#the way my muses REFUSE to be impressed easily is funny to me for some reason. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mercy-burning · 4 years

Text

Hangover Duty

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader’s birthday party leads to some rather endearing drunk antics. Category: Fluff Warnings: Mild language, alcohol consumption, mentions of the prison arc (is that a proper content warning? idk lol) (As always, if there’s anything I missed, please let me know what I should include in content warnings! I always want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 4.4k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Funny story, I woke up at like 3 in the morning last night and just sat up and cranked this out in one go, unprompted. I’m not sure why inspiration struck that late (early?) but I’m rather proud of this one considering I just woke up to edit it a few hours ago 😂, I hope you like it!

***

Watching her gradually get more drunk as the night went on had to be the most amusing and incredibly endearing way to get back into the groove of things. It was nice, actually, being able to have a good time with his friends without constantly being reminded of what's happened in the past year.

Especially considering this year Spencer was determined not to miss Y/N's birthday. Last year he'd been in prison, and rather than being able to celebrate with her and their friends, rather than getting her a card or writing her a letter, she'd written him a letter that detailed in depth how she refused to celebrate until her best friend was there to celebrate with them. Of course he felt awful about the whole thing, and when JJ had dropped off the letters that week, he made her tell Y/N how sorry he was and how he wished more than anything that he could have been there.

And naturally, after dealing with Cat another time and settling his mom down, the first chance he got, he told Y/N himself.

She was in the hospital after that incident with Mr. Scratch. She was the first person he saw in the hospital, and she was fine, arguing with the doctors about leaving to help her team. But once he showed up, telling the doctors he could get her to sit down, they left, and he pulled her in for the biggest hug they'd ever shared.

And the first thing he told her was, "I'm sorry I missed your birthday."

She'd only laughed and squeezed him tighter, replying with a short, yet simple, "Shut up."

He promised to himself then that no matter what happened, he would never miss another one of her birthdays again.

Since it was the first one since all that had happened, Spencer planned something a little extra special. Weeks ahead of time, he talked to Rossi about being able to rent out a bar for the night, Y/N's favorite bar to be exact. Just for themselves. As to be expected, it took a bit of convincing, but eventually they'd been able to successfully rent out the bar for one night, and though Rossi was insistent on paying everything, Spencer wanted to offer as much as he could.

Penelope, of course, insisted on putting up decorations. She roped Luke into helping her, and though he played off like it would be torture, for one thing he was happy to help celebrate his friend's birthday in any way he could, but he also was terrible at hiding the fact that he was more than happy to help Penelope with anything she needed, whether it actually pertained to the party or not.

Everyone told her they were all just going to meet up for drinks after work that day. Y/N was more than okay with it, explaining to them how she was just happy to be able to spend her birthday with her friends no matter where they were. They told her to meet at 7pm when in reality they would all be at the bar an hour and a half early to set up and make sure everything was perfect.

When Y/N actually showed up, Spencer had never seen her so radiant. Even as she was swarmed by Garcia putting on a pink party hat for her that promptly read "Birthday Girl", her hair slightly out of place because of its placement on her head, she was the perfect example of human perfection. She greeted everyone with a huge, beautiful smile accompanied by lots of 'thank you's and 'I love you's, and when she finally got to Spencer, he tried not t hold her to him for too long.

One of the reasons Y/N loved this specific bar was because of the karaoke machine. In fact, drunken karaoke was a decent weekly occurrence with the BAU, and while they'd been no strangers to the act, it only became more frequent when Y/N joined the team. For years now they'd spent many hours singing just as many songs as anyone could think of. And even while drunk, Y/N was a natural. She slipped up on words and slurred them together once in a while, sure, but her voice was easily the most impressive of the bunch, not to mention she never failed to get anyone and everyone to join in.

All that to say Spencer made sure they would be able to use the karaoke machine before they rented out the place. He even attempted to teach himself how to work it, but try as he might, he ended up calling on JJ to help him do it.

Throughout the night they all took turns singing songs, and at one point Y/N finished a song and made a speech, standing up on the bar. (Deep down Spencer was a little nervous that she would hurt herself, or that somehow the owner of the bar would find out that she'd broken one of many rules he had about renting the place out. But that was neither here nor there when he saw the glowing smile she had on her face, looking at all her friends with the most love and admiration he'd seen anyone carry in a while.)

"I'm jussali'l tipsy at the moment, so m'sorry if I don't make any sense," Y/N slurred together, obviously very drunk. Everyone laughed and she continued, clutching the microphone in one hand and placing the other over her heart like she was going to say the Pledge of Allegiance. "I jusneed to say how much I love y'guys. Thank you for celebratin' with me and makin' my birthday real special. I'mean, you fricken rented out a whole-ass bar! That's so nice!"

As she squealed out the last sentence, Spencer couldn't help the wide smile that broke out on his face. She was just so radiant, glowing with warmth and love and happiness and everything good in the world.

She was also struggling to get off the bar. He rushed forward to help her, and she fell forward, into his arms with a giggle.

"You okay?" he asked, his concern blowing away in the wind when she looked into his eyes with another winning smile.

"No thanks t'you," she answered, promptly 'boop'-ing him on the nose before she reached over to the bar and grabbed a full shot glass. After downing the drink, she brushed passed him with a slap on the butt and another giggle, right before she loudly asked Penelope to cut her another slice of cake.

Spencer knew she wouldn't have been so bold had she been sober, but the whole situation still made him feel all warm inside, like he'd taken a shot of whiskey himself.

Luke came up to him, clapping him on the back and snapping him out of it. "This mean you and the birthday girl are finally a thing now?"

"W—what? I don't know what you mean..."

He was obviously lying, and Luke could tell. He laughed a little, nodding towards Y/N, who was currently laughing with Emily and Penelope, a bright blue smudge of frosting on her nose. "She really missed you when you were gone, man. Even put her birthday on hold until she could celebrate with you."

"Well, we've been best friends for years, and she loves her birthday. It was... A hard year. It makes sense."

"Okay, that's fair, but do you know how bad it was? No presents, no birthday wishes, nothing. She demanded we act like it was any other day. And when I brought her a cupcake, she just set it on your desk and left it there. It sat there for about a week before she finally threw it out."

Spencer looked at where she was standing, eating more cake and swaying lightly to the music that was now playing over the speakers. "Really," he mused, not even thinking about it.

Luke sighed beside him. "Look, you can... believe what you want, but we've all noticed it. You two are practically inseparable, and the way I'm seeing you look at her right now tells me everything I need to know."

Even being called out like that, Spencer couldn't make himself look away. And even if he did, he wouldn't have really known what to say. Because all that was running through his mind at the moment was how right Luke was. How much he couldn't help but feel warm and safe when he was in Y/N's presence, and how she made him feel like the only person in the world sometimes.

He wondered then if maybe in the next day or two he should tell her how he felt.

One by one each member of the team eventually left the bar to go home. Each time one of them did, Y/N gave them the biggest hug and mumbled an abundance of 'thank you's and 'I love you's, much like at the start of the night, only this time her words were slurred and higher-pitched and very much laced with alcohol.

The only three people left at the end of the night were her, Spencer, and Emily.

Y/N came up between them and wrapped both her arms around their shoulders, pulling them in for a messy group-hug. "How'r we gonna clean this place up?" she asked dramatically, looking around once they all pulled away.

"I'm going to clean this place up," Emily said, giving Spencer a knowing look. "Since it's your birthday, your best friend here is going to make sure you get home safe and sound."

He definitely didn't see that coming, but somehow he felt like he should have. Regardless, he was more than happy to take the job. Especially when Y/N jumped up and down and threw her arms around him, giving a big old, "Yaaayyyy!" into his neck. She pulled away and gripped his shirt, bouncing on her feet with a large grin. "We can take my car and we can listen t'that CD I was tellin' you about and when we get t'my house we can have a sleepover!"

"Anything you want," he told her with a smile. "Go get your stuff together and we'll go."

As she wandered around the bar to find her shoes that she'd taken off somewhere along the line, Emily nudged Spencer with a smile. "She loves you, you know."

"She's drunk," he countered.

And as if on cue, right then she held one of her shoes up in the air with a triumphant gleam in her eye. "One down!"

"Okay, well, even when she's not drunk, she still loves you."

Though his heart swelled at the thought, he changed the subject. "You don't have to clean everything up. I was going to come back tomorrow morning and do it myself anyway."

"Eh, don't worry, I'm happy to do it." Emily nodded towards Y/N, who was walking around with one shoe on and picking up the other on the floor next to the cake table. "Besides, something tells me you're gonna be a bit preoccupied with hangover duty."

I wouldn't want any other job, he thought to himself.

And even though the nearly-impossible task of getting her into the car should have stressed him out (she kept getting out of the car as Spencer walked around to the driver's side, until finally he promised her a cheeseburger if she would stay), he still wouldn't have had it any other way.

They stopped at McDonald's on the way home, like he promised, and she was practically buzzing with happiness with the food in her lap. She made him sit in the parking lot and wait until she was done eating so she wouldn't spill anything. And in the dim light of the car, parked under a streetlight and watching her eat her food while she rambled on about the most random things, Spencer didn't think he'd ever felt more content.

He tried to keep her quiet as they made their way up the steps to the third floor of her apartment building. They were going to take the elevator but Y/N insisted it would eat her alive, and he quickly agreed to take the stairs as not to make a scene and wake everyone up with her crying. Her shoes came off again on the second flight of stairs, because she kept tripping and then laughing, pretending to fall back and almost scaring him to death.

Now he was unlocking her apartment door with her shoes in his other hand as she clung to his side. As soon as the door was open, she pushed past him and called out for her cat, Murphy. It didn't take long before the white cat jumped up on the counter to meet her, and she squealed and enveloped him in a crushing hug, picking him up and spinning around to meet Spencer, who was closing the door behind him and setting her shoes on the ground.

"Say hi to Murphy! He loves when you come to visit!"

It was true. Though he never really found himself fond of cats, as soon as he visited Y/N's apartment for the first time Murphy clung to him immediately. It didn't take long for the two of them to become as well acquainted as Y/N had been to either of them. Whenever he came over, Spencer liked to think of them as a small little family.

"Hey, Murph," he said, reaching out to pet the cat's head as he wriggled a little under Y/N's strong clutch.

She dropped him after shoving her face in his fur, and wasted no time taking Spencer's hand. "C'mon, I've got some vodka in the cupboard."

As she dragged him further into the kitchen, he squeezed her hand and tried to pull her to him, away from the cupboard. "Y/N, it's almost one in the morning, you need to go to bed."

She turned to face him and whined. "But it's my birthday, you can't make me."

"Well, technically it isn't your birthday anymore since it's past midnight. So, really, I can make you. Come on."

She whined again as he dragged her along to the bedroom. Once they got inside, he sat her down on the bed and reached out to pull off her party hat, which was lopsided and almost placed on her forehead like a unicorn horn. But when he touched the string, she grabbed his hand.

"I wanna leave it on," she said softly.

"It's not safe, you could choke yourself in your sleep," Spencer countered, brushing her hand away and taking the hat off. As his fingers brushed her cheek, she sighed and closed her eyes, a few seconds before letting out a little giggle.

"That tickled," she laughed as he set the hat on her bedside table.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he started to feel all warm again. "Sorry," he whispered, taking the time to memorize the way she looked right then. The curls in her hair had fallen flat, and her makeup was a little smudged, but the lazy smile on her face and the way she blinked up at him with her big, beautiful eyes would always be worth remembering. He could have stayed in that moment forever, just sitting in that comforting silence.

But alas, she was drunk, and unable to be quiet for more than ten seconds.

Y/N lightly poked him in the chest and laughed. "Hey, d'y'think Murphy ever gets tired?"

"I'm sure he does," was all Spencer said, trying to get her to lay down. She did so as she spoke, rambling on about what she thought her cat might have done when she was away at work. But she stopped talking altogether when Spencer tried to put a blanket over her.

"No," was all she said, kicking her legs up.

"You don't want a blanket?"

"No, I want you to be in the blanket with me."

He thought about it for a second before motioning for her to scoot over. "I'll lay with you for a little while, but you have to promise me you'll go to sleep, okay?"

She giggled triumphantly as he laid down beside her and draped the blanket over their legs. "I told'ya a sleepover would be fun."

Spencer reached out and lightly rubbed her arm, knowing that always got her to fall asleep. "I know you did."

But she didn't close her eyes. She was unusually quiet though, just silently staring at his face before she sharply pulled her arm away. "You're tickling me again."

"I thought you liked when I rub your arm, it helps you sleep," is all he said.

Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled it up to lay between them on the pillow, separating their faces. She placed it palm up and rolled up his sleeves so she could rub his forearm, too. Her touches weren't as light, but she giggled all the same. "Am I tickling you?"

He wanted to tell her the truth, which was that she was not tickling him, and it actually felt really nice. But because it might make her feel better, he lied, and told her, "Yes."

"Good," she laughed, moving her hand faster. Now she was just tracing his forearm with her middle finger like she might rub out a stain on the carpet, and Spencer tried to wiggle his arm away.

"Y/N..."

He didn't say it to be mean or irritated, in fact his voice was level and soothing as not to alarm her at all, but all the same she gasped and immediately pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No," he reassured, moving a little closer to her. "You didn't hurt me, I'm ok—"

"Let me kiss it and make it feel better," she continued, ignoring him completely. Before he could stop her, she grabbed his arm and brought it to her mouth, pressing gentle lips to the crease of his elbow trough the fabric of his shirt, then moving the tiny kisses along up his arm until she made it to his wrist. She didn't stop there, continuing to kiss the palm of his hand and even along his fingers, right until she reached his fingertips.

He laid there, completely still and mesmerized as she flipped his arm over and worked her way down again, kissing the backside of his hand and keeping her lips pressed to his wrist for approximately four seconds. Then she flipped his arm over again and kissed the palm of his hand once more, repeating her many kisses until she got to his middle finger.

He should have seen it coming.

He was so caught up in the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin that it completely slipped his mind that she was still drunk. So when she wrapped her lips around his middle finger and sucked it into her mouth with a laugh, he pulled his arm away and sighed.

She actually cackled with laughter, slightly flailing her legs under the blanket. "Gotcha!"

"Ha-ha," Spencer deadpanned, wiping his finger on his shirt.

He wasn't really sure what to say once her laughter died down, but once he opened his mouth to suggest they try sleeping, she spoke first.

"Can I have a glass of water?"

He studied her for a moment. "You're not going to try anything funny, are you?"

She laughed, leaning forward and brushing her nose against his for the briefest of seconds before retreating and looking him in the eye. "I wouldn't dream of it."

There was no way he could say no. "Alright. I'll be back in a second."

Spencer got out of the bed and turned to leave, but she leaned forward and grabbed his hand. "Wait! I have to tell you a secret first."

If he stayed and listened to what she had to say, it was probably dangerous territory, because in the movies this was always the moment where there were drunken confessions of things you never wanted to say out loud, right? And he didn't want to do that to her, but realistically she was probably going to say something ridiculous about Murphy. Right?

Nonetheless, Spencer turned around and looked down at Y/N. "What is it?"

She pulled his hand, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. "Come closer. It's a secret."

He leaned down, but she pulled him again. "Closer!"

Finally, he made his way down to her face, turning his head so she could whisper in his ear.

But she didn't. Instead he felt her press a kiss to his cheek, emphasized with a loud smooch-ing sound when she pulled away. He looked down at her to see the biggest smile on her face.

"S'all I wanted to say. You can go now."

He smiled back at her before nodding and leaving the room, his cheek and arm practically burning from where she'd kissed them.

And when he came back with her water, she was fast asleep.

***

More than anything she just wanted the banging to stop. But once she realized it was in her head, and it was there because she'd been drinking all night, her irritability was even worse.

"Fuck," Y/N grumbled as she struggled to open her eyes. When she did open them she found Murphy curled into a ball at the foot of her bed, his white fur a stark contrast to the deep maroon color of her comforter.

The next thing she noticed was the smell of something... burning? But there wasn't any sound to be heard other than the beating of her head, so she had to wonder if maybe somewhere outside there had been some kind of fire. Or maybe she was just imagining it.

She wasn't going to investigate, but then she heard her front door open, and despite the pounding in her head, Y/N sat up straight, almost scared out of her mind. Instinctively she reached beside her, knocking over a pink party hat in the process, and grabbing the baseball bat she kept there in between her bed and the table.

As quietly as she could, Y/N crept through the bedroom until she reached the door, pressing her ear against it to hear anything more. She heard plastic bags rustling around, and though that was fairly innocent in terms of menacing sounds, it still didn't quell the feeling that punched her in the pit of her stomach. Though, to be fair, she was certain a lot of that had to do with the copious amounts of whiskey and other liquor she drank the night before.

She took a deep breath before slowly swinging the door open and taking a few quiet steps into the hallway, just before she had to turn the corner to get into the kitchen. The noise got louder as she approached, and after taking another slow, deep breath, Y/N jumped out and held her bat out in front of her.

"FBI! What Are you doing in my house?"

"Holy shit!"

Spencer was standing in her smoky kitchen, clutching his hand to his chest. "Y/N, it's just me! Put the bat down!"

It clattered to the ground as she sighed out and shook her head. "What the hell, man, you scared the shit out of me!"

"Right back at you! I was just bringing you some breakfast..."

Y/N surveyed the kitchen and found that, sure enough, there were what looked like wrapped sandwiches on the counter. "Why is it all... burn-y in here? What happened?"

Spencer looked around nervously, his hands fumbling at his sides. "I, uh... tried to make you French toast. I know it's your favorite, and I know that greasy food is supposed to help with hangovers, so I tried to make some bacon, too, but it turns out that I really suck at multi-tasking in the kitchen, and I burned it all... So, I went with gas-station breakfast, which I figured was the next best thing."

The way he spoke reminded Y/N of a little kid who got caught doing something they weren't supposed to. He was extremely apologetic, almost in a way that made her think he thought she'd yell at him.

Now she remembered just a little of what happened the night before. She remembered drinking a lot and then Spencer taking her home, but she was so tired and out of it that all the little details weren't clear. Or present at all, really. All she knew when she looked at him in her kitchen right then, was that she'd never been more happy to see anyone while hungover. Especially since that someone happened to be her best friend and brought her breakfast.

She smiled and walked over to him. "That was really sweet of you, thank you."

Spencer looked down at her and smiled. "Sorry about scaring you."

"Eh, don't be. It was a good wake-up call," she laughed. "What would I do without you?"

He reached his hand out and brushed some of the hair from her face, at which she almost melted. "I think I should be asking you that question."

Something came to her mind just then, and she wasn't sure why. But she took the risk anyway, turning her head and kissing the inside of his palm.

"W—what was that for?"

Y/N shrugged. "I don't know. Just felt right."

She didn't know how long they stood there, smiling at each other, but it felt different, like suddenly the air around them had shifted overnight into something palpably electric. And it's that energy that urged her to say something she'd been afraid to say for so long.

"Hey, I uh... I don't know if this is weird timing, and you can say no even though it was my birthday yesterday, don't feel pressured to say yes, but I—"

"Yes."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't care," Spencer said simply. "Whatever it is you want, it's yours."

"So, if... If I asked you to dinner tonight—"

"Yes."

Her stomach churned, but this time it had nothing to do with the hangover. The pounding in her head was more of a dull thrum now because the pounding in her heart overpowered it. And it grew even more intense when her best friend took a step closer, placing his hand to the side of her face.

"I wouldn't kiss me right now if I were you," she warned, tilting her head to the side. "Hangover breath is basically a bio-hazard, and you're going to completely rethink going out with me."

Spencer shook his head and leaned in even closer. "I don't care."

As he kissed her, she lost herself in him completely and came to the conclusion that he was the only hangover cure she would ever need.

***

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff

767 notes · View notes

mypersonmyg · 4 years

Text

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon.

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent.

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece.

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?”

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.”

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?”

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.”

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art.

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks.

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway.

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now.

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you, Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek.

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust.

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts.

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded.

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.”

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms.

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due.

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit.

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure.

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze.

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you.

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with a countering taunt.

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots.

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe.

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses.

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest.

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.”

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling.

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete.

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.”

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity.

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas.

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms.

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence.

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival.

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you.

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord.

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink, already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile.

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door.

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance.

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.”

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--”

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you.

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation.

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil.

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission.

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat.

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago. “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?”

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks.

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down.

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans.

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion.

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space.

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud.

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning.

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe.

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.”

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?”

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.”

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop.

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it.

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay.

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.”

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.”

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest.

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare.

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed.

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above.

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo.

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find.

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.”

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work.

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.”

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf.

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent.

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine.

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix.

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied.

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.”

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum.

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.”

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays.

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips.

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!”

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.”

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry.

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute. “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.”

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth. “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?”

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!”

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place. In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside.

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud.

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work.

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so.

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.”

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face.

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?”

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles.

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.”

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?”

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.” Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago.

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin.

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff.

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.”

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk.

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest.

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance.

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello.

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance.

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page.

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you.

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here.

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you.

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf.

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.”

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour.

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor.

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving.

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance.

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk.

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length.

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.”

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.”

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.”

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?”

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again.

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take.

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran.

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?”

“What do you know about my meeting?”

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits.

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him.

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?”

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded.

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids.

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest.

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.”

“Scared of needles?”

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.”

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier.

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you.

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.”

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived.

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him.

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from.

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?”

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.”

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him.

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm?”

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly.

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more.

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.”

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…”

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…”

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind.

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.”

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye.

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern.

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken.

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you.

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…”

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?”

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!”

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold.

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…”

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…”

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth.

“Why are you opening a tea shop?”

“What?”

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?”

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.”

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?”

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.”

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?”

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules.

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.”

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.”

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?”

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.”

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes.

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible.

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange.

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung.

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you.

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.”

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom.

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home.

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils.

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.”

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up.

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response.

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone.

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time.

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa.

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening.

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.”

“You think so?”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago.

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.”

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.”

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space.

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.”

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner.

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you.

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.”

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.”

“I don’t yell at Jimin!”

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.”

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk.

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going."

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.”

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…”

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.”

“You guys didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous.

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.”

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.”

“Or...you could come?”

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence.

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud.

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.”

