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1kook · 4 years

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dreamy

—pjm x (f) reader

summary; You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. warnings; ANGST lol, fwb, reader is very :(( rating; mature (18+) bc tiny smut lol misc; small smut scene, a happy ending <3 wc; 2.5k

notes; i have to post on #JIMIN’s bday or else i cannot live with myself anyway here’s me trying to fit an entire novella plot line in less than 5k words clap for me except maybe don't bc its not proofread anyway hbd jimin <3

Jimin is a nice guy, but you doubt he’d make a nice boyfriend. He fucks you hard and fast, just as you like, but hardly goes out of his way to sprinkle in any other requests. He’s got a one track mind, doesn’t dwell too long on what you say or how you’re feeling. Doesn’t matter because he’s just supposed to be a fuck buddy, the hot guy you met at a party, so you don’t let it phase you. But, well. Jimin is dreamy.

Sometimes he holds your hand while he eats you out and it sends your thoughts into a frenzy, makes your heart pound a little too fast to brush it off as just arousal. He’s got this gorgeous smile, plush lips framing pearly teeth, and when he flashes it your way, it makes your knees weak. Tells you you’re pretty when he picks you up from class, always holds your hand on the way to his place for your routine fuck. Cute and nice like an angel, but just like an angel, he hardly gives a shit about anyone’s feelings but his own.

He laughs when you ask him to hang out that weekend.

“What, like a date?” he snorts, bare chest glistening from his post-fuck exertion. You're pressed against his side now, circling his pretty brown nipple with your finger. “That’s corny.”

You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. “Yeah, silly right,” you murmur, ear pressed to his heart. It’s calming and soothing, a slow thrum that contrasts with your own racing heart.

He’s not one for dates or for romantic things like that. But neither is he some player, a cheater, a two-timer. You can count the number of times he’s slept with someone who wasn’t you in your weird fuck buddy relationship, and all four of those had been when you first started sleeping together and only when you had been out of town. You’re no saint either, so you try to understand. He was just horny, liked getting his dick wet, and sometimes he couldn’t wait for you. Understandable, you tell yourself, but your heart hurts a little bit when he begins snoring without really answering your question.

See the thing is, you really like Jimin. It’s been a little over a year now since you’ve met, so you’ve had plenty of time to learn all about him. He doesn’t like pancakes for breakfast, prefers them for lunch actually, and laughs when you tell him that’s weird. He’s got this really dorky laugh, something between a bell and a whistle— it depends on the situation. Sometimes, Jimin likes when you play with his hair, and other times he doesn’t. He’s a sweet boy, you know he is, so why won’t he settle down?

You hate to attribute it to some past trauma, some “my girlfriend broke my heart when I was seventeen” mess, but the more time that passes you begin to believe it’s true. Jimin was a tough nut to crack, and the longer this drags on, the longer he ignores your feelings, you begin to doubt you will ever see them fulfilled.

Maybe you should end this now before it’s too late.

You don’t stay for breakfast the next morning, simply kiss him goodbye at the door like always. He’s older than you, about two years, so he doesn’t go to school anymore, just chills at home all weekend. “I’ll see you soon?” he grins, low-lidded eyes tracking the movement of your mouth as you bid him adieu. You never give him a solid response, figure a guy like Jimin will forget about you soon enough.

Then, suddenly, it’s been two weeks and he doesn’t reach out. Yeah it hurts, but it’s better than having confessed to him and losing him all at once. You’d rather this ending than the one where he terribly rejects you, breaks your heart into a million pieces, and throws you away. Still, it hurts.

Jimin was so cool. He was smart and confident, had a snappy sort of attitude that he liked to use now and then. He could be mean in bed, lick your cunt until you cried and call you a stupid girl when he wanted to. But that same tongue had snapped at a guy who was trying to pressure you into bed with him at a party. That first night you met, where you had sillily followed him home after his dashing intervention, you had thought it would be nothing more. Just a fling, just a fuck.

But then he was in your bed and in your head, twinkling eyes and cocky grin trailing after you everyday. He was so pretty and so suave, made you feel good even when he was being mean. But you suppose most cocky men like Jimin are like that. They know they don’t disappoint, even when they’re not really trying.

Jimin doesn’t call or text. You don’t see his car pull up outside your campus anymore. He’s gone and that’s that. You cry a little (see: a lot) and pretend you’re over him. You definitely don’t think about his soft laughter or his hands on your chest. Nope.

So that ends.

Or so you think.

Your friends say you’re mopey and sad, too down for someone who wasn’t even your boyfriend. It’s true, which sucks, but they honor your admittance by taking you out to a bar that night. It’s supposed to be chill and relaxing, just some drinks with the girls to soothe your aching heart. But the name of the bar reminds you of something, of someone you can’t reach anymore, and you don’t even know why. You’ve never been here before, never even knew this place existed. But everything about it brings you back to Jimin, like you’re in his space now, and you’re unsure why.

It reminds you of his laugh, his smile, to the point you swear you can hear it, right beside you, down the bar, to your left—

He waves.

There’s this look he used to give you every time he picked you up from your last class, this mix between adoration and lust that made your skin tingle with excitement. It’s not there now, in fact, it’s replaced with the complete opposite. It’s, like, the meanest look he can muster, something akin to a scowl. He smiles, but it’s so plastic-y and fake, it makes your head hurt. He’s so obviously unimpressed with you, probably because you ghosted him before he could ghost you. Maybe his pride is hurt and looking at you grosses him out. Maybe he just hates you.

Either way, eleven pm rolls around and you’re crying in the bathroom. Your friends are out on the floor having fun and singing karaoke. They think you’ve gone inside because you got your period, because that’s what you’ve told them. You don’t know how to explain that your ex who isn’t really your ex is out there looking at you like you’re a piece of gum stuck under his shoe. They’ve never even met Jimin. Why? Because he wasn’t your boyfriend. Who meets their friend’s fuck buddy? No one.

You sniffle, press a balled up tissue against your eyes in a feeble attempt to save your makeup. The bar isn’t that small, but neither is it huge. There’s only a few bathrooms in the back, and you’ve been hogging one of them for some time now. Someone knocks on the door, and you don’t even get the chance to ward them off before the crappy knob jingles and the door bursts open.

“Come on,” he grumbles, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta piss—“

He pauses, meets your eye through the mirror in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you blubber, hurriedly washing your hands in an effort to avoid his gaze. Jimin lingers at the door, which has long since fallen shut, and watches you with the eyes of a hawk. Your hands tremble and shake, fumble over the towel dispenser three times before you’re hastily making your escape. “Sorry,” you mutter again, head downcast as you move around him for the door.

Just as it cracks open, the music from outside filtering in, he slams it shut with a flat palm. You flinch, close in on yourself as he steps behind you. “What’re you doing here, doll?” he murmurs, deep yet careful. Tentative. “You don’t like bars.”

You know you don’t like bars. You didn’t know he knew that. “I’m with some friends,” you explain, jump when a hand touches your shoulder. “I— I’ll leave soon.”

A second attempt for the door is thwarted by Jimin. “Don’t,” he startles, breath heavy against your ear. “Don’t leave again…” he sighs, forehead against your shoulder. And then, quietly, “why did you leave me?”

Your heart syncs up with the music outside, thunders in your ears as you purse your lips. You don’t want to talk about it now, don’t want to confess to these emotions that drown you. Especially not when he’ll never understand nor will he ever care. It’s best to leave it as is, you convince yourself, slowly shrugging him off.

“We don’t want the same things,” you reply, eyes burning with the need to cry like a baby. But it’ll weaken your argument, make you look like the sentimental girl you know he won’t like. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

The hand on your shoulder jerks you around, makes a gasp catch in your throat when he crowds you against the door. He’s got that same glare on from before, the one he had sent you across the bar earlier, and it makes your lower lip tremble when it’s this close. “You never asked me what I wanted,” he hisses.

It is then that you realize it isn't anger or disgust, but frustration that paints his features. It’s pure, unadulterated confusion and distress on his pretty face, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes pointed your way. You don’t know what it means, don’t know what he wants. “I,” you choke, weakly covering your face with your hand before he can see you crumble. “I just wanted you.”

Jimin deflates, steps closer until his body is pressed against yours, hands on your shoulders. “And you have me, doll,” he murmurs, bumps his nose against yours. “Always have.”

You shake your head, choke on a sob that bubbles up your throat. “No, not like that,” you stress, losing yourself in the emotions you spent so much time bottling up. “I wanted more.”

Jimin shushes you, guides your head into the crook of his neck where you paint his skin in dark mascara tears. “Is this about the date?” he sighs, patting your head gently.

“It’s more than just the date,” you cry, fists curling into the material of his shirt until it rumples beyond repair. He doesn’t understand.

Jimin nods, let’s you cry and sob until you’re feeling better and someone else is pounding at the door, yelling at you two to get a proper room. You don’t want a room, you only want his heart.

He takes you home again, helps you out of your shoes at the door because you’re still sensitive and quiver like a leaf when you walk. His bedroom is familiar, smells like him and his detergent. You miss it so much, want to savor it once more. Something in your gut says this is the last time, this is just Jimin getting one last fuck out of you before he really abandons you.

So you cry when he sits down on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t even said anything, hasn’t even taken his socks off yet, but you’re already a mess.

And of course he’s there to catch you, tugs you between his legs to look up at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, reaching up to brush away your tears. But it’s not your fault that he looks like that right before he’s going to break your heart.

He’s so cool, even when you’re falling apart in his hands. “You don’t want me,” you sniffle, let him guide you onto his lap. “You just want to fuck and that’s it.”

Jimin leans his forehead against yours, warm breath washing over your skin. “I never said that,” he murmurs. “We’ve been over this.”

You huff. “Well you never said you did either,” you snap, rubbing at your eyes.

You cry and cry some more, until your sobs subside and you’re left with the hiccups afterwards. Jimin maneuvers you beside him, lets your hair spill across the sheets as he lays you down. They smell just like him, make your head spin when he kisses your cheek softly. “I want you,” he confesses. “I want this.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, you don’t,” you sniff, but you’re not so sure. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the longest. Hearing him say otherwise sounds weird, even if he’s saying what you want to hear. “You don’t.”

Jimin catches your hand in his, pins it to the mattress. “I want you to be mine,” he adds, swallows your cries of denial with his lips. He kisses softly, and for the first time, it feels like he’s paying attention to you. Not your body or your lust, but your heart. “Had me feeling like shit when you didn’t come back. Like I lost something big.”

You still cry when he kisses down your neck, over your chest. His hands pull your clothes off, carefully like you’re a present for him to unwrap. Those plush lips you love so much drown you in kisses, over your tummy and your mound, until they’re buried between your cunt. “You’re mine,” he husks out, hand entwined with yours.

His eyes are dark from down there, long lashes blinking up at you as he dips his tongue in the places you crave him most. It brings you to a shuddering end, has you whimpering his name into the empty air until your toes are curling and you’re coming against his mouth. Jimin has never shied away from you, and doesn’t know, sits up with a hazy look in his eyes as he wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Jimin wastes no time undressing, pushes off that sexy jacket until his lithe body is coming into view, thick thighs and lean abdomen. He slides right into you, holds your knees to your chest as he fucks you like never before. It’s slow and sensual, makes you shiver when he says your name in that low register of his. “Don’t leave again,” he whimpers, cock throbbing between your walls. He’s desperate today, ruts like you’ll slip right between his fingertips. It’s funny because you're the same way, clinging onto his shoulders until you’re practically glued together.

You come and so does Jimin. He pants against your ear, feels so warm and heavy on top of you. He doesn’t say much more that night, just plays with your hair. But he asks you on a date, mentions something about a carnival. “Yes,” you respond right away, because, well.

Jimin was dreamy. Maybe he’d be a good boyfriend.

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jimin smut #park jimin smut #pjm #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x reader smut #park jimin x reader #park jimin x reader smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #mine

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fanfic-archive · 3 years

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New Tastes

Helmut Zemo X Female Reader

Summary: You were working along side Sam and Bucky, despite not having been an Avenger like them, when things led to you having to work with Zemo. He wasn’t what you expected, being much more welcoming and charming than they had led you to believe. One evening at his Latvian flat would change everything, you just didn’t know if it was for the better or worse.

Word Count: 2547

The four of you had returned to the flat in Riga just over an hour ago after a confrontation with some Flag Smashers. You had been hurt in the confrontation but that was too be expected and it really wasn’t anything to worry about. You had assured Bucky and Sam that you were fine, as if they hadn’t been hurt as well, telling them to just go to bed and get some rest. Once they were more convinced, telling you not to stay up too late and to get some proper rest, they disappeared into their rooms for the night.

With a sigh, you walked over to the kitchen. Zemo hadn’t gone to his room yet but the three of you had become comfortable enough around him to not worry about you being left alone with him. You trusted that he wouldn’t hurt any of you, you even trusted that he wouldn’t run just yet, but you couldn’t say that you were completely comfortable in his presence. Something about him put you on edge, you could feel when his eyes were on you, it made you feel warm, but you couldn’t explain his effect on you.

Zemo was sitting on the couch with a book in his hands, you just ignored him as you grabbed a bag of ice. You wrapped the ice in a towel before pressing it to the bruise along your cheekbone.

“Are you alright?” Zemo’s voice made you jump as you turned to him, he was now standing in the kitchen with you. You hadn’t heard him move or approach you.

“Uh, yeah” you nodded, hissing slightly as you turned away from him and pressed the ice to your cheek again. The bruise still tender.

“Do you need any help?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned for your wellbeing.

“No, I’m fine” you assured him with a sigh, turning back to the Baron as to not seem rude, even if you still couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Let me help” he moved closer. You don’t know what it was about him or the way he spoke, but you found it difficult to resist him.

“…fine” you were hesitant but allowed him to offer his assistance.

“Sit” Zemo ordered gently as he took the ice from your hand.

Doing as he said, you took a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. Zemo moved closer, casually standing between your legs. It was rare that you were left alone with Zemo, your two friends being a little protective over you, so this was the closest you had been to him and possibly the longest you had been alone with him.

Maybe that was why you couldn’t look up at him and meet his gaze, everything about him was just too intense. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke, even his cologne now that you were close enough to be enveloped by the scent. It was strong but not overwhelming, it was warm and comforting.

You were brought out of your thoughts when Zemo lightly gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your face up so he could more clearly see your bruise. You just watched him as he iced your cheek.

“It’s a nasty bruise” Zemo commented, making you focus on his accent again. A sound you found near mesmerising. “But it should heal pretty quickly. You got off lightly considering you were dealing with Super Soldiers” he reminded you.

“You know” you breathed, unable to raise your voice any higher with him being so close to you.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, but you shook your head. It was a little bit of a lie, but you weren’t seriously hurt, just generally sore. “Are you sure?” he asked, not seeming completely convinced. You just nodded in response.

“Good” Zemo nodded, pulling the ice away from your cheek and placing it down on the island behind you. “Turkish Delight?” he offered.

“I’m not a child” you muttered, feeling like he was rewarding you for something even though you hadn’t done anything to solicit a reward.

“I never said you were. I was just offering you a Turkish Delight” he didn’t seem upset or amused with your comment, his expression remaining neutral.

“I’ve never actually had one” you confessed, neither accepting it nor turning it down.

“Then you must have one” he decided for you with a charming smile.

He reached for the vase that he kept his Turkish Delights in, taking one out before placing the vase down again. Unwrapping the candy, he held it between his fingers, you reached for it but only frowned as he pulled it away from you. Was he purposely messing with you?

Zemo raised an eyebrow at you before bringing the candy to your lips. You were stunned, silent and staring at him, unsure of how to react. But he was patient, waiting for a response rather than prying or backpaddling.

Slowly, you came to your sense, if you could call it that, and opened your mouth, letting him place the candy on your tongue. At this point it was fair to say that you were blushing pretty brightly, but you still ate the candy, trying to ignore the way he watched you as you accidently let out a small hum of approval.

“You like it?” he asked, already knowing the answer from your reaction.

“Yeah…it’s good” you nodded, finishing the candy.

“Do you want another?” he offered.

“Sure” you accepted, seeing why he was so fond of the treats. And so, Zemo gave you another in the same way as before, which you accepted with more ease.

“What else haven’t you had before?” Zemo asked curiously as you finished the second candy.

You found the question a little strange, not being sure how to answer it. There must have been plenty of answers to that question. But you thought about some of the things you had had for the first time since joining the three men in travelling to Riga.

“That expensive liquor of yours. Normally just settle for the bottle shelf stuff” you laughed lightly, attempting to ease the tension that surrounded the two of you, still trying to ignore how close he was. You didn’t want him to know how much it was affecting you, though you were sure that he already knew.

“That’s unacceptable” he tutted in disapproval. “Would you like a glass?” he asked.

“Sure” you nodded.

Zemo moved away from you, finally giving you the room to breathe. He rounded the island and fixed you both a drink. You watched him, admiring his side profile as he poured the drinks. Of course, it wasn’t long before he had returned to you, once again standing between your legs as he handed you one of the glasses.

“Prost” he smiled, raising his glass towards you slightly.

“…Prost” you repeated with a small smile of your own, clinking your glass against his.

Zemo watched you over the brim of his own glass as you both drank. “Better, no?” he asked, lowering his glass at the same time as you. “Better quality, better taste, smoother…but the burn is the same” he hummed, swirling the liquid around in his glass.

“The burn is better” you breathed, suddenly returning to the nervous, breathless state he had you in earlier. It seemed to earn a small smirk from the Baron.

“I’m glad you have been enjoying my hospitality” Zemo nodded, leaning towards you to place his drink down on the island behind you. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his breath fan against your ear, knowing that your face has heated up as he pulled away again.

“You’ve been very generous” you cleared your throat, placing your glass down beside his, following his lead before turning back to him.

“It’s the least I can do for the people who broke me out of prison” he shrugged.

“Bucky’s going to make sure you go back; you know that right?” you asked, wondering if he thought he could eventually escape you all.

“I will deal with James when the time comes” he assured you, seemingly not worried about future threats.

“You probably shouldn’t tell me that…” you advised him.

“You wouldn’t break my trust, would you?” Zemo asked, his head tilting to the side slightly. You just shook your head, once again being made a little speechless. Did he truly think that you wouldn’t share any concerns with Bucky and Sam? Did he think you would protect him? “How are you finding Riga?” before you could dwell on it any longer, he distracted your racing mind with a casual question.

“It’s nice…beautiful” you smiled softly. “I’m not a very worldly person…I’ve never actually been out of the States before” you admitted.

“That is a shame” he hummed thoughtfully. “There is a whole world out there for you to experience, and you deserve to experience it” he told you, gently pushing some stray hair out of your face.

“Is that so?” you asked with a quiet curiosity. “It almost sounds like a proposition” you commented, your gaze flickering around his face. He had you on the hook and you both knew it.

“And if it was?” Zemo asked, but you don’t know how to respond. Was it a real proposition? Was it some sort of trap? “There is so much to experience in this world, don’t you agree?” you simply nodded. “But what is the point if you don’t have somebody to experience it with?” he shifted closer to you and you allowed it, remaining still as he hooked his finger under your chin, giving you no choice but to look up at him.

“I…I don’t know” you shook your head slightly, but his hold on your chin made the movements subtle.

“There isn’t one” he informed you confidently, but kept his voice low, making the conversation feel intimate.

“And you want me to…accompany you?” you asked in disbelief.

