#so I had to get a bit... liberal with the concept of walk and talks... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goodgirlofglory · 2 years ago

Text

Ambrosial / One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 7,1k

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit content, mutual pining, scent kink, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, barely-there-handjob (like, not really at all), coming on clothes, a little bit of sweat kink? Sort of filth kink (not scat or anything like that but like, Bucky likes it messy), Bucky worshiping reader.

Summary: With his heightened senses, Bucky knows no peace when it comes to his olfactory system. Sweat, rotting food and sewage – the smells of the world surrounds him day in and day out. His only reprieve is the carefully curated space of his private quarters – and you, the sweet, new member of the team. With your unique, mouth-watering scent, it’s all he can do to not lose control around you. What happens when you unexpectedly cross that line between the two of you, and Bucky gets an opportunity to do more than just smell?

Note: My first Bucky fic eyooooo. He's a simp. It's weird, I feel like I'm so stuck in 2016 mcu. All I can picture is newly liberated-from-Hydra Bucky at the compound post civil war. But I reeeally liked this concept, and scent kinks really get me going. Anyone agree?

Your media consumption is your own responsibility, but I advise you not to interact if the contents of the warnings upset you.

Minors not welcome.

My work is not to be distributed outside my blog.

Replies, reblogs, likes and messages are amazing<3

Coffee, petrol, rusty iron, wet dog, shit, blood and old toothpaste. For as long as Bucky could remember, he could smell really well.

All his senses were heightened. The serum that made him a super soldier saw to that. But of all the senses, smell affected Bucky the most. Whether it made him think of a memory, alerted him to danger, gave him pleasure or was a bother. Most often it was the last one. Garbage, old sweat, farts and rotting food was a constant discomfort to him, assaulting his poor olfactory system wherever he went.

And no one, save for Steve, seemed to get why Bucky preferred to keep his rooms in the compound so clean. He feared Sam would never stop laughing that time he found the scented candle in Bucky's bathroom.

"You're killing me here, Buck! Lavender and rose petals," Sam had choked out between fits of laughter, wiping tears while clapping Bucky's shoulder.

"First of all, don't call me that, and second, fuck off," was all Bucky could say to his own defence. Steve had given him a look of understanding sympathy, while you had only chuckled at Sam's amusement. Bucky let Sam have his laugh and kept the candle.

You were the newest addition to the compound, and though you and Bucky hit it off in a polite and respectful tone, Bucky didn't really know you outside your skills and specialties in the field (which he had mostly learned from reading your file - not actually talking to you). The two of you didn't seem to have much in common besides a shared love for food. Your rooms were just near the kitchen, like Bucky's, so whenever something good was cooking, you both would come sniffing.

So, Bucky didn’t really know much about you, except that you had the sweetest scent he’d ever smelled. Rich, slightly spicy, a mix of dried herbs and honey mixed with warm skin. It made him think of lazy mornings in soft sheets, quiet, content walks in lush forests, and sex. It was so appealing to him, he’d started to guiltily look forward to every time he got to smell it. He couldn’t ever let you know that, though. Couldn’t let you know how deeply he subtly pulled your scent into his nostrils at times, and how much it sizzled within him. How it sometimes made his cock grow half hard and sensitive in his pants. You smelled so good.

He was horrified by his own reaction, how he couldn’t control it. Bucky could control everything, held himself so tightly leashed he sometimes didn’t remember how it felt to react naturally to something. The semis you gave him were a direct threat to that control.

Bucky could faintly remember being quite the ladies man back in the day. No more, though. He barely knew how to talk to people these days, let alone women. Let alone gorgeous, cute, good-smelling women like you.

He had most of the scents of the compound down by now. Natasha's caramel lattes in the morning, Steve's burnt toast and black roast. Wanda's paprika dishes and Clint's cheesy pizzas. At noon every day the hallway would smell with the fresh sweat of the joint training sessions. Sam would enjoy popcorn on Thursday’s movie night and a strong, musky cologne on Friday's club nights. There would always be the smell of liquor in the air when Tony was around, and more often than not, the smell of smoke as Steve went to cool off on his bike soon after.

Only Vision had no smell at all except a very faint hue of fresh, clinical rubber. Eerie, Bucky often thought to himself. Sometimes it was the only reminder that Vision wasn't human.

There were rarely any new smells for Bucky to note. Rarely something he didn't know what was, until one particular evening. The compound was quiet. A larger group were off on a mission, and the rest had scattered away, some leaving the grounds for a few days leave. Bucky had left his room to scavenge for snacks when he turned the corner into the kitchen and bumped straight into you.

“Oh gosh! Hi Barnes! You scared me,” you said with a surprised smile after giving a little yelp, nearly dropping the bag of chips and steaming cup of tea in your hands.

Bucky felt his body flush, partly embarrassed that he hadn’t sensed your presence before nearly tackling you off your feet, and partly because you were standing very close. Closer than he’d ever been.. Then your scent hit him, and a new wave of warmth spread in his body. It was…heavier than usual. Richer, with an overwhelming tangy note - the warm skin and lazy mornings in soft sheets he’d mentioned earlier - and it coursed through him like a comb through wet hair, leaving him momentarily stunned by sensation. He swallowed the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth and fought to not close his eyes. You were right there, for Christ's sake.

Don’t be a creep!

Bucky pointed to the items in your hands and said “snacks”.

Stupid!

You looked down to where he pointed, momentarily puzzled before smiling and raising your cup in a small toast as you seemingly understood what he meant.

“Way ahead of ya,” you said, then you sobered and when you met his eyes your cheeks had gained a strange hint of color. “You haven’t been out tonight? I thought I was all alone here,” you said, and Bucky was almost too distracted by your scent to realize you were nervous.

“Ah, no. Not for me,” he said, and then added “going out on town and stuff,' cause his communication skills were truly atrocious.

“Oh. Yeah, me neither,” you said, smiling softly at him, looking up through your lashes in a way that had him squirming in his skin. Bucky let his gaze track down to notice for the first time that you were only wearing a huge, oversized t-shirt and fuzzy blue socks. He could see your bare knees. So cute.

Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard…

And then, as Bucky tried to will his cock not to swell in his sweatpants, he realized what he was smelling. It was arousal - your arousal. Or rather, that which came after your arousal. The smell of you post arousal. Bucky swallowed thickly again. You’d been masturbating. Or maybe you had a visitor. No, those weren’t allowed in the compound.

You’d been self-pleasuring then, while you thought everyone was away. Which explained the rosy cheeks and nervous tone of voice - and the slip of control that had blood rushing to Bucky’s cock right before you. He resolutely fought the mental images away with a proverbial stick, shook himself quickly from his stupor and stepped past you, running for the fucking hills before you’d notice the tent forming in his pants and be forever creeped out by him. You didn’t deserve that, fucking hell.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening,” he called over his shoulders and didn’t look back as he entered the kitchen. A long moment later you stammered out a “y-you too” before Bucky’s advanced hearing caught your feet slipping on the floor as you made your way back to your rooms.

Later that night, hot with shame, Bucky laid in his bed, hard and aching as he remembered your smell, the way it had lingered in the hallway, and the way your cheeks looked with that adorable blush. But he didn’t touch himself - refused to be that way, knew he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes again if he did.

That scent haunted him from that day forward. Each time he passed your room he would automatically look for it, each time he passed you he would scrutinize the nuances of your scent, trying to figure out if you’d been aroused recently or not. Not able to help himself, he would try and decipher if you were wet right then and there, if your scent changed during the brief time you were in a room with him. This was usually during mission briefings or the missions themselves, so it wasn’t often he ever caught your scent marinated and warm and potent like he had that day in the hallway.

But then the day came where Steve, your usual sparring partner, was on a mission, and out of nowhere you asked Bucky if he could step in.

“It’s just, with the serum and all, you might be the closest to Steve in terms of the level of challenge we’ve been working up to,” you said, looking down, hands behind your back as you stood before Bucky where he sat on the bench, having just finished a bench press set.

He’d been resolutely not looking at you from the moment you unexpectedly stepped into the gym. Because he was concentrating on his routine, and because he was giving you space to concentrate on yours. But also because it was hard enough to keep his eyes reigned in when you weren’t sweaty and flushed, your compression shirt clinging to your toned torso, your tights hugging your thighs and oh god, plump, rounded ass perfectly.

Bucky felt at home in the gym. It was a safe space for working out his surplus energy and jittering nerves, and fresh perspiration was a hundred times better than the stank of old socks and musty boxers he got elsewhere. He always felt a bit grimy, a bit uneasy in his own skin, with the way his bulky body and gait moved him through the delicate spaces of the compound. In the gym, he could just be loud and forceful in his grimy skin and everyone else was too.

But now, with you so polite and sweet and shy before him, Bucky felt at a loss. He couldn’t damn well say no to you when you gave such a good reason for asking him. He didn’t want to be an asshole. You were supposed to be teammates. Colleagues.

“What she means to say is that no one else is good enough for her,” Scott Lang chimed in from the bench next to Bucky when Bucky remained quiet a second too long.

A familiar, rosy blush stole across your cheeks as you batted a hand towards Lang.

“Maybe if you spent half as much time working your biceps as you do your mouth, I would’ve asked you,” you retorted, and Bucky didn’t bother to quell his snort of laughter. It wasn’t often he got to see your sassy side, though Steve had told him about it.

You looked back and smiled a little at Bucky as Lang exaggerated a shocked gasp and got up from his bench.

“You know, you shouldn’t be so nice all the time, Y/N. I would like to see you being a little mean,” he said as he grabbed his towel and headed for the gym exit, smiling all the while.

“Try me, Bug-man.”

“I just might, ordinary human woman,” Scott threw back as he pushed through the doors.

You looked back as Bucky, who was still recovering slightly from the smile you’d given him.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Barnes?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah, sure,” he heard himself say, and almost immediately his heart kicked into gear.

This is a stupid idea, he thought to himself as he joined you on the sparring mat. Your scent, alive with your fresh, warm sweat, wafted in a trail directly behind you where Bucky followed, trying not to take too noticeable pulls of air. You stretched for a bit and Bucky did the same so he wouldn’t end up staring.

“So,” he started as he raised himself from a forward hamstring stretch, “what have you and Steve been working o- oof!”

His words were cut off as you launched yourself on him, landing a kick to his midriff that had the breath momentarily stealing from his lungs. Then his mind slipped into combat mode, and he lunged for you.

It seemed like hours passed as you sparred. You’d come a long way in your training, and Bucky found himself receiving quick punches and efficient kicks unexpectedly several times. You’d already been sweaty when you started, and it didn’t take long for your mixed perspirations to clog Bucky’s nose, adding a layer of distraction to the mix.

You wrapped your thighs around his head in a move eerily reminiscent of Natasha, and Bucky nearly blacked out as he came face to face to the source of that intoxicating scent. He might be gross, but he didn’t care. It smelled so fucking good.

And then, as he grabbed you by the hips and flung you to the mat, catching your head from breaking against the floor and lowering himself to his knees between your legs to dampen the impact, you let out a surprised little squeal that had him flushing for entirely new reasons.

You stopped short, panting furiously and looking up at Bucky with wide eyes, face red, hair clinging to the sweat on your forehead. You were utterly gorgeous, and Bucky was powerless. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. You were a dream like this, alive and blinding, so beautiful and so close. It gave him a sort of reverent pleasure just to be allowed to look at a woman like this. A lucky reward he was completely undeserving of.

You stayed like that. You on your back, arms limp on the mat over your head, legs loosely draped over Bucky’s thighs as he sat on his knees between them, metal arm bracing on the mat by the side of your head, the other, softer one, cradled between the back of your head and the mat under it.

And then the unmistakable, elusive scent of lazy mornings in bed, sex and spice hit his nose. Your arousal, mixing with your sweat to a lethal potion. Bucky couldn’t for the life of him stop the instinctual indraw of breath, feeling himself instantly getting a little dizzy of it. The appreciative sigh escaped him a moment later.

Your mouth parted slightly like you understood what he was doing, your eyes momentarily going wide before your eyelids drooped, pupils expanding.

Then, in a move Bucky would never anticipate, your head lifted off his hand, and you slotted your mouth to his, warm lips meeting his in a hard kiss.

Wait, what?

Even as Bucky’s thoughts scrambled to keep up with what you’d done, his body responded in kind, lips returning your kiss after only a beat of stunned shock.

Muscles rippling with lightning bolt of unleashed need, his body surged forward, pressing your head back into the mat, dragging his flesh hand up to cradle your jaw as he deepened the kiss.

You’d kissed him. He’d kissed you back. You were kissing. No, making out now, he thought fervently as your mouth opened to not so shyly pry your tongue against his, swiping slick and hot in a way that had his breath catching in his lungs.

Lust rippled through him, making even his bulky frame shudder.

With the cutest, neediest whimper that made Bucky’s blood rush in his ears, you grabbed his wrist with both your hands and brought his hand, the one made of flesh, down to cup you between your legs.

The surprised grunt that escaped him was entirely unplanned, and the one that followed was downright unhinged, escaping his control. Before his mind had completely caught up to what had happened, his hand had started to move back and forth on it’s own, rubbing you over and over, and fuck – you were wet, so wet it had soaked through the fabric of your leggings, making his hand damp.

Bucky’s breath burst out of him, and you suddenly wrenched away from the kiss, your head falling back with a dull thud on the mat. Your hands let go of Bucky’s hand and you covered your face with them.

“Oh God, sorry! I’m sorry, that was so thoughtless of me, what if you don’t want to, and I…and, maybe we should stop, I mean you don’t have to if –“ you rambled, shrill voice muffled by your own hands, and Bucky had to refrain from screaming in protest to this stopping. He brought the hand he’d awkwardly stilled between your legs up and pried one of your hands off your face.

You had the most adorable, crimson flush high on your cheekbones, and your face was all scrunched up from embarrassment. The sight of you being so small and vulnerable beneath him had a surge of protectiveness welling so fast in Bucky’s chest it physically pained him for a moment. He suddenly felt entirely sure he wanted to do, would do, anything to stop you from fretting, from worrying about anything ever again.

You were still mumbling faintly about not wanting him to feel pressured and how inaprorpriate it was of you to come on to him like this. Bucky would have none of that. Emboldened by his newfound emotion and almost panicked by the notion of this ending before he could touch you and kiss you just a little bit more, he lowered his face to capture your lips again, if only to shut you up. You whimpered into his mouth, eagerly reciprocating in contrast to your attempt at rationality.

Fuck rationality. Bucky was starving, had been starving for months.

When he broke away, he leaned his forehead to yours, trying to catch his breath, to get order to his thoughts, but they were a jumbled mess of possessive, filthy wants that had his self control ripping at the seams. And your scent, God, your fucking scent was tinged with fucking ambrosia, like an aphrodisiac designed specifically to make Bucky’s vision go all loopy and his damn civility to shrivel to dust.

“I want…I…fuck, you have no idea how much I want,” he blurted inelegantly, and then words escaped him all together, for there were no words to describe the profound ache that settled deep in his loins, the sheer carnal need to feel your skin on his, to touch you, to be the provider of every moan and keen of pleasure he could - to keep you wet and shivering and wordless from pleasure.

His mind short circuited as he landed on the mental image of hearing you come with his cock deep inside your weeping cunt, and he pounced on you without really meaning to.

His mouth sought out the soft skin of your elegant neck, and he licked it before giving it an open-mouthed kiss, covering it in saliva. He felt your body twitch and writhe as he latched his teeth and tongue onto it, moving messily down to the collar of your compression shirt. He wanted to pry it off you, to tear it to shreds with his teeth, to lather the skin of your breasts with the attention of his tongue and lips, to nip and bite and suck on your nipples till they grew hard and red and puffy for him. But that would have to be later, for he had one goal he was working towards, that spot between your legs where he had already felt how much you already needed him. He would not let you go another minute unsatiated.

Unceremoniously and frenzied, he kissed over your clothed torso as he crawled down your body. Your hands were in his hair, tugging and gripping as he went, the most decadent, breathy moans spilling from you panting mouth as he (rougher than he intended) manhandled your legs over his shoulders and then your hips off the floor, wrenching your leggings and underwear down so hard your whole body jolted, and fuck, he was telling himself to be more gentle, to not scare you away when you had given him this fucking gift of letting him get this far.

But he needed it; was desperate for it. Desperate to bury his face between your legs, breath in your warm, sweet scent where it was most potent, to taste you and feel your pulsate on his tongue. He needed you to come in his mouth, all over his face, so he would smell you there for days, lingering like the most illicit secret. Fuck, all his blood was rushing south so fast he felt almost faint.

You let him do what he wanted, laid down again naked from the waist down, so small and fragile and beautiful and Bucky wanted to eat you alive.

And then he was on his stomach between your legs, pussy inches away and it was glistening with how wet you were, your patch of dark curls wet too. Your whole body was shivering slightly, and your hands flitted about the mat for something to do, something to hold on to, a nervous gesture, or an excited one. Fucking hell, Bucky hoped you were half as excited for this as he was, and promised he would do anything to have you as addicted to his mouth as he already was to your scent.

It was baffling how magnanimous the moment was to him, to have the absolute honor of being allowed this close to your sweet pussy, to have you trembling and flushed on your back, allowing him, socially stunted, unelegant and most of the time awkward as hell, between your glorious thighs, allowing him to touch you, to try and bring you the most pleasurable experience you could have.

It had been a long time since Bucky was a religious man, but -

“Christ,” he muttered as he saw your pussy clenching under his gaze, more of your slick seeping out under his watchful gaze.

In a moment of unexpected (and impressing) clarity, Bucky looked up to find your gaze on his face.

“Is this okay? C-can I?” he asked, or rather rasped, for his voice was all husky, more growl than anything else. His cock was so hard in his pants, throbbing, and he had to push his hips down into the mat to alleviate some of the ache as he watched your face avidly, fearing for his life that you would do anything but consent enthusiastically. Suddenly he wasn’t sure how he would survive if you said no and he would have to tear himself away from you.

To Bucky’s relief, a needy whimper escaped you and you bit your lips nodding before gasping.

“Yes, please, please Barnes, I -”

Bucky didn’t let you finish your sentence. The minute he heard you say yes and oh lord - plead for him to do it - he surged forward and sucked your pussy into his mouth. He heard the air catch in your throat as he licked his tongue flat against you from weeping hole to your clit, the nub swollen and hard already. He flicked it with the tip of his tongue and your body jolted, a small sound escaping you.

He did it again, flicking your clit teasingly, the little nub growing harder and bigger under his attention. He was ravenous, wanted to work you until your whole body felt like one big overstimulated nerve, contracting and throbbing with every touch. He wanted you soaked in pleasure, so hazy with it you could do nothing but come back to him for more.

You let your sounds spill freely as he went, pretty, needy whimpers and unashamed moans.

God, yes, Bucky thought, hoping you always were so reactive, vowing to drag more sweet sounds out of you, his blood sizzling with how downright nourishing they were to him.

You were writhing so hard on the mat you nearly squirmed away from his mouth, and Bucky hooked his metal arm around your thigh as he draped it over his shoulder, securing you firmly in place as he lavished your whole dripping pussy with his spit, letting it mingle with your own slick and coat his chin and lips in it, probably dripping down onto the mat. Bucky didn’t care, he couldn’t get enough. You tasted even better than you smelled, and his vision went blurry with how ecstatic he felt buried in the hot, soft flesh between your legs.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, bullying it with his tongue as he peeked up at your sweaty face. He drank in the almost reverent look on it, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, drool at one corner.

Your hands still flitted about looking for purchase, for something to grab. He grabbed you gently by the wrist and led your hands to his hair, still working your clit with his tongue in rhythmic swipes, up and down, up and down. You instantly grabbed fistfuls of his dark locks in tight clasps and your eyes, blown and glassy, met his as he lowered his head to lap at your hole again. You whined, lifting your hips slightly to grind against his mouth and Bucky hadn’t thought this could get any better but the feel of you smearing your juices on his face, riding your clit mindlessly on his tongue, using him to chase your own pleasure - Bucky nearly came in his gym shorts and he couldn’t even be bothered by it.

He fit his hands on your hips, just resting them there as you grinded on him, your brows drawn together in concentration. Bucky groaned into your flesh as more of your sweet slick dripped out of you onto his tongue, and you jolted against him, whimpering so adorably as your hips sped up to frantic bucking.

Bucky started flicking his tongue to help you out, to drive the movement higher, faster, and you gasped hoarsely.

“Yes, fuck, just like that, oh my god Bucky!,” you exclaimed, practically screaming into the empty gym. And hearing his name like that, so intimately and fervently, desperately as you praised him. Bucky downright snarled into your pussy, and that seemed to drive you that last bit off the edge.

You threw your head back on a choked whine, whole body seizing tight, trembling like a leaf in his arms. Bucky kept his flicking licks on your clit, feeling it jump and throb as the waves of your orgasm rode your body.

He kept licking until your voice returned to you in jolting little squeaks, and tried to keep going even as you pulled his face away from you by the roots of his hair.

Bucky wanted to protest. Wanted to shake your hands off him and push his face into your cunt again. He wasn’t ready for it to end. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough of your addicting, heavenly taste. He kissed and licked over your thighs, smearing your slick and his spit all over them, nibbling on the soft skin and making you all messy, a preening sort of satisfaction settling warm in his chest at the sight. He wanted to see you come again, hear you come again, feel the way your muscles seized as you reached that pinnacle of pleasure. He wanted to make you come again. So he did just that.

With renewed, almost feral fervor, Bucky shot to his knees and hunched over your lower body. Easily prying your hands off his head, he pinned them to your sides on the mat as he pushed his tongue against your hole, lapping up the gush your orgasm had created. A rational, though very small voice in the back of his mind told him he probably sounded and acted like an animal, but he didn’t care. He pushed his tongue as far inside you he could and felt your walls throb and clench around the muscle, driving his fervor higher.

He kept your hands pinned to your sides a while longer, though it didn’t take long for your squeaks of overstimulation to turn back to sweet, needy whimpers of “fuck, yes, more, please, yes, God”.

Bucky wanted to feel more of you from the inside, and when he felt more secure in the fact that you would allow him more time between your legs, he let go of your wrist and brought his flesh hand down to your hole. His fingers trembled slightly as he swiped through your messy folds, coating them thoroughly before resting them just on your opening.

Your hand returned to his hair, carding through and then tightening.

“Pleeease,” you whined above him, and Bucky’s breath went short and puffy at how completely and ardently you submitted to him, gave yourself over and begged him. He wanted to hear you beg more, but he was too impatient to get inside you, if only with his fingers.

His cock jumped at the thought of getting inside you, too, but he ignored it. He wanted you to come, right now.

He pushed two fingers into you and groaned at the tight, wet heat that enveloped him. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and if he used to do this sort of thing back in the day, he couldn’t remember it feeling like this.

Your back arched off the mat on a garbled gasp. Bucky took the opportunity to wrap his other arm under your back and practically drag you into his lap as he sat back on his haunches, getting his mouth back on your clit.

He flicked it fast, alternating with messy suckling, and curled his finger inside you to hook against the roof of your stretched cunt. He had no idea where all his moves came from. He hadn’t so much as seen a naked woman since coming to the compound and didn’t remember much other than fragments of his sexual escapades before the war. It must have been muscle memory, some hard attained skills locked deep in his mind. It seemed to be working well with you, and that was all that mattered to Bucky.

You were keening and whining under him, half in Bucky’s lap with your shoulders still on the mat. Your hands grabbed and scratched on his knees and thighs below you, and Bucky fucking loved it.

He was aware he was acting like a brute. No finesse, no manners, just a primal and instinctual need to get you off, to feel and hear and taste you fall apart from his touch and tongue. And have that heavenly scent of your arousal fresh in his mind for the rest of the day.

You came again quickly with Bucky’s fingers added to the mix, screaming his name as your legs went rod stiff, body spasming that same, incredible way it had done the first time. Bucky felt high on your juice, licking up the fresh gush with reverent licks.

He had the absurd urge to keep going when he felt your hand tap his thigh twice. Tapping out.

Bucky looked up your body, or rather down it where your bum was held up by his arm in his lap. You were panting, your eyes half-lidded and shining. You smiled at him, and his heart clenched weirdly in his chest. He was coming back to himself slightly, and suddenly wondered if he should prepare himself for embarrassment and horrified rejection after the unhinged way he’d just acted. But your hands, so gentle and elegant, reached for his face.

He bent forward to insinuate his jaw into the cradle of them, and slowly lowered your lower body back to the mat as you gently pulled his face to yours, kissing him on the mouth almost chastely after what he’d just done. He could feel himself tremble a little as he hovered over you, kissing you again and then again, deepening the kiss a little to slow swipes of your tongues. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his tongue, if you liked your own taste as much as he did.

Your head plumped back down on the mat and a trill of laughter flitted effortlessly from your mouth.

“Oh my fucking God, Barnes,” you said, eyes closed and a broad smile on your face. Bucky could feel himself blushing a little, though he liked it better when you’d called him Bucky.

Taking a purely selfish chance, Bucky quickly backed down your body to lay on his chest between your legs again, resting his head on one of your spread thighs. Your hand absentmindedly came to lay on his head, stroking his hair lightly. He stared at your pussy, swollen and pink and messy with the mix of his spit and your slick. He could stare at it for hours. He took another selfish chance and slowly leaned in to swipe his tongue over your slit.

You moaned, though a bit critically.

“If you don’t let me catch my breath, you’re gonna kill me,” you said, but you were still smiling.

“I don’t want that,” Bucky admitted honestly, and you laughed again.

“I’m glad.”

Bucky went back to staring at your messy pussy, taking in that perfect scent that had all his other thoughts muffling to a peaceful hum. He leaned forward, watching you to see if you would stop him, and took another slow, almost soothing swipe over your pussy. You jolted slightly, then hummed contently, eyes closing. He did it again, for he was an animal with no self-control, and this time, your thighs came up to bracket his face, stopping him half-way.

“Barnes,” you warned, and Bucky had to admit defeat. He crawled back up to hover over your body, hoping you would drag him back in for kisses, or just touches, or just some form of physical contact. His skin was prickling all over from the pleasantness of just feeling warm skin to his.

Luckily, you did, pulling him back down to kiss him again, and he let his body lower to lay splayed on top of you, making sure not to put too much of his bulk on you, but plastering himself to you all the same.

You gave a startled little noise and broke from the kiss, looking down with wide eyes.

Oh shit, Bucky was still sporting a raging hard-on, which he had unceremoniously pushed into your stomach as he laid down on top of you. About to jump away, Bucky again readied himself to reign himself back in when your hand snaked down, grabbing him over his gym shorts, keeping him put exactly where he was.

Your hand around him, even with the fabric between, drew a raspy gasp from him.

“Can I”? You asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

Bucky swallowed thickly, looking down at your dainty hand barely reaching around the bulge in his gym shorts, and his cock gave a noticeable jerk as his mind flooded with images of all the things he wanted you to do to his cock. He could feel his balls tingling, drawing up, his sack tightening in warning. He was already on the edge.

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, barely daring to meet your gaze again.

You smiled, biting your lip slightly.

“That doesn’t matter, as long as you want to,” you said. Bringing your other hand to draw his face down, he shivered as your hot breath tickled his ear. He was so overworked on sensation, he was surprised his arms hadn’t given out yet for how weak and sensitive he felt all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered huskily in his ear, and Bucky bit his lip to try and stifle the embarrassing sound crawling its way up his throat at those words. He wasn’t successful, and he sounded almost like a wounded puppy before giving up and pressing his flushed face into the crook of your neck, nodding rapidly. He hadn’t even given a thought to you reciprocating anything. He’d been more than happy to just use the memory of this as masturbation fodder for a long, long time to come.

“Yeah?” you asked in a honey sweet voice, God, you were just so fucking sweet, and Bucky melted against you. “Roll over on your back,” you told him, and like a tamed beast eager to please, Bucky immediately obeyed, rolling off you to lay on his back on the mat. You followed, moving swiftly to get on your hands and knees between his spread legs, one hand moving teasingly up his thigh to wrap around his bulge again.

Not able to help himself, Bucky rose to a sitting position to claim your mouth as you held him by the cock. He wanted you closer, everywhere. You kissed him while lazily touching him over the fabric of his shorts, sliding the tip of your finger up his length to the tip and Bucky jolted, grunting uncontrollably into your mouth. His breathing was picking up, his nerve endings spiking and sizzling.

While thrusting your tongue into his mouth, Bucky’s hands cradling your face like the most precious jewel, you reached inside his shorts and took his cock out, wrapping your hand around it and letting it just sit, rock hard and leaking generously, between you.

You broke the kiss, gave Bucky the most devilish smirk he’d ever seen, and licked your lips before lowering yourself to take him into your mouth. The anticipation burned like a lightning bolt straight down his body to his cock.

Bucky exploded before you even got your lips to his tip. Cum spurted out of him, spraying his t-shirt, some going as high as his chin, and some getting on your shocked face. Bucky groaned as the orgasm wrecked through him, riding through him in wave after wave, the most intense one he could ever remember having - and you hadn’t so much as jerked him without his clothes on.

Mortified and still trembling slightly with aftershocks, Bucky gathered the courage to look at you, and found you staring at his cum-covered chest. Your hand was still wrapped around his twitching cock, your knuckles shining with his spunk, and despite how Bucky had no clue where to go from here, the sight had hot satisfaction spreading in his chest. It was like he was marking you with his cum the way you had marked him with your slick (though that had mostly been Bucky marking himself by literally rubbing his face in it).

He watched with rapid attention as you brought your wet hand up to your face and licked a stripe of cum off your knuckle, sucking your own thumb into your mouth. You met his gaze, and Bucky swore under his breath as his dick throbbed with renewed interest at the sight.

Your mouth ticked up at the corner before you leaned in and kissed Bucky softly on the mouth. He shivered with excitement as you pried his lips open with yours to swipe his own taste into his mouth. Fuck, he’d never done that before. It was filthy and possessive and dominating and Bucky had never thought he’d be so fucking turned on by it.

You broke the kiss with a content hum that had Bucky’s blood rushing in his ears.

“That was really fucking hot,” you murmured, going back in for another kiss. Bucky felt his nervousness dissipating, replaced by a sort of ecstatic elation. A laugh bubbled up and out of him, and he kissed you back. Pulling you closer with his hands on your face, neither of you cared about the mess on his shirt as you laid down on top of him, kissing again and again, slowly, exploringly.

There was a calm inside Bucky, a sort of sated comfort he could scarcely remember feeling, and he knew it was all because of you, the sweet, wonderful woman in his arms. He could lay like this forever, simply kissing you, holding you close, smelling your scent and feeling your warmth against him, your grounding weight on his chest. His cock had other thoughts though, already starting to fill, lodged between the two of you.

You raised your head and cocked a brow down at Bucky, and he could do nothing more than shrug and blush. And then, as he started thinking about dragging you up to sit on his face, a booming voice came from the door to the gym.

“Please, for the love of all things good and holy, vacate the gym room now! You’re keeping it hostage at this point!,” Sam shouted, and Bucky glanced over your shoulder to see him standing outside, facing the other way as he held the door open to shout through.

Oh. Right, you were still in the very public gym of the compound.

You squealed as you scrambled off Bucky to retrieve the leggings and underwear he’d ripped off you and thrown to the side. Bucky got on his feet and in between you and the view of the door, trying to shield you from view while you frantically redressed - he could at least try to be a gentleman after having devoured you like a hungry animal and then cum all over himself and you.

You turned to face him once you were fully dressed, and your eyes bulged as you glanced down. With frantic, fumbling hands, you reached forward and tucked his cock, hard and proud and still jutting out over his shorts, back inside. Bucky grunted at the touch, seeing the lovely crimson blush on your face, stretching to the tips of your ears and down your neck. He grunted again, appreciatively, when he noticed the splotches of his cum still drying on your chin and cheek from when he’d busted in your face.

Bringing his thumb up, he gently wiped his mess off your skin, wiping his hand on the back of his shorts.

“Sorry about Sam and…” Bucky trailed, gesturing awkwardly to the mat and around the room. His communication skills hadn’t improved by the earth-shattering orgasm, then…

“It’s fine. It was I who jumped your bones, after all,” you said sheepishly, but you were smiling. God, so sweet.

Bucky was about to lean in to kiss you once again when Sam’s voice cut in.

“Don’t you dare start up again, I don’t have all day! And bring that mat with you. Matter of fact, burn it!” he shouted.

Giggling like teenagers, you scrambled to get your belongings and exit the room. Bucky gave Sam an apologetic look as he passed him, and though Sam was clearly pissed off, Bucky saw the way his mouth was ticking up at the edges, approval shining in his eyes.

You grabbed Bucky’s hand once you’d left the gym, and Bucky happily let himself be dragged along down the hall. He was already working on his plan to lure you into his room, and subsequently rub your scent on everything he owned. For though the intensity of smells were mostly a nuisance for Bucky, having a strong sense of smell wasn’t so bad when it came to you.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes fanfic #james buchanan barnes smut #ambrosial

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humornaut · 2 years ago

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Chef Sunny’s Kitchen: Hobbies of an Unreliable Narrator

Hey all! Just wanted to do another little post that I’ve seen toyed with but never explored to it’s fullest potential. Spoilers for Omori ahead!

So Omori as a game is no stranger to the concept of unreliable narrators, but often, I see people using that term pretty liberally to explain away situations that don’t really make all that much sense (example, I’ve seen someone say that Sunny’s fridge isn’t actually empty, he’s just refusing to see the rest of the food because he feels he doesn’t deserve it). However, if you spend any amount of time examining the game, you will find that the ways in which Sunny (and Basil) are unreliable narrators are fairly consistent.

To spend a little bit of time on Basil, there are two main reasons that he is an unreliable narrator. Firstly, he is in a massive state of denial throughout the real world sections of the game, not that that is that big of a deal, since we already know the Truth by the time he gives his account of what happened the night of the recital. However, there is another big way that Basil is an unreliable narrator.

