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hhjs · 3 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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leejeongz · 3 years

Text

fluffy a-z SUNGHOON (enhypen)

requested: yes, by anon

🔅the comeback!!???!!!?! amazing. i just had to write this today i just HAD TO. this is really long but nevertheless i hope you enjoy🔅

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

he loves holding your hand even at the most random times. if you seem anxious or upset, his hand slowly creeps closer to yours, just to remind you that he’s there. he’s not a fan of pda, but holding your hand is just fine :D. (taken from my enha as boyfriends post)

he messes up your hair (but only when he knows it’s okay to do so, he knows his place lol) when you do something silly or cute. he also does it when he’s first introducing you to people too. he’ll be all like “this is y/n, my gf/bf/partner” and then ruffle your hair, just to once again show them that you’re his.

similarly, he loves when you play with his hair. he’ll purposely rest in head in your lap so that your hands naturally fall to his hair. sometimes, he accidentally drifts off to sleep like that and then wakes up a few minutes later all smiley hehe.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

you don’t have the chance to meet up a lot, most of your contact is via text since he doesn’t have the time to call you all day, every day. he’s super supportive of you, he’s your wingman, your hype man and your parent all in one. he looks out for you as much as possible and (even if you’re not younger than him) he treats you like his younger sibling.

there’s always a lot of laughter when you two are together that stems from the assortment of inside jokes that you share. you can talk for hours despite neither of you being the talkative type (mainly about other people lmao.)

as a pair, you’re often misunderstood. people never associate you with each other but you just know that you don’t always need to be with each other to still be the closest of friends. when you are together, you’re an intimidating duo that people often avoid through fear, but you’re actually really nice 🥺😔

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

he uses cuddles as a way to distract you and/or annoy you. can and will be the big spoon every time you cuddle. he loves cuddling with you, holding you or just touching you, he’s just shy okay. he loves having you in his arms and holding you, especially when he knows you’ve chosen to cuddle with him over doing something important. cuddling with him just makes him want to cuddle all day :((. so if you start cuddling at 10am, except to still be in his arms at 7pm. more so than cuddling, he likes draping his legs over you “to irritate you” (he just wants to be close to you hehe). it makes him feel like he’s protecting you without it being too hot and stuffy and oppressive.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

there’s no time frame for him when it comes to settling down. he wants to settle down but there’s no deadline for him. he’s not actively looking for the love of his life at any point, he’s never going to force himself to be in love just for the sake of creating family. he thinks about settling down a lot, he wants a pet with the person he loves for sure, he’s excited for that day to come, but it doesn’t have to happen soon.

cleaning, he’s fabulous at. the house or apartment is minimalistic anyway, so things that are out of place are easy for him to spot and move. he almost enjoys doing chores with you even, just because he’s spending time with you. when it comes to cooking,,, like sure he’s confident which is so sweet but that doesn’t always mean a good meal. but please don’t tell him that else he’ll get really sad and disappointed in himself.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

if he was to break up with you, it would probably be a “right person wrong time” kinda thing. he wouldn’t get into a relationship if he didn’t see a future with that person, he’s very picky to find the perfect person for him. you’re definitely the right person, but he’s just too busy right now being an idol. he feels guilty for not spending time with you and so he wants to let you live you life, without being tied down so early on. he’d hope that you’d wait for him, but he’d understand it if you didn’t.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

commitment is a big part of the relationship for him. he would want commitment from day one, even if he's not officially your boyfriend yet.

he doesn’t care when you get married, but he definitely wants to get married someday. he likes the idea of dedicating one whole day to celebrating your love for each other, and sharing that with friends and family too. it would quite literally be the best day of his life. he’d propose to you pretty quickly into the relationship, but at a time that felt right. you both knew it was something that you wanted, that you dreamed your relationship would last forever, so why not propose?! he doesn’t mind eating years for the wedding though, it’s a big deal and everything has to be perfect.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

emotionally, he acts quite tough. he doesn’t want to be seen as weak, but at the same time he wants to show his emotions to let you know that’s he’s mature, and that emotions aren’t a sign of weakness. he often keeps really troubling things to himself until he can tell you and you only. you’re the only person who knows him truly, you know everything about him because he’s only willing to share this stuff with you. when it comes to things in your relationship, he also isn’t afraid to speak his mind. he’s not trying to be gentle or tough with his emotions when it comes to you, everything seems like a natural reaction, he’ll cry when he wants to and he’ll be stubborn when he wants to.

physically, of course, he’s very gentle. every touch feels like feathers, every kiss, every hug, every smile, it’s all just very soft and gentle. you notice that he talks to you differently too. his tone with others appears harsher and more blunt than with you. with you, it’s like he’s talking to a baby (in a non- condescending way ofc he’s very mature and you’re not allowed to forget that)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

when he’s congratulating you on something, when he’s proud of you for something, he hugs you. it’s better for him to communicate using hugs rather than telling you because he’s a little shy saying it, even though he means it.

he likes when you rest your head by his neck, while his arms are holding you close. he kisses where your ear is through your hair or your head while you’re hugging and (when he manages to finally say it) whispers a little “i love you”. it’s a tight hug, but it doesn’t last long. when you pull away, he reaches out to hold your hand, he doesn’t want to separate just yet.

if you initiate the hug, he laughs and grunts and lot just to tease you, but don’t be fooled he’s really happy that you are hugging him!!!

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

oh you pair beat around the bush a whole lot. it’s pretty much unspoken for the first year or so. although you never said it to each other, you both knew.

it wasn’t until sunghoon had left you for a little bit while he went on tour (not left as in broke up, just went out of the country lmao idk how to write that in a coherent sentence big sorry) that you realised that you should probably say it. he returned home and it was on that day that you told him you loved him while nestled against his chest in a satisfying hug after such a long time apart. he said it back straight away, looking down at you and waiting expectedly for your lips to meet with his.

he was always waiting for you to say it first, there were moments when he thought he should just say it, but he wanted to wait, he wanted to hear you say it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

he gets jealous quite quickly and he always makes you aware of his jealousy no matter how petty the situation may be. he wouldn’t try to hide it, or compromise with you, he wants you all to himself so if there’s even a chance that another boy could possibly be flirting with you, he’ll be mad.

that being said, he’d definitely voice his opinions in a mature and well thought through manner. he would think of how to say things to make you understand where he’s coming from without trying to guilt trip you into unfriending that person, he doesn't want to be THAT guy. he’ll just explain his side and wait to hear your response, and often times it turns into a sarcastic, inside joke which reassures him a lot. he’s just like “fine, go to the cafe with him, but he wouldn’t know which smoothie you like best, would he?!”

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

him initiating kisses? few and far between. but when he does, you know he means it. he loves all types of kisses, he just wants to cover you in kisses sometimes, but he’s gotta keep up his image of course. pecks on the lips and longer, more passionate kisses are his favourites though, he just can’t get enough of your lips. (taken from my enha as boyfriends post)

as i mentioned in the hugging part, he likes to kiss your head or place a kiss where he thinks your ear is while hugging. it sends a rush though the both of you, it just really makes you both think about how lucky you are to have each other.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

a little awkward at first. he’s not sure how to talk to them, and every time he speaks the kids are just like ”??” because he says things that are a little too mature for them.

it will take him some time to be comfortable and confident around the kids, but he wants to be liked by them and he wants them to be happy so he will not give up until that happens.

although, it does have to be said, he’d much rather have a pet than a kid 😳

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

usually, sunghoon wakes up before you. he gets up before you wake up too, and sits and stares at the wall with a blank mind, just to wake himself up a bit. once you get up, he’s gonna ask if you wanna go back to bed again and cuddle and/or watch some tv together when he has a day off. if you agree, he’d bring some toast with him for you both to eat. but if not, you’d just grab some cereal together and eat while sat around your dining table in silence because he does not want to talk first thing in the morning (valid,,, extremely valid)

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

sunghoon is a big fan of evening dates as opposed to going somewhere during the day. everywhere is quieter and this is usually his free time so you have him all to yourself, you can do whatever you want together. as much as he enjoys going to fancy restaurants, bars and what not (which usually take you into the late hours of the night), he’d still rather spend some time at home with you.

on those nights that he can spend at home with you, he likes to just rest with you. chilling on the sofa just watching some episodes of your favourite show, ordering a takeaway. you share your thoughts about the show and that’s all you really talk about while it’s on, but afterwards you talk about your day and head to bed, where you cuddle until you both fall asleep (which is pretty quickly since you stayed up late to watch more tv)

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

like anyone, he overshares when you first start dating due to nerves. you learn a lot about him through this and he’s actually pretty grateful that you do the same thing. you pretty much know everything about him before actually getting into a relationship. throughout the relationship, he’d never try to hide his feelings about certain things and would be pretty hurt if you used things that he’d told you against him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

with you, he doesn’t get that angry. you’d have to do something really vile for him to show actual aggression and disappointment. with other people, it’s not so simple. he finds a lot of things that other people do irritating but he wouldn’t show his anger there and then. he’s more likely to go home and get angry there. he’d appreciate someone to talk to about it, a shoulder to cry on perhaps. definitely an angry crier (cries when he’s angry) and likes to slam doors to make a point.

he’s not afraid of confrontation when something that someone did is actually wrong. he will stand up for what he believes in and it’s worth putting a friendship on the line given their opposing opinions.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

this bitch acts SO dumb when you ask him stuff but he knows… he knows everything. everything you’ve ever said is stored in his brain, probably written in his notes app as a back up. he’s ready to spring this knowledge on you at any point. he knows exactly what you like and what you dislike, important dates, about your childhood, he even remembers how certain things he did made you feel, so he could do them more or avoid them in the future. but of course, if you ask him, he knows nothing.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

you weren’t even together officially at this point, but when he turned up at your place on prom night. he’ll never forget how stunned he was when he saw you looking all glamorous that evening. you had some photos taken as a pair, egged on by your friends of course because you’d never normally do that, and he looks at them a lot. he can’t help but think how great you look as a couple (and how you two are going to look on wedding photos 🥺). he had a rose prepared for you, a white one because he knew it would go with your outfit, whatever colour it was and also because of its symbolism. he really wanted to confess when he handed it to you, but he over thought it a lot and the moment ended up passing too quickly. that’s his favourite memory. something that he’ll never forget.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i know i said he got jealous a lot, but he’d distance himself when it actually came to it. he’d be jealous in his own space until you two were alone rather than being protective while the act that made him feel that way was ongoing. as i mentioned above, he does indeed want you all to himself, but he’d hate to cause unnecessary drama and have you lose friends over a silly misunderstanding.

if you were clearly very uncomfortable around someone, he’d be there with an arm wrapped around you. you’d both like to think that his presence alone is intimidating enough, but sometimes he has to resort to harsh one liners to get them to back off.

i don’t think he’d ever get into a physical fight. it’s not that you’re not worth it, but he just feels it would make the situation worse.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he really wants to put a lot of effort into your dates, but he finds it difficult because one, he has no time and two, he doesn’t want to disappoint you/organise something you end up hating. most dates are spontaneous and on a whim, but also like… planned in both of your minds. like you know you want to go and you know he wants to go, but it’s not confirmed that it will actually happen until the time of the date if that makes sense. when it comes to it, he gets really shy asking you out on dates, so you’ve kind of just started to read each other’s minds lmao.

he never forgets your birthday or your anniversary. he makes a big deal out of your anniversary because it’s a celebration of you both, he wants to make you feel special and will do everything he can to do so. you pair make your own traditions when it comes to days like that, and he looks forward to them a lot. your birthday is pretty much left down to you (other than his gift for you of course). he doesn’t want to do a poor job of planning anything for your special day so he just leaves it and hopes that you do something instead, if you wanted a party you should have organised it. he would help you plan it thought, anything you want he’d do for you.

his gifts are always things that you like. things that you can treasure and things that you can display and show off are his go to. jewellery is a common gift that you receive from him and every single piece that he’s picked out is so delicate and beautiful.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

when you pair are out with mutual friends, he likes to tease you. sometimes he takes it too far without realising it, the atmosphere becomes tense and he becomes even more awkward and wants to leave the situation just to apologise to you but realises it will probably make everything 10 times more awkward.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he’s a handsome teenager surrounded by other pretty people of course he’s gonna have some concerns about how he looks. actually i don’t think concerns would be the right word. he’s very confident in his appearance, why wouldn’t he be, but he also thinks that everyone else should be too, everyone is attractive in their own way. in reality, he’s very humble about how handsome he is despite constantly flexing his visuals lmao.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

you do a lot for him, not just as in help him out with cooking or whatever, but his mental state. you’ve allowed him to mature a lot and he’s become more emotionally intelligent with you.

he’d hate to think of how his life would be if he wasn’t with you, he wouldn’t be the same person at all.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

one of the first dates you went on was to build a bear, it was his idea surprisingly (he wanted to see which animal/character you picked out, okay?!) you stuffed each other’s teddies and returned them to each other in time to name them. you named yours sunghoon first, he followed by naming his y/n. you both sleep with them on the bed and hug them tightly when you’re not together :( (but your never tell each other that’s what you do lol)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

people who are all up in his face. just back off, yeah? chill out for a second. he gets that you’re excited, and he wouldn’t want to bring you down, but you don’t need to get up in his grill. personal space is a big one for him. if you don’t respect that, then he’s not gonna have any time for you.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

the prettiest sleeper on the planet. his lips are slightly separated and his eyelashes often flutter as if he’s about to wake up, but it’s actually just a sign of him having a really pleasant dream.

#enhypen #sunghoon #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon #park sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon imagines

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zhongliologist · 3 years

Text

Surprises | Sub! Zhongli

Pairing: Zhongli x GN!Reader

Genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT!!!

Words: 1.4k

A/N: A short one for now (bc im lazy and i just wrote this on my phone skskks) but I just needed to get this out of my system bc all week all i thought about was naked apron zhongli and politics,,, not a good combination

Warning: THIS IS AN 18+ FIC, SO MINORS OUT THERE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

It was by the end of a long adventure when you decided to return home to Liyue—home to your ex-Archon husband who had been patiently waiting for you.

The situation has always been like this, and perhaps someday it will change but you decided to cross that bridge when you get there.

As for now, what's important was the fact that you were back at home, lugging around your heavy backpack as you open the door, yet only to be greeted by something you hadn't expected, not in a million years.

"Z-Zhongli…? What—"

With eyes wide, your luggage fell to the floor along with your jaw. There in front of the kitchen counter was your beloved husband, still handsome and elegant though his attire has proven otherwise. Only covered by a flimsy plain-looking apron, you could see his whole package without much impediment.

"Oh, it seems you have returned, my love," he replied as if he wasn't naked except for an apron.

You closed your eyes as you held on to the dining table for support.

"Right, yes, yes I'm back," you replied, sighing. "But more importantly, could you please explain to me why you're wearing that?"

Zhongli only raised his brows at you.

"Oh this? Is it not to your liking, my love? Childe has informed me that this could improve our relationship."

Upon hearing the Snezhnayan troublemaker's name, you sighed again, this time much louder.

"You really should stop taking advice from him, Zhongli."

A long hum followed, his hands now on his chin as if thinking deeply—or as deeply as you could in a naked apron.

"Then I suppose it is not to your liking then," he plainly replied and you groaned.

It's not like you didn't like it—you really like the view of his buttcheeks for one—but this is just….it's just….

You pursed your lips. You're running out of reasons why this isn't good.

"That's not the point," you told him, walking towards his direction and placing a hand on his chest. "I...just—"

Looking up, you were met with amber orbs, gazing down on you and waiting patiently for you to continue. Yet there was no hope for your reply, you were utterly mesmerized by him at that moment—realizing that you had missed him so much and now he was right there in front of you.

"YN?" Zhongli called your attention, concerned why you had stalled in the midst of your sentence.

Biting your lip, you tried to hold off lustful thoughts before you could turn them into actions. But there was no escape. As he wrapped his solid arms around your waist and gently kissed your forehead, you knew you can't stop yourself from ravishing him. It has been too long afterall.

Gazing into his eyes, you slowly inched yourself closer to him—face flushed as you bumped noses which made the both of you smile at each other.

"You know what, I won't question the apron anymore."

With those words, you captured his lips in a soft, gentle kiss as you poured all your love for Zhongli. You missed this, you missed his warmth and the gentle strength of his embrace. He must've felt the same way too, as you felt him grow stiffer underneath the apron.

Gradually, the nips and bites became deeper, tongues exploring each other again after such a long time. It was quite obvious this wouldn't end with a simple make out session, and while you would rather have a shower first, you were far too horny to care.

"Zhongli…" you whispered above his lips, exchanging pecks. "I want to take you here…"

The man could only flush at your suggestion yet he nodded nonetheless. It has been a while since you were inside of him and the mere thought of it made his shaft twitch in anticipation.

With one last long drawn kiss, you hurriedly went to the bedroom and got all the things you needed, including some lubricant. When you returned, your husband was already turned towards the counter, his ass bare and ready for what's to come.

You grinned, spreading his asscheeks so you can take a good look of his hole.

"Have you been playing with yourself while I was away?" You asked, lathering your hands good with lube as well as his hole.

"I…mmn….y-yes…" Zhongli replied, bent against the counter with his ass on the air. It was such an erotic position, especially while you were teasing him, and it only fueled his arousal.

You hummed, fingers grazing around the rim. "Tell me what you'd do."

"Nghh….I would...t-touch myself…! A-aaahn! Y-YN…!" he struggled to reply, his words punctuated by moans while you inserted one digit.

"Oh? Touch yourself where, my love?" You continued, pumping in and out of him, preparing him for something much bigger.

Zhongli was beginning to feel delirious. Your fingers thrusting inside his hole was already too much, but when you began teasing his hardened nipples, he couldn't help but loose all coherent thought.

"Eughh….! Nnmm…! Y-YN….n-not so fast...I—!"

"Not until you answer my question," you replied calmly though that was simply an act. You were just as aroused as him,watching as he arched his back, or when he makes such a debauched face everytime you hit a really good spot.

"I-I…! Nnghh….rub...my cock...mmn!!" He groaned as you follow his words, hands pumping his now engorged length.

"Like this?"

With half-lidded eyes, he moaned in ecstasy as you stimulated both his cock and his hole. He had truly missed this sensation of almost passing out in pleasure.

"Y-yes...yes!! F-fuck…love...nnghh!!" He whispered as if in a state of trance. "M-my...my hole...too…"

At this point, his words only served to arouse you more—wanting more than ever to fill him up. There was just something erotic with a submissive Zhongli that you jist can't help getting turned on with.

"You...like it...in here, don't you?" You pushed three digits in roughly, making Zhongli arch his back against the counter as his dick leaked pre-cum.

"O-oohhh….! Hhnghhh….! Y-YN…! P-please...please….I—"

Grinning, you suddenly slapped his ass, making him tighten up around your fingers. You knew he was ready for you, and you couldn't take it anymore. He was just to sexy, too arousing, too erotic. You wanted to fuck him so badly right now.

Without warning, you removed your fingers and began lathering your shaft with his juices alongside with a generous serving of lube. Pressing the tip against his now gaping hole, you were asking him permission one final time.

"Please….Y-YN…! F-fill me up….!"

With those words, you thrusted inside of him in an instant; knocking his breath away. Zhongli could feel you so deep inside him, making him so full and stretched. It felt so good he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Z-Zhongli…! Mmnhn….! I'll move now…."

Thrusting sharply inside, he made a loud moan as you continued to pump in and out of him. You were rough but it felt so good and you were sure your husband was in the same boat as well, hearing him mutter your name repeatedly as if under a spell.

"Y-YN….YN…! S-so big…nnghh….! F-feelsh...so….good...mmmnh…!!"

"How...about this then…?"

You smirked and began playing with his nipple and his rather lonely cock. It will only be a matter of time before he cums as you felt his cock twitch everytime you hit his prostate.