“I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, we smile.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jjk fluff #bts au #jungkook au #bts s2l #jungkook s2l

291 notes · View notes

t0wnspersonb · 4 years

Text

Volleyball Shorts (Akaashi Keiji x Reader)

chubby-bun-bun

said:

hello!! i have this fic idea for akaashi where he & reader are really good friends. reader is really quiet, shy, & adorable. she's also part of the girls volleyball team and is an extremely strong and vital member. akaashi & his teammates go to see her play in an huge official match for the first time and idk he gets really impressed, shocked, entranced, and attracted haha! only if u're taking requests tho! thank u!

~~~~~~~

OMFG I really hope I wrote this okay for you. I’m sorry it took so long, I’ve been dealing with some personal stuff in my life and got too busy to write. I hope you like it though @ chubby-bun-bun! I’ll be writing more for sure!

~~~~~~

Word Count: 1,898

Summary: Akaashi and the rest of the team attend one of your volleyball matches and the quiet setter can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

The smallest smile grazed Akaashi’s lips as he stared at you doing homework. Your face held nothing but concentration, a slight crease between your eyes as you scanned over the math questions.

It was currently lunch time right now, and both you and Akaashi had decided to spend it in the library together, finishing up some homework before the weekend.

Well the real reason why you were trying to finish homework was because you didn’t want to have to worry about it after your volleyball matches.

It was the Spring Interhigh Qualifiers, all the countless hours you spent training and practicing was for that very reason. Of course you didn’t want to worry about homework during the most important matches in your life.

You were going to make it to the Spring Tournament. You just had to.

“Y/n-san. Are you finished? Lunch is almost over.” Akaashi said, staring at the clock on the wall.

You looked up, carefully pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Oh. Yes I’m done now. Shall we go?”

He nodded as you guys began gathering up your stuff and making your way back to your classroom.

“AKAASHI!”

You flinched from the loud noise but immediately recognized the voice. Bokuto came barreling around the corner, his eyes locked on Akaashi who was sighing in annoyance next to you.

You carefully moved away from the setter as the volleyball captain began shaking his shoulders dramatically. “Akaashi! Why didn’t you eat with me today!?”

“Bokuto-san. You’re scaring Y/n-san. Please lower your voice and stop shaking me.” Akaashi said simply, putting a hand up to stop Bokuto’s antics.

The third year immediately noticed you and smiled brightly. “Y/n-chan! Tomorrow is the Qualifiers right!?”

You flinched once more at his loud voice, your face turning incredibly red as both boys were now staring at you.

“Um… y-yeah. The f-first ma-match is at t-t-ten o’clock.” you stuttered out, averting your gaze and fidgeting with the edges of your sweater.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Bokuto, you found him funny, and you admired his strength in volleyball, as well as how completely unapologetic he was about his personality.

You wished that you could be the same way.

You were quiet and soft spoken, incredibly shy, so seeing someone as carefree as Bokuto, well, you couldn’t help but admire him.

“Ne, ne Akaashi.” Bokuto said, his eyes wide and bright. “Let’s go watch Y/n-chan’s match!”

You could feel your body break out in a cold sweat. You definitely didn’t want those two to see your match. You knew how talented the boy’s volleyball club was, you had attended many matches. You also knew how incredibly talented Bokuto was, he was part of the top five aces in the country for heaven’s sake.

But you also knew how incredibly talented Akaashi was as a setter. The same position as you.

There was no way you were going to let them see you play.

“T-That’s not n-necesarry.” you said quietly, biting your bottom lip. “H-Honestly, i-i-it would make me m-more nervous.”

Bokuto looked entirely confused at your statement while Akaashi looked at you with a gentle blush on his face.

The way you were fidgeting and the way you bit your lip, it was just way too cute. Akaashi had always found your quiet and nervous nature entirely adorable. He enjoyed your company immensely.

“I don’t get it Y/n-chan,” Bokuto said scratching his head. But before he had a chance to continue the lunch bell ended, signaling that it was time to return back to class.

You and Akaashi were seat mates, and that’s how your guys’ quiet friendship had started.

“If you really don’t want us to come Y/n-san, we won’t.” Akaashi said gently, peering at you as you grabbed a notebook out of your bag.

“I-It’s okay, Akaashi-san. If you guys want to watch you can.” you said softly, giving him the sweetest smile.

He shifted his eyes away from you, not wanting you to see the blush that was now covering his cheeks. “Well we still have practice that morning, we’re still preparing for our Qualifiers too. But if we have the chance we’ll stop by.” he said.

That was the end to your conversation, the rest of the day blurring by and before you knew you were finishing up with volleyball practice and heading home.

Good luck tomorrow. I know you guys will win.

You weren’t sure if it was the text from Akaashi or the hot shower you had just taken, but your body felt incredibly hot at the moment.

***

“You need to relax.” Your senpai said in amusement as she watched you bouncing on your feet.

Right now you guys were warming up, it was your first match of the day, and needless to say, you were incredibly antsy.

“She always gets like this before a game. It’s like a ritual for her. Let her do her thing.” another teammate called out, sitting down in a split. “Y/n-chan is the best setter we’ve ever had. We’re going to the Spring Tournament.” She grinned, throwing up the peace sign.

You were ignoring your senpais completely. Opting for complete concentration, adjusting your sports glasses and taking in a deep breath.

It was almost methodical, the way you prepared yourself for a game.

You started off stretching out your arms and your neck, before stretching out your legs.

Deep, concentrated breathes going through your nose and out through your mouth.

This was how you prepared.

You needed to be strong mentally for your team. Your underclassmen, and your upperclassmen, were relying on your skills as the setter.

You got to control every aspect of this game for your team.

This was important.

You weren’t going to let anyone down.

Unbeknownst to you, the boys volleyball team began taking their seats. Bokuto was in a temper tantrum for one reason or another and was refusing to talk to any of his teammates.

Akaashi was fed up, needless to say.

His eyes scanned across the court, immediately taking notice of the Fukurodani colors on the volleyball uniform.

“You know this was a pretty good idea…” Komi mused, drinking in how tight and short the girl’s volleyball uniforms are.

The first match was just starting, and surprisingly, you were the first one up to serve.

He could feel his face burn as his eyes scanned your figure. He wasn’t used to seeing you in clothes like this.

The jersey hugged your body in all the right places and he couldn’t help but notice the number five on it, that was his number. The tight volleyball shorts you were wearing made your legs appear incredibly long and strong, and… Akaashi couldn’t help but let his eyes linger below. The fabric clung to your ass and quite frankly it was exquisite.

But what really struck him was the look on your face, he had never seen you look so confident before, so calm, so strong.

It was… it was fucking hot.

And then you did your jump serve, hitting the ball over the net with incredible force and speed.

No that was fucking hot. That was fucking incredible.

Akaashi’s lips parted in awe as he continued watching the game, completely captivated. You looked incredible out there, elegant almost, in every play that you did. He couldn’t help but notice how you were all over the court, working well with your team. But at one point he was worried about the toss you were about to throw to your wing spiker. He knew you were a setter, you had mentioned it quietly in passing the first time you had met Bokuto, and he had asked you what you thought about volleyball.

But he didn’t know that you were that good. For a moment he started doubting his own abilities, wondering if you ever thought that he wasn’t good from all the games you had gone to.

The toss you had made towards your wing spiker was the kind of toss you knew she liked, high and fast. She spiked it down perfectly.

You cheered loudly with your teammates.

“Akaashi.” Bokuto called, he finally got out of his funk after the match had started, enjoying the heat of the game. “Does Y/n-chan seem different to you?”

The setter nodded, his eyes never leaving the court, or rather, his eyes never leaving your figure.

“She’s really good. It’s like her personality is the complete opposite when she’s on the court.” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“Right, right.” Bokuto mumbled, “did she always have such a nice butt?” he blurted out.

Akaashi turned towards the third year, scowling deeply in annoyance and… was that jealousy?

“Bokuto-san don’t say stuff like that about Y/n-san.”

“Eh? But you were staring too Akaashi!” Bokuto pouted.

The team noticed the bright red color dusting the setters cheeks at Bokuto’s exclamation, and began snickering and laughing at the poor second year.

His scowl deepened, and before he could scold his team, he heard you yelling.

“Connect the ball!” you called out, watching as it went up in the air, your libero easily receiving it.

You all were getting ready to do a synchronized attack, but you surprised the other team by doing a setter dump, or more like a spike because you slammed the ball down hard.

The game had ended.

You guys had won. You were still in the Qualifiers.

You were immediately surrounded by your teammates, cheering and hugs being passed around before you guys cleaned up the court and left to gather your stuff for the ride home.

You were switching out your sports glasses for your regular ones when you heard familiar voices.

“Hey, hey, hey! Y/n-chan! You were great out there!” Bokuto praised. Behind him was the rest of the boy’s volleyball team, who were now conversing with the girls on your team.

“Thank you.” you said softly, a sweet smile stretching across your lips. “I’m glad w-we won. I-It was pretty close.”

Bokuto frowned slightly, his eyes dropped. “Y/n-chan. Why are you acting shy now? You weren’t like that at all on the court! You were awesome!”

Akaashi smiled at the sweet flush that covered your cheeks as you waved Bokuto off frantically, voicing how you were just really concentrated on the game.

Before Bokuto could pressure you even more he interrupted. “You did amazing Y/n-san. You’re an incredible setter.”

Your lips parted in surprise. But warmth started spreading throughout your entire being at his praise. “R-Really Akaashi-san?”

He nodded, taking a step closer to you. He took in your blushing face and messy hair.

Why were you so fucking cute?

“Yeah.” he said, carefully reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, smiling softly as your face turned more red.

“Your uniform looks good on you too. I’ll have to go to more of your games. Maybe we can play a game of volleyball together soon.” he said softly. “Or we can do something else.”

He would love to see you play up close and personal.

Or maybe he’d rather just spend more time with you.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest as you nodded your head rapidly. “I-I would like that a lot actually.”

Akaashi’s smile grew more, and he couldn’t help himself but to reach down and grab your hand, squeezing it gently.

“Me too.”

#akaashi keiji #akaashi x you #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji x reader #reader insert #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #request #requests are welcome #akaashi haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #one shot #akaashi oneshot

2K notes · View notes

frauleinjustice · 3 years

Text

Birthday Present for Ray: Oumota!!

A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR MY CATTO RAY @detectiveseapancake !!! 🎉 🍰 I wanted to surprise him with some oumota fluff this time~! I hope that you will love it lots and enjoy it once u read it Ray, and that it can make for a great gift for you!

Summary: Kaito was egged on by Kokichi, as per usual; this time, to brave through a horror movie as they have an impromptu sleepover over at Kaito’s dorm room. Of course, Kaito still screamed his lungs out, which made for very entertaining reactions for the surpeme leader to see. After teasing him about it, Kaito starts chasing Kokichi around the room, which leads to him glomping the boy down on the bed, and, from there: soft, intimate moments between the two, as they secretly harbor feelings for one another...

So yeah, I wanted to go for something silly, but soft and cute! And to try my hand at writing some oumota cause I don’t believe I have before, nor as Kaito at least as like... one of the main characters in a one-shot: so this was honestly really fun to write and that it’ll put a smile on your face, Ray! You always deserve to have one... ilu~! and once more, I hope you’ll enjoy... ❤️ and if anyone else gives this a read, thank you! May you enjoy, too!!

A sleepover with Kokichi, watching a horror movie: never the sequence of events Kaito Momota expected. Earlier that day, Kokichi had been egging him on, teasing him about the fact that he ‘wouldn’t have the balls’ to sit through a horror movie in its entirety. Kaito, being the very hardheaded man that he is, took the bait as always, accepted his challenge. Granted, the ‘sleepover’ part was slyly slipped in by Kokichi, who practically invited himself to stay over in Kaito’s dorm room for the night. Kaito let it slide, though: since he oddly... didn’t mind the thought of Kokichi spending the night over in his dorm room; but he still regretted the stupid decision to watch a horror movie, though. ‘It’s said to be so scary, you’ll want to sleep with the light on for days!!!’ So declared the supreme leader, though Kaito hopes to god he was just lying.

Now here he was, trying not to look as distressed as he is as Kokichi starts setting up the DVD player. He had even brought snacks, popcorn, and drinks to Kaito’s room once he arrived. He had already arrived in his pajamas, which was a simple loose white t shirt and checkerboard pajama pants. His hair looked messier as usual... and while Kaito did tease that he looks more like a disheveled rat... he’d never admit that, for a second... he found him kind of cute. Kaito himself was wearing a NASA tank shirt with black loungepants. His hair wasn’t even up in his usual style, wearing it down. It wasn’t often Kokichi had seen it like that. He teased in turn that Kaito looked like a nerd, but: he thinks he actually looks really attractive with his hair down, too. But just like Kaito: Kokichi would die before he’d ever admit that.

“It’s starting, Momota-chaaan...” Ominously muses Kokichi with a sneery smile, a finger up to his lips. “And like I told you before; if you even think of trying to fly out of this room... I’ll strap you to a chair and torture you!” Which was clearly a lie, but he really wouldn’t allow Kaito to chicken out.

Clicking his tongue, Kaito rests his arms on the back of his head while his back leans against the side of his bed. “Whatever. I told you I’m not gonna do that! No stupid horror movie can faze the luminary of the stars!” Which he wish he could’ve said with more confidence, if not for the slight hesitation in his voice giving it away. Even if it was obvious as day to literally everyone, Kaito still refuses to admit how terrified he is of paranormal things. He just hopes he seriously won’t have the urge to fly out of the room, or he’d never be able to live it down.

“Yeahhh, whatever you say.” Once the movie began, the two grew silent. The beginning of the movie starts off normal, nothing bad or eventful happening quite yet. Even then, Kaito couldn’t say he was exactly relaxed: he’s just anticipating the moment where things go south real fast. And unfortunately for him: barely 30 minutes into the movie and things were already starting to get much more creepier and ominous. A lightly shaking hand goes to shovel more popcorn into his mouth, bracing himself for what he’s sure will be an eventual jumpscare any moment. As he was snacking on his konpeito and sipping his panta, Kokichi occasionally glanced over at him to read his expressions, snickering to himself. He just knows he’s going to get some very great and funny ones. In fact, he slowly brings wriggling fingers closer to Kaito’s waist, the unsuspecting man not even paying attention to him as he was so focused on mentally preparing himself to get scared. One his hands were close enough, Kokichi firmly clasps his sides while yelling out a sharp: “HAH!!”

“GGHGHKK-?!” Kaito jumped so badly in his spot that some of the popcorn flew out of the bucket, most of it hitting the floor. "Wh-What?! Wh-OUMA!" Snarling, he slams the popcorn bucket down on the table. "Don't fucking DO that, you little cu-" But seconds later, the actual jumpscare in the movie happens, the face of a scary looking ghost suddenly popping onto the screen with a screeching wail. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"

"PFFTT, hahaha!!!" Kokichi starts bursting out laughing, nearly choking on his panta as he had to quickly stop drinking it. "H-Heheh, aww, did the Big Cweepy Ghost scaaare you, Momo-cha-HURK!" His wheezing laughter was cut off by bigger arms suddenly wrapping around his waist and squeezing the smaller boy tightly, nearly squeezing the oxygen out of him. "M-Momota....cha..?!"

"IT'S THE SPIRIT OF THE VENGEFUL LITTLE GIIIIIIRL!!!" And squeezes Kokichi even tighter, not even noticing he had grabbed him yet.

A choked gasp, he starts trying to pull Kaito off of him, wheezing out: LET ME GO, YOU IDIOT!"

"Ah-" Now realizing he had been clinging onto Kokichi. He instantly lets go of him, huffing as he rubs the back of his head an embarrassed blush on his face. "S...Sorry..."

"Geez..." Huffs Kokichi with a childish pout. He quickly darts his face away to hide the light tinge of pink on it. While he didn't appreciate having his lungs practically squeezed out; the fact that Kaito would instinctively cling onto even him, made him oddly happy inside... As the movie progressed, Kaito tried to endure the scarier scenes, sometimes being able to stifle a scream, but most of the time still screaming his lungs out. He had Kokichi continue to laugh so hard, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, albeit at the cost of being clung onto very tightly at times. "Nishishi, Momo-chan looks like he's gonna pee his pants!"

"N-No I'm fucking NOT-GYAAAAAAH!!" A jumpscare from a creepy haunted doll made him cup Kokichi's hand, squeezing it very tightly. "That laugh is so damn creepy!!!"

Kokichi winced a bit from how tightly he squeezed his hand, chortling as an amused smile widened on his face. "Aww, does Momota-chan want me to protect hiiim~?"

Giving a flustered grumble, Kaito instantly snatches his hand away. "G-Go fuck yourself!!"

"Fuck me yourself, coward!"

"Shut upppp!!"

Despite the several near heart attacks he had, Kaito surprisingly made no attempts to fly out of the room. It honestly impressed Kokichi, who was highly expecting him to do so at some point. Funny as it would’ve been to see him do so... he admittedly would’ve been disappointed. The dare he gave Kaito aside... he really did want to have a sleepover with him. Something about Kaito truly just interested the supreme leader. While he still did find him a big, loud idiot a lot of the time; he was so fun to tease, and always went along with Kokichi’s antics, even if it because he was easily egged on most of the time. When they have their petty arguments, Kaito’s chasing him down a hall or even the rare times they actually just talk casually without being at each other’s throats: Kokichi finds it fun. Maybe that’s why he found himself being drawn to Kaito, wanting to find excuses to spend alone time with him. The astronaut made him giddy in a way most others couldn’t.

Eventually, the movie finally comes to an end. Kokichi starts applauding as if it was the best movie he’s ever seen. “Hooraaay! What a great movie that was! Simply moving! Right, Momota-chan?”

“Uuuuugghghhhhhhhhh.....” Meanwhile, Kaito looks as pale as the ghosts in the film, slumped against the edge of the bed with a grim look on his face. It was a shock to even himself that he didn’t damage all his vocal chords from how much he screamed, now even more grateful Kokichi was going to sleep over tonight: there was no way he’d be able to get some sleep otherwise... though the fact Kokichi being here with him eases his paranoia a bit, was honestly embarrassing. “Simply moving”, my ass...” He groans, voice sounding noticeably hoarse. “But h.....ha! Didn’t I tell you? I wasn’t going to run out of the room: that movie was nothing! I only pretended to be as “scared” as I actually was-WASN’T!” He quickly ‘corrects’ himself as he points a finger at Kokichi in declaration.

“...............”

“D-Don’t look at me like that! I still won the damn challenge, didn’t I?!”

“Mmmn... I guess so. How boring... I was so waiting for you to fly out of that door, so I could torture you..” He sighs, looking so dissatisfied.. until a smile instantly lights back up on his face. “But that’s a lie! I truly would have been disappointed if you did run out the room. I guess even Momota-chan can break my expectations every once in a while, hmm?”

“Heh... is that so? Are you finally admitting that you find me cool?” Quips Kaito with a playfully arrogant smirk on his face as he throws his arm around Kokichi’s shoulders. “You always talking shit, thinking you alllways have me figured out... but I’m not as easy as you think I am! Try harder next time.”

Kokichi was actually stunned for a moment. Kaito, who usually just gets irritated with him: looked not only amused by what he said, but even had the nerve to playfully tease him back with that cocky smirk on his face. “Wh... h-hmph!! Momo-chan’s getting awfully cocky, isn’t he?!” He huffs, balling his fists as a notable blush creeps onto his cheeks. “Geez! After I actually bothered to say something nice about you for once.”

"Heheh...” Kaito noticed the blush on Kokichi’s face this time: cute, he thinks to himself. It felt nice to be the one to tease the other for once, when it was usually the other way around. Kaito didn’t know why he suddenly found himself wanting to do that more often: to seep reactions out of the supreme leader that he normally doesn’t show. Just like how Kokichi found himself having fun with Kaito... deep down, Kaito felt the same with the supreme leader. While he still found him to be an ‘irritating little shit’.... it was starting to be a fond way, now.

Wanting to wipe that smirk off Kaito’s face, and to hide his own flustered one: Kokichi suddenly snakes his hands into Kaito’s shirt to lightly tickle his sides. “Coochy coooo~!”

“H-Heheeeek-?!” Kaito jumps from the ticklish feel of fingers dancing along his bare skin. He instantly clasps a hand over his mouth as he scurries away from the boy, cheeks red in embarrassment from the noise he emitted. “Y-You motherfu-!”

“Nishishi! Ehhh, what did I dooo? What a cute noise you made just now, Momo-chan~!” He giggles, being finding himself suddenly dodging a pillow that was thrown at him. “Oop! Haha, missed meeee!”

“You little-!!” And with that, Kaito started to chase Kokichi around the room, the shorter boy laughing heartily as he avoids being grabbed by the other at each attempt.

“Catch me, catch meee~!”

“I’ll get ya, Ouma!!” And yet; Kaito wasn’t even trying to hide the smile that widens on his face, looking as if he’s having the time of his life trying to chase the boy down in the small room. Unlike when he usually chased him, it was completely in a playful sense, finding himself laughing along with Kokichi as he tried reaching for the boy. Kokichi had even jumped on top of the bed, making mocking expressions at Kaito as he taunts him.

“Over here, over here~!” And just as he was about to hop right off the bed when Kaito came closer-”Ah-!” Kokichi lost his balance, landing on his butt on the bed.

“Gotcha-!” Kaito took that perfect opportunity to literally lunge at and pin the boy down onto the bed. While he made sure not to grip his wrists too tightly, he still had a slightly firm hold on him as he smirks down at the boy triumphantly. “Hah! You were saying, Ouma?”

“..............” But instead of pouting, whining, or acting like a sore loser: Kokichi just.... stares up at him wide-eyed. Here he was, pinned down to the bed by Kaito. Purple eyes looking up at similar purple ones, faces close to each other. “Ahh....”

“?” Oblivious to his unusually quiet reaction, Kaito’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head. “...What? What’s with up with y...ah.” But once he registers the position that they are in, now he understands. “U...Uhhh....”

“M....M-Momo-chan....” Cheeks turn a dark shade of red as he feels unable to look away from the boy, eyes half-lidded. He purses his lips, feeling his heart pounding hard in his chest. "A-Are you gonna... lean down and kiss me, now? Like in those cheesy shoujo mangas...? A-Ahh, I’m not mentally prepared...” He whines, shyly darting his eyes away. And just as it looks as if he was being serious... “...SIIIIIIIIIIIKE!” A shit-eating grin instantly widens on his face, cackling as he looks back at him. “How was my ‘hopeless romantic shoujo girl’ impression, hmm? Did you fall for it, did you fall for it?!”

“Wha-wha.....wh....” Kaito’s own heart was pounding at the major shift of the mood so quickly. Thinking that Kokichi was being serious for a moment- “...Huh.” And then just stares at him when he pulled that ‘it was a joke!’ card at the last minute. “.....A....A-As if.....” Clenching his teeth, now his face was really red as he instantly flies off of the boy, crossing his arms as he turns his head away. “A-As if anyone w-w-would wanna kiss YOU! O-Of course I wasn’t going to do that!!!”

