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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.��

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. ��How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

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heckyeahponyscans · 3 years

Note

hi! i’m not very into MLP myself (i love the ponies/designs but haven’t been into it since i was a kid) but i love collection and toy based fandoms, especially older ones like MLP! i really enjoy reading your posts about being in the old web fandom and i was wondering if, besides finding old sites on the wayback machine, there are any “oral history” type write-ups on the history of the fandom? the fanlore page was only about friendship is magic and i am just itching to know more. thanks!!

Ahhh, the best repository of that was probably the old version of the MLP Trading Post, but unfortunately after they moved the old board eventually went under. (What happened was MLPTP.com + the board was run by a user named Jenn, but at some point she dropped out of communication. So the mods registered MLPTP.net, created a new board, and everything migrated over there.)

Probably the biggest early fandom event was the absolute chaos that followed the release of the G2 ponies in 1997.

Now keep in mind up to this point the G1 ponies were the only My Little Ponies to ever have existed. So when people heard MLP was coming back they assumed they would be in the same molds; what ELSE would a My Little Pony look like?

Well, the G2s looked radically different: smaller, skinnier, and with fox-like heads.

After the initial shock died down, MLP collectors split into two groups: people who liked the G2s and people who hated the G2s. (Full disclosure, I was 100% in the latter camp, I thought they were awful, lol. I do have a small collection of them now though.)

In theory liking or disliking a toy is unimportant, but in fandom EVERY little thing is important, so a pony civil war broke out. Groups were created to promote / protest "the new ponies", banners were displayed on websites, passionate arguments were made for either side, and flame wars broke out constantly.

Among the craziness I remember:

- someone saying not liking the new ponies "was a hate crime"

- HQT (High Queen Tiffany) starting a petition for Hasbro to bring back the old ponies and getting so much flak that she ended up taking down her whole site; this sent shockwaves through the community as she had the second- or third-largest MLP fan site at the time, including one of the most active message boards.

- and someone on the Pony People Mailing List saying people who didn't like the new ponies were Nazis, and getting lambasted for comparing genocide of real people to toys.

If you're thinking "Wow, that sounds dumb" . . . absolutely, lol!

But that's not to say the fandom wasn't any fun; there were also friendships formed, people chatting about who their favorite pony was, people trading ponies, the international ponies being discovered--it was a robust community, overall a blast, and the G2 civil wars were just a little sliver of all the activity.

Subsequent MLP generations, like G3, did not get a strong reaction because a) people had gotten used to the idea of different pony gens looking different and b) the community was no longer mainly hot-blooded teenagers eager for a fight. Now we were tired 20-somethings working retail jobs. (Also the G3s looked really close to G1s, soooo, yeah, pretty universally loved.)

I do think the Old Fandom instinct to go for the throat is much healthier than the brony "love and tolerance towards anyone who calls themself a brony" attitude; never assume someone is your friend just because of a shared hobby. Some fandom folk you meet will be nice, some will suck, that's just how it goes.

#My Little Pony #old fandom #old internet #fandom history #G1 #G2 #I'll try to think of some more stories to share

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princessofmerchants · 4 years

Text

A love letter to Gwyn Berdara.

💙🎶🗡💙🎶🗡💙🎶🗡

Dearest Gwyn,

These are the reasons this reader is so, so deeply glad to have met you in A Court of Silver Flames.

You are kind and warm, despite having experienced some very, very bad and evil and unjust things.

You are fierce, so very fierce. Your commitment to whatever you are working on in the moment, whether it be research tasks for Priestess Merrill or training to become a Valkyrie or cutting that damned ribbon or cheering up your friend who is in need of an empathetic ear, you give all of yourself and it's really humbling to get to witness.

You are strong. To move through the world, even if your world is primarily the House of Wind's Library and training ring, the way you do, after having experienced the loss and trauma you have, blows my mind. You inspire me.

You are smart. Not just any priestess could keep up with the likes of Priestess Merrill, reviewing and proofing her chapters and writing your own original contributions to the important history of the Valkyries.

You are inspired. Did you know what you began when you introduced your new friend, the High Lady's sister, to the Valkyries?

You are loyal. You value the bonds between women who fate or the Mother has brought together, paths that have crossed and become inextricably intertwined. You see that intertwined-ness and you honor it with your loyalty and love.

You are talented in both your gift of song and your ability to share that gift with others, in honor of the Mother and all she has created or in honor of simply the innate joy that the act of sharing your gifts creates. When you sing, I get to hear it as Nesta hears it, and I am moved so deeply, just as she is. You are a treasure.

You are fun. I will invite you to a sleepover any day, and know that by doing so the positive vibes will be sustained the whole time, even if things get serious or deep (as they sometimes do between women who have been through things).

You are open minded and nonjudgmental, welcoming Nesta and Emerie into your heart and life, even though they walk very different paths than yours. You see and embrace the things you share rather than fear the things you don't.

You are generous, knowing that offering your talent for writing, your knowledge of history, and your abilities to produce scholarship, in order to write the newest chapter of the history of the Valkyries, telling YOUR story and the stories of your found sisters, is the best gift you could give them.

I love you. Nesta and Emerie love you. Your fellow priestesses who are inspired by you love you. And I bet even General Cassian and Shadowsinger Azriel love you, because of all the molds you break by just being you.

May the Mother bless you, and I thank her daily (since reading ACOSF) that she brought you into our lives.

With Readerly Love,

Princess of Merchants

💙🎶🗡💙🎶🗡💙🎶🗡

[Edited after a time buffer to remove visual spoiler warnings.]

#gwynappreciationweek #gwyn appreciation week #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #emerie #valkyries #nes and gwyn and em #cassian #azriel #house of wind #singing #love letter #gwyn stan

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

Text

Be Careful What You Wish For

word count: 1.5k

warnings: brief vague description of blood and I think that's all

explanation of what this is:

This is it! This is the oc snippet I was talking about from...January 9th, 2020. So if you were curious about it, here you go! It's been almost two years since I wrote this and I haven't changed anything about it except a few obvious spelling errors. The original grammar and structure is the same.

Like the title, this snippet was inspired by the prompt: be careful what you wish for, I just happened to work that into their backstory to try and get a better sense of their character.

I've always found them really fun to write about, so here you go! They're one of seven main characters from their story, but this snippet takes place in a different world at a different time than everything else. They're just quirky like that <33

enjoy!! I'd be very curious to hear your thoughts! (it's not posted anywhere but here, so read below the cut)

Red mixed with red on a damp rock floor, moss and mold creeping their way ever forward in an endless battle across cavernous dripping stones.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Rotten water fell in time with the clanging of the chains, fastened at the wrist and around the ankles. The cold metal dangled and whispered alongside the thin silver bracelets free of charms dancing across their legs and up their forearms, singing the song of mourning.

Their arms were curled in on themselves, alone in the hollow echoes of the cavern, pulling desperately at the scraps of rose red cloth draped over a curving figure, torn and dirtied and wet.

It had been so promising, so enticing, they couldn’t help but yearn for the sweet promises the offer gave. They wished and wished for it to deliver everything it promised and then some.

Be careful what you wish for.

Steam rose from the small iron cauldron in the center of the peaked tent, decorative blankets stitched with ancient runes laid haphazardly across the dirt floor. A small flame was ablaze under the cauldron, and they leaned forward, stirring the powder within until it melted into a thick paste, another wave of steam curling out the small opening at the tip of the tent.

Humming to themself, they carefully removed the mixture from the pot, scraping it into a small vial hooked to a deep blood sash tied around their waist.

Light footsteps pounded outside, and they smiled slightly to themselves, a bright cherry red smile. Children running about, carefree and unaware of the wars being raged around them. Not a war of the physical kind, but battles of the mind and will, the people versus the powers.

They stepped around the dying fire, dousing it with a pitcher of water before pushing back the flap that functioned as a door and stepping out, the cold dirt and stone scraping against their bare feet.

The forest was a fair walk away, getting started soon would be best. The marketplace bustled around them, spices and sweat mixing in the air. Tents and stands were scattered across the city and marketplace, no real pattern or logic unless you knew where to look. That’s how the people kept their secrets, kept their rebels, kept their culture safe. Safe from the eyes of the power.

Snippets of conversations were understandable, but so many languages and tongues mixed together they couldn’t make sense of near any of them.

Half an hour later and they were out of the thick of the crowds, replaced instead by browning plants and startled creatures, a few people every once in a while, living on the outskirts and barely surviving.

They’d been there once.

But never again if this worked, never would they be hungry with one meal a day, never would their blankets be threadbare and fading.

Never would their people be suffering.

They had reached the edge of the woods, and after a moment's hesitation and a steadying breath, they moved forward. Moving deliberately, counting steps, they found themselves in front of a tree with a single divot beneath its roots, and they reached within, pulling out their book of spells.

Hours passed, the sun reaching its peak and then sauntering its way downward, shadows growing and growling and jumping.