Basil’s photo album is one of the primary ways that the player, and by extension Sunny, is familiarized (or re-familiarized) with the past. But there are several ways that Basil’s photo album can be misleading. For instance, the photo album is from Basil’s perspective, so we don’t often get views of what other characters thought about certain events. In addition, things like Sunny and Kel sneaking out to go to Hobbeez or Sunny and Aubrey talking on the swing set aren’t going to be mentioned in the photo album, since Basil would not have been present. Beyond that, unhappy memories such as the Lake Incident won’t be included. Finally, Basil is often noted for enjoying the act of keeping secrets, which is something we see highlighted in nearly every memory during Memory Lane.

To give an example of where stuff like this comes up, we should start at the Rainy Day memory, or rather, the pictures that are associated with it.

(4/29): Just KEL being KEL again... We went to HOBBEEZ, but the shop owner told KEL to leave his jacket outside since KEL was getting all his comics wet. Sorry, SHOPKEEP.

From here, we know that after the Rainy Day memory ends, the four friends head over to Hobbeez to read comics, and then Kel had to leave his jacket outside. But what we don’t see, due to Basil not talking about it in the album, is that they actually split up afterwards, with Aubrey and Kel staying at Hobbeez, and Sunny and Basil going to the secret hangout spot and hanging out at the dock.

They don’t even have the umbrellas, showing that they are intentionally in the same outfits, since they couldn't just re-use the same sprites.

Likely, Sunny and Basil split off from the group to have some kind of private conversation away from Aubrey and Kel. It could’ve been related to Sunny’s crush on Aubrey, since this would’ve been the day that Basil figured it out. Sunny clearly never talked about his crush with Mari, since Mari is shown comparing Aubrey and Kel’s friendship to her own relationship with Hero, so perhaps Sunny was feeling a little frustrated at how close Aubrey and Kel were. He does canonically just walk ahead of the group after Basil calls out his crush, after all. It doesn’t really matter what specifically they talked about, because what does matter is that this is an event that Basil purposefully left out of the photo album, so we are completely left in the dark on what actually happened in this conversation.

But I want to get on to the main thing I wanted to talk about here.

Sunny

So Sunny is such an unreliable narrator that it is sometimes painful. There are two main reasons that Sunny is an unreliable narrator:

Sunny is repressing the Truth, so things like the existence of the closet are ignored, and within Headspace, how important Basil is to Sunny specifically is being repressed until later in the game. This causes quite a few oddities. The Headspace friends (and Hero in the real world) say that Omori has a good memory, but based on things we see throughout Headspace, it seems like a lot of the things that Sunny “remembers” are actually just things about Basil. (e.g. the Headspace photo album shows that Sunny has forgotten that Aubrey’s favorite fruit is watermelon. Meanwhile the least effective smoothie is the Banana smoothie, while the most effective non-dino smoothie is the Strawberry smoothie. Basil is shown in the real world photo album to dislike a banana popsicle, and outright says that he loves strawberries during the Birthday Memory. I may do another post expanding on this concept, because I think it is incorrect to take the statement about Sunny/Omori having a good memory at face value.)

Sunny is an imperfect human that hasn’t seen his friends in nearly four years. The way that his friends are portrayed in Headspace is in many ways, an ideal, and is not representative of how they act in either the current day, or back before the incident.

However, there is one last way that Sunny is an unreliable narrator, and that’s the simple fact that Sunny hates himself.

See, Sunny hates himself on a subconscious level throughout the game. Due to this, many of the things that Sunny does for others or himself were cast away, as they were just no longer important in the face of what he did. Even if he does remember that he did things for his friends growing up, they are never brought up because he no longer sees those things that he did as important. Within Sunny’s mind, the fact that he would listen to Basil talk about anything and everything is repressed until the player enters Blackspace, when Stranger uses that information to guilt Sunny for leaving the real Basil behind. The fact that he did this for Aubrey as well is something that is kept away from the player until he’s having a version of his friends remind him of their bonds shortly before entering a battle within his own mind to keep from losing the will to live in the battle against Omori.

Due to a mixture of all these reasons, Sunny’s relationships with each of his friends can often seem one-sided, especially when it comes to Basil, since so much more of him is being repressed than the others. You will often see the idea floated around that Basil’s liking of Sunny was one-sided, and that Sunny actually considered Kel his best friend, but this simply isn’t the case, it’s just that Basil kept a photo album and Sunny is actively trying to forget everything related to the Truth.

To illustrate what I’m talking about, I’d like to expand on a topic that I briefly mentioned in my previous post: Sunny has a small cooking hobby.

It wouldn’t be surprising for someone like Sunny to have an interest in cooking and preparing food. After all, two of the people that he looks up to the most are Mari and Hero, and both of their food preparation abilities are put on a pedestal within Headspace. Also within Headspace is an extremely wide range of food. A notable exclusion from the Snack list is steak, Sunny’s favorite food (according to his mom). Within the Foe Facts! journal, we can see that Sunny knows nutritional information for cilantro (this is attributed to Kel in the journal, but remember, this is Sunny’s mind, so Sunny would have to know it), and we can also see information about ginger and celery. According to the Headspace description for chocolate, we know that Sunny knows the difference between baking chocolate and regular chocolate. Sunny also has a concept of vegan food, and seems to be preoccupied with what can be considered vegan when it comes to several of the different Bunnies that appear within Orange Oasis.

Bread and toast are also given a large importance within Headspace, which likely stems from the summer before the photo album, when Hero and Mari were working at the bakery. He knows about different types of bread, has a technique called “Bread Slice” in Headspace, and is at least somewhat familiar with the process for making bread, as seen in the area where the Bread Twins are located.

In order to get any deeper into this analysis and talk more about why this information is somewhat hidden from the player, we need to get into just who it is Sunny cooks for.

The table that Basil and Sunny always sit at is one of the most adorable easily-missed details in the game, in my opinion, but I personally find that it connects to Sunny’s cooking interest quite well. After all, there would be no other reason for them to have this table in here if it was just for eating and homework and playing, as there is a full table in just the other room. The fact that this table is seen in a version of the house seemingly taken shortly before the incident is also relevant, because Mari and Hero would have been much more busy and likely wouldn’t be cooking or setting up picnics as much.

I’d like to put forward the idea that many of Sunny’s culinary escapades, outside of the group cooking situations that are mentioned by Hero, were shared specifically with Basil. This is because there are two primary food items that are associated with Sunny’s abilities.

Tofu

Tofu appears a whole lot in Headspace. It is loved by the Sprout Moles, and it is the cheapest food item, since you can get it for a single clam. The description for it calls it “Soft cardboard, basically.”

In the 2018 demo of the game, Basil’s grandmother directly states that tofu is Basil’s favorite food. Since this does not appear in the final game, I would like to point out that Basil’s fridge in Faraway is still the only fridge that has tofu in it, so it can still be assumed that this is intended to be the case.

During the Hikokomori route, there are two books that Sunny is shown to own that are relevant to this analysis. The first is one entitled “The Food Pyramid”, which is just another piece of evidence of Sunny’s cooking interest, and the second, “The Benefits of Tofu”. Sunny having this second book is very interesting, as he himself is shown to dislike tofu greatly. The only conclusion that I can draw from this is that Sunny specifically learned how to prepare tofu for Basil’s benefit.

And indeed, despite tofu healing the least amount of health and costing the least amount of clams, it is still the most clam efficient way of acquiring better snacks in Headspace, as 10 can be traded in Orange Oasis for a random other snack. I like to imagine that this references Sunny trading tofu with Basil for other foods, with the time commitment involved in the exchange referencing the fact that Sunny could’ve just learned how to make the other foods, but he is going out of his way to make something Basil likes, for his benefit.

Pictured: a normal amount of things about tofu for someone that doesn’t like tofu themselves to know

However, the other food that we know about Sunny’s proficiency with is far more interesting...

Strawberry Cake

So this is something that I’ve seen brought up a lot recently, the fact that Sunny knows step-by-step instructions on how to prepare a strawberry cake within Headspace implying he was involved with the preparation of Basil’s birthday cake in the real world, as it is the only time one is seen in the real world, but I think this idea deserves to be examined a little bit further.

First: Sunny knows how to make a strawberry cake, one way or the other.

Second: Sunny is not given credit for making Basil’s strawberry cake during the Birthday memory.

So, here’s what we know:

Hero is given credit for making the cake by Aubrey. However, Hero never actually responds to either Aubrey or Basil’s compliments during the memory.

Aubrey did not help with the cake, otherwise she wouldn’t have given credit to Hero specifically. In addition, we can assume Kel did not help, by virtue of him allowing Aubrey to not compliment him as well. Aubrey also likely does not believe that Mari was involved, because Aubrey would’ve complimented Mari if she knew.

Not everyone would’ve been at Basil’s house while the cake was being made, as this party was a surprise party being held at Basil’s house, so a few members of the group were likely on distraction duty.

Mari teases Sunny for being “camera shy” and tells him that he will get used to it soon enough. Indeed this does seem to be the case, as it doesn’t take long at all for Basil to take a picture of Sunny once he gets his camera back.

“Hehe...” indeed, Mari.

Finally, I would like to point out that just like the visions for the Rainy Day memory, there is a vision for this memory. In Faraway Park, you can find Hero and Kel playing, while wearing their outfits from the Birthday memory, implying that Hero and Kel were not spending their time before the party making a birthday cake.

There are two adorable conclusions that can be drawn then, from Sunny knowing how to make a strawberry cake. I’ll let you take your pick.

Sunny himself made Basil’s cake, either with instruction from Hero or on his own, then was too shy to take credit for it, or even appear on camera with it, with Hero and Mari covering for him and Hero staying silent as he is complimented by Aubrey and Basil. Aubrey is either also covering for Sunny, or is just mistakenly assuming that Hero made it. Sunny may have even told Basil that he made it later, because the photo album says “My friends surprised me with a strawberry cake”, rather than Hero.

Sunny, after seeing how happy the cake made Basil, decided to learn how to make a strawberry cake later.

Either way, Basil’s smile from that day is certainly something that stuck with Sunny, considering Basil’s birthday is covered in Memory Lane, and his own isn’t.

Sunny even has knowledge that Basil doesn’t really like sweets that much, as seen through what Mari says in Orange Oasis. This is something that Sunny only seemed to do for Basil. Sunny’s favorite food is steak, and his way of preparing that is to put it in the microwave. I would like to point out that most people would learn how to cook their own favorite foods first. You don’t have to see it this way, but you could read clear romantic undertones to this behavior. Sunny and Basil’s table in the kitchen is right next to the counter where Mari and Hero like to do their homework. Sunny also looks up to Hero a great deal, and if you interact with the stove in Sunny’s kitchen, he specifically makes a big deal about how Hero is always trying to cook for Mari but makes too much and the rest of the friends get the leftovers. Not to mention that the unknown ingredients involved with the Hero’s Kitchen area of Black Space 2 are linked to Basil in the game’s data, and the sprites are all tofu sprites.

To loop back around to the central point here, due to Basil’s love of keeping secrets, Sunny’s little hobby would not have been recorded within the photo album, because this was just for Basil. Sunny, in the modern day, doesn’t think about the fact that he did this for Basil, because to do that would be for Sunny to value what he brought forward to their friendship, and he can’t do that if he hates himself. And remembering how close he is to Basil at all would be to allow himself to feel guilty for leaving him alone to deal with the fallout of Mari’s death. Sunny and Basil are two unreliable little gremlins, so you need to look a little closer to see how their friendship went both ways, but I promise you, the game does give you a lot to work with if you just look for it.

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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

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No, Re-Destro Is Not Destro’s Literal Son

and

Yes, I Will Die On This Hill

I have a number of small, persistent quibbles with some of the widespread misapprehensions I see included in BNHA fanfic, quoted as fact in meta posts, even cited on the wiki. Quirk cancellation restraints, what the 20% quirklessness data point means in practice, when Kurogiri comes into existence relative to the time of the Shimura Family Massacre, things like that. My biggest one, though, is as the title suggests: the idea that Yotsubashi Rikiya is Yotsubashi Chikara’s son.

I don’t entirely know where this confusion comes from. As far as I can tell, the early scanlations didn’t get it wrong—one rendered the line in Chapter 218 about Destro having a child he didn’t know about as being children, plural, but otherwise, they were all accurate enough. It seems people just assumed that the child mentioned in 218 must be Re-Destro, who was, after all, right there on the panel. Even though the scanlations never said it, even though the official translation never said it, even though ample evidence in the manga disproves it, the idea still got around that Rikiya is Chikara’s son.

I have and will maintain that this is obviously wrong if you stop to think about it for even a moment, but unfortunately, most people don’t. The error can be found on less well-tended parts of the fandom wiki[1]; it’s in tumblr meta posts about the villains; it’s in fanfic.

And now, god help me, it is on the official anime website, too.

“Stillness-in-green, maybe you should consider that you might just be wro—”

I will face BONES and walk backwards into hell.

But if you want, you can come with me, and I’ll explain on the way. Hit the jump.

Dialogue + Narration

There are two places where the relationship between Chikara and Rikiya is explicitly addressed—the lead-in to the dinner scene in Chapter 218 and the fight between Clone!Shigaraki and RD in Chapter 232. If you include the Ultra Analysis databook, the number goes up to four: once each in Re-Destro and Destro Classic’s character blurbs.

Let’s take a look at each of those places, shall we?

The relevant Japanese text here is in the first narration box: 子ども, kodomo.

Kodomo is not gendered. It literally just means child. The key kanji is 子, ko. Like most kanji, it has a lot of potential readings, and you can add other kanji to it to modify it. Add 息 and you get musuko, son. Pronounce 子 as shi instead of ko, and you get a term that is frequently, though not exclusively, used to refer to boys. Add 女 to that reading and you get joshi, woman/girl. 子 is in a lot of words, many of them gendered! Used for kodomo as Hori does here, though, it does nothing to indicate a gender one way or the other.

Also too, it does nothing to indicate that Rikiya is the child in question; it simply states that there was such a child, somewhere in the world. Now, the natural assumption for anyone who knows how the graphic novel medium works and who understands basic literary analysis would be that the significant character we just met is, in fact, the child in question—except that everything else we learn about Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army here makes it entirely impossible.

I’ll do a full breakdown on why that is in the next section. In the meantime, here’s the next reference:

Here, we’re looking at the phrase the Viz translation renders as, “His blood runs through these veins.” The literal Japanese there is, Desutoro no matsuei chi o tsugu mono! In a literal translation, chi o tsugu mono means, “one who inherits the blood,” or, more loosely, “blood successor.” It’s matsuei—末裔—that’s the key word here.

Japanese has several words to express the concept of “descendant.” Matsuei is one word; the data book uses shison. So what’s the difference? Well, I’ll talk about shison in a moment, but I had an inkling of it just from looking at the kanji in matsuei—“end” and “descendant” respectively, leaving me with an impression of something like a final descendant or the terminus of the bloodline. Further research confirmed it: shison can refer to any lineal blood tie, but matsuei refers to a bloodline’s final inheritor, the person at the end of a long line of many, or even countless, generations. It’s the difference between being able to point to a grandparent and the kind of painstaking genealogical research that lets you[2] point to a famous royal from eight hundred years ago—matsuei is a word that very much assumes the existence of those countless generations.

So not only does Rikiya’s line there not imply that he’s Chikara’s son, but his specific word choice also tells us that he cannot be Chikara’s son. That’s, uh. Pretty conclusive, I would say.

Lastly, though, there’s also the data book. This is, perhaps, the actual closest you’re going to get to a manga equivalent of those character blurbs on the anime website, at least until such time as Hori deigns to give the MLA types character profile pages. (I live ever in hope.)

There are two relevant bits of text, one in Re-Destro’s entry, and the other in Destro Classic’s. The first describes how Re-Destro organizes the MLA as Desutoro no chi o tsugu mono: the same phrase he uses for himself in the manga, minus the matsuei. @codenamesazanka (the one who told me about the databook references among other citations, bless) rendered it as “Destro’s blood successor”; I have also seen it given as “the successor of Destro’s bloodline.” Note again, the lack of reference to a father/son bond.

Chikara’s entry uses that other descendant word I mentioned before, 子孫, shison. Notice that the term uses that ko kanji from kodomo before? As it does in joshi, 子 here reads shi. The other kanji, 孫, means grandchild. Thus, literally, grandchild-child—or, in the vernacular, simply descendant.

And then we have the anime website.

So, for comparison’s sake, the anime website uses 息子—the same combination of kanji that I said earlier gives you musuko, son. Heck, it even uses 父, chichi, for Destro—father. It’s as explicit as it’s possible to be, and I just don’t know why or how the anime website could fuck that up so bad when absolutely nothing in the manga describes the two Yotsubashis that way, and, indeed, one specific word choice actually rules out the possibility.

So, that’s all the manga says directly. It’s not the only evidence there is, though. In fact, the next piece makes it even more clear how colossally and impossibly wrong a father/son connection for Destro and his modern successor is.

Timeline

The long and short of this section is, “Since Harima Oji was Sako Atsuhiro’s great-great-grandfather, there is no possible way that Destro—who pre-dated Harima—can be Re-Destro’s father.” If you read that sentence and nodded your complete understanding and agreement, feel free to skip ahead to the last section. If you’d like the full explanation it takes to reach that sentence’s conclusion, though, read on.

So, aside from the word matsuei, the timeline is the most telling piece of evidence to my eye. I address it secondly rather than firstly because it’s less direct than the explicit narration; it relies on drawing conclusions based on things we’ve been told elsewhere rather than on the immediately relevant text. Oh, Mr. Compress’s relationship to Harima is explicit enough, but on what am I basing my claim that Destro predates him?

Regarding that, there’s no explicit year relative to My Hero Academia’s current events given for when Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army were active; the same is true for Harima Oji’s escapades. However, we are given some broad-strokes information, relative not to current events, but rather to the history of heroism as a legal institution in Japan.

We know that there was a widespread, lengthy period of chaos following the rise of quirks—called meta-abilities in those early years. At some point, however, people began to search for a way for meta-humans to live in peace with non-metas. The compromise that was reached was the foundation of professional heroism in Japan—while the use of meta-abilities would be legal in private settings, it was only by becoming licensed by the state as “heroes” that people could use their quirks in public.[3]

The legislation curtailing the use of meta-abilities—and the appropriation of a dead woman’s language to popularize a law establishing exactly the opposite of what she used that language to call for—is what catalyzed the rise of the original MLA. Thus, we can position Destro as being alive and active around the same time that heroism as a legal institution was being formed. Since we further know that he committed suicide in prison, we can assume that his child was conceived at some point prior to his capture. Ergo, Destro’s child, were they alive today, would be as old as Japanese professional heroism itself.

Next, consider Harima Oji, the Peerless Thief, a criminal who targeted the riches of “sham heroes.” We’re specifically told that he was active in the days in which the current system was settling into place—e.g. he only became active once the Hero System was established enough to have produced corrupt heroes. We’re told he preached reformation—he wasn’t just some pre-existing criminal who saw a shiny new target in heroes; he had specific grievances which he wanted addressed by the system, and which the system was not addressing.

The earliest Harima could possibly be active, then, is concurrent with Destro—Harima fighting against the corrupt people who had found their way into the new heroic institution, and Destro fighting against using the institution of heroism to oppress non-heroes. What I think is more likely, though, is that Harima came after Destro—Harima needed to have had time to realize what kinds of fakes had been drawn to this shiny new career path, maybe even to spend some time trying to change things the legal way.

I don’t suspect they were separated by very long—I would imagine Destro was easily within Harima’s living memory, and might well have influenced why he chose the path of protest that he did—but I do think they were separate.

Moving forward, then, Mr. Compress is four generations distant from his famous ancestor. Thus, even if you assume that Harima is of the same generation as Chikara, that’s what you’re looking at for Chikara’s child: someone who, were they alive today, would be old enough to be the great-grandparent of a thirty-two-year-old man.

Re-Destro’s probably a few years older than Mr. C, sure,[4] but that man doesn’t have Ujiko’s slow-aging quirk. Unless you want to start pulling theories about cryogenic stasis the story for some reason never saw fit to mention out of thin air, Re-Destro is in no way old enough to fit the bill.

This is backed up by one other piece of the timeline as well, and one more place we can look at language:

The small child at the center of the image is Rikiya, so young that he’s in schoolboy shorts for a meeting otherwise so formal that he’s been made to wear a tie. He’s, what, six to nine here, tops? And the adults speaking to him say that they’ve been in hiding for generations—代々, daidai, the kanji for generation followed by a kanji that just means, “See that kanji written right before me? Yeah, just read that one again.”

The original MLA was active for only a handful of years, and, per Chapter 218, they didn’t dissolve until Destro was captured. Thus, we can assume they have been in hiding since then, but not before then. With that in mind, this is another line that renders a father/son relationship impossible.

Remember, Chikara already had a child in the world circa his capture. If Rikiya were Chikara’s son, then Destro’s capture and his army’s subsequent dissolution could not have happened any farther back than nine months plus however old Rikiya was in this exact moment of his youth. Rikiya, who we see here as a child of less than ten.

Ten years in hiding doesn’t make one generation; it damn sure doesn’t make multiple ones.

Now, you could make theories about cryogenic statis that would explain this ludicrous discrepancy, sure. You could also theorize about e.g. artificial insemination,[5] or time stop quirks, or any number of other possibilities in the vast panoply the HeroAca world offers. The point is, though, that you don’t need to. There was, in the manga, no discrepancy that needed to be explained. It is only fanon misinterpretation and a glaring disinterest in the series’ villains from official sources that have presented this issue.

I’m praying that it’s all just a misunderstanding on the part of whoever maintains the website, and that the anime itself will render the relevant bits of dialogue correctly. Given the extreme cuts and alterations that My Villain Academia has been subjected to thus far, though, I’m sure you can appreciate my being concerned.

…So that’s the meat of it. The idea that Rikiya is Chikara’s son is wrong simply on the basis of what’s said in the text, and it’s doubly wrong on the basis of the timeline. There is, though, one other thing I think points towards Re-Destro being exactly the descendant he says he is, not a son playing down the connection out of humility or something. This one is a lot more headcanon-y, though, so I saved it for last.

MLA Social Dynamics

It’s quite simple. We have, in the MLA, a group of people that venerates Destro’s bloodline to an obviously unhealthy degree, putting up portraits of him wherever they can get away with it, tagging his successor with a “Re-” as if to invoke reincarnation or miraculous return, entirely willing to throw their lives away for what they think was his cause, and others’ lives if those others say anything too scathing about the words Destro wrote, quite as if they treat Destro’s memoir as some sort of holy writ.

They venerate Destro that much, and you’re trying to tell me that they wouldn’t just call a spade a spade and acknowledge RD as the son of their great leader? Come on.

Since long before I turned up the matsuei factoid in researching this piece, since long before Mr. Compress gave us such a helpful generational comparison, I’ve held the opinion that, given a group that holds their leaders in such high esteem, with such particular regard for bloodline, the only reason Rikiya does just call himself a descendant, rather than citing the specific term for what he is, is that the specific term is distant enough that it actually does sound more impressive to just say “descendant,” rather than something like, “great-great-great-grandson.” That kind of thing just begs the question, “What took you guys so long?” or, “You and how many other people, buddy?”

Mr. Compress may have the panache to carry off a line like that, but Rikiya’s a different story. If he had something so amazing up his sleeve as, “I am the son of the great Destro,” I have to think he’d just say it proudly, not fall back on the impressionistic vaguery of something like chi o tsugu mono. Even if I had no other evidence to work with, I’d think the same—all the evidence you need is right there in the character writing of who Rikiya and the MLA are and how they talk about the man whose dreams Re-Destro was raised to carry.

A closing note: I will allow that Rikiya is being overdramatic when he uses matsuei and its connotation of countless generations. There are a few other things we can use to trace the history of heroism—Ujiko’s age, and the 18-years-or-less periods that One For All was held by its pre-All Might bearers—and running those numbers leads me to believe that it is, in fact, entirely possible to count the number of generations between Rikiya and Chikara, and the number, while higher than one, is probably not all that high. Certainly matsuei is being more dramatic about it than is entirely warranted, hence the poetic flourish of the official translation’s, “His blood runs through these veins!” The theatricality only makes me fonder of him, however.

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

FOOTNOTES

[1] It was changed and reverted on Re-Destro’s page at least twice before it finally stuck in January of this year. Chikara’s page took until July to be corrected, and it’s still wrong on various other subpages.

[2] Or your kids, if you have those. Only the last generation in the bloodline is the matsuei, but that’s a moving goalpost as long as the bloodline is still propagating.

[3] This summary of events combines what we know from both My Hero Academia proper and the Vigilantes spin-off, which I recommend to anyone who’s at all interested in finer-grained worldbuilding on Hero Society Japan than the main series makes time for.

[4] I personally headcanon him as 42.

[5] To which point I would refer back to the word kodomo, and note that that word choice indicates that Destro had a child in the world. Not a sperm sample kept in a freezer somewhere, waiting for the right would-be mother: an actual child. Some quick research on my part says that the farthest that term stretches is in using it to refer to yet-unborn children, fetuses still in the womb. Seeing as Japan doesn’t even allow inmates conjugal visits in real life, much less in a setting where villains are so dehumanized that Tartarus is an acceptable punishment for them, the line about Destro “having a child out in the world” takes us right back to a date of conception no later than Destro’s final night of freedom.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha meta #yotsubashi rikiya #yotsubashi chikara #re-destro #destro bnha #meta liberation army #my writing #i have thoughts on the anime's nonsense too but #hahawow #that's gonna take a little longer to get coherent #preview: it's not about capitalism #it's about fear

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joyfulhopelox · 4 years ago

Text

Sidewalk Chalk

Pairing: Basketball Player! Yoongi x reader (non-idol! au, childhood friends to lovers! au)

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Summary: As a child you had always loved to play in the park. Loud and obnoxious you made an array of friends, but you soon discovered that the lonely boy sitting on a swing on the playground is much more fun to draw with. Bonding over chalk drawings in the heat of the summer, little did you know that he would become your rock for many summers to follow.

Word count: 9k

rating : g

A/N: This is square 7/25 for the @bangtanwritingbingo (Square: Chalk Drawings). Thank you @min-yoon-kween and @sunshinejunghoseokie for trying even when the house was burning i appreciate you guys so much. I am also really grateful to my best friend who told me off for my general writing mistakes and for keeping me together.

A massive massive massive thank you to the amazing @ttaetae for her amazing skills of pulling a crappy banner i made and making it a masterpiece. You have saved me!

I have not written so much fluff, but it was needed after all the angst and all the angst that will follow after this.

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for the work

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

The sound of the birds chirping in the early hours of the morning, as you walked through the park, was the perfect soundtrack to your day. Smiling softly to yourself, you took a deep breath in, savouring the scent of the late summer blooms. Your feet carried you slowly towards your destination. You were in no rush. Today time was just a concept, and you would make the most of it. You caught yourself checking the clock multiple times before you left the house and decided that you would leave your watch at home. Today was your day. Nothing would ruin it, not even the rain forecast for later in the day. The sound of children laughing was a telltale sign that you were quickly approaching your destination. Excitedly you sped up only to stop abruptly. Under your foot lay the faded outlines of a chalk drawn hopscotch. Smiling brightly to yourself you looked carefully around you, your eyes taking in the scenery, there was no one in sight. Placing one foot on the starting line, you proceed to hop through the numbers laughing quietly to yourself. You were definitely over the age where that would be considered appropriate, but you did not care. Sidewalk chalk games have always been your favourite.

“I see you have found something more important than meeting your own boyfriend.” The voice startled you and with a yelp you stumbled right before your feet could touch the squares with the numbers 9 and 10 in it. Turning towards the source you pouted at the man standing in front of you. The wide smile and soft features were unmistakable and your pout quickly dissolved into a beaming grin. “Yoongi.” You laughed, your feet carrying you towards said man. As you approached him, your pace quickened before you broke out into a run jumping into his arms at the last minute.

“Y/N.” He grunted, the impact knocking the air out of him. His displeasure was not real though and once he gained his footing back his arms wrapped around you tightly. Looking down at him, your heart swelled with affection. His eyes were half closed, the bright smile taking over most of his face, his black hair long enough to brush over his pale complexion. He was handsome and he was all yours. Squeezing him in your arms again to gain his attention you pecked his cheek. “Hello.” He couldn’t help but laugh at your redundant greeting but nevertheless responded. “Hello love. Have a good morning?” The arms wrapped around your waist tightened, you realised he was still carrying you. Worried for his back you wriggled yourself to get him to let you go. His arms only tightened around you, not ready to let you out of his arms just yet.

“Yoongi.” You whined with a pout. “Let me go! Your back.” You patted his shoulder. He knew you were not actually angry at him, if the laughter lines at the corner of your eyes were any indication. “Just a bit longer love, I haven't seen you in so long.” Your pout lessened and you laughed at him, “it’s only been 2 days silly.” Despite your words your arms wrapped around his neck once more as you buried your head in the nape of his neck. Inhaling deeply you took in his warm scent, a smell that has become so familiar to you, it made you feel like coming home.

“Exactly,” he laughed, and you could imagine the sight of his gummy smile in your head. After so many years, the thought of it still makes your heart race. He was not very liberal with his smiles, but when he did share them with you, it was the most beautiful and uplifting sight. The intensity of it took your breath away. Suddenly you felt the world around you shift as he started spinning the two of you round. You screeched holding onto him as if your life depended on it. This was another uncharacteristic Yoongi behaviour, this playfulness only rearing its head few and far between. As a public figure he always had to be careful of his outward appearance and behaviour, his moves always calculated and thought of beforehand so as to avoid any potential scandals. However, with you he always let his guard down. The aloof Min Yoongi morphed into a child, ready to do anything you asked of him. Even if it was building a fort at 4am to cuddle under and listen to the sound of the rain pitter-pattering outside. “Yoongi stop!” You cried out, the colours of the trees around you morphing into one as dizziness started to set in. He did not stop until the echo of voices reached your ears, signalling the approach of a group of people. Putting you back on your feet, his hands lightly gripped your elbows making sure you did not fall over. Once he was sure you were firmly planted on the ground, his hands dropped to yours and with a silly grin he enclosed his palms over yours.

“Come on, we have company.” You chuckled, but followed him, his bigger strides keeping him a few steps ahead of you. The sight of his back brought back so many memories. Over the two decades you had been close, it had become a sight so intimate to you, that more often than not it appeared in your dreams as a refuge, your safe haven. The voices behind you could be heard coming closer, and Yoongi turned his head to glance over his shoulder. Wide eyed he glanced at you, a quiet signal. You needed to hurry up, and so with a giggle you picked up the pace, breaking into a small run trying to reach a place where it was just the two of you.

Hand in hand, your steps in sync, you walked down the empty path, enjoying the quietness of the early morning, the sun beating down on the pavement, eyes closed in contentment. You remembered the first time you felt this complete, the day when Yoongi finally asked you to be his girlfriend. As friends you always spent time together but as soon as you decided that the furtive glances and subtle hand touches were more than feelings of friendship, something in your relationship shifted. Your days meeting in the cafe were not about two friends catching up with each other anymore, instead, they could be considered a bud waiting to bloom, the bud of your romantic relationship. Your conversations were not as easy going anymore, still lighthearted, but this time, him and you were establishing the grounds of your affection. An affection which you would build on for however long you were meant to last. In your heart, you knew that you had always loved him, even before this significant shift in your connection.

“You are making that face.” His voice broke you out of your daydream. Brought back to the present, you narrowed your eyes at him in mock offense. “What is with my face? I thought you liked this face.” Sticking your tongue out at him, you started swinging your intertwined arms higher and higher in the air. Yoongi scoffed at your childishness, but he couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through him. You were beautiful, even when acting half your age, and he wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to fall in love with. Your loud disposition was what drew him to you in the first place. Or better yet, your loud disposition was the reason you barged into his life. The thought of your first meeting made him smile, his grip on your hand tightening. “See, now you are making a face.” Your rebuttal came quickly and he couldn’t help but laugh. As he looked at you, his laugh dissolved into a fond smile. “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Before you could think of a response, he pulled you to his side, his hand released yours, only to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“I was just thinking.” He hummed, glancing at the sky, its brightness making him squint. He regretted not taking his pair of sunglasses from home, but before he could dwell on that thought a poke to his side brought his attention back to you. The sight that greeted him instantly slowed his pace to a stop, and he realised it was not you who poked him, but the pair of sunglasses that you were offering to him with a hopeful smile. “Knew you’d forget them so I kept a pair on me.” In that moment, the brightness of the sky couldn’t even compare with your smile, the latter becoming the sole reason his heart started doing somersaults in his chest. By instinct his hand went to check his back pocket, its weight becoming more and more apparent. He stopped himself before he could draw your attention. Instead, he took the glasses you offered him and placed them on the bridge of his nose, his face instantly relaxing.

With a grateful smile, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders once more. “What were you thinking about?” His eyes drank in the sight of your wistful smile, your eyes gazing off into the distance - the face he’s mentioned before, the face you made when you reminisced. He’s seen that expression multiple times when you’d both be sitting on your balcony, a glass of wine in your hands, your back leaning onto him, both covered in blankets. On those nights you would talk about anything and nothing at all. You would share amusing stories of your daily life, he would share his creative processes with you, sometimes you would play stupid games and sometimes, the sombre atmosphere left no room for entertainment. On those days, both of you would make sure to stay away from any alcohol until after you had gotten all your emotions out. Those nights you would cry for each other, your hearts intertwining along with the stars, your bodies moulding into one, until the stress and pain from the day would release its grip on your souls. He knew that look all too well, it meant that somewhere in your head, you were reliving a story, and so he waited patiently knowing very well he would hear it soon. After a few minutes of silence, the only sounds to be heard were the crunch of the gravel scattered on the pavement under your shoes, you turned towards him, a content smile on your face.

“Do you remember when we first met?” At your words he looked thoughtful for a second too long, before he responded with a cheeky grin. “You mean to say I should be able to remember the time when dinosaurs existed on this planet?” You huffed in aggravation before pushing into him slightly with your shoulder. “Honeyboy,” you warned playfully, “don’t make me stuff sand down your trousers.” He guffawed at the words he heard for the first time exactly twenty years ago. “As if you had enough courage to stick your hands in that mess.” His words should’ve annoyed you, as they did before, instead you beamed at him, the butterflies in your stomach causing a storm of emotions to burst inside of you. He did remember- that was his exact response to you at the time. The knowledge that not only did he have a vague idea of what you were talking about, but he also had a vivid recollection of the exact exchange that took place at the time made you dizzy.