“I would be honoured to have you join me, and it would be my pleasure to show you what you’ve been missing” Zemo nodded. “There are so many things to experience, let me show them to you” he was impossibly close to you now, his thumb stroking over your bottom lip.

“…okay” you whispered, gaze flickering to his mouth before meeting his eyes again, “show me.”

With your prompting, Zemo’s hand moved from under your chin to cup your jaw, leaning closer to you. You instinctively lent into him; your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed against yours. Fully closing the space between you, Zemo caught your lips in a kiss. You returned the kiss instantly, having accepted where this was leading a little while ago and craving it for even longer.

Zemo brought his body even closer, touching yours, as his free hand slid up your waist to rest at the bottom of your ribs. Allowing yourself to just let go and experience the moment, you slipped your arms around his neck, helping him shift closer yet again.

You knew that you shouldn’t be doing this, you knew who he was, but maybe that was why it lit such a fire in you. Even with the knowledge of this being wrong, you lost yourself in the sensations. His body pressed against yours, his mouth on yours, his hands on you body, his hair between your fingers. Just for a moment you were able to forget about everything going on with the Flag Smashers, about what Sam and Bucky would have to say if they caught you, even about who Zemo was.

Tilting his head slightly, Zemo deepened the kiss, making you hum into his mouth. You could taste the liquor he had been drinking, mixing with the sweetness of the Turkish Delights. It was addictive, as was he.

You didn’t even hear it, too lost in the man before you, but the sound of a door opening had Zemo swiftly but casually pulling away from you. You watched him, bitten lips parted, left breathless on the stool as he walked around the island, picking up his half empty glass like nothing had happened.

Your attention turned to Sam as he walked into the room, nervously turning to face the kitchen island and busying yourself with your own unfinished drink.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Sam asked with a small frown, noticing your flushed face.

“Yeah, ‘course” you nodded, not even able to look him in the eyes as you took a drink, focusing on the burn in your throat.

“Leave her alone” your friend warned Zemo sternly before crossing the room, for whatever it was that he had come for.

Bringing the glass back to your lips, you looked up through your lashes to see Zemo already looking at you, drinking from his own glass. You blushed further at his attention but still didn’t break eye contact, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

Thinking back over your experience with the Baron, you realised that if you hadn’t known who he was you never would have worried about him. He had been nothing but kind to you, often being a refreshing break when Sam and Bucky were bickering, he was generous and helpful.

Finally, you broke eye contact, shaking the thoughts from your mind. Yes, all of that was true, but he was an intelligent man, it could all be an act. But then again, what did he gain from messing with you?

Sam grabbed his laptop, shooting Zemo a glare as he left the room again. The sound of his bedroom door clicking shut being the only thing to break the silence.

“I think you should get some rest; we have more work to do tomorrow” Zemo spoke, one hand gently wrapping around your wrist as his other took the glass from your grip. You just looked up at him with a dumbfounded look, as he placed the glass down on the island that he was leaning over to reach you. You nodded and he released your wrist.

Once he let go of you, you stood from your seat, clearing your throat as you straightened out your clothes. “Goodnight” you mumbled, nodding at him politely before turning to head towards the bedrooms.

“Y/n” his voice stopped you, making you turn back to him, only to see him standing right in front of you. “Goodnight” his hands gently rested on your arms as he lent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping away from you, “sleep well.”

Once again stunned by the Baron, you turned and left the room quickly while trying not to look like you were rushing. He had told you to sleep well but you didn’t, you lay in the comfortable bed of his Latvian flat, staring at the ceiling while your mind ran wild with thoughts and images of Zemo. You didn’t know what had led to the moment you both shared only minutes earlier, you didn’t know why you felt this way for him, this urge to be near him, but you just couldn’t shake it. All you really knew was that it wouldn’t end here, if Zemo had something planned, it was going to play out until its natural conclusion. Whatever that may be.

#Baron Zemo x reader #Helmut Zemo x reader #Zemo x reader #helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws

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koocycle · 3 years

Text

play thing | drabble series (iii)

pairing. basketball player!jungkook x female reader

summary. jungkook is aware of the fact that you’re not his to love, yet he’s determined to show you what you’re missing out on.

wc. 2435

warnings. mild explicit language, suggestive themes.

taglist. if you’d like to be added, please send me an ask!

previous / next

“Do you think he would notice if we’d fuck here?”

The question is ridiculous yet amusing to the ear, but you’re still having a hard time finding it in yourself to laugh at the remarkable query. And that’s most likely because Jungkook’s voice falls heavy in the shell of your ear even as you attempt to ignore him the best you can. Yet the act seems harder than usual when his pretty fingertips start gazing over your clothed waist, softly nipping at the flimsy material of your tight shirt in between his pleasing, tattooed fingers.

“He would.” So I wouldn’t try anything if I were you, is what you mean to add, yet the words don’t manage to slip any further than your charming lips that seem sealed shut as soon as you look at him in the eyes.

‘‘Do you think he would care?’’

This one seems to shut you up soon enough – you’re not entirely sure if the answer to that will suit your fight against the man behind you, and the jerk knows that. Because you don’t even have to look at him to see the grin that’s growing on his pretty features.

It’s taking you one more look upon the living room of which is connected to the rather chilly kitchen you’re finding yourself in before you can come up with a decent answer. The silence hurts your ears, but you have no other choice than to stay quiet by his side. Both you and Jungkook know the situation you’re finding yourself in, lying won’t do you any justice.

Your boyfriend’s dyed, blonde locks are astounding and vibrant alongside his fellow teammates on the sofa. They’re yelling at something that happens in the game playing in front of their noses, multiple chaotic arms pointing at the big screen and already loud voices which are only increasing in volume. And you can only guess there’s no good coming out of it.

“Of course he’d care.” You carry on your act, and you’re not entirely sure if it is you or Jungkook you’re attempting to convince here, but it doesn’t seem to work either way, “He is my boyfriend, after all.”

All the lights in Minho’s apartment are turned off, the only ounce of lighting available being the one coming from the big screen in the living area. And that might as well be for the best, considering Jungkook’s sneering eyes that are boring holes in the side of your face right now. He doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, certainly not when your lips grow into a content, irritatingly smug grin. You probably think you’re the shit now.

“Are you sure about that?” He questions, the fingers that were previously playing with the fabric of your shirt tightening in the heat of his palm as for right now. He can’t keep his hands to himself today, but it seems like you don’t really mind the way today’s play is going.

“So if I do this,” both his hands position themselves down your waist, finding their place on your hips before he slams his chest against your back, “he would come running to punch me in the face right now?”

When his head dips into the crook of your neck, a gasp is leaving your lips and it’s only feeding onto his ego, especially when he can feel you freeze under his fingertips. His lips are only inches removed from the skin on the side of your throat, yet his hot breath spreading down its place is taking an enormous toll on you.

His fingers tighten around both of your hipbones, head dipping even further down your neck to place a wet peck on the spot, a gasp leaving you once a pair of dampened lips make contact with you skin.

‘‘He’d kick me out of his shitty dorm?’’ He stupidly laughs in the crook of your neck, the vibrations against you being anything but sly, but you doubt he even worries about something silly like that. ‘‘Don’t fool yourself, ___. He isn’t even looking.’’

His index fingers that were wrapped around your hips just earlier make a move to tilt your chin up, yet the action doesn’t seem to revolve around him – no, he’s making you look up at Minho. And even though the feeling of his fingertips isn’t overbearing underneath your chin, merely being there for moral support, you don’t make a move to pull your gaze away from your boyfriend.

‘‘Do you think he would care?’’

You don’t need Jungkook to constantly remind you that Minho doesn’t give more than 2 fucks about you, because you’re able to do that yourself just perfectly fine. But what gives him the right to talk about your relationship like that? As if his opinion is relevant to you even the slightest way – he’s ridiculous.

‘‘Cut it out, Jungkook.’’ You snarl in between your gritted teeth, the sweet tone from before completely disappearing as you feel yourself heating up now.

‘‘Or what? Are you going to tell him?’’ His lips are making movements that send shivers down your spine, and you have to refrain your head from falling down to rest on his shoulder, ‘‘I think you’re enjoying this far too much to be putting this to a stop, no?’’

‘‘You’re nothing special.’’ You say, but your body language proves him otherwise. The heavy weight of your head is betraying you, the way you fall limp in his embrace proving his every word to be correct.

He pays no attention to your previous statement, not feeling the need to prove you wrong when both of you already know the deal, ‘‘Tell me why you’re here today.’’ He says instead, voice lower than before.

‘‘Did you invite yourself over because you wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend,’’ flat hands slide down over your clothed belly, large palms reaching lower to the place you desperately need him, ‘‘or because you knew I’d be here?”

You stop him before he can get too far, your own hands clutching own just as desperately. ‘‘Me being here has nothing to do with you.’’

The lie is obvious and perhaps a little lacking in itself, the eager tone in your voice merely being there to overpower him. The attempt was there, but the execution could have been worked on.

His fingers are playing with the belt loops of your jeans, solely hooking his thumbs through them as he pushes you more against him – which he doesn’t even have to put a lot of effort into, not when you sloppily fall against him with your hips wedged to his own, no fight notable in your body. He uses his tallest fingers to reach out from their place to hover over the closed zipper that keeps your panties hidden – and you can’t find it in yourself to break away from him.

‘‘Go to your boyfriend, then.’’ He says, his breath tickling underneath your ear. ‘‘I’m not holding you back.’’

You’re sure it’s the conceited tone in his voice that has something snapping inside of you – most likely the thick layer of confidence nagging at you to stay in your lane. And you have to remind yourself that you’re completely falling for him, melting in his embrace as if your boyfriend isn’t mere feet away from the two of you. As if this Jungkook guy has some kind of effect on you.

Pfft. As if.

You don’t say anything as you remove your body from his own, and neither does he. Yet both of his arms fall slack besides his posture when you look back at him, the tip of his tongue pocking the inside of his cheek. And you know it irks him, yet you’d have to walk over his dead body for him to say it out loud.

If he wanted you to go to your boyfriend, then you will. He can kiss your ass for all you care.

Stupid, hot basketball jock.

With no seats left over of which are relatively close to your boyfriend, you find yourself sitting on the arm of the couch. Annoyed and pissed beyond your limits. He doesn’t reach out for you to make you feel included alongside his friends and neither do you wait (nor want) for him to do so.

You don’t know where Jungkook is, and you force yourself not to care about him for much longer. He didn’t follow you into the living room like as you assumed he would, and for all you know, he could have silently left already the dorm already.

The idea of that doesn’t sit right with you, though. The void in the pit of your stomach is only expanding at the thought of you sitting here with Minho and his friends, watching some stupid game you’re barely interested in. With you being here, bored and out of your mind, does nothing to spark your boyfriend’s interest – and it’s not like you expected much different when you walked through his door today. Your mind is already looping down a hole of excuses you’ll be throwing into his face as soon as you can get out of here.

‘‘Minho,’’ you eventually speak up, fingers nudging his shoulder. ‘‘I’m leaving now.’’

He only hums in response, a quick and effortless ‘‘mhm’’ leaving his closed lips. Eyes trained on the screen in front of him as he unappealingly munches on some popcorn, the greasy saltiness sticking to his fingertips.

He’s not asking you why you’re leaving, and you don’t think it’s happening any time soon. Except doesn’t matter this time, because again, you didn’t expect anything else to happen. His friends are focused on the game, so you’re no use to him at this moment. Not when he can’t show you off in front of the world.

As if on cue, Jungkook comes strolling into the living area as soon as you stand up from your seat on the armrest. A bright red, nearly perfect looking apple rests in the center of his palm as he’s chewing on the remaining pieces in his mouth, flawless and sharp eyebrows just slightly furrowed.

He barely looks at you as he walks by, feet moving to his previous spot on Minho’s cornered sofa, yet he raises an unabashed eyebrow once he catches a glimpse of you. As if asking you where you’re heading to, but at the same time telling you he could care less if you were actually to leave.

That’s a lie though. You know that much.

Seeing the way he falls down on the couch with a huff, cockily munching on the sweet pieces of apple on his tongue; you can see right through him. He doesn’t want you gone.

The guy enjoyed shoving all the blame on you tonight, telling you how much you needed him, yet you know he is in an all too eager frame of mind for your presence just as much as you are for his. And it’ll be a hard job to get him to say it out loud, but you might as well think Jungkook is a challenge you’d gratefully accept tonight.

So in honor of him, you’ll stay just a little longer.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ Minho’s voice rummages through the room when you suddenly decide to slip into his lap, knees on both of his sides as your ass pokes out on his thighs. It doesn’t grab the boys’ attention just yet, only a few glances here and there before they quickly avert back to the game, scooping more loads of popcorn and coke down their throats.

But you can feel the eyes of a certain someone on you.

‘‘I want to cuddle with you.’’ You shrug, resting your head on the base of his shoulder, angled perfectly in a way where you can take Jungkook’s expression in. The dude doesn’t look happy. ‘‘I’ve missed you.’’

Jungkook doesn’t even pretend as if he’s interested in the game, not towards you nor his teammates. They’re not paying much attention to him, anyways. His harsh stare is only locking with your own as he slumps down his seat on the sofa, legs spread apart before you attempt on not looking down once he does so.

‘‘Did you miss me too?’’ You don’t want a genuine answer from him. Heck, you hardly hear him once he mutters an uninterested ‘of course I did’, and instead your fingers lock with his, guiding them down your ass.

And you’re glad his larger hands rest there without question, in full view of the guy you currently have wrapped around your finger. You can see his tongue poking in the inside of his cheek again, which is more than a good sign. He repositions himself quite a few times in his place, hoping the daggers he’s shooting in your direction are put into good use and you’ll back the fuck off soon enough.

There’s no luck on his side when your fingers come up to rest on your boyfriend’s jaw, solely being there for show when your lips make contact with the skin underneath his jawline.

‘‘Do you think they would notice if we’d fuck here?’’ Your voice is sharp and confident in the crook of his neck, the volume of your voice loud enough to catch some ears in the room.

Minho’s head shoots down to look at you as soon as the words escape your lips, totally caught off guard as well as the other boys who seem shocked as well – yet you couldn’t care less about them. Jungkook’s eyes are boring into yours and that’s all that matters at this right moment.

He’s stopped munching on the apple pieces in his mouth, swallowing them down his throat with some effort, his hand is tightening around the pretty colored fruit as he can already feel his body heating up at the sudden reference.

‘‘I don’t think they would care.’’ You continue to blabber on, the guy on the other side of the couch feeling a little tense in the current situation he’s finding himself in.

‘‘Babe..’’ Minho’s uncertain voice booms through his chest as he continues to mumble something about the game, but your focus isn’t on him. Instead you have found your center of attention elsewhere.

Else, where his hands drop down in between his spread legs, cupping the inner sides of his thighs. His jaw clenched so tightly that you’re able to catch the sharp jawline from this distance as the two rows of teeth are clutched against one another – unable to open up.

You’re leading this game. And you’re loving it.

taglist — @jinsalpaca @moonchild1 @annenhypen @fan-ati--c

#jungkook #ficscafe #jungkook drabble #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook fluff #bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #koocycle

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mondscheinprinzessin · 2 years

Note

hand/inner wrist kisses + forehead/top of their head kisses? 🥰 for joeleksi or olli/joel

You can't give me the option of Joeleksi and then expect me not to write for them.

With Aleksi a lot of things have changed.

Not just their music and the dynamic within the band but also Joel’s feelings. In fact, they have changed so much that it almost felt like getting overrun by a herd or bison. Or that’s what Joel had imagined when he laid in bed, panting and mind whirling with thoughts of which most consisted of the same realization that he was totally stupid.

And totally, absolutely, completely in love with Aleksi.

It just needed him four years to realize and that’s where his stupidity came into play.

Exactly the same Joonas had said when Joel burst into his flat the next morning to yell his newfound feelings at him and demanding advice. Joonas, trying to appear as the wise old man, had slapped a hand on his shoulder, guided him to the table for a cup of coffee and simply said he should talk to Aleksi before his mind could twist all those happy, sweet, rose-red feelings into something fearful and ugly.

That was easy to say of Joonas who knew no restraint when it came to handing out his endless love, be it for his friends or partners. But Joel? Joel couldn’t find the words.

And they never came no matter how much and how often he racked his brain over a possible love deceleration.

Instead, he amped up on what he already shared with Aleksi. Hugs, naps, jokes, general space and time.

When Aleksi was in the studio, Joel was there. Always. He couldn’t get enough of his favourite DJ and no day had enough hours he could share with him.

But it was not to say that Joel did nothing to show his admiration in some way even if it wasn’t as obvious as a muttered ‘I love you’.

The first time was more of a slip up though and Joel had scrambled out of the kitchen after it happened to hide his pink cheeks and bite his lip to hold in the groan that wanted to escape him over his once again surfaced stupidity.

Aleksi had called for a break and wanted to make coffee and as the nice friend he was Joel jumped up to help (not also because the kitchen was tiny and there was no coming around to bump hips or accidentally touch someone’s arm or hand).

To not interfere too much Joel leaned against a counter, just watching Aleksi prepare the coffee machine and exchanging some words that were for once not related to their newest album.

For example Aleksi talking about his family visiting spontaneously as he didn’t manage to plan a visit of his own in his hometown and how happy Rilla had been, and Aleksi always had this cute smile on his face when he talked about here, and it never failed to put a smile on Joel as well.

Grinning as he was while he listened to Aleksi’s story, he was short of sighing because he was so lovesick, he could have stood there for ages just taking in Aleksi’s stories and just be happy to have him around and that could have been around the time Joel lost his last braincell to the desires of his heart.

When Aleksi came up close to open a cupboard next to Joel’s head for cups and had to go up on his toes to reach the ones far back, Joel blanked from the vicinity of Aleksi’s lips, still moving as he kept on talking.

Right now though Joel couldn’t care for what he said because he was pretty sure he started vibrating on the spot because he had to do something, even if it was running around in a circle, screaming on top of his lungs that he loved Aleksi, but that was for several reasons not an appropriate option, so the next best alternative had been kissing Aleksi on the forehead who stopped in his movements and looked up at him with big eyes.

Those blue eyes almost managed to fry the last of what was left from Joel’s brain, but he somehow got his legs to work and walked back into the studio room, repeating the scene over and over in his head till he was convinced he had dreamt it. As Aleksi neither said anything nor showed a sign that Joel had just kissed his bandmate, he dropped it out of his head as well.

(Who was he kidding, he was still thinking of it two weeks later).

The urge to repeat it also never ceased to haunt him and now he was catching himself staring at Aleksi more often which got him obvious looks from Joonas and Niko as well who had caught on pretty quickly of what was happening.

The happier Joel was when he and Aleksi were alone in the studio, late when everyone else had left and no suggesting looks and wiggling eyebrows could annoy him.

It was easier for him to work too when he didn’t have to try to hide his apparent feelings in front of bandmates because around Aleksi it seemed to not have any influence as he never called him out for his behaviour but rather seemed to enjoy it.

Joel didn’t take it for any affirmation or a return of his feelings though. Aleksi had always been a nice person and gentle in his gestures if he decided to give them and Joel would take each and everyone for as long as he could. An announcement of his love would definitely change the balance and changes Joel had enough of.

Things like this Joel tried to avoid thinking about at work, keeping them for later when he laid in bed. Although currently his eyes were so close to slipping shut that he wished to be in bed, but the production of songs was an important process that he couldn’t put off.