“Nishishi...~!” Despite his little act, the blush on his face was certainly real. And the rapid pounding of his heart at that very moment, too. “Mmnn that’s because Momota-chan wouldn’t dare kiss me.”

“Huh?!” Kaito instantly looks back his way, balling his fist as he retaliates: “You callin’ me a coward?! I so could if I wanted to!”

“Ohhh?” A sharp inhale, Kokichi dares to say: “Then do it: I dare you.”

“.....!” Kaito Momota was one who was very easily baited into doing dares whenever he felt himself being mocked or taunted; but even he’d have more than enough common sense than to do something as intimate as kissing someone just because they egged him on. If he didn’t like the person or straight up would not feel comfortable or okay with kissing them, he’d refuse to do so, not caring if it’d seemed he was ‘chickening out.’ And yet, with Kokichi... he didn’t want to say ‘no.’ In a way, it was as if he wanted to use stubborn tendencies as an excuse to not back down. Why was that, he wonders...? Or maybe the answer wasn’t an confusing as he likes to think it is. Gulping, Kaito finally gives him a response... in the form of a confident nod. “F-Fine. I’ll show you that Kaito Momota ain’t no chicken!”

“.....” For a second, genuine surprise showed on Kokichi’s face. He absolutely did not expect Kaito to actually go through with it. Was it only because he dared him? Would Kaito do this with just anyone if they taunted him like Kokichi did? He didn’t want to think about that, burying the self-doubt that he may not be a special exception. No, he wanted to think he was: that only he would be someone Kaito was willing to kiss. “...Well?” Smiling, Kokichi crawls closer to him. “I’m waitiiiing~!”

Despite agreeing to do this, Kaito honestly couldn’t believe this was actually happening. One moment, they were watching a moment together; and now, he was about to kiss the supreme leader. For some reason, an unfamiliar kind of nervousness started to bubble up in him. Why was he so nervous, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss! Just give him one kiss and it’s over with: but he wasn’t thinking like that. Rather... he didn’t want to mess this up. Didn’t want to give him a half-assed kiss, as it’d have no feeling to it. Quickly shaking his head of such ‘sappy’ thoughts, a hand slowly goes to cup the other’s chin. “Y...You’re gonna get a kiss from the Luminary of the Stars, himself! You’d better feel lucky!” He declares, trying to joke around to hopefully shake off some of the nervousness and rapid pounding of his heart.

His heart thumps hard in his chest when Kaito cups his chin like that. He’s almost happy he made that ridiculous declaration, chortling to help distract himself from how nervous he was. “Whatever you say, Momota-chan. Now come onnn....” He impatiently whines as he closes his eyes. “Do it alreadyyyy....”

“Alright, alright...” Taking a deep exhale, Kaito starts to lean his face in more. Wriggling lips are forced to keep steady as their faces become closer and closer. He can hear the soft breathing of the other, their bangs brushing against each other’s. With lips so close, they are barely brushing together... if he leans in any closer, their lips will surely meet. Kokichi could also feel just how much closer Kaito was, stifling a muffled whine. Any minute, their lips were going to meet. He was going to be kissed by Kaito... the already lack of patience was making the anticipation kill him, almost tempted to whine to him again to hurry up... until he finally feels lips softly press against his.

“Mmn...” Kokichi feels his heart flutter in his chest, slowly processing this very moment. He jokingly expected a rough or sloppy kiss, considering it was Kaito; and yet, it felt so soft, so gentle... as if Kaito wanted to make sure he was careful. A quiet hum vibrating through him, Kokichi already found himself indulging in the nice feeling of his lips, pressing his own against Kaito’s more firmly, ever so slightly.

Kaito also found himself loving the feeling of Kokichi’s soft lips... the hand he was using to cup Kokichi’s chin, he finds himself stroking it gently with his thumb. He felt Kokichi press his lips firmer against his, making a quiet sigh leave him as he dares to do the same. Even if he did this under the excuse of being ‘dared’ to... he didn’t want it to end. He wanted to kiss him for as long as he could before it would have to end. And once it did, when he eventually has to pull away so they could breathe... their heated faces are still so close.

“M...Momo-chan...” His voice is barely above a whisper. As much as he wanted to tease him about the fact that he definitely used this dare as an excuse to kiss him... right now, he just wanted to indulge in that feeling again. So before he knew it, arms would go to link around Kaito’s neck as he nestles himself in his lap. Nuzzling their foreheads together, he utters: “....One more...”

Maybe it was the heat of the moment; or maybe it was the boy not caring to deny how badly he truly was crushing on the supreme leader, with the other secretly returning those feelings... that Kaito doesn’t have to think twice about it. Arms going to immediately wrap around the smaller boy’s waist, he nods and gives a simple: “Yeah...” Before he leans in once more, Kokichi meeting him halfway as they close the distance in a kiss. One that’s still soft, but even firmer as they both quickly deepen it. Soft sighs and hums emit from them, Kokichi occasionally giving Kaito’s lips quick pecks in between the kiss. It makes a low, content hum seep from Kaito, who presses deeper and slower pecks to Kokichi’s lips in turn.

And even once that kiss is over, they still did not want to stop: but they did need to catch their breath, and the thought of their kisses growing even more passionate was a bit much for them to handle right now, when their hearts already felt like they could burst out of their chests. So simply giving each one last quick peck, they break away from the kisses for good. “N...Nishishi....” He breathes out a soft giggle in between pants. “Momo-chan’s.... not so bad to kiss. And that isn’t a lie...”

“Y...Y-Yeah, well: you’re not so bad yourself, Ouma...” He also utters in between deep pants. His face felt like it was on fire, only having a bit of solace when seeing how deeply red Kokichi’s own face was. “Can’t believe I really just... fucking kissed you because you taunted me. And that... I wanted to do it again: on my own will. U-Ugh....just saying this is embarrassing...”

“Hehehe.... Momo-chan’s such a sap...” Though he doesn’t say it in a mocking tone; rather a fond one as he suddenly leans back real far, so that he brings Kaito down with him as they’re now plopped down on the bed.

“Who you callin’ a sap-oh...!” He let out a small yelp in surprise when Kokichi brings them both down, rolling his eyes with a chortle as he wildly ruffles his hair. “Lil shit...” He playfully quips with just as much fondness in his tone, giving Kokichi a warm smile: one that held a special kind of warmth he normally doesn’t give others.

Giggling at the hair ruffles and his playful remark, Kokichi gives Kaito a beaming smile in return. “Momo-chan~!” Oh how he adored that smile... and his beloved astronaut. He rolls right into Kaito’s arms, smaller arms wrapping Kaito as he buries his face into his chest.

“Woah!” He blinks in surprise from the sudden cuddly embrace, trying to stifle a chuckle when feeling Kokichi nuzzle his face into his chest. “You havin’ fun down there?” Not that Kaito minds this at all, surprisingly enough. In fact, one arm would go to wrap around Kokichi’s waist, while his other hand rests on top of his head, patting it softly. “You know, Ouma... I know I always talk a lot of shit to you, too, but... you’re actually not so bad. I don’t, uh... hate you, or anything: is what I’m trying to say. I never did, really.”

A happy hum at the head pats, a soft gasp leaves his lips when he hears him say that. “Momota-chan...” He wasn’t so bad... he never actually hated him. Something about that... made Kokichi feel warm inside. An indescribable amount of happiness was bubbling up in him, hoping that his face wasn’t too visible as the widest, genuinely happiest smile appears on Kokichi’s face as he still keeps it buried partially in Kaito’s chest. He was always going to remember those words. “That’s so cheesy....nishishi... but...” A shaky exhale, Kokichi moves his head back just enough to look up at Kaito. There’s a tinge of warmth to that bright and happy smile still on his face. “...It makes me happy to hear that. And I guess I...never hated you, either. ....I could never grow to hate my beloved Momo-chan, anyway...”

“...!” His eyes widen. “Your....beloved...?” No one’s ever called him their beloved before.... and hearing that Kokichi also never hated him-nor could he-makes a flustered whine leave him. “Th-The hell, man... you’ll kill me if you say shit like that so straight-forwardly. I mean, well- not that I’m complaining: I’m glad... to hear that, too. And I don’t....mind....being called that....b-but only if it’s just us around, okay! I’d never live it down if Shuichi or Harumaki heard you calling me that!!”

Snickering, Kokichi gives him a reassuring nod. “O-kaaaaay! Whatever helps my beloved feel more comfortable~!” Being called it again makes Kaito’s heart giddily beat in his chest. He’d be far too embarrassed to ever such intimate words himself, but he’s sure that Kokichi knows that he thinks of him as his beloved supreme leader, too.

Kaito now wraps both arms around Kokichi, the two indulging in each other’s warmth as they cuddle softly. Kokichi really was like a cuddly pillow in his arms, while Kaito felt like a snug blanket in his. It really was funny... having Kokichi nestled up in his arms like this, cuddling him, kissed him... all the things Kaito in the beginning would never dream of doing with Kokichi. And now here they were, after growing much closer and only fell harder and harder for each other tonight. As they feel the sleepiness start to catch up to them, Kaito was already looking forward to tomorrow morning, almost already forgetting how scared that movie had made him earlier. Rather, he thought much more about how nice it’ll be to wake up with the smaller boy all nestled in his arms like this; and in turn, Kokichi not being able to wait waking up in Kaito’s arms. “G’night, Ouma...” He softly yawns, giving him a soft squeeze in the hold. “That stupid movie that I totally handled well aside... tonight was fun.”

“Oh my god, whatever. Big dork...” He chortles, giving him a gentle squeeze in turn. “I had fun, too, Momo-chan... it’s never boring with you. Let’s play together even more tomorrow; g’nighttttt....”

“Heheh.. and thanks. I’m glad it never is. ...Yeah: let’s do that...” After gazing into each other’s eyes one last time, spilling with warmth and love for the other... eventually drift off to sleep. All of this happened tonight, because Kokichi simply egged the other on: that was going to be a choice Kokichi will always be happy that he made.

#Kokichi Ouma #Kaito Momota #oumota #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #detectiveseapancake #Kay's writings #sorry that's a bit belated babby but: may it be a nice present for you all the same I hope~!#and one last time... Happy Birthday: I'm so happy you had a great one!!!

14 notes · View notes

eryiss · 3 years

Text

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Get ready for some conflict, and two stubborn men refusing to admit their faults. Hope you enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Two - Teething Trouble

Day One: Monday

The further they trudged into the forest, the more Freed understood what Gajeel was going to put him through. In a word: Survival.

He should have guessed by the way Gajeel had treated him before they'd left magnolia that the antagonism shared between them would be a factor in the week. Gajeel had immediately told him to leave his bags at home - "You're only gonna need the clothes on yer back, city boy." - and had taken every opportunity to call Freed 'fragile' and 'spoiled'. Clearly, he thought that Freed was a man unused to roughing it, and who had spent his life in luxury.

To put it simply, Gajeel hadn't planned a training exercise. He had planned three days of pushing Freed to his limits, trying to break him and expose his supposed weakness. No doubt the following three days would be filled with pointless physical labour and an excess of exaggerated survivalist exercises,

Freed found it oddly exciting; he would enjoy proving the idiot wrong.

"Heads up," Gajeel grunted, letting go of a branch he'd pushed aside, clearly intending to let it hit Freed. Freed, being a trained mage with refined reflexes, caught the branch before it struck him. Gajeel saw, his lips twitched down slightly. "Hm."

"Are you intending to be obnoxious," Freed asked, boot squelching in the mud. "Or is that just your personality?"

"Not enjoying yourself, city-boy?"

"You've hardly proven yourself to be a conversationalist, have you?" Freed mused, climbing the small verge of grass that Gajeel was guiding him to. "And so far, rather than training of any kind, you've decided to take me on a walk around the forest and not much else."

"We're nearly there," Gajeel grunted. "And maybe if ya shut yer trap I'd be better company."

"You're quite defensive, I do hope I didn't strike a nerve," Freed hummed, wanting to annoy the man. "If simply insulting your plans has gotten your hackles raisen so quickly, then you've got thinner skin than I had expected."

"I've got thin skin?" Gajeel scoffed. "Sure."

That was the entirety of the conversation shared between the two men for the morning. The forest Gajeel had chosen for them to walk through was one unfamiliar to Freed, and as such he couldn't be sure if he was being taken a direct route to wherever Gajeel was taking him, or if he had been walking in circles for Gajeel to test his stamina and ability to cross a wooded area. They'd seen the same stream a few times, at different places, so Freed was fairly sure that they weren't going the most direct route.

Only when the sun was high in the sky did Gajeel decide to stop walking. Though he wouldn't say it, Freed's as thankful for the rest, as his legs were starting to complain. He looked around where they had paused to see what Gajeel considered a good stopping point,

Gajeel was obnoxious, but he clearly knew what he was doing.

He'd found a small clearing in the trees, with a break in the canopy that gave them direct sunlight and dryer grass. They were a close walk from the stream, so had both a water and food source, if the fish were safe to eat. They weren't so far from the trees that it would be a trial to find shelter if the rain began. Freed was impressed, and looked to Gajeel for further instructions; if he wanted to beat him at his own game, he needed to know what this game was.

"You might have figured out what this is," Gajeel began, looking towards Freed. He was clearly proud of himself. "For the next three days, we're camping out here, living off the land. No help, no magic, no luxury."

He had emphasised the word luxury, as if the lack of it might make Freed cry. Gods, it would be sweet to wipe that smile off his face.

"You act like I've never camped before," Freed commented.

"Not like this you ain't," Gajeel stated. Technically it was true, Freed usually had a flimsy tent at least, but it was hardly a worrying prospect. "We need food, shelter, heat. Since we have to work together, we split duties. I'll get some fish, you make a fire and get us some shelter made," He crossed his arms and smirked, "if you can handle it, of course."

"I'm sure I can cope," Freed drawled. "Though I might fall to pieces if I chip one of my nails."

Gajeel grunted and turned around. Apparently he wasn't happy that his clear assumptions about Freed had been thrown back at him. That only made Freed more enthusiastic about showing just how capable a man he was, and how wrong Gajeel was in his ideas.

With his teammate walking towards the shallow stream, Freed looked around to see what he had to use. Clearly Gajeel didn't want him using his magic for his time in the forest, so the shelter wouldn't be so easy as making a rune barrier to keep them warm and protected, but that wasn't too difficult to contend with. As they'd walked, Freed had been taking note of the wildlife, and suspected that wolves, bears and other hostile creatures would not cause a problem. The main cause for shelter would be the weather, both protection from the sun and the rain if the clouds rolled in. Perfectly easy.

Using his sword, which had been considered as part of the clothes on his back, Freed began ripping large sheets of bark from nearby trees. He then began hacking away at the lower branches, those wide enough to support some weight but thin enough to be cut away fairly easily.

With enough supplies, he walked back to the clearing. Gajeel was still in the stream, with the water up to his ankles. On the rocks by the shore, four fish were sat dead, wirh Gajeel seemingly attempting to catch them some more. It was an impressive sight to see, he was picking them out from the water without a second thought, and Freed was reluctantly grateful. Catching fish on his own was not something he would be proficient in.

Not without his magic, anyway.

He refocused his attention on the task at hand. He was intending to make a small hut for them both to shelter under. It wouldn't be complicated: four of the branches would hold up the sheets of bark. It wouldn't be particularly large, and the protection of the wind would be non-existent, but it would do what was needed to protect them from either sunstroke, or a cold, depending on the weather.

Freed quickly put his plans into action. The four strongest branches were dug into the dirt, propped up in place by the weaker branches. He tied the pieces of bark together using weeds and some of the longer leaves, making it into a single sheets that would protect them from the elements. It didn't take long for him to affix the bark to the branches, and he made sure to test the structural integrity of the hut by kicking each of the branches. With each kick, the hut held, and Freed considered it to be a success.

"Ain't too bad," Gajeel said, suddenly behind Freed. Freed only allowed a small twitch of surprise. "Don't see a fire, though."

"I expect that's because I haven't made one yet," Freed retorted, shaking the hut again to be sure the bark would hold. "I'm afraid there's not much space under it, so we'll have to sleep close to one another. I might have made it larger, but you seem averse to luxury and I didn't wish to scare you."

"You ain't funny," Gajeel grunted. "Make a fire, city-boy."

Ah, so 'city-boy' was going to stay? That was unfortunate.

Still, as much as Freed would have liked to explain how incorrect the nickname was, Gajeel would prefer actions over words. If he wanted a fire, Freed was happy to make a fire.

This was child's play for him, he was a mage after all. He made a bed of rocks to protect the grass from burning, then began laying thicker logs into a pile. Next, the thin and dried out twigs that would quickly set alight without much complaint. Finally, dry leaves that would take a spark and turn into fire.

It took a few moments for Freed to find a piece of flint, but he did. Once he had, he rested his sword in the middle of the unlit fire. He struck the blade with the flint, sparks flying from it.

Gajeel didn't once stop watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He didn't, and the fire was soon burning.

"Is that satisfactory," Freed asked, placing the sword in the scabbard as the fire grew beside him. "Or do you wish for me to trek into the forest and tame a wolf so that it can protect us?"

"I said you ain't funny," Gajeel muttered. He handed Freed one of the many fish he had caught. "Gut this. Hope you ain't squeamish."

Freed openly laughed, having him gut a fish was Gajeel's trump card?

This would be easier than he thought.

——

Everything about the day had worked out in Freed's favour, and it was delightful to watch Gajeel get more and more angry about it. He clearly wanted Freed to blanch at the idea of working to survive, and Freed had proven himself a capable man under every task he had been given. This was a competition, and so far Freed was dominating it.

"Stand up," Gajeel demanded suddenly, and Freed raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to train right? Let's train."

"Very well," Freed said, standing up. "What did you have in mind?"

It was late in the evening now, and the fire was the only source of light. Clouds were obstructing the moon, thankfully, meaning Freed didn't have to worry about the demon burning away inside of him. Whatever Gajeel had in store, Freed wanted complete focus so he could finally end this ridiculous test he'd been put through.

Following his teammate, he was taken a short ways away from the hut he'd created. They were close to the stream, but not so far that they couldn't see one another in the darkness. Gajeel stopped, turned towards Freed, and spread his arms.

"You rely on yer magic too much," Gajeel stated, despite the fact Freed has spent the day disproving that fact. "And I'm willing to bet you hang back in a fight and let Sparky and the Acrobat do most of the physical shit. If you go against someone who cancels your magic then you're shit out of luck, and I ain't gonna fight with a guy who can only toss spells at a guy and hope it works."

"I can't decide if you're wilfully ignoring everything I've done today, or if you're too stupid to have a short term memory," Freed commented with a patronising grin.

"Keep talking shit, it'll only make this worse," Gajeel grinned, his fangs poking through his lips.

Freed went to retort, but Gajeel did the most peculiar thing, and removed his shirt. The suddenness of the action stopped Freed's words before they came.

"We're gonna wrestle. No magic, no weapons, no holds barred. Just gotta rely on our own strength. We keep going until one of us gives us or loses consciousness."

"Very well," Freed shrugged, reaching up to remove his cravat. "Once you've given up, you can perhaps lose this idea that I'm incapable."

"Doubt it," Gajeel grunted.

Freed, to keep in step with Gajeel, removed his own shirt and threw it to the side. As he did, he assessed his opponent. Gajeel was objectively a broader and more muscular man, and despite how intentionally toned he was - nobody got a six pack accidentally - Gajeel's muscles weren't just a result of vanity. The man was physically stronger than him, and had the advantage. But Freed had succeeded in situations worse than this, and Gajeel's cockiness would be his downfall.

With both men stripped to the waist, they assumed a battle ready stance. Gajeel counted down from three, and they lurched towards one another the moment the fight began. The bartering of a muscular form against his own took the wind out of Freed, but he grappled the man around the waist without hesitation.

They struggled like that for a moment, both pushing to wrong foot the other man, neither succeeding.

Freed felt his feet stumbling slightly, and knew that Gajeel's strength was greater than his own. He needed to be smart about this: he would exhaust his target, and take what opportunities presented to throw Gajeel off. One such opportunity had just shown up - if Gajeel wanted to push him back, he would give him what he wanted.

With fast movements, he removed his arms from around Gajeel's waist and shunted back. Too late to adjust his momentum, Gajeel stumbled forward, landing face first in the ground where Freed had just been.

"I'm embarrassed for you that that worked," Freed commented before he could stop himself.

Just as Gajeel pushed himself up off the ground, Freed tackled him again. He was successful this time, flipping him so his back was flush against the grass. When Gajeel's right hand came to push Freed off, he quickly took hold and pinned it above his head. He pressed a foot into Gajeel's stomach to hold him down, smirking as he went to further taunt the man. Just before the words could leave his mouth, a splitting pain filled Freed.

The bastard had kicked him in the stomach.

Gajeel had meant it when he'd said no holds barred. Freed could work with that.

Pushing himself up before Freed could recover, Gajeel crashed into Freed with his full body weight, and the press of the man's strong form was pinning Freed to the ground immediately. One hand was pressing Freed's hands to the ground, his foot was pinning Freed's right leg in place, and his other hand was pressing against Freed's throat with strength behind it. He also meant it when he'd said until one of them was unconscious.

But Freed was not a man to go down without a fight. With only his left leg unpinned, he did something he wasn't particularly proud of, but worked in the situation. He slammed his knee into Gajeel's groin, and the pressure went away as Gajeel staggered to the side.

"Fucking bastard," Gajeel roared, voice a little higher than normal. "What the hell?"

Freed didn't waste the opportunity, and pushed his foot to Gajeel's spine and pressed him face first into the ground. He'd cupped his balls on instinct, meaning his hands were essentially pinned below him when Freed asserted more pressure.

"No holds barred," Freed taunted. "A word of advice. If you set a rule around me, I tend to remember-"

He was cut off when Gajeel suddenly lurched back, throwing Freed's leg off him and making him scramble for balance. He grabbed Freed by the calve and pulled down with strength, taking Freed to the ground beside him. Freed found his arms yanked behind him, and grunted a little at the pain as they were pinned against his lower back. He didn't struggle, it would only exhaust him.

"Givin' up so quickly, huh?" Gajeel purred. "Ain't surprised. Knew you couldn't handle it."

Gajeel had meant to taunt him, but all he had done was show where he was. The words had been right beside Freed's ear, and so Gajeel's face was right behind his ear too. With a jerk, Freed rammed his head back, feeling the crack of the other man's jaw against his skull. The grip on his hands loosened, and he managed to push the man off him.