Indeed, that summer day on the playground, twenty years ago, you threatened him with sand in his overalls if he refused to offer you his friendship. That thought would make you blush for years to come, but at the time, it was what instigated a beautiful friendship.

The children playing in the sand screeched and laughed, each trying to create a sand castle better than their friend’s. In the midst of it, you were the loudest of them all. Loud and obnoxious, you commanded the attention of the whole group, self proclaiming yourself the queen of all the sand castles, even though yours was the one that lacked the most. Yet, no one dared to question it, they went along with what you were telling them. The group of children surrounding you soon got bigger and bigger, as your loud disposition would attract the attention of all the newcomers.

“Come on, let's play at the monkey bars!” your pudgy finger pointed towards the abandoned steel poles. You had been eyeing them for a while, not because they posed an interest to you, you could care less about them. But the lonely boy leaning on one of the bars immediately commanded your attention. He was digging a stick in the soft ground at the base of the pole, and you have seen the look adorning his face before. It was the same look you would have when your parents would take you to their grown up things, it was boredom. And on a playground that was sacrilege to you. Without waiting for a response from your newly made friends you ran towards the bar, making sure to stop a few feet in front of the boy.

“Hello?” You called out to him your voice wavering for a second, wondering if it was smart to approach a stranger like that. But as soon his eyes lifted from the intricate designs his stick had managed to draw, your resolve steeled. He looked sad, lonely, and you would not let that happen. Approaching him with a determined gaze on your face you stopped a few breaths away from kicking him in the face with your knee. “Hey, do you wanna play with me?” You smiled at him, the lack of a front tooth making it look like a comical sight. The boy carried on staring at you, not uttering a word, so you tried to extend the invitation again, this time slower, assuming he did not understand you the first time. When he remained still for a few more seconds after which he returned to his masterpiece, your anger increased, and you stomped your foot on the ground.

“Hey, don’t make me stuff sand down your trousers!” You threatened, prepared to bend down to gather a handful of the said offender. The boy scoffed under his breath and you prepared to throw an insult back at him, but the sight of his smirk made you close your mouth quickly. “As if you have enough courage to stick your hands in that mess.” His stick motions to the still damp mound of sand by your feet to emphasize his words and as if to prove him wrong you bend down your hands sinking into the softness of the sand. Giving him a threatening look you dare him to continue mocking you. “Are you stupid?” His voice is harsh, but underneath all that your seven year old brain could detect the bravado. Faltering, you gave him a thoughtful look. “I will have you know i got a golden star at school the other day, so i’m not stupid!” You responded just as harshly. How dare he call you stupid? “If you don’t want to play with me just say, fine.” You stick up your nose in distaste, ready to leave the rude boy behind when he goes to stop you, the sound caught in his throat. Your eyes scrutinised him ready to give him a piece of your mind when you spot the leg that he is hiding behind himself, a thick cast around the ankle. Your eyes widen as realisation dawns over you. Of course, how could you have been so stupid and so brash. Your mother warned you to not rush head first into being judgemental and for the first time you understood what she meant. Embarrassed at your own behaviour you blush, your eyes darting around trying to find a distraction. When you spot the empty grey pavement a thought crosses your mind. You turn around quickly, throwing him a “wait for me” over your shoulder before you rush towards your mother.

Running back towards his dejected form, you could see the tension slip away when he spies you returning. Once again stopping short from kicking him you blush, the sudden courage you had earlier completely gone. Bashfully you extend your hand towards him, a pack of colourful chalk in your hands. Staring at it confusedly, he didn’t know what to do so instead he asked, “what is that?” he pointed towards it and you scoffed . “It’s chalk, now who is the one who is stupid?” He stared at it in awe before he shifted his attention towards you, “and what are you going to do with it?” You don’t respond to him, but instead you grab his arm, your fingers were clammy and could barely enclose over his forearm but with tremendous stubbornness you managed to get him standing upright. Not letting go of his hand you slowly encouraged him to take a few steps at a time until you both reached the strip of pavement you’ve spied earlier. You made it a point to not respond to the boy’s questions until you were both settled, your bums on the pavement and you’d pulled out two pieces of coloured chalk. One pink and one blue. He extended his hand to reach for the blue but you pulled it away tutting at him.

“Not this one stupid, this one.” You handed the pink one and he stared at it in distaste. “But pink is not for boys, pink is for girls.” He complained and extended his hand out for the blue chalk again. “Blue and pink are two colours. That is all. My mommy says you shouldn’t think inside a box, you should expand your….” You stopped, your face scrunched up in concentration. “Skyline…or something.” Dejected at not having remembered the word you took a deep breath in and carried on. “ Anyways, so it doesn’t matter if you are a girl or a boy.” The boy looked at you in awe, his eyes blinking repeatedly in fascination. “O-kay.” He’s quick to relent and soon enough, the outline of a house could be seen in pink chalk in front of him. The excited screams of children could be heard from across the playground and suddenly someone is yelling a name. “Y/N!” The boy looks confusedly around him, expecting a response from the crowd of children that took up his spot near the monkey bars. Instead, you looked up and waved at the person yelling the name. “Are you coming?” They waved you over and for a second the boy thought you’d get up and leave him, like most of the people have done when they’ve discovered he was not only shy but also a cripple for the time being. He could feel his heart drop at the thought, nevertheless, you glanced at him briefly before shaking your head. “Nah.” The group didn’t even bother calling for you a second time, their attention grabbed by the colourful metal bars awaiting them.

“Oh yes, my name is Y/N!” You suddenly turned towards your companion, your beaming smile uncovering your missing tooth once more. “What is yours?”

The boy looked wearily at you, the thought of you staying with him despite his handicap warming his soul. He throws you a small smile, his chocolate eyes scrunching slightly at the action and you swore that in that moment you felt enraptured. “Yoongi.” He didn’t say anything else, his attention back to his dream house. Sure, it may have been in chalk but he was determined to have that. Admiring his work, his eyes trailed towards your form and he could feel a tender smile bloom on his face. Yes, he was determined to have that.

“You were the biggest sap I have ever met.” Back to the present, you and him had managed to make your way through the trees, the winding path taking you further into the park. The sounds of the city seemed far away from you now, the only sounds surrounding you being the busy chirp of birds and the rustle of the leaves in the wind. Yoongi laughed and prepared to prove you wrong, but if he was honest with himself, you weren’t. Taking his lack of response as a win, you grinned cheekily at him. “Do you remember the time you wanted to convince me to climb a tree with you? Because you were told that fairies lived in that tree?” You spied the redness colouring his cheeks, the memory was a blessing and a curse for him. He did ask you to climb into the tree with you, but your memory of that event was not entirely correct. He had asked you, not because he heard that fairies lived in that tree, but because he heard that if you climbed in it with your crush, you’d end up spending the rest of your life together. He was twelve at the time, barely getting out of his prepubescent phase where girls were disgusting to him. He had the shock of his life when he managed to escape such beliefs, only to be smacked head on into it with his best friend. His best friend who went on adventures with him, his best friend who’d sit on the swings listening to his stories of pirates and of dragons - no princesses because they were gross. His best friend who happened to be you. Suddenly, his stories included princesses and princes who saved them from the dragon; most often than not, his plan to be a prince would backfire and he would end up being bossed around and turned into the princess who needed to be saved. He took it all, and played the part with starry eyes, because it was you who asked this of him. Any other person and he would have kicked them in the shin. But for you, for you he was willing to face the wrath of his parents for being out late at night, he was willing to skip basketball practice, only to spend a few more hours with you.

“Correction love, I was made into biggest sap possible.” He narrowed his eyes at you behind his glasses, “who decided that being emo was the way to go, prepared to get your ears pierced and god knows how many tattoos, even though you are terrified of needles?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, the exact conversation that you two had with each other, still ingrained in your brain. It was the first time he had admitted to feeling anything more than platonic love towards you.

You were both perched on top of your bed, your knees drawn to your chest, his, crossed at the ankles, his eyes pierced yours in the fiercest of stares and you drew your legs closer to yourself in an attempt to ward yourself from his stare. It was one of the first few times you had witnessed Yoongi this upset, and it scared you. Only because you had dared mentioning the tattoo you were planning to get, excitedly you even drew a design for it. Yoongi’s reaction was not what you’d expected. to be honest, you didn't even know what he would say, his emotions and mood swings could be extremely volatile- but it was definitely not this. “Yooooongiiiii,” you whined, his stare made you more uncomfortable as time passed and no word was exchanged between the two of you. His only response was a huff, but in your eyes that was better than the silence he’s been offering you for the past half an hour. “Look, it is not that big of a deal, I get this and then I will stop, I promise.” You pleaded, your eyes getting wider and wider, in your signature baby face. A face that Yoongi knew he could not win against, but this time, he would try his hardest. Seeing that your efforts yielded no results you sighed, the sadness that you’d tried to contain taking over you. Attuned to you and your moods more than he’d like to admit, Yoongi noticed the shift in your emotions straight away, and he shifted closer to you on the bed with a worried look. Neither of you uttered a word, the traffic outside your window being the only sounds that penetrated through the walls of your bedroom.

“Look,” you finally broke the silence, the angst in your sixteen year old heart too much to contain. “I just want to prove myself to him, okay?” Sensing Yoongi’s body weight shift on the bed, you hurriedly continued, “-and I know what you will say, I don’t need to right? But, you don’t know what it’s like. I have had this crush for so long now, it hurts physically.” Your voice broke and along with it so did Yoongi’s heart. He had tried his best to support you in all your endeavours, including your romantic ones, and yet, the older he got, the harder it was for him to dampen his own. “I do know.” He muttered and your head snapped up to look at him, he was facing away from you, a dusty rosy pink colouring his cheeks.

“What?” You whispered, your brain trying to recall if at any point Yoongi has expressed his interest in any girl, or boy for that matter. But no matter how hard you’d tried, there was nothing, not even in passing. So once he reiterated what he said before, this time louder, you looked at him bewilderment. “How, what, Yoongi, why did you not say something about this? Who is it? Do I know her? Is it a he?” In your excitement at this new reveal, you forgot all about your anxiety and hurt, yet, your incessant questions were causing him distress. Shifting away from you on the bed he rubbed the back of his neck, “forget I said anything.” But you would not have it, somehow, the thought of Yoongi having a crush on someone felt like Christmas. Maybe one day, both of your crushes would return your feelings, and then you would go on dates, you and him, and other people. Your brain froze at the thought of sharing him with other people, dread settling over you. You could not fathom not having Yoongi there for you. You have been together through thick and thin in the decade that you have known each other. He was there when your parents split up, he was there when you experienced your first teenage heartbreak, he was there to stop you when the hurt of having such a broken family made you resort to underage drinking. He was there to tell you how stupid you were and how you were not only hurting yourself, but you were hurting the people around you. He was there to remind you that you were not alone when you were faced with the hardest decision, to stay with your mother or leave with your father. He was there when high school entrance exams had a toll on you and you stopped eating, he was there to pick you up when you did not get into the same high school as he did. He was also there for the good times. But now that you thought about it, most of your good times involved him one way or another. When he took you to see a film that you had been gushing about yet he hated the genre, when he taught you how to ice skate, when you went to see his first basketball match, when he got you a puppy for Christmas so you would not be alone. He was there ingrained in your heart painting it in pink. The realisation that maybe it was not that one high school classmate that you liked hit you like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t him that made your heart race and butterflies race in your stomach. No, it was your best friend, Min Yoongi.

“Yoongi.” You hesitantly reached out to him, your hand brushing the sleeve of his hoodie. “I just…” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He couldn’t tell you, not because he was afraid he would ruin a friendship, you were both stronger than that. But he could not bear the thought of placing his emotions on you, of influencing you that way. Mentally you were already burnt out, having pined over someone for so long and not having your feelings returned, that he was afraid you would just jump at the first opportunity of an escape. He did not want his affection for you to be your getaway car. It would only hurt you and it would ruin him in the long run.

Grabbing onto his hoodie, halting him from biting his thumb, an action you have come to realise was comfort for him when he was stressed, you pulled yourself more towards him. “I love you.” You whispered, your voice drowned by the sound of a car honking outside and for a second you prayed that he hadn't heard you, but judging by the way his whole body stiffened, a rock underneath your palm, you knew it was wishful thinking.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d heard me that day.” You mused your attention back to present Yoongi, the Yoongi that has already admitted to you on more than one occasion how much he loved you.

“What made you think that?” His gentle voice was matched by the movement of his fingers playing with yours. “It took you almost a year to reply or even acknowledge it.” You smiled wryly at him. Even though that had been in the past, the memory of the uncertainty and apprehension you lived through for a whole year was still fresh in your mind. After months of not knowing how to approach him, every awkward interaction strained the bond of your friendship, you argued with yourself whether or not it was fair on him for you to push and demand an answer, just for your peace of mind.

Yoongi’s fingers grip yours tightly in an attempt to soothe the ache he could read on your face at the memory. He couldn’t deny that he tried to ignore the drift that happened between the two of you that year, thinking it was best if you both got used to relying less on each other. After all, university was looming over the two of you, he was about to leave on a basketball scholarship, and as much faith as he had in your friendship, he did not want to burden you with his feelings. The only solution that he’s come up with was to let the relationship naturally drift apart.

“You were a bit of an asshole, you know?” You smiled at the thought, the one and only time he had ever made you cry throughout your friendship. So caught up in your thoughts, that neither of you has noticed the sight of the one place that was dear to both of you. The basketball court where his life has begun. “Should we go in?” you motioned towards the closed gates. “They’re locked.” The lock was indeed on the wired gate, but you grinned wickedly, a sight that told Yoongi you were about to suggest something that he may not agree with. “When did that stop us?” You laughed as he groaned in disapproval whilst taking his glasses off and placing them in his jacket. You were not wrong, it had never stopped you, and he had his fair share of keeping you out of detention on most days for jumping the school gates.”We are not school kids anymore, Y/N.” His tone sounded as if he was scolding you, but the glimmer in his eyes told you otherwise. You pull on his hand lightly, bringing him closer to you. “Please?” You whispered as you stood on your tiptoes, your lips only a breadth away from his. Yoongi faltered, he knew he couldn’t say no to you. He smirked, that did not mean he couldn’t request bribery though.

“Y/N, we’d be trespassing.” His tone was serious, but the pull at the corner of his mouth told you another story. You knew very well where this was going, but you would not give in that easily, two could play at this game. With a huff you grabbed the lapels of his jean jacket pulling him flush to your body, your noses touching. You licked your lips, the tip of your tongue ghosting over his. “Please honeyboy?” You pleaded, your glossy lips forming into a pout. Yoongi gulped, it took all he had to not sweep you off your feet and kiss you senseless. “Please.” You rubbed the tip of your nose against his softly and he had to close his eyes to calm himself down. “Love,” he warned and you knew that with one more push he would be all yours. “Yes, love?” You let go of his jacket only to trail your palms up his torso, feeling the muscles contract underneath your touch, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Fuck it.” Yoongi grabbed your waist pulling you to him with such force you let out a yelp. Your bodies smacked against each other, your lips clashed in a searing kiss, a battle for dominance where there was no winner, just pure pleasure. You moaned into the kiss, his soft lips attacking yours roughly, his tongue slid into your mouth caressing yours. Out of breath you pulled away from him, you could still feel the phantom of his lips against yours. Panting slightly you smirked, “I won, now let's go.” You pulled away from his embrace and grabbed his hand pulling him along with you. Gobsmacked, Yoongi followed you, his eyes never leaving the back of your head. It’s been like this ever since you met, you would somehow convince him to get into trouble with you, and he would follow you like a lost puppy. No, he thought, like a lovesick fool.

“Come on, help me.” You giggled as you grabbed onto the fence ready to pull yourself up. Yoongi sighed but did what you asked, and soon you were both running towards the centre of the court, you a giggling mess and him laughing at your giddiness. As soon as you reached your destination you plopped yourself down gesturing wildly at him. “Come on slowpoke.” Yoongi shook his head at you but increased his pace until he hovered over you. He sat down next to you, the object in his back pocket poking him in the back. He sighed, worry washing over him. Needless to say he had no time to dwell on it as you wiggled yourself next to him, settling your head on his lap. “I missed this place.” You sighed, closing your eyes in bliss. The heat from the sun was less harsh than earlier as it was nearing late afternoon. You had walked the whole day stopping in places and getting ice cream and street food from vendors stationed in the park. It was a weekday and so not many people were milling about, giving you the perfect opportunity to enjoy yourselves. With Yoongi being a well known basketball player, it was easy for him to get recognised. Whereas, it wasn’t too much of a problem usually, you just wanted some time for yourselves.

“Hey,” he called out softly, his fingers playing with the tip of your ears. You whined and swatted at his hand. “Do you remember my last high school match?”

Your laughter died in your throat, and you opened your eyes slowly. That memory always brought tears to your eyes, the whirlwind of emotions you had gone through that day left a lasting impression on you. “You mean when you yelled in my face that you loved me and called me stupid in front of your whole team?” You smile wryly at him and he has the audacity to grimace. “In my defense, you were poking a sleeping bear.” His fingers traced the line of your nose until they reached the tip. “Sleeping bear indeed. That is a good self portrait.” You stuck your tongue out at him only to break out in peals of laughter when his fingers find the side of your hip.

“Stop, stop, stop.” You grabbed at his hand trying to get him to stop but his attack was relentless. “You know the words love.” He playfully reminds you and you bite your lip. “Okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry oh mighty honeyboy. I didn't mean to poke fun at you or your skills.” You mock saluted, and he pinched you lightly as a warning, his eyes narrowing.

For a few moments it is silent, both of you enjoying the remnants of the sun, hands intertwined together until you break the stillness by asking the question that hung over the both of you. “Would you have done it all the same?” Yoongi knew what you meant, you were asking him if it were not for the loss of his team then, and the loss of his scholarship, would he have confessed to you that day?

“Yes.” He sighed, there was no need to avoid the inevitable. “Maybe not then, maybe not until years later, but I would have.” You lifted your head up briefly to glance at him, “would you have waited so long? Why?” Your voice is soft, any traces of mischievousness gone.

“Because I had loved you for a long time, even before you said anything.” He sighs, he’d never told you this. After he confessed that day, you never talked about it again. You took it at face value, never once questioning his feelings for you, or their duration for that matter. Your eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, you had?” Yoongi nods at your question, his eyes finding yours as he continues, “ever since you took my hand that day.” He smiles softly at you and you couldn’t stop the watery laugh that escapes. “Well, I enjoyed my aggressive confession, and I would not trade it for the world.” Yoongi could only laugh, the embarrassment present in his voice, he had not meant to be that aggressive but his team had lost, he was injured and you were a crying mess yelling at him for not being more careful.

“Why could you not be more careful? Who cares if you win or not? Did you have to step in at that time?” Eighteen year old you was an emotional mess. For the past year and a half yours and Yoongi’s relationship had suffered tremendously, you experienced your first heartbreak when he chose to ignore your confession, and your second heartbreak when your first boyfriend became too intimidated by your friendship. itting there on the sidelines, watching with your heart in your throat as Yoongi tried to placate the ball only to get hit in the chest with so much force he laid there on the ground for a good two minutes;Needless to say that had been your breaking point. You knew you weren’t being fair, this match was everything to him. This match determined whether or not he would get the scholarship for the university he wanted to get into. Now that they had lost, he also lost the chance to get it. You knew all that, but the sight of him sprawled on the ground unmoving was too much for you, and as soon as the referee had called for the end of the match you ran as fast as you could.

The team gathered around the two of you, after you have managed to break the ranks and slot yourself between them to reach him. You didn’t care that everyone could hear your argument, all you could see was him and his recklessness. Yoongi did not move a muscle, his impassive face not giving away any of his feelings and that only fuelled your anger even more. “Yoongi! Stop being stubborn, talk to me!” You pulled at his jersey, desperate for a reaction. You didn’t even notice the tears that had started to trail down your face, too caught up in lecturing him. He did however, and with a sigh he ran his hands over his face. He really did not want to cause a scene in front of his teammates, but you were not giving up, and the sight of your tears hurt him more than the kick to the chest he’s gotten.

“You know this matters for me Y/N, why are you being like this!” He finally acknowledged you, the tone of his voice still calm and collected. “Because I care damnit!” You pull harder as if that would make him answer you truthfully. Instead of paying attention to you, Yoongi just looked down at his shoes, dreading this conversation. He’s done so well to avoid talking about this, and even though he noticed that this was something you haven’t forgotten, he hoped that when you finally got your first boyfriend things would change, and you would forget about him. He knew it was selfish of him but he couldn't help being relieved when he was offered the easy way out.

“Why?” His voice is a whisper, but you heard it, the sounds of the crowd not even reaching your ears, all you could see was him. Sniffling you let go of his top, defeated you wiped your tears with your hoodie - his hoodie to be precise. “Because! Does it matter?” You don’t whisper, your voice rings loudly, tired or not, you can’t let your chance go to waste. That was the first time he addressed your feelings and you would take it and fight until the end.

“Yes, yes it does!” He raised his voice, the frustration at your stubbornness finally getting to him. “Why would you do this to you? To me? I tried my best to be diplomatic about this! And you are making it so damn difficult!” You flinch at his tone, he’s never raised his voice at you before, but you were not one to back down. Not now, when you finally have the chance to express your true feelings towards him.

“Because I am not a pushover! And because I am not scared! And because I believe in us! And…” the sob that escapes you turns into a hiccup and you paused to wipe at your tears again. Yoongi’s face softened, regret washing over him. He knew he was at fault, for your tears, for your insecurities. But knowing and witnessing how much it had affected you was a different story. “And because I believe in you. So then why would you do this?” If Yoongi had any mind to carry on pleading ignorance, after your confession, it had all gone out the window. Your words hit him like a ton of bricks, the love he harboured for you invading his thoughts and his heart like a tsunami. There was no way he could deny anything now, so he prayed that he would not have to be faced with the truth, one last attempt at avoiding it.

“Why would you leave me stranded like that?” Your shoulders slump, the fight leaving your body, and suddenly your knees feel like gelatin. You stumbled slightly, when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around you, pulling you tightly towards their chest.

“Because I love you, stupid.” The familiar scent of your best friend surrounded you and for the first time in a year, you smiled.

You’re brought back to the present by the warmth of a hand on your cheek. “Love, it’s getting late, and there is one more place we need to visit.” If you hadn’t known Yoongi for so long you would have missed the slight waver in his voice. But you were attuned to every little change in disposition so even the smallest hesitation that you could hear in his voice allerted you. Opening your eyes, you study his face, his pouty lips, the slightly uneven shape of his eyes, his nose, the way his hair falls onto his forehead. This was the man you loved and you would not have had it any other way. You reached out a finger slowly, his eyes following it closely, confused at your actions. When you were close enough to the tip of his nose you quickened your movement, poking his forehead without a warning. The astonishment is clear on his face and you can’t help but chuckle. “Right, where to mister?” You rise slowly on your feet, looking at him with curiosity. He didn’t mention a last spot before and you couldn’t think of any other places that you may have missed.

Taking your hand he guided you out of the court, watching you like a hawk as you descended the gate. Once out, he took your hand in his and beamed. “Where it all began.”

Reaching your final destination, your feet sunk in the soft sand, taking you nearer to the colourful monkey bars that stood proud in the middle of the playground. Twenty years had passed since you have met each other, yet nothing had changed. The sandbox was still full and remnants of castles blown by the wind were scattered around it. The sound of children playing games and running around still as much the soundtrack of the playground as it had been back then. The monkey bars looked old and rusty, however their colours were shining brightly in the light of the setting sun- clearly having been painted recently. The only difference from two decades ago stood out like a sore thumb. It was you and him. Still hand in hand at the playground, so similar to your seven year old selves and yet so different. This time you were not two children, setting out on a path of beautiful friendship, you were not even young lovers, giddy with the thrill of your first love, you were two grown ups, having gone through trials in life and love, ready to take on the world and whatever life handed you together.

You let go of his hand, the loss of heat instantly making you shiver, and you grabbed onto the top of the bar, struggling to lift your legs up. Yoongi laughed at you but at your whines he hurried to help you, grabbing you by your thighs, giving them a push. Now wrapped around the bars like a monkey, your head hanging upside down, you let your head drop and closed your eyes. The utter bliss that surrounded you alongside the warmth of the setting sun made you smile in contentment. “Hey Yoongi.” You called out for him, but after a few seconds had passed and you received no response you opened your eyes scanning your surroundings confusedly. He was nowhere in your sight, and for a second doubt gripped at your heart. Had he left without telling you?

Scouring the playground you let your legs drop to the ground. You did not know whether it was the impact of your feet touching the ground, the thrill of jumping off the monkey bar or the fact that as soon as you turned around, he was there less than a feet away from you, a gentle smile on his face, his hand extended towards you- but your heart felt like it would explode. With the feelings coursing through your veins too much to contain, your lips twitched. You wanted to scold him for disappearing out of your sight, you wanted to run into his arms and kiss him senseless, so confused at your own thoughts that you stayed rooted on the spot gaping at him like a fish out of water.

“Love?” The tender look never leaving his face, the corners of his lips twitched. He took a step closer to you, with each step the heaviness of his pocket reminding him of his mission. Taking your hand in his gently, he ran his thumb over your knuckles, the action sending shivers down your spine. Blinking repeatedly at him you closed your mouth, reminding yourself to breathe, as it seemed that you had forgotten how to. The sight of him encased by the low light of the dawn, his light blonde hair reflecting the golden hues creating a halo around him, was enough to take your breath away. The pads of his fingers gently traced up your hand until they reached your wrist, wrapping around it and gently pulling you along.

You did not question him, your feet moving of their own accord. You followed him blindly out of the playground back towards the cement pathway, as you had for the past twenty years of your relationship. Coming to a stop on the pavement where you once shared your hopes and dreams in chalk, he grabbed both of your hands. His distress was instantly evident in the way they trembled, the clammy grip he had on you, similar to the one you had on him all those years ago. Giving him a reassuring squeeze, you waited for what he had to say, your brain going into overdrive.

“Close your eyes.” His voice is soft, so unlike the tough persona he displayed for the public, yet so much like the Yoongi that you have grown up with. You slowly close your eyes, and for a few seconds all you hear is silence, until a rustle draws your attention. You can’t feel his hands on yours anymore and you drop them to the side, patiently waiting for him to allow you to open your eyes. Your ears perked up at the sound of scraping, the softness of the sound rhythmic as if it followed the beat of your heart. As soon as the noise started trailing Yoongi’s voice broke you out of your trance, and this time, the tone of his voice demanded attention, so when he told you to open your eyes you did so without hesitation.

Your eyes locked onto his, the love and adoration in them washed over you in waves, making you tremble with the intensity of it. His head tilted to the side, the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and you knew in that moment that this was it for you, he was your forever and he would always be. “Y/N,” his voice carried over to you snapping you out of your daze, his head motioning to something in front of him. Slowly your eyes followed the movement and a small gasp escaped your lips, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Love.” That was enough to break the dam that held your feelings together and you all but dropped to the ground, sobs surging through your body. In panic Yoongi made a move to get to you, scenarios of you rejecting him playing out in his head. You did not try to stop him, basking in his warm embrace, lifting you up and giving you strength as he usually did. You closed your eyes letting another fresh trail of tears run down your face. “Love, please you are scaring me.” His voice broke, and he could feel the wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes. Your only response was to grab onto him tighter, hoping that if you brought yourself close enough to him, you would become one, and he would be able to understand how much love was running through your veins at the moment, how much respect and adoration, for the man that has constantly been by your side, the man who decided that playing with chalk that fateful day was what he had wanted, the man who decided that your loud mouth was worth loving and kissing every morning and every night. You broke away from his embrace to glance once more at the pavement. Feeling a new wave of tears gather in your eyes making your vision blur, you quickly wiped them away.

“Yes.” You sniffed as you looked up, your eyes locked with Yoongi’s teary ones. “Yes you silly man.” His smile widened little by little, until all you can see are his cheeks and his teeth. “Really?” the elatedness was apparent in his voice and in that moment you do not see a twenty eight year old man, you see the seven year old whose hand you took; the child with a broken leg you dragged along to play with you. The child whose hand you would take each year; the child whose hand would become your anchor, the hand you would get to hold forever. Nodding erratically you wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips finding his.

As you kissed under the setting sun, two united souls, the sidewalk chalk writing next to you told the story of your future.

‘Will you marry me?’

Main Masterlist

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a-room-of-my-own · 4 years ago

Text

A while before the latest hoo-ha about Judith Butler, I had just been reading her again. Though she claims her critics have not read her, this simply isn’t the case. I read Gender Trouble when it first came out and it was important at the time . That time was long,long ago. She was just one of the many ‘post-structuralist’ thinkers I was into. I would trip off to see Luce Irigaray or Derrida whenever they appeared.

I got an interview with Baudrillard and tried to sell it to The Guardian but they didn’t know who he was so its fair to say I was fairly immersed in that world of theory. For a while, I had a part time lecturing job so I had to keep on top of it. Though Butler’s idea of gender as performance was not new , it was interesting. RuPaul said it so much more clearly in a quote nicked from someone else “Honey ,we are born naked, the rest is drag”

What I was looking for again , I guess is not any clarity – her writing is famously and deliberately difficult- but whether there was ever any sense of the material body. She wrote herself in 2004 “I confess however I am not a very good materialist. Every time I try to write about the body, the writing ends up being about language” .

Butler from on high ,cannot really think about the body at all which is why they (Butler’s chosen pronoun) are now the high priestess of a particular kind of trans ideology. The men who worship Butler are not versed in high theory. The fox botherer had a “brain swoon” at some very ordinary things Butler said. Mr Right Side of history nodded along in an interview. Clearly neither of these men are versed in any of this philosophy and would be better off sticking to tax law and the decline of the Labour Party. Butler is simply a totem for them.

Butler said in the Guardian interview for instance “Gender is an assignment that does not just happen once: it is ongoing. We are assigned a sex at birth and then a slew of expectations follow which continue to “assign” gender to us.”

So yeah? That’s a fairly basic view of the social construction of gender though I take issue with the assigned at birth thing ,which I will come back to and why I started reading her again in the first place.

This phrase “Assigned sex at birth” is now common parlance but simply does not make sense to me. I am living with someone who is pregnant. I have given birth three times and been a birthing partner. I know where babies come from. There is a deep disconnect here between language and reality which no amount of academic jargon can obliterate.

Babies come from bodies. Not any bodies but bodies that have a uterus. They grew inside a woman’s body until they get pushed out or dragged out into the world.

The facts of life that we are now to be liberated from in the form of denial. Only one sex can have babies but we must now somehow not say that. The pregnant “people” of Texas will now be forced into giving birth to children they don’t want because they are simply “host bodies”. The language of patriarchal supremacy and that of some of the trans ideologues is remarkably close, as is their biological ignorance.

There is no foetal heatbeat at six weeks for instance. When a baby is born , doctors and midwives do not randomly assign a sex, they observe it and they do it though genitalia.

There is a question over a tiny percentage of babies ,less that one percent with DSDs but even then they are sexed with doctors having difficult conversations with parents about what may happen later.

Somehow, though when I read the way in which this is now all discussed it is clear to me that the people talking have never been pregnant, never had a foetal scan, never been near a birth , never miscarried, do not understand that even with a still birth babies are still sexed and often named.

If you want to know the sex of your baby you can pay privately and know at 7 weeks ((*49-56 days from the first day of the mother’s last menstrual cycle). A 12 week scan will show it. That is why so many female foetuses are aborted . I have reported on this.

Talking to paediatricians about this is interesting because they do indeed have to think through these things that we are being told are not real eg. that sex is just a by-product of colonialism for instance. Sometimes pre-conception , geneticists will be looking at chromosomes because certain diseases are more likely in men or women. Males have a higher risk of haemophilia for instance.

One doctor told me “When babies are premature, the survival advantage of females over males is well known throughout neonatology. This is sometimes something we talk about with parents when there is threatened premature labour around 23 weeks' gestation and options to discuss about resuscitation and medical interventions. In fertility treatment (or counselling around fertility in the context of medical treatments) it is pretty inherent to know whether we need to plan around sperm, or ova + pregnancy.”

She also said that if she involved in a birth that “assigning” isn’t the word she world use. “Observed genitals a highly reliable observation, just like measuring weight or head circumference which is also done at this time. “ Another doctor said that anyone involved with a trans man giving birth would be doing the best for the patient in front of them.

Sex then is biological fact. A female baby will have all the eggs she will ever have when she is first born which is kind of amazing. It is not bio-essentialist to say that our sexed bodies are different nor is it transphobic to recognise it.

Except of course in my old newspaper ,The Guardian who are now so hamstrung by their own ideology they have got their knickers in such a twist they can barely walk. They completely misreported the WiSpa incident , basically ignored the Sonia Appleby judgement at the Tavistock. Appleby was a whistle blower ,a respected professional concerned with safe guarding. She won her case. The cherry on the cake this week was an interview with Butler, themselves (?) in which they went on about Terfs being fascists and needing to extend the category of women.

Does anyone EVER stop to think that most gender critical women are of the left, supporters of gay rights, often lesbian and that this is not America? We are not in bed with the far right. This is bollocks. Just another way to dismiss us.

As we watch Afghanistan and Texas ,to say Butler’s words were tone deaf is to say the least. But they didn’t even have the guts to keep the most offensive stuff in the piece and overnight edited it out without really explaining why : the bits where Butler described gender critical people as fascist. Perhaps because the person their “reporters” had defended against transphobia at WiSpa turned out to be a known sex offender, perhaps because someone pointed out that Butler was throwing around the word fascist rather like Rik Mayall used to do in the Young Ones.