Aleksi behind him on the couch, for once they had switched their positions, was silently working on another project. Therefore, Joel startled slightly when he felt him against his back as Aleksi bend over his shoulder to look at the screen.

Joel had been doing a mindless repetition of a task which must have been the reason for his tiredness, and for his head falling into his hand, almost touching the table, resulting in a weird posture where he was sitting in the chair.

“I didn’t show you this button for no reason Joel. It will take you years if you continue to do it manually. Here, let me- ”

Aleksi’s fingers nudged against his on the mouse and Joel took his hand away for Aleksi to repeat his demonstration of what he was supposed to do but hadn’t been doing correctly.

He feared he wouldn’t remember what Aleksi was talking about this time either because with a little shift of his eyes he saw Aleksi’s wrist right in front of him.

Whereas his forearm was now decorated with a big flower tattoo, his wrist was bare, only traversed by blue veins perceptible under the surface even in the low light of the studio.

For reasons Joel was well aware of, the sight was more interesting than Aleksi’s teaching words. But for reasons Joel couldn’t explain he tipped his head forwards and gently touched Aleksi’s wrist with his lips, just a short kiss before he sat back again.

In his dreamy state he almost didn’t notice what he had done and would probably only bemoan his idiocy when he was alone at home, but Aleksi’s voice had died off and the sudden switch to silence had Joel realize his display of affection.

Not daring to move just the same as Aleksi had frozen above him, Joel hoped that Aleksi would just go back to his seat on the couch. Holding his breath Joel listened for any sign that Aleksi was mad at him, preparing to defend himself if necessary but nothing of sorts came.

To his surprise Aleksi didn’t go away but chose to come as close as possible, his hand leaving the mouse to travel over Joel’s arm right next to it until both of Aleksi’s arms were around him and Aleksi’s face rested on Joel’s shoulder.

If the touch alone didn’t make him shiver, then it was Aleksi’s voice so close to his ear that he could feel his breath on the side of his face.

“Your little kisses were really nice, but don’t you want to do it right this time?” He said in a low tone and Joel couldn’t believe what he just heard.

Much the same he was stunned when Aleksi came around to sit down in his lap, looking at him with that insolent gleam in his eyes but the sweetness lying under it had Joel part his mouth.

Aleksi’s eyes dipped down to his lips but as Joel hasn’t said anything yet asked again, “What do you think? Will you kiss me?”

#answered #yeah this has gotten longer #I have a lot of feelings for Joel/Aleksi what can I say #what do you guys think Joel did?#prompt adventures

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writinghood · 3 years

Text

Heartbreaker

Hey! I borrowed a prompt from @sleepyprompts and decided to write this terrible fic.

Mulaney x Reader

Genre: Fluff AF

Summary: You’ve been friends since college, always afraid to own up to the feelings you’ve had for him. After spending two years with who you thought was the man of your dreams, a bad break up leads you to a private vacation with your supportive best friend.

Rating: totally safe for work and shit

I’m done, you’ve convinced yourself. I can’t do this anymore.

A broken heart really is the absolute worst thing. Having both legs severed? No big deal. Cancer? Common. A hang nail? Okay, that’s pretty annoying. But your fiance leaving you after you tried so fucking hard to please him, that’s bottom of the barrel shit.

“You’ll never find anyone else like me,” was his last goodbye. “Good luck, darling.”

And you were manipulated just enough to believe him. John saw the signs of abuse. Wise enough to recognize a red flag, yet disconnected enough not to call it to your attention, he believes, honestly has thoughts that you would never be interested in a guy like him.

“I have an idea,” he says with a playful smirk. “Let’s go to the Poconos this weekend. It’ll give you time to get your thoughts together and I’ll have time to focus on not being a complete idiot.” That last audition was murder. He’s still half dead inside and seeking validation from anyone willing to give it. “We can go skiing, or attempt something less life threatening.”

Your mind drifts back to your college days when he was someone else; someone slightly dangerous and undesirable. John was always cute, tall and lanky with a sweet smile, yet obviously troubled.

“Why not?” you muse, a shoulder slightly rising. It isn’t as if you don’t believe your life is over. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to crash into sumac and die right away. “You’ll drive?”

He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. He’s a nightmare of a driver, but if you have confidence in him, he can manage that much...hopefully.

“Of course, I will.” The bridge of his nose curls, eyes focused on yours. “Pack your bags and I’ll rent a car.”

Suddenly, you wonder what in the hell is happening. Good thing you’re delusional enough to buy what John is selling. He vanishes beyond the door to your bedroom and you’re picking which outfits would best suit the late eighties film this shit storm is turning out to be.

Heartbroken but comforted by spending time with your old friend, reliable John, you relax next to him in the shitty honda rental. Mind filled with all the reasons you weren’t good enough for the perfect fiance, the Boys II Men song on channel 101.5 isn’t boosting your confidence. He can tell, glancing in your direction once or twice while navigating.

“Almost there,” he begins, voice soft. “We’re going to have a good time.”

You flash a half smile, knowing he’s probably right.

“You look beautiful by the way.” The tips of his fingers punch the radio dial, bringing forward a song much, much worse until he settles on a Latino station, which is neither depressing nor uplifting. “Te ves hermosa,” he adds, looking extremely awkward. Both hands, all fingers tightening on the wheel, he drives on.

The first thing you notice about the cabin is that it’s fucking freezing. Palms gliding up and down your arms, Mulaney reassures you. “We have plenty of firewood. I ordered ahead of time.” He waves an arm toward the corner where a pile of five hundred year old bark rests. Did a caveman own this bitch? you wonder. Is there a saber toothed tiger under those logs?

Resting before the fireplace, your eyes fix on the flames, a tear or two welling in the corners. You’re thinking about him, the ex, when you are certain that you shouldn’t be.

“Hey,” that familiar voice pipes up.

Glancing in his direction, you manage to work up a pleasant smile.

“He was just another guy,” John says softly. “We’ve been through this before.”

Your eyes narrow. We? As if he’s had to endure some sort of pain due to your past choices. “What do you mean?” you ask, concerned with his tone.

“Oh, come on.” Tone playful, he lays a hand on your shoulder, shifting closer. “Ever since freshman year, you’ve been dating these kinds of guys.” Oh god. Is he playing the nice guy card? “Guys who treat you like less than you are.” His expression turns serious. “When you know you’re better than that.”.

Watching his face spin from concern to shame, you see he realizes he may be offending you. Turning away, hands falling into his lap, John stares into the flames. Mouth tight, jaw twitching, he asks, “Are you hungry?” He brought a tightly wrapped tuna fish sandwich if you are. “It’s in the mini-fridge.” It’s too much.

Standing, he looks down at you. Head tilting, your eyes connect with his, heart hammering the way it shouldn’t be. Impulsively, you grab his trembling hand, eyes rounding.

“I didn’t mean...” Swallowing roughly, you stand, gaze staying firm. “...to make you feel judged, John.” You realize there may be a thousand different ways you’d like to phrase this. Settling on the truth, your shoulders relax. “Oh god, John, I’ve been in love with you ever since I was nineteen years old.” He tries to read your terrified expression as you confess. “But I know you’d never...” Want me, remains in your thoughts. And in his eyes, you suddenly know he feels the same.

There you both are. This is real. This is happening. His long fingers locking with yours, reliable John’s mouth is slowly moving toward yours until the connection forces your eyes shut. Loose grasp tightening, palms coming flat together, you’ve found heaven in one innocent kiss.

#sleepyprompts #writings #john mulaney fan fic #fan fic #john mulaney x reader #john mulaney #i'm sorry #there's a burning demon inside saying i should make this smut #i'll most likely delete this garbage

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days. I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

#my writing #nats journey into writing short stories based on 70s songs continues lmao

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imomomi · 4 years

Photo

The doodles first started when he was 16. Little stars on his wrists when he woke up, a flower curling on his palm before class, an inky sketch of some mountains on his thigh. Rationally, he knew what they were, why they were there, but it didn’t stop the initial stab of disgust at seeing the ink on his body. He washed it off frequently and often right away. By the end of the week, the drawings became less frequent. The loss of them did not hurt, but a stab of anxiety followed when he woke inkless and alone like always. Kiyoomi had never written back. The idea of writing—what if the ink was toxic and made him sick, what if they were allergic to something and it somehow leake---he took a breath, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He didn’t hate the idea of having a soulmate. It made life easier knowing that he didn’t need to waste his time looking for a partner. He preferred it when things were clear cut, easy to understand, and with a visible end in sight.

Not where people can see, he wrote on his thigh, just high enough that it wouldn’t show when he was playing. His handwriting was chicken scrawl and despite his attempts to make it neater, he never managed it.

He waited minuets, checking with such frequency that not even cleaning his room had taken his mind off it. Words didn’t always make it through. No one knew why or how the process worked. Scientists debated that the reason words didn’t appear were because communication as a human method, poets wrote about the mysteries of soulmate marks and fate, but Kiyoomi thought it was simpler than all of that. Soulmate marks lead you to your soulmate when you were ready. Relationships were messy and complicated and despite how alone he was at times, he didn’t want one right now.

A single word followed, written so neatly it could have been its own font.

Ok.

The eighty-eighth floor of MSBY’s headquarters was not a place that Kiyoomi ever dared enter. He was content in receiving his paycheck on the day he was meant to and waiting for contract negations to raise any issues. Atsumu had managed to sneak his way into the Management and Finance department the first week he’d joined the team. Apparently, the gossip among their teammates wasn’t enough to quell his nosy behavior. How he’d managed to convince him to join in on his lunch-time venture, Kiyoomi wasn’t too sure. All he knew was that he regretted his decision already.

Couches were scattered in the main room surrounding large flat-screen T.Vs that played the news in a constant cycle. A large-open kitchen faced the back wall where a couple of people hung around, holding steaming mugs. Two people sat at one of the couches, intensely focused on a video-game they were playing. All around the floor, leading up the offices down the hall, were flowers. Some hung from the ceiling, spilling over the pots with vines drifting downwards. Large bouquets in crystal vases littered the tables. Kiyoomi could feel his nose twitching.

“Come on,” Atsumu said, leading him down the hall where several offices were tucked against the floor to ceiling windows. They came to a stop in front of a corner office where a small shoe rack lined with slippers, some still in the plastic casing, rested outside the door. A pair of pale pink slippers were on the top shelf, bunny ears plastered obnoxiously at the front.

“Take off your shoes. Y/N-chan hates dust. I’m pretty sure she ripped out the carpet with her bare hands when she got here.”

“I’m surprised you’re actually doing it,” said Kiyoomi. Too often had he watched in disgust as the man went home wearing the same sweaty clothes he’d practiced in.

“Y/N almost had a heart attack the first time I came in here, kinda made me feel bad not to listen after that,” Atsumu admitted. Kiyoomi struggled to rearrange his features to hide his doubt at the words and failed.

“Yet, when I tell you to stop stealing my face masks and towels, you never listen,” he said, dryly.

“That’s different. She’s a girl. You’re Omi-Omi.”

“So, if I miraculously gain a vagin-” Kiyoomi started.

“Do ya ever shut up? I’m not arguin’ with ya in the middle of the hall,” Atsumu hissed, his accent coming out stronger in his annoyance. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. If anything, it was Atsumu who started every one of their arguments, but his own boredom didn’t help.

“No need to be so sensitive,” said Kiyoomi.

“Put the damn slippers on,” Atsumu said, shoving the unopened packet into his gut. Sakusa smirked beneath his mask, gingerly opening up the slippers.

They were in the office for a full ten minutes before anyone arrived. Atsumu took the time to make himself comfortable in the leather chair behind the desk, making the various figurines of the team fight. Prototypes for the upcoming season, thought Kiyoomi, glancing at the little chibi version of himself in curiosity. The door snaps open and a woman walked in harried and tapping on her phone. She wasn’t dressed in office clothes, rather in an oversized hoodie with the name of a foreign university splashed across the front and leggings. The pink slippers that sat outside were on her feet.

“I thought I banned you from here last week,” she said with a groan, tossing a bag down onto the couch. She nodded to him in greeting, but otherwise ignored his existence.

“I bought a friend as a peace offering,” Atsumu said, throwing a hand in his direction. Y/N’s gaze fell to him briefly, brow furrowing.

“I don’t accept,” she said, turning to glare at Atsumu. “Human trafficking is bad. You would have learned that if you actually made it to college.”

“Sorry for joining the team,” said Atsumu. He stood from her desk, letting her settle in. Kiyoomi watched the two interact, wondering how long they had known one another.

“Please, I can replace you any day,” she muttered.

“We all know you love me too much to do that.”

“When I finally jump from the roof, I want everyone to know it’s your fault.”

“Take me with you,” Kiyoomi muttered, shooting Atsumu a look of disgust. Her lips twitched and she offered him a smile. Kiyoomi averted his gaze immediately, not liking that her attention finally focused on him. There was something unnerving in her gaze.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Business as usual. Sakusa needs you this time, not me,” Atsumu said.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she drawled.

“I was brought against my will,” Sakusa acknowledged. She picked up a pen and notepad from her desk, clicking it rapidly as she started to scribble.

“We can file a report,” she joked, “I’m sure the papers would love to hear how Miya Atsumu was involved in a scandal with his teammate.”

“Suddenly, I’m regretting all my life choices leading up to this moment,” Atsumu said.

“You didn’t before?” Sakusa asked. Y/N laughed and Kiyoomi hated how the sound filled the air, bouncing with a levity that he’d never experienced on his own. People like Atsumu---and it seemed like Y/N---had a way of taking up space and never letting it go. They were loud because they thrived on the attention and Kiyoomi who had been surrounded by people but, alone all his life flinched away from it.

He pushed the thoughts away, explaining quickly and concisely that Atsumu had brought him here to specify how he wanted the locker room set up before games. Kiyoomi anticipated resistance to his requests but was shown a brutal efficiency that he can’t help but admire. Y/N listened attentively, taking notes, and asking questions, before promising that they would implement a new cleaning schedule before their next practice. They leave as quickly as they arrived, but part of him expected more and is left empty with the thought that there was something incomplete about their meeting.

That night’s drawing was a little cat curled up in a box. It looked like any other stray that he might see in Tokyo, but there was something endearing about the way its eyes were closed in two tiny smiles. Kiyoomi traced it idly. It must have taken a long time, he thought. The urge to draw something back filled him, but he has neither the talent nor willpower to sit and draw on himself for any length of time. Unlike when he was younger, the drawings came less frequently and always at night.

He watched; brow furrowed in confusion as words appeared beneath the drawing. The rare sight had his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

Azabu, Tokyo.

Masterlist || Next

Taglist: @haikyuuopalite @cuddlesslut @sckusa @imuziawi

#Sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu x reader #haikyu reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq reader #hq reader insert #Sakusa reader #Sakusa imagine

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

cut clean from the dream (3/3)

Part 1 | Part 2

warnings: fear, misunderstandings, small head injury (only a little one)

Patton hovered at the roof of the shady-looking human store, occasionally sticking his head over the ledge to peer through the dusty display windows.

He’d come all this way, past what felt like hundreds of sprawling human cities, and now the only thing between him and the next step to finding his best friend was one measly wall. His cloaking magic had served him well so far, but being invisible wouldn’t help him walk through solid surfaces.

And getting in there was vital. The dark blue life-trail that he’d been tailing for so long had led him to this doorstep, and hadn’t emerged again. He was exhausted from using such powerful magic for such a long time, but he wasn’t going to stop now! He would stay right on this roof until he found Logan, or at least a sign as to where the fairy had been taken from here.

‘You can’t help anyone if you pass out from magic exhaustion,’ a tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Logan reminded him. He bit his lip, considering for a moment finding a tree to hole up and recover in.

At that very moment, a human in a bright jacket turned the corner, striding towards the store with purpose. Patton’s wings twitched as his determination renewed. He wouldn’t pass up this opportunity!

As soon as the stranger pulled the door open to enter, Patton invisibly dove past, any sound he might have made obscured by the small, ringing bell that the open door had triggered. The stranger’s nose twitched briefly, but neither him nor the shopkeep seemed to track Patton’s movement, so he hurried along to the rickety shelves.

There were all sorts of strange bits and bobs, some of which looked alarmingly fae-like, but no Logan. Against the advice of that little voice— one he was beginning to suspect was his common sense— he cast the tracking spell again, and found a heavy collection of deep indigo life-trail on one empty spot on a shelf. There was a ring in the dust, leftover from a container that must have been big enough for Logan to fit in.

But he wasn’t here now. And whatever had taken him, it had strong enough magic to cloak his life-trail entirely.

The air sprite felt his spirits sink as he realized that he had truly lost his only lead.

Then, he felt his stomach sink as there was a yell from the nearby shopkeep. He realized that the magic drain had caused his invisibility to flicker right out, leaving him hovering there clear as day.

He backpedaled immediately, but there was no breeze to aid him in the stagnant store, and before he could get out of range, thick fingers were closing around him, crushing his wings to his back painfully. He cried out, but the grip didn’t loosen.

“What in the world did you get out of, you little--”

“Hey!” An indignant yell made the furious mutterings of the man holding him come to a pause. The stranger in the bright coat stood at the head of the aisle, frowning severely.

The shopkeep’s tone immediately turned customer-service pleasant. “Just one moment, sir, I’m simply dealing with some loose merchandise--”

“Excuse me?” the stranger cut him off, expression only growing more offended. “That is not your merchandise, that is my… my emotional support sprite!”

What?

“What?” the shopkeep echoed Patton’s thoughts, looking bewildered. The stranger walked over with purposeful steps, holding a hand out in demand.

“My property, if you will. If I’d known you were so callous with other people’s belongings, I wouldn’t have chosen here to browse.” The stranger stuck his nose in the air haughtily.

This seemed to snap the shopkeep out of his fugue, and he hurriedly dropped Patton onto the other man’s hand. “My apologies, sir, though I do ask that in the future you keep a closer eye on your… pet.”

Patton had tried to catch himself as soon as he began freefalling, but his wings were still crumpled, and it was only a short distance to the other human’s hand. As soon as he landed, fingers curled up around him, one keeping his leg pinned to the palm. He tried to wriggle free anyhow, and received another hand cupped over him for his efforts.

Above him, the stranger sniffed once and then turned on his heel and walked right out of the store. Patton breathed a sigh of relief; back out in the fresh air. Once this human let his guard down, all he would have to do was summon a slight breeze and catch a lift away on it. Provided his magic wasn’t too taxed for such a task.

The stranger walked rather quickly for another few moments, and then turned sharply into an alley. Patton looked up with wide eyes as the hands around him unfolded, revealing a face with bright red eyes that seemed surprisingly… concerned? The stranger let out a long breath of relief, and then started speaking rapidfire.

“I am so, so, so sorry about that,” the stranger said, flattening his hands out so that there was nothing stopping Patton from standing. He did so, but curiosity kept him from immediately fluttering away. That, and his wings. “I just needed him to let go of you, I promise I don’t think of you as anything less than the person you are, please don’t be afraid.”

“You-- huh?” Patton replied, eloquently. The stranger smiled with oddly sharp teeth.

“Sorry, let me start over. I’m Roman, and you are?”

“Um, Patton!” he offered, still a bit thrown off. A moment ago, he’d been sure he was going to end up as part of a potion, and now he was… free? Maybe? He subtly started straightening out his wings, just in case.

“Nice to meet you, Patton! My sincerest apologies for my rough handling, I hope you’ll forgive me such actions in the name of getting you out of that cursed place.”

