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horrormancer · 2 years

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If you hear voices from the attic...Run

They tell me today is September 27th, 2021. But that can’t be right. I KNOW it is April 30th, 2020.

I don’t know how much longer I will be able to fight against the darkness, the swirling shadows that once seemed to be so far away but now twist and whip across my vision, close enough to snuff out all of the light that my weary and bloodshot eyes might take in. I don’t know even if I will have time enough to finish telling this tale before my time runs out: it is not as if there is a ticking clock that marks the passage of time or gives me clear warning of how many more times my heart might beat before it stills at last. There is only my laptop sitting at 33% battery life, the ever curling smoke-like wisps of anti-light, and the ever present whispers that fill my ears, sometimes louder, sometimes barely audible depending on which way I turn my head. They whisper the most horrific things: not graphic descriptions of my own demise, nor threats against my loved ones, nor promises of endless pain and torture that conjures images of fire and brimstone. No, they are far more insidious than that, but I am getting ahead of myself.

As I sit cross-legged on the cold cement of my basement floor, dying laptop across my thighs, I have decided to relay what has happened here. Any attempts to do so before now resulted only in a litany of diagnoses from the so-called “medical and mental health professionals”, several stints in my local medical institution, and a mountain of medical debt that I shall never be able to pay off, even if I were to survive the night. At least all of the pointless sessions and perpetually inconvenient appointments left me with a cocktail of drugs that will make my last hours upon this earth somewhat enjoyable.

To anyone that reads this, I urge you to believe that I am not, as the doctors have insisted, ill of mind. Nor am I the sort to actively seek out attention from others; in fact it was my desire to be left alone that brought me to this place, and ultimately my doom. I don’t know if anyone will ever find these words, but I hope that maybe, just maybe, if you find yourself in my position, they might serve to save you. Not that I know how to save myself. But my failures might save you valuable time. For time, I have learned in stark contrast, is the most valuable thing in the world. And so, with my purpose clear, let me tell you of the horrors that await anyone unfortunate enough to stumble across what I have.

I am a writer, or rather, I was a writer before all of this began. I had a small apartment in a large building of similar apartments in the middle of the bustling metropolis that is New York City that was my shining little bubble of light and comfort. Outside my walls and windows, the smog and grime that littered the city walks and poisoned the air were replaced by warm lamps and the subtle scents that wafted through my small rooms thanks to a little aromatherapy pod I had picked up on clearance a few years ago. Sure, the walls were thin and every morning and evening at 6:04 sharp, the train would pass by my window, nearly close enough to touch if I were to reach my fingers through the thick black metal bars welded over them from the outside, and gunshots were as common as raindrops, but the rent was cheap, and heavy curtains could block out the world along with the ever-present noise canceling headphones that I wore morning, noon, and night when I was home. I was, therefore, relatively happy with my little life: though I was able to find work as a writer from time to time, and had published a couple of books to small success, I had still found the need to take a job at a local diner to make ends meet.

It wasn’t, all in all, a terrible set up: the diner was a quick five minute walk from my apartment, a little hole in the wall with perpetually greasy countertops no matter how much bleach we laid down, the smell of burnt toast and old coffee lingering in the air, the worn plastic topped booth seats...you know the sort. The clientele was minimal but familiar, the work was easy enough and steady besides, and the tips were nothing to scoff at. And though I had long fantasized about moving away from the city, maybe buying a little cabin set away from the nearest town where my windows showed the surrounding forest and blessed silence where I might spend my days in peace waxing poetic on a page, it was more of a daydream than any active quest of mine.

Until the day *he* arrived, that is. I remember the day well. It was a late autumn afternoon, where the crisp winds of October drafted through the alleys bringing the slightest hint of scent from the trees beyond the city, drifting down and over from the mountains and hills of the Northeast before being washed over with the pungent smell of grime and decay from the city. It must have been the first week of October, as I had yet to be paid my bi-weekly check, and was carefully tracking my tips, as I do, to decide if the night would be another macaroni and cheese night, or if I might be lucky enough to splurge on a frozen pizza from the market down the street when the front door of the diner opened violently, the wind outside no doubt taking the patron by surprise and sending the little silver bell above the door to ringing with its familiar tinny sound, whipped up to a fever pitch as the gusts blew around, making the various flyers on the cork board dance beneath their thumbtacks.

Its almost funny now, looking back, at how annoyed I had been at the bell for chiming as it rested back into place when the man managed to close the door and stillness swept back over the place. It was a Wednesday, and the lunch crowd, if the handful of senior citizens we saw every afternoon could ever be called a crowd, had cleared out already and the diner stood empty ready for the small trickle of diners that would make their way in for dinner. One of the things I liked about this job was that I was more than welcome to sit on a stool with my laptop and click away at my keyboard, penning my next manuscript or combing through my notes for my latest ghostwriting contract, and so I was when the door opened and the gust of air blew through the little diner.

Dutifully, I closed my laptop and stood to greet the patron, screwing on a happy, welcoming smile as I turned towards him. He seemed at first glance to be rather ordinary: maybe 5’8 in height with grey hair, a slightly stooped posture in a charcoal grey suit. Nothing about him really stood out, except of course, for his eyes. They were brilliantly blue, refracting the lights from the diner in a way that would have made fashion model’s jealous.

I greeted the man, and offered him a seat either at the bar, or in a booth, whichever he preferred. He smiled, a weary sort of smile as though the weight of the world were attached to the corners of his mouth and took a seat on a stool. I sighed a little inside, for I knew this business enough after my 6 years of working here. When someone wants to be alone to get work done or is with a companion, they opt for a booth. But when they want to talk they always sit at the bar. So much for getting back to my manuscript.

I crossed around through the little lifting gate and bustled around behind the counter with a few automatic, practiced motions, and set a glass of ice water down in front of him, along with a paper placemat, an empty coffee cup, napkin, straw, spoon, and fork.

“Would you like a menu?” I asked helpfully. The menu was written out on a large chalkboard on the wall across from the counter where he sat, but older customers sometimes prefer the thick black books with the laminated pages; better for their eyesight, I suppose.

“No! Thank you,” he responded and I did my best not to be alarmed by the response. For it was as though he was having trouble gauging the volume of his voice. The first word had been shouted, though not angrily, followed by what were barely more than whispers. I pulled my order book and a pen from my apron, flipping it open and at the ready, doing my best to ignore the strangeness. After all, strange was nothing new in a little place like this.

“Alright, what can I get for you?” I asked, just as pleasant and calm as ever.

“HAM and eggs WITH TOAST wheat bread AND CAN I also please have SOME ORANGE JUICE with my coffee NO CREAMER?” Again, he alternated between shouting at the top of his lungs, and whispering in a raspy voice as though decades of whatever condition he had that caused him to lose control of his volume had damaged his vocal chords, the air acting like broken glass in his throat. I gave him a soft smile, my heart going out to him for what he must have been through.

“Absolutely. Coming right up,” I said with a forced cheerfulness that I did not truly feel, but felt he could use as I passed the ticket through the service window to the cook, Barny, and set about pouring his coffee and bringing him orange juice and a bowl of sugar packets for his coffee. As I set them down he smiled up at me silently, and I noticed for the first time that his grey hair must once have been black, for there, at the very roots of the strands, was a deep pigment, just a few millimeters in length, growing from his scalp at the end of each strand. It looked rather like when my ex-girlfriend had dyed her hair platinum blonde one summer, just as the roots of her natural chestnut brown were beginning to grow back out.

An odd effect, to be certain. Who would dye their hair grey? Wasn’t it normally the other way around?

I said nothing and moved to lean into the service window to watch Barney work, stealing glances at the man as he sat there in silence, his eyes shifting about looking at something unseen in the way I had seen all too often with some of our older customers as dementia sets in, shortly before they simply stop returning to the diner. The realization that they probably died not too long after had hit me one night, about 8 months into my employment here, and I was wracked with agony. At this point though, I had learned to simply think they moved away to a beautiful retirement community in Florida somewhere, sunshine and shuffleboard, and did their crosswords and ate their gravy laden pot roast and burnt corned beef hash at another diner closer by. It made it easier.

For a brief moment I worried whether the man had any money on him, or whether I would end up paying for his meal. But as Barny put the finished plate of food up on the window for me, I realized it didn’t matter. It never had before now; there had been a handful of occasions over the years where I ended up footing the bill for a diner that forgot their wallet in confusion or else for the few that had wandered in off the street thinking it was still 1952 or something similar. I fixed my smile back into place and delivered his food while kissing thoughts of that frozen pizza goodbye, and wondering idly which dried spices I was going to add to my 99 cent box of mac and cheese tonight in a vague attempt to give it variety.

To my surprise, as I laid the plate down, the man withdrew a hundred dollar bill from his pocket and extended it with a hand trembling slightly as I had come to expect from aged customers. “You can KEEP THE change,” he half whispered, half shouted, and I took the bill from his hand, he picked up his fork and knife and began carefully laying the napkin in his lap, prim and proper as I had ever seen. “Thank you!” I said with delight as I turned to the register to ring up the sale. I might even get one of those rising crust frozen pizzas tonight!

When I turned back to the man, his plate was entirely empty, as if it had been licked clean while my back was turned. So too was the glass of orange juice empty, and the water glass as well. I did my best to hide my surprise and asked simply if he would like more coffee. He nodded, pushing his cup towards me and I poured him another cup. I don’t normally start conversations, you see, but after such a generous tip, I felt obliged.

“My, you were pretty hungry huh? Is there anything else I can get you?” I asked, picking the plate up off the counter to get it out of his way. He shook his head no immediately, and then paused before nodding after all.

“YOU COULD tell me your NAME!” The half whispered, half shout did not have much effect on me as the stark realization, looking at his face, that his man was not in fact old at all. Or rather, that I was able to see what he looked like while young, just buried under a layer of loose and wrinkled skin on his face, so noticeable it was a wonder I hadn’t assumed him to be wearing special effects makeup.

That’s when it hit me. He must be a method actor for one of the shows or movies being shot about the city. I’d heard of this sort of thing happening before, and it would explain the poorly dyed hair and the weird affectation, and the rather generous tip. I smiled, somewhat relieved at my own folly, and stretched out my hand.

“Name’s Charlie. Charlie B. Finnigan.” I smiled warmly as he tentatively stretched his hand out towards my own, his shaking softly in a very good affectation I had seen of the older patrons, and placed it in mine. I marveled at the feel of it. His hand was soft with skin that felt as thin as paper loosely draped over the bones of his gnarled fingers, just as many of my customer’s hands felt.

“CARMICHEAL,” he said, “George CARMICHEAL.”

Pleasantries exchanged, he soon launched into telling me about his life, and I happily stood by, leaning my forearms against the counter to listen. I’ve always appreciated a good story, you see, and getting the backstory of this character bound for the big screen before anyone else held me quite in rapture, though he never would say what movie he was involved in, despite my asking several times.

He had been a broker for a large hedge fund in the heart of New York, penthouse suite, large corner office, 5-star hotel stays around the world when meeting with clients, the whole shebang. Living in the ivory tower of high finance and beautiful women, when he had lost it all, he said. Made a bad deal, lost millions for his clients. In and out of rehab for the liquor that he had used to drown his sorrows after he lost his position, his penthouse, his cars, his entire life. Broke, disgraced, and with nowhere else to go, his uncle in New Hampshire, the only family he had left, had offered him respite in his little cabin up there. He had taken him up on the offer, using the last of his available funds to buy a bus ticket up, with nothing but a single suitcase of clothes and a few vestiges of his former high life.

He was able to kick the drink, he said, with the help of his uncle who lived a curiously simplistic lifestyle. Though the house was wired for electricity, once the night fell he would throw a large switch in the basement for the breaker, cutting the electricity and would be in bed not long after in order to rise with the sun. Only candles and lanterns were permitted for light once the sun went down, and there were precious few of those. He did not own a computer or a television, in fact his only means of contact to the outside world was an old fashioned rotary telephone, affixed in its worn wooden box on the wall of the kitchen. You could only call his uncle, Carmichael explained, between the hours of 2 and 4pm each afternoon, otherwise it would ring and ring on for ages.

“TOO MANY years as a RECLUSE I THOUGHT!” Carmichael said. “BUT I WAS so wrong. WRONG!”

I was quite taken with the story and the immenseness that went into the crafting of the tale, as well as the skill of the actor recalling the plethora of details without a cue card in sight. As he spoke, I periodically refilled his coffee cup and he would take long swigs from it as if the caffeine or the warmth of the liquid was giving him strength to go on….I was overjoyed to be in the presence of such a master storyteller. I quickly gave up trying to pester him for his true name, or the project he was working on, for he was committed to his character and would not break it. Thus I poured myself a mug of coffee as well, and simply absorbed the tale.

It had taken some time, he said, to adjust to the strangely disconnected way of life. But within a few months he found he fell asleep easily, shortly after the lights went out without being kept awake by the whistling of the wind against the windows, or the odd creaks that accompany an older wooden building in the night. His uncle had even given him a new purpose, furnishing him with an old typewriter dug out from the basement so he might set about writing an autobiography of his rise to the top and the fall afterwards. He had a glimmer of hope, he said, of finding his way to the top of the New York Times Bestseller List, and making a comeback to the financial world and high society life.

He had, in fact, contacted a publishing house that sent him a rather handsome advance for the manuscript, which he had used to purchase a laptop to work on, as opposed to the dusty old typewriter. Shortly afterwards, he said, his uncle had died of a sudden and rather dramatic heart attack one night, in the pitch black of the little cabin. He recounted a tiny funeral attended only by a few members of the local church, and a brief interaction with a lawyer that informed him his uncle had left him the bulk of his meager estate: little more than the cabin and its belongings, as well as the 3 thousand dollars he had managed to squirrel away into the bank.

With his uncle gone, a manuscript to deliver, and dreams of a return to his former life spurring him onwards, he no longer had reason to throw the big switch in the basement when the sun dipped below the hills, and he purchased a small flat screen television with a Netflix subscription by way of keeping himself entertained while working on his laptop late into the night, rising in the afternoons when his body woke him.

It was a simple, quiet life he said, and though he missed his uncle, he enjoyed his time he said. The cabin began to have issues shortly thereafter he said, as one might expect from such an old place under the care of a man who knew nothing of tending to a cabin of its age. Lights flickering as circuits became overloaded, faucets making odd gurgling sounds and shaking violently when washing the dishes, doors refusing to close properly as their frames swelled with the summer heat, and swinging open at night when they returned to their normal size. They didn’t bother him terribly much, he said. He had planned to sell the cabin off once he made his return to New York, and it would be someone else’s problem. Until then, he could live with it.

“NO SOONER HAD I DECIDED that there was nothing to FEAR ABOUT the place than I learned HOW WRONG I WAS!”

What he had recounted next made little sense, between the intermittent high volume shouting and the way the words quickly tumbled out of his mouth as though he were suddenly pressed for time, his thoughts too jumbled to keep his story straight, and his eyes darting around wildly. He had begun hearing voices, he said, from the attic. Singing to him like angels of his work, and urging him to work on into the night and through the day, to skip meals and showers in order to complete it.

The lights, he said, would begin to flicker and at times the power would go out for days at a time, forcing him to use the typewriter by candlelight, leaving him to retype his manuscript over and over and over again, and all the while the light of the candles would illuminate less and less of the pages.

I had to hand it to him, he was doing a wonderful job of playing the role of a man suffering a severe mental break as he described the looming existential doubt of failures and dreams never to be obtained, of disasters the world over that he would never prevent, and of the ceaseless passage of time that slipped away in chunks, first hours then days and ultimately weeks at a time without notice.

He described the looming darkness that was spreading like a shadow over his soul, and the never ending overstimulation from every sensory input in jumbled, half formed sentences, as I listened on, slack jawed, coffee forgotten in my hand and gone cold. For it seemed to me, all the while, that as he spoke his eyes grew brighter and drew me in like a moth to a flame. I wondered idly about electronic contact lenses and was just about to ask when Carmicheal stood up as if startled and sprinted with uneven, almost drunken steps across the diner, the whooshing of the October wind that swirled into the diner with the relentless tinny sound of the silver bell as it sung on its hook serving as his goodbye.

Bewildered, I leaned through the service window to find Barny asleep in a chair with a newspaper draped across his lap like a blanket: his favorite position when not working the grill. With a shake of my head at the strangeness of actors in his city, I cleared away the dishes from the counter and prepared for the few regular’s we would be expecting for dinner.

That night, I had a lovely self-rising frozen pizza from the corner shop with pepperoni, bacon, AND sausage while seated in my bright little bubble of warmth, immersed in some wispy instrumental music and worked on my manuscript. It did not occur to me how truly strange my life was about to become.

As October came and went, and November reared, news of a strange new disease sweeping through parts of Asia started to fill headlines and drove thoughts of the strange man from my mind, replaced instead with reports of high infection rates and airborne pathogens. The disease, they said, spread from person to person easily and had the potential to decimate populations, especially in densely packed areas. I began to dream again of having my own little house, perhaps a cabin in the woods, cut off from the world to sit and write and weather the storm of this infection.

Though of course that wouldn’t be possible, not with my meager funds and the small savings I had been able to scrape together from the diner and odd writing jobs. Life as I had known it changed rapidly: my uniform now included a facemask, a thick plexiglass divider was strung up from the ceiling to hang over the counter, and the diner was more packed than it had ever been as we were one of the few establishments that remained open. I couldn’t argue with the tips either, even as countless people found themselves out of work, they were more than generous. I even ordered a proper pizza one night, delivery and everything!

As the lockdowns came, we of course stayed open through special waivers and precautions, and at night I would shut the world out while returning to my apartment, ignoring the rumors of the mounting death tolls and the mass burning of bodies that were overwhelming morgues all over the city. Needless to say, when the opportunity to get out of the city came, I took it without a second thought.

It was December 2nd, and outside my window snow was falling like grey ash to cover the sidewalks, turning to a dirty sludge as I trudged through it on my way to the diner, the collar of my coat turned up against the soft wind sweeping it way through the buildings. When I opened the door to the diner and was greeted with the familiar tingling of the silver bell and the smell of burnt toast and old coffee, there was a gentleman in a brown suit that matched his cloth face mask and leather briefcase in his hand. He greeted me instantly, stated he had urgent business, and we moved to a booth together to handle it.

He was a lawyer in charge of George Carmicheal’s estate. I laughed in his face. The method actor? The lawyer insisted that Mr. Carmichael was never an actor, but a former broker for a large hedge fund in the city before a series of unfortunate events, and he had left his estate to one Charlie. B Finnigan who could be found at this diner. I was in shock, and wanted to ask a million questions, but the lawyer was in a hurry, he said, and before long had me signing papers to take possession of one cabin in Vermont, a transfer of $2431.16 to my bank account (more money than I had ever had at one time), an unsealed envelope with my name written across the front, and a ring of keys that looked as though they had seen more than a little abuse over the years. When it was all said and done, he thanked me and left without a word, leaving me bewildered and with a 12 hour shift ahead.

I remember having an odd detachment throughout my shift, and performed my tasks and waited tables and patrons with a series of automated responses and motions, as if I were running on autopilot, my mind turning over and over the events of the day. Could this be some sort of elaborate prank? Intense promotion for the movie? All of the paperwork seemed so official. I had no way to be sure. And all the while I longed to read the letter contained inside the envelope that was safely tucked away in my coat under the counter.

I hurried home the following morning, taking little notice of the smell in the air, nor the quiet that seemed to settle upon the city with the thickening layer of snow. How I wish now that I had taken the time to enjoy it, to revel in the muted silence and the brightness of the street lights as they glittered and fractured against the flakes of snow. But I took no notice and bolted my apartment door behind me, flinging my wet shoes off, slinging my headphones over my ears while clutching the letter in my free hand and sat down on my small sofa.

The letter was written on a single sheet of slightly crumpled notebook paper, the little fringes where it was torn from a spiral bound notebook still clinging to the edge, the handwriting a shaky, uneven scrawl. It read thus: Charlie,

This is a poor way to repay your kindness, but perhaps you will find that not every tale is just a story. If you hear voices from the attic, run.

George Carmicheal

So it must be a horror movie, I thought. Like many at the time, the full scope of the illness that was sweeping the globe had not struck me as something that would last beyond just the next few months, and clearly the studio did not expect it either. They had an elaborating marketing plan, clearly designed to go viral. While I may end up the laughing stock of their marketing campaign, I had made out, at least as far as I was aware, with a free cabin removed from the city and the disease as well as money enough to make the trip up North.

And so, I called the diner that very morning to quit my position, and spent the day packing my few belongings into a rented uhaul. 12 hours and more than a couple wrong turns later I pulled up a long gravel drive and saw the cabin for the first time. It was well outside the nearest town, and set from the road by a long driveway amidst a small clearing of the forest around it. The 2 story cabin had a certain beautiful majesty to it, with its shuttered windows and bright red door. The logs that formed its walls fit together perfectly, without gaps at the corners in a sort of cross stack, and some sort of ivy had claimed each of them, climbing its way up and onto the roof.

I let myself in after trying several of the keys that I had been provided and reached for a lightswitch, finding without surprise that there was no power. Using my cellphone as a flashlight, I roamed around the first floor, finding the door to the basement and quickly locating what I sought: a large metal switch with a handle large enough that I could fit both hands on it at the same time, a few flakes of red paint still clinging to its worn surface and with some effort, I was able to lift it up into place.

Immediately the lights of the basement came to life, revealing the concrete floor, a large wash tub of old wood with lightly rusted metal bracers, and a well worn wooden workbench that traversed the length of one wall, laden with various hand tools. Smiling to myself, I made my way back upstairs to survey the home that had so luckily become mine.

The door to the basement was located to one corner of the small living room, which was illuminated by an almost abrasively bright light from the ceiling, which hung directly over a small coffee table, the surface of which was strewn with papers, some of them crumpled, others in small stacks, all of which appeared to be typed with an old fashioned typewriter. I could not make out the words, however, as each page appeared to have been typed, then fed through to be typed over again with different words, several times, so that letters combined with each other in unintelligible blobs that marred the surface of the sheet. Pages and pages of hand typed nonsense. I wondered idly which poor unpaid intern drew the short straw and had to spend countless hours on this little detail. There was a small, threadbare sofa that once must have been green across from a small flat screen television on the wall in the living room as well, the remote for which was secured to the wall by the television with a bit of velcro. I had to admit, it was a clever way to never lose the remote. A shame I had never thought of doing so myself.

The open floor plan of the cabin had the kitchen partitioned by only a small outcropping of half wall, the top of which formed a sort of counter by which two lifted chairs rested, and I imagined eating breakfast there the following morning as I made my way through the cabinets and drawers, locating a number of plates, bowls, cups and utensils as well as cookware. Score. I had a very limited collection of dishes myself that I had brought along, but this was more than I could ever have hoped for. There was a gas stove, which I wasn’t familiar with, I had always used an electric stove, but I felt certain I could figure it out. Heat is heat, after all. And of course, affixed to the wall in its little wooden frame was a rotary phone with an old receiver.

It struck me as odd for a moment that there was no refrigerator, just a large heavy old fashioned ice box, and I laughed out loud to no one about how no detail seemed to be overlooked by whatever production crew was in charge of furnishing this place, and hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed when I ordered a refrigerator...assuming I would be able to find one that I could afford. It was then that I wondered for the first time if the cabin had been rigged with cameras or microphones, so that whoever was behind this could utilize the footage for their movie trailer or something similar.

I spent the next half hour or so looking for any signs of surveillance on the main floor, in the living room, kitchen, and small bathroom before moving upstairs to continue the search of the two bedrooms, small office, and larger bathroom. Finding nothing, I ventured up the rickety stairs pulled from the ceiling to the attic. Again, I found nothing to suggest there was a film crew watching my every move. In fact, the attic was entirely empty, save for a dusty old typewriter with its stiff brass keys. Poor intern, I thought out loud to no one in particular as I carried it down the stairs and placed it on the old desk in the office. If Carmicheal had been using the typewriter for those pages downstairs, it wouldn’t have this much dust on it. Good try, though.

I spent the rest of the day moving in my few items, returning the uhaul to the nearest drop off location, and then taking a very expensive taxi ride back to the cabin. By the time I returned that night, I was exhausted, and ended up falling asleep with ease on the hard sofa shortly after sundown.

The next morning I ventured upstairs for a shower. The water pressure was terrible, and it took ages to find the proper temperature, but I was glad there was running water. I fixed myself a small breakfast of oatmeal, and interesting endeavor for someone who had only ever used a microwave for oatmeal, and set about looking for a small refrigerator. Around noon I had it sorted out, and a second hand refrigerator would be delivered the following day from a local outlet.

I would need a job, of course, in order to afford food and electricity and internet and such, but I had savings enough thanks to the generous donation of George Carmicheal to worry about that in a few days, after I had settled in. Besides, I had my meager royalties from my books, and ghost writing besides….I might not even need to take a job now that I didn’t need to pay rent anymore.

It was with this thought that I settled myself onto the sofa and absorbed myself in my own manuscript. I was startled out of my work by the ringing of the phone in the kitchen, a loud, echoing sound that reverberated throughout the whole cabin, bouncing off the walls like thunder. As I crossed to the kitchen to answer, wondering who it could be, I noted that the clock on the wall said it was 3pm. I was absorbed in my work for longer than I realized.

I lifted the receiver to my ear, noting how heavy it was in my hand.

“Ah, hello. You must be Charlie B. Finnigan,” said the female voice on the other end.

“Yes, I’m Charlie. Who is this please?” “My name is Nancy Hallmaker. I’m one of the publishing agents at Nondescript Publishing House. I worked with George Carmicheal before his untimely demise.”

“Oh,” I said simply. “It's uh...nice to meet you.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, but fortunately I didn’t need to, as she quickly pressed on and got to the point of her call.

“George told me that you were a writer and that I should check out your work. I’ve actually just finished Lights Over The Bay and I love your imagery. I don’t know if you’re working with an agent or have plans for another work, but I would love to sign you with an advance.” I was taken aback. The man from the diner had looked into me, and set up a book deal for me? My worries over money were potentially over, forever. Little did I know how right I was.

I spent an hour on the phone with Nancy, discussing details and emailing her over the first few chapters of the manuscript I had been working on. When we hung up, I was pleased as punch and expecting an email of documents from her to sign off on, as well as a sizable advance on the book sales. Everything was coming up Charlie.

A few weeks later, I was settled in with more comfort and security than I had ever known: no bills hanging over my head, no 12 hour shifts, and no more endless boxes of 99 cent macaroni and cheese from the corner store for dinner. I would wake with the sun in the morning, attend to the ever-present removal of dirt, dust, and grime that seemed to accumulate in the house, and work in solitude in my own little space in the world, bothered by no one with the lilting music of violins and orchestras filling the rooms from the little television. It wasn’t long before I stopped charging my cell phone and let the bill lapse into disconnection, so happy was I with my little sanctuary away from the world.

I would work on my manuscript into the evening, and tuck myself into bed when I was tired at night without a care in the world. I soon grew used to the creaking and groaning of the old cabin, after a few nights of being convinced I heard someone walking up the stairs. Loose floorboards, nothing more I soon discovered and before too long, I had settled into a nice little routine.

February came and went, and as early March brought with it slightly warmer weather and the icicles that hung from the roof could be seen dripping slowly with the afternoon sun, I received word from Nancy from the publishing house. The world was in the grips of what had become a full blown pandemic, and the need for entertainment was greater than ever before. My manuscript, she said, had a real chance of becoming a best seller if we could publish it by the end of April.

Excited, I agreed to the rushed timeline. After all, I had little to fill my days besides enjoying my world, in my own little bubble as the world passed me by, and had made a lot of progress. Surely I could deliver. All it would take was a few late nights and a little of the hard work ethic that I had left behind in New York. And so I moved from the living room with the television up to the office, setting up my laptop on the desk next to the typewriter and got to it.

I remember the first night in the office, hard at work into the wee hours of the morning, when the power switched off unexpectedly, plunging me into darkness save for the light from my laptop screen as it swapped over to battery power. Without a flashlight, or my cell phone, I carried the computer with me down into the basement to hunt for a fuse box, assuming that one must have blown. I found no fuse box, only the same handle that controlled all of the power in the house. It was in the down position, apparently having been switched off by an overloaded circuit. Placing the laptop on the ground at my feet, I struggled to push the heavy switch back with both hands, but finally managed it, and realizing it was nearly 4am, decided to head to bed.

I had slept through the day, unaccustomed to the late nights, and woke up as the sun was setting. Fortunately enough for me, I wasn’t beholden to any set schedule, and after a quick meal, got back to work. When I sat down with my manuscript, I found that I had unintentionally repeated a few paragraphs, no doubt owing to having been too tired to remember where I was. I took no notice and got back to work, speeding through progress through the night, and becoming very annoyed when once more, just after 3:50am, the power to the cabin switched off.

This became a habit, a schedule of sorts. I would wake late in the day after being up too late, work into the night until the lights switched off, and take that as my cue to go to bed. I had taken to keeping a flashlight on my desk for my nightly trek to the basement, but as the cheap batteries seemed to work for only a night or two, I first replaced it with a jarred candle, and then gave up going down there all together, instead starting my “morning” with throwing the switch.

I don’t know how long this went on, but at some point, when the power to the house would switch off, I would jokingly call out to the empty house with a “Thank You George. I’ll go to bed.” or a “Five more minutes, George.” It seemed only fitting somehow, despite the fact that I knew I was alone. I didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, and knew well enough that it was likely power surges in the middle of the night were too much for the old circuitry to handle.

It was oddly comforting, in my self-imposed isolation, to talk to George throughout my day, and I would as I was fixing meals, or taking a shower, or working late into the night in a frenzy to complete my manuscript. At times, I even fancied he would answer back, in that strange half shouting, half whispering voice that I had heard in the diner, though it was always far off, as though he were upstairs while I was in the kitchen, or outside the office door when I was at work.

I delivered my completed manuscript with a sigh of relief the night before the new deadline, and closed my laptop just before the lights went out, looking forward to the comfort of my bed and long sleep before a return to a normal schedule, but was woken only a few hours later by the harsh and resounding ringing of the phone in the kitchen at 9am.

I shuffled my way downstairs, squinting my eyes against the morning light that streamed abrasively through the windows and answered the phone.

“Hello?” Silence was my only answer. Annoyed, I tried again. “Hello? Who is this?” Finally there was a soft clicking sound, and the voice on the other end finally came through. It was Nancy, though her voice sounded far away, as if coming down a long tunnel, and strangely distorted in such a way that I could only make out every couple words or so.

“Charlie. I got your manuscript…...too little too late…..last April’s release date…...can’t make out what this is supposed to be…..”

I hung up the phone and shook my head, trying to clear it of the distorted sound that I could still hear, and trudged back to bed, convinced that I must be having a weird dream. I would call her tomorrow to confirm she received my manuscript. I tossed and turned in bed for hours, the strange sounds of distorted voices down a long tunnel filling my ears before I finally slipped into unconsciousness.

When I awoke again, the moon had already risen over the trees outside my window. So much for resetting my sleep schedule, and I called out to the house as I had grown into the habit of doing. “Why didn’t you wake me, George?” I shuffled my way to the basement to throw the switch, and then headed to the kitchen after some food, my head foggy with the memory of the strange sounds that had filled my ears. Turning on the kitchen lights was a mistake: I cried out and closed my eyes as my vision went black for a moment and my head felt like it would crack in two, the whooshing distorted sounds in my ears flaring back to life. Great. A migraine.

I heated up a can of soup in the darkness, aside from the soft glow of the gas flames on the burner, sipped it slowly while seated on the sofa, not daring to turn on the television and cursing myself quietly for not having any headache medication in the house. I wasn’t prone to headaches, and my medicine cabinet was always rather bare: even over the counter the medications cost money and for a long time, I was severely lacking in funds. I curled up on the sofa with the blanket I kept there, and resolved to head into town in the morning for some meds if the migraine was not alleviated by more sleep.