"F-fuck….nnmmn!!! Y-YN…! Nnghh!! I'm...I—"

Pulling his ponytail, you bent over and kissed him on the lips; knowing full well that he was close to cumming. You were teetering at the edge as well, losing rhythm as you kept on thrusting inside his tight hole.

"H-hey….mmn...let's cum together…" you whispered as you buried your face against his neck, as you buried yourself deep in him as well.

"Y-YN….!! O-oohh….! I'm….! Aaaaghhh….aaaahhbn….! I-I….c-cumming….!"

In a few sharp thrusts, Zhongli released himself on the wooden counter as your hand continued to pump him—merciless until you followed him right after.

Taking a few breathes, you slipped out of him as you supported his weight; worried he might fall to the floor. Gazing at each other, the both of you shared one simple kiss before continuing to embrace each other.

"I...missed you…" you whispered to his ear, basking in the afterglow.

"Me too….my love…"

For a while, the two of you stayed like this until you broke the silence.

"You know, why don't we skip breakfast and continue in the bedroom," you suggested as your husband grinned at you. "I'll let you top this time."

"Very well," he replied, and made a mental note to thank Childe with another pair of gilded chopsticks.

#genshin impact #zhongli #schlongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #nsfvv

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yikesharringrove · 3 years

Note

Steveikes to think he can hold his own in the bedroom with billy but as soon as Billy’s starts with his particularly nasty brand of dirty talk, calling his ass a pussy and a cunt, talking about how he wants to keep Steve in his bed open and ready for him 24/7, how he wants to fuck him over the hood of the camaro or have Steve ride him while he’s speeding down the highways,,, yeah Steve goes dumb with it, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a long and loud groan, mind racing with all the filthy shit billy keeps feeding him with

Steve’s never had any complaints.

The people he’s slept with have always been well and truly sated.

He likes taking care of his partners, making sure they finished, that they felt good and comfortable.

He loves pleasuring his partners, sucking dick or eating pussy, making them feel good.

So it’s not that he thinks he’s some sex god or something like that, but he’d definitely say he’s not bad.

And he figures going into it with Billy, he’d stand a chance. Get to share in the give and take that Steve’s sex life almost always is.

And that holds up the first few times they have sex. When kinks haven’t really come out to play yet.

Billy’s good. His stroke came is not to be doubted, and his cock is nice, thick and heavy. Makes Steve feel so good.

Plus, like, he’s really great to look at.

So yeah, Steve’s having a good time. Participating fully in sex.

Until one night.

After a party at Stacey Adams’ house.

They’re both a little crossed, and Steve feels loose, feels good, Billy on top of him, lazily kissing his neck.

He’s coherent, and in his body.

Until Billy takes his wrists, presses them in one hand to the pillow above Steve’s head.

And pins him down, using all that bulky muscle to keep Steve just where he wants him.

And Steve’s not a small guy.

But he’s never felt more little, more meek and overpowered as he felt in that moment.

And Billy leaned forward, biting harshly on his neck before muttering in his ear, his breath hot against Steve’s skin.

“Can’t wait to get into that little cunt ‘a yours. Gonna destroy that pussy and make you beg for more.”

And Steve has never moaned so fucking loud before.

His eyes practically rolled back, his body arching closer to Billy’s, his shoulders straining from where his hands are still pinned above his head.

Because fuck. That’s new.

The dirty talk, the cunt mention, the begging.

And Steve wants it. He wants Billy to take him as hard as he can, to make him feel full and fucking good, to open up his hole and tell him what a nice pussy he has.

He just has the overwhelming urge to make Billy feel good.

Not in the way he usually does, to carefully and expertly pleasure his partner.

He wants Billy to use his body anyway he wants to get off. He wants him to take and take and take, to make Steve oversensitive and incoherent. He wants Billy to call the shots. To take control.

Fuck, he wants to be dominated.

Billy had one hand holding both of Steve’s wrists above his head, the other hand was sloppily pouring lube between Steve’s spread legs, making it drip coldly down his balls, run along his crack.

It was sloppy, and Billy grinned when he tossed the lube away, pressing one hand down to feel over Steve’s hole, purring in his ear.

“You’re so wet for me. This get you goin’? When I hold you down like a bitch? That what makes your cunt drip?”

It was gross, and so very hot.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to a girl like this. He’s pretty sure this is demeaning. And maybe that’s what makes it so good, the pure humiliation of it all.

“Tell me what you want, Sugar. Beg for it.”

Steve didn’t even have to think, Billy’s fingers gently circling his rim making him crazy and needy.

“Want you to finger me open, get me loose enough for your cock. Want you to fuck me hard. Fuck m-my, my pussy.”

His face burned, and his cock kicked, spitting precum over his stomach. Billy grinned. He pushed one thick finger forward, and Steve moaned loudly at the intrusion, the sweet pressure as he opened up for Billy.

“God, you’re so easy. Such a fucking slut. Don’t know how your pussy stays so tight, the way you gag for cock. Maybe I should just keep you nice and open then, what do you think? Tie you up in this bed, keep you plugged up and loose for me to use anytime I want. Nothing but a cocksleeve for me.”

“Yes, Billy, fuck. I want that. I want you to use me.”

Billy drew his finger out, pressing two in at once, pushing them in and spreading them open, making Steve’s toes curl.

“What will you let me do, Stevie? Let me fuck you in public? Bend you right over my car and take you in front of the whole fuckin’ town?”

“God, yeah. Show everyone what a whore I am for you.”

It was making Steve so goddamn hard, calling himself a whore. Being taken by one by now three of Billy’s fingers. Picturing himself being claimed, being fucked, in broad fucking daylight.

And then Billy’s fingers were gone, and Steve actually fucking whined.

“Really, Baby? You want my cock that bad?”

All Steve could muster was a pathetic little mmn-hmmn in confirmation.

Billy reached down to slick up his cock, sliding it along the excess lube all over Steve.

One little adjustment, and the blunt head of his dick was pushing against Steve’s hole, just teasing him, barely even breaching his rim.

Billy leaned forward over him, and Steve thought he was going in for a kiss, let his eyes flutter closed.

And something wet hit his cheek as Billy thrust forward, ramming his cock inside Steve the exact same moment he spat on him.

Steve cried out, his mind going blank as he writhed, back arching off the bed, shoulders flexing as Billy still held his arms over his head.

Billy was fucking him brutally, knocking the wind out of Steve with every buck of his hips.

It felt like Billy was everywhere, and Steve was just a drooling fucking mess, barely even registering the words coming out of Billy’s mouth.

“-filthy fucking slut. Just a wet hole for me to use. Don’t even give a fuck if you finish, just gonna fill your cunt with my cum, watch it drip outta you like some brain dead little bitch.”

It was so hot.

“B-Billy, feels so fu-ucking good,” Steve could barely get the words out as Billy rammed his cock in and out of him, stretching him so wide it was bordering on painful.

“Your little pussy’s so tight for me. So fucking wet, you’re makin’ a mess of the fucking bed. What’s Stacey gonna think? When she comes in here after the party and finds the sheets ruined. You think she’s gonna know? Know that it was King Steve who got sloppy enough to leave a goddamn puddle? Know that it was me who got you on your back? Stuffed my cock so far up your sweet cunt you won’t be able to sit tomorrow?”

“I-I want her to know. Want everyone to know.”

“To know what?”

“That I’m, you make me-I’m your slut. Want everyone to know how, how good you fuck me. And how w-wet my pussy gets for you,” Steve stuttered out, his cheeks burning.

And then the pressure on his wrists were gone, and all of a sudden Billy’s fist was closing tightly around Steve’s cock, stroking him in time with his rough thrusts.

“Should drive through town with you squirming on my cock. Roll down the windows, blast the radio, and let everyone see what a mess you turn into for my dick inside you.”

Billy gave one final tug, and Steve nearly screamed, his entire body going tight as he came all over them, covering himself and Billy with his cum.

He felt exhausted after, boneless and absolutely fucking ruined.

But Billy kept going, still fucking into Steve just as rough, just as brutal, getting himself off.

“That’s right, Sugar. Just lie back and let me take care of myself. Just use your fuckhole to finish off and leave you so sloppy and wet.”

And he did just that, bucking a few more times against Steve, sucking a punishing hickey onto Steve’s neck, no doubt leaving a huge mark Steve would probably whine about tomorrow.

He pulled out of Steve, sitting back on his heels to watch as his own spunk dripping slowly and beautifully out of Steve’s hole, puffy and pink and abused.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of Steve’s knee, the music from the party thumping away through the walls of the random bedroom.

Billy helped Steve stand up, pulling his underwear and jeans up and on for him, even buckling his belt, planting another kiss to Steve’s belly.

Steve felt loose, felt tired and fucked out. He felt fucking amazing.

“How was that?” Billy felt more on the nervous side.

Steve had gone along with everything Billy was talking about, had even cum harder than Billy’s ever seen, but he’s not sure.

“So fucking good, Bill. Gonna make you do that again someday soon.

Billy grinned at him as he zipped up his fly, pulling his shirt back on over his shoulders.

“‘Course, Baby. Gotta treat my princess right.”

Steve smiled at him softly, and they leaned in together for one last kiss before finding their ways out of the bedroom, leaving at different times, hoping not to draw any suspicious attention to themselves.

Steve caught Billy’s eye from across the living room several minutes later, raising one eyebrow and jerking his head towards the front door. Billy nodded once, their signal for leaving the party and heading back to Steve’s for the night.

Billy got in his car, following Steve home from a distance, hoping with his whole heart that Steve still had some of his cum left in him, some that Billy could use his fingers to fuck in and out of Steve before only adding to the load.

#yikes writes #lemons #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

⬅ Previous || 27 || Next ➡

“How is he?”

Aizawa’s voice, normally gruff and sleep-heavy, sounds sharp and worried. His eyebrows are pinched tight on his forehead, and his hands are folded across his chest with an iron grip, as if barely keeping himself together.

Ken looks at Aizawa and sighs. “He talks and he talks and he talks, but he’s not really saying anything.”

Aizawa purses his lips.

“I don’t think speaking to me will be the breaking point.” Ken laces his fingers together and stares at them as he continues, “But he will, indeed, break. As you did, as I did, as we all did. And when that happens, perhaps, being in the dorms will offer some semblance of comfort.”

Ken looks up and waits till Aizawa catches his eye. “I will be here when he needs me. Until then, I shall continue our sessions, even if he just keeps talking without saying anything.”

Aizawa nods curtly, mumbles out a goodbye and walks back to his accommodation.

---

A hero never forgets their first.

The work is dangerous. Most days are easy and mundane, and then there are days where the hits keep coming. People get hurt, heroes get hurt, and villains get away. You even lose people, in the crossfire or because you were too late, and those wounds never fully heal, the scars faded and jagged, moving with your every move, a constant reminder.

And then there are the days when you feel the Earth beneath you crumble as you watch a child die. When you lose someone young, innocent, with baby fat on their cheeks and wide toothless smiles. Kids with scrapped knees, stars in their eyes, and the softest hair. Kids like Eri.

A hero never forgets their first child.

Aizawa watches Kaminari speaking animatedly with his classmates, eyes bright and body language lax, and feels his fists clench.

He sucks in a deep breath, pushes away any thoughts of blue hair and big, loud smiles and continues his lesson.

---

It’s Bakugou that stays behind in class one day, two and a half weeks after the incident.

“Something’s fucking wrong with Sparky.”

“Language,” Aizawa says automatically, before lowering his books and looking at the blonde. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, something is just. Since that day, he- Fuck, I don’t know.”

Aizawa lets this one go. “He’s been coming to class. He’s attended every therapy session with Cementoss. Lunch Rush tells me he’s eating well, and he seems-“

“His eyes-” Bakugou interrupts, nose scrunched in deep thought. “- his eyes are too bright. That’s not his usual, happy-go-lucky-idiot shine. They’re too bright.”

He stands up and pulls his bag over his shoulder. “His eyes feel artificial. He moves his body too much, every movement exaggerated, like he’s constantly compensating. Like he’s fucking pushing something down as hard as he can. And then, there are these moments-“ Bakugou stops just shy of the door. He looks over his shoulder but his eyes don’t seek Aizawa, instead glaring at the tiles near his feet.

“There are these moments when his eyes are vacant, like he’s not even in the same room as us.”

With that, Bakugou walks away and Aizawa finds himself thinking back to the past, the well-acquainted pain in his chest rising from slumber, squeezing till his heart feels like it’s about to break, shatter apart the way it did that day.

Because Aizawa and Hizashi grew up.

That day though, they lost Loud Cloud, who was nothing more than a kid. A young child, gone before he could ever learn just how terrible the world really is.

---

Kaminari attends class. He eats lunch with his friends, jokes around with them, trains every day, and sleeps in on the weekends. He never finishes his homework on time, calls his parents at least twice a week, and continues to go stupid when he overuses his quirk.

He also goes quiet more often, enough for Kirishima to pick up on it too. Bakugou watches Kaminari carefully, watches his eyes go vacant in the middle of movie night, watches him flinch when metal protests under the force of Midoriya’s quirk during training and watches his smiles get wider and more rigid, eyes so bright the fluorescent bulb in the common room dims in comparison.

There is nothing to do but wait.

---

It took Aizawa three months to break after Shirakumo.

Long after the cremation and the memorial and after the chatter picks back up in the hallways. He goes home one day, puts his bag on his desk and takes a seat, intent on finishing his homework. His pen is nowhere to be found so he yanks his desk drawer open-

Only to find a blue and white pen with the name Oboro etched into the body.

Aizawa thinks he hears a crack as his heart splinters and the tears begin, flowing freely. He bites into his forearm to keep from wailing, and he can’t see or breathe or feel anything past the wave of pain that drowns him.

With shaking hands and a complete lack of coherent thought, it takes him 14 minutes to type out a message to Hizashi. It takes the blonde another 8 minutes to get to his room, scoop him up and cry with him, and that wound never quite closes, always exposed, ever-present.

---

It finally happens on an average Wednesday, a month after the incident.

Aizawa’s just finished up with homeroom announcements, and as he straightens up the stack of papers on his desk, he hears Jirou.

“Kaminari, check out this mem- whoa, you ok, man?”

He looks at the blonde and startles when he sees the tears streaming down his face as he stares vacantly at his own hands.

Aizawa moves fast, because that’s what pros do- they calculate, they assess, they make split second decisions that spell life or death and everything in between.

He instinctually activates his quirk just as he whips his capture weapon out, pulling everyone around Kaminari away from him. Because he smells the static in the air, feels the prickles on his skin and he knows the boy is this close to losing complete and absolute control of his quirk.

Kaminari doesn’t acknowledge the chaos around him as people yell out in surprise and try to understand the situation. Aizawa keeps his eyes on Kaminari, and watches as Bakugou turns to Yaoyarozu and yells, “Make me some fucking insulated gloves now.”

Surprisingly though, it’s Shinsou that snatches the first pair and jumps across the desks to get to Kaminari, ducking down to his eye level, staying out of Aizawa’s line-of-sight.

“Hey, do you know where you are?”

Kaminari jerks at that, his eyes snapping over to Shinsou. They’re still vacant and hollow, lifeless. Shinsou keeps one glove on but leaves his other hand free.

“Kaminari, do you know where you are right now?”

Slowly, like he’s underwater, Kaminari swallows and shakes his head.

“Ok, that’s ok, take your time. I just want you to know you’re safe. Do you need anything right now?”

Kaminari looks around slowly, as if trying to understand what’s going on. He looks back at Shinsou and swallows thickly.

“There’s so much blood,” Kaminari says, and his voice sounds haunted. He bites his lip as a fresh pool of tears gather in his eyes.

“Get Cementoss,” Aizawa says to Shoji, his eyes still trained on Kaminari. They’re starting to feel a little dry and irritated, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Bakugou is also by Kaminari now, hovering behind him protectively, keeping the others away.

“I don’t understand,” Kaminari suddenly says, voice clear and colored with genuine confusion. “How does a kid just die?”

He laughs, a slightly hysterical sound, before his eyes, wide and far too bright, whip over to Aizawa.

“Sensei, there’s no way that kid died, yanno? She was so tiny, barely up to my hip. And so cute, with a lisp. There’s no way she’s dead. Obviously.” He knocks his own head, a hard hit that makes Kirishima flinch, and Bakugou gently holds his arms, to keep him from hurting himself. Kaminari barely notices.

“Kids don’t die,” Kaminari says, his eyes boring into Aizawa’s. “Right, Sensei? They don’t. How can they? They’re too tiny. Someone that small can’t die.”

Aizawa’s eyes sting, and he can say it’s his quirk but he feels it in his heart, a bone-deep ache that’s just second nature to him.

“Kaminari, nobody can live forever.” He clears his throat, slowly walking around the table as he approaches the boy, holding his gaze. “Nothing is forever, not even the- not even the children.”

Kaminari’s eyes go vacant again. “That can’t be true, you know? Cause that means she’s gone.” He looks at Shinsou. “Her hands fit in my palm Toshi. Her entire hand. I don’t. There was so much blood, I can’t- how?” He reduces to nothing but a blubbering mess, and finally, he slumps sideways, right into Bakugou’s abdomen before he wails, the sound of a deeply wounded animal permeating into the very walls of the room.

Shinsou keeps a grounding grip on his knee while Bakugou pushes a hand into his hair, holding him close to his stomach. His own face is scrunched up, eyes red and daring anyone to say anything, to him or Kaminari.

Bakugou goes with him when Cementoss comes. They take Kaminari to the therapy room and Bakugou stays the entire time.

Aizawa turns to face his class again, once the chairs are moved back in place and the shock of it all simmers down, leaving behind an empty cavity in the very middle of the room.

“You never forget your first,” Aizawa tells them, speaking from his soul. “You will never forget your first, and I want you all to promise me that when it happens, you find me. You find somebody. You seek help. And you keep pushing forward. So that someday- “

He clears his throat and pushes through, “So that someday, there won’t be a first anymore.”

He watches his students nod before they turn to each other, looking up ways to help someone in Kaminari’s condition, using their time together as a reference for what will help the most. And Aizawa feels hope and pride gently coat his heart, a band-aid atop a deep, bleeding gash, but it’s something.

He thinks about bright blue hair, a smile that put the sun to shame and the warmth of a gentle soul.

You never forget your first.

#bnha #aizawa shota #bnha oboro #my hero academia kaminari #boku no hero academia #bnha headcanons #bnha: thicker than blood #WARNING: THIS TACKLES THE SUBJECT OF DEATH AND LOSS #ive had this idea for a while #and then the latest episode happened and it had to come out #this is probably the most serious piece for this series yet #shinsou hitoshi #bakugou katsuki #cementoss is a certified therapist #i feel like his calm disposition would make him a great therapist #mentions of death #also his breakdown is a version of my own grief #which i know from experience is not a uniform thing for all people #it manifests so differently

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cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July: Warmth

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~3940

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: frottage, therapy, safewords, cockwarming, oral sex, past abuse, love confessions

A/N: So, y'all know about my wonderful problem with terrible interpretations of prompts... Oops? Anyway, we'll return to our regularly scheduled whump-fest in the next fic. I think.

Follows "Look At Me"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

They’re on a mission together when the idea comes to him. And he knows Kakashi isn’t going to approve, nor will he be interested in trying it; but a man can dream and it’s just the two of them on the road for five days and Iruka can admit that there’s probably something messed up with his head that he wants this but he can’t help it.

He remembers often, giving Kakashi that blowjob, and how it made him feel. He enjoyed having Kakashi in his mouth for the time he managed it, before he went and fucked it up by giving Kakashi his hair. They lay near each other at night in the forest and huddle together and oftentimes Iruka feels the outline of Kakashi’s dick against his ass and it’s… it’s a lot.

In a good way.

Fuck, but he wants Kakashi.

He just… doesn’t know how to go about having him without also triggering himself. It wasn’t until he started seeing a therapist, his first session two weeks ago, that he realized how much Mizuki ruined sex for him. He already knew he was damaged goods, but he hadn’t realized how much.

But this idea he’s got…

Maybe.