They just clutched their book tighter and kept walking, pulling the sleeves of their hooded garment over their palms to conserve as much warmth as possible.

The peak wasn’t far away now, and they could see the staggering rock formations marking the hollowed crater at the top of the mountain. All they had to do now was find the best way to the peak.

Their hands were coated in microscopic cuts and larger gashes, bare feet bleeding to the jingle of their anklets rubbing against their soft flesh until it was raw and scalding to the touch. Boulders tumbled away behind them, black soot staining their fingers as they climbed and climbed and climbed, birds buzzing and trees howling, the wolves snickering in their sleep.

Finally, the moon peeking above and sending cascades of soft and promising light, they crested the top.

They had made it.

Panting, they pressed a hand to their side to massage a forming pain, beginning the silent descent into the shimmering crater. Gems had been broken into grit over the years, scattered like sand in the wind to tempt those of ill will.

They didn’t even bother to look, marching their way to the center of the crater, where a pure slate of glass had been set into the ground, the starlight reflecting back into the sky as if to challenge the moon itself in all its glory.

They kneeled in front of the pane, scratchy and thin red cloth pooling around their figure as they reached forward, flipping the book open and setting it in the center of the glass. They had opened to that page so often, spent so many hours memorizing and studying the ritual that the book flipped open to the page on its own.

They smiled to themselves, a smile of mischief and triumph. They unlatched the vial of paste from earlier, uncorking the bottle and sticking a single finger inside, their pinky finger.

When they withdrew their finger, it was coated in a sticky greenish-black and smelling faintly of sage and cinnamon. Like incantations and wishes.

Delicately reaching their hand forward, they began to paint runes with the paste in a perfect circle surrounding the book, murmuring under their breath in a native tongue that wasn’t their own.

The dusty light on the ground grew stronger, the crystal grit beginning to glow and rise from the ground to swirl haphazardly around the crater. Jutting spires of rock reached to the far galaxies, the very tips glowing with an ethereal and ephemeral light, pulsing stronger with each drawn rune.

They were shaky and dripping with sweat as they drew the final rune, energy nearly drained, and a wave of light hugged the land, brushing against their knees.

A small glow began to emerge from the center of the book, and the swirling grit in the air coalesced above, morphing and moulding into a faint outline of something they could not recognize, but felt familiar in a way. Like wishing upon a star.

“State your name, child,” an archaic voice spoke from within the cluster of shimmers, deep and rasping, burnt velvet and a crusted feather.

They didn’t hesitate a moment. “Kachina.”

“And what is it you wish for,” the voice responded, void of any emotion yet comforting nonetheless.

Their voice was steady and firm, speaking directly to the voice.

“I want the power to fix what is wrong.”

A faint whoosh escaped from the light, almost sounding like a tiny voice. Telling them to leave. They didn’t have the time to comprehend what it had said or what it meant before a pain erupted right near their heart, and they clutched at their chest, fingers digging into skin.

“A bold request, but remember,” the voice began, the grit slowly drifting apart and coming to a rest on the ground in an attempted circle around the pane, the paste blackened and crusting, “Be Careful What You Wish For.”

They tried to scream, pain followed by sudden numbness spreading from their heart through all their limbs, from the crown of their head to the tips of their toes, eyelids falling and opening suddenly in an endless cycle, until the blackness fully encompassed them.

They woke to the sound of a plink plink plink.

An indescribable cold was crawling its slimy way up their back, soaking into the red red red cloth. Their eyes ever so slowly cracked open, cold cold cold darkness there in greeting, an old friend come to say hello.

“Where am I,” they cried, calling into the void, and the void answered back.

“What better way to fix what is wrong than to be all that is wrong,” it replied.

They yelled again, “What does that mean?” What did it mean, what did they mean, what did this mean. They tried to stand, but shackles had entrapped their limbs, and suddenly they knew what it meant to be free, a bird in a cage of feathers. Mold crept its way into their shackles and their skin, because that’s what they were now.

Those chains belonged to Kachina, and Kachina belonged in the chains.

“How is this fixing anything?” they cried and cried again.

And the shadows gave their answer, and wouldn’t say it twice, “To be a god is lonely, to stay one is what’s wrong. To fix the anger of the gods trapped beneath the land, you take their place for a song, giving them a hand. Their anger then will lessen and the people will be free, but I am just a shadow, so why do you ask me.”

A snicker was all that remained of the shadows in the sand, and realizing they’d been tricked they stood and screamed and swore.

And in those final moments, at least of the ones we get to see, they cried their final anguish:

Be careful what you wish for.

#kachina my beloved...#i love them so much #i mean I like all my ocs #but there are elements to kachina that are super fun to write #I have two essays due this weekend and yet here I am wanting to start writing about my ocs again #I should draw them #ah but i need to redesign them first #so many things to do!!#this isn't even my only set of ocs #i have another one I've never written about or drawn #but I know so much about them #that one's a group of five #but anyways I'm getting distracted #thoughts?#it's not as bad (using that word because I can't think of a better one. i don't think there's such a thing as 'bad' writing in this context #as I expected it to be #and you can definitely see some things have persisted #like my tendency to repeat words three times for emphasis #and that strange perspective where the narrator takes a step back and everythings observed from above #i did that for the melves piece and the calla story that are both on my ao3 #i don't know what it is about that pov but I write in it a lot #random #quil's quill #quil's ocs #kachina #i don't think they have a last name #a collection of roses #that's the placeholder title for the series as a whole

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chunhua-s · 4 years

Note

Tendou in an enemies to lovers situation 🥺

wew chile, eye— this was longer than i originally planned and that’s due in part to me switching from writing on mobile and my bad word vomit tendencies said ✨start the cameras✨ i originally had a bit of trouble coming up with the solid plot itself while i was losing myself on concepts (nothing new :D just my regular clown shit y’know?) and my sweet goddess @bootylikepeachy was there to tickle my braincells with this “got paired together with your enemy for a class assignment” idea!! bb thank you for brainrotting with me on this, honestly 🥺💖 i dunno if i could have made a final decision if it weren’t for you and your sexy ass brain. i decided leave the ending a bit open?? one to prevent myself from going over 5k words (cause wow, i really hit the slow burn on this one) and two because i kinda like the ambiguity of their relationship after the reader comes to her turning point. since it’s an enemies to lovers type of scenario, i figured it would be better to let things kind of trickle off instead of having it all happen on the same day?? or so it doesn’t feel too rushed or force and i really hope i was successful in doing it justice. i hope you guys will have as much fun reading this as i did writing it!! let me know your thoughts, okay? and as always, thank you for reading!!

SUNSET AND MIDNIGNT ➽ SATORI TENDOU x READER

genre: fluff, slowburn

au: enemies to lovers

warnings: uhhh slowburn? word vomit, ramblings..... that’s about it

tendou is the fall from an ocean cliff. he’s the feeling of the wind sweeping past your body, of your breath disappearing from your lungs and vanishing on the whisps of a blue sky. he’s the dread that wraps around your heart like a vine, the heavy rock that drags you closer and closer to a dive you can’t remember taking. and you, with your heart racing against your ribs so hard that it scars itself with blue and purple bruises, you’re terrified. you’re terrified of heights, of blue waters that run to the deepest parts of the earth and what they don’t show to you. you’re afraid of the heat that comes from a blazing fire and the embers that fly from it on red hazes. it’s the fear of that unpredictability that keeps you away, the fear of being burned and left for dead that leaves you feeling as if you’re walking on egg shells around him.

to you, he’s a variable that you can’t ever be prepared for. a step added to a dance you’d already learned by heart, he messes up your rhythm and throws off your tempo until the melody becomes something you can’t recognize anymore. he leaves you guessing about what comes next — it’s like a game of roulette that he’d dragged you into by a thin chord, wrapped so tightly around your throat that it makes it hard for you to breathe. you hate the feeling of it, hate the way he so easily turned your world on its head and cast the familiarity of monochrome into a scenery of blinding colour.

you’re pouting, a frown etched across your lips as you methodically stir over your pot, head cocked to the side and one hand resting akimbo on your hip. it’d been well over 30 minutes since you’d started boiling the ingredients over a low flame, and you were beginning to tire from stirring constantly; your arm ached and your shoulders were beginning to feel stiff as you tried rolling them to relieve some of the tension. frustration makes a loud groan slip from your lips as you throw your head back. normally, you’d consider yourself a patient person, yet that very same patience was beginning to run as thin as the liquid that should have been thickening by now. you couldn’t understand why it was taking so long, however. you’d done everything by the book! mixed each ingredient in the order that it’d said to, set the flame on the right level, measured everything correctly, so what was wrong?

you hear a snort come from somewhere behind you, but you don’t turn yourself to look at the red-headed male who sits comfortably atop the other side of your counter, well intent to ignoring him. you had neither the time nor the energy to entertain him right now, but your companion didn’t seem to understand that from the cold shoulder you’d been giving him ever since you two began working on your project together.