When I awoke the next day, the light was still blinding and I squinted as I made my way upstairs to my laptop, telling George that the switch had better be on in the basement so I could order a cab to the store. The strange whooshing in my ears now seemed to me to be a cacophony of raspy voices, all talking over each other, impossible to distinguish one sentence from the other, and the sensitivity to light was leaving swirling black spots in my vision, like mist crowding over my eyes that would drift like clouds in the sky.

I searched quickly for migraine symptoms: yup. As I thought, auditory and visual hallucinations. Since it had progressed to this point, it was better that I saw a doctor rather than attempt to treat it with over the counter medications. And so I ordered a cab through the website, dragged shoes on my feet, and stumbled my way towards the door.

I felt bad for the cab driver, who looked understandably shocked when I shouted directions at him, unable to hear myself speaking over the sound in my ears. Shouting, I decided, was a terrible way to communicate, as it made my head throb all that much more. I must have collapsed on the way to the hospital, for when I awoke I was on an inclined hospital bed with doctors standing over me, the voices in my ears louder than ever, the bright lights searing my eyes and I was grateful for the black wisps that coalesced over my eyes.

Blood tests. Dehydration. Arrhythmia. Psychosis. Schizophrenia. Narcolepsy. The words passed through the voices in my ears during various bouts of consciousness and the complete darkness and peace that was unconsciousness.

I recall one doctor, young, handsome, with a smile that probably sent all the nurses swooning through the drifting bits of vision I had, talking to me gently, though I could barely make out his voice through the haze of never ending voices.

“I’m NOT mad,” I insisted. “PLEASE just take the migraine. It HURTS.” My throat hurt from being so dry, and I choked on the words like shards of glass before drifting back to the darkness, the peaceful serenity of unconsciousness.

Medications, therapy, release. All of it pointless and meaningless as the voices and the loss of my vision continued, the painfulness of the bright lights. Clipped conversations. I want sleep. Turn the lights out. Freedom. HELP ME.

Keep the LIGHT of day. The future REPEATS ITSELF. There is no end TO BE FOUND. Don’t answer the phone in the MORNING. All I wanted was my own LITTLE WORLD don’t you UNDERSTAND?! If you hear voices from the attic, RUN.

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#creepy #creepypasta #horror #horrorstory #original #spooky #nosleep #pyschologicalhorror #scary #scary stories

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spinachandhoney · 5 months

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SnakeFace episode 12 script

OKAY, this is where the original script aligns with the rewrites, so there may still be a few inconsistencies I didn't catch, so I apologise for those. Keep in mind, I wrote these in 2020-2021, so my writing style is very different from how it is where I'm currently writing/revising (as of this moment where I am writing this draft, I am on episode 126 of the script, and episode 13 of the published comic)

[script under the cut]

[there are parts which were removed from the episode because I refused to cut it into two parts like episode 9, but I will leave those scenes in here for you to read despite them not being in the actual published version]

Ivan was sitting in the den, alone again. Joey came down the stairs, his hair matted. He saw Ivan by the fire and sat next to him with a grunt.

“Rough night?” He asked.

Ivan nodded. “Mhm. How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. It’s a nice house. A lot less noise than in the city.”

“That’s true.” Ivan sighed. It was silent for a while.

“You have a nightmare?”

Ivan shrugged. “I don’t know. The storm woke me up a few times so I just decided to get up after a while.”

“I used to get bad nightmares too, after my mom left. I… heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. I should’ve been more careful-”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself, man. That kinda stuff’s out of anyone’s control. But, if you ever need to talk to anyone about it. I’m here.”

Ivan nodded. “That’s alright. Thanks.”

Kim joined the two shortly just as Ivan’s mom got up to make them breakfast. The three of them talked for a while, ate, and then left to finish getting ready. They hurried off to school on foot, arriving before anyone else.

“How do you manage to get here so early every day?” Kim asked.

“Just luck, I guess,” Joey shrugged.

Soon enough, the teachers started arriving. When Val walked up to campus, however, he wasn’t alone. Beside the vampire was a tall, dark-skinned boy with a school letterman and a big bushy tail. Val appeared to be… laughing?

“Val,” Kim ran up to him. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Hans,” the vampire introduced the taller boy as they approached Ivan and Joey. “I met him on my way home yesterday.”

“You mean when you were lost in the city,” Hans joked. He was taller than Joey by a good few inches, standing around at least six feet. The taller boy looked at the green-haired boy for a second and cocked his head. “Rohellec?”

“Hans?” Joey leaned forward.

“Valentine, is this the friend you helped move yesterday?”

“Yeah, why? You know him?”

Hans chuckled. “Yeah, I know him-”

“His sister’s dating Beverly,” Joey interrupted. “I used to go over to his place sometimes for dinner.”

Val pouted. “Can’t a guy enjoy a new friend for two seconds? Is that too much to ask in this town?”

“So, Hans,” Kim changed the subject. “If you don’t mind my asking, you’re a werewolf, yes?”

“Rougarou, actually,” the wolf nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“I just think it’s very intriguing that a vampire and a wolf are friends.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that-”

“Of course not; I mean this with no ill intent. I find it rather inspiring. I mean, if you were to look at the five of us you wouldn’t think we would get along. A witch, a vampire, a lycan, a snake, and… whatever Joey is- Joey, what exactly are you?”

“Oh,” Joey took his hat off and shook his hair out of his face, lifting his bangs. Beneath the thick green mess were four bright red eyes. “I’m a cat four.”

“Wait, a category four?”

“Yeah, I just said that. I’m not really big on talking about it though. Maybe later.” Joey dropped his hair and shoved his hat back on.

“That is one heck of a combo,” Hans said. “Like a bunch of ragtag misfits.”

The day passed by quickly, and nothing majorly interesting happened until study hall… again. When Ivan walked through the door, all the chairs had been rearranged and cramped. When Ivan looked toward the back of the room he noticed- Kim? What was Kim doing there? She beckoned Ivan over.

“What’s going on?” Ivan asked.

“Graves and Adders are doing a combined class project,” Kim whispered.

Graves quickly hushed the classroom. There was no one standing beside him; where was Adders?

“As most of you probably know by now,” Graves said. “Ms. Adders and I have decided to pair together for planning the end-of-the-year school party. To explain for some of you that are new this year, we like to celebrate finals season coming to a close with a giant dance. It’s like homecoming, but for spring state championships. This year, my class was chosen to plan the dance, however, being the second smallest study hall, Wilhelmina and I combined our classes.”

Kim smiled at Ivan.

“Adders will be joining us shortly, for any of you wondering. I’ll start without her for now. Keep in mind this is entirely for fun, but do not hesitate to give it your all. After all, this is the biggest pride of the school each year; decorations, music, games, and anything else you can think of should bring the most excitement to everyone on campus, not just the students.”

“This gives me a chance to perfect some of the spells I’ve been working on,” Kim whispered to Ivan. The door clicked open as someone else entered the room. The class went so quiet that not even a whisper could be heard. A tall, dark, deer-like creature dressed in 90s grunge-type clothing walked through the door and stood next to Graves.

“Don’t let me stop you,” she said. “You all act like you’re at a funeral, liven up.”

“Glad you could join us, Mina.”

“That’s Adders?” Ivan whispered.

Kim nodded. “Told you she was kinda freaky.”

“Now,” Adders clapped her hands together. “There are some tasks that will require you to work with a group, so choose whoever it is you work with best and Corvus and I will write it down on the list.”

[this bit was cut out] “Ivan,” Graves caught the boy before sending him off for lunch. “I understand that we make this seem like a huge deal, but you don’t have to participate if you don’t want to. One good thing about having two smaller groups forming ironically the largest group of students this year is that there’s a little room for some slack. Plus, you and Kim came into the school so late in the year, you don’t even have to participate in the games. It’s only extra credit, so it’s no big deal.”

Ivan shrugged. “Kim might be upset by it, but that’s kind of a relief for me; I’m not too big on sports or parties.”

Graves smirked. “Neither was I back when I was in school, even though Adders and I were picked for party planning our sophomore year. You can still be there to pitch ideas with your friends if you want.”

“Thanks.” [back to what I kept in]

Ivan and Kim met up with Val, Joey, and Hans outside under the pavilion.

“So, you guys were picked for party planning, eh?” Val asked.

Ivan nodded. “Graves and Adders’ classes paired up this year.”

“Dang, lucky. I’m stuck in the games with Lilli this year.”

“Aw, seriously?” Joey grimaced. “I’m sorry, man. But, hey, at least you get to be in the games.”

“Who’s Lilli?” Ivan asked

“One of Val’s old friends from a few years ago-”

“We aren’t friends anymore, though,” Val cut Joey off, glaring at the boy. Joey put his hands up defensively. Ivan was confused but dropped the thought.

“So, Joey, Hans, you guys have study hall together?” Kim switched up the subject.

Hans nodded. “It’s kinda how we got to know each other after our sisters started dating.”

“That’s cool. So what are you guys doing after school? Joey’s coming home with us, but if we want to hang out it could give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

“That’s a good idea. My mom’s closing up at the café tonight, if you want to come with?”

Ivan lit up. “The café? That sounds great.”

“I can let my parents know I’m staying after school with my friends,” Val said. “They usually don’t pay much attention where I go anyway.”

“Both of my parents are working late at the clinic tonight, so we just have to let Ivan’s mom know there was a change in plans.”

“Wait, you all live together?”

“Yeah,” Joey snagged something from Val’s lunch, “it’s like becoming friends with college roommates you just met. You could put in a good word with the Yorks and see if we could get you in too.”

“The Yorks? As in the third richest family in all of Barebinx?”

“Right next to Val and me, yeah.”

“Shit, man. I meet one guy and suddenly I’m friends with the second-generation aristocrats.”

“And Ivan.”

“Right. And Ivan.” <shock from Ivan> “So, you guys are Californian, right? What’s it like?”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Ivan said. “A lot of entitled monster haters. It’s a pretty neutral state, but the majority of the population is against mutants. Other than that, it’s really sunny.”

“Ivan’s from California, I just lived there for a few years,” Kim said.

“Oh yeah? Where you from, then?”

“A pretty secluded cliffside town in Maine. It’s like a magic hotspot out there.”

“You guys all seem so cool, where the heck have I been all this time- under a rock?”

That made the others laugh.

“Alright, so meet out on the lawn after school?” Kim said.

“Yeah, we can walk to the café, it’s not far.”

[originally, that scene was supposed to take place during lunch, but I changed it to after school for the sake of episode length. However, I will add the original ending of the episode here like I said above]

The lunch bell rang. Kim and Ivan made their way to the gym, which, like the rest of the school, was insanely large; the field was practically like a stadium. There were some fairly peculiar students in the class, which was to be expected of this school. Still, it was hard for Ivan to get used to being around so many mutants. <put the goth unicorn in there for shits and giggles> Ivan didn’t recognize many of them from his other classes, but he didn’t pay much attention anyway <also the plant guy from his study hall>. Kim noticed some interesting faces as well <lillith, bugo, hattie>.

It was near the end of the semester as it was, so the class was in high gear. They were just starting the basketball unit, which Ivan never considered himself to be good at. Kim, on the other hand, easily took to any new activity. She was one of the first picks when they were chosen for teams, and Ivan was typically one of the last. If she could help it, Kim picked Ivan to be on her team every time, no matter how annoyed it made the rest of her team.

A strange, green-haired girl with large cat-like ears and black eyes from the other team kept staring at Ivan and Kim, whether it was out of curiosity or competitiveness. It started to make Ivan anxious. The girl was a natural when it came to speed, but tended to be a ball hog rather than passing it off to her teammates. Her team kept asking her what her deal was, but she never responded; she simply grinned widely with large, sharp teeth. She was very odd, whoever she was.

The rest of the day passed by in a flash. Ivan and Joey talked through most of photography. The class was let outside to capture images of nature they found intriguing; Ivan mostly took pictures of mushrooms and an occasional raven.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Joey said when looking through Ivan’s pictures.

“My dad liked taking pictures,” Ivan said. “He taught me how to use a camera when I was pretty young. It makes it feel like there’s still that part of him with me.”

When the bell rang, Ivan realized he’d left his homework in Graves’ room. The other four decided to tag along with him so he didn’t get distracted, which he likely would have. Val and Joey seemed a little uneasy.

Ivan opened the door. “Uh, Graves? Can I come in?”

“Sure, what do you need?” Graves was sitting on his desk, the mouse cage in his lap. Adders was standing beside him.

“Oh, I left my homework in here.”

“Is this it?” Graves held out a small stack of papers.

“Yeah, thanks. You kept the mouse?”

“I figured why not? Some of the faculty don’t like the idea of a wild mouse being housed in the building, but what do I care.”

“I told him he should name it after a Roman soldier,” Adders said.

“I still don’t know why you think that’s so funny.”

“Because it’s a mouse!”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you here. I might hold a class contest for whoever can come up with the most ironic name… I’ll see you tomorrow, Ivan.”

“See you. Thanks.”

The five left the room. Joey and Val seemed to be holding their breath, as they exhaled sharply once they left.

“I have never seen Graves actually have a nice conversation with a student before,” Joey hissed. “What kind of magic sorcerer are you?”

“Speak, Wiseman!” Val added.

The group laughed as they left the campus.

[ch 12 bonus comic]

“Cute kids,” Adders said to Graves. “It’s a wonder you’re putting up with them. What’s different this year?”

Graves glanced out the window as Ivan brought up the back of the group. Adders noticed.

“It’s that snake boy, isn’t it?”

“He reminds me of myself when we were in school.”

“Awkward and reclusive?”

“No- wait, hey. No. I meant- ah, never mind. I do worry for him, though. He’s no stranger to being picked on.”

“I guess he is like you.”

Graves scowled at Adders, who simply smiled. “I don’t know why I’m still friends with you.”

“... Bartholomouse?”

“Absolutely not.”

[it's a shame I wasn't able to have the whole episode in, but I'll try to fit those extra scenes I cut out in another episode later. If not, they're still here, just in spirit (and script)]

#snakeface comic #webtoon #webtoon canvas #webcomic creator #webcomic #script #snakeface script

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sixeyesgojo · 3 years

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I’ll Be Your Enemy

Summary: Gojo Satoru is willing to do anything for you. As long as it helps you heal from what haunted your night.

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Word count: 2,019

Content warning: implied but unspecified mental illness, mentions of self-harm (scratching), mentions of character death

A/N: Kind of stumbled upon this masterpiece of a song and I thought it would be ideal for some Gojo HURT. This entire thing takes place after the Cursed Womb Arc, so to say: after Yuji dies.

Song: Be Your Enemy by Taemin ft. Wendy

PREQUEL HERE: Pictures of You

Quickly, quickly. The key was inserted into the keyhole and turned. The door lock clicked faintly, signaling that the door has been unlocked. Satoru made sure to open and close the door softly as he entered the familiar apartment. Putting the spare key into his pocket, he slid out of his shoes. Usually he would have made some big noise to ‘announce his arrival’ but not this time. He left his shoes neatly at the genkan of the residence and slipped into the white slippers that always stood by the wooden door, an extra pair just for him.

23 minutes ago. “Hello?” Satoru had picked up the phone. “Gojo-san! Finally the call went through. I’m glad I am able to reach you now,” the voice on the other end said. “Yo, Ijichi, what’s up?” Satoru greeted. He had been sent to a pretty rural area of Japan to get rid of some pesky curses and the cell phone reception was poor in that place, so it wasn’t surprising that calls didn’t go through at times. In addition to that, some curses that manifested had an electrical ability, which impaired the cell towers at place even more. Almost as if planned. “Gojo-san, I think you need to come back as fast as you can,” the man with glasses on the other end of the line stated calmly. “Why?” was the only thing the white-haired sorcerer said in response. Somehow, he had a strange feeling in his gut. The tone in Ijichi’s voice didn’t do anything to calm this odd feeling either.

“It’s L/N-san. Something horrible happened and I don’t think she is taking it well. I did my best to calm her but I’m at wits’ end too…” Ichiji explained vaguely. Satoru was experiencing a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - his stomach churned, it felt like his guts were wrenching inside him - at the mention of your name. “Ijichi,” he said in a relatively calm voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t betraying him by showing what he truly felt in that moment. Satoru’s feet were set in rapid motion. “Stay calm. I need you to explain to me what exactly happened.”

Gojo Satoru might be many things. A tease, a teacher (supposedly), a cruel man, a strong sorcerer, a crazy coach, a walking menace to some, protective, an inspiration to a handful, a venti-sized manchild, idiotic, a sweets maniac, a lifelong student to Yaga, playful, a pillar of the Jujutsu world… but most importantly, he was a caring person. This goes without saying for his students and especially his loved ones. What Ijichi just said on the phone had left his heart stinging in his chest. He was in the kitchen, leaving the bag he brought with him on the table.

“Alright. I will tell you what happened, Gojo-san.” “I am listening.” “I am not sure if you are aware that this happened,” the suit-clad man began, “but one of the missions that was originally assigned to you - a case of utmost priority of a cursed womb - was suddenly taken off of your pile and reassigned…” Satoru’s eyes narrowed underneath the black fabric. The beginning already left a bad taste in his mouth; missions assigned to him were usually first grade or even special grade and he knew all too well that there were nowhere enough first grade, let alone special grade, sorcerers around. So who had it been assigned to? “...to your three first-year students,” Ijichi finished with a sigh. The sickening hotness of rage filled Satoru’s whole body. Already having realized the scenario that must have taken place, he still asked for confirmation, “What grade?” “...Special grade. One casualty.” The picture that you had taken of him, his first years and yourself (so carefully hung up on your wall at home) flashed in front of his inner eye. He clenched his teeth so hard as he wordlessly hung up; it hurt. It hurt so badly.

Such an atrocious inhumane act coated in malice. He was going to kill these dirty-playing bastards. However, that would have to wait until later. Much later. Satoru couldn’t leave you to your own devices, not in this state. The scenario he concluded for himself earlier replayed in his mind several times as he made his way through your completely dark apartment. His heart stung with each beat. It was almost as if someone drove a blade through his chest repeatedly.

When he stood in front of the closed door of your bedroom, he heard soft sobs coming from inside. Should he knock to let you know someone came? He wasn’t sure what to do. He gave the door two soft knocks and entered the room. It was your hunched form on the bed, no doubt. Satoru could not see your face with the way your back was facing him. Slowly he made his way to your bed and crouched down to face you. Your face was swollen and tear-stained, a sight he didn’t see often. His large hand rested on your shoulder and gently rubbed it, a silent question hung in the air.

Finally, you looked at him with your swollen eyes. Almost instantly, your sobs got louder and you reached out for the tall sorcerer. “S-Satoru…” you hiccuped in-between sobs. “Yeah. I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured you and stroked the wet hair out of your puffy face as you threw yourself around him, relentlessly crying into his broad shoulders. The white-haired man enclosed his arms around you but it wasn’t to hug you for comfort.

He scooped your delicate frame up and wrapped a warm blanket around you before leaning your body against the headboard of the bed. He sat next to you on the bed and guided your head onto his shoulders. Your violent sobbing stopped but tears were still flowing freely.

If there was someone who understood the agony, bitterness and distress someone in this line of work had to face, it was Gojo Satoru. The path of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was painted black and red by trials and tribulations. This was why Satoru was so hell-bent on resetting the world he called his obligation. “If you feel exhausted, just lean on me for a second,” his calm voice sounded through the room. There was no answer from you. Even if there was silence, your feelings reached his heart and he spoke again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently. Let it go with me. It’ll be easier to shake this burden off and share it, he thought. Of course, he would never dare force you. You nuzzled into his shoulder, as if to get even closer physically.

Ultimately, the woman sucked in a breath and with a shaky voice and recounted everything in her point of view. “I-I.. was on a mission when I… got a call from Ijichi. ‘Something wasn’t right’, he said and… t-told me about the cursed womb. As soon as I heard… that they sent y-your students there, I rushed to the location but…”, you hiccuped, “...I was too late… Y-Yuji, he-” You sobbed hysterically into his shoulder. Satoru turned to you to wipe away the tears and snot with a tissue. “Shhh, I’m here, I’m here”, he reassured once again, “I’ll fix it somehow.” It was just as he thought: those damned higher ups.

“H-How? This is not… something… you can f-fix, Satoru… not even you,” you continued bawling into his shoulders. I’ll kill all the higher ups, he thought to himself. “I don’t know but I’ll be damned if I can’t do something to change this detestable, loathsome and bloody world we live in,” his voice seethed with anger but it quickly died down as he re-focused on the main topic at hand, “there has to be something I can do, I’ll even drag out Sukuna myself if I have to.” “Please, Satoru…” Your whisper was faint and weak, “I… saw Yuji’s corpse... on the ground... I just want to see him one last time…”

Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer undoubtedly put a heavy strain on your mental wellbeing; nobody was spared from it, not even the great Gojo Satoru. Unfortunately, you were one of the people who were much more affected by incidents like these. He realized how badly it hurt your heart, he knew how much all the students meant to you and he knew just how much more fragile you were than you let on in front of other people. Where there is light, there must be shadow. It wasn’t like he was left unscathed by it either but right now, his utmost priority was you.

“Right,” the male sorcerer murmured more to himself. He still had to check something. “I want you to show me your arms, please.” If this had been a command, it had to be the gentlest one you had ever heard. Maybe it was the fact that there was a hint of pain infused in the way he spoke to you just now that made you show your arms so willingly, or maybe it was the fact that he always sounded so earnest when he took care of you like this. He genuinely cared; it was something you shouldn’t be surprised about, considering how long the two of you have known and cared for each other, but it never ceased to leave you in awe. You held out your arms for him to see.

As carefully as possible, the man examined your arms, his touch ghosting over your skin. It was a good thing he came prepared. The angry red lines, dry blood and broken skin on both of your forearms seemed to scream at him: you hurt yourself again. Without a doubt, he felt guilty. “I’ll be right back,” he announced as he slipped away from the bed after fixing your position and stroking your hair tenderly. A few moments later, your tall friend was back with a few medical supplies. Sitting back on the bed, he started to clean and treat your injuries. Besides a few hiccups and whimpers from your side, silence befell the room.

“Don’t you want to curse and insult me?” His eyes were still fixed on bandaging your arms. “No,” was all you said in response, fearing that your voice would give in. “You should though. After all, it was technically my fault...” Even though you were hurting, you knew Satoru was hurting all the same deep down in his heart, seeing that his precious students were the victims in this case. Satoru really treasured disciples. You took a few deep breaths before you replied, “Please don’t ever blame yourself for this… I know you wouldn’t have… let this shit happen. I know how much you adore them.”

“If it makes you feel better... if it can help you heal, I’ll take it. Any words are fine. I can deal with all the painful words…” Strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest. It was rare but his voice… unmistakably cracked for a second. A shaky chuckle left your lungs, “Please Satoru,” you wrapped your arms around him as well and nuzzled into his shirt again, “I could never treat you like that. You are everything to me but an enemy. Have always been.”

“I’ll be anything you need. I’ll even be your enemy if you ask me to… so please tell me, so that it doesn’t hurt you anymore…” he said shakily. The blindfolded man had masked his pain up until now, for your sake. It was your time to comfort him. Giving him shelter, like he had done for you. He had already experienced far too much hurt.

“Satoru, all I’ll ever need you to be in my life… is the important and comforting presence you have always been. Don’t change. If things are too much, too overwhelming and you become tired, you can lean on me too. I will never leave you.”

There was nothing left to say, no need. It was enough for both of you to be in each other’s comforting presence.

Taglist: @gojos-mochi @megumifushi @bleueluna

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo angst #angst #gojo satoru angst #song fic #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #tw: death #tw: mentions of death #tw: mental illness #tw: self harm #taemin #inspired by taemin #shinee #ibye series

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pradaksj · 3 years

Text

Safety Net || part one. (m.)

↳do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

❧ summary ⟶ on new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together.

❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader

❧ genre⟶ enemies to friends, friends to lovers, roommates au, fluff, angst, pining, eventual smut, boxer!jungkook. two-part series.

❧ word count ⟶ 24,000+

❧ warnings ⟶ mentions of oral and sex but nothing explicit or descriptive. fight scene that involves drunk man. mentions of bullying (in the past).

❧ music⟶ safety net, selfish, stuck on you, exile, +more

❧ a/n (please read) ⟶ this story switches a lot from past & present, I color coded borders to make it easier to tell :) dark purple = entering/still in the past, light purple= present, also this is unedited so sorry for any mistakes 😭 ill come back to edit a lot of things soon.

01 | 02

“Oh perfect, y/n!” Hobi stops you dead in your tracks before you could completely make your way onto the living room, “You don’t mind grabbing some more firewood from my car while I finish these up,” he says, currently too busy melting the chocolate for the s’mores he was making.

You see tonight was New Year’s Eve, and you and a couple of other close friends had decided to rent out a cabin in celebration of the new year instead of going out to some end of the year party, choosing comfort over a night of wild drinking. In the end it didn’t make much of a difference, because the moment you saw Jimin and Taehyung walk in with a pack of soju and other cheap liquor in their hands, you knew that by the end of the night someone, if not everyone, was going to end up completely wasted.

And of course, you were right. After hours of being outside in the cold, with the boys drinking as if there was no tomorrow, everyone had now made their way back inside, complaining that it was too cold outside and that the cabin came with an indoor fireplace for a reason.

Never one to drink too heavy, you had kept your drinking at a moderate pace, only allowing yourself to reach a relaxed kind of buzz. Namjoon and Yoongi on the other hand were currently debating on whether the US’s landing of the moon was nothing more than a fake ploy to beat Russia and was instead filmed on some movie set.

Jin and his girlfriend acted as measly facilitators between the two men who had been bickering back and forth for the past hour, their slurred speeches making it difficult to take either one seriously.

Jimin, for his part, had attempted to keep his drinking at a minimal but with Taehyung acting as his partner in crime, the two were now playing an unbalanced game of ping-pong, both of them looking as if at any moment they were going to knock out on the table. And Jungkook was— well where the hell was Jungkook?

But before you could dwell too much on the thought, Hobi’s voice snaps you back to reality, “pleaseeee, I’ll even add an extra chocolate square to your s’more, just like how always like em,” he flashes you a smile, your roommate of 3, going on 4, years knowing just what to say to convince you, not that you needed much of it.

Minus Hobi, you were probably the person closest to being sober, and you did not want to imagine the different disastrous scenarios that would happen if he sent anyone who wasn’t yourself out there. You also highly doubted any of them would even be up for it, and so with that you just let out a small groan, mumbling, “Where are your keys?”

Excitedly he points to the kitchen island, where his Hyundai’s keys laid across, “I parked right near the lake,” he says, immediately causing you to look back at him, brows furrowed in confusion, “No one wanted to carry the wood from here to the bonfire earlier, so I just parked near the lake to save our energy,” you roll your eyes, “Come on, it’s just a 2 minute walk at most, and I’m sure there’s still people celebrating across the lake as well so you don’t feel so scared, but if you want I can ask Jungkook to go wi—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine—” you interrupt, grabbing the keys and beginning to make your way out, quickly putting on your coat because God knew how cold it was outside. “He’s probably asleep already, knowing him,” you chuckle, the boy who Hobi had introduced you to in the last year and had been living with you two as well, had habit’s that were all too predictable by now. And though you knew he’d be more than glad to get up from bed and help, for now at least, you wanted him to rest as he, himself, was probably tired from carrying things back and forth all day in the help of preparing everything. “I’ll be quick,” you say.

“Make sure that no wooden splinter cuts you,” he shouts out before the wooden door closes, having been the victim to such cuts all day, “and call me if you find it too heavy!”

Beep. Beep.

Double clicking the lock button, you grunt as you try to simultaneously carry the uneven pieces of firewood and place Hobi’s keys back into your jacket’s pocket.

“Oh my God—” you mumble to yourself, frustrated by the lack of cooperation from the keys. The wood was now slipping from your hands, its gritty texture eager to leave you a cut and as predicted it does.

Wincing in pain, you uncaringly drop the pieces of wood, worried more about the cut on your hand than what had fallen on the ground below. Luckily the cut wasn’t too bad, nothing a little soap and water couldn’t fix, but the tingly sting in your hand meant that you’d have to wait a while before picking the wooden pieces back up.

Around you, you could hear the sound of different groups of friends and family celebrating with their own events, spotting different bonfires all around the lake. Glancing at the time on your phone, it currently read 11:00, only one more hour until the new year. A part of you was tempted to walk further down the path that led to the lake’s shore. Maybe even secretly wait so that you could watch the fireworks these groups of people most likely had shoot up into the sky at 12. Especially because you knew going back to the cabin, no one would want to come back out with you to watch. Honestly, how bad did they need their wood?

And so by convincing yourself, you begin to walk further towards the lake, careful not to trip on any of the scattered rocks that surround you. By the time you made it down, you were surprised to see just how far you were from other families, most, if not all, of them being directly across the lake. Honestly you wouldn’t have preferred it any other way.

You didn’t want to seem creepy, but the sight was somewhat comforting, the kids running around in their winter gear while their parents and friends all surrounded their bonfire, sticks and marshmallows in hand.

Not to mention that tonight was a full moon, the milky glow from the moonlight reflecting against the ripples of the lake, and the tiny stars which surrounded the magnet that was the moon only adding to the grand scenery in front of you. Usually you weren’t a sucker for these kinds of things, but wow did it look amazing. The person who’d really enjoy something like this was probably—

“Jungkook,” you breathe out, confused if you were seeing things because there he was, not too far from where you stood, sitting on a giant rock with his feet dangling, careful to not touch the freezing water. His right hand throwing the small pebbles that were near him to the lake. Not too hard, and not too soft. Clearly in his own world.

A small smile graces your lips, as you watch him continue, the lake not being the only thing the moonlight was hitting. His glimmering doe shaped eyes focused on the view in front of him, and you could only wonder what had him in such deep thought, but instead not wanting to bother, you slowly began to walk back, careful to not to make any loud noises.

One Step. Two Steps. Three Steps. Crrreaaak.

Mentally, you groan at the sound of the branch breaking, hoping that it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.

“Y/N?” he says unsurely, his attention snapping towards the sound, squinting while trying to make out your figure from afar. Your tensed shoulders drop in response. Deciding that there wasn’t much you could do, you turn around and walk towards him, feeling a little guilty that you’ve probably interrupted his time alone.

He watches as you make your way towards him, scooting to his left in order to make space for you because unbeknown to you, he was not at all bothered by your presence. In fact, he had just been thinking about you along with a question that had been looming over his head for quite some time. And the fact that you somehow managed to appear in this exact moment, almost as if it was fate, only left him in further awe.

“I thought you were asleep,” you chuckle, gently sitting down on the empty spot next to him, slowly rubbing your slightly cut hands together in an attempt to stay warm.

“I was going to sleep, but,” he pauses, “I just couldn’t,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “and well why waste such a good view by being in bed, am I right?,” he laughs before quickly noticing the fresh scar on your hand, “What happened?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

You shrug your shoulders in response, “I came to grab some more firewood from Hobi’s car and well long story short, I dropped them and well I got left with this,” you laugh, not taking your tiny injury too seriously.

Opening up your hand to further show him, he carefully examines the pinkish-red scar which was now slightly swollen, sighing in disappointment, “Mm you should’ve gone to go get it disinfected,” he mumbles, slightly shaking his head as he decides that he wasn’t going to lecture you any further, for in the past year he’s learned that even someone as sweet as you, has their own buttons capable of being pushed.

Having pushed them many, many times before, tonight he just wanted you to feel relaxed and not have to worry about whether he’d say the wrong thing or not. Tonight… well tonight he just wanted for you to seek comfort in his presence, the same way he’d found comfort in yours along the way.