They’re two days from Konoha, huddled together in a shallow cave while a storm rages just outside. They could have kept going—a little rain and wind never hurt anyone—but Kakashi seemed to jump on the chance to settle down for the night early, and led them here. Iruka set up intricate traps and barrier seals around the mouth of the cave, assuring both himself and Kakashi that only the truly desperate will get into their hiding spot, let alone know they’re here. They dry out hair and clothes (Kakashi’s control with katon is brilliant, like the rest of him) and are simply enjoying sitting next to each other in front of a small fire.

Their vests and pouches remain within easy reach—they are still on a mission.

Iruka leans against Kakashi’s shoulder, contently dozing in and out. Kakashi has an Icha Icha book open in his palm, but hasn’t turned the page in over fifteen minutes. Their silence is odd in that it’s comfortable, but only if Iruka doesn’t think about how long they’ve each been quiet.

Kakashi breaks. “Iruka?”

“Hmm?”

“You… you would tell me… if I was doing something wrong. Right?”

Iruka’s eyes snap open and his happy doze fades fast. He lifts his head and shifts to face Kakashi. “Yes, of course, but what is this about? What’s—?” He stops and glances away, “Have I done something wrong?”

Kakashi hums. “You’ve just been a little distant for most of this mission. Since we passed through that hamlet on our first evening. I just—I don’t—”

“Kakashi, no,” Iruka reaches out for his hands, but at the last inch stops. He knows what this is about now; of course Kakashi picked up on his odd mood, his being-lost-in-thought. “Can I hold your hands?”

Kakashi nods, his blush barely noticeable in the firelight.

“Kakashi,” Iruka starts again with his partner’s hands in his own, “I’m sorry for seeming distant. I had an idea and it’s been plaguing me, but I wanted to wait until we got home to talk about it. I also—um—kind of want to discuss it with my therapist first.”

Kakashi brings their hands up to his masked lips and kisses Iruka’s fingers. “You will tell me, though?”

Iruka nods. “I want to, very much so. But I also need to. To talk it out with Rikona-sensei.”

Kakashi accepts the answer and tugs Iruka closer, which he does willingly. Iruka takes initiative and leans into the space behind Kakashi’s ear and mutters, “Can I...?”

Hands pull him to straddle Kakashi’s lap while a groaned “Yes” rumbles against his chest. Iruka slips Kakashi’s mask down just enough to get to that sensitive spot and nips at it. Kakashi, at the same time, gently gropes and kneads his ass.

“I. Want. Uhh, there—Iruka, more. Still can’t believe you’re able to hide this ass in—ohh, fuck—standard uniform pants. Oh gods. Iruka.”

Iruka smiles against Kakashi’s neck as he reveals bare skin. He won’t pull down the mask entirely—that’s a limit Kakashi set and, gods, Kakashi’s so good at remembering his triggers that Iruka can do him the favor of remembering one limit. Kakashi is hard, and Iruka grinds down on his erection to get him to swear and squirm some more.

So long as Iruka stays on top, stays in control, these kinds of encounters don’t bother him. Mizuki never treated him like this, not exactly. The differences are enough.

He rolls his hips against Kakashi, a little faster, holding onto Kakashi’s shoulders for balance. “Kakashi,” he moans breathily, “wanna see you come.”

Kakashi pants. One hand leaves his ass and pulls down his mask, and then they’re kissing, mouths devouring each other and teeth clicking together. Iruka feels his own stirrings of arousal, finally, and groans deeper in his chest.

“Close,” Kakashi warns, breaking the kiss after a few minutes.

“Good. Why’s your hand not back on my ass?”

“I don’t. I mean.”

Iruka smirks and takes Kakashi’s hand, bringing it up to his face. Iruka normally likes Kakashi’s gloves. The texture, the smell, the implication of power… but tonight, he’s glad the gloves are off, over with their vests and pouches.

He slips Kakashi’s first finger into his mouth and hums.

“Oh, shit.”

He continues to hold Kakashi’s finger against his tongue until he’s finished and slumped forward, and then lets it slide free with a pop.

“Gods, Iruka,” Kakashi murmurs, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him as close as possible. “That was. Wow.”

Iruka giggles and replaces Kakashi’s mask, and then cards his fingers through silver hair. “Very articulate.”

Kakashi hums. He’s still glowing, and won’t want to be coherent for a few minutes.

“Can I return the favor?” he mutters against Iruka’s neck. Even during the afterglow, Kakashi thinks of him; it’s sweet.

Iruka says, “No thanks. I started to get there, but just wasn’t… y’know.”

Kakashi sighs. “Still wanna kill him.”

“I know. I appreciate the sentiment.”

He whines. “It’s not fair that I get all the orgasms in this relationship.”

Iruka laughs outright. “Even though I’m okay with giving them to you? And also not asking for reciprocation?”

Kakashi nuzzles him. “Wanna see you come, too,” he murmurs.

Someday.

“It’s good that you feel ready to take steps to move forward. But what steps are you prepared to take to prevent an episode?”

“Well, I thought a lot about it on the way home. Mizuki would always come to my place, so I thought first maybe a change in scenery will help—I’m gonna ask if we can do this at Kakashi’s place.”

“That’s a start. But many of your triggers are auditory.”

“And Kakashi’s never said anything to tip me into an episode since our, uh, second disaster. I trust him.”

“Trust is important. What else?”

“I’m also going to heavily condition my hair, and brush it out. So in case Kakashi snags it accidentally it won’t pull. I’m… I’m also going to request that he wash up beforehand. He and Mizuki smell… too similar, right now. I don’t want to risk it.”

“What about position?”

“That’s something I will need to discuss with Kakashi. I can’t—I can’t be on my knees for this, that’s just asking for an episode.”

“I agree. May I also suggest the two of you discuss hand signals for safe-words? You won’t be able to talk, after all.”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you have put so much thought into this.”

“I just need to prove to us I can move past this.”

“Hmm. Well, we’ve gone over time by ten minutes, but I think it’s worth it. I truly hope this works out for you, Iruka-sensei.”

Iruka is scrubbing the cabinet faces in his kitchen, waiting for Kakashi to get back from another mission. They’d gotten back, and the next day his partner had been sent out again—he had been angry at first, at the Counsel for requiring so much from Kakashi, and at himself for not understanding immediately that Kakashi requested the mission to give Iruka a little bit more time and space to work out that “odd” thought.

He’s worked it out. He talked it out with Rikona-sensei. He’s as prepared as he can be.

That’s why he’s cleaning.

Iruka can admit that he’s terrified this will go wrong. Against all of his thoughtful preparation, he could still dissociate. The more he goes under, the more likely it becomes that he just won’t resurface. Or he could resurface, but with new triggers—new ones relating to Kakashi instead of Mizuki.

Worst of all, Kakashi could just outright deny him and not even try. Iruka’s not sure how that situation would go, but it probably won’t be good.

At least. At least Kakashi’s due back today. He shouldn’t have to—

“Hello dear,” comes a voice from his kitchen window.

Iruka doesn’t hide the smile Kakashi’s voice drags out of him. He looks up from his spot on the floor and watches as his partner slinks through the window and over the sink and counter to join him on the floor.

“Sandals,” Iruka says. Kakashi takes his off and leaves to go put them in the genkan, and is back at his side quickly.

“You’re cleaning,” Kakashi comments. “Rough day with the ankle-biters?”

Iruka laughs. “No, nothing like that. I quite like this class, actually.”

“Then…?”

Iruka sets aside his sponge and sighs, standing up. “Right. Let me put this away, and then. Then we can talk.”

He leaves the room, taking as long as he dares knowing Kakashi is standing, arms crossed, in his kitchen. He dumps dirty water down the shower drain, sets the sponge in the bathroom sink to dry, and puts the bucket away in the bottom of the linen closet.

One more bracing breath, and then he leaves the bathroom.

“Okay.” He comes back into the kitchen; Kakashi hasn’t moved. “Would you like to sit?”

Kakashi holds a hand up. “First, please?” Iruka nods and gestures for him to speak. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No.” Iruka’s proud of how even his tone is. “You may want to consider it, after this, but I don’t… it’s not what I want.”

Kakashi takes the chair beside Iruka’s usual one, and pulls down his mask. “I highly doubt whatever you have to say is going to change my feelings for you.”

Iruka sits. Smiles. “That’s sweet, but hold your judgement until you’ve heard me out.”

Kakashi leans forward and reaches out for his hands. Iruka gives them to him, letting Kakashi entwine their fingers together on the tabletop.

“I have something I want to try,” Iruka starts. “And I’ve given it a lot of thought, how to go about it without worrying about triggering an episode.”

Kakashi sits up a little straighter. “What do you want?”

Iruka’s face heats up, and he looks away for a moment to collect himself. “I… okay, so. I—before I fucked up that last time, when I was blowing you—”

“We agreed that it was both of our faults,” Kakashi glowers. “If you want to take any of the blame, I get an equal amount for being the instigating party.”

“Right. Sorry—”

“Iruka.”

Iruka closes his eyes and bites his lip. Deep breath. “Thank you, Kakashi, for reminding me.”

Kakashi brings his hand up to kiss his fingers. “You’re welcome. I’d like to hear more, but not if you’re going to be self-deprecating.”

“I. Yes. Okay. I can… I’ll try.”

Kakashi replaces their hands on the table and waits.

“So, the blowjob. When I was. Before I dissociated.” Iruka flushes hard. “I really enjoyed that.”

“As did I. But you also said that your performing oral sex is off limits, because of your trauma. Has that changed?” Kakashi is trying not to look excited, but Iruka can see the spark in his eye.

“Not exactly. I’d like to try something, um. Blowjob-adjacent?”

Kakashi waits.

“I’d like you to consider. Letting me… um.” Oh just thinking about it is getting his heart racing; his breathing speeds up.

“Iruka, are you with me?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “I’m not—slipping. It’s. Fuck,” he takes one hand back from Kakashi and presses his palm to his forehead. He decides to spit it all out as fast as he can. “I want your cock in my mouth again, but I want to just. Hold it. Does that make—”

Kakashi’s chair screeches as he pushes back from the table. He comes around the corner of the table and kneels in front of Iruka, looking up at him reverently. “You would do that for me?” he whispers.

Iruka puts his free hand against Kakashi’s cheek. “You’re the one who’d be doing me a favor,” he smirks. “I want this, Kakashi.”

“Now?”

Iruka shakes his head. “I mean, yes, but not-not here. And I have some preparation steps for both of us, to help prevent the chance of an episode.”

“Anything.”

Two hours later, it’s late and dark, and Iruka stands outside of Kakashi’s apartment door. The jōnin barracks are sparse, as most shinobi who attain this rank either are part of a clan, make enough to purchase their own quarters, or find better housing with spouses or roommates. As it is, Kakashi is the only one living on his floor, and has been able to secure the apartments above and below him to stay empty as well.

Iruka knocks. He doesn’t have to wait long for Kakashi to open the door.

“Hello dear.”

Iruka smiles and leans in to accept Kakashi’s kiss to his forehead. He’s led inside, and once the door shuts, he reaches up and starts untying his hair.

Hands gently take his elbows and Kakashi crowds him from behind. “Leave it up for now?”

Iruka tightens the tie again, then turns around in the circle of Kakashi’s arms. “Have you thought about it?” he asks.

Kakashi hums. “Can I kiss you? I won’t get to for a while.”

Iruka leans in and tugs gently at his mask with one finger. “Gotta take this off first,” he says.

“Go ahead.”

Oh. Iruka cups Kakashi’s jaw with both hands and slowly eases the fabric down over his nose and mouth. His face bared to the room, Iruka traces his lips with a fingertip. “Can I—?”

“Please, Iruka.”

Lips meet and moans rumble in both of their throats. Iruka keeps his hands on Kakashi’s face, revelling in the bare skin he was allowed to—Oh his chest aches in such a wonderful way.

Kakashi runs one hand up his spine while the other stays around his waist. Iruka smirks into the kiss as Kakashi traces his hand back down, past his waist, his hips, and finally settling on the curve of his ass.

“Someday,” Iruka murmurs into his mouth, and groans at Kakashi’s harsh kneading.

“Best ass in Konoha,” Kakashi whispers. “In the world.”

Iruka laughs outright, tipping his head back. The laugh turns into another moan as Kakashi kisses his neck and jaw. He lets Kakashi lead as they start walking over to the bed.

Then they fall gently, slowly, onto the mattress. Iruka keeps his eyes open; there’s a different visual stimulus here, Kakashi’s studio being so different from his own bedroom. He’s urged to lay beside Kakashi, still in his comforting embrace.

They kiss forever, until Iruka feels comfortable exploring Kakashi’s body with his own hands, until he closes his eyes and rests his head back against the pillow and lets Kakashi kiss him all over, tapping and tugging at various pieces of clothing to ask if he can remove them.

They’re both down to their underwear when Iruka starts to feel the faint prickling of panic at the edge of his awareness. He pulls Kakashi back up to him and kisses him deeply, slipping his tongue into Kakashi’s mouth and feeling the scar across his eye.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Kakashi asks.

“Hmm. Almost wanna just keep making out with you all night,” Iruka says.

“We can do that,” Kakashi offers. “If you want to wait on—”

“Oh no. I’m getting that monster back on my tongue tonight.” Iruka kisses along Kakashi’s jaw, hunting for his weak spot. He probably can’t reach it from this position. Judging from the rumbling moan in his chest, Kakashi doesn’t mind his trying. Or his words.

“Shit, alright. Sit up a moment.”

Iruka collects himself up onto his knees and waits while Kakashi repositions himself to sit against the headboard, his legs apart. He crooks a finger in Iruka’s direction and yes he’s helpless but to settle between Kakashi’s legs and lean in to kiss him again. Iruka drags his mouth across Kakashi’s chest, licks at his stomach, and finally lays himself down and breathes in Kakashi—bitter, dark; he wonders briefly if Kakashi had followed his request to wash up before this, so the faint scent that reminded him once of Mizuki would be covered by soap smell.

Kakashi’s musk doesn’t flash a threat of Mizuki now.

He lays his head on Kakashi’s thigh and waits. Kakashi pets Iruka’s hair with one hand—very gently—and fondles himself with the other. Watching Kakashi go from semi-hard to fully erect in front of him is maddening; he feels his own dick respond, and the heat in his core starts to build. He licks his lips and shifts closer just a bit.

Kakashi stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, just. Just a little bit more.”

Iruka whines.

Kakashi stops. “Iruka?”

“I’m fine. I’m great. Please, please keep touching yourself,” he whimpers. “Gods, keep touching yourself.”

“Fuck.”

Kakashi pulls his cock out, finally, and strokes himself. Iruka’s lips part involuntarily, beginning to pant. He shifts his hips against the sheets, but keeps his arms still around Kakashi’s hips and his head steady on his thigh. His mouth dries out quickly with his panting.

“Please, Kakashi, please. I-I want you so bad please—”

“What do you do if I check in with you and you’re okay?”

Iruka taps his hip once.

“And if you ever need to stop?”

He taps twice. “Or I can just pull away.”

“Right. And if you find yourself slipping?”

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

Kakashi chuckles. “Alright, alright.” He holds his cock at the base and guides Iruka forward with his other hand at the back of his head. He doesn’t push, doesn’t hold him, doesn’t grab him; and Iruka goes for it happily, sliding his lips around the head and moaning along with Kakashi at the first touch of tongue to cock.

He sucks on the head for a moment, breathing deeply and focusing himself. When he feels ready, he slides down, bit by bit, hearing Kakashi’s harsh panting echoing in the room.

“Little more, that’s it. Fuck, beautiful—c’mon, c’mon, just—oh, gods.”

Kakashi’s cock hits the back of his throat. Iruka pulls back, just a second, breathes, and on his exhale sinks down the rest of the way.

“Shit-shit-shit, fuck, Iruka, so g—ah, shit, your mouth yes.”

He lays his head back on Kakashi’s thigh and lets his partner run his mouth above him. He’s got cock comfortably settled down his throat and yeah, they’ll have to change the sheets because Iruka’s already drooling around his mouthful something terrible—something wonderful—and by the time he’s ready to come back there’ll likely be a small puddle.

It doesn’t seem that Kakashi will mind.

He finally collects himself to quiet down, still hard in his throat though. It’s nice. Kakashi pets his hair again, and this time also pulls the tie free from his hair. He’s careful, so damn careful, and then Iruka’s hair is loose around his face and he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care because he’s got better things to focus on.

He’s in Kakashi’s bed, with Kakashi’s scent all around him, and Kakashi’s bittersweet cock on his tongue, and Kakashi’s words echoing around him, and he’s hard.

Oh, he’s hard.

If he shifts he’ll choke. He can’t take any relief for how turned on he is. That’s… that’s okay. He’s not doing this to get off. He’s doing it to prove he can.

And he is.

And he does.

Kakashi checks in with him every ten minutes. He stays present the whole time. It’s so. It’s perfect. The third time, Kakashi tells him it’s been half an hour, and Iruka hums and glances up at him questioningly.

“I’d. I’d really like to come, Iruka. But I also want to wait until you’re ready.”

He sighs through his nose and carefully pulls off of Kakashi’s cock. He sucks on the head for a minute, listening to Kakashi swear and pant some more as he swallows and lets his throat relax. When he pulls off the rest of the way, he noses at the hard, reddened length and says, voice wrecked, “Come, then. If you’d like.”

Kakashi wastes no time in grabbing his spit-slick dick and beginning to pump furiously. Iruka sits up on his knees to watch, pressing the heel of his own hand against his erection and breathing heavily to keep himself under control.

“You too, please,” Kakashi whimpers. “Can I see you? Can I—oh, can I blow you? I’ll be just as-as-fuck, Iruka, please, I want you too; wanna see you, too.”

“I know,” Iruka says. His shoulders are heaving with the force of keeping his breath steady. “But this was for you.”

“But—”

“Oh, my Kakashi,” Iruka murmurs. “Just. Let go. Let me see you. Let me know I d-did good.”

“Fuck, Iruka.”

“Come, love.”

He does. Oh, he comes, hard and loud and wet, streaking up his chest and dripping over his hand and gods does Iruka have the urge to kiss him through his afterglow. He inches forward on his knees and reaches past Kakashi’s shoulder to the washcloth they’d prepared before, sitting on the windowsill. Iruka gently wipes it across Kakashi’s chest and groin, and then takes his hand and swipes it with the cloth, too. He tosses the washcloth across the room to the sink, and leans forward to press his forehead against Kakashi’s.

“Can I—?”

“Please kiss me,” Kakashi whimpers at the same time.

He does. Kakashi’s arms embrace him loosely and he holds Kakashi’s face in one hand and braces his other palm against his chest. His heart is racing, pounding.

“You called me—”

“I do.” Iruka murmurs, pulling away so he can look into Kakashi's eye. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, tied with Naruto.”

“For different—”

“You know what I mean.” Iruka chuckles. “Yes, for different reasons.”

“Does this mean I can get you off now?”

Iruka shakes his head. “I just wanna enjoy your glow with you. You’re so precious like this.”

“I like it,” Kakashi mutters. “Being yours.”

“I like having you,” Iruka cards his fingers through Kakashi’s hair. “I… I love you.”

Kakashi says, “I love you, too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ve loved you for months, Iruka. I’m just. Scared.”

“Don’t be. You’ve got me.”

They breathe through the glow. They’ll have to change the sheet, and Iruka hasn't yet confirmed with Kakashi if it’s okay if he stays the night. But he’s happy, and he’s proven to himself that he’s on the mend, and Mizuki’s hold on him has loosened just that little bit more.

#whumpmasinjuly #warmth #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

Beg for me || Jurdan Dom-Sub One Shot

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 1

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: M

Summary: “I need you.”

“Then say it. Beg for me.”

Masterlist • AO3

Thank you so much @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 for helping me betaing this, even when you’re sleep deprived, I have no words! 🧡

“Look at me, love”

Kneeled before him, Jude lifted her head slowly, her breath coming out in faltering huffs. A prickling sensation ran over her swollen lips. Surely a reaction to the punishing kisses he’d given her just seconds before. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity she saw there sent an anticipatory pulse down to her stomach.