“you know you don’t have to keep stirring it, right?” tendou hums between bites of chocolate that slightly muffle his words. you don’t see the way his eyes close and his smile widens on delight for the sweet flavour that melts on his tongue. “you can leave it for about a minute before you have to check up on it again.”

you stubbornly roll your eyes, a huff coming from under your breath that disturbs the strand of hair dangling in front of your face. “that’s not what the book says.” your voice comes out evenly, though there’s nothing you do to cut the edge from your tone as you sigh immediately after. the frown on your lips only deepens with the next few seconds that pass you by.

“and that book was released in 2015.”

it’s invasive in its arrival, the question of why that spits on bitterness and undiluted anger. why were you so unlucky to have been paired up with the one person you couldn’t bear to be around? he was everything that dug under your skin, the symbol of chaos in a place where you’d rather solace and routine. he stands on the opposite end of the colour spectrum; where your life molds with deep purples and blues of a dark midnight, he’s the flaming oranges and reds of a burning sunset. your worlds meet on a collision, a burst of light that would consume entire dimensions and leave nothing but bones and ashes in its wake.

there’s a pettiness in your hatred for him, a one-sided scorn that bears its fangs on dark poisons that trip like ink. it tells its tale of irrationality in your law of reason, and, you consider, perhaps that was why you hated tendou. perhaps it was the way his voice could so easily insight the burning taste of anger and annoyance on the back of your tongue, where it forms on a large ball that stops inside your throat and makes it hard to breathe without feeling as if you would implode. it’s something you can’t understand, but you despise the feeling it leaves you with when your eyes meet his.

hot, as if you’d been cast into the open arms of hell.

“well,” you force behind gritted teeth, hearing the noise of them grinding in the back of your head. “i’m gonna stick to what the book says until it gets revised.”

there’s absolutely no reason for you to be so insistent on something that’s clearly not working, you know that. you’re sure tendou is thinking the same, if the long, drawn out sigh he lets out is anything to go by. it isn’t difficult to imagine his expression, lips pursed together, brows furrowed as his narrowed eyes burn holes into your skin. you’re not sure what exactly is pushing you to be so stubborn, but you blindly let it control your thoughts; you run on impulse and immature decisions that have no place in your life.

a silence blends with the sounds of your bubbling pot when he doesn’t respond, insighting an urge to glance around and see why he’d suddenly stopped talking that you force away from your mind. the quiet would give you some semblance of peace, you consider decisively: if he’s decided he would no longer disturb you with pointless musings, then what reason would you have to complain?

there’s a touch on your shoulder that causes your heart to latch inside your throat and rushes on uneven beats of a two-second fright that has you freezing on yourself. on instinct, your body turns to meet red eyes and a bemused grin as tendou’s fingers wrap around your wrist, catching the hand that held the mixing spatula you’d been using in your pot. “relax, will you?” he murmurs, a chuckle on his breath — the taste of his mint breath clouds your mind like a ghostly fragrance — as he pries the instrument from between your clenched fist. with narrowed eyes and your guard put up on a weak barrier, you watch closely as he gently sets the spatula against the counter before he finally releases your arm; it falls lifelessly to your side while the feeling of being burned slowly spreads across your skin. “just trust me on this.”

there’s a hidden promise on his voice, a teasing grin that pulls at his lips and leaves your curiosity ignited on hesitance and uncertainty. you glance at your still bubbling pot, though your gaze isn’t allowed to linger for long as tendou shoves his face into your line of sight with a light chime of “ah-ah-ah.” it was as if he was scolding a child, the thought quickly comes and goes before you can dwell on it — there’s not much chance for you to think about it when tendou’s steering you to your island counter by your shoulders. “sit down for a sec, alright?”

a scowl forms on your lips as he shoves you down into a seat, and you open your mouth to protest when you’re suddenly pacified by the sweet taste on your tongue. slowly, you begin chewing, letting the confusion you feel be washed away by the quickly melting chocolate that fills you with a sense of appreciation.

“better?”

it’s reluctant, but you give the red haired boy a nod and a small smile, all which he returns with his familiar grin. “i set a timer for one minute,” he informs you, lifting his phone screen to show the seconds counting down from 50. his actions are carefree and relaxed, with his arm resting on the edge of the chair and one of his legs folded beneath him, red hair tousled and flopping over his forehead just like he wears it on campus. he’s attractive, you won’t deny, though you wouldn’t let yourself ever say it out loud. helplessly, you sigh, your shoulders dropping to release the tension from standing for so long and you lift a hand to sheepishly run over your neck as you avoid his gaze.

“fine…”

tendou’s smile widens as soon as you relent, a pleased hum leaves him as he further leans back into the chair. “so,” he begins on a cheerful tone, and your eyes curiously watch him as he opens conversation. “what’re your plans after you finish the course?”

a short moment passes you by where you glance away from him, eyes drifting to the pot on your worry. was it really okay to leave it alone? “uh,” you mutter out on your distracted tone before you center yourself. you take a deep breath and let it out on a soft puff that has your cheeks pushing out slightly before you give your answer. “i wanna open up a coffeeshop.”

“oh?” when you meet tendou’s gaze, there’s a spark of interest in them, a sheen of gold that lights vermillion red on the afternoon sun. it causes you to become self-conscious suddenly, your hands tangle together in your lap as you avert your eyes almost as quickly as they’d met his.

“yeah,” you affirm softly. “i’ve always thought that it’d be nice, you know? and i’d be able to relax in a place like that.”

another hum comes from the man next to you, a low sound that dwells on pondering as he takes in your response. “you do seem like the kind of person who would work in a coffeeshop.” he muses, and his word leaves your mind on pause as the alarm goes off, the soft ringing of a song you don’t know disrupting your thoughts and prompting you to stand up. however, there’s a hand on your shoulder that hurriedly pushes you down before you’re at your full height. “no,no—” tendou urges you, “i’ll do it, you just sit there and rest.”

you’re not given the chance to argue as he breezily saunters over to your stove, reaching for the spatula while humming that same song from his alarm. it’s not one you’ve heard before, and it’s another thing that leaves you curious as you watch him stir over the bubbling liquid. you notice the way he holds his hand at a weird angle that leaves his elbow jutting out, the way his tall frame has to hunch as if to see the contents better. doesn’t he wear glasses? you’re lost on the thought as you try and recall whether or not you’d seen him wear a pair before. when he turns back to you, his smile is wide and triumphant, a show of all teeth as he moves himself to the side and just barely tilts the pot with his free hand. “would’ja look at that?” he sings, a telling smugness to his tone as he looks at you. you have to lean over the island counter to see the white liquid has thickened considerably more than when you’d been stirring it. “told you to just let it sit for a while and it’d do it’s own thing!”

unable to help the smile that spreads across your lips, you huff and wave a hand across your face in dismissal, harmlessly rolling your eyes at him. “alright, no need to rub it in now,” you chide as he replaces the pot and skips over to your side, large steps that have him swinging his arms back and forth like an excited child. there’s no hiding the glee in his expression when he sits down again and immediately turns to face you, as if he was waiting for you to admit something. and maybe that’s what he was waiting for, but you’re still stubborn when it comes to him, so you only turn your eyes away from him and cross your arms with a false pout. “just set the timer again, will you?” you grumble, and you’re rewarded with laughter that rang as pure and innocent as the sound of trickling water. it leaves you stunned for a moment, echoes in your mind and finds a home inside your chest so that it plays back for you to hear. it’s a beautiful sound, you think; there’s a part of you that wants to hear more. it horrifies you.

“what about you?” you shake your head as you lean your elbows on top of the counter top, eyes focused on your fingers wrapping around one another rather than to meet vermillion red. the cool feeling of the marble does very little to ease the warmth coursing beneath your skin. “what’re your plans after finishing the course?”

tendou’s laughter dies down like the wind comes to a pause, where the leaves stop rustling on an easy rest as he sighs long and full, his chest rising with the action as he leans backward ever so slightly. “i was thinking of making chocolate,” he tells, tilting his head and lending his gaze to the scenery outside your window. it gives you the courage to look back at him, at the sight of his figure bathed in sunlight where the gold bounces off his skin like a gem. with his expression set on pensive and his eyes bearing a wandering glint, he looks nearly ethereal inside your kitchen, a picture of immortality that you’ve never bothered to look at before now. he glows under a melting light, the picture of him robs you of air and leaves you gasping, desperate for your blood to start flowing the way it had before.

it’s when his eyes find yours that you relearn how to breathe.

his gaze is half-lidded, touched by a visual of content that makes him look at peace, nearly drowsy as his hand supports the weight of his head. the smile on his lips is slight, the kind that quirks the corners of your lips and tells you a story of effortless charm.

“is there any particular reason?” you hate that your voice comes out weak, that it breaks on it’s departure and tumbles out of your lips like white feathers flutter from the sky. the onslaught of emotion leaves you reeling, your center of gravity cast from your body and you struggle to find your footing over uneven ground, all while he watches you, red eyes picking you apart and leaving bear to him the parts of yourself you’ve never seen. a boyish smile settles over his lips as he turns his head to fully face you, leaning forward ever so slightly, but it’s enough so that you’re once again able to taste peppermint on his breath. it washes over your skin like an autumn wind, leaves a chill that reminds you of the first signs of snow on the throws of a mid-summer’s heat.

