didn’t even remember where it was that you were changed, only that you were high up in the mountains. Why you were there, you could not recall either. But you did not dwell on the mysteries of the past; only your present time.

And on Lestat, because for the present, and forseeable future, you were stuck with him. Lead a stray dog to a home and you have a pet, as you’ve heard someone say.

Half of the candles in the parlor remained unlit, for neither of you needed much light in order to see in the dark. Lestat had one of your hands in his as he lead you in a waltz around the room. You could not stop smiling - a facial expression that you hadn’t used too often over the years. A dance! You’ve never danced before, hence why Lestat was currently giving you a lesson. You were even wearing a gown that he had gifted to you - custom made in one of the best shops. He still had his connections in the city of New Orleans. A real vampire’s town, as you had discovered.

“You are a natural!” He praised with a smile of his own, showing off his glinting, sharp, white teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’ve never had a partner. I haven’t met many of our kind before and dancing with a human just seems so...” You struggled to find the words. “Slow.”

“Very slow indeed,” Lestat agreed. He had picked a roses from the garden, and had them in a vase to add something living to the house. He now took one of them, and stuck it into his mouth, the thorns cutting at his lips but he did not have a care about that. You laughed at that - what a silly vampire you had ended up with.

“How is the pain, my darling?” You asked, licking your lips at the sight of that little bit of blood.

“Agonizing,” He droned, swinging you around into a spin, then returned you into his strong arms. The blouse that he wore, another thing custom made, was of a silk fabric, and felt soft upon your cheek. You suddenly remembered what it was like to cry, just from that light touch. Agonizing - you recalled what that felt like. It had been well over a century.

“The same as when you were betrayed by your love, Louis?” You questioned. Lestat cut the dance short, but he still held you.

“I don’t wish to talk about him any further,” He said, harshly. “There are more important things in my life now! I am free of him and his ... whining. I am being treated in the way that I deserve. And you - you are finally being treated as you deserve.”

Lestat wielded compliments as a weapon. He used them to distract you from asking further questions. And it worked, every time. You sighed contently as he kissed your hand, then went up your arm towards your shoulder, then all the way back down. You could feel his cold lips through the fabric of your sleeves. It made you feel like a flower bulb in Spring, sprouting up for the first time from the damp dirt into the beautiful world above.

“You flatter me deeply, Lestat. You are better than I deserve.”

He spun you around once more, and you continued to spin in the middle of the room, arms outstretched as he watched you. Thanks to being a vampire, you did not feel dizziness like the humans did, and could outdance them all if you so wished. Lestat was a grand teacher. He then caught you, then dipped you low to the ground, so much so you could smell the dust of the floor.

“No, that is what you are to me.” His fangs were exposed as he smiled down at you, a fearsome image for anyone else, but not for you. You smiled back at him, and held him tightly as he brought you back up to your feet, humming along with the song.

“I should get cleaning this place, Lestat. It takes more than dancing to make a house a home.” You let go of him to go and grab a broom, but the blonde vampire grabbed you again. Ever since he had opened up to you, he loved to be in your presence. And it wasn’t something that you were going to complain about after being alone for so long.

“Don’t tease,” He said, holding onto your hands with his long fingers. “I’ll hire us a thousand maids, so you don’t have to get these wonderful hands dirty.” You let out a child-like laugh of glee at his amazing words. You were a sucker for them, mind the pun. “And a thousand more dresses for if you get a speck of dust on this one.”

“I don’t need a thousand dresses, Lestat. I could live in rags as long as I still had you.”

Five years later, you and Lestat still resided in New Orleans. It was a town of pleasure, of magic, of long nights - and plenty of swampland in order to hide bodies if you went too far with any victims. You did your best not to, but sometimes temptations swept in and you nearly drank to the point of death. But apart from that, you were living in a near-domestic bliss.

“Now, why are you doing this when you don’t get cold?” Lestat asked, walking in from the outside world with coins in his pocket and a well-fed look on his face. You were holding knitting needles in your hand, working on a shawl pattern that you had seen a woman working on last time you were out shopping. He kissed the top of your head and placed a bag on your lap before you could even answer him.