“Do you know why I am doing this?” He said, cocking his head to the side and arms crossed over his chest. His words were low and honeyed.

Oh she definitely did. Yet, she tugged her lip between her teeth.

Arching an eyebrow he hauled the little chain that connected with the leather band around her neck, his movement soft but firm. Answer me, it said.

The corner of her lips quirked up a bit. The only sign of defiance she’d allow her body to show, or at least that’s what she tried. “Because I misbehaved… sir.” She quickly added at the change in his gaze.

He chuckled. “I might not be your boss at this moment, but I would appreciate it if you still minded your manners.” With another tug to the chain he signaled her to stand. “On the bed, dear.”

Heat creeped up her cheeks at the appreciative hum that left his mouth at the full sight of her. Black lace that barely covered part of her body, combined with high stockings framing her long legs. She’d bought it knowing he’d like it, but couldn’t get used to how much skin it showed.

It was almost unfair that he could keep his clothes on. However, she couldn’t really decide if she liked her boss better when he was completely naked, or just like he looked in that moment: bare feet, black trousers and loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms. More than ready to play with her for hours.

The soft mattress sunk under her. Jude lay down, her pulse rose as he walked towards her.

“Hands up.” He commanded. A familiar clang reached her ears from the drawer he was rummaging in, sending a shiver down her back.

She swallowed before obeying. He had plenty of punishments in his repertoire, but only few include that artifact in particular. That narrowed the options.

Cold metal kissed her wrists and Jude gasped. With a small movement she felt the chain of the handcuffs firmly secured to the bed’s headboard. Her chest rose and fell with elaborated breaths.

She was officially at his mercy.

Turning her head back, she watched him loosen his tie and take it off. Popping the first buttons from his shirt open. His carefree movements, along with those mischievous eyes of his always took Jude off guard.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked.

“You know I do, sir.”

“Hmm.” Her boss purred. “Too bad it has to end.” At that he gently coiled his tie around her head, covering her eyes. He tied it tightly to keep it from falling but not enough for it to hurt.

Pulling away, he left her there, aroused and disoriented. Jude tried to sense where he’d gone. Focusing all she could on-

Jude yelped when something soft caressed her torso. A low chuckle came from the left.

The thing about being sight-deprived was that her other senses intensified in a terrible yet exhilarating way. And he knew it very damn well.

Whatever object it was, probably a feather, he used it to roam over every piece of uncovered skin. He trailed it down her arms, her neck, between her shuddering breasts. Dropped kisses here and there, nibbling at her sensitive spots. The sensation was too much and yet not enough, Jude was quickly losing all coherent thoughts. Every time he sucked low moans escaped from her throat.

She breathed his name as his mouth moved down to her hips. He continued his ministrations, carefully avoiding that hot and needy spot between her legs.

“Are you going to defy my decisions in front of my coworkers again?”

Of course she would, they were both aware of that. Especially if it lent to more sessions of this. It was all part of their game. She was brilliant at work, with her intelligence and sharp temper she had everyone around her finger in no time. And he, a promising talent on the rise, did everything on his power to conquer her. Even when it implied hiding it from the whole company.

It felt so good to quarrel in meetings. But it was better when he gave her that look, the one that signaled he would use that same argument against her later. Alone, and naked.

Jude opened her mouth to answer but felt as if her mind had forgotten how to form words. Fuck, she should be doing better than this, she scolded herself. Focus.

He sucked down on her inner thigh, really close to where she desperately wanted him and she cried out, arching her back. The handcuffs rattled against the board. That damned sound always remained to haunt her in her deepest dreams.

Hot breath caressed her core as he spoke again. “I asked you a question.”

She licked her lips. “No sir, I won’t.” He hummed, using his thumb to play with the lace of her panties and pulled them down just a fraction. Then he seemed to change his mind and dragged his hands up her sides earning a protest from her.

Jude felt the mattress shift under his weight, then hot bare skin pressed flush against her as he stretched on top of her. He still wore his pants and even with them, his hardness was evident. She tilted her hips up seeking some friction, but a strong hand held her hips still. She whined one more time and his fingers now grabbed her with enough force to leave bruises.

“What was that again?” His gruff voice was now against her ear.

She moved to put her arms around his neck but a metallic sound and a yank to her wrists reminded Jude of her position. She almost said the word she knew he wanted. But held back, huffing in frustration. “I need you.”

“Then say it.” He groaned, nipping her earlobe. The hand holding her down moved once more, soft fingers positioning on the edge of her underwear. Please, the word was there on the tip of her tongue. With a torturing pace, he slid them under the thin fabric. “Beg for me, Ember.”

“CUT! Excellent, I think we got it. Good work everyone!”

Voices burst around them.

Jude sighed, the air wavering. Seconds later cold air hit her skin as he moved away from her.

The tie was taken from her eyes and the bright light blinded her a moment. The handcuffs shackled again and were off a heartbeat later.

“Hey.” She turned to find Cardan, stripped down to only his trousers, with the offending artifact on his hand. “Are you okay?”

She blinked and sat up, taking in her surroundings. Filming set, not suite room. And Cardan, her co-star, not her boss. Sometimes she really envied Ember, her character. Getting the chance to live the excitement of a forbidden romance. A hot, forbidden romance.

At her lack of answer, he sat next to her and cupped her face. Worry filled his voice. “Jude? Did I overstep?”

“No, no.” Shaking her head, Jude grinned. “You were perfect, I’m just recovering my breath. I tried to put myself more into it this time.”

“I noticed,” Cardan chuckled. “If I’m honest, for a moment I almost forgot we were acting.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Me too, she almost said. Instead she just looked at him. Even out of character there was something in his eyes that captured her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. He was kind, funny and incredibly respectful on and off of the set.

Jude couldn’t help the real fluttering in her stomach in every scene they shot together.

She knew romances weren’t unusual in their line of work, but since she was relatively new, this tv series her first leading role, she was still terrified to ruin it. Most of all, to ruin the friendship she’d built with Cardan in all those months.

Coats were given to them, observations from the director and the screenwriters too and at last, they could leave for the day.

Cardan walked her to her trailer, telling another of his weird experiences he’d had while filming. Tears fell from her eyes from all the laughing.

“I trust you’re laughing at the situation and not actually at me.” He teased.

“Oh I’m definitely laughing at you, no need to ask.”

Making an offended sound he ruffled her hair, Jude shrieking and pulling away.

“Jude,” He said, his tone more serious than before made her stop her mocking too. “Are you sure everything was okay with the scene?”

A blush covered her cheeks. “It was. You know I’m relatively new to this. I guess I’m just getting used to all of it.”

He nodded.

“But, thank you.” She added. “For making sure I’m ok, and...for all of your fun stories that make me relax after. It is...really nice from you.”

Cardan’s wide smile almost left her breathless again.

“It’s nothing.” He hesitated for a second. “I have more stories though… We could... go buy some coffee and I could tell you all of it. If you want to, of course.”

She stared at him, not quite believing his words.

He bit her lip and gave her an apologetic smile. “Think about it, will you? I’d really like to...go out with you someday.”

Jude smiled gradually, feeling her heart nearly jumping out from her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She said softly.

“Let me know.” He walked backwards and winked at her. “And Jude… just for the record, I enjoy being tied up too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @tessas-herondales

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you) please let me know!

#jurdan smut week 2020 #jurdan smut week #jurdannet #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #judecardan #jude x cardan #tess writes

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listentothelittlebird · 3 years

Text

TW: dissociative episode

This was a whole scrapped oneshot, mostly because I couldn’t fit it in properly... I misread something on a wikipedia page and somehow ended up with “Jason revisited Ethiopia sometime during the Red Hood and the Outlaws, and had major PTSD”. I’m fairly sure I was sleep deprived at the time... (I’m honestly happy with how this one turned out, but it was just out-of-place with the rest of the other oneshots)

This is a “deleted scene” from my series on ao3, Code Bat!

It was a quiet, peaceful night, until the comms crackled to life.

“N,” Oracle called, “RH entered Gotham an hour ago. The new Super he befriended brought him in, but he hasn’t moved from his location since. Can you go check on him?”

Nightwing frowned. Jason was in town?

He was happy to have a chance to see his Little Wing, of course, but this was an unplanned visit. Usually he would at least radio in ahead, and dramatically announce his return by searching for them during patrol time.

Something was wrong.

“R and I are still dealing with the drug ring,” Batman grunted, “We’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

It seemed even the Bat himself was getting worried.

“I’m turning in for the night. BG’s headed towards RH right now. Let me know how he is, alright?” Spoiler paused, before adding, “I can pull an extra patrol or two, if he needs you guys for company. I’m not an official fam’ member, but I’m more than ready to help.”

Nightwing would have hugged Spoiler if she was standing next to him.

Batgirl was already at the rooftop when Nightwing arrived. She was crouched directly in front of Jason - in his Red Hood outfit, skull-like helmet still on his head - and staring. Nightwing had learnt to read Cass’ body language, and right now she was practically screaming concern. She straightened when Nightwing touched down.

“Unresponsive,” she signed, “Alive, but not there. Like the victims we saw last week.”

Nightwing sighed, a rush of air escaping his chest. It was relief mixed in with new pain, because something had happened to his brother for him to shut down. Something had triggered this.

“RH is dissociating,” Nightwing reported to the comms, “BG says he’s unresponsive. B, once you and R are done, get the Batmobile here.”

“We’re on our way,” came Robin’s tight response, crisp and serious but betraying the slightest of quivers.

In the meantime, Nightwing busied himself with removing Jason’s helmet. His face was blank, devoid of his usual snarky grin or unimpressed eye-roll. His chest was rising and falling in slow, mechanical breaths.

“We’ll take care of you, Little Wing,” Nightwing laid a hand gently on his brother’s shoulder, smiling warmly, “Take all the time you need, okay? We’ll be here.”

There was not so much as a twitch to acknowledge his words. Dick’s gut clenched tighter, even having expected the lack of response.

Batgirl had drifted away, standing several steps back. At Nightwing’s questioning glance, she murmured haltingly, “Scary.” She raised her hands to elaborate.

“No body messages. Nothing. Cannot tell what he is thinking, or if he is thinking. I’m scared for him. With other victims, it’s bad. With family...” the next motion was not proper sign language - she made a heart with her hands, then split it.

It hurt to see family like this.

Nightwing gave a sad, quiet smile in response, and the way he turned back to eye Jason was enough to convey his agreement.

Jason came back to himself slowly.

He was never truly gone, not quite. Not for a while, he thinks.

He’s… not sure about much. Just that he had been able to tell Artemis and Bizarro that he was going to pull a few strings in Gotham to get them a permanent base.

He remembered fumbling out an address for a safe house that he had, which would be able to last his two teammates for more than a week. He remembered Biz dropping him off in Gotham. He remembered sitting down on the filthy rooftop.

He thinks Batgirl came, then Nightwing. He thinks they helped him into the Batmobile, and he thinks he saw Batman and Robin.

He… can’t quite recall what happened next. It was like his memories were grinded to a pulp and then drained of substance, leaving behind the crusts of barely-coherent scenes. Flashes of what had happened.

He was in the Batcave, then he was being walked up the stairs to the Manor, one large arm wrapped around his shoulders, one large hand gripping firmly onto his elbow.

There was the rustling of old paperbacks, distant and distorted, like hearing through water.

There was Bruce, blue eyes focused on him, gazing at him and murmuring something soft.

“...here for you. You’re safe, Jaylad.”

He felt a sliver of pressure on his face.

Jason blinked. His hand rose to the spot, to where the mildest of pressures were, a calloused hand cupped against his cheek. He blinked two, three times, Bruce’s face morphing into the most genuine of smiles, even as the smell of the library and faint tightness of hunger greeted him.

“B?” Jason croaked, his voice hoarse from something more than dryness. Bruce was still quick to supply him a cup of water. The hand had yet to leave his cheek. Jason, still thrown off and trying to piece together his scattered mind, leaned into the hand even as he downed the glass.

There was a reason his throat felt scratchy. He had been screaming. Screaming at…

By the time Bruce had plucked his empty glass from his hand and set it down, Jason had jolted violently, as the realisation of how he got here, on exactly why he had returned back to Gotham, hit him like a train.

Ethiopia. The rebuilt warehouse. The living nightmare of his latest Outlaws mission.

“B?” Jason’s voice was desperate now. Logically, he knew Bruce was right there. Trying to convince his tortured mind though, as it finally came to terms with what had happened, was not as simple.

“Dad? Dad…” Jason’s hands reached blindly for Bruce’s arms, scrambling to tighten clenched fists into the fabric of the man’s sweater. Bruce pulled Jason into his chest.

While Jason tried and failed to quell his breakdown, Bruce had maneuvered himself back onto the couch, Jason sat half in his lap and half on the couch. Jason’s arms, tight around his father’s shoulders, loosened as he let out a shaky gasp.

“We - we had a mission,” Jason rambled before he could stop himself, “Artemis was looking for something, and we were helping her look, and-“

“Jay,” Bruce cut in gently, “Don’t force yourself. Please, son.”

Jason, his forehead pressed to Bruce’s shoulder, shook his head even as he barreled on. He had to get this out before his walls went up again, before it became too blissfully peaceful to even broach the subject.

“I- fuck. We went to Ethiopia,” Jason gave a hollow laugh, even as Bruce sucked in a sharp breath of air, “It was fucking hell, B. Pretty sure they were just doing the generic torture shit on me, but they didn’t even need to do anything, really. The location was enough to…to-“ Jason’s voice cracked. There was something wet leaking out of his eyes.

“It looked exactly the same, B. I checked after - it was the same place. It was-“ Jason’s voice gave out for real, then.

Bruce pulled him tighter, holding his son close as he cried himself dry. Bruce was just glad that Jason had been able to come back to Gotham, that his son was here for him to comfort - was willing to accept that comfort from him still, even after everything that had happened.

“You’re here,” Bruce hushes, when Jason’s sobs had died down to sniffles. He gave the boy - he would forever be a boy in his eyes - a squeeze around his broad shoulders. “You’re here.”

Jason sniffed again, and squeezed back, tight and desperate.

Later, Alfred would enter, guided by his butler senses to bring a meal for Jason. Later, his siblings would check in on him, and Dick would pile everyone into the living room with a movie marathon and a sleepover. Later, Jason would figure out a permanent base of operations for the Outlaws.

For now, it was just a father holding his son, both undeniably grateful to be alive.

Jason led Biz and Artemis to an underground bunker at the outskirts of Metropolis. They were right under Superman’s nose, which was both exhilarating and concerning.

He did not fancy meeting any one of Bruce’s colleagues.

On the other hand, if Superman did stumble upon them someday soon, Bizarro would finally get to meet someone like him. Well, someone who might see him as family, at least. Jason had heard from Tim that Superman was a big-hearted family man that had taken in Kon-El the moment he had trusted the clone.

He hoped Superman would take Bizarro in. The big guy deserved someone else besides him and Artemis.

Speaking of…

“Say, since we’re gonna be working with each other a lot more from now on, can I get insurance that you won’t take a swing at Wonder Woman while I’m in the collateral damage zone?”

Artemis glared at him, but Jason had weathered Bat-glares, and this was nothing compared to the man. His helmet was off, so she could see his smirk, his red domino stretching as he raised an eyebrow.

“I’d have thought you’d be on better terms with the lady. I mean, she’d gladly offer you any support you need,” Jason pointed out.

Artemis huffed, “Themyscira should have done more to aid my tribe. They still have yet to do more to aid my tribe. As Diana is a representative of her people, my grudge is against her tribe, and not her personally. Truthfully, Diana saved my life, and I am grateful for that.”

Jason hummed contemplatively. “Well, you should be a bridge between the two tribes,” Jason thought aloud, “Just saying, you basically became your tribe’s champion by getting back the Bow of Ra. If anyone could get them more aid, it’d be you.”

He could tell that the Amazonian needed time to think on his words, so instead of continuing. Jason splayed his arms, “Besides, sweet-talking gets you places!”

It was implied that such was how he had gotten their base, but the circumstances were probably far from what Artemis assumed. All Jason had needed to do was talk over conversations during dinner and Bruce was showing him possible locations even before patrol rotations had begun.

Artemis latched onto the new topic, regarding their new base with a satisfied tilt to her head, “What were those connections that you managed to find? Gotham is one place in Man’s World that I have yet to understand.”

“Eh, you learn to deal with the city’s fuckery. Like I said, I just had some old strings that I could pull to get us here,” Jason shrugged, and paused for a moment. Everything had been moving a mile and minute, from when Jason had first met Artemis to when they and Bizarro became a team.

He had neglected to tell them his name. Not that Bizarro needed his name, since he even called Artemis Red Her, but Artemis herself had always referred to Jason as Red Hood or Red.

“Jay.”

At Artemis’ questioning glance, Jason huffed, “It’s my name, I guess. Close enough.”

It was the name the Titans, Roy and Kori, knew him by. Artemis and Bizarro were shaping up to be his second round of Outlaws, and he wanted them to have his trust, too.

There was a weighty glint in Artemis’ eyes. “It is an honour to work with you, Jay,” she stated solemnly.

Jason cracked a grin, “Aw, c’mon, don’t go all mushy on me. Let’s go get Biz before he ransacks the whole pantry.”

He turned to head in Bizarro’s direction, his loud rummaging making Jason glad he had chosen to put them significantly low underground. Artemis trailed behind with a warm smile.

#probably not accurate to actual dissociation #there's an extra scene after the angst #Batfam #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Cassandra Cain #Tim Drake #Code Bat #artemis of bana mighdall #Angst #Comfort #fanfic #straight from the trash doc

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kurtstinypurse · 4 years

Note

27 with klaine, I’m begging

#27 - Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

I’ve actually had two anons request this one, so I’m making this a part 2 of my last prompt, with coworkers!klaine - per popular demand ;-)

read the first part here

Blaine can’t remember how they got here.

The vague logistics are obvious - he knows they left the bar together, remembers the cab ride from the way Kurt’s palm felt like a searing brand where it rested heavy on Blaine’s upper thigh, but the rest of it has blurred together, entirely unimportant.

It’s all pointless when it’s led him to Kurt’s apartment, on Kurt’s couch, on Kurt’s lap, kissing him.

More than kissing him, actually: fingers of one hand knotted in Kurt’s slightly sweat-dampened hair, other hand rucking up Kurt’s sweater and searching out his skin, soft and smooth and irresistible, alternating sucking Kurt’s bottom lip into his mouth and then his top one, rocking his hips down slowly, infuriatingly slowly, somehow holding himself back enough to allow the heat to build instead of rushing through it.

And he feels Kurt underneath him, too, the way Kurt’s fingers shakily unbuttoned Blaine’s cardigan moments ago and shoved it off his shoulders without so much as breaking their kiss, the way he now has his hands on Blaine’s ass, encouraging him along to ride the undulating waves of the friction they’re creating together, already so much but nowhere near enough.

They’ve barely spoken since they kissed - in fact, it had been an unspoken agreement to leave and to share a cab and for Blaine to come up to Kurt’s apartment, and it’s odd, really, how certain of all of it Blaine had been.

How certain of all of it he still is.

But he’s certain, too, that he needs more, and he’s pretty sure Kurt does, too, from the way he throws his head back against the couch cushions with a shaky breath of a moan when Blaine begins to mouth across Kurt’s jawline and down his neck, taking his time sucking slow, purposeful kisses everywhere he can reach, on every bit of skin that’s exposed.

If he were completely sober, Blaine would be reveling in the fact that he’s even being allowed to do this, that he’s learned the softness of Kurt’s lips and the salty-sweet taste of his skin, that he’s beginning to learn the way Kurt sounds when he moans and the feeling of Kurt’s cock hard and pressed against his own, even through their pants.