All of this is rather desperate and readers deserve better. When I left that newspaper I said that I thought and expected editors to stand up for their writers in public. Instead they go into some catatonic paralysis. I may have not liked this interview but it should never have been cut. Stand by what you publish or your credibility is shot.

But this is about more than Judith Butler and their refusal to support women . Butler is not really any kind of feminist at all. What this is about is the large edifice of trans ideology crumbling when any real analysis is applied. Yes, I have read Shon Faye’s book and there are some interesting points in it and I totally agree that the lives of trans people should be easier and health care better . I have never said anything but that.

What Faye does in the book is say that there can be no trans liberation under capitalism so there will be a bit of a wait I suspect.

Yet surely it is the other way round and what we are seeing is that trans ideology (not trans people – I am making a distinction here ) represent the apex of capitalism .

For it means that the individual decides their own gendered essence and then spends a fortune on surgery and a lifetime on medication to achieve the appearance of it. Of course lots of people spend a lifetime on medication but not out of choice. Marx understood very well that the abolition of our system of production would free up women.

Now it is all about freeing up men. Who say they are women. Quelle surprise.

Nussbaum’s famous take down of Butler is premised exactly on the sense of individual versus collective struggle “ The great tragedy in the new feminist theory in America is the loss of a sense of public commitment. In this sense, Butler’s self-involved feminism is extremely American, and it is not surprising that it has caught on here, where successful middle-class people prefer to focus on cultivating the self rather than thinking in a way that helps the material condition of others. “

Such thinking now dominates academia. There is simply an unquestioning rehearsal of something most of know not to be true thus Amia Srinivasan writes in The Right to Sex “At birth, bodies are sorted as ‘male’ or ‘female’, though many bodies must be mutilated to fit one category or the other, and many bodies will later protest against the decision that was made. This originary division determines what social purpose a body will be assigned.”

What does ‘sorted’ mean here? A tiny number of intersex babies are born. A tiny number of people are trans and decide to change their bodies. The feminist demand to challenge gender norms without mutilating any one’s body no longer matters. What matters now is this retrograde return to some gendered soul. This is not something any decent Marxist would have any truck with . Of course one may change over a lifetime and of course gender is never ‘settled.’ We are complex people who inhabit bodies that often don’t work or appear as we want them to.

But not only is there a denial of basic Marxism going on here , what becomes ever more apparent is that there is a denial of motherhood. Butler said “Yet gender is also what is made along the way – we can take over the power of assignment, make it into self-assignment, which can include sex reassignment at a legal and medical level.”

Self-assignment is key . One may birth oneself. No longer of woman born but self -made. This is a theoretical leap but it also one that has profound implications for women as a sex class. We are really then, just the host bodies to a new breed of people who self-assign.

Maybe that is the future although look around the word and there isn’t a lot of self-assignment going on. There are simply women shot and beaten in the street, choked to death or having their rights taken away. There is no identifying out of this , there is no fluidity here . This is not discourse. It is brutality and do we not have some responsibility to other women to confront male violence ?

Instead the hatred is aided and abetted by so called philosophers describing other women as Terfs. It is utterly depressing.

The sexed body. The pregnant body. The dying body. The body is in trouble when we can’t talk about it . I thought of Margaret Mary O’Hara’s beautiful and strange lyrics and what they might mean. I await my child’s return from the hospital as hers is a difficult pregnancy and thank god they are on the case. The sex of the child she carries does not matter to me at all .

It simply exists. Not in language but within a body.

Why is that so difficult to acknowledge?

#gender critical #feminism #transgender #judith butler #suzanne moore

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

Note

NHS ghost travels to the past and the only ones who can see him clearly are baby!NHS & NMJ

on ao3

“Would you believe that I’m a saber spirit?” the ghost asked. “Or maybe an ancestor?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said. He did not put down the exorcism talisman.

The ghost sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Before Nie Mingjue could do anything more, the ghost rushed at him – taken aback, Nie Mingjue flinched, and when he opened his eyes again the ghost was gone.

He still pinned the talisman onto the swaddling wrapped around his baby brother, who was grumbling in sleepy dissatisfaction at having been nearly woken up.

He wasn’t taking any chances with his brother’s health.

“I’m actually not dangerous,” the ghost argued. He’d figured out that if he hovered high enough, Nie Mingjue wouldn’t be able to get at him – though he still flinched whenever Nie Mingjue threw rocks at him. He must be a relatively new ghost. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but I’m here to help.”

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue said. There were plenty of pebbles next to the place where laundry got done, and he could grab one without being spotted whenever he dunked the clothing in. “I believe you. Come down here a little closer, I’ll believe you some more.”

The ghost sighed.

“Just give me a chance, okay?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“I have good reasons –”

“Don’t care.”

“If you come any closer, I’ll douse you in a male virgin’s urine,” Nie Mingjue said. “Ghosts are supposed to hate that.”

The ghost huffed. “Like I’m dumb enough come near you when you’re swaddling the baby anyway.”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving! Just put Baxia down already!”

“You need more salt.”

“I thought ghosts hated that, too?”

“Maybe it’s rock salt ghosts hate?” the ghost asked, floating over Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. “I don’t think I have anything against proper seasoning.”

Nie Mingjue huffed, rolling his eyes, but he did add a little more salt.

“Ah ha!” the ghost exclaimed. “You are starting to listen to me!”

“That’s when the recipes says to put it in,” Nie Mingjue said. “I was always going to add some more of it in then.”

“I don’t believe you! You were definitely listening!”

“Listen, if I was a normal ghost, your father would have totally gotten rid of me, right?”

“Never said I thought you were normal,” Nie Mingjue said, soothing his brother to sleep in his arms with soft murmurs and a gentle voice that did not come naturally to him. “I said you were a pest. Did I ever say anything about being normal?”

“…no, I guess not,” the ghost conceded. “Damnit, I thought I was onto something with that. Also, shouldn’t a nursemaid be doing that?”

“Can’t be trusted,” Nie Mingjue said.

The ghost frowned, then blanched. “Right, right,” he murmured. “I nearly forgot, what happened with – uh, what happened right around that time. That would have been recently, too, wouldn’t it? You’ve always remembered it better.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t say anything.

“Still, you’re only seven. Even if they were scared to hire a nursemaid for fear of letting in another assassin, shouldn’t someone else be doing this?”

“I’m eight,” Nie Mingjue said.

“The point still stands. Surely one of the servants..?”

Nie Mingjue sighed. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re at war,” he explained. “Everyone who can swing a saber is out fighting it, and that includes the servants.”

“I thought it was too quiet,” the ghost said, half to himself. “I haven’t seen anyone else in – okay, actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen anyone.”

“War,” Nie Mingjue said.

“You’re eight,” the ghost said. He looked upset. “How could they leave you alone like this? You make your own food, you do the laundry, you take care of – this is ridiculous! There must be people who are too old to go that could help…there must be other children! Where are the other children?”

Nie Mingjue didn’t say anything.

Nie Huaisang needed his sleep, after all.

“I refuse to let this go,” the ghost said. “Even if – especially if – a whole bunch of the other kids died or something, even if all of them died, which they didn’t, there’s absolutely no reason for you to be left alone like this.”

Nie Mingjue sighed. He’d hoped that the ghost would let it drop, but apparently, no.

Apparently, he was going to have to engage.

(Nie Huaisang waving his hands at the ghost, burbling happily, had nothing to do with that decision.)

“You assume they left me,” he said. “You have it backwards.”

“…what?”

“I ran away,” Nie Mingjue explained, and the ghost’s jaw dropped. “This place was abandoned because of the war – too awkward an outpost to be worth it for either side – and I took my brother and we came here, just me and him and Baxia. I’m planning on staying until the war’s over.”

“But why? You’re the heir.”

“Yeah,” Nie Mingjue said. “That’s why.”

“…what?”

“It’s ‘sang’ as in mulberry leaves, right?” he asked. “For his name? I heard you whispering it to him.”

“I - yeah, it’s mulberry,” the ghost said, blinking at him. “And ‘huai’ as in ‘to hold’…but you know that already, surely?”

Nie Mingjue shrugged.

The ghost stared at him. He didn’t blink, which was typical of ghosts, but still a bit unnerving.

“You named the child, didn’t you,” the ghost said. It wasn’t a question. “You take care of him, you raise him, you’re refusing to return home…it’s war, you said. Because of the massacre of the junior generation that everyone pretended was an accident but wasn’t, because of Mother’s death from that assassin pretending to be a nursemaid. People do things when they get angry, during war. What was going to happen to – to the baby?”

“Massacre at his conception, declaration of war at his quickening, assassination at his birth,” Nie Mingjue recited. “That’s three bad things; bad luck comes in fours, and we really can’t afford to lose this war. Newborns die easy as flipping over your hand, and maybe the next one won’t be so unlucky, won’t be a calamity star – that sort of thing. It was too dangerous.”

“Oh,” the ghost said. “I never knew.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Nie Mingjue said. “Who would have told you? I would’ve killed them, first.”

The ghost twitched, and stared at him.

“I like Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said. “It’s a good name. Even if how you got it is a bit circular.”

“Someone murders you,” the ghost – Nie Huaisang of the future, as Nie Mingjue had long ago figured out, but it was easier to keep thinking of him as ‘the ghost’ – said, sitting with his back against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. It’d be a sad and pathetic sight, except for the way he was sitting on the ceiling. “I was trying to come back to stop it from happening…maybe even prevent our father’s murder, too, if I could. That happens when you’re fifteen, by the way. You have to inherit, and spend the rest of your life avenging him.”

“Do I succeed?”

“…yes.”

“That’s good, then,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Don’t you want to know more?”

“Why? Are you planning on going somewhere?”

The ghost uncurled himself from his dramatic misery to float down until his head (still upside down) was floating in front of Nie Mingjue. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Ghosts that resolve their business are liberated,” Nie Mingjue said. “Maybe I like having you around.”

“…oh.”

“One day you’re going to save the world,” the ghost told him.

“Today, you already have,” Nie Mingjue replied.

“Maybe I never went back in time,” the ghost said. “Maybe I’m just dead, and this is one of the eighteen hells, punishing me for everything I’ve done.”

“Are you having a bad time?” Nie Mingjue asked. He himself was having a good time: Nie Huaisang wasn’t crying, for once, and he had him sitting in his lap, a stick wrapped in his little baby hand (supported by Nie Mingjue, of course) waiving in the air in the rudimentary beginnings of proper saber forms.

“Well, no. But then again, ‘everything I’ve done’ wasn’t that bad, and all done in the name of filial piety – I even bought already-dead cats – well, except for little Mo Xuanyu. He deserved better than he got from everyone, me included.”

“None of that made even the slightest bit of sense to me, you know,” Nie Mingjue said. “But if you feel so bad about it, I promise to change it this time around.”

“No, you don’t understand,” the ghost said. “If this is the underworld, then you wouldn’t have the chance to change it. We’d just repeat this over and over again, forever!”

“How many times has it been for you, then?”

“Well, only one. But it could be the beginning of many times! Or – or – maybe I’ve forgotten the previous times!”

“Seems like a pretty stupid punishment if you just forget about it,” Nie Mingjue said.

“…hmm. Good point.”

“You’re prone to anxiety, aren’t you?” Nie Mingjue said to the Nie Huaisang in his arms, who made an expression that was clearly his best effort at smiling. He was still building up those facial muscles. “We’ll have to work on that, in this life.”

“Hey!”

“Okay, so, positing that this whole living in an abandoned outpost is a real thing that is happened and is still happening, which I’m still not convinced of –”

“I don’t seem like the type to run away?”

“…you were always very righteous.”

“Sometimes, righteous people do stupid things,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Remind me to tell you about someone called Wei Wuxian,” the ghost said, now thoroughly distracted. “He’s more or less the walking, talking incarnation of that…”

“Did he have a sad childhood?”

“What? I mean, I guess so? His parents died, he lived on the streets for a while, developed a fear of dogs, but then he got rescued by Jiang Fengmian and adopted, so – are you taking notes?”

“How else am I supposed to keep track of all these names?”

“Maybe you should go pick up Meng Yao. If you’re planning on changing things, I mean.”

Nie Mingjue squinted at the ghost, who was supervising the stew he was making. It was meat, for once – a pheasant that had conveniently gotten scared to death. The ghost had gotten very creative in how he could help out despite his general incorporeality. “Isn’t that the name of the person who eventually kills me?”

“Well, yes.”

“Why would I go help him?”

“…he had a very sad childhood?”

“If I adopt everyone you say had a sad childhood, there won’t be a junior generation anymore,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “They’ll all be Nie sect.”

“And it would be better for them.”

“Annoying for me, though.”

“ – and that’s what demonic cultivation is,” the ghost concluded. “Why do you ask?”

“I have absolutely no reason to be interested in a type of cultivation specifically designed to make dead creatures do what I say, including shutting up whenever they’ve started talking in the middle of the night,” Nie Mingjue said, yawning. “None whatsoever.”

“It’s not that late, it’s only – hmm. Oops.”

“It’s not that different from what I do with Baxia,” Nie Mingjue argued.

“What you do with Baxia eventually kills you,” the ghost argued back.

“I thought you said I was murdered?”

“Through an existing weakness!”

“Without which the world will end, so it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine at all!”

“I’m just saying, it would be –”

“No! I am not letting you demonically cultivate with me, and that’s final!”

“Fine!”

“Your older self is so annoying,” Nie Mingjue told Nie Huaisang after the ghost had stormed off. Through a wall, no less, and that was purely to be especially dramatic about it since Nie Mingjue knew that he knew where the doors were. “Such a pest!”

“If we’re going to do this – I can’t believe we’re going to do this – we’re doing it slowly,” the ghost said. “You hear me? Slowly. I don’t care how much of a cultivation genius you are.”

Nie Mingjue nodded.

“And no one ever finds out about it, okay? No one. If someone happens to see me, you need to lie and say that I – that I’m –”

“A saber spirit?”

“Shut up.”

“Baba!” Nie Huaisang burbled, or at least something that sounded vaguely similar. He was probably a few months too young for actual speech, though.

“Da-ge,” Nie Mingjue corrected, just in case.

The ghost sniggered. “So much of my childhood is suddenly explained, you have no idea.”

“I think I’m going to tell him to call you mama,” Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully. “What do you think that’ll explain?”

“You’re depressingly good at this,” the ghost said. “I mean, everyone always said you were a genius, but you’re really good at cultivation.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged.

“I still think you should hold off on the demonic cultivation aspects.”

“We’ve already agreed to disagree,” Nie Mingjue said. “And knowing demonic cultivation helps me refine my cultivation of Baxia as well – I can filter out only the finest resentful energy for her.”

“You make it sound like cat food.”

“Since you also thrive on resentful energy, what does that make you?”

“A mouse, surely.”

“Nah. Hedgehog.”

The ghost acted as if it had been stabbed and fell over backwards.

Dramatic bastard.

“There’s a person outside,” the ghost said. “They’re at the edge of the boundaries.”

Nie Mingjue could feel his shoulders stiffen. “What are they wearing?”

“Nie colors. I would’ve taken care of it myself if it was a Wen.”

They’d had an incident with a Wen squad coming too close, once.

The ghost, strengthened by Nie Mingjue’s demonic cultivation and the bond he’d formed between him and Baxia, had ripped the cultivators in the Wen patrol squad to pieces before they’d gotten too close.

Nie Mingjue had told him that he appreciated the enthusiasm, but to try to keep the mess down a bit next time. All that blood had attracted predators willing to feast on human flesh, and Nie Huaisang was still small.

“What boundary?” he asked, and went to go look down at it from one of the windows. “Oh.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” the ghost wanted to know.

Nie Mingjue looked at the man walking up. “No,” he said. “No problem.”

“What does he want? Is he going to make trouble for Sangsang?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said. “Just for me.”

He waited outside the door, Baxia in his hand.

His father came to a stop a reasonable distance away. “What will it cost for you to return?” he asked.

It was about what Nie Mingjue had expected. They were a practical family.

Nie Mingjue didn’t have memories of his future life, and the ghost didn’t remember this period of his previous life: the months they had spent together in this abandoned fortress, the way Nie Mingjue taught him to smile and to crawl, fed him and changed him and slept with him to calm him, the life they had shared in the world without the ghost.

Still, he had asked the ghost the questions he had wanted answered, casually dropping names into conversation with the ghost to judge his response, and he figured out what his answer must have been in that life before.

He’d asked for the heads of those that had directly threatened Nie Huaisang, and an oath that the sect would honor Nie Huaisang as the heir, that he would be sect leader following Nie Mingjue. He’d gotten what he’d asked for, but what had been meant as a gift had in the end only been a burden – the ghost wouldn’t have been so desperate to come back to this time if it wasn’t.

He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

He smiled.

“I’d like to make some changes,” he said, thinking of all the people that the ghost had talked about – all the ones who had sad childhoods. Many were the children of the other Great Sects, which would make things tricky to start – most people didn’t want their children raised by outsiders – but he’d thought of ways to make it work, and he knew the investment would ultimately bear fruit. His father, ruthless as he was, would understand that part of it, at least, even if he didn’t understand the rest. “Back me in full, or lose me forever.”

This was even more of a gamble than what he had asked for in his past life. A few heads, even of loyal servants, didn’t matter much, compared to blood – a blank slate was a far more dangerous request.

His father looked him over, and Nie Mingjue knew that he was calculating whether it was worth it. Whether it was Nie Mingjue’s head that he should take, this time, since he himself was still young enough to have more sons. But Nie Mingjue had learned from the ghost all the secrets he’d known about his own future cultivation, added to it the demonic cultivation he’d deduced, and he was, in the end, a genius.

There was a reason he was confident enough to make the request.

“Very well,” his father said. “I will back you.”

They told everyone that the ghost was an ancestor.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lao nie #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

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oliverwvvd · 4 years ago

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the potential for chaos

For the anon who asked about Yule Ball Flintwood, this is a beginning of sorts for you. This didn’t turn out the way I anticipated originally when you presented the concept, so I offer this as version 1.0 with something softer to follow.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: Marcus shows up to the Yule Ball solo. So does Oliver. Neither one is especially pleased about it, and the reasons why are personal.

wordcount: 2,194 words.

The Yule Ball. Welcome to the distinct scent of too much teenage desperation in one room.

The snide thought belonged to Marcus Flint, whose dress robes fit just fine, thanks very much, not that the same could be said of some of the people attending. Weasley the younger, for example, looked like a cat crawled onto the front of his robes, rolled around, and then obligingly threw up a lacy hairball before departing. Marcus’ were, shockingly, not green, because Slytherins were in fact capable of wearing colours that weren’t the house colours. Instead, he’d gone for navy blue, and they were tailored to fit. For now, he was leaning with his right shoulder firmly parked against a nearby wall, drink in hand (liberally spiked, courtesy of Pucey’s far too innocent face which had successfully hidden very good Firewhiskey somewhere on his person), and settling into the buzz around him.

He was razor-edged, dark hair and sharp jawline identifying him in the shadows, gaze steady still despite the warm burn of the Firewhiskey, and the growing warmth of the room. The music was alright, he supposed. He could work with this. He could especially work without being forced to find a date he didn’t like just to fit in, because no one dared give him crap about it. That left him with a sour thought of a very different kind he’d already decided not to dwell on. A lot of other people were on the dancefloor, but he was good right where he was, absorbing the potential for chaos and waiting for the lights to go just a little lower and darker. That was more his speed.

Unfortunately, someone else didn’t seem to care what his speed was, when they came up behind him and spoke into his ear. “You look bored, Flint. Looking for someone?”

Marcus didn’t even turn his head, simply took a sip of his drink. “Hardly. You evidently were, if you spotted me back here. Shouldn’t you be with your date, Wood? I’m sure you had a list of invites to choose from.” The words were cool and more than a little antagonistic, holding the pointed hint that he’d been fine by himself, and that Wood was welcome to leave him be now.

The other boy didn’t so much as take the hint, instead spoke more quietly, that hint of Glasgow burr there and gravelly in his ear. “Didn’t accept an invite, so no date. You?”

A little more to drink, but then he caught a hint of Firewhiskey that distinctly wasn’t from him. “So, you’ve also been in a corner drinking from whatever enchanted hipflask you and your mates in Gryffindor came up with, then,” he observed dryly. “Please to Merlin tell me at least that it’s not one with someone’s initials on it for when they inevitably drop and lose it later, at least.”

There was a very nearly painful silence then, and Marcus snorted, soft but still audible. “It figures.” It really, really did. “You know, it’s good form to at least cast a charm to hide the initials, Wood. I’m assuming it at least doesn’t belong to you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Marcus usually had to shut his eyes and count to ten before he bit the offending person’s head off and told them to mind their business at this stage. The Firewhiskey mellowed him out enough that it took away the edge to some degree, but it was still there.

“Good observation skills there, Wood,” he remarked, aware of other people potentially in earshot. “It’s almost as though it’s not really any of your business. Which it isn’t. But since you apparently can’t let it drop, I chose to attend solo. This is like a knock-off of all the same stuff that half of us deal with on holidays anyway.” The curse of the Sacred 28, old pureblood family gatherings and traditions and parties littered every holiday throughout the year. Inevitably, they all found ways of coping with the boredom after the age of fifteen, and usually that involved finding substances or decent company (preferably both) and vanishing from the scene entirely once it was deemed polite.

Wood moved in front of him then, there in the corner, solidly built shoulders blocking the rest of the room, mirroring the way Marcus leaned against the wall. He didn’t have any choice but to look at him then, and could only be grateful that the warm breath into his ear had stopped. If it hadn’t, he might have had to think too hard about how it made him feel, and he really didn’t want to right now.

“So you didn’t come with anyone.” It seemed like Wood was trying to make a point, but Marcus couldn’t tell what. It was frustrating, so rather than focus on that, he looked at the boy in front of him instead. He’d been lanky when they were younger, a bit skinny and coltish, but Quidditch had bulked him out and he was solidly built now at seventeen. And then there was the choice of dress robes; apparently he wasn’t the only one who made use of a tailor for once. That was a fine outline right there.

Realising he was admiring the view and that that wouldn’t do given the reason why he was in a mood in the first place, Marcus exhaled a sigh. “Obviously. What do you want, Wood?”

Wood seemed to realise he only had a finite amount of patience. That was a years overdue realisation as far as Marcus was concerned. “To dance with you.”

That made Marcus stare for a few seconds. Seeming to register that he wasn’t going to get a response unless he pushed, Oliver tilted his head at him. “One dance, Marcus. Something slow. We can stay right here in the corner for all I care, since you seem to prefer lurking in the shadows.” Then brown eyes examined him far too closely, his lips curled up into a smile that held just a hint of smirk at the edges. “Presuming you’re not too caught up in posing and sulking, of course.”

Oliver was crowding him now, just a little, and Marcus wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about it yet. His immediate response was no longer to punch the other boy in the face, that had been gone for a long while, so that was progress. “You can’t hold your Firewhiskey and you’re seriously misreading things, if that’s the best offer you can give me,” he pointed out bluntly. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll continue minding my own business right where I am. Lurking in the shadows.” That was when he leaned back and away, and took another sip of his drink. No one could see them back here. That thought made his pulse race.

Oliver (Wood, his mind stubbornly reminded him, trying to hang onto it) wasn’t necessarily going to just leave him alone, though, or so it appeared. “Then come out of here with me for a minute,” he said, voice quiet but still carrying through the space between them. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Marcus sighed exasperatedly, and drained what was left in the cup. Obligingly, it vanished the moment he set it down on a nearby table, and at this point, he’d given up arguing with Oliver. “Fine. You get two minutes.”

Once they did get outside, though, Marcus hadn’t quite registered just how much Oliver intended to make the most of those two minutes. He found himself rapidly dragged around a corner and pressed into an alcove hidden behind a statue that he hadn’t even known was there. When he went to ask what the fuck, Oliver put a hand over his mouth. “Shh, someone will hear.”

Beyond annoyed and now suspecting where this was going, neither of which he enjoyed, Marcus dragged Oliver’s hand off his mouth and hissed his next words. “What are you doing?”

Earnest brown eyes were fixed on him then, and this time, Marcus couldn’t get away or give him the cold shoulder. “Are you seriously still mad that someone tried to ask me to this thing?”

Marcus gave him a truly evil glare then. “You mean, am I pleased that someone else asked the person I’m not allowed to walk down the corridor with? I’m absolutely thrilled. Someone else walks up to you and asks right where I can hear; I kiss you in dark corners and Quidditch changing rooms for three months and get ignored when convenient.” The tone was flat, but the sarcasm wasn’t.

He saw Oliver wince, and then, completely annoyed and altogether done with the conversation, Marcus went to shoulder past him. Instead, he found himself pushed back into the stone, found himself being kissed, and he wasn’t letting Oliver think that was the last word on it. He wasn’t about to be lulled into compliance. Rather than lean into it, instead, he nipped the other’s bottom lip sharply, just enough to make him feel it, a kiss like a warning, before he reached up and sunk his fingers into his hair.

If he couldn’t have the evening, he was going to make sure Oliver went back with bruised, swollen lips, hair a mess, and every possible hallmark to show that he’d vanished with someone. Let everyone wonder who.

That it changed when Oliver seemed to yield, to surrender to being kissed rather than one doing the kissing didn’t escape Marcus either. It wasn’t until he could feel him trembling that Marcus released him, leaving him looking faintly dizzy where he stood. He smoothed out his robes then, slow and insouciant, enough to make Oliver watch the trail of his hands. “I’m not going to take whatever scraps you decide to throw me and be happy that’s all I get,” he said, words short, making sure they landed home. This was probably one of the worst sides of him. “You don’t act like it, so you don’t get to call me yours. Because I’m not.” Wasn’t that just the biggest lie he’d ever told, but it was supposed to be, because he was doing it purely to be mean and he knew it.

He lifted his thumb to the corner of his mouth then ran it along to the middle of his own lower lip, as though he could taste Oliver there. He could, Firewhiskey and everything that had become so familiar since they first crashed into trying to understand what this was. The reason he really did it, though, was to be a little bit cruel, to watch Oliver’s pupils dilate some more, to see him want to close the distance again, and then to deny him. Or at least, that’s the intention, right up until Oliver shakes his head. “Merlin help me you’re impossible sometimes,” was the set of words bitten out. “I was trying to apologise. To tell you that I only wanted to go with you, but I also wanted to protect this because it’s ours and people are incredibly nosy. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing. You might not be mine, but I want you to be.”

Those were a set of words that Marcus badly wanted to be true, and it was enough to stop him cold, to make him rein in the sulking (if he was honest about what he’d been doing, that was it) and register them. The attempts to deflect hard that his feelings had actually been hurt had all ultimately proven to be unsuccessful, and he knew better than to use kissing as a weapon, it too often backfired and this was very much a case in point.

As though Oliver sensed the weakness somehow, damn him for it, the next time he was being touched was much gentler. “We could dance right here, if you wanted.” The words were breathed between them. That was when Marcus realised that they could still hear the music from the hall.

He made a decision. “Nah,” he said, not hesitating to turn down the suggestion. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.” He gave Oliver a pointed look then, and threw down the gauntlet. “Together.” It was a ceasefire, or the closest that they’d get, because they still needed to talk about the actual feelings involved at some point.

There was no phasing a Gryffindor with that kind of challenge, though, so Oliver didn’t even bat an eyelid. Show them anything like a bet you can’t and they immediately decided that not only could they, but screw you who says I can’t. The only reply Marcus got was a hand in his. It turned out he did want to kiss Oliver softly then, so it still took a few minutes longer for them to get back to the hall. When they did, the night sky that illuminated the ceiling had darkened to hold a spill of stars, and the lights had gone down to something far lower and barely there.

Oliver got his one dance. What he also got was a truth in his ear. “I’m only yours if you’re mine. Non-negotiable. What about it?”

The night wasn’t over yet.

#the potential for chaos #yule ball #ol writes things #flintwood #flintwoodnet #Marcus x Oliver #marcus flint #oliver wood

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gleefulfan · 4 years ago

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In Defense of Benji Pt. 2/2

Part 1

Here's the last three episodes of Season 2. Like I said in part 1 (which I’d recommend reading first), I’m not trying to make Benji out as a saint, I’m just trying to show why Benji did the things he did and that a lot of the comments I’ve seen about him have been unfair.

2x08 (The Morning After): I have to break this episode down into three parts because so much happens.

Initial Victor/Benji/Isabel fight: All Victor and Benji need at this point is some hot make-up sex and a nice honest conversation the next morning. Unfortunately they only get part-way through the first before Isabel walks in on them. Everyone is understandably upset and Victor and his mom are arguing while Benji listens in.

When Isabel says “What excuse could you possibly have for doing that in my house?” Benji, who has had an extremely emotional evening, can’t take it anymore. Now it’s impossible to know how exactly Isabel would have reacted had Benji been a girl, but you can certainly understand why Benji assumes that this is just another homophobic comment from Isabel after months and months of them.

The argument is honestly not too bad until Adrian walks in and Isabel calls Benji Victor’s “friend” yet again. Now we know and Victor knows that she’s called Benji his boyfriend before and is only saying this because of Adrian, but Benji doesn’t know that. To him, it’s just more homophobia. And while it’s impossible to know exactly what Benji’s intentions are in this moment, I firmly believe that Benji was not intentionally outing Victor to Adrian, but demanding that Isabel recognize his and Victor’s relationship. The outburst came from frustration and passion, not malice.

At that point Isabel kicks Benji out and when Benji looks to Victor for support, Victor backs up his mom. You can see the disappointment on Benji’s face and that he feels like Victor sided with his homophobic mother over his boyfriend.

Victor/Benji Coffeehouse fight: When Victor and Benji see each other again at work, both are looking for an apology. Honestly, I don’t really get the first two-thirds of Victor’s request for an apology. Of the three people involved in Isabel walking in on them, Benji’s the least to blame. It’s not his house, he didn’t know Adrian was there, Victor asked him to his room. And even if Isabel wasn’t being homophobic, she’s been homophobic towards Benji so many times without any apology or remonstration that it’s hardly his fault for assuming it.

Victor and Benji argue over Victor’s mom again and it’s at this point Victor says “I’m sorry we can’t all have totally supportive liberal white parents like you do.” Benji responds saying “What does being white have to do with anything?”

I find this interaction really frustrating because it comes completely out of the blue. Have Victor and Benji ever discussed race before? Has Victor ever cited his mom’s Latinx upbringing as a reason for the way she’s been acting? Obviously, when a POC tells a white person that they don’t understand something in that person’s life because they’re white, Benji’s response is not the right one. Benji is a seemingly progressive teenager in a well-to-do suburb of Atlanta, I find it hard to believe he doesn’t have any concept of race and how it may have affected Victor and his family. But we don’t get anything beyond these two lines.

To move outside of the text for a moment, it feels like these lines were inserted so that Victor and Rahim could talk about race later in the episode rather than have Victor and Benji actually talk about race. And that later scene is really good, but it comes at the expense of making Benji seem inexplicably callous about something really important. I really hope we get an opportunity in season 3 for Benji and Victor to really talk about this.

Other than that, Victor is kinda awful to Benji here. He calls Benji’s parents “totally supportive” when he knows they weren’t and that Benji really struggled. And Benji’s opinion shouldn’t be “meaningless” even if there are things about the situation he can’t understand. I understand why Victor’s upset but it should be no surprise that Benji stalks off.

Victor/Benji at Benji’s House: Victor goes over after not being able to contact Benji all day. They actually talk about Victor being worried and Benji’s alcoholism a little bit and the conversation is going pretty well, until Benji sees a text from Rahim and Victor admits he told Rahim about Benji’s alcoholism.

This is a pretty awful thing for Victor to have done. Because we almost never get Benji’s point-of-view, it doesn’t necessarily feel that way. We understand why Victor told Rahim and we know Rahim is trustworthy, but Benji doesn’t know any of that. And more than that, Victor knows (or should know) how important this is to Benji and how ashamed of it he is. And not even 24 hours after finding out, Victor’s already blabbed it to someone else. No wonder Benji tells him they need a break.

2x09 (Victor’s Day Off): Benji isn’t really in this episode, which is largely dedicated to building Rahim up as a plausible alternative love interest to Benji for the finale cliffhanger. We do see a short conversation when Benji calls Victor, where Benji presumably tells Victor that he misses him (Victor says I miss you too), but that Benji doesn’t want to rush back into anything and can’t go to the wedding with Victor.

2x10 (Close Your Eyes): Benji’s in two scenes in the finale, one with Isabel (a very rare Benji scene without Victor present), and one where he goes to and then quickly leaves the wedding when he sees Victor dancing with Rahim.

Arguably you could say Benji is being presumptuous by assuming something is going on between Victor and Rahim, but within minutes of Benji leaving, Rahim admitted he likes Victor and Victor told Felix he felt something, even if he wasn’t sure what.

Again, none of this is to claim Benji is perfect. Benji and Victor are two 16-year-olds who love each other a whole lot who haven’t learned to communicate well and lash out when they’re upset. Victor has just as much to work on as Benji and hopefully we’ll get the chance to see them work on themselves together in Season 3.

#love victor #benji campbell #venji #love victor spoilers #victor salazer #lv meta

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wolfinshipclothing · 5 years ago

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Ok, can we talk about Stevens lack of personality and how much i relate to that?

Because uff.. look at this guy.

Steven has spent a good portion of his life trying to live up to his mother legacy. Then, trying to fix her crimes. But more than anything, he has spent most of the last few years trying to make people happy.

He has been building that for a while, but the earliest example i remember is in “The Test”

After finding out the “test” the gems have prepared for him was fake, just a tactic to raise his morale, he is upset. And with good reason! But after eavesdropping the gems and how scared and lost they are now that Rose is gone, what does Steven do? He lies. He puts on a cherry face and says how awesome the test was, all just to he can make the gems happy. And i took notice of this because i thought... “hey... dude... thats kind of unhealthy you know?”

Five seasons and a movie later and what you get?

Disaster. You get a Steven who has built his life around helping others by putting his own feelings aside. He is so into it that he has neglected time with the gems and his human friends. In fact, when he found out that Lars and Sadie had figured out their issues IN PRIVATE, does he get happy? No, he is devastated becase “HOW did i not knew about this?”