The following few moments followed a pattern. Freed would get the better of Gajeel, Gajeel would push him off and pin Freed down. Freed in turn would get Gajeel off him, and push him down. The pattern would repeat itself, with neither man gaining the upper hand for too long.

"Ah," Freed panted at the sudden cold on his back as he was pushed to the ground again. Water, they were at the stream now.

"Cold ain't a bother, right?" Gajeel smirked, kicking Freed in the chest when he tried to sit up.

"You're determined to think me weak, aren't you?" Freed rasped slightly, winded from the kick. "Which is a brave thing to say, given you were rolling around the floor cupping your balls just moments ago."

An exaggeration, but the snarl of anger he got was worth it.

Suddenly, one of Gajeel's large hands was wrapped up in Freed's hair, and a kick to the gut had Freed turning. A foot was pressed against this back, forcing him to lie face down in the cold water. Gajeel made sure to hold his face towards the flow of the stream, and the feeling of it rushing into his partially split lips and nose was a horrid burning. A nasty trick.

Freed tried to push himself up, but the fight was lasting longer than he hoped and after a day of labour, Freed's muscles were starting to protest. He tried to raise his head, but Gajeel wouldn't allow it.

Above all, Freed was a strategist. Sometimes, a retreat was the logical choice.

He knew he could get out of this hold. With the right angle, he could take hold of Gajeel's leg and pull it in the same way Gajeel had done to him to knock him off balance. But what then? They would fall back into the spiral of pinning one another, hitting one another, and achieving nothing.

This entire exercise was an act of futility. Gajeel was trying to prove Freed was weak willed and impractical, despite the fact it was clearly untrue. Freed was trying to prove Gajeel wrong, but the man was too pigheaded to accept it.

"I give," Freed grunted, voice warped by the water.

"What was that?" Gajeel taunted.

"I said I give," Freed spat.

The hand keeping his head partially underwater was gone, and the foot holding him down soon followed. Freed spat out the water as he turned, body aching as he sat in the stream. Gajeel was looking down at him as if he were dirt, and it took a lot of self restraint not to attack the man where he stood.

"You think yer hot shit, but you ain't," Gajeel grunted, "You're a spineless ass with some spells you rely on too much."

"You know damn well I only stopped that because it was pointless," Freed snarled, standing up, water dripping from him. "And you didn't ban magic because you want to see me fight without it. You were just scared of me showing my power because you know it dwarves yours."

"The hell did you say?" Gajeel growled, and magic energy filled the space as Gajeel's hands turned to a blade.

"You heard me," Freed's voice was distorted - demonic - and he didn't care. "You are in the presence of a powerful wizard and terrified."

For a moment, neither man spoke. Tense magical energy flowed form them both, ready to lurche should they need it. Gajeel relented, walking towards the fire, murmuring that he couldn't wait for the week to be over.

That, at least, was something they could agree upon.

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #Freed x Gajeel #Freed Justine #Gajeel Redfox #fairy tail #fanfic #writing #canon divergence #multi chapter #Chapter Two #Word Count: 3.25k

4 notes · View notes

alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #39: Seista Nikita

Wow, my brain is a sieve lately. I just didn’t notice it was getting to be 5 pm until it was almost 6.

I wrote this story originally in senior year of high school, in a college creative writing course. Even if your political views don’t change over time, the culture around them does. The Culare was a mockery of ridiculous extremes of environmentalism and animal rights, a la PETA and suchlike. I wouldn’t write a story like this nowadays because the pendulum’s gone so far in the other direction, I wouldn’t see that worthy of mockery, even though I still disagree with such extremes as much as I ever did. I am very fond of the trickster heroine, though, so I’m publishing it anyway. It’s kind of a stupid story, but I still think it’s funny. There have been some revisions made, so if you note things that didn’t exist in 1987, that is why.

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

Once upon a time, in a distant province that never appeared on any map, probably because either a. it was too small to bother with or b. someone bribed the mapmaker, or possibly both, an evil beast called the Culare reigned. (It was pronounced like “Cool air”, but if anyone tried to spell it that way, the Culare would eat them.) Some said the Culare was an experimental mutation; others, an ecologist gone mad. The Culare was an intelligent lion-like being with teleportation powers who took the concept of “protecting the environment” to a degree so ludicrous, not even the most extreme environmentalist would support it. He refused to let the human beings in his province harm the native wildlife by picking it or killing it. That would have been reasonable, but he also wouldn’t let people pick anything they planted themselves, even on their own property. If the plant in question was native, he wouldn’t let them harvest it, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t even let people plant it, claiming it was an invasive species. And of course he wouldn’t allow anyone to raise animals for food. Not even unfertilized chicken eggs. (He also took a dim view of the cellophane wrapper industry.)

If people wanted to eat meat, they had to find roadkill, or something that had been killed by another predator. The problem was that the Culare thought that “protecting nature” meant preventing predators of any kind from killing other animals… which meant there were very few animals who’d died of anything other than starvation or disease as their populations exploded. If they wanted to eat vegetables or fruits, people had to find things that were lying around on the ground. In the beginning of the Culare’s reign, there had been shipments from other countries of rice, and bacon, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and whatever else people wanted to eat. But the Culare wouldn’t tolerate ships that consumed fossil fuels coming in to the ports, and the people of the small nation couldn’t pay enough to make it worth sending sailing ships. Also, packaging. If the food came in anything other than packaging made from recycled matter, which would biodegrade, the Culare would eat the people who brought it.

The Culare himself was sustained on sunflower seeds and papaya juice… when he wasn’t consuming errant humans.

(Some said the whole thing was a scam, giving the Culare an acceptably environmentally correct reason to eat people. None of them said it very loudly, though, or else they never said it more than once.)

One day, an old man who had once worked for a living making cellophane wrappers, and his 20-ish son Harold, were out, searching for rotten apples and fallen nuts to eat. It was hard enough to find such things, when the entire country was desperately trying to find the same things so they wouldn’t starve to death. It was made even more difficult by the fact that it was springtime. You might think that the reason springtime was an issue was that nothing had had a chance to get ripe enough to fall, and you’d be correct enough. But the bigger part of the problem was that Harold was in love, with a girl named Seista Nikita, and he seemed to think that he could live entirely off air, sunlight and his love. At least, one would suspect that from how much attention he was not paying to finding food.

The old man finally got ticked off at the way his son was paying next to no attention to the task at hand, and hobbled off.

“At last,” Harold thought. “That old geezer’s gone. Him and his stories about the glorious days of Saran Wrap! I’d much rather sit under a tree and think about Seista.” With that, he sat down under a tree and thought about Seista.

At the height of his romantic musings, he saw a bunch of flowers. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pick them and give them to Seista,” he thought, ignoring the fact that Seista would probably prefer nearly anything to flowers. Quickly, he looked around. He saw no one. His hand reached out and he plucked the blossoms.

Suddenly there was a burst of acrid smoke, and a huge lion-like beast appeared in front of him, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West. “The Culare!” Harold babbled, and tried to hide the flowers.

“SLEAZOID,” the Culare rumbled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THOSE FLOWERS?”

“Well, it was – it was an accident, yeah. I – you see, I, I thought they were looking ill, that’s it, and I tried to lift them up to inspect them. Yeah, that’s it. And – and they accidentally came loose, yeah—”

“FOOLISH SLIMEBUCKET, DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SUCH A RIDICULOUS STORY?”

“Oh, please don’t eat me!” begged Harold. “I’ll never do it again!”

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY. BUT IT ISN’T GOOD FOR ME TO EAT A HEAVY MEAL THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING. I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU AT SUNSET.”

With that, the Culare vanished.

Harold ran straight to Seista Nikita’s house and told her the news. “And so we must be forever separated, beloved,” he said, tears in his eyes. “For I am doomed! At sunset tonight, I am destined to lose my life at the hands of the Culare. The paws? The claws? I’m not sure ‘hands’ is the correct thing to say here…”

Seista sighed. “You would go and do something like this, wouldn’t you? Stop moaning like that, you sound like a dead cow. I’ll kill the Culare for you and save your idiot backside. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harold sniffed.

So Seista Nikita put on her very tall platform shoes. These shoes were easily a foot and a half tall. You wouldn’t think anyone would be able to walk in such shoes, unless maybe they went to clown college and learned how to use stilts. Seista was a very acrobatic and skilled young woman, though, so while she wobbled a bit, she managed to stay upright all the way to the nearest meadow, which was badly overgrown with wildflowers, pokeweed, ground cover plants, and about half a billion tiny mimosa seedlings. She began to pick flowers and toss them into the air.

The Culare appeared. “SLEAZOID!” he boomed.

“Come and get me, shag-face!” Seista yelled, which was a reference to his lion-like mane rather than some sort of rude reference to a private activity. She kicked off her shoes, directly in front of the Culare, and ran. The Culare tried to pursue, but he tripped over her shoes and broke a forepaw.

“Damn,” Seista said, after escaping. “Those shoes were big enough that he should have tripped over them and broken his neck.” The thought occurred to her that perhaps she should have factored in the fact that he had four legs, and therefore had better balance than she’d accounted for. “I’ll just have to think of something else!”

An hour later, after getting into sneakers and sensible clothes, she climbed a tall cherry tree, went up as far as she could before the branches could no longer hold her weight, and began to pick cherry blossoms. It wasn’t long before the Culare appeared. “YOU AGAIN?”

“Nah, nah, nah nyah nah!” Seista taunted. She was tall and strong and very acrobatic and fairly smart, but she was, admittedly, more than a little childish.

The Culare leapt at the tree and began to climb up. Seista waited until it had almost reached her, then dropped, letting go of the branch she was on… having already checked that there was another branch right below her. From there, she clambered down as fast as she could go. She figured that would hold him until he starved to death; the Culare was obviously a type of cat, and cats are terrible at climbing down trees.

So she went home to Harold, who was watching a Tarzan movie. It was an animated Disney reboot in 3D. “Well, I took care of that problem.”

“Really?” Harold turned, his 3D glasses sliding off his face. “O my beloved, my thanks know no bounds—”

“Skip it.”

A bulletin interrupted the Tarzan movie. “We interrupt this movie for an important bulletin.” This was impressively implausible, since the movie was on a streaming service and you wouldn’t think anything could break into and interrupt one of those.

The Culare’s face appeared on the television. “SEISTA NIKITA, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE, YOU’RE DEAD!”

Seista stared in shock, as the movie resumed. How had he gotten out of that tree? …oh yeah, he could teleport. She probably should have thought of that.

“I thought you said you took care of it!” Harold whined.

“Shut up, I’m trying to think.” Tarzan swung across the jungle floor on a vine. The 3D was powerful enough that he visibly swung toward Seista, despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing 3D glasses. “Oh! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Harold.” She patted his very handsome cheeks. “I love you dearly but you’re too stupid to know what I’m talking about.”

***

Nearby, there was a ravine, where Seista found a tree on one side. With a very long rope, tied to an upper branch of the tree, and a rock tied to one side of it, she flung the rope to the other side, getting it caught on the other side of a bush. There was a bridge a few hundred feet away; she ran down to it, crossed it, and went back to the bush.

With the rope held in one hand, she picked a dandelion.

The Culare appeared. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DEAD!”

As he leapt at her, Seista grabbed the rope and swung to the other side. The Culare roared and leapt at her, apparently unable to see the cliff through the bush. It turned out he couldn’t teleport if he was in midair; he fell to his death in the ravine below.

She and Harold were married the next week. Three months after that, Seista left Harold to find herself, and ran away to a country where she worked as a stuntwoman in movies. Harold mooned over her for another month before finding his next true love. Seista herself never married again, having decided that being tied down by romance wasn’t for her… particularly since she seemed to be sexually attracted to idiots. She had many fun and satisfying sexual relationships with people whose stupidity didn’t have to impact her life very much.

#52 Project #comedy #trickster tale #fairy-tale-ish

10 notes · View notes

thepickpocketofdreams · 4 years

Text

Tails Never Fails - Chapter Six

“I know you’re there, Kagami.”

Adrien’s voice came out muffled from where his face was pressed to his knees. This was his usual hiding place, a forgotten service corridor on the third floor that only he and Kagami knew about.

Not that he was hiding. This was just his hiding place.

“I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight,” said Kagami, emerging from the shadows. “But I was trying to give you some space.”

“It’s okay.” Adrien scrubbed a hand across his face, letting his mask dangle loosely between his fingers. “I’m just tired.”

Beside him, Kagami folded herself gracefully to the floor. “You seem a little more than tired, Adrien.”

“Do I now?” he said with a humourless laugh.

“You do. Want to talk about it?” said Kagami. He looked sideways at her, expecting her usual shrewd expression, and he wasn’t disappointed. There was something like sympathy in her eyes, but it was hidden under layers of sarcasm and the desire to tell him to get his shit together.

Kagami raised her eyebrows in encouragement.

“I just…I can’t believe Felix would do something like that,” Adrien admitted. “This night has been planned for years, and he’s acting like an entitled rat. I mean, I don’t mind him scaring off the girls who just want the title – that’s why we came up with this whole plan in the first place! But, I think…” he tailed off, picking at the carpet.

“You think he’s scaring off the only girl you’ve ever felt this way about.”

Way to put it lightly, Kagami.

But she was right. And, as Adrien looked her in the eye, he knew that she knew she was right.

“You –”

“Are right. I know.” Kagami’s voice had taken on a mocking edge, one that Adrien wasn’t sure he appreciated, but her eyes were bright with interest. “So, Multimouse, hmm?”

“Are we really having this conversation?”

In response, Kagami leaned back against the wall and gave him a shit-eating grin.

“I…” Adrien sighed. “I like her. She’s sweet, she’s funny, and I know that both of those things are cliché, but I – there are no words to describe her, unless I wax poetic for three hours on end.”

Unbidden, Multimouse’s smile arose in his mind, and Adrien couldn’t help but smile back.

“She’s the only person this evening I’ve been able to talk to, just as easily as with yourself or Nino. Even if she were to refuse anything romantic, I’d still want her friendship.”

“Friendship is the best foundation for romance,” Kagami pointed out. “But I agree. You two seemed to hit it off perfectly.”

“But…” Adrien chewed his thumbnail. “Felix.”

“Felix is an ass, and I will give him a piece of my mind in the morning.” Behind the careful control of her voice, Adrien heard Kagami’s threat against his cousin, and, in a rare moment of affection, he leaned his head against her shoulder.

“What would I do without you?” he mumbled.

“Even more stupid things than already.” She punched him lightly on the arm. “Go for a walk, then go back to her. If you’re as serious as I think you are about this, you should tell her the truth.”

The truth.

I’m the Prince.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Out on the balcony, Marinette took a shaky breath and gazed up at the moon. A chill rippled through the air, but she hardly felt it.

I just walked away from the Prince. How could I do that? All evening I’ve been wanting to talk to him, and I finally got to and sure he was being a little off but he was probably just tired and cranky, right? It must get tiring, dancing with person after person, and I was probably just talking too much –

“Hey there.” A voice beside her said, and Marinette let out a squeak rather befitting of her costume. She snapped her head sideways to see a man dressed in blue scales, perched expertly on the balcony.

“How –”

“You were preoccupied,” he smiled. As he spoke, she realised that his hands were moving constantly across a lyre harp, playing a soothing melody. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nono, please – I should have noticed you,” Marinette said, hastily dropping into a curtsey – until he put out a hand to stop her.

“No need for formalities out here,” he said, hopping down to lean against the railing with her. “I just thought you could use someone to talk to.”

“I – you did?”

He – Blue, Marinette decided to call him – shrugged. “I saw you leave the ballroom. It looked as though the Prince upset you?”

It was an invitation to talk. Under normal circumstances, Marinette would have just declined and gone to Alya but – Alya wasn’t anywhere to be found. Neither was Nino. None of the people she wanted to see, none of her friends, were out here.

Marinette looked up at the stranger, who gave her a soft smile in response. Behind his mask, his eyes were kind.

“All I wanted was to dance with the Prince,” she said hesitantly. At his nod of encouragement, she continued, “and I thought it would be perfect. All I’ve heard, for years and years, was how kind he is, how wonderful he is, but tonight he was, well…”

Marinette made a useless gesture with her hands.

Blue hummed in response. “It’s difficult to meet someone and realise they’re a totally different person.”

“Yes!” Marinette threw up her hands. “He seemed completely different to what I was expecting, and maybe I’m just surprised, but it hurts to have spent so long imagining this particular moment, only for it to go so wrong.”

He hummed again. “You seemed really happy talking to that Cat guy.”

The change in tack caught her by surprise.

“Chat Noir?”

“Weren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow. Or at least, that was the impression she got from behind the mask.

Was she? “I mean…Yeah, I guess I was. I mean, Chat was easy to talk to,” – not to mention charming, and dashing, and witty – “but he wasn’t…you know…”

“He wasn’t the Prince.” Blue finished for her. Guilt settled in the pit of Marinette’s stomach as she watched his fingers dance across the lyre strings.

“It’s not that I even want the Prince. I just wanted to talk to Adrien, you know? Sure, Chat Noir is nice, but he’s not – he’s not Adrien.”

“Things aren’t always as they appear,” mused the guy, tilting his head back to regard the moon as she had earlier. “Perhaps you should give him another chance.”

“Another chance?”

“Sure. One conversation doesn’t tell you everything about a person. Maybe you’ll find out something new about him.”

He had a point. They’d only spoken briefly earlier, before Marinette had run out of the ballroom, after all.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said aloud. Without warning, there came a crashing symphony from the ballroom, bellowing out of the doors onto the balcony. One of the final dances, then.

“That’s my cue,” said the stranger with a wink. “I promised my sister a dance.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Best of luck, Marinette.”

It was only as she watched him vanish back into the ballroom, that she realised he’d used her name.

Meanwhile, in one of the many royal broom cupboards, Alya and Nino were in the process of deciding if it was ~ahem~ time to re-join the party.

“We could just stay here,” Nino proposed, gently kissing the side of Alya’s neck.

“We really can’t.”

“We could. They won’t notice.”

“I can’t leave Marinette alone all night. Besides, Kagami has definitely already noticed.”

“Point being?”

“Death by Kagami.”

“You got me. Let’s go.”

In the dim lighting, they retrieved various items of clothing that had become strewn about, and hurriedly got dressed. As Alya reached up to tie her mask back on, Nino zipped her dress back up, and they shared a smile.

It was almost as if they’d performed this exact routine, many, many, times before.

“Okay, let me check whether the coast is clear –” Nino cracked the door open the tiniest amount. When no one shouted at the moving door, he pushed it a little further and stuck his head out.

The hallway was deserted.

“We’re good – wait, why are you laughing?” he asked, clocking Alya’s shaking shoulders.

“You looked just like a little tortoise sticking its head out of a shell,” she giggled.

“Oh haha, very funny. Come on.”

The pair exited the cupboard, taking a second to ensure that they were both presentable once in the well-lit hallway, before Nino made a grand show of offering Alya his arm.

“My lady.”

“My lord,” she curtsied back and took his arm with a smile that, in Nino’s opinion, outshone even the fanciest chandelier in the ballroom.

The pair made their way back to the ballroom – not without some longing glances at cupboards along the way – without incident, and had set their sights on the grand doors when –

“Waitwaitwait,” Alya said, screeching to a halt. “Look!”

He followed her quivering finger to see a pair of figures on the balcony. One was dressed in blue, leaning back against the railing, giving off an aura of total calmness.

The other was a grey bundle of nervous energy.

“Whoa, is that – ”

“Marinette found a guy.”

Nino and Alya looked at each other, stunned, then back at the pair.

“Wasn’t she dancing with – ”

“When we left? Yeah. Wonder how she found this guy.”

As they watched, Marinette threw her arms up in the air, and the guy leaned closer to her. Despite the distance, it was clear that he was smiling. And so was she. After a few more exchanges, the guy took Marinette’s hand and kissed it.

“Oh, she is definitely blushing,” Alya said, squinting to get a better look. Her eyes widened. “He’s coming our way! Hide –”

They skirted round a corner, looking over their shoulders to make sure the guy hadn’t seen them and –

“And where have you two been?”

“Ah, crap.”

Stood in the hallway was Kagami. Arms folded, with a look on her face that could probably set something on fire.

That somethingwas looking a lot like Nino-and-Alya.

“We can explain –”

“You were in a broom cupboard.”

“You got us.”

“Look, Kagami –” Nino was about to give the best explanation – read: bullshit – of his life, when Kagami’s face changed. She held up a finger to him, and a second later, a shadow indicated that someone had walked round the corner behind them.

“Evening,” said Kagami with a nod. “Are you lost?”

“Apparently so. I was just getting some air and I seem to have taken a wrong turn,” replied a male voice. Nino glanced at the figure and did a double-take.

Marinette’s dude!

“Ballroom is that way,” Kagami said, pointing back the way he’d just come with a polite smile.

“Ah, thank you.” As the guy turned back round, he winked at Nino and Alya, before following Kagami’s directions.

Why is he winking at me!? Why is he winking at Alya!? Why –

“Do you know him?” asked Kagami, interrupting Nino’s internal crisis. He and Alya shook their heads.

“We just saw him with our friend. Wait – do you not know him?” Alya said.

When Kagami shook her head no, Nino and Alya exchanged a glance. She knew everyone. Every guest. On every list. Nino had walked in on her studying them on more than one occasion (and had a knife thrown at him at least two of those times).

No one could get past Kagami.

“But he was with Marinette –” Nino began.

“Did she know him?” asked Alya.

“Nah, she can’t have. But how’d he get in?”

“No idea.”

There were a couple of seconds as they considered, then –

“You definitely don’t know him?” they asked Kagami in perfect sync. At her exasperated head shake, Nino held his arm out to Alya once again.

“We need to find out more on this dude. Later, Kagami!”

And the pair ran off, unknowingly leaving Kagami with two questions.

1) Who was the mysterious man in blue?

2) And who was Marinette?

After Blue left, Marinette took a few minutes to compose herself. The chill in the air felt as though it had receded since their conversation, and she breathed deeply. Moonlight fell upon the lake across from her, and it danced with the barely-there ripples of a non-existent breeze.

She stiffened, hearing footsteps behind her on the balcony.

“Multimouse.”

The voice was familiar.

“I’m sorry.”

Give him a second chance, Blue had said.

So Marinette turned, plastering on a smile, and took the Prince’s arm.