Patton nodded, and then shook his head, trying to figure out what to focus on first. “Why were you in there in the first place?”

Roman took on a proud expression. “I’ve been stopping by to inspect the place for other fairies or sprites that are trapped, waiting to be sold. That way, I can buy their freedom. Not that the store owner knows that, of course.”

“But why?” Patton knew better than most that humans, magic or not, saw their kind as useful at best and pests at worst.

“I will admit to my shame that it took the intervention of another to show me that the portrayal of fairykind has been terribly skewed,” he said, and then a fond smile overtook his face. “Luckily, I have a roommate who is educated in such matters, and didn’t hesitate to inform me of the truth as well.”

Huh. Patton hadn’t known that there were humans who considered fairies people. It made his heart feel warm as a summer wind. For a moment, he wondered if maybe Logan was one of the fairies he’d freed, but… Roman was no witch. He couldn’t be able to cloak a presence so effectively. He shook the thought away, focusing on the present. “Then, I’m free to go? For realsies, right?”

“That’s right! For realsies,” Roman said, and then shifted to rummage in his pocket with one hand. “Here, if you ever find yourself in need, this little card will point you in the right direction to my abode. Me or my roommates would be happy to help!”

Patton took the square of paper, which was thoughtfully very small, and tucked it into his belt. “Thank you!” Hesitantly, he hovered into the air over Roman’s hands, and smiled when the human didn’t even twitch in his direction. “Really. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” he said, and then added with a wink, “but I do appreciate them greatly!”

Patton laughed, and then let the wind carry him up and up and up, until Roman was just a bright speck of color on the ground, and he headed back to the evergreen he was using as a temporary sleeping perch.

Close encounters aside, he had a lot of thinking to do. Logan would be proud, once Patton found him.

He was going to find him. He had to.

---

Two days later, Patton had scoured every nook and cranny in the entire town, and all he’d gotten for his efforts was an increasing sense of despair and exhaustion. There was no trace of Logan anywhere, and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his spirits high. The fact that he hadn’t found a place to safely rest and recharge wasn’t helping, either.

He ducked behind a reflective street sign as another car rushed by in a rumble of noise and smoke. On the bright side, so many hours spent eavesdropping on humans meant that he was learning a lot about how things worked outside their home forest. Logan would have loved to hear all about it...

“Wait… humans!” Patton hurriedly perched on the top of a nearby lamppost, pulling a flat sheaf of paper from his belt. He’d been so consumed with his search that he’d almost forgotten his encounter with Roman.

The human had said that he or his roommate would offer help, and he had meant it, Patton was sure. Logan would have been concerned about what the humans wanted from him in exchange, but Patton wasn’t quite as cynical. Logan could lecture him about it later, after he found him.

Stretching out his wings, he tapped the paper and activated the rune on it, smiling as a bright, glittering trail glowed its way into existence. The magic was fairly nature-based, he noticed as he darted into the air and followed the weaving path between buildings and over streets. Roman had probably asked for the help of a fairy to create it.

Maybe, once he found Logan, he could convince him to come along and visit Roman? They had so much in common, it seemed like they’d get along! They were both pretty stubborn though… Maybe after an initial rough patch.

Soon enough, he reached the third level of an apartment building, and the trail led right to a window that was draped in red curtains and closed tight. He knocked on the glass politely, but nobody seemed to be inside, and the paper didn’t work as a key.

Patton hummed, brow furrowing in thought, and then hovered over to the other side of the building. Maybe the roommate was in?

There were curtains on this window too, dark heavy ones, but they were parted just slightly enough that he could see into the room. The glass part of the window was lifted up, but there was a layer of mesh still preventing him from just flying in. He almost called out, but as he got closer, he could sense human magic thick in the air.

Instead, he pressed closer to the glass and peeked through the drapes, promising himself that he would apologize for intruding if everything turned out okay.

There was a human inside, but it definitely wasn’t Roman. He was tall, dark, and covered in glowing magic tattoos, ones that marked him as a witch, which made the tips of Patton’s wings flutter fearfully. Was this really Roman’s roommate?

The witch seemed to be hunched over something on his desk, going by the faint muttering and surges in magic, he was casting something. Patton tilted his head, wondering if maybe he should just go back to the window he knew was safe and wait for a little bit. This could be a whole other section of the building, for all he knew.

He drifted back just slightly, but at that very moment, he saw the witch move away, and got a perfect glimpse of what was sitting on the desk in front of him.

Or, rather, who.

Logan, his Logan, sat there, wings disheveled and face scrunched up in pain, his hands held out, magical cuffs of glowing script just barely visible around them.

Normally, Patton wasn’t the type to just jump into things without talking first, especially not fights. But the sight of Logan, his best friend, who had been captured and put in chains by a witch? That was far from normal.

Between one blink and the next, there was a gale underneath his wings. The cutting winds tore through the window mesh as easily as a knife through butter, and he rocketed towards the witch’s face fast enough to make them flinch. He stopped inches away, between the witch and Logan, and spread his wings wide and threatening.

“Get away from him,” he screamed, and the winds answered his call, throwing the room into upheaval and shoving the human to the ground as effectively as if Patton had been human-sized himself.

Convinced that the pin would hold, he turned to Logan, his vision already blurring with tears at seeing his friend alive and safe, even if just barely.

“Patton--” Logan attempted, and then cut himself off with a huff as Patton tackled him into the bear hug of all bear hugs, knocking them both into a sitting position. Despite his exasperation, Patton could see the way his friend’s wings were beating hummingbird-fast, and if the spot on his shoulder that Logan pressed his face to was a bit damp when he pulled away, well. Patton wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he told Logan, still holding his hands desperately, as though he’d vanish if he let go for even a second. “I was so scared, you can’t ever leave me behind like that again, okay?”

They both knew Logan hadn’t chosen to be abducted, but Patton’s voice cracked on the last syllable of his plea, and Logan’s face softened.

“I won’t,” he said, gripping Patton’s hands back just as tightly. “I promise.”

Patton sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. His magic pulled at him, and he abruptly remembered the human witch he’d attacked only moments ago. “Oh no! Logan, come on, we have to get out of here.”

He pulled them both to their feet, but when he began to hover towards the window, Logan didn’t follow. He looked back to him, confused. “Logan? It’s okay, we’ll find someone at home who can get that human magic off of you, no problem! So come on, okay?”

Logan adjusted his glasses, using his other hand to tug Patton back to the surface of the desk. “Patton, hold on a moment. While I do appreciate your… dashing rescue, you’ve misunderstood a few things.”

Patton stared at him in disbelief. “What’s there to misunderstand? I saw the witch hurting you!”

“Pat, look at him,” Logan said, and turned Patton to face the witch, who was still pinned to the floor by swirling winds.

… He wasn’t straining against the magic at all, now that he took the time to feel the enchantment. He was just laying there, in a tipped over wooden chair on the floor, looking up at them with half-lidded eyes like he was already over the entire situation.

“You alright, Virgil?” Logan asked, and the witch rolled his eyes.

“Other than the headache?” he snarked back. “Yeah, I’m fine. Have you convinced your sprite friend that I’m not evil yet?”

“I am working on it,” Logan replied, the slightest smile on his lips as he looked down at the human.

And that-- that smile, more than anything, convinced him.

“Okay.” Patton released the spell, stumbling slightly as the magic drain hit him fully. “Okay. But you…,” he yawned, “you have a lot of explaining to do, mister.”

“I’m sure I do.” Logan helped him sit, not complaining as Patton slumped over and used him as an improvised mattress. “For now, though, I think you need to rest.”

Even as Patton’s eyes drifted closed, he was clinging to Logan’s hand. And from the firm grip that he got in return, he knew that the other fairy wasn’t planning on leaving him anytime soon.

That was enough, for now.

#sanders sides #g/t #fairy au #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #ccftd #cut clean from the dream #fairies #writing #my writing #me writing this: *in tears* they are friends....

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sadaboutniall · 4 years

Text

happy halloween! 👻 here’s a quickie little yn x niall fic to celebrate my fave holiday! this song is the vibe, if you want some listening to go along with.

the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near Halloween

Unsurprisingly, Halloween is perfectly at home in Edinburgh. The night is dark and damp, a pervasive chill hanging in the air as you and your friends rush drunkenly along the cobblestone street, rain hitting the backs of your necks, and warm, golden lamplight from flats above trickling out onto the dark stone. The city is as alive as it always is—alive in a way that feels like a million different lives, like it somehow knows both the past and the future, like it’s holding you close but also hurtling you forward. It feels like tonight is a special night—and, although you have no real reason to think this Halloween will be different from any other Halloween, you let that feeling in, let it settle into your bones and carry you forward toward the party.

It had been Fiona’s idea, going to the football squad’s Halloween party. Your other friends had championed a pub crawl or a scary movie night at the flat, but Fiona’d heard about the football party and, knowing the keeper she’s been crushing on would surely be there, insisted. And now you’re here, drunk in a witch costume on a dark October eve, your pointed hat barely keeping the rain off your face, orange and brown leaves crunching under the heel of your boots as you pick up the pace and run toward the party, giggling into the night.

The football house is packed even fuller than you’d imagined it would be, the air thick with the smell of beer and weed and Fiona, dressed as Posh Spice, spots the keeper just milliseconds after your group ducks into the party, disappearing in a flurry of rhinestones. It leaves just three of you—Fleur, Amina, and yourself—standing in the middle of a heaving party, first years entirely out of their element.

“Drinks?” Fleur, dressed as a zombie bride, asks.

“Drinks.” Echoes Amina, the antennas on her alien costume bobbing as she nods her head.

The three of you clasp hands so as not to lose each other and Fleur leads the way, zig zagging through the crowd of goblins and ghouls and strangely sexual Boris Johnson costumes until she finds the kitchen, a dark, damp little room with one, singular coffin shaped window above the sink and no furniture save for a wooden table in the middle of the room, without a single chair. Atop the table sits a literal cauldron, cast iron and all, with a pink liquid gently swaying inside.

“Ick,” says Amina, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Boys.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here for a hundred years,” you say, voice low. Something about the room makes you feel like you’ve travelled a million miles away from the party, just on the other side of the door. You can’t hear a thing in here—just the pitter patter of the rain against the window, and the creaking of the floorboards as Fleur steps forward.

“That’s probably true,” she laughs, peering into the cauldron. “I bet none of these lads can cook. They must order Nando’s every night.”

“Probably,” Amina agrees, stepping forward to peer over Fleur’s shoulder. “At least they went through the effort of making a mixed drink, though. I’m far too bloated for a beer.”

“Aye,” Fleur’s Scottish accent thickens when she’s drunk, but it sounds even thicker all of a sudden. “Commitment to the theme as well.”

“It smells lovely,” says Amina, shutting her eyes as she smiles. “Like roses.”

“Really?” Fleur says, as you step deeper into the kitchen and join them around the cauldron. “I reckon it smells like chocolate.”

You lean forward, too, despite yourself. The scent of the drink is intoxicating—neither roses nor chocolate but, you think, the distinct smell of a chilly day by the sea: salt air and a rising tide and it’s more like a memory than a scent, a moment in time, the most peculiar sense of deja vu. Whatever it is, it’s not the kind of smell that should be coming from a mixed drink at a house party. Whatever it is, you don’t want to step away from it.

The three of you—the witch, the bride, and the alien—stand over the cauldron for a long moment, breathing it in. There is no sound beyond the rain outside, no semblance of the party raging beyond the kitchen door. It’s just the three of you, this cold, quiet room, and the strangely comforting feeling that you are, after all, not alone.

“Are there any cups?” Amina speaks first, glancing up at you, across the table from her. Her brown eyes are glassy, her gaze faraway.

“Cups,” you echo, a little floaty, your mind still by the seaside. “Right. Let me find some.”

The room’s only cabinets flank the sink and the single window, one on each side. You find the first cabinet empty except for a shimmery spider web and an old looking candle, but the second holds exactly what you’re looking for: three cocktail glasses, set on the shelf in a pretty row, glinting despite the dingy light. Perfect.

“Bingo!” You say, turning back toward your friends. “And only three left anyw—guys?”

The room is empty.

The cauldron still sits atop the table, its intoxicating smell strong as ever, but your friends are not where you left them, twenty seconds ago, when you turned toward the cabinets. Your friends are not anywhere in sight.

“Guys?” You call out again, taking one step forward. “You’re so not funny. I found cups.”

Silence.

“Fleur? Amina?” You step forward again, toward the center of the room, toward the drink. “You want a drink, or no?”

Still, silence—somehow more silent than before. Even the rain sounds like it’s whispering.

“This is fucking freaky,” you say, one last shot, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. “You guys win, I’m fully freaked out, Happy Halloween.”

Silence. Stillness. A sudden, oppressive need to get out of this room.

Quick as a cat, you do.

When you step back through the door and out into the party, alone, it’s like you were never gone. In fact, it’s a bit like time has stopped—the party is just as packed as it was when you arrived, and you’re pretty sure the same song is still blasting through the speakers. Confused but ignoring it, you start to push your way through the crowd, in search of your friends.

A few steps deeper into the crowd and you spot a sliding back door. It makes perfect sense to you, the idea of Fleur and Amina slipping out into the backyard for some air, so you head straight for it, stepping out into the chilly, dark night.

The rain has mostly stopped, though the leafy ground is still damp beneath your feet and the air feels wet, like it could begin again at any moment. Although it’s dark, you can see well enough—the yard is illuminated by a group of jack o’lanterns lined up along the back brick wall, and fairy lights strung between trees, casting a warm, flickering aura—and it’s immediately clear that Amina and Fleur are not out here. In fact, no one is.

You turn around to head back inside, pulling your phone out of your pocket as you do. And that’s when you walk right into him.

“Lads, are you—oof. Deo, you eejit—shit, you’re not, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“I—” you step back to collect yourself for a moment, eyes trailing up the hard chest you just stumbled straight into. It’s just a guy—blonde hair, bright blue eyes, thick Irish accent—but there’s something about him that keeps you rooted to your spot. Something about him that feels safer than going back inside.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He rushes, when you don’t answer. I should’ve been looking, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” you manage. “I’m fine. It was my fault anyway, was looking at my phone. Are you okay? You sounded, like, worried?” You don’t know this man, you have no idea what his worried sounds like. But you can’t stop yourself from saying it.

“Can’t find my mates anywhere,” the stranger says, eyes sweeping the backyard over your head. “It’s like they fucking vanished.”

“I lost my friends too,” you echo, turning to look with him, though you know you’ll only find an empty yard. “I thought they might be out here, but nothing.”

“Two lost souls,” says the stranger, a smile in his voice. When you turn back around he’s pulling at his phone, saying, “I’m just going to text them and tell them I’m out here. They can come find me.”

“I was about to do the same,” you tell him, glancing down at your phone in your hands to shoot off the text. “There are way too many people in there.”

“Wanna wait it out together?” He looks up from his phone, a smile on his face. It brings out one tiny dimple, and sets your heart moving a little faster. “I’m Niall.”

“I’m a witch,” you smile back at him and he laughs, blue eyes trailing down your body once. It sends a jolt of something through you, makes you hope the flush creeping up your face isn’t visible in the flickering light.

“Have you got any powers?” Asks Niall, his eyes moving back up to meet yours. The blue is stunningly bright, even in the darkness.

“That’s for me to know,” you say, more smoothly than you ever imagined. “And you to find out. What’s your costume?”

“You can’t tell?” He glances down at himself, dressed in double denim with an American flag bandana tied around his neck. “Bruce Springsteen.”

“Right,” you nod, though it wasn’t obvious to you at all. “Course. You need to work on that accent, though.”

“Do I?” He raises an eyebrow, and adopts a surprisingly good—if over exaggerated—New Jersey accent. “I’m pretty proud of it, honestly. Been convincing people that it’s real all night.”

It’s not all that difficult for you to believe, actually, a bunch of drunk Brits buying into a fake, over the top, American accent without a single question. Instead, you ask him, “is there a tragic backstory, then? To go along with the tragic attempt at an accent?”

Niall laughs, bold and loud into the dark night, and suddenly you realize how entirely unafraid you feel with him—how you’d been on edge since the moment you stepped into the party but now that’s gone, evaporated, replaced, with a warm feeling in your belly and Niall’s infectious laughter. You bring your drink up to your lips and take a sip before you realize yet another thing: you have no memory of filling up your cup before leaving the kitchen.

Across from you, Niall’s clutching what looks like a pint of Guinness, which is a drink that makes very little sense at a house party. The more you think about it, the less of the night makes sense. You shake your head to push it away, not quite ready to give this up just yet.

Under the golden, flickering light from the jack o'lanterns, you study Niall: the way his freckles sprinkle across his thick neck, how his roots are so much darker than the blonde at his tips, the tuft of chest hair peeking out from where his denim shirt is unbuttoned—everything about him leaves you breathless, desperate, longing, attracted to him in a way you’ve never experienced before. You feel, distinctly, that you are both supposed to be here, tonight, alone, together.

You feel, distinctly, that something went out if its way to make sure this would happen.

And maybe it’s the drink—the mysterious thing that smells like sea salt to you and roses to Amina—but here, with the wind rising around you and the night settling in, you have the distinct feeling that Niall is on the exact same page.

“I have the strangest feeling,” Niall says, voice dropping to something like a whisper. Behind him, leaves rustle as the wind blows a strong, measured gust though the garden. “We haven’t met before, have we?”

“I don’t think so,” you can’t look anywhere other than Niall’s eyes. “But I know what you mean.”

Niall nods, taking one step forward to lessen the gap between you. He’s so close you can smell him: warm and musky and soft and something else, too—something that reminds you of salt air and days by the sea. “I just feel like,” he says, and you nod.

“Me too.”

Far, far away someone calls your name, but you can’t stop looking at Niall, stepping closer and closer to him with every distant shout of your name. The shouting grows louder and louder until it’s impossible to ignore, although Niall doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. You open your mouth to ask him if he can hear it too, but before you get the chance something shakes your shoulder, calls your name one more time, and you open your eyes.

“Jesus,” says Amina, a mixture of relief and concern clouding her features. “You are impossible to wake up.”

“I’m—what?” You sit up in bed, head foggy, limbs heavy. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Noon,” Amina pulls out her phone to check. “We’re gonna be late for our brunch reservations, that’s why I came to wake you up.”

“Oh,” you rub your eyes, shaking your head to try to bring yourself back down to Earth. “I was having such a vivid dream, sorry.”

“It’s cool, just hurry up.” Amina makes her way to your bedroom door, but pauses before she steps back out into the hallway. “Oh, by the way, Fiona said there’s a Halloween party at the football house tonight and she’s fucking desperate to go since she fancies the keeper. Could be fun, no?”

On Halloween night, dressed as a witch, you stand in the backyard of the football house with your friends. The yard is illuminated by jack o’lanterns and fairy lights and Fiona is off snogging the keeper upstairs and you feel warm and safe and happy, despite the autumnal chill in the air. As Fleur tells your small group a story about the weird couple sitting across from you at brunch today, you drop your head back to stare up at the night sky, sprinkled with stars, and the full moon peeking out over the clouds. It feels like you are supposed to be here tonight. You exhale, watching your breath fog with the cold and curl in the air above you.

“I’m going to refill my drink,” you say, smiling at the small group you’ve been standing with. You can feel something budding between Fleur and the pretty girl she’s been chatting to, dressed as Britney Spears, and you want to give them a moment alone. Fleur flashes you a grateful smile as you walk away.