“I like to keep busy - it keeps eternity interesting,” You insisted. You set aside the knitting and started to examine the shopping bag that was on your lap. “What is this?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” Lestat asked, with a cocky smile. You looked at him with amusement, then delicately opened up the bag. Inside was something ... something fabric. You pulled it out then stood with it in front of you. A long black gown - the color that you always wore, and which Lestat said you wore so well - and it was made of the softest velvet that you had ever felt. He looked pleased as you brought a sleeve to your face to feel the fabric even better. “Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, Lestat, thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“It is the anniversary of the day that you found me. The day that everything changed,” He held his hands up in the air as if he were an actor on a stage, something that you always found entertaining. You loved encouraging the odder aspects of his personality, just as he did the same for you, even when he could not understand.

“What a cheerful gown, I’ll wear it on our next night out.” You exclaimed, twirling with it. Though you would never be able to see yourself wearing it in a mirror, you thought that you would feel beautiful in it. And Lestat would tell you that you were. He was growing predictable in the most wonderful way.

“Why not today?” He questioned, approaching you and held it onto your body to emphasize how lovely you would look in it. “Wear it to bed with me. I want to feel it upon my cheek while I sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want it to get wrinkled... oh, alright,” You said, seeing his earnest expression. He helped you out of the simple dress that you were wearing, one that you had picked yourself. He was much more into the luxurious fashion of the day, favorite bright colors that made him stand out. You were not so flamboyant, and preferred to let him be the center of attention rather than yourself. It worked out well, though you did get occasional glances from other ladies, wondering how someone such as yourself had managed to gain the love of such a charmer.

You wondered the same thing yourself.

As his fingers tickled at your spine, as his hair swept against your face, you questioned how you could have grown so lucky. Were the years of isolation just a pre-payment for the years of happiness that you were having now?

You stepped into the new gown, and he pulled it up, over your thighs, your waist, your bust, your shoulders, and smoothed everything down so it draped you perfectly. He must have came home just in time, for a flash of lightning came through the windows, and the rumble of thunder. The sound of rain upon the roof and on the sidewalk. “Music to my ears,” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“A most marvelous lullaby,” Lestat said, unable to stop feeling the fabric. The seamstress must have put a lot of work into this gown, for it fit you perfectly, emphasizing your waist and bust in a way you haven’t seen before without a corset, and fell to the ground without pooling at your feet. “May I take you to bed, beautiful?”

“Oh, you divine charmer,” You said, pressing your hand upon his cheek. He whisked you away, down to the basement where your coffin lay.

A while back, you had traded in your usual sarcophagus bed for something much better. It was Lestat’s idea initially, complaining about the long, cold days alone inside of a tomb. It had been an unexpected surprise when he actually did something about it, instead of expecting you to do so. When you came home from a feeding and a walk, he presented to you the double coffin. It was exactly as it sounded - two built into one, with room for both of you, and no inner wall to keep you apart.

He held your hand to help you climb inside, then followed you right in. Velvet dress on velvet interior; it felt both warm and rather sexual. With the lid closed, and the two of you in complete darkness, you felt confident, wrapping your arms around your blonde lover and pulled him close.

It took you some time to realize that this was the love that you deserved. That you were worthy of affection and love, despite all of the years that you had gone without it. And you were just lucky enough to find it with another vampire, so the only limit that you had was not time, but imagination.

As for Lestat, you had truly saved him from the misery that he had put himself through after Louis. He was ready to lock himself up for a hundred years or more, just to avoid the pain. To take the sleep of the immortal ones and awake in a brand new age. But this one still had a lot to offer, that much was clear with you. He never thought of that; only that he would remain in a state of purgatory, rather than a life of shooting stars and velvet gowns.

He was glad he stayed in this Vampire Town.