But he’s not sober - he’s not entirely wasted, plenty coherent enough to know what he’s doing and that he wants this and that Kurt wants it, too, but he’s drunk enough to be able to put the wonder and amazement and every other thought out of his mind and focus on this, on figuring out how to make Kurt feel good and actually making it happen.

The rest will come later.

So Blaine pulls back enough to look at Kurt, lifting slightly up on his knees on either side of Kurt’s lap and pressing Kurt further into the back of the couch, leaning their foreheads together, their breathing coming hot and ragged between them - and Kurt looks incredible like this, cheeks flushed from booze and heat and desire, eyes dark and lust-blown with only a ring of dark blue left visible around his pupils, mouth kissed red and swollen and god, what Blaine wouldn’t do to see those lips wrapped around-

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes out in a stuttered exhale, his hands sliding up to rest on Blaine’s bare chest, up under his undershirt, and Blaine realizes he’s just been staring, realizes he’s gone still, realizes that Kurt is nearly trembling underneath him, and Blaine needs to-

He needs to do something.

In as fluid of a motion as he can manage, Blaine pushes himself up off of the couch and up off of Kurt, instead sliding down onto the floor in front of him, gently pressing at both of Kurt’s knees to encourage his legs to part - and he can’t help but feel a tiny thrill at the way they fall open so readily, at the way he can hear the hitch of Kurt’s breath and possibly even a soft whimper, too.

There’s no way to describe how it makes Blaine feel other than powerful, like he’s in control of giving this to Kurt, of taking him apart in hopes of putting him back together, and Kurt is letting him do it, trusting him to.

The powerful feeling persists through his uncoordinated efforts to unlace Kurt’s boots and pull them off, then the sloppy awkwardness of their joint maneuver in getting Kurt’s pants off, too, and then-

And then Kurt’s fingers are twisting in Blaine’s curls, pulling him closer as he leans in to ghost his mouth along the outline of Kurt’s cock straining in his underwear, sucking briefly at the head of it, reveling in the taste as well as the moan that it elicits, low from Kurt’s throat.

Again, if Blaine were sober, he’d want to take his time - draw it out, strip Kurt naked and kiss and savor every part of him, and as much as he still wants that, hopes he’ll have another chance to do it, maybe, someday, he’s far too impatient, the anticipation of months of possibly-mutual stolen glances built up for far too long.

There’s no hope of waiting another second.

And so Blaine reaches to hook his thumb under Kurt’s waistband and tug his underwear long enough to free his cock, to wrap his hand around the length of it, then wasting no time taking it into his mouth.

The weight of Kurt on his tongue, the feeling of his lips stretching around him is incredible, turning Blaine on beyond belief as he sinks as far down as he can manage, and he can’t help but moan at the combination of all of it, nearly overwhelming his senses.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this, not just been intimate with someone but ached so desperately to give. He’s a thousand times more focused on Kurt’s release than his own, and though he’s achingly hard and feels himself straining against the fly of his pants, it doesn’t matter - all that matters is the way Kurt reacts when Blaine swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, the way Kurt moans when Blaine takes him in deeper, the way Kurt begins to tremble underneath him, fingers digging more insistently into Blaine’s curls.

But by the time Kurt is shifting restlessly and panting and moaning underneath Blaine’s hands and his mouth, Blaine is becoming more desperate, too - he reaches down to unbutton and unzip his pants, shoving them down past his hips far enough to slip his hand under his briefs and jerk himself off, too, not caring that it’s his own touch because it’s still connected, still in rhythm with what he’s giving Kurt, still on the path to the pleasure and the heat and the release that they’re searching for together.

“Blaine, I’m- Stop, I-”

Kurt sounds completely and utterly undone, and when Blaine pulls off to look up at him, he looks it, too - debauched and lost in the feeling of all of it, and Blaine did that, Blaine made him this way.

And Blaine needs to pull him through it.

He makes the split decision to push up off of the floor and climb back onto Kurt’s lap, one hand pressed into the couch cushion beside Kurt’s head, knees once again straddling his lap, taking another moment to look at him, to breathe him in and look and memorize just in case, before he leans their foreheads together and reaches down to grasp Kurt’s cock in his hand again, intent on bringing him over the edge.

Even untouched, Blaine is too wound up to properly kiss Kurt while he does it, instead staying impossibly close as their breaths mix hot and heady between them, as he pays attention to Kurt’s soft noises and whimpers to know when he has the right grip, the right touch, as he feels Kurt’s hips bucking up underneath him with an intensity that proves he’s right there at it, close, almost.

When he feels Kurt’s hand snake between their bodies to find Blaine’s cock, too, wrapping around it with surprisingly sure, steady fingers, Blaine is done for, too.

It takes only a handful of strokes for him to come, spilling hot over Kurt’s fist as his orgasm sparks through him like a firework, bright and bold and in pure technicolor, leaving him shaking and breathless and collapsing against Kurt’s body, just in time for him to feel Kurt come, too, and Blaine is close enough to feel it ripple through Kurt’s body, only letting go of Kurt’s cock to clutch him nearer, pressing as close as he can possibly get.

“Oh my god,” Kurt laughs shakily once they’ve begun to come down from it, and Blaine hums in agreement, pressing slower, gentler kisses to Kurt’s jaw, as if it can soothe him, help him, ease him back out of it.

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly, feeling like he should, as he musters all of his energy to lift up enough to look at Kurt, feeling weak and boneless but just needing to check, needing to be sure.

“So okay,” Kurt breathes, rocking up enough to capture Blaine’s lips in a kiss, softer and sweeter than any they’d shared before, making Blaine’s toes curl at the tenderness of it and of the weight it holds - a silent affirmation that this isn’t it, that they can be more, that this is just the beginning.

And Blaine allows himself to sink into it, reveling in the feeling instead of being afraid by it, instead of questioning it, only pulling away when it’s turned into a press of their smiles more than anything else.

Of course, there’s one more thing.

“Did you- Did you really already know who I was?” The question comes out sounding tentative, but Blaine is suddenly desperate to know, slightly afraid of the answer, unsure of what it means either way.

Kurt smiles slowly, lazily, shifting to lay down on the couch and tugging Blaine down along with him, pulling him close.

“Blaine Anderson,” he murmurs, and Blaine has never loved his name more, has never heard it quite like this, like the beginnings of the melody of a soft, sweet song that only Kurt knows how to sing. “I did a project with Tina, back a couple months ago. She talks about you a lot.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, a breathless, genuine giggle bubbling up and out of his chest, and he tucks his face into Kurt’s neck just because he can - just because he can.

“I didn’t know yours until I overheard it tonight,” Blaine admits softly, feeling silly and oblivious for it, for not having known, for not having thought to ask Tina long ago. “But I... I’ve been seeing you around the building for months now, and I just... There’s something about you.”

Kurt lets out a soft, happy hum, trailing his fingers up and down Blaine’s back, tracing small, weaving patterns along the path.

“Something good, I hope.”

Lifting his head up, Blaine feels no hesitation in pressing his lips to Kurt’s in a slow, languid kiss, whispering the words into it when he speaks.

“Better than I ever could have expected.”

#part 2 to the other one!#coworkers klaine #definitely just smut #but with some feeling at the end!#klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #glee #my fic #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #prompt game

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dreatine · 3 years

Text

Fic: Goodbye, Hello, Salvation

Title: Goodbye,Hello, Salvation

Author: dreatine

Rating: G

Characters: Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau

CMBingo2020 Square: Goodbye Letter

Disclaimer: CBS owns all

Notes:Thanks to Sharon and Edgar for making sure this is coherent

Notes 2: The title is a play on the MASH finale title:Goodbye,Farewell,Amen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Parking in the driveway, JJ turned off the ignition and laid her head on the steering wheel. She still couldn’t believe what happened, she still hadn’t processed it yet.

Spencer was gone.

Emily had called an emergency meeting this morning to tell them that Reid had resigned. Everyone was shocked, talking all at once, asking questions. Emily told them that Spencer left his badge,gun and a note saying that he needed a break after everything that happened in the last year or so. Prison,dealing with Cat, his mom, the cult, he told Emily that he needed to do something different. Everyone was wondering especially Penelope if he’d ever come back. JJ did her best to comfort her, reassuring her that he would be back but she wasn’t so sure. Of all the things he mentioned that caused him to leave, he didn’t mentioned LA and JJ wondered if what happened at the jewelry store was a part of it. She knew him well enough that he wouldn’t have said anything to the team. But, his demeanor after that case was distant, quiet, especially when he asked her at Rossi’s wedding if she was telling the truth about her confession.

She never intended to tell him her feelings. Not in a million years. And instead of definitively telling him no, she cowardly stayed silent, letting Spencer wonder if she meant it. And JJ honestly didn’t mean to be evasive, it was just she still hadn’t decided herself what her true feelings were about everything,

Partially what she was said was true, and partially not. She did love Spencer. That was true. And it wasn’t just as a brother/sister love either, no matter how much she told herself that’s all it was. The love she had was somewhat romantic in nature, she couldn’t deny it. She wondered over the years, why she was overprotective of him or why she was shocked when she found out about Maeve, telling herself that it was because he was her best friend and she wanted only what was best for him. But, that was not the whole truth. she now realized that a part of her had been a little in love with him or the idea of him, that clouded her reactions to Maeve, to Austin, to the others, that caused her protectiveness of him over the years.

The one thing she hadn’t known or if she’d ever known, if he’d felt the same way. He was so hard to read sometimes,if not most of the time even though they were best friends. She’d told him once that there was a part of him that he never showed anyone and she wondered if he’d ever would. ’Why do you care?’ she asked herself, not wanting to answer the question.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she took a deep breath and opened the car door. She had to pull herself together. Walking to the mailbox, she retrieved her mail. Flipping through, her breath caught. A simple, white envelope with familiar handwriting was staring back at her.

It was from Spencer.

Walking briskly up the walk, she entered her house and quickly shut the door. Dropping her things on the kitchen table, she grabbed the envelope and sat in her favorite chair. Settling in, she opened the letter and began to read.

Dear JJ,

If you’re reading this, then it meant I left the team. I needed to. After everything, I had to leave for my own health. For a long time, even before prison, I’ve felt I’m losing parts of myself to this job and I was starting not to recognize who I am anymore. And I knew if I stayed, I’d lose myself forever. So, I had to leave.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if what transpired in LA contributed to my leaving and I’ll be honest with you, it’s a part of it. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel guilty but I’m not going to lie to you now.

You’re confession stunned me because I didn’t expect it at all. I thought you’d say surely something else to diffuse the situation but when you said ‘You always loved me’, I didn’t know what to think. I thought you might be lying but while earlier you said I didn’t know your tells, but playing poker and confessing secrets are two different things. And I knew there was something more. But, when I confronted you at the wedding, your evasiveness confirmed my initial thoughts.

I knew that there was truth in your confession. How much, I still don’t know but you weren’t lying outright. I know not because I’m a profiler but because I’ve been your friend for 15 years and I know you well.

You’re my best friend and always have been, Our relationship had been so close, almost like siblings. You’re the sister I wished I had growing up and every instance of closeness we’ve shared over the years, I’ve felt a deep, familial love that’s made me consider you my sister in every way but blood.

And because of how much I cherish our friendship, the awkwardness that has been happening between us has been distressing. I don’t want this to not only affect our friendship but affect everything else, it’s best for everyone for me to leave.

Please don’t try to find me, nor get Garcia to find me. I told Emily the same thing. I need to be away from the BAU and knowing where I am, will not make me heal.

Tell everyone I love them and especially Henry and Michael that I love them more than I can say, and I’ll be back someday.

Love, Spencer

Folding up the letter, JJ started to cry, knowing that nothing would ever be the same.

******

Meanwhile at LAX:

Spencer took a deep breath as he walked down the corridor. He was both excited and nervous at the same time. It had been a long time since he’d seen her but he’d thought of her often. When he decided to leave the BAU, one of his thoughts was to see her, wanting to reconnect with her in a meaningful way that he should have done all those years ago. His salvation, he truly believed.

Coming out of the tunnel, Spencer glanced around, smiling widely when he spotted her. Walking over to her, he smiled brightly.

“Hello, Reid.”

“Hello, Elle.” he replied. "Call me Spencer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The End

#cmbingo #cmbingo2020 #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dreatine fics

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 3 years

Text

Hallucinations and Salutations || Leah and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @phoenixleah and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Kaden goes hunting in the woods and finds a phoenix instead of ballybogs.

Somedays Kaden wished he could just ignore what he knew, just stay at home and maybe have a nice, normal relaxing night, warm and comfortable, dog curled up beside him. That wasn’t his life though. So here he was, walking through the woods. There were reports of large frogs along one of the hiking trails in the woods. In isolation, not terrible news. Weird but fine. However, the reports also said that some of the people who crossed their path ended up in the hospital with symptoms of poisoning. If Kaden had to guess, he was pretty sure once he got there, he’d find ballybogs. He could have let it lie stayed home. Sure, it was winter, there were less hikers than normal, but that didn’t mean no hikers. He could have just closed the path. No, instead he was going to take care of the problem personally. He’d made sure to wear gloves and a scarf wrapped around his face and hat. He really should have brought goggles, too, to protect himself from the poison but he hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. And he wasn’t sure he had any. Along the way, he heard a heartbeat up ahead and paused. There was no way to tell for sure what sort of creature it belonged to just by that, but the rhythm and the footfalls certainly suggested human. He fucking hoped. “Hello?” he called out, voice muffled by the scarf. “Anyone here?”

Despite the rain’s miserable qualities, there was always something special about a walk through the forest after a storm. The way the puddles settled on the ground, like temporary pools of reflection that begged to be explored or splashed in. Leah, of course, would never venture close enough to something so dangerous to her, but they were certainly nice to look at. Especially now, when they seemed to be dancing, swirling different shades of blue throughout them. If she were being honest with herself, she didn’t even know how she ended up here, or why she was in the forest on this particular day. A more lucid version of herself might have explained that she was attempting to get back on her feet and exploring the forest alone like she always did seemed like the best way to do that. It had been working, too, until she came across a rather large toad that she immediately recognized as a ballybog. A ballybog who viewed her as a threat and shot some of it’s poison right onto her face. That didn’t matter now, though, because the puddles colors were still dancing, intoxicating and bright, and she wondered what kind of unknown magic they possessed. A voice she recognized shook her out of her thoughts, it echoed through the trees around her. She looked up, spotting the most annoying person on the planet. “You again?!”, she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I’m trying to watch the show in peace, Kaden. Is nothing sacred anymore?” Behind him, a dog was juggling on a unicycle, and she scoffed out a short laugh. “Is that yours?” she asked looking beyond him.

Of all the people to find out here, it was Leah. Kaden thought about rolling his eyes and walking away, he was sure she wanted nothing to do with him anyway, but she beat him to the punch. At least on the former part. He still was planning to opt for the latter himself but her words threw him off. “Again?” he asked, scrunching his brow. “Leah, what the fuck are you talking about? A show?” He glanced behind him, following her finger and gaze, only to see nothing there. He whipped back to look at her. “Is what mine? Leah are you al--” The pieces came together and Kaden sighed. He was out here looking for ballybogs. Either the librarian was off her rocker, or, more likely, she found the monsters first. “You know what, you’re right. Nothing is sacred. In fact, I’m here to take you to the show,” he said reaching his hand out to her. “Come on, we have to get out here.” Before more ballybogs found them. She was clearly already under the influence and the last thing they needed was for him to fall under, too. “It’s, uh, it’s not-- I mean, the show is… somewhere else. Not here,” he said, trying to play along. Only he had no idea what he was working with. Or if she was going to trust him in the slightest.

“The show is there, you Indagor,” Leah said, pointing to the puddle of rainbow colors. If only she had seen that type of representation when she was a young teen. Still, she looked to his hand and reached to grab it, something about it seeming warm and inviting. Warm, warm, warm. She gasped, realizing his trick almost instantly. “No!” she shouted at him, pulling her hand back just before it grabbed his. “You may not feel my skin. It is no warmer than yours!” She rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets and swallowing, anxious about how close that had been. Was Kaden here to steal her tears, then? She furrowed her eyebrows at his words, looking to the rainbow puddle. Was this just the pre-show? She turned to him again, suspicious, but taking a few steps in his direction. “I’ll allow you to show me, but don’t think you’re getting any tears out of me, buddy.” She should really try to be nicer to him- he was Bea’s friend and someone Regan liked to kiss, for some reason. “I like your beret and striped shirt”, she muttered stubbornly as she walked behind him. “You must get along so well with the other mimes.”

“In-da-what?” Kaden said, brow furrowing. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Clearly his attempts to persuade her wasn’t working. The hallucinogen from the ballybog was too strong. At least he hoped like hell that’s all this was. “Fine. I won’t take your hand,” he said, holding his hands up in a bit of surrender. It would be so much easier to just leave her there and walk away but no part of him could ever actually leave someone behind like that, let alone someone he knew. “Tears? Putain, did our conversations before make you cry or something? Why would I want you crying? I just want to get you out of, uh, the way. Out of the way of the performance.” He hoped this would work. Hell, at least she was following him. That was something. “My what?!” He stopped dead in his tracks and she ran into his back before he turned to look at her. “I am not a mime. I’ve never been a mime. And I’d sooner die than be a mime, got it?” He didn’t care if she was practically high, he wasn’t going to stand for this slander.

“Inda-goooooor”. Leah sang out the last syllable, holding her hands out triumphantly as she walked closer to Kaden. “They’re monsters that look like buttholes and never leave you alone. It was rude to call you that, but sometimes that’s just. How. I. Feel.” A wave of relief overtook her when he relented and seemed to not need to feel her skin just yet. Perhaps there was a way she could distract him long enough to get away, just in case he got that idea in his head again. She furrowed her eyebrows at Kaden, his words jumbling and stretching and mixing together. There was no deciphering what he was saying, and suddenly, concern overtook her features. “Kaden, Bud, you doing alright? None of that coming out of your mouth sounds like words.” She watched the ground as she walked behind him, fascinated by how all the little people down there managed to create such intricate choreography on the spot. As she walked into him, she let out a grunt, reaching for her collarbone and rubbing it, though none of the pain she’d been used to appeared. “If you’re not a mime, then why are you dressed like that?”, she mumbled under her breath. Hearing calming music in the distance, she looked beyond Kaden, noticing a creature dancing in a rather large puddle a few paces ahead of them. “Now that is fascinating!” she said, squinting her eyes to get a better look. “Is that the show?”

“Putain de merde, really?” Kaden said with a sigh. Of course she was insulting him with rare supernatural lore. That was about the only thing that made sense right now. “Pick a simpler insult next time, alright?” For a moment, he considered asking her how she knew all this, where she got those supernatural books she had at the ready. She was clearly under the influence of the ballybog poison, she might tell him. But even if he did ask, there was no guarantee anything she said would be coherent. And even if it was, he was damn sure he didn’t want to be the sort of person to even ask right about now. “What do you mean it doesn’t sound like words?” he asked. Well that made it clear now was not the time for any conversation. He needed to get them out of these woods and get her home in one piece. Quickly.

Kaden’s brow furrowed as she mentioned mimes. Why was it always the fucking mimes? “Dressed like what?” He looked down at his clothes, checked his shirt. It was flannel. And his jacket was black. Nothing was striped. He was damn sure of that, he would never willingly walk out of the house wearing black and white stripes. But it was nice to see that Rumpleskuffs hadn’t messed with his wardrobe on his way out the door. What wasn’t great to see was Leah leaning over into a puddle that had a hand rising up from it. “Leah!” Kaden shouted as he reached to grab her and yanked her away from whatever the hell was crawling out of the water. It was strange how warm she was given how cold it was outside. Maybe the poison was giving her a fever. Merde, they had to get out of there. “Come on, we’ve gotta g--” His words were cut off by a scream as he felt something wrap around his ankle, trying to drag him down and backwards.