“not really,” he confesses with a shrug, carefree and unbothered while he leaves you as the perfect image of flustered. his voice is low, like a whisper. it’s hushed, and you’re able to hear something of a sigh on his words that leaves you to wonder about the way the sunlight reflects off of pools of red, how the golden hue makes them appear like the butterscotch candies you’d snack on between classes. “i just… like sweet things.”

“oh.”

you’re reminded of the taste of caramel when you think of tendou. it comes as a surprise when you take the first bite into a chocolate bar, an unexpected drop of golden sweetness that makes you pause for, if only, just a second to properly let its flavour spread across your tongue. he’s the warmth of sunset that embraces your body, the feeling of the waves that brush against your toes, the sand that fills with water and wraps around your feet. you’re left on the shoreline to watch in awe as flames of orange and red dance on the ocean’s surface, where the blazes and embers of a passion unimaginable to your midnight moon leave traces of ethereal gold in its wake.

there’s a sudden thought that invades your mind, slow like molasses and just as bittersweet; you want to sink beneath those burning waters, to let them cover you from head to toe and consume all that you are. until your heart learns his melody and your body falls to his tune.

there’s a part of you that yearns after satori tendou, and the realization if it scares you.

you’re the first to look away when the timer sounds once more, your face burns and you purse your lips together while your hands tangle together on your lap. beside you, tendou arises wordlessly to saunter over to the pot, humming once more to the tune that continues to play from his phone. it doesn’t sound like a typical alarm, and it leaves you intrigued by it’s upbeat melody. “what song is that?” you curse the way your voice breaks, clearing your throat and hoping that he didn’t pick up on it. why were you suddenly becoming such a mess?

tendou answers you a bit distractedly while he tilts the pot from side to side, his head cocked in contemplation and his expression pensive. “it’s called circus,” he glances at you from over his shoulder and uses his free hand to gesture you forward before reaching for the pair of yellow, sunflower-themed muffins you left to sit close-by. “bring the chocolate for me, would’ja?” you meet him just as he’s moving your pot to sit on your counter, the plate of chopped up chocolate bits in your hand while he moves to the side to let you dump them into the mixture. “i found it on this playlist from youtube and i kinda got obsessed with it.”

you take in his words over the light-hearted melody that plays from his phone, enjoying the sound of it before it cuts off and sets to snooze since tendou hadn’t turned it off. it leaves you wanting to hear more, and you wish it would have played on for a little bit longer as you set the plate to the side. “can i look it up?” you ask; the thought that it was silly to ask for his permission rings in your head before you can stop it, and you feel your face heating up when he looks up from mixing the chocolate to you, his eyes alight with amusement and his smile teasing.

“go ahead,” he chuckles, giving his attention back to the pot after casually waving a hand in the air. “mind bringing me the setting tray?”

it doesn’t take you too long to open up the youtube app, your fingers typing in the name of the song before you pause and glance over to your partner. “is it the one by showmore?”

“yup!”

soon, the familiar intro bleeds into your kitchen space, filling up the absence of conversation between you and tendou as he bobs his head along to its sound. you’re left to lean against the counter, your hands folded beneath you while he pours out your chocolate mixture into the little cube shapes in the tray. what you feel is a comfort, a type of quiet happiness that calms your breath on the sound of drums and the piano that blends with the singer’s voice. “it sounds nice,” you mutter quietly, unable to help the way your head nods in time to the melody.

tendou shoots you an excited smile. “it does, right?? i’ve been listening to it nonstop ever since i found it.” his enthusiasm draws a laugh from you, a grin stretches across your face as you watch him sway side to side. it’s an adorable picture of him dancing and smiling so brightly, and when he looks up at you with excitement in his eyes, you feel your heart skip a beat.

“wanna dance?”

“huh?”

the question catches you off guard, leaves you to stare wide-eyed at his back as he pops the tray into the freezer before turning back to face you. his grin widens and becomes almost teasing when he sees your stunned expression. “c’mere!” he urges you with an eagerness, his hand waving you over.

“tendou, i—” you avert your gaze, feeling your skin warm up once more as you murmur your answer. “i can’t dance…”

he makes his way over to you in a sequence of movements you can’t hope to describe — it’s almost like a prance, where his steps are exaggerated and his shoulders lift up in a kind of rocking motion while he’s snapping his fingers to the beat. “that’s fine!” he grins at you just as he reaches out for your hand, pulls you to your feet and coaxes you from behind your island counter. “i can’t either!”

for a moment, you’re caught between amused and hopelessly confused while the man before you lifts your arms like wet spaghetti, letting him swing them between your bodies as if you were a puppet, and he the puppeteer. he’s beaming at you so widely that it’s almost ridiculous, but he seems so vivid and joyous while he maneuvers your limbs, and it causes broad laughter to bubble up from your chest as your body doubles over. it’s a pure, weightless type of laughter that leaves you, like the chiming of bells on the summer wind. it echoes over the music, and when tendou joins in with you, there arises between you both a new kind of song, whose story is found at the evening time when the world holds her breath. it’s a harmony that’s carefree, like the fall from an ocean cliff, like the breath that vanishes from your lungs and cries on laughter beneath the blue sky. it’s the feeling of your fears melting, and when your body finally plunges between those fireset waves, you’re wondering why you were scared in the first place.

“that’s it!!” the excitement in tendou’s voice is infectious, his smile as bright as the sun itself when your fingers intertwine with his and your body finally moves on its own. here begins a dance between you two where he pulls you in closer, and when you pull away, your hands remain intertwined. an irresistible force that you can’t help being drawn to, that spins you around his fingers and wraps you in his arms, all while eyes of the sweetest sunset promise you gold on your midnight sky. the feeling inside your chest is warm, sets through your body like a quiet buzz and it leaves you wanting more, so that the yearning you feel would only ever be satisfied by him.

your hand in his feels like a slow burning flame, and as the both of you are laughing with a song you create with each other, you realize that you’re no longer afraid of its heat.

taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue @waitforitillwritemywayout @mixxfi @shnnn

send an ask to be added or removed!! (also pls lemme know if i’m forgetting anyone? i think i got you all but just in case)

#tendou satori x reader #tendou x reader #tendou x reader fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! spoilers #haikyuu!! au event 💫

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bakingandbooks3 · 4 years

Text

Hold My Girl

For @sayosdreams, I hope you like it <3

Nesta has never been the party person, and never would be. She had her people, friends from law school, and family, but parties weren’t her scene. Especially after a day like today.

Nesta woke up with the pit in her stomach, again, and knew that today would not be good. She tried to do her comfort routine: go on a run, take a long hot shower, cuddle Ivy (her kitten), and do anything to take her mind off the nothingness.

It didn’t work.

She had started seeing a therapist a few years back, trying to finally come to terms with her past and childhood. Her weekly sessions started after a bad experience on a drunken night when she realized that the path she was on wasn’t what she wanted in life. The partying, the drinking, the hangover after.

Her younger married sister had other thoughts.

“Oh come on Nessie, you never come out anymore! Please, it’s just one night out and all of us will be there. Me, Rhys, Mo-”

“Feyre, what part of no do you not get? I’m not in the mood to go out, I don’t feel good and can barely keep food down as it is. I don’t need you and your husband making eyes at each other all night to compromise that.”

“Well damn, Nesta, you don’t have to be so rude about it. You never come out anymore and we miss you, can you seriously not handle one night of fun? I mean, come on, stop neglecting us and-”

Nesta pulled her ear away and ended the call, she didn’t need to hear what came next. The routine never died; Feyre would try to guilt-trip Nesta and Nesta would stand her ground, while wallowing in her own despair.

The neon-lit clock on the edge of her kitchen island read a quarter past eight. Too early to sleep and too late to be productive.

Nesta’s health mentally hadn’t been in a good place for a long time, since her parent’s deaths and the… accident not too long after. Yes, she might’ve been one of the top students in law, proving to be a formidable future lawyer, but she was empty. Waking up was not just opening her eyes, it was pulling herself out of a grave and struggling through her day. Nesta would eat hardly anything and could barely keep her eyes open.

So, when therapy started she tried her best. The steps were small, but steps all the same; eating a full meal, writing down the positives in her day, putting away the bottles for more than 12 hours. Unlike her sister, Nesta was never one to boast of her accomplishments. Nesta had been fighting the fight of her life and was starting to see the end. But, to get further sometimes you have to take a small step back.

Today she went back a bit.

She could hear her sister blowing up her phone, most likely angry texts harassing her, but Nesta knew better than to leave the phone completely. She settled on putting Feyre on silent, thinking about how nice life would be if the human Feyre had a silent button.