#Lestat x reader #Lestat De Lioncourt #Lestat oneshot #Lestat #Interview with the Vampire #Interview with the Vampire oneshot #oneshot #one shot #request

366 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 4 years

Note

honestly i could talk w band!hobi abt numbers all day, like i wouldn't even mind. what are ur thoughts on 27 hobi? i think they a bad bitch. also UM might i request a drabble abt like a film major! yn (that is very enthusiastic abt films and the aesthetics + cinematography and whatnot) w like,,, a theatre kid?? any of ot7 works fine and it's all good if u can't or don't want to! thankyouu 💜

muse of mine

pairing: namjoon x y/n

wordcount: 4k

glimpse: namjoon’s always been a little sensitive to feedback whether it’s positive or negative, y/n’s an endearing type of talker, and smuggled snacks to the theater haven’t ever tasted this sweet :D // gif from pinterest!

notes: i kinda switched it up a lil bit and made them more established in their respective fields bc my mind went berserk on this concept!!! also this is mayhaps my oNLY piece that’s just pure fluff

“27? The number? Hmm. That sounds... sexy.” - band!hobi

this been’s bugging you for the past half hour

this whole experience feels oddly familiar

you’ve been in this theater for half an hour so far to watch this play!!

lmao ur gonna admit RIGHT off the bat that theatre’s definitely not it for you

your slight unfondness for it is deeply-rooted back to university and for four years, you’ve consistently taken dumps on theatre kids even if it’s under your breath

alright it’s possible that you don’t hATE the actual people ( only some of them ;D ) themselves but rather this whole type of cockiness and the “i’m a direct descendant of shakespeare himself. trust me bro. on god” energy that they always seem to exhude

but realistically, maybe this deep-rooted hate stemmed from seokjin

he was the guy you’d share the exact same elective class with him for two straight whole semesters and you’ve been seatmates from time to time

homie took foreign language as an elective?????

the language is korean?????????????????

“wait b-but i — aren’t you — n-no but i really???”

that’s what you first sputtered to him in realization when he took his seat beside you

the two of you have only ever shown each other notes bc the other was dozing off and the occasional sharing of gummy bears that’s already pre-opened to not make any noise

but for some reason, it’s only dawned in you why seokjin’s a god in this class and he answers your questions without even looking at his notes by hALFWAY through the whole semester of foreign language

one day, u are gonna find a way to bodyslam yourself and never recover from it ever again

“mhmm. don’t sweat it, sweetheart. i personally think it’s very don quixote of me to y’know, take something as impractical and amusing as this.”

you snort at his choice of words because honestly!! you barely remember don quixote and jin’s use of it as an adjective jigs up a refresher course on your brain

who was he again??

was he the donkey

.. or are you thinking about shrek again because of your film analysis

you sWEAR there was a donkey in that story

it’s good fun to talk with jin even if he keeps sliding bourgeoisie words here and there and you’re a lil confused with all these references that he makes but that’s okay !!!

atleast even him saying it in a long-winded way that he was like someone from the merchant of somewhere, you know now that he pretty-pleased and charmed his way to the registrar for him to take korean as an elective

...

two weeks later, jin sits next to you in class

in ACTUAL non-elective, non-native language he already speaks class

now that you’re squinting a bit more, jin does look a little uh?? different

his hair that was once a hybrid of lavender and peach and pink and then blonde was now wholly black and it’s probably his original hair color because it matches with those eyebrows of his!!!

his combo of a black bomber jacket with a silk button-up underneath honestly SLAPS and it makes you forget how he used to exclusively wear only knitted shirts and argyle-patterned cardigans

you have ur jaw dropped because you totally would’ve fallen for seokjin jAW-FIRST

— if only he didn’t strike you as the brother type when he smacked the back of your head because you were falling asleep on class again and uhhh you mUst be forgetting that the two of you were sitting in front

you had no time to reevaluate whether you should develop a crush for him or not

he’s immediately slapping his hands on his knees, looking at you so intensely before pointing a finger at you with so much conviction, and then scoffing to himself

“switched majors to film. theatre was gonna be the death of me!!! y/n, if you even think about trying to switch to that cheap, amazon-ordered quill and tanning lights for stage lighting major, you’re absolutely dEAD to me-”

you’ve never had a conversation this striking nor long with jin but you genuinely have no complaints at all

seokjin talks pure shit about theatre and theatre junkies and everything in between for the WHOLE day

trails beside you for every single class you had, which was convenient because he can then sweet-talk his way again (if anybody even dared to question him) that he’s just newly-switched

sat with you for lunch and him not eating because he just needS to tell you all about it and you trying not to choke on your pasta as you try to reply to him

followed you back hOME and decided to crash the night there

yeah, that. your unfondness for theatre’s rooted on that one

uh-huh safe to say that you’ve become best friends with jin ever since that day

you’re a sponge for your friends and jin’s the closest one you have, so it was only natural that you soak up his distastes and whatnot

not to brag but aha :D

you add salt to the water while you boil pasta so u may be a little bit of a masterchef or somewhat, no big deal :D

he’s absorbed your fascination for all kinds of lights and fixtures that he has about seven different nightlights in the form of squishies or neon and everything else on his bedside table, in which he turns all of them on at night

fun fact: he’s capable of sleeping in the dark

jin’s the whole reason for your stance on this

he’s adamant about his points and you’ve graduated uni four years ago!!!