Leah nodded, satisfied with herself. She wasn’t sure if his frustrated mention of poutine was due to the fact that she was definitely smarter than him, or if he was just that upset that there weren’t any fries around. Either way, his reaction was funny, and a snorted laugh escaped her. Normally, she would have been mortified at such a loss of composure in front of someone she was not at all comfortable with. “I mean you’re talking all jumbled up, almost like a song. Remember the mirror house at the summer carnival? You sound like that.”

“You know… all stripped. Red Scarf. Beret. Face paint. Isn’t that the mime uniform?” She said as she walked over to the puddle creature to get a better look. She was sure she was a safe distance away, and huffed in annoyance when Kaden made the dramatic move to yank her away. She turned around to face him when he screamed, looking him up and down with concern. First, his words were jumbled up, and now he was screaming. Clearly something was wrong with him, they really needed to get him to this show to calm him down. After staring and searching for a while, her eyes fell to his feet, and to the hand wrapped around his ankle. “Oh look! That’s weird. That thing looks like it’s trying to pull you into the puddle.” She furrowed her eyebrows, watching as the hand danced around Kaden’s ankle, coaxing and curling and cunning. It seemed familiar, like the horror stories about water monsters she and her siblings used to tease each other with when they were children, prompting fear in her belly after every rainstorm that plagued White Crest. She shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts, and focused again on the man in front of her. The mime clothes were gone, but Kaden’s face was filled with distress. She licked her lips, stepping forward to grab his hands, attempting to pull him away from the monster in the puddle. “Don’t worry Kaden, the water won’t kill you like it would us, but the monster’s teeth probably will.” Her feet were getting dangerously close to the puddle as well, but she was too focused on pulling Kaden to safety (and maybe too high on ballybog) to realize. She tried as she pulled to place the name of the monster- Voltron, Virginia, VapidHunterMan- “Vodnik!”. Saying the name aloud stirred something deep within her, and her eyes locked with Kaden, concern suddenly lacing her features.

Kaden didn’t have time to question her about whatever strange mime illusions she was seeing. Not now, not as he felt himself being dragged down towards a puddle. “The water won’t what?!” he shouted back as he clawed at the ground and rocks and roots, trying to find something to hold on to, anything to pull himself out of the iron grip around his ankle. His heart pounded in his chest, what a fucking shitty time for Leah to be under the influence of a hallucinogenic supernatural frog. Would she even reach out to take his hand? Even try to help? His eyes grew wide as he watched her, chest heaving as he dug his fingernails deeper into the dirt, trying with all his might to keep himself from being yanked away. It was possible that even if she were in her right mind, she’d leave him there. If he found the breath to speak again, maybe he should tell her to run. At least one of them would make it out alive that way. Then he felt her hands around his and his head shot up to meet her gaze. She was helping? Right, she was helping. He did his best to help let her guide him away from the monster, hoping she was strong enough to at least afford him some leverage as he kicked backwards, flailing to hit whatever it was trying to pull him away. “Vodnick?” he said on an exhale? Putain. A fucking vodnick? Shit fucking shit.

Kaden scrambled even more, got his free foot square on the ground and used it to push himself forward, out of the monster’s grip. He tumbled to the ground, landing on his side, shoulder sliding through the mud and grime of the forest floor. He groaned as he stood up and straightened himself out. It looked like the monster was gone. For now. But they were surrounded by puddles. And one of them, maybe all of them, contained a monster. “We have to get out of here. N--” Before he could say now, a roar split through the forest and a creature burst up from the ground, water splaying and spraying around it. Kaden threw himself in front of Leah like a human shield, reaching for his knife. It felt small and pointless against the growling creature but he was going to do his best. Not what he came prepared to fight, but he was damn sure his training wasn’t about to let him down now.

Leah pulled and pulled with all her might, her eyes now traveling between Kaden’s face and the monster that threatened to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper. It was hard to focus, because his face morphed and twisted as she pulled, like the puddle she was looking at earlier, but with more less color and more eyes. When Kaden was finally free, she plopped back onto the ground with a grunt, feeling the slight sludge of mud underneath her. What an interesting texture- she had an urge to reach out and touch it with her- No….Mud wasn’t good- mud meant moisture, and moisture meant water, and water definitely meant ouch. It was a better idea to reach for Kaden next to her for support as she stood up, and that’s exactly what she did. Although he was saying something, Leah barely registered it, instead focusing on the trees that swayed and danced behind him. She was about halfway to standing when the monster roared out, but it wasn’t the noise that gained her attention. Small droplets of water made contact with her arm and a harsh, sizzling noise could be heard underneath the roar. She cried out, covering the skin with her hand, eyes wide as she looked between it, Kaden, and the Vodnik. There was something about the pain from the splash that sobered her up considerably, though only enough to cause her complete confusion in what around her was real. She grabbed the small of Kaden’s back as he jumped in front of her to shield herself, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in.

“I can’t-... Don’t let it… It wants to get me we-” Her words were cut off by another cry of pain as a wet, slimy hand wrapped itself around her ankle from behind them. Water from the creature’s hand soaked through her jeans immediately, and the stinging from it hurt worse than she expected it to. There were always times growing up that she’d had the occasional contact with water, it was almost inevitable, especially living in White Crest, but something about this felt heavy and elevated, so much so that she didn’t bother hiding the pain from Kaden like she normally would. As it attempted to pull her down, Leah was thrown to the ground. She thrashed and struggled, attempting to get away before she was submerged. “Kaden!”, she cried, her voice fearful and desperate. “I can’t get wet! I ca- don’t let it take me, ...p-please!”

Kaden kept his eyes in font of him. Which was his first mistake. The vodnik had shifted behind them and the hunter twisted back to face the screams from behind him. “Leah!” he shouted as he saw her being pulled down. Shit, she was on the ground before Kaden had a chance to figure out what was going on. Putain de merde. He reached out to grab her back and missed her at first. Shit, the knife was in the way. He dropped it and tried again, gripping her hands and wrists, pulling her away from the monster. “Hold on! I’ve got-- What?” His brow furrowed at her shouts that she couldn’t get wet and nearly loosened his grip as she slid back. Shit, shit. He threw himself towards the monster and her ankle and started prying the beast’s grip off her. Still, it didn’t make sense. Vodniks didn’t secrete acid, did they? It was just water. Why was she afraid of it? Putain, didn’t matter, he’d figure that out later. Right now he needed to get her away from harm and kill this fucking monster.

Kaden’s mind raced as he tore the monster away from Leah. Vodik. Shit, had to run through his memory for what he knew about them. Water monsters. Great, that was obvious. Came out of any water, right he saw that right now. Weaknesses, what the fuck were their weaknesses? He was pretty sure anything would kill them, nothing specific needed. But there had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

Putain. That was right. “We have to get it out of the water. Back up!” he shouted once she was free. Kaden then reached into the puddle before it tried to slink away and dragged the beast from the water. A shiver ran down his spine as his hands touched the water, worse than any werewolf, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He reached down for his knife, any knife, only to find it wasn’t there. Shit. “The knife!” he yelled, hoping she’d figure out to toss it over.

A searing pain continued to pulsate from Leah’s ankle, where the Vodnik’s hand was securely wrapped with no indication that it had any intention of giving in. In the depths of her mind, a monster like the Vodnik was always something she was most afraid of, and it was some sick twist of fate that she was stuck begging for help from someone she trusted so little. Still, she wrapped her arms around Kaden as he pulled her free, and for the first time, she was grateful he was a hunter. She couldn’t believe that thought had even crossed through her mind, but it was true- she just hoped she’d forget about it before she completely sobered up from whatever was making her feel so loopy.

As soon as she got her bearings about her, she backed up like he asked, being sure to avoid any other puddles dancing on the ground around them. The water still swirled and twisted inside, but it no longer looked inviting or entertaining. Something shiny caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, but she needed to deal with something much more important first. Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she pulled at the wet jeans around her ankle, rolling them up to reveal her smoking skin underneath. The water from the Vodnik had done a number there, but it was nothing a few tears couldn’t fix. At least none of it had burned off- Kaden had gotten to her just in time. Kaden… was he speaking again? Whatever he said sounded hollow in her ears, like he was worlds away instead of 7 feet. She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to make out his words in slow motion. The knife. Oh! The knife! Did he lose it? She looked around her feet, trying to recall where she’d seen the shiny silver twinkle just moments before. “Ah!” she said when she finally located it, picking it up and turning to him triumphantly. Except, it wasn’t a knife she was holding at all, it was a twig.“The knife!”, she called, tossing it across the way to him.

His grip slipped and slid aas Kaden tried to hold onto the mossy, slimy monster that was thrashing against the grip of his arms. The vodnik wanted desperately to drag kaden back to the puddle, deep down into the murky waters and devour him. It tried to find a way to grab the hunter, pull him down. A chill shot through Kaden as he did his best to keep it contained, shoving his elbow into the monster, slamming his boots against any loose limb he saw. It wasn’t fear that brought the chill, though. It was something else. If only he had a fucking knife. He took a chance to glance back at Leah to see what the hell she was doing. That glance didn’t provide much answers, she was wandering around near aimlessly. “Putain! Any second now!” he yelled back as the monster clawed at him and roared. It was trying to grab onto his wrist, pull it away and drag him back.

Just when Kaden thought he’d have to reach for a rock and make shit up as he went along, his head shot back to see the knife flying towards him. He caught it and twisted it under hand, stabbing the monster in the gut, digging the blade deep into its flesh. The screech of pain that waled through the forest was loud, but Kaden had heard much worse. He kicked the thing away and leaned over to slit its throat, pulling the blade across swift and clean, before stabbing it in the heart for good fucking measure. It wasn’t long before the creature stopped writing and screaming and lay there in the forest dead. Certainly not the worst fight Kaden had endured, but all the same, he felt drained in a way he couldn’t explain. Like there was a fog around him and like he was freezing at the same time. “I don’t-- Are you--” he started to ask before he slunk back down to the ground to sit and hold his head. He needed the world to stop spinning. “Okay,” he managed to say at last. “Are you okay?”

Wait-... no. The twig knife Leah tried to throw fell halfway across with a plop, and she realized a moment later that the weight had been all off. Maybe whatever was making her feel loopy was making her see things as well. Focus, Leah. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath in before opening them again, noticing a glint under a few leaves a few feet away. “Sorry, I got it!”, she called grabbing the new knife and tossing it back and forth, making sure it was the right weight. “Here, this should be right!” she called to him, tossing it across to him, hoping she was right this time. She let out a breath of relief when he caught it deftly. There had never been any doubt in her mind that he’d been lying about being a hunter, but watching him do his work made her want to close her eyes and turn away, especially at the scream the creature let out- desperate and agonizing. It didn’t feel like Nell with the Ustra, or how she and the others had dealt with the reanimated corpses. The way Kaden killed the Vodnik felt much more final, but she supposed that when you were trained to kill your whole life, finality was to be expected.

The skin around ankle still stung like a bitch, and she still couldn’t tell up from down, but she was fine. “I’m okay”, she nodded, watching in concern as he slunk to the ground. She walked over to him quickly, and warm skin be damned, she placed her hands on his arms- gently, as if to get his attention. He was freezing, and something gnawed in the deep precipice of her memory, begging to come through. “Are you?”, she asked, tilting her head to try and make eye contact.

His first instinct was to push her away, refuse the help, soldier on by himself. It was what he always did, it was what he was supposed to do. But Kaden didn’t have enough energy to fight her help. He couldn’t tell if her skin was warmer than usual or if he was just that cold but it almost hurt it was so warm against his skin. The exact opposite of what he was used to whenever Regan or Morgan touched him. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. The thing was dead. That meant he should be okay. “We have to get out of here, there could be more. And the bally--” Kaden tried to push himself up off the forest floor and start marching ahead, but the trees looked sideways and his head was light and dizzy so he reached out to brace himself on her shoulder, trying to steady the world. It didn’t do a whole lot of good. “Back. Have to. Get there.”

“Woah, okay… Kaden, you need to stay sitting”, Leah said, trying to guide him back down. “You’re… not, we-...” The bally. Ballybogs? That certainly explained why nothing seemed to make sense… had she had a run in with one before Kaden found her? She looked back at him, her face questioning and full of concern. “There’s something… we’re forgetting something, Kaden… it’s why you’re all out of whack.” Something about Vodniks that would explain why Kaden could barely speak. She searched him for injuries, holding up an arm, tilting his head to look at his neck, moving his legs to make sure they had the proper dexterity… but everything was in perfect working condition. Everything except… his body temperature. His skin was so cold. Oh! “You’re hypothermic...” she said, squeezing his hands gently between hers. “Common Vodnik tactic. Too much contact with its puddle, that’s why.” She looked him over again, and with each passing moment, he seemed to be getting worse and worse. She grabbed his wrist and felt for his pulse, and paled when she was met with one that was irregular and weak. It was getting bad fast, and if she didn’t do something quick, he was going to die out here. Letting out a nervous breath, she surveyed the area, and then she quickly pulled her coat off, draping it over him.

If you would have told her 4 months ago that she was going to do what she was about to for a hunter, she would have never believed you. She would have told you that he got what he deserved for messing with a vodnik, that this is what hunters got for trying to play god on a daily basis with their sick cruelty. But even as the images of Kaden blank faced and slitting the vodnik’s throat danced through her mind, her heart hurt at the idea of letting him die here. “Don’t worry”, she whispered, though she wasn’t sure he was processing anything she was saying. She placed her hands on his arms once more, closing her eyes. With expert precision, she released the heat from within her, feeling it flow from her hands and into Kaden, coaxing him back to the warmth of the world.

The words felt like they were going through cotton to get to reach his ears. Kaden furrowed his brow and tried to piece them together again, find the meaning through his haze. “Hypothermic?” he repeated, hoping maybe saying it aloud would help give it some more meaning. It sounded bad, it was bad. What it meant for real, he couldn’t say right then. He just knew he felt bad. And if that was bad, he had to trust her that was the bad thing happening right now. “N--no. You need your c-coat,” he said, teeth chattering as she put her coat on him. He wanted to refuse it, it was still winter and cold in Maine, she needed it. He would be fine. Just fine. Still, he didn’t have the energy to knock it off. He didn’t manage to reach his hand upwards before she took both of them in her own. Maybe he shouldn’t question it. She was clearly doing better than he was right now.

Kaden had no clue what was going on, what she could manage to do with her hands to cure him of whatever hypo-thing was happening to him. Wait. Was she magic? She said she couldn’t get wet. Did she think witches would melt like in the wizard of oz? But she wasn’t green. And they weren’t in Kansas. Or Oz. Thinking was still hard, but the heat coming from her hands felt like it was spreading, pushing its way through the rest of his body, almost as if someone had turned on a space heater and thawed him out. Slowly, he felt some of the fog lifting as the warmth settled in around him. His brow continued to crease as she continued to help. “Are you… what are you, exactly? Because I’m pretty sure librarians don’t normally do that.”

It was finished as quickly as it started, and Leah could tell just by glancing at Kaden that her plans to warm him up had worked and that he was feeling much better. What she hadn’t expected were his questions so soon. She was sure it’d take him a while to come to, so that Leah could formulate a believable enough explanation that would make sense to someone with as much supernatural knowledge as Kaden had. She pressed her lips together, pulling her coat off of him and slipping it on, now a bit more aware of the frigid temperature now that she had given Kaden a good amount of her heat. “Librarians don’t normally do what?”, she asked as she zipped it up slowly, avoiding his eye contact. It was surely only a matter of time before he worked it out, and for once, she didn’t know how she felt about Kaden knowing what she was. “What makes you assume I’m anything but human?”

“Function like a human space heater or get burned by water,” Kaden filled in as he wiped off his knife and put it back away in its sheath before standing again. “It was just water, right? I mean, I didn’t think vodniks shot acid but I could be…” He didn’t think he was wrong, though. Curious that she mentioned the word human. His head tilted to the side at her statement. Here he was assuming she was a spellcaster when it might be a touch more complicated than that. “Not much. Just, uh, well... that. What you just said.” He waited for the churn in his stomach, the unease of the thought of standing next to someone not human, a monster. But it didn’t settle in the way it once did. He was left feeling blank and a bit confused. Was that worse? Kaden didn’t know. There was guilt, or something like it creeping in. From what or why it was there, that he didn’t know.

“Vodniks don’t shoot acid”, Leah answered quickly, shoving her hands into her pockets. She was going down an incredibly stupid path. Alone, in the woods with a hunter, practically guiding him toward what she truly was. Her family would practically disown her if they found out about it. All the teachings churned through her mind, that hunters were awful- desperate for a kill and would turn you over for information or tears at a moment’s notice. They were trickers and evil and wrong. And Kaden proved that, right? He was insufferable and a know-it-all and just incredibly broody in every sense of the word. But then why did she feel a sense of trust toward him? Why did she feel like she could tell him and he wouldn’t use it against her? “It’s no secret between us that I’m aware of the supernatural, Kaden. I just thought you were implying something, is all. I guess my coat was just extra warm, that must have been what helped you.”

Kaden wasn’t sure why the lack of trust stung him. There was no reason he should care. And there was no reason for her to trust him. None at all, really. Sure he saved her from the vodnik, but that was just his obligation, just because of what he was. His training. He was a hunter. And he knew how she felt about those. About him. Maybe he should just shut up and be grateful that she didn’t let him die out there. “Yeah. Must have been,” he said, shuffling and not meeting her eyes. Still, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. “You know for a second I thought you might be like Bea. Considering, you know. Friends. All that.” That sounded stupid even to him as it left his lips. “Guess I was wrong. And it was just the coat. Nothing supernatural at all. Guess I should thank your coat and not you. In that case.” He wondered if she would take the bait. Probably not.

His hurt tone made Leah pause, but it was the mention of Bea that really caused a pang in her heart. He was being so incredibly dramatic, as always, but he had never brought her up directly, before now. She let out a huff and started walking out of the forest slowly, knowing he’d follow close behind. After closing her eyes for a short moment, she began to open up, finally. “You’re not far off, actually”, she started, clearing her throat awkwardly. “When Bea and I were little girls we were total opposites- still are, in some ways. Bea was confident and stood up for herself, and was always taught to be proud of what she was, and I was quiet and shy and would have rather folded into myself than given an oral report to the whole class. And I can’t even remember how we discovered we could both start fires- can you imagine two tiny pyromaniacs on the elementary school playground? That’s how I always picture it, now. But it connected us, irrevocably and forever. And it’s something that’s so purely part of each of us, but not for the same reason. There were things she could do that I couldn’t, and vice versa.”

“But as a phoenix”, she glanced at him, only for a moment, desperate to read his reaction and desperate to hide from it at the same time, “I always knew it was important to hide who I am. Not out of shame, but out of pride and protection. In the same way that you were taught that the supernatural were dangerous, I was taught that hunters were. Are.” She paused her speech, but kept walking, wary of the awkward silence that hung between them. “I almost brought you tears when I found out what happened with Agatha”, she admitted.

Kaden stood there blinking for a moment, stunned by the vulnerability Leah was displaying. He hadn’t even really asked for it. Alright, maybe he had poked for it at little, but it was more about her than she’d shared with him maybe ever. Here. In the woods. A few feet away from a dead vodnik and probably a few ballybogs now that he remembered. All he knew to do was stand there and listen. For a brief moment, he believed she was also a witch, just like Bea and Nell and Luce. Even Cece and once upon a time, like Morgan. But what she really was stunned him even more. “A what?” he blabbered before he could even think. He could have put the pieces together. In fact, he was almost there, but it just seemed unreasonable to think it was possible in a way. A phoenix? He knew a banshee (two, even, unfortunately) and now a phoenix. He couldn’t comprehend it. Both species that he was told were rare enough he’d likely never cross paths with one of them his whole life as a hunter. He could only manage to blink some more, trying to process what the hell he’d just learned and what it meant. And why he was now the sort of person who just accepted that and didn’t reach for a knife. “Oh,” was all he managed to say in response. “I… thanks. I-- I mean I heal pretty quick but, uh...:” Kaden shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down, to the left, right, anywhere but right at Leah. “That makes sense. You know. You and Bea. Now.”