#my writing #tails never fails #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #ladybug #chat noir #marichat #masked ball #cinderella au

7 notes · View notes

kathyprior4200 · 4 years

Text

Kathy Prior Comforts Alastor

Another ordinary day at the Hazbin Hotel. Having died in the 2020’s due to covid, I appeared as a watered down human, not quite a demon unless influenced by Alastor’s dark magic. Originally I was going to be transformed into an angel reminiscent of my supposed spirit animal. But Heaven’s elitism rubbed me the wrong way, thus I refused to submit to God. I was banished down to Hell, living in a cardboard box. I was soon fleeing from the exterminators not too long afterwards. If they had gotten me, I’d either be killed or sent back to Heaven to be brainwashed as a white Exorcist. Then Alastor of all people decided to take me in and I arrived at the Hazbin Hotel. There I was good friends with Alastor, Charlie and Niffty, half convinced that they were the voice actors playing some kind of trick on me.

Aside from my demon form that is activated by Alastor’s magic, my afterlife form wasn’t very impressive. I looked like I did when I was alive, except my skin was ghostly pale, my long hair was gray and my eyes had black sclera, purple irises and white pupils. Although I didn’t fit in with the other demons, I could see in the dark and my instincts were heightened.

It’s not a lot of fun when Alastor possesses me or when he decides to swallow me whole. Apparently, there’s something powerful about me that allows him to heal, feel full and even get some rest. Often times, he sits me in front of a radio and has me listen to several of his favorite jazz songs. The little speakers start to glow and static buzzes in my head. His soothing voice washes over me and I find myself in a daze. My eyes glow red with moving black radio dials and my remaining thoughts are shoved to the back of my mind. Alastor soon has control of my body and mind. He calls the process “getting tuned in.”

I then transform into an alligator/red doe hybrid demon named Cerva. In this form, I’m a vicious killer and cannibal who accompanies Alastor, Husk and Niffty on various missions. Using my sharp claws, teeth and some dark magic, I take down pedos, rapists, criminals or anyone that stands in the Radio Demon’s way. My scaly skin helps protect me from most attacks, though I can still be killed by angelic weapons like everyone else. When he releases control of me and I morph back, it feels like a great weight is lifted off my chest. I cannot remember what I did before.

Like Husk and Niffty, I’m stuck under Alastor’s contract for a while. He persuaded me to work for him at the hotel and that “It’s a dangerous world outside.” Naturally I agreed.

Today was fairly busy. Charlie had a meet and greet event to welcome the newcomers Crymini, Mimzy and Baxter. When I wasn’t greeting any guests, I helped Niffty clean the rooms, make the beds and sweep up the floors. Sometimes I would help Alastor and Niffty make tasty jambalaya (with spicy sauce) and other dishes to serve to all the clients. I wasn’t very good at poker but it was still fun to play and watch as Husk skillfully won almost every game. Often, the characters would mostly talk amongst themselves, me fading into the background, being an OC. I was fine with that…it was almost like watching the show I dearly loved on Earth…except now I was a part of it in a way.

After I finished cleaning beer bottles at the Jackpot portion near the lobby, I heard Alastor and Husk talking not too far away by a pool table.

The cat demon let out his usual grumpy sigh. “Man, what a ruckus. I just served dozens of drinks to these annoying tourists who didn’t even stay. What’s the meaning of that?”

“Why Husker!” Alastor said with a laugh, “Ever since our three new demons arrived and signed up for Charlie’s program, more folks are becoming curious about it. Providing them with drinks and entertainment is surely the way to go!”

“Without any breaks?” Husk scowled. “And why’d you make me stretch my wings and do a stupid dance onstage when I got wasted earlier?”

“It was so funny, I had to!” he chuckled. “Even when you’re getting drunk, you can still do your new job well.”

“I’m here to serve drinks and get my money and booze. That’s it. I’m not some fucking clown you can roll into every little scheme of yours.”

“Hmm…maybe you are.”

“I don’t think so. Remember I’m only here because you bribed me with booze. But even that will only go so far.”

“Come now, my friend, why not liven up a little!” Alastor spoke in a loud voice, making Husk’s ears flinch back. “I provided you with some resources to make your life down here more…livable…or rather less dead.”

Audience laughter came from his microphone.

Husk rolled his eyes and muttered. “Your dad jokes make you a fucking joke.” Alastor snickered. Husk seethed, “Ugh great, now it’s rubbing off on me!”

Alastor pulled Husk in close with his arm, much to the cat’s disgust. “Just have some fun and follow my orders and things will go smoothly. You are my good friend after all.”

Husk’s white furry face turned red as he hissed and shoved Alastor away. “I’m not your fucking friend! You’re nothing but a red psycho freak I happen to unfortunately work under. If I had my way, I’d be a rich free man who could gamble and do whatever I want! Better yet, I’d be far away from all you morons.”

Husk picked up a few cards and shuffled them in his hands. “I had a full house and was about to win the pot. And then you pulled me out of nowhere and placed me in this dump for your own amusement.” He pointed a claw into Alastor’s chest a few times, making him flinch a bit. “When ae you gonna get it past your egotistical head that I. Want. To. Be. Left. Alone?!”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Niffty briefly looked over while she was busy dusting a bookshelf with a white feather duster.

“Looks like our pussy cat’s in his usual bad mood,” Alastor mused in his radio voice. He tilted up the corners of Husk’s mouth into a smile, which quickly fell when he let go. “You know I love to see that smile…”

“Shut up!” Husk pounded his furry fists onto the pool table, making the colored balls rattle. “Just shut the fuck up! I’m sick of you touching me all the time and getting into my face. I’d say you’re lost in this ridiculous musical world of yours…you think you can do anything you want but you don’t seem to be aware of who’s right in front of you!”

The large yellow smile remained on Alastor’s face, though his red eyes looked concerned and confused.

“You’re delusional, thinking Hell revolves around you like some sort of audience.” Husk’s eyes had faint red veins popping out. “You may be powerful, but guess what? You can’t have your way all the time. I learned that lesson the hard way. I may be in your partnership for a while…” He hiccupped, “…but here’s what I really think of you…”

Husk’s breath smelled of booze as the cat spilled out his previously hidden angry thoughts.

“You’re an insufferable…”

Every word was a jab to Alastor’s chest…

“Egotistical…”

He felt the shoves of surrounding boys in a long ago life…

“Filthy…”

The taunts of “dirty boy” and the n word…being forced into a tub of water, scrubbed all over roughly and feeling like he was drowning…

“Immature…”

Authority figures looking at him in disapproval as he auditioned for various radio stations…

“Maniacal…”

Alastor slashing down his hunting knife onto a helpless victim in a snowy wood…

“Heartless…”

Alastor dancing and flirting with pretty women but turning away when they tore desperately at his clothes…

“Couillon…”

Running away as police dogs bit and tore at his legs…

“Retard!”

Pounding on a door in a cold empty asylum room, cold stares from the towering wardens and nurses. Words like “loon”, “wacko,” being mouthed at him as the gray walls closed in…

A sharp record scratch pierced the air.

A black and red gloved hand clutched at Husk’s throat. A tight grip lifted the cat several inches off the ground. He struggled to pry off Alastor’s hand, but his hold was firm. Husk struggled and gasped as he frantically tried to gulp for air. The room darkened and soon filled with radio static and floating red Voodoo symbols. Alastor’s large orbs turned pitch black, with small red dials twitching menacingly. He slowly brought Husk close to his face until they were almost nose to nose.

He spoke in a low demonic radio voice, his mouth not moving.

“Remember who you’re dealing with. I gave you your privileges, and I can easily take them away.”

Just when Husk was about to pass out, he casually tossed him aside. He landed with an “oof” onto the floor. The static and symbols vanished as Alastor’s eyes returned to their normal shade of red. Husk groaned and stood up on shaky legs. He took several deep breaths and glared.

“Guess cats don’t always land on their feet,” Alastor mused as more microphone laughter followed.

“Get ready for another big day tomorrow!” Alastor called cheerfully to Husk as if nothing had happened. Husk flipped him a middle claw in response as he slouched away. Alastor walked on.

“Oh Husk,” Niffty called out. “Don’t forget that you need another bath tomorrow. I‘ll be happy to clean you all up!”

“Suck it, shrimpy bitch!” he yelled.

“Language, kitty!”

Niffty hopped down from the bookshelf and scurried toward Alastor. He looked down at her.

“Well hello little darling!” he greeted to the cyclops maid.

“Hello Alastor,” she beamed. “I was just finishing up my rounds for the day when I heard you and Husk talking. It sounded like arguing…”

“Oh it was nothing, my dear! Just Husk in his grumpy cat mood as usual. I was trying to cheer him up.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow, so much stuff to do! Is there anything else I can do to help out, sir?”

Alastor waved his hand, “Nothing at all. You did a splendid job today.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, her large golden eye darting back and forth. “You know, you look pretty dirty, no offence. Perhaps you could use a nice clean…” She looked over at his staff, then stared at the area around his legs a little bit too long. “Your staff I can so easily reach…”

She extended her hand with a hungry expression.

“Ha! No.”

Alastor instinctively stepped back, his frozen smile still on his face. He walked briskly past her without another word.

“See you in the morning!” she trilled with a happy wave before scurrying off.

The room was quiet and empty.

What in the world just happened?

A nagging feeling spread through me as I walked in the same direction as Alastor. It was a strange urge to go and talk with him. His tall frame strolled down the hall and up a flight of stairs. I silently followed, careful to stay a distance away and out of sight. As I almost entered my room, Room 42, the feeling compelled me to wander towards Alastor’s room instead.

His room was across from Charlie’s and Vaggie’s, not too far away from Angel’s. The black door was etched with red Voodoo symbols and had a golden deer knocker. Strangely enough, he left it slightly open. I inched closer and peered through the opening into a dim room.

“Come in, dear.”

The door opened wider on its own, revealing Alastor sitting in a dark red throne-like chair on a small balcony. He was facing the sunset sky, but must have sensed my presence. He had taken off his red pinstriped suit and had it neatly folded on a chair, near where his staff was. He appeared to be wearing a dark red old fashioned nightgown with slippers made of deer fur.

In the room, there was a king-size bed with red satin sheets on it, an elegant bedside table and dresser to match. A small chandelier made of bones hung from the ceiling in the center, illuminating blood red carpets decorated with small golden eyes and antlers in rows. There was a large vanity mirror framed by round theater lights and an array of softly lit candles here and there. And of course, there were old fashioned radios all over the room in various sizes. A four-eyed deer head stared back at me from a plaque on the fancy red wallpaper. More disturbing were the various skin-stitched Voodoo dolls and skulls hanging from the ceiling.

A cool soothing evening breeze met my face as I stepped outside into the inferno air. I sank down into another chair next to Alastor. The sky was painted a brilliant red and orange, the magenta pentagram glowing and moving above like a revolving clock.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you sir…” I began. A small radio sat beside Alastor, emitting radio noises and various sound clips. Strangely they sounded almost the same every time I heard them. In fact, his habit of using his microphone for sound effects…it was almost like a comfort mechanism for him.

“Well usually at a time like this I do prefer to be alone, but since you were nearby…”

“I just…wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m perfectly splendid, sweetheart, no need to worry.”

For a millisecond, his eyes told a different story. Not only did I have better senses, I could read expressions and sense intentions better as well.

“I believe there is more than that. I heard you guys arguing. Frankly, Husk was being a bit of a jerk.”

Alastor waved his hand. “That’s what he does.”

“But it was different this time, wasn’t it?”

Alastor just shrugged.

“Charlie and I were talking today and we both can agree: you can’t hide your feelings forever.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“I can sense that you are lonely, deep down. You want to find a place to belong but your sadistic nature makes others afraid of you. You’re afraid to trust other people.”

He turned to me with a deadly glare but I remained where I was. “If you’re planning on killing me, there’s no point as I’m already dead. Hear me out for a second.”

He paused and leaned back to listen.

“I’m not saying you should reveal your sad secrets to everyone. I’m just saying you should embrace the fact that we all have vulnerabilities and bad days. It’s perfectly okay to cry once in a while. Perhaps your search for entertainment is more than just that. It’s a search for your mother, your friends, a search for your true place on the stage of life.”

“I’m never fully dressed without a smile,” he seethed with his plastic smile. “End of story. Since when has an audience member gave the star of the show directions?” he inquired, eyebrow raised. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Well perhaps you need a better script,” I added, arms folded. I stared at his long yellowed nails, his gloves off for a rare moment. “And serious bodily care.”

A brief silence. Had I been anyone else, I’d be a pile of ash.

I continued. “Husk did have a point, though. He wanted to be left alone but you still decided to invade his space. You told Charlie that you want to see people fail, despite her not wanting to hear it. Plus, I’d expect an evil killer like you to take joy in the fact that people run away from you in fear. But you don’t like it. Because you seek something more.”

“I don’t need to hear your delusional words.”

“I’m more observant than you think. You created me to be submissive, but also tough and smart. It’s my duty to serve you and the hotel right now. And you bet your bottom dollar that me and your friends will try and do what’s best for everyone.”

More silence as we watched the sunset in deep thought. After several minutes, I turned to him and couldn’t believe what I saw. I spotted a stray tear fall from Alastor’s eye…and his smile slowly faded.

I covered my mouth with my hands as I let out a soft surprised gasp.

His look alone told me that I’d be demon meat if I told anyone else. Fortunately, I never break my promise.

I thought of all his behaviors I noticed and it suddenly clicked. There was the feeling again, a sense of a peculiar deep connection between me and him. And I figured out what it was.

“Alastor…do you know what autism is?”

He gave me a perplexed look. “Stop making things up.”

“It’s a real thing…but I imagine no one talked about it in your time. Autism is one of many developmental disorders that impairs socialization. Your behaviors appear to be very similar.”

Alastor growled, teeth bared in warning. “I can assure you that I’m perfectly talkative enough. You call me dumb and I can easily…”

“I know because I have it too.”

Alastor’s eye twitched. “What?”

“Do any of these traits sound familiar to you? Being a nerdy child lost in your own world? Being preoccupied and very skilled in your many talents as you grew up? Never quite fitting in with your peers no matter how hard you try?”

Nothing was heard but the sounds of radio glitches. Orange light glinted off his monocle under his right eye.

“Those with autism are often very knowledgeable, setting their minds to something and never letting go of it. But they have a hard time seeing things from another person’s perspective. It’s not that they are antisocial and heartless. Rather, they feel things deeply…but they don’t know how to communicate properly with others around them. Some of them aren’t interested in romance, either.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “I have shows to plan for my demonic audience. I don’t have time for feelings and…”

I continued on. “You’re content with living in your own world of radios, music and murder…because for you, it was the only way to survive and make yourself known in your previous life. Communicating through the radio, playing music, dancing and singing on stage… that is when you feel truly alive. Because your listeners hang onto your every word, not caring who you are on the outside.”

His pupils grew slightly. “You’re making assumptions. You’re forgetting about murder…”

“Bringing joy to others outweighs bringing suffering...at least that’s how it should be. There’s nothing wrong with doing what you love…except when it causes harm to others.”

“Demons kill and eat other all the time. Surely you must know that sometimes death and torture are necessary.”

“You do have a good point. But…I’m talking about your previous life, and why you were sent down here…”

“I killed those racist bastards for good reasons. When you discover there’s an afterlife full of magic, you go out of you way to make deals for power. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. It’s impossible to be sinless, for sinners lost their chance to ascend the moment they died on Earth!”

“But it doesn’t have to be that way. Say we take the necessary steps to prove Heaven wrong…”

“Heheheh, there you go, sounding delusional like Charlie.”

“Just be glad I’m not as distrustful or hateful of men as Vaggie.”

“Angel Dust is probably worse…”

I chuckled out loud at that. “Personal space isn’t in his vocabulary.”

I took a breath. “Look Alastor, I’m not saying it will be all be rainbows like Charlie claims. I’m just saying it’s not impossible to redeem sinners. Back to the main topic: we both have autism. Your special interests are radios, entertainment, murder and dark magic.”

Alastor made a face and shook his head. “That term you mentioned didn’t exist when I was alive,” he said. “Anyone who was considered strange or deviant were ignored at best. At worst, they were arrested, killed or thrown into asylums. If it weren’t for my beloved mother…I would’ve wasted away a long time ago. And despite enjoying the company of beautiful ladies, I’ve never had much interest in intimacy. My broadcasting career was my life.”

This time I listened quietly. He continued. “I’m only telling you all this because you technically don’t exist in the Hazbin timeline. And because…I can trust you enough, like Charlie and Rosie and Mimzy…”

He sighed again. “Like a skilled actor, I learned not just how to present myself on the air. Thanks to my mama, I learned how to socialize and mimic others around me. It was a way for me to be confident in the face of daily disdain. Smiling became my way of life…my survival skill. If I were to cry and appear weak, who knows what might’ve happened to me. Eventually I became famous for my broadcasting and my music all throughout Louisiana, but it still wasn’t quite enough. I then found another coping mechanism…”

The aura around him grew red…

“One that made me feel like I found my place in the world. How good it felt when I could hear their screams…see the life leave their eyes. How from the moment their bodies turned cold, I knew they could never take advantage of me and my family again…”

His black antlers arched slightly past his face. He lowered his head as static faded in and out. Here was the infamous and ferocious Radio Demon pouring out his secrets to me. I almost didn’t know what to say.

He covered his eyes with his hands, long fingers in claw shapes almost tearing at his pale gray skin. His voice broke in a record scratch…and this time he spoke without the radio effect, barely audible: “I miss her so much.” His fluffy ear tufts briefly drooped as he conjured the loving smiling brown face of his French Creole mother in his head.

We sat in silence for a while. “I hope you can see her again,” I said. “But…you need to have faith. Not in Charlie’s program per se…but in yourself. I know change is hard…I’m not saying go play with dogs and use new technology. I mean, don’t be afraid to explore your feelings, figure out what you truly want in your second life.”

Alastor’s remaining tears sizzled off his face and his tufts lifted back up. “That’s easy. I want to entertain others and have everyone do what I want…endlessly feast on flesh and never be bored…”

“We both know it doesn’t work like that. What you want is nothing compared with what you need. You need love. Friends. The joys of music and a purpose. Instead of killing individuals…you need to kill off your own barriers.”

“Easier said than done. What if I don’t want to change?”

“You’ll either spiral downward into madness, or you’ll slowly change for the better while still retaining your good qualities. If you want to see your mother in Heaven, you’re gonna have to put in some effort. I may sound like Charlie when I say this but…I know you can do it.”

Alastor gradually relaxed, his antlers retreating back to their usual stumps. He soon stood up, anxious to have some space. “Thank you for this lovely chat. Now I’m off to read my scripts and go to bed for a little.”

I stood up and followed. “How long do you usually sleep?”

“Thirty minutes,” he shrugged. “I rest by the wall with my eyes open.”

I gasped out loud and bared my teeth. “Not on my watch, mister. Get into bed, now!”

“Deer don’t need sleep.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Everyone needs sleep, especially you! I promise nothing is going to happen. Your shadow will guard your room and suck the soul out of any intruder. Plus you have several friends and kingpins who are loyal to you. You want to truly be the star, Alastor? Start by taking care of yourself. You are the most important person in your life.”

Alastor smirked. “Like I don’t already know that.”

“Good. Now rest.”

I turned to leave before I freeze. Gathering my courage, I turned to Alastor who sat on the bed. “Alastor…may I give you a hug?”

He stared at me, taken aback. No one had ever asked him for a hug before. He almost flinched when I slowly walked toward him.

After a moment, his face softened. “Just this once.” He leaned into my arms and chest. I got over my brief surprise by returning the embrace, my eyes closed, tears falling. I opened them and saw to my utter delight, his fluffy red and black deer tail wagging a bit! We soon parted and he wiped the tears from my face with his fingertips.

“Now darling, don’t forget to smile! You’re never fully dressed without one.”

I laughed through my tears. His charm worked every time. “Hey, don’t forget to ask people if they want to be touched before you do so. That’s lesson one.”

“You’re my servant, not my teacher,” he spoke up.

I spread out my arms. “This is Hell, Alastor, we can be anything. The world is a stage after all!”

Alastor chuckled, but I sensed that he wasn’t content with taking my advice any time soon. But I had tried nonetheless.

We bid our goodnights, me feeling slightly better. Just before I closed Alastor’s door and headed for my room, his whisper of a voice floated by my ears:

“Thank you Ms. Prior. Stay tuned.”

#alastor #autism #hazbinhotel

3 notes · View notes

ficstoreadagain · 5 years

Text

Prayer in Hell

Sebastian is my current hyper fixation so like here’s this

Summary: Reader is a Phantomhive servant escaping a dark past, but being back in London threatens to open old wounds.

______________________

You were a “servant” that Sebastian had hired when he showed up that day- following Lord Phantomhive like a shadow. You, along with Mei-Ren, Finny, and Bard, began work as if you had been a maid every single day of your life. It was a comfortable life; you had been hired-not for your laundry skills (though you were even better than Sebastian at getting blood stains out of clothes)- for your family business, you had come from a family of hunters. This was a strategic move on Sebastian’s part, there were certain things- rituals, spells, sigils- that as a Demon, he couldn’t do. (And, while he was very capable of protecting the young master on his own, not spending his days chasing off lesser demons and beasts certainly saved him a good amount of time.) Besides, of all the Phantomhive Staff, you were definitely his favorite. In his opinion, you were quite interesting- clever, competent, resilient, tenacious, and it didn’t hurt that you were quite easy on the eyes.

Though love and affection were very human, whatever he felt for you was as close to those as humanly demonly possible. It took him a long time to win you over, you had been apprehensive of him for weeks, months even. But once he convinced you he only had a taste for Ciel’s soul (and once you realized that the young Lord kept the demon on a tight leash), you began to relax around Sebastian-even falling for that suave charm and devilish allure. For awhile you shamed yourself- he was a high-caste demon, physically you couldn’t fight him off if you tried, and as a demon, he was supposed to be your sworn enemy. He was the forbidden fruit, and you kept him on his toes. It was unavoidable, so you stopped trying to avoid it.

It was an odd “relationship”. Sebastian was a passionate lover, protective, territorial, charming. He took every chance he got to fluster you: sweeping you off your feet, whispering the most enticing things, tightening your corset more sensually than anyone else ever did, flashing ruby eyes at you when no one else could see, dancing with at all the balls and parties, startling you whenever possible, and of course always dashing in to save you when you were in over your head (or at least when he thought you were). Yes, Sebastian was quite fond of you- almost as possessive of you as he was Ciel.

So like many days, you started your morning by going around the estate and strengthening your wards and sigils to keep any unwelcome guests off the property. After all, you were going with Lord Phantomhive and Sebastian to London- and these sigils had to last until the three of you returned. As you drew symbols on trees in both your blood and ash, you breathed a slight laugh at the idea of Mei-Ren, Bard, and Finny trying to fight off a stubborn spirit or lesser demon.