which is why you DON’T get why jin would give you a scented black envelope, with “don’t come to this” scribbled in gold at the front, carrying a single ticket to this play with a sticky note saying “don’t watch this at 7 pm, wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes, sitting at the ninth row from the back and two seats from your right.”

because of course!! what the hell did he expect you to do? NOT come to this play at 7 pm wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes then sitting at the ninth row from the back, two seats from the right???

OF COURSE YOU WOULD

your goal in life is to do exactly the opposite of what jin tells you. there’s literally nothing else in life you’d want to fulfill

he’s made it quite easy for you to spite him and although you wouldn’t admit it.,,.,., you may be a little petty ok

he’s the even bigger goof out of the two of you and you can never have the final say!! it’s always him and his wit and yOU being the dunce

it’s a lil sus that jin’s basically ASKING for it with his instructions but whatever

whatever it is, this is finally your chance to enact the final say and you’re gonna pull ALL the stops

all you know about theater-goers is that they dress fancy and wear these mini binoculars and that’s about it

there’s not even one film you know that you see anyone in the audience wearing a worn-in cardigan or even a puffer jacket even if the theater’s mad cold

all the people bring are scarves and shawls???? thee thinnest version of a blanket that won’t warm them up against the frigid airconditioning

that whole dress code sounds ridiculous!!! great please ring out this thousand-dollar dress im gonna wear to the theater thank u

you’re a little worried that you’re not gonna blend into the crowd, but after some digging about the invitation, formal wear is most definitely recommended

it’s an exclusive invite-only play which would be later released to the general public later on so yeah the situation dOES call for a gown thank u very much

also how could you forget that jin explicitly told you not to wear this type of attire

if you’re being humble right now, which you always normally are, even if that jUST sounded boastful talking about how you’re humble all the time —

you do look pretty breath-taking :-)

even when the doors weren’t opened and everyone’s just collectively loitering outside the hall, you’d feel glances at you

the sweet security guard did a double-take at you and mumbled a “very very nice evening to you, miss :D” instead of his normal “enjoy the show!” to the other patrons before you

you’re gonna soak all the silent compliments up and try to remember all of them before writing them on your journal later hee-hee

your midnight blue satin dress that’s floor-length and off-shoulder is dEFINITELY in your favor :D

your dress still glimmers even if the spotlight isn’t on you and you wish you weren’t shy to ask a random stranger to take a picture of you

going on self-timer isn’t ideal either when there’s like a hundred other people in the room

they probably wouldn’t even care if you took a picture of yourself!!! but in your head they probably think that you’re laughable so you’d rather not.. do that

the theater’s dark as hell if that wasn’t established

it is literally pitch black in the room and the ushers at each row holding the flashlights that are meant to guide the patrons aren’t exactly helpful

big kudos to them though,, must take a lot of self-control to not wave their lights like it was a rave :D

a flashlight tHAT bright?? whew pls is this what ships feel in the night

the last time you were in a rave, your thirty minutes of fun was cut short when seokjin immediately got hammered and wouldn’t stop throwing a fit if you didn’t drive him home that instant

his energy seemed to compelling everyone that he’s managed to somehow suck the energy out of a WHOLE rave so you took him home for everyone’s enjoyment :(((( except yours apparently

you’re trying hard to focus on the play that’s happening because for the past twenty minutes, all you’ve done is zone out randomly with ideas all of a sudden

you NEED to listen

....

uh-huh...