Prickle pair is even more in-your-face about Steven’s lack of self.

He started doing gardening, something that i believed (when i read the episode description a while ago) would be good for him.

It wasn’t. Turns out Steven likes gardening marginally. He doesn’t do it cause he wants to, he does it just for the sake of trying new things AND showing how well he is doing now.

And what happens when the gems left him alone? He comments to himself.

“The gems are not even impressed. Guess gardening isn’t as cool as liberating the galaxy.”

Yeah, thats not healthy. He is basing himself enterely in the opinion of his family. Mind you, is not that the gems dont think its cool, its just that they can tell something is WRONG with Steven...

“This is a much needed YOU time” said pearl.

“This may not be the HEALTHIEST approach to your new hobby” said Garnet.

And they are both right.

To his merit, Steven has grown a bit in the last few episodes.

“Its probably better that i am not running the school, tho. Who am i to decide whats best for all those gems students?”

So, after everything that happened after “Guidance” and “Little graduation”, it seems Steven has realized he doesn’t have the answer for everything. He has to let people walk their own paths.

Which is a sensical but Horryfing concept for someone who’s entire identity has been built around the others. What do you do when you cant to the thing you focused your life around?

Have a life crisis it seems.

I know Steven is suffering but i, for myself, am LOVING how they deconstructed the idea that people have around his character.

And whats best is (like i mentioned earlier in this post) is that none of that is new. Steven has been building this for a while. His Empathy, his love, his selflessness... all of those are good qualities, but take them to the extreme, and what do you get?

“Why do i need to be needed!?” its what you get.

#steven quartz universe #steven universe future #suf spoilers #steven universe spoilers #prickle pair #little graduation #SU Analysis #YES burn the child!

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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

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Unprofessional [pt. 1] /// Yandere Tendou x f!Reader

Summary: The new hire you’re supposed to be training at your office job is a little too attached for his own good…or yours. [Part 2]

A/N: Someone requested yandere Tendou and I was like !!! However when I wrote it, it turned out kinda long so I split it into 2 parts; I’ll answer the req when I post part 2. Anyway I’m obsessed with the concept of salaryman Tendou, please enjoy!

Tags/warnings: yandere, timeskip (Tendou is 22-23 in this), workplace/office setting, liberal use of “senpai”, alcohol, Tendou’s crackhead energy is toned down a little bit because of the setting [In part 2: smut, 18+]

You don’t really like Tendou when you first meet him.

Your first impression when your boss introduces the new employee is that he’s all talk and no substance. He’s been hired fresh out of university, and he’s got the stink of a former frat boy all over him—that baseless enthusiasm, chaotic goodwill and arrogance mixed together. That might have been your type when you were still sucking down cheap keg beer from red solo cups, but you’re two years into your career as a real grown-up adult now, and the cockiness that radiates off Tendou in waves is just…annoying.

Unfortunately, when your boss tells you to take the newbie under your wing, train him, and be his mentor, it’s not a request. It’s a demand. So you decide to suck it up. If you’re going to have to spend every second at the office with Tendou trailing after you like a baby duck, you may as well get used to him.

After a few weeks, you have to admit he’s not that bad. Sure, he’s not the best at respecting personal space, but how can you blame him? When he looms over you to reach for a file above your head for the nth time and traps you between his body and the cabinet, you finally lose your patience and snap at him to give you some space, but he looks so surprised and apologizes so sincerely that you can’t help forgiving him. You feel a little bad, even, when he explains that he’s never worked in an office before so he’s not used to all the rules that he’s expected to follow in a professional environment.

You can’t really fault him for that, especially when you’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching him these things. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything,” you tell him, and he perks up so quickly that you feel even worse for chewing him out in the first place.

The thing is, Tendou doesn’t really stop getting close to you once you chastise him. It just bothers you less. The dozenth time his hand lingers over yours while you’re passing him a document or he picks an invisible thread off your blouse or sits a little too close when you’re riding in the back of a taxi to a client meeting, you start convincing yourself that you’re overreacting. He’s probably not being that much more pushy than your other coworkers—you’re just more aware of him because you don’t know him as well.

And it doesn’t help that he’s tall, towering over you and pretty much everyone else in the office. The cheap suits he cycles through can’t quite conceal the hard lines of muscle underneath—oh, whoops. Now you’re the one crossing boundaries. Tendou is so big that you’re just…more conscious of his presence, right?

This is drilled into you one night after a marathon overtime session when you’re carrying a tall stack of boxes back to the archives. Maybe it’s because you’ve been at work for 11 hours, but the files feel like they’re filled with rocks, not paper. Your muscles are this close to giving out when Tendou appears out of nowhere to pluck the files out of your arms. “Here. Gimme, gimme, I’ll take ‘em.”

The way he carries the heavy boxes so effortlessly makes you kind of embarrassed at how much you’d struggled with them. “You’re pretty strong, hm,” you say absently. Oops, was that inappropriate? You don’t want him thinking you’re hitting on him or something.

“Oh—yeah I guess?” Tendou’s laugh (the one that used to grate on your nerves) sounds like he’s pleased with himself. “I go to the gym a lot.”

“Wish I could find the time. Or the discipline,” you reply as he replaces the file box in the archive room.

“Wow, senpai is calling me disciplined. My heart is pounding.”

His tone is sarcastic enough that you don’t think twice about the second part of his statement. “Don’t get too full of yourself. If you have the energy to go to the gym, you should spend that time double checking your expense reports before you submit them.”

“Ouch.” Tendou holds his hand over his heart in mock betrayal. “Targeting my weak points, how ruthless. But seriously, working out is second nature to me. Been doin it since I was a kid so it doesn’t take any kinda discipline.”

“Oh? Did you play sports or something?”

“Yeah…” Tendou’s voice trails off and when you pause from your task of organizing the files to look up at him, he’s staring directly at you. “…Used to play volleyball. Grade school through college.”

The way he’s looking at you, searching your face for something you can’t identify, makes you think this is more important than it seems. You tip your head to the side, waiting for him to continue.

“Our team in high school was pretty good,” he says slowly.

“That’s cool,” you say, turning back to the paperwork. “Did you ever play Shiratorizawa? They’re my old high school—I think their volleyball team went to nationals back in the day. I was never into sports though.”

A moment passes, and you frown. Did you say something wrong? But just before you’re about to change the subject, Tendou starts laughing. “Shiratorizawa? No, I don’t think I ever played them.”

Your laugh joins his a second late, although you don’t know why he thinks it’s funny in the first place. In the echo of your voices, you can hear how quiet it is in the archives. There’s something here you’re missing, but you’re not sure what.

Luckily enough, the somewhat awkward atmosphere doesn’t carry over to the next day. When you get into the office, Tendou is his usual clingy self, distracting you from your own work to ask you to teach him something and pulling you away when you’re talking to your coworkers so you can double check his emails before he sends them. If anything, he’s more attached than usual—when you go to a contract renewal negotiation with a client he insists on tagging along, so you let him after making him promise not to get in the way.

Of course he doesn’t keep his promise, but you end up appreciating his intrusion more than you could have predicted. The client is stubborn and rude until Tendou chimes in (much to your dismay, at first) with an offer to add on some oddly specific perks to the contract. You’re already practicing your apology speech to the boss in anticipation of losing the client, but to your amazement he agrees to Tendou’s terms and the deal is sealed, along with a healthy bonus for you.

You’re on cloud nine, practically skipping out of the building with Tendou at your side as you fantasize about what you’re going to do with the bonus after you split it with him. A weekend vacation out of the city? An online shopping spree? Some fancy dinners at five-star restaurants? Knowing you, the money will end up going straight to your savings, but you still can’t contain your giddiness. “How did you know he wanted that add-on? Seriously, I had no idea!”

“A guess! I’m good at reading people.” Tendou’s just as elated as you, pumping his fist and whooping like a kid as soon as you’re away from the client’s earshot. “Woohoo! Yay! Our first sale together!”

“A guess? You risked that huge contract on a guess?” You roll your eyes but you’re too excited to be mad at him. “Anyway, you don’t have to say ‘our’ first sale, I know it was all you. I’ll tell the boss you’re doing a good job.”

“No way, it’s ours! Both of us. Me and senpai.” Tendou’s hand reaches down and his fingers lace with yours, squeezing so tight his knuckles go pale.

The thrill of your success flickers as nervousness sets in. Is he holding your hand? “Tendou—“

“Senpaiiiii~” he says in sing-song, swinging your hand as you walk to meet the taxi and ignoring your meek attempts to pull away. “Didn’t I do a good job?”

“Y-Yeah. Good job, Tendou.”

Work friends. The two of you are work friends. Your boss passes all comments to Tendou through you (mostly things about how he’s good with clients and charismatic but needs to stop making minor errors on paperwork). When one of you is sick, your coworkers ask the other to pass on their good wishes. Tendou fits into his role at the office seamlessly, and you can’t say you don’t appreciate the fact that all of his good work is reflecting well on you.

So when his birthday rolls around two months after he’s hired, it’s up to you to plan the office drinking party (only after he complains to you about how he doesn’t have any friends since moving to Tokyo). You have the date you got from Facebook—May 20th—circled in red pen on your private calendar along with a little doodle of a birthday cake.

“What’s that?” asks one of your coworkers, pointing to the circle, as you flip through your agenda a week before the event.

“Tendou’s turning 23,” you tell him. “It’s a Friday, so some of us are going to go to a restaurant and drink a little. You’re coming, right?”

“Oh…yeah.” Your coworker scratches his head and clears his throat. “You guys are pretty close, huh. Um, I actually wanted to ask—you’re not together, are you?”

A chill runs up your spine. “Together? Who said that?” If this rumor gets around to your boss it’ll kill your career. These things always look worse for the woman than for the man. God, it was probably something Tendou said without thinking, he’s always talking about you and someone could easily misinterpret all that praise…

“Well, if you’re dating—“

“We’re not dating,” you say quickly. “We do a lot of work together because I’m training him, but it’s not like that.”

“Really?” Your coworker straightens and smiles. “Cause I was actually thinking of asking if you wanted to go out this weekend—“

“Senpai? Can you help me with this draft?”

Damnit, it’s Tendou getting in the way at the absolute worst time—especially considering he just had to come up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. Seriously, how many times do you have to tell him to stop doing that when you’re talking to someone else? You’re not sure whether to be irritated at him for cutting your coworker off, concerned that the other man won’t believe what you said about you and Tendou having a strictly professional relationship, or relieved that you don’t have to give an answer to what sounds like an offer for a date.

You cast an apologetic glance at your coworker and make your way over to Tendou’s desk, hoping against hope that the interruption doesn’t look too suspicious. You’d die if word got around to your boss that you were dating your mentee.

///

You’ve got this office drinking party thing down to an art. Step one is to load up on greasy appetizers that’ll increase your alcohol tolerance, step two is to drink plenty of water, and step three is to pour yourself a single drink early and take small sips.

There’s a step four, too: make sure no one else’s glass get’s below the 1/4 mark. Your boss and coworkers are a lot less receptive to how little you’re drinking when they’re all nice and tipsy. It’s a system you’ve perfected over the years, one that allows you to have fun with people from the office without risking making an ass out of yourself or getting a hangover (which, at 25, is a lot more unpleasant than it used to be).

You can’t count the number of times you’ve witnessed the awkward drunken escapades of your fellows, which range from the endearing (your boss crying over how much he loves his wife) to the awkward (coworker makeout sessions) to the potentially criminal (bar fights. So many bar fights). You’re happy to remain a neutral observer, and tonight is no exception.

The only problem is that Tendou hasn’t yet mastered the art of drinking lightly when you’re around people you work with, so now, at the end of his party, he’s (for lack of a better word) trashed. His cheek is mashed flat to the restaurant table like it’s glued there and his head is surrounded by progressive rings of bottles and cans. It’s some kind of miracle that he hasn’t yet gone to the bathroom to get sick.

“Sorry Tendou,” you sigh. “I should have been keeping a better eye on you.” You had no idea he’d get so drunk so quickly. Aren’t tall guys supposed to have high tolerance or something?

“Sssshenpaii,” Tendou slurs, hoisting his head off the table with that looks like Herculean effort. “I liiiike when…when ya look at me…”

“Ha, ha,” you say sarcastically.

Tendou’s head whips around. “Where’d everyone go?”

“They all left—now it’s time for us to go home too. Come on, I’ll help you get to the taxi.” You pay the bill (oof, there goes your petty cash for the week) and pull on Tendou’s shirt sleeve to get him to stand up. Luckily he’s just sober enough to realize what you want him to do and he follows you out to the street with an arm draped over your shoulders to steady his meandering footsteps.

The real trouble comes when the two of you are seated comfortably in the cab and the driver asks for Tendou’s address, which, apparently, he can’t remember. You do the sensible thing and look through his phone, but his own contact card provides no hint to where he lives in Tokyo, only a phone number, email, and address in Sendai which has to be his parents’ house—

Wait.

Tendou’s from Sendai?

You’re from Sendai. You didn’t know he was too. What a coincidence that both of you moved to Tokyo from Sendai. You’ve mentioned your hometown to him a couple times—how come he never told you he’s from the same place? You’re only two years older than him; maybe you’ve run across him in Sendai before the two of you started working together.

Now that you think about it, his face has always been kind of familiar…you thought it was just ‘one of those faces’, but…?

This isn’t the time to wonder, though. You poke Tendou gently in the side, careful not to jar him enough to risk any stomach upset. “Tendou? Do you remember what street you live on?”

After a long pause Tendou names a street, but it’s your company’s address which isn’t located anywhere near a residential district. When you tell him to think harder, he grimaces, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. “Don’ wanna go home…lemme sleep over at senpai’s house.”

“What? You can’t stay at my place.”

“Why noooot? ‘m tired,” he drawls, eyes closing as his head droops onto your shoulder in the back of the cab.

“It’s—it’s inappropriate—wait, no-no-no-no don’t fall asleep,” you tell him desperately but it’s already too late. A light snore filters out of him and you curse. “Tendou—“

“Address?” the cab driver barks insistently, giving you the stink eye in the rearview mirror.

Shit. Well, it is his birthday, you have a pull-out couch, and it’s not like anyone from the office is around to see you going home together. Tomorrow morning you’ll just have to give him a lecture about professional boundaries and make him promise not to breathe a word of this to your boss.

You give your own address to the cab driver. Tendou sleeps peacefully on your shoulder throughout the entire drive, rousing only when you whisper his name in his ear outside your building (which is a miracle, because you know without a doubt that you’re not capable of carrying him). When you get up to your apartment, you deposit him on the sofa bed and tell him not to look through your stuff while you brush your teeth.

Obviously, he doesn’t listen to you. When you emerge from the bathroom, Tendou is standing in the middle of your living room and turning the pages of an old photo album of yours.

“Hey, give me that.” You try to pull it away from him, but he doesn’t let go and his grip is stronger than yours, so the album remains firmly in his hands. “If you’re sober enough to mess with my things, you should go home.”

“This is senpai, right?” Tendou says, pointing to one of the photos.

Despite your exasperation, you lean in to take a look. It’s a picture from high school with you and some friends, all of you wearing your Shiratorizawa uniforms and grinning cheekily at whoever took the picture. Your fingers are cocked up in a peace sign. “Yeah? That’s me.”

“So cute…senpai is really cute…” Tendou’s long finger trails over the edge of your face though the filmy plastic covering the photo.

“Um…you need to get to sleep,” you say nervously, pulling a little harder on the album.

He doesn’t budge, instead just flipping back in the album to older pictures from when you were little until he stops at a photo of you and your younger brother in grade school. Against your better judgement, you frown and look closer to try and pick up whatever caught his interest in this particular image.

“How old…?” he asks.

“I don’t know, 10 or 11 maybe?”

Tendou nods. “When I met senpai…you were this old, yeah.”

“Jeez, you’re really drunk. We met two months ago, remember? I was on the interview board.”

“Yeah.” Tendou’s gaze is glued to the photo. “I was so sad, ‘cause senpai doesn’t remember me. But also really happy to see you after such a long time…I thought it was a dream…”

“Hm? I don’t get it.”

Tendou finally looks up from the picture and meets your wary gaze with those wide red eyes. God, you used to think his face was so creepy—lately you find his zealousness endearing, almost childlike, but right now? It’s making your feet itch how much you want to step away from him. “I was really hoping you would remember on your own, but I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“How me an’ senpai met…”

Are you imagining it, or does his voice sound a lot less slurred than it did just 20 minutes ago? “You’re not making any sense.”

“Shh, just listen…your little brother played volleyball when you were kids, didn’t he?”

How did he know that? You nod hesitantly.

“Yeah…he was in my grade. He was a bad kid, y’know that? Always saying mean things to me.”

It’s true. Your brother’s always had a mean streak in him.

“He used to call me a monster. ‘Cause, y’know—“ Tendou taps a finger against his face. “Guess I look weird. And my name, too. So he said he didn’t wanna play with me. Demons can’t play on human teams. Every day, saying cruel things. I really hated him.”

Monster. Volleyball. Your little brother. Tendou Satori like the mind-reading spirits from folklore. Something’s coming to mind, a memory you haven’t thought about in years—no, decades.

Your little brother making fun of another kid. A tall kid with red hair in a bowl cut.

“I-I remember,” you stammer. “I came to his practice one time and you were there, right? That bowl cut kid was you. I got mad at him for calling you names and I yelled at him. That’s when we met?”

“Correct!” Tendou’s beaming like you just told him he won the lottery instead of recalling a random fifteen-year-old memory. “You made him let me play! I got to get on the court, and block him, and see his beaten face looking up at me. All because of senpai.”

You can play this off, you think to yourself. Tell him you’re sorry for how your brother treated him. Ask him why he never told you that the two of you have met before. Say something. Anything. But your mouth is too dry to let you speak.

“And, you know…” Tendou’s voice softens and a light blush dusts his cheeks. “I thought you were so cool. I couldn’t believe you were related to that jerk. Can I…tell you a secret?”

No. Deep down you know what he’s going to say, and you don’t want to hear it.

Tendou’s hand comes up to comb through your hair, gently pulling through the delicate strands next to your face and tucking them back so he can lean in and whisper into your ear (even though there’s no one else around). “I like you, senpai.”

Stop it. Stop it. Your blood feels cold in your veins.

“I’ve liked you ever since then. I used to wish we were in the same grade so I could be your friend and talk to you every day. Whenever we were in different schools I missed seeing you in the halls and hearing your voice when you spoke to other people.”

“Stop...stop talking,” you whisper, but Tendou continues like he didn’t hear you.

“Why’d you have to go all the way to Tokyo for college? In my third year at Shiratorizawa I studied for your school’s entrance exam forever, but I didn’t get in. Was too busy with volleyball, I guess.” He pauses. “Oh, by the way, I went to Shiratorizawa. I lied about that, sorry. But—seriously, d’you have any idea how hard it was for me when you were away at university? Not seeing the person I love for six years?”

Love, he said. You feel nauseous. “Tendou, you don’t—“

“Let me finish, okay senpai? You don’t know how much I’ve been through. Always having to respect your ‘personal space’—“ he frames the phrase in mocking air quotes— “when I need to touch you so bad I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

And then he’s hugging you into his chest, crushing your torso into his. You struggle and try to get him to let you go, but Tendou is so much stronger than you.

“You’re not that different from your brother after all, are you?” he hums into your hair. “You’ve been torturing me. You know how you lean over my desk when you show me something on my computer? I can…see down your shirt when you do that. And I smell your perfume. I spent two hours at the mall trying all the different perfumes so I could find the right one…thought my nose was gonna stop working! But don’t laugh—“

You’re not laughing.

“—the salesgirl looked at me funny but I got it eventually. Chance Eau Fraiche, right? I can’t believe how expensive that stuff is, what is it made of gold? It was worth it though! I saw this news article about how smelling things in your sleep can trigger memories, so I tried spraying your perfume on my pillow before I go to bed and now I get to see you at work and when I’m dreaming—”

“STOP IT!” Your slap echoes across the room with a resounding crack. You’ve never hit anyone before in your life, but your aim is good enough to leave Tendou staring with a shocked expression off to the side and a bright red mark on his face. His arms fall down from you and you back away from him, clutching your hand to your chest. “You need to get out. You’re drunk and you’re not thinking clearly. We...we can talk about this tomorrow, but right now you have to go.”

Your heart is beating like hummingbird wings, sending a flush up to your face that you know is visible. Tendou ghosts his hand over his cheek and is quiet for a long moment. “I wanted to do this the right way,” he says finally.

“What?”

“I tried. But you’re so obsessed with professionalism. You refused to see me like that,” he sighs. “You’re too responsible. Although it’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Please listen to me...” The psychological anxiety of this revelation is stirring up a primal fight or flight instinct, and you start backing up.

“I really wanted to treat you gently. You deserve to be treated well…”

“Tendou, wait.” How far are you from your bedroom? You don’t want to resort to hiding from him, but you’d feel a lot better with a locked door between you and him.

“…but senpai, I’ve waited so long. And it’s my birthday.”

Your hands scrabble for the doorknob, only—oh. He’s not just stronger than you, he’s faster too.

➠ [Part 2]

#Tendou Satori x reader #Tendou Satori #Tendou x reader #haikyuu x reader #Tendo Satori x reader #Tendo Satori #Tendo x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere Tendou Satori x reader #yandere Tendou Satori #yandere Tendo Satori x reader #yandere Tendo Satori

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the-evil-authoress · 4 years ago

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GX Month Day 1: “Hero Signal”

We’re kicking things off with everyone’s favorite hero Judai/Jaden Yuki’s birthday! Show the fluffy boi some love!

This chaos ran away from me. But I’m quite happy with it.

Jaden’s knee bounces, one eye on the game in his hands, the other on his phone. He’s played this game a hundred times before so he doesn’t really need to pay full attention unless it’s the boss fight. His duffle bag is already packed. He’s ready this time, he’s waiting, he’s...excited? That’s a new concept. He can’t remember the last time he’d been excited for his birthday. But last year his friends had gone out of their way to surprise him, so-

Maybe he’s expecting too much.

No, no, we’re trying to be positive here!

Jaden shakes his head, misses the timing for a jump, and has to start the virtual obstacle course over. Today’s gonna be a good day. Clutching the console tighter, Jaden tries to ignore the thick, slimy feeling bubbling up his chest.

His phone vibrates and he dives for it.

[come meet me at central park]

Yes! He snaps the GameBoy shut without saving, chucks it in his bag as he shoulders it, and runs for the door. The park, huh? Maybe he’s not supposed to bring his stuff? Whatever, won’t be their first impromptu sleepover.

He snaps to a halt at the sight of his mother slipping her shoes off at the genkan. “Mom?”

She looks up as if startled to see him. “Judai?”

And there goes his good mood. His mother eyes the bag on his shoulder, what would have been a pleasant but entirely fake smile crinkling into a frown.

“I’m heading out,” he grumbles as he walks past her to get his own shoes.

“I got off early today so I thought we could go get a cake.” Ugh, she sounds so damnably confused, like really? What did you expect?

“I’m heading out!” Jaden snaps, shoving his shoes on, and throws himself out the door before she can get another word in edgewise. It slams behind him. He takes off running.

Geez. Breathing through his teeth, he tugs on his hair. No one even calls him that anymore. ‘Cept that freaking voice in his dreams-

Nope. Not thinking about that. Today’s gonna be a good day.

Winged Kuriboh trills by his head but it’s Neos’ voice that startles him. “She seemed like she was making an effort.”

“Too little, too late.” Jaden huffs and steadfastly plows forward to the train station and out of their middle of nowhere suburb. “I’ve already got plans.” He tightens his grip on the bag strap. And he’d much rather spend the day with people who actually know him and what he likes. He cringes in delight at the memory of the mountain of presents from last year. Wonder what they got him this time?

The train ride is dull like usual; Jaden sticks himself in a corner and plays on his GameBoy until Kuriboh alerts him to their stop. Then the console is shoved back in his bag as he shoulders it and shoves his way through the other passengers toward freedom. The park is a ten minute walk from there, and his friends are conspicuously easy to spot.

There’s a gazebo deck out in balloons and streamers and one of those shiny fucking rainbow “Happy Birthday” signs with his name. Sweet Neo Space, Jaden wants to hide in a trash can like Syrus did at the tournament.

“I can’t.” Jaden spins on his heel, hoping no one has spotted him yet. Sparkman actually goes out of his way to grab Jaden’s shoulders and spin him back around, and Jaden lets him despite the fact he could easily break out of the ghostly hold. “Alright, alright. Gods, my friends are embarrassing.”

As if on cue, someone must have noticed him because a chorus of voices call out.

“Jaden!”

“Jaden, over here!”

Yeah, like he hadn’t already seen the giant sign announcing his birthday to the world. That had to be Atticus’s idea. Walking up to the gazebo is an odd cocktail of emotions, somewhere between please let me die and I will die happy. A mountain of presents sit on the table. It’s...it’s bigger than last year?

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Bastion says, already offering an arm to steady Jaden.

“I might,” Jaden squeaks, a rare moment of vulnerability that is both terrifying and insanely freeing. “You guys... This is a lot.”

“And nothing less for such a special day!” Atticus throws his arms out in a grand display and Jaden winces with a strained laugh.

“A little too much,” he admits.

Atticus’s expression falls into confusion as Christina snorts and Alexis gives her brother a critical look. “I told you his name on the banner was too much.” Jaden nods in silent agreement, not daring to meet their eyes. Bastion’s arm remains a comforting support around his shoulders.

As extravagant as Atticus likes to act, he actually stops to consider this before shrugging. “I’ll keep that in mind then. I guess I do get carried away.” Scratching the back of his head, he smiles sheepishly.

“Oh you think?” Chazz scoffs. “Should have seen what my party looked like.”

Jaden latches onto the ability to swerve the conversation away from himself. “Oh, yeah! Sorry I missed that.”

“You weren’t even invited!” Chazz snaps. “That dolt went and invited himself!”

“You had fun and you know it,” Atticus says, undeterred.

“I have photo evidence,” Syrus says with a smug grin from where he sits on a table bench, and Chazz snaps to gape at him in horror.

“Delete them! Delete them, you little rat!”

“Make me!” Syrus challenges, deftly dodging Chazz’s lunge and darting behind Hassleberry, a solid wall of muscle who Chazz still tries to lunge around.

“Oi! Who said you could drag me into this?!” Hasselberry shoves both of them away as Chazz flails his arms uselessly at Syrus.

Snickering, Jaden moves away from Basation to drop his bag under the bench next to Christina as the game of chase continues. “You brought your bag.”

“Crashing at your place after this,” Jaden says. A statement not a question, and Christina sends him a look but thankfully doesn’t ask.

A screech pulls their attention to Chazz awkwardly dangling from the gazebo railing after what must have been an epic nosedive. “You did that on purpose!” he screams at a smug Syrus, and Jaden’s hands fly to his mouth as the laugh spills out of him.

“Think twice about chasing me next time!”

Just damn his friends are insane and Jaden loves it. Atticus and Bastion take pity on Chazz and help him back into the gazebo, while Jaden cautiously looks over the spread on the table. One side is the pile of colorful boxes, a giant cake with whip cream and strawberries on the other, and Jaden baulks at the figure with a book in his hand at the far end of the table.

“Zane??”

Without looking up, Zane points directly at Atticus and flips the page in his book. “Don’t get used to this.”

“Suuuure,” Christina drawls with one of those I know something you don’t want me to smiles. Ever the king of poker faces, Zane doesn’t react. He doesn't even react to Atticus dropping a party hat on his head on his way to the-

That’s a deep fryer. That’s a deep fucking fryer that Atticus pulls a fresh batch of fried shrimp out of. “Atticus,” Jaden croaks. “I love you but I hate you.”

“Awww, I love you too Jaden!” Atticus doesn’t miss a beat and Jaden slumps onto the bench to bury his face in his arms. These people will be the death of him!

And he will still die happy.

“I think we broke him.” Syrus pokes his shoulder.

“Just leave him alone for a bit.” That’s Alexis’ voice, a brief but firm hand on his shoulder to remind him she’s there if he needs her but will give him space. It’s a little terrifying how well she’s come to know him, that they all have really; Jaden can’t remember ever making the decision to let them get so close. But maybe it’s a good thing, Jaden thinks, as Atticus passes out plates of the best fried shrimp Jaden has ever tasted, he and Bastion eagerly exchange deck theories, and the mountain of presents turns out to be mostly snacks, new video games, and useful but themed items rather than more stuff that will collect dust in his room. The E-Hero throw blanket and the Winged Kuriboh pillow are coming with him to the dorm.

[I’m sorry I couldn’t make it! Happy birthday, Jaden!!! Send pictures!] Chumley texts part way into the festivities with a liberal amount of heart and party popper emojis, and Jaden has to take another moment to recollect himself.

“I tried to get Aster out here too, but the guy said he was too busy.” Atticus holds his hands aloft and shakes his head like this is such a tragedy.

“Hey, I’m surprised you got Zane in on this.” Jaden looks up from the pillow of his arms. He’s starting to tire in the high energy atmosphere but he doesn’t want to leave yet. Maybe his friends won’t care if he just zens for a bit? They didn’t seem to notice last time when he quietly retreated to the side with Christina, but they’d also been screaming over a board game.

“I had the day off anyway,” Zane says, still not looking up, and no one bothers him for not engaging. Then again, Zane has never been much for engaging in anything.

“Just keep pretending you don’t care.” Atticus ruffles Zane’s hair and Jaden sniggers at the way Zane’s poker face cracks the tiniest bit.

Syrus and Hassleberry start arguing over who’s gift Jaden liked better - Jaden refuses to choose much to their dismay - Christina and Alexis seem to be talking about a show they’re both into, and Chazz and Bastion are debating the existence of other realities - really, Chazz? They already know those exist. They’ve been to one.

Jaden smiles, hidden by his arm, left to chill in peace and interact as he pleases.

Yeah, this is a good thing.

Maybe us against the world doesn’t have to just be the two of them anymore.

#gxmonth2021 #ygogx #ygo gx #yugioh gx #yugiohgx #yu gi oh gx #jaden yuki #syrus truesdale #alexis rhodes #chazz princeton #atticus rhodes #zane truesdale #tyranno hassleberry #bastion misawa

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ave-immaculata · 4 years ago

Note

will you tell us your conversion story? no pressure

Absolutely! It's pretty long, and trigger warning for some mental health issues, suicide, and sexual assault.

I think it sort of started way way back when I was 16. I'd been really struggling and had been misdiagnosed with so many mental health issues. I was medicated for these issues I didn't actually have (I'm autistic!) and I remember distinctly encountering a little voice telling me I needed to get off the meds I was taking. And well, I didn't know how to explain that and I was basically already experiencing visual hallucinations and having 20+ full panic attacks each day because of some of the meds, so it quickly devolved even further as a mess. I wasn't able to get off of them and it got bad enough I attempted suicide. I had what I refer to as a Divine Interruption where I just saw my mom coming in and finding my corpse, and it triggered a panic attack that led me to dial 911. I ended up being rushed to the hospital and they were concerned I'd have some permanent organ damage from everything I took, but thanks be to God physically I made a full recovery. I later found out that my attempt happened on the feast day of St. Jude, patron Saint of lost causes and desperate cases. There's a local parish named after him and I think someone asked for his intercession at just the right time. I was sexually assaulted not long after by one of my best friends. I remember another friend and her mom came over when I told her what happened and they helped me explain to my parents because I was really nonverbal after a bit, but the only thing I still remember saying was "What did I do wrong?? Why is God punishing me? Why does He hate me??" I had just started getting my feet under me post-hospital and then I was deeply betrayed and traumatized by someone I loved. Even though I didn't believe in God, I knew if He existed I must have been a terrible person in a past life or something to justify what was happening to me. Long story short, I ended up getting off of those medications and figuring out I was autistic (I was in a very bad scene and was cohabiting with a man way too old for me, but his son was autistic and he ended up mentioning his suspicions to me after one too many obvious childhood stories), and got really into atheism. I had a brief run in here with a home Bible study that I attended for a single night, without telling my boyfriend who was also super atheist, but I felt like I couldn't deal with Christianity while I was obviously in a situation they wouldn't approve of (premarital sex, BDSM, cohabitation, etc.) I ended up breaking up with him and moving back home, time goes on, in another relationship in the BDSM scene when that irritating desire for something crept back up. I found myself wanting to just sit in a Church's parking lot or to walk in on one that was open and sit. I didn't really, except once. I was too nervous to go in so I sat in front of a beautiful Mary statue they had out front. At some point I started considering the existence of God with an absolutely insane amount of pride. I was really stuck on the problem of evil (especially natural evil) and initially completely wrote off the Christian God. I tried praying and a lot of the time was vaguely if not outrightly disrespectful or blasphemous, especially when I got angry with God. I completely rejected the concept of Hell, was only interested in (eventually) finding a church that was LGBT+ affirming, and liked the idea of Quakerism, although I had some issues with it as well. I had a nagging in my head calling me to abandon kink and commit myself to celibacy but that was... terrifying. All of my friends except for maybe 2 were in the BDSM community. My boyfriend and I were both in it. I had introduced him to it! I worked up the strength to tell him I wanted to stop kink altogether and he totally agreed. I'd heard a liberal Christian talk about having pre-marital sex in a way that was somehow acceptable to God, but I tried that and I felt hollow inside. I felt like I was trying desperately to convince myself something was okay, that had always been okay, still was. But it wasn't, and even though he was okay with no kink he was NOT okay with no sex. I liked the idea of Mary though, and I didn't know what else to do, so I found a site that walks you through all the prayers of the Rosary on a whim (& gives you a different mini meditation on the mystery for each of the 10 Hail Marys) so I tried that. Then I did it again the next day and the next. Then after maybe a week I figured it was stupid and I should stop. I broke up with him, pandemic hit, and I was really left alone with my thoughts in a new way. I met a guy off (BDSM) Tumblr who was a professing Catholic. We messed around online for a bit but one day we had a really long phone call about religion. I told him where I was at and he just listened and supported that. He told me why he liked the Catholic Church even when I questioned him about it. I started looking into the Church's teachings and saw they were pro-life, side B, affirmed Hell, and a bunch of other things I just could never believe, so I set it aside. Then the 7th anniversary of my suicide attempt hit, which is always a harder time of year for me. The trees are all dying and I'm confronted with the memories of how horrific the hospital was, how desperate I was to escape life, how much I'd been hurting. I just felt this deep desire to try out the Catholic thing. To figure out the theological issues I had as I went. I prayed about it and signed up for RCIA pretty much a day or two after that, and from there it was... just a landslide. Once I was willing to give God an inch He gave back miles. My pride was my biggest issue through the whole thing, and like an excellent Father He just held my hand and guided me through it. I don't think Mama ever forgot those first few Rosaries I prayed. The Lord is so patient and generous and faithful. I remember one of the things that really helped me was the purpose of suffering, and specifically the idea that God suffers with us. There's a lot more to all of this, including more discernment between Eastern Orthodoxy and the Catholic Church, as well as looking into the historicity of Christ, wrestling with the concept of Infallibility, etc., but I think those are the big points of my conversion! For the record, I fully affirm all of the Church's teachings now, although some of them were easier and quicker to understand than others, but He helped me get there in the end. Also, ya girl's been completely celibate for almost an entire year! I found out that a lot of my issues had to do more with pride and vanity than with lust, but that's a whole other story.