Drowned in her thoughts, sitting at the kitchen island Nesta picked at her food. It was half-eaten, but that was better than she thought she could do. She picked up the plate and put it in the fridge making her way to the bedroom up the stairs, after checking her door was locked.

She pulled herself underneath the covers and nuzzled up between the duvet and weighted blanket she had sprawled on the massive bed. Nesta liked her house cold and her blankets stacked, it was cozy for her and made it easier to sleep.

Nesta didn’t turn or spook when she heard the keys in the front door, she already knew the only person with the second set. He’d probably shown up to the bar where Feyre was at and realized she wasn’t there. How quick he was to change his plans.

Cassian loved a lot of things about Nesta, her storm-struck eyes, the small laugh she made at his god-awful jokes, her devotion. It was hard not to love all that, too bad people were intimidated by the rough exterior to see what was underneath. He loved his friends, but he knew them too well- Nesta wasn’t like them and was pushed aside because she wouldn’t bend to their mold. He knew that there was more behind it than just resilience, but he also knew better than to push it.

They had started seeing each other not long ago, about two months at most. Nesta didn’t want to move fast at all, but Cassian understood. He was patient, and even though he was more than ready to make things official, he gave her the time she needed.

When he told her that he wanted her after a long night of arguing about some stupid mishap, she told him where she was. The bareness, the vulnerability, it just made Cassian's thoughts more clear, the words ringing in his head again.

“Cassian, I’m not doing good. I haven’t been for a while, and I don’t know if I will be for a long time. I’m trying my best, to be a good sister, a good friend, but your… people are overwhelming me. I’m not asking you to choose between me and them, I would never. I just want you to understand that sometimes I can’t be around you all together, it’ll break what I’ve worked so hard to make of myself.”

He didn’t have any idea how bad it was until then, and he couldn’t believe how calm she was. Where he was a burning flame that kept her warm, she was the waves that covered him in peace.

Cassian knew it was one of those days and had seen her little signs; the porch light wasn’t on, her bookmark was away from her book, and Ivy wasn’t curled up with Nesta but just waiting at the door. So, he took off his shoes by the door, and picked up Ivy, kissing her nose and taking her upstairs with him.

He found Nesta in her bed, curled up underneath her millions of blankets, and couldn’t help but think how precious she was.

“Hi, Cas.”

“Hi beautiful, can I sit?”

The blankets ruffled a bit and a muffled “sure” came out.

He put Ivy by Nesta’s head and pulled himself under some of the covers, careful not to invade Nesta’s space. He knew that when she wanted him close she would say something.

It felt like hours he just sat there, looking at the walls in her room and this place that was so hers, when she finally turned and laid her head in his lap.

“Hi again.”

“Hi, again Nesta.” He chuckled.

She burrowed deeper, hiding her blushing face, “I’m sorry for not going out tonight, I don’t feel good.” He could feel how bad she felt and he couldn’t pinpoint if it was guilt for not going or guilt for him coming and leaving his friends.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. I already told them I wasn’t going tonight because I had plans to come see you, but I just told them I had work to do. Don’t feel bad, I wanted to be here and spend time with you, even if you don’t feel the best.”

“I know, Cas, I do. I just… I don't feel good today. It’s been tough.”

Cassian knew this was her way of letting him know to be near. He picked her head up off his lap and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before pushing her back to her own side. Pulling up the covers for her to come closer, she dove into his arms and curled up into his chest like little Ivy, who was asleep at the end of the bed. With Nesta in his arms and the world asleep outside, he knew this is what he wanted.

Nesta wasn’t saying much but she was grateful she didn’t have to. It had taken them a while to get here, to get Cassian to understand her and what was going on. He was quick-tempered at first, but over time grew more patient and soft with every passing day. Nesta knew that his efforts were building the foundation of something more than what they were now, but he wouldn’t push it, he’d hold back for her as long as she needed. Nesta was falling for him, and although she was scared to admit it with every passing day he made her feel more and more like she was doing the right thing. Being his was easy.

Not long after she began to lay in his arms Nesta fell asleep. The relief Cassian felt was immeasurable, he knew how hard it was for her to stay asleep or even fall asleep in the first place. He took a small triumph in making her comfortable enough to sleep with him near, but would only give himself that. Nesta was not his project, or a broken toy to fix- like her sister acts like she is- and she wasn’t something to be mended. No, even though neither one of them would say it aloud, Nesta was his girl. She was more than capable of fighting her own battles, but he’d always be there to hold her hand on cloudy days.

#nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #nesta and cassian #cassian #nessian fic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #pro nesta

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aitarose · 4 years

Text

OVER OUR HORIZON (T.KUROO) pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

synopsis: supposedly a guardian angel in the midst of her demons, kuroo tetsuro was her salvation, her saving joy—but in the end, she was his demise.

word count: 1.4k

genre: mob au, angst, established relationship

warnings: mentions of abuse, guns, blood, major character death

notes: this is for my bbs lina-chan and kyle. i still know little to nothing about this man, but he is a very fun time to write.

↳ DIRECTORY

Chaos erupted around them, loose bullets and noise-cancelling gunshots ringing past their ears—adrenaline rushing through their veins as Kuroo held her hand in his, pulling her away from the violence, away from the insanity that was her life.

His body shielded hers, a bullet proof vest strapped against his chest for a layer of extra protection, an insurance policy that she’d be alright. It was a way to make sure that the woman he loved would survive the attack he’d planned. The attack that he’d planned since the moment he’d met her.

Coming from the family that she’d been born into, Y/N was a clear threat amongst the average people. She had power, drive, ambition—three things that could breed a killer, a murderer amongst murderers.

And Kuroo had known this, he’d known the danger and sacrifice that would come with getting close to her. He knew the risks he was taking when he’d accepted the position as her bodyguard, the bodyguard for a mob princess.

There was no world in which he’d expected to fall in love with her. His feelings had grown strong, quickly and unpredictably. All of their little moments together, the times in which he’d sneak her out of the family dinners, into their little alcove, and kiss her while the moonlight shone from the window sill.

All of the times where he’d wrap his arms around her, hold her close as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, promise her that he’d always love her, never wanting to let her go. He was her sun, bringing warmth and empathy to her morally grey life.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and run away together. Run away, far away from her family, from the horror that she’d faced every day as a child, teenager, and young adult.

So, he’d conducted a plan with his own agency. One in which every part would be satisfied. A plan in which her family’s business would be put to a stop, and he’d be able to shower her in love forever—live a life in absolute peace.

And with his allies neck-in-neck with hers, he dragged her away from the sight. He ran with her to their favorite place in the massive residency, a place that no one else thought to bother with, their little alcove near the stars.

“What’s happening, Tetsuro?” Y/N whispered, holding his face to hers, grimacing as he pressed light and loving kisses to the blossoms of her cheeks, the scars that graced her gorgeous glow. “What did you do?”

She was confused, expecting the night to go just as it had been planned. It was the long awaited night in which she’d take over for her father, run the business of killers herself. A night that she’d been forced to prepare for, for her entire life.

The smile on his face was concerning in her eyes, one of a madman. The infatuated gaze he wore was frightening, the genuine love that he felt overwhelming her senses, throwing her feelings into a whirlpool of self-doubt.

“I bought us time, my love.” He responded, gently caressing her beautiful features, trying his best to show her that everything was alright—that they would be alright. “I bought us time to live our lives—to live our life together.”

“You don’t deserve this life, Y/N. You don’t deserve to become a cold-blooded killer against your will.” Stepping even closer, hands on her shoulders, doing his best to ground her while they stood in the eye of the hurricane. “Run away with me—be happy with me away from all of this.”

Kissing her gently, lips lingering over hers. memorizing the velvet feeling of her touch, the pure ecstasy that came with her presence—Kuroo felt that everything would turn out right. That he was about to get his happy ending, the ending that he’d always dreamed of for the two of them.

But it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

He simply assumed that their relationship was strong enough to move mountains, that the complexity of their lives wasn’t overbearing, that it didn’t tower over Y/N, causing her to quiver in fear every day.

Yes, she loved him as much as he loved her. Her heart was swollen with all of the niceties and adoration that she held for her sworn protector. Seeing his bright, smiling face in the mornings was the one thing she could always count on—the shining sun amidst her thunder clouds.

And she’d never expected to feel such a way, to feel like her family wasn’t the most important thing in her life, to feel as if nothing mattered other than him. It was as if she orbited around his light, as if her tidal waves were settled by the rays of his moon.

He was made to show her humanity, given to her by someone higher above to teach her the meaning of loving someone with her entire heart. While Y/N’s purpose was quite different, as she was only to bring him demise.

Stepping back, rejecting his kisses and shows of love, her face became stone. Cold and unreadable as she held his own gun in her hands, the very weapon that had saved her life a countless amount of times. The very weapon that he’d sworn he would protect her with, now considered Kuroo its target.

“I love you.” Y/N confessed using the three words that she’d tell him every night when they’d lay in bed beside one another, breathless and completely secure in his bare arms. “I love you so much, more than I thought I could ever be capable of.”