UH-HUH......

wait this is actually.. good

you find plays hard to follow and absolutely boring when you don’t immerse yourself in a run-down PRIOR to watching it in order to get

it’s the same analogy as reading the plot of a movie on wikipedia before watching the movie at the cinema.... absolutely useless

it sucks out the fun from something you weren’t supposed to know

watching plays is two hours of you being confused, going home to read the plot and only understand it by tHEN, and never coming to the theater again because you’d waste your money.... watching something cluelessly in the theater..... for a plot you’d grasp at home

but no

because this one

actually this one that you’re watching...

it’s not bad

it’s nice, actually.

within two minutes, you managed to grasp that it’s a story about a never-ending spring between these two lovers

there’s something about the whole setting of it actually that just sucks you in

in some plays, the outfits would seem so forced even in the given context that it reminds you of uh a particular superhero movie

and yes ur aware that stage makeup has to be enhanced so that people all the way to the back row would see

but there’s just something in this scene that’s laid out right-now that actually gets you in awe

it’s of the couple in the back of their pick-up truck and everything about it seems so natural

the background straight up looks like what it’d be if you were to go outside

the guy’s arm around her shoulder seems so natural and in nature that it doesn’t feel like a random cue in the script

the girl twinkles and it doesn’t even feel like a forced type of laugh you’d cue in attempt to warm the audience’s hearts

it’s of a plot where the the guy eventually falls out of love with the girl, while girl gets even more smitten with the guy at the same time

it’s what you take from the past ten minutes that you watch in dead silence, and you don’t even remember in the back of your head that you’re supposed to hate plays

“no way.”

you mumble in disbelief under your breath, head shaking profusely

is your mind playing tricks on you???

you’ve got too used to seokjin sitting beside you that you immediately turn to your right, whispering out your concerns

“is it just me or is she wearing a different shade of pink?”

you don’t even buffer for one second when you ask the stranger beside you

you’re so concerned that you’re looking at him intently while waiting for his answer that could either console or despair you, a random theater-goer that’s too noisy with her questions for her own good

it’s absolutely dARK as fuck in the theater but after awhile your eyes adjusted slightly

and the first thing you look at after the stage is him

him as in the dude in your right that you just asked all of a sudden

you could only see his silhouette and the faintest features of his face along with his well-dressed suit but god

... you are totally not lying if you say that even the barest silhouette of him doesn’t look handsome

you’re expecting him to tell you off for being so noisy but instead, he’s the one who takes you by surprise

“how did you notice that?”

“oh my god!” you exclaim almost too loudly that you yourself even jolts, the guy even making you duck with him slightly for a brief second, “im sO sorry!! am i accidentally spoiling it out for you?”

the guy blinks twice, lips slightly parted before shaking his head no

“no, no... this is the first screening — i mean uh, how would you know that?”

oh boy

you’re adjusting yourself on your seat, bum now warm as you try to explain and not be nervous because what if you just made a wrong assumption about this play and you’re sitting next to a goddamn tHEATRE BUFF???

“well i —uh, uhm what’s your name?” you’re flustered and the FIRST thing you ask is what was his name.,.,,

he seems equally as flustered before he adjusts his glasses, “o-oh uhm i’m namjoon...?”

alright! handsome guy is namjoon!

“you see, namjoon — okay it might just be in my head, but i tHINK it looks deeper with the light somehow. but uh...? the spotlight’s not following her and — is it just me or without the light, her sweater looks brown?”

you’re squinting and if u squint even more, maybe your contacts would just crumple by then

hold on a second

“brown, like — oh my gOD LIKE-”

namjoon puts a hand over his mouth before you could even gasp, hand reaching out for your forearm even before you manage to grasp his shoulder to take it in realization

was it under your nose the whole time??

“... fall.”

holy fucking shit

namjoon looks positively euphoric looking at your face of realization, his once-heavy chest about the whole scene becoming completely devoid of weight

“exactly!!”

his confirmation makes you inwardly squeal, grinning as you point at him and the stage back and forth

“i think this is the first play i’ve become ever interested in watching.”

okay what now

his ears perk up at that, your first sentence that you’ve said after your pink sweater that looks like spring also looks brown like fall in certain scene because of the lighting realization

“it is?”