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curly-bangtan · 6 years ago

Text

Blizzard (M)

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x reader

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Genre: roommate au, domestic au, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is

Word Count: 15.5k oops

A/N: (This fic is written in parallel to Heatwave, with an opposing concept in mind. You don’t have to read Heatwave to read this, but it would be interesting and funny to see the differences in the two scenarios that both lead to roommates hooking up.) Also, happy birthday, bunny boy! Sorry this was a day late, I was honestly swarmed. I love you, koo. Writing this very much gave me a bias crisis but it was all worth it. Enjoy! :”)

PS. Think April 2019 Jungkook

‘A severe snowstorm is set to hit us this weekend with temperatures dropping down to -16˚C. It is therefore ill-advised for anyone to leave their houses during this period until the blizzard subsides as the fifth snow-induced traffic accident has been reported this week in our town…’

You have always marvelled at how the weather lady announces such things with such a passionate captivating tone.

‘The calculated probability of a city-wide power cut is currently at 72%, so please be well-equipped to stay indoors for the next two days.’

Oh shit. A power cut?

This is not good at all. Not like you have any plans for this weekend anyway, and you wouldn’t necessarily mind being stuck inside since you are good at entertaining yourself. But to possibly have no warm water, no internet in the duration of these few days?

You are currently snugly rolled up in the warmth of your blanket burrito, a mug of chamomile tea fitted in your hands, the steam of which evaporates under your chin into a slick coat. Friday evenings have never been eventful for you as long as Jimin doesn’t drag you out to some bar with him. As introverted as one can get, you much prefer staying in and watching TV or endlessly browsing the web.

The distinct rattling of keys spins your attention to the front door. Hearing the plunge of the metal into the keyhole is strangely satisfying to your ears. In steps a pink-nosed, frost-dusted Jungkook, all wrapped up in winter apparel thick enough to make him waddle clumsily.

A gust of cold flares inside from the harsh outdoors, stray flakes of snow flying in after him and landing on the rich oak tiles of the foyer. From the couch, you see his silhouette breathe out a visible grey huff. The door behind him falls shut, once again entrapping the warm temperature into the confines of these walls.

You watch your roommate, humming to himself with his black earpods hooked in his ears, as he unties the scarf around his neck. He probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet; he’s always been a little clueless afterall.

Then he looks up and meets your lingering gaze.

You both jump a little, his humming ceases instantly, eyes scrambling, darting away to your surroundings: the quiet television, the arching lamp, the white powdered window panes. Anywhere but at each other.

Clearing your throat, you greet him softly . ‘Hi.’ Your thumb rubs at the lip-shaped tea stain on the rim of your mug.

‘Um, hi. Good evening, noona.’ He dips his head at you, hood drooping lower over his head. You are two years his senior, and despite your supposed familiarity, he insists on formalities.

The weather lady has now been replaced with the anchorman, who is droning on about the car accident this morning. Awkwardness hangs in the air between you, as it always does every time you speak. It’s now your turn to say something, you’re painfully aware. But what do you say?

‘Snow storm.’ It is a statement more than anything. As if he hasn’t noticed… Nice one. You immediately want to hide your face in the mint furry throw you’re wrapped in.

‘Yeah. Snow storm.’ The rubbery sound of the careless removal of his shoes against the floor is louder than his response. ‘Jimin didn’t make it.’

Your blood freezes. ‘Wait what?! Oh my god! What happened to him?’ It takes the blanket sliding off you for you to realise that you’ve stood up abruptly. Your body is immediately flushed with a breeze of cold, devoid of insulation.

The car accident… It can’t be…

Jungkook’s attention flickers to the glaring screen as he paces towards you and realises how he must’ve sounded. ‘Woah, sorry, I worded it badly. I mean, Jimin’s stuck at Taehyung’s because the snow is too thick for him to drive back. And the service on his phone is whack, so he can’t reach you. Taehyung told me. Sorry, I didn’t mean he didn’t make it.’ Nervous chuckle. Scratching the back of his head.

Never has he said this many words to you in one go, this must be a record. That, as well as your own silly misunderstanding of his words, makes you release a humoured breath. ‘Oh right… Haha… I’m stupid.’

‘No. my bad.’

Wow. If you two keep this up, this might just be your longest running conversation in the history of living together.

Because he��s looking at the floor rather than you, you feel the liberation to look directly at his face. His round nose is red from the freezing temperature, his teeth gnawing at his chapped lips. You follow his gaze travel across the dark wooden panels, reaching a halt at your feet.

‘You’ve got a hole in your sock, noona.’ He states.

Indeed you do. Under his wide-eyed glare, you can’t help but curl your toes inwards as if it would hide your pinkie jutting out of the fabric. The way he addresses you, how his lips form a pouted ring when he pronounces the “oo”, makes you particularly self conscious. ‘Oh… Yeah, I know, it’s fine. It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’ These socks have sheltered your feet for three winters only to betray you now, during a bloody blizzard. The icy floor licks at your exposed skin tauntingly.

Silence draws taut between you. Like you’re tied to opposite ends of a string and are both trying desperately to escape, to walk away from each other.

It’s his move now… Why isn’t he saying something? But at the same time, what can he possibly respond to ‘It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’?

‘Right… See you.’ Jungkook nods politely and heads for his room. And you know you probably won’t see him reemerge until tomorrow; it’s practically his batcave in there.

A shudder courses through your body. Though it’s not from the cold but rather the embarrassment of that encounter. Quickly switching off the TV, you hide back in the comforts of your blanket like a Halloween ghost and scurry into your own room to avoid seeing him again.

Jeon Jungkook.

Even the thought of his name makes you crease inward involuntarily like it’s some bad memory. Despite having lived under the same roof for more or less six months, neither of you have warmed to the other in the slightest. It’s not that you have anything against him; you’re sure he must be a lovely boy, but…

Well, when you put two shy individuals next to each other, you can’t really expect them to bond over their bashfulness. No, they both tend to retract into their shells.

How you came about living together is three simple syllables: Park Jimin. If it wasn’t for this one common thread you share, your worlds would never have collided.

Ever the caring friend, it goes without saying that Jimin would rent out his vacant room in his three-bedroom house to you without even a second of hesitation after Hoseok ditches the boys to move in with his girlfriend. You’ve met all his friends before. Jimin is a social butterfly afterall, how could he resist forcing all his best mates into a confined space and make them talk to each other, or more commonly known as a party?

Namjoon and you get along just fine, seeing as you both are whores for literature. Seokjin? As long as you compliment his cooking and force a giggle at his jokes, he’ll accept your friendship. Surprisingly, Yoongi took a liking to you; you guess is due to your mild mellow nature which must clear his headaches caused by this chaotic bunch. Unsurprisingly, Hoseok took a liking to you, well, because he’s Hoseok and incapable of negativity. Much to Jimin’s jealousy, you have a soft spot for Taehyung, his mysterious charm and boyish charisma; your friendship was almost instant.

But then Jungkook…

Your introduction was a blur of awkward hellos and unmet eyes. Every time you spoke to each other, it’s a nervous stutter from him or unwarranted silence from you. Worse, if the two of you happened to bump into each other in public, neither of you knew whether or not to say hi and commence a conversation like normal acquainted people, so it always ended up being an uncomfortably long pause before nodding out of courtesy then parting ways. It’s not like you belong to the same friendship group and see each other every week or anything.

Jungkook’s playful childisness shines brightly when surrounded by the boys, witch-cackle laugh and all. However, for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, this goofy side to him is immediately switched off in your presence, as if you’re the rain that extinguishes the flame of his candle. His body stiffens, eyes widen, voice stammers. Which only leads you to mirror his behaviour.

‘He’s just really uncomfortable around girls.’ Jimin has tried to offer the only plausible explanation. ‘Poor kid went to an all boys’ school his whole life, has only ever had one girlfriend who dumped him on their one year anniversary. Your femaleness scares him.’

That would be kind of cute, you guess, if you weren’t also a socially-uncomfortable hermit who requires soft gentle prodding in order to befriend. Because then you become two logs sitting beside each other, neither willing to inch towards the other.

Forgive Jimin’s mistake of thinking that sharing a roof would change this. Because how wrong was he… If anything, it only led to increased timidity around each other.

When you first moved in, Jungkook was eager to help you carry and unpack everything, seeing as he is the most physically apt person in the house. So you thought that it was his first step towards you, and that your dynamic was finally making progress into becoming one that’s more comfortable. He even lingered around your room the first few days with Jimin to help you open all your cardboard boxes.

However, he has since struggled to utter more than five words to you. Which has continued forth until this day. In the morning rush to class, you never encounter him due to your proneness to punctuality and his to tardiness. If you ever do, it’s only ever just a quick good morning, noona without looking up from his cereal. You both enjoy the safety of your own rooms, hence rarely peak your head out unless it’s for food. Jimin is always the one to drag you out by the foot, even if its just to his room or the sofa to watch a film with him. You say drag, but really you just enjoy seeing Jimin all pouty and whiny and sucking up to you in order to earn precious quality time with you; you actually enjoy being around Jimin. It’s worse for Jungkook though because he has his own ensuite bathroom, orders Deliveroo instead of coming out to eat with you two, and only ever joins social gatherings that you’re also involved in if a high enough bribe is offered.

Hence the time you and Jungkook are exposed to each other gradually diminished over time despite being roommates. At first you only suspected, but now you know for a fact, that he is purposely avoiding you like the plague.

It baffles you, if Jimin’s theory is true, how he could possibly be scared of you, regardless of his shyness towards the female specimen. Look at you, you’re this soft-mannered, quiet-spoken creature with a meek presence. You have more reason to be intimidated by his melon-sized biceps and aggressive shouts that echo from his room when he’s gaming at 2am.

So due to this mutually reciprocated mousiness, this awkward friendship-but-not-quite thing, has never been overcome in these months.

This is not a result of lack of trying, at least from your end. You do try to talk to him, exerting enough friendliness to burst your balloon of introversion. And you suppose he does make as much effort as he can as well. He once left you a note telling you to help yourself to the leftover pizza in the fridge. On your birthday, he gave you a card in which he drew cute little cartoon illustrations of you three housemates and wrote a short message.

Happy birthday, Y/N noona!

You are such a kind person, I hope we can speak more.

Jungkook :)

You thought the exclamation mark and smiley face were above and beyond for his standards. It made you smile for the rest of the day.

It’s 6:23pm and your growling stomach is exacerbated by the cold that has made itself at home in your bones. You’ve always been an early dinner person while Jimin and Jungkook are the opposite.

You’ve managed to get a hold of Jimin through Taehyung; your FaceTime call with him lasted a total of twelve minutes before the connection got too poor that it hung up on its own. Berating Jimin for leaving you alone with Jungkook, especially in this snow storm where everyone is basically on house arrest, all he did was laugh at your feign annoyance. You know it isn’t Jimin’s fault but you still like to blame him for all the awkward predicaments that are bound to happen.

After this chapter of the book you’re reading, you’ll go out to the kitchen and make some dinner, you decide.

Wait a second... Do you even have enough food in the pantry to last a whole weekend? Particularly since Jungkook can easily demolish three bowls of rice and a whole pound of meat, and still have room for dessert?

Looking out the window, you realise it’s snowing way too hard for you to feel confident to pop to the nearest grocery store without slipping and dying.

Shit! What are you going to eat these few days? Especially since the electricity can cut any minute?

Just then, you hear the echo of the front door shutting. Oh no… Jungkook did not just go out in this weather. He probably noticed the lack of food as well and decided to go for a shop. You know what he’s like, he’s a boy who’s really certain of his capabilities, over certain in fact. He probably does not see the hazard of leaving the house in such heavy snow, especially in the evening. Because nothing stands in the way between Jungkook and Food.

Do you go after him? Hell, if you do, you would probably get lost somewhere and slowly freeze to your inevitable death. You can barely navigate in perfect daylight.

Scrambling for your phone, you begin searching for his number. You’ve embarrassingly only called him once, and that was when you and Jimin got locked out of the house after a pub night.

No one is picking up.

In fact, when you check your screen, you don’t even have signal. The blizzard must be getting so bad that it’s refracting the radio waves. Which means it’s even worse for Jungkook to be out right now.

He’s such an idiot. Why did he think it’s okay to just take a walk to the supermarket right now in the middle of a snow storm? You’re such an idiot. Why were you too lazy to stock up on food during the day?

You pace around your room, phone clutched in your hand in case you miraculously get signal somehow. How on earth would you explain to Jimin that your roommate, his friend, whom he left in your care since you’re his senior, went out in a blizzard to buy food that you were supposed to have gotten this morning, and ended up dead from hypothermia?

Are you overreacting? Surely you’re overreacting. Everything is going to be fine! Deep breaths.

He’s going to come back any minute now and see you losing your mind over nothing. Right? Right.

Jungkook isn’t going to die. You’re being paranoid. Ridiculous. Overly anxious as usual.

But you can’t help yourself from pressing your face against your window to try to peek outside for a sign of him. The glass is ice cold against your skin, and it sends a blood-chilling shock through your veins. You can barely make out any shapes in the sea of greys and whites.

If you can’t even see out the window, how is he walking outside right now?

Screw it, you’re going to find him.

You’re a tornado getting dressed, whipping on your massive faux-fur lined puffer coat over two layers of fleece. A pair of gloves, double layer of socks, snow boots. Useless phone and hand warmers shoved in your pockets, you storm out of the house.

The cold that greets you burns up your nostrils and painfully invade your lungs. Snow is flying directly at your face, and you’re barely sheltered by your hood as you feel the icy flakes stab at your skin and melt away. Step by wary step, you steadily walk off your porch, careful not to slip. Your heart leaps out of your chest when your feet sink down at least 10 inches of snow, your squeal is muffled by the scarf you’re using as a ski mask.

It’s now been at least 10 minutes since he’s left. Jungkook is a fast walker, but in the snow, perhaps you could catch up with him.

The flickering lamp posts light up the night, but they may as well not be working because all you can see is white. Barely able to keep your eyes open, and batting away the heavy wind that’s threatening to blow you over, you trek in the direction of the local supermarket.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you realise that you don’t recognise the way anymore. Everything is a blur of snow. The cars, houses, street signs. All snow. Google maps is failing you; you’ve given up removing your gloves each time, your fingers instantly freezing at the exposure, to zoom in or rotate the navigation which keeps hopping from location to location.

You’re utterly and undeniably - lost.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you just plop down on your ass in defeat.

Where the hell are you? Where the hell is Jungkook?

Fear and frustration bubbles in your chest. It must have been half an hour now since you left the house. Surely he should be back, and surely he would’ve intercepted you on the way. That could either mean one of two possibilities: he got lost, slash, injured, slash, died on his way, or you have somehow strayed from the route to the store and he’s now frantically searching for you.

The lump in your throat festers into a ball of panic and despair. Looking around you, there’s absolutely no one. Just eerily-still buildings and snow-hidden cars. The only sound is the howl of the winter gust and your own uneven breathing.

You’re scared, and cold, and alone.

Why the hell did you think you could find him in this snow storm? You watch your warm visible exhale disperse in the icy air, the stinging of desperate tears piercing the back of your eyes. What are you supposed to do now?

And then it hits you. Perhaps you could trace your steps back since your feet have imprinted a trail in the snow. Looking behind you, you see that the downpour of snow has already began filling the footprints nearest to you. You’re praying that they haven’t already entirely covered your earlier steps closer to the house.

Gathering yourself together, you exert a lot of effort to stand up from the ground. Your butt is now wet, and a damp chill is seeping into your underwear. Determined, you follow your footsteps, which are growing fainter, back home.

You’re hoping you recognise the way now, that you’re not just convincing yourself that the street looks familiar.

Then an awful realisation hits you.

Both your hands are stuffed into your pockets, holding those hand-warming packets and your phone. But not your keys. You forgot your keys.

‘Fuck!’ Cursing is rare for you, but anyone would probably deem this situation as a very reasonable one to swear at.

Hot gushes of tears begin flooding down your face, painting streaks of cold that freeze over in a matter of seconds. How could you be this dumb? The snow is getting heavier right now. Checking the time on your phone, it’s 7 o’clock. The streetlights are dimming due to the weather, and the pitch dark night is starting to settle in around you.

You sink to a crouch.

This is it then, you guess. You’ve met your inexorable demise, rooted from your own stupidity. And Jungkook.

You can’t believe you’re going to die trying to find Jungkook in a goddamn snow storm.

The quiet sobs and sniffles that escape you are muted by the hood around your ears. A shiver overtakes your body as your muscles tremble as a last attempt to keep you alive. Your whole face is numb, teeth clattering, eyes clamped shut to stop the tears from freezing on your cheeks.

‘Noona?’

The voice is muffled but you recognise it instantly. Your eyes fly open to see a pair of shoes halted in front of you. You look up.

And there Jungkook is, eyes wide in shock, quivering lips parted in concern, carrying four plastic bags full of food and supplies. The streetlight situated directly behind him shines a halo around his head, painting a heavenly image of him. You’ve never been more glad to see anyone in your life.

Unable to contain yourself, you fling your ice-stiffened arms around his waist and bury your face in his coat-clad torso. Your knees give in and hit the ground. New tears spring from your eyes, but this time it’s tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. A surge of his warmth washes over you, and all of a sudden, the cold cannot touch you.

‘W-What happened? Are you- Are you okay?’ Jungkook is rooted to the ground, he wants to wrap an arm around your small head or help you up but his hands are full with the groceries.

Gripping his sleeves, you tug yourself up to face him. You probably look like a mess, red eyes, nose and cheeks. But you don’t care. Jungkook is alive, you’re alive, and you’ve found each other. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Jungkook. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re crying, noona.’ His ears are neatly tucked under his black knitted beanie.

‘Not anymore, I’m good now.’ Ferociously wiping the liquids profusely leaking out of your orifices, you give him the biggest grin your frozen cheek muscles would allow. ‘Let’s go home. Do you need help with the bags?’

‘No, don’t worry about them.’

Standing an inch apart, you walk side by side following his lead, assuming he knows the way. The material of your coats scrape at each other when either of you leans a bit too far towards the other.

‘What are you doing out here though?’ He asks quietly.

What are you doing out here? How do you give him an explanation that does not depict you as an idiot? Because once again, you’ve been stupid and dramatic and stressed over absolutely nothing. It’s twice in the same day now that you thought one of your roommates have died. When both of them turned out to be alive and well.

‘Um… Well, I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside alone in this weather, especially since it’s getting dark... I tried calling you but had no signal so, uh, I decided to... uh, come out to find you…’ Embarrassment begins to creep it’s way to your senses, it claws digging into your skin.

You peak at him in your peripheral vision to see him stiffen, eyes eerily focused on the snowy path in front. What is he thinking? Is he going to laugh at you? Think you’re dumb? Find you weird and obsessive?

‘Oh… Um.’ Clearing his throat, he glances at you and you quickly look away. Flustered. ‘You didn’t have to, I’m fine. I know this neighbourhood like the back of my hand, noona.’

‘Yeah, but you took so long. I got worried…’ You whisper the last bit.

An awkward pause is birthed. Your fists tighten around the hand warmers in your pockets.

‘I- I’m sorry for worrying you, noona.’ You hear his own fists tighten around the handle of bags as well, the plastic crinkling. ‘The supermarket around the corner was shut so I had to find another one that wasn’t. I made it just in time, though, right before this one closed as well. Then I also had to find a store that sells those so-’ He stops abruptly when he realises that he’s rambling.

‘Sells what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jungkook mumbles.

Another silence. The night has fallen, looking around, if it isn’t for the scarce light casted by the lamp posts, everything would be pitch dark. You’re so glad you’re not alone. Worse come to worse, you would’ve had to knock on these random houses and beg them to take you in for the night.

‘Wait,’ he says, ‘That doesn’t explain why you were crying.’

Well, crap. What are you supposed to say?

‘Uhh… Well, I got lost and my phone wasn’t working, so… I just kinda panicked.’ If your face wasn’t red from the cold and embarrassment from before, it definitely is now. You feel the blood pumping to your head, enough to make you sway a little.

‘Oh shit. I’m sorry, that was all my fault. I- I should’ve told you I was popping out in the first place. Ugh, noona, I’m sorry.’ You’ve never seen him display much emotion towards you, but currently, seeing him so alive with exasperation… It’s kind of endearing.

Screw earlier, this is the longest conversation the two of you have had, ever.

‘No, Jungkook, stop apologising. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

To be fair, you couldn’t have wandered that far if Jungkook found you on his way back from whatever shop he went to; you must’ve been close at least.

And so you two arrive safely to your house. Carefully wobbling up the porch slippery with slush, you stop in front of the door.

He looks at you expectantly. ‘Keys, noona?’ Of course, his hands are full.

Here you are, thinking you could’ve gotten away with not telling him you had moronically left your keys at home. ‘Um, I forgot to bring them with me.’ You utter, then add. ‘I was in a hurry.’

For a second, Jungkook looks like he’s about to tell you off for endangering yourself with such stupidity. But he just lets out a half-laugh half-sigh and bites down on his lip. ‘Mine are in my left, no, right back jean pocket.’

Right. He is asking you to get his keys from his back pocket.

His back pocket.

You freeze.

You’ve never so much as touched Jungkook, if you don’t count brushing shoulders. Hugging him back there was purely out of hysteria, which you retracted from the second you registered your action. Now, you’re going to grope his ass. This day just keeps getting you more familiar with him, doesn’t it?

Gulping, you suck up your cowardice and slide your hand into his back pocket, intentionally not looking at him while doing so. The firmness of his buttcheek fits snugly in your palm while your index finger hooks around his keyring. And what the hell, you strangely get the urge to squeeze it.

You yank your hand out of there before it can betray you and act on that impulse. Glimpsing up, you see that his cheeks are also crimson as he stares up at the ceiling a little too attentively.

After changing into some warm dry clothes and setting your snow-dampened ones on the radiator, you go out to the kitchen to see Jungkook cooking some ramen, which doesn’t come as a surprise as he practically lives off them. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a black hoodie; after cupping his ass through his back pocket, you can’t help but notice how round his rear is, especially in those bottoms.

God, what is wrong with you? You cannot seriously be checking Jungkook’s ass out.

This time his hood his down, and you appreciate how fluffy his hair is starting to grow. You can’t help but wonder what it sme-

Woah.

Why are you thinking so much about Jungkook?

Truth be told, that scare he gave you just now opened your eye as to how much you actually care about him. Despite never really saying much to each other, you guess you’ve grown a sort of fondness for him that you didn’t realise you have. It’s only natural; you have known each other for close to a year now, and half of which was spent under the same roof. Of course you would worry for his well being, you tell yourself.

The kitchen fan must be blocking his hearing because he doesn’t sense your approach, he’s singing softly to himself. He’s got a lovely voice, both your roommates do. But whereas Jimin sings loudly and proudly, Jungkook only does so in the shower or when he doesn’t think anybody is listening.

When he notices you finally, you’re peering over his shoulder. He jumps. You jump. The chopsticks he’s using to stir the noodles fly out of his hands, clattering on the counter.

‘Oh jeez, you scared me.’ He picks up the chopsticks.

‘Sorry.’ You squeak and take a step back when you realise your proximity.

‘Haha…’ He chuckles nervously, embarrassed. ‘Noona, you like jajangmyeon, right?’

Do you like jajangmyeon? You live and breathe jajangmyeon. You can’t go a week without jajangmyeon. You’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before all in one day. Those noodles in that sauce… Mmm…

‘Yeah, they’re my favourite.’ Is all you say though, you figure he probably doesn’t care for a whole speech about your love for them. Surely he knows at this point, there isn’t a single day in this house where the ramen cupboard is devoid of jajangmyeon.

‘Great, I’m making you some.’

Oh. Jungkook is cooking for you. A warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you’re not sure why.

‘You don’t have to, Jungkook. Just cook for yourself, I’ll make myself dinner after you.’ But then your stomach chooses now to bellow aloud like a bullfrog traitorously. You look at him, abashed.

A smile is playing at his lips, though he’s trying not to show it.

‘Go sit down, noona. It’ll be ready in a second.’ His eyes are fixed on the bubbling water, chopsticks hauling up the softening noodles to check their texture. Though you’ve never tasted his cooking, you don’t doubt ramen mastery, so you nod compliantly.

The bags of shopping are half unpacked on the dining table, so you decide to finish sorting them out. He’s bought gimbap, bread, cheese, some salad, mostly food that doesn’t require cooking; you can tell he has thought ahead for the potential blackout.

Then something else in the bag catches your eye.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Jungkook carries two bowls of brown noodles, garnished with sausage and cucumber, just the way you like it.

He sets the bowls opposite each other on the end of the table that’s not packed with groceries. This feels extremely weird and domestic. Although you live together, you don’t remember the last time you’ve had a meal together on this table, just the two of you without Jimin. Yet now, you’re about to eat jajangmyeon that he cooked for you, right across each other. Extremely weird.

‘Thank you so much for cooking, Jungkook.’ You bow your head at him politely and take a seat opposite him.

‘You’re welcome, noona.’ He also mirrors your action. You can kind of understand why it must be so annoying to Jimin how you’re so formal to each other, it must sound so forced and awkward.

Which is what this meal is going to be. Forced and Awkward.

Jungkook waits for you to take the first bite before digging, which you have to do so without rolling your eyes back and moaning out loud in satisfaction. Jajangmyeon tastes so flipping good! Your one and only true love.

You’re too focused on slurping down the noodles that you don’t notice him smiling fondly at the rare sight of you so blatantly excited.

The meal goes by quietly, neither of you are talkers to begin with, much less while eating. Whether it’s because it’s your favourite dish, or because it’s a freezing cold winter day, or even maybe because it’s Jungkook’s own cooking, the food tastes especially scrumptious.

‘This is delicious.’ Your eyes are practically glowing at him; he shys away from the praise by sipping on his can of coke. Who drinks coke in this weather? A smile stretches your lips at the oddity of this boy’s taste.

Jungkook mumbles a thanks, avoiding your eye as usual. But the jajangmyeon has put you in a good mood, you’re feeling rather chatty actually. ‘Also, Jungkook, I saw you bought-’ You dig into one of the grocery bags and pull out what you spotted earlier.

‘Oh yeah.’ Jungkook stares at the two-pack of fluffy socks in your hand, wearing a slightly mortified expression. ‘Um… I thought... you could do with some new ones.’

Surprised, your whole body tenses. You had thought he bought them for himself after seeing you wear yours so comfortably. All thought flaps away from your mind like a flock of frightened birds, leaving an empty field. He- Why- What do you-

‘Oh.’ Clearing your throat, you murmur. ‘Wow, thank you so much.’ Unable to look at him for any longer, your eyes fall onto your noodles. Your hand holding the socks drop onto the table at the weight of his kindness. Then a realisation creeps up on you. ‘Wait… They don’t sell these socks in supermarkets…’

Glancing up, you find him fiddling with his fingers nervously. ‘Uh. I went to another shop that does.’

Knots upon knots begin to tie in your stomach. So that’s why he took so long out there, not only did he have to find another supermarket that was open, he also searched for a store that sells fuzzy socks. For you.

Why do you feel so warm everywhere?

When you fall into a silent trance of your own thinking, Jungkook gets worried. ‘Noona, do you not like them? Did I get the wrong ones?’

‘No, no, no!’ You frantically dispute, forcing yourself to look at him. ‘These are perfect! I’m just surprised… and touched. That’s all. Jungkook, you really didn’t have to.’ The fabric of the socks feel heavenly to touch, your thumb sinks into the clouds of its softness. Truly, this has taken you by surprise and you don’t know how to react.

‘It’s okay…’ Redness blooms across his cheeks like drops of watercolour.

First he cooks you your favourite meal, then he buys you fuzzy socks? Is this the same Jungkook you’ve been living with all these months?

‘No, here…’ You rip open the card of the packet and snap the plastic wire that holds the four socks together. ‘Take a pair, I only need one anyway.’

At you waving the socks in front of him, he leans back in refusal, shaking his head and muttering a string of no no no’s. You’re not at all a strong-willed person by any means, but you’re not backing down on this, not when he’s been so lovely to you all night. When he realises that you won’t take no for an answer, he sighs, scratching the back of his ears. ‘Okay, okay. You can have the mint ones.’

One pair is mint and the other is pink. You blink. He wants the pink ones?

When he realises what must be going through your head, he quickly says, ‘Mint is your favourite colour right?’

Mint is your favourite colour. Though how does he know? All your possessions are in a variety of pastels: baby blue, cotton candy pink, mint green and lilac purple. He couldn’t have possibly guessed…?

‘Yes, it is… But I seriously don’t mind if you want the mint ones, I’m not gonna make you take the pink ones.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Jungkook snatches the pink fluffy socks from you before you can argue and stuff them onto his lap.

Your heart does a little thing that you can’t describe.

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, mirroring each other with one hand gripping the socks ever so tightly and the other hand picking up the noodles with your chopsticks. Awkwardly, Jungkook take a glimpse at you. A tiny smear of sauce stains the corner of your mouth.

Does he tell you? It would make it awkward though, wouldn’t it? But then again, it would be worse for you to find out yourself when you look in the mirror and think that he didn’t tell you you have sauce on your face.

‘Sauce.’ He accidentally says before he could finish formulating what he’s going to say to you. Shit. What’s wrong with him? Why did he say it like that? In response to your confused expression, he gestures dumbly at the corner of his own mouth.

Instantly a blush flames across the apples of your cheeks. You are about to wipe it away with your sleeve when you realise a second too late that you’re wearing a white sweater.

Your hand dangles a centimetre from your face, wrist caught in Jungkook’s fingers as he notices the mistake in your action before you. His whole body is leaned over the table in order to reach you. Wide eyes locked on each other, neither of you dare to move at his sudden outburst of motion towards you.

‘Um.’ He peeps. ‘Careful, I’ll do it, noona.’

Before you can register, he lets go of your arm allowing it to fall onto your lap. When his index knuckle brushes against the end of your mouth, a wave of shock zaps down your spine. Your heart lurches down an abyss at how soft his skin feels on your sensitive lips. Then his touch is gone, leaving a warmth tingling in his wake.

As he looks around for something to wipe his finger on, pupils round like a puppy, your eyes refuse to leave him. Thank you sits at the tip of your tongue but your throat is too clogged to utter a sound. The clockworks are trying to turn in your brain but all you can focus on is Jungkook.

How is he this nice, kind, gentle boy? And how have you completely missed this about him? In fact, why have you been so demure with him when he’s… an angel?

Watching his tongue poke at the inside of his cheek, a much scarier thought dawns on you.

Do you have a crush on Jungkook?

White screen glaring at you, the words of your unfinished essay frowns at your lack of attention in disapproval. You can’t write about Jane Austen’s exploration of feminism when Jungkook has overtaken your capacity to concentrate on anything other than him.

The radiator by your desk acts as your foot rest, blazing the pleasant heat up your legs. Ever few seconds, your eyes would wander to those mint green fuzzy socks you’re wearing, so brand new that its fluff caresses your toes like a flower bed. Just the thought that he went out of his way to replace your old hole-ridden pair…

Stop.

Jane Austen. Focus.

But the phantom touch of his finger sweeping across the plump of your bottom lip is etched on your skin, the picture of his doe eyes staring at your mouth refusing to leave your memory.

What has happened to you? How have you just swung from two extremes: from hardly able to speak a word to him without stuttering, to daydreaming about his kindness towards you?

The cold is making you delirious. It has to be this godforsaken cold, because why else would you all of a sudden be so flustered from the thought of Jungkook?

You take a long hard sip of your coffee, and mark it as a new leaf. From now on, no more thinking about anyone else other than Jane Austen. Pushing up your sleeves, you straighten your slouching back and face the monster of you assignment head on.

Not 5 minutes later, your desk lamp begins to flicker. You throw it a quick glance as your fingers type on your keyboard. Weird, you just changed the bulb a few weeks ago. Nevermind it.

Then all of a sudden, all the lights in your room go out. Frowning, you get up and try the switch several times to no avail. Peaking outside your room, all that greets you is a cold darkness. So you turn on the flashlight on your phone and try other light switches of the house. Nothing. Even the heat begins to seep away from the heaters as they dim to a cool. Oh no, right now?

Using your phone as a torch, you pad towards Jungkook’s room and open his door before you can remember to knock. Perhaps your anxiety has overridden your common sense and courtesy. Unfamiliar with the orientation of his room, you trail your side against the wall to guide you.

‘Jungkook? I think the power’s ou-’

Your phone shines onto a tall silhouette, illuminating a view that makes you shriek and stumble back.

There he is, standing with a white towel around his waist, beads of water splattered across his naked body and dripping rapidly out his wet slicked back hair. The swell of his biceps catch your attention first, lined with prominent veins running all the way down to his large hands placed on his hips. Which leads your gaze to the illustrious v of his hips that arch down to-

Without meaning to, your eyes travel down to this bulge. His hefty unmissable bulge. The towel protrudes out like a tiny hill, and you want to scream at it.