“It doesn’t hurt too much if I’m being honest,” you give him a small reassuring smile, if anything your hands felt more clammy than they did pain. The warm feeling in your chest only expanding to the point where you swore you could feel it at the bottom of your toes.

Honestly, it was a feeling you found yourself all too familiar with these days, and though you knew what it was, you were also unsure on how to act on it, fearful of ruining the friendship with Jungkook that had gone through several ups and downs this year. And so for you the easiest thing to do was to just avoid thinking about it and avoid talking about it.

But there was no denying that the rush of emotions you’d feel whenever you managed to crack a laugh out of Jungkook to the point where his nose would scrunch so high up that you were sure that those happy days would last forever, or the ticklish butterflies you’d feel in your stomach on movie nights where he’d randomly begin to twirl your hair with his fingers, and the rapid heartbeat you’d feel hitting against your chest after an argument over something so trivial, until of course after several days of the silent treatment, one of you would get over themselves and stubbornly apologize whether it be through words or actions, were nothing but love.

Because even in the good and bad of your friendship, the arguments and the laughs, the tears and the smiles, somehow along the way you had found yourself falling in love with the boy who was nothing more than a stranger a year ago today.

“50 more minutes,” he says under his breath, bringing you back to reality.

Awkwardly you smile, “Yeah…” you breathe, the cold crisp weather causing vapor to come out of your mouth, a sign that you were freezing despite having such a thick sweater on. Jungkook is quick to take notice, offering his own puffy jacket for you to wear, to which you quickly refuse, “Take it, I have a sweater underneath anyway,” he pressures. You find it doubtful that his black cotton turtleneck was going to be sufficient enough for him in this weather.

You giggle at his sweet gesture, finding it all too endearing, “I’m telling you I’m good,” you laugh, your shivering fingers telling a different story, “Until the clock strikes twelve at least,” you bargain, pushing the sweater in his hand away back towards him, “then I’ll go back to the warm cabin.”

He looks at you as if unconvinced, but decides to drop it and take your word for it. And if you somehow managed to weasel into staying any longer past 12, then he’d just have to forcefully carry you back to the cabin.

Soon a comfortable silence fills the air, the two of you appreciating not only the view but each other’s presence. How fitting was it that the person you met on New Year’s day last year was going to be the person you ended it with, and begin a whole ‘nother year with.

“Can you believe it’s been one whole year since we’ve met,” he suddenly breaks the silence, almost as if reading your mind. To that you let out a small breathy chuckle, in disbelief yourself. Time had gone both so slow and fast this year, it was fascinating really, how you could be both so aware and unaware that someone’s very own existence was beginning to take such a special place in your heart.

“It feels like,” you pause momentarily, a small gentle smile appearing on your face as you remembered your first encounter with Jungkook, not knowing that it’d only be the beginning to the originally rocky relationship you had with him, “It feels like it was only yesterday.”

December 31, 2018.

New Years Eve.

11:00 PM.

“Only one hour left until the new year everybody!” the DJ shouts onto his mic and over the blasting music of the party you were currently at, “Make sure you grab that special somebody before the clock strikes 12!”

“You heard him y/n, go grab a special somebody,” Hobi teases, the two of you currently sitting at the bar acting as mere spectators to the group of partygoers that were currently having the time of their life on the dance floor.

For both you and Hobi, this type of setting was a little… how could you describe it … out of place for the two of you, but after weeks of begging from both Jimin and Taehyung and a little added pressure from Namjoon and Yoongi, the two of you now found yourselves here drinking the final night of 2018 away.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny,” you playfully roll your eyes, grabbing the shot glass full of tequila and downing the surprisingly smooth liquor. Hobi follows suit and chugs down his own. A squirmful look on his face following soon after. “Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll find myself dancing just like them,” you laugh, glancing at your group of friends who were currently acting as the life of the party, Jimin busting out what he calls his most “exclusive” moves.

Hobi, unlike him, remains silent which catches your attention. His attention was now on his phone, his face now appearing both red and stressed out. Nosily, you stretch your neck and attempt to peak at what could possibly have your roommate so worried, but Hobi’s quick to catch you. Immediately he pulls his phone towards his chest.

You gasp in dramatic fashion because one, your roommate wasn’t one to keep secrets from you, and two, well you were beginning to feel a little tipsy. “Now what could Jung Hoseok be hiding,” your words come out slightly slurred, a sign that the only thing you should be drinking from this point onward was some water.

“I’m not hiding anything,” he’s quick to respond, back on his phone but this time keeping it out of your reach, his fingers quickly tapping against the glass screen. You could only wonder who it was that had him typing as if his life depended on it.

“Come onnnnn,” you sing, playfully pushing his shoulder, “It can’t be that interesting, considering you don’t do much,” you pout. He looks up from his phone for a moment, but only to shoot you a glare, excusing your teasing with the fact that you were barely holding onto the state of being tipsy and on the brink of being considered drunk.

Hobi’s eyes quickly read the most recent text he’s received, rolling his eyes at whatever it was before sighing in distress, “You really wanna know?” eagerly you nod your head yes, “Well I was hoping he would be here so I could introduce you to him,” he gently shakes his head, clearly disappointed by tonight’s outcome.

“Ooooo who's the special person,” you quirk your brows up and down, but Hobi’s quick to shoot the idea down.

“Oh no, no, it’s not like that,” he laughs, “this person is a..” he pauses, trying to look for the best word to describe his relationship with said person, “Mm I guess we can call him a childhood friend,” he hums, “and well he’s been going through a bit of a tough time right now and well long before me and you ever met, he went out of his way to help me and well I think this time it’s only right that I’m there for him.” you tilt your head, slightly confused as to where this was going, “And sooo,” he sings, “I was hoping that by bringing you here and having you in a fun mood, that I could ask if he could stay at our place for a couple of months…”

You remain silent, Hobi’s words processing through your head one by one, an effect of the alcohol currently running through your system, “Only until he gets used to being in Seoul again, and finds some kind of solid ground here of course,” Hobi throws it in, worried that your silence meant rejection.

“Oh…” you mumble, thinking to yourself for a moment. Hobi’s friend huh? Well you and Hobi were like two peas in a pod, meaning whoever was a friend of his, was a friend of yours, point blank. You trusted that whoever this friend was, and whatever predicament they were in, chose to go to Hobi for the sole reason that Hobi was one of, if not the kindest person you’ve ever met, and was one of the very rare kind of people who made sure that whatever it was a person was going through, that they found a way to overcome it. And well you also assume that Hobi was going to take care of this person’s expenses … right?

You smile once you reach a decision, “Of course they can stay Hobi,” you laugh, a little offended that he thought you’d say no, but glad that he asked anyway.

Immediately Hobi breathes a sigh of relief, glad that he got that out of the way, “But he’s using your bathroom, make sure you tell him that!” you throw in, not wanting the order in which you had your things arranged to be touched with.

Hobi laughs in response, “I’ll make sure to tell Jungkook that,” so that was his name, Jungkook. Not too much of a common name in Korea, interesting, you think.

“So when do I get to meet our new temporary roommate?” you ask in eagerness, curiosity a driving force.

Hobi sighs recalling his text from not too long ago, “Well he was supposed to come here and celebrate tonight, giving you two a chance to meet beforehand, but,” he rereads the message on his phone, hoping the three bubbles would pop up at some point before scoffing and ultimately giving up, locking the screen, “I’m not entirely too sure if he’s going to make it.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you get up from the bar stool and stretch out your arms, yawning in turn, “Mm well I guess I’ll just meet him on move in day,” you joke around, glancing at the time on your phone, “but for now I need to go pee before the countdown, there’s only like 10 minutes left,” you exclaim, surprised by how fast the hour had gone by. Hobi nods in response, getting up himself and making his way to the dance floor, joining your group of friends.

And so you begin to walk towards the ladies’ room, humming yourself a tune over the EDM music that was currently close to rupturing your eardrum. How people liked this kind of music was something you’d never understand, but to each their own right? Luckily you weren’t as drunk as you thought you were, the effects of the tequila only acting as something quick and not long lasting. Now in more of a buzzed state than “drunk”.

“MmmMmmMmm,” you hum, pushing the door of the ladies room and making your way into one of the stalls. But what you saw once you opened the restroom stall was … um …. it was safe to say that you were shocked at the sight in front of you. Shocked to the point where you couldn’t even properly react, not even a shriek coming out of your mouth.

Instead you just stood there, wide eyed, at the sight of a brown haired woman on her knees, with her hair in a messy ponytail giving um … oral … on what you could only describe as a very very handsome man.

Now if you were to ask if he was really all that into it? Well it seemed a bit unclear considering how the two of you were now having a complete stare down, a shocked expression on your face while he had a stoic one on his, until slowly a small smirk began to appear on his face.

He scoffs before saying, “Enjoying the view?” and with that you finally shriek and quickly close the stall dorm, practically running out the door because not only were you embarrassed by the situation that just happened but still in complete shock.

“Oh my God,” you breathe out, leaning your head against the wall in an attempt to process what just happened. And once you did, you facepalmed yourself in frustration, mad at the reaction you had because God was that embarrassing.

You had acted as if you’d never seen, hell, as if you’d never done the dirty with someone, but for some reason walking in on someone receiving their um... pleasure… had you feeling like a kid who didn’t know about the birds and the bees. And his little comment only added salt to the wound, he probably thought you were enjoying the view with how long you had stayed there standing like an idiot!

“Start grabbing your partners everyone because the countdown is happening in exactly three minutes everybody! Three minutes till we enter 2019!” Three minutes?! You had to find your friends quick! Pushing off what happened to the back of your mind, you speed walk back to the main sector of the club, looking through the crowd of people in hopes of finding at least one of your friends.

“Where could he b—Ah!” you impulsively squeal once you spot Hobi along with the rest of your friends, quickly making your way towards them, Hobi spotting you as well.

“There you are! What took you so long?” Hobi asks, but just as you’re about to answer, a voice from behind interrupts.

“I caught traffic, and well parking was a bitch,” the voice, all too familiar, sends a feeling of panic through your body because turning to face the owner of said voice, was just as surprising as the scene you walked in on only moments ago.

“Y/N! This is Jungkook, Jungkook this is Y/N, my roommate I was telling you about,” Hobi shouts over the music, and all you can do is stare at the man in front of you wide eyed. Your mouth slightly agape in shock, while Jungkook on the other hand has a teasing grin on his face, as only the two of you knew what had transpired in the ladies’ restroom. He sticks his hand out for you to shake and you notice the small number of tattoos that cover his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we got one minute on the clock! Start saying your goodbyes to 2018, and get ready to say hello to 2019!” The DJ shouts excitedly, lowering the music for the countdown that’s about to begin.

“Earth to Y/N?” Hobi says waving his hand in front of you, having left Jungkook with his hand open for quite some time now.

“Oh,” you say, bringing yourself back to reality and shaking his hand in return, but the moment you do he brings you in for a small friendly hug, “What a small world,” he whispers into your ear, winking at you as he pulls away.

Hobi, unaware of how you two originally met, rolls his eyes, “Hey, hey hey, she’s our roommate not some girl you can go messing around with,” Hobi says, “Now come on you two, there’s only 15 seconds left!” gently he shoves the two of you towards your groups of friends who were now wearing their New Year’s props which included giant sunglasses, feathered boa’s, and more.

“In 10, 9, 8 , 7, 6…” everyone begins to scream the numbers of the countdown, 2018 clearly leaving with a bang, “5,4,3!” you suddenly feel an arm wrap over your shoulder, and like in the movies a part of you expected it to be the man you just met, but thankfully enough it was Jimin who was clearly drunk, excited, and in clear need of catching his balance. But of course that didn’t mean someone didn’t have their eyes on you from afar…

“2, 1! Happy New Year!” The fog machine erupts and the strings of golden confetti begin to fall from the club’s ceiling. Cheers to the New Year.

Clutching your stomachs in laughter, the two of you poke fun at the recollection of that fatal first encounter, “I really walked in on you getting,” you heave in such a way that you’re incapable of completing the sentence, genuine laughter filling the air.

“Hey, you were the one who stood there like you’d never seen a—” playfully you push his shoulder before even he gets the chance to finish his own sentence.

“Like what you see?” you exaggeratingly mimic his voice from that night, lowering your voice by several octaves. He cries out in laughter, tears now forming in the corners of his eyes, feeling cringe at his choice of words from a year ago today. Who did he think he was? “The woman didn’t even bother to look up! Clearly you had her enamored in what she was doing!” you tease, and in response he wraps his arms around you in a playful manner, telling you that he didn’t want to hear any more.

“What even happened when I left?” you ask, curious to know the answer considering you only knew what you did afterwards.

“Well I overheard the DJ yell about the countdown so I had to cut it short, and well we exchanged numbers. I mean it wasn’t at all a drunk hookup or anything, I was sober, she was sober. I think I went out with her once afterward, but,” he shrugs his shoulders, “It was just meant to be a one time thing I guess,” he mumbles, shaking his head in slight shame and embarrassment. See a year ago, hookups like that were the norm for him, but a year ago he was also nothing like the person he was now. Was it for the better? He’d like to think so.

Shaking your head, you mumble, “To think our relationship would only get worse,” you stare at him accusingly, “no thanks to you!” He stays silent, not bothering to deny the accusation.

“Hey you didn’t make it any easier!” he huffs, “Do you need help with that? What’s that? I don’t think that should be placed there,” he mocks your questions from that day many months ago, move in day.

“I was just trying to be nice! Make things less awkward, you know?” you feel your cheeks get red, now seeing how pushy you had probably been.

He scoffs, “No you just didn’t want your things invaded with mine,” it was now your turn to stay silent.

“Mm,” you hum.

January 2019.

“I don’t think that should go there,” you whisper to Hobi, watching Jungkook place more of his things around your apartment, secretly hoping it was the last batch.

This had to at least be your 15th complaint today, but what bothered Jungkook more was that not only wouldn’t you tell it to his face, but they’d be said in such a superficial tone. He didn’t care if you were trying to be “nice”, it sounded fake and prissy and he’d prefer it if you could just shut up for one moment. People like you were just so… annoying, and to think he thought you were cute.

“Do you need help?” your voice interrupts his train of thought, your figure now looming over his shoulder, and attempting to look at the content of his cardboard boxes. Harshly, he closes the flaps, momentarily scowling at you before taking a deep breath and putting on his best face.

“No it’s fine, I’m almost done but thank you though,” he says, now his turn to be superficial.

“Oh well just let me know if you need anything,” you smile, as unbeknownst to Jungkook, you really were just this nice of a person. Yeah, things may still be a little awkward on your part because of what happened on New Years Eve, you of course having to pep talk yourself several times in the mirror this morning, but to you it was important you established some kind of friendship with your new roommate. Even if he wasn’t going to be here for long.

“I’m gonna go get us takeout,” Hobi announces, not only tired but hungry from having helped Jungkook carry his stuff upstairs to the apartment floor all day, because out of all days in the year, today the elevator just had to be out of service. “I’ll be back,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and making his way out. Leaving you and Jungkook to yourselves.

An awkward silence fills the living room air, Jungkook currently taking a small break on the long couch, while you sit on the short one, fidgeting with your fingers. Maybe you should make conversation? It wouldn’t hurt right?

“So Jungkook,” you begin nervously, he looks up from his phone and places his attention on you, a stoic expression on his face, “um..”, you mentally scold yourself for not already having a question prepared before speaking, “where are you from?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he scoffs, “Korea?” he says, as if stating the obvious.

Feeling flustered, you reiterate your question, “No I mean like where did you move from, you know…” your voice lowers at the end.

He sighs before responding, his attention now back on his phone, “I was in the states for a while, but I’m originally from Busan.”

Immediately you light up, seeing this as an opportunity to further the conversation, “Oh I have a friend from there, I don’t know if you met him on New Years, but his name is Jimin!” you excitedly ramble, “He was the one with the dirty blonde hair, black turtleneck, sparkly jac—”

“Yeah I know,” Jungkook rudely interrupts, now getting up from the couch and walking towards his new room, “Let me know when Hobi’s back, yeah? I’m freaking starving,” and with that he enters his room and shuts the door, leaving you slightly taken back.

“Will do,” you quietly mumble to yourself, a little hurt to say the least by his cold action. Shrugging it off, you excuse it by assuming he was just grumpy. You were sure that he'd be more open to having conversation after settling his things in.

That night after cleaning a couple of your own things, and eating the food Hobi had brought, you remained in bed and on your laptop, Youtube surfing the rest of the night away. That was of course until you heard the sound of your restroom door opening and closing. Right away you get up, already knowing what transpired, but wanting to see the mess that was most likely made with your own two eyes.

Walking into your restroom, you’re immediately hit with the scent of your strawberry shampoo and lavender body wash mixed in with the foggy steam that was created, a result of an extremely hot shower. The sink, a travesty to look at, was spilled with water all over and you did not even want to get started on the “manly” products that were now side to side with yours behind the mirror’s cabinet. Meanwhile, your hair brush was covered in strands of dark brown hair that clearly weren’t yours. But the final straw? Finding the cap of your $100 dollar serum halfly screwed closed with remnants dripping down the bottle.

Shutting the cabinet, you practically stomp out of your restroom and immediately towards Jungkook’s door. Raising your hand to knock, you take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to be calm. Maybe Hobi didn’t tell him anything about using your restroom. This was only going to be a one time thing until you cleared it out with him.

Gently, you knock on his door, patiently awaiting his response. You could hear the sound of muffled music playing in the background, meaning it was probably much louder inside the room than out. Raising your hand to knock again, the door swings open just as you’re about to tap against the black wooden door. A shirtless Jungkook with your baby blue towel wrapped around his waist.

“Yes?” he smugly says, your cheeks almost an embarrassing shade of crimson. It’s hard to not look at what’s in front of you, but you manage.

“Oh um—” you fluster your words, “um —” you gulp before finding your words again, “I was hoping Hobi had told you about the bathroom situation…but um..I guess he didn’t so um yeah, my bathroom is only for me to us—”

“He did,” he cuts you off, huffing a small laugh.

“He what?” you asked, unsure of what he was referring to, or at least acting dense about it because you did not want to believe that the shirtless boy in front of you completely disregarded the simple rule he was supposed to follow.

“He told me about the whole bathroom rearrangement, buuuuttt,” he teases, “your restroom has the bigger shower and well add strawberry scented shampoo and lavender body wash into the mix and honestly it was a done deal for me,” he stretches his arms above himself, dramatically yawning, his abdomen stretching out in such a way that the towel on his waist was barely clinging onto its dear life.

“But—But—”

“But what?” he cocks his head to the side, amused by your panicked behavior, “It’s also the closest one to me so,” he shrugs his shoulders, “Well if that’s all you came here for then, goodnight,” he winks at you before turning around and slamming the door once again.

You stand there bewildered by what just happened, your mouth agape in shock. Did that really just happen or? Because if it did then he practically just told you that he didn’t give one single fuck.

Making your way back to your room, you’re unsure on how to feel about everything that just happened because sure you’ve encountered your fair share of rude people before but to live with one was a completely different story. And Jungkook wasn’t only rude, he was the smug kind, the “I know I’m good looking, so I can treat anyone the way I want to because my good looks will let me get away with it,” type of rude. Was it a little specific? Yes. But it’s true. Honestly, it was the type of person you thought only existed in rom-coms but clearly they exist in real life. Jungkook being a prime example of such an attitude.

“Just a couple of months,” you breathe out, throwing yourself onto your bed in exasperation, “until he gets settled down in Seoul,” you repeat Hobi’s words from New Years Eve to yourself, sighing before allowing slumber to sweep over you.

“So much for a couple of months,” you tease Jungkook, nudging his shoulder a little bit because a year later and he was still your roommate, and ironically it was you and Hobi who practically begged him to stay.

He scrunches his nose, “ I don’t see you complaining.”

You raise your hands in defense, “I’m just kiddinnn,” you sing, “What would I do without your buttermilk pancakes huh?” you grin at him, his eyes rolling playfully in return.

“Is that all you want from me? Pancakes!” he chuckles, “Ah I should’ve known,” he shakes his head. The two of you giggle at each other’s banter, his high pitched laugh truly infectious.

“What do you think y/n and Jungkook from the beginning of 2019 would think of this scene right now?” you ask, knowing the answer.

Jungkook ponders at the question for a moment before letting out a deep breath and answering, “Mm I think they’d have a hard time believing what’s in front of them, at least I would. I think you would be happy to see that your goal in becoming friends with your new roommate worked out just fine. It just took a bit of time was all…”

February 2019.

To say that you were struggling to live with Jungkook would probably be the biggest understatement of the year. From the constant use of your things without permission, to the blatant rude remarks he’d constantly throw at you, to the days where he’d be completely cold to you and the rest of the world, and don’t even let you get started on the constant women he’d bring over. You’d have to invest in some ear plugs soon if it kept going at the rate it was because at this point you knew Jungkook liked it um … rough … so to speak.

You found yourself asking Hobi, “Has he settled down yet?” wayyyy too often. Sometimes it felt like Jungkook was purposely baiting you to stoop to his level, like as if he was itching to play a game of cat and mouse. And so for you to continuously suck it up and put on a fake smile for him, only made him do more things to bother you.

He was like a mosquito pestering you at the back of your neck. He wouldn’t stop until he got his fangs, or whatever it was that mosquitos used to bite, into you. For what reason? You truly did not know, for you have been nothing but nice to him since the day he moved in.

You often wondered how Hobi could put up with it, you mean Jungkook wasn’t exactly mean to Hobi, but he did throw remarks and eye rolls here and there. The best way to describe it was that Jungkook was treating you two like punching bags, and a part of you wanted to know why? Not only why, but where? Where is Jungkook from? Why was he in the states? What made him come back? Why can’t he go back to Busan? Does he have family? How does Hobi even know the dude? Why does Jungkook wake up with a stick up his ass every morning? Why was Jungkook angry at the world and when did he decide that he was going to take it out on you two, especially you. Honestly you were unsure if you’d ever get answers to your questions, but it wouldn’t matter in a couple of weeks when he was gone, right?

Luckily though the only times you really did see Jungkook was on weekends, and even then if you weren’t out doing some nightly festivities then he was. Or while you went grocery shopping he was working out or something, Not to mention that weekdays you worked AM shifts at your job while Jungkook, who had been hooked up with a job at one of the coffee shop’s Hobi managed, worked afternoon to night shifts.

This meant that whenever you were going to work, Jungkook was catching up on his sleep and vice versa. But occasionally when you two did bump paths, let’s say going to your restroom, he definitely used those opportunities to try and get under your skin. Each and every time, failing to do so.

But today something was different. You weren’t sure if it was because as you were driving to work, coffee spilled onto your shirt at a speed bump because someone stole your favorite coffee thermo which had a securable lid. This then caused you to be 30 minutes late which then resulted in you receiving your first ever official warning. Or maybe it was because you had to not only stay an extra 30 minutes, but an extra hour because someone’s late night hook up the night prior kept you up and completely unfocused. You personally had chosen to go to sleep than stay up and listen to some girl screaming about how much deeper she wanted it while trying to type up your monthly report. And then of course who could forget the cherry on top? Coming back home to that same certain someone, and having to deal with the accusations that you stole his banana milk.

“I didn’t steal anything,” you mumble, warming up the japchae Hobi had left for you on the stove. Jungkook gets up and opens the fridge door, dramatically showing you the empty spot where his banana milk was usually at.

“Well someone did, and Hobi says it wasn’t him and well I trust Hobi so,” Jungkook shrugs, looking at you with a deadpan look on his face. Sadly, Hobi probably asleep already, tired from what you assumed was a long day of work and the thing about Hobi was once he went to sleep there was no waking him up. That boy could sleep through the world ending, “I don’t exactly think it’s beneath you to steal my things…” he says, each one of his words dripping with venom.

You?! Stealing his things?! When he’s the one who's been taking your things left and right?? If he had caught you on any other day, you probably would’ve shrugged his accusations off, hell you might’ve even taken the blame and offer to buy him a new pack. But right now, you could feel your blood almost boiling. How dare he!

“I,” your voice rises, completely ready to go off on the boy, until you hear a door slam, Hobi coming out completely groggy and clearly annoyed.

“Will you two just,” his voice is heavy, sighing in frustration, “Y/N just go and eat in your room,” he says, feeling like a parent to two fighting siblings.

“But—” you’re about to fight your case, until Hobi interrupts.

“Y/N…” he looks at you in despair, his tone a clear indicator that he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t annoyed, he was just tired. You grab your food from the stove, having to pass by Jungkook as you leave the kitchen.

“Was little miss saccharine finally going to pop?” he scoffs, the two of you momentarily having a stare down, until quickly you compose yourself, the fake smile he knew all too well back on your face.

“Goodnight Jungkook,” you say, before making your way back into your room, peeved that Hobi scolded you and not Jungkook, that was until you heard the sound of muffled voices through your closed door.

If you wanted to get a better listen you were going to have to crack open the door without making a single sound, something that would be embarrassing if you managed to fail. Deciding that you were too nosy for your own good, you thankfully succeed in doing so, their voices sounding much clearer to your ears.

“You know she’s having a bad day, and yet—” you hear the sound of Hobi flapping his arms in despair, “and yet you still make her your target of the day,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” Jungkook asks, his voice telling you that he was ready to go on the defense.

“Jungkook let’s not act dense,” Hobi says, “What are we in preschool? You have some crush, and think being mean will get you your way with her?” Hobi accuses, which Jungkook immediately denies.

“She wishes,” he mumbles in return, “I treat her like I treat everyone,” he clarifies, almost sounding proud.

“No you treat her worse,” Hobi adds, “if you’re not giving her some backhanded compliment then you’re completely giving her the cold shoulder. I probably only get half of what she does, and even I’m getting fed up with it, so I could only imagine how she feels,” he sighs, “but Y/N is a very very nice person, and since that first day I met her in till even today, I have never seen her get mad at anyone, but you my friend are,” he pauses, trying to think of the best way to describe it, “well you’re pushing buttons that I’ve never seen pushed.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Yeah because her whole act of “I’m miss goody two shoes and can never even hurt a fly” act is such bullshit,” he drops his air quotes, “a grown ass woman acting like telling someone off will add some kind of dent to the image I’m sure has taken her a very long time to build.”

With every word he says, you could feel your stomach drop further and further down. The lump in your throat desperate to be let out. “She probably has you and the rest of the world fooled, but I can see right through it. It’s people like her who will lie to your face, and tell you everything you want to hear because they don’t want to be painted out as some bad guy. And let me tell you people like that are much worse than me because at least I have the balls to tell it like it is to someone’s face rather than protect my own ego, ” he finishes his rant, the veins on his neck faintly popping.

Hobi remains silent for a moment, taking in everything Jungkook said, then pushing his hair back with his hand, an indicator that he was stressed, “Look man, I’m letting you stay here so you can get back on your feet, and because you didn’t want go back to Busan,” he sighs, knowing he’s stepping on broken glass, “I don’t know what happened over there in the states, and I’m not gonna ask about it because I’m sure you’ll talk about it the day you’re ready to,” he pauses, “But what I do know is that you’re right, Y/N does fake her persona from time to time…” you feel your heart drop, while Jungkook’s face goes smug. That is until Hobi continued with what he was saying, “But the same way I’m not gonna ask you about why you came back to Korea a completely cold person, I’m not gonna question why she acts the way it does, especially because it's not hurting anyone.”

“Of course you wo—”

Hobi cuts him off before he can continue, “Let me finish,” he sternly says, his brows knitted, “But as long she keeps letting her feelings build up the way I’m assuming they are, and you keep acting the way you are now then—” he sighs, “There’s going to be a day where the water in the pot is going to boil over and well I don’t wanna be here when it happens,” his presses his lips together, shaking his head at the mere idea, “All I ask for Jungkook is that you try to be a little nicer to her, just for once. I think the two of you would actually be pleasantly surprised at how much in common you have,” Jungkook tries his best to bite his tongue, seeing just how tired his friend looked, “Maybe not even nice to her, just decent. Can you do me that favor?”

Jungkooks lets out a huff of air before silently nodding his head yes, Hobi giving him a small smile in return, “Thanks Jungkook, now I can actually go to sleep instead of hearing you two bicker,” he says before tapping on his shoulder and going back into his room. You, on the other hand, quickly wipe any droplets that fall from your eyes, closing the door before Hobi could notice the crack that was there.

Jungkook sits in the kitchen chair for a while, reflecting on the lecture Hobi just gave him. Hating that the feeling of guilt was beginning to seep in because unlike Hobi, before his little lecture, Jungkook knew that there had been a pair of ears listening in and he knew you could hear every word that came out of his mouth as your little attempt to crack open the door wasn’t as slick as you thought it was ….he just hadn’t cared.

“Just be decent,” Jungkook whispers to himself before turning off the kitchen lights and heading to bed. The two of you lying in your own beds at night, a lot on each other's mind.

“And to think Hobi ended up predicting everything that was going to happen,” Jungkook shakes his head, remembering his friend’s warning to him.

“That’s our Hobi,” you laugh, “always one step ahead, well when he wants to be of course,” you add, a small chuckle coming out of Jungkook’s mouth in response.

“You think he knew what he was doing the whole time?” Jungkook asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Like in terms of allowing everything to play out, you know? Because if he wanted to he could’ve kicked me out from the beginning…” you ponder on his question for a bit, thinking back to Hobi’s role in this whole tale.

“Mm I think he knew but was probably unsure the whole time, you know? Unsure if things would work out the way he set em up to be, I don’t know if he’ll ever tell us but…” you pause, “I think he knew what he was doing from the moment he told you that you could live with us, and I definitely think it was bullshit on his part when he said that he didn’t know what happened to you in the states,” you laugh because you could picture Hobi doing his own research on Google late at night, “So I guess he just knew that there were two people in his life in desperate need of a…” you look for the right word to describe it.

“Reality check?” Jungkook fills in for you, but you shake your head no.

“Mm,” you hum, “No, I dont think thats the way to put it, hmm, how about this…” you pause one last time before continuing, wanting to make sure you said everything correctly, “Hobi had two pieces to a puzzle that needed to connect together in order to complete said puzzle, but after lots of tosses and turns in their box well the two pieces just didn’t fit together anymore. In fact they refused to even try and fit with another, deciding that they were going to live with their new flaps and dents, and ignoring the fact that in order to complete the puzzle they needed to come together,” you let out a small laugh, “and so Hobi took a gamble, and decided to leave the pieces alone for the time being, in hopes that maybe, just maybe with a little bit more tosses and turns they’d realize that by coming together they’d be left with nothing but a beautiful image to show,” a warm smile appears on your face, “Yeah I think I like how that sounds, what do you think?” you turn to face Jungkook who was staring at you with his doe-eyed expression, completely speechless.

“Or was I too wordy?” you laugh, “I reached didn’t I?” you begin to ramble, “Ah I really need to—” suddenly you feel a cold finger pressed against your lips, Jungkook sounding a tiny “shh” soon after.

“I think it was perfect,” Jungkook softly whispers, what could only be described as a loving smile on his face. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, feeling your cold face get warmed up due to the heat that was rising from your cheeks. Reminding you of a memory from only months ago…

March 2019.

“Remind me why I’m going again?” you walk out of the hallway and into the living room, heels clicking against the wooden floor.

“Because you are tonight’s designated driver,” Hobi reminds you, “and well we all don’t fit in Seokjin’s mini cooper so there’s that,” he laughs. You sigh in return, looking at your reflection for the 100th time tonight. “Jungkook, you almost ready?” Hobi shouts from the living room, not keen on his friend’s habit of always getting ready at the last minute.

Tonight was one of, if not the only, rare occasions that both you and Jungkook would be at an outing together, and even then Hobi was always with you two, acting as the facilitator. Jungkook and you usually parted your separate ways the moment you’d arrive somewhere, especially at parties. And so today you didn’t really expect anything different.