Leah let out a long sigh, nodding. It was over. It was out, and there was no taking it back anymore. She glanced at him again, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to call all of his hunter friends to come and kidnap her and her family for their tears and steal all the information in the scribary. Well, he didn’t know about the scribary, did he? But instead, she was just met with thanks. Thanks, and maybe a bit of shock as well. “You have to understand why I haven’t exactly been… the warmest to you now, or comfortable sharing what I really am. I don’t share it with anyone, really. Which, ...please keep this between us, Kaden.” She nodded, chewing on her lower lip anxiously. “And I’ll do my best not to set you on fire”. Her playful tone, she noted, was probably foreign in Kaden’s ears, but she hoped it shone through earnestly. Suddenly the dog on the unicycle from earlier road around them, tipping its hat at her. “I think I’m still hallucinating a bit…”, she said, her eyes wide as she waved back at him.

“Right, makes sense,” Kaden replied, still reeling a bit from everything she’d just told him. And even more so after she threatened him. But with a smile. Right. It was so easy to forget how dangerous she could be when talking to her. The same way it was easy for him to forget that Regan, Morgan, or Ari could be dangerous at times. It was the same trap he’d watch bleeding hearts fall into for years. And here he was, falling into it all on his own. He rolled his shoulders back, like he could shrug it off physically, whatever weirdness he was feeling. It didn’t go anywhere, but he could at least pretend it was all just a result of the hypothermia he’d felt earlier. “Yeah, try to keep that at a minimum, thanks,” he finally said back. With a sigh he started taking some shaky steps forward. “Let’s get out of here. For real this time. Should be this way. Come on. We’re going to avoid any and all mimes. Real or imaginary.”

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #leah #phoenixleah #Hallucinations and Salutations

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twiceblackvelvet · 4 years

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Eclipse

Request; Could I request for LOONA kim lip with prompt "were you singing my song?", fluff? Thank you! ^^

A/N; i lost this request somewhere. tumblr hates me here. i took this on a little bit of a different route than the usual because well, it wouldn’t be me if i didn’t try to be different lol. anyway! enjoy anon. sorry for the wait.

Warm air traps you in place sitting idly, headphones placed in your ears, and a glass of water filled to the brim with ice placed beside your leg. The window slightly ajar to allow the very little breeze on offer to hit your skin, a small offering of mercy from the rays beaming down from above. Your shadow being illuminated by the deadly sun being your only companion other than the herds of people walking around the city below you. All of which likely suffering from the heatwave far worse.

It’s calm, peaceful, albeit for the beads of sweat threatening to pour down your forehead at any given moment. The soft melody playing from your phone up to your headphones is particularly catchy, though, you’re not sure if you’ve heard it or not before now. Whoever is singing has a delightful tone that makes the hairs on your arm stand to attention. It’s beautiful you think. You quickly tap the little heart on the screen to make sure you don’t lose it amongst the playlist.

Eclipse.

It somehow becomes the song for you in the weeks following. Every time you listen to it your ears take note to different parts of the song that you hadn’t picked up on previously. Be it the instrumental, the adlibs, or just the voice. Anyone else would have been driven to insanity after having listened to it as often as you have, and yet, you catch yourself more often than not using the repeat feature.

Part of you doesn’t wish to learn more about the person behind the angelic voice, after all, sometimes that can lead to disappointment if it turns out they’re a beautiful singer but an awful person. Yet, the girl displayed on the screen has you more than intrigued if truth be told. You soon learn that she isn’t a solo artist as you had assumed but rather part of a group with eleven other people. After consuming all of their music in one afternoon, it becomes clear to you that whilst all of their music is to your liking, her own song stands out the most to you.

It’s like the shuffle option on your phone just knows when to hit you with those atmospheric synths, sitting on a train headed towards work. It’s a quiet day, people simply seated and minding their own business which is a relief. Your headphones placed firmly inside your ears, the lack of noise surrounding you is a huge upgrade from the usual commotion you’ve grown used to dealing with. Your hand resting atop your lap gently taps along to the beat as you zone out briefly until the train comes to a halt.

Lack of people around is not a privilege you’re offered once you’re out of the station as the streets are lined with people scurrying along, likely doing the same as you. You instinctively turn the volume up to an almost deafening level before striding onward.

Draining. That’s the only way to describe your day. Everything that could go wrong, managed to, and everything that could go right evaded you like the plague. The walk home made even more excruciating by the fact that your headphones have decided to give up on you. Every step feels like it’s going to be your last if you aren’t in the comfort and safety of your own home soon.

Without even realizing it, you slowly begin to hum a tune as you walk, your brain’s way of offering you something to focus on other than the dark streets ahead. The lyrics soon begin to jumble out of your mouth too, not in the correct order, key or rhythm they’re supposed to, but you do your best to sound quietly decent. It’s relaxing and makes you feel a little bit more at ease.

Well, it would, if it weren’t for some very loud steps from behind you beginning to grow closer and closer to you. Your first instinct is to swing around extremely fast and hopefully knock whoever this strange person is flying far enough away from you to be able to at least get a head start on them. However, they’re a lot quicker than you imagined and instead their body collides with your own and the two of you end up laying in a heap in the middle of the sidewalk together.

You’ve seen this happen plenty of times on television or in films, yet what they don’t show you or explain is just how painful it is to hit the ground with force and have a whole other body on top of your own. A visit to the chiropractor will definitely be happening in the foreseeable.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god! Are you okay?” The words hit your ears like a sharp sting, either that or this collision has truly broken your spine. “Please say something.”

Your eyes readjust to look up at the owner of the body still uncomfortably pressed against your own. A hood is pulled up over their head but you can see some brown flowing hair poking out of the side of it. Dark eyes that are wide and alarmed, likely because you still haven’t said a word or that it’s only just become aware to them that they’re pressing down onto you.

“Sorry, again,” the stranger apologizes once more as she finally stands up and offers a hand for you to grab. “Come on, you can’t lay there and be silent, either speak or get up at least.” A chuckle follows her words and you’re convinced it’s the softest thing you’ve ever heard.

Latching onto her hand, you finally stand on your own two feet once more. Her grip almost crushes the bones in your own, but she relinquishes it as soon as she sees that you’re okay.

“Do you usually run into people at full force?” You ask, annoyed tone obvious and aiming right for her.

“N-no.” The stranger stutters. “I just got a little bit excited when I heard you singing, can you do it again?”

Great, you think, not only has she managed to damage your entire frame but now she’s after your sanity too having overheard your out of tune singing, if you can call it that.

“No? I wasn’t singing for you. It’s scary out here, there are random people who will run right into you after all.”

Almost in slow motion, or maybe it’s just the trance-like state she’s put you into, the woman removes the hood covering the majority of her head. Those brown locks of hair end up sliding down her back gracefully and her features become clearer without the darkness of the material blocking them. She looks, familiar. Though you’re certain the two of you have never met before.

“Please, just like a few seconds of it and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.” Her begging right before you bizarrely makes your heart swell inside your chest. Never did you imagine that this was the encounter you’d be receiving when you first heard the impending footsteps behind you.

“Why?”

She clears her throat and looks around awkwardly as if there are people around to overhear your conversation. There isn’t.

“I think it was my song you were singing.” Though the words exit her mouth at a normal rate, time seems to slow down between you both the more she continues. That and you’re ready for the world to swallow you whole, spit you back out, and then swallow you again. Because, yes, that familiarity you felt stems from the fact that this is Kim Lip stood right before you. “It sounded really pretty, please.”

All of the air in your lungs couldn’t force the song out of your throat even if you wanted to accept her request. But you definitely don’t. Frankly, you’re embarrassed enough and you can’t imagine how she must be feeling about it all. It’s best for both of you if you simply walk away now and forget this ever happened. Which is what you attempt to do. However, her hand latches onto your coat and pulls you back into place in front of her.

“Come on, I’ll sing it with you.” She stares deep into your eyes. Genuine in her approach, you can’t help but give in to her request.

Despite having heard the song several times and just singing it merely seconds ago, hearing Kim Lip right before you softly let out the lyrics herself, you stumble over a few of the words which earn you a bright smile from her. Your own embarrassment being the only coherent thought in your mind other than just how perfect she sounds and that anyone would believe you’re listening to the version from your phone and not a real person before you.

She suddenly grasps your hand, presumably to be encouraging, however, your nerves get the better of you and suddenly you can feel it shaking against her own skin. She doesn’t let go, simply holds it a little tighter.

“You’re a good singer.” She stops mid-song to not just tell you but almost convince you. Her features show that she can sense you aren’t confident in this moment but she’s imploring you to try or at least one day believe it. “Thank you so much for singing with me.”

Her hand finally let’s go of your own and she places the hood back over her head, her face darkening in the process to where all you can properly see are her sparkling eyes that you’re sure look as if they’re on the verge of tears, though, you’re unsure why.

“Are you okay?” You decide to ask her.

She heaves a deep sigh and looks away from you briefly before answering.

“I’m fine, I’ve just never heard someone else sing my song yet.” The corners of her lips curve up into a brief smile before she continues. “Thank you, I should probably head back but please keep singing. I might see you around someday.”

Before you even attempt to thank her yourself, she’s darting off just as fast as she collided with you into the night. When you began your day, never did you imagine such a thing would happen, nor are you certain it actually has, however, a quick nip to your arm proves you are awake and not in a state of sleep to dream this whole thing up.

The Kim Lip heard you sing her song, and liked it?

It’s a small world after all.

#loona #kim lip #kpop #girl group scenarios #loona kim lip #kim jungeun #kpop scenarios #girl group imagines #kpop imagines #loona scenarios #loona imagines #kim lip x reader #fluff

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

February 24th, 2001

Remy slipped into the night relatively seamlessly, even though he shivered in the cold rain that was starting to settle in. Maybe he shouldn’t have walked all the way to the college campus area. Even Emile drove there every day, and it took him fifteen to twenty minutes to get there on a good day. It would take over an hour to walk back home.

Oh, well, live and learn. Theo’s words were bouncing around in his skull, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to them. It was certainly sound advice, but how did he apply it?

More importantly, how did he know if he was ready with one person but not with another? How did he know that one specific person was the one he wanted? How did he differentiate between the need for a distraction and the need for love?

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to find out.

March 31st, 2001

“Are you sure about this?” Emile asked, breathless in between their kissing. “Like, really sure?”

Remy lightly nipped Emile’s neck, causing him to shudder, and Remy smiled. “Emile, there’s nothing I’ve been more sure about in my entire life.”

“Okay...okay. I just know you got nervous before, and I didn’t want to pressure you into anything...”

“Good thing I’m asking then, isn’t it?” Remy teased.

“Remy...Remy. Hang on,” Emile said, as Remy dragged Emile to their bedroom. Remy turned around, and he could see the clear worry in Emile’s eyes. “You’re not scared? You’re not pushing yourself into this?”

Remy softened and pulled Emile in for a tender but desperate kiss. “I’m sure, Emile. I want this. I want you.”

“Okay, then,” Emile said, and together they fell onto Remy’s bed, already laughing.

Remy bolted upright in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to check the time. Seven AM. Dammit, he thought. Not again.

He’d been getting dreams about Emile and him being together with increasing frequency for the past couple weeks now, and it was waking him up at all hours of the night. To make matters worse, once he woke up past six, he was up for the day. He was almost always awoken by a “fade to black,” but the most annoying times where when he wasn’t, and he woke up in the middle, realizing it was a dream and feeling miserable.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up with a stretch. No use in trying to fall back asleep when he couldn’t, right?

When he walked out, he found Emile stumbling around the kitchen, slightly coherent but not nearly as much as he usually was when Remy first woke up. “Oh, so you do have days where you’re not a morning person,” Remy laughed. “I was wondering.”

“Mm. Didn’t sleep well,” Emile muttered. “Whatever you’ve been dealing with that’s keeping you up must be rubbing off on me.”

Remy felt an icy tendril of terror down his spine. I certainly hope not. “Bad dreams?”

“I can never remember,” Emile said with a shrug. “You?”

“I remember pieces,” Remy lied. He remembered every graphic detail of every last dream. This was driving him nuts. Emile wasn’t even interested in him, he had said so himself. “Nothing important.”

Emile just nodded as Remy held his breath. “Yeah. Hey, random question for you, because I haven’t been able to get this out of my mind.”

“Yeah, shoot,” Remy said, heading to the coffee pot.

“Let’s say if you were serious with someone. Like, you wanted to date them and they wanted to date you, right?”

Remy didn’t like the direction this was taking, but he said, “Yeah?” anyway.

“What would your ideal date be? Maybe not like, a first date, but just a date in general?” Emile asked.

Remy felt his stomach twist in an uncomfortable way. “I don’t know, I guess something dorky and basic, you know? Like dinner and a movie. Why do you ask?”

Emile looked a little pink around the ears as he said, “I was just wondering one day, and it refused to leave my mind, so I decided to put it to rest.”

“Oh,” Remy said. Inwardly, he sighed in relief. Even if he had new fodder for his imagination, with Emile trying to take him on the perfect date, Emile was just curious. That was normal. Emile got curious all the time. It was par for the course. Of course, the fact that he had to ask about Remy’s romantic life did hurt a bit. Just because he still did love Emile, and he knew that Emile couldn’t feel the same. “Any reason that popped into your head?”

“I mean...” Emile shrugged. “Maybe I have a little bit of interest in this one guy...”

“Shut. Up,” Remy said, his brain making a record scratch noise. “You like someone?! Who is it?!”

Emile squirmed. “It’s a little embarrassing, not because of who he is but because of where we are relationship-wise...and I want to see if it lasts beyond a fleeting crush...” he said.

Remy felt his heart be torn into shreds as his brain simultaneously tried to put the pieces together. “Come on, you can tell me, can’t you? This isn’t some revenge on me for not telling you that I was trying to get busy the weekend you were out of town?”

“No, it’s not revenge for that,” Emile was quick to assure. “I just really don’t feel ready.”

“Can you give me hints?” Remy pleaded.

Emile laughed a little, clearly nervous. “Well, he loves coffee. Sometimes it feels like all he does is sleep and drink the stuff. And he’s...he’s trying super hard to be kind to everyone he meets. Like, he always did have it in him to be kind, but he didn’t always use it. Now he is, and I’m...super proud of him for that.”

Remy could feel his heart skipping beats. Emile sounded like he was describing Remy. But, that definitely couldn’t be. That couldn’t be the case, because Emile said he wasn’t interested.

Yeah, a month and a half ago, his brain helpfully pointed out. And a lot can change in a month.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were describing me,” Remy teased.

Emile blushed a dark red, and Remy knew this was going one of two ways: he had either hit the nail on the head, or he was close enough to another one of Emile’s friends that Remy wasn’t sure he knew about. And...no matter what he wanted to hope, he was pretty sure Emile wasn’t describing him. “Is this one of your high school buddies? You know, someone you might see over spring break?”

“What?” Emile asked dumbly, before he stammered out, “Uh, y-yeah. Kinda. I’m definitely gonna try and see him over spring break. Even if I’m too chicken to confess to anything, I like getting to spend time with him.”

“You should tell him you like him,” Remy said.

“You...you think so?” Emile asked.

Remy nodded. “Look. You might not love me, and I’m coming to terms with that. Slowly, but surely. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving you, necessarily, but if you’re happier with someone who’s... not me, well, then, I want you to be happy.”

Emile smiled weakly. “Don’t get over me too quickly. If you’re lucky, I might catch feelings back.”

“If only,” Remy sighed. “Look, Emile, I’m not offended that you don’t like me. Did it hurt? Yeah, but lots of love hurts. It’s not that big of a deal. Is this your way of saying you have feelings for me?”

“Well, no, but...”

“No but’s,” Remy said. “I can’t make you love me. And it’s fine that you don’t. Just...if you’re happy with this guy, then be with him. Have fun, go on a date or two. You have my blessing. Not that you need it, but if it’ll make you feel better about this, you have it.”

“I...okay,” Emile said, and his voice was small. He took a deep breath, and said, “What are you planning on doing while I’m on spring break? Like, where I go depends on the hours I get, but do you have any plans?”

“I’d love to go to the beach someday, but probably not during spring break. All the college kids are gonna be swarming the place. I guess...I don’t really have any plans,” Remy said with a shrug.

“Then if I have bad hours, why don’t we go out to dinner some night? It’s been a while since we’ve done that,” Emile said, voice growing a bit more confident.

Remy was quiet as he took a long sip of coffee. Then, to be funny, he smirked. “Only if the guy you’re interested in wouldn’t mind,” Remy said with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your future boyfriend.”

“Somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind,” Emile said with a laugh. “So dinner. Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“Doesn’t have to be anywhere big,” Remy said. “We could share pizza at any of the joints around here and I’d enjoy it.”

“Cool,” Emile said with a smile. “It’s a date, then!”

“Careful, Emile. Like I said, if you keep saying that, people will think we’re dating.”

Emile laughed, a genuine sound that made Remy grin in response. Things seemed to be returning to normal for them, which Remy was super happy about. Yeah, they might not be dating, but he and Emile were proving inseparable, and that...comforted Remy in a way he couldn’t describe. Like, the world could be ending but at the end of the day he would still have Emile, and that was all that mattered.

“I have class,” Emile said, grabbing the last of his breakfast and heading to his room. “I’ll see you after work?”

“Same bat time, same bat channel,” Remy teased.

Emile stared at him a moment, before squealing and crushing Remy in a hug. As soon as he had done that, though, he had moved to his room, yelling, “I don’t have time to appreciate that properly right now but know that I appreciate it!”

Remy laughed and waved to Emile on his way out of the house. He sighed when Emile was gone, and poured himself a second mug of coffee. He had to get going to work soon, too, so he decided to stick to coffee and toast for today. Remy laughed to himself. Emile had two people in his life who only sustained themselves on coffee and spite? It must have been a very small world indeed.

Remy’s heart wasn’t even hurting anymore, he was so happy that things were going back to normal, and he was excited that Emile was excited for spring break. Plus, they’d get to go out to dinner together, which they hadn’t done in ages. Remy wondered why that had stopped, especially when he said that he didn’t mind it after he confessed his feelings. He felt like it was around the time after he had talked with Theo. He had never known a person to be nice to him just because. Toby was his brother and was obligated to do that to a degree. Emile was nice to him out of spite at first, and then out of attachment later. But Theo was kind to him without even knowing him well, and it opened Remy’s eyes.

You could be kind to someone without them being kind to you first. You weren’t obligated to be nice, but if you were nice, people would appreciate your presence more. And on top of that, being nice just...felt good, sometimes. And sure, sometimes being sickeningly sweet and nice to people in retail was done out of spite, but the shy ones or the people who were very clearly having a hard time? If you smiled at them, or wrote them a nice note on their coffee, it made a world of difference. And he found that he liked doing it more.

Sure, it took more effort. Sure, it didn’t come naturally to him. But all things considered, he didn’t mind making the effort to be a little nicer. If he could be a tenth as nice as Emile was, he was sure he could make friends with little to no issues, just by being kind and striking up a conversation. That was new, but it was something he wanted, and something he was willing to work for.

He was going to do this. He was going to tackle the day with a smile on his face, because the world was finally making sense again, and he could handle anything that came his way. Spring break also danced at the corners of his mind, making him smile as he pulled on the lighter of his leather jackets. Dinner with Emile. Even if that wasn’t as a date, if he really wanted to, he could pretend it was. Not that he would really need to, though. He and Emile were best friends, and he was more than happy with that.

Yeah. The world was finally making sense again.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #Emile Picani #ts sleep

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

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My Dearest Inej | Chapter Six

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Six: Dear Nina

Hello, lovely,

Some news and a request. I am going away on an assignment for the next several months, and this one’s rather sensitive. It means I’ll be out of reach for a time. Don’t worry your wonderful Inej brain about it, though. You know very well I’ll be just fine.