If you had a drink in your mouth right now, you would surely spit it out all over him and choke to your death. But you don’t, so all that comes out of you is a strangled cat noise. Looking away from that sinful area as quickly as you can, you arrive at his face - shocked, alarmed and confused. Your cheeks burning in the flames of hell, you spin away hastily to sprint out of his room in horror.

Except you run into the wall.

The impact hits your forehead and thankfully not your nose. Phone flung onto the ground with the light facing up, you fall onto you knees clutching at the eruption of pain. But nothing hurts more than your pride and image.

‘Noona!’ One hand securing the towel covering his manhood and preserving his dignity, he scrambles over to help you despite himself.

You flinch away at his hand on your shoulder because he is now right beside you. And it’s as if you’ve zoomed in too far on a picture because his nakedness is suddenly magnified 100x. You want to Ctrl Z yourself out of his room and back into your own desk. Because what. the. hell.

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

Transfixed on the ridges of this abdomen, you cannot focus on anything other than the way his muscles groove up and down so smoothly to form a six pack. Shadows casted by the flashlight sculpting more definition onto his marble chest. Goosebumps are raised on his blemishless skin, which you almost want to stroke away with your warmth.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’ You chant cataleptically in a daze. It’s more for your own reassurance than his. His bare upper body needs to let you breathe.

‘Are you sure?’ His concern is apparent in his expression, eyes examining your entire face for your injury.

‘Yes, yes.’ Desperately wanting to shoo him away, you wince at the pulsing ache burgeoning in your forehead.

‘I’m sorry.’ You both say in unison, though neither of you understand why the other is apologising.

Though he seems abashed about being shirtless, his humiliation comes nowhere near your level. Why isn’t he scrambling to put a shirt on?

To be fair Jungkook does seem awfully self conscious, you’ve caught him looking down at himself for about the fifteenth time now as he helps you up to your feet.

‘I’ll let you get dressed, sorry.’ Is all you say after snatching your phone off the ground, not even bothering to check for a cracked screen, before making your timely escape. This time more successful than the last.

Clutching your throbbing head, you race to your room and catapult onto your bed. The picture of a wet, shirtless Jungkook with only a towel to shield you from his crotch is now ingrained in your mind. You think shutting your eyes will help but you still see his divine abs behind your lids.

Holy shit.

What perhaps scares you more is how attracted you are to him. Since when did you find your roommate hot? This is shy, quiet Jungkook who plays overwatch until 4am. How dare he have a Greek God’s body to confuse you like this?

You need to stop thinking about his naked body right now.

Instead you check outside your window to see that the streetlights are off as well; it must be a blackout across the whole town, if not city. Without heating, the cold air begins to harshly sting your exposed skin. Panic starts to fester in your chest. How long can you last with no electricity whatsoever? You don’t even have phone signal, or something to charge your phone with except the one portable charger that may or may not be dead right now.

Though your door is wide open, Jungkook knocks on it politely outside your room. Which is what you should’ve done with him, you mentally scold yourself. Though he is now dressed in an oversized hoodie, your image of him is forever changed after seeing him fresh out the shower, hair still dripping. You blink hard in attempt to rid that thought.

‘Hi…’ He whispers. He’s holding two burning candles against his chest, their flames lighting up the underside of his sharp jaw.

‘Hi, come in.’

You can sense his hesitancy, the unease in the air between you, when he enters your room gingerly, feet clad in those pink fuzzy socks.

‘Sorry-’ You both say at the same time again, then release a breath of laughter. Mirth twinkles in his eyes, though his shyness does not stray from him.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room like that.’ It’s an effort not to glance down at his adorable socks. ‘That was completely my fault, so don’t apologise.’

He swallows. ‘It’s okay, noona.’

His eyes hold yours for a solid moment before dispersing. A familiar blush is starting to paint your cheeks, you feel the heat from your chest blare up to your entire face. Unable to help imagining those solid muscles underneath his clothes, you tug at the hem of your sweater.

‘So,’ Jungkook places one of the candles on your desk. ‘This is for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Instead of using the flashlight of your phone, use the candle or one of the torches I’ve put on the table outside to save your battery. I’ve checked the main fuse, it isn’t switching back on. Good thing is that we still have running water and plumbing, just no heating or any electricity.’ He glances at your own socks. ‘We need to use the water sparingly though or the reservoir will run out. From the shops, I’ve bought some food that we can eat without cooking like gimbap or sandwiches. There’s also a stash of hand warmers in the drawer of the TV stand if you’re cold.’

That’s a lot of words to come out of Jungkook’s mouth in one go, all spoken to you. What he’s saying is sinking in and relief washes over you, yet you can’t help but focus your attention on the way his lips move as he speaks. The dark red gleaming with lip balm, curving over each syllable so prettily.

‘That’s great, thank you.’ You finally snap out of it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ That last sentence slips out of you before you could stop it.

Pupils widening a fraction, Jungkook’s lips part in reaction. Why did you tell him that? Maybe you should just lock yourself in your room after continuously embarrassing yourself tonight. But then he pulls into a smile that melts away the ice that’s numbing your limbs and burning your lungs. The front of his teeth slightly jutting out sweetly.

Again, a fondness tickles your chest.

‘Me too.’ The tingle spreads into a pulse that crushes your throat. Is that why they call it a crush?

You simply cannot suppress your own growing grin.

Jungkook begins to walk away, but then stops at your door and turns back. There’s a reluctance, an uncertainty to his slow movement as he faces you.

‘If… If you get too cold without the radiator… you can…’ His voice barely a husk. ‘You can come over to mine.’

Then he’s gone. The aura lit up by his candle gradually diminishes away from you as he walks down the hallway to his room.

Frozen in place, you’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Those final words ring in your ear like wind chimes.

You can come over to mine.

Does he mean what you think he means? Is he offering to keep you warm during the night?

You watch the candle he’d placed on your desk, its flame mirroring the small fire kindling in your core for the boy who went out during a blizzard to buy you fuzzy socks so your feet don’t get cold.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook is on the verge of combustion at his bold proposition to you, red burning the tips of his ears. Though the memory of the look of pure euphoria on your face when you took your first bite of jajangmyeon burns his heart hotter yet.

The cold is brutal and shows no mercy. Despite your tossing and turning and effort to warm yourself up, sleep does not grace you. Part of the blame goes to Jungkook, you have not been able to cease thinking about him and everything he has done tonight. It makes you reflect on all your past moments together, whether he has always been like this and you were only too closed off to pay heed.

Sitting up from your bed, you decide you won’t be able to fall asleep without extra warmth. You need hand warmers stuffed down your pyjamas.

So, muscles stiff from the cold, you clamber out the little warm burrow of your covers and head for the living room, forsaking any light since your vision has adapted to the dark. On your way there, you walk past Jungkook’s room. Without knowing why, your legs betray you and stop outside his door.

You can come over to mine.

The low rasp of his voice still echoes in your head, stirring your unwarranted feelings for him into a warm pot of honey.

Had he really meant it? Did he honestly invite you to his share his bed? Surely not - this is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking of, he doesn’t even speak to you most days, can’t not cower away from your glare. And he also knows what you’re like, how it took you two whole months to even warm to all of Jimin’s friends, how you only recently stopped using honorifics with those older than you.

And surely he must be at least mildly aware of the lack of boys and romance in your life, living just down the hall from you. Jimin is the closest male friend you have, and even so, you aren’t completely comfortable with sleeping beside him.

But then… All that has transpired about Jungkook’s character tonight, how sweet and kind and thoughtful he is which completely falls outside your predictions of the boy…

You realise you want to know more, want to explore the depths and mysteries that is your strange roommate. This intangible force that has been building up in the mere hours you’ve spent together this cold winter’s night draws you to him.

So screw those hand warmers, they last way too short anyway. Who needs those fidgety packets when there’s a whole Jeon Jungkook next door?

Gathering all the courage you can muster, you knock on his door.

The wood sends tendrils of cold into your knuckles. There’s a pause at first which leaves you thinking that he’s asleep, and to be fair, this late at night he has every reason to be. You’re about to turn away and head forth down the hall when you hear sheets moving, followed by his muffled come in.

Timidly, you step into his room, mind still fresh with the memory of what had happened last time you entered here unannounced, mere hours ago. Let’s not think about that right now, shall we?

Jungkook is sat up in his bed, black hood engulfing half his head. A single scented candle lit on his bedside table beside him illuminates the whole room into a golden ochre hue, it smells of freshly washed sheets.

‘Hi…’ You peep out, stopping in front of his bed.

‘Everything ok, noona?’ His eyes are fixed on your face in wonder, but when you meet them, they dart to your socks.

‘Um, yes.’ How do you put this? How do you formulate those words? ‘I just… It’s absolutely freezing with the radiators not working. Maybe- D-’ You exhale shakily. He’s gaze slowly crawls back up to your face as he realises where you’re going with this. ‘You know how you suggested that we should… sleep tog- on the same bed… to keep each other warm…? Well...’

Jungkook blinks at you. For a heartbeat, all you want to do is curl up into a ball and roll out of here. You couldn’t even finish what you were saying because your jaw has simply refused to move, refused to let you carry on embarrass yourself.

Then, although he was already on one side of the bed, he scooches over to the left. He doesn’t look at you when he replies, ‘Of course.’

Your heart is pumping fast, almost making you choke on your constricting throat. Warily you clamber onto his bed, but stop when only your knee is on the mattress. The bed frame creaks. Jungkook is regarding you with an unreadable expression, nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘Wait, if this is weird, just tell me to go.’

‘N-No. It’s fine.’ Pulling the covers over his chest, he crosses his arms shyly. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, though you could be mistaken due to the odd lighting. ‘I was struggling to fall asleep from the cold as well.’ He adds when you don’t seem convinced.

Both of you are making this a bigger deal than it actually is, you are fully aware. It honestly pains you how awkward you two are with each other; if this were Jimin, he’d be dragging you onto his bed by the waist, letting you flounder about in his arms like a cat trying to escape before smothering you with his affection. But this is Jungkook. Quiet, shy, awkward Jungkook. Jungkook who hasn’t spoken more than ten words a day to you before the events of tonight even though you live together. Jungkook who you’re slowly learning more and more about during this blizzard.

Plus, he was the one who offered to share his bed earlier in the first place. This is fine, just fine. Act normal.

Overly conscious of how he’s watching your every movement carefully, you slowly burrow into the comfort of his bed. Immediately you’re enveloped in his residual body heat under the duvet. Now you realise that he moved over to the other side of the bed, the cold side, so you can relish in the warmth that he’s been collecting under these covers.

Why is Jungkook so… considerate?

Again, the same fuzzy feeling as before tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly you want to reach out to him, but instead, you tug at your sleeves.

You’re both staring at the blank ceiling as if it is some fascinating art piece, with enough space between you to fit a Jimin. The candle has casted long grey shadows across the room, occasionally flickering haphazardly.

Everything that is currently whizzing through your head is driving you insane. This is actually happening. You are sharing a bed with Jungkook, the guy who you can’t even look in the eye when speaking to, your roommate who has only ever tried to avoid you. This day is a jack-in-the-box of Jungkook-themed surprises. What’s going to be next?

‘Feeling warmer, noona?’ He breaks the silence first, and you can’t help but glance over at him. His side profile is mostly masked by his hood, yet you can still see his jaw clenching. You can only imagine how uneasy he is currently feeling.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper you manage, so you clear your throat. ‘Much better Jungkook, thank you.’

Another silence. Though this is an improvement from before, you still feel a chill in your bones; the cold is a resilient pest that aches your muscles and numbs your face.

‘Should I blow out the candle then?’ You ask.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

You huff at the small flame but it refuses to go out, and you kind of don’t want it to as it provides a strong beacon of heat as its smoke licks at your face. You huff again. Still, it only wavers. You’re so cold that you don’t even have the strength to take out a candle. Peaking over at Jungkook, his eyes are locked on you patiently.

‘I’ll do it.’ He leans across the bed over you, you feel his warmth radiate into your proximity as his should hovers over your face. His scent, a clean soft musk, swims up your nose; you never noticed how pleasant he smells. The veins on his neck are protruding as he strains to reach over. When he extinguishes the candle with a single harsh blow, embarrassment rains on you.

Darkness enshrouds you two. As he returns to his position, you notice that he’s closer to you than before, now only less than a foot away. The sound of his breathing provides a steady rhythm that soothes your wild thoughts.

Though your social skills are subpar by nature, Jungkook has a way of magnifying your awkwardness. Should you say something? Good night? Thank him again?

Then you realise, he’s shivering. Of course, his hair must still be wet from his unfinished shower that was cut short by the blackout. God, he must be freezing.

‘You’re cold.’ You state, though you mean it more as a question.

‘I’m fine.’ Hums his response, yet his inhale is shaky.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you know what you’re going to do next is completely out of character and will require more guts than you actually possess. Your hand gropes at the space between you until you find his hand. It’s ice cold. Jungkook jumps at the contact and you hear him turn his head towards you. You hope his sight hasn’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t see how abashed you are.

‘You’re not fine.’ His fingers are stiff when you interlock yours between his. Everything is screaming inside you. What are you doing? What the heck? If Jimin were here to see this his jaw would drop all the way down to hell.

Unable to suppress the urge either, you also turn to look at him. In the dark, you can barely make out the outline of his face, the shape of his glossy eyes reflecting the moonlight seeping in through the window. Slowly, his fingers curl up around your hand. Your heart flips.

Blood roaring in your ears, you inch towards him like a frightened deer until your sides are pressed against each other. Your faces must be a hand’s width apart, but the darkness fuels you with a brazenness that allows you to not cringe away. His whole body tenses in response.

‘Better?’ Voice so soft he strains to hear you.

Jungkook nods, eyes never leaving yours. ‘Better.’ His response rumbles into your ear and percolate into your mind, and only now are you aware of how close he is.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions stir inside you. You feel your own warmth trickle towards him as his does with you, and slowly his presence plucks away the cold you are plagued with.

‘Good night, Jungkook.’

‘Good night, Y/N noona.’

Though it’s only briefest of movements, you feel his thumb stroke over yours once, twice, as your eyelids fall shut.

The next morning, you wake up first with your head fitted cosily on his heavily breathing chest, his arm draped across your shoulder, shielding you from the chilly morning air.

The power still isn’t back on.

It’s now nearing 24 hours since the blackout first hit.

You’ve wasted the day wandering about the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Though you tell yourself it’s the withdrawal symptoms from the internet, it’s mostly due to the fact that you slept next to Jungkook last night.

The earlier half of the day was spent subtly avoiding him because what the hell are you supposed to say to him? Do you just carry on your usual selves around each other or are you, like, friends now? You caught yourself watching him sleep this morning, serene breaths in and out through his nose. There’s a tiny mole under his lips that you’ve never noticed before. You had poked it with your pinky before you could stop yourself. And thankfully he’s a heavy sleeper, he didn’t even stir.

With more effort than you thought would require, you pried yourself out of his arms, a cold breeze instantly welcoming you in an embrace as you left his bed.

Those scenes keep replaying in your head: him finding you out in the blizzard, watching him cook you jajangmyeon, discovering that he when out of his way to buy you new sock, then walking in on him almost stark naked from the shower, and finally, falling asleep enveloped in his warm and scent.

You’re definitely crushing on him.

You’ve stopped denying it when you saw him meander wearily out his room at noon, bed head ruffled, eyes still droopy from sleep. Wordlessly, you had passed him the ham and cheese sandwich you prepared for yourself and you don’t even know why because you were absolutely starving.

The downpour of snow only stopped for a good 10 minutes this afternoon, a tiny window in which you poked your head out for some fresh air. Jungkook had tried to shovel away some snow to clear the porch, but quickly ran back inside when he saw your worried face plastered to the window watching him.

There isn’t much either of you can do with no electricity, no internet, no television, trapped indoors. So you occupy your day curled up on the couch, nose buried in a novel, completely immersed in that beautifully crafted fictional world.

Until Jungkook walks out in a white t-shirt and shorts.

Your eyebrow raises, peeking at him from behind the pages.

‘I’m gonna work out here, if you don’t mind. There isn’t enough space in my room.’ He scratches the back of his head.

‘Sure.’ You exhale, knowing your demise is looming over your head like a storm cloud. A lot of self control is exercised in order to not ogle at his calves.

Training your eyes at the novel in front of you with great determination, you turn the page. The first minute is easy enough, you just have to angle your book to block your view of him. But then his breathing grows heavier, panting every rep. At that, you can’t help but glimpse past the corner of your page.

Oh Lord. He’s doing push ups.

Though his biceps are mostly covered by his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms tensing at every contraction catch you eye. You marvel at the way his tendons flex out, and the way his serpentine of veins snake down his hands.

Jeez.

Then he lets out an unholy grunt, setting your whole skin on aflame. Scarlet stains your cheeks, you’re sure of it. But the sinful sounds do not stop. Sweat his now seeping through his shirt, rendering the material transparent down his back. And his ass…

You snap your focus back to your novel.

Just in time as well because he stops onto his knees, head falling back as he sits on his ankles, panting. His neck is shimmering with his perspiration, droplets trickling down like a brook.

Jungkook glances over at you to see you reading intently, jaw clenched from what he guesses is due to the excitement of the plot.

But then you stand up so abruptly that it startles him. You can’t sit here and spy on his workout any longer, you physically cannot take it. Not to mention, it makes you feel so awful, like you’re perving on the poor clueless boy who only wants to break a sweat.

The both of you just stare at each other, flustered for different reasons. His breathing slows.

‘I’m gonna-’ You don’t know where you’re going with the sentence. Gulp. ‘Uh, see you later.’

Scampering away into your room, you don’t wait for his response. Why are you panting heavier than he is when he’s the one exercising? Your book is pressed tightly against your pounding chest as you lean your back on your door. Your legs give way and you slowly slide down onto the cool floor.

There’s one thing you know for sure.

Jeon Jungkook is not good for your heart.

It’s almost midnight and Jungkook is standing outside your door. Fist clenched, inches away from rapping on the wood, but completely frozen in action.

Just do it, idiot. He scolds himself.

After an ice cold post-workout shower, this time early enough so he doesn’t have to sleep with wet hair, you both had gimbap for dinner. It was an excruciatingly silent meal which he blames himself for, though he can’t help the way his tongue gets tied every time he wishes to speak to you.

And now, bed time, he is at a dilemma of whether or not to ask to sleep with you again. It may come across as too forward coming from a guy, he doesn’t want to scare you. But he also knows that he will be missing the warmth of your body beside him if he goes to bed alone.

Jungkook sighs and lets his hanging hand fall to his side.

If you wanted to, you would have gone to his room anyway. Might as well save the awkward rejection and just take this as a no.

However, your door suddenly swings open. He’s confronted with a pyjama-wearing, baby-faced you, flinching back a step at the surprising sight of him.

‘Op- I was just....’ His sentence falls flat. He was just what?

‘I was just coming to find you.’ You mutter, eyes softening if he isn’t mistaken. A flood of relief rushes at him, so you were planning on coming to him tonight.

Wordlessly, you pad after him to his room. Everything is dark but you see his figure clearly in front of you. It gives you a false sense of confidence which leads you to trip over his charger wire you so clumsily missed.

You don’t know how he reacts so quickly to your yelp of distress, but he turns around in time to catch your outstretched arms by the elbows. ‘Watch out.’ Feet fumbling over each other, he stumbles back onto his bed as you fall onto him. The weight of your bodies sink down onto the mattress.

Hard muscle cushions your fall. Chests pressed against each other, you don’t realise your hands have instinctively circled around his shoulders for balance. Your nose is touching his fabric of his collar, his musk instantly overriding your senses. When you look up, his eyes are a crystal clear pool somehow reflecting the constellations of the night sky in this darkness. His breath caresses your forehead. Your gaze drops to his mouth, pink and parted.

You want to kiss him, you realise. So badly. Every fibre of your being is currently yearning to meet his lips, longing to know whether he tastes better than he smells.

But then your limbs are moving for you, propping yourself up and off him. Your own mouth forms and quiet ‘sorry’ as you shuffle under the sheets. It’s as if you’re watching your own actions through your eyes, controlled by your logic rather than desire. You couldn’t let yourself kiss him.

Jungkook silently squirms into his bed beside you, unwilling to look your direction as much as you’re averse to his.

So this is how it’s going to be again. Two sleeping logs next to each other.

There’s an ache of regret in your heart for being so timid. Annoyance at yourself drips down your throat, fist clenching at the sheets. You should’ve kissed him right then and there, consequences be damned. When will you get another chance? But perhaps it was fate. You have no idea how he would’ve reacted; the pessimist in you thinks he would’ve been disgusted. Yes, it was fate. It was right not to have kissed him.

Wait, no. A boldness suddenly pours down on you. Shyness and introversion has gotten you nowhere before, and it will not help your situation now.

‘Jungkook.’ Your voice comes out crisp and clear.

‘Hm, Noona?’

‘I’m still cold.’ Turning to face him, you see innocent confusion settle in his expression. The sound of your thumping pulse has reached your ears, your heart is a speeding motor flying off to find him. ‘Come closer.’

The shadow of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His focus does not stray from you as he slides across the bed hesitantly.

‘Closer.’

He edges further towards you. You can now just about make out the shape of the scar that flecks his left cheek.

‘Closer.’

This time, his exhale tickles your neck. Warm bodies touching, confusion and perturbation cloud his glassy orbs as he scans your face for an answer to the plethora of questions swimming in his head.

‘Thank you.’ You breathe, though it feels like no air is entering you. You can’t believe what you’re doing. This close to him, you’re entire being bathes in his presence, his aura; a familiar tingling ails your soul as your eyes flicker to his lips.

Every single muscle in Jungkook is frozen in shock, unsure of what is going on and why the sudden change in your demeanour towards him. And when you turn onto your side away from him and inch by inch back your body onto his front, his heart

stops

beating.

Nose buried in your floral-scented hair, vacillating thoughts tell him to put his arm around your waist and hold you close to him. You sense his unsureness in the way his hand rests on your side and pauses for too long before pulling you into his chest.

His frame engulf yours, the curve of your back lining perfectly with his. You feel safe, protected. His furnace touch on your waist burns through the thick fabric of your jumper and seeps into your core. The effect he has on you is nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and neither have you ever been in this position with anyone. Although it isn’t much, merely just cuddling, this feels so remarkably intimate and intense, like you’ve finally stepped through a threshold built into the emotional wall that towers between you and him.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re breathing.

Despite being the one to instigate this, you’re awfully apprehensive, not daring to even twitch incase it rattles him and sets him scrambling away. The two of you are like a pair of squirrels, slowly approaching to sniff each other, curious yet easily frightened.

His hot breath rushes down your spine like smoke. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as you? Do you feel comfortable to him as he does to you? Or is he already falling asleep?

You should close your eyes and try to. Though who are you kidding? You’d never manage to catch a wink when you’re an accidental turn of a face away from kissing him, at least not right away anyway, not until you calm yourself down with a mental meditation exercise or something.

The urge to check if he’s indeed asleep is yanking at you, but you use all your willpower to resist, not wanting to risk rousing him when he’s as skittish as you.

But then you feel it.

Him.

It’s subtle at first, just a gentle pressure at your bottom.

Innocent and untainted as you are, you don’t even realise what it is at first, so you shift your hips unconsciously.

Then it’s stiffness grows, and grows, until it’s a baton poking at your rear.

Something in your core ignites, your chest constricts, and a wildfire of lust you’ve never felt before smoulders from your scalp to your toes before finally rooting itself in your sex. Ten hells, Jungkook’s boner is touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner and it’s touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner because of you and it’s touching your ass.

Your brain is devoid of all senses except a formidable hunger for him. Suddenly, though he’s almost surrounding you completely, the only thing you can feel is his hard member prodding you.

Is he asleep or not, you need to know.

Then a strange force possesses your lower half, and like a puppet on a string, your ass sinks back further onto him until his length is tunnelled between your cheeks.

The softest moan escapes him, almost a gasp even.

You think he’s going to say something, move away or stand up and leave. Instead he pulls himself away and slowly thrusts forward again. His clothed length slides smoothly up your crack, brushing ever so slightly over your slit. It sends a wave of arousal convulsing up your core, so powerful you almost choke.

Continuing to encourage him, your hips move in tandem with his, rubbing your ass all over his pulsing erection, occasionally letting it slide between your thighs against your clit. A pleasured mewl escapes, though you’re not sure who from. You’ve never felt anything like this, the ruin that overtakes your core at the friction. This is a divine sensation, luxury of the gods.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist as his pace increases, his breathing slowly shifting into wavering panting. Finally you succumb to the urge to twist around to look at him. Your heart erupts at the pure devastation contorting his face. His brows angled in pleasure, teeth clamped down on his lip to suppress those unholy noises, lids hanging heavy at the weight of his thirst for you. When his eyes lock on yours, something unleashes in him and devours you wholly.

Fire and ice. His lips feel like both fire and ice. Fire because your entire mind is burning at his smoothness, fuelled by your unkempt want for him to take over you. Ice because everything that isn’t him feels numb and insignificant, and your feelings for this man holding you is the purest flake of snow.

Your first kiss, and it’s already the best kiss you’ll ever have, you’re sure. Because the way his lips meld onto your, the desperation in the way he leans so far into you, the heat of his arousal forging it’s mark between your legs. Nothing in this world can top that.

‘Noona.’ He sighs into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Fingers grappling in his wavy locks, you reposition yourself completely to face him. His length twitches against you as your leg swings behind him to pull him closer. He is holding your neck with a heartbreaking delicacy, thumb stroking your jaw like it’s the most fragile of chinas.

‘Jung-’ You whimper. ‘Koo…’

Tasting of mint, his tongue gently laps at yours when you open for him. You’re drowning in his essence, lungs filling with his air, though you welcome your sweet painless death like it’s a heavenly gift.

Knowing his docile nature, you move his hand underneath your top, giving him permission to roam freely on your skin. He snakes around your back and circles around your front before finally meeting your sore breasts. As he kneads them tenderly, you feel a warmth ooze out of you into a puddle of concupiscence in your pants.

Oh God.

Your own hands wander beneath his hoodie, raking up the bumps of his god-sculpted abdomen and taking hold of his muscular chest. His wet kisses are a drug, and you’re completely and utterly under its control.

‘Jungkook, I want you.’ You moan.

When his eyes fly open, you’re met with pools of desire, seething into you like jets of lust. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d experience him like this, covetous for you and withering under your touch.

‘Noona… Fuck.’ He trembles as your hand travels down his navel, daring to slide under the band of his sweatpants. ‘I want you so bad, noona.’

The whimper that leaves his mouth when you palm him through his boxers sends a flood of yearning down to your core.

Holy shit.

He feels…

Massive.

Heavy with girth, only about half of his length fits in your palm. You have to stretch your fingers in order to fully encompass him. He is fully at your disposal, groaning, grip tightening on you.

As he huffs into the edge of your jaw, his own hand comes down to find your pussy pulsing for his touch. When his touches your clothed slit, a compulsion forces your hips to buckle forwards. And when he begins to rub circles right on that tender spot, waves upon waves of ecstasy hit you.

Whining like an animal, your head falls back at the newfound pleasure he’s showing you. With you neck presented so openly to him like a platter of dessert, he plants dulcet kisses onto you, his gentleness kindling your fire for him. Despite your attempt to wind your focus back to him, your grip on his erection slackens at his vibrations on your cunt.

‘Can I?’ Jungkook whispers into your ear, softness tickling your lobe. You don’t waste a second before nodding eagerly.

Then his fingers slide underneath your panties. Sensitivity explodes at the contact between the pad of his thumb and your clit. A string of moans release from you. His fingers stroke tactfully up your slick, lubricated by your wetness for him. And when he slides his digit into you, the thread that holds your soul to sanity snaps.

‘Oh my god.’ He pushes through the sleek pressure of your walls. ‘Jungkook.’ The whimper of his name rolling off your tongue sends a rush of blood down to his aching cock.

‘Noona, is that okay?’ The genuity in his voice squeezes your heart.

‘Yes, it feels so, argh, good.’

He latches his lips onto your neck and sucks clouds of lavender to your smooth seamless sky. His finger is slowly pumping in and out. It is a foreign feeling, so strange and unfamiliar, yet all the more exciting. The rise of his knuckles hit your wall at eye-rolling angles. Your hips roll in his rhythm to help him reach newer depths. The pleasure is unforgiving, relentless.

Another feeling gnaws at your chest, a longing to please him.

‘I want to make you feel good, Jungkook.’ You mumble, shy.

He looks up at you, finger gradually ceasing its movement. The pure passion alit in his eyes drives you thrumming for him.

‘O-Okay.’

‘You… You have to teach me though.’ Redness flushes your cheeks.

‘Okay.’ He says again, and you wonder if you’ve broken him at the way he’s frozen.

Sheepishly tugging down his pants, you inch yourself down and settle between his legs, the duvet rested upon your shoulders. He bobs free from the restraint of his apparel.

Your eyes bulge at his cock that is, despite the darkness, standing tall and proud, beaming at you. How is that monster going to fit inside you?

A strong vein runs down the course of his length. Angry red tip swollen and trickling with a clear liquid. You look up to find him staring helplessly down at you, gulping. A nervous fear is eating away at your throat; you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know how right now?

‘Teach me.’ Your fingers come around the base of his shaft and he gasps audibly.

‘Uh-’ Another gulp. ‘Lick the tip.’

You lick the tip. Drawing your tongue over his engorged head, tasting his salty precum that continues to leak out of him profusely. He curses.

‘Like that?’ Your mouth doesn’t leave him as you say.

‘Mhmm.’ He runs his hand through his dark locks in exasperation. ‘Suck on it gently.’

You suck on it gently. Lips wrapped around his tip like a vacuum while you breath him in. Your cheeks hollow. You look up at him for approval. One eye is clamped shut, the other is barely held open to witness the most seraphic scene.

‘Fuck, noona, like this.’

You try to take in more, letting his wide cock slide into your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against his hilt. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and splutter around him. Embarrassment shoots at you, yet when you glance up, he doesn’t seem to care.

Instead, he brushes your hair behind your ear and coos, ‘Careful, noona.’ He’s so sweet, so dear, you feel a crack in your heart.

So you try again, this time slower, swallowing as much of him as you can. Your hand swirl around his shaft while his massages the back of your scalp. You roll your tongue around his head every time you come up, flickering at his slit. Soon, your pace increases along with your confidence. Jungkook is a mess under you, thighs quivering, toes curling. Humming in satisfaction, your vibrations resonate into his dick and he yelps.

‘Noona, stop before I cum.’ The way he pleads sends your cunt throbbing. You pull his member out of your mouth almost obscenely, inhaling sharply for air.

He gently places you on your back, finger tracing your drenched lips in endearment. ‘Was that ok?’

‘That was perfect, noona. Are you sure that was your first time?’ Doe eyes wide in awe of you. You giggle and nod, glowing in timid pride. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

At that, the reality of this situation hits you. This is happening, this is actually happening. You’re going to have sex for the first time. With Jungkook.

Are you sure you want to do this?

You are sure you want to do this. If not with him, then no one else.

‘Yes.’ You state firmly, eyes never once wavering from his.

His gaze on you is so soft, yet so intense, you want to melt under him. ‘Okay. I- I need to go find a condom in Jimin’s room.’

Fuzzy with your feelings for him, you watch him scramble off in the dark to the other room. Loud clangs echo down the hall, you can’t help but smile at the thought of him digging through Jimin’s pig sty, frantically searching with his rock hard cock.

Jungkook returns moments later to the sight of you completely naked on his bed. Gaping like a little boy, he almost falls onto you as he climbs onto the bed while he tears off his own top. For a minute, you two just stare at each other’s bodies, allowing the beauty to sink in and etch itself forever in your souls.

‘Noona, you’re so beautiful. Do you know that?’ He leans over to kiss all over your face.

A warm prickle sieges your heart. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Emotion floods you like an ocean, and you’re suddenly met with a familiar sting behind your eyes.

He hovers over your lips, nose rubbing on yours so lovingly you want to cry. You’re at a loss for words, so you just nod, not daring to peep a sound lest a tear escapes from you.

His hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. Prudently, he kisses up your inner thighs before spreading them open with care. Finally, he pecks the top of your flower fondly.

Then slowly he rests his elbow beside your head and situate himself between your legs. Both your breaths are wobbly, you search his face for security and find it. His irises reflect his galaxy - you. And your fear ebbs away.

Stroking his tip along your wetness, he kisses the shell of your ear. ‘Are you really really sure?’

‘Yes, Jungkook.’ Your fingers entangle in his hair assuringly.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts a lot. Promise, noona?’ His concern is heart wrenching.

‘Promise.’ You whisper, other hand locking with his.

Only then does he begin to ease into you. At first you don’t feel much, just his tip diving into you. Then the rest of his length pushes in, plunging through a tremendous pressure built into your walls. Pain blooms inside you as he enters deeper and deeper, it’s an ache that you anticipated but never imagined. You both cry out, though for different reasons.

‘Are you okay?’ You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, shoulders tensing at the temptation to thrust again.

‘Mhmm.’ You manage to gripe. Because despite the blinding pain, you are okay.

‘I’m gonna go as slow as I can.’ He ensures you, fingers tightening around yours.

When he plunges into you again, you expect the hurt to lessen, but it doesn’t. It overwhelms your whole body, yanking inside you. Though, every time he kisses your lips so tenderly, your forget the soreness he’s impaling into you for a fresh second. Opening your eyes, you see him panting at your tightness, trying with every muscle in his body not to go wild at you.

‘Fuck, noona.’ He exhales, forehead rested on yours.

Seeing him so berserk with pleasure calms your running anxiety. His thrusts inevitably quickens, and you just about begin to see pass the pain. Behind the ache, there’s a gratifying sting clenching your walls. The slap of his hips against your thighs ring loud.

‘Still okay?’ Jungkook asks again, worry painting his face at your silence.

‘Yes, you can go faster.’ You answer despite the ever-present soreness. When he drives hard into you, stars and tears blurring your vision.