he takes the chance to look at you as best as he could, trying to play his squinting as cool as he can

namjoon’s far sighted and the glasses he’s wearing are nOT up to date with his current grade bc he’s pretty sure his eyesight’s worsened the past month

he can’t make you out wholly, but he does know that you’re pretty

his eyes don’t linger on you because of the snacks you’re fishing from your purse while you talk that are absolutely illegal in this theater house lmao

but instead, his gaze lingers on you because you’re so pretty

the minimal light that’s bouncing off the stage is enough for him to see a faint outline of your features, highlighting your smiles just right and your dress to glint underneath

“mhmm. i actually hate plays,” suddenly, you’re not scared if namjoon happens to be some sort of theatre buff and you’re offending him because honestly, you feel at ease. “crunch?” you’re holding out the mini bar of chocolate out to him, one he politely declines to because his eyes are bulging out the next second

“you do????”

his genuine reaction indulges you, making you grin ultimately that you put off eating snacks for now to focus on him

“yeah! this is my hate outfit :D”

namjoon giggles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard

you automatically scoot closer because this time, it’s yOUR turn to shush him

this is totally for just the reason of talking more discreetly and not distracting anyone and is totally not an excuse to be closer to the next guy and touch shoulders with him then get a whiff of cologne because it’s rare for a guy to be handsome and aLSO smell good

your eyes get used to the darkness and eventually, you could make out features of namjoon beside you

he has the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen

and the way he looks at you makes you feel safe and even your height difference is visible with how probably lonG his torso is compared to yours, his gaze doesn’t make you feel small

namjoon’s still (unsurprisingly) far-sighted and ur so close that he’s a lil cross-eyed

fuck it he’s gonna go to ophthalmologist FIRST thing in the morning tomorrow

“then why are you here?”

“my friend seokjin,” you lean back upon realizing the original reason why you’re here, the situation being so ironic that you puff out a smile

your friend’s named seokjin?

cool :D kim seokjin is namjoon’s of his favorite directors eVER!!

second best for him actually though.,., no one could quite compare to his first

your explanation makes him cackle several times, a swell of pride recounting why you hate (it’ll be past tense probably after this one) theatre

“what about you?”

you turn the question to him, making his dimples disappear effectively that you think you’ve just spooked him

“i uh, well i always wanted to see a story that went like this, so i’m here.”

“you’re a critic? oh god. please don’t tell me you heard all my mumbles.”

no this is even WORSE

namjoon’s not a theatre buff

HE’S A CRITIC????????????

god im coming up

“don’t worry, i also think that the drapings must probably be dirty.”

he breaks out into a smile recounting how you were talking to yourself earlier, a snort escaping him involuntarily

“RIGHT??? it’s like how do you even clean them?? do they fit in washing machines or-”

my god he’s such a nice guy!!!

in fact, he’s everything you want in a guy

you’ve went through atleast twelve facets of emotions for the past hour and you’re not even dating!!!!!!!

“my thoughts exactly!! and if it’s by hand, how do you even scrub the entirety of it?? or wring the water out??”

namjoon KNOWS exactly what’s up :’)

“is there even a clothesline that’d bEAR the weight??”

the two of you are so happy that you just look at each other laughing, a moment in time before namjoon nudges you to lean back because the ending’s happening

you don’t even question him how he’d know that it’s the ending and not just another opening to a new scene, just listening to him

you’re so happy

the play made you happy but namjoon made you even happier :-)

“if you are a critic, you should probably open up your review with this chatty play-hating girl beside you, then at the end, close it off with how she loves it.”

it’s the parting conversation as you realize and holy fuck you are nOT ready for it

you r gonna drag this out for as long as you could <3

......

and namjoon wants in too <3

“noted. if i was a playwright, i’d even make you the lead. which detail should i include? offering me wrapper-covered rice crispy snacks, or asking how you’d watch it while going thru the bathroom?”

this feels so natural

as natural as the couple in the play you’ve just finished watching :))

“you’re hilarious,” you’re not even the slightest bit annoyed and your restrained smile tells him all about it

yea you may have brought in snacks illegally but you aRE gathering your trash up as you’re a decent human being

namjoon wishes you’d pick up after yourself slowly, standing up from his seat as he has the plan of picking up trash that isn’t even his

“what name should i put then?”

you’re silent and oh god he thinks you found his company stupid and would definitely not give him your name

you’re not ignoring him though!!!

his words are still stuck in your head, realizing it lately with his “which detail should i include?”