Shaking his head at the craze in her eyes, Kuroo pleaded. He pleaded that she reconsider what she was doing, that she looked at it from his perspective—the perspective of happiness, the prospect that they’d be normal people. That they’d be normal people who’d get married, start a family, die from old age and not molded steel.

And with his life in her hands, his weapon between her fingers, Y/N looked at Kuroo with all of the love in her heart. She felt it expand, overcompensating for how her family mistreated her, how her life mistreated her—and did the one thing she never thought she’d do—the one thing that truly made her the monster she’d always known she’d become.

She pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening. Every noise, gunshot, bullet on mute as she watched the love of her life crumble—as she watched him scream in agony and pure pain, clutching swollen his neck and gasping for air. However, there were no regrets on her mind, she believed that she made the right decision for herself. The decision to leave him behind.

Falling back, Kuroo was in disbelief. The faith he’d had in her completely shattered as she turned away without giving him so much as a second glance—moving past his convulsing body as if it were nothing, as if he was as worthless as her broken promises.

The pain of heartbreak wasn’t a stranger to his mind, but a misconception to the average person. It wasn’t some emotion to write love songs and make movies about—but complete and utter anguish. It was more painful than death itself.

His chest felt heavy, heaving and sighing as the blood loss became far too much. Laying there, in a pool of his own shades of red and scarlet, reality hit him harder than her family’s bullets ricocheted off of their granite walls, harder than how they burrowed themselves deep into the chests of his allies.

Her betrayal hadn’t only broken his heart, broken the trust that he thought they’d cemented together, but it’d cost him his life. The sun was finally setting over the horizon—and unfortunately for him, this time, the horizon was his.

So, as Kuroo Tetsuro took his last dying breaths, his arm stretched out, yearning to capture her fleeting love one last time—he bled out alone.

Alone and hidden from the others, hidden in his own secluded alcove that he’d first confessed his relentless feelings, his relentless love. The love that ignited the flame that had been just blown out—the flame that had been forgotten by the girl that held his heart.

And as his heartbeat slowed, collapsing into tiny fragments, a shell of what his love had once been, as did the building itself. As did the beautiful stained glass windows, the towering stone pillars, and the vaulted ceilings.

Watching as the world around him became destroyed, demolished due to the chaos he himself had evoked, he was buried beneath his own lies and lost dreams—the lost dreams that he’d had for him and Y/N.

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valdarian · 4 years

Text

Invader Zim- Infinite Pink: Prologue (1)

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This fic is intended for a mature audience and will be covering some traumatic topics that could be triggering. Please be advised!

Read with caution!

-Major Character death is temporary and only used in prologue.

-This fic is likely to make some uncomfortable or potentially be triggering. -It is intended for mature audiences, as it will be exploring dark and mature themes and situations. Such as violence, implied/attempted sexual assault and abuse. Non-con/dub-con warnings apply. I will try not to go into too much graphical details, however be warned it will be implied or referenced. -The events in this story are entirely fictional and merely done for dramatic effect. However, they are not intended to poke fun or downplay the real-life seriousness of these issues in anyway.

-I always try to include additional warnings in my author notes before each chapter.

WARNINGS OVER.

Stay safe!

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SUMMARY: Zim’s trial was a victory for Irken society, their biggest thorn finally defeated for good. Zim’s soul reflects on his life and actions from the great beyond.

When a second chance presents itself; Will he achieve his happy ending or wind up like he did before? Fighting against impossible odds, unraveling mysteries and discovering what lies beneath. Secrets will be revealed. What truth awaits?

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NOTES:

-Prazr is supposed to be slow burn endgame pairing.

-No Dib/mission to invade Earth (I don’t plan on exploring it) in this fic, besides small past references.

-Instead it will be focused more on Irk and her history/society. Like Zim’s Academy/elite days.

-It’s been years since I’ve wrote a proper story, so please don’t mind the writing if it’s a bit weird in some places. I’ve had this plot stuck in my head for about a year. Inspired by my obsessed with Isekai/reincarnation/do-over manga and fics.

-If others want to use this as a base for their own story or art, that’s fine. Just tag me, I’d love to see what you do!

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(The Abyss: Undetermined time after The Trial)

Zim floated endlessly in darkness, surrounded only by a feeling of a bygone age.

His body, the only thing visible as far as the eye could see. Was as bare as the day he was born, not even a PAK attached.

Any Irken caught like this would be ridiculed for such degeneracy. Yet, he could not muster much shame. Only hugging his knees tighter to his chest.

He had nothing to show the passage of time. Only a half remembered feeling of what it was to be alive. Left alone in the Abyss with only his own thoughts and distant memories as company.

How long had he been here? Minutes, cycles...Eons?

Was this what death truly felt like? All alone and tormented by his life on replay.

Forever wondering what had went wrong.

He had been angry at first. Enraged at the thoughts of his trial and execution.

How dare they do this to him, to ZIM! He hadn't done anything to deserve this!

The pain of PAK removal was one of the few things still fresh in his mind.

He had cursed the hoomans and their filthy planet, the dib-beast for always interfering in his plans. As well as a long list of others for his fate. Just about anyone and everyone he could remember. No matter how insignificant they had played a role in his life.

His rage had burned without an end in sight. Who had he angered to endure such disgrace! Who did they think they were to put him through such humiliation?

The names had slipped past his lips before he could stop them.

The Almighty Tallest.

His tirade had halted immediately. Appalled at his renegade of a mouth.

What traitorous thoughts!

The propaganda and teachings of the Empire still deeply ingrained within his mind.

Yet, the more he had thought about them, the more his rage started to burn again. Turning into a blaze of discontent and resentment.

The Tallest had used him!

They were no more innocent then he!

Just as the Empire had designed them to. Zim had only been doing what any Irken soldier would've done...right? They were taught to love destruction and mayhem. How could he ever be the one in the wrong? Was not that, the purpose the Control Brains gave them?

He was only doing his duty.

What right did they have to punish him then!

Was not it the Tallest who had forced him to pilot during Operation Impending Doom?

They hadn’t even asked what had caused the disaster. Why he had done what he did. Not that he could’ve answered them. Even now, that time is nothing but a distant haze at best.

Still, they had never tried to find out what had went wrong. Only sending him to suffer on Foodcourtia under the sadistic Sizz-Lorr.

Did they like seeing him in pain? Did they enjoy seeing him unable to fight against them, even when they continued to ridicule him. Pushing him ever closer to his breaking point?

Like when they had sent him to that treacherous death-world known as Urth.

No! His body had shook in anger.

No, no.

The truth was that they had sent him into the deep recess of space, hoping he would die.

He had turned a blind eye to all their misdeeds against him.

For so long...too long, he realizes now.

Letting his feelings blind him. Everything had just felt so...so right with them. He had clung to a smeethood friendship. To long buried feelings that he swore they shared, but could not speak of.

Had he really been that delusional?

They had been friends once, close ones. It had been an instant connection. One he thought would last the test of time. Since their days in the Academy, they had spent practically every waking moment by each other’s sides. Years spent studying, training and completing assignments together. Even graduated as elites with one another.

He had cared about them, more than he could ever put into words. He had thought they had cared about him too.

Maybe they had one point...Until their love of status won out.

Zim had always known about their dreams of grandeur. But, had ignored it. Convincing himself, that no matter what, they would never abandon him. That they still cared for him...even if only a little.

Yet, time and time again he was proven wrong.

Unwilling to accept the truth. His own delusions gladly filling in the blanks. They were ultimately the same as him, obviously. Only doing what the Empire wanted. What the Control Brains wanted.

This was all an...act...There was no way they actually hated him. It was...a test! A test of his faith, of his will...of his love. No matter what, he couldn’t fail. He needed to prove himself to them. Maybe then...

What a pitiful creature he had been.

So much so, he had even done something as primitive as pray to the ancient Gods. Hoping that one day...

He really was delusional. The crazed mess everyone believed him to be.

After all, what Irken in their right mind, would ever want to be seen with such a tiny smaller?

Yet, in the end he had still loved them. Even now his cardiac-spooch aches for them.

They had hurt him, but he had hurt them too. He hates them, he loves them, he hates them, he loves them...

He doesn’t know what to think about them anymore.

After some time, his anger had eventually moved on.

To the only ones left.

The Control Brains.

The machines who claimed to control everything. If they were truly such omnipotent beings, then surely they had to have known his PAK was defective! They dictated everything about Irken lives after all, from what they wore, to their careers and everything in-between.

Then why was only he to blame!

Were not they the ones that programed him this way!

If he had been such a threat to the empire, if his PAK had so many errors, then why didn't they fix it!

Why had he been the only one to be punished!

If he was so broken, then why couldn't they have just fixed him!

…and just like that, the flames had been snuffed out. He had been quiet for a few minutes...hours...or maybe even days. Dwelling only on that single thought alone.

A sob had left him as the realization came crashing down.