Something in him snaps as you feel him twitch inside you. His movements grow sloppy and feral, just like the grunts that he heaves. Chasing his climax, you can tell how close he is to his sweet release.

‘Oh- Noona, I’m so cl-ose.’ He’s whimpering into your neck.

‘Jungkook, baby. Come for me.’

At your name for him, he goes crazy, ramming into you with a strength and stamina that you couldn’t expect less of from him. ‘Noona…’ He begs. The pressure inside you is easing, pain dulling, though you know you won’t feel any pleasure this time round.

Then, in one last powerful push, he ejects into you with a loud cry. You pull his lips to yours immediately to soothe his euphoria. This look of pure pleasure on his face rips you to shred as he refuses to let go of your hand. His hips jerk into yours to ride out is high as his whole body deflates onto you.

Although it’s a freezing night, goosebump plaguing both your skins, neither of you feel cold. Instead, you are enshrouded by the warmth of your passion and desire, all you feel is each other.

You, wrapped tightly around him, and him, spasming inside you.

Heavy with exhaustion, he nuzzles up to kiss you. Long, slow and hard. You have never truly appreciated his beauty until this point, under the subtle snow-clouded moon, eyes boring into you with a never-dimming glow of adoration.

Jungkook removes himself from you, hastily disposing the condom to not miss a moment by your side. Dressing you first so you don’t catch a breeze of cold, his touch feels so much warmer, gentler.

Snuggled up under the covers, he holds you so close to him that you hear his beating heart. For a timeless passage, you stare into each other wordlessly, fingers tracing delicately over every patch of skin.

‘Y/N...’ He muses out loud. ‘Y/N… You don’t know how perfect you are…’

Again, he has rendered you speechless.

Caressing your cheek in his palm, he continues. ‘I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because then you would understand why I’m so completely in love with you.’

At his words, your throat constrict. ‘What?’ You choke out.

‘I’m in love with you, noona.’ His lips are trembling, chest pounding against you. Disquietude emanates from how he’s peering at you.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know how you never knew, I mean- I guess it’s pretty obvious from the way I act around you. Even Yoongi-hyung spotted it right away…’ He begins to ramble, focus hopping to the collar of your jumper that he’s toying with. ‘I just… I don’t know. There’s something so special about you that I can’t find in anyone else. I thought it was just a crush but... but then you moved in with us and… And my feelings for you just drove me insane. That’s why I kept trying to avoid you. I know I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I actually spent time with you, I’m kinda stupid when it comes to girls if you can’t tell already.

‘But the truth is,’ he takes a deep breath and sighs, ‘I am truly, deeply, madly in love with you, Y/N noona. Everything about you. The way you devour jajangmyeon as easily as breathing. The way you never go a day in winter without wearing these fuzzy socks. The way you only drink lattes and chamomile tea. The way you would rather spend your friday nights curled up with a book. The way you pretend to find Jimin annoying but secretly love the attention he gives you. The way you rushed out to find me in the snow and forgot the bring your keys. And the way you can’t talk to me without stuttering just like how I can’t look you in the eye when we have a conversation.

‘I know this is a lot to spring onto you, and I don’t expect you to love me back at all. But just know that I’m here for you whenever you need. I’m your furnace in a snowstorm, hand warmer in a blizzard. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same for me, I’ll still be here.’

Jungkook finishes with a final huff.

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his confession. Emotion floods your veins at the revelation, and you can all but break down into sobs. Jaw gaping, you regard him from his arms, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts.

‘Noona, say someth-’

You kiss him, urgently and desperately. Like you’ve been drowning in a sea of lostness, aimlessly floating about to try to find your way, and he’s your first gulp of air. Mist of perplexity is finally starting to clear away, and you see the path ahead of you with crystal lucidity.

It’s Jungkook. Jungkook, who knows your favourite colour when even your own mother doesn’t. Jungkook, who waddled out into the freezing snow to buy you new socks. Jungkook, who so gently and delicately made love to you tonight. Jungkook, who has loved you unconditionally and will continue doing so regardless of your feelings towards him.

‘I think… I think I’m falling truly, deeply, madly in love with you too, Jungkook.’

End

extras: christmas special

@shookpreme @hazelelizabeth99 @teenage-hippie @bunbundesu @tangledsparkles @gingerpeachtae idk who wanted to be tagged lol 😬

02/09/2019

12K notes · View notes

bcbdrums · 4 years ago

Text

Sand, Snowmen, and Aloha Conversations

A belated entry into whitem's fanfic challenge, to write a Christmas story in the month of July. I took the concept a bit further... Enjoy!

Read on: AO3 FFn

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

Sand, Snowmen, and Aloha Conversations

Drakken hefted his bag higher on his shoulder, but it still caught on the too-narrow door as he fairly stumbled out of the airport shuttle and followed Shego to escape the crowd on the discomfitingly warm December evening. The heat further turned his stomach which had already been unsettled from the flight, the shuttle ride, and questionable snacks. He didn't need to look up to see Shego's knowing smirk as the seemingly hours-long debate regarding temperature came back to his mind.

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

Earlier...

"If you'd only put some clothes on..." Drakken grumbled, though it was halfhearted at that moment.

Seated on the floor against the wall of the San Francisco airport and waiting for their delayed flight to arrive, Drakken was sure they were quite the spectacle in addition to being the only blue and green people in the place. Shego was already dressed for their Hawaiian vacation in shorts, tank top, and a thin over-shirt. He himself was dressed for the drizzly San Francisco weather, and that coupled with the air conditioning made the airport very cold.

He had been taunting Shego for hours about her chosen attire, but she had firmly teased him right back that he would be too hot when they reached their final destination. In the present however, she was too cold, so as his back was leaned against the wall with the great window above him, Shego was between his legs with her back leaned against his chest, his arms wrapped around her folded knees and her hands beneath his. He had refused to give up his jacket to her.

"You'll see when we get there. Besides. You can't tell me this isn't nice?"

Drakken rolled his eyes as her fingers laced between his. It would be nicer if they weren't on an airport floor, and people weren't giving them looks.

At that moment, the clerk announced their flight had arrived and the impatient passengers began lining up to board. Shego leaned her head back against Drakken's cheek when he made to move, and he paused.

"You still have time to change," she said with a smirk.

"And end up more blue from the cold?"

"It's actually 'bluer.'"

"Oh har har."

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

Present

Drakken rolled his eyes when he arrived at Shego's side, ready for the teasing to continue, but she was focused elsewhere. He looked first at her face, his brow rising at her pleased and yet peaceful expression. Then he turned and set his eyes on the resort for the first time, and his jaw fell open in shock.

The first sight his eyes beheld was red, and then the warm shine of strings of colored lights. While lacking the familiar pines, firs, and other cold-weather trees that gave him the feeling of winter, the palms and other tropical trees had been decorated with strings of white lights wrapped around their trunks and colored lights strung between them. There were also large bushes lining the walk and one prominent one that had been shaped into a tree, all utterly covered in large red leaves, which Drakken realized with a sense of awe were poinsettias.

His concern that Christmas in Hawaii would be miserable started to melt away, but then his gaze fell upon a billboard lit with floodlights that made his stomach turn even more. The sign professed what he had been telling Shego for weeks was impossible, to "Enjoy Christmas in Hawaii!" but beneath the text were what he could only think of as atrocities: a very tanned Santa Claus sporting flowered swim trunks beneath his open robe, seated in a beach chair with a fruity drink in hand, flip-flops on his feet and sunglasses on his face. Next him stood a trimmer-than-typical Mrs. Claus wearing grass skirt, coconuts, and numerous leis and a hibiscus in her hair.

"Come on," Shego said happily, oblivious to his horror and disgust at the sight in front of him. Drakken watched for a moment as she strolled ahead of him, bag comfortably over her shoulder and her pony-tailed hair swaying behind her as she strode toward the resort in her perfectly weather-appropriate attire. Too many emotions were swirling through Drakken for him to even form a coherent thought, and he merely followed behind her as sweat began to pool at the back of his neck from the heat and humidity.

When they arrived at the lobby, Drakken felt a wave of relief at seeing a massive traditional Christmas tree, but a new disaster met his eyes and he suddenly felt he might lose control of his stomach. True, poinsettias were liberally placed in every direction he could see, but the blow-up snowmen wearing Hawaiian t-shirts, leis, and sunglasses ruined any winter-y aesthetic they may have given.

Drakken heard Shego give a choked gasp, but his closer look at the Christmas tree caused him to forget whatever must have startled her. While the tree was brightly lit and had numerous colored baubles of different sizes, everything else about it was distinctly Hawaiian. Instead of strings of cranberries or popcorn, it had massive flower garlands in white and yellow. He could hardly see the green of the tree for the other various tropical flowers that had been affixed to the branches, veritably concealing that the tree was an evergreen. And worse still was the decoration that topped the tree: Santa, this time without his robe, wearing a brown grass skirt with his round belly on display for the world to see. He still had his red fur hat, but wore no robe or shirt and had only the ukulele in his arms to provide any hint of modesty.

"Check-in is over here," Shego said in a rush, grabbing Drakken's arm and pulling him so hard he had to clamp his jaw together as the upset in his tummy lurched up his esophagus.

He lowered his gaze and went through the motions as Shego handled the majority of their check-in, focusing on keeping his stomach calm as his emotions still swirled undefinable within him. All he knew for sure was that he was too hot, felt like throwing up, and was certain that Christmas was ruined.

The walk to their suite was just as mind-twisting, with more poinsettias mixed in with distinctly Hawaiian decor, including miniature decorated palm trees, some distinctly fashioned to be shaped like evergreens. Once inside the room, Shego dropped her bag on one of the chairs and Drakken watched her seem to relax. What had gotten her tense?

"I'm thinking room service tonight?" Shego said cheerfully as she pulled off her scrunchie and shook out her hair.

Drakken looked at the poinsettia plant on the table and the Christmas...palm in the corner. He stepped further into the room after Shego, letting his bag slide off his arm to the floor as he saw a new atrocity in the form of a decorative sculpture on the nightstand next to the bed: Santa again, in Hawaiian attire, seated in an outrigger canoe pulled by dolphins through crashing waves.

"Shego."

"Hn?" She turned and regarded him, pausing in the middle of re-tying her hair.

"I want to go home."

Shego's eyes narrowed and she frowned, looking almost hurt for a moment before her expression hardened.

"We're not talking about this again," Shego answered, turning away and grabbing the TV remote. "You probably stink under all those layers, so get out of those clothes and take a shower. I'm going to look at the surfing forecast."

Drakken watched as Shego sat on the foot of the bed and crossed her legs, swinging her foot back and forth as she leaned back on her hand and started flipping channels.

The conversation clearly over, Drakken grumbled as he went through the motions of yanking off his jacket and fumbling through his carry-on bag for his toiletries. He was about to protest that he didn't have enough of his luggage to shower, but at that moment a knock at the door heralded a courier with the rest of their things. And so it was about ten minutes later that found Drakken in the opulent shower under the most luxurious stream of water he'd ever experienced, and unable to enjoy it.

He had agreed to Christmas in Hawaii because, as Shego had pointed out, they had never taken a vacation just for the two of them, and they had almost spent an inordinate amount of time in freezing climates due to both his preferences and world-takeover schemes. His argument that they had a lair in the Caribbean was brushed off, since truthfully, she was never out enjoying that beach. And the rocky outcroppings mixed with rough sand weren't really anything that could be enjoyed, anyway.

Drakken hadn't worried too much initially about his favorite holiday being spent away from the snow, until Shego had started discussing all of the tropical traditions she wanted them to partake in. Luaus, surfing, and learning to hula were not among the things he wanted to do while celebrating Christmas. And this new revelation that the islanders seemed content to mock everything about the holiday made it all the worse.

The shower settled Drakken's stomach, but not his mind. He spent most of the time preparing what he felt was a logical argument for returning home, or perhaps going to a mountain retreat for vacation. Cocoa-moo in front of a cozy fire enticed him at least, and he was more than willing to compromise and give her a tropical vacation even if it wasn't his cup of tea...as long as it wasn't during Christmas.

When he emerged from the bathroom, clad in his pajamas, he opened his mouth ready to begin his speech, but Shego's behavior took him aback. She had startled at the sound of the door opening, and was hurriedly changing the channel on the TV. Drakken glanced at the screen to see a weather report playing in the split second before she turned the device off entirely, dropping the remote on the bed and raking her fingers back through her hair.

What was wrong with her?

"How's the shower?" she asked in a rush, nearly fumbling on the words.

"...It's nice. Shego—"

"Good, I'm going to take one and you look here at these."

Shego had rolled back and grabbed a small stack of magazines and brochures from the nightstand next to the bed, and stood up and thrust them in his hands. Drakken looked down to see that the magazines were clearly useless advertisements, but there was also a brochure about sights to see and events they could partake in, and a special one due to the holiday.

"I want to go surfing first thing in the morning, but we should work out a schedule for the rest of the day."

Drakken blinked in confusion between the periodicals in his hands and Shego, who still looked nervous as she moved to her suitcase to take out the things she would need for a shower. He sat down on the bed with a grimace and pushed aside the holiday brochure in favor of a laminated one that looked like it always sat on the room's nightstand and only occasionally had fingerprints wiped off of it. The first page explained the tradition of the Luau, and so he narrowed his eyes and began to read it.

The brochure was extremely detailed, and so intrigued was he by the tradition of cooking a pig underground, that he hadn't even realized Shego had vanished into the shower until he lifted his eyes to ask her a question. He listened for a few moments to the sound of running water through the walls, and then looked down again. In his peripheral vision he glimpsed the holiday brochure, which was embossed with a swim-trunks clad Santa, this time surfing in a canoe over rough waves as the dolphins pulled him toward the islands. Drakken felt a swirl in his stomach and didn't even open it to see what the "special event" on the beach was the next day.

He set all the magazines and brochures back on the nightstand as the weighty thought of Christmas being ruined settled over his mind again. But for Shego's sake...he would have to try. She was clearly set on staying.

He looked for the TV remote in hopes of watching something mindless for distraction, but it wasn't on the bed where he'd seen Shego drop it, nor was it on the TV stand.

A search that took too long and ended in frustration revealed it wasn't on any other surface in the room either, nor under the bed. Drakken was scowling in mystified annoyance when as a last resort he yanked open one of the dresser drawers and then stared blankly at the remote sitting on the wood inside the otherwise empty space.

"Why would she put it in there?" Drakken said to himself as he debated giving up on it at that point and just going to sleep. But he decided to try seeing what was on anyway.

He sat back against the pillows and turned the TV on and after a quick glance at the news station she'd left it on, he flipped the channel. What he saw then caused him to lurch forward, startled. For just a split second, he could have sworn he saw the familiar green, red, and white ending title card of Snowman Hank and heard the final chord of the guitar. But the image changed to a commercial for chocolates instantly with a new jingle to displace whatever else might have logged in his mind.

The bathroom door opened, and Drakken turned with the intent to question Shego about the hiding of the remote and the possible programming on TV that night. But his words failed him when he saw her.

She had donned a nightgown he had never seen before, deeply cut in the front in a V and asymmetrical from her hip down to mid-thigh on the other side. The fabric was iridescent, shining dark blue and teal as she walked, and it was also translucent, revealing she'd chosen to wear nothing else beneath. Her hair was fluffed behind her as she'd chosen not to wash it.

"I think we're due for a little...relaxation, before bed," she cooed with a smirk. Drakken continued to stare at her, from her face clear of all makeup and showing her natural beauty, to the natural beauty of the rest of her highlighted by the nightgown.

Before he knew it, he was blinking back again at the TV commercial as Shego had slid behind him on the bed, her body pressed against his back as she began to gently massage his temples.

"Oooh..." was the sound that came out of him, and he almost blindly turned the TV off and tossed the remote before reaching back to set his hands on Shego's knees and begin slowly rubbing his hands up and down the smooth skin.

Shego shifted to set her legs alongside both of his, giving him access to more of her as her hands also traveled down to his shoulders. Everything else forgotten with the warmth of his wife pressed against him, Drakken felt a rush as he turned around to hasten her intentions for the evening. She hummed in delight and slid down as his lips met hers powerfully and he knelt above her, the world forgotten.

"I think..." Shego said breathlessly, "we should continue this in bed."

Drakken chortled and made to get off of her, but as he turned his head he came face to face with the figurine of Santa Claus in the outrigger canoe, pulled by dolphins over the waves, the bearded man's painted eyes looking right back at his with mirth.

"Drakken? Drakken? Uh, getting into bed? Drakken?"

"I...I can't."

"What?" Shego said in annoyed confusion.

"I can't with...that thing looking at me."

Shego groaned. "Drakken..."

"And that...thing over there," he said and gestured to the decorated palm tree. "None of these things are Christmas."

"Dr. D...." Shego whined as Drakken sat up fully and moved to the other side of the bed.

"It's my favorite holiday, Shego. I don't mind enduring this...tropical exile, but can't we do it any other time of year?"

He cast a scowl at the tree in the corner once more before looking back to Shego, and he recoiled at the look on her face. She looked near to tears, but the anger in her eyes was fighting for dominance. He realized suddenly he might have gravely miscalculated, but Shego didn't give him a chance to reconsider his words.

She threw back the blankets on her side of the bed and crawled beneath the covers, turning out the light with so much force Drakken was surprised she didn't break the switch. He blinked at her form in the dark as she shifted around repeatedly to try to get comfortable, finally settling on her side.

"Tomorrow morning we're going surfing," was her only response through the dark, her voice muffled by the blankets.

Drakken watched the too-quick rise and fall of her shoulder as she breathed. After several moments of indecision, he finally sighed and crawled beneath the blankets himself. He would give her her tropical vacation... But forever after, Christmas would be done his way.

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

A good night's sleep, thankfully, had helped with the start of a new day. Drakken still felt his favorite holiday was a loss for the year, but worse was the idea of an upset Shego for days or even longer. So he kept his mourning about Christmas to himself and instead greeted her that morning with his best smile as soon as he felt her shift in the beginnings of wakefulness.

Shego was surprised, blinking blearily up at him as he imposed above her, but her hands instinctively and sleepily gripped the fabric of at his shoulders.

"Merry Christmas Eve," Drakken said, before continuing the greeting with a kiss.

To his relief and joy, Shego responded, and from there they picked up where he'd forced them to leave off the night before.

Later, after the joint shower Shego insisted on—for time, was the excuse—and then a quick continental breakfast, they were back in their room with Shego hurrying him to dress for the surfing.

"Are you sure I won't need a wetsuit?" Drakken asked.

Shego's groaned reply told him he'd asked that question too many times since leaving the lair.

"The water is warm... And the waves aren't that choppy, even you should be able to handle them."

"Need I remind you that I have achieved many a death-defying stunt, a number of them at your side."

"And I'm not going to be babysitting you to make sure you don't drown or get eaten by sharks while you—"

Shego stopped short as Drakken held up his swim trunks in front of him with a smile.

"Where...did you get...those?" Shego asked slowly, her eyes wide and her expression incredulous.

"On ePier," Drakken said with a half-grin, admiring his one-of-a-kind Snowman Hank swim trunks.

"Wait...wait is that what you were freaking out over that one time?"

Drakken glanced away guiltily, and Shego continued.

"When you were going to spend half the funds for our new plan on something but I stopped you and you lost the bidding and had a tantrum?"

Drakken huffed as he changed into the swim attire. "Thanks to you I had to hack the website..."

"For...those?"

Drakken looked up to see her expression had changed from one of shock and annoyance to one of amusement.

"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"They're so...so..."

Drakken glanced down.

"Old fashioned," Shego finished with a choked sound, holding back laughter.

The swim trunks were shorter than the modern styles he'd seen in Shego's magazines, and the material was different as well. The design had Hank's face directly in the front, his red nose centered and handlebar mustache leading to where the shorts split in the middle for his legs. The rest of the design was a teal backdrop with falling snow. Truthfully, Drakken wished the beloved character hadn't been split in the design, but they were the only adult Snowman Hank swim trunks ever made.

"Probably for the best he never had the carrot nose."

"What?" Drakken said, looking up.

Shego blinked at him and then shook her head. "Never-mind... Don't forget sunscreen. We'll be more likely to burn when we're on the water."

Drakken checked that they had everything they would need in the large beach bag as Shego changed, distracted from his task by stealing several glances at her as she changed into a new suit—black and patterned over with teal tropical leaves and red and pink flowers, all of which set off her skin tone beautifully.

"Got everything?" Shego asked as she pushed her sunglasses onto her face.

"Mm-hm," Drakken said automatically, still staring as Shego slipped a wrap on over her suit and dropped a straw hat onto her head.

"Then let's go."

Drakken tried to focus on Shego's surfing instructions as they walked the halls, keeping his eyes on either her or the floor as to avoid seeing the abominable decor that was a sad mimic of his favorite holiday. Poinsettias were ruined for him forever, not that he had ever liked them much to begin with, and he was struggling not to now view Christmas trees and lights as mere commercial trappings as opposed to the joyful memory-inducing traditions he had grown up with and cherished all his life.

They exited the hotel and continued the short distance to the beach, where Drakken noted with mild interest a stage had been set up for a concert later, and there were a few tents and a massive blow-up snowman at least twenty-five feet high that he could only see the back of from that angle. Drakken tried not to cringe and hoped there wasn't too much more non-traditional holiday decor to distract him from trying to make Shego happy on her desired vacation.

They walked amid a crowd towards a surprising number of vendors' tents and where the surfboard rental was located. But when they arrived finally on the beach and could fully view everything, they both stopped short. Shego recoiled with a cringe of disgust, while Drakken's eyes widened and his face bloomed into a smile of unbridled joy.

The giant blow-up snowman was in fact...Snowman Hank. A quick glance around showed that many of the vendors were selling Snowman Hank merchandise, some of which was new that Drakken had never seen before, while another tent had a sign that clearly said "vintage." The banner above the stage read "Hank-a-palooza" and Drakken realized that a number of tourists were wearing Snowman Hank t-shirts, had Snowman Hank inflatables, and were carrying a variety of other merchandise. In the two nearest tents they saw small TVs playing the beloved movie.

"I..."

"Why...?"

Neither of the couple had a chance to further their thoughts, as a passing man suddenly noticed Drakken's swim trunks and approached him.

"Dude! Which tent did you get those at? The vintage shop said they haven't seen those in years!"

"I...bought them on ePier," Drakken answered haltingly.

"Aw man... I won a pair there once, but somehow after the bidding had closed someone else snuck in a higher one. Must have been last second."

Drakken swallowed and gave a nervous smile.

"Well, see you at the show tonight!"

"Wait," Shego interjected, and Drakken thought her voice sounded a bit hoarse, "what show tonight?"

"You mean you don't know?" the man answered incredulously. "It's Hank-a-palooza! Oh you're tourists, huh..."

Drakken nodded, looking past the man at a person in a Snowman Hank costume that must have been absurdly hot in the heat and humidity on the beach, standing next to a snow-cone stand and delivering the product to eager children.

"Yeah we do this every year, man! At first it was small, sort of a cult gathering thing according to everyone else around. But after the show stopped airing on Christmas Eve...it exploded! And it got even bigger once we got permission to air the show on local networks."

Drakken thought to the night before and Shego's hiding of the remote. He glanced at her, his brow raised in question. She hurriedly looked away and began fidgeting with her hair.

"Tonight the Rocky Mountain Boys are playing all the songs from the movie, and after the concert we'll have a midnight screening on the beach!"

Drakken felt a fresh bubble of joy rise up inside of him and he grabbed Shego's arm in glee as his feet began dancing in excitement.

"Like a drive-in?"

"Yeah, but just laid out on the beach man! Best of both worlds!"

"Ohhhh will they serve cocoa-moo and peanut butter stickies?"

"Dude," the man scoffed, "we can't watch Snowman Hank without his signature Christmas treats!"

"Ohhh goody! Shego! Christmas is saved after all!"

Shego pulled against Drakken's hold on her arm slightly, and though she wore sunglasses he could see the barely concealed grimace on her face. But her look couldn't burst his bubble of happiness as he considered that he'd still get to have one of his most important traditions, and in a bigger way than ever before. The only way it could be better is if they would be curled in front of a fireplace on a snowy evening.

"...Yeah," she finally said, drawing out the word. Drakken felt the first twinge of worry as she used her free hand to pry at his fingers on her arm. He released her then and stared at her hidden eyes in concern. "Right now we're going surfing, so," she turned a fake smile to the man who had joined them, "thank you so much!"

And with that, she grabbed Drakken's elbow and dragged him in the direction of the surf board rentals.

As they walked there were a number of comments and call-outs from passers-by about Drakken's vintage swim trunks, and he acknowledged them enthusiastically. But it seemed that Shego's grip became tighter each time. Drakken couldn't feel too concerned though at seeing more Snowman Hank decor and memorabilia than he'd ever dreamed. They passed tents with speakers playing his favorite songs, and it lifted him back into the holiday joy he had feared lost on the vacation. He felt hope for the first time that perhaps he could do both—give Shego the vacation she wanted, and still enjoy Christmas.

When they reached the surfboard rental stand, Shego finally let go of his arm.

"You didn't put on sunscreen yet, did you," she said with an edge, beginning to fumble in their bag.

"No... But, Shego! We can still enjoy Christmas!"

She turned toward him suddenly, lowering her sunglasses and revealing the fire in her eyes.

"We are not lying on the beach tonight and watching a singing snowman on a giant screen. I was trying to get away from all of that!"

Drakken recoiled, all of the warmth inside him fading to something chilled even as the sun continued to heat his skin.

"You...? You don't like Chri—"

"Come on, it's our turn," Shego cut him off and strode past him to the stand, her sunglasses hiding her eyes again.

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

Throughout the day of surfing, hula lessons, and partaking of tropical meals including something disgusting called poi, Drakken found he missed the previous day when he had only been cringing over the island's defiling of his favorite holiday and mourning the loss of his favorite traditions for the year. Now it was worse, with the fear that Shego loathed his favorite holiday.

He had spent the day putting on a brave face, both to make Shego happy and also in hopes of bargaining for Snowman Hank that night. Some of the island activities had even been fun. He didn't know yet what she had planned for Christmas day, except the traditional exchange of gifts and a Luau for dinner in the evening. Since he had been going along with all of her whims, he didn't think the one night of watching his favorite movie was too much to ask for. He just needed the opportunity to bring it up. And perhaps find out why she didn't like Christmas, too.

The sun was already setting, it being winter, and the air was a little less humid. He suggested a walk along the beach, and Shego, who had been in good humor since their surfing that morning, readily agreed.

With clouds layered across the sky, the sun was well-hidden and shades of violet directly above morphed down into reds, pinks, and finally gold at the horizon. The light they walked in the slow-rolling surf was already fairly dim, and Drakken allowed himself to forget about his concerns as he simply enjoyed the feel of his wife's hand in his and her warmth at his side.

This feeling only grew when Shego drew near to him and set her head on his shoulder, her arm moving to wrap around his waist. He matched the gesture and was glad they had found a secluded area, hidden by trees and some volcanic rock as Shego stepped up on her toes to kiss him.

"Mmmh, sit with me," she said softly when their lips parted, and before Drakken knew it, she was drawing him down into the break of the waves on the sand. He didn't mind, as they had just finished another round of surfing until the light grew too dim, and he drew her close as she settled between his legs, knees drawn up to her chest in a position reminiscent of that at the airport the morning prior. He set his legs beside hers and wrapped his arms around her, and she nestled back against him.

Drakken took a deep breath.

"Shego?" he asked as a wave broke over their feet and dampened the bottom of their suits where they sat in the sand. "Why don't you like Christmas?"

Shego stiffened slightly in his embrace, but after a moment she relaxed. Her hair was draped back over Drakken's shoulder and it tickled his arm where the breeze blew it. She leaned back to glance up at him slightly, and then looked back out at the waves slowly rolling up the beach.

"It's not that I don't like it," she replied with a sigh. "It's more...I've had enough."

"Had enough?" Drakken pressed, unsure what she meant. They had never gone as overboard as he wanted to during villainy out of necessity. One year in fact he had even forgone almost everything for the sake of a world domination plan, so he wasn't sure how to interpret her words.

"Yeah. It's all too commercial. I'm not even sure why you enjoy..." Shego gestured idly as if to the array of decor he would have liked to put up, "all of it. And..." she said through a breath, "I'm not sure how to...how to do all those things, either."

Drakken furrowed his brow in thought. "Don't know how to do it?"

"You know how my family grew up. And then after the comet, everything was different... We didn't do these...big extravaganzas that you like. And I'm sorry Dr. D., but it all just feels fake anyway."

Drakken thought again, and as he was about to reply Shego drew another breath.

"The cheap little holiday things my family did were enough anyway. Christmas wasn't about all the lights and traditions, it was about...being with each other."

The last was nearly mumbled, and Drakken wondered what sad memories of the past she had drug up to be able to answer him honestly. He watched the slow roll of another wave across the sand as he held her closer, drawing a breath through his nose before giving his own response.

"That's a lot of why I enjoy the traditions."

"What?" Shego asked, looking up at him.

"Because they were things I used to...do with my family. With my mother. And...sometimes I think I remember putting strings of popcorn around a tree as my father held me up... But I might be imagining that."

Shego shifted a little to see him better, her eyes encouraging him to continue.

"I think it's...the memories everything carries," he concluded, meeting her eyes, his brow twisting upward as he hoped for her understanding. Shego met his gaze with wide eyes for a moment before she looked down with a grimace.

"You really wanna go to that thing tonight," she said with a scoff.

Drakken blinked, the hope falling to worry. "Please, Shego?"

He watched as her look gradually seemed to soften then, her eyes alive as they clearly raced over something she was processing. Finally, she turned to look up at him.

"Just this—"

"Oh, thank you Shego!" he said, giving her a squeeze and mushing her face against his jaw.

"Just this one thing, though," she finished, her voice a bit muffled.

Drakken nodded, her damp hair rubbing against his cheek. Things wouldn't be the same or the way his heart wanted, but at least he could still have Snowman Hank...and bigger and better than ever before.

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Shego leaned back on her sun lounger, watching Drakken. He was swaying in a line of other people, his arms around them and theirs around him as the final song of the concert was played from the stage and everyone sang along loudly with them. After that there would be a short break before the movie would begin, and Shego had taken the opportunity to get in line for hot chocolate and snacks before the rush, and so was already settled and waiting for the raucous event to end.

She glanced at Drakken occasionally in the minutes following the wild applause as he happily chatted with fellow fans of the cartoon snowman, but it wasn't too long before they all went back to their own groups, or joined the massive crowd now seeking refreshment. Shego was looking up at the lights strung between trees when she finally heard Drakken's feet running toward her.

"You're going to kick a bunch of sand up here!" she protested, sitting up quickly in the dark.

"Shego! If we don't hurry they'll run out of—"

Shego's holding up of the cups of hot chocolate stopped him, and she watched him study the beverages in her hands and then the plate of peanut butter stickies on the blanket next to her, along with some other treats she had procured that she would enjoy.

"Is that mango?" Drakken asked as he sat down in his own chair and settled in across from her.

"Yes," she said, handing him his cup.

"That's not really in the spirit of the season," Drakken protested mildly.

Shego gave him a look. "In case you forgot, I'm not really in the spirit of the season."

Drakken's face fell slightly, and Shego mentally kicked herself. She thought back over the day, and how he had gone along with everything she wanted to do without complaint.

It was true she didn't like cartoons. Especially ones with singing animals and anthropomorphized objects. It was an interest she simply couldn't share with Drakken. And she had been rather bothered herself by the non-traditional decor, both for the fact that she had been trying to escape commercial trappings, and also that everything she considered 'Christmas' had a strange different spin to it that made her feel even more out of place.

All she had wanted for the holiday was the beach, and him.

"Tomorrow night is your Luau," Drakken said, breaking through her thoughts. His voice was slightly unsteady. "I'm curious about this cooking a pig underground... But I don't want to try poi again."

Drakken grimaced at the thought apparently as he picked up a peanut butter sticky and took a bite. His face cleared then as he smiled, but Shego still saw hints of worry creasing his forehead. She thought again to everything he had done for her that day, to give her the Christmas she had wanted.

"But first, we have the morning," she said carefully, drawing his attention. "We can have room service bring us...whatever we want for breakfast, and I have some gifts to put under the tree for you. Even if it is the wrong kind of tree."

Shego watched as Drakken hesitated to respond, his eyes revealing his uncertainty over her gesture.

"It would be nice if it were a morning like this one was, too," she said, standing up suddenly to squeeze into his chair next to him.

Drakken's face flushed, and he only responded by looking at her curiously as he swallowed down the treat with a drink of hot chocolate.

Shego let her gaze fall for a moment. "Sorry...if I ruined your Christmas."

Drakken set his cup down and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to lay across his chest.

"You didn't," he said with a warm smile.

Shego could taste the chocolate on his lips when he kissed her, and the warmth that bloomed in her chest was not from the hot beverage they had partaken in. She wanted to take the moment further, but Drakken broke away suddenly and she watched his eyes lift and his face brighten with joy.

"It's starting!" he said with glee, giving her a squeeze. Every hint of disappointment or uncertainty was gone from his face as he looked at the large, colorful titles being projected across the giant screen strung up between palm trees. Shego couldn't help herself but to chuckle. She had chosen this man, after all.

"Oh, Shego, could you hand me my cocoa-moo?"

Shego reached down to the blanket and carefully passed him his beverage and then moved the plate of snacks to rest on his thigh where they could both reach them. She took a sip of her own drink before nestling down against his shoulder, the strains of the song that was becoming familiar finally registering in her ears.

"'It's not the turkey and the stuffing, nor the gifts around the tree,'" Drakken began quoting along with the opening theme. "'It's a warm and fuzzy feeling, that begins with you...?'"

He stopped and looked down to Shego, his brow raised. The dialogue of the movie had continued on—something about putting away petty problems—as he stared into her eyes with nothing but love. She felt the warmth in her chest again and returned his look as she leaned up to kiss him, her lips brushing his as she completed the spoken lyric.

"'And me.'"

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