“me wanting to turn this into a film, actually.”

you test the words out on your tongue, nodding to yourself after a few seconds that you seem so sure of it

“yeah. i wanna make it into a film.”

the lights turn on after being dim for so long, namjoon’s eyes going wide trying to digest what you’ve just said

“w-what?

.....

no fucking way

HOLY FUCKING SHIT SWFRWFBWRHGBRBVWRV SWBHJSDB SHJAVBHGJDS BWHRGHBSVWBGRH

namjoon’s malfunctioning as he’s looking at you from eye to eye, bottom lip trembling while he’s so keen at pointing at you

“y-you’re miss y/n!!”

....

right

oH RIGHT

he’s a fan of yours??

namjoon’s fanning his face because he’s about to literally burst into tears

how could he nOT???

how could he not be emotional when all along, he’s been talking to his number one favorite director????

you and your films are the absolute gems of his life namjoon’s not even kidding

your films were world-renowned for being so natural and sentimental without loading too much into it!!!! you’re known for being so humble through the multiple back-to-back awards and praise you get!!!!

he cannot calm the fUCK down when you’re rubbing circles on his back

“you w-want to turn my play into a film?”

oh my gOD

you’re fumbling for the envelope and it’s only nOW that you realize that it’s not from seokjin in the first place

spring day a play by kim namjoon an invite for director y/n y/l/n

“it’s you!!!!”

“no it’s YOU!!”

jin’s plan worked alright :D

he’s just FOUR rows behind you lmao

it was just two weeks ago when yoongi, the executive producer of his film that he was directing, let it slip that he was co-financing a play

he met yoongi some semesters later after he became close with you, and he’s aLSO converted yoongi into hating theatre then he fit right in to your little posse of theatre kid-hating film students

that gave jin the laugh of his laugh and yoongi was not joking at all

“no, no. i’m telling you man. it’s different! i even have the script that i’ll let you read.”

and holy shit it IS different

if you see a couple tears on the last seven pages of yoongi’s copy of spring day’s script then mind yo oWN fucking business

then two weeks later, here he is :D

jin managed to also convert you to love theatre even IF it is namjoon’s play that did all the work

( also coincidentally found you a future boyfriend because he’s tired of seeing you alone and the closest you’d get to having someone is projecting your yearning into writing the scripts for the films you’d make )

he’s also secretly co-financed the whole play along with yoongi and he’ll drop that bomb later on lmao

“and that must mean i looked like a total FOOL beside you oh my god im so sorry!!”

namjoon panics at that, about to cry when another realization hits him when he’s about to put his head on his hands

“then that means the friend who gave you the ticket was-”

SEOKJIN VBFHSBVHSFBVSFHDVBSJFV SFJVJSFVSJVSSV SSV V FS FSV SFBVRBVRSVSWVGU

he cries to your shoulder and you never expected to be hugging and consoling someone you’ve just met two hours ago, a more than fond smile on your face he takes advantage of when he sneaks in the chance to ask you

“do you mean that?”

“now why would i lie to the playwright who’s been listening to me talk shit, then theorizing, then crying for the past hour?”

it’s true though

namjoon’s seen it all

he’s still handsome as ever even when he sniffles, his dimples on display when you return his question

“now did you mean it? writing me into your play?”

why are you even ASKING

he’s the biggest fan of u

namjoon’s made notes of your work, dedicated scripts to your movies, and he’s thinking about how it’s not yet hitting you how your whole epiphany about the pink sweater turning brown on his play,,, was entirely inspired from you and your affinity for lighting in your films

he thinks it’s still a little early to kiss you on the cheek even if you’ve already hugged, instead settling on pinching your cheek with satisfaction present in all corners

“you’ve always been my muse.”

#feedback pls and thank you :D I WAS SCREAMING THE WHOLE TIME I HAVE A TEST TOMORROW I NEED TO SLEEP #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon imagine #namjoon imagines #namjoon oneshot #namjoon oneshots #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon au #namjoon fluff imagine #namjoon fluff imagines #namjoon fic #namjoon fics #namjoon fic recs #namjoon scenario #bts namjoon imagine

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