Here’s how I’m thinking we make due in the meantime. I’m writing down all my adventures and silly thoughts to send you as soon as it’s safe, and then we’ll be able to catch up in no time at all when all is right with the world again. You should do the same. Once I’m able, I’ll send a giant wad of letters along with where I can be reached to the Van Eck mansion for Wylan to hold on to for you until your next trip to Ketterdam. There. Not so bad, right?

I miss you more than cake. And that’s not an exaggeration. Be safe, lovely. And give them all hell.

All my love,

Nina

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(enclosed in an overstuffed envelope marked “Nina”)

(translated from Kerch)

Dear Nina,

Your last letter has made me grouchy. I don’t know if there would have ever been a good time for you to fall off the map, but I think there could have at least been a better time than this. I’ll take your suggestion, though, and settle for trying to imagine your face when I tell you these things. When you read this, let’s imagine that we’re at that cafe in West Stave. The one with the little white tables outside. You’ve ordered enough waffles to feed five men, and I’m all hopped up on hot chocolate, and we can’t stop snickering. It’ll happen again someday, right?

I’m going to use this letter to take a break in entertaining you with stories of battle at sea and the many delightful ways in which bad men beg. I’m docked in Ketterdam today with my head dangerously full of some truly mortifying events. I don’t know what to do, Nina. Keep eating your imaginary waffles – I’m going to offload a great many details and bring you up to speed.

I’ve told you that Kaz and I write letters. That they’re sort of a romantic nature. I know you think I’m crazy. I’m well aware that I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know -- there’s just something about him I can’t give up yet. And I love these letters. They’ve become the first thing I pick up at every new port. They’re these little slices of Ketterdam – all of the good stuff, that is, and none of the bloodshed.

It’s dangerous, though, isn’t it? Only getting the good side of things. It messes with your perception of reality.

It should surprise no one that Kaz Brekker is good with pen and paper, considering how we’ve seen him con. Sometimes I worry that’s what letter-writing really is to him. Another way to con. He says things in letters that you could not even imagine, Nina. He can be affectionate. He can be really funny, maybe even playful. He can also write the most sincere, heartfelt sentences. You read them, and you really forget he’s, well, Brekker. It’s almost like, when he writes me, he’s not. Like some other side comes out when he picks up a pen, and it’s the side I’ve always hoped was really there all along.

I’m such a goner for this other side, Nina. It’s become a problem. Try not to spit out those imaginary waffles.

It’s a problem because, in person, when I’m in Ketterdam, he’s still Kaz Brekker, the persona, the enigma. It started messing with my head, because there is such a stark contrast between Kaz Brekker the enigma and the Kaz who writes me these insanely charming letters. That’s not to say Kaz Brekker isn’t trying to be less enigmatic, but it’s little things. He can take off his gloves more now without having violent reactions to a brush of skin. He’s managed to hold my hand for a few, brief moments. I’ve tried to cozy up to him, but I don’t know. It’s impossible to know what he thinks of it, if he likes it, if he hates it, if he resents it – until a letter shows up. And then he’s writing, “I miss you” and “I’m dreaming of tasting your lips.” (I’m imagining you making that silly fanning yourself gesture, and I really hope that’s true. Saints, I miss you.)

I’m rambling so much. I wish you were just here instead.

He wrote me this letter after Jesper’s birthday, Nina. Ughhh, why are you so far away? It was a really good letter. A really, really good letter. We had a moment during this hot air balloon ride (yet another reason you need to come back to visit Ketterdam – we do birthday experiences now). Jesper and Wylan were on one side of the balloon’s basket, wrapped up in each other and all the sights with their backs to us. And, out of nowhere, he pulled me close, tucked me right up against his side, close enough that I couldn’t help but hold him back. At first, I could actually feel his heart racing and thought maybe he’d pull away. But he settled after a minute, and we rode in the balloon for a good while like that, stars overhead, city lights below. That was all, and it was more than enough for me. I still think about it all the time. He told me later that he thought it was a nice night, and so I thought it best to leave it at that. We had a nice night. Nice, like when your dinner isn’t ruined or someone opens a door for you.

But this letter that awaited me in Os Kervo. You know Suli, right? So, if I use the phrase (nearest translation: “I shit a brick”), you’ll understand just how shocked I was. He wrote how he never wanted to forget that night and the way I looked and the way he felt. It was perfectly un-Brekker-like. It might have made you cry.

The contrast has never seemed so stark.

And so it came down to this: I needed to know that Kaz Brekker in Ketterdam was capable of actually being this person who keeps showing up in envelopes and using his name.

Which brings me to my most recent trip to Ketterdam. This was the trip after the hot air balloon ride. Before I arrived, he asked if I wanted to stay in the Slat this trip – with him. Don’t choke on your waffles, please. Nothing was going to happen – he can barely hold my hand for more than a few minutes, and at least one of the times it’s happened, I had to bribe him with Ravkan toffees first.

I had one condition for this arrangement. I wanted to bring letters for him to read aloud. Perhaps most incredibly, he agreed.

Right. This is where it gets ugly.

I’d spent the day at The Slat. Usually my first day on land, I find I’m unusually exhausted, and everything in The Slat is fresh and new since Seeger’s fire – I’d even venture to say comfortable. I slept most of the day, a luxury I know you’d appreciate. I was up around dinnertime, and he’d brought in dinner. (It was those meatballs and mash pots we used to love so much. I hope I’ll be able to eat them again after this without wanting to hurl.)

Dinner seemed like a good time to try out the letter reading. We’d spread out the food on his desk and passed a bottle of kvas back and forth to lighten the mood before he rolled up his sleeves and I gave him the first one. I had tried to pick a variety of his letters to bring along, the ridiculous ones right up to the one I can’t get over – the one after the hot air balloon ride.

Before you get too excited, we didn’t get to the hot air balloon ride letter.

It was going so well in the beginning. My cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard, listening to so many charming words come from that voice. He seemed to be enjoying it even – feet up on the desk, a sip of kvas here, read an old joke there, and he’d try not to smirk to himself when it made me laugh. He even let one of his own laughs slip once or twice. It was just what I wanted. I felt like I was finally putting together a whole picture out of two halves.

But then we came to this letter he’d given to me on the docks of Fifth Harbor, thanking me just before I left after Seeger’s fire. I was getting ready to hand it over to him, and my heart dropped right into my feet. Nina. I’d forgotten I’d written something really, really, REALLY embarrassing in the margins. Just. Sankta Alina. I don’t know if I can repeat it.

I tried to skip over that one, but he was having none of it. Everything had been playful and a little flirtatious up until that moment, and he swiped it from my hands. Sankta Elizabeta, my face is burning up while I’m writing this. Tell me this is salvageable. Oh, wait, you’re in backwoods Fjerda or something. Ugh, why, Nina, why?

Everything got really quiet – he’d seen it right away. I could tell he was surprised, but that was it. I have no idea what else was happening in that brain of his.

What it was was this. I’d made a note of how different he was on paper and labeled that Kaz by his original name. I’d written that I like Kaz Brekker, but after these letters, I was in love with Kaz Rietveld.

NINA. (Untranslatable Suli vulgarities)

I snatched the letter back – he wasn’t even making eye contact with me. He hadn’t even budged. It was too horrible. The silence felt never-ending. So, I left. That was yesterday. Now I’m staying on the Wraith. Maybe forever.

I have to say something, and I wish you were here to help me figure out what to say. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there are fragments of lessons and sayings my father would have about this, if I could only cobble them in to something coherent. I’m trying and trying to imagine how he must be feeling.

He couldn’t have been that surprised about my feelings, could he? Not after all this time, not everything we’ve written. It’s not as if I’ve been terribly coy. I’m forcing myself to believe he would not be horrified to know how I feel. No, there’s something else.

How awful it must feel to think someone you trusted finds only a part of you lovable.

I have some soul-searching to do, Nina.

Come back.

Inej

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(hand-delivered, unaddressed envelope)

Dear Inej,

I’ve spent the whole night thinking, and I have some things to say. I won’t read this one out loud, so if you have a hard time believing it’s me, I guess you’ll just need to get creative.

I know you’re embarrassed. You might remember I have intimate knowledge of what it’s like to be in your position. At first, I wanted nothing more than to ease your mind and put everything back the way it was. There was a large part of me that was awestruck that you’d find even a small, half-dead remnant of myself worthy of loving. I was ready to crawl back to you and do anything to erase this moment from time.

But then I realized that’s not a fair deal to Kaz Brekker.

And before you start making faces, I’m not becoming one of those politicians that likes to bloviate in the third person. Just for the sake of clarity in this letter alone, I’ll use the labels that you used.

Inej, Kaz Brekker saved my life. Yours, too. And a lot of other people’s. Kaz Brekker could find me food and dry clothes and shelter when there was no one else. Kaz Brekker has fixed and built and risked and fought and salvaged. And yes, there are a good many things he’s terrible at, like not being an unmitigated asshole. He is not friendly or particularly kind, and he’s rarely truthful. There are many things he should never have done. He’s done unthinkable things he’s not even sorry for. Trust me, Inej. When it comes to hating Kaz Brekker, I have a front row seat.

But the only reason there’s a Kaz Rietveld here for you to love at all is because Kaz Brekker brought him this far.

At first, my instinct was to write a letter detailing all the many ways I can become more like the man you love. And that’s not to say there isn’t some wisdom in trying to coax him out a bit more – you tend to have good taste in most things. There’s probably some value in striking a balance.

But Kaz Brekker is part of the deal. You can’t have one without the other. There is a lot about him – about me -- that I would not and will not change. So, I need to know that you see the same value in him. In all of me. Because, if you can’t, I’m not sure it will matter how much I’m in love with you, too.

And to think we might have avoided this whole mess if I just would have let you bring a flute. To that I say, mati en sheva yelu. I am in love with you even if you play a damn flute.

Are you smiling at least a little bit? I hope so.

Sincerely,

K. Rietveld

#six of crows #soc #six of crows fanfic #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #fanfic #fanfiction #kanej #kanej fanfic

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phoenix-downer · 4 years

Text

Fate’s Thread

For SoKai Week Day 6 - Connection AND Fate.

~2150 words. Love Epiphany, Crushes, Pining, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Red String of Fate.

“A red string of fate connects everyone to their soulmate.”

The words were from an old legend from Radiant Garden. Kairi didn’t really pay them any mind as a child because she didn’t really think about such things back then, and the legend of the paopu fruit rapidly replaced the legend of the red string of fate in her young mind after she arrived on Destiny Islands. Something about the legend of the paopu fruit appealed to her more; perhaps the element of personal choice. Her grandmother had once said to her, “Soulmates are made, not born,” and the legend of the paopu fruit was much more in line with that.

Still, as the years passed and she grew older, there were some nights when she wondered, was there someone she was meant to be with? Was fate working behind the scenes and controlling her destiny?

The morning after her fourteenth birthday party, she lay in her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest and trying to get the strange thoughts she’d been having about Sora lately out of her mind. Why had she felt so weird around him lately? Especially last night. She could hardly talk to him without the words getting caught in her throat and her face getting hot.

It wasn’t like he had changed; he was the same dork as ever, the same lazy bum. Kairi was taller than him by about an inch now, because he was “a late bloomer,” as her mother put it. The other girls on the island were fawning over various boys now, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t those guys who made her feel all flustered when they walked in the room.

No, it was Sora. And if he hadn’t really changed… then it meant she had.

That was the first time she remembered feeling a slight tugging on her pinkie, but then it was gone.

The next time she felt a similar tugging was when she was playing toss on the Play Island with everyone. They were trying to keep the ball off the sand for as long as possible so they could beat their old record.

“Here, catch!” Sora called, a big grin on his face as he looked at her. Something about the way he smiled made her brain shut off for a few seconds, and by then it was too late. The ball had fallen to the sand, and everyone was groaning loudly.

“Kairi, really?!” Wakka said as Tidus shook his head. “We were only two away from our old record!”

She sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, guys. I guess I got a little distracted.”

She looked at Sora again, and he said, “Hey, no big deal! We can just try again.”

It was then that she felt the tugging once more. “Huh? she said softly as she cupped her pinkie in her other hand.

Then it was over. Weird.

She picked up the ball again. “Alright everyone, are you ready?”

“Ready!”

After that, the tugging got more and more frequent. It was never painful or anything, but she did notice it. During school, after school, on the Play Island, sometimes even at home… any time Sora was around, it usually happened at least once.

“Mom?” she asked one afternoon after school. She was doing her math homework at the kitchen table, and her mom was preparing dinner.

“Yes, sweetheart? What is it?”

“I think I like Sora.”

Her mother paused a moment from chopping the carrots to give her a smile. “Oh really?”

“You don’t… seem all that surprised.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not.”

“Who told you?” Kairi asked, the blood draining from her face. If her mother of all people knew, then the entire town might know by now.

“No one. Just a mother’s instinct… and observational skills.”

Kairi felt her face getting hot again, and she set her pencil down and hid beneath her hands. “If you know, who else might have figured it out?” she moaned.

“Relax, sweetheart, your secret’s safe with me. And trust me, Sora’s clueless. I told you that boys lag behind girls on these sorts of things, remember? They usually hit their growth spurts later, and girls aren’t really on their minds until they start going through puberty themselves—”

Kairi covered her ears. “I know, I know, please don’t give me the talk again or even mention the p-word.”

It was bad enough dealing with all the weird changes her body had been going through lately. She felt awkward and gangly, and her moods were all over the place. But she absolutely did not want to hear about the kinds of changes boys went through because it just made her all flustered and giggly and embarrassed.

Her mom had joined her at the kitchen table, and she gently pried her hands off of her ears.

“It’s okay. I know all of this is awkward and scary, but it won’t last forever. Someday you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin again.”

“I will?” Kairi said, not really believing it. Her mother was so beautiful and confident, and so were the other ladies of Destiny Islands. Kairi felt so different from them that she didn’t think she’d ever reach their level.

“Yes, you will. And someday, I suspect Sora might wake up and realize you’ve had a massive crush on him for years.”

“Mother!”

Her mom smiled mischievously and squeezed her hand. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. But if it makes you feel any better, I also think that someday, he might wake up and realize he’s had a massive crush on you for years too.”

Kairi pretended to bury her nose in her math homework again after that, but she couldn’t get her mom’s words out of her mind. Was it possible Sora liked her too?

She felt the tugging on her pinkie again. That was the first time she’d felt it without him around. Was it because she was thinking of him? Or was he thinking of her?

That thought made it entirely impossible to focus on her homework, so she set it to the side for now and helped her mother finish making dinner.

“You know what you can do to help with the embarrassment when you’re around Sora?” her mom said as she handed her a potato to peel.

“What?”

“Just talk to him. The more you do it, the more comfortable you’ll be around him again. And tease him, too. Not anything mean or rude, just playful banter. It’ll help get your mind off of your embarrassment, and he’ll understand you’re just messing with him. It’s what guys do with their friends to bond with them.”

“That’s true, he and Riku tease each other all the time. All the guys do.”

“Exactly. Throw in a little good-natured teasing and be willing to take it too, and you’ll be golden.”

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Sometimes everything changes in the blink of an eye. That was what Sora’s dad had told him, but he didn’t believe it until he experienced it for himself.

One day, he was waiting by the docks to see if anyone was gonna show up so they could paddle to the Play Island. It was finally the weekend, and they could ignore school for a full day before they’d need to start even thinking about homework.

Then Kairi arrived, and it was like the world had gone wonky.

“Hey, Sora!”

“Hey, Kairi—”

When he looked up and saw her, the pieces of grass he’d been fiddling with dropped from his hands. Who was this person and what had happened to the old Kairi?

“Like it?” she said as she ran her fingers through her now-short hair. “I got it cut earlier today.”

“Oh, um, yeah, it looks great—”

More than great. It looked awesome. He hadn’t realized how good she would look with short hair because she hadn’t had it this short since they were kids.

“I mean, you look good with any hairstyle, but um, short is—”

He winced. Man, why was he having such a hard time talking today?

“My mom took me shopping too, that’s where I got this outfit!” Kairi said as she twirled around for him. She wore a white tank top and a purple skort, and they looked good on her.

“Well?” she asked in a singsong voice, her face inches away from his. “What do you think?”

His heart was racing, his mouth was dry, his palms were sweaty, his face was flushing, and his stomach was doing flips, but he tried his best to form a coherent sentence.

“Um, you look great—”

She leaned back and smiled triumphantly. “Thank you.”

Riku and Tidus and Wakka and Selphie arrived right around then, and Sora was glad he could get a few moments to pull it together. He wasn’t really sure where Kairi’s newfound boldness had come from, but he… he liked it.

His blush got worse, and a part of him wanted to sink into the ground or jump overboard into the water. What was all this weird stuff he was feeling? He felt this strange tugging in his pinkie too. What was that all about?

Then someone said something that made her laugh, and Sora grinned as she brought her hand to his mouth and giggled. She was really cute, and he always liked seeing her smile.

Oh no. Oh no. He liked her. He liked Kairi. That was the only explanation. It had been slowly creeping up on him for months and months, and it had just slammed into him like one of Wakka’s blitzballs.

Crap, he couldn’t let her see how flustered she was making him. She’d think he was lame or silly or a huge dork. And there was no way she liked him too. He was the resident lazy bum and they were just friends. They’d always been friends, and she couldn’t possibly want anything more than that, right?

But then she looked his way. “What are you doing all by yourself Sora?” she called, tilting her head with a twinkle in her eye. “Come talk to us!”

Seeing her smile and beckon to him, he felt his worries dissipate a little. Yeah, he’d need time to think all this weird confusing stuff over, but for now he wanted to be around her as much as possible.

There was that tugging in his pinkie again. Huh. Maybe… maybe it had something to do with her.

Well, whatever the reason, he’d sort that out later too. He shrugged and joined them, and before long things felt fine. No, better than ever. He saw Kairi in a new light now, and it was like the whole world had transformed along with her.

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“Kairi, are you ready for this?” Naminé asked, pressing her fingers together.

Kairi nodded and leaned back against the examination chair. “I’m sure. If there’s even a chance we can find a clue in my heart that might help us find Sora, I want to search for it.”

She fiddled with her pinkie finger. She hadn’t felt any tugs on it since Sora had disappeared, but that didn’t mean he was gone for good.

“I’m sure you know this already Naminé, because you can see the connections between hearts, but I think Sora and I are connected somehow. Part of it’s because of the paopu fruit, and I know that made our connection stronger than ever. But there’s an older connection too. It’s fainter, but it’s been there for a long time now. That’s why I think searching my heart might lead to a clue.”

“I think so too,” Naminé said. “Maybe that connection is what brought you to Destiny Islands in the first place. It’s worth checking out.”

She nodded again. “Yeah. And maybe… maybe that connection will lead me back to him.”

“If anyone can find him, you can. Best of luck, Kairi.”

Kairi said her final round of goodbyes to everyone, and then it was time to sleep, to dream. She had to chase the connection back, back, back to where it began.

She had to find out how fate had brought her and Sora together. Then, maybe then, she’d find him and bring him home.

Whether soulmates were made or born, she still wasn’t entirely sure. But if the scary man from her childhood nightmares could tamper with her fate… then maybe she could tamper with it, too. Fix it and make sure Sora came home like he was supposed to. Something felt wrong, something felt off about his disappearance, like the entire universe had gotten knocked off track. It was up to her to right things, to bring the greatest protector and defender the worlds had ever known home.

That was the promise she’d made to Sora, and those were her final thoughts before she slipped off to sleep.

Whatever the future might have in store, she would find him.

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A/N: The final scene in this story was inspired by Melody of Memory and my musings about how Sora and Kairi might be connected. I’m curious about why Kairi’s getting her memories from before back now of all times, and it tied in to the themes for today.

Thanks for reading!

#sokai #sokaiweek #sokaiweek2020 #sora #kairi #kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #phoenix writes #phoenix downer #love epiphany #crushes #pining #mutual pining #soulmates #red string of fate #general teenage awkwardness #long post

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