“Something funny, my love?” A familiar baritone voice sounded right beside your ear. You were used to this- both to startling things and to him sneaking up to you. So an untrained eye wouldn’t have noticed your slight jump- but Sebastian’s eyes always caught it- as evident by the slightest smirk gracing his lips.

“Are you ever going to stop sneaking up on me?” You asked, pretending to be indifferent as you went back to smudging ash and blood onto the tree trunk in front of you.

“Oh, but you make it so fun. Like a startled deer. Like prey.” He growled, darkly and smoothly. Your heart fluttered for a moment, catching the glow of his ruby eyes. You took a shuddering breath, leaning back into his chest before replacing the flushed look with an unamused deadpan.

“Sebastian, you know I’m not afraid of you.” Pushing yourself off of him and moving to the next tree. The demon butler strode confidently behind you.

“Yes, and that’s what makes you so much more-magnetic.” He purred, watching as you dipped your fingers into the pouch of ashes before smearing another sigil onto a tree.

“Don’t you have other prey to attend to?” You teased, squeezing your fist to produce more blood from the cut on your hand.

“The young master needn’t be awake for another hour,” Sebastian explained, watching in disdain as your blood dripped to the ground while you set to work fortifying your work. “So, in the meantime, my dear, I’m all yours.”

“Hhmm...” You hummed with a smirk as you finsihed. “There, all done. Try to cross the boundary.”

Wordlessly, the demon moved towards the border. You watched as his foot came to the boundary, before being met with invisible resistance. He strained against it for only a moment, before making his way through with the slightest grimace on his face. From across your perimeter line, he smirked proudly before forcing himself back through to you.

“Impressive, but not quite meant for me, my love.” He praised, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You exhaled slowly, leaning into the touch. Looking up at his through your lashes, you shivered in the morning air.

“Yes, well, you higher caste demons are a tricky lot. Anything stronger than a crossroad’s demon is being delegated to you.” You shrugged, pausing before looking down at your still bleeding hand.

“Well, If I couldn’t defend my master’s estate from soldiers of hell... what kind of butler would I be.” Sebastian mused before his eyes lowered to your wounded hand. You had slit your palm many times for sigils and spells, but it still hurt as it oozed- blood beginning to drip down your wrist. “Tsk, Tsk, How do you expect to accompany me and the young master to London if you're bleeding out.”

Sebastian scolded you as he took a pristine pocket square from his suit and gingerly wrapped it around the wound. You rolled your eyes but didn’t try to stop him, “Oh, don’t fuss, You’ve seen me do this a hundred times.”

“When it’s something as precious as your blood, I would kill.” The demon declared, voice low and sincere. A scarlet blush crept up your neck as he tied off the ends of the cloth. Suddenly his voice was chipper as he took your arm in his, “Now, back to the manor. There is much to do today.”

________

Once back in the manor, Sebastian refused to part with you until he had properly cleaned the wound on your hand and rewrapped it with clean gauze. But, with a final nod, the demon hungrily caught your lips for a passionate kiss. Pressed up against the stone counters in the kitchen, his body folded around yours before easily lifting you up to sit on the counter. Right as things were about to get heated- like the hellish tease he is- he pulled away, straightened his tailcoat, and brushed a hand through that ebony hair. With a mockingly curt nod, he picked up a tray with the young lord’s tea and whisked out of the kitchen with nothing but a smirk in your direction.

“Damn demon.” You muttered, breathing heavily as the door shut. Without Sebastian to distract you, you begrudgingly went back to your quarters to ready yourself for the day. Quickly, you discarded your ‘hunting’ attire- this ensemble was considered radically inappropriate by any ‘respectable’ person in England, but you refused to hunt in a corset, hoop skirt, and heels, so when you were on the job you settled for sturdy trousers, white button-up shirt, comfortable boots, and an overcoat with plenty of pockets. If it wasn’t for the complicated updo that kept your hair out of the way, some would confuse you for a man.

But, for a Phantomhive maid, that was unacceptable. So you donned a less extreme version of Mei-Ren’s uniform. This was after an intense debate with Sebastian on your first day on the job. You had argued that you needed to be able to move swiftly, and not have the restrictions of a corset and heels- but the skirt was non-negotiable.

Both of your trunks had already been packed. One small one of clothes (an extra uniforms, two outfits for hunting, three nightgowns, and one silk dressing gown that had been a gift from Sebastian), and then one much larger trunk full of hunting supplies (salt, holy water, knives of all shapes, sizes, metals, two pistols, an assortment of special bullets, a couple of field journals that had been passed down in your family, holy oil, three cartons of matches, and plenty of other fun items.)

A knock sounded at the door, and you were quick to invite them in. The door opened to reveal Finny who smiled brightly at you, “Good Morning, Miss (Y/N), I came to carry your trunk down to the carriage.”

His happiness was infectious, earning him a warm smile in return, “Thank you Finny, be careful they’re-”

You were cut off by him easily scooping them up, carrying both effortlessly, The childlike charm made it so easy to forget the inhuman amount of strength he possessed. Sighing, you called out a thanks to him as he turned a corner.

Outside your window, you watched as Sebastian carried the young master’s trunks to the awaiting carriage and easily heaving them up to secure them to the back of the carriage. Wiping imaginary dust off his hands, he appeared to feel your eyes on him- smirking as he lifted his head to stare at your window.

You shook your head with a small smile as you backed away from the window to leave the room. While you would miss the manor, with its beautiful interiors, sprawling lawns, and comforts of home, you were excited to be back in the city. After all, you spent most of your time before Sebastian hunting down demons, ghosts, and monsters in the heart of London- the grimy streets and dark alleys would almost be a comfort to you.

It took a few minutes to get from your quarters to the front lawn (after taking a detour through the kitchen to steal a few sugar cubes). Upon arriving, you saw Bard toeing a put-out cigarette into the ground while Mei-Ren fussed over him and Tanaka sipped his tea. Finnie was chasing a butterfly around the fountain, so you quietly strode to the two horses to sneak them the aforementioned sugar cubes.

Both chocolate-colored mares nickered happily at the treat, and content with your good deed you joined the other Phantomhive servants in a line to wait for the young master. Moments later, Sebastian held the door open for the young lord, waiting for only a second before descending the steps behind him like a tall shadow.

Ciel passed the row of servants without so much as a second glance, blue overcoat fluttering behind him and polished shoes clicking against the cobblestone. Sebastian stopped in front of the other four servants, giving extremely harsh orders to keep the manor intact. Then just as quickly, he turned back towards the carriage to help open the door for the young Lord. You softly smiled at the other four servants as you followed behind.

Finnie, Mey-Rin, and Bard’s farewells and waves sent you off until you could no longer see the mansion. Sent you back to London for the first time in three years.

Part two

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler imagine #sebastian michaelis #Sebastian Michaelis x reader #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler fanfic #prayer in hell

148 notes · View notes

smoljamswrites · 5 years

Text

BTS as your best friends:

I’m kind of proud of this and it’s my first one so yeah. If you like it please like or reblog, it’d mean the world to me. Thank you! x

KIM SEOKJIN

okay hands down Jin would be such a good best friend

He’s very protective of you

10/10 would get triggered if someone hurt/upset you

comforts you by putting on a funny movie and chills with you on the sofa or tells you an endless supply of his dad jokes

If you go shopping with him, it’d be like a father and child moment

he keeps telling you to stop messing with stuff on the shelves

continuously jokes around and tells you to put things back

and will definitely ask you what you think he should eat next on EatJin

actually, when he does EatJin you’re usually behind the camera just lying around on his bed or whatever, keeping quiet and playing games on your phone

because I get the impression that Jin loves it when he’s got company and he’s in someone else’s presence

asjskjskjsjs does that even make sense

like he just wants you to be there

even if you ain’t doing anything together

you’re just doing your own thing while he does his

he loves that

also because he’s a Mario fan, and he can be extra af, I think if you guys couldn’t decide who got to choose, between the two of you, something like which takeaway you should order

then you are playing Mario Kart and the winner gets to choose

and boi boy does he get competitive at Mario Kart

if you do win though, expect to witness a spluttery loud-ass Jin

not that he genuinely cares that you get to choose the food

I mean, he loves food so whatever you choose he will eat anyway

but he gets chaotic because he knows you find it funny

he’ll do anything to make you laugh

believe me when I say Jin lives to see you happy

being your best friend, he’s seen you upset and at your worse

which upset him in return

so he makes it his mission to make you smile and laugh when you’re with him

MIN YOONGI

Lets you chill in his studio whenever you want

you even have the password

you just walk in most evenings, pass him some food and drinks, and try your best to help him with whatever he’s working on this time

he appreciates this so much

you still annoy him a lot but lets be honest he wouldn’t want it any other way

the other guys often say that you and Yoongi are like a couple

surprisingly Yoongi doesn’t really care that they call you guys a couple

matter of fact, it probably doesn’t help the situation that you and Yoongi are a l w a y s cuddling

Like if you are on the sofa watching a film with the guys, you best expect his head to be on your shoulder, face nuzzled into your neck, arms draped over your stomach, by the end of the night

he just finds you comfy

similarly, if you are with him in his studio and its really late

and you refuse to leave without him because you know he’s tired too

he’ll be all huffy for a bit, but neither of you end up leaving because you’re both so stubborn

instead you’ll end up on his lap, your face on his chest, while he continues to work

and when he’s finally done, if you look too exhausted he’ll just take you back to his place and let you stop there for the night

you always beg him to teach you the piano

“but Yoongi you’re the piano god” “go away y/n”

he insults you everyday but only because he loves you and he knows you can handle it because you insult him right back

you balance each other out perfectly

he’s calm and collected

you’re more bubbly and giggly enthusiastic

both of you are equally savage though

normally all you do is either hang out at his place or his studio

if you do go out then it’ll be at night, where it is typically quieter

you’ll go get a coffee or some food and just drive around, talking for ages and listening to music, time running away with you

so much sass omg

JUNG HOSEOK

Takes you shopping and judges your fashion choices

when he comes back from tour, he’ll have lots of gifts for you even though you always tell him not to bring you anything back

also if you used to be scared of loud noises well,, lets just say you’re not anymore

you’re used to his happy outbursts and sound effects

but you also know the other side to him that the public doesn’t see

ofc he’s not always going to be the happy, bubbly jhope you see through the cameras

he can truly be himself when he’s around you and he can relax

but when he is acting loud and chirpy he sort of rubs off on you

like your enthusiasm is fed by his enthusiasm

so good luck to those around you because they basically have to handle jhope x2

you get on so well with his family, especially his sister

with his sister being into clothes and fashion too, when you visit her with hoseok, she always compliments your outfits

and hobi will be smirking in the corner because (like i said above) he takes you shopping

and trust me, he would not let you leave that shop with ugly clothes

have you seen that man

he’s the fashion icon

so he takes full credit for every one of your outfits

always gets you to dance with him

he enjoys teaching you new BTS choreography

you’re both easily scared so if there’s a bug for example, the situation would go down like this

“Hobi you get rid of it!”

“No why should it be me? I think you should do it”

“No, i’m scared! You do it!”

“Y/N you’re closer to it, just do it!”

This arguing back and forth lasts for a few minutes until the bug flies/crawls away and you both run off screaming that its gonna attack you

so yeah, literally never a dull moment when Hoseok is your best friend!

KIM NAMJOON

Lowkey wants you both to match outfits but he would never ask you

could either be goofy with you or he’ll go completely psychological on your ass

there’s no in-between with Joon

You sometimes have to remind him that hes only human and reassure him he’s a great leader because I feel like he’d sometimes get in his own head and let the haters get to him, yknow?

You just gotta keep telling him he’s doing a great job and help him not let the stress get the better of him

You’re always there for him, supporting him

and he’s always there for you too

listens to all your problems

he gives the best advice

he’s also very protective of you

yknow when he clenches his jaw? or he raises one of his eyebrows? omg please tell me you know what i’m talking about well he’d do that if some one hurt you and he’d get hella mad

your family love him

they say he’s a very positive influence on you

he gets you to help him write lyrics because you’re his “muse”

he always convinces bighit to let you come on tour

even if he has to pay for you himself, you are coming

always leaves his broken stuff in your room

recommends you books to read (regardless of whether you actually like to read or not)

he is also the reason why you’re dirty minded

like forget expensive girl, have you ever heard ‘trouble’??

you’ll be with the other guys and you two just accidentally end up speaking English and the other guys are like..um hELLO?

PARK JIMIN

okay so I can imagine Jimin buying him and his best friend matching necklaces or something?

hear me out

its christmas day and Jimin passes you a small black box

inside is a necklace with a small key on it and engraved onto the key is “PJM 1995″

and you’re like “why have you gotten me a necklace with YOUR initials and birth year”

and then he shows you his necklace and it has your initials and your birth year

like this idea is so cute it makes me so soft sjweufbewjfn

will flirt with you just to make you laugh or maybe because he loves you or wHaTeVeR

he gives the best hugs

like BTS have already confirmed this in an interview

if you’re feeling down and need a hug, Jimin is your man

he is always with you

and if he isn’t, then he is texting you

you guys are inseparable

if he gets drunk around you then you’re gonna have this clingy, sappy, emotional, koala of a man wrapped around you for the night because he will not leave your side even for a second

its cute tho

but that also means he has a hard time during tour because you are usually not there with him

always drags you to his family parties and such

you love to go, and he knows you do, but you always whine when he asks you just to make him laugh

his mom loves you!!

not gonna lie she ships you both and when you go see her, Jimin has to beg her not to say anything about it to you

he loves to rest his head on your shoulder and you like to do the same

G I G G L E S

If you mention how short he is then good luck because he’s gonna chase you down and tickle you until he hears an apology

not that he really cares though

he just jumps at any chance to see a smile on your face

KIM TAEHYUNG

personal hype man

his camera roll is full of pictures of you

hates it when you’re sad

if you’re sad then just letting you know you’re in for a treat

he would organise a sleepover and would aim to cheer you up for the entire night

you always laugh at his pingu impression

you’re like Yeontan’s mom

yeontan l o v e s you

you’ll go to Tae’s house and as soon as you open the door, yeontan will run straight to you

you walk yeontan together at night whilst you share headphones listening to whatever’s on tae’s playlist

recommends you music because hands down this boy has the best taste in music FITE ME

He’s a big fan of skinship so people actually mistake you guys for a couple sometimes

plays with your hair all the time

your parents love him and treat him like he’s part of the family

your parents would genuinely love it if you two dated

Tae doesn’t mind it when they ask you questions like

“so are you two together yet?”

but you get annoyed purely because you find it so embarrassing

Tae just laughs it off and makes a joke out of it

“no i could never date y/n because her feet smell”

if you need a hug, he’s there

and he’ll sway you side to side and by the end of it you’re laughing so much because he’s hella goofy and you love it

JEON JUNGKOOK

Bullies you all day everyday (but you know he’s only joking)

sends you memes when you both should be asleep

he definitely has a crush on you or at least he has had one at some point in time

doesn’t stop teasing you

he’s so competitive and has to prove he’s better than you in everything

likes to hug you from behind

eats steals your food

you constantly steal his hoodies and he gets annoyed

but he can’t stay mad at you for too long though

he lives for your compliments

though it normally ends up with you playfully hitting his chest when his ego grows a little too big

he is never serious with you

always has his arm around you, it’s like a habit

always stares at you

always bursts into your room to hang out and then ends up sleeping in your bed

when he’s feeling cocky, he takes his shirt off and tries to make you feel his muscles

when he’s all sweaty from either going to the gym or dance practice, he makes it his mission to find you and get you to hug him while you’re screaming that he’s all sweaty and “gross”

the guys are convinced you two are dating

and Guk lowkey wishes you were but you didn’t hear that from me ;)

he wants you to play with his hair 24/7

being best friends with him means that, if you weren’t already into video games, then you definitely are now

#my writing #jk #jm #th #jn #jh #nj #yg #bts #bts headcanons #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook #jimin #taehyung #jin #namjoon #yoongi #hoseok

86 notes · View notes

hattywatch · 6 years

Text

T. Seguin - Back Road Part 2

Author’s Note: This fic has been in the works since JULY, it is now January of 2019. Just so you guys know how slow and hard this has been (that’s what she said). It would not have been possible without various drunken nights on my part and encouraging text messages on @hockeyandtaylorswift ‘s part- and all of the lovely tags that people created when they reblogged the first part. I read every single one of the tags that anyone makes when they reblog any of my fics and they keep the content coming (PSA I’m sure all fic writers will tell you the same thing. Tags, comments etc spark the muse for real), so thank everyone who ever wrote anything nice about it, I love you. As a caveat, this one is 20 pages long. Go to the bathroom, grab a snack and a blanket, and settle in for the long haul. It’s also smutty. Are we back to using the term *LEMONS* now to fight the Tumblr bots? Am I showing my age? Yes, to both.

Part 1

He really takes your teasing in stride, which is awesome, since that's the kind of person you are.

He almost seems to revel in it.

After you sprung that kiss on him and all but slammed your door in his face, he was quick to text you when he got back to his place:

Tyler: Well, my ego is in shreds, but aside from that I'm home safe

was the exact text you got, but close enough.

If you were worried that his chase would be over the second you showed any interest, that text certainly helped calm your nerves.

It turns out that where previous guys all maintained a cool indifference and responded only when you initiated, Tyler was the opposite. He text you almost daily after your movie date. A picture of a dog here, his breakfast there, and best of all there was no shortage of selfies, a truly amazing perk. What a face on that man, honestly.

You never stopped teasing though, because, quite frankly it was nice to be pursued and you were more than a little gun-shy of getting in too deep.

___________

After constant texts back and forth for a week following your date, your nerves had calmed considerably. The chemistry was always there and he even started teasing back a little.

Tyler: You never send me any pictures. This is so one-sided.

You sorely hoped he wasn't asking for what you thought he was. You weren't sure you'd have the willpower to cut him out of your life if he was trying to solicit nudes.

Opting to be cheeky and hoping for the best, you sidle up to your fish’s tank and pucker your lips together, before taking a selfie with Brendan, the goldfish.

You: May all of your fishes come true.

When the tell-tale bubble appears to denote Tyler forming his reply, your heart patters double time in anticipation.

Tyler: That's the stuff I'm looking for 😁

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you're delighted that he's a gentleman and you're morally justified to continue this infatuation.

___________

It's been well over a week, closing in on two, and Tyler has texted lots. He even called once, from the grocery store to ask your opinion on cheez-its vs cheese-nips (cheez-its > cheese-nips, obviously).

He hasn't however, attempted to schedule another date. You're not sure why. He initiates texting and responds pretty quickly usually, aside from the odd early morning or late night text.

You're starting to get a little down on yourself about it until he sends you a picture of him in what is obviously the first-class area of a plane, followed by the message:

Tyler: I'll be home soon, what are you doing Thurs?

You nearly knock Brendan off the end table when you flail your legs in excitement that's decidedly uncool.

Tyler suggests a few date ideas before saying that you’re no help and telling you to wear jeans and closed toe shoes.

___________

When Thursday finally comes you slide back into those lived in jeans you love so much. In full honesty, you did go out and buy a new shirt and some cool slide on sneakers, so you're feeling pretty good about yourself when you're adjusting your hair in the mirror and there's a knock on your door.

You sprinkle a little food into Brendan's bowl as you pass through the living room and grab your keys to meet Tyler at the door.

“Trent! Good to see you,” you lock the door behind you and turn around and meet Tyler's eye with a big grin. He dips down, leaning in for a hug and a respectful peck on the cheek.

“Tear my heart out why don't you? A guy's liable to develop a complex.” The complex is short lived, you can tell since he snakes his arm around your waist and leads you to the flashy sports car that sits in front of your house.

“Where's your Jeep?” He smiles at you as he opens the car door and closes it, walking around the car getting into the driver's seat.

“You know how it is,” he buckles his seat belt and finishes, “boys and their toys.”

“Apparently,” you answer coolly, refusing to be charmed by a shiny, expensive car. What type of girl does he think you are?

Whatever type of girl he thinks you are is quickly what you're becoming as he parks outside of a ranch.

“Are we being real Texans today?” you ask, letting yourself out of the car before he can come around and open the door. He walks around anyway, grabbing your hand and continuing up the dirt road to the ranch.

“Yee-haw,” he says seriously, looking straight into your eyes, but his eyebrows rise to belie his voice.

You can't hold back the giggles that brings out, and let him half drag you the rest of the way through the dusty parking lot to the instructor, who's waiting in the stables.

___________

Overall you are a much better rider than Tyler.

You can see the instructor getting frazzled as she tries to get him to loosen his grip on the reins and to stop inadvertently signaling for the horse to start a trot with the way he's squeezing his calves around the animal’s sides.

After a small lesson in the paddock which easily takes twice the time it should, you're given the okay to take the trail. The horses seem to know the trail so you and Tyler are free to chat, side by side as your horses gently lead the way. Tyler's horse mostly ignoring the inexperienced rider on his back.

“I was worried you wouldn't say yes to me again,” Tyler looks over at you grinning and you can't tell if he's kidding or not; after all, it was you and not him who initiated physical intimacy on your last date.

“Why is that? I thought I made it pretty clear on my porch that I would be open to another date,” you will your cheeks to cool down, it seems just the memory of your mouth on his has you a little warm.

He smiles warmly at you, a little blush appearing high on his cheeks, “Oh, I remember,” he takes a breath before continuing, “but I've been pretty busy with work, ya know, out of town a lot. I wasn't sure if you were sick of waiting for me to be around. Barely got you to agree to the first date.” He must signal the horse to speed up in some way, which Buttercup does with ease. Tyler's face looks stricken for a second until the horse seems to remember who is sitting in the saddle. She slows down to allow you and Spirit to catch back up.

You're laughing, hunched forward on Spirit, Tyler's panicked face burned into your brain.

“ 's not funny,” he's visibly trying to relax, since Buttercup is feeding off of his nerves.

“It so is,” you make out between giant gulping breaths while wiping the tears from your eyes. Spirit has finally caught up with Buttercup and Tyler's pout has subsided.

“Why couldn't you pick something that I'm better at. Let me impress you and feel manly?” You laugh again before reminding him that he's to blame for today's activity.

“Yeah, but I only picked this because you said that you like horses and haven't been riding since you moved here,” he gets a little line between his eyebrows as he scrunches them up and mock anger.

“Well, at the very least, I am impressed by your listening abilities,” you nod primly and he gives you a cheesy grin, before he agrees that he'll take whatever win he can get.

You can see the ranch through the trees and it seems like your ride is coming to a close. The sun is beginning to lay lower in the sky and overall it's been a really peaceful few hours.

You don't want it to end.