Back inside, you locate the entirely normal kitchen, bright and airy and crowded, with a coffin-shaped window above the sink, and pull open the fridge to grab a beer from the stock inside. When you shut the door, there’s someone standing on the other side.

He’s dressed as Bruce Springsteen, double denim and an American flag bandana around his neck. He’s blonde hair with dark roots, and bright blue eyes. He’s staring right at you, with an unmistakable look of recognition on his face.

“Hi,” he says, stepping forward to lessen the gap between you and him. He smells warm and musky and safe—with a whiff of something like salt air. “Sorry if this is a bit weird, but I’m Niall. Have we—have we met before?”

####

sources for images: 1, 2, 3

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #niall horan x reader #halloween #thank u to rand for all her help with this as always!!#this is v different for me I hope it's ok!

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

Choking in the Dark

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: The prompt for this one-shot is this animatic, "Wires" by Anna Midnight, which I highly recommend you watch before reading.

Characters: Logan, Remus Word Count: 2769 Chapter Warnings: Heavy Angst, Choking, Self-Esteem Issues/Self-Deprecation, Injuries, Dark but Not Necessarily Unsympathetic sides, Abandonment, Self-Harm, Angst with an okay(?) ending (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

I can’t breathe.

Hours.

How many hours?

I've been here for so long.

Logan's lungs ached. On his knees, he hung his head. The weight of his head pulling against the thick rubber cable around his neck, making it even harder to breath. He stayed there for a moment, swaying as he ignored the voice in the back of his mind screamed for air.The voice became increasingly persistent until he was forced to raise his head as the edges of his vision blurred.

It doesn't matter.

Thick wires cut deep into his wrists, a solemn comfort that he was even alive. The fading had started hours ago, starteing in the tips of his fingers and slowly claiming his body. He held up his hand. The translucent appearance of his digits a metaphorical punch to the gut as he jerked his head, the wire around his neck tightening like a noose.

I'll do you all a favor and spare you my company.

If he'd known the words would be some of his last, he would have chosen a subject more interesting to lecture on than Peter Singer's take one Effective Altruism. He could have talked about anything. Astronomy, chemistry—The others barely acknowledged his contributions as it stood. The topics may not have been relevant, but at least he would have been able to choose the lesson.

His last lesson.

Logan whimpered as the thick wire tightened around his neck, cutting into the already raw skin. He wheezed a stiff breath against the heavy piece of rubber threatening to crush his windpipe.

Not that it would have had an impact on any of them.

The piles of dust scattered across the floor around him remained a stark reminder that his words fell flat on the ears of those he most needed to hear them. Thomas—His friends—

If that's even what they consider me at this point.

After all, he was here. No one had noted his absence in the hours he'd been gone.

Why would they?

Clearly, his words were so unnecessary they should simply be skipped. He growled breathlessly in frustration as the binds around his wrists pulled taut. His arms were stretched out, pulled upward like some sort of sick marionette hanging limply on his knees. He glared into the empty space around him. His ‘room' as the others loved to refer to their personal corners of Thomas' mind. His room. The awe-inspiring place had once been full of chemistry books and stars and all the little things that made Thomas curious. Logan had been collecting them since Thomas was a child, but it was gone, turned to piles of dust around his room as Thomas' search for knowledge fall further and further out of his mind.

Unimportant.

Just like him.

He couldn’t help the sick smirk on his face as the wires tightened once more around his throat, jerking his head upright. He swallowed a shallow breath, barely drawing oxygen as his airway strained to remain open.

Unwanted.

Logan snarled bitterly as memories surfaced forcefully in his mind.

Not that any of you care, but I am unharmed—

I'll do you all a favor and spare you my company—

His own words from this video echoed in his mind as he choked on his own breath. Only Patton had objected, but his protests were weak and quickly forgotten. If one thing was clear, it was that his contributions were neither wanted, nor needed anymore.

They'll finally get what they've wanted all along—

Logan groaned as the wires pulled on his wrists and his shoulders ached, barely holding place in the sockets against the strain of the heavy cords threatening to pull him to pieces.

His life was a small price for them to pay for him to finally be silenced.

Roman wouldn't have to shut him up when he started rambling anymore. Virgil wouldn't have the added stress of convincing him that Thomas' fears were valid. Patton wouldn't have to feign the moral obligation of treating him like an equal, like he actually had a seat at the table. Thomas—Logan choked back a sob—Thomas wouldn't have to feel guilty about pursuing what actually made him happy.

This is for the best.

After all, I already see how worthless my life had become—

Logan’s head jerked up at the sound of a sinister snicker. “Well, well, well—Look who's wandered a little too far from the light. I didn't take you for the bondage type, teach.”

He watched as Remus stepped out of the shadows, a menacing grin on his face as he approached. Logan scowled as Remus kicked through the piles of dust, scatter the last remnants of the things he once loved. “What are you doing here, Remus?”

“What am I doing here?” Remus cackled maniacally. “Oh, no, no, no. The better question is what are you doing on the dark side?”

“The dark—” A cry past Logan’s lips as the wires around his wrist jerked once more, dislocating his right shoulder. He groaned, daggers in his eyes as he glared at Remus. “You know what?”

Remus tilted his head at Logan, a show of mock concern as he brushed through yet another pile of dust.

“Fuck your questions.” Logan spat. “Leave me alone. The least the rest of you owe me is to let me fade away in peace.”

“You ought to watch that mouth of yours or you're going to disappoint the cardigan-clad killjoy. Besides, what are you going to do about it?” Remus giggled as Logan glared, stepping forward and waving his hand through Logan’s phantom limb. “Ghost me?”

Fire burned in Logan’s eyes as he stared at Remus, knowing he was helpless. Trapped, as Remus walked free to do as he pleased.

“So, nerdy wolverine,” Logan looked up as Remus leaned close to his face. “What happened to my invite to the pity party?”

“This isn't my doing,” Logan hissed, losing steam. “Thomas’ subconscious is pulling me back. I—I've outlived my purpose.”

“Pulling you back seems like an understatement. It looks to me like you’re about to be pulled to shreds—” Remus smirked, leaning against the wall behind him nonchalantly. “—and don’t get me wrong. I’m all about watching Thomas' mind tear you into little pieces, but you’re supposed to be pretty important for the big guy, right? Seems to me like Thomas is supposed to need you more than those other dorks on the light side.”

Logan gritted his teeth. “Clearly, you’re mistaken. They are managing perfectly well without me.”

“Oh, now I do sense a little bitterness.” Remus purred. “Maybe he's not so resigned as he looks.”

“Your point is null, Remus. My existence is of little consequence to anyone and the subconscious has made its decision.” Logan wheezed numbly, tears in his eyes as he tried to move his fingers, desperately hoping they were still there. “This is happening, whether I want it to or not.”

"Oh, I don't know." Remus mused absently. "I don't think all of that is true."

“What?” Logan strained painfully against the thick cord around his neck to turn his head to catch a glance at Remus.

“I wouldn’t say no one wants you around.”

Logan swallowed painfully, dropping his gaze in shame as tears brimmed in his eyes. “The others—”

“Screw the others.” Remus smirked as Logan stared a him. “I meant me.”

Logan froze, temporarily stunned as his limbs went limp in their binds. “You—you want me around?”

“Now, don't get all sappy on me, teach, but the others aren't as much fun to play with. They roll over to easy.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows at him and giggled as Logan stared blankly at him. “Not you though. You gave me a run for my money last time, and—and we made a good team. Didn't we?”

“What?” Logan winced as Remus raised a hand to his neck, staring at the wires digging into his skin. His fingertips brushed the edge of the wire's tight grip and the red, raw skin burned painfully at his touch, but the contact—the contact felt nice.Tears streaked down his face as emotions welled in his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched so gently.

“We may have opposed each other, but really that was the only way to get through to Thomas and it worked.” Remus sighed, and Logan could see the sadness in his eyes as he pulled his hand back, looking into Logan's eyes. “I couldn't have done that without you. The rest of them would never have seen past the darkness in me.”

Logan stared blankly down at Remus for a long moment, before his purpose kicked in. “The others are unnecessary blinded by their narrow view of moral. The concepts of light and dark are arguably meaningless. Assigning actions as good or evil only serves our biases and our internal need for affirmation of our own moral value—” Logan nearly bit down on his tongue as Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “—I'm sorry. I'm rambling.”

“I didn’t stop you, teach." Remus smirked. "I would gladly listen to you ramble about light and dark for hours.”

Logan blinked in surprise. For the first time in a long time, he actually believed someone was genuinely interested in his thoughts. He stared blankly at Remus until another tight squeeze of the wires caused his vision to blur. His head swayed, the lack of oxygen contributing to his fading consciousness.

“Unfortunately, I don't think we have the time right now.” Remus glanced at him nervously. “The subconscious has nearly claimed you."

“It's too late.” Logan wheezed, tears streaming down his face as he prepared for the mysterious edge of Thomas' mind to pull him apart.

“The subconscious could have just taken you.”

“What?”Logan cracked his eyes open at Remus' solemn whisper, nearly hyper ventilating from the strain to pull in enough oxygen to keep him conscious.

“You could have disappeared on the light side, but it brought you here.” Remus looked up at the wires trailing infinitely into the mind palace above them.

Logan wearily stared up at him, black oblivion tugging at his vision as his head swayed. “So?”

“So, do you want to live, Logan?” Logan barely felt as Remus grabbed his collar.

Logan wheezed, exhaustion hanging onto his body as the pain intensified.

“I need an answer, Logan.”

Logan closed his eyes, oblivion pulling at him as he whispered breathlessly. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Logan felt Remus drop his collar as he took a step back. “Forgive me for this.”

“Wha—” Logan’s statement was cut off as Remus' knuckles connected with his temple. His head was jerked to the side and the welts on his neck burned like fire from the sudden movement.

"Time to taste what you’re made of, Lo!”

Logan’s head jerked up as he lurched forward furiously. White hot rage surged through his veins as he bit bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

What kind of sick bastard punches someone as they're dying.

His hands hung loosely at his sides as he screamed at Remus. “You piece of—What are you trying to do to—”

Wait. Loosely?

The realization lasted only a moment before a second fist connected with his cheekbone. All rational thought left his mind as fury filled his being and he lunged forward at Remus. He cried out as his dislocated shoulder connected with Remus' chest, toppling him over. He gasped as he hit the ground and pain lit up across his body as his bruises and welts all connected with the ground with a loud thud.

“Shit, Lo. You knocked the breath right out of me.” Logan could hear the sounds of Remus shuffling next to him. “Hold on. I've got you.”

Logan felt Remus roll him over and he moaned in pain at the forced movement as his back settled on the cold ground.

“I know, Lo, but I've got to set your arm before you do some permanent damage.” Remus whispered gently. “Are you ready? On 3. 1—2—”

Logan's vision went white as pain shot through his body and his consciousness faded briefly. No times seemed to pass, but as he opened his eyes a moment, he found himself curled in Remus' arms. A quick glance down revealed that creative side had used his signature green sash to fashion a makeshift sling for his arm. He stared down at the gentle attention Remus had shown him and he couldn’t help but smile.

Brilliant—

Logan cut off his thought with a sudden gasp. His uninjured hand shot to his neck, feeling—nothing. Tears streamed down his face as he looked up to Remus. “ The wires. Th-they’re gone.”

I'm free.

“Sorry about the black eye I gave you to get you out of there.” Remus smirked as Logan looked up from his shaking hands, running his free hand through his hair as he looked away evasively as Logan stared at him. “I normally try to get permission before I get rough, but—”

“You did that for me.” Logan's mouth hung open as he traced the deep indents in his arms where the wires had constricted his wrists.

Remus shrugged. “It wasn't noth—"

Logan sucked in a breath, going limp with the realization that someone cared enough to intervene. “It most certainly is something, Remus. Those wires—they've bound me for years. I don't think I even remember a time when they weren't—” Logan clenched his teeth, feeling the wet streaks mix with the blood from his lip running down his face. The realization of what just happened hit him all at once and he choked back a sob. “You saved my life.”

“Nah,” Remus brushed him off. “You did all the real work. Everyone’s got a little light and dark in ‘em, right? I just antagonized that little spark of anger in you until you went full Mr. Hyde to your usual Dr. Jekyll. A little push and the dark side accepted you.”

Logan blinked in shock as realization struck him. He dropped his gaze to the ground as he considered the days' events. "I'm a dark side now. Aren't I?"

"What happened to the idea that light and dark are arguably meaningless, nutty professor?" Remus giggled before turning serious. “Don't worry. You're not stuck with me. The subconscious’ grip on you is gone if you want to go back—”

“Don't make me go back, Re.”

Remus stared at Logan pleaded up at him. “Lo, you can stay, if you want, but Virgil’s gone. I'm pretty sure Janus checked out after the last vid. It's just me down here and I snore—”

“Remus, in the last ten minutes, you've shown me more humanity than any of the others have in years,” Anger flashed in Logan's eyes as he slowly straightened to his feet, glancing around the room. The piles of dust were gone, revealing a polished concrete floor, a blank canvas. “It all makes sense now.”

“What does” Remus paused and watched as Logan stood. With a devilish smirk, he brushed off the the dust of his shirt. The last remnants of the his empathy fading into oblivion.

Emotions. I always knew they were simply a nuisance.

“I couldn’t help Thomas from the light side. The rules, the niceties…They were preventing me from fulfilling my purpose. I need to be more forceful. More persistent. More angry” Logan looked up to see the night sky above them, an illusion of the mind palace and the beginning of a new chapter. A bitter smile spread across Logan's face as the dark clouds swirled above them, allowing only a sprinkling of stars to show through. “Don't you see, Remus? I need to make them listen. I need to make Thomas listen.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You’re actually staying?”

A mischievous smile spread across Logan’s face as he watched items creep slowly up out of the floor, his room now feeling much like he'd had before. A desk, a globe. The room filled to the brim with bookshelves. Everything returned to his room just like before was except—a little darker, a little colder and about as welcoming as the sinister smile spreading across his face. “Yes, I think I'm going to get comfortable here, Remus.”

Remus matches his smile, giggling manically. “Ah yes, Lo. Let's burn this place to the ground!”

Free. He was free at last.

Logan chuckled, smiling at the wonderful man beside him. “Yes, Re, let's do just that.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts remus #questionable logan #questionable remus #angst #tw choking #tw self harm #tw self deprecation #choking in the dark #villain writes

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pickalilywrites · 4 years

Text

a little smth for halloween ~ smth for the playlist

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Heart Skips a Beat

Rivetra. College/University AU.

10012 words.

Read on AO3!

“We should get back to the dorms.”

“Why? I’m completely sober,” Petra says. Slowly. Carefully. Her words are perfectly coherent the way any sober person’s would be. If you ask her, it’s pretty impressive after downing half a dozen shots of very disgusting (but very invigorating) vodka. She can still feel the burn of it going down her throat even though it must have been half an hour ago since she actually drank it. She feels like she could breathe fire if she tried. “You’re just jealous because my alcohol tolerance is amazing.”

A rock appears under Petra’s foot and she stumbles over it, nearly falling flat on her face.

“Right,” Rico scoffs. “Because a completely drunk person wouldn’t have been able to avoid a rock.”

Petra huffs, straightening out the nurse’s cap on top of her head. “If anything, this just proves how right I am. A drunk person would have totally tripped and ate shit, which I didn’t do, if you hadn’t noticed.” She gestures at herself - her completely inaccurate nurse costume that shows off far more than it covers with white fishnet stockings and red heels, nurse’s cap sitting lopsided on her head - smiling proudly. “The people at the party back there were super wasted in comparison.”

They hadn’t gone to very many parties during their previous years - just the occasional ones that were thrown by their class when they were awkward freshmen and sophomores - and Hanji had just decided to drag them to the annual Halloween party thrown by a fraternity a few streets off the main campus. (The school claims that they’re not affiliated with the fraternity, but they’re not fooling anyone. Their campus revolves around Greek life.) Fraternity parties were on an entirely different level than other parties Petra had been to. For one thing, everyone was a lot more obnoxious, but that was forgivable a few drinks in. Before she knew it, she was laughing in the bathroom with a bunch of girls from the rowing team that she swore she couldn’t stand at the beginning of the year. They even let her take their pulses as if she was a real nurse. Maybe Petra’s costume was more convincing than she had thought.

Overall, it was a good experience. Petra now has new numbers in her phone from contacts that she won’t remember the next morning, Rico bobbed for apples with a tall, handsome stranger in a Batman costume with cheekbones so sharp they could probably cut diamonds, and Hanji has enough donations from kind, drunk strangers to fund the chemistry club for the rest of the academic year. Really, it was a win for all of them.

“You’re going to wake up with a wicked hangover,” Hanji says with a roll of their eyes, but they smile at Petra fondly (albeit a bit awkwardly because of the plastic vampire teeth that sit crookedly in their mouth). They wrap an arm around Petra, long black cloak covering the pre-law student-turned-nurse for the night. “Come on, Nurse Petra. Let’s sleep off the alcohol and I’ll get you an ibuprofen in the morning. I’ll even let you cuddle with Rico.”

“What?” Rico squawks indignantly. She waves her broom about as if to ward Hanji and Petra away. “I didn’t agree to this! Don’t crawl in my bed. I don’t want you to get sick all over the sheets.”

Petra sticks her lower lip out in a pout. “That was only one time! And it was an accident. I didn’t drink nearly as much this time!” She unlatches herself from Hanji’s side and stumbles over to Rico, looping her arm around the witch’s. Even as Rico leans away, Petra tries to plant kisses on her friend’s cheek. “You’re so cold now, Rico. If you’re not going to cuddle with me, who is? Do you want me to go to sleep cold and alone?”

Rico brings a hand to Petra’s face for an affectionate pat. “Yes,” the witch replies with a wicked smile. She wrestles her arm away, leaving Petra to stand by herself as she and Hanji walk away.

Petra has never felt such cold-hearted rejection in her life. Her skin is prickling with gooseflesh just at the memory of Rico’s heartless smile as she left Petra to fend for herself. Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s nearly midnight and freezing and the skirt of her nurse outfit barely covers her ass.

“You’re the worst!” she howls with a stomp of her foot. Tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She’s absolutely heartbroken and all Rico can do is roll her eyes. Petra expects Hanji to embrace her or at least give her some sympathy, but all the vampire does is snicker behind their elbow as Petra’s bottom lip wobbles and tears trickle down her face.

“I’d offer to let you sleep with me, Pet, but my bed’s a mess,” laughs Hanji. They cock their head to the side, an impish smile on their face. Perhaps Petra would have noticed how mischievous her friend’s grin was if she weren’t so distraught over the thought of not having anyone to cuddle with tonight. Hanji crooks a finger over for Petra to come closer, which the nurse does after much pouting and sniffling. They throw an arm around Petra once more. “Why don’t you try asking someone?”

“I don’t …,” Rico begins with a frown, but Hanji quickly hushes her.

“You made a lot of friends, didn’t you? Why don’t you ask one of them?” Hanji says. Behind them, Rico begins to protest once more but Hanji just waves her away with a hand. The sight makes Petra feel a little giddy. Rico absolutely deserves to be brushed off the same way she brushed off Petra just a few minutes ago. It’s what she gets for being so cold-hearted.