Only then had he finally blame himself. A deep well of shame had quickly bubbling within him.

Over two hundred cycles, years devoted to serving the Armada. Bowing to the strict rules of the Empire and whims of his Tallest. Placing his loyalty to Irk above all else. Rejecting his natural inclinations. Forever trying to hid his perceived weaknesses.

It all amounted to what exactly?

He was defective. A mistake. A problem to be remedied and swept under a rug to be forgotten.

He was only capable of needlessly destroying everything in his path, even himself.

Forever trying to be something he wasn't.

While Silently pleading, hoping beyond hope someone would give him the attention...the love that he so desired. His peers would recognize him and appreciate him.

Irk was sure to celebrate his death for cycles to come.

It's not that he hadn't tried to control his urges. He had tried, he really did. To be the perfect soldier, to be the prime Irken example.

But, at his core, that not who he was. Despite how much he had tried to make himself to be so.

Luck was as much his friend as it was his enemy.

In a society were one was not to step out of line, not to break any mold, to do only what they were told. Someone like him, could only double down. Hoping that maybe this time something would go right. If only he kept trying it wouldn't be considered failure. Something would have to work eventually, right? He hadn't been kicked out of the collective yet. So that meant there was still hope.

What a fool he had been.

Chaos incarnate many called him. The name Zim was synonymous with destruction and failure. He had no glory, no honor. He was nothing but a devil to his own people, an omen of their death.

By the Gods, if he could just go back!

His hands clench at the thought.

Would things be different? Could he make different choices.

Even if his loyalty came into question? If he walked a different road then that of the perfect little Irken.

Would he even be capable of such a thing?

He doesn’t know.

If only he had tried a little hard to control himself. If he could just be given another chance to prove himself. If to no one else, but to him. If he could just have a chance to live life how he truly wanted.

If only he could start over. If only...

A humorless laugh leaves him. Who would even give him the time of day? To him of all Irken?

As if.

His Empire had denounced him. His people had forsaken him. He had nothing left.

Magenta eyes stare blankly into the expansive darkness. They close as he buries his face into his knees, lamenting his fate.

Truly this couldn't have been a more fitting punishment for someone as despicable as him.

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Cover Art: https://valdarian.tumblr.com/post/643477875611271168/cover-art-for-my-invader-zim-fanfic-infinite

OC ART:https://valdarian.tumblr.com/post/643603226310148096/just-a-few-of-my-oc-that-appear-in-infinite-pink

MAP of IRK: https://valdarian.tumblr.com/post/644055524128735232/guess-who-found-a-world-map-maker-its

Next chapter:

https://valdarian.tumblr.com/post/640238150925598720/invader-zim-infinite-pink-ch1

#PRaZr #zim razr #pazr #almighty tallest #tallest purple #Tallest Red #invader zim #Infinite pink AU #Zim

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sweetchup · 4 years

Text

Hate or Love?

Anonymous said: I love what you write could you write a NSFW scenario with Feitan? Maybe add a bit of vanilla and angst?? Just have fun with it! Thank you!

Type: Feitan x Reader

Au?: None

Word count: 3,300

Warnings: Mature Content, Smut, Blood, Vanilla lemon, bondage (rope, blindfold), possessiveness, a little angst (only a sprinkle), and physical assault.

Author note: Thank you!! Feitan is actually really fun to write and I’m actually glad I’ve been recently swarmed by Feitan fans. The Feitan love and thirst is real right now in my ask box.

“Oh man is it hot today!” You say out loud, while fanning yourself with a piece of paper. It was literally scorching though today, you were practically sweating through your clothes. It also didn’t help that you were working in your weapon shop today so you were often hunched over a hot flame or playing with boiling metal. Not that just sucked on a day like this.

Maybe during your lunch break, you should go grab some ice cream from the corner store down the street. Maybe also some lemona—

You are snapped out of your thoughts when the chime, from the front door of your shop, rings. You squint as you turn to face the glass windows which have off a golden hue shining through. You wonder who it is but soon smirk as your eyes finally adjust.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr.Portor~?” You tease causing Feitan to glare at you. As a previous resident of meteor city yourself and an old friend of Franklin, you often gave weapon offers for some of the Troupe members. You actually even got along with the members, even the boss Chrollo who once tried to steal your Nen. But, for some odd reason, you and Feitan could never get along. It was probably due to the fact that you could never keep quiet and always had to speak your mind, which annoyed him to no end. You actually liked Feitan, he was nice company, but the need to tease him more out way that.

“Me would suggest you shut up unless you want something to happen, (y/n),” Feitan threatens, causing you to let out a laugh. Aww what a cutie! You quickly dodge as Feitan throws a knife at your head. Still doesn’t change your mind, he’s still adorable.

“Sorry Feitan I couldn’t help myself, you just looked so adorable trying to glare at me~.” You say, leaning against the front desk causing your shirt to drop showing part of your bra. Feitan blushes and turns his head away. This would have been a clear sign that told you he likes you, he has actually had a crush on you dating all the way back when you were teens in meteor city. But since you're incredibly dense, you haven’t seen the signs up till now and since he’s wearing his robe you can’t see the blush and just think he’s annoyed with you. You just always have to find a way to tease him don’t you?, “So~ why ya here?”

You blink a couple of times as you see Feitan pull up his sword, a sword you made.

“What the fuck did you do? Did you fight a fucking herd of gorillas?”

The sword was absolutely wrecked, like it practically didn’t even look like a sword anymore. The metal part of Feitan’s concealed sword was broken into three separate parts, the handle was ripped and bent, and finally the umbrella part was shredded and burnt in multiple areas.

“Troupe business.” Actually, Feitan didn’t want to tell you that he actually fell into a trap and got surrounded. You already had enough insult ammo against him as it already is. Though, maybe you actually would be concerned about him? Not likely knowing you.

“Troupe business my ass. This is why I don’t give toys to little kids like you, I’m going to have to rebuild this whole thing,” you spitefully say, muttering a little bit at the end. Feitan clenches his fist at your comment. Do you not consider him an actual man? He’s tried before, he’s tried many times but whenever he’s attempted to take you out on a date or spend time with you, you just find a way to insult him or piss him off. He might like you but he is also a man who needs to keep his pride intact.

“Me not a little kid.”

You roll your eyes and walk to the back of your shop. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what a little kid would say!,” You yelled out, your back turned to him as you picked out the items needed to remake the sword. You technically shouldn’t be mad at him since swords will all eventually end up broken but you had spent so much time on Feitan’s sword. Way more than all of the other members combined. So you got a little heated that he was so careless to let it get THIS broken, “plus aren’t you like 5 feet or something?”

“Shut up. Watch your mouth (y/n). Or—“

“Or, you’ll make me regret it. Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a hundred times.” You say mimicking feitan’s accent, waving your hand off in his direction. Now, you can’t get distracted by feitan, no matter how much you do, you have to get back to what you were doing. Did you melt copper along with the iron into the sword mold last time? Or was it silver? You honestly forgot. You hear a loud shutter and turn around. “Hey Fei? Whatcha doing? Is it too bright in here for your emo ass, or something?”

You stood there confused as to why Feitan had suddenly pulled the shutters down. The action had caused it so that hardly any of the golden light from the sun flowed into the shop. It also didn’t help that you didn’t have any lights on so it made the room hard to see with the limited amount provided.

“I’m going to say this once, (y/n). Beg.”

You blink as you watch Feitan turn around and stare at you. Was he serious? Did you actually piss Feitan off to the point he wanted to kill you? After a couple of seconds of thinking, you break down into laughter. Man, what a load of humbug. He’s probably joking like he usually is.

“H-holy shit. You actually almost scared me. Maybe if you grow a couple of inches it—“

Before you can even finish your sentence you are slammed face first into the desk. Fucking shit that hurt. Huffing, your eyes burn as you struggle to lift your head up from the desk. Blinking the tears out of your blurry vision, you see a pool of blood on the counter. From the pain you could feel, it was most likely coming from your nose. You go to check but as you begin to come to, you realize Feitan was behind you, forcing your hands behind your back. Shit, you were in a terrible position. On top of that it also didn’t help that you just got your fucking head slammed into the counter and couldn’t think straight.

“I’m giving you a final chance since you're one of our acquaintances. Beg. (Y/n).” Feitan whispers harshly into your ear. You could tell he was losing his cool. Honestly if you're on your deathbed, You might as well finish pissing him off and see a sexy angry Feitan. Smirking, you crane your neck to look at him.

“Now why would I beg to a—“

You couldn’t even finish your sentence as you're pushed by your neck into the desk, causing you to slightly choke in shock. You chuckle as you see Feitan’s angry face above you. You were correct, he does look sexy when he’s truly pissed off. He gives you one last glare before looking away from you to grab something. You feel his cold hands around your wrist replaced by a rough prickly texture, probably some sort kind of rope.