It had been about a month since Hobi’s little lecture to Jungkook, and in a way it did have some kind of positive effect on Jungkook. These days he was now much more quiet and reserved, and honestly you preferred the cold shoulder over the constant attitude so you were definitely not complaining.

You were even surprised this morning when you found your bathroom products to be completely replaced by new bottles, including your serum! Of course they had been slightly used, meaning Jungkook wasn’t going to let go of his grip on them just yet, but at least it meant that he had the decency to realize that if he was going to be using them all the time, then it was only right that he occasionally paid for them.

Even last week when you heard him mumble a small, “that was good, thank you,” after making gyeran-mari’s for breakfast, you had to look at Hobi for confirmation that it really happened. Hell, he had even stopped constantly bringing women over, instead beginning to work out more often as you would now hear his grunts come from doing sit ups than from doing um… yeah. It looked like he even had a knack for boxing because you soon noticed how he’d come back home with hands wrapped in bandages or his gloves stringing along his duffel bag. Honestly, it was a little hot, but you’d rather die before admitting that to anyone.

“Ah I’m done, I’m done,” a voice comes out the hallway, Jungkook balancing on his right foot in a rush to put on his left shoe. Tonight he was dressed a little differently than his usual self, replacing his usual black attire and black combat boots for a more club friendly look of ripped blue jeans, black ankle boots, and a black fitted t-shirt. Of course not straying too far from his personal style. The new tattoo he had gotten recently was also in clear view tonight, his sleeve coming along quite nice in your opinion. He had recently even gotten his hair permed, allowing it to grow out longer than what you were used to seeing. It was crazy what a difference hair could make because it definitely made him look … better, in your eyes at least.

All this change on his part, honestly made you feel a little dull, but that’d be something to dwell on for another day. For now, you just wanted to get tonight over with. The faster you got there, the quicker you could leave, and the earlier you could be in bed.

“You took a whole ass hour for this?” Hobi eyes Jungkook up and down. Jungkook is quick to shoot him an offended look, while you on the other hand are struggling to suppress a laugh, “I’m not saying you look bad, in fact you look amazing, but this should not take you an hour!” Jungkook rolls his eyes, combing a hand through his hair.

“Are we going to get going or what?” he says, his cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment.

Once you all arrived, you were quick to meet up with the rest of your friends, everyone having pitched in for bottle service. Jungkook, who had become pretty cool with the rest of everyone, sat between Yoongi and Namjoon, all three of them laughing at God knows what. The bottle they had bought almost halfway done.

You on the other hand, were just watching everyone, the only person besides yourself who wasn’t drunk was Seokjin, and even then he was too busy with his new girlfriend to pay you any attention. Not that you really minded considering she really was a kind person and well who could blame Seokjin for being head over heels. They even shared the same humor, something that was quite rare to find.

You weren’t sure if it was because tonight the club seemed extra packed, or maybe the dress you were wearing was feeling a little too tight or maybe it was the stench of all alcohol getting to you but something definitely fell off. And you did not like it one bit.

“Hey I’m gonna go out back and get some fresh air outside,” you tell Hobi over the music, giving you a small nod in acknowledgement, the boy was clearly very drunk. The moment you stepped out, you definitely did feel better, the crispy fresh air outside almost making you feel as if you were breathing for the first time. That was until you heard the sound of someone arguing.

“I saw you dancing with her! Stop trying to gaslight me into thinking you weren’t!” a woman screams, very much in distress by who you assumed was her boyfriend, “God, I knew I should’ve listened to my mom, you are a pig! And I deserve a man who's going to—

“What did you just say?” he grabs her by the arm, his atrocious grip surely going to cause her a bruise later on.

“Let go of me!” she cries, as he then grabs her by the hair, ready to toss her to the floor and do whatever else he wanted to do with her. You feel your breathing become heavier, watching the scene unfold in front of you, unsure of what to do. You were scared and you didn’t know how to defend yourself, let alone someone else. But you also knew that God forbid you were ever in that situation, you wouldn't want someone turning a blind eye on you, so you did what was only right.

“Hey!” you scream while walking towards the couple, catching the man’s attention, “Let go of her before I—”

“Before you what?” he lets go of her hair, now walking towards you as well. The woman watches you with shaky eyes, having never guessed that her savior would be a woman in black string heels and a face that for the most part was not at all intimidating.

You reach into your purse, hoping to get a feel for either your taser or pocket knife, but of course, of fucking course, on all days of the year it was no where to be found. Nonetheless, you muster up your courage and respond, “Before I call security,” you say, trying your best to sound confident.

He laughs, dramatically looking around to show you that no one around was here to help, “Anyone ever teach you to mind your fucking business, like how a woman should,” you gulp, almost losing balance while taking a step back as he only gets closer, “Huh?! Anyone every fucking teach you that?” he closes in on you, your back soon hitting the wall that was behind you.

“Just leave her alone!” the woman screams in hysteria.

“You stay the fuck out of it! You’re the whole reason she’s in this mess,” he mutters, his words completely slurred and his breath reeking like alcohol. You almost feel like vomiting at the accidental whiff you take because wow was this man just disgusting.

“See maybe if you would’ve just gone about your day, you wouldn’t be here right now,” he makes a ticking sound with his mouth, mocking you, “but” he sighs, “I guess whores just have to stick with each other, huh?” he grabs you by the scalp of your hair, this time not hesitating to throw you to the ground.

“Oh my—” the woman screams, panic flowing through her veins.

“Go!” you yell at her, giving her the chance to escape even if it meant sacrificing your own wellbeing. She hesitates for a moment before running, the sound of her heels tapping against the pavement was one of the last things you could hear before the ringing in your ears became all too much.

You look at your hands for a moment, the stinging feeling almost unbearable as they had taken most of the impact of the fall, along with your knees. A part of you hoped he had left, that he had somehow magically disappeared or that you’d wake up to find that this was nothing more than a nightmare. But it wasn’t until you felt the grip of his hand on your hair again, that you’d come to realize the reality of your situation and that there was absolutely no one to help you.

The man lifts up his free hand, building power for the punch he was preparing to throw, as you could only throw your arms in front yourself in an attempt to minimize the impact of the punch. By now tears were falling from freely your eyes, small whimpers and sniffles coming out of fear. The final words you hear being spat from his mouth were, “you stupid bitch,” and in your head you count to three, waiting for the feeling of his fist against your face. But it never came.

Instead you feel the release of his hand on your scalp, and when you open your eyes you find him on the ground, not completely knocked out but he might as well be with just how out of it he looked. And though you weren’t drunk, you almost felt as if you were because absolutely everything around you was overlapping, hardly able to see anything in clear focus. But what you could make out was that there was a figure, and by the build you assume was a man, now sitting over the drunkard, throwing several punches at him. His goal was either to knock the man out or make sure he suffered every way possible before knocking him out.

You stand there for a moment in shock as you hear the person’s voice, a voice that was all too familiar, “I dare you to fucking lay a hand on her again, I fucking dare you!” Jungkook yells, throwing another punch at the man, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” slowly your vision becomes clearer as you wipe away the tears that had been blocking your vision, and soon you realize if Jungkook kept going at the rate he was, the man was going to be killed.

Quickly you run towards Jungkook, attempting to grab his right arm before he swings again, “Jungkook stop!” you yell, but instead he pushes your arm away, too caught up in his rage to think straight. The drunk man looked as if he was barely holding on, blood now all over his face. “I said stop!” you yell at the top of your lungs, the veins on your neck popping. Jungkook, panting, looks up at you, momentarily stopping. “Just stop,” you cry, wanting this nightmare to be over.

Jungkook looks at the barely conscious man one more time, pulling him by the collar of his shirt so that he’d get a good look of him, “If I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to—”

“Jungkook,” you stop him from finishing his sentence.

He sighs, “Just be glad she’s here because scum like you deserve to fucking rot,” he says, letting go of the man’s collar and allowing his head to hit the pavement. He gets up from his position and begins to pat his black shirt of any dirt, catching his breath along the way. “You okay?” he asks, intensely staring at you.

But before you could respond, a voice screams, “Hey!” the two of you look up at said voice, only to find a security guard with a flashlight in his hand and his walky talky on the other.

Jungkook quickly grabs you by the hand, causing you to wince at the sudden touch, “Come on,” he says, pulling you to follow him.

He leads you back to the parking lot, confusion evidently on your face. It wasn’t until you turned back to find several security guards following after you that everything began to click together, panic now flowing through your veins. Hurriedly, you grab Hobi’s keys from your purse and unlock the door, your heart beating out of your chest.

Jungkook quickly hops in the passenger seat, his head throbbing from the amount of drinks he’s had, watching as you struggle to put the key in the ignition, clearly in a state of anxiousness. He yanks the keys from your hands and places them in himself, “Now drive!” he shouts, causing you to step ferociously on the gas pedal. Burning tire as you race off the parking lot.

“God my head is fucking killing me,” Jungkook complains, his blood stained hands resting on his temple. By now the two of you were heading back home, Jungkook having texted Hobi through your phone that he was going to have to get a ride from Seokjin. For the situation you two were just in had required an immediate escape.

You on the other hand were driving in complete silence, still in a state of shock of what just happened. Jungkook having to constantly remind you that you were driving, several instances of you zoning out at a stop light happening way too often for his liking.

“I am way too drunk for this shit,” he mutters under his breath, the reality of what just happened beginning to kick in. The queasy feeling in his stomach became more and more unbearable with every turn you took. And don’t even get him started on his throat, which was currently as dry as the Sahara Desert. “Is there some kind of water in this car?” he asks, beginning to look through the car console and glove compartment.

“I don’t,” you pause and sigh, “I don’t know.”

“Then pull over here,” he deadpans.

You furrow your brows in confusion, “What?”

“Pull over,” he repeats, his patience running out.

Not questioning him a second time, you do exactly that, pulling over at the side of some park near your apartment. Jungkook takes in a deep breath before opening the door and sticking his head out, seconds later the sound of him vomiting making you feel as queasy as he did.

“Oh God,” you mumble to yourself, just wanting to be in bed already. But of course that wasn’t going to happen because soon enough Jungkook was getting out of the car and going to God knows where. “Where are you going?” you shout, as he walks towards the park.

“I need water,” he says, “You coming or what?” you contemplate on whether to follow him or not, before ultimately exiting the car and locking it. With the way he was stumbling his footsteps, it was better safe than sorry to follow him.

“BogoShipda!” Jungkook sings loudly to the trees in the park, all of the alcohol he drank at the club still running through his system. You stare at him in surprise, having never seen him act like this before, as he continues to sing.

“Now where’s a water fountain when you need one,” he mumbles, the darkness of the night sky making it hard for him to scan his surrounding area. You found yourself feeling a little scared in fact. The silhouette of the trees and the sound of the wind softly pushing against the branches only making the atmosphere more scary.

“Ah there it is!” Jungkook slurs his words, sounding like a kid at a carnival. Once he’s in front of the fountain, he pushes against the button, the water sprouting out of the fountainhead. You stare at him in silence as he hadn’t crouched down to drink yet, thus confusing you.

It wasn’t until you felt a tug at your hand and the sting of the water hitting against your scrapes that you felt like punching him. “What are you doing?” you ask, trying your best not to sound too peeved.

He looks at you before rolling his eyes, “What do you think I’m doing? I’m cleaning your hands,” he signals for you to give him your other hand, and without thinking you comply.

“I could’ve done this at home,” you say.

“I know, but the longer we wait the higher chance it'll end up getting infected by dirt so,” he looks at you with a know it all expression, and you mumble a small “I guess,” under your breath, the stinging sensation soon enough replaced by a cool one, your hands no longer feeling as rusty.

It isn’t until he’s finished that he takes a sip of water, exhaling a small “ahh” sound after downing several gulps. “Come on,” he grabs your hand again, leading you to a park bench with a small lamppost right next to it, providing a smooth yellow dim light.

“Why are we—”

“I just want to sit for a moment without the movement of a car, just for a bit,” he exhales a heavy breath, manspreading on the bench and throwing his head back, “just for a bit,” he repeats, his voice soft.

The two of you sit there in silence, “Why are you staring at me?” he asks with his eyes closed, feeling your intense stare.

“I’m not—I’m not staring,” you stutter, he hums in response. Silence fills the air again, until Jungkook mumbles something that at first is inaudible.

“What?” you ask.

“I said I’m ˢᵒʳʳʸ,” you look at him confused, were you hearing him correctly?

“Wait what?” you ask again, it wasn’t your intention to come off as pushy nor pretentious but you were just seriously surprised as to what you were hearing.

He grumbles before repeating himself, “I said,” he drops his shoulders, “I said I’m sorry.” He opens his eyes to look at you, his usual smug behavior nowhere to be found on his face, he was being completely serious.

“Oh…” you pause for a moment before continuing, “Can I ask for what? I’m not trying to be mean or anything or act dense. I seriously just don’t know why,” you make sure you add those claims at the end, feeling as if you were walking on eggshells.

He looks at you momentarily before placing his view on the trees in front of you, “For not getting there earlier,” he mutters, as if disappointed with himself, “I went out because Hobi had told me to go check up on you, but,” he stays silent for a moment before continuing, clenching his jaw, “at first I sorta shrugged him off when he asked me, it wasn’t until he asked me second time that I actually went outside,” his voice shakes a bit and you notice that his eyes become slightly glossy, “and then a woman came running up to me rambling about someone about to get beaten up, but the last person I thought she was talking about was you,” he exhales loudly before continuing, trying his best to maintain his composure, “but either way I ran towards wherever she was pointing at, and that’s when I saw you on the floor,” his voice cracks, “and I just keep replaying everything in my head, and I just—” he closes his eyes and shakes his head, “I’m just sorry and I felt like you deserved to know that,” he concludes, a tear falling from his face.

And maybe it was because he was drunk, or maybe he just really did feel bad, but to see Jungkook this vulnerable was different to say the least. It was almost humanizing in some aspects.

Jungkook expected you to scream at him, to tell him that it was his fault you were put in that situation. That he could’ve prevented it from happening, that because of him you almost got beat to a bloody pulp.

No, in fact he doesn't expect you to, he wants you to. It’s what he deserves to hear from you. Had it not been for him and his ego, he would’ve gone out there the moment Hobi had asked him to, and you would’ve never had to deal with that drunk excuse of a human being to begin with. Or was the alcohol in his system just seriously getting to him because God did he feel sick.

“Jungkook it’s not your fault,” you begin, but Jungkook who's still looking at the trees, refuses to make eye contact. “Hey look at me,” you demand, tugging his hand in an effort to get him to look at you. When he does so, you continue, “That man was going to attack me whether you came or not because a weak man like that will attack the easiest target,” you state, a small chuckle escaping your lips, “It was no one’s fault but his, you hear me?” you squeeze his hand, “Not yours, not mine, not Hobi’s, not the lady, no one. Absolutely no one.”

More tears begin to fall from his bloodshot eyes, “You don’t get it y/n,” he shakes his head, “You don’t what that man could’ve done to you in that time I wasn’t there, you could’ve been killed for God’s sake,” he attempts to say it firmly, but his voice betrays him by whimpering in the end.

“But he didn’t!” you say, and without thinking you place his hand on your cheek, “I’m right here look! All because of you! Yeah you didn’t get there as early as you wished you could’ve, but you got there nonetheless! And if you hadn’t I probably would be sporting a big old black eye on my face and have one cheek bigger than the other right now. I’d look like one of those chipmunks from Alvin and the Chipmunks!” you laugh at your own joke, and for the first time ever, Jungkook laughs with you. His last first starting off as a small chuckle but the harder you laughed, the harder he did. The beginning to what would be you always hearing his high pitched laugh around the apartment, but let’s not get too far ahead right now.

They say when a human is drunk, they muster up the courage to do something they’d never do sober, but have always thought of doing in the back of their mind. It was often why people would blame a bold text to an ex on being “drunk” despite not taking one sip of their tequila shot, or why some people would excuse cheating on being “drunk” despite knowing it was something they wanted to do for a very long time. They were looking for an excuse to finally do it. And so now sitting here, with his hand caressed across your face, goofy grins plastered on your faces, he felt tempted to just kiss you.

It was weird really, yeah he thought you were cute, in fact there were days he’d found you hot, but anything past physical attraction had never really crossed his mind. To him, you’d always been and currently were his roommate who he found both superficial and performative.

The one who once attempted to hide her strawberry scented shampoo in her room during work, in hopes that he wouldn’t go out of his way to find it. The one who liked her jjolmyeon more on the sour side than the sweet. The one who occasionally made him coffee and breakfast in the mornings, despite him being asleep after a long night of work of barristering. The one who for some odd reason almost never watched Netflix on the TV, but instead would watch it on her laptop on the couch, thus rendering the TV completely useless.

And so to be here, finally appreciating the person that you were after what could’ve been a near-death experience was a bit of a wake up call. And yeah like you said, maybe he didn’t get here as early as he should’ve been, but he got here nonetheless. He smiles to himself, your words having a double meaning behind them.

But for now he wanted to preserve this feeling, because he knew he was drunk. He was so drunk that the tree behind you was beginning to look like it was moving towards him. And so rather than kiss you, he instead decides to simply tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, deciding that if he felt like this tomorrow morning when he was sober then it’d be something worth looking into.

“I’m telling you, if I ever see that man again—”

“It was like,” you count on your fingers, “9 months ago Jungkook, I doubt you even remember his face,” you cut off, patting his shoulder.

“Mm,” he hums, “you’d be surprised how good I am at remembering faces, so when I tell you I’m still waiting for the day I come across him again, I mean it!” you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you sing, “Hey at least something good came out of it,” you smile.

Jungkook looks at you with uncertainty, “Which is?”

Your small smile then becomes a toothy grin, “We became friends!” you exclaim excitedly, “temporarily at least,” you laugh.

April 2019.

It had been about two weeks since the incident at the club. Jungkook having completely avoided you since, and no you weren’t paranoid because originally you thought you were. It first started off with you not seeing him at all around the apartment, which you excused with you two having different work schedules like always. But then you’d notice he wouldn’t even drink the coffee you would make for him in the morning, it being left there on the counter for the entire day.

And in the very rare moments you did manage to get a glimpse of him in the hallway either entering or exiting his room, the boy would completely avoid eye contact with you! But the final confirmation that told you he was avoiding you? He had bought his own shampoo and body wash for himself! Not just any kind, he bought an extra lather version of your own with exfoliating properties. And you didn’t if you could use it or not because, well because he was avoiding you!

It wasn’t like you two kissed or anything! The most that happened was that you two shared a laugh! So then why was he avoiding you like the freaking plague? After a week of thinking about every possible reason he could be, you had given up. You’d accepted that you were back at square one with him, but it wasn’t like you were ever at square two to begin with. And so that’s why yesterday when Hobi told you he’d be going on a morning/afternoon hike trip on Saturday with Namjoon, you were skeptical on how Jungkook would manage to avoid you.

It was also why this morning in bed, when you heard what sounded like furniture being moved at 7 in the freaking morning, you were unsure about getting up and saying something or remaining in bed. Luckily you didn’t have to think about it for too long because you soon heard the sound footsteps coming closer to your bedroom door. As a result, you quickly threw yourself under the covers and pretended to be asleep.

It definitely had to be Jungkook who had just entered your room, the heavy footsteps acting as a signal to you that it was. Your eyes widen when you hear the sound of your drawer being pulled open, “What the hell did he think he was doing? Should you turn around and scare him? Hmm. No,” you think to yourself because soon enough you felt a hand gently shake your body.

“Y/N,” he whispers, clearly in belief that you were asleep. You let him shake you around a little more, just to make your little “I’m just waking up” act a little more believable, “Y/N,” he repeats, and this time you begin to make groggy sounds. Actress of the Year Award : Check.

“Mm,” you hum, but you’re quickly jolted awake when you feel your covers get pulled off of you, “What are you—” you look up at Jungkook, who was dressed in complete workout gear. But what really had you concerned, was the workout clothing he had folded in his hands because well they were yours.

He tosses the matching pair of black leggings and sports bra, “Go change,” he sternly says, only causing you to look at him in further confusion.

“B-b-but-” Jungkook knows you’re about to not only complain, but ask many many questions. Because that’s just the type of person you are.

“Hobi told me you like buttermilk pancakes with extra syrup, but that since yours always come out burnt and his come out too dull, that the only time you get to eat them is if you go to a breakfast restaurant,” you narrow your eyes at him, confused as to where this was leading to, “Well at the coffee shop I work at, we have a weekly Pancake Tuesday and well let’s just say a certain someone has been rated top pancake maker for 2 months now,” you quirk your brow in interest, continuing to listen, a smirk now on his face, “and let’s also say this certain someone has a stack of warm pancakes sitting there on the kitchen island, untouched and certainly uneaten.”

You quickly smile at what he was insinuating, “BUT you can only eat them if you get up, get ready and change in 5 minutes,” he looks at the clock, “starting now.” And in the blink of an eye you were up and running towards your restroom because certainly if that didn’t get you up and out of bed, he wasn’t sure what would.

Quickly you brush your teeth and fix up your hair a bit, curious to know what Jungkook had planned out. To think you thought he was avoiding you! Well he was … but that doesn’t matter anymore! Placing your shoes on you begin to make your way towards the living room, the thought of eating those buttermilk pancakes almost making your mouth drool. That was until you stepped into the living room, stopping dead in your tracks.

Your eyes glaze over everything, blinking veryyy slowly, in order to make sure you were seeing things correctly. Jungkook had transformed your living room into some kind of um … workout center? For boxing? He had everything from the red punching bag, the reflex bag, the speed ball, jump rope, mini dumbbells, and most importantly boxing mitts for some one-on-one training. Everything was an adequate enough size to fit in all into the living room, but not too big in a way that it couldn’t be stored in the extra closet you had in the hallway.

“Why did you—” Jungkook hands you a pair of shiny black boxing gloves, along with bandages.

“I’m going to teach you the basics of boxing,” he presses his lips together, “whether you like it or not,” he says.

“Jungkook I don’t thin—”

“You don’t think what?” he looks at you in a way that tells you he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“I’m not really cut out for this kind of stuff,” you try to make an excuse for yourself anyway, but he wasn’t buying it.

“Because you have no experience, which is exactly why I’m going to teach you,” his brows draw together, a stern look on his face as he now makes eye contact with you, “You can’t just always expect someone to pop out of thin air and come to your rescue y/n, what happened two weeks ago was a mix of both good timing and sheer luck,” he sighs while pulling out a taser and pocket knife from his pocket, “and though this is helpful in many situations, you seem to forget to take these with you,” he scolds, “guess where they were the night at the club?” You stay silent, “the kitchen island,” he answers for you.

“Okay I get it, I get it,” you say, “I need to learn how to protect myself without using those,” you point to the items in his hand.

“Exactly, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he playfully pats your head, “so we’ll be doing this every weekend for the next eight weeks, from 7AM till 2PM. We might even throw an occasional weekday night in there if I don’t get out of work too late.”

“7AM?!” you shriek, “Oh no no no, you sir are crazy,” you protest, shaking your head in denial, “No amount of pancakes will have me waking up that early every weekend.”

“Oh come on! The more hours you do, the better you’ll get!” he bargains with you, catching you off guard by throwing his arm around your shoulder, your cheeks going red as a result.

“Jungkook,” you dramatically cry out, ready to stomp your feet on the floor like a little kid, the only thing preventing you was you not wanting the downstairs neighbors to come up and complain.

He tightens his grip on you, “Come onnnnn,” he sings, “I’ll let you use my new body wash with the exfoliating properties,” he teases you, having heard you complain to Hobi one morning about being unsure of whether or not you could use it. You truly were too kind for your own good, cause if the situations were reversed, Jungkook would’ve just gone ahead and used it.

You narrow your eyes at him once again, “More like you’re buying me one of my own!” you demand and he nods in agreement, “Also, where did you even manage to get all this?” you ask, genuinely curious as to how he managed to buy all this.

“Um let’s just say I have a buddy at the boxing gym who didn’t really need these anymore,” you stare at him suspiciously, but decide to shrug it off. You’d ask him more questions some other day, but for now all you wanted was to eat those pancakes!

Hobi opens the door to his shared apartment, exhausted from the hike he just had this morning and honestly ready to just hop into bed and sleep. That was until he saw the transformation of his living room in front of his very own eyes, his skin paling and mouth gaping in shock.

“What the—” he whispers, preparing to scream out your names like a parent walking in their house only to find it destroyed by their teenagers, but before he could the sound of something stops him dead in his tracks. It was the sound of soft snores.

Walking towards the sound, which seemed to be coming from the long couch, a smile immediately appears on his face when he comes to see the view in front of him. You were on one side of the couch while Jungkook was on the other, both of your feet stretched out and touching in the middle, napping away. Hobi personally thought he was dreaming, this being a view he never thought he’d see.

Wanting to preserve the memory, he grabs his phone from his pocket and opens up the camera app, snapping the photo in silence, tempted to edit and post the photo with little clouds above each other's heads and make up some witty caption. But he’d save it for some other day. For now, he was just happy you two were finally getting along.

“Ah I had forgotten how that photo came to be,” Jungkook laughs, looking at the photo on your Iphone screen, “you were tired from working out, while I was tired from having to watch you continuously mess around with the equipment,” he pokes fun at you. Not like it wasn’t true, that day you kept going back to the speed ball, aimlessly hitting it in hopes that at some point you’d magically become fast at hitting it like in the movies.

“Hey, I’m pretty decent at doing everything now,” you flash him a cheesy smile. After several weeks of consistent training and long hours, you were definitely at a point where you could adequately defend yourself from someone ranging from a small petite woman to around a medium sized man. Luckily, you haven't come across a situation that has required you to to do so nor do you ever hope to, but it was comforting to know that if something ever did happen, then you were ready. But, your taser and pocket knife would always be your first go to, no matter what.

“You’re…” Jungkook pauses, “okay,” he breathes, huffing a quiet laugh. Out of impulse you flash him the finger, showing off your freshly manicured fingers. “Aren’t you rude,” he says with a dramatic gasp.

You roll your eyes, “You’re the one who taught me,” you laugh, and Jungkook places his hand on his chest, looking at you with a dramatic offended look on his face.

“Me?” he feigns his surprise.

“Yes you! How could I forget,” you look at him accusingly.

“No I taught you how to stop faking a smile, and to start putting a foot down people’s neck,” he shrugs, “not to go sticking out the middle finger,” he jokes, and you only roll your eyes again, grumbling a small “Mm.”

May 2019.

To your surprise, you had been managing to consistently wake up and work out every weekend with Jungkook, with him even being able to up your usual workout plan at a drastic rate. You’d shed a couple of pounds and to your surprise could even see some muscle beginning to form, but today, well today was your monthly lazy day.

Lazy day was the one day of the month where you and Hobi would push everything off your schedule, from calling off of work, to making sure everything in the apartment was clean, and buying snacks the night before in order to make sure you wouldn’t have to step out of the apartment. It was usually picked the month before by either you or Hobi closing your eyes and randomly pointing somewhere on the calendar, and whatever day your index finger managed to land on would be the day. And well today was that day.

But when Hobi told you yesterday night that a family emergency was going to have to bring lazy day to a temporary halt because he had to drive back to Busan, which in itself was a three hour trip from Seoul, you had already called the day off weeks prior as your job wasn’t as lenient on last minute call offs. The contract you signed stating in small print, “any day off must be requested, sent in, and approved 2 weeks prior to the date said employee is asking for.”

And so this morning when Jungkook entered your room to find you completely knocked out with drool coming out of your mouth, he was surprised to say the least. On weekday mornings, he would almost always wake up to find himself alone in the apartment considering both you and Hobi have day jobs, so hearing snores come out of your room had definitely caught him off guard.

He debated on whether he should be annoying and wake you up and then force you to work out or be a nice roommate and make you breakfast. Let’s just say he didn’t choose the latter. Grabbing one of the stuffed animals that you weren’t hugging, he throws it at your head, a grunt coming out of your mouth after.

“Jungkook,” you mutter, morning voice in full effect, “let me sleep please,” you say, switching to the other side, in hopes that he’d leave.

“No, you need to work out,” he says, beginning to nag.

Turning around again, this time to face him, you look at him with your eyes half-way open, “Today’s lazy day,” you deadpan, his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What the hell is, quote on quote, lazy day?” he asks, lifting a brow. Rubbing your eyes along with eye boogers in the corners, you begin to stretch your arms and legs, not caring if he was staring.

Sighing once you were ready to respond, you then answer, “Lazy day is the one day of the month that me and Hobi take a day off of work to well … be lazy,” he stares at you with an innocent look on his face, “butttttt,” a mischievous smile appears on your face, “since Hobi cancelled on me, now you’re going to be lazy partner for the day.” His face twists in bewilderment.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, go call the café, and tell em you’re taking the day off,” you smile, now getting up from bed.

“And why would I do that?” Jungkook asks, the question coming off a little harsher than intended, but you were quick to shrug it off, already accustomed to the occasional attitude.

“Becauseeeeee,” you sing, “When was the last time you’ve taken a day off, I mean look at you right now! You’re already dressed comfortably,” you eye him up and down, he was currently in work out clothing which for him consisted of an oversized grey sweater and joggers, “do you really wanna get all sweaty and then have to shower, change, and go to work… cause I don’t think you do,” you raise your eyebrows up and down in a teasing manner as he avoids eye contact with you.

His eyes look around your room, clearly thinking to himself. A lazy day huh? Hmm you did make a point, he really couldn’t remember the last time he’s just lounged around and done nothing, as he was always doing something whether it be working out, working, going out, etc.

He looks back at you once he’s made his decision, letting out a huff of air, “Fine,” he says, grabbing his phone from his pocket, preparing to dial the coffee shop, a tiny squeal coming from you.

“I thought lazy day meant no going out,” Jungkook complains while pushing the grocery cart around, following you and your need to go up and down each and every aisle at the store.

“It does, but since Hobi and I couldn’t go grocery shopping the night before,” you grab some strawberry lemonade from the freezer and place it in the cart, “someone has to help carry the groceries up the stairs,” you catch him rolling his eyes, “your eyes will get stuck up there if you keep doing that,” you comment, grabbing packaged ramen from the counter beside you.

“Yeah, Yeah—” Jungkook stares at what’s in your hands wide eyed, “No, no, no! What are you doing?” You jump in surprise, dropping the package on the floor.

“Wh-what?” your face flushes in surprise, his outburst completely catching you off guard.

“Shin Ramyun?! What happened to getting Paldo Bibimmyeon?! Do you have no loyalty?” he scrunches his face up, in clear distress at what he just caught you doing. At first you don’t think he’s serious, this being some stupid joke he was making, but once you got a glimpse of the stare he was giving you, you’d soon come to realize that he was not playing around at all.

“It’s be-be-because,” you begin to stutter under his scrutiny, “these are buy three, get two free,” you lopsidedly smile, an awkward laugh feigning from your lips. He shakes his head, snatching the ramen from your hands and placing it on its original spot before then grabbing his Paldo Bibimmyeon.

“Choosing price over quality, are you crazy?” he mutters under his breath before pushing the cart past you and making his way to the checkout line, leaving you there momentarily flabbergasted.

Once you caught up to him you were ready to tell him something until you heard the sound of someone calling your name, “Y/N?” you turn around, surprised to see Jimin in the line next to you.

“Oh Jimin!” you smile, softly waving at the newly blonde-haired boy, his roots telling you that the hair job was recent. Jimin offers his hand out to Jungkook. Jungkook, at first hesitant, shakes it in return, “You remember Jimin, right? He was with us on New Years, he was supposed to come partying with us last time, but he flaked last minute,” Jungkook slowly nods remembering the boy wrapping his arm around you during the countdown while Jimin on the other hand raises his hands to his defense.

“Even a person like me can get burnt out every here and then,” he laughs, “but next time I’ll be sure to be on the dance floor,” he winks at you, his natural flirty personality making its appearance. Jungkook awkwardly coughs, pushing the cart forward to get your attention back in the moving line.

You feel your hands get a bit clammy, Jimin always being someone you did have a bit of a crush on, never pursuing anything because of your long-term friendship with him. But of course that didn’t mean he didn’t get an occasional blush out of you here and there. “So how have you been since the last time I saw you? It’s been quite a while—”

And just as you’re about to answer, Jungkook interrupts, “Y/N,” he says, nudging you to tell you that it was time to pay.

“Ah I guess I’ll just see you around then,” Jimin chuckles, waving a small goodbye.

“O-oh yeah I guess I—”

“Y/N,” Jungkook repeats, unbeknownst to you, the green eyed monster was beginning to make its appearance. Any longer and horns would probably start sprouting out his ears.

Once you two finish paying and bagging everything, you walk towards Jungkook’s new black Hyundai which he had bought only a couple of weeks ago after months of what he calls “busting his ass” off and using most of his savings up for. You hum a tiny tune while helping him place all the bags in the trunk.

“So…” Jungkook awkwardly begins, second guessing whether he should continue asking the question he had in his mind before deciding to just do it anyway, “Is that like your boyfriend or something?”

Immediately you stop humming, staring at Jungkook wide-eyed, “Oh no, no!” you quickly deny, “No, No, no,” you repeat, shaking your head. The redness of your cheeks tell another story.

“Hm,” Jungkook mumbles, “sorta looked like it,” he deadpans before going to put the cart in its designated spot, leaving you there confused as to what that meant.

After a couple of hours of lounging around in the apartment and binging Narcos: Mexico on the TV rather than your laptop because of Jungkook’s complaints, the two of you were now eating your ramen on the kitchen island, quietly seated on the tall chairs. The sound of Jungkook slurping his noodles filling the room.

“What did you mean by Jimin being my boyfriend or something?” you suddenly ask out of nowhere, the question having been on your mind for a majority of the day.

Jungkook takes a final gulp of his food before responding, “I don’t know,” he nonchalantly shrugs, “you were gawking at him like a schoolgirl seeing her crush in the hallway,” he says, “thought you two had something going on, or at least on your part,” he reiterates.

“I did not stare at him like some schoolgirl!” you deny, taking offense to his analogy, “He’s j-jus—”

“J-just someone you clearly have a crush on,” he mocks your flusteredness, “I see and here a part of me thought it thought it was two-sided,” he smirks.

“It’s not sided on either way,” you protest, “Jimin is just a friend,” you clarify, putting your foot down.

“How do you even know the dude?” he asks. He knew you and Hobi met during college, and that Hobi was in some club with Yoongi and Namjoon which explains how you met them. He also knew that Seokjin and Taehyung came into the picture after some college frat party, but Jimin, well he didn’t know too much about Jimin. Just that he clearly felt comfortable enough to have his arm around you during New Years.

“I met him during my first year of performing at Busan Arts College, that was before I transferred to Seoul National where I’d then meet Hobi,” Jungkook’s ears perk up, several questions now running through his head.

“An arts college? In Busan?”

“Yeah, like a school for dance majors, drawing, theatre, music, film, modelling, sports, interior design, animation, and et cetera,” you smile softly while explaining, “I was an art major, painting to be specific, and along the scopes of watercolors and abstractness.”

Jungkook hums, his curiosity still not completely fulfilled, “So why’d you transfer?” he asks the big question.

“Oh..” you know you shouldn’t be, but for some reason you are slightly taken back by his blunt question, “because..” you sigh, “um something happened that well um I just thought it’d be best to transfer, and well my math skills weren’t too rusty for the entrance exam and my credits were exceptional for transferring and so I just took the leap and left. Met Hobi, we became roommates, decided to stay roommates even after graduating and well now I’m an accountant.”

Jungkook stays silent for a moment, surprised that there was more to you than meets the eye. He would’ve never guessed that you were into painting, “I stayed in touch with Jimin, introduced him to my new group of friends and well yeah, that’s that,” you finish explaining, “He was a dance major, just in case you were curious,” you add, “He now works at a contemporary dance company here in Seoul, very deep with connections in the arts industry,” So that’s who Jimin was huh? Cool... but now Jungkook was much more curious about you.

“Do you ever paint?” he asks another question, completely finished with his meal and at this point only staying for the conversation. It was weird, had it been anyone else asking you these questions you wouldn't have dared entertain it any further, probably finding some way to maneuver out of it. But for Jungkook to ask whether it be from a place of nosiness or simple curiosity, hell maybe even boredom, for some reason you just didn’t mind.

“Um not really, not anymore at least, especially these days that work is beginning to pile up but,” you hesitate for a moment before continuing, “I still have some of my old work somewhere under my bed, probably in a storage box knowing me.”

“Can I see them?”

And just as you’re about to answer, your phone’s ringing sound goes off. The person calling? Jimin. You hesitate to answer, glancing at Jungkook who was staring at your phone, presumably reading the name. Once he does, he looks at you in a way that was asking, “Are you going to pick up?”

You click the green button to accept, “Hello?”

“Y/N?” Jimin asks, unsure if it was you.

“Yes?”

“Hey! Um so I was actually meaning to call for quite a while,” Jungkook tries his best not to make it obvious that he’s listening in, “and so when I ran into you and your friend at the market it served as a complete reminder.”

“Oh what for?” you ask politely.

“Well I was hoping we could catch up over some dinner, and then I could tell you something very important that I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time,” From Jimin? “I was thinking this Saturday like at 7? I’ll pick you up.”

“Oh um..” for some reason you look at Jungkook for advice, but he just stares at you with his eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah sure, why not?” you awkwardly laugh.

“Perfect, I’ll see you then! Byeeeee,” he sings before clicking, leaving you on the line. Did that call really just happen? Or were just imagining things?

“I think—” you gulp, “I think I have a date this Saturday?” you say unsurely, a small dumbfounded smile beginning to appear on your face.

He notices the goofy smile beginning to appear on your face, before letting out a large exasperated breath and feigning his best smile. The forced smile comes out quite awkward, “With Park Jimin?” Park Jimin your college friend. Park Jimin, the successful contemporary dancer. Park Jimin, the one who looked like he came straight out of a magazine cover. That Park Jimin? Jungkook on the other hand could feel his eyebrow impulsively twitch in response, the green eyed monster creeping from behind, ready to make its return.

You nod your head yes, Jungkook now getting up from the chair, a negative energy now around him. “So much for it being a zero sided thing,” he mutters before practically throwing his dish into the sink and stomping out the kitchen, leaving you completely by yourself.

“Weird,” you think to yourself before heading off to bed.

Saturday had surprisingly arrived in the blink of an eye despite the extra hours of working out Jungkook had thrown in the morning. It was almost as if the boy wanted you to be on your date exhausted and halfway knocked out. Out of nowhere, deciding that today was the best day to start working on more leg targeted exercises, as a result your legs now felt like jell-o with every step you took.

“I’m gonna get going you guys,” you announce to the boys in the living room, who were currently on the couch watching an episode of One Piece.

Hobi turns his attention from the screen to look at you, immediately smiling at your outfit, “Ahh look at you,” he compliments, Jungkook on the other hand or silently watches you as you grab your keys from the countertop. “Doesn’t she look pretty Jungkook?” Hobi asks, tapping Jungkook on the shoulder. Jungkook remains silent, which oddly enough resulted in a heavy feeling in your chest. “Now she’s sad!” Hobi scolds, “Tell her she looks pretty,” Hobi pushes Jungkook’s shoulder this time.

“You look…” Jungkook pauses, and for a moment both you and Hobi hold your breath, for Jungkook’s mouth was quite unpredictable sometimes, “You look more than pretty,” he says with a warm look on his face before catching himself and going back to his usual expressionless face and turning his attention back to the screen. Hobi who looks like he’s about to tease the hell out Jungkook once you leave, struggles to hide the big grin on his face. While you, well you could’ve sworn you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Well get going now! And don’t come back too late!” Hobi teases, loving the persona of acting like a parent a little too much.

Was thinking about your roommate regular for a date? Because that’s what you found yourself doing … a lot. From the moment you had stepped into Jimin’s car your immediate comparison was to Jungkook’s own car. Once he started driving, your mind went to how unlike Jimin who drove with both hands on the steering wheel, Jungkook liked driving with one. More specifically his left.

And of course being on a date you expect conversation to be flowing all around even when you’re waiting on the food, but for some reason you had become so used to Jungkook always being silent until he was nearly finished with his food, that when Jimin began to make conversation while waiting definitely felt … odd for you to say the least. And don’t even get you started on what he ended up ordering. Well done steak?! Jungkook hated well done steak, preferring medium rare over anything. And so to say your roommate had been constantly on your mind this whole time was a bit of an understatement.

Currently the two of you were walking on the bridge of a local park, the several number of lampposts and people all around you making it less scary than compared to that night at the park with Jungkook. “So Y/N how’s your year been so far?” Jimin asks, a pleasant smile on his face.

“It’s been,” you pause, thinking about the person who came into your life only months ago, “it’s been pretty good.”

“That’s good to hear, that’s good to hear,” he repeats, the two of you now sitting on a bench, “So I know I told you I had some important news,” he begins, “and it’s something I’ve been really wanting to talk to you about for a very long time,” he insinuates, “and so if you could close your eyes for a moment that’d be great,” you do as follows, and close your eyes, Your heart begins to race but it wasn’t the same kind of racing you felt that night at the park with Jungkook. It was more of a “what am I doing here?” kind of nervousness so to speak. Nonetheless you shrug the feeling off.

Jimin, who was originally supposed to be getting an exhibition flyer out of his coat, notices that you have what looks to be a leaf in your hair. Deciding that it was bothering him too much he goes and reaches for it, surprised to be in contact with your lips seconds later. Quickly he pulls away, staring at you wide eyed. Both of your faces now tomato red, as he struggles to form words.

Eyes still widened, he pulls out the folded paper from jacket, once unfolded it reads, “Seoul City’s Annual Public Art Exhibition with a special performance by Seoul’s Contemporary Dance Academy choreographed by Park Jimin.”

“Oh my God—” you manage to breath out, coming to the realization that kissing you was not his attention.

He scratches the back of his neck, “I um, yeah, I’m this year’s choreographer for the city's art exhibition and well I managed to get you a slot so that you could have your very first art piece exhibited,” Jimin feigns an awkward smile, “You know since you’re a painter first before an accountant.” You, still hung up on what was probably the most embarrassing moment of your life, stare at him in complete silence. Everything barely registering in your head.

“Y/N…” he begins the dreadful pity speech by grabbing your hand, “I um,” he lets out an awkward chuckle before continuing, “I like you, I do, but not in that way…”

In the movies, this is where you’re supposed to feel as if your world was crashing down on you, the part where your heart is supposed to sink in complete sadness and you go home a complete crying mess. But rather than feel any of those things, you instead feel …. relief? Yeah, you kissing the boy was embarrassing, but it wasn’t something that was gonna haunt you for the rest of your life. Maybe for a week or two, but not definitely not the rest of your life.

Jimin wonders what’s going through your mind, the apparent smile that suddenly grew on your face telling him that things were going to be just fine, “I sorta um had my eyes on someone else in our friend group…” and with that he gets your attention because you knew exactly who he was talking about.

“Taehyung,” you say, and Jimin silently nods, a laugh emitting from both of your lips.

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised that you even agreed to go out with me, that Jungkook dude seemed like was going to lunge at me any second over there at the supermarket,” Jimin says, “I thought you two were a thing at first.”

You laugh in disbelief, “Me and Jungkook?” you say, scrunching your face.

“Um yeah, it’s not really something shocking,” Jimin laughs, “I mean you two definitely looked like a couple that day, very much doing um couple-like things. Maybe not affectionate wise but I don’t know there were definitely looks and glances being exchanged. But if you say there’s nothing between you two then who am I to argue?” Jimin shrugs his shoulders, a smirk on his face.

“Exactly, who are you to argue,” you dramatically snarl, Jimin throwing his head back in laughter.

“So y/n what do you say about participating in the art exhibition? You know you want toooo,” Jimin sings, pouting his lips. You had forgotten about that for a moment, the embarrassment of the kiss completely fazing you out.

“Oh I don’t know,” you nervously say, you hadn’t seriously painted in such a long time, that chapter in your life being a closed book for quite some time now.

“But y/n—” Jimin begs, “This could be the moment you’ve been waiting for, there’s going to be a lot of professional artists there along with buyers.”

“I just—” something was holding you back from saying yes. Was it fear? Maybe. All you knew was that you couldn't dive into something that you had long given up on, “I don’t think I can,” you ultimately say.

Jimin frowns, “You sure? I can’t hold the slot for too long, and well I was so sure you’d say yes..” You sigh before nodding, confirming that you were saying no.

“Ah okay,” Jimin says, completely understanding, “Come on let’s get you home,” to which you nod, a small sad smile on your face.

By the time you got back home, you wondered if the boys’ were asleep already, hoping at least one of them was awake to talk to, more specifically Hobi, for he always knew what to say when you needed comfort. And so when you opened the door to find the TV still on, but no one in the living room, you were confused to say the least.

You walk towards Hobi’s room, crack open the door, and peep your head in only to find him sound asleep. Did that mean Jungkook was up? Maybe someone just forgot to turn off the TV… with your curiosity getting the best of you, you decide to go Jungkook’s room and check if he was there. With your hand on the knob, you begin to twist it, slowly opening the door until a voice scares you from behind, “What are you doing?” he harshly whispers causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God,” you whisper as well, closing his door immediately, “I-I-I thought you were,” you point at his door, unable to complete your sentence.

“I was peeing,” he says, “Did you not see the light on?”

Shaking your head no, you ask, “What are you even doing up this late?”

Jungkook awkwardly stammers, “I um, I just couldn’t sleep,” he says instead of admitting that secretly he was waiting for you to arrive, just to make sure you were safe. Nothing else of course, not like he wanted to know how your date went… “Why are you going into my room without my permission?” he questions.

You scoff, “You always go in mine!” you try your best to keep your voice down, not wanting to wake up a grumpy Hobi, “Why can’t I go in yours?”

“Because you’ve never told me anything against me going into yours,” he argues, “Just because we’re um,” he pauses, struggling to say the word that comes next, “friends… doesn’t mean you get to go snooping around.” What the hell was he hiding in there that you couldn’t go in?

“That’s not fair and you know it,” you complain, ready to cross your arms and complain like a kid, that is until he flicks your forehead with his index finger.

“Ow,” you cry, “What was that for?” you groan, and he shrugs in response.

“I don’t know I just felt like doing it,” he smirks, “your forehead just looks so … flickable.” You narrow your eyes, quickly flicking his in return, garnering an “ow” from him as well.

“Oh you’re gonna pay for that,” he says, and quickly but also softly because you didn’t want to stomp too hard on the floor, you run back to the living room, the two of you now chasing each other around, index fingers ready for some more flicking. Maniacal fits of giggles filling the room as you begin to throw pillows at each other, running around the kitchen island like little kids.

Jungkook, despite being the faster runner, was the one being chased. The closer you got to him, the further you began to reach your arm for his t-shirt, your fingertips always grazing the bottom. But once you finally did, something very unexpected happened. You tripped.

Soon enough, you were hands down on the floor, Jungkook below you, a casualty of your fall. The two of you now facing each other, chests heaving from your game of tag, laughing uncontrollably. Not exactly caring if Hobi, the neighbors, or the rest of the world could hear you.

Gradually, you get off him and instead lay on the kitchen floor right next him, aimlessly staring at the ceiling. A comfortable silence in the air. If someone would’ve told you at the beginning of the year that you and Jungkook would be playing tag in the apartment like little kids, you would’ve told them they were crazy. But yet here you were, heart pounding out of your chest, wanting this moment to remain for as long as it possibly could.

“So…” Jungkook continues to stare at the ceiling, “How’d your date go?”

“It was…” you use the only word that could properly describe it, “embarrassing,” you giggle, recalling what happened. Jungkook looks at you, eager to say the least, to know why.

“Let’s just say I ummm … took some signs completely wrong,” you awkwardly chuckle, “or long story short, I sorta kissed him and well let’s just say he has his eyes on someone else in our friend group.”

Was it wrong for Jungkook to feel happy? Happy that you two didn’t have insane chemistry, become boyfriend and girlfriend, and live happily ever after after like in the fairytales. Of course he wasn’t happy that it was you who went for the kiss, nor that it was who you got rejected, but it was better than you coming in here raving on about Park Jimin, no offense to Jimin.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, an attempt to comfort you.

“It’s fine really,” you laugh, “what’s weird was that I didn’t really feel as heartbroken or as sad as I thought I’d be,” you shrug, “I’m just glad it didn’t ruin our friendship or anything. If anything I’m sad about what he offered... “

“What did he offer?” Jungkook’s jaw tightens, but you’re quick to shake your head and sigh.

“He offered me a spot at Seoul’s annual art exhibition, I guess since he choreographed a dance, he was able to talk them into giving him a spot and well I said no,” Jungkook frowns, wondering why you didn’t take the offer, “I just couldn’t see myself doing it… I haven’t painted in what feels like forever and to then have it be seen by thousands of people, yeah I can already feel the anxiety from that. One bad comment and I’m going to have to fake a smile the whole time and cry when I get home.”

Jungkook scoffs, “Who cares what others think? Screw them. I know that it’s rich coming from me, but if you think those people who may insult you or throw some sly comment to get under your skin are better than you in any way then let me tell you, they’re not. And who says you have to take their shit? Stop feeling as if you have to always put on some fake smile for people in order to spare their feelings and start looking out for your own,” Jungkook sits up, looking down on you. “So you know what you’re going to do?”

You stare at him in silence, murmuring a tiny “what?”

“You’re going to text Jimin right now and tell him you’re taking that spot,” Jungkook demands, “and if you don’t then I’ll call him myself and do it for you.” Now it’s your turn to sit yourself right up, waiting for a sign in his eyes that told you he was purely kidding. “Well what are you waiting for?” He eyes your pockets, waiting for you to reach for your phone.

“Jungko—”

“Y/N, you can’t tell me that you’re not feeling sad because you know you’re going to regret saying no to the opportunity,” Jungkook’s voice raises without meaning to, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I don’t have to see a single painting of yours to know that you’re talented, and if people can’t see that then honestly it’s their loss.” You feel your heart swell with every word, slowly pulling out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans.

Jungkook gets up from his position, offering his hand to help pull you up. Once he pulls you, he walks towards the fridge, and takes two pints of ice cream out the freezer. Your face lights up as you watch him get two spoons from the drawer, “Don’t hold it against me, but I bought these after you left just in case you came back a crying mess,” he avoids eye contact with you while handing you your pint, “But heartbreak or not, someone has to eat these. So come on, send that text so we can watch some One Piece.”

“Imagine you would’ve never convinced me to do the art exhibition,” you laugh, gently nudging Jungkook.

“Mm though it could’ve prevented a lot of things, the good definitely outweighed the bad so…” Jungkook pauses, “I guess it just goes to show you have to go through the downs in order to reap the rewards of the up.”

“Now look who's getting all wordy on me,” you tease.

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me more than I’d like to admit,” he pretends to be annoyed by dramatically sighing but a laugh soon follows.

June 2019.

After texting Jimin that you had changed your mind, you began to work on the painting you had brainstormed for the art exhibition, first sketching it out and now well on your way to starting your quite large painting.

Honestly, pulling out your old art tools and portfolio from years ago was nostalgic, bringing you a genuine sense of completeness. To have a decent paying job, the best of friends, and now being able to practice the hobby you had once considered turning into a career was everything you could ask for. But what made you feel even warmer inside was just how supportive Jungkook was of the whole thing, always buying and bringing back art materials for you to use, including different colors of paint. Though most of the time they weren’t really what you considered the best quality, it was the thought that counted.

After your boxing lessons with him, you’d usually go straight to your room to begin working on it, for the first time since you stopped painting feeling actual motivation and creativity flowing through you. Life was good. Not good, amazing.

That was until today, when you noticed Jungkook hadn’t woken you up for your usual Saturday workout. “Maybe he overslept?” you think to yourself, probably had a tiresome night at work yesterday. Slowly you make your way outside his door, gently knocking on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Nothing. Not a groan, not a “let me sleep”, absolutely nothing. You knock one more time just to make sure, your shoulders dropping once you realize he wasn’t going to open the door. Remembering what he said about entering his room, you decide that if he was having a bad day, it’d just be best to leave him be for the meanwhile.

Things didn’t really start getting alarming until you and Hobi both noticed that he skipped breakfast. His door remaining absolutely closed the whole morning and day, not a peep of sound coming out.

“Hobi, I’m starting to get worried,” your eyes glimmer with concern, “He hasn’t come out all day.”

“I know I am too, but—” Hobi sighs, “I don’t want to pressure him into—” the sound of a door opening quickly grabs your guys’ attention, the two of you silently watching Jungkook come out of his room. The time on the clock reading 6PM, the sun outside beginning to set. Carefully you watch Jungkook come into the kitchen, grabbing nothing more than a water bottle and a couple of snacks.

There’s a redness to his eyes that you’d never seen before, almost as if he had been sobbing. His under eyes were in the early stages of becoming puffy, and his skin seemed a lot paler than usual. You feel your heart sink when the two of you, for a mere second, make eye contact. Quietly he begins to make his way back to his room, but not before you offer him some food.

“Y/N—” Hobi tries to stop you, but you continue nonetheless.

“I made japchae,” you say, “I even added extra mushrooms like how you always like it,” he stares at you in silence, a cold look to his eyes before ignoring you and returning to his room. The door slamming shut once he does. If your heart was sunk already, then it was definitely stomped and ripped into pieces after that.

You turn your attention back to the TV, feeling Hobi’s stare from the side. Suddenly the volume of the TV is lowered and you already know what's coming, “Y/N…” you hear Hobi say, a sad tone behind his voice.

“Hobi don’t,” you cut him off before he could continue, not wanting to receive his pity, “I just don’t feel like hearing it right now.”

Hobi ignores you, knowing you were just putting up a wall as a defense mechanism, “You know he didn’t mean it,” he says, “he’s probably just having a rough day that’s all.”

“Even if he is, why does he still feel the need to just keep it to himself, why can’t he see that he can trust us, that he can trust me? Sometimes it feels like he knows a lot more about me than I know about him—” you rant, trying to keep your voice down so that Jungkook doesn’t hear you from his room.

Hobi sighs, getting up from the couch and grabbing his jacket and keys from the counter, “Put on your shoes,” he says, and you look at him confused before doing as he says and following him outside. The two of you then climb up the fire ladder of your apartment and onto the roof, the view of the stars sending shivers down your spine.

“Okay now sit—” he commands, which you do anyway.

“Why are we even out here?” you question, regretting not bringing your own sweater.

“Because I’m going to tell you a story, and well I don’t want Jungkook hearing us,” he says, making himself comfortable in the spot next to you, “You ready?”

Silently you nod your head yes, and so he continues.

“When I was a kid, I was what you could call ...nerdy … so to speak,” he chuckles, “I had those big ol glasses that made you look like you had fish eyes, I liked reading the Harry Potter books, I didn’t like playing sports like the rest of the boys in my elementary school did, and well in general I just wasn’t like a lot of them,” he pauses to look up at the sky, continuing once he was ready, “Now when you’re in elementary, kids won’t directly bully you, but instead they’ll make little teasing remarks because well ...we’re kids. We don’t know the big curse words yet or what we’re capable of physically. And so as a kid I’d let those jokes slide, I’d let their insults become the label put on me, not knowing the true maliciousness behind it.”

You feel your eyes become glossy, knowing where this was leading, “But the older you get, the more you begin to learn and well soon enough the teasing became full on bullying by middle school. The older kids would make these nicknames for me, and constantly call me them before, during, and after school. Occasionally even following me for a couple of blocks when walking home just to remind me that they had power over me,” Hobi’s voice begins to shake a little, “and well I didn’t know how to speak up for myself, let alone defend myself and so it just became a regular occurrence until on a certain day in middle school,” he pauses, taking a big breath.

“I had been walking home from school that day, and for some reason that day I decided I wanted to take a different route back home, probably because I was hoping the kids who would bully me would decide not to follow me. But boy was I was wrong,” he feigns a laugh, “The route I had taken was right next to the Suyeong River, and well I think it’s important to note that I didn’t know how to swim at the time. I think I personally choose not to remember too much, but one moment I was walking and the next I had my face being pulled in and out of the water, the sounds of laughter being the thing I remember the most from that day,” Hobi closes his eyes, his voice cracking as he continues, “And I just remember thinking how could kids my age be so viscous?” tears begin to silently fall from his eyes, his hands slightly shaking at the recollection of the memory, “I thought this was it, this is the end of the line for me.”

“It wasn’t until I felt the release of my hair and the touch of someone pulling back that the nightmare came to an end,” Hobi wipes his tears with the sleeve of his sweater, “When I finally managed to get some kind of focus on my vision, I’d come to see the boy who was pushing me into the water completely knocked out the floor while the rest of his buddies were running to who knows where,” The scene from the club begins to replay in your head, remembering the person who had gotten there just at the right time.

“And then there was Jungkook, the boy I’d never seen a day in my life , helping me fix myself along with looking for my glasses even after having knocked out that boy with his bare hands. After that me and Jungkook became the best of friends, like actual genuine friends and the bullying had completely stopped. I’d also come to find out that Jungkook was a boxer, and not a casual one, like an “I practice every weekday, weekend, day, and night.” kind of one. He was aiming to go pro, and so he had to put in the time for it. His parents were supportive of it as well, as I think his dad saw the most potential in it.”

Hobi takes a breather before continuing, finding yourself completely immersed in the story, “And so when our senior year came around and I had gotten accepted into SNU, I asked Jungkook what he was planning on doing now that we were graduating. And well that’s when he told me that had gotten an offer to train and compete in the states, where there’d be a lot more tougher competition and where he could really develop the natural talent he had. So on graduation day we had our teary farewell, and I remember telling him that if he ever needed anything and I truly meant anything, that he’d know where to find me.”

“So when years later I received a call at about 2 in the morning, asking if he could redeem the favor he had once done for me so long ago, I knew I couldn’t say no. I don’t know what happened in the states, and I don’t bother to ask him because I know that the day he’s ready to tell me or you, he will. Whatever did happen over there, changed him though. He came back a colder, more rude person, and honestly I thought he’d be like that forever until he started to get to know you,” Hobi smiles, “That’s when I began to see glimpses of the Jungkook I knew from high school again, the one who liked to mess around all the time, and never took himself too seriously.”

“You see y/n, I’m telling you all of this because I want you to know that Jungkook isn’t like us in the way of opening up when he feels sad or mad. He’s used to being the one doing all the protecting and so when he finds himself in a place where he’s overwhelmed by the feelings of sadness or anger, he gives the cold shoulder or becomes someone who isn’t like him at all, in order to avoid talking about it. I think it’s because he doesn’t want anyone to know the burden he carries. To sum it up y/n, Jungkook is the definition of when it rains, it pours … but when it shines, you’ll completely forget it ever rained to begin with,” Hobi pats you softly on the shoulder, “So the best thing you can do right now is let the storm play itself out, so that then you can be there when the rainbow comes back out.”

If only you had listened.

“Ahh so it was Hobi who told you everything,” Jungkook scrunches his face.

“No duhhhhh,” you sing, “Who else could have?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I don’t know, I thought you just magically figured it out on your own,” you’re unsure on whether he’s being sarcastic or not so all you is narrow your eyes at him, deciding to stay silent than make yourself look stupid.

“Mm either way Hobi made a BIG mistake telling me,” you laugh, “because he should've known my nosiness was only going to lead to problems.”

“Tell me about it,” Jungkook teases, resulting in a light smack to the shoulder.

July 2019.

It had been about a month since Jungkook’s change in behavior, his cold demeanor reminding you of when he first moved in months ago. The only time he’d ever leave his room was to go to work, use the restroom, or get his food to take to his room. You had been working on your painting whenever you got the chance, a distraction from the constant concern you felt for Jungkook. You know Hobi said to give it time, but how long would it be until Jungkook decided to finally open up? He couldn’t go on like this forever, could he?

You missed the Jungkook you had gotten to know in the last couple of months, the one who showed you that the tough wall he put up around him was nothing more than an act. That behind it, he was a complete sweetheart who liked drinking his banana milk and watching One Piece whenever he had the chance, the one who constantly liked to steal your things from your room and then replace them with an even better version, the one whose laugh sorta reminded you of Elmo but was still absolutely adorable, and lastly the one who you had found constantly by your side and falling further in love with every waking moment.

Not like, but love. You had come to realize it while you were in bed one night, your only thoughts being thunk all relating to Jungkook in some way. Remembering the number of times this month where you’d find yourself outside his bedroom door, inches away from knocking, knowing that all you needed was for him to open up the door at least once and you’d know everything was going to be okay. Sadly, you’d always find yourself chickening out, Hobi’s words always ringing in your head to serve as a reminder. Jungkook needed space. And as much as you wanted to run up to him and give him a tight hug, you knew you had to respect his boundaries.

So then why was it that today, when you found yourself painting and missing a certain color, a tiny voice in your head was telling you that maybe Jungkook had it… Realistically you knew it wasn’t possible, you had kept track of all your colors from the moment you started, but damn was that voice convincing.

Getting up from the floor, you walk out into the living room, checking around to see if it was there. Hobi, who was currently taking a nap on the couch, seemed completely at peace.

You check his room to see if he has it, but your efforts were to no avail. The only place it had to be was Jungkook’s room. It had to be. At least that’s what you were telling yourself so could finally have an excuse to knock on his door. Making your way to his room, you prepare to knock, your knuckles lightly tapping against the wooden door. But to your surprise the door creaks open, no one presumably in the room…

You could’ve sworn Jungkook was home? You double check the restroom, making sure it wasn’t going to be an incident like last time, but this time he really wasn’t there. The voice of reasoning versus temptation now had you completely torn. You remember the day Jungkook first moved in, and how secretive he got over you seeing whatever it was inside his boxes, and the night after your date and how stern he was about you not entering.

Slowly you push open the door of his room, completely forgetting Hobi’s words and deciding that it was either now or never. You knew you were a pushing boundary that you shouldn’t be, but a part of you also felt like it had to be done. Maybe if you found out what was bothering Jungkook so much, you could help him.

Honestly, you weren't too sure on what you expected when you first entered. Considering how secretive Jungkook was about it, you sorta assumed the room would be all black and have a whole bunch of weird things hanging across the walls, but surprisingly his room looked completely normal. The bed covers were a navy blue color that matched with some of the artwork he had hung across the beige colored apartment walls. The drawers were plain and boring while his desk looked like any other ordinary desk: stacked with random sketches, pens, One piece manga, and printed webtoons. If this is all he was hiding, then it really no made sense because there was literally nothing to hide….

That was until you saw the closed closet door, and once you opened it, you were blown away. For what was behind those closet doors was an entire memorabilia of awards, belts, photos, and trophies which you assumed were all Jungkook’s, newspapers from the states with headlines that spoke of how amazing Jungkook was. Many of them include the words “rising”, “prodigy”, and “the next big thing”. Your eyes try to take everything in all in one go, but it was just so much. There were papers that were written about him even when he was a kid, pictures of his with several belts around his waist amazed you. This was insane.

But it wasn’t until you noticed the newspaper headline of the paper hung right in the center of the practical shrine that the smile from your face fell, as it read, “Prodigy Jeon Jungkook, K.O’d in Round 12 against Brandon Star.” You look at the date, and everything begins to start making sense. The date which read December 1, 2018, only a couple of weeks prior to your first meeting with him at New Years, the churning feeling in your stomach only becoming heavier as you read the newspaper next to it. “Rising Star, Jeon Jungkook, disappears. Where is he now?” it reads, and as you skim through the different articles, the whole memorabilia shrine begins to make sense. Jungkook didn’t have this here for the purpose of maintaining old memories, but for the purpose of constantly reminding himself of what he once was and how he ended up failing, torturing himself to say the least. It’d explain his pent up anger when you first met him, the scar was still fresh.

Grabbing one of the trophies from the memorabilia desk, you observe the glass material and admire its fine detail, Jungkook’s name written in cursive underneath the title. Slowly your fingers graze over it, whispering his name to yourself, “Jeon Ju—”

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice harshly interrupts, scaring you and causing you to jump. The slippery trophy in your hands falling to floors, several pieces of glass now shattered onto the floor. Turning to face the owner of the voice, your heart stops when you find Jungkook staring at the floor, an expressionless look on his face.

“I—” your brain completely freezes, only staring at his balled up fist which was becoming more red with every passing second.

“I told you—” he closes his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath, “I told you to stay the fuck out of my room,” he finally snaps, his enraged voice echoing across the walls of the room, “So then why, why the fuck are you in here right now!” he moves towards you, his face now becoming red in anger. Not caring whether he was stepping on glass or not.

“I know but—”

He cuts you off, “But fucking what? There’s no reason you should even be in here right now y/n! None!” he screams, his rage only furthering with every word. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you stammer to defend yourself. “How would you feel like if I barged into your room and destroyed something personal of yours, huh?”

All you can do is stare at him, never seeing him this enraged before, the sight definitely a scary one, “Answer me goddamit!” he yells, his fist still balled up, holding himself back from punching anything. He looks down at the broken glass one more time, his chest now heaving in anger before storming out the room.

Quickly you follow him, chills going down your spine when you see him turn to your room.

“What are you—” you begin, but it’s too late. Everything happens in slow motion, from the fist being thrown to the sound of the canvas you’d been working so long on cracking, several holes and rips appearing soon after. You look at the scene in front of you in silence, shock running through your veins, and the need to vomit stronger than ever before. Jungkook breathes heavily, staring at what he’s just done, not feeling a single ounce of remorse.

The closing feeling in your throat is one that’s too overwhelming, but the anger you were now feeling was even stronger, “What is wrong with you,” you whisper, tears falling down from your eyes, a look of terror overtaking your face, “What is wrong with you!” you scream, lips trembling as your voice breaks at just how loud you were. Jungkook feels his blood run cold, taken back by your sudden outburst.

“I have been nothing but kind to you since the day we’ve met, nothing but!” you yell, hot tears uncontrollably falling from your hysteria.

Jungkook scoffs, yelling right in return, “Do you want some kind of reward for that? Is that it? Is that all this is? Another ego booster for you so you can pat yourself on the back and say you’re a good person!”

“I don’t need anything from anyone! Especially not from someone like you,” you spit, Jungkook’s jaw clenching at your response.

“Ah I knew that nice ol princess act was nothing more than mere bullshit,” he bitterly laughs, “finally had enough of your whole little treat everyone with kindness moral?” he mocks you.

“It’s not a fucking act, I’m just not a miserable person like you!” you grit your teeth, the temptation to throw something at him at an all time high.

“No you just live in this big old fantasy bubble that’s got you believing that kindness solves all the world's problems!”

“Yeah well it’s better than thinking that being a fucking prick to the rest of the world gets you anywhere, I mean look at where you’re at now!” you yell, knowing you were treading on thin ice, but you didn’t care at all anymore. The ice was shattered the moment he destroyed your painting, “I understand that I made a mistake going into your room, but you don’t have to take the rest of your miserable life out on me! You think everyone around you wants to be some kind of punching bag all the time for you?” the veins in your neck begin to pop out, and you almost feel as if your chest was going to physically explode at any moment, “How dare you come in here and treat everyone around you like complete shit all because you’re living a sad tragic life!”

“That’s not true,” he snarls, a scowl on his face.

“Isn’t it?” you scoff, “You’ve done it since the first day you got here, and so let me do the favor of telling you the truth and giving you a goddamn reality check! We’re all sick and tired of it! Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean you get to make everyone around you as well! And let me tell you, I’ll be damned if I let someone like you make me just as rotten as yourself,” and for a small second you see the hurt across Jungkook’s face, and you think maybe you’ve gone too far.

Maybe this could’ve all been prevented had you never entered his room. But then you think to yourself that no, this was bound to happen. This was always going to happen whether you liked it or not. The questions had always just been: when was it going to happen and what was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back? By now both of your chests are heaving, and there’s a silence that fills the room. Time acts as nothing more than an illusion.

“Is that what you really think?” he says, a cold hardened expression on his face again, “That I make you miserable?” You look at the destroyed painting on the floor, a symbol that despite building and making something so beautiful, all it took was one slip of the finger for it all to go down the drain. Without saying anything, you slowly nod to him, the emptiness in your heart acting as a driving force.

“What the—” Hobi walks in the room, dazed and confused, “What the fuck is going on in here?” He asks, but the two of you remain silent, continuing to stare at one another.

That is until Jungkook breaks away from the stare, muttering a small “nothing,” under his breath, walking out of the room and going back to his own, the door loudly slamming shut.

“Y/N…” Hobi begins, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance, a tiresome expression on your face.

“Hobi,” you shake your head, “Just leave me alone!,” you snap at him, but it comes out more as a plea than a demand, voice completely weary. Hobi stares at you for a moment before doing so, gently closing the door when making his way out. Once you hear the sound of the door close, you squat down to the floor, fingers grazing the painting you’d work so hard on, a muffled sob finally escaping from your lips.

a/n: whew! originally this was supposed to be nothing more than a small drabble, but as i kept writing it just ended becoming this monstrous of a fic that i had to split into two lmao. hopefully i didn’t make the switches between present day and the past too confusing for y’all. part two will probably be up by next friday, once my finals week is over :)) any messages, anons, comments, reblogs, and like are appreciated! see y’all next time! 💞

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language and violence Warnings: Choking (kinda) Summary: Local feral human makes a friend, tries to sleep next to local mean vampire, then gets a taste of their own medicine Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!

3: Haunt Me Dearly

What a lovely crimson mess I’ve made, you think, watching as the last of the bloody water drained from the bathtub. There were still several splashes of red along the sides, where you had leaned on or otherwise touched. Frowning, you considered whether or not to clean up after yourself. Surely it wouldn’t be one of your captors doing the cleaning? In that case, you think, I don’t want to make any enemies out of the servants. First you had to finish binding your wounds. Wouldn’t want to risk getting them dirty so soon after washing them, after all. Except you weren’t even sure that you could properly wrap them on your own, considering the positioning of your injuries.

“Ah, fucking hell…” You muttered, scowling a little. Then you remembered that Cassandra had sent a maid to wait outside the bathroom for you. Maybe they could help? Nodding to yourself, you threw on your new undergarments and pair of trousers, deciding to save the shoes for later. Once you were ‘decent’, you slowly opened the door, peeking out from behind it. Before long you were making eye contact with an unfamiliar woman, who looked very confused. “Any chance you could help me bandage my shoulder? I can’t do it without help, and something tells me Cassandra’s not going to lend me a hand.” With that said, you gave her a friendly smile, hoping to make up for the awkwardness of the situation.

“Of course! It is my honor to serve a guest of my Lady,” the maid- servant, maybe- said, giving a short curtsy. Admittedly you’re a little confused by her response. Still, you gladly welcome her assistance, moving back into the bathroom to grab the gauze. Although you intend to do as much as you can on your own, the woman is quick to take over completely. “Please, allow me,” she continued, carefully beginning to wrap your wounds.

“Are all the workers here so polite? I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoys working here, all things considered,” you mused, squinting at the middle distance. At that, the servant tenses up, clearly not expecting you to speak ill of her employers. Well, she had called you a guest. “Don’t be surprised, friend. Less than an hour ago I was fit to be consumed by ‘your Lady Cassandra’. Only reason I’m not dead right now is because of a stupid blood bond,” you explained, tone dripping with irritation. This time the servant doesn’t flinch at all, instead nodding slowly, taking a moment to let your words sink in. During this pause, you decide to introduce yourself, just in case the two of you might see each other frequently.

“I… see. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, no matter the circumstances of your presence here. You can call me Daphne, though I must warn you that I am not one for, ahem, gossip about my masters,” she replied, finishing her binding of your shoulder wound. Next she searched through the cabinet by the sink, looking for a medicinal salve of some sort. Once she found it she was right back to work. The substance stung a tad on your skin, but you could hardly complain, seeing as it would help fight off possible infections.

“You sure about no gossip? What if we call it ‘helping me get acclimated to my new situation’? I’m a fish outta water here, Daphne,” you suggested, turning your head to look her in the eyes. At first she ignored you, focusing on rubbing the medicine into your skin. Eventually she meets your gaze, briefly, and releases a quiet sigh.

“You are free to ask questions-” you start to celebrate, though not for long- “just as I am free to withhold answers. Though I may be more responsive if you can tell me one thing… Why was Lady Cassandra’s dress wet?” Daphne asked, making you freeze in place. Of course she wanted the one answer you didn’t feel confident about giving. She’s quick to notice this, though, and laughs to herself. “Well, I suppose some things must remain a mystery. Now let’s get your face cleaned up…”

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

By the time you make it to Cassandra’s room, the sun is starting to rise, leaking in through the castle windows. Exhaustion weighs you down, making you want to fall immediately into the nearest bed. As it stands, that was none other than your soulmate’s, though it was currently occupied. For a moment you hover in her doorway, contemplating whether or not you should steal her blanket. Floor can’t be too bad, you think, right? Before you can decide you notice Cassandra stirring from her sleep.

“What took you so fucking long?” She asked groggily. Now she’s sitting up, blanket clinging loosely to her body, and you realize that she’s not wearing a shirt. Though a blush rishes up your cheeks, you’re certain it’s too dark for Cassandra to notice. Or at least you hope so. Wanting to think about something other than what she was (or was not) wearing, you focus your energy on responding.

“Isn’t it obvious? I got invited to a sick orgy on the way back, and I wasn’t about to turn that down, so…” You trailed off, gesturing idly with your hands. The movement stretches your shoulder more than you’d like, resulting in an ache that lasts several seconds. It distracts you to the point where you almost can’t catch the object Cassandra promptly throws at you. “What the hell…?” It’s a shoe, as far as you can tell, that definitely would have hurt, had it hit its intended target. “Such a lovely gift, babe. I will treasure it for the rest of my days, forever keeping it as a reminder that you-” your tone shifts from a false joy to deadpan- “are a piece of shit. Now, seriously, where am I supposed to sleep? Is there a walk-in closet I can camp in? Or do I get the bed, while you sleep in a fucking coffin or something?”

Before Cassandra has a chance to respond, you’re walking further into her room, wanting to take a quick look around. There’s a large dresser that you quickly toss her shoe inside, as well as a window sill with a built-in reading nook. Trading your tiredness for sheer dickery, you throw open the curtains, letting the light pour in (and nearly blind you in the process). Half of you expects your soulmate to screech in response. Maybe even turn to ash. Instead, you hear her moving, and you turn to find her laying back down, facing away from you.

“When you’re done fucking around, come over here and sleep. I will knock you out if I have to,” Cassandra muttered, still sounding half asleep. As much as you wanted to know if she’d go through with her threat, you are exhausted. Begrudgingly you approach the bed. It’s certainly large enough for two people, even having enough room for you to be completely separate from each other. When you start to climb in, you find yourself overwhelmed for a moment, surprised at the quality of the sheet fabric. Exactly how rich were these vampiric assholes? This room alone seemed to be worth more than you had ever known.

This was, perhaps, the one bright side to your situation: A comfortable state of existence. Well, as comfortable as one could get in a place like this. So lovely on the outside, a muse worthy of a thousand artists, yet hiding far darker horrors within… much like the woman you now found yourself laying beside. Why me? Why her? What could possibly bring the two of us together, you think, other than a cruel fate? There’s a pain in your chest, dishearteningly similar to heartache. Damning the universe, and your blood bond, and yourself, you think ‘fuck it’ before sliding closer to Cassandra. One arm drapes itself over her waist, while you slowly lean your head against her back.

In an instant she’s tense, not even breathing, waiting for you to reveal whatever trick hid up your sleeve. But no trick comes, just your hand meeting hers, squeezing softly. Suddenly the tension is gone. None remains, not even lingering in the air, and the two of you soon drift off to sleep...

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

Shaking, body made a wreck through tremors, tears staining her cheeks. Breathing comes hard, each shift of her lungs bringing with it a mighty ache. Someone’s holding her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, fingers tracing circles against her back. But she’s lost in her dream, eyes clenched shut. Visions flash before her gaze like lightning in a storm. There’s no time to process, no opportunity to prepare for the thunder that follows. Every strike is a punch to the gut she can’t ignore. When release finally comes, it is not a gentle kiss to her forehead, or a reassuring hand on her own, but rather an intense surge of pain that jolts her awake.

Cassandra nearly screams as she sits up, hands reflexively going to hold her head. One of them stings, bad, and she notices what look like bite marks on the side. For a moment her confusion acts as a welcome distraction. Then she’s looking next to her, and the puzzle practically puts itself together. There you are, one hand in your mouth, an eyebrow raised as you stare at her. Ignoring the lingering memories of her dream, she turns all of her rage towards you. Quickly she grabs ahold of your arm, forcefully yanking your hand out of your mouth, even though it makes your teeth dig in a little deeper. It takes more willpower than she wants to admit to stop herself from strangling you right then and there.

“I didn’t know monsters could even have nightmares,” you taunted. Before you know what’s happening, Cassandra is lunging towards you, pressing her forearm against your throat. There’s just enough pressure to make talking difficult. Both of her yellow eyes are filled with hatred, aimed right at you, but you can’t help but laugh. “Ya know, I did try to wake you up nicely. I should have known you only respond to violence. Next time, though, I’ll remember to stay a safe distance away.”

“You don’t know anything, dipshit. Anyone else would know better than to spout so much fucking ignorance, but nobody taught you how to behave, huh?” Cassandra growled, applying more pressure with her arm, leaving you unable to reply (for once). “You’re a goddamn mutt, aren’t you? Thrown to the street like the garbage you are, left to live in the gutter, feeding off of trash like a fucking cannibal. You should be honored to be allowed anywhere near me. You should be worshiping me, for fuck’s sake!” Black dots form in your vision, a dark halo edging into the corners of your eyes, as your lungs beg for air. But you’re grinning. You’re showing your teeth, bright and proud, knowing full well that you have won this round. As soon as realization dawns on Cassandra’s face she’s pulling herself off of you.

Still, you are left gasping, clutching at your neck as she hurriedly gets dressed for the day. By the time you can see properly again, she’s left without another word. Even as she stalks down the corridor, eagerly rushing away from you, she hears your laughter howling through the castle. It digs into her brain, taunting her. Soon enough you’ll stop, light headed, but she will still hear it echoing inside her mind. You’ll haunt her just as much as her wicked dreams. Hopefully more.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #blunt teeth sharp tongue #cassandra gets a turn to be a dick #>=3

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

What's One More?

WC: 3204

Rated: M

Tags: brief mentions of crime/mental illness/child abuse and neglect/substance addiction/theft, fluff, family dynamics, mentions of aging, mentions of difficult pregnancy, softness, anxiety attack

🧠

The harsh vibrating of a phone on the nightstand breaks your slumber. Still half asleep you toss your arm back to thump against your sleeping husband's side. With a groan he answers. You try to settle back into your pillow and the warmth of the blanket. Whoever has the balls to call at this hour has another thing coming - but later because your priority is going back to sleep.

He can't have been on the call more than fifteen seconds before he sits up in bed suddenly, turning on the bedside lamp; his movements grab your attention. You roll over. The light blinds you and you rub at your eyes to adjust. You can't make out what's being said. Looking at the clock to see that it's barely 4 am you know something bad has happened. Quietly you slip out from the covers.

Making your way down the hall you peek into your daughter's room, grateful that she's still fast asleep. Her soft snores punctuate the calm. Your nerves abate knowing she’s safe. By the time you get back to the bedroom Laszlo is up and getting dressed. "What's going on?"

He doesn't answer at first. You wait until he's finished buttoning his shirt to ask again. "Sara was called to consult on a triple homicide case - she's asked for me to come down to the police station. I don't know much yet, but it's something involving a young boy and she wants me to speak with him."

“Did he…?”

“No. He was not directly involved, that much we know.”

You nod, leaning against the door frame. This wasn't the first time that Laszlo had been called in by law enforcement and social services to assist with children and teens that needed psychological help. He had become more active around the time you graduated with your doctorate. After Sophia was born Laszlo helped fund an after school program for kids that focused on support for mental health and behavioral issues. He was so passionate about being able to help these kids. But it was never at this ungodly hour. "You'll call or something when you know what's up?" you ask through a yawn.

"Of course, Bärchen." He gives you a chaste peck. Gently he guides you back towards your bed and sits you down. "Go back to sleep, there's no need to worry. I love you." With that he left.

Your sleep is fitful with him gone. You worry over things that you aren't even aware of, over who is hurt, over how severe a situation it could be to have been called in the middle of the night, over the poor boy that needs Laszlo’s help. When your daughter tiptoes into the room around 6 you welcome her into the bed with open arms.

"Why are you up, baby bug?"

"Where's Papa?" She climbs up on his side of the bed and rubs his cold pillow. On her face is a deep frown.

"He had to go help some very important people early this morning. He'll be back to see you soon, I promise."

"I miss him. He always helps me with my shoes."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face. "I know, baby. But it's still early so let's take a nap before we have to get ready, hmm?" The two of you snuggle under the covers. With her curled into your side you do find rest, even for the short time before your alarm chimes.

The day moves sluggish as you wait for word from your husband. Little work was to be done today at the museum, so there wasn't much to keep your mind off the wondering. You considered calling. You considered texting. But you knew that when the time was right he would let you know. No news is good news, you think.

Finally the day came to a close. You picked up Sophia and stopped by the store on the way home to grab supplies for dinner. She insisted that she carry one of the bags inside - little miss independent that she was. “Careful not to drop it, okay? Use those muscles of yours to hold the bag tight.”

“Mama I know, I help Papa carry all the time,” she explains matter-of-factly.

The townhouse is quiet as you begin to unpack. You do a quick glance into the dining room and parlor to no avail. "Laz, honey? You home?" A few seconds later you hear movement from the stairs.

Your husband rounds the corner into the kitchen, swooping down to scoop your daughter into his left arm, peppering her face in exaggerated smooches. Her giggles light up the room from the dim atmosphere. He perches her on his hip. “How was your day my little dove?”

“So good Papa - I practiced my counting today at school. I can get the biggest in the class! Mommy said I must be the most smartest," she prattles on.

“Wunderbar!” he praises her before turning to you. “I didn't hear you come in." Laszlo kisses you.

Pinning him with a look you say "you also didn't call me today? You said you would and I've been worried all day."

Sophia crosses her arms and harrumphs from her father's hip; "me too Papa." He quirks an eyebrow at her before speaking.

"Yes… there is something I wished to speak with you on but didn't think it was suitable for the phone." You raise your own brows but continue to put away groceries. "I do not wish to discuss certain aspects of the case in present company-" he nods towards Sophia minutely "-but we do have a houseguest for the foreseeable future."

"Oh?" Your brows dip in confusion. This is not what you were expecting.

Laszlo peeks around the doorway and calls out "Stevie, would you come join us in the kitchen please."

Stevie? You don't know a Stevie...

A moment later a lanky boy with scruffy dark blond hair shuffles into the room. He can't be anymore than 15. His clothes are too big on him and his shoes are worn beyond belief; nevertheless he gives you a slight smile. “This is Stevie Taggert, he’s going to be staying here with us in the guest room for now.”

“Good evening Mrs. Kreizler,” the boy says nervously, his voice cracking.

You spare a look at your husband before turning to the teenager with a smile. “Ah, no need for that, kid. You can just call me by my name instead. And welcome to our home. You like spaghetti?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Awesome! And I’m certainly not old enough to be a ma’am,” you give him a wink. You set up a pot to boil the water for the pasta. Laszlo excused himself to spend some time with Sophia, leaving you and Stevie in the kitchen.

He clears his throat behind you. “Would um… is there anything I can do to help?”

"I would love that, thank you."

The two of you get to work on making dinner. Stevie doesn’t say too much, but he is very polite and does his best to be useful. Once the food is nearly finished your family has returned ready to eat. You send Stevie and Sophia to set the table.

“Should I be worried?” you ask Laszlo quietly, watching the doorway the two left through.

“I don’t think so. I just felt that I would rather he have a familiar face to adjust with instead of being placed in a group home like many end up.”

You study his face. “You’ve taken a liking to him haven’t you?”

“Well…" his face reddens at your question. "He reminds me a bit of myself when I was his age.” The conversation is cut short by the kids returning.

The rest of dinner and the evening goes smoothly. You make it a point to not bring up any questions that could trigger the teenager, especially before you’ve spoken with Laszlo about the situation at hand. When Stevie nearly eats his weight in pasta you say nothing, wondering how long it's been since he's had a good home cooked meal. He insists on helping clean up the dishes afterwards. Without even knowing what the boy has gone through your heart aches for him.

You set him up in the small renovated basement downstairs while Laszlo puts Sophia to bed. Handing him one of your husband’s old Harvard t-shirts to sleep in you tell him “I’m sorry you’ll be down here by yourself, but if you need us for anything don’t be afraid to come get us - no matter what time it is, okay? And if you get cold there’s an extra blanket right here for you. I know it's July but….” you shrug. “Tomorrow after I get home from work we can go to the store and get you some stuff to use, some more clothes, that kinda thing.”

“Yes ma’am.” At the teasing look you give him his ears burn red with his mumbled “right sorry.”

“Alright Stevie. We’ll see you in the morning, sleep well.”

Laszlo is in bed reading when you enter the room. Nothing is said as you ready yourself for bed. Slipping under the covers you face him. He sighs and closes his book.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I became caught up in the day and only arrived home with Stevie maybe half an hour before you did.” He sighs a second time. “Most of the case I cannot talk about, but what I can say is he was living with his mentally ill father, whom was also an addict. He missed the last few weeks of the school year and has been regularly stealing food to get by. He has no other family. I just… it didn’t feel right to let him process his experiences away from someone properly trained to deal with these sorts of things, in addition to how traumatic entering foster care at his age can be. I spoke with those in social services and was granted temporary custody until we find another more permanent solution.”

“Of course.”

He takes hold of your hand. “You aren’t upset with me?”

“I mean it would’ve been nice to have a bit more warning… but I get it. He can stay as long as he needs to. He’s a sweet kid,” you reassure him. “I told him that I would take him shopping after work tomorrow, so if you could pick up Soph from preschool that would be great.”

“Perhaps instead we can all go? I was thinking that I would bring him to the university with me so that he’s not alone all day. You could get her and then we could meet somewhere, get dinner afterwards?”

You lean closer to him to curl around his arm and rest your head on his shoulder. He always thought so much about others, especially children. Laszlo had such a heart of gold and it honestly left you in awe of just how much he was willing to give so that others could find peace and happiness. Like the older he got the more he had to give. The thought warms you. “How are you literally the best person I know? And to think you used to be so worried about being able to be a good father and now you’re the best of all of us.” He huffs a little as you nuzzle into his chest.

“I have you to thank for that, Bärchen.” He drops a kiss to your head. “But it’s getting late and I’ve been up all day. We should get some sleep.”

Soon after you're both dreaming.

___

Stevie had been with you for three weeks. It only took him a few days to start to settle in, and you discovered that he was quick with his wit and far smarter than he let on. He was a little bit of a sarcastic smart-ass at times, but all in good nature. He was endlessly entertaining. Laszlo sat down with him almost everyday to talk about what he was feeling, the things he experienced, and ways to deal with the loss of his family. Already you both saw improvement.

Even Sophia got on well with him. Most teenage boys wanted nothing to do with little kids, let alone a 4 year old that loved playing 'spaceship barbie'. But not Stevie. On his fifth day you'd found him sat on the floor playing with her and going along with her childlike imagination. When she insisted he play the barbie that needed saving he went along with it, high pitched voice and everything. He even encouraged her to pick up her toys before bed - a feat you and your husband struggled with at times. It struck you how much Stevie became a big brother of sorts to her.

Laszlo grew even more fond of the boy. He wasn't really one for TV, but every evening he sat and watched some show on Netflix about racing with the teen and didn't complain once. Laszlo had tried to explain the role of adrenaline in racing drivers as a psychological function, but Stevie just brushed it off and said it was the driving so fast that made it "cool".

The two did bond over an unlikely subject - punk rock. When you got home from work two weeks into his stay and heard the music blasting in the parlor you worried someone had broken in. Whipping into the room you saw Laszlo in his chair tapping his foot to the intense guitar and singing; Stevie nodded along to the music as he held an old album cover. It didn't take long for Sophia to start jumping along to the music too.

"What is this?" You yelled out over the bass - you couldn't recognize it and it clearly wasn't English.

"Die Toten Hosen, a band I listened to growing up in Germany. Stevie found the record and asked to listen."

"Listen? I think you mean blow out your eardrums!" Even with needing to shout to be heard you had to laugh at the situation. How your husband had a secret love for German punk you'll never know; yet you would never let him live it down.

And when Stevie came and woke you both up in tears three nights ago you made him hot chocolate while Laszlo sat down with him. He confessed that he had never been treated or cared for like he was in your home. How he wished he could stay because he felt wanted. Your heart broke for the boy. To be so young and so lost, craving someone to simply be there for him.

Yet everyday he grew more open. He broke out of his shell. He had goals and ambitions; he wanted to amount to something bigger than he had thought he ever could. It almost shocked you at how much fire was within him.

At how much he fit in with your little family.

At how it was like he was meant to be there.

___

Laszlo was oddly quiet when you got home. Sophia had run off to find Stevie, and you tracked your husband down to his office. He listened as you talked about your day for a good ten minutes; he said almost nothing the whole conversation.

You move closer to him. Placing the back of your hand to his forehead you check to see if he's feverish or sick. He didn't feel warm. "Laz, are you feeling okay?"

He gently pulls your hand down and leaves a kiss on your palm. "The department of social services called this morning to inquire about what we want to do with Stevie. This would be the third time they have asked."

He hadn't mentioned it to you at all that they were calling already. "Okay. What do you think we should do?" You pause for him to continue.

"I told them I would need to speak with you before any further decisions were made regarding him…" His fingers tap against the wood of his desk. "I'm not sure I have an answer for them. Nor for you." He swallows. "I'm afraid of what might become of him should he go into the system. Or that he will not get the support he needs given his past. Any option involving allowing him to stay for a bit longer is a commitment I won't make without your full support, of course. I could never ask that of you." As he speaks you can hear the frustration pouring from him, feel the irritation radiating through the room. "I refuse to give up on him- I- I just don't have the answers on what to do without them hounding me and he deserves better than this, dammit."

"He does… Do you remember on your 50th birthday, what you told me?" Laszlo looks up at you confused. "You said that you had wished you were ten years younger so you had the energy and time to do all of it again. That if you were younger we would've had a whole gaggle of kids - brothers and sisters for Sophia."

"Wishing I was younger doesn't make a difference in helping Stevie-"

"Laszlo - let's adopt him." Your words stop him in his tracks. You had decided not to have any more after your daughter was born. Laszlo was nearing 50 and the pregnancy had been hard on you. But regardless you knew that you both had the means and the love to give another child, probably five or ten more children if you really wanted to. So why not start with one that's already wormed his way in to the family? "I've seen how fond you are of him already. You've taken him under your wing as if he was your own. And how good he is with Sophia? Hell I couldn't ask for a better older sibling for her - and she loves him already. And honestly, Laz, I do too."

"You think we should adopt Stevie?"

"I think we should ask, yeah. He deserves a good home and a strong father figure that's going to put him first. He looks at you like you hung the stars, Laszlo. He needs us, and truthfully I think we need him. So yeah - what's one more added to this little shindig we've got going for us?"

"Have you-"

"-thought it through? Yes. Completely."

You can see the smile he fights to hold back. "We should call tomorrow and see what the protocol is for stating our intent to adopt and getting the paperwork."

"Um…" You shuffle your feet. Nose scrunched, you confess "I may have already called them. On the way from work I asked about what would need to be done if we wanted to pursue that route, but since they already know who we are from you working with them for years it can be fast tracked." You pull him out of his chair to stand before you. "All we have to do is say 'go'."

He has no hesitation.

"Go."

Laszlo doesn't hold back his smile or his laughter as he spins you around his office floor. You're certain your children downstairs can hear your giggles.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02

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oshicakes · 3 years

Text

their s/o is being taken advantage

pairings. hirugami sachiro x reader, hoshiumi korai x reader, miya atsumu x reader

an. im sorry for making you wait. this idea popped into my mind as i read your request, and i hope i met your idea hahaha. its long! im sorry. hope you'll like it. have a nice day everyone.

Hirugami Sachiro

lunch break came and he pulled a desk and chair across yours.

you placed your bento and tumbler on your table and so as he. you were hesistant to give him the snack that you prepared for him.

"i-uhm, prepared a snack for you. you can eat it later after your practice or on your break. it's just a chicken and ebi burger." it was in a simple plastic container.

"thank you." his smile was warm causing you to feel your ears and neck burn.

"are you free later?" he asked you. you stopped eating and think if you have something to do.

"i think so? i still need to finish the assignment by pair later and sub my friend for today in cleaning."

"again?" he frowned. you've been working on by pair or by group assignment and projects alone, they'd always make excuses and pretend that they didn't know about the project or assignment.

and that friend you're talking about, you've been substituting her for weeks!

"it's okay. i really don't mind since im not that busy and i don't have any important things to do." you smiled at him trying to ease him.

"how many times do i have to tell you to say no to them? they're being too much. wait here ill talk-" he got up from his seat that cause you to panic. you instantly grab him in his pulse.

you let go of him when looked at your hands. "i- sorry." you seat properly and looked up to him after.

"really, im okay with it. maybe they have problems or they are dealing with something in their life now so they can't me help."

"ill just talk to them and knock some senses on them."

"no, seat down please." you pleaded.

he sighed and get back to his seat. "promise me that this will be the last time."

"but-"

"promise me, y/n."

it's now your turn to sigh. "okay, i promise." then he his pinky. you pursed your lips and cling your pinky in his pinky, as a sign of promise.

"y/n here!" korai called you. they're just outside the classroom.

you approach them and greeted them. "y/n, did you made the sandwich yesterday?"

you looked at hirugami with confused look. "ah, yes. did hirugami shared it with you?"

korai is about to say yes but hirugami shut him. "more like he snatched away the sandwich. they ate it all."

"it's delicious! can you make some more?" gao said.

"sure! ill make some tomorrow."

"y/n, no!" he can't oppose anymore, his teammates already swooning over you.

Hoshiumi Korai

"korai, please calm down. i'm okay there's nothing to worry about."

he's with you in your room. it's already dark outside and was shocked when he barged into your room.

"what do you mean there's nothing to worry about?! you're burning with fever and you didn't even bother on telling me about it!" his voice started to raise, his forehead and nose wrinkled and glared at you.

"but, im okay." you tried to reach his arms but he avoided it. that made you purse your lips.

"no! you've been working your ass off on the things that you shouldn't be doing. they're obviously taking advantage of you! you're the representative but you work as if you're the president!"

"i know, but they're just busy. everyone on the student council is busy right now."

"but how about you, huh? you're clearly tired and you need sleep, are you even eating right?"

"of course. how about you? how's practice? did you have enough rest? im sorry i forgot to make you lunch."

"i can't believe you." he mumbled. he pinch his nose bridge. "you're really stressing me out."

again, you purse your lips. "im sorry."

and he just looked at you. you tried to reach for his arms once again, this time he just let. you pulled him, making him sit on your bed.

you sit up and rest your back on the headboard, while still holding his hand. "okay, i promise that ill tell you immediately when i have fever."

he sighed. "that's not it. im worried about you. you're too nice, you care so much about other people and gullible."

you nodded. "im sorry for making you worry. please, don't get mad at me. i'll make you lunch and some snack to make it up to you."

he held your face and slowly inching his face to you but you pushed him away and covered your lips.

"no! you might caught my fever! you need to be careful, you have an upcoming game."

"hug then?" he extended his arms but you move further away from him.

"nope." he glared at you but his lips are slightly pursed.

you went to school when you're okay. "y/n, are you okay now?" the president asked.

"ah yes. here's the report. im sorry i handed it late."

"thank you, y/n!"

"no problem, do you still need help?"

"actually- ah no, it's okay. uhm, we can handle. thank you so much for your help."

the president walked away while you turned around to your boyfriend. "let's go back now, y/n." he said as he drape his arms on your shoulder.

he smirked at what he did. little did you know he just glared at the president, stoping him in giving you another tasks.

Miya Atsumu

a group of girls run to you. they all asked for you to hand their gifts for atsumu and his teammates.

you gladly took them all. but as they turn away, you heard their side comments about you.

how not good you are for atsumu, goody two shoes, you using the vbc for fame and etc.

you just sighed and walked your way to the gym where everyone else is. you handed the gifts from their fans.

after that, you help them by refilling their water bottles. you also gave tsumu a dry towel.

atsumu sensed that something is wrong with you. so he followed you.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing."

"tsumu!" you stepped backward and hit his arm. you got surprised when he kissed your cheeks.

"what? can't i kiss you now?" he smirked.

"you can't! we're at school and other students might see us."

"well thats good, so that they'll know who i belong too. and please, stop accepting gifts from other students."

"it's pda, tsumu. why? their your fans and im scared that if i won't accept their gifts they'llhate you and then no one will support you. some of your fans already stop supporting you because of me and-"

"so what if they'll hate me? i don't care. and it only shows that they just support me because of my looks not with my skills and who i really am. i have my family, samu, my teammates and you, that's all i need in my life."

you nodded and pursed your lips. he flicked your forehead. then cupped your face, squishing both of your cheeks.

"stop overthinking things, okay? just think of your handsome and awesome boyfriend." he smirk at you and squish, squish, squish your cheeks.

"but-" he cut you off by squishing your cheeks more.

"hush. i love you, you love me. that's all that matters. they don't have a say on our relationship and in my life, got it?"

you nodded. he let go of your face but before that he gave you a quick peck on your lips.

"uhm, y/n?" you almost jumped out when someone talked behind you. you can feel your ears and face burn because of embarassment. someone really saw you and tsumu kissed!

you cough to get your senses back. while a ghost of smile appeared on his lips as he shook his head.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #hirugami sachiro x reader #hirugami x reader #hirugami headcanons #hoshiumi korai x reader #hoshiumi x reader #hoshiumi headcanons #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu headcanons

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redorich · 3 years

Note

In the HermitCanyon au, How is my favorite Bee armored Admin doing? How long does it take for Xisuma to become.. aware of what is happening? For the first few sections it seemed like he was in a coma/unconscious. In the most recent bit Impulse tells Etho to get Xisuma, so at least theoretically he can now move, but how long has it taken him to get there, and where is he on the scale to full recovery? Are the other hermits keeping him safe with rabbit stew? (if they have rabbits that is...)

Part 2 of this.

Etho comes back twenty minutes later with a solemn look on his face. (At least, Puffy assumes. She can't actually see most of his face because of that mask of his.)

"X is in a bad way today," he says quietly. "I can take Puffy to him if you guys would like to stay here with Zedaph."

Impulse and Tango look nervously at each other. On one hand, they very much would like to stay with Zedaph, who is mostly healed but still very loopy and probably should not be moved. On the other hand, allowing Puffy deep into the Hermits' inner sanctum is a risk in and of itself, let alone with only one Hermit with her. Etho's a good fighter and a wily bastard, but Puffy is most certainly no slouch.

In the end, it comes down to trust. How much can they show Puffy before they can no longer trust that she won't snitch? How sure are they that she won't try to kill them all and steal their stuff?

"Tell Xisuma I said hi," Zedaph warbles from the bed in the corner of the room, out of any window's line of sight.

As Etho presses a button which removes a panel of the wall in a whir of piston noises, Puffy snorts out a little laugh. "I'll be sure to do that."

Tango nods subtly to Impulse. If Puffy brought Zedaph back to the canyon, saved him from a painful respawn, and didn't once ask for anything in return, then the Hermits can trust her at least this much.

Etho leads Puffy through a short hallway into a large circular room with a domed ceiling. The room is mostly quartz, though the walls are lined with sea lanterns and oak leaves. It’s beautiful. This place has been hiding under her feet this whole time?

“This is the Atrium,” Etho says, “or at least the main one. Come on, getting a mule will be more trouble than it’s worth if you’re not carrying anything.”

Puffy is speechless, utterly and profoundly, when Etho takes her through a tunnel on the opposite side of where she entered. It almost looks as though the tunnel here was carved by hand, then completely redone in dirt and grass and vines to give it a secretive, high fantasy look.

“Hey, Etho!” says a dark-haired man with a big smile as he comes trotting out of a branching hallway to the left. “Hey--” He catches sight of Puffy and his smile dissipates into panic. He shouts incoherently and dives back into the hallway he just exited.

“Hey Bdubs,” Etho greets impishly, then turns to Puffy. “Man, it’s like he saw a ghost or something. Maybe Mothman.”

Puffy bleats out a surprised laugh. Up ahead, she spots another Hermit lurking around the corner of the archway Etho is leading her toward.

“Etho,” says a tall blonde woman. “Cleo wants to talk to you about, er...” The blonde woman glances at Puffy. “Her thing,” she finishes lamely.

“Well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Would you mind telling Cleo so she doesn’t skin me alive?” Etho says sweetly.

The blonde woman snorts. “Face the music, Mothman. I’ll take care of Puffy from here. I assume you’re taking her to Xisuma?”

Etho wilts. Clearly, whoever this Cleo person is, she’s not someone to piss off. Puffy wonders what Etho did.

“See ya around,” Etho waves, somehow both cheery and morose at the same time, like a funeral for someone nobody liked. Puffy and the blonde woman watch him go.

“My name’s False, by the way,” the blonde woman says. “Thanks for the bandanna. Normally I’d be wearing it, but I just got back from beating up Iskall.”

The woman-- False-- laughs. Puffy is once again taken aback by the idea that the Hermits actually use the items that she makes for them.

False takes off in a brisk walk toward the archway she’d come out of. Jumping a little bit at being torn from her thoughts, Puffy hurries to follow. It’s hard to keep up, since all Puffy wants to do is stare. She must be in the living quarters-- they let her in the living quarters?! Each door matches the high fantasy, underground sort of aesthetic, but a few doors are left open and each one is remarkably different on the inside. One room is built entirely out of red and white concrete, whereas another is Nether-themed with actual fire, and the room down the hall is entirely underwater!

One door is different. It’s got blue-purple banners along the frame, and when False opens the door for Puffy, she can see that the room is made of blackstone bricks. Maps of the Dream SMP line the wall, and in the center of the room there is a mildly ornate table made of warped wood.

At the end of the table in the back of the room, opposite the door, sits a trio. To the left, there is a plain-looking man with a beard and an “at” symbol on his shirt. He speaks in a Southern accent to a man on the right side of the table, who wears a red sweater and twirls a feather between his fingers like the cat that got the canary.

In between the two, at the head of the table, rests someone very unique. He’s obviously tall, that much is obvious even when he’s sitting down. He’s also got mesmerizing purple eyes which glow faintly against the dark of the blackstone. Puffy doesn’t know why, but she gets the feeling that they’re supposed to be glowing much brighter.

As taken by the man’s eyes as she is, Puffy doesn’t notice the non-invasive breathing tube the man also has (a cannula? She doesn’t know what it’s called, but that sounds right) until the man’s gaze falls upon her, still standing in the doorway next to False.

“Oh,” the man says. “You’re not supposed to be here. Welcome.”

False steps forward, breaking Puffy from her trance. “Puffy, this is Xisuma, Joe, and Grian. I’d introduce you to them as well, but... you know.”

“I don’t know-- oh,” Puffy says awkwardly, catching sight of the massive crochet blanket she’d made for the Hermit months ago, draped across Xisuma’s shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Grian asks with a tilted head. “No offense or anything, but I just lost a bet. I had three diamonds on Cub bringing you in here eventually-- he’s the one you usually meet at the barrel, you know.”

False interjects, “I didn’t bring her down here, it was Etho!”

“Shoot,” Joe says. “Cleo wins yet again.”

“It was Zedaph, actually,” Puffy says. All eyes turn to her. “I found him on the surface. He was really injured, so I brought him back here. Impulse and-- Tango? Yeah, Tango-- told Etho to take me down here.”

Puffy uncharacteristically twiddles her fingers a little bit, feeling in over her head. “Uh, you know I’m not gonna tell or anything, so... Why am I here?”

The full weight of Xisuma’s piercing stare falls upon her. Even as fragile as he looks, even as strong as Puffy is, she feels a jolt of apprehension.

“You’d know more about the red vines than we do,” he begins. “Etho mentioned that they’re what hurt Zedaph; he’s mentioned them on multiple occasions, and never in a good way. How long do you think it would take for those vines to reach our village, and what do you think would happen once they do?”

“As far as we’re aware, there are several players who are proponents of the vines, and claim they originate from some sort of egg?” Joe adds. “I’ve had a hard time calculating how big of a mushroom we’d need to make an omelet out of the egg, but apparently most of my fellow Hermits do not in fact want evil eggs on their omelets.”

“And how come the End is inaccessible?” Grian cuts in with a whine. “I want my elytra.”

Xisuma huffs a laugh into the cannula. “As you can see, we have many questions which only a native Dream SMP player like yourself can answer. In the interest of keeping ourselves safe--” he trails off into a coughing fit.

Puffy bites her lip, feeling as though she really shouldn’t be seeing this. Joe rests his hand on Xisuma’s back.

“You give us answers, and we’ll give you diamonds, netherite, whatever you want. And when we move out-- well, it wasn’t much of a secret anyway-- we’ll offer you a safe place with us,” Grian speaks up on Xisuma’s behalf.

A thousand thoughts spin inside Puffy’s head. She feels like Dorothy in that tornado, and Grian’s offer is the Wicked Witch. “Did you guys really save Tommy’s life?” she finds herself asking.

The Hermits seem taken aback.

“The blond kid?” False asks. “Yeah, but he was unconscious the whole time. I think Scar told the kid to keep us a secret, but... I don’t think any of us expected that to actually work.”

Puffy laughs disbelievingly. “He’s the one person on the entire server who keeps insisting that you guys aren’t real.”

“That’s good to hear,” Xisuma says quietly. “Do you have an answer for us, or would you like some time to consider?”

There are a thousand and one variables Puffy needs to think about. What is Dream’s stance on the Hermits? Who will she be setting herself against by allying with the Hermits? What will Puffy have to expect, from both underground and surface-dwelling players alike? Which players can she take in a fight?

Fuck it, she thinks. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.”

Xisuma smiles. Despite his ill condition, she gets the feeling that this nice, mild-mannered man is far more dangerous than she could ever hope to be.

“I’m glad to have you on our side, Puffy,” he says. “Thank you for your help.”

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #captain puffy #ethoslab #zedaphplays #impulsesv #tango tek #xisuma #bdubs #zombiecleo #falsesymmetry #iskall85 #joe hills #grian #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #me.cpp #me.txt

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raineydays411 · 3 years

Text

Kind of want this adventure to be over.

Bruce Banner x Daughter!reader

Summary: You have finally found your father...just not the way you expected. You sort out your feelings and have some realizations about people in your life.

You felt sick.

You couldn’t believe it. There he was. Your father, the man who has been missing for four years.

He was here, being forced to slaughter people as a gladiator on a whole different planet.

So many questions were running through your mind. How did he get here? Why hasn’t he escaped? How long has he been the Hulk?

You watch as Thor attempts to talk to him, but... it was almost like Hulk...like the attention. You watch in horror as Hulk charged at Thor. Throwing him into the wall. Both you and Loki looked at each other in concern, then glance at the Grandmaster who watched in glee.

You felt dizzy as you watched you father pummel his teammate. It was like he didn’t recognize him. He fought viscously. You cringed when you saw him slam Thor on the floor.

“YES!” Loki shouts, startling you and the Grandmaster, “THATS HOW IT FEELS!”

You both stare at him, alarmed at the sudden outburst.

“I’m just a big fan of the sport...” He chuckles awkwardly.

He sits back down and looks at you. Concerned as you looked grey, like you were going to be sick.

He strokes your back comfortly, “ Y/n, if you need to step out...”

“I can’t...I have to stay...” You whisper, watching Thor get beat by the Hulk. You prayed that he would get up. Then it happened.

A bolt of lighting shot the Hulk off of Thor. Then he rises, lighting engulfing his hands. The two charge at each other, and Thor starts to gain the upper hand. You breath a sigh of relief. The audience eats it up. Chanting “Thunder”, but the Grandmaster does not seem happy. Just as Thor was about to finish the fight, he was stunned by something, leaving him motionless on the ground.

You freeze, watching as your father leaped into the air and came down, smashing Thor into the ground and knocking him out. Finishing the match. You turn to see the Grandmaster lean back in pleasure.

“So, how do you like it?” He asks casually.

You can barely speak. Too shook up to even form a thought. Seeing your unease Loki spoke for you.

“It was very intense. A very entertaining fight indeed.” He says with a smile.

“What’s wrong with the kid?” the Grandmaster asks taking in your pale face. “ She does not look good.”

“Yes! Well, um, it seems as though she has eaten something that made her sick. Perhaps it was the jar jar fruit”

“Oh no,” The Grandmaster states, “This is terrible.”

“Yes well--”

“I had a whole bowl!”

“Yes...I’d better take her to her room. Rest shall do her some good.”

Then Loki rises and helps you to your feet. He leads you through the crowds of people.

You can barely walk. You don’t know why you’re reacting like this. You knew your father was here.

Maybe it was because of how gruesome this fight could have been. Or maybe because you knew that for four years, your dad has been trapped as the Hulk, murdering aliens as a gladiator for some old lunatic. And it seemed like he liked it.

Your legs grow weak and you nearly topple to the ground.

“Woah, easy.” Loki says, “ Darling, take it slow.”

“I- I think I’m going to throw up” And then you lean over, throwing up into a plant.

“Ew.” Loki says, watching you defile that poor plant.

You wipe your mouth and try to stand, you sway a but, almost falling to the ground. Loki then sighs and scoops you up.

Your face burns, “ I’m sorry...”

“Shut up. I shouldn’t have made you go anyways.”

You stay silent. Resting your head on his chest as he walks you to your room.

“You know...my dad never did this...” You whisper. Loki looks down at you in confusion.

“Did what?”

“ Carry me to my room. Especially if I was sick.”

“Oh..” Loki says, not really knowing how to respond.

“My mom was the one who did all that. But then...she got sick and...” You trail off. It was rare when you thought about your mom. It hurt to remember all the good times the three of you had, so like your father, you pushed it all down.

“My mother did that too..” Loki muttered. He walked into your room and set you on the bed.

“Get changed and lay down. I shall be back in a moment.” Then he walks out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You change clothes and ay down. Trying to wrap your head around what just happened.

Your father was here. You found him.

But he was the Hulk and basically a gladiator.

He’s been here for four years. Killing people for sport.

“God, I may have seen some weird shit living with the Avengers but this really takes the cake”, You think to yourself, shifting under the covers. You sigh, laying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. After a few moments you heard the door open. It was Loki holding a tray of food.

“Here, this should make you feel better.” He says placing the tray in your lap. It consisted of a plate of some kind of soup, some cracker like snack, and a glass of water.

“I know it looks heavy, but it made me feel better when I was a child and ill. Although, the one made by the cooks back home may have tasted better.” Loki rambles, “I do think I did pretty well, considering the circumstances.”

Seeing this side of Loki was shocking. Sure, you both had your moments and you knew he cared about you, but you thought it was more like a forced partnership. But, he could have left you here alone and he didn’t. He went out of way to make you something so you’d feel better. You can feel your eyes water.

And for the first time since you’ve been on Sakaar, you cried. You cried because you haven’t seen your father for four years. You cried because you were on a completely different planet, millions of light years away from your home. You cried because Loki was being so kind.

You cried cause you were scared. You felt like you were in over your head, like you can’t do anything but wait. You have no idea what you’re going to do from here on out and it terrifies you.

Then you feel a cold hand on your shoulder. You look up to see sad green eyes. Then you’re pulled into a hug.

“I know.” Loki says softly, “It is overwhelming, and you’re still a child.”

You take a deep breath, taking in the scent of leather and something sweet. You then closed your eyes sinking into the embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In another part of the castle, Thor had just woken up. Scaring the crap out of the women who were tending to his wounds.

He painfully stands up, looking around the room he was in. It wasn’t like the first cell he was in. No, this one was actually clean. It didn’t smell like body fluids or...death. It was red and white, with weapons and armor laying around. He can see a large bed and a hot tub in the room.

Thor looks out the window, taking in the scenery and trying to figure out a way to escape. He’s startled out of his thoughts by a splash. He turns to see the Hulk in the tub, sitting in the shadows.

“...Are we cool?” He asks, holding his hands up in surrender.

He doesn’t get a response, just a low growl. But he isn’t attacked so Thor takes it as a a sign. He goes to the window again and mutters to himself, “Huh, a Hulk in a hot tub.”

Then he turns to Hulk, “ How long have you been like that?

“Like what?” Hulk grunts

“Like this. Big, green, and...stupid”

Hulk sits up slightly, half of his face in the shadows, “Hulk always Hulk.”

Thor doesn’t respond, opting to look out the window again, then he realizes,

“How’d you get here?”

“Winning” Hulk says proudly.

Thor rolls his eyes, “ Do you mean cheating? Did they have one of these shocky things on their necks? I meant, how did you arrive here.”

Hulk imitates a whooshing and crashing noise, “Quinjet.”

Thor gets excited, “ Yes! Okay and where is the quinjet now?”

Hulk doesn’t respond, instead he gets out of the tub. The only problem is that he didn’t have a towel...or anything to cover himself. Giving Thor a good look at his goods.

“That’s naked...very naked” Thor says cringing. “ That’s in my brain now.”

“Quinjet.” Hulk says, pointing to where the plane is. Uncaring about the state of undress he was in.

Thor gets excited again, “Yes! I can get us home, off of this awful planet. You’ll love Asgard! It’s like earth but gold”

“Hulk stays.” Hulk grunts, taking a bit out of some fruit.

“What? No no no, I need your help to prevent Ragnarok.” Thor says desperately.

“Ragnarok?” Hulk questions uncaringly.

“Yes, its the destruction of my home planet, the end of times.”

“Thor go. Hulk stay.” Hulk says stubbornly.

Thor is desperate. He needs to get home before Hela completely destroys everything he holds dear.

‘Look, I’ll tell you what, you help be get to Asgard, and I’ll help you get back to earth.’

“ Earth hate Hulk.”

“What?” Thor exclaims, “ Everyone loves Hulk! You’re part of the team, you’re our friend!”

“Banner’s friend.” Hulk grunts, not believing a word Thor is saying.

“WHat? I don’t even prefer Banner” Thor says awkwardly, “ He’s all ‘ NUmbErs aND SCienCe’ and stuff.”

“Banners friend!” Hulk exclaims.

By now Thor is frustrated, “Fine. You stay here on this awful planet. Besides this room his hideous. The red and white, like just pick a color.”

“Smash you.” Hulk grunts

“You didn’t smash me, I won that fight.”

“Smash you!” Hulk throws the fruit at Thor.

Thor dodges it calling Hulk a baby. He heads toward the entrance that is left open.

“Thor go!” Hulk shouts.

“I am going!” Thor shouts back, but before he can step out of the room he’s shocked. The obedience puck stunning him

As he falls to the ground, he can hear Hulk laugh.

“Thor no go. Thor home.”

He sighs, looking out the window. He briefly hears Hulk say something about training. Then he sees her. The woman who got him into this mess in the first place.

She pays no mind to him, instead greeting Hulk like they were long time friends.

They go train, leaving Thor alone with his thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up in the dark room. It seems that Loki has left as you were alone. Your eyes sore from crying, you look around for your bag. You find it, pulling out your phone, earbuds, and journal.

You write your feelings as you listen to music.

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to go find your father and Thor, but another part trusts Loki and wants to stay. It doesn’t help that he has been the most fatherly figure you’ve had in a while.

Sure you had the Avengers. You could even argue that Tony has filled that role of father figure since your dad went missing. But, you and Loki formed a tight bond in a few days that took months for you and Tony to form. You both got along well, bonding over distant fathers, dead mothers, and theater. Not to mention you both had a sarcastic attitude. If anything, he’s taken over a big brother role, but nevertheless; betraying his trust was one thing that you couldn’t do.

You sigh, knowing what you were going to do.

You were going to find your father.

So you get out of bed and change into your suit. You put your phone in your stuff in your bag and grab your weapons.

You walk down the hallways, not knowing where to begin to find your father. Then an idea hits you. If you can find out where Thor is, you’d most likely find out where your dad is. So with that in mind you decided to ask a guard.

“Excuse me.” You say to a red guard, “ Do you know where the …”Lord of Thunder” is staying? The Grandmaster allowed me to go and meet him. I am a big fan”

The guard hesitated, not knowing who you were. But since you dropped the Grandmasters name, he pointed you to the hallway Thor was supposedly in.

“Thank you!” You beamed, making sure to skip away as if you were a fan. You skip till you were out of sight and sigh, slowing down to a walk. You strolled down the hallways, throwing fake smiles at the guards you passed.

Finally, you reached a room at the end of the hallway. You notice a woman pass you and walk staright into the room. You hide behind a wall and listen to the conversation.

“Hey big guy!” She says, you notice that she has an accent similar to Thor’s.

“Angry girl!” another voice says...Your fathers voice. You can hear footsteps coming your way. You quickly pull out your phone and sit down, hoping they’ll walk right past you. You don’t need Hulk seeing you right now. If anything, he’d change back to Bruce and that’ll cause a whole bunch of problems.

Thankfully, they pay no mind to you. You watch as they joke around and nudge each other. It’s strange, seeing the Hulk to at ease with another person.

It kind of hurts, in the same way it hurt to see your dad with Natasha. It was like you couldn’t get close to either side of him. Or he chose not to get close to you.

Pushing away your feelings, you get back to the mission, finding Thor.

You head to the room at the end of the hallway. Surprisingly, there were no guards or even a door blocking your way. You can see Thor, standing by the window. His back was turned to you but he was completely still.

You walk through the door way, and look around the room. It was messy and kinda ugly. The red and white really didn’t clash well.

Then you were startled by Thor loudly gasping. You run up to where he was.

“Thor? Thor are you alright?”

He focuses on you, eyes widening at your presence.

“Y/n?” He says slowly, “ Y/n?! What are you doing here?”

“The Dr. Wizard said my dad was here. So I came looking for him...” You say slowly. “ Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” Thor laughs, “ Have...have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah, I got here the same day Loki did, so about two weeks ago. Since then I--”

“Wait, have you been with Loki this whole time?” Thor asks.

“Yeah, he’s the reason I’m still alive to be honest.” You say, “ He helped me get in favor of the Grandmaster and he’s been looking out for me ever since.”

“Loki?” Thor says in disbelief, “ My brother, Loki? He has been taking care of you?”

“Yeah, I didn’t believe it either...but he’s been so kind to me, Thor. Kinder than anyone has been in a while.” You say softly.

Thor smiled, he was glad that there was still a part of the Loki he knew growing up. That you were alright.

“You look awesome.” He says taking in your outfit, “Where did you get those clothes?!”

You laugh, “ It seems like the Grandmaster likes to give make overs.” You look at Thor, “ Dude they cut your hair?!”

“Yeah some creepy old man cut it off.” He says, suddenly he pulls you in for a hug. “ I am beyond glad to see you here.”

You blush and hug him back, “I’m glad you are okay.’

Then you frown, “ My...my dad...he’s here.”

Thor freezes, “ Oh Y/n I completely forgot..”

“It’s okay... he looks fine” You say bitterly, remembering how chummy he was with that girl.

“ He can’t know I am here.” You say quickly, “ If he does, he’ll change back and raise suspicion.”

“I need help to get out of here.” Thor says, “ Asgard is in danger.”

“Why don’t you just walk out the door?” You ask

“Because, this neck thingy shocks me whenever I try to leave.” Thor says showing you his neck.

“Ohh so that’s why you lost the fight,” You say realizing what happened.

“I dis not lose” Thor said, “Your father cheated.”

You snicker, “What ever you say Lord of Thunder.”

Thor sighs at the name, knowing that you weren’t going to stop calling him that.

“Y/n, I need you to help me get out.” Thor says desperately. You furrow your brow, thinking of a way to get him out of here.

“Okay...I have an idea.”

You spend the next thirty minutes comin up with an idea. Revising and editing ideas that’ll get him out of here unscathed.

That’s when you realized that you shouldn’t be here when Hulk gets back.

“I have to go.” You say quickly, gathering all your stuff.

“Wait, wait, how are you going to escape...” Thor says worriedly. “ Your father doesn’t even know your here.”

You sigh sadly, “ I doubt he cares. He seems pretty content here.”

“Y/n, that’s Hulk, not Banner. Your father loves you.”

You chuckle, “ You know, in last few weeks. Loki showed he cared about me more than my father has in all the years I’ve been alive.”

“Oh...that’s bad.” Thor says, because if you knew Loki cared about you and not your father...that was saying a lot.

“Good luck Thor, I better go before some guards show up.” You say, patting his arm and dashing off. And again, Thor was alone.

Running through the hallways, you bump into someone. You fall to the ground in a huff.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

“Sorry dude, jeez don’t get your undies in a twist.” You say, getting up from the ground. You look up to see the girl who was with the Hulk.

“Do..do I know you? You look familiar.” She says, closely looking at your face.

“Umm, I tell stories to the Grandmaster.” You say quickly, “I better go.”

Then you run off again, leaving a confused Valkyrie behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You finally make it to your room. Panting as you close the door.

“Where have you been.”

You jump, not expecting anyone to be in your room.

“Relax, its just me.” Loki says, rolling his eyes, “ Now, where were you? I came back into your room, expecting to find you in bed, resting.”

“Sorry, I... I went to see Thor.” You say honestly.

“Y/n.” Loki starts, but you interrupt him.

“I know! I know I shouldn’t have gone, but I felt really bad and wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at your face, seeing your guilty eyes and frown. He’s demeanor softened, “ You are too kind for your own good.”

You chuckled, “Well, one of us has to have redeemable qualities.”

“Hey!” Loki shouts offended. You laugh at his face.

“I can get used to this” You think to yourself. You yawn, suddenly tired from all your activities.

“Get some rest.” Loki says, “You’ll need it’”

Then he leaves the room after ruffling your hair.

As you get ready for bed and finally lay down, you realize you can’t sleep.

You have a crushing feeling that something big was going to happen the next day.

#bruce banner x daughter!reader #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner imagine #loki x reader #loki x teen!reader #loki x poc!reader #thor odison x reader #thor ragnarok #Thor Odinson #thor ragnorak #poc reader #marvel x reader #marvel

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narrators-journal · 3 years

Note

Hello, I hope you are well, can I ask Yandere Akutagawa who probably hates you for how you make us feel? I may degrade you but get mad if someone else does

I hope this is good and is what you wanted! I'm a little rusty with Yandere content, so it might be a bit subtle here. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

As a new low ranking mafia goon you had expected some harsh bullying from your coworkers, but that didn't mean you couldn't despise them for it, or have the occassional breakdown in the headquarters bathroom or something. That was actually how you'd met your first friend-like person in the organization, Higuchi had found you fighting to not cry in the bathroom one day, and instead of belittling you for the moment of weakness, she gave you a paper towel to dab the tears from your (s/c) cheeks and assured you that she understood your predicament.

In all honesty, the harassment wouldn't be that bad if it weren't for one specific man. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Akutagawa was a violent, hostile, rabid dog of a man who took any possible chance to insult you without mercy. It didn't even have to be anything that would get you into trouble or annoy him, he would belittle anything he could about you as a person, not just your work for the mafia. It had quickly lost all of the leeway you had for newbie-hazing. At least now you had a reason to blame for the prickly mafioso hating your guts. Turns out he isn't a fan of his fashion being labelled 'hot topic tween goth.' After that, you just avoided him as best you could, which seemed near impossible with how much he continued to pop up in your life, even after you'd insulted him.

Of course, Mori would pair you with the goth pretty frequently despite your reluctance, Akutagawa had a pretty variable set of jobs he could be assigned to and thus would be a good on-the-job teacher for a newbie such as yourself, but after you'd insulted the goth he didn't leave you alone like you might've thought he would. Instead, he seemed to pop up a lot more frequently, even outside of the jobs you were paired with him on. Of course, you would see the pale vampire at the headquarters when you weren't working with him, but now you had gone from seeing him maybe once a week for a task or to retrieve or deliver ill-gotten cash, to seeing him a distance behind you in the hallway of the headquarters almost every other day, or in one of the spare sitting rooms the goons had overtaken and claimed as a sort of 'break room' on nights when you'd stay super late into the night and should've been alone.

However, you couldn't really accuse the hostile man of stalking you just to glare at you or spit insults. After all, Higuchi had always had a very valid point as to why you were running into him when you brought the occurrences up, and you'd be labelled a loon for thinking he'd been trailing you just because you had spotted him in the grocery store. So, you opted to keep your mouth shut and just ignored him whenever you could get away with it.

Though, every once in a while a snide remark or two slipped out, like one had on the day he limped into the headquarters after another spat with his rival, Atsushi Nakajima. "You look like a cat's half digested dinner," you snorted, watching the wheezing vampire flop into one of the fancy velvet chairs in the empty break room. He was still glowing a pretty vibrant red, with his coat ribbon lashing like the tail of an angry cat, but he ignored your comment and instead focused on wrapping his slashed up arm and leg in bandages. Then, just as you were beginning to leave the room to find your own place to do some paperwork, you felt fabric slither around your neck to tighten into a razor-wire choke-collar and yank you none-too-gently over to the chair Akutagawa sat in.

You weren't likely to cut an impressive figure with your (e/c) eyes wide with shock at the sudden attack, and fear at the feeling of Rashoumon's sharp edges biting into your (s/c) skin to draw blood under your bully's cold, humiliation-filled glare, "I think you're beginning to forget your place here, newbie." He spat, his raspy growl dripping with venom, "Not only do I outrank you, but I am much stronger than you. You are nowhere near Jinko's strength, fucking Higuchi is more of a threat to me than you are, so the next time you want to feel more significant than you are and insult me, I suggest you have a fucking grave dug beforehand." He got right in your face as he spoke, barring his teeth at you with sin-worthy wrath in his grey eyes, but, just for a moment before the lethal ribbon threw you away as easily as he would a gum wrapper, he hesitated. It was brief, only a few seconds, but Akutagawa's anger lessened, and instead he leaned forward just a hair. Just as quickly as it appeared though, the moment was gone. His fury returned with a vengeance and the ribbon that held you captive launched you across the room, sending you sliding across the floor and into the wall hard enough to crack it just a bit.

You took the hint and scrambled to your feet as soon as you got some air into your lungs, coughing and wheezing as you fled the room before Rashoumon could be sent through your spine next.

Admittedly, being snippy with the vampire after he'd already been embarrassed like that hadn't been a shining example of your best timing, but you tried to move past it, and that weird moment of hesitation, and label it a learning experience. Your fellow goons however, caught wind of your confrontation and did not give you such kindness. They instead turned it into more ammunition for snide remarks about how intelligent you were.

"Hey! Look who just walked in!" A goon you had yet to learn the name of almost crowed one day when you were eating lunch in the breakroom, just trying to watch some tv before your next job when Akutagawa had come in. "Hey, (y/n), wanna try and see if he'll knock your braincells back into place?" You just glared at the man while he continued to call you stupid and just try to instigate whatever fight he could it seemed. You didn't fall for his trap though, keeping your mouth firmly shut and not responding to his insults or assumptions of how masochistic you were. No, you instead simply returned your attention to the tv and blocked out Akutagawa's existence until you finished your lunch and left for your job.

Thankfully, it was a solo mission, a new extension of trust from Mori, and a prime chance to not only prove yourself, but to get away from the assholes you worked with. So, by the time you returned to the mafia headquarters, you were feeling pretty good and had almost completely forgotten your earlier run-in with that asshole of a goon around your lunch time.

Of course, the sky was dark by the time you returned from the job, so on top of your improved mood, you were also spared further heckling since everyone else had finished their work and gone home for the night. So, you were gratefully able to fly through the report you had to write about the mission, and cataloging of the goods you'd distributed without issue. It wasn't until you stopped by the bathroom to change out of your clothing and into some more comfortable, not-dirty clothes before your walk home that you smelled the stench of blood.

It hit you like a brick as soon as you had opened the bathroom door. The whole bathroom reeked of the dizzying smell of iron and death so badly that it poured out into the empty hallway. All it took was a few steps inside to investigate for you to spot the source of such a strong stench. A corpse huddled into the far corner across from the stalls.

Through your stinging tears, you could see that it was likely one of the other mafia goons, and judging by the one bloody tuft of hair you could see amongst the chunks of flayed flesh...it was the same goon that was messing with you earlier. Since your only identifier was the shredded and blood soaked suit that the heap of shredded flesh and spilled entrails somewhat wore and a bit of hair, you couldn't say for certain, but something in your gut told you it was the same man.

"You know, you should really grow a spine." You whirled around to face the doorway as soon as the raspy voice spoke, (e/c) eyes wide and your hand instantly falling to the small pistol you had at your hip. But, instead of some demented intruder out to murder any mafia goons they found, you were instead met with Akutagawa. Your worst bully.

For a moment, all you could do was stare in shock, your brain frantically scrambling to recollect its composure under the pressure of an almost primal terror, just letting you stammer out a shakey, "What?" before your legs began to turn to jello, the thick blanket of coppery blood in the air making your stomach want to escape out of your mouth. However, you put your hand on the cool glass of the sink and bit back the urge to vomit. The last thing you wanted was to give the sadistic mafioso more ammo against you in his harassment, and if he was the goon-slaughtering-psycho, you didn't want to go out because you were too busy retching to defend yourself. However, he didn't attack you. He just stood in the doorway and glared at the mutilated pile of flesh as if it had insulted his family for a moment before speaking again, "You're supposed to be a mafia member, (y/n), you can't just let people use you as a doormat, it reflects poorly on the organization." he chided with a derisive sniff, "Grow a damned spine and begin to stand up for yourself. No one's going to 'defend your honor' like this..." He trailed off, fixing you with a cold, irritated look for a long moment before he turned on his heel with a huff, "Clean that bastard up, before he stains the linoleum anymore than he already has."

With that, Akutagawa stomped off back to wherever he'd come from. Leaving you to deal with the bloody carnage you'd discovered, and to ask yourself why he had even been here. It was the middle of the night, most everyone should be home by now, but the goth had appeared only a moment after you'd entered the bathroom, how had he shown up so quickly? He didn't bring Mori or anyone else, so it wasn't like he'd discovered the body first...

You got a sick feeling that he'd been the one to leave such a nightmarish scene. And that he'd been waiting for you to find it or something.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #Akutagawa ryuunosuke #x reader #Yandere akutagawa #ask #scenario #yandere

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unlikelymilkshakedream · 3 years

Text

We love you

A/n: hello! First off I want to say I am very sorry I have been inactive on here, I have been super busy with classes and work and I have had nearly no free time. I also am working on a lot of pieces currently that are taking longer than I would have liked, but I am working to get those finished very quickly. I hope you enjoy this, I just felt weird this morning so I wrote this

This morning turned out fine, or so I thought. I was excited for today because I wanted to go out with my boyfriend and his friends. We had all become very good friends, so much so to the point that we were all together now.

The day I thought would be perfect, turned into the day that nearly broke me. It had been a while since I had a day like this. No matter what I tried to do I felt as though the world was against me getting out of bed.

My boyfriends, of course, had no trouble doing so. They shouldn't, they don't live with my chronic problems, and I don't want them to experience this. I know I should get up, but just the thought alone is enough to bring me to tears, bawling into my pillow and praying they don't hear.

Twice, it had happen this morning, I couldn't hold back the tears nor the incredible feeling that I would never be able to fight this sadness. Like I said, it doesn't happen often, but the days it does, its nearly impossible to deal with.

It must have been getting pretty late in the day, because I knew eventually one of them would seek me out of the darkness from my bedroom. I was submerged in blankets when I heard the door creak open, I didnt dare breathe. I didnt want them to know that I had this illness that constricted my happiness.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, peeling back my comfortable blanket of darkness that I had built.

"Y/n? Are you awake?" It must've been my boyfriend, George. From the sound of his accent and the softness of his voice, I could tell without looking. There was no doubt in my mind that he could see the tears lines on my face and could tell I had been crying. I felt like I just didn't have the strength to face him right now.

"Just leave me alone," I said in such a broken and wobbly voice, im surprised it even came out to where he could understand it. I don't know if it was the dark room, the marks on my face or simply my vibe, but he got up and he left. When he did, the tears started again, stronger than ever.

Not because he left, but because I felt as though I failed him. He wanted to help me, maybe, but either way, I couldn't be strong enough to let him, I couldn't look at him or enjoy the day with him. And so the cycle continued, the tears, the feelings of hopelessness and the agony.

"Dream, I just don't know whats wrong with her, she's awake, but she wouldn't move or talk, besides saying to leave her alone." As george told the two other boys of his discoveries, everyone in the room seemed to still. Neither knew what to do because they didn't know what was happening.

"Is she okay, though?" Dream asked thoughtfully. George thought for a moment.

"Well, she, she had, it looked like she had been crying. There were lines down her face from her eyes and it looked like tears.

At this, nick spoke up. "Well, should we go get her out of bed?" Dream thought for a moment.

"I mean, George just tried that. It didn't seem to work to well." Sapnap sighed.

"Well we should at least try and get her up, she's been crying and is still in bed in the afternoon. We need to do something."

They all thought for a long while. Then, with one glance at each other, they decided to go upstairs and try to help. They were quiet while walking up the stairs, trying not to disturb the silence of the house.

The knock placed upon the door shook me, I didnt want anyone to see my sadness, I didnt want anyone to know I wasnt okay. I didnt want to see my boyfriends while I was like this. Hearing the door creek open, I started to cry, silently begging them not to see me like this.

Like before, a hand was place upon my shoulder, which caused me to flinch involuntarily. Everything seemed to still when this happened and it just caused more tears to fall, to which sapnap pulled back the covers and sat me up.

"Y/n, whats wrong? Please talk to us." There were still tears streaming down my face. I looked at the three men sitting before me, to which I saw all of them with red, tear brimmed eyes. This caused me to cry harder.

"I'm sorry." I sobbed out.

"For what, baby? You didn't do anything." Dream sat next to nick and held me with him.

"I didnt want to make you cry. I just don't feel well. It doesn't happen often but it did today." At this i shoved my head into sapnaps shoulder.

"Y/n, we just want to make sure you're okay." I cried into Nick's shoulder as clay rubbed circles on my back.

"I'm so sorry. I didnt want you guys to see me like this." George kneeled in front of me.

"Y/n, its okay, we're here for you and nothing can change that, its okay to cry and have days like this. We still love you all the same and more." I stared at george , not believing that anyone would actually stick around through something like this.

"How can you guys still love me?" I sobbed out.

"Because we care about you, nothing can change that. We all have bad days sometimes, its a part of life. You crying isn't going to make us stop loving you." Dream said.

George then opened the blinds and let light into the room.

"How about we all take a shower? Hmm, how does that sound?" I nodded while more tears ran down my cheeks.

"Oh, baby, its okay, come here." Dream picked me up and out me on his lap. Meanwhile sapnap and george went to start a shower.

"Hey, its okay, listen to me, I promise you there is absolutely nothing that could make any of us stop loving you. Its okay to cry."

I felt better with my boys around me, helping me out of my state of sadness, there's no one else I would rather have by my side.

#dream team #sapnap #dream smp #dream #georgenotfound #dreamnotfound #sapnap mcyt #dream mcyt #poly dream team #poly dream team x reader #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound mcyt

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yellowsuitcase · 4 years

Text

In the Prefect’s Bathroom Part 4 // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Guys!!! It's the FINAL part, yay!! I'm super proud of this and I think it's super cute and just AAHH I really hope y'all like it. Lemme know what you think of it and if you expected any of it. Thank you so much for reading, and Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)

Summary: Draco has been trying to get Y/N to talk to him since he confessed, but he hasn't had any luck. Until, he finds something she left in his dorm.

Warning(s): SMUT! Unprotected sex, lots of fluff, swearing, angst

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist & Taglist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Three weeks had gone by, and now Draco was on his bed, toying with the idea of giving up. Y/N had been avoiding him ever since that day he confessed. No matter how hard he tried to get her to warm back up to him, she kept her distance. He had tried everything. He'd sit next to her in class; she'd move seats. He'd wait outside the Gryffindor tower; she'd strut right past him. It seemed as nothing was working, so of course, he was getting a bit discouraged.

Just a couple days ago, the two of them had been in Charms class, and on his way out, Draco noticed that Y/N had dropped her book. This is my chance, he thought to himself. He quickly bent down to pick it up since he assumed she would've been already halfway down the corridor by the time he got back up. But when he arose from the floor, she was standing right in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest. Draco knew he had to stall for time, try and get her defenses to weaken. He turned the book over in his hands. "The Tales of Beedle and Bard," he read aloud. Y/N blushed and averted her eyes. He opened the cover and read the first few lines to himself.

There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot.

Draco shut the book and said, "I've actually never read them. My father didn't permit me to. Said it was written by a muggle lover. Supposedly he filed an official request to remove it from Hogwarts's shelves." Draco chuckled as he ran his finger along the spine of the light blue book. But his laughter died when he glanced up at Y/N. She looked rather upset, causing Draco to panic and quickly backtrack. "That isn't to say I don't want to read them now. I mean, I'm sure they're not as bad as Father thought they were," he sputtered. Y/N remained silent. "Perhaps... we could read them together, maybe?" he asked hopefully. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he did it anyway. Draco hadn't heard Y/N's voice in weeks, and it was making him grow desperate.

Softly, she reached out her hand, and Draco held his breath. But then her fingers grasped the book, and the Slytherin felt his heart shatter. He cleared his throat, trying to push away the lump that had formed in it. His grip loosened, and Y/N pulled her book towards her chest. She didn't even look at him before she turned around and rushed down the hallway, leaving Draco feeling stranded, hopeless, and, quite frankly, stupid for even trying.

Since then, he hadn't put in nearly as much effort into rekindling their friendship. It was painfully obvious Y/N wanted nothing more to do with him, and as much as it hurt, Draco had to accept that. But that didn't stop his thoughts. It couldn't. Every night, he would lay awake, worrying. Worrying about Y/N's wellbeing. Was she happy? Did she make any new friends?

Did she still feel alone?

Draco didn't know. From the little he'd seen of her, he assumed she was alright. He hoped she was. But he had no real way of knowing. He had tried reaching out to her roommate multiple times, but all Stephanie would tell him was that she thought Y/N seemed fine, just a bit quiet. That answer never sat well with him. During those few weeks, before he confessed, he had learned so much about Y/N. One of those things being that she was not quiet. She had talked his ear off many times, telling him funny stories from her childhood. Like how, after one of their study sessions, she told him about the time she had made her pet fish turn yellow just by looking at it. Draco remembered that day clearly.

"My mum was terrified! One moment my fish was blue and the next he was yellow! I mean, imagine that." Y/N laughed. Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like you were quite the little mischief-maker," he replied as he twirled his wand between his fingers, it was becoming a bit of a habit. Y/N continued giggling, kicking her legs as she did so. "You should've seen the look on my dad's face when he got home. That was the day he sat her and me down and told us he was a wizard. My poor mum. She had no idea."

Draco sat up in shock. "Wait, wait, you're a half-blood?" he asked, eyes wide. Y/N cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Malfoy?" she questioned as she began to sit up. Her tone was somewhat threatening. Draco raised his hands to show his lack of ill intention. "No, no. I was just surprised," he quickly explained. Y/N chuckled and waved her hand towards him. "Relax, I'm only playing with you," she assured him. Her words piqued Draco's interest. He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips, staring suggestively into her eyes. "Well, I'd sure like to play with you," he husked. Y/N gasped loudly and swiftly removed the pillow from behind her back and chucked it at the blonde boy sitting across from her. "Draco!" she screeched. "Joking!" he mumbled. "Just joking...unless."

Y/N crossed her arms, and obnoxiously shook her head while clicking her tongue disapprovingly. Draco snickered before throwing the pillow back at her, making her giggle. His heart skipped a beat as he watched her eyes twinkle. She looked unreal to Draco, ethereal almost. However, he was torn from his trance by her continuing the story. "Anyways, as I was saying, my lovely mum had the shock of her life. I was surprised as well. I mean, I had just found out I was a bloody witch. Although I was much more delighted than she was. Come to think of it, she might've cried," Y/N said with a small frown. "Wow..." Draco muttered. "But what does she think of it now? What with you being at Hogwarts and all."

Y/N hummed to herself, recalling that last time she and her mother spoke about Hogwarts. "Well, I think she thinks it's a bit surreal, you know? She always imagined I'd graduate and go off to university to become a doctor or something, but here I am at a school for wizards and witches," she said while gesturing to the castle walls around her. Draco nodded although he was a bit confused. "She just doesn't understand, right?" he asked. Y/N pursed her lips. "I think she will, with time. Maybe I can introduce her to you and your family. Now that would be really fun," she suggested with a mischievous glint in her eye. Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "And why is that?" he questioned, staring at the giggling girl. "Just imagine me introducing you. I'd say, hey mum, this is my best friend and his wizard parents who dress like they're going to a funeral every single day. Oh, and they also own a mansion in the countryside because they're rolling in galleons!" Y/N bellowed, nearly falling over as she clutched her stomach, erupting in laughter.

Draco would've berated her for the slander towards his parents, but his mind was fixated on three words, "My best friend." He waited until Y/N ceased laughing before asking her, "I'm your best friend?" She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Well, duh, you're my only friend, Draco." The Slytherin did his best to hide his blush as he looked to the floor. "You're mine too," he mumbled. But Y/N didn't hear.

Draco sighed as he sat on his bed. He missed her. He wished so badly that she'd walk through his door. But she wouldn't, and he knew that. Slowly, he pushed himself off the green covered mattress and walked over to his wooden desk. A piece of parchment was already on top of it, so he took a seat, and he reached for his ink bottle and quill. His nimble fingers unscrewed the cap, and he dipped the point inside it, drenching it in black liquid. He'd written letters to Y/N many times, but every time he finished one, he'd get scared and chuck it into the bin. Draco knew he'd probably do the same tonight, but he wanted to try. So he pressed his quill to the paper and began.

"Dear Y/N, I hope you are doing well. I'm writing to you to give you my apologies. I should've known better than to confess my feelings for you at such a time. I really hope..." he stilled his hand, not knowing what to say next. His head was reeling as different thoughts and feelings flooded his brain, none of which he knew how to convey in words. She made him so dizzy. But, ever persistent, Draco started again.

"Dear Y/N, Are you doing well? I truly hope that you are. I write to you to tell you that I'm sorry for everything. I said and did so many foolish things that day, and if I could take all of them back, I swear, I would. I know I must've frightened you that day, but Y/N, I fear you don't know how much I miss you. I've never felt this empty before. But I know it's because you're not here. I need you..." Draco, in his frustrated haze, crossed out the last line and crumbled the parchment in his fist. He then tossed it across the room, watching as it hit the wall next to his door, and bounced on the foot of his brass coat rack. He stared at it, thinking about donning his coat and taking a walk around campus. But then, he noticed something underneath. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to the rack. Curious, he lifted his black coat off the hook to reveal a brown cardigan underneath. His chest tightened; it was Y/N's. She must've left it in his room after one of their study sessions. Come to think of it, it was probably from the night before Draco confessed.

Hesitantly, the boy reached out and touched his fingers to the cardigan. It was soft. He lifted it up and held it in his hands, letting his emotions settle. Then, he brought it to his nose, breathing in deeply. It still smelled of her: apples, hazelnut, and cinnamon. Draco felt tears begin to gather in his eyes, but he hastily blinked them away. With care, he hung the cardigan back up and retreated to his desk. He got seated, pulled out a new sheet of parchment, and began writing for the third time that night.

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

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing to you to inform you that I've discovered your cardigan in my room. The brown one that is. I suppose you left it after our last study session. I can return it to you tomorrow morning at breakfast, or if you'd prefer, you can fetch it tonight. The current password to the Slytherin common room is Jobberknoll. Hopefully, you remember where my bedroom is, but should you have forgotten, it's at the very top of the stairway on your left. Please knock three times before entering.

There's no need to send an owl with your reply. Just make sure to come before 9:30. If you don't, I'll assume you wish to receive the cardigan at breakfast, in which case, I shall wait for you by the door.

Draco

Y/N clutched the parchment tightly in her hands. She had been scared half to death when an owl landed right beside her while she was sitting by the open windows. But now, she was more afraid of getting her cardigan back. She glanced around her room frantically, as if she'd find an answer to her dilemma upon the walls. Her eyes then drifted back to the parchment in her hands. She looked at where Draco had signed his name. Above it was a dark scribble as if he had scratched something out. What did he write there? It was probably just 'sincerely,' but what if it was something else. What if it was 'with love'? Y/N wondered. She closed her eyes; she needed to calm down. There was no way she'd be able to make a rational decision with such thoughts running through her brain.

But Y/N had nobody to consult, nobody to refer to. Ever since she'd pushed Draco away that day, she'd been alone. Her roommate spoke to her on occasion, but only about school-related things. Almost the entirety of her house had shunned her. And the whole school knew what she did, so making friends had proven to be difficult. But because of this, Y/N had been able to do a lot of thinking. Truthfully, she missed Draco. She hated herself for rejecting him that day. She hated herself because she liked him. The only reason she had rejected him was that she knew she wasn't ready for another relationship. And on top of that, she didn't think she deserved one. Draco wasn't someone she deserved, not in her mind.

But here she was, being forced to make a decision. Should she just wait until tomorrow, or should she go to his room? Her brain was telling her to wait until tomorrow; that way, she could take the cardigan, thank him, and be on her merry way. But her heart screamed at her to go to him. Go to him, confess to him, bring him back into her life. Y/N glanced at the clock; it was nearly nine. "Fuck," she muttered before pushing off the window seat; her loneliness had gotten the best of her.

She rushed towards her closet and flung the doors open. Her eyes scanned the array of clothing for a few moments before she pulled out her favorite pair of light grey sweatpants along with her pale green crewneck. She threw them on and tucked her wand into her pocket. Then she checked herself in the mirror. Her hair was already pulled back, and she had light mascara on. It was good enough, in her opinion, so she slipped on her shoes and turned her doorknob with a shaky hand.

--------

Draco was sitting in his armchair with a blue book in his hands when he heard three distinct knocks at his door. His breathing began to hasten; surely, it couldn't be... Only one way to find out. "Come in!" he called. The door swung open to reveal Y/N. She looked nervous as all hell but nevertheless, stepped inside his room and closed the door behind her. Neither of them said anything. They simply stared at one another. But luckily, Draco came to his senses. "Right, your cardigan," he said as he dropped his book and stood up. He grabbed the cardigan off the back of his chair and walked over to her, holding out the garment. "Here you are." Y/N took it into her hands and examined it. "Thank you, I thought it was lost forever," she told him with a smile. Draco faltered for a moment. He'd forgotten how sweet her voice was. But then he nodded, and the awkward silence returned. It hung in the air for a few moments before it was broken by the two of them simultaneously blurting out, "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Y/N," Draco insisted while shifting his eyes to the floor. "I acted like a fool that day a-and I frightened you, and I made you so overwhelmed. I should've known better, and I am so sorry...I've missed you so much," he said, whispering his last few words. Eventually, he found the courage to look up, and when he did, he saw that Y/N was crying. His heart clenched, and he felt regret pool in his gut. But before he could apologize again, Y/N spoke up.

"I've missed you too, Draco. And I'm not sorry I rejected you that day, I'm sorry that I kicked you out of my life. I thought I was protecting myself because I just knew I would've gone back on my decision if I had let you stay. I liked you too, I still do, but I just wasn't ready. You're too good to be true. I don't deserve a second chance; I don't deserve you. But you didn't deserve to be shut out, and I really hope you can forgive—"

Y/N was cut off by Draco smashing his lips against hers. He held her face in his hands as she gasped, allowing him to sneak his tongue out and run it along her lower lip. She moaned into his mouth as he started to nibble. His hands traveled downwards until they settled on her hips. He pulled her closer and groaned when his hips touched hers. God, how he had missed this. Then, Y/N reached up and ran her hands through his hair, successfully messing it up. Draco knew he wanted more but pulled away from her lips. She breathed heavily and looked into his eyes, puzzled as to why he stopped.

"You're mine...right?" Draco asked anxiously. Y/N smiled and pulled him close for another soft kiss. "I'm yours," she whispered. Draco kissed her again, and she eagerly returned it. Hesitantly, Draco sneaked his hand underneath her shirt, merely letting it sit there against her hot skin as he slipped his tongue into her mouth again. Then, he began to slide his hand up her torso, all while paying attention to her reactions. She seemed to be kissing him harder as he gently ran his thumb along the underside of her breast. He took that as a sign he was doing good, so he placed his hand on top of it and squeezed. Y/N let out a loud moan and pulled away from the kiss. "Draco, please," she whined. He snickered as he studied her pleading face. "What do you need, princess?" he asked in a sultry voice. Y/N squirmed and continued to whine. Draco clicked his tongue. "Always so scared to tell me what you want. There's no need to be embarrassed. I'll give you whatever you want. I just need you to tell me," he reminded her gently. She bit her lip and stared at the floor before finally answering.

"I wanna have sex with you," she whispered. Her face was crimson. Draco felt his heart squeeze; she was too cute. He put his hand underneath her chin and tilted it upwards. A gentle kiss was planted on her lips. "I wanna have sex with you too, darling," he murmured. Y/N couldn't hide her smile as she swiftly took his hand and led him to the bed. Draco smirked and, with sneaky hands, pushed her onto the bed, making her squeal. "Draco!" she yelled with her back now pressed against the mattress. The Slytherin wasted no time; he jumped on top of her while mimicking a roar, causing Y/N to burst into laughter. Her laugh was music to his ears.

Draco tugged her shirt up and off her body, throwing it to the floor. His hands immediately traveled to her back where he unclasped her bra, throwing that away too. Draco felt his dick twitch in his pants upon seeing her nipples harden in the cold air. He leaned down and latched his lips onto one of them while twisting the other between his fingers. Y/N's gasp sent a shiver down his spine, and he sucked her even harder.

"Draco..." she moaned. Draco let go of her tits and sat up, admiring her flushed face. Then Y/N suddenly sat up and grasped the bottom of his shirt and proceeded to yank it off him. Draco only watched as she did this. Her hands then traveled to his pants. She unzipped him and pushed his waistband down, exposing his briefs. He helped her out by maneuvering himself off his knees so that he could kick his pants off.

Once the pants joined the rest of the clothes, Y/N reached for the top of his underwear. But before she could go any further, Draco stopped her. She looked at him, confused as to why he wouldn't want her to touch him. "Tonight is about you, darling. Lie back for me now," Draco instructed. Y/N's face turned red, but she did as she was told and lowered her body onto the bed. Draco's hands grasped her pants, and he slowly pulled them down, stopping to press kisses to her thighs as he went. They were both in only their underwear now, and he could see Y/N was getting impatient. "Speak princess, what do you want?" Draco asked. Y/N pressed her thighs together and rolled her hips a bit before she spoke. "Finger me, please," she begged. Draco smiled at her and immediately pressed his fingers to her pussy, still covered by her panties.

"So polite," he purred as he gently rubbed her clit through her underwear. She closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure. "That feel good, princess?" Draco asked. Y/N nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but a long moan quickly replaced the words on her tongue as Draco applied more pressure to her nub. He continued to swirl his finger around it for a couple minutes, then he slid a different finger past her panties and slowly pushed it inside, feeling her thighs clench as he did so. "So tight," he mumbled before leaning down and giving her a sweet kiss. The intrusion of another finger caused her to gasp into his mouth. Draco groaned and pressed down on her clit, making her hips jump.

"Did you miss this? Did you miss my fingers inside you and my kisses on your body?" he questioned as he thrusted into her. Y/N clenched her walls around his digits and nodded eagerly. "So much. So fucking much," she mewled. Draco added another finger and increased his pace. He noticed Y/N's breathing beginning to get quicker, and he knew she was close. So he finger-fucked her hole for a minute more before withdrawing his hand. Y/N cried out in frustration and glared at him angrily. "Why did you do that?" she whined.

But then, without warning, Draco lifted up her shirt and pressed his lips to her soft stomach, blowing a raspberry onto it. Y/N instantly screamed and wiggled violently underneath him. "STOP, STOP!" she shrieked, trying to get away as her giggles became uncontrollable. Eventually, Draco took mercy on her and ceased his torment. He leaned up to see Y/N was out of breath, and her hair was a mess. "Quit playing games and put your dick inside me, you twat," she ordered. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "If you say so," he muttered, taking his cock out of his underwear. Y/N's eyes widened, but before she could say or do anything, Draco slid all the way inside her, burying his dick in her pussy. "Ohhh, fuck," she moaned. Draco grunted as he adjusted to the tightness of her hole. He had the instinct to begin slamming into her, but he controlled his urges and allowed her body to adapt to him as he positioned his hands next to her head.

Y/N's walls clenched around him, and she bucked her hips. "Move, please," she pleaded softly. "As you wish," Draco said as he slowly pulled himself out and thrusted back in, setting a slow but consistent pace. Y/N let out quiet mewls as he moved in and out. Her legs found their way to his waist, and they quickly wrapped around it. This pulled him closer and forced his dick deeper inside her. "Fuck," Draco moaned as he leaned down for a kiss while continuing to thrust. Y/N hummed into his mouth and flicked her tongue against his. "Shit, you feel so good," she purred. Draco's cock twitched at her words, and he increased his pace. A harsh grunt escaped him as Y/N reached up and dug her nails into his back. "You're so gorgeous, Y/N," he breathed. "So goddamn gorgeous."

Suddenly, Draco's sensual thrusts were halted by Y/N calling his name. "Yes, darling?" he replied. "You can be rough, I don't mind," she told him gently. Draco smiled down at her and pressed quick kisses along her jaw. "I know, but I can do that another night. Right now," he angled his head so that his lips were by her ear, "I'm making love to you," he whispered, feeling her shudder beneath him.

Y/N's eyes grew soft, and she moved her hands to his face. "You're perfect," she mumbled before pulling his lips to hers, where they shared a passionate kiss. "So perfect." Draco started to thrust again, resuming his slower pace. The force of his cock rocked the couple back and forth on the plush pillows. But then, he had an idea.

He moved his hands from their spot beside Y/N's head, slid them underneath her back, and lifted her up. "Shit," she cursed as she was now on Draco's lap, his dick still buried deep inside her. Slowly, Draco raised her off him and turned her around so that her back was facing him. He then repositioned her hips above his cock and gently lowered her onto it. "Ohhh," she moaned as she once again became full. She was about to lift herself up and fuck herself on his dick, but Draco's hands stopped her. He pushed her legs wide and placed his hand over her pussy. This didn't please Y/N. She started to squirm and buck her hips forward, causing Draco to groan as she stimulated his cock. "Stay still, princess. I'll take care of you," he assured her. His fingers pressed against her heat and slowly spread the upper lips, exposing her clit. With his other hand, he touched his fingers to her nub and slowly began to circle it. Y/N's head fell back onto his shoulder, and a long, deep groan escaped her throat.

"Oh my god," she whimpered as her breathing became ragged. Draco's hands never stopped or stuttered, not even when Y/N's walls squeezed him tight. He just kept rubbing and rubbing; her soft pants sounded like heaven to him. Suddenly, Y/N's thighs began to tense. "Draco, fuck, I'm close," she muttered. Draco turned his head and once again hovered his lips next to her ear. "Cum on me. Cum with me buried inside you," he ordered. Y/N gasped and rolled her head on his shoulder. He could tell she was almost there. "Oh, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck, just a little more," she begged.

Draco kept circling her clit until finally, she inhaled sharply, and her walls clenched him hard. His finger didn't stop; it continued to rub her throughout her high. It only ceased when Draco felt her body jolt from overstimulation. He then pushed her forward onto her hands and knees and began pounding into her, chasing his own climax. The sounds of skin slapping combined with the tightness of Y/N's pussy lit a fire in Draco's abdomen, and soon, he was pushed over the edge. "Cumming," he warned her before he released inside Y/N with a deep groan. The couple remained in that position for a good minute, breathing heavily. Then Draco pulled himself out and laughed as Y/N immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed. He gently flipped her over and kissed her cheek. "You alright, darling?" he asked. She smiled and turned to him. Then, without thinking, she blurted, "I think I love you." Immediately, Y/N slapped her hand over her mouth. But Draco only grinned and said, "I love you too, Y/N."

She lowered her hand and averted her eyes as blush filled her cheeks. "Draco, are we..." she trailed off, looking apprehensive. "Boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked. Y/N nodded. "I'd love to be your boyfriend, darling," he said sweetly. In less than a second, Draco was attacked by a forceful hug from Y/N. He wrapped his arms around her still naked body and held her close, breathing in her scent: apples, hazelnut, and cinnamon.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," she said softly. "I don't know what I would've done with myself if you had just stopped caring one day," Y/N confessed. Draco gently pulled away from the hug and cradled his girlfriend's face in his hands. "I never would've stopped caring. Y/N you were all I thought about," he assured her. He watched as her tears began to fall from her eyes. "Don't cry, sweetheart, I'm here now; I've got you. There's no need to cry," he said sweetly, trying to comfort her. But Y/N kept on crying, so he dragged a blanket over his lap and pulled her on top of it. "Look at me, darling," he instructed lightly. She rubbed her tears away with her arm and looked into Draco's eyes.

"I love you. I love you so much. Do not waste your tears on the mistakes of the past. All that matters is that I've got you, and you've got me. Alright?" Y/N continued to wipe her tears and nodded. "Alright. I love you too," she replied.

Draco pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, slid her off his lap, and stood up from the bed. He grabbed some tissues and cleaned himself off before doing the same for Y/N. Then he pulled on his underwear and tossed Y/N hers. As she was getting dressed, Draco strode over to his armchair. In the seat of it sat a small blue book. He picked it up and took it with him as he went back to bed. Y/N was already under the covers; she looked at him quizzically when she noticed the object in his hand. Her mouth opened to speak, but Draco quickly shushed her. He slid under the covers and cozied up next to Y/N. Then, he cracked open the book, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot."

The End

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