“Mm, alright! That’s a good idea,” Petra hums happily. She looks through her phone, her smile quickly transforming into a frown when she realizes that she doesn’t recognize any of these names. Some of them aren’t even names but descriptions of people’s costumes - wolf, firefighter, fairy - many of which are terribly misspelled. That’s only if they were lucky enough to have a description. There’s a surprising number of entries that are just random key smashes that definitely don’t make up any known words in the English language. The depressing sight of her phone contacts is starting to make Petra tear up again. “I don’t know any of these people.”

“Oh jeez, you’re a lot more far gone than I thought you were,” Hanji says with a little bit of a giggle. “Well, you must have talked to them at some point, or how else would you have their numbers in your phone?”

Offended, Petra hiccups. “Don’t blame it on me! Rico probably bewitched my phone or something,” she sniffs as if this a more plausible explanation. She’s too drunk to remember that Rico isn’t really a witch and that they’re only wearing costumes. In her defense, Rico’s witch costume is really good. Even her eyeglasses are spooky tonight with little bats dangling on some kind of chain. “I don’t want to just cuddle with any random person. I want to have some kind of connection with that person. We have to have had at least one conversation.”

“This is ridiculous,” Rico mutters. She snatches Petra’s phone and waggles it in the nurse’s face. “You talked with them enough to get their phone numbers. Isn’t that conversation enough?”

“I haven’t talked to any of them before!” Petra insists. She looks over at Hanji for help, but they’re looking pensively in the distance at something Petra can’t see. Wanting attention, Petra shuffles over and tugs on the vampire’s cape. “Hanji, back me up!”

“How would you like to talk to someone that might cuddle with you, Petra?” Hanji asks. They tug their cape from Petra’s hands. Normally, this would have offended Petra but she’s too busy staring wide-eyed at Hanji after hearing their suggestion.

“Talk to someone?” Petra repeats. She looks at Hanji eagerly, eyes growing wide. “Who?”

“Hanji, you can’t just have her talk to a random stranger!” Rico hisses, but Hanji ignores her.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Hanji assures her. They turn to Petra, patting her lovingly atop her nurse’s cap. “You see those guys over there? They’re dressed like EMTs. Very thoughtful, caring guys who want to look out for people. Maybe you should ask one of them if they’re interested.”

Petra looks to where Hanji is pointing and sees four guys dressed like EMTs sitting on one of those carts student EMTs ride around to (almost) run over other students when getting from place to place. She can’t really tell if they’re good-looking from where she is even when she squints, but the fact that they’re dressed as EMTs is pretty attractive already. Most guys go for a police outfit, but that’s a little overrated now. Firemen are an improvement, but the costumes tonight were bulky unless they were going as a sexy fireman, which was a bit of an overkill. Even drunk, Petra’s brain couldn’t fathom why a fireman would be shirtless to fight fires. It just seems dangerous. But an EMT. Their uniforms are plain but still fitted enough to be attractive, navy blue over taut arms that probably gave the best hugs. EMTs aren’t nearly as recognized as firemen and policemen and they save so many lives, which is incredibly sexy.

“Which one should I talk to?” Petra asks Hanji, tears gone. She’s too distracted to remember what she was crying about just moments ago.

“Maybe the short one,” Hanji suggests, pointing at the one sitting in the back of the cart. He’s flipping through his phone, the screen lighting up his face.

“The cute one,” Petra agrees even though that’s not what Hanji had said at all.

“Hey, don’t you know him?” Rico asks Hanji.

Hanji nods, but Petra doesn’t notice. She’s too busy tugging on the skirt of her dress and wondering if the amount of cleavage she’s currently showing off is a turn-off. Is there really such a thing as too much cleavage?

Petra pulls her stocking up over her knees and stands up proudly. “How do I look?” she asks. She does a little twirl so that her friends can properly inspect her. She’s a little disappointed when neither Rico nor Hanji cheer, but she’s not too surprised. Maybe if they had drank more vodka like she had, then they would have a little more energy.

“Wait, let me just,” Rico mumbles before reaching into her black clutch and pulling out some tissues. She dabs a little bit at Petra’s face, wiping away the nurse’s snot and tears. She holds another tissue to Petra’s nose. “Blow,” she commands.

Petra obeys. Even as Rico grimaces, Petra feels a great appreciation for her friend. She even begins to tear up again. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me, Rico,” she pouts. “You’re usually always so cold.”

“I’m always a good friend, you’re just drunk,” Rico replies. “And stop crying. You’ll ruin your makeup and nobody will want to cuddle with you.”

“You look perfect, Pet,” Hanji assures her. They whirl Petra around and give her an encouraging smack on the butt. “Go get ‘em!”

Fueled by her friends’ encouragement (well, Hanji’s encouragement, really) Petra begins to skip over to the EMT cart parked on the grass. She would have happily skipped over the entire way if she hadn’t tripped over her foot and almost face-planted on the cement. She doesn’t want to fall on her face in front of the cute EMT guy. She wants to make a good impression. So a little less happily, Petra walks with one foot in front of the other until she makes her way to the EMT cart. It takes a lot longer than she would have thought. The route was more of a strange, loopy path than it was a straight line, but Petra’s feet aren’t entirely cooperating with her at this point. It doesn’t matter though, she thinks, as long as she makes it to her destination, which she absolutely does.

They’re murmuring to themselves, casting curious side glances at her when she approaches. Petra finds the attention flattering, although she does notice that the EMT that she had set her eyes on doesn’t look up from his phone even when she stands right in front of him. The rest of his party looks over at her though, watching and waiting to see what will happen.

Maybe he has an important message to take, Petra thinks as she waits patiently for him to look up, but he continues to scroll mindlessly through his phone. Impatient, Petra coughs to catch his attention but he still ignores her. It’s rude, she thinks, to ignore someone as pretty as her. She stomps her foot, thinking that it’ll be enough to get the guy to look at her but he doesn’t even flinch even as the rest of his friends jump. It’s twice as frustrating once Petra realizes her heel is stuck in the grass and no amount of yanking will get it out. Humiliated, she steps barefoot on the grass, staring at her toes and wishing she had painted her toenails even though she’s never painted her toenails in her life. Maybe she should start.

This is all the stupid EMT’s fault, Petra thinks. Stupid EMT and his stupidly attractive ability to ignore her. Or maybe he’s just playing hard to get. Is he?

Petra puts a finger on his phone and pushes it down. The interruption finally gets a reaction out of the EMT, but it’s not exactly the one Petra wants. He doesn’t look intrigued or even a little bit curious as he lifts his head. He looks bored. Maybe even a little bit annoyed. Why is that so sexy to her?

“Pay attention to me,” Petra tells him, but he just looks from side to side as if she’s speaking to someone else.

“Uh, Levi, I think she’s talking to you,” says the EMT in the driver’s seat while the rest of their friends gawk at Petra.

“Your name’s Levi?” Petra asks. It’s not a lot of information, but she’ll take what she can get. She takes a seat next to him behind the EMT cart, snuggling up a little too closely to him so that their thighs touch.

He finally puts his phone down, but he doesn’t check her out the way most people did at the party. He looks first at the little white cap on her head and then at her face, staring as if looking for something. “Do I know you?” he finally asks when he doesn’t recognize her.

“No, but I want to get to know you,” Petra replies. She thought the answer would impress him - it’s cute, flirty, and earnest - but his lips just curl in a sneer and she almost wants to scream at him.

“You’re one of Hanji’s friends, aren’t you?” asked another EMT, the one sitting directly behind Petra and Levi. He has curly, sandy hair and a long face that Petra doesn’t think suits his EMT costume. He would have been better off dressed as an elf from the Lord of the Rings or maybe a wizard.

Petra doesn’t know if she should confirm or deny it. The EMT guys might run off with one of her friends instead. It would be unfair for Rico to run off with the EMTs and the sexy Batman with the amazing cheekbones. Petra would be fine with Hanji running off with one of the EMTs (and maybe even the other ones), but she wants to make sure she gets her first pick. She decides to play coy instead.

“Maybe.”

Levi looks over in the distance where Hanji and Rico are watching, Hanji barely containing their giggles. “That makes more sense,” he says. He turns to Petra again, his expression a little less cold. “Did they tell you to talk to me?”

“No,” Petra huffs. “I wanted to talk to you myself. Because you’re cute and I want someone to sleep with.”

Someone behind them chokes.

“We’ll just … leave you two alone,” says the driver, shuffling out of the car. The others follow, the sandy-haired one a little more reluctantly than the others.

“We’re still on our shift,” Levi calls back.

“It’s fine,” the driver says, waving his hand awkwardly as he leads his team far enough away to not overhear the conversation. Petra should thank him sometime for being so sweet and thoughtful. She half-regrets not chasing after him first, but maybe she’ll think about asking him if this guy rejects her. Which won’t happen, of course. It’s just safe to have a backup plan.

Petra returns her attention to the first cute EMT she had laid eyes on. “Let’s sleep together,” she says.

“You should at least buy me dinner first,” Levi tells her.

Petra frowns. She hadn’t anticipated this being a serious courtship, but if he wanted dinner, then she would have to get him dinner. She reaches into her bra and pulls out a five-dollar bill, some candy corn, and a Kit Kat bar that’s probably melting in its wrapper. She probably would have had more money if she actually had pockets, but her slutty nurse costume would not allow it. Then again, women’s clothing rarely had pockets anyway. It probably would have been smarter to bring a purse like Rico, but she didn’t have one that matched her costume.

“I have five dollars,” she informs the EMT. It’s probably not enough to buy dinner, but her drunken mind is hopeful. Maybe he’ll take pity on her and cuddle with her for a bag of chips from a nearby vending machine. She holds out the money and candy to the EMT.

“That’s …” Levi looks as if he’s at a loss for words. He pauses for a moment before closing his hands over Petra’s. His hands are unexpectedly large for his short stature, his palms are calloused but his touch is gentle. “It’s okay, you don’t have to buy me dinner.”

“So you’ll sleep with me?” she asks hopefully.

“Why do you want to sleep with me anyway?” asks Levi.

“Because you’re cute and we’re, like, matching,” she tells him, pointing at her costume and then at his EMT uniform. “It’s like fate or something.”

He blinks at her. “Do you think I’m wearing a costume?” he asks. He frowns when he sees Petra nod at him eagerly. “This isn’t a costume. I’m actually a student EMT. Look, I have my … stuff.” He pats at his pockets as he tries to find a tool on his person that will prove his profession. His hand finds the radio strapped to his belt and he unhooks it, holding it up so that Petra can see the initials of their college printed on the side as well as the words Student EMT.

Petra gazes at the radio and then nods seriously. “You did really well with your costume. I have props too!” She grabs at the stethoscope hanging around her neck, yanking it off and handing it over to Levi. She doesn’t remember having the stethoscope at the beginning of the night - she’s not even sure if one came with her costume or if someone dressed as a doctor gave it to her - but she’s glad she has it now. Maybe Levi will be more impressed once he sees how realistic her nurse costume is, even if she’s wearing fishnets and high heels that would definitely not be allowed in any type of hospital environment.

The EMT looks at the fake stethoscope warily, but he takes it anyway. “You know I’m a premed, right?” he asks as he turns the prop in his hands. He raises an eyebrow at Petra. “I’m really a student EMT.”

“Yeah, and I’m pre-law,” she replies. She pauses, thinking for a moment. “Wait, I mean I’m a nursing student,” she backtracks.

“Sure,” says Levi in a tone that says he doesn’t believe her at all.

Beside him, Petra pouts, her cheeks puffing out. What does she have to do to get this guy to sleep with her? “Look,” she says. “It’s just a one-night thing. Don’t overthink it. It’s just …” Petra waves her hand and looks up at the sky as if the stars have the words she’s looking for. When she finally remembers what she’s going to say, she points a finger at the EMT, poking him in the chest. “A night of companionship. I don’t know why you’re playing so hard to get. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal, then you can ask anyone else, can’t you?” Levi asks, swatting her hand away although he doesn’t do it with malice. He sounds a little annoyed, but he doesn’t make an effort to tell Petra to get lost. She takes it as a sign that he likes her, even if it’s just a little bit.

Petra lets out a high-pitched whine because she’s far too drunk and upset to come up with any words right now.

“Stop, stop, stop making that noise!” Levi hisses, panicking because the noise is attracting the attention of tipsy passersby that are stumbling home from other Halloween parties. His request is only met with an even louder high-pitched noise from Petra, forcing him to clamp his hands over her mouth.

In the distance, Hanji and Rico watch, the vampire barely able to contain their laughter.

Petra blinks at the EMT. It might be because she’s drunk or maybe it’s because she’s in love, but he looks very pretty up close. Even if he glares at her like he’s about to kill her, she can’t help but notice what a clear crystal blue his eyes are and how nicely they contrast with his jet-black hair. She reaches up, trying to pry his hand off her mouth so she can tell him just exactly how attractive he is, but the guy is crazy strong. Who knew EMTs could be so jacked?

“If I take my hand off your mouth, will you promise to be quiet?” he asks.

She nods.

Levi removes his hand and Petra takes a deep breath of the night air, cold as it hits her lungs. He watches her cautiously as if he’s afraid she’ll let out another piercing whine, but she doesn’t. He relaxes beside her.

They sit like that for a while, Levi watching Petra as she sits sullenly beside him, just breathing deeply and glaring at him every once in a while.

The EMT leans forward, elbow resting on his knee and chin in his hand. He prods Petra with her foot, the touch making her jump. “Hey, you’re awfully quiet now.”

“You told me to be quiet,” Petra mumbles.

He rolls his eyes. “Just don’t make that noise again.”

“Okay,” she agrees brightly. She scoots over, her thigh against his again, and beams at his tired expression. “Does that mean—?”

“You’re very drunk,” he replies.

Petra makes an offended noise. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m perfectly sober,” she tells him. She starts to stand up, wobbling at the end of the EMT vehicle. She’s not sure what she’s going to do, but she wants it to be impressive. Maybe a cartwheel or something amazing. “Would a drunk person be able to do this—?” Before she can do anything, Levi yanks her back down.

“You’re at that level of drunk where you could probably do anything if you really wanted to. But you don’t have to prove any of it to me,” Levi says. His hand is still firmly around her wrist in case she tries to do something dangerous. “But you did just stumble over here - in a very crooked line, I might add - and propositioned me, a complete stranger, for sex.”

“I did what? No, I didn’t.” Petra wrinkles her nose. She has no idea how he got that idea. Maybe it’s her dress? But he didn’t seem very judgemental about it before. Maybe he was a lot more attracted to her than she had thought. “I just asked you to sleep with me. Like …” Petra wrestles her hand away from Levi so she can tangle her index fingers and wiggle them together, a gesture that does absolutely nothing to clarify what she means to Levi. “You know, like cuddling.”

Levi just stares.

“You can’t really be a pre-med if you couldn’t even figure that out,” Petra snorts.

Exasperated, the EMT runs his hands through his hair. When he looks back up, his hair is sexily tousled back away from his forehead. Petra’s not sure if it was intentional or not, but it’s a good look on him.

“And you couldn’t ask your roommates?”

“They said no,” Petra whines. Her bottom lip is sticking out again, but he seems impervious to any kind of pouting.

“You can’t just, I don’t know, hug a teddy bear?” he asks.

“Stuffed animals lack the warmth and affection humans do,” Petra replies. She clings to Levi’s arm, blinking up at him through mascaraed eyelashes. “Please?”

He opens his mouth and Petra is almost certain that he’s about to refuse her again but she bats her lashes at him and the EMT almost chokes. He coughs, pounding a fist against his chest while Petra rubs his back sympathetically. When he’s finally caught his breath, he looks at her and says, very calmly, “I don’t think you understand. You’re very, very drunk.”

The fact that they’re still playing this game makes Petra want to scream in frustration, but she doesn’t want another hand clamped over her mouth. Instead, she smiles very sweetly at the EMT and repeats, “Yes. I’m very, very, very, very, very drunk.”

“And even if I wanted to sleep with you, I’m still on my shift,” Levi says, gesturing towards his getup.

Geez, he’s so dedicated to his costume. Petra’s not sure whether she should be impressed or annoyed. She decides to just go along with it and nods. “You can just wear the costume then. I won’t mind.” She doesn’t really make a habit of asking complete strangers to spoon with her in bed, but she’s not opposed to them wanting to roleplay in bed as long as they don't make it weird. And at least Levi looks hot in his EMT outfit. It might be kind of hot, actually.

“This isn’t … nevermind,” Levi says with a frustrated sigh. He rubs his face in his hands and then looks at Petra, who’s still looking at him with the same hopeful expression she’s been looking at him with all night. “What if I just gave you my phone number?”

“Your phone number?” she repeats. A new phone contact means a new friend, which means someone new to distract her from reading case files. It sounds like a good idea, but then … “Does this mean you won’t sleep with me?”

“If you ask me again when you’re sober, I might consider it,” he tells her. He holds out his hand.

Petra looks Levi up and down. “Will you still be wearing your costume?” she asks curiously.

“I …” Levi looks down at himself and sighs again. “Most likely. Now hand over your phone. I’ll give you my number.” He gestures for Petra to give him her phone.

“Okay,” Petra says happily. She fishes her phone out of her bra, ignoring the scandalized look on Levi’s face, and plops it into the EMT’s hands. Her head rests on his shoulder as she watches him put in his contact information.

“You can only call me from here,” he tells her as he finishes inputting his name. “I don’t have text at this number.”

It’s awfully inconvenient, but Petra won’t complain. It was such a struggle just to get anything out of him tonight. Maybe he’ll be friendlier tomorrow when she calls. When Levi hands her back her phone, Petra looks at her screen and frowns at her new contact.

“Why did you put your name as EMT?” she asks.

“Those are my initials,” he replies.

“Ah,” Petra nods as if this makes perfect sense and, really, it does when you’re drunk enough. “Is that why you dressed up as an EMT?”

“Sure,” he says amusedly. He gets off the back of the cart and pulls Petra’s heels from out of the grass. Petra is about to reach for them and put them on herself, but Levi is already kneeling down and helping her into them. The experience makes her feel a little bit like Cinderella. “Call me if you’re having trouble getting home or something.”

“Shouldn’t I be calling you when I make it home okay?” she wonders.

“No,” Levi says. He holds out a hand to help her up. He looks at her for a moment before shrugging off his EMT windbreaker and wrapping it around her. “It’s cold tonight. Can you make it over to your friends okay or do you want me to walk you over?”

Petra doesn’t respond. The only thing she can think about right now is how unexpectedly gentlemanly he was with his jacket. She doesn’t really know what to do with the windbreaker so Levi helps her put her arms through it so she can wear it properly, her heart skipping a beat when he zips it up and she realizes just how warm she is now that she has the jacket.

“I think my heart just stopped,” she tells him.

“Really?” Levi asks with an eyebrow raised. He pauses for a moment and, when he makes sure Petra hasn’t fallen over from cardiac arrest, he pats her on the head. She almost whines from how gently he does it. “You’re fine. Go to your friends. And remember to call if you need help.”

“Okay,” Petra says, a little dazed even as Levi turns her around and she begins to stumble back to her friends. She would have skipped, but she almost broke her ankle after taking the first step and the EMT seemed very concerned about her safety. Petra didn’t want to make him worry.

“You’re back,” Hanji says, holding out their arms for Petra to run into.

“I’m back~” Petra sings as she throws her arms around Hanji.

“What about your cuddle buddy?” asks Rico.