Hopping off of Buttercup is much easier for Tyler than disembarking off of Spirit is for you. It probably has something to do with him being 6 foot plus and incredibly fit, not that you like, noticed or anything. He smiles at you from below as he sees you struggling with the stirrups.

“C'mon cowgirl, time to go,” he extends his hand up to you and you obviously accept it. Any excuse to get closer to the man in front of you.

He grips your hips tightly from behind to steady you, as you swing your leg over and try to gently lower yourself back to solid ground. If you were watching the scene play out, instead of being a part of it, you'd surely roll your eyes. But that’s not the case, and his hands are strong and warm and you can feel them through your jeans. It sends warmth radiating through your body and you bite your lip to keep yourself from saying anything foolish.

Normally, you’d be a bit more than a bit self-conscious about him grabbing your hips. They’re wide and thick since that’s where most of your extra weight seems to congregate, but Tyler isn't shying away, and it isn’t necessarily hidden in these snug pants.

You're both silent on the walk back to his car.

___________

He drives back in the direction of your house, but is going well under the speed limit, which is odd for the ostentatious sports car you're in.

He hits a red light and finally looks over at you, “Did you have other plans tonight… or?”

His sentence tapers off and you stare at him with your lips pursed.

“Did you have something else planned?” It comes out a little too high pitched and excited to be passed off as cool, but you sort of hope he does, because you really don't want to go home and wait for him to contact you again, especially if his work schedule is as erratic as he's claimed. Who knows how long you two could draw this thing out for.

He stares at you now, seemingly mulling something silently. “Light's green,” you nudge him with your elbow.

He focuses on the road again but eyes you subtly, “I could make us dinner, if you wanted to come to my place?” He's tentative, like he's not sure what you're going to say- like he hasn't taken you on the best dates of your life, hasn't been unabashedly pursuing you and making you hot under the collar with every look he sends in your direction. Like you could ever say no to that face of his.

“Yeah we can do that, Tony” a grin splits his face and you just couldn’t help yourself.

He hunches over towards the steering wheel in what can only be described as giggles.

“You'll remember my name one day,” he warns as he makes a u-turn, driving the opposite direction of your home.

He'd be hard to forget, all his weirdness and sweetness and playful tenacity. You sit quietly, hoping his invitation to dinner is a little less innocent than face value.

___________

It seems Tyler is absolutely full of surprises, because the driveway he pulls into belongs to a veritable mansion and you're instantly uncomfortable.

Before you can help yourself a small, “oh,” drops out of your mouth. You hope he doesn't hear you, because that's embarrassing. You just feel a little out of place, since you're a waitress and he's picked you up at your house before, which is really just the first floor of a house in the suburbs that you rent and definitely could not afford to own.

He hits a button on his phone and the garage door opens and it's literally like you're sitting next to James- fucking-Bond. Once he's pulled in you see the Jeep sitting in the garage as well, along with a few other cars you wouldn't be able to identify as anything other than wildly expensive. He doesn’t seem to catch the noise you make, but he does catch you surreptitiously looking around. He parks and starts getting out, walking over to the door and unlocking it as you trail behind him.

“I told you, I like my toys.” He lets you into the house before him and you kick off your shoes at the door, afraid to track dirt all over the pristine floors.You follow him through the hallway and into the kitchen. It’s bright and beautiful, with marble floors and countertops and what are surely restaurant quality appliances, and if he told you his personal chef would be preparing dinner for you tonight it honestly wouldn't surprise you in the least.

But he doesn't.

He gets out pans and bread and butter and cheese and starts the stove before glancing at your shocked face, “Grilled cheese okay? I haven't really gone grocery shopping since I got back. Ya know, too busy trying to plan dates with girls who can't remember my name and getting shown up by rowdy horses.” You nod and he turns back to the pan, buttering it up as it heats over the open flame.

He motions over to the island stools and you hop up, watching him cook. “Can I help at all?” You don't really know where anything is, but your momma raised you right, so you ask anyway.

“There’s some wine in the fridge, if you’re interested,” he tells you, and you pour out two glasses as he pops the grilled cheeses onto two plates, placing one in front of you and scooting onto the stool next to you with his own.

“Wine doesn't really go with grilled cheese, huh?” He makes a face, but it doesn't stop him from washing down his second bite in the exact same fashion.

“Excuse you, grilled cheese goes with everything.” Sure it's just grilled cheese and all, but it's really actually pretty good and it's made even better by how sweet Tyler was to do it himself and not take the easy way out and order something in. It feels cozy and private sitting in his kitchen, drinking wine and eating the food he made. You eat mostly in silence, sipping your wine and looking around at the grand kitchen.

___________

It's hard to imagine what Tyler does for a living that he could afford a place like this. He doesn’t give off a businessman vibe and he doesn’t seem like the kind who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so you’re at a loss thinking of a position for him to work. Mostly you just don't want to be seen as a gold digger, even though you couldn’t have possibly known about this in advance; if you had known, you would have been even more reluctant to agree to a date than you already were.

“You okay? Kinda quiet, usually you're making jokes at my expense, I'm a little worried,” he nudges your knee with his under the table as you finish up your food. You pick up the wine glass and stand, filling both of your glasses again. “Yeah. I'm good. Gimme a tour?” You open your eyes wide, tilt your head, and give him a genuine smile, it's not his fault that your uncomfortable about him being loaded. He obviously wasn't turned off by you not being rich, so you do your best to put it out of your mind in the effort of having a good time.

He smiles and stands dropping both dishes in the sink before he heads off into another room motioning for you to follow.

The two of you must make a decent amount of noise, because as you leave the kitchen, you can hear the tell-tale sound of paws on hardwood and before you know it, you're surrounded in labs. Before you get pummeled, Tyler grabs your wine glass from your hand before they could pounce you with love.

The dogs are wonderful.

He makes a fuss of trying to get the yellow one to stop jumping, but the brown and black ones are a little more well behaved, a little older and calmer. They hear his stern voice and sit and allow you to ruffle their ears, while the yellow one dances around happily, in between you and Tyler.

“It's fine,” you tell him. “If this is how I die, it's worth it,” you're fully sat on the floor now, giving pets and staving off sloppy kisses. He lets the dogs attack you with love for another minute before he helps you up from the floor.

“You'll spoil them.” He hands you back your wine and tells the dogs to go lay down, which they surprisingly do as they head off into an adjacent room. Tyler follows behind them.

“This is the living room,” he pauses, eyeing the dogs who look up at the sound of his voice from their position on the couch. “No,” he stares them down sternly and they plop their heads back onto the couch cushions and ignore you as you walk though.

“This is the dining room, I never use this. I don't even know why I have this room. I only use it when my mom's here.” It's amazing how the house is beautifully furnished and decorated, without looking like a 20 something male threw it all together or looking too overly pretentious, like it was done by a pricey designer.

He drags you into the game room, through the media room, and he ducks his head into a room that he calls his office. “I probably use this room less than the dining room.” He doesn’t even cross over the threshold, and keeps on his way to the stairs.

Letting the curiosity get the better of you, you step in and see stacked hockey pucks and gloves on the desk and jerseys on the wall. It starts to click. It would make sense for him to work in sports; it would afford him the money to own a house like this, and would probably require travel. He’s in great shape and Texas is wrought with professional trainers. You make a mental note to ask him about it later when you get the chance.

Suddenly though, you feel a little uncomfortable in your tight jeans, thinking about all of the hard bodies he probably comes into contact with daily.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Tyler calls from outside of the room, and decide you should probably stop snooping around without his consent; it’s not nice.

___________

The tour continues upstairs.

He shows you where his mom likes to stay, and then drags you into the room his sisters fight over for when they visit.

You know where this is going. Normally, you'd be delighted a guy like him was interested in getting into your pants, but you're not really in the mood to take them off anymore, considering how self conscious you're feeling. You feel a little claustrophobic in your own clothes, your shirt feels constricting around your arms and chest and you can feel where the waist of you jeans is digging into your flesh.

It's an honest shame, because his bedroom is awesome. Everything is a soft neutral. It's decorated minimally but tastefully. There are floor to ceiling windows that light the room up in warm reds and oranges with the dusky sky and the bed looks huge and warm.

You end up not having to deny him, because he doesn't even spare the bed a second glance before he's dragging you into his closet, which is like, wow.

“Hooooooooly,” you're almost reverent looking at the amount of clothes and shoes and, quite frankly the solid organizational skills that were put to practice here.

“Yeah, it's okay.” He looks almost sheepish. Like he doesn't want to be showing off, but you did ask for a tour, so he’s just giving the people what they want. .

“I think your closet is bigger than my entire bedroom.” You're backing out into his bedroom again and see another door.

“Do you have two closets you absolute diva?” You gently slap his chest, unable to stop teasing him as his face gets that distinct pink tinge again. Your face heats up as well at the hard muscle you feel under your hands. That smirk makes its way back to his face as he catches your hand lingering on his pecs. His eyebrows approach his hairline, so you turn away from him, pushing the door open, nosy once more.

“Okay, your bathroom is definitely bigger than my bedroom,” you do a little spin to take in the whole thing. Looking up at the skylight and out the window at the view. He laughs it off before grabbing your hand and tugging you.

“C'mon, I'm going to kick your ass at pool... unless you have to go?” He looks at you, waiting for approval.

You think about leaving for about a second, overwhelmed by- well, by everything. This house, and the cars, and his general… overwhelmingly handsome, charming self. But then you think about it again, and really, you do honestly like him, so you decide to throw caution to the wind. You’ve gotten this far with false bravado and flirtatious teasing,

“You don't even stand a chance, Tommy,” you smile before ducking under his arm and out of his room, hurrying down the stairs.

He chases you, right on your heels until he catches you at the game room, pressed against your back, all warm and big. He puts his hands on your hips and whispers low in you ear, “Let's see what you got, tough guy.”

___________

Once you're away from the bedroom you start to feel a little better. He keeps making sure you're comfortable and wanting to stay, he doesn't seem to be less attracted to you because you're not wealthy or shaped like a runway model. You can't seem to find a fault with him; normally that would be annoying, but you're just happy the only issue you have now is whether or not you want to make a move on him, since it seems he's letting you control all things carnal.

There's not as much pressure down in the game room, far away from the expectations of the bedroom.

Scratch that. There's a lot of pressure, but it's a different type of pressure. Because you were definitely shit talking before and you've lost 3 games of pool in a row. Not just lost; lost would be underselling it.

You were absolutely eviscerated- sinking only 1 of your own balls before Tyler cleared the table, then calls the 8 ball's pocket and smoothly shoots it in without a problem.

Pouting, you turn around and poke Tyler in the chest, “I don't want to play with you anymore. This isn't any fun!”

He grabs your wrist and tugs you towards him. He's laughing, a full loud thing that makes his eyes scrunch up and shows all of his straight white teeth. Your competitive side is still feeling pouty, but your red-blooded-female side is hot under the collar for this idiot.

He wraps his arms around you. “Now you know how I felt when you were showing me and Buttercup up. Sucks doesn't it?”

You let him wrap you up in his arms, it's a nice consolation prize for getting your ass handed to you over and over and over. “Yeah, yeah. I've never played before so… you should be a lot less proud.”

He looks down at you a little affronted. “Let me show you proper technique. I can't keep beating you mercilessly when you're such a rookie. It's not even a challenge.”

___________

You'd like to say that your heart rate and body temperature remained steady as he oh-so-innocently bent you over the table to show you how to properly line up a shot, but you make it a habit to not lie through your teeth.

It feels incredible. He's all angular, hard lines against your curves. It makes you feel distinctly feminine and small, something no other man has ever really accomplished.

Tyler is keeping it strictly business. No funny stuff at all. His left hand on your left elbow helping you stay steady against the felt of the table, while his right hand covers yours, far back on the pool cue.

He shows you a few times, slowly pulling your arm back and smoothly sliding it forward to make contact with the cue ball. You'd never assign the term “erotic” to billiards, but now you'd be hard pressed to ever look at a pool table again without thinking of this moment.

“Go easy. Gentle hands. You don't need a lot of force. It's more about finesse,” he's so close the words drop out of his mouth and settle onto the column of your neck.

Odds are really high you might jump him. It's absolutely terrible.

When he finally stands up and lets you have a go at it alone, you're practically vibrating out of your skin. You hit the cue ball all wrong since your hands are shaking, and it hops right over the ball you're aiming for and off of the table.

“You okay there hot shot?” He's stood up behind you as you drop your face onto the table in embarrassment. You can hear the laugh in his voice.

“It's going great, Trevor,” you manage, raising your head and scowling at him over your shoulder. ‘Great’ may be embellishing, but then he runs a finger over the sliver of skin that's exposed from where your shirt has rucked up, and all of a sudden you need to reassess your choice in adjectives.

The moment can easily be upgraded from “great” to transcendental.

You're not sure if you should stand up and turn around, since that would be prime position to get your mouth on his again. Or maybe you could stay bent over the table and see where he plans on going with this. Or maybe you just let your body turn into a pile of goo here on the table under his hands. They all seem like pretty solid options as far as you're concerned.

Tyler's hand shimmies your shirt up a few more inches and you entertain a flash of insecurity at the thought of your love handles existing, but you're happy to report that you forget about it pretty quickly as Tyler stretches his front over your back once more, clearly undeterred.

He pushes your hair to the side and tucks his chin into your neck, murmuring directly into your ear.

“This good? You want me to stop?” He's grabbing both sides of your waist and there's not a single gap between your bodies.

You're not quite sure you can fully formulate a coherent sentence with his lips running wild on the nape of your neck, so you press your ass back into him so he knows to continue.

“That's a yes then? Use your words, babe” you feel his smile against your jaw before he gently lets his teeth scrape over a particularly sensitive spot under your ear.

All the air in your lungs leaves you in a breathy moan, “Yeah. Yes. You're good.”

His hands drop lower and squeeze your hips, “I'm ‘good,’ what?” He presses his hips closer to yours before pulling away. The friction, while short lived, is sorely missed and leaves you wishing he'd do it again.

The short circuit in your brain isn't making the connection he's trying to lead you towards, and you turn your head towards him, eyes half-lidded while letting out an extremely intelligent, “huh?”

He repeats the motion again, pulling you back harder against him this time. “I'm good- what, (y/n).” He puts emphasis on your name, growling it into your ear.

This time he backs away entirely and pulls you to stand up and turn to face him, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to give him what he's looking for.

“You're good…” you swing your eyes skyward and pretend to consider it while wrapping your arms around his neck, eyebrows furrowed and nose wrinkled, “Todd?”

Tyler's jaw sets, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “You wound me.” His hand is over his heart. “Maybe I can jog your memory.”

He's got your ass in his hands before you can blink, and you're suddenly sat on the edge of the table. His hands rise to the waist of your pants while his mouth is fixed against yours, playfully dragging his tongue over the roof of your mouth. It tickles and is sharply contrasted with the stinging bite he leaves on your bottom lip.

“Can I take these off?” He's still tugging at the top of your jeans, so you stand and nod rapidly, shedding your pants before he has the chance to do it himself.

“Thanks,” he kisses the word into your mouth as he puts you back onto the edge of the table and gently pushes you back. “I'm going to do these too, if you don't mind,” his index finger slips in between your lacy thong and your hip. He succeeds in tugging it down off of your ankles when you nod your approval.

His hands grip your thighs just above your knees as he settles himself onto the floor between them.

You know what's coming and are so keyed up you're not sure you can even watch. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but the alternative is missing it, and you definitely don't want that to happen.

He goes slowly, licking gently up your right leg, but not breaking eye contact. “You know that's not my name,” he shakes his head gently.

Even now, he's such a little shit that you don't want to give into him. So, you press your cheek to your shoulder and lean back on your forearms, your eyes staying on his, “Tyson?”

He moves onto your left leg, licking from your knee into the crease of your hip. “Not quite. But I'm sure it will come to you.”

His hands push you over the lip of the table and onto the playing surface. A small shriek leaves your mouth because you hadn't been expecting it. He takes the opportunity of you being momentarily stunned to press his tongue against your pussy.

It's been more than a while since you've been privy to such lovely treatment, and you can't help it when your thighs tighten and your hand digs into his hair, while your head tips all the way back in bliss.

“Oh my God. Oh my God; I'm so sorry!” You pull your thighs apart, embarrassed that you'd boxed his ears so firmly between them, but he doesn't stop or even seem all that phased by it. Instead he responds by digging his fingertips into your flesh, pulling your legs wider so he can wedge his shoulders between them while moving closer into you.

Everything feels too good. His hands on your flesh burn in the best possible way and his mouth moving against you is making you lightheaded. You can't control it when your breath starts coming in quick pants as he starts running a finger up your slit while focusing his tongue on your clit.

It's stupid, but you open your eyes and chance a peek down at him. Tyler must be able to feel your gaze, because he opens his eyes then and halts all his movements.

The needy whine that makes its way out of your mouth is ten different kinds of embarrassing, but you need him back on you. Your nerves are on fire, waiting to be sated, but Tyler just looks up at you, inches from where he was, haughty.

“Please don't stop.” Your hand finds its way back into his hair and you tug him forward a little. It's his turn to moan out, and he puts his mouth to you again with renewed fervor.

You can't help yourself when his tongue pushes into you and his nose nudges your clit and he lets loose a growl. No one could blame you for pressing further against him as you beg-

“Tyler, please. Please don't stop,” breathlessly while staring down at him.

You don't realize what you said until he pauses and looks up at you. You can't see the smirk, but you can feel the sweet kiss he places on your clit before he buries his face against you again. He contains multitudes.

It almost makes you wish you kept your mouth shut, because you know you gave him exactly what he'd been after. But you can't be bothered to care as the pressure in your belly becomes too much to bear. He focuses his mouth on your clit, relentlessly circling his tongue around it, and slips two fingers into you, stretching you, and the pressure explodes. Your vision spots as you try to keep your eyes on what Tyler is doing between your legs, but you have to close them when he reaches up to grab your breast over your shirt, too overstimulated by the way he's still sucking at your clit to need any more.

He rises up when you start to whine and wiggle against his licks, his face is wet with you and he looks so painfully sexy, lips swollen and red.

“That's it, baby. That's all I wanted. I knew you’d remember me.” He leans over you and kisses you gently on your lips. Tasting the combination of his mouth and your cunt is only serving to make you wetter.

He grabs your hand and pulls you up, “C’mon, baby, let's go upstairs.” He drags you behind him as he heads up towards his bedroom.

___________

When you get to his room you're magnetized to him. Up until now, you really haven't gotten your hands on him much. So you kissed him, and let your hands slide up his shirt and straight to his chest, you can tell before you've even gotten him undressed that you grossly underestimated how fit he is.

It's so unfair. Everywhere you're soft and curved he's hard, unyielding edges.

The moan slips out before you can close your lips over it, with your face pressed against his neck and your hands running up and down his firm stomach. You shake your head against him, disbelief at how hot he is and how he’s encouraging you to touch him like this.

If you thought he was unbearably smug before, you clearly hadn't seen anything yet. Tyler reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt off and you literally feel like you're in Magic Mike. He's too perfect. The black ink swirling over tanned skin, all pulled tight over his thick muscles.

Your hands go to his shoulders sliding down his triceps and his forearms, before linking your hands with his. You coax his tongue out of his mouth and into yours before sucking gently on it.

The hand holding doesn't last, he pulls your hands back up to his chest, “No, don’t stop. I like that. Do that again (y/n).” He presses your hands flat against him and rests his on top, dragging you up and down his chest and abs. His eyes drop closed and his head is tipped back just a little, savoring the feel of your hands all over him. Tyler clearly wants you to enjoy his body, and you can't say it will be a hardship to give him what he wants; he looks like he stepped out of your wildest fantasies. A tattooed bad boy with a secret heart of gold, the cliches write themselves.

You desperately want to make him feel good, he gave you what was surely the best orgasm of your life down in the game room. But, you just can't help the teasing; it's how you flirt, after all.

“What's that, Tyler?” Speaking soft and low into the shell of his ear, you keep your left hand where he's positioned it on his chest, but slowly slide the right one down his chest, down his impossibly defined stomach, and down to the drooped waistband of his jeans as you tuck a finger into them, hoping he gets the hint. “Tell me what you want, Tyler.”

His eyes look wild as he steps back and reaches down to unbutton and drop his pants. He's so hard already, you can feel it as you get your hand around him through his boxer briefs. Continuing to palm him, you feel a little drunk with power. He's letting out these little huffs and whines that fall into your neck and he's wrapped one arm around you and is grabbing at your ass so hard you're sure to have bruises.

He seems content to let you have your way with his body for the time being, almost egging you on with all his noises and gripping you harder when you give him something he likes. Currently it's the fact that you've pushed down his underwear and are continuing to pull his dick in long, smooth strokes, rolling your thumb over the head, that has him gasping in your ear.

“Yes, like that- wanna be inside you, please,” he's tugging at your shirt trying to pull it off, but you're having so much fun turning him to putty you're not sure if you want to give into him.

You've never had a man like him before. He seems content to let you set the pace of everything. To be in control of this huge man and how he'll get his pleasure, it- it knocks the wind out of you a bit to be honest.

Shortening your strokes, you pull your hand away from his cock, and lift your shirt over your head. Tyler's opened his eyes and looks over at you, groaning when he takes in your breasts. Your bra is pulled down over them, nipples peeking out, since he's been feeling you up over your shirt for the past few minutes. There's really no point in having it on, so you unclasp it and shimmy it off of your shoulders.

He's reaching out to touch you, but before he can, you're on your knees in front of him, sat fully nude, ready to make him feel good.

Dropping his head, he looks down at you and lets out a whine, “That's not fair I can't touch you from up here.”

Bless him, you're going to wreck him.

You take just the tip of his cock into your mouth and he stops complaining.

“You can so,” you tell him, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your head. You wrap your own hands around his thighs. They're firm and muscular like the rest of him, and you can't help yourself, so you lean over and lick up his inner thigh, back to his cock.

He's being so gentle, not using any of the leverage you gave him. So, you use your grip on his legs to force yourself down on him and hope he'll take the hint. After a few bobs of your head, it seems he understands and softly pulls you down over and over onto his cock with the hands that are wrapped up in your hair.

You love the way he's falling apart above you, breathy and begging for more, but you really don't want him to finish in your mouth tonight. Mostly in case you never get this opportunity with him again; you want the memory him inside of you at the very least.

He has the same idea because he tugs gently at your hair. “(Y/n), you gotta stop.” The pride swells up inside you as you feel his legs shaking. “I can't- just get up here.”

You stand, your thighs are a little a shaky themselves from being on your knees for so long, but he grabs you by your upper arms and helps you up.

“Lay down,” you barely recognize the gravelly voice that commands Tyler to the bed, but you know it's your own. He's so good, horizontal before you can blink, lying there waiting for you.