“Aww~ what’s wrong feitan? Made ya mad?” You snicker at him. Though you soon regret that as he puts a blindfold on you. This is new, You thought Feitan likes it when his victims see what sort of awful torture he was about to do to them. You grunt as Feitan harshly drags you over to somewhere and thrown onto another table. Your wrist aches from being pressed under your body weight.

You go to complain to him but you lose your voice as you finally notice the cold edge of what you believe to be a knife pressed against your stomach. Damn, he is actually serious about this. You're feeling are actually hurt. Feitan chuckles at you losing your voice midway and you curse yourself out for that one show of weakness.

Now, as much fun it is being tortured by Mr Sexy Goth man, you have other things you have to do such as finishing his sword so what should you do in this scenario? Run? No, he's incredibly fast and agile so that won’t work. Use your Nen? No, you need your hands for that and you won’t be fast enough to get them out in time. Wait, you still have your legs. They aren’t held back and you could focus your aura into them to create a powerful kick. Now, you just need to deal with that knife against you.

You mentally sigh in relief as you feel the knife pulled away from your skin, looks like you don’t have to worry about that after all. Now's your time to act. Your knees are about Feitan’s waist and he’s around 5 feet so, you should aim around here!

Quickly, when the knife is gone, you focus your aura into your legs and send a harsh kick up. You snicker as you feel the front side of your calf come in contact with his face. Bullseye!

As soon as you hear a smack, signaling Feitan is down on the ground, you jump onto your feet and break the bonds tying your hands. With one of your hands now free you rip off the blindfold. It was fun while it lasted Feitan—

You feel the blood in your veins freeze. Feitan wasn’t on the ground in front of you. Where was he? Startled, you go to activate your Nen but are cut off guard as hands grab the back of your knees and you are picked up and slammed against the wall. Crap how could you be so careless, Feitan was right behind you. You should’ve known, it was so obvious.

Suddenly, you turn crimson as you notice something. When did this happen? How in the world did you not realize your clothes were cut into shreds. Everything was out in the open. The only time you could think of this happening is back….back when he took the knife off of you. That’s right. It’s so hot out that you didn’t even feel a change in temp when the clothes got shredded or feel the loss of fabric since you are so sweaty.

Feitan chuckles as he sees your flustered reaction. You glare back at him only to mewl a couple seconds later as he grinds against your heat. The cool silk fabric of his clothes against your naked slit and clitoris felt so good. You clutch onto his back as he begins to bite and suck on your neck.

“Look at you. Mewling like a bitch in heat.” Feitan mumbles into your neck as he grinds harder in. You feel yourself clench at his words. This was so wrong, he hates you right, so why does it feel like he wants it. Why does it feel so perfect? So good. So right.

“F-F-Fei. Please”

Feitan pulls away from your neck and stares at you, placing his forehead against yours. He groans as he looks at you. You annoyed the shit out of him today but damn did you look hot right now. He originally wanted to just torture you, steal something you couldn’t ever get back and leave you begging for him to come back. But now, seeing your tear stained cheeks, your face covered in blood and your stupid ass mouth moaning out for him, he knew he couldn’t be settled for anything less than taking all of you.

“Please what?” Feitan grunts out. Leaning away from you, making you whine from the loss of pleasure. You go to push your hips up back into him but he holds you down. You really wanted more. You didn’t care what all of this meant, you just wanted Feitan, “Answer me.”

“P-please Fei. I want you to-to fuck me. I want you to fill me up. Please! I beg of you.” You tell him, your cheek flushed in embarrassment. He felt himself twitch in his pants, fuck that was too good. He was going to make you beg and whine for a little while longer but he needed you. He needed you now.

You are startled for a moment as Feitan puts you down on your feet but soon blush and moan as you see him pulling off his long black robe and unbuckling his pants. Damn, all that troupe work made him muscular, it was honestly impressive. And you’ve seen Chrollo shirtless tons of times before.

“Turn around. Now.” He orders, which you obey for the first time in your life. A shiver unintentionally goes up and down your spine as you feel his cool hands grab around your waist. The cold touch felt really nice against your hot and sweaty skin. You soon snap out of the nice feeling as one of his hands pulls away to help line himself up at your entrance. “You ready?”

This causes you to laugh. “You care now?”

Feitan tches, clearly unhappy you’re back to teasing him. Hmm… you know something that he would like. You catch Feitan off guard as you stick your ass up into him and give him a submissive yet seductive look.

“C-come on Fei. Prove that I was wrong about you. That even a short ass like you HA—”

Your plan definitely worked alright. Feitan cuts you off as he fully shields himself into you. Damn, you clutch your fist against the wall, you didn’t expect him to be this thick and big. It honestly caught you off guard. You moan as he pulls back out to move. Damn it Feitan, he knows this is your first time and he hadn’t give you enough time to adjusted to his size yet.

“F-fei. Hold it.” You say trying to push him away with your arm but he just grabs your wrists and presses your whole body against the wall. Trapping your body there.

“Shut it, (y/n). Shut your fucking mouth for once in your life.”

Fuck, you really couldn’t do anything. You could only just take it. Take every fast violent thrust he pushed into you. Take every pulse of pleasure that course through your body. Take every insult and word he whispered into your ear. It was so much at once, all your senses were overloaded.

“Fuck, look at you. So obedient. What happened to the old (y/n)?” Feitan moans as he feels your walls clench around him. “You like that huh? Like being obedient to me?”

You did you really did. Being submissive, being obedient, belonging to feitan, that’s what you really wanted. You just wanted him. Maybe, that’s why you two never got along. You never wanted to just admit outright your underlying feelings for him and just pushed him further and further away with your teasing. Fuck, you really didn’t want this to be a one time thing. A thing that will never be brought up again and be just a distant memory.

“F-Feitan, I-I love you. I love you.” Feitan’s thrust stop and silence fills the air. W-why did you say that? Why did you have to let your feelings take over your mind and shoot out some blubbering nonsense? Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut f—

You're suddenly turned over, so your back is against the wall, and Feitan begins again. This time his thrusts are slower, like as if he’s savoring every bit, and he is trying to get more and more deeper, trying to fill you up as much as he can.

“Say it again. I want you to say it again.” Feitan whispers, placing his forehead against yours. Your lips were practically almost touching, “tell me who you love. Who you belong to.”

“You-u Feitan. I love you F-feitan. I love you so much.”

You let a sigh out. Even if the thrust were slower, they made you practically twitch in pleasure. They were so nice and loving. Each one hitting just that right spot. You were almost there. So close.

“Fuck (y/n).” Feitan curses out as he places his lips on yours. A passionate and loving kiss that takes your breath away. He was close. You could tell, his thrusts were getting more and more frantic and unpredictable. He isn’t wearing a condom either and you doubt he’s going to listen to you about pulling out. Crap, you clench at the thought, this is dangerous. Really dangerous. Maybe you’ll take one more risk for today.

“F-Feitan. I’m going to cum-m. Fill me up please. Fill me up with your cum.”

“You—shit.”

Feitan couldn’t finish his sentence as you moan out reaching your climax. As your walls clench and suck around him, it brings him to his end. He groans out as his warm cum fills you up while your walls flutter around him, milking him for all he is worth.

You pant out, tired from the events that had just taken place. Man you felt like you had just run a marathon. Maybe even two. You could honestly take a 12 hour nap around now. Though that thought is short lived as you feel Feitan move again, making you shutter.

“Huh? Fei-i? What are you...?”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Feitan. He looked hardly tired at all and only had a light shine of sweat. He chuckles darkly at your shocked expression. You couldn’t take anymore, your nerves were already starting to flare from overstimulation and he wasn’t even going fast. Also now that the adrenaline was out of your body you realized how sore you are and how much in pain your nose was. It might even be broken.

“Feitan-n please no more-e.” You beg, looking for any mercy from the man in front of you. But he only smirks back.

“You shouldn’t have opened your mouth (y/n). So don’t blame me for what’s happening next.”

After all, you belong to me now. And I’m taking everything.

Bonus:

(Later; back at the hideout)

“Hey Fei! How was getting your swor— oh man holy shit!! What happened to you?” Phinks shouts; running to his bitter bud who was a mess; hair all messy, clothes crinkled, skin sweaty and a little bit of blood on the side of his cheek. Phinks goes to touch it but Feitan slaps his hand away and walks away. “Feitan!”

Phinks just stares as he watches Feitan continue down the hallway, back to his temporary room. Phinks turns towards the others who were also just as confused.

“Man, (y/n) did a number on him. I wonder what he did.” Franklin mutters before looking back down at his cards. He had never seen (y/n) lose her cool around anyone before and he had known her since they were kids. He grabs a card and places it into the pile, “6”

Shalnark hums in agreement and places a card down as well “7. I wonder as well. Maybe Feitan insulted her looks?”

Machi scoffs “Not likely. I bet Feitan got too nosy when she was doing her work.”

“Feitan being nosy? That sounds absurd.”

Little did they all know of what really happened and that Feitan was actually smirking as he walked into the hideout.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #hxh scenarios #scenarios #feitan #feitan portor

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