Petra goes limp, Hanji being the only thing to hold her up. The tips of her shoes drag as Hanji carries the nurse awkwardly back towards their dorm. “He said I was too drunk to sleep with, so he gave me his number,” Petra mumbles into the soft silky-fabric of Hanji’s cape. The more she thinks about Levi and his gentle EMT hands, the more teary-eyed she gets. Her nose starts to run and tears prickle the corner of her eyes. “But I think he ran away with my heart.”

“Aw,” Hanji says sympathetically as they pat Petra on the head. “You’ll get him next time, Pet.”

Petra falls asleep with her head on Hanji’s shoulder and dreams of a raven-haired EMT with careful hands and pretty blue eyes.

----------

Petra wakes up with a pounding headache that starts at the back of her eyes and only gets worse from there. She squints, covering her eyes from the little light that streams in from the curtains in her bedroom. Her eyes feel swollen, like she had been crying all night. Her throat is unbearably dry, but her mouth tastes oddly of mint instead of the gross morning breath that usually follows after a night of reckless drinking. Rico probably brushed her teeth for her last night and, Petra thinks as she takes a glance at her person, dressed her in her pajamas too.

With a moan, Petra rolls off her bed, her blankets wrapped around her to cushion her fall as she crashes onto the ground. She’d groan at the pain, but everything hurts and a fall doesn’t make much of a difference at this point. She sits up, shaking her head so that her hair isn’t all over her face anymore, and scoots on her butt, only getting up once on her knees to pull open the door before continuing her scooting until she finds herself in the living room. Rico and Hanji are sitting at the dining table watching her with amused expressions on their faces.

Petra rolls over onto her face so that she doesn’t have to look at the lighting in the kitchen. Everything is so fucking bright.

“How are you feeling, Pet?” Hanji asks as they munch on a sandwich that Petra was pretty sure was hers.

“I feel like shit,” Petra mumbles into the carpet. The nylon on the floor scratches against her cheek, but it feels strangely pleasant rubbing against her skin. She nuzzles her face harder against it before she realizes that it’s been a while since any of them vacuumed. Maybe the alcohol isn’t entirely out of her system yet. Petra rolls over. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 2,” Rico replies, nibbling on a cracker. The soup she’s eating smells incredibly enticing, but Petra doesn’t think she can stomach food at the moment. “You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours.”

Petra groans again, pulling the blankets over her head. “Why did you guys let me drink that much?”

“Well, we tried to stop you, but you’re awfully convincing,” Hanji says. A piece of lettuce hangs from their mouth. “Your law career is looking promising.”

“Thanks,” Petra grumbles. She lays on the carpet for a few more moments before she decides she should try to become a decent human being again. With an unholy moan, she manages to stand upright and hop over to the kitchen table, her blankets still wrapped around her.

“Eat something,” Rico says. She pushes the rest of her chicken soup towards Petra, but her roommate only shakes her head.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to eat anytime soon,” Petra mumbles, resting her head on the table. The surface is nice and cool against her skin.

“Just drink the broth then,” Rico tells her, pushing the soup even closer.

Petra lifts her head and takes a sniff. The smell of chicken soup - a mixture of hearty broth, succulent chunks of chicken, diced carrots and celery, and sweet kernels of corn - is incredibly enticing even as her stomach churns uneasily. It couldn’t hurt to just take a sip of the soup, Petra decides.

“Fine.” She leans over and laps up some of the broth like a dog. Warmth fills her mouth, slips down her throat, and fills her belly. It’s so good that she lets out a whimper.

Her roommates watch her - Rico with an expression close to disgust while Hanji’s is closer to fascination. Petra ignores the both of them and continues to lap up the broth, sometimes managing to get in a kernel of corn or two too. She hopes she’ll be able to keep this down because it tastes so damn good.

“So are you going to call that guy?” Hanji asks.

Petra looks up from her soup and only blinks at Hanji in confusion. “What guy?”

“The one from yesterday,” Hanji reminds her. Their chin rests in their hand as they watch Petra. “You know. The EMT.”

She does vaguely recall talking with someone dressed as an EMT yesterday, although she doesn’t remember much of their conversation. Petra takes a pause on drinking her soup and tries to remember the rest of their conversation, only coming up with bits and pieces. He had friends that left them alone for a bit. She talked with him and she remembers him having very gentle hands. And she does remember that he gave her his number … so that she could ask him to sleep with him another time.

“Oh my god,” Petra moans as the bits and pieces of last night begin to fall into place. Her head falls and it probably would have hit the table if Hanji hadn’t reached out to act as a cushion. She doesn’t know why her head feels impossibly heavy this morning when it was clearly empty of any thought last night. “I asked him to sleep with me, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Rico confirms.

“And I didn’t specify …?” She looks up at Hanji, who only snickers at her. With a groan, she lets her head fall again, forehead falling so hard against Hanji’s hand that they pull it back with a yelp.

She doesn’t know why she’s so mortified. She’ll probably never see the guy again seeing as last night was the first time they’ve ever interacted in all the years that Petra’s attended the university. Even if she does see him again, she can just pretend she was too drunk that night to really remember anything, and maybe he’ll be kind enough to play along with it. After all, he was considerate enough to decline her offer to sleep with her, although she doesn’t know if she should be grateful or slightly offended since she looked great last night. But he was very sweet last night and he was very good-looking and Petra thinks that it wouldn’t be too terrible if she saw him again. Maybe she should give him a call to apologize at least.

“Where’s my phone?” Petra asks suddenly.

“Oh, I’ll get it,” Hanji says, jumping up from their seat. They walk over to the counter and pull out Petra’s phone from the fruit basket, buried under some bananas and oranges. They plop the phone into Petra’s hand and shrug at their roommate’s puzzled expression. “You kept calling his number and we had to take your phone away from you.”

“I kept calling him?” Petra repeats. She doesn’t remember that at all. With a frown, she unlocks her phone and scrolls through her call history to find over a dozen calls to the same number - EMT. “How many times did I call him?”

“Too many,” Rico replies.

Petra doesn’t remember any conversation with the EMT after he gave her his number. She looks suspiciously at the number, thinking that it looks awfully familiar. “This isn’t his number, is it?” she says, somehow already knowing the answer.

“It’s the school’s Emergency Medical Service,” Hanji snickers. Halloween is over, but they look incredibly wicked with that grin on their face. “You kept telling them that some guy named Levi broke your heart and they said they didn’t provide any medical services for heartbreak.”

Ugh. That name does sound familiar. As does that conversation. And the EMS. She had really thought that it was a costume, but suddenly all his “props” and the EMT cart and all of his EMT friends made sense. She really was an idiot last night. Petra lays her head on the table again and wonders if the school EMS does euthanasia procedures. She wouldn’t mind dying right now.

“I was so annoying that he gave me their number instead,” Petra sniffles.

“Do you want ice cream?” Hanji asks sympathetically.

Ice cream does sound good right now, but Petra’s not sure if she should eat that. Even if she could keep it down, she doesn’t deserve it. Ice cream isn’t for hungover people that made fools out of themselves in front of handsome strangers.

“I’m not sure that he thought you were entirely annoying. If that were true, he wouldn’t have talked to you for so long. Or given you the number to EMS in case you needed help. Or lent you his jacket,” Rico points out.

Petra perks up at the last one. “I have his jacket?”

“Yeah,” Hanji nods. “You said you would use it to find him. Like Prince Charming and Cinderella’s shoe.”

That … absolutely sounds like something a drunk Petra would say.

“Okay, well, I don’t have his number so it’s not like I can find him,” Petra sighs. She sits up. “But maybe I can ask EMS …?”

Rico shakes her head. “You tried that at least half a dozen times. They said they don’t give out private information. You even cried because you told us they wouldn’t even confirm if Levi was actually a part of their service.”

She doesn’t blame them. She probably wouldn’t give drunk Petra her number either. “Then how am I going to find him?” Petra whines.

“Ask Hanji.”

Petra whips her head around, forgetting about her hangover for a second until she’s hit with another migraine. She tries to glare at Hanji, but she has to wince through the pain so it probably just looks like a very unflattering squint. “You know him?”

“Yup,” Hanji hums, but they don’t offer Petra his number.

“You’re not giving me his number, are you?”

Hanji grins. “Nope,” they say, popping the “p.” Their grin grows wider. “You gotta earn that shit, Pet. If you want your Prince Charming, you’ll have to do it on your own.”

Petra pouts, but Hanji doesn’t budge. She turns to Rico instead, putting on her biggest puppy eyes. “Ricooo~” she whines, but Rico only shakes her head.

“No, you’re not dragging me into this. It was bad enough just having to deal with you last night. You know I brushed your teeth last night?” Rico asks. “It’s a lot more difficult than brushing your own teeth, especially when the other person is trying to bite you.”

“And I am very grateful,” Petra says, leaning across the table so that Rico can get the full effect of her puppy eyes. Unfortunately, Rico is now an ExpertTM at dealing with Petra and looks away, getting up to disappear into her room. Petra stumbles after her, almost tripping over her blankets.

“You’re on your own,” Rico says, shutting the door in Petra’s face without even looking behind her. Petra doesn’t know when Rico became so heartless.

“I can’t believe you guys are just leaving me to find the EMT guy on my own with only my drunken memories and hangover migraine to help me,” Petra wails. She leans against the door to Rico’s room and slides down against it like a tragic heroine in a Victorian novel.

“Rico has her own love life to attend to, so don’t be too hard on her,” Hanji says from the table. They get up to place their plate in the sink, rinsing the crumbs off with water. “She’s going on a date with Batman.”

“Oh, Batman?” Petra says with a wistful sigh, a little envious that Rico can snag a date with her own handsome stranger. Then again, he probably isn’t that much of a stranger if Rico can get a hold of him. Petra can’t even contact her stranger.

Rico’s door opens and Petra falls on her back. She looks up and sees her roommate dressed out of her pajamas and into a plaid dress thrown over a cream-colored blouse and black tights - very appropriate for the autumnal weather.

“You dressed really quickly,” Petra says, sitting up as Rico steps around her. “Batman must be just as handsome with his mask off as he is with his mask on.”

Rico only rolls her eyes. “He has a name, you know.”

“Bruce Wayne?” Hanji asks.

“Cheekbones?” Petra suggests cheekily.

“You guys are so …” Rico’s voice trails off without filling in the blank, her roommates giggling childishly. She slips on her flats and fixes her purse strap over her shoulder. She pauses to take a look at Petra, who’s still sitting on the floor sulking. She reaches for the door, thinks for a moment, and then says with a sigh, “There’s an event EMS is holding next week. They’re offering a CPR class. Your Prince Charming might be there.”

“Really?” Petra asks, sitting up straighter. She frowns. “This isn’t a true love thing. I just want to return his jacket. And, like, maybe apologize for being a creep.”

“Right,” Rico says, unconvinced. “I’ll text you the details in a little bit.”

“How did you even find out about that anyway?” Petra asks curiously.

“I literally just looked at the EMS website. It took me five seconds,” Rico snorts. They’re all roommates, but Rico is the only one with any brain cells. Petra isn’t sure what they’d do without her. Rico pulls the door open and gives her roommates a wave. “I’ll see you guys later. Don’t let Petra do anything stupid. I think she might still be a little …” She makes a loopy motion with her hand.

“Bye~! Have fun on your date,” Hanji sings as Rico shuts the door behind her. They toss a grin over at Petra who’s still sitting on the floor. “Aren’t you lucky? You might be able to get your EMT to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Shut up,” Petra mumbles, but the thought of the EMT’s lips pressed against hers does make her heart flutter. He looked like he had nice lips. Pretty and pink. Good for kissing.

She flops back on the floor and pulls her blankets over her head. She can’t deal with anymore teasing. She’s been humiliated enough and she’s only been awake for half an hour. Petra sleeps there until Rico comes home and drags her to her bed.

----------

The EMS class began at 5 PM. Petra knew that - had written it in her calendar and set about five alarms on her phone in case she forgot - and yet she still finds herself frantically running around the STEM building an hour after the class began because she doesn’t know where any of the rooms are except for the chemistry labs. The fact that she took far too long getting ready even though all she was doing was dropping off a jacket is probably also a major factor of her tardiness. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the talent of getting ready in under five minutes like Rico does.

“All of these rooms look the same,” Petra mutters as she wanders around the basement of the STEM building. They’re all cold-looking with speckled tiles and off-white walls. Some of these rooms still even have chalkboards, which Petra finds ridiculous because the law building transferred to smart boards by the time she was a freshman. The school really needs to funnel more of their funds into the STEM department, she thinks with a frown.

She notices a classroom that people are slowly filtering out of. A few people wear the same EMT getup that she remembers seeing a few nights ago. Before they can disappear down the hall, Petra begins running down the hall, her heels clicking against the tiles.

“Hey, excuse me!” she says, waving her hand to flag them down. “I need to talk to you guys!”

The group of EMTs turns around, some confused and others surprised. She doesn’t really recognize any of them, but it’s not like she remembers too much about that night. The details are all fuzzy.

“Hey, do you guys know someone named Levi?” Petra pants when she finally stops in front of them. She puts a hand against her chest and can feel her heart thudding against her rib cage.

“Do you know him?” asks one of them, a tall blond with his hair tied up messily in a bun. Something about him is familiar, but Petra can’t say for sure.

“I think I remember her,” someone murmurs behind him.

Petra glances at the other EMT - someone with his brown hair cut short and his bangs neatly trimmed. She can’t remember him either. “I borrowed his jacket the other night. I came to return it to him,” she explains.

“Ah!” says another man, one with sandy hair in curls. He points at Petra, probably not realizing how rude it is even when Petra wrinkles her nose at him. “That’s the girl from Halloween. She was a nurse last time.” He pauses. “You look really different.”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I don’t usually dress like that,” Petra replies. She clears her throat and tosses her head. “So can you tell me where he is? I kind of want to give his jacket back to him today.”

The EMTs all glance at each other before looking back at Petra. The first one that spoke raises his eyebrow at Petra. “Is that … all you’re going to do?” he asks.

“Yeah, what else would I …?” Even if she can’t remember them, it comes to her realization that they do remember her as well as what she said last night. She really didn’t think she was stupid enough to proposition a stranger in front of a bunch of other people, but it seems that drunk Petra will continuously find new ways to embarrass her. Her cheeks flush as she tries to form coherent words. “I … am … I’m only interested in returning this. I promise.”

They study her for a minute and, after deciding she’s harmless, visibly relax. Their reaction is a bit insulting. She doesn’t look that threatening, does she? Then again, maybe she should appreciate the fact that they care enough about their friend to protect him from harassment.

“He’s in the room still,” the brunet answers, gesturing towards the room they had just left. “He’s packing up.”

“Thanks,” Petra says. She’s about to take off but hangs back for a minute. “And sorry if I was, you know, weird the other night. I had a little bit too much to drink.”

The tall blond nods understandingly. “So did a lot of people. After you showed up, we had to attend a call at a nearby party because way too many people got alcohol poisoning.” He shrugs. “Some people just don’t know their limit.”

Petra nods in agreement even though she’s 95 percent certain that she was at that same party the other night. But they don’t have to know that. “Thanks again,” she says, waving awkwardly at them before disappearing into the classroom to find Levi.

There aren’t very many people in the room aside from a few stragglers, the instructor, and a lone EMT who’s kneeling on the ground and packing up his things. He’s incredibly meticulous about packing, Petra notices. He makes sure his instruments are the right way, taking the time to inspect every tool before placing it back in his kit. When Petra approaches, he doesn’t look up even when she stands right in front of him. This situation seems awfully familiar.

“I’ll be leaving now, Levi,” the instructor calls as they usher the other students out of the room. “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“See you,” Levi grunts, still packing things back in his kit. He doesn’t pay any mind to Petra.

Petra waits a minute, thinking that it might be because he’s one of those people that likes to finish what they’re doing before they move onto another task. It only takes five seconds before she begins to lose patience. It doesn’t matter if he’s trying not to get distracted, she thinks. Ignoring people is rude. He should at least acknowledge her.

She stomps her foot, hoping that will be enough to get him to look up, but he doesn’t. Frustrated, she lets out a whine but that doesn’t prompt the EMT to pay her any mind either. Finally, she kneels down across from him and puts a hand on top of his kit so that he can’t ignore her even if he wanted to.

He looks up, his eyes the same cool blue they were the other night. They’re impossibly pretty. It should be a crime to have eyes that shade of blue, Petra thinks.

“Hi,” she manages to stammer. It isn’t the introduction she was hoping for. Or re-introduction, really. Not that a re-introduction would help after the first impression she gave him on Halloween.

“Hi,” he replies. He removes her hand from his kit and continues to pack. Petra shouldn’t find his standoffishness so attractive, but she does, frustratingly enough. She thinks he’s going to continue ignoring her but he suddenly says, “Class is over. You’re late.”

“I’m not here for the class,” she begins.

“Oh, right.” His eyes flicker upward as he shuts the kit closed. “Because you’re a nurse. You probably already know CPR.”

“It was just a costume,” Petra mumbles, feeling her cheek heat up again. She’s beginning to think that meeting up with him again was a mistake. Clearly, he just thinks she’s an idiot. He’s probably not wrong though. “I’m pre-law.”

“Makes sense,” he says with a nod. He picks up his kit and stands up, brushing off his pants. To Petra’s surprise, he offers her a hand. His hand is just as nice and gentle as she remembers; calloused palms but a sweet touch. “You made a very compelling argument about how you were a nurse.”

“Okay, you don’t have to keep reminding me. I’m embarrassed enough as it is,” she says. Her head hangs, eyes looking at the tip of her heels. She doesn’t think she can look him in the eye right now. Or maybe even ever. “I’m sorry if I was acting creepy the other night. I was just … super drunk.”

He shrugs and turns towards the door. He doesn’t exactly make a gesture for Petra to follow him, but she can’t exactly stay here so she trails after him. She also notices that his shoulders are very broad. Were student EMTs always this attractive? She never hung out in the STEM building enough to notice.

“It’s fine,” he tells her. “At least you didn’t throw up on me.”

Even if it’s true, Petra isn’t sure this is a good thing. Did his job require him to encounter a lot of drunk people? “Do lots of people throw up on you?” she asks curiously.

“You’d be surprised how many,” Levi replies. He stops so suddenly that Petra almost crashes into his broad and manly back. She kind of wishes she had. He turns around, head tilted. “If you didn’t come for CPR lessons, why did you come?”

“Oh!” She had almost forgotten. Petra reaches into her bag and pulls out his windbreaker. She kind of regrets just shoving it into her bag and getting it all wrinkled. Maybe she should have ironed it and brought it on a coat hanger as if she had just brought it from the dry cleaners. Do people dry clean windbreakers? Or even iron them? Petra frowns as she offers the jacket to Levi. “I came to bring this back. Thanks for letting me borrow it the other night. Even though I was kind of being a weird creep.”

“Oh.” Levi takes the windbreaker. “Thanks.”

“I washed it,” Petra tells him. She doesn’t know why she needs to tell him this. It’s a given that she would wash someone’s clothes before returning them, but she doesn’t want Levi to think she isn’t. She just needs to make sure so that he doesn’t get the wrong idea about her again.

He blinks at her but doesn’t say anything. After a moment, he says, “Is that it?”

Is there supposed to be more? Petra isn’t sure what else there’s supposed to be. She thought he would have wanted her to leave as soon as possible. The possibility that Levi isn’t merely just tolerating her - that he might actually find her cute - isn’t something that she’s anticipated.

“Do you want there to be more?” Petra asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

Levi doesn’t blush. It figures that he’s the type not to blush. He has to be so goddamn cool all the way until the end. He does, however, avoid making eye contact Petra, which she finds incredibly suspicious. Suspicious and very cute.

“Maybe … you thought I was cute that night and you wanted to see me again?” Petra asks, a sly grin growing on her face. She points a finger at him, poking him in the chest. “And you were hoping I’d return your jacket so you could talk to me again?”

He doesn’t confirm or deny any of her statements. He just reaches back to scratch his neck, probably unintentionally flexing his bicep in front of her but Petra is definitely Looking and he is definitely a lot buffer than any EMT needs to be. He could probably throw her over his shoulder easily and carry her like a potato sack.

“Aw, are you upset that I missed the CPR class?” she teases. She pokes him in the arm and, yes, his bicep is very firm and toned and muscular. “Maybe you were hoping to teach me how to do mouth-to-mouth?”

Levi sighs tiredly before walking away, but Petra eagerly follows behind him. “You know that’s not what we teach in CPR classes, right? It’s only really necessary to learn how to administer chest compressions unless you’re an EMT yourself.”

“Oh,” Petra frowns. She was starting to think she was getting the upper hand in this conversation, but she’s sorely lacking in knowledge on lifesaving techniques. This is what she gets for missing the CPR class.

“I, however,” Levi says, turning around to face Petra, “am certified to give mouth-to-mouth.” He takes a step towards her and Petra finds herself standing very, very close to the hot EMT guy.

Levi was gorgeous when Petra was drunk out of her mind and he’s gorgeous now standing inches in front of her and completely sober. He might be even more gorgeous now that she’s sober and able to take in every detail about him. Like how dark his lashes look against the pretty blue of his eyes. Or the way the look in his eyes grows slightly darker when he approaches her. Or the way he parts his lips - slightly chapped but an intriguing shade of pink - just the tiniest bit. He’s the perfect height for kissing, Petra thinks. She could easily take a step and press her lips against his without having to stand on her tiptoes. The thought of it causes an awkward thud in her chest.

“I think my heart just stopped,” she blurts.

Levi raises his eyebrow. “You’re going to have to see an actual doctor for that then,” he tells her, but he continues to stand insufferably close to her with no indication that he’s going to move anytime soon. Maybe he just likes to make her heart suffer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asks. Her voice sounds a lot more breathless than she’d like it to be, but between her almost suffering another cardiac arrest under the hands of Levi and the fact that she can’t quite breathe because of the lack of distance between them, she supposes she could sound worse.

He looks at her, head tilted, and the cockiest grin Petra has ever seen begins to grow on his face. “I should at least buy you dinner first,” he replies. Levi turns and continues down the hall without her.

The sight of the EMT’s broad back brings Petra a lot less joy than it did ten minutes ago. She stares at him and his wide shoulders wistfully until she realizes what he had just said. That wasn’t actually a rejection, right?

“Hey, are you buying me dinner?” Petra asks, chasing after him.

Of course, he doesn’t slow down for him, the bastard. He grins when she catches up to him, giving her a cheeky side glance. “Do you like Korean food? There’s a place nearby. They have good hangover soup.”

“I haven’t even drank anything since last week!” she protests. She pouts, her cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk’s. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

His grin grows wider. “No.”

Seeing his smile makes Petra’s heart do that weird thing where it skips a beat again, or maybe it just stopped entirely. It’s a strange feeling that doesn’t exactly hurt, but it’s certainly new. Maybe she’ll get used to it. It’s probably not serious anyway. And, well, even if it is, she’s sure Levi can help.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #hanji zoe #rico brzenska #college au #university au #this is probably like the 4th college/uni au i've written for them sigh pie

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milkybunbuns · 4 years

Text

i. new beginnings → perfection masterlist → next

w/c: 3.3k

warnings: bnha spoilers ahead (season 1 episode 5 mainly)

a/n: this series will follow closely with the anime although I might be missing parts of it since it’s been a while since I watched BNHA. also i went overboard with this aishhh, though I don’t think future chapters will be so long oh and I couldn’t be original so I stole the quirk idea from one of my old fics on wattpad and added more abilities to it haha

“Aww comee onn you really can’t be sending me to UA, you know how much I like being at home with you!”, you whined at Keigo, grabbing tightly onto his arm and digging the soles of your feet into the carpet of the living room.

The said man sighed, facepalming, “Look nuggie, I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable but you’re gonna have to interact with people if you’re going to become a popular pro hero in the future like me!!”

“But can’t you just keep home schooling and training me?”

“I would, but I have hero work to do as well at the agency and I wouldn’t have enough time to help you out”, you pouted and kept your ground in the living room. It had already been a fussy morning with Keigo chasing you everywhere to get you to put on your uniform. With a final rub of his temples he spoke up again, “I’ll let you buy anything at the grocery store tonight?”

You looked up at him and stuck a pinky out, “Pinky promise?”

“Yup!!” and before you could even respond he scooped you up, already flying out of the building and flying towards what you assumed was the direction of UA.

“Please warn me next time!”, you yelled over the wind as you held on tightly, you would use your quirk but you still didn’t have a licence and you were still learning how to fly through narrow spaces. Crashing into a building didn’t sound very appetising at the moment. It wasn’t too long before you spotted the easily recognisable glass building of UA, Keigo slowing down for a landing and allowing you to get off.

“Alright I’ll see you later nuggie!”, he waved cheerily, already getting ready to take off.

You just nervously responded with an “uh-huh”, while examining the surroundings, students bustling everywhere. Alright 1-A it was, I should probably ask someone, maybe someone who looks nice. Hmm, how about that purple-haired boy, yeah, he looks like a senior and doesn’t look too bad. You briskly walked up to the purple haired male with elf ears, “Err, hii-”

He looked up at you with shock and you could see bullets of sweat dripping off his forehead, “u-uh h-h-hi”, he meekly responded, looking like he was going to die any second.

Just as you were about to ask for directions to 1-A, too cherry voices called out to the boy in front of you, “Woah, you’re socialising Tamaki! Great job!”, a blonde boy with blue eyes strolled up to his friend, grinning brightly and giving him two thumbs up.”

“Hey Mirio! Wait up!!”, you turned around, immediately spotting a light blue haired girl rushing towards her friends waving happily. She must’ve noticed you standing there awkwardly and quickly came to your rescue, “Hi!! I’m Nejire and that’s Tamaki and Mirio! You must be a first year here!”, she smiled at you gently, pointing to the respective people as she introduced you to them.

“Nice to meet you Nejire-senpai, I’m L/n Y/n. Also do you know where 1-A is, I’m kinda lost”, you had enrolled as L/n Y/n instead of Takami Y/n as to not reveal the last name of Hawks since it was meant to be kept secret for some reason he didn’t tell you about.

“Speak no more, we’ll guide you there since we’re the big 3 after all!”

“Huh, what’s the big 3?”

“Oh, it’s basically 3 students in their third years who are talented and I guess you could say that’s us. Come on Mirio and Tamaki, let’s help bring this student to her class.”

Mirio took your right side, while Nejire led on in front, pointing out different buildings and Tamaki in the back.

“I’m Mirio! Great to meet you!”, he reached a hand to shake with you which you quickly did, “Same here Mirio-senpai, I’m L/n Y/n.”

“You’ll be seeing us around the school plenty, so if you ever have any questions, feel free to ask us or any of the teaching staff, they’re always happy to help! Well, I guess I can’t really say the same about Mr. Aizawa..”

“Oh, isn’t Mr. Aizawa, Eraserhead?”

“Yeah, he is and as a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure he’s going to be your teacher this year.”

“That’s uhh wonderful, he sounds like a great guy!”, you replied awkwardly trying to sound cheery.

“Don’t worry too much, you’ll do fine”, he patted you on the back reassuringly and at the same moment, Nejire announced that you had arrived at 1A.

“Thank you Nejire, Mirio and Tamaki-senpai”, you bowed to them, before they sought you off, heading for their own classes. Pushing the door open, the room was already bustling with students and you scanned your eyes over the room finding a seat between a spiky red hair boy and a green haired girl who looked a bit like a frog. Honestly, the random desk at the back seemed wonderful at first, but you remembered how Keigo had encouraged you to sit around more social people and they seemed social enough. It was probably the least you could do after he went through all the convincing with Nezu and some other things to get you to UA without having to take any tests.

You were really relieved when neither of them didn’t bother to talk to you, or notice you maybe, and continued on chatting to their friends. It seemed like you were just on time, the bell ringing and yet not any sight of any teacher. Frowning slightly, you were about to get up and go to the staff room which Nejire had pointed out earlier to search for Aizawa-sensei.

Luckily, he arrived in some sort of yellow sleeping bag which slightly resembled a cocoon, announcing in a sorta lazy and flat tone, “Go somewhere else if you want to play at being friends. This is the hero course.”

The room quickly quieted down and became silent as everyone averted their attention to Aizawa, “It took 8 seconds before you quieted down. You kids aren’t rational enough. I’m your homeroom teacher Shota Aizawa. Nice to meet you. This is sudden, but put this on”, he presented a UA PE uniform out of thin air, or maybe he had it hidden inside his sleeping bag that whole time? “And meet me at the field after.”

Without any hesitation, everyone got up and grabbed their PE uniform from the desk which had their names on the packaging, likely to have been pre-ordered and filed out of the classroom towards the lockers. You grabbed yours, grimacing as a blond spiky haired boy shoved past you, resisting the temptation to yell at him and give him a piece of your mind. Like what, how can someone be so rude!

Upon arrival at the locker rooms, you didn’t really try to socialise with anyone, nor did they, I mean, your locker was in the back corner so they probably wouldn’t notice you anyways which was fine to you. To draw the least attention towards yourself, you waited until all the other girls had headed out happily chatting among themselves, then followed closely behind them and out onto the field where pretty much everyone was already assembled.

“We’ll be having a quirk assessment test”, well there came the flat recognisable tone of Aizawa, he would definitely be an interesting teacher, that’s all you could say for him. Everyone either goraned or shrieked in horrification at this announcement, quirk assessment on the first day? Well damn, okay, thought first day would be a bit more chill. Kinda ironic for someone who seems like he can’t be bothered to do much himself.

“But what about the entrance ceremony or orientation?”, some girl piped up, yup definitely a bubbly one, she should be pretty easy to make friends with.

Okay at this point Aizawa was just getting a bit too blunt, “If you’re going to become a hero you don’t have time for such leisurely events. UA’s selling points is that it’s ways aren’t traditional, which is the same as how the teachers teach.” You watched him carefully as he skimmed over the class, landing on the rude blond spiky kid from earlier, “Bakugo, you finished top of the practical test, didn’t you? What was your furthest throw in middle school?” So Bakugo is his name, I’ll just stay away from him.

The said boy looked up cockily, a shit eating grin on his face, “67 meters.”

“Okay, then try throw this ball, but you can use your quirk.”

“Sure”, he grabbed the ball, leaning back on one foot in the circle and yelling “DIE!” as the ball flew off. It wasn’t took long before a beep came from a device that Aizawa was holding, showing 705.2 meters.

“Know your maximum first, that’s the most rational way to forming the foundations of a hero”, he seriously seemed to have something with things being done rationally...

A chorus of woah’s were heard throughout the class, well that sure did blow up that Bakugo’s ego. His ego must’ve been too big for his own good.

“This is going to be fun!”, an alien looking girl exclaimed punching her fist in the air.

Followed by a black haired boy excitedly looking on, “So we get to use our quirks as much as we want!”

And yet again, the mood came crashing down as Aizawa spoke up again, “It looks fun, huh? You have three years to become a hero, you think it’ll be all fun and games? Sure, then whoever comes last in the 8 tests will be expelled. Welcome to UA’s hero course!”, earning another screech form the class including yourself. Alright Y/n, you are NOT wasting this change Keigo gave you and you better do well in this!

“Let’s begin shall we? Starting with the 50m dash.”

The first two up were blue haired boy and the frog looking girl who sat next to you in class and before you could even blink, the blue haired boy was already off, speeding past the finish line. His quirk must’ve something to do with speed, so don’t panic Y/n, there’s only so much you can do with speed, you encouraged yourself determinedly looking on. And maybe you were a bit tooo busy encouraging yourself when you noticed the same bubbly brown haired girl patted you on the back.

“Hey, it’s your turn. Also, I’m Ochaco Uraraka, nice to meet you!”

“Thanks Ochaco-san, I’m L/n Y/n. We can continue to chat after these tests, sorry”, you apologetically looked at her before rushing towards the starting line. Beside you, was a white and red haired male with a red scar over his left eye. Okay that’s edgy, time to focus! You activated your quirk allowing wings to grow on your back through the use of light energy which was absorbed through two horns on your head.

Ready

Set

Go!

You flapped your wings as fast as you could making it in 4 seconds which wasn’t too much faster than the guy behind you gliding along with ice. Your brain quickly put together what his quirk was, white represents ice and red must represent fire. Wonder why he didn’t use his fire like the explosions of that Bakugo boy, it would’ve been much faster than skating.

Then came the grip test which you absolutely flunked, only coming in at 43kg which was pretty much the lowest in the class. Well what can some damn light energy do to help increase your grip? All it’ll do is burn your hands off.

After came the standing long jump with you passed with breeze, just flying to clear the sandbox and with the repeated side steps you simply used pure speed to get through it. And at last, came the ball throw the one which you were most excited for since you had a great plan to get a good score. When it came up to your turn you grabbed the ball tightly throwing it up in the air gently right above you, then activating your quirk and encasing it in a bright bubble made of light energy, then sent it off, controlling the bubble to keep going forwards without leaving the circle at all. You concentrated hard, thinking about the ball in your mind and it got more difficult to control until you couldn’t visualise it’s location anymore and let it drop. A beep was heard as Aizawa presented you with his device, showing 1638 meters.

Satisfied with your work, you smiled a bit and got back to your place.

“Midoriya, your turn”, the green haired boy nervously walked forwards, grabbing onto the ball and throwing it. You almost scoffed, if you didn’t feel the teeniest bad for the poor boy who had seemed so confused. Something was surely off about him, how did someone who can barely even use or control their quirk get into UA... He was given another chance, getting almost the same as Bakugo, except his hand turned a weird purple colour. That must be one powerful quirk for one weak body, you grimaced at his injury.

“Ow, that’s gotta hurt, Aizawa-sensei sure is harsh”, Ochaco frowned at the scene in front.

“I mean yeah he is, but not gonna lie, if I was in Aizawa’s spot I’d seriously be wondering how he got in, though he does have some potential with a quirk as powerful as his.”

“I’m sure he’ll get better, hopefully he’s not last, I’m really hoping that Mineta kid gets expelled, I already don’t really like him just by the looks of him.”

“Either it’s a crush or just you dislike Mineta, but then again, you shouldn’t be judging a book by its cover.”

“Eh what make sure you think that!”, she panicked cheeks flushed, “Its just that Mineta guy really seems like a perv.”

“Well, in that case, I guess it’s kinda his own fault, first impressions are key.”

“That’s true I guess.”

The two of you were snapped out of your conversation when Aizawa’s voice rang through the field, pulling up a projection, or was it a hologram? Anyways, you quickly skimmed through the board, searching for your name and you were glad to see you had landed a decent spot, coming in 3rd, just behind the Todoroki kid. And in last came Midoriya, ow, that’s seriously gotta be a huge blow to his self esteem.

“No ones actually gonna get expelled, it was just a rational deception to get you all to go beyond.”

“It was clear it was a rational deception”, Momo who you had seen on the top of the board piped up unhelpfully.

“Ughhh well that’s just greaaat”, you groaned into your hands “and now we appear to have a smartie genius know it all in our class as well”, you muttered annoyed as Ochaco sweat dropped patting your back slowly.

“L/n, you should not be so disrespectful to your classmates!”, Iida reprimanded, chopping his arms up and down.

“Okay thank you thank you.”

Finally school had been dismissed and you stood outside the gates of UA, impatiently tapping your feet as you waited for Keigo to come pick you up as other students made their own way home. It had been 10 minutes already and the bird brain still hadn’t picked you up! Welll, he didn’t really ever specify that he would come pick you up, you just kinda assumed? Frowning, you activated your quirk, not give one hec about the no quirk in public rule since walking home would take forever and you didn’t have that kind of time smh. Flapping your wings and stretching your arms, you prepared to take off and far into the sky where the police wouldn’t be able to see you flying around.

“What are you doing using your quirk in public without a licence?”, a loud voice boomed, stopping you in your tracks.

“Oh hi Endeavour-san!”, you smiled a bit, continuing to ignore his words and continue what you were going to do. You were really great at being annoying and ignoring people, just a trait you picked up from Hawks I guess.

Endeavour deadpanned, “You’re not allowed to be using your quirk and I know you don’t have a licence, so you need to go and take public transport or walk like everyone else.” He was completely ignored as you started floating a bit, “Well, I’ll be off then! Have a wonderful evening Endeavour-san and Todoroki-san.”

You flew off, but before you could get anywhere, Endeavour was already pulling you down by your foot, I mean, considering how strong he is, it succeeded. “Okay then Mr.Smartie, how am I meant to get home now without my quirk huh? I have no clue how public transport works”, you sneered at him, huffing and crossing your arms unimpressed.

“Go walk home.”

“But it takes a long time.”

“Then go figure out the public transport time schedules.”

At this point, you were sick and tired of him and Todoroki looked pretty annoyed as well, so you decided to do everyone a favour. You grabbed Todoroki by the wrist running off and dragging him while waving back at Endeavour, “I promise I’ll return him in one piece! You don’t need to worry!!”

Endeavour was about to chase after you, but you were already gone and out of sight, whatever, he had to return to his patrol anyways. It could also be good training for Shoto to deal with the annoying villains, not saying you were a villain, but you sure did fit that annoying standard.

“Your welcome”, you yawned lazily, staring up at the sky while walking. Todoroki was still confused but if being with you let him get away from being with his father he was more than glad too. Plus, he could use this chance to find any weaknesses about you, you seemed quite strong and could be someone to look out for in the UA sports festival.

“How did you talk to my father like that? Most people would’ve never had the guts to do it.”

“Wellll, for one, I’m not most people and I know him pretty well, I’ve talked to him a lot of times on his patrols. There’s almost nothing scary about him, he’s just a big fire guy walking around with an angry voice, but it’s not like he can harm any of us, he’s a hero.”

Todoroki felt his blood boil at what you had said, Endeavour was no hero, driving his mother to the end of her wits, training him harshly from a young age, some hero. But the rational part of his brain won over the emotional part, explaining that you were an outsider and had no clue as to their personal lives. Todoroki was intrigued with your quirk, he wanted to learn more about what it could do, all he knew so far was that you had the ability to create wings, bubbles made of light energy and not very much else. Considering you were the sister of Hawks (Endeavour had told him, I guess that’s something that Endeavour is useful for), he honestly expected more, but you could be holding back. He considered asking you more about your quirk but that would probably make you put walls up around yourself and see him as a threat. It was probably just best to wait and see your full potential.

You noticed it had become silent and nobody had anything to say, enveloping both of you in an awkward silence. Well, you were pretty sure you were the only one feeling awkward. You made up some lame excuse and sent Todoorki off on his way, glad to be out off the awkward silence. UA wasn’t that bad, you supposed.

#mha #bnha #boku no academia #my hero academia #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #mha todoroki #bnha shoto todoroki #shoto #shoto todoroki #todoroki #todoroki shoto #wing hero hawks #hawks #mha hawks #keigo takami

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