“Please, (y/n). Wanted this for so long, since the first time I saw you. You're so sexy.” You roll your eyes, mostly to stop them from watering at the heart wrenching sincerity that he speaks with. You straddle him and kiss his lips,

“You're awfully sappy for someone who was just fucking my face.” It's his turn to roll his eyes, but they're forced closed as you sink down on him.

He winds his arms around your waist and sits up just enough to watch your ass bounce on him from over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” he tears his eyes away from the image and looks up at you, “I want to make you come.” You stop bouncing on him and slowly roll your hips until his head knocks back against the pillows. He isn't looking up at you, eyes wrenched shut, so you assume you're on the right track.

“Such a good boy. Waited so long for me, Tyler,” he's breathing is labored at best but he manages to slow it enough to answer.

“Love when you say my name. I want you to come, can you do it again?” He's flushed from his face down to his chest and he's practically art, slick with sweat, muscles straining.

All it really takes is him leaning up a little and licking at one breast before sucking a hickey into it for you to lose it around him once more. It's overwhelming this time too.

Tyler is relentless. He takes over this time too, pressing up into you as you try to clamp your legs down around his hips to slow him, used to him letting you be in control, but it seems it's his turn now. He manages to get you onto your back without pulling out, and you haven't stopped coming around him yet.

“No, no. You had your fun. My turn, trust me.” You push up at his chest without any real intent of removing him from you. Your overstimulation quickly turning into another orgasm under his unrelenting hips. He can see the second you're falling apart, the legs that were wrapped around him twitching and squeezing at him.

“Yes, good girl,” he's cupping each breast roughly and you think if he makes you come again you may just pass out.

“Tyler please, I think you're going to kill me,” you scramble underneath him, grabbing at any skin of his you can find. He does that laugh again, with his head back and mouth open wide, nose scrunched. He's honestly a blast and if this is the last time you get to see him like this you will be sincerely disappointed.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he looks down at you all soft, eyes glinting, “that'll make me come.” He fucks into you three times, quickly, almost snarky, before returning to long smooth strokes. Pulling all the way out so only the very tip of the head remains inside of you before pushing all the way back inside, and shuddering each time.

“Is that all it takes?” You kid with him, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “You just want me to tell me how good you are, Tyler?” You feel him pulse inside of you and pause for a brief second before he picks his rhythm back up. “Yes, that's what you want. Tyler, you're so good, baby. I love your dick, Tyler. Fuck.”

Honestly, the way he's staring down at you like you're the one who hung the moon and the way your voice sounds wrecked and breathless is enough to have to clenching around him again, and it isn't even for his benefit when you cry out, “Tyler! Fuck like that Ty, don't stop, please, please, please, Tyler!”

The combine of his voice and you clamping down around him must finally send him over the edge and as soon as you feel him pulse inside of you, you open your eyes. He's absolutely gorgeous, face screwed up in pleasure, breathing hard through his teeth before he's spent and pulls out of you, rolling onto his side.

You scamper out of his bed to clean up and pee. The whole time trying to delay the rough thought of him kicking you out or calling and Uber to send you home in. Just the idea grates against your brain and has you nervous to leave the bathroom.

When you finally build up the courage, he's lying there, still gloriously naked, one foot tucked under the blanket. You search around for your underwear and remember that you left them down in the game room before sighing. Tyler's eye peeks open.

“What are you doing? Get in bed. It's late.” You're stunned and tilt your head blubbering out before you can stop yourself, “You want me to stay?”

“Yeah of course, I'll take you home in the morning after breakfast. I think I have some eggs downstairs?” he scratches at his hair before rolling to face your side of the bed, patting the pillow welcomingly.

Huffing out a surprised laugh, you pull the blankets up the bed and slide underneath them, so grateful that you finally gave into him all those weeks ago.

#tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin imagine #back road part 2 #writing #dallas stars imagine #dallas stars fic #nhl fic #nhl imagines #nhl rpf #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey rpf #LONG POST #20 PAGES #DIRTY DEEDS #TEH SEX #he has a little bit of a praise kink #plus sized hockey fics

520 notes · View notes

oops-prow-did-it-again · 4 years

Text

Pokémon Black: The Novel - Chapter 9 (Thread the Needle)

Prologue and more info

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Pokémon Black: The Novel on FFN

Pokémon Black: The Novel on AO3

Pokémon Retold the series on AO3

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

Hil spent the next week training along Route Three.

He stopped at Striaton City’s Pokémon Center often and stayed there overnight. Even if he often heard whispers and received awkward stares, he had no intentions of going to Nacrene City just yet. He knew Cheren and Bianca would likely spot him, and he just didn’t want to talk to them. As angry and hurt as he had been at Cheren in Wellspring Cave, he had understood Cheren’s concerns. In fact, he had even agreed with him. He just had no solution for the problem at the time.

His mind had settled on a simple plan: train, train, and train. Do it alone. He hoped that he would be able to manage on his own, and if he got into a tough spot, desperation would force him to keep from locking up. At first, he and his pokémon had been forced back to the Pokémon Center almost hourly, but after a while, he found a groove and was able to remain for longer stretches of time. His pokémon seemed to appreciate the one-on-one interactions they received, at least. He had even managed to catch a Blitzle after repeated, failed attempts at acquiring one.

The Blitzle, a male one, had an arrogant air about him. He had been lazy and disinterested in battle and that had been what allowed Hil to catch him. Hil had offered him the chance to leave following his capture since he seemed angry at having been caught, but at the last second, the Blitzle had seemed to change its mind and bumped its muzzle against Hil’s right palm. Hil had smiled uneasily and thanked him for agreeing to stay. Due to his haughty nature, Hil had jokingly called him ‘Prada,’ and the name stuck.

It was day eight when Hil awoke in his hostel room to his Xtransceiver ringing wildly. He ignored it at first, as he always did, with the hopes the other person would get the hint and leave him alone. Yet, after ten minutes or more of successive rings, Hil’s anxiety kicked in and he sat up, dazedly reaching for the device. He found it was a mixed effort of Cheren and Bianca both calling him. He flopped back down in the bed before sliding his finger across the ‘Answer’ button.

His face appeared on the bottom left screen. His unkempt, oily hair, whipped into every which way, indicated way more obviously than he’d have liked that he hadn’t showered in the last two days. “Sup,” Hil mumbled groggily.

“Hil!” Bianca exclaimed. “You finally answered! I’ve been so worried!”

Her voice echoed. He could tell she was with Cheren in the same spot and they had both just been making a concentrated effort to annoy him into answering. He supposed it had worked.

“Yeah? I’ve just been training on Route Three some,” Hil yawned.

Again, it was Bianca who spoke. Cheren didn’t seem to even be looking at his Xtransceiver. “Well, you scared us! We thought you might have been hurt when you kept refusing to answer and you never showed up in Nacrene,” she whined. She tilted her head and glanced at Cheren. After a short pause, she stamped a foot and tapped him in the shoulder. “Hey! Speak up!”

Cheren winced at her touch and shot her a dirty look. He nervously glanced up at the Xtransciever and away again. “I’m sorry for what I said in Wellspring Cave,” he mumbled at last through what sounded like a mouthful of cotton. “I lost my cool. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again.”

Hil tossed his left arm over his forehead, blotting out his view of them and their view of his face. “Don’t say that, Cheren,” Hil sighed. “I mean, I appreciate the apology, but what I meant is… you weren’t wrong, really. It is scary that I freeze up like that and that’s gonna be a big problem if I don’t deal with it. That’s why I went off the radar. I wanted to practice without having anyone to fall back on for a while but myself. Hoped it might force me to see reason even if I was having a freeze-up.”

“…Did it?” Cheren asked quietly.

Hil thought about that for a second as he moved his arm from his face. He hadn’t really had but one or two moments in his training throughout the week where he truly froze, and both times, his pokémon had taken up for him. At least, Noodle had. Rather than continue to panic alongside Hil and wait for him to issue commands, the Snivy had taken it upon himself to react when Hil began to lose his focus; he seemed to default to a Vine Whip, and then would lightly tap Hil’s legs with the vines as well to try to regain his attention. Interestingly enough… it had worked. Noodle had to repeat his ministrations a few times, but it always worked.

“I think so,” Hil answered finally.

“So, nothing bad happened while you were out there?” Bianca asked worriedly. Suddenly, he felt very annoyed with that question. It sounded as if Bianca were being protective at him. While part of him wanted to be appreciative, what little pride he had was wounded at the implication he needed guarding by her.

“Nope,” was all Hil answered her with. She didn’t deserve his vitriol. “I caught a Blitzle, though. His name’s Prada.”

“That’s awesome!” Bianca beamed. “Where are you at, anyway? You look like you’re in a bed, but we haven’t seen you in Nacrene.”

“You look like you slept on your head and forgot what a shower was as well,” Cheren added dryly.

“Ha ha,” Hil sneered, “yeah, I’m in Striaton City’s hostel. Was able to convince them to let me have a room alone.” Hil curled his lips a little and mockingly said, “Perks of being the kid of a dead gym trainer man.”

Bianca visibly cringed at that statement, but shook it off within seconds. “W-well, we’re at Nacrene, if you want to meet us here! Cheren already won his badge from Lenora. We were waiting on you to come along and have your battle before we left!”

Hil blinked. “You were?”

“Yeah. We left Nuvema together, didn’t we? Why split up now?” Cheren questioned. “Not gonna let one little fight ruin us, are we? We’ve had worse spats, I think,” Cheren laughed a little nervously.

Hil chuckled. “You have a point… okay. I’ll get ready and meet you guys in Nacrene in…” Hil glanced at the time in the corner of the Xtransceiver’s screen. It was currently 10:12 AM. Oh boy, he had sure slept in. “…Probably about noon,” he said half-heartedly. “Sorry, I had no idea I slept in so late…”

“You always sleep in late,” Cheren mused.

“We’re away from home, who cares? Sleep as late as you want!” Bianca giggled.

Cheren scowled at her. “That is not healthy life advice.”

“Thanks Daddy, always lookin’ out for us,” Hil grinned.

With that, Cheren hung up and Bianca squealed something incoherent, laughed, and quickly wished Hil farewell before hanging up as well. Hil felt relief welling in his chest. He hadn’t realized how badly he had missed talking to them and how painful it had been to actively ignore them over the course of even just the week. He had known Cheren and Bianca his entire life, and he looked forward to putting that spat behind them.

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

Castelia City had felt suffocating recently. It was a new feeling to the happy-go-lucky gym leader of the most bustling, lively city in Unova. The open, winding streets and various shops that had once felt warm and inviting now felt restricting, like the straps to a straitjacket, and he, the loose cannon of a patient. He had opted to leave the city for a while. He still had rights to a studio in Nacrene City and although he had allowed some younger artists to use it for the time being, they had been ecstatic at the idea of having him back for a while. Their exuberance had been welcome. Burgh didn’t feel like he was anyone’s favorite person anymore, but their reaction had made him feel wanted.

Many would tell you Burgh was the cavalier, artsy gym leader of Castelia City, enjoying life at its fullest and encouraging his gym trainers and challengers to do the same. They would proclaim him as easily the most upbeat of the entire Unovan Pokémon League Staff, they would celebrate his portfolio of art, and lightly tease his fondness for Bug-types. They may have whispered about his occasional artists’ block and how he’d travel to Nacrene City to escape it on occasion, since he had started his art career as a lost, lonely art student in one of its outrageously expensive studios.

More recently, however, one may have found a wildly different picture of Burgh painted by the brush of news anchors: the ignorant, careless gym leader that did not notice the light fading in one of his students. A callous, pompous artist who no longer concerned himself with the emotions of others unless it suited him for public viewing.

It had all stemmed from the sudden suicide of a gym trainer of his named Vincent, or as he had preferred to be called, Vince. Burgh also felt the blame aimed his way was highly unfair because he never had any idea Vince was struggling. Vince was more outgoing than many of his other trainers, he joked often, he loved to pretend he really was a court jester in alignment with their funny clown outfits… He had seemed so excitable and happy. Sure, Burgh had been aware Vince had an unpleasant home life, but the gym had seemed to lighten his day up. No matter how many times he scrutinized his time spent with Vince at the gym, he could never come up with an ounce of evidence pointing to the idea that Vince was struggling with such bitter demons.

The closest thing to evidence he had come up with was that sometimes, Vince showed up in unkempt clothes, the scent of coffee strong on his breath, and his eyes glazed over dazedly. It had given Burgh the impression that he may have been hungover, but what was he supposed to have done about that? Vince was a grown man, and while he preferred his trainers to show up unintoxicated, there was no official rule about it. The only time anyone was asked to sit to the side for those reasons was if they were actively disrupting instruction or clearly not in their right mind. He hadn’t had an incident like that with any of his students, well… ever. Vince had always joked about his uneasy state whenever he arrived like that, and Burgh had just joked back, thinking that’s what Vince had wanted.

Insulted was a kind way to put how the media’s lashings made him feel. Burgh prided himself on offering help to others and indeed, his passion for art had grown from a desire to show off the beauty of everyday mundanities to others in a bid to brighten their lives. His love for Bug-types had sprung from a youth spent sympathizing with them for how most considered them gross and unsightly. He had striven to show they were just as deserving of love as any other pokémon. As any other living creature.

Over the course of three short months, the media was running his name into the ground. Truth be told, not everyone believed it; Burgh had personally touched the lives of many people and his status as gym leader meant that many had difficulty even considering the possibility of the sensationalist stories being right. Even so, the small group of people who believed it were very real. An odd glare here, a hurried, husky whisper there… Burgh was not blind nor was he deaf to the hike in public criticisms. He could have marched up to them and demanded they stop spreading such nonsense—indeed, he could have even gone to the news stations themselves and order them to stop spreading such insidious stories—but he knew that would only worsen his reputation. He had begged other League Staff that had wanted to defend his honor to leave the subject alone and let it blow over. It seemed like it would never blow over, though…

On top of all of that, crime was on a minor rise in Castelia City, and he knew the source of it. Robberies, though only of relatively small amounts of cash, were being reported. The culprit was described as a mid to older teenager that used pokémon wordlessly and seamlessly in his thievery. Burgh had known immediately who they spoke of and although he had not exactly been interested in divulging that information to police (nor was he required to), guilt had pressed him to offer those stolen from some compensation. He earned plenty of money from his art as well as his job as a gym leader. He played off their confusion as him simply wanting to be a good citizen.

Meanwhile, he really was just trying to lessen the heat on the robber. Burgh had met the boy, Taven, some years ago, by chasing him through the streets of Castelia and well into the sewers after hearing stories of a mysterious young man robbing grocery stores for food and other menial supplies. He had grown frustrated with the chase and had his Leavanny use String Shot to tie him up, force him to stop. Until that point, Taven had been mostly silent save for the occasional grunt, but upon finding himself trapped, he yelped and began to struggle madly against the bindings. The fright in his dark, slate eyes had given Burgh some pause. That was a notable change from the careful, almost smug expression he had seen earlier.

Initially, he had intended to calm the young boy down, and then take him to social services where he would personally oversee how they handled his case. Yet, as Burgh and his Leavanny had drawn closer, Taven had glared up at him with an almost feral look of fear and snapped, “No!” He then had jerked with so much might in his attempt to free himself that he had lifted himself nearly completely off the ground. The panicked effort had seemed to sap most of his strength, as when he stopped, he had been panting wildly. “They need me!” he had gasped, his voice cracking in the last word. He had squeezed his eyes shut at that point.

An Oshawott had then scurried from the sewer water and jumped in front of Taven, brandishing a shell in its tiny arms. Unlike most Oshawott Burgh had met, who looked as if they had no idea where they were most of the time, this one had been dangerously focused. Rattata soon had followed and begun to gnaw away at Taven’s silken prison. Zubat then swooped from the darkest recesses of the arching ceiling and had descended on Burgh in a swirl of beating wings and screeching. His Leavanny had managed to scare them off, but by that point, Taven had been long gone. A pile of shredded silk had been all that remained.

After that, it had been a long road of carefully gaining the boy’s trust, and coming to the unspoken agreement he would not try to remove him from his home. Even if Taven’s home was literally the Castelian Sewers, he seemed happy there, and he had never forgotten the sheer panic and conviction in Taven’s voice that first meeting. Taven truly believed he was all that looked out for the pokémon that called Castelia’s sewers and alleyways home. Burgh knew that although integrating him back into society would have likely been best for him physically, Taven would have hated every second of it. The more he learned of the petty thief, the more he saw him as his own son, and felt a stronger desire to help and protect him where he could without forcing his hand. Taven… was complicated, but Burgh knew he had a good heart. After all, despite his downfalls, Taven’s primary motives were rooted in helping abandoned and starving pokémon around Castelia City.

Except recently, he feared that was taking a turn. Robberies performed by Taven up until that point were done to take care of himself or his pokémon. Clothes, food, the occasional creature comfort—but these robberies were simply for cash, and although nobody was ever hurt, the details from the victims showed that Taven was not afraid of threatening the victims to get them to listen to him. Burgh liked to believe he didn’t have a truly violent bone in his body, but…

He sighed. He was wondering if he knew what anything really was anymore.

Suffice to say, he was looking forward to heading to Nacrene City, and hoped to get some coffee with Lenora and Hawes while he was there. They were a lovely couple to hang out with and Lenora typically inspired him with her discussion of new artifacts that had been given to her museum for curation. He had a habit of over-blowing details in his artwork of ancient pokémon she described, but she seemed to enjoy his work, nonetheless.

He was walking the straightforward route through Pinwheel Forest. The buzzing of life from within its depths always made him feel a little introspective, he thought with a snicker. It was where he had met the majority of his pokémon. He often escaped to the Pinwheel Forest whenever he wanted to draw as a child and that habit had not fled him even as he grew older. This was not his destination, however, so he pushed through the last of the canopied pathway and found himself on the neatly trimmed path that connected Pinwheel Forest and Nacrene City. A beautiful fountain circled by pathway appeared in front of him as he walked and he decided to take a breather on one of the benches next to it. He listened carefully to the Pidove cooing overhead and the distant calls of Patrat chuffing at threats in the distance, likely telling the rest of their pack of a prowling Purrloin.

He breathed in the clean air. It smelled strongly of the nearby forest and a little swampy. Parts of Pinwheel Forest were marshland, after all. Already he was feeling the prickle at his fingertips to begin to sketch as a loose, indescribable image formed in his head. All of his art started that way, as a nondescript blur in the back of his mind, and it was his hand that sketched it into proper form. After a few seconds of waiting to regain his stamina, he was off again. He’d have to settle into his studio and then go meet Lenora before he could be free to camp out in the forest for a day.

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

He had only just noticed her before she came barreling at him at top speed, enveloping him in a tight hug. She was a lot stronger than he remembered. Hil staggered at Bianca’s hold and laughed when he stumbled as she let him go. Cheren strode up to him next with his arms crossed. Hil gave him a small smile. Noodle, on the other hand, practically danced on his shoulders in excitement as he recognized Hil’s two friends.

“Yeah, that’s them, buddy,” Hil chuckled. He snorted as Noodle finally opted to climb onto his hat and lean down on Hil’s visor to get a better look at them. Cheren snorted and awkwardly reached his right hand out to pet the bouncy Snivy.

“So, are you wanting to try and take on Gym Leader Lenora?” Cheren asked idly as he continued to rub Noodle.

“I guess I could try. We were training for a while out there…” Hil glanced at the visor of his hat. “Noodle, you think we’re ready to fight the next gym?”

Noodle peered over the visor, sticking his nose into Hil’s face, and chirruped. Hil felt his tail gently thwap against his head a few times. He laughed and moved to grab Noodle’s tail to steady him. “Easy, pal, that’s my head, Arceus knows I’ve got enough brain damage,” he giggled.

“Would you stop,” Bianca complained as she gently swatted at his arm. Cheren took a step back.

“Stop what?” Hil asked, genuinely confused.

“Saying stuff like that,” she huffed. “That’s mean.”

“It’s about me, though.” Hil really was clueless as to what she was getting at.

“Exactly, stop saying mean stuff about yourself,” she said, nodding. Hil dubiously agreed that he would, but really he didn’t see anything wrong with it. It was funny. He was allowed to have some humor about his situation, wasn’t he? That familiar feeling of irritation picked at his chest. When was everyone going to stop shoving their ideas of how he should handle it onto him?

“Anyway,” Cheren interjected sharply, “if you want to challenge Lenora, we’d better get there soon.” He adjusted his glasses and turned to face further into Nacrene City. Hil noticed the cityscape behind his friend was mainly that of dark wood and faded stone structures. It looked old, but lively, with people bustling from the various apartments and studios. “Gym Leader Lenora only takes trainers at certain times of the day since she works as the Museum Curator.”

With that, the three friends headed toward Nacrene City’s museum and gym. It was a large, stately building visible from well across the other side of the city, but as they drew nearer, they noticed a crowd of people gathered in front of it. It was easily two or three times as large as the one that had blossomed in Accumula Town for the Team Plasma speech there. Yet, it soon became clear that was exactly what this was. To the left of the museum’s entrance, a group of seven or eight silver robed men stood proud. Just like in Accumula Town, two on either end of their makeshift stage proudly displayed flags bearing Team Plasma’s insignia, while a man in darker, rounder robes paced back and forth between them. He had a tall, round hat and gray, grizzled hair spilled out from beneath it.

“This looks good,” Cheren grumbled as they all slowed to a stop at the back of the crowd.

“We call ourselves friends, or benevolent caretakers,” the elderly man was saying, his voice rising in volume, “and yet we bring our ‘friends’ back from the dead to fight for us! They are brought back from a life some thousands of years ago, likely from a time very different from ours, and expect them to assimilate to our society! To our brutish way of battling one another for sport! Fossil restoration is barbaric and another cruel invention of the Pokémon League!”

Hil had started to laugh, but was cut off by the roar of agreement that came from the gathered people. He shared a look with his friends and noted the shock on their faces as well. He had known Team Plasma had managed to gather a rather massive following… but, as he looked out over the crowd, actually seeing it in person was an entirely different feeling. The air was alive with their chanting and fist-pumps. This seemed less like an informative speech and more like a rallying cry… He cringed as he heard some of the words from the crowd.

“No more exhuming the dead for sport!”

“We shouldn’t profit off of something resting in peace!”

“And yet, that’s exactly what trainers do…”

The elderly man looked over the gathered crowd with a satisfied grin. He jabbed a fist into the air and screamed, “We must put an end to this horrific practice of bringing back the dead to serve the needs of selfish trainers, usually young children that have no idea what it is they’re doing! Not only are we abusing pokémon, but we are manipulating our youth into believing this behavior is acceptable!”

